I
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BKITANNICA
SEVENTH EDITION.
THE
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
OR
DICTIONARY
OF
ARTS, SCIENCES, AND GENERAL LITERATURE.
SEVENTH EDITION,
WITH PRELIMINARY DISSERTATIONS ON THE HISTORY OF THE SCIENCES,
AND
OTHER EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS;
INCLUDING THE LATE SUPPLEMENT.
A GENERAL INDEX,
AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
VOLUME XVII.
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH;
M.DCCC.XLII.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A N
PAN
per end of the rod being a point which is conducted by
the hand over the lines of the original drawing, and the
lower end being the pencil which traces the copy on paper.'
An instrument upon this principle is sometimes used for
drawing the profile of the face, in order to form small por¬
traits or silhouettes.
The instrument called micrograph and prosopograph in
Puissant’s Geodesie does not differ in principle from the
common pantograph. (B. B>)
Panto
graph
P
PANTOGRAPH, an instrument contrived for the pur¬
pose of copying drawings, so that the copy may either
be of the same, of a greater, or of a less size, than the
original. It consists of four moveable rulers fixed together
by four pivots, and forming a parallelogram. At the ex¬
tremity of one of these rulers prolonged is a point, which
is drawn over the lines of the original drawing, whilst a
pencil, fixed at the end of another branch of the instru¬
ment, traces on paper the lines of the copy. The pencil
is placed in a hollow cylinder, and a weight is added on
the top of the pencil; by this means the point of the pen¬
cil is made to press on the paper with the force requisite
for drawing the lines. The improvements in the construc¬
tion of different parts of the pantograph described in the
Memoires da l Acad, dcs Sciences, 174-3, have been generally
adopted. The pantograph, however, is not found conve¬
nient in practice; and, for the purpose of copying maps,
plans, and other designs, artists most commonly employ
the method of dividing the original design into a number
of squares, and the paper on which the copy is to be made
into the same number of squares. When this is done, they
copy the lines contained within each square of the original,
so as to form a similar figure within the corresponding
square of the reticula which covers the copy. When the
drawing consists of straight lines, a reduced copy is accu¬
rately made by means of an isosceles triangle, in which
the base is to the side as any line of the copy is to the cor¬
responding line in the original. By setting off with the
compasses any line of the original drawing on the sides of
the triangle, the base which completes the triangle is the
length of the corresponding line to be laid down on the
copy. The same operation is performed by the sector.
If a drawing is to be copied, of the same size as the ori-
ginal. without diminution or enlargement, engravers usu¬
ally trace the copy upon oiled paper laid over the original,
or upon the transparent papier de guimauve (marsh-mallow
paper), made in France.
A pantograph has been made, consisting of a rod, placed
vertically, and turning round a fixed point in its length,
situated between its upper and lower extremity; the up-
VOL. XVII. r
A very ingenious instrument for copying drawings,
either upon a reduced or an enlarged scale, was invented
by Mr Wallace, professor of mathematics in the Univer¬
sity of Edinburgh. Of this instrument, which may be fit¬
ly introduced under the present head, though differing in
name, we have been favoured with the following descrip¬
tion.
It is a fact well known, that artists of various descrip¬
tions, who have frequent occasion to imitate original de¬
signs, have long felt the want of a convenient mathema¬
tical instrument, by which a copy may be made with neat¬
ness and expedition, that shall have any given proportion
to the original. The pantograph is the only instrument
that has hitherto been employed ; but although correct
and plausible in theory, in practice it is found to be so
very imperfect that the artist hardly ever thinks of making
use of it.
A consideration of the essential service that would be
rendered to the graphic art, by a copying instrument,
which should be at once simple in its theory and easy in
its application, induced Mr Wallace to turn his attention
to the subject; and, in the summer of 1821, he produced
the model of a copying instrument, which he has denomi¬
nated an Eidograph (from sido( and The instru¬
ment, and its application to the copying of a great variety
of subjects, has been shown to engineers, engravers, and
other competent judges, in London and in Edinburgh ;
and their opinion of its utility has been such as to leave
no doubt whatever of its completely fulfilling the views
of the inventor.
2
PAN
Panto- The instrument is represented in the annexed figure
mime. The&ra/n, AB,
which is made of
mahogany, slides
backwards and
forwards in a sock¬
et, C ; and the
socket turns on a
vertical axis, sup¬
ported by l\\e ful¬
crum, D, which
stands on a table.
There is a slit
in the beam,
through which
the axis of the
socket passes, so
that, when the
beam slides in
the socket, a por¬
tion of it passes
on each side of
the axis. There are two equal wheels, E, E, below the
beam, which turn on axes that pass through pipes fixed at
A, B, near its extremities; and a steel chain passes over the
wheels as a band, by which a motion of rotation may be com¬
municated from the one to the other. There are two arms,
F, F, which slide in sockets along the lower face of the
wheels, just under their centres; at the extremity, G, of
one arm, there is a metal tracer, with a handle attached to
it, by which its point may be carried oyer the lines in any
design; and at H, the extremity of the other arm, there
is a black-lead 'pencil fixed in a metal tube, which is ground
to fit exactly into a pipe, so as just to slide up or down.
In using the instrument, the pencil, in its tube, is raised
by a thread which passes over a pulley, and it descends
again by a weight with which it is loaded.
From the perfect equality of the wheels, it is easy to
see that, if the arms attached to them be placed parallel
in any one position, they will retain their parallelism, al¬
though one of the wheels, and consequently both, be turned
on their centres. Supposing, now, that BC and AC, the
parts into which the axis is divided at the centre, have
any proportion whatever to each other, if the distances ot
the tracing point G, and pencil point H, from the centres
of their wheels, have the very same proportion, then it
follows, from the elements of geometry, that the tracing
point G, the centre C, and the pencil point H, will be in
a straight line; and further, that CG and CH, the distance
of these points from the centre, will have to each other the
constant proportion of CB to CA, or of EG to AH. Such
being the geometrical property of the eidograph, if any
subject to be copied be fixed to the table on which the in¬
strument stands, and the tracing point be carried over
every line of the design, the pencil point will trace a copy
in all respects similar to the original. To facilitate the
adjustment of the instrument, so that the copy may have
any given ratio to the original, there are scales of equal
parts on the beam and the two arms; by these and verniers,
both halves of the beam, and equal lengths on the arms,
are each divided into 1000 equal parts, and at certain in¬
tervals corresponding numbers are marked on them. By
means of the scales, when any ratio is assigned, the ad¬
justment is made without the least difficulty. To avoid
any derangement by the chain slipping on the wheels, there
are clamps at K and K, which hold it fast to the wheels at
points where it never quits them. They are slackened
when the instrument is adjusted.
PANTOMIME, liavropipog, amongst the ancients, a
person who could imitate all kinds of actions and charac¬
ters by signs and gestures, without speaking.
PAN
The pantomimes formed a part of the theatrical enter- Panwell
tainments of the ancients; and their chief employment ^
was to express by gestures and action whatever the chorus v
sung, changing their countenance and behaviour as the
subject of the song varied. They were very ancient in
Greece, being, according to some, derived from the heroic
ages ; but however this may be, they were certainly known
in Plato’s time. In Home, it was as late as the reign of
Augustus before they made their appearance. With respect
to their dress, it was various, being always suited as near
as possible to that of the person they were to imitate.
The crocola was much used amongst the Roman panto¬
mimes, in which, as well as in other female dresses, they
personated women.
“ The pantomimes,” says Gibbon, “ who maintained
their reputation from the age of Augustus to the sixth
century, expressed, without the use of words, the various
fables of the gods and heroes of antiquity 4 and the per¬
fection of their art, which sometimes disarmed the gravity
of the philosopher, always excited the applause and wonder
of the people. The vast and magnificent theatres of Rome
were filled by 3000 female dancers, and by 3000 singers,
with the masters of the respective chorusses. Such was
the popular favour which they enjoyed, that in a time of
scarcity, when all strangers were banished from the city,
the merit of contributing to the public pleasures exempted
them from a law which was strictly enforced against the
professors of the liberal arts.”
Pantomimes are still very common. In some respects
indeed they differ from those of antiquity; but they re¬
tain the name, and, like these, they consist in the repre¬
sentation of things merely by gestures.
PANWELL, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Aurungabad, situated on the banks of the Pan, about seven •
miles from its mouth. It is an extensive place, and carries
on a considerable trade. There are still here the remains
of a brick fort built by the Mahratta chief Sevajee about
the year 1680, to protect the inhabitants against the incur¬
sions of the Siddees. Panwell now belongs to the British.
It is twenty-seven miles east of Bombay. Long. 73. 13. E.
Lat. 19. N.
PANY Isle, one of the Philippines, 110 miles in length
by thirty-eight in average breadth. It is situated due
south of Luzon, between the 12'2d and 123d degrees ot
east longitude. The island is marshy, and consequently
unhealthy. When viewed from the sea, it exhibits nu¬
merous villages on the declivity of the hills, the houses ot
which are generally well built, and arranged with great
regularity. In the interior are found deer, hogs, buffaloes,
and wild animals; and cattle and horses range at plea¬
sure through the uncultivated parts. The inhabitants ma¬
nufacture handkerchiefs and cloths from cotton, and from
the fibres of another plant, with which they supply the
neighbouring islands. It has the reputation of contain¬
ing gold and silver mines. The principal establishments
of the Spaniards on this island are at Ilo-ilo and Antigua,
on which oeast there is good anchorage in ten fathoms,
at a considerable distance from the shore. There is no
security here either for life or property. The principal
settlement, Antigua, is extremely ill governed and defend¬
ed, vessels being plundered in the harbour by the pirates,
who carry their crews into slavery. Long. 122. 33. E.
Lat. 11. 15. N.
PAO, San Juan del, a town of Columbia, in South
America, about fifty leagues south-west from Caraccas. It
is situated on the river Pao, the course of which was turn¬
ed about the end of the seventeenth century, and, instead
of flowing into Lake Valencia, directed into the Portugueza,
a branch of the Apure, which itself is an affluent of the Ori¬
noco. The town consists of several handsome streets, has
a neat parish church, and is inhabited chiefly by the pro-
1
Papal
States.
PAP
Pao-king prietors of the cattle reared on the fertile plains which sur¬
round the town. It contains a population of between 5000
and G000. Lat. 9. 20. N.
, PAO-KING, a city of China, of the first rank, in Hou-
quang, situated on the river Lokyang, by which it commu¬
nicates with the great lake Tongting.
PAOLA, a city of Italy, in the province of Calabria
Citeriore, of the kingdom of Naples. It stands on the side
of a hill, about one mile from the sea, and contains several
churches and monasteries, 650 houses, and 4500 inhabi¬
tants, who are chiefly employed in making wine and oil,
and in the manufacture of earthenware.
PAOOM, one of the smaller of the New Hebrides, in
the South Pacific Ocean, and which appeared to Captain
Cook to be two islands. Long. 168. 20. W. Lat. 16. 30. S.
PAOIING, a city of China, of the first rank, in the
province of Pe-che-lee. It is the residence of the viceroy,
and ranks next to Pekin amongst the cities of the province.
It is seventy-seven mdes south-south-west of Pekin. Long.
115. 14. E. Lat. 38. 54. N.
PAPA, a town of the Austrian kingdom of Hungary, in
the province of the Hither Danube, and the circle of Wesz-
primer. It contains a palace of Esterhazy, a Catholic, a
Lutheran and a Reformed church, with a seminary belong¬
ing to the last of these religious sects. There are 780
houses, with 5150 inhabitants, who grow some excellent
wine. Long. 17. 20. 55. E. Lat. 47. 19. 32. N.
PAPAL S 1 A I ES. Under the article Italy we have
traced the origin and growth of the temporal power of the
Roman pontiff's. In the article Rome we shall exhibit a
view of the rise and progress of that great state which, first
as a republic, and subsequently as an empire, obtained the
command of the western world The present article will
be limited to a view of the temporal dominions of the so¬
vereign pontiff, in the state in which they actually exist.
1 his territory is situated in the centre of Italy, being
bounded by the Adriatic Sea on the eastern, and the Me¬
diterranean on the western side. It extends in north latitude
from 41. 9. 8. to 44. 49. 54., and in east longitude from 10.
26. 2. to 12. 49. 30. I he whole is connected together, with
the exception only of two small portions. One of these is
the dukedom of Benevento, which is surrounded by the Nea¬
politan province of Principato Ulteriore; and the other the
principality of Pontecorvo, enclosed within the province of
lerra di Lavoro, belonging to the same state. The papal
dominions are bounded on the north-western side by the
Austiian kingdom of Venetian Lombardy, on the north¬
eastern by the Adriatic Sea, on the south-eastern by the
kingdom of Naples, on the south-western by the Mediter¬
ranean Sea, and on the west by part of the grand duchy
of 1 uscany and a portion of the duchy of Modena. As
the two seas, which form partly the eastern and western
boundaries of the papal dominions, afford supplies of food,
and might be made the means of considerable foreign
tiade to a more active and enterprising people, they de¬
serve to be noticed. A short description of the shores, the
harbours, and the bays, may also be of interest.
T. he western coast of the pope’s dominions is by far the
shortest. It commences a little to the south-east of Orbi-
tello, the Tuscan territory, and proceeds by a bay, not
deep, to Civita Vecchia. It has no towns on the shore;
but about three miles inland, and visible from the sea, are
the cities of Montalto and Corneto, neither of which has any
foreign trade. Civita Vecchia is the principal seaport on
this side. It is well fortified with good walls and ditches,
several half-moon batteries, and various other works; and
upon a peninsula is a fine castle, from which a mole is pro¬
jected, whilst another mole about 180 fathoms in length is
carried into the sea. Between these two is the harbour,
having seventeen feet of water at one of the entrances, and
twelve feet at the other. Ships are safe everywhere
PAP
within the harbour, and have twenty feet of water. Pro¬
ceeding to the south-east of this port, the church of St
Peter’s at Rome is visible nearly the whole of the course,
but more distinctly after passing the Cape Linaro. There
are only a few miserable villages upon the shore ; but the
small towns of Marinella, Palo, and Monterone, about two
miles from the sea, are visible. The river Tiber has two
outlets to the sea, which are divided by the Isola Sacra, a
tract of land about half a league in breadth. Of these,
the first or northernmost is called the Bocca del Fiume-
cino, and the second Bocca de Fiumara. All the land
near and about the mouths of the Tiber is low and marshy,
and not easily distinguishable from the water; which ren¬
ders the approach dangerous, especially when, as is often
the case, it is covered with dense fogs. The only mouth
of the l iber for vessels is the Bocca del Fiumecino. It
has a bar at its mouth, with seven or eight feet of water,
and within it from two to four fathoms. The Bocca de
Fiumara has only two feet of water on its bar, and con¬
sequently can be entered by nothing larger than boats.
There is good anchorage at the distance of from three to
six miles from the shore, where there is a depth of water
of from six to thirteen fathoms, with good holding ground
of stiff mud.
from the mouths of the Tiber the land continues low and
marshy, and it has no town, but a few houses and towers
at intervals; and, like the rest of the Campagna di Roma,
of which it forms a part, is frequently so obscured by haze
and fog, that the objects on the shore are not easily dis¬
tinguishable. At the distance of about thirty miles from
the Tiber, near a projecting headland called Cape d’Anzo,
is the port and mole of Nettuno or Neptune. The mole
projects 260 fathoms into the sea, and, by means of a bend
towards the termination, forms a harbour, in which there is
a secure anchorage, with a depth of water of from fifteen
to twenty feet. Hie town is small, but ancient. About two
miles from the mole, on the sea-shore, and around it, are
several vaults, grottos, baths, and pillars, hewn out of the
rocks, with other monuments of ancient magnificence. At
twenty miles from Nettuno is Cape Circeoor Circello, which
forms a deep bay, with a low marshy coast, near to which
good anchorage, in six or seven fathoms water, is found;
but there is no shelter against winds from the south-east.
At ten miles from thence is Terracina, the last town of the
ecclesiastical territory on the Neapolitan frontier. It was
Anxur, the capital of the V olsci, in ancient times. The har¬
bour, once of celebrity, is now choked up; and the town,
though fortified, is inconsiderable. The country around
is fruitful, but marshy and unwholesome.
I he eastern sea-coast of the Papal States, bordering on
the Adriatic Sea, extends about 120 miles in length. It
commences to the south at the river Tronto (the ancient
ffuentus), by which it is divided from the territory of
Naples, and extends to the southern mouth of the river
I b, wheie the Austrian state of Lombardy commences.
From the Tronto towards the north there are along the
shore a number of small towns and villages, defended by
towers, but no harbour or place of shelter, and the coast
generally is low and sandy. Ihe names of the principal
places are Termoli, Vasto, Ortona, Francavida, Pescara,
and Giuhanova. Next to these is the town of Fortore,
where there is a great storehouse, in the form of a tower,
which may be seen a long way off. To this storehouse
merchandise is sent from the inland towns to be shipped;
and there is good anchorage near it, with a depth of wa¬
ter of from six to seven fathoms, on sandy ground. About
forty-five miles from the Tronto, the land trending north
by west halt west, is Monte Conero, or the Mountain of
Ancona; but this whole line of coast is low. At seven
miles north-west by north from the foot of the mountain is
the mole of the city of Ancona, a surprising work, by which
Papal
States.
PAPAL STATES.
Papal
States.
the harbour is formed. This mole is 2000 feet in length,
100 feet in breadth, and sixty-eight feet in height. On its
/ point there are a battery and a lighthouse, and near it a tri¬
umphal arch of white marble, erected in honour of the Em¬
peror Trajan, and considered as one of the most perfect re¬
mains of Roman magnificence now existing. I he port has a
lazaretto, where the quarantine regulations are very strict.
The city is defended by a strong fort, in a low situation, on
the south side. Ancona is a free port, and vessels may
lie in its harbour secure from all winds, as the mole to¬
wards its termination has a turn to the west, forming a
hook ; it is, however, too full of shoals ever to be of con¬
sequence as a naval port. Three or four frigates may be
well sheltered within the lighthouse, moored by the head
and the stern; but in no part of the harbour could ships
of that class swing to their anchors. The city is walled,
and contains about 20,000 inhabitants. It has the best
arsenal in the Roman dominions. The trade is consider¬
able, arising chiefly from the exportation of corn, wool, and
silk. The most appropriate merchant-ships for Ancona
are those not drawing more than sixteen feet of water.
From Ancona to Rimini, a distance of about fifty miles,
the coast is of moderate height, and the shore is of sand.
The chief towns are Sinigaglia, Fano, Pesaro, and Rimi¬
ni ; but at none of these is there a harbour for shipping.
Sinigaglia has only a mole to protect small craft; but a
great fair is held here, to which many of the Greeks resort,
and exchange honey, wax, tar, and other articles, for hemp,
wheat, and silk. It is said to contain 10,000 inhabitants.
Fano and Pesaro possess little or no trade, but are ancient
places, each furnished with a great number of churches.
Rimini is a small, decayed, but still elegant place, situat¬
ed on the south point of the river Marecchia, near the
mouth of which there is good anchorage, on muddy ground,
in seven fathoms water; but there is no shelter from the
sea-winds. Under the French government, Rimini was
the capital of the department of the Rubicon, and con¬
tained 16,000 inhabitants. At four leagues farther to the
north there is good anchorage opposite the town of Ce-
senatico, a place inhabited for the most part by fishermen.
It is connected by a canal with the modern town of Cer-
via, around which there is an extensive plain, used in sum¬
mer for the production of salt by natural evaporation. Up¬
on the river Montone, about five miles distant from the
sea, stands the city of Ravenna, once an important place,
and the seat of government, but now fallen into decay,
though still containing 16,000 inhabitants, and possessing
several silk manufactories, and a considerable commerce.
The river Montone is navigable for small vessels only, and
its entrance is denoted by a beacon or moat, on which a
light is hoisted at night. At the tower of Volano is the
little port of Goro, the westernmost branch of the river
Po, within which ships may enter and be secure in six
fathoms water; and at four leagues from that point the
Roman territory is terminated at Punta della Maestro, the
outer point of the main stream of the Po. The alluvial
matter of the different branches of that powerful stream
has formed numerous shoals, which extend to a consider¬
able distance from the shore, and the bank extends out¬
wards to the distance of two leagues. Within the shoals
vessels may haul up, and do so occasionally, in from six
to ten fathoms water. The mouths of the Po present a
figure much resembling those formed by the Mississippi in
America. The river, from its source in the Alps, has a
course of nearly 280 miles to the sea, and is augmented
by many smaller rivers which fall into it, most of its
branches being navigable by small vessels. The current
is very strong, and great injury has often been done by
inundations. To prevent this, strong dikes have been gra¬
dually raised on its banks, and its bed has in consequence
become so elevated that the level of its waters, especially
in the lower part of its course, are several feet above that
of the neighbouring lands.
On the whole of the eastern coast, which has been here
surveyed, there are a great number of small streams run¬
ning to the sea. They have their source in the range of
the Apennines, at no great distance, and are consequently
of short but rapid course. Many of them are dry or nearly
so in the summer, at which season the whole district suf¬
fers very severely from the want of fresh water.
The present division of the States of the Church is as
follows:—
Papal
States.
Provinces.
Extent in
English
Square Miles.
Comarca di Roma.
Legations, viz.
Bologna 
Ferrara 
Ravenna 
Forli  
Delegations, viz.
Urbino, with Pesaro 
Ancona   
Macerata, with Camerino 
Fermo, with Ascoli 
Perugia 
Spoleto 
Viterbo, with CivitaVecchia.
Frosinone 
Benevento 
Velletri  
880
1675
1100
924,
1232
1100
550
1474
1056
1782
1828
1892
1364
88
660
Population.
272,529
306,675
205,084
148,989
188,097
216,071
155,397
143,820
160,936
188.598
148.598
145,022
117,537
22,704
51,500
Cities.
17,605 2,471,557
12
3
9
4
7
6
13
7
1
6
Towns.
88
21
13
8
9
16
17
17
15
19
14
24
5
0
7
Villages.
200
371
254
138
332
410
410
404
82
316
204
276
200
8
124
190
3729
The Marquis Vanni, who was empowered by the govern- pulation as somewhat greater, namely, as 2,592,329; and
ment in 1834 to make an enumeration, returned the po- these were classed in the following manner :
5
PAPAL STATES.
Papal
Stales.
Agricultural proprietors 1,176,178
Manufacturers, handicrafts, and labourers 691,805
''Persons of liberal professions 24,908
Military and marine persons   21,508
Priests, monks, and nuns 53,484
Children below working age 624,446
2,592,329
The cities containing more than 10,000 persons, with the
population of each respectively, are the following:
Rome (in 1836)   152,457 persons.
Bologna (in 1832) 69,000
Perugia 30,000
Ancona 24,000
Ravenna   24,000
Ferrara. 24,000
Fermo 19,000
Faenza 18,500
Rimini 17,000
Forli 16,000
Macerata 15,600
Foligno   15,400
Cesana   15,000
Fano 15,000
Benevento 14,000
Pesaro 13,900
Viterbo 13,000
Osimo 12,300
Urbino 12,000
The population of all these cities, including that of Rome
itself, does not exceed one fifth of the whole number of
inhabitants. Many of the inhabitants of those cities are
more or less dependent upon agriculture, and those of the
smaller cities and towns are chiefly so. It may in this way
be estimated, that the labour of three fourths of the inha¬
bitants on the soil is required to produce a sufficiency of
food for the whole number of consumers. The density of
the population may be taken as one human being to four
acres and a half of land.
According to the Marquis Vanni, the land is appropri¬
ated in the following manner :
Under the plough 242,000 rubbie.
Vineyards 14,600
Feeding land 162,000
Garden culture 1,400
Woods and forests 170,000
590,000
The rubbia is a measure of land nearly equal to four
English statute acres.
The face of the Roman territory, with the exception of
those parts on the north which form part of the valley of
Po, and the portion to the south on the banks of the Tiber,
is hilly, and much of it mountainous. The chain of the
Apennines, after forming the boundary between the Bolog¬
nese and ruscany, enters the States of the Church near
St Sepulchre, and runs through them, in the direction of
north-wTest and south-east, at nearly an equal distance
from the Mediterranean and Adriatic Seas; and then is
continued through the Neapolitan provinces of the Ab-
bruzzi, embracing in their course the valley in which the
city of Rome stands, brom this range of mountains spurs
project on both sides, some of them extending to the Me¬
diterranean Sea, and others to the Adriatic; and between
these projections are to be found valleys of much beauty,
and of the highest degree of fertility. Without any visible
communication with this ridge of mountains stand the lofty
elevations of the Sorriano and Fogliano in Viterbo, and the
St Oreste and Monte Cavo in Frosinone. The mountains
here are as naked and as desolate as those in Tuscany and
in the vicinity of Genoa, but much more lofty. The high¬
est of the Velino, to the north-west of Rome, rises 7870
feet above the level of the sea; Monte della Sibylla, on Papal
the border of the Abbruzzi, is 7058 feet; and the Som- States,
ma is 6800 feet. The promontories are much lower. That's—‘
of Gennaro, near Rome, is only 3924 feet, Monte Cavo
2923, and Monte Rocca di Papa only 2230 feet in height.
The summit of these mountains is composed of granite,
in which are found imbedded portions of talc, gneiss, and
schist. The offshoots consist in some parts of calcareous
stone, and in others of volcanic tuffa, basalt, and lava. The
promontories appear to be for the most part of volcanic
origin, the product of that matter which seems to extend
under the south of Italy. The great northern plain, which
is bounded by the Apennines, the river Po, and the Adri¬
atic Sea, has the same character as the plains of Austrian
Lombardy. It is covered with a rich marshy soil, which,
near Commachio, terminates in an almost useless and al¬
ways insalubrious swamp. Along the south-western coast
extend vast swamps, which are occasionally flooded by the
sea. They are scarcely habitable, though sometimes shep¬
herds resort to them. The pestilential volcanic air, im¬
pregnated with sulphur, causes them to be avoided. These
districts, from the mouth of the river Astura to Terracina,
contain the Pontine Marshes, which neither the emperors
of ancient nor the popes of modern Rome have been able
to render of any value. What Pope Pius VI. performed
has been of no avail; and these pestiferous swamps seem
to be constantly extending.
The Mediterranean Sea receives the water of but one
considerable river in the Papal States. The celebrated
Tiber rises in the Apennines, near St Albonigo, in the
duchy of Tuscany, enters the Roman territory at the town
of Sepulchre, and, taking a south-westerly direction, after
a course of nearly 150 miles, and passing through Rome,
falls into the sea at Ostia. It is only navigable for the last
fifteen miles between the metropolis and its mouth. The
tributary streams of the Tiber are the Topia and the
Chiana, which originate in Tuscany, and a few small brooks
and rivulets. The principal river of the Roman States is
that which forms one of its boundaries, the Po. From the
Roman States its water is augmented by the streams of
the Panaro, the Reno, the Riolo, the Porotto, the Idice,
the Santerno, the Senio, and the Lamone. These various
streams are, for the most part, united by canals, and ren¬
dered navigable; and they also greatly contribute to culti¬
vation, by affording easy means of irrigating the fields near
them. Besides the Po, the other streams which empty
themselves into the Adriatic from the papal territory are
the following : The Montone, which runs into the sea near
Ravenna; the Savio, which empties itself near Forli; the
Uso, a small stream near Forli, which has become cele¬
brated from the pope having decided, in 1756, that it was
the Rubicon, though the inhabitants still maintain that the
Piscatella, a small river near it, is that at which Julius Caesar
hesitated; the Matauro, which runs by Fano; the Cessano,
near Urbino; the Musone, the Leta, the Asone, and the
Tronto, which last forms the boundary between the Ro¬
man States and the territory of Naples.
There are several lakes in the Papal States. The largest
of these is that of Perugia and Trasimeno, celebrated for
the victory obtained there by Hannibal over the Romans.
On the latter there are three islands. It is well stored
with fish, and the outlet is into the Tiber. The lake of
Bolsena is a little to the north-west of Viterbo, and was
known in ancient times by the name Vulsinius. It has two
islands. There is another lake near to it, that of Brac-
ciano, which was formerly called Sabatinus. Besides these
three lakes, there are many smaller, such as the charming
Lago d’Albano and Lago di Remi, in the vicinity of Rome ;
Lago Pie di Luca, in Rieti; the lakes of Fogliana, of Mo¬
naco, of Crapolace, and Caressa, in the Pontine Marshes;
and those of the valley of Commachio.
PAPAL STATES.
Papal
States.
The mountainous parts of this territory abound in mi¬
neral springs of various degrees of medicinal celebrity.
Those most frequented are the acid springs near Rome,
the baths of Bracciano, the baths of Stigliano near Tolfa,
the baths of Palazzi near Civita Vecchia, the warm baths
and acid springs of Viterbo, the baths of Giosinelli near
Montefiascone, the baths of Porretta in Bologna, and
the Lago di Bagni, of tepid water, from which alum and
sulphur are obtained, and which is much used for immer¬
sion.
The climate of the Ecclesiatical States varies much, ac¬
cording to the local position of the several parts. Some of
those produce the orange in perfection, whilst others are
covered with snow during great part of the year. The tops
of the Apennines are clothed with snow in October, and
it generally remains till May. The northern part, in the
valley of toe Po, has the climate of Lombardy, and the
environs of Rome that of Sicily ; whilst at Terracina the
heat of the Antilles is felt, without the refreshing trade-
winds. There the dates ripen, and the gardens are en¬
closed with fences formed by the aloe. The heat is but
slightly tempered by breezes from the sea; and these
parts are subject to the visitation of the dreaded sirocco.
The air upon and between the Apennines is generally fa¬
vourable to health; but on the Pontine Marshes, and near
the mouths of the Po, as well as near to Rimini, the
marshes are gradually extending, and their pestiferous in¬
fluence is observable in the increase of dense fogs, and the
rapid diminution of the population.
The description of the agriculture of Lombardy, given
under that head in the present work, will apply to the por¬
tion of the territory of the Church near the Po, in the four
delegations of Bologna, Ferrara, Ravenna, and Forli. In
the other parts the art is most negligently exercised, as well
in the Apennines as in the plains of Rome itself. Ihe
Roman States produce a sufficiency of corn for their own
consumption ; for if some districts are deficient, the others
are more than sufficient. Wheat, maize, and barley, are
the chief grain ; but the great mass of the poorer people
eat but little bread, and, especially in the Apennines, sub¬
stitute chestnuts, onions, garlic, and beans instead of it. A
great part of their food consists of fruits, culinary vege¬
tables, and salads. They rarely taste animal food, except
a little bacon or sausages. Flax and hemp are raised in
sufficient quantities to supply the inhabitants ; and saffron is
produced to such an extent that it has become an article
of export. Some cotton is raised, and the growth of it is
rapidly extending. In some parts many plants are raised
that are applied by the perfumers to their preparations,
such as spikenard, annis, and others. Ihe olive grows
everywhere, but is almost exclusively destined to domestic
consumption.
Wine is generally cultivated, but the management of
the vines is careless, and the selection of the kinds of
them very negligent and injudicious. The best wine is
made about Montefiascone, Orvieto, and Monte Cavo;
but the greater part of the common wine is very indiffer¬
ent. Some little of a moderate quality is made about Bo¬
logna and Ravenna, part of which finds a market in Venice.
The land produces a great variety of fruits, in the plain of
Rome, oranges, citrons, pomegranates, and figs ripen ; and
amongst the Apennines there is an abundance of almonds,
pistachio-nuts, and wralnuts, and especially of chestnuts.
The forests produce wood for fuel, and some little is sent to
the Isle of Elba to supply the iron-works. On several parts
of the coast much soda is prepared. The woods of Terra¬
cina have many cork-trees, the bark of which becomes an
article of foreign commerce.
Formerly the breeding of horses was carefully attended
to, but of late it has been negligently pursued ; and the ce¬
lebrated race known by the name of Borghese has deterio¬
rated, and nearly disappeared. On the Apennines asses and
mules are used as beasts of burden, for riding, and for the
plough. Oxen are almost universally employed. The breed
of cows is very fine ; and they roam about the Campagna
di Roma almost without attendance. The milk is not con¬
verted into cheese or butter, but the profit they yield to
the proprietors, some of whom have herds of nearly two
thousand, arises from the sale of the calves, and of the
mothers when fattened. Sheep are very numerous, espe¬
cially on the shores of the Mediterranean. There are two
distinct races. One of these, called negretti, are small, with
very strong and very white wool, as fine as that of Aragon,
whence the race, as well as the name they bear, has been
derived. They give abundance of milk, from which
much cheese is made. These flocks, like their ancestors
in Spain, are migratory. In the month of May they
march from the plains near Rome to the mountains of
Norcia and Abbruzzi, and return again in October. The
other race of sheep, called pouille, are inferior in their
wool,, and are stationary on the Apennines, and the lands
situated on the Adriatic shore. Goafs are very numerous,
both on the plains and on the Apennines. They yield
abundance of milk, which is converted into cheese; but
much of it serves to sustain the swine, of which large herds
are bred and fattened upon some of the most extensive
farms. The culture of silk is one of the most important
objects in Roman agriculture, and gives occupation to
almost every member of certain families for the season.
The soil is favourable to the growth of the white mul¬
berry, the leaves of which yield the finest silk ; that of the
best quality, collected near Fossombrone, is chiefly ex¬
ported to England and Germany.
The manufacturing operations of the Ecclesiastical
States are very confined, and chiefly adapted to domestic
consumption. Ihe chief seat of the silk manufactory is
Bologna, which formerly had the monopoly of the trade in
crapes, but now divides it with the fabrics of other parts
of Europe. Linen and wPollen cloths are made, some good
paper is produced, and leather is made in several parts;
also glass, pottery, rosanies from Loretto, artificial flowers,
tallow, and wax-candles, with a variety of small articles.
There are no mines worked within the Roman territory,
but considerable quantities of excellent alum and of sul¬
phur are furnished, and some saltpetre ; and on the coast
there are lagunes, from which culinary salt is made by the
natural evaporation of the sun’s rays.
The subjects of the Roman pontiff all adhere to the
Catholic church, with the exception of 16,000 Jews. The
states have six archbishops, seventy-two bishops, 1824
religious houses for monks, and 612 nunneries, and 2098
parochial divisions. The civil government is in the hands
of the college of cardinals, and the executive is adminis¬
tered by the Cardinal Vicarius, who is a kind of prime
minister. The universities in actual operation are but three,
viz. Bologna, with 680 students; Rome, with 460 ; arid
Perugia, with 200. Besides these, four others have been
decreed in Camerino, Fermo, Macerata, and Ferrara, but
are not as yet established. In most of the cities there
are schools of the fine arts, which tend to keep alive the
attachment to music, painting, statuary, and antiquities,
for which, with architecture, Italy has long been celebrat¬
ed. The education of the poorer classes is less attend¬
ed to than in some other parts of Europe.
The military force of the Holy See, as regulated by a
decree of the 29th of December 1834, consists of ten bat¬
talions of native and two of foreign infantry, one regiment
of dragoons, one of carabineers, two of sharp-shooters or
riflemen, and a corps of artillery, the whole amounting to
17,372 men, and 1524 horses. There is at present no
marine force of any description.
The finances of the Roman States are not clearly known.
Papal
States.
*
i
PAP
Pap Castle The public debt is calculated to exceed eight millions ster-
II ling, and to be annually increasing, although the taxes le-
J^aper^ ^ vjecj are sai(j to be heayjg,. ;n pr0p0rti0n to the wealth of
the community than they are in any of the other European
states. (G<)
PAP Castle, in England, in Bridekirk parish, Cumber¬
land, originally stood two miles from Cockermouth, on the
other side ol the Derwent. Its antiquity is proved by se-
PAP
veral monuments; and a large green stone vessel found Papem-
here, with little images upon it, is supposed to have been berg
formerly a Danish font. Pap Castle, which seems to have , II
been so called from Pipard, its owner, is said to have been 1)aPer-
demolished, and the materials employed in building Cock-
ermouth Castle.
PAPEMBERG, a high island off the coast of Japan,
called by the natives Takaboko, or Takajama.
PAPER.
Egyptian
paper.
Paper is a word derived from the GreekVcwrugog, papy¬
rus, the name applied to the celebrated Egyptian plant
which was so much used by the ancients in all kinds of
writing. It is unnecessary to describe the different expe¬
dients which men have in every age and country employ¬
ed for giving permanence to their ideas, and handing them
down to posterity. When the art of writing was once dis¬
covered, stones, bricks, leaves of trees, the outer and in¬
ner bark, plates of lead, wood, wax, and ivory, were all em¬
ployed. In the progress of society, men have invented the
Egyptian paper, paper made of cotton, paper manufactured
from the bark of trees, and in our times paper prepared
from old rags.
The only kinds of paper which merit particular atten¬
tion are, first, the Egyptian ; secondly, that made from
cotton ; thirdly, paper made from the interior bark of trees ;
fourthly, Chinese paper ; fifthly, Japanese paper ; sixthly,
paper made from asbestos; and, lastly, paper prepared from
linen and cotton rags.
Egyptian paper is that particular kind which was used
by the ancients, having been made from a kind of reed
called papyrus, which grew on the banks of the Nile. Isi-
dorus is of opinion that this paper was first used at Mem¬
phis, and Lucan (Pharsalia, lib. iii. ver. 222), speaking of
a particular period, says,
Nondum flamineas Memphis connexere biblos
Noverat.
But however this may be, it is certain, that of all the
kinds of paper used by the ancients, the papyrus was the
most convenient, both from its flexibility, and from the
ease with which it was fabricated. In fact it seemed a
present from nature, and required neither care nor culture.
It is not certain at what particular period the ancients be¬
gan to make paper of papyrus ; but there are several autho¬
rities which prove that it was prepared in Egypt long be¬
fore the time of Alexander the Great.
Pliny (lib. xiii. cap. 11) gives a very full description of
the method of making this paper in Egypt. According to
him, they divided, with a kind of needle, the stem of the
papyrus into thin plates or slender pellicles, each of them
as lai ge as the plant would admit. I hese were the elements
of which the sheets of paper were composed. The pellicles
in the centre were the best; and they diminished in value
as they receded from it. When these pellicles were sepa¬
rated from the reed, they were extended on a table, and
laid across each other at right angles, in which state they
were moistened by the water of the Nile, and whilst wet
were put under a press, and afterwards exposed to the rays
of the sun. It was supposed that the water of the Nile had
a gummy quality necessary to glue these stripes together.
But, according to Bruce, we may be assured that this is
without foundation, no such quality being discovered in the
water of the Nile; on the contrary, he found it of all others
the most improper, till it had settled and become absolute¬
ly divested of all the earthy particles collected in its turbid
state. He made several pieces of this paper both in Abys¬
sinia and Egypt; and it appeared to him that the saccha¬
rine matter with which the whole juice of the plant was
impregnated was that which caused the adhesion of these
stripes together, and that the only use of the water was to
dissolve this matter, and bring it into perfect and equal
fusion. When there was not enough of sugar in the plant,
or when the water did not sufficiently dissolve it, the pel¬
licles were united by a paste made of the finest wheat flour,
mixed with hot water and a little vinegar; and when dried
they were flattened and smoothed by means of a mallet.
The size of this paper varied much; yet it seldom ex¬
ceeded two feet, and was often smaller. It had different
names, according to its size and quality. The first, called
imperial, was of the finest and largest kind, and used for
writing letters by the great men amongst the Romans.
I he second, called the Livian paper, from Livia the wife
of Augustus, was next to the imperial, and in size twelve
inches. The third sort, called the sacerdotal paper, was
eleven inches in size. The paper used in the amphitheatres
was of the dimensions of nine inches; but it was esteemed
on account of its strength, whiteness, and polish. The ink,
however, sunk less in paper highly polished, and therefore
the characters were more liable to be effaced. When it
was not carefully soaked in the first preparation, the paper
brought a less price, because letters were with difficulty
formed upon it, and it emitted a disagreeable odour. To
remedy this defect, the paper went through a new course
of sizing and hammering ; and the size employed on the
occasion was made of light bread steeped in boiling water,
and passed through a filtering cloth. By this means the
paper became in the highest degree united, and smoother
than the finest linen.
It was this paper which gave so long a duration to the
works of the Gracchi in their own handwriting. “ I have
seen them, says Pliny, “ in the library of Pomponius Se-
cundus, a poet and citizen of the first rank, nearly two
hundred years after they were written.” It may be added,
that there still remain manuscripts of this paper, which
were undoubtedly written a thousand or twelve hundred
years ago. It appears from Pliny, that the Egyptians
pasted together the pellicles of the papyrus by means of
the waters of the Nile ; but that the polishing with ivory,
and the operations of the hammer and the press, were add-
ed by the invention and industry of the Roman artists.
The Egyptians seem to have known the use of size; but
it is evident from the same author that the Romans used
a stronger size in the making of paper. Notwithstanding
the care which was taken to give strength and consistency
to the Egyptian paper, the leaves, although collected into
a book, were too weak to support themselves; and for this
reason it was a very common practice to insert a leaf of
parchment after every five leaves.
I his paper formed an important branch of Egyptian
commerce, which continued to increase towards the end
of the Roman republic, and became still more extensive
in the reign of Augustus. The demand from foreign na¬
tions was often so great as to occasion a scarcity at Rome ;
and in the reign of Tiberius a tumult occurred amongst
PAPER.
Paper, the people in consequence of this scarcity. In a letter of
—~v—^ the Emperor Hadrian, the preparing of papyrus is men¬
tioned as one of the principal occupations at Alexandria.
“ In this rich and opulent city,” says the emperor, “ no¬
body is seen idle. Some are employed in the manufac¬
ture of cloth, some in that of writing paper.” During the
time of the Antonines, this commerce continued to flou¬
rish ; and Apuleius says that he wrote upon the paper of
Egypt with a reed of the Nile prepared at Memphis.
Towards the end of the third century, the demand for
this paper became so great, that when the tyrant hirmus
conquered Egypt, he boasted that he had seized as
much paper and size as would support his whole army. St
Jerome informs us that it was much in use in the fifth
century, when he flourished. The duty on the importa¬
tion of this commodity had become excessive towards the
end of the fifth or the beginning of the sixth century ; and
this duty having been abolished by Theodoric king of Italy,
Cassiodorus congratulates the whole world on the discharge
of an impost on a merchandise which was so essentially ne¬
cessary to mankind.
Montfaucon and Mabillon mention several fragments
written on this paper in the sixth centry. One of these
was a charter of the Emperor Justinian, entitled Charta
Plenarice Securitatis. In 1698, Montfaucon saw, in the li¬
brary of Julio Justiniani, three or four fragments of Egyp¬
tian paper of the same antiquity ; and Mabillon mentions
some books of the Jewish Antiquities of Josephus translat¬
ed into Latin, which seemed to have been written in the
same century, and which w ere preserved in the Ambrosian
Library at Milan ; but he had not seen the manuscripts.
The same antiquary mentions having seen in the library of
St Martin of Tours the remains of an old Greek manuscript
of Egyptian paper, and which appeared to him to be of the
seventh century. He also believes that the copy of St
Mark’s gospel preserved in the register-house of Venice
is written upon the same paper ; that it is the most ancient
of any of the evangelical manuscripts ; and that it may be
supposed to have been written at the latest in the fourth
century. According to the same antiquary, the Egyptian
paper was used in France, Italy, and other European coun¬
tries, both for books of learning and for public records;
and there still remains, he adds, a great number of these
in the archives of the church at St Denis, at Corby, in
the Abbey de Grasse, and in other convents.
It is probable that the invention of paper made of cot¬
ton, of which we shall afterwards treat, insensibly destroy¬
ed the reputation and manufacture of the Egyptian paper;
but it is still a question at what particular period the fa¬
brication of the latter totally ceased. Eustathius, the learn¬
ed commentator on Homer, assures us that in his time it
was no longer in use ; but Mabillon maintains that many
of the papal bulls were written on papyrus in the eleventh
century. Count Maffei, however (Histor. Diplomat, lib.
ii.; Biblioth. Ital. tom. ii. p. 251), is decidedly of opinion
that Egyptian paper was not in use in the fifth century.
He considers all records written upon this paper, and dated
subsequently to this period, as not authentic ; and the pa¬
pal bulls mentioned by Mabillon, as well as the copy of
St Mark’s gospel, were, according to him, written upon
paper manufactured from cotton. To reconcile in some
measure these contradictory accounts, it may be observed,
that on some particular occasions, and by some particular-
persons, the Egyptian paper might have been employed
for several hundred years after it ceased to be in general
use.1
It is generally supposed that the invention of the paper ^ Paper.
called charta bombycina supplanted the Egyptian paper in
Greece. This paper is incomparably more lasting, and m^>rfronL
better calculated for all the purposes of writing. It is notcotton
precisely known at what period this art, which supposes a
great variety of previous experiments, was first reduced to
practice. The application of cotton to the purposes of
paper-making requires as much labour and ingenuity as
the use of linen rags ; and for this reason, if we would de¬
termine the precise time when paper was made from cot¬
ton, we should also be able to fix the invention of the art
of paper-making as it is presently practised in Europe.
Montfaucon proves, by incontestible authorities, that paper
made from cotton was in use in 1100. This paper in the
Greek language is called (3ofx,Qvxm;, or (SapZaxm;;
for although jSo/jjQu? is the Greek word for silk, yet in
those times it was applied, as well as /Say.Cx!', to cotton;
and hence the Italians call cotton bambaccio.
The most ancient manuscript of this paper which Mont¬
faucon saw with a date, was that in the French king’s li¬
brary, written in the year 1050; but as the manuscripts
without date are infinitely more numerous than those which
are dated, and as some conjecture can be formed concern¬
ing them from the manner of the writing, the same anti¬
quary believes that some of these were written in the tenth
century. The researches of the same learned person serve
to show that this paper was discovered towards the end of
the ninth or beginning of the tenth century ; for before
the twelfth century it was commonly used throughout the
eastern empire, and even in Sicily. Roger king of Sicily
says, in a diploma written in Ill'S, that he had renewed
on parchment a charter which had been written upon cot¬
ton paper in the year 1100, and another which was dated
in the year 1112. About the same time the Empress Irene,
in the statutes for regulating some religious houses at Con¬
stantinople, states that she had left three copies of these
statutes, two on parchment, and one on cotton paper. From
that period paper of this sort became still more in use
throughout all the eastern empire ; and innumerable Greek
manuscripts are found written upon it, in all the great li¬
braries.
This discovery happened at a time when there seems to
have been a great scarcity of parchment; for it was about
the same period that the Greeks erased the writings of Po¬
lybius, Diodorus of Sicily, and many valuable ancient au¬
thors, for the sake of the parchment. It was the inven¬
tion of this cotton paper which destroyed the manufacture
of the Egyptian article ; for, if we may believe Eustathius,
who wrote towards the end of the twelfth century, the lat¬
ter had gone into disuse but a little before his time. We
may easily believe, however, that this new invention, al¬
though of great advantage to mankind, was only introduced
by degrees.
Paper of the interior bark of trees was made from the Paper from!
white pellicle or inner coat which is found in many trees the barko^
between the bark and the wood. The trees commonly intrees-
use were the maple, the plane-tree, the elm, the beech, the
mulberry, and most commonly the linden-tree. The an¬
cients wrote upon this inner coat after they had separated
it from the bark, and beaten and dried it. Mabillon and
Montfaucon speak frequently of manuscripts and diplomas
written upon paper made from bark ; and positively distin¬
guish it from the Egyptian paper, because it was thicker,
and composed of parts less adhesive.
There are many palm-trees in India and America to
which botanists have given the name papyraceous, because
1 Whoever wishes for a fuller account of the Egyptian paper, may consult, amongst the ancients, Pliny (lib. xiii.), and Theo¬
phrastus (lib. iv. chap ix.); and amongst the moderns, Guilandinus, Scaliger, Saumaise, Kerchmayer, Nigrisoli, Hardoum in his
edition of Pliny, Mabillon in his work Dc Re Diplomatica, Montfaucon in his Paleography and Collections; Maffei in his Uistor.
Diplomat., Count de Caylus in the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions, and Bruce in his Travels to discover the Source ot
the Nile.
PAPER.
Paper.
Chinese
paper.
the natives have written with bodkins either on the leaves
or on the bark. Such is the American palm, called tal by
the Indians ; and also the guajaraba of New Spain. Every
palm, the bark of which is smooth, and the leaves large
and thick, may be used for this purpose.
The art of making paper from vegetable matter reduced
to pulp was known in China long before it was practised
in Europe; and the Chinese have carried it to a high de¬
gree of perfection. The fine paper of China is much softer
and smoother than that of Europe ; and these qualities are
admirably adapted to the pencil, which the Chinese use in
writing. Several kinds of their paper discover the greatest
art and ingenuity, and are applied with much advantage to
many purposes. These are capable of receiving the im¬
pression of types; and Chinese paper is celebrated for af¬
fording the most clear and delicate proof-impressions from
copperplates.
The different sorts of paper vary in China according to
the materials of which they are composed, and the various
modes of manufacturing these materials. Every province
has its peculiar paper. That of Sechuen is made of linen
rags, as in Europe; that of Fo-kien, of young bamboo ; that
of the northern provinces, of the interior bark of the mul¬
berry ; that of the province of Kiang-nan, of the skin which
is found in the webs of the silk-worm ; and in the province
of Houquang, the tree chu or ko-chu furnishes the mate¬
rials of which paper is made.
The method of fabricating paper from the bark of dif¬
ferent trees is nearly the same with that which is followed
in the bamboo. To give an idea, therefore, of the manner
of manufacturing the interior barks of the mulberry, the
elm, and the cotton-tree, it will be sufficient to confine our
observations to the bamboo.
The bamboo is a kind of cane or hollow reed, divided
by knots, but larger, more elastic, and more durable, than
any other reed. I he whole substance of the bamboo, com¬
posed of filaments, and a great abundance of fibrous mate¬
rials, are employed in this operation. The shoots of one or
two years, nearly as thick as a man’s leg, are preferred.
They strip the leaves from the stem, cut them into pieces
of four or five feet in length, make them into parcels, and
put them into water to macerate. As soon as they are
softened, which generally happens in five days, they are
washed in pure water, put into a dry ditch, and covered
for some days with lime watered for the purpose of slack¬
ing. They are then washed carefully a second time, and
every one of the pieces is cut into filaments, which are ex¬
posed to the rays of the sun to dry and to bleach. After
this they are boiled in large kettles, and then reduced to
pulp in mortars of wood, by means of a hammer with a
long handle, which the workman moves with his foot.
The pulp being so far prepared, some shoots of a plant
named koteng are taken, and being steeped in water four
or five days, are reduced to an unctuous or glutinous sub¬
stance ; and when the workmen proceed to make the paper,
this is mixed with the pulp in certain fixed quantities, be¬
cause upon this mixture depends the quality of the paper.
When the extract from the koteng is mixed with pulp of
the bamboo, the whole mixture is beaten together in mor¬
tars till it become a thick and viscous liquor; when it is
poured into large tubs or reservoirs, so exactly framed as
that no part of the liquor can escape. After this the work¬
men plunge their forms into the liquor, and take out what
is sufficient for a sheet of paper, which, when formed and
consolidated, is at once dried and detached from the mould,
by being held a moment or two against a heated hollow
wall, the two fronts of which are smooth and extremely
white. At the extremity of this wall is placed a stove, the
pipes of which are carried in a circular manner throughout
the whole empty space. The sheets of paper are laid on the
surface, to which they adhere till a soft brush is applied to
VOL. XVII.
9
them; and after they become dry, it is easy to distinguish Paper,
the side which received impressions from the brush from
that which adhered to the wall. By means of this stove
the Chinese dry their paper as fast as they make it; but
it is only in cold seasons, or in certain provinces, that they
find this expedient necessary.
The Chinese paper must be dipped in a solution of
alum before it can take either ink or colours. They call
this operation faner, from the Chinese word fan, which
signifies alum. The manner of preparing this solution is
extremely simple. Six ounces of isinglass cut very small
are put into boiling water, and constantly stirred, that it
may dissolve equally. When the isinglass is wholly dis¬
solved in the water, twelve ounces of calcined alum are
thrown in, and also stirred till it is completely dissolved
and mixed with the isinglass. This composition is after¬
wards poured into a large deep bason, at the mouth of
which there is a little round piece of wood ; and the extre¬
mity of every sheet of paper is then fixed in another piece
of wood, with a slit made to receive it. By means of this ap¬
paratus the sheet of paper is plunged into the composi¬
tion of alum and isinglass ; and when it is fully pene¬
trated by the mixture, it is drawn out, and made to glide
over a little round piece of wood. The long piece of wood
which holds the sheet by one end, and keeps it from tear¬
ing, is afterwards suspended with it on a wall till it becomes
sufficiently dry.
The Chinese give to the paper intended for different pur¬
poses different colours ; but we shall confine our observa¬
tions to the silver colour, which they impart to some kinds.
Ihey take two scruples of paste made of cow’s hide, one
scruple of alum, and a pint of water, and boil the whole on
a slow fire till the water be evaporated. The sheets of
paper are then stretched on a smooth table, and covered
over with two or three layers of this paste. They after¬
wards take a certain quantity of talc, washed and boiled
in water, with a proportion of one third of alum. The
whole is then dried, reduced to a powder, passed through
a sieve, boiled a second time in water, dried in the sun, and
again passed through the sieve. I his powder is then spread
equally over the sheets of paper, prepared as above men¬
tioned ; and these are afterwards dried slowly in the shade.
The sheets of paper, covered in this manner with talc, are
laid upon a table, and rubbed with a little cotton, which
fixes a certain quantity of talc in the paper, and carries off
the surplus to be used on another occasion. By means of
this composition the Chinese draw all manner of figures on
their paper.
The paper made from the bamboo is sufficiently white,
soft, and closely united, without the least inequality on the
surface to interrupt the motion of the pencil, or to occa¬
sion the rising of the materials which compose it. But
every kind of paper made from the bamboo or the bark
of trees is more liable to crack than that made in Eu¬
rope ; besides, it is more susceptible of moisture, and is
sooner destroyed with dust and worms. To obviate this
last inconvenience, people are obliged frequently to beat
their books in China, and to expose them to the sun. It
may be observed, however, that the Chinese paper, em¬
ployed for various purposes in Europe, has been preserved
f or a long time without receiving damage either from mois¬
ture or from insects.
According to Kaempfer, the bark of the morns papifera 3SLyanese
sativa, or true paper-tree, is chiefly employed for making paper,
paper in Japan. Every year, after the fall of the leaves,
which happens in the tenth month, corresponding to our
December, the Japanese cut the young shoots of this tree
into pieces of about three feet, and collect them into par¬
cels, which they boil in water containing a certain quan¬
tity of ashes. If the wood be dry, they take care to steep
it twenty-three hours in water before it is boiled. The
10
PAPER.
Paper.
parcels are kept in a close copper till the bark at the ex-
’ tremity of the shoots is separated from the stem about half
an inch ; they are then cooled, and the bark alone is fit for
making paper. They begin by a preparation, which con¬
sists of cleaning the bark, and separating the good from
what is bad. For this purpose they steep it in water
three or four hours; and as soon as it is softened they
scrape off with a knife whatever is blackish or green, and
at the same time separate the strong bark of a year s growth
from the slender kind which covers the young shoots, dhe
first of these gives the whitest and best paper. If there be
any of the bark of more than a year’s growth, it is laid
aside for the coarsest kind.
After the bark has been culled and cleaned in this man¬
ner, it is boiled in a clear ley till the matter is of such con¬
sistency, that, being gently touched with the finger, it
draws off in the form of hairs, or like a collection of fibres.
During the time of boiling it is constantly stirred with a
strong reed, and the waste by evaporation is supplied from
time to time with additional quantities of the clear ley. To
make this ley, they put two pieces of wood across the
mouth of a tub, and cover them with straw, upon which is
laid a bed of ashes a little moistened; and when boiling
water is poured on the ashes, the salts contained in them
are carried down to the tub. This is what is called a cIqclt
ley. After the bark is in the condition which we have just
stated, it is washed with great care ; for on this washing
depends in a great measure the quality of the paper. It
is put into a kind of sieve through which the water can
flow freely ; and great care is taken to turn it with the
hand till it be sufficiently diluted, and reduced to soft and
tender fibres. For the finest paper a second washing is
requisite, and a piece of cloth is used instead of a sieve.
When the bark is washed, it is laid upon a strong and
smooth table, and beaten with a kind of baton of hard
wood till it is reduced to a proper consistency. Indeed it
becomes so soft that it resembles paper steeped in water.
The bark prepared in this manner is put into a narrow tub,
with a glutinous extract from rice and the root oreni, which
is very viscous. These three substances are mixed toge¬
ther, and stirred with the reed till they form a liquor of
uniform consistency. The composition is then poured into
vats similar to those used for filling the forms or moulds in
our paper-mills.
As soon as the sheets are made and detached from the
form, they are laid in a heap upon a table covered with a
double mat. A small chip of cane is placed between every
sheet, and this jutting out serves to distinguish the sheets,
and afterwards to raise them. Every one of the heaps is
covered with a plate or thin board of the exact size of the
paper. In proportion as the paper dries, or is able to bear
it without danger of being compressed into one mass, they
lay on additional weights. This pressure, being intended
to carry off any unnecessary moisture, is continued during
twenty-four hours, when the sheets are, by means of the
little pieces of reed, suspended to long plants in the open
air, till they are completely dried.
The extract from rice is made in an unvarnished earthen
pot, which is at first agitated gently, and then more brisk¬
ly ; new water is next poured in, and the whole is filtered
through a linen cloth. The finishing of the process is de¬
termined by the viscosity of the substance. The infusion of
the root oreni is prepared in this manner: The root, peeled
and cut into small pieces, is infused in water for one night,
during which time it communicates a viscosity sufficient
for the purpose to which it is applied.
The Japanese paper is of such prodigious strength, that
the materials of which it is composed might be manufac¬
tured into ropes. There is sold at Serige, the capital city
of the province of that name, a kind of paper which is fit
for bed-hangings and wearing apparel, and so much re¬
sembles stuffs of wool and silk that it is often taken for them. Paper.
There are four trees used in Japan for the manufactory
of paper :—1. The true paper-tree, called in the Japanese
language kaadsi, and characterized by Kaempfer as papy¬
rus fructu mori celsoe, sive morus saliva foliis urticce mortuce
cortice papifero: 2. The false paper-tree, called by the
Japanese katsi or kadsire, and by Kaempfer papyrus pro-
cumbens lactescens folio longo lanceata cortice chartaceo : 3.
The plant which the Japanese call oreni, and which is
named by Kaempfer rnalva radice viscosa jlore ephemera
magno punico : 4. The futokadsura, named by Kaempfer
frutex viscosus procumbens folio telephii vulgaris emulo
fructu racemoso. The description of these trees, as given
by Kaempfer, may be of service in leading botanists to
discover the European plants and shrubs adapted, like the
Japanese, for the fabrication of paper.
Before concluding this part of the subject, it may be
proper to give an idea of the attempts which have been
made to increase the original materials of paper in Europe.
A slight attention to the Chinese process in reducing the
bamboo to a paste, by a careful and ingenious analysis,
and to the method employed by the Japanese in separat¬
ing the principal fibres of the bark of the mulberry, will
show the absurdity not only of taking plants without any
kind of choice, but of giving them no preparation, except
that of pounding them with mallets. With a proper se¬
lection and right treatment, it appears probable that many
of the European plants might be used with great advan¬
tage in fabricating several kinds of paper. It is evident
that the materials used by the Chinese require less labour
and preparation than the stuff of linen rags. Jlie sheets of
the Chinese paper are easily detached from the form ; they
are laid in heaps, without the interposition of pieces of
woollen cloth ; the superfluous water is immediately dis¬
charged ; and they require not, as in Europe, the vigorous
action of presses to unite the parts more closely together.
Asbestos is a fibrous substance of little strength, and the Paper
threads of which are easily broken. This substance has^a^^rom
the peculiar property of supporting the action of fire with¬
out receiving any damage; and hence pieces of cloth and
garters made of it are incombustible, k rom the knowledge
of this property, paper has been made of asbestos. Ihe
manner of fabricating this paper is described by Mr Lloyd
in the Philosophical Transactions (No. 166). A certain
quantity of asbestos is pounded in a stone mortar till it be
reduced to a substance like cotton. All the parts of earth
or stone remaining in the asbestos are then taken off by
means of a fine sieve, and it is formed into sheets of paper
by an ordinary paper-mill. Mixing it with water reduces
it to stuff; but as it is heavier than that made from linen
rags, it requires to be continually stirred when it is taken
up with the frames. The only excellence of this paper is,
that the writing disappears when cast into the fire. But
as it is of a slender consistency, and easily torn, it is rather
an object of curiosity than of use.
This paper is manufactured throughout all Europe, in Paper
the East Indies, and in America, from linen and cotton made from
rags collected in the cities and in the country. Paperi-
made of linen rags was utterly unknown to the ancients.
The libri lintei mentioned by Livy (i. lib. iv.), Pliny (lib.
xiii. c. xi.), and other Roman writers, are demonstrated by
Guilandin, in his commentary on Pliny, to have been writ¬
ten on pieces of linen cloth, or canvass prepared in the man¬
ner of painters. But it is not sufficient to be certain that
paper made from linen is a modern invention ; it is necessary
to know by what nation, and at what period, it was discover¬
ed. Polydore Virgil (De Inventoribus Rerum, c. ii. c. yiii.)
confesses his ignorance of this circumstance. Scaliger,
without any kind of proof, gives the credit of the invention
to the Germans; and Maffei claims it for the Italians. Other
writers ascribe this honour to some Greek refugees at
PAPER.
Paper. Basil, to whom the manner of making paper from cotton
'■'-"■v-'-'' in their own country had suggested the idea. Duhalde
is persuaded that Europe derived this invention from the
Chinese, who, in several provinces, make paper of rags
nearly in the same manner as we now do. But this in¬
vention was practised by the Europeans before they had
any communication with China, and before the taking of
Constantinople, at which time the Greek refugees .were
supposed to have retired to Basil. The precise date of
this discovery in Europe is not exactly known. Mabillon
believes that it took place in the twelfth century, and cites
a passage of Pierre de Clugny, born in the year 1100, to
prove it. The books which we read every day, says De
Clugny, in his treatise against the Jews, are written on
sheeps’ and calves’ skins, or on oriental plants, or, finally,
ex rasuris veterum pannorum. If these last words signify
paper such as we use, there were books of it in the twelfth
century. But this citation is the more to be suspected, as
Montfaucon himself, after the minutest search in France
and Italy, could find no book on this paper anterior to the
death of St Louis, in the year 1270.
The epoch of this invention was not approximately de¬
termined till 1762, when M. Mierman proposed a reward
to the person who could procure the most ancient manu¬
script written on this kind of paper. The collection of all
the memoirs sent to him, along with the manuscripts, was
published at the Hague in 1767 ; and it appeared that
this paper had been used in Europe before the year 1300.
In 1782 the Abbate Andrez published a work, entitled
Dell Origine, Progressi, e Stato attuale d’ogni Letteratura,
in which he speaks of the discovery of many kinds of pa¬
per, and particularly of that made of rags. The same per¬
son maintains, that paper made from silk was very ancient¬
ly fabricated in China, and in the eastern parts of Asia;
and that the art of making this paper was brought from
China to Persia about the year 652, and to Mecca in 706.
The Arabs substituted cotton, the commodity of their own
country, instead of silk, or rather of bamboo. This cotton
paper was carried into Africa and Spain by the Arabs.
The Spaniards, from the quantity of linen to be found in
the kingdom of Valencia, seem first to have adopted the
idea of using linen rags ; and hence the most ancient paper
of this kind is that of Valencia and Catalonia. From Spain
it passed into France, as may be gathered from a letter of
Joinville to St Louis about the year 1260 ; and it is dis¬
covered to have been made in Germany in 1312. The
first paper-mill in England was erected at Hartford by a
German named Spielman in 1588, who was knighted by
Queen Elizabeth. In consequence of paper made from cot¬
ton being imported from the Levant, paper made from linen
was introduced much later into Italy, than into France,
Germany, and England.1
Art of pa- This manufacture owes, in a great degree, the prodigious
per-mak- advancement which it has attained in Great Britain during
mg in Eu- the last thirty years, to the ingenious and successful ap¬
plication of machinery. Many of its formerly tedious and
uncertain processes are thereby greatly simplified and
abridged ; a remarkable instance of which is the improve¬
ment of cylinder-drying. The drying process used for¬
merly to be effected mainly by the agency of the atmo¬
sphere ; but since the paper-machine was perfected, the
paper is now made to pass in the web, as it is formed, over
the surface of a certain number of metal cylinders heat¬
ed internally by steam, and is dried off in less than two
minutes, whereas it was formerly exposed in the winter
season to the frequent occurrence of being for weeks or
months kept in a damp state, or exposed to severe frost, to
its certain and great damage.
11
The manufacture naturally divides itself into that which Paper,
is carried on in hand-mills, where the formation of thev'—
sheet, as formerly, is still performed by manual labour ; and
that which is carried on by machine-mills, where the paper
is formed upon the machine wire-cloth in one continuous
web. To give a distinct view of the subject, it will be
necessary to describe all the important parts of the ope¬
ration in their order, most of which are common to both
modes of manufacture.
The materials principally used in Great Britain are old Materials,
linen and cotton rags, which are collected in great quan¬
tity at home. A large quantity of rags, chiefly linen, is
annually imported from the different countries whence the
exportation is not prohibited, viz. Germany, Italy, Sicily,
and Hungary. Within the last ten years a very abundant
supply of material, formerly considered as totally worthless,
has been obtained from the cotton factories in Manchester
and its neighbourhood; we allude to the cotton waste, and
sweepings of the cotton-mills, which, by being devilled, that
is, cleaned by a machine used in the cotton manufacture
called a devil or skreening machine, and afterwards boiled
in alkaline solution, and bleached, are capable of being
converted into very tolerable printing paper.
The selection of the rags, if it should not have been
performed before they are brought to the paper-mill, is
there performed by women sorting them into their vari¬
ous qualities, which facilitates the work of the rag-cutters,
whose business it also is to sort the rags into their different
kinds as they cut them. The rags are then assigned, in bags
or bales of from two to five hundredweights each, to the
women in the rag-house. These women stand at small tables
of about three feet square, the upper surface being composed
of iron wire cloth, the meshes of which are about one fourth
of an inch square, whilst underneath there is a drawer. A
knife or short scythe is firmly fixed in the centre of the
table, in nearly a vertical position, and the woman is placed
so as to have the back of it standing next her, and with a
large wooden box divided into several compartments upon
the floor, on her right hand. She then opens and examines
the seams and patches of the rags, and removes the dirt, as
well as any other noxious substances, such as pins, needles,
buttons, silk and worsted pieces, &c. that may be attached,
which would be hurtful to the machinery, as well as to the
quality of the paper. She cuts the rags, by drawing them
to her across the edge of the scythe, into pieces not ex¬
ceeding four inches square, which are sorted and thrown
into the boxes above referred to, according to their differ¬
ent qualities. A great deal of the dirt, sand, &c. passes
through the wire-cloth into the drawer of the table, which
is opened and cleaned out at convenience.
The rags, after being thus cut and sorted, are again
carefully examined by women called overlookers or over¬
haulers, who have the charge of seeing that the work is
properly performed, and that none of the noxious sub¬
stances above referred to are allowed to remain in the
rags. Much of the beauty and cleanliness of the paper,
when finished, depend upon due attention being insisted
upon in this department; for any dirty or noxious sub¬
stances, when once comminuted by the trituration of the
stuff into an endless number of small particles scattered
over the surface of the paper, are of course wholly fixed
and irremoveable.
Several machines have of late years been invented for
the purpose of cutting rags, and thereby abridging the la¬
bour and expense. By means of rollers they are carried
round a large cylindrical drum, on which knives, placed
diagonally, revolve with considerable velocity and power,
and cut the rags into small diamond-shaped pieces. But
1 See the work of Abbate Andrez, printed at Parma, 1782, in 8vo ; and Mierman’s Collection, published at the Hague.
*
12 • PAPER.
Paper, such machines have hitherto been found of comparatively additional of quicklime, to render the ley caustic. The Paper,
little service, as of course they cannot perform the work boiling is carried on upon an average for about eight hours,
of selection, or the removal of the impurities from the ma- after which the rags are cooled as gradually as possible, since
terial, which can only be done by careful and close ex- the process of cooling, if rapidly carried on, tends to fix
amination at the time of cutting the rags, and with the ad- some of the black colouring matter again in the rags. Some
vantage of using the sharp knife to cut or scrape off the makers use only lime in the boiling process, whereas others
injurious portion. These rag-cutting machines, moreover, use pot and pearl ashes to a considerable extent; but we
have been apt to cut the rags into very unequal sizes, leav- believe that a ley composed of soda and a portion of quick-
ing one portion much too large, and another portion much lime is most commonly employed.
too reduced, for the due trituration of them afterwards. The rags, after being thoroughly cooled, to which a
After the rags have been cut and carefully examined, gentle flow ofcold spring-water let into the boiler materially
they are enclosed in a cylinder called a duster, the whole contributes, are laid aside in large wooden chests for use,
circumference of which is composed of iron wire cloth ; it or at once conveyed in boxes on wheels into the engine-
measures about four feet and a half in diameter, and is house, there to be reduced to pulp. As this is one of the
about five feet in length; and a part of the circumference most important processes, and requires the whole power
opens on hinges to admit the rags, from one to two hun- of the mill, we shall explain it, with reference to Plate
dredweights of which are generally enclosed at a time, and CCCCIII. This plate represents a plan and elevation of a
remain in motion for half an hour or an hour. On the axis paper-mill for four engines, EE. W is the water-wheel, on
in the interior of the cylinder there are a number of spokes, which there are segments, S, of cast iron, which work into
each about one foot long, fixed transversely, which pass a main pinion P. This pinion is fixed on the same lying
through the rags when they are in rapid motion, and toss shaft on which the spur or fly-wheels F are also hung,
them about so as to make them part the more readily with The motion is thus brought up to the proper speed, it be-
the dust, sand, and dirt, which may still adhere to them, ing necessary that the pinions;?,/?,/?, of the engines, and
For the coarser and dirtier descriptions of rags this ma- the engine-cylinders c, c, should perform about 150 revolu-
chine is used with good effect before they are cut, and tions per minute.
renders the operation of cutting the rags less accompanied The engines, fig. 1, which are to be understood as large
with dust, &c., and therefore less unpleasant and unwhole- troughs of an elliptical form, with a division d running
some to those engaged in it. nearly the length that intervenes between the foci of these
The women engaged in the rag-house cut on an average imaginary ellipses, consist of two sorts, according to the
about three quarters of a hundredweight of home rags, purposes to which they are applied, viz. washing and beat-
that is, raws collected in Scotland and England, in the day ing engines; the former being designed for washing and
of ten workino- hours, and about one hundredweight and a rubbing out the rags, and the latter for shortening or beat-
half of foreign rags in the same time. This arises from ing down the fibres, after the washing and bleaching pro-
the latter being of a much heavier and stronger substance, cesses have been performed.
generally speaking, than the former. Their wages amount These engines are generally made of strong wood, and
to from ten pence to a shilling per day on an average, lined inside with lead or copper; but for some years past
Thenatureoftheiremployment, though it subjects them to they have been very successfully cast in iron, all in one
the inhalation of dust and fibrous matter floating through piece, although, from their awkward shape, it may be easily
the air, does not seem at all to injure their health, nor to conceived to be rather a difficult matter to insure a good
warrant the adoption of what medical men have sometimes casting of such a mass. They measure about ten feet in
volunteered to recommend, that of breathing through length, four and a half feet in width, and about two and a
sponges placed over their nose and mouth, to prevent in- half feet in depth, being dimensions sufficient to contain
jury to their chests and lungs. about 112 or 120 pounds of rags. From the rapid motion
The next process is that of boiling the rags in an alka- and weight of the machinery, and great friction necessary
line ley, which is rendered proportionally strong, accord- to triturate the stuff, it is evident that the solid fixing of
ing to the lowness of the quality of the rags and the quan- the engines is a matter of extreme importance. It is usual,
tity of the colouring matter to be discharged. In some therefore, to build, from a solid foundation, a substantial
mills large open-mouthed coppers, with fire under them, mass of ashler work (fig. 2, A A), of the size of each engine,
are used for this purpose; in others, where there is a full for it to rest upon.
command of steam, the rags are boiled in large square iron The cylinders in the engines, technically called the rolls,
boxes, capable of containing ten or twelve hundredweights and by the revolution of which the rags are ground into
at a timef Part of the lid is made to move on hinges, or pulp, are formed in general of solid wood. Elm is most
with a rope and pulley and balance-weight, for the purpose generally used for this purpose. They are commonly about
of the rags being placed in and taken out of the vessel; two feet in diameter, and two feet in length. Round the
and before the steam is allowed to pass into the chest, the circumference are firmly fixed bars of steel parallel to the
lid is secured by being screwed tightly down, and the axis or spindle, in bunches of two together in the washing
joints of it formed by oakum to prevent the blowing of the engine, and three in the beating engine, generally about
steam. The steam passes through an upright iron pipe of eighteen or nineteen several bunches, and making there¬
about an inch and a half in diameter, through the centre fore in all about thirty-eight bars in the washing engine
of the lid down to the bottom of the chest, whence it di- cylinder, and fifty-four or fifty-seven in that of the beating
verges through a number of pipes or radii towards the engine. These steel bars are sunk and wedged into the
sides of the chest. There is a false bottom, also of iron, circumference of the cylinder, parallel to the axis, and are,
which is in moveable pieces, about six inches above the real moreover, firmly fastened by means of hoops, which are
bottom ; it is perforated by a number of small holes, to al- fitted into a groove in the ends of the cylinder, and, passing
low the’boiling ley to pass constantly through the mass.1 through the bars at a place cut out in them for that pur-
The quantity of alkaline matter varies from four to ten pose, secure them firmly in their place,
pounds of carbonate of soda to each hundredweight of Under the cylinder is what is called a plate, see fig. 2,
rags, according to their quality, with about one third part that is, a number of steel bars, which lie fixed in a place
1 A sketch of a chest of this description will be found under the article Bleaching, vol. iv. p. 683.
PAPER.
13
Paper, provided in the trough b for them. They are accurately
fitted, so as to form a segment of the same circle as the
cylinder itself. The number of bars varies according to
the kind of work performed at the mill; but in white-paper
mills, in the washing engines, the plate has generally from
twelve to eighteen bars, and in the beaters from twenty to
twenty-four. The breadth of the plate is almost univer¬
sally the same everywhere, namely, from five and a half
to six inches. A plate six inches broad is found to require
quite as much power, from the increased friction, as can
in general be spared.
The thickness of the bars in the washing-engine plate
is generally from about three eighths to half an inch ; and
in the beating engine from about three sixteenths to one
fourth of an inch. In the latter they are made up with
wooden or copper dividers, so as to afford the necessary
thickness, in all of five and a half or six inches. The thick¬
ness of the cylinder and plate-bars ought to be about the
same proportion to each other: they are bevelled or tapered
off about an inch or an inch and a half from the edge, like
a wedge; and those in the washing engine being intended
for opening and rubbing out the cloth and duly washing
it, it is the opinion of the writer of this article that they
ought not to be under the thickness of one eighth of an
inch, and in the beaters under that of a shilling at the edge
after being ground, otherwise, by the too rapid conversion
into pulp, the strength of the fibre would be materially in¬
jured.
The rags having now been boiled, and brought into the
engine-house, the workman, or engineer as he is called,
fills the engine or trough about half full of water, till
the bars of the cylinder, which project fully an inch from
the wood, get hold of the water, and begin to turn it
round. He then begins to put the rags into the engine,
and spreads them with his hand. By Plate CCCCIII. fig.
2, it will be seen that the spindle s, which goes through the
cylinder, is supported in its bearing upon an iron lever,
called a lighter, l. A screw h is attached to it, and by
moving that screw, the cylinder can be raised'about three
inches above, or depressed so as to come into contact with
the bars of the plate.
Behind the cylinder it will be found that there is a rise
(fig. 3, r) in the trough, which, on the side next the cylin¬
der, forms a segment of a circle similar to that of the cy¬
linder, and within an inch or two from it, and then descends
by a rapid declivity from the point t to the natural bot¬
tom. This rise is called by the workmen the backfall, from
the rags falling down upon it. The cylinder is always,
when the mill is at work, enclosed in a wooden cover, fig.
4. The cover of the washing engine has four slits or
grooves cut down through the top of it, two on each side
of the cylinder. The two slits w next the cylinder are
made for a board of wood ic, which can be put in or re¬
moved at pleasure, being guided by grooves in the inside
of the cover. The other two slits c receive two frames of
very fine copper-wire cloth c, having about 4900 holes in
every square inch. These wire-cloth frames are generally
fixed, being only taken out when any repairs are requisite.
The rags being now filled into the engine, the cylinder,
by means of elevating the screw (fig. 2) h, is raised as
high as it will go, as there is thereby room for a greater
quantity of water being carried round with the dirty rags,
and driven by it, in its rapid revolutions, against the wire-
cloths. In the bottom of the trough, see fig. 1, there is
a false bottom f, which is punctured through by a number
of small holes, and which communicates with a cock O.
This cock, when kept fully open for the first twenty or thirty
minutes, has the effect, in consequence of the pressure of
water and suction, of carrying off a great deal of dirty
water, as well as sand and loose particles from the rags,
which have escaped former cleaning operations.
When the engine has been once filled with rags and
water, of which there must be a large supply constantly'
flowing, the cylinder, by its projecting bars, working like
the paddles of a steam-boat, draws them in. It then throws
them up to the top of the back-fall formerly alluded *to,
dashing a portion against the two wire-cloths, through
which the dirty water passes, and the rags or stuff remain.
A great portion of course descend the inclination at the
back-fall, and by this means produce a regular progressive
motion of the stuff, which comes again and again under the
action of the cylinder bars and plate. The cylinder is gra¬
dually depressed as the washing goes on, till it comes as
nearly as possible in contact with the plate at its lowest
point. The plates are not placed directly in line with
the bars of the cylinder, but lie at an angle of about five
degrees. This prevents the one from being locked against
the other, should the cylinder, from any cause, be too much
depressed; and it is moreover necessary that they should
be in that position, to promote the reducing of the rags to
pulp, on somewhat of the same principle with the cutting
process performed by a pair of scissars, the one blade form¬
ing an angle with the other.
To make good paper, a great deal depends upon the
state of the engines, bars, and plates. If these be not in
proper working order, and well fitted together, and adapt¬
ed for the description of material worked, it is impossibly
that any subsequent care can remedy the mischief done in
the engine-house. It is much to be regretted that the
great demand which has prevailed for paper for many
years past has induced manufacturers generally to sacri¬
fice quality to quantity, by hurrying the process, which
impairs the strength of the fibre, and injures the texture
of the paper.
Mr John Murray of Hull has paid considerable atten¬
tion to the state of modern paper, and has contrasted its
condition with that which was made thirty or forty years
since, greatly to the disadvantage of the former. Mr Mur¬
ray, who has pointed out the value of the Phormiurn tenax,
or New Zealand flax, as a substitute for hemp in making
cordage, and who has also printed and published a pam¬
phlet (in 1836) upon paper made of its leaves, which,
though coarse, is remarkably strong, thus writes, in a post¬
script appended to that work:—“ The unquenchable rage
for bleaching that now prevails is carried to an extent al¬
together irrational, and which our calmer judgment would
condemn it suffered to interpose. Paper, when bleached,
it the chloride be not removed, or permanently neutra¬
lized, produces effects of the most disastrous kind.” Mr
Murray then refers to a number of recent publications,
which, he alleges, are rapidly crumbling into dust; and
seems to attribute the whole evil to excessive bleaching.
Whilst we admit the ruinous effect on the fibre, of bleach¬
ing to excess, and whilst we also admit that there is
much truth and justice in Mr Murray’s remarks, we do
not share, to the same extent, in the alarm which he ex¬
periences in contemplating the speedy ruin of the books
and manuscripts of the present day; and we are rather dis¬
posed to attribute the evil complained of, not by any means
so much to excess of bleaching, as to the hasty preparation
of the stuff in the engines.
In any former treatises on paper-making which we have
seen, we observe that the trituration of the rags is de¬
scribed as an operation of cutting. If the bars and plates
of the washing engines are kept so sharp as to cut the
rags, nothing can be conceived more injurious. Every pa¬
per-maker knows that the stuff is rendered mellow and
soft, by being rubbed out by blunt bars and plates. The
longer the time occupied by this operation, the more water
will the stuff incorporated with it hold when it is work¬
ed into paper, and the less easily will the water drain off
from it, which is always a sign of strong paper. Stuff, on
Paper.
14
PAPER.
Paper.
the other hand, which has been quickly prepared by sharp
tackle, never has the water properly beaten up with it;
but the fibres, having been cut down, as it were, are held
in suspension in the water merely, and the paper made
from such stuff is always weak, flimsy, and perishable.
An abundant supply of fine water is very essential to pro¬
duce paper of fine quality. When the rags are first begun
to be washed, the engine consumes about a hogshead per
minute for the first half hour ; but this quantity is soon di¬
minished by the rags being opened up into pulp, and there¬
by taking up more room for themselves in the engine, till,
towards the conclusion of the washing process, the water
which passes through the wire-cloths does not amount pro¬
bably to one-twentieth part of that quantity.
In reducing the rags to half stuff, about three or four
hours have been hitherto considered as necessary for fine
papers ; but, from the desire to produce a large quantity, it
is the practice of most machine-mills now to do this in
half the time, to the very great injury of the fabric. The
power required to keep each of the cylinders moving the
stuff, when pretty near to the plate, is equal to about five
horses.
The rags having undergone the process of being wash¬
ed and broken in, that is, rubbed into half-prepared pulp,
the engineer shuts off the supply of washing water, and
then, by means of an iron hook two feet and a half long,
which he inserts into the cavity of a conical brass valve,
fitted into a pipe at the bottom of the trough or engine,
raises that valve, and the half stuff then flows through a
pipe of about six inches diameter, into the bleaching-house,
situated in the under story, where it is received into a
draining-chest of pretty large size, and suffered to part
with the w'ater, which flows through a number of very
small holes bored in the wood. As soon as the stuff is
emptied, the washing-engine is again filled with rags, as
before.
The bleaching process is carried on in some mills by
the rags being subjected in close chambers to the action
of chlorine, which is produced in leaden retorts, from sul¬
phuric acid, sea-salt, and the black oxide of manganese,
and for an account of preparing which, we refer to the ar¬
ticle Bleaching. In a great many mills, however, where
this mode was long carried on, it has been entirely aban¬
doned, and the practice of steeping the rags in a solution
of chloride of lime has been very generally substituted,
particularly in Scotland. The advantage, in the latter
process, consists in the stuff not being so much injured in
the fabric as if exposed to chlorine itself; and although the
whitening effect may not be produced so speedily or com¬
pletely as if done by the action of the gas, yet, by giving
the steeping process plenty of time, that is nearly compen¬
sated for, and there is much less waste in the latter than
in the former process.
The bleaching house for steeping consists of a long apart¬
ment, according to the number of sheets necessary for the
extent of the works, and about sixteen feet wide. A pas¬
sage of three or four feet wide goes down the middle, and
on each side are arranged stone chests about three feet
deep, and containing about fifty-seven cubic feet. In each
there is a false bottom, which has been made of many dif¬
ferent materials, none of which is so good as could be wish¬
ed, to resist the action of the chloride, and which, there¬
fore, require frequent renovation, viz. lead, copper, wood,
stone, slate, &c. The false bottom is pierced through with
a number of holes, as small as can be made; and under
the false bottom there is a small pipe, into which a valve
is fitted, and attached by a wire reaching up to the top of
each chest, by pulling which, the liquid is allowed to escape
at pleasure into a large tank, extending under the w'hole
of the chests. In this tank is sunk a pipe, with a pump,
for the sake of raising the liquor. Although this solution
be now very weak, yet it is much better than pure water, Paper,
and therefore it is so far eligible to make use of it.
The half stuff having come down from the washing en¬
gine into the draining chest, which is situated about three
feet higher than the level of the stone bleaching chests,
and being now freed by drainage of a great part of the
water with which it descended from the engine, a part of
one of the sides of the draining chest, being a kind of door
on hinges, is opened, and the stuff is promptly raked into
an iron square box lined with wood or metal, which moves
on a railroad fixed along the passage above referred to,
and is carried to each of the chests in succession, as they
are ready to receive the stuff. About one hundredweight
of rags is laid in each chest, and receives upon an average
from six to eight pounds of Tennant’s strong saturated
chloride of lime, according to the quality of the rags, in
solution with about twelve gallons of water; and the chest
is then nearly filled up with the weak liquor pumped from
the tank. Great care is necessary to keep the stuff fre¬
quently stirred, otherwise the whitening throughout would
not go on regularly. It is always found, that from the ef¬
fect of the air and light, the upper stratum of the stuff in
the chests becomes white, whilst what is under is for some
time but little affected.
The stuff is allowed to remain in the steep for twenty-
four hours before the liquor is allowed to drain off, and of
course there must be as many chests as there are hundred¬
weights of stuff prepared in the twenty-four hours ; but it
is found not to have reached its maximum of whiteness
even in twenty-four hours, for the stuff which has been set
to steep on Saturday, is always found on the Monday morn¬
ings to be of a somewhat purer white than on any other
morning.
After the time for steeping has expired, the stuff is again
lifted into the iron box formerly mentioned, which, being
full of stuff, is moved on the railway till it is placed on a
moving sole of a Bramah hydraulic press, which is situated
in a convenient part of the passage ; and the water being
injected by pumps moved by the machinery of the mill into
the piston of about ten inches diameter, causes by its great
pressure the iron sole, with the wet bleached stuli upon it,
to rise against a wooden ram, as it is called, of the exact
size of the box containing the stuff. What remains of the
chloride in solution, as the ram enters into the box, is thus
gradually pressed out, and flows into the tank formerly
mentioned as situated under the chests. The ram enters
into the box about one half of its whole depth, and it will
be seen by the annexed table what space is occupied by a
hundredweight of the material in its raw and manufactured
state at different stages of the process.
One hundredweight of linen rags cut, but 1 ^ cujJjc feet>
not pressed, occupies a space of about.. J 2
When in the washing engine in process I
of washing j
When drained of all the water that will |
flow from it J ~ 2
When pressed by the ram  71
The object of pressing out the liquid weak chloride of
lime is to lighten the labour of raising the stuff to the
higher story of the engine-house again, and also to render
the process of washing it out the more easy ; for it is most
essential that none of the bleaching matter should be left
in it.
This washing is performed in precisely the same way as
that of the rags, and goes on for about an hour, after which,
in the same engine, the pure w'ater being shut off, and the
boards in the cover of the engine being put into their places,
the pulp is reduced considerably in length of fibre in the
same engine with blunt tackle, which tends to soften the
stuff, and make it mellow. The engine which is specially
set apart to wash out the remains of the chlorine, and to
PAPER.
15
Paper, soften the stuff, is sometimes called the intermediate en-
gine 5 stuff being now half way between rags and pa¬
per, and called half stvff.
The stuff is then let down to the beating engine by
lifting a valve in the pipe, and it is then beaten down by
tackle considerably sharper than that in the washing en¬
gines. The stuff is here, as it were, combed out into fibres
of perhaps one eighth of an inch in length, and this ope¬
ration for fine paper ought to take from four to five hours;
and, from the friction between the cylinder bars and those
of the plate, the stuff ought to become moderately warm.
It is now in a condition to be made into paper; and, by a
valve being lifted, it flows out of the beating engine by a
pipe which conducts it to a large stone or wooden reser¬
voir called a chest in the vat-house or machine-house.
Making The apparatus for the formation of the paper in single
paper by sheets at a time by the hand consists of,
the hand. 1. A chest for receiving the prepared stuff, and which,
if there be enough of fall in the situation, it is extremely
desirable to have situated about three feet higher than the
vat, in order that the stuff may flow from the chest to the
vat gradually as it is worked into paper, otherwise it must
be lifted by a lad at intervals by means of a copper pan.
2. I he vat, which is a stone vessel about six feet square,
and about four deep. It is agitated by a hog or little wheel
about twelve inches in diameter, which revolves through the
w hole length of it to keep the stuff constantly stirred; for
the fibrous particles, being heavier than water,'would other¬
wise sink.
3. The moulds or frames, of which a pair is required, so
that when the vatman is dipping the one into the stuff, the
coucher maybe placing the sheet on a layer of felts, of which
from four to eight quires, according to the size of the paper,
form a post, that is, the whole quantity which is brought
under the press at one time. The vatman stands at one
side of the vat, and the coucher at the far corner of the side,
on the vatman’s left hand, and facing him ; and between
them is a narrow ledge of wood, on which the mould is sent
from the vatman to the coucher. The vatman always holds
in his hand a frame of wood called a deckle, which is about
an inch broad, and is made to fit exactly all round the
edge of the mould, for the purpose of forming a clean and
not a ragged edge to the sheet; it is this which is called
the water-edge, and which is so easily distinguishable from
any other species of edge than can be otherwise produced
as to have been generally adopted in paper used for bank¬
notes. This description of paper is in consequence general¬
ly made on moulds of the size of the note, that it may pos¬
sess the water edge, for the purpose of rendering forgery
more difficult.
The moulds are made of brass wires or wire-cloth fixed
upon a wooden frame, which is generally made of maho¬
gany. A number of wooden ribs are fixed across the
frame, placed at intervals of about one inch from each
other, for the wires or wire-cloth to rest on. When wires
only are used, these are laid longitudinally along the frame
and across the wooden ribs, and interlaced with a wire
somewhat thicker than the wires running lengthways,
which is placed on the top of each rib. Paper made on
such moulds is called laid, in contradistinction to what
is made off the woven wire-cloth, and which is therefore
called wove paper.
When the vatman dips the mould into the vat with the
deckle upon it, he takes up a quantity of the pulp, which
has been previously mixed with a great deal of water, and
well agitated by the hog; he then throws off a great por¬
tion of the stuff and water over the edge of the mould
farthest from him, and bringing the .mould to a horizontal
position, shakes it to and from him, which connects the
fibres together so as to form one uniform fabric, and
shakes out the water, lo attain this method perfectly
requires a long apprenticeship, simple as it may seem. Paper.
As soon as the pulp is no longer in a liquid state on the ""
mould, the workman raises the deckle with his fore-fin¬
gers and thumbs from off the mould, and with his remain¬
ing fingers shoves the mould along the ledge before re¬
ferred to, to the coucher, who is ready to receive it, and
who places it in an inclined position upon a small wooden
curved stay, on which it reposes for a few seconds, that
the water may be further drained from the newly-formed
sheet. I he coucher is in the mean time pitching a felt or
piece of blanketing upon a wooden plank of the proper
size, and then takes the mould and presses the face of it
upon the felt, which receives and takes off the sheet of
paper from the mould, still in a very wet state. The mould,
being now freed of the sheet formed upon it, is pushed
back along a wooden bridge, as it is called, which is joined
to the ledge, and is placed at right angles to it. The
bridge crosses the vat in front of the vatman, and the
mould lies on it ready to be used by him, whilst the other
mould is employed by the coucher. The process is con¬
tinued till all the felts, being placed above each other with
a sheet between each, are employed, which takes about
half an hour. A heavy plank is then placed on the top of
Vhe post, as this quantity is called, and the w hole is drawn
in on a railroad, or rollers, under a press which is contigu¬
ous, and where the water is squeezed out, either by means
of a screw, or by a Bramah hydraulic press. The paper,
when it comes out of this press, is so coherent as to admit
of being handled, and the sheets are accordingly laid to-
getliei in a pack by themselves, the felts being placed on
a wooden deal between the person who takes off the sheets
from the felts, called the layman, and the coucher, who
immediately, with the aid of the vatman, begins a new
post. I he water-mark is produced by wires in the shape
of the letter or design being raised upon the surface of the
mould.
After a number of packs have been made, they are put
into another press, where they are made to sweat by pres¬
sure ; that is, just to part with a small quantity of water,
which comes from them in single drops. If the pressing
be carried on too quickly or too long, the paper would be
damaged by the sheets adhering to each other, and peeling
or tearing when attempted afterwards to be separated.
rIhe paper is then parted sheet by sheet, so as to be en¬
abled to undergo another pressure before it goes to the
loft to be dried. In fine writing paper it is the practice
to part the paper twice over, pressing between each part¬
ing. I his is to make the sheets lose the marks of the felts,
and to get the paper as dry as possible before it goes to the
loft.
1 he lofts consist of a number of spaces filled with tril¬
bies, that is, hair-ropes fixed into spars of wood, the ends
of which are made to slide up and down the upright posts
of wood, one of which is fixed at the corner of each space.
The paper is hung up in spurs, as they are called, of five
or six sheets thick, upon the ropes, by the help of a
wooden cross, shaped somewhat like the letter T. The
workman holds this cross at the lower part of it, and the
top of the cross must be as long as the width of the sheet.
The dryworker then, with his left fore-finger and thumb,
pinches the corner of the hard-pressed pack, which has
undergone one, two, or, if fine writing paper, three, hard-
pressings since it left the felts. He then partially raises
by that corner the spur of five or six sheets, and with the
cross gently catches the paper, w'hich he slips over the
hair-line, and leaves it there suspended. The pack is
placed on a table which moves on small wheels, and against
which the workman stands, and which he can push or draw
with ease to any part of the loft that he pleases. When
the tribble lines are all full, he pushes up the sides or spars
upwards along the upright posts, which are bored all the
16
PAPER.
Paper.
way up for small pins of wood that support the tribbles ,
' about eight or nine tribbles till a room, as it is called, that
is, each space. The sides of the lofts are boarded with
spars of wood, placed vertically, about four inches wide
and four separate. Inside of these are shutters made ex¬
actly similar, but fixed on wheels which move in a groove,
so as to shut in the loft entirely or partially, or leave it
open, according to the state ot the weather. Many loxts
have, in addition, woollen curtains within the shutters,
which, with the addition of the heat derived irom steam
carried round the loft in pipes, are most serviceable lor
drying when the state of the weather renders it imprac¬
ticable to dry by the air.
When the weather is favourable, the paper, before being
sized, may be dried in twenty-four hours. After being
sized, it ought not to be dried in less than three or four
days, as by too rapid drying the size has a great tendency
to fly from the paper; and therefore, when hung up after
undergoing this process, the shutters are, in general, im¬
mediately closed upon it, so as to make the drying as gra¬
dual as possible.
Messrs Cowan’s drying lofts at Valleyfield Mills, near
Edinburgh, are perhaps as extensive as any in the king¬
dom. The paper is brought up to the loft by a crane on
a scale, which is then in the loft placed on a carriage upon
wheels, that moves on a railway along the centre of the
lofts, forming a continuous line ot about 360 feet in length.
There are about 60 rooms or spaces, with nine tribbles in
each, making about 500 tribbles in all, which, when filled,
hold about 1200 reams of post paper.
The paper up to this point is quite bibulous, and there¬
fore unfit to bear the ink. It is therefore transferred,
when dry, to the sizing-house. The size is made from the
refuse of tan-yards, called scrolls, consisting of the par¬
ings of skins, pates, ears, &c.; which materials range in
price, according to quality, from L.20 to L.40 per ton
when thoroughly dried. I he scrolls, as these pieces are
called, are boiled for about ten hours, and the gelatine
gradually and carefully strained oft through straw, blanch¬
es of trees, charcoal, &c., and lastly, through fine flannel
bags. An addition of alum to the amount of about one
fourth of the weight of the scrolls is then made. The size
is run into chests or casks for use, where it soon congeals.
When run off it is much too strong to size any descrip¬
tion of paper with. When the sizing operation is to pro¬
ceed, therefore, it is mixed up and diluted with water, in
a small boiler, and heated with steam. From the boiler
it is made to flow in a spout into a tub ot about five feet
square, which is also heated with steam introduced under
a false bottom, it being very essential to use it always very
hot. An additional quantity of alum is also made use of,
which is placed in the spout, and is gradually dissolved
as the size flows down in contact with it. The workman
stands close to the tub, and dips the paper in handfuls,
containing about six quires on an average, with a wrapper
at top and bottom, which he soaks thoroughly, turning it
backwards and forwards, so that every portion becomes
completely penetrated with the size. It is also allowed to
remain some minutes soaking in the tub, being held by
wooden pincers suspended by a balance-weight. He then
carefully lifts them out one by one, and places them in a
press, adding to the heap till the press is full. The surplus
size flows, and is then by a moderate pressure squeezed
out of the paper, the edges of which are next rinsed by
hot water, before the pressure is taken off, to prevent them
from adhering together; and with the same view the heaps
of paper, when taken out of the press, are enveloped with
woollen cloths, so as to exclude the cold air.
Moreover, to prevent the paper from sticking when it
is strongly sized, it is separated or parted sheet by sheet,
after which it is pressed moderately, so as to make the
spurs slightly adhere together. It is better to keep the
sized paper forty-eight hours before hanging it up to dry,
and then the more gradual the drying the better.
Another mode of sizing, which tends to save both la¬
bour and wrappers, is by means of a machine or wooden
table about two feet from the floor, above which are placed
two spars of wood parallel to each other, supported from
the table. The spurs of paper are placed vertically on the
table, that is, their long edge resting on the table and
across it; and between each spur a thin slip of wood is in¬
troduced, which is attached to the spars of wood by means
of hooks and eyes. The slips of wood are then press¬
ed somewhat tightly together, so that the whole mass is
easily raised, by a pulley fixed overhead, to a small car¬
riage, by which the paper, when raised from the table,
and thus suspended in the air, can be wheeled right over
the tub, into which it is let down to receive the size.
This tub is divided into two compartments by a wood¬
en sole affixed to a screw, which lies horizontally, and is
worked by some wheels, so as to press the paper. The
paper, when let down into the other portion of the tub,
has the frame and slips hooked away from it as soon as it
is gently pressed by the screw, so as to keep it from falling
down. The hot size is then allowed to flow in amongst
the paper, on which, when thoroughly soaked with size, the
screw is made to work, and to press it. A board which has
been pressed down against the paper is now fastened to
a board of similar construction by means of strong iron
clamps, and the screw is worked back again, leaving the
paper still under pressure. A strong false bottom of wood,
on which the paper rests, is now raised by means of a rack
and pinion, and with it the paper and the heavy planks
confining it, above the liquid size ; and whenever the pres¬
sure is removed, it is at once set aside as sized. I he size
left in the tub is then pumped back to the boiler to be
again heated.
There cannot be a stronger evidence of the necessity for
the stuff being well prepared, in order to obtain a sound
paper, than the process of sizing. If the stuff has been
slowly prepared by trituration, so as to hold a good deal
of water, it will also hold and keep the size in a man¬
ner corresponding thereto; whereas a quickly prepared
stuff, which has been cut rather than rubbed out, however
strong the size that may be employed, can scarcely be got
to keep it. It is also very injurious should any of the
chlorine or chloride of lime be left in the paper unwashed
out, as the glutinous matter is thereby decomposed, and
rendered of no avail.
After the paper has again been thoroughly dried, it is ta¬
ken to the salle or finishing-house, where it is pressed very
often in order to take out the marks of the lines, and to im¬
prove the surface generally.1 The hot-pressing is carried on
by means of smooth paper boards which have been glazed
by passing through metal rollers. The paper is placed al¬
ternately between these, and heat is communicated by hot
iron plates being laid upon these at intervals of about six
quires. These plates are heated in an iron box, into which
a supply of steam is sent, and where they do not generally
require to be more than five or ten minutes. These plates,
Paper.
■ Avery laborious operation, and one injurious to the WW “«f. “ K«f'£tiXta5!d
*
the strainer, through which the pulp is strained before it passes into the vat.
PAPER.
Paper, by means of pressure, communicate a good deal of heat
"•'-v—*' throughout the paper, after it has been all brought under
the action of the hydraulic press.
In consequence, however, of the general use of steel
pens, and perhaps to some extent of the fashion of the
day, it is necessary to finish fine letter-papers now with a
much higher gloss, and various methods have been adopt¬
ed for this purpose. One of these methods consists in
using, instead of the hot-pressing smooth glazed boards,
copper plates made very smooth, on which the sheets of
paper are laid, a copper plate and a sheet of paper alter¬
nately. These, when filled with about one quire of paper,
are passed between a pair of iron rollers, where the pressure
is equal to twenty or thirty tons, and which are driven by
the machinery of the mill. By moving a clutch, a small
wheel is thrown in and out of gear at pleasure, so that
the workman can instantaneously reverse the motion of
these rollers, and they can be made either to take the
copper plates away, or to return them again towards him
after they have passed through, so as to sustain the pres¬
sure twice over. Another workman attends on the other
side of the rollers to return the copper plates. It requires
three women to be attending to fill and empty each set
of copper plates, one filling in the rough, another taking
out the smooth paper, and the third lifting off the copper
plates in succession, and placing them on the sheets of
paper as these are laid down. When the paper has had
three or four pressures, it is pretty smooth, and is then
denominated rolled or hot-pressed; but if it be passed more
frequently through the rollers, it acquires a higher surface,
and is then called glazed. Each set of three women can
in this manner fill in about twenty reams of paper in one
day. The work is laborious, from the quickness with
which it is done; and, from the sharp edges and corners of
the copper plates, and of the paper itself, the women are
very liable to have their fingers cut, so that this depart¬
ment of work is not very popular, and in some manufac¬
tories it has acquired the name of the tread-mill.
Another mode of giving a higher surface to paper is
by passing it through a calender, or cylinders which have
been made of cast iron, copper, or brass, or one of them,
like the ordinary calenders, consisting of a paper bowl.
But these, although they be accurately fitted and polish¬
ed, are all more or less liable to receive marks or inden¬
tations from any minute hard substances, or from folds or
creases which may be in the paper, and which they give
out again, and thus mark the paper.
The paper is now, after being rolled or glazed, told out
into quires or half quires, folded, and made up into reams,
and is subjected to pressure under hydraulic presses in
every stage. It is then tied up in a wrapper, with a label
on it, for the protection of the duty, and, the label being
filled up by the trader and officer respectively, the paper
is weighed by the latter, and stamped, so as to denote the
amount being charged against the maker. The trader is
allowed to keep his uncharged paper in bond, so that he is
so far more favourably situated than those who follow many
exciseable trades, where the duty is levied on the raw ma¬
terial, or on the article in some process of manufacture.
Ihe regulations deemed necessary to protect the revenue
are abundantly complicated and contradictory; but it must
be allowed that, within the last few years, a disposition
seems to have been manifested, both by the Board of Ex¬
cise and their officers, to afford every facility, and cause as
little annoyance as possible to the manufacturer; whilst
the officers are now, generally speaking, a much more re¬
spectable and efficient class of men, than when their ranks
used to be recruited from the decayed lacqueys and dissi¬
pated butlers of the gentry ; and undeniably the appoint¬
ment of Sir Henry Parnell’s Commission of Excise Inquiry
in 1833 has tended much to promote the comfort and free-
VOL. XVII.
17
dom of the trader, and, at the same time, to afford addi* Paper,
tional security to the interests of the revenue. y——-
Hitherto we have considered this manufacture as car-Machine
ried on by the hand. The papers made in that way are, paper-mak-
for the most part, fine writing papers, into which it is ne- ing-
cessary to introduce the water-mark, showing the maker’s
name on the mould. As the machine cannot have a wa¬
ter-mark nor make any paper except upon a wove wire-
cloth, all water-marked and laid paper is necessarily made
by hand.
The stuff having come from the engine-house in pipes,
and being contained in large circular chests or reservoirs
ready for use, is in them kept constantly stirred by wooden
agitators, so that it may not sink to the bottom, or flow out
on the machine in thick and thin portions.
Ihe machine which is now used so universally all overFourdri-
the kingdom is the invention of a Mr Louis Robert, andn^r’s ma-
was brought to this country by M. Didot of Paris, whoc^ne‘
came over to England about thirty or forty years ago, and,
with the assistance of the MM. Fourdrinier, and Mr Don¬
kin the engineer, succeeded in perfecting the invention,
and in acquiring a patent right, which was afterwards re¬
newed for a longer period by parliament, in consequence of
the patentee’s not having derived sufficient compensation.
The stuff flows out of the chests CC, Plate CCCCIV.
by a pipe p, on which there is a cock h, which the machine-
man opens more or less wide, according to the thickness
of the paper to be made. It falls into the spout s, where
it meets a large supply of water, which has been in great
part passed through the web of pulp before, as will be after¬
wards explained. It then falls into the vat at the open¬
ing of the spout, and is there agitated by the little hog,
as it is called.
A very important improvement has, however, been in¬
troduced at this stage, which, though not part of MM.
Fourdrinier’s machine, is now universally applied to it.
We allude to the straining of the stuff, and thereby keep¬
ing out of the paper all the knots and hard substances
which it was formerly necessary to scrape out in the
salle, to the great injury of the surface of the paper. The
strainer is an American invention, and has been intro¬
duced into England for about nine years; and a patent is
now enjoyed for it by the Messrs Ibotson of Foyle Mill,
Buckinghamshire.
The strainer is generally used before the stuff flows into
the vat. It consists of a brass rectangular trough of about
five or six feet in length by two feet in width, with sides
about four inches deep. The bottom consists of a number
of heavy bars of brass, the surface of which is perfectly
planed and polished. They are about one inch in breadth,
and can be taken out at pleasure. When the strainer is at
work, these bars, which rest on a projecting ledge, and
which are very firmly fixed in by wedges, &c. are placed
so as almost to be in contact along the whole of their well-
fitted edges; and the spaces between them at the sides are
occupied by thin wedges, of such a size as to correspond
to the length of the fibres. The strainer is driven by means
of a light iron or brass shaft which passes above it, and has
two small notched wheels, one placed above each end, and
working into the frame of the strainer. When the shaft re¬
volves, therefore, it will be seen that at every notch the
strainer is raised, and then quickly descends by its own
weight, so as to produce a continual jerking motion, making
about a hundred and thirty strokes per minute. The stuff
is now flowing in, and the bars are placed so close to each
other that the fibres must necessarily pass longitudinally.
The knots, &c. are therefore kept back, and as they accu¬
mulate in the strainer, the workman, with a wooden rake,
draws them towards himself, then shuts off the flow of the
stuff' in that direction by means of a kind of sluice, compos¬
ed of a piece of wood, which is covered with felt, and which
c
18
PAPE R.
is pressed in across the strainer. Ihe end of the strainer
next the workman is therefore left dry, and with a thin
piece of copper or other metal he scoops up the knots, &c.
takes out the sluice, and repeats the operation when it is
required. .
After the stuff has been thus strained and mixed in the
vat by the agitator working in it, it is allowed to flow out
by a number of holes in the side of the vat. 1 hese holes
are of an oval figure, about four inches long by two in
width; and against each of them is accurately fitted a brass
plate, attached to a rod. This rod is worked by a screw in
the workman’s hand, who can thereby again regulate the
flow of the stuff into a little cavity or box at c. From this
point a piece of leather or apron extends to the point t,
from whence the stuff flows on an endless fine wire-cloth,
on which the web is formed. This wire-cloth, which must
be perfectly level, moves upon a number of small copper
rollers, about an inch and a half diameter and an inch and
a half separate. These rollers rest upon a frame, which is
left so far free as to be moved laterally by a rod which is
attached to a little crank e; and thus is produced a vibra¬
tion, more or less quick, according to the nature of the
stuff, which causes the water to flow through the wire-cloth,
and connects the fibres of the pulp together. A large shal¬
low wooden vessel is placed below the wire-cloth, called
the save-all, which receives the water and the flour of the
pulp in large quantity. 1 he water then passes through a
spout on the side of the machine, and flows into a box, from
whence it is lifted up by the scoops f, and then meets the
supply of stuff from the chest, and flows into the vat.
The edges of the paper are formed by pliable deckles,
which were formerly made of leather, then of woollen
cloth. Belts or deckles, however, composed of alternate
layers of linen and caoutchouc, firmly cemented together,
are now most generally employed, these belts aie half
an inch thick and about sixteen feet long, and are drawn
by the pulley upon the shaft g. It will be seen that they
move under a solid plate of iron or brass, which is mode¬
rately pressed down upon them, but not so much so as to
impede their free motion along with the wire-cloth, whilst
they fit sufficiently tight to it to prevent any of the stuff
from flowing away laterally before the paper is set.
By the time these caoutchouc deckles leave the wire-
cloth at the point p the stuff is no longer fluid, though a
good deal of water still flows from it. I he wiie-cloth then
passes on with the pulp upon it through the cylinders ii,
of which the under one is of metal, covered with a jacket, as
it is called, of felting or flannel; and the upper one is gene¬
rally of wood, but hollow, and covered with mahogany about
an inch and a half thick; that wood being less apt to shrink
or get out of shape than any other; and this roller also has
a jacket. A slight pressure is given by these, which are
called the wet-press cylinders; and after this stage the
paper pulp is led on upon an endless felt, which must pro¬
ceed exactly at the same speed as the wire-cloth, as, by
any irregularity in their motion, the pulp would break. The
wire-cloth returns back round the under wet-press cylin¬
ders, to receive a new supply of pulp, and is supported by
a series of copper tube rollers, which revolve by the fric¬
tion of it. The wire-cloth is generally about twenty-five
feet in length by five feet in width, and has about sixty
holes in the lineal, or 3600 in the square inch.
The web of paper, still in a very wet state, is now car¬
ried away by an endless felt, between cast-iron cylinders
kk, where it sustains a severe pressure, and where a great
deal of water is squeezed out, after which the paper may be
handled. It then passes through a second pair of press
cylinders, that the mark of the felt which was impressed I'aiier. ^
on the under surface by the first pressure may be removed ;s*—"n
and for this purpose the under surface is now placed next
the metal cylinder. The web then passes over the sur¬
face of a number of cylinders, heated with steam, and ar¬
ranged as to number and relative position according to the
ideas of the manufacturer or millwright. When the web
has passed over about thirty lineal feet of surface heated
in this manner, it is dry, and is wound upon a reel l.
When this reel has been filled, or has performed about
a hundred and thirty revolutions, a spring, which holds in
the ends of the reel, is taken out. The reel which is at¬
tached to the arms m, which move on the axis n, is moved
quickly round, and changes places with the other reel,
when the paper is torn through, and the end of the web is
then attached to the reel in gear, which is filled, whilst
the paper is being cut off the reel which is at liberty.
The paper machine moves at the rate of from twenty-
five to forty feet per minute. The whole process, there¬
fore, in its transition from liquid pulp at the one end, to
dry paper at the other, occupies scarcely two minutes.
This, in the ordinary state of the weather, could not for¬
merly be done in less than seven or eight days. Suppos¬
ing, therefore, that the machine makes ten yards lineal of
a web per minute, or 600 in the hour •, this is equal to a
mile in three hours, or four miles per diem of twelve hours.
The paper is generally made about fifty-four inches wide.
Reckoning that there are 300 machines in Great Britain,
and that they work twelve hours each day on an average
(many go both day and night), the length of web would
altogether be equal to 1200 miles, and the area of what
was made would be about 3,000,000 yards daily.
Printing paper, which is now entirely made by the ma¬
chine, is in general sized in the pulp. White soap, starch,
glue, and dissolved rosin, are principally used for this pur¬
pose, with the addition of a few pounds of alum. Such of
these as are used are put through a sieve into the beating
engine. The web, before being dried off, is also in some
mills passed through hot size, the surplus of which is press¬
ed out between two cylinders. This tends to strengthen
the paper materially ; but it is not easy for paper to keep
the size if it be dried off hastily on the cylinders; and
this is difficult, if not impossible, in the finer descriptions
of paper, where the material is not so strong as that for
more common kinds, and not so favourable for being tho¬
roughly sized.
The fine bluish tinge which so many writing papers pos¬
sess is derived from a mineral but very expensive blue,
namely, the oxide of cobalt, generally called smalts. This
article used entirely to be imported from Saxony, Den¬
mark, and Sweden ; but the great improvements which have
been effected by British manufacturers of late years have
rendered it unnecessary to seek a supply abroad. In writ¬
ing paper of fine quality it is usual to add four or five
pounds of smalts to the hundredweight of rags.1
Several machines have of late years been invented for Cutting
cutting paper as it is made by the machine. Amongst ro^'111168*
others, one by MM. Fourdrinier of Staffordshire has been
very generally introduced and approved of. As it is capable,
however, of cutting five or six thicknesses of paper at once,
it is not in general attached to the machine, but in some
contiguous convenient place. The paper is reeled on small
rolls of about six inches diameter, and these are placed
with the spindles lying in grooves in a curved frame,
whence they are taken and passed round a drum, and then
through some small rollers. After the web is divided lon¬
gitudinally by circular knives, which are set opposite each
i This blue is now greatly cheaper than it was during the war, and even after its termination, having fallen from 2s. 6d, to Is. 3d.
per pound, which last is the present price for FFFE smalts.
PAP
PAP
19
Paper-
Money.
tility of
iper-
oney.
other upon shafts on each side of the paper, the progress which is added a mixture of cotton-bagging, of which there Paper-
of it is stopped for an instant by a very ingenious contri- is a large supply, and which tends to strengthen the paper. Money,
vance, when a knife descends, beginning at one side of the This description of paper, however, both from the impu-V ~
web, which is held fast by a heavy weight laid across it, rities which are inseparable from so very dirty a material
and cuts it across. The web then goes on till it has passed as the sweepings of the cotton mills, and from its spongy
as much paper through as is the requisite size of the sheet, soft texture, is very inferior to that which is made out of a
when the knife again descends. The sheets thus cut are
carried on by a small felt moved in connection with the
rest of the machinery.
The paper-machine is peculiarly suited for making thin
papers, which are not easily made by hand without great
damage in the couching department, from the difficulty of
getting off the sheet whole upon the felt; namely, the
thin paper for copying letters, tissue-papers used for put¬
ting before prints, &c. A large quantity of remarkably
thin paper, also, made from old ropes of a better descrip¬
tion than usual, and called pottery tissue, is made by MM.
Fourdrinier and others, for printing the colours on the china,
&c. which could never have been made by hand. The
machine has also been of immense service in producing
paper of large sizes of sheets for newspapers, which could
sound’strong rag, provided that the trituration of the stuff,
already adverted to, be done in a proper manner.
4. In Scotland the manufacture is carried on to a large
and rapidly increasing extent. From the ready commu¬
nication with London, and other causes, both fine writ-
ing papers and others find a ready market there. Inde¬
pendently of the white paper, there is manufactured in all
parts of the country a large quantity of brown paper, made
from old ropes, &c.
Mr M‘Culloch, in his Commercial Dictionary, supposes
that there are about 700 paper mills in England, and from
seventy to eighty in Scotland. The former must, how¬
ever, be on an average on a much smaller scale than the
Scotch mills; for whilst the duty produced in England in
1833 amounted to L.622,933, it amounted in Scotland, in
not have been worked by hand. It would have been very the same year, to L.102,536; thus showing, that although
serious and laborious work for a man to make paper even the mills in England are about ten times as numerous as
large enough for a single sheet of the Times newspaper, those in Scotland, the duty is only about six times as much,
which measures two feet by three. Indeed, till about 1825, Paper is considerably adulterated with plaster of Paris,
the legislature restricted the size of newspapers to twenty- sometimes to the amount of thirty per cent., for the pur-
two by thirty-two inches, beyond which they could not be pose of gaining weight. This can easily be* detected* by
stamped ; which restriction was done away with just as soon burning a portion of a sheet, when the plaster will remain
as it became possible to make by machinery any size of after combustion in an ashy whitish-coloured residuum,
paper that might be desired. But, perhaps, in no depart- Brown paper is also often mixed up with a good deal of
ment of paper-making has the advantage of the machine ochre or clay, the makers saying that it is for the purpose of
shone so conspicuously as in the paper used for paper-stain- giving it a nice brown colour, though it may be doubted
ing, and the consequent great reduction in price of the whether it be not also with the intention of increasing the
hangings. Before the application of the machine, the paper weight.
used by paper-stainers was of the size of twenty-eight by The following table, showing the strength of different
twenty-three inches, called elephant. It required, in order kinds of paper, has been prepared from actual experiment,
to form a piece of twelve lineal yards, that sixteen or It denotes the number of pounds avoirdupois required to
eighteen of these sheets should be pasted together, which break a strip of paper two inches wide, both ends being
is now rendered wholly unnecessary by the paper being secured above, and the weights attached to a small wooden
furnished to the Stainers in sheets of twelve yards each
in length.
The chief seats of paper manufacture in Great Britain
are,—
1. Kent, where it was first established, and where there
are a great number of hand-mills for making fine water¬
marked writing papers. There are also a good many ma¬
chines for fine writing and printing paper.
2. In Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire, and Oxfordshire,
the manufacture of fine printing papers is very extensively
carried on, and all made by machinery.
3. In Lancashire and the contiguous counties, it is carried
on to a very large extent, the material, as already noticed,
being chiefly derived from the refuse of the cotton mills, to
roller, resting upon the strip of paper.
Weight in Grains
avoirdupois, of a SUP'
„ . , . SuPerficialFoot- twolnchesbS
Bank post, very thin writing paper,
sized  65 23
Ditto unsized, but thinner  48 13
Thick writing paper, machine made, 139 42
Ditto ditto, made by hand, 143 60
Ditto drawing paper, machine made, 217 55
Newspaper, sized at the machine... 113 39
Paper used for Scotch bank-notes.... 95 70
Strong cartridge-paper  135 64
Pink blotting-paper  90 10
PAPER-MONEY—BANKS.
PART I. PAPER-MONEY.
We endeavoured to explain, in the fifth section of the ar¬
ticle Money, the reasons why paper has been used as a sub¬
stitute for coins in the ordinary transactions of society, and
the principles on which its value is maintained. It is conse¬
quently unnecessary to enter at length, on this occasion, on
either of these subjects; but, to facilitate the understanding
of what is to follow, we may shortly observe, that the em¬
ployment of paper as a medium of exchange is an obvious
means resorted to by society for saving expense and fa¬
cilitating payments. An individual or an association, in
whose wealth and discretion the public have confidence,
issues promissory notes, binding himself or themselves to
pay certain sums on demand, or at some specified period
after the date of the notes. And it is obvious, that so long
as these notes are punctually paid when due, and are not
issued in excess, their circulation, besides being a source
of profit to the issuers, is a great public accommodation.
The weight of 1000 sovereigns exceeds twenty-one pounds
troy, so that to pay or receive a large sum in metal would
be exceedingly inconvenient; while there would be a great
risk from loss, as well as a heavy expense incurred in the
conveyance of specie from place to place. But with paper
this may be effected with extreme facility, and payments
of the largest sums, and at the greatest distances, may be
20
PAPER-MONEY.
Paper, made with almost no inconvenience or expense. And
Money, while the interest of individuals is thus consulted by the
introduction and use of paper, it is of the greatest service
to the public. Its employment, and the various devices
for the economizing of currency to which it has led, enable
the business of a commercial country like England to be
carried on with a tenth part, perhaps, of the gold and^ sil¬
ver currency that would otherwise be necessary. The
cheapest instruments by which exchanges can be effected
are substituted in the place of the dearest; and, besides
doing their work better, this substitution enables the so¬
ciety to employ the various sums they must otherwise have
employed as money, as capital in industrious undertakings,
by which the public;wealth and comforts are largely aug¬
mented. Of the various means, whether by the introduc¬
tion of machinery or otherwise, that have been devised for
promoting the progress of wealth and civilization, it would
not be easy to point out one better calculated to attain its
end than the introduction of a properly organized paper-
money. ,
But paper-money, like many other highly useful inven¬
tions, is liable to great abuse, and, if not issued on sound
principles, may become the cause of much mischief. By
paper-money we mean notes issued by individuals or as¬
sociations, for certain sums, and made payable on de¬
mand, or when presented. This description of paper is
known in this country by the name of bank-paper, or bank¬
notes, from its being issued only by bankers. Bills of ex¬
change, or bills issued by bankers, merchants, or other in¬
dividuals, and payable some time after date, perform, also,
in some respects, the functions of money ; and being trans¬
ferred from individuals, make payments much in the same
way as if they consisted of bank-notes for the same amount.
Distine ^ut tllough there are many points in which a bill of ex-
tion be- change and a bank-note closely resemble each other, there
tween pa- are others in which there is a distinct and material difttr-
per-money ence between them. A note bears to be payable on de-
orbank. manti. it is not indorsed by a holder on his paying it
notes and a ,. t|ie party receiving has no claim on the party from
change whom he received it, in the event of the failure of the
issuers ;l 2 and every one is thus encouraged, reckoning on
the facility of passing it to another, to accept bank-paper,
“ even though he should doubt the ultimate solvency of the
issuers?* Bills, on the contrary, are almost all drawn pay-
Paper-
Money.
Definition
of paper-
money.
COO IA/Kj IV ‘*■**-'7        •/ ' - - ,
able at some distant period ; and those into whose hands
they come, if they be not in want of money, prefer re¬
taining them in their possession, in order to get the inteiest
that accrues upon them. But the principal distinction be¬
tween notes and bills is, that every individual, in passing
a bill to another, has to indorse it, and by doing so makes
himself responsible for its payment. “ A bill circulates,”
says Mr Thornton, “ in consequence chiefly of the.confi¬
dence placed by each receiver of it in the last indorser, his
own correspondent in trade ; whereas the circulation of a
bank-note is owing rather to the circumstance of the name
of the issuer being so well known as to give it an univer¬
sal credit.”3 Nothing, then, can be more inaccurate than
to represent bills and notes in the same point of view. If
A pay to B L.I00 in satisfaction of a debt, there is an end
of the transaction; but it A pay to B a bill of exchange
for L.100, the transaction is not completed; and, in the
event of the bill not being paid by the person on whom it
is drawn, B will have recourse upon A for its value. It is
clear, therefore, that a great deal more consideiation is
always required, and may be fairly presumed to be given,
before any one accepts a bill of exchange in payment, than
before he accepts a bank-note. The note is payable on
the instant, without deduction—the bill not until some fu¬
ture period ; the note may be passed to another without
incurring any risk or responsibility, whereas every fresh
issuer of the bill makes himself responsible for its value.
Notes form the currency of all classes, not only of those
who are, but also of those who are not, engaged in busi¬
ness, as women, children, labourers, &c. who in most in¬
stances are without the power to refuse them, and with¬
out the means of forming any correct conclusion as to the
solvency of the issuers. Bills, on the other hand, pass
only, with very few exceptions, among persons engaged in
business, who are fully aware of the risk they run in tak¬
ing them. There is plainly, therefore, a wide and obvi¬
ous distinction between the two species of currency ; and
it cannot be fairly argued, that because government in¬
terferes to regulate the issue of the one, it should also
regulate the issue of the other.
When, therefore, we speak of notes, or paper-money,
we mean notes issued by banks, and payable on demand.
And unless when the contrary is mentioned, it is to these
only that the subjoined statements apply.
To obviate the endless inconveniences that would arise Regula-
from the circulation of coins of every weight and degree
of purity, were there no restrictions on their issue, all of
governments have forbidden the circulation of coins ^ot. notes,
of a certain specified or standard weight and fineness.
And the recurrence of similar inconveniences from the
issue of notes for varying sums, and payable under varying
conditions, have led, in all countries in which paper-money
is made use of, to the enacting of regulations forbidding
the issue of notes below a certain amount, and laying down
rules for their payment. In England at this moment no note
payable to bearer on demand can be issued for less than
five pounds, and they must all be paid the moment they are
presented. In Scotland and Ireland the minimum value
of bank-notes is fixed at one pound, the regulations as to
payment being the same as in England. In order to pre¬
serve the monopoly of the London circulation to the Bank
of England, no notes payable to bearer on demand are al¬
lowed to be issued by individuals or associations, other than
the Bank of England, within sixty-five miles of St Paul's.
But beyond these limits every one who complies with the
above regulations as to the minimum amount of notes, and
who promises to pay them on demand, may, on paying
the stamp-duty, and making returns of the issues to the
stamp-office, circulate any amount of notes they can suc¬
ceed in getting the public to take off.
We think it might be safely inferred, even if we wanted 7^^'^
experience of the actual working of a currency so issued, tj°”-Sgae°
that a system like this must unavoidably lead to the great-ofnoles
est abuse. The public is very apt to be deceived, in the defective/
first instance, in giving confidence to or taking the paper
of an individual or an association ; and though that were
not the case, the condition of the individual or company
may subsequently change from bad or expensive manage¬
ment, improvident speculation, unavoidable losses, and
fifty other things of which the public can know nothing, or
nothing certain. The fact that any particular banker who
issues paper enjoys the public confidence, is, at best, a pre¬
sumption merely, and no proof that he really deserves it.
The public believes him to be rich and discreet; but this
is mere hypothesis ; the circumstances which excite confi¬
dence at the outset, and which preserve it, are often very
deceptive ; and in the vast majority of instances the public
has no certain knowledge, nor the means of obtaining any,
1 Practically sneaking, this is the fact; but a person paying away a bank-note is liable to be called upon for repayment should the
bank fail before it was in the power of the party to whom it was paid, using ordinary diligence to present it. 1 he responsibihty
seldom exceeds a couple of hours, and can hardly in any case exceed a couple of days. In practice it is never adverted to.
2 Thornton on Paper Credit, p. 172. Ibid. p. 4U.
PAPER-MONEY.
The con¬
fining of
the issue
of notes to
cunty or
value.
'Paper- as to the real state of the case. But it is unnecessary to
Money. argUe this point speculatively. There have, unfortunately,
been innumerable instances in which it has turned out that
bankers who had long been in the highest credit, and
whose notes had been unhesitatingly accepted by the pub¬
lic,‘have been found to be, on the occurrence of any thing
to excite suspicion, quite unable to meet their engagements.
It has been supposed that the objections to the issue of
notes on our present system, because of the risk of non¬
payment, might be obviated were they issued only by
■oint stock associat‘ons or joint-stock companies. But it is not
associa- easY t0 see on what principle leave should be granted to
tions would fifty or sixty individuals to do that which is to be de-
not give nied to five or six. And though this difficulty were got
themaddi- over, the measure would not have the effect supposed. A
tional se- sjng]e individual may possess more wealth than a number
of individuals associated together; and the chances are,
that if he engage in banking, or any other business, it will
be better managed than by a company. Under our pre¬
sent system, and in fact it is impossible to prevent it un¬
der any system, the partners in joint stocks, as in other
banks, may be men of straw, or persons without property,
and unable to fulfil their engagements. It is of the essence
of a secure and well-established paper currency, that the
notes of which it consists should be of the exact value of
the gold or silver they profess to represent, and that, con¬
sequently, they should be paid the moment they are pre¬
sented. But it is not enough to order that this condition
shall be uniformly complied with. Such order is obeyed
only by the opulent, prudent, and conscientious banker,
and forms little or no check on the proceedings of those of
a contrary character. It is the latter class, however, that
it is especially necessary to look after ; and it is needless to
say that any system that permits notes to be issued with¬
out let or hindrance by speculative, ignorant, or unprin¬
cipled adventurers, must be essentially vicious.
The issue of notes is of all businesses that which seems
ot notes af- to out the greatest prospect of success to the schemes
temotat/31 t^ose w^° atternpt to get rich by preying on the pub-
to and fa- ^ie cost engraving and issuing notes is but an in-
cilities for, considerable item compared with the sums for which they
the com- are issued ; and provided they be got into any thing like
mission of extensive circulation, they become at once considerably
productive. They are not issued, except, as explained in
the article Money (sect. 5), on the deposit of bills or other
securities, yielding a considerable rate of interest; so that
if an individual, or set of individuals, with little or no ca¬
pital, contrive, by fair appearances, promises, and similar
devices, to insinuate himself or themselves into the pub¬
lic confidence, and can maintain L.20,000, L.50,000, or
L.100,000 in circulation, he or they secure a good income
in the mean time ; and when the bubble bursts, and the
imposture is detected, they are no wTorse off than when they
set up their bank. On the contrary, the presumption is,
that they are a great deal better off; and that they have
taken care to provide, at the cost of the credulous and de¬
ceived public, a reserve stock for their future maintenance ;
hence, seeing the facilities for committing fraud are so
very great, the propriety, or rather necessity, of providing
against them.
It has sometimes been contended, in vindication of our
present system, that bank-notes are essentially private pa¬
per; that the accepting of them in payment is optional; and
that as they may be rejected by every one who either sus¬
pects or dislikes them, there is no room or ground for in¬
terfering with their issue ! But every body knows that,
whatever notes may be in law, they are, in most parts of
the country, practically and in fact, legal tender. The bulk
of the people are totally without power to refuse them. The
currency of many extensive districts consists in great part
of country notes, and such small farmers or tradesmen as
The issue
Hank-pa¬
per sub¬
stantially
legal ten-
ler.
should decline taking them would be exposed to the great¬
est inconveniences. Every one makes use of, or is a dealer
in, money. It is not employed by men of business only, but
by persons living on fixed incomes, women, labourers, mi¬
nors, and in short by every class of individuals, very many
of whom are necessarily, from their situation in life, quite
unable to form any estimate of the solidity of the different
banks whose paper is in circulation. Such parties are uni¬
formly severe sufferers by the failure of banks. The paper
that comes into their hands is a part of the currency or
money of the country, and it is quite as much a part of the
duty of government to take measures that this paper shall
be truly and substantially what it professes to be, as that it
should take measures to prevent the issue of spurious coins,
or the use of false or deficient weights and measures.
Now, it will be found, should the circulation of provin- Security
cial notes be allowed to continue, that there is but one ought to be
means of making sure of the solvency of the issuers, and t‘l^e.nfi’om
of providing for their being paid when presented ; and
that is, by compelling all issuers of such notes to give se¬
curity for their payment. This, and this only, will hinder
the circulation of spurious paper, and afford a sufficient
guarantee that the notes the public are obliged to take
are really, and in fact, what they profess to be. The mea¬
sure, too, is one that might be easily enforced. To carry
it into effect, it would merely be necessary to order that
all individuals or companies, on applying for stamps, should
be obliged, previously to their obtaining them, to lodge in
the hands of the commissioners an assignment to govern¬
ment stock, mortgages, landed or other fixed property,
equivalent to the amount of the stamps issued to them, to
be held in security for their payment.
It has been objected to this plan, that it would be inju¬
rious, by locking up a portion of the capital of the banks;
but this is plainly an error. Its only effect in this respect
would be to force such banks as issued notes to provide a
supplemental capital, as a security over and above the ca¬
pital required for conducting their business. But this sup¬
plemental capital would not be unproductive. If it con¬
sisted of lands, the owners would receive the rents ; and if it
consisted of government securities, they would receive the
dividends or interest due upon them, precisely in the same
way that they are received by other persons ; while the fact
being known that they possessed this supplemental capital,
or that they had lodged security for the payment of their
notes, would, by giving the public perfect confidence in
their stability, enable them to conduct their business with
a less supply of floating or immediately available capital
than would otherwise be necessary.
It is absurd to object to this plan on the ground of its
interfering with the private pursuits of individuals. It is
the duty of government to interfere to regulate every
business or pursuit that might otherwise become publicly
injurious. On this principle it interferes to prevent the
circulation of spurious coins, and of notes under a certain
sum, and not payable on demand ; and on the same prin¬
ciple it is called on to interfere to prevent the act order¬
ing the payment of notes becoming again, as it has very
frequently done already, a dead letter, by making sure that
it shall be complied with. The interference that would
take place under the proposed measure is not only highly
expedient, but would be of the least vexatious kind ima¬
ginable. All that is required of the persons applying for
stamps for notes is, that they should deposit in the hands
of the commissioners a certain amount of exchequer bills,
or other available securities, according to their demand for
stamps. They are not asked to state how they mean to dis¬
pose of these stamps,—to whom or in what way they are
to be issued. They are merely required to give a pledge
that they shall be paid, or that they shall not be employed,
as so many others have been, to deceive or defraud the
Paper-
Money.
22
PAPER-MONEY.
Paper- public. It is little else than an abuse of language to call
Money. this an interference with private affairs.
The taking of security in the way now suggested, from
the issuers of notes, would effectually provide for their pay¬
ment when presented. Adventurers without capital, and
sharpers anxious to get themselves indebted to the public,
would find that banking was no longer a field on which
they could advantageously enter. Notes would be made,
in fact as well as in law, equivalent to the specie they pro¬
fess to represent; and the paper currency would acquire a
solidity of which it is at present wholly destitute.
All local
issues of
paper-
money
should be
suppress¬
ed.
The exact- But though the plan of taking security would complete-
ing of se- ly obviate the risk of loss from the circulation of worthless
curityfrom paper, or of paper issued by parties without the means, and
the issuers proba5]y a]so the inclination, to pay it on presentation, it
° would not touch another abuse inherent in the present sys-
obviate tem> that is, it would leave the currency exposed, as at
fluctua- present, to all those constantly recurring fluctuations in
tions in its its amount—those alternations of glut and deficiency—by
amount which it has been affected since provincial banks became
and would cons'^erably multiplied, and which are in the last degree
not there- injurious. A paper currency is not in a sound or whole-
fore, place some state,—unless, 1$<, means be taken to insure that each
the curren- particular note or parcel of such currency be paid imme-
cy on a pro- fliately on demand ; and unless, 2d, the whole currency vary
per footing. amount and value exactly as a metallic currency would
do were the paper currency ivithdrawn and coins substituted
in its stead. The last condition is quite as indispensable
to the existence of a well-established currency as the for¬
mer ; and it is one that cannot be realised otherwise than
by confining the issue of paper to a single source.
It is supposed by many, that there can be no greater
fluctuations in a paper than in a metallic currency, pro¬
vided the paper rest on an undoubted basis, and be re¬
gularly paid the moment it is presented. But this is an
error. Wherever there are numerous issuers, there may
be, and the chances are fifty to one there will be, per¬
petually recurring fluctuations in the amount and value
of the currency. An over-issue of convertible paper is
not, of course, indicated by any difference between the
value of such paper and gold at home, but it is indicated by
a fall of the exchange, and by an efflux of bullion to other
countries. If paper were only issued by the Bank of Eng¬
land, or some one source in London, and then only in ex¬
change for bullion, the currency would be in its most per¬
fect state, and would fluctuate exactly as it would do were
it wholly metallic. But at present it is quite otherwise.
The currency is supplied by hundreds of individuals and
associations, all actuated by different and frequently con¬
flicting views and interests. The issues of the Bank of
England, though not always, are generally governed by
the state of the exchange, or rather by the influx and
efflux of bullion, increasing when it flows into, and decreas¬
ing when it flows out of, the country. But it is quite
otherwise with the provincial bankers. Their issues are not
regulated by any such standard, but by the state of credit
and prices in the districts in which they happen to be si-
not depen- tuated. If their managers suppose that these are good or
dent upon improving, they rarely hesitate about making additional
issues. Hence, when the state of the exchange, and the
demand on the Bank of England for bullion, show that the
currency is redundant, and ought to be contracted, the
efforts of the Bank to effect its diminution are often imped¬
ed, and met by a contrary action on the part of the country
banks. This is not owing to the ignorance of the latter. Un¬
der the supposed circumstances, the country bankers see,
speaking generally, that they ought also to contract; but
being a very numerous body, comprising several hundred
establishments scattered over all parts of the country,
each is impressed with the well-founded conviction, that
Issues of
country-
bankers
the ex¬
change.
all that he could do in the way of contraction would be Paper-
next to imperceptible; and no one ever thinks of attempt- v Mone-v- ^
ing it, so long as he feels satisfied of the stability of those '''“"“v"'-'
with whom he deals. On the contrary, every banker
knows, were he to withdraw a portion of his notes, that
some of his competitors would most likely embrace the
opportunity of filling up the vacuum so created; and that
consequently he should lose a portion of his business, with¬
out in any degree lessening the amount of paper afloat.
Hence, in nineteen out of twenty instances, the country
banks go on increasing their aggregate issues long after
the exchange has been notoriously against the country,
and the Bank of England has been striving to pull up.
The circumstances now stated were strikingly exem- Efforts of
plified in the course of 1836 and the early part of 1837. the Bank
The excessive multiplication of joint-stock banks in ^ 836, England
the great additions they made to the number of notes e^jSu°^0f e
afloat, and the still greater additions they made to the bunion jn
number of bills, checks, and other substitutes for money, 1836 coun-
occasioned a redundancy of the currency, a fall of the ex-teractedby
change, and a drain upon the Bank of England for gold, d16 £ou"-
But while the latter was narrowing her issues, by sup-try an
plying the exporters of bullion with gold in exchange for
notes, the country banks went on increasing their issues !
What the former did by contracting on the one hand, the
latter more than undid by letting out on the other. The
vacuum created by the withdrawal of Bank of England
paper was immediately filled up, and made to overflow, by
the issue of a more than equal amount of provincial paper;
so that had it not been for the rise in the rate of interest,
and the other repressive measures adopted by the Bank,
the probability is, that she might have gone on paying
away bullion for notes till she was drained of her last six¬
pence, without in any degree affecting the exchange. But
this is not all. Not only do the country banks almost
universally increase their issues when they ought to be
diminished, but the moment they are compelled to set
about their reduction, they run headlong into the oppo¬
site extreme, and unreasonable suspicion takes the place of
blind unthinking confidence. The cry of sauve qui peut
then becomes all but universal. It is seldom that a recoil
takes place without destroying more or fewer of the pro¬
vincial banks ; and, provided the others succeed in secur¬
ing themselves, little attention is usually paid to the in¬
terests of those they have taught to look to them for
help. It may be worth while, in order to exhibit the
truth of what has now been stated, shortly to advert to the
destruction of country-bank paper in 1792-93, 1814, 1815,
and 1816, 1825-26, and more recently in 1836-37.
1. Previously to 1759 the Bank of England did not issue Destruc-
any notes for less than L.20 ; but having then commenced tion of
the issue of L.10 notes, her paper was gradually introduced
into a wider circle, and the public became more habituat- a” ® ^
ed to its employment in their ordinary transactions. The i792_93.
distress and embarrassment that grew out of the American
war proved exceedingly unfavourable to the formation of
country banks, or of any establishments requiring unusual
credit and confidence. No sooner, however, had peace
been concluded, than everything assumed a new face.
The agriculture, commerce, and still more the manufac¬
tures of the countx*y, into which,Watt and Arkwright’s
inventions had been lately introduced, immediately began
to advance with a rapidity unknown at any former period.
In consequence, that confidence which had either been
destroyed or very much weakened by the disastrous events
of the war was fully re-established. The extended trans¬
actions of the country required fresh facilities for car¬
rying them on ; and a bank was erected in every market-
town, and almost in every village. The prudence, capital,
and connections of those who set up these establishments
PAPER-MONEY.
Paper-
Money.
were but little attended to. The great object of a large
^ class of traders was to obtain discounts ; and the bankers
of an inferior description were equally anxious to accom¬
modate them. All sorts of paper were thus forced into
circulation, and enjoyed nearly the same degree of esteem.
I he bankers, and those with w hom they dealt, had the
fullest confidence in each other. No one seemed to sus¬
pect that there was anything hollow or unsound in the
system. Credit of every kind was strained to the utmost;
and the available funds at the disposal of the bankers were
reduced far below the level which the magnitude of their
transactions required to render them secure.
The catastrophe which followed was such as might easi¬
ly have been foreseen. The currency having become re¬
dundant, the exchanges took an unfavourable turn in the
early part of 1792 ; a difficulty of obtaining pecuniary ac¬
commodation in London was not long after experienced ;
and notwithstanding the efforts of the Bank of England to
mitigate the pressure, a violent revulsion took place in the
latter part of 1792 and the beginning of 1793. The fail¬
ure of one or two great houses excited a panic which
proved fatal to many more. When this revulsion began,
there were about three hundred and fifty country banks
in England and Wales, of which about a hundred were
compelled to stop payments, and upwards of fifty were to¬
tally destroyed, producing by their fall an extent of misery
and bankruptcy till then unknown in England.
“ In the general distress and dismay, every one looked
upon his neighbour with caution, if not with suspicion. It
was impossible to raise money upon the security of ma¬
chinery, or shares of canals ; for the value of such pro¬
perty seemed to be annihilated in the gloomy apprehen¬
sion of the sinking state of the country, its commerce and
manufactures ; and those who had any money, not know¬
ing where they could place it with safety, kept it unem¬
ployed and locked up in their coffers. Amid the general
calamity, the country banks, which had multiplied greatly
beyond the demand of the country for circulating paper
currency, and whose eagerness to push their notes into cir¬
culation had laid the foundation ot their own misfortunes,
were among the greatest sufferers, and, consequently,
among the greatest spreaders of ruin and distress among
those connected with them; and they were also the chief
cause of the drain of cash from the Bank of England, ex¬
ceeding any demand of the kind for about ten years back.
Of these banks above a hundred failed, whereof there
were twelve in Yorkshire, seven in Northumberland, seven
in Lincolnshire, six in Sussex, five in Lancashire, four in
Northamptonshire, four in Somersetshire, &C.”1
Attempts have sometimes been made to show that this
crisis was not occasioned by an excess of paper-money
having been forced into circulation, but by the agitation
caused by the war then on the eve of breaking out. But
there do not seem to be any good grounds for this opinion.
The unerring symptoms of an overflow of paper—a fall of
the exchange, and an efflux of bullion—took place early
in 1792, or about twelve months before the breakino- out
of hostilities. Mr Chalmers states, that none of the great
houses that failed during this crisis had sustained any
damage from the war. The efforts of the country bankers
to force their paper into circulation occasioned the re¬
dundancy of the currency, and it was on them, and on the
country dealers and farmers dependent on them, that the
storm principally fell.2 It is of importance to remark,
that the Bank of England had no notes for less than L.10
and the country banks for less than L.5 in circulation
when the crisis of 1792-93 took place.
2. During the period from 1800 to 1813 the number of
23
country banks had increased from about 400 to 922 ; and Paper-
in consequence partly of this rapid increase, and partly of Money,
the suspension of cash payments at the Bank of England
in 1797, and the issue of one-pound notes by that estab-^estr“c'
lishment and the country banks, the amount of paper afloat
was vastly increased, particularly after 1808, when it sunk banks and
to a heavy discount as compared with bullion. Mr Wake-paper in
field, whose extensive employment in the management of1814ABl5,
estates in all parts of the country gave him the most fa-ancl 1816*
vourable opportunities for acquiring correct information,
stated to the agricultural committee of 1821, that “ down
to the year 1813 there were banks in almost all parts of
England, forcing their paper into circulation at an enor¬
mous expense to themselves, and in most instances to their
own ruin. Ihere were bankers who gave commission, and
who sent persons to the markets to take up the notes of
other banks; these people were called money-changers,
and commission was paid them.” (Report, p. 213.) And
among the various answers to the queries sent by the
Board of Agriculture in 1816, to the most intelligent per¬
sons in different parts of the country, there is hardly one
in which the excessive issue of country-bank paper is not
particularly specified as one of the main causes of the un¬
precedented rise of rents and prices previously to 1814.
Influenced partly bjr this extraordinary increase of pa-
pei, and partly by deficient harvests and the exclusion
of foreign supplies, the price of corn rose to an exorbitant
height during the five years ending with 1813. But, owing
partly to the luxuriant crop of that year, and partly and
chiefly, perhaps, to the opening of the Dutch ports, and
the renewed intercourse with the continent, prices sus¬
tained a very heavy fall in the latter part of 1813 and the
beginning of 1814. And tins fall, having produced a want
of confidence and an alarm among the country bankers and
their customers, occasioned such a destruction of country-
bank paper as has not been paralleled except by the revul¬
sion of 182o—26. In 1814, 1815, and 1816, no fewer than
240 country banks stopped payment, and eighty-nine com¬
missions of bankruptcy were issued against these establish¬
ments, being at the rate of one commission against every
ten and a. halj of the total number of banks licensed in
1813 ! 1 his destruction of bank-paper is said to have pro¬
duced an extent of wretchedness and misery never equalled
in any European country by any similar catastrophe, ex-
cept, perhaps, by the breaking up of the Mississippi scheme
in France.
3. The destruction of country paper during the period Destruc-
now referred to, by reducing the amount of the currency,tion oi
raised its value in 1816 nearly to a par with the value ofcountr^
bullion, and enabled measures to be taken for revertingbanks *nd
to cash payments at the Bank of England, which was ef-SsIS.
fected by the act 59 Geo. III. cap. 78. But notwithstand¬
ing the ample experience that had been supplied by the
occurrences of 1792-93 and 1814-16, of the mischiev¬
ous consequences of the issue of paper by the country
banks, and of their want of solidity, nothing whatever was
done, when piovision was made for returning to specie pay¬
ments, to restrain their issues, or to place them on a bet¬
ter footing. I he consequences of such improvidence were
not long in manifesting themselves. The prices of corn
and other agricultural products, which had been greatly
depressed in consequence of abundant harvests, in 1820,
1821, and 1822, rallied in 1823 ; and the country bankers,
true to their invariable practice on similar occasions, im¬
mediately began to enlarge their issues. It is unnecessary
to inquire into the circumstances which conspired, along
with the rise of prices, to promote the extraordinary rage
for speculation exhibited in 1824 and 1825. It is sufficient
1 Macpherson’s Annals of Commerce, vol. iv. p. 2G‘G.
2 Comparative Estimate, p. 22G, ed. 1812.
24
PAPER-MONEY.
Paper-
Money.
to observe, that in consequence of their operation, confi¬
dence was very soon carried to the greatest height. It did
not seem to be supposed that any scheme could be hazard-
, * i    * 'TKo infatuation waft
Paper-
Monev.
I1UL ocelli I.VJ  j .
ous, much less wild or extravagant. I he infatuation was
Pleasures
for estab¬
lishing
joint-stock
banks in
182G. In
adequacy
of these
measures.
such, that even the most considerate persons did not scruple
to embark in the most visionary and absurd projects ;
while the extreme facility with which discounts were pro*
cured upon bills at very long dates, afforded the means of
carrying on every sort of undertaking. The most worth¬
less paper was readily negotiated. Many of the country
bankers seemed, indeed, to have no object other than to
get themselves indebted to the public. And such was the
vigour and success of their efforts to force theii paper into
circulation, that the amount of it afloat in 1825 is estimat¬
ed to have been nearly fifty per cent, greater than in 182 .
The consequences of this extravagant and unprincipled
conduct are well known. The currency having become
redundant, the exchange began to decline in the summer
of 1824. But the directors of the Bank of England hav¬
ing entered, in the early part of that year, into an engage¬
ment with the government to pay off such holders of four
per cent, stock as might dissent from its conversion into a
three and a half per cent, stock, were obliged to advance
a considerable sum on this account after the depression
of the exchange. This tended to counteract the enect o
the drain on the Bank for gold, and in consequence the
London currency was not very materially diminished till
September 1825. This reduction was accompanied by a
repetition of the events of 1793, but on a larger and more
magnificent scale, and with more destructive consequences.
The country banks began to give way the moment they
experienced a considerably increased difficulty of obtaining
accommodation in London, and all confidence and credit
were immediately at an end. Suspicion having awakened
from her trance, there were no limits to the run. Paper
was not carried to the banks to obtain gold, in the view of
exporting it, as a mercantile adventure, to the Continent,
but for the purpose of escaping the loss which it became
obvious a large portion of the holders of country notes
would have to sustain. The destruction of country pa¬
per was so sudden and extensive, that in less than six
weeks above seventy banking establishments were swept
off, and a vacuum was created in the currency which ab-
sorbed from eight to ten millions of additional issues by
the Bank of England; at the same time that myriads of
those private bills that had previously swelled the amount
of the currency, and added to the machinery of specula¬
tion, were wholly destroyed.
4. Notwithstanding nations are proverbially slow and re¬
luctant learners, the events of 1825-26, taken in connec¬
tion with those of the same sort that had previously occur¬
red, produced a conviction of the necessity of taking some
steps to improve the system of country banking in Eng¬
land. But we regret to have to add, that the measures
adopted in this view were very far indeed from being ef¬
fectual to their object. In 1708 a law had been passed
limiting the number of partners in banking establishments
to six. This law was now repealed; and it was enacted
that banks with any number of partners might be establish¬
ed for the issue of notes anywhere beyond sixty-five miles
from London ; and that banks not issuing notes might be
established in London itself with any number of partners.
The circulation of notes for less than five pounds in Eng¬
land and Wales was at the same time forbidden.
Much benefit was expected, but without any sufficient
reason, to arise from these measures. So long as every
one is allowed to issue notes without check or control, a
thousand devices may be fallen upon to insure the circu¬
lation of those that are most worthless. Besides, there is
no foundation whatever for the supposition, that the mere
fact of a bank consisting of fifty or a hundred, instead or
five or ten partners, renders it more worthy of confidence,
or is any security that it will be better managed. The
probability seems, in fact, to be rather the other way. A
few wealthy individuals engaged in banking, or any other
sort of business, must, if they would protect themselves
from ruin, pay unremitting attention to theii concems, and
act in a discreet and cautious manner. But the partners
and managers of a great joint-stock company act under no
such direct and pressing responsibility. The former, in¬
deed, seldom take the trouble to inquire carefully into the
business of the company; and the responsibility of theii ma¬
nagers is of a very different kind from that of an opulent
individual whose fortune is answerable foi every eiroi and
false step he may commit. The recent history of the
Northern and Central Joint-Stock Bank, and of various
other associations, sufficiently establishes the truth of what
has now been stated. Ihe fact that there is a numbei of
partners in a joint-stock bank, and the consequent notion,
that though its affairs were to get into disorder, some of
them would be able to make good the claims upon it, tends
to procure a circulation for the notes of these establish¬
ments to which they may be very little entitled. They
in truth afford very great facilities for the perpetrating of
fraud both upon the partners and the public. And even
when best managed, and resting on an impregnable foun¬
dation, they may and do issue in excess ; and thus produce
those fluctuations in the amount and value of the currency
that are everywhere most disastrous, but especially in a
commercial country.
The prohibition of the issue of one-pound notes has gone
far to shut up one of the most convenient channels by which
the inferior class of country bankers formerly contrived to
o-et their notes into circulation ; but there are many othei
channels still open to them, and of these they have not
failed to avail themselves. We have already seen that
there were no notes for less than five pounds in circulation
in 1792-93, and yet fully a third part of the country banks
then in existence stopped payments! This is enough to
show how little security can be expected from this hmi-
tation. , , . ., , .
Those who supposed that joint-stock banks would be im- Progress of
mediately set on foot in all parts of England, were a good the joint-
deal disappointed with the slowness with which they spiead®J3
for some years after the act permitting theii establishment
was passed. The heavy losses occasioned by the downfall
of most of the joint-stock projects set on foot in 1824 and
1825, made all projects of the same kind be looked upon
for a considerable period with suspicion, and detened most
persons from embarking in them. But this prejudice gra¬
dually wore off; and the increasing prosperity of the coun¬
try, and the difficulty of vesting money so as to obtain from
it a reasonable return, generated of new a disposition to
adventure in hazardous projects. A mania for embaiking
in speculative schemes acquired considerable strength in
1835, and during the first six months of 1836 it raged
with a violence but little inferior to that of 1825. It was
at first principally directed to railroad projects ; but it soon
be^an to embrace all sorts of schemes, and, among others,
ioint-stock banks, of which an unprecedented number were
projected in the course of the year. The progress of the
system has been as follows:
Banks.
In 1826 there were re¬
gistered 3
In 1827 4
In 1828 0
In 1829 7
In 1830 1
In 1831 9
Banks.
In 1832 there were re¬
gistered  7
In 1833  9
In 1834 10
In 1835  9
In 1836 45
Total 104
PAPER-MONEY.
25
Paper- In point of fact, however, the number of banks created
Money. jn 1836 was vastly greater than appears from this statement.
We believe that, at an average, each of the forty-five banks
established in that year, like those previously established,
has from five to six branches; and as these branches transact
all sorts of banking business, and enjoy the same credit as
the parent establishment, from which they are frequently
at a great distance, they are, to all intents and purposes,
so many new banks ; so that, instead of forty-five, it may
safely be affirmed that about two hundred new joint-stock
banks were opened in England and Wales in 1836, and
mostly in the first six months of that year!
Over issue In January, February, and March 1836, when the rage
by the for establishing joint-stock banks was at its height, the
bank" in exc^ange was either at par, or but slightly in our favour,
showing that the currency was already up to its level, and
that if any considerable additions were made to it, the ex¬
change would be depressed, and a drain for bullion be ex¬
perienced. But these circumstances, if ever they occur¬
red to the managers of the joint-stock banks, do not seem
to have had, and could not in truth be expected to have,
the least influence over their proceedings. Their issues,
which amounted on the 26th of December 1835 to
L.2,799,551, amounted on the 25th of June to L.3,588,064,
exclusive of the vast mass of additional bills, checks, and
other substitutes for money they had put into circulation.
The consequences were such as every man of sense must
have foreseen. In April 1836 the exchange became unfa¬
vourable, and bullion began to be demanded from the Bank
of England. The latter, that she might the better meet the
drain, raised the rate of interest in June from four to four
and a half per cent., and this not being sufficient to lessen
the pressure on her for discounts, she raised it in August
from four and a half to five per cent. But during the
whole of this period the country banks went on increasing
their issues. We have already seen that, on the 25th of
June 1836, their issues were L.788,513 greater than they
had been on the preceding 26th of December ; and not¬
withstanding the continued drain for bullion, and the rise
in the rate of interest by the Bank of England in June and
August, and the reduction of her issues, the issues of the
joint-stock banks increased from L.3,588,064 in June, to
no less than L.4,258,197 on the 31st of December, being
an increase of nearly twenty per cent, after the exchange
was notoriously against the country; and the most serious
consequences were apprehended from the continued drain
for bullion on the Bank of England !
It may perhaps be imagined that the increased issue of
the joint-stock banks would be balanced by a correspond¬
ing diminution of the issues of the private banks, and that
on the whole the amount of their joint issues might not
be increased. This, however, was not the case. Some
private banks were abandoned in 1836, and others incor¬
porated with joint-stock banks; and it is farther true, that
those which went on managed their affairs with more dis¬
cretion than their associated competitors. But, from the
26th of September 1835 to the 31st of December 1836,
the issues of the private banks were diminished only
L.159,087, whilst those of the joint stocks were increased
during the same period L.1,750,160, or more than ten
times the falling off in the others !
Reasons
by there
tiould be
tily one
suer of
aper-
loney.
These statements show conclusively the extreme inex¬
pediency of having more than one issuer of paper. Its
issue ought in all cases to be governed exclusively by the
state of the exchange, or rather, as already stated, by the
influx and efflux of bullion. But the provincial banks may
go on over-issuing for a lengthened period without being
affected by a demand for bullion, or even for Bank of
England paper. A drain for bullion always operates in
the first instance on the Bank of England ; and were she
VOL. XVII.
the sole issuer, she might always check the drain at the
outset, by narrowing her issues, or by ceasing to replace
the notes brought to her in exchange for bullion. But the
country banks, not being immediately or speedily affected
by the drain, take no steps to get rid of that redundancy
of the currency by which it is occasioned ; and, provided
their credit be good, they may and do frequently go on
for a lengthened period adding to their issues, and aggra¬
vating all the bad symptoms in the state of the currency.
Thus we have seen the joint-stock banks in the early part
of 1836 making large additions to their issues when the
currency was already quite full; and, not stopping there,
we have next seen them persisting, for more than six
months, in increasing their issues in the teeth of a heavy
and continued drain for bullion,# rapid rise in the rate of
interest, and great apprehensions in the public mind. This
conduct has nothing to do with the solidity of the banks.
There is no reason whatever to think, supposing they had
all given security for their issues, they would have been
in any degree diminished. On the contrary, the probabi¬
lity is, that by putting an end to every doubt as to their
stability, it would have materially facilitated their issues,
and tempted them to increase them to a still greater ex¬
tent.
But, in the end, an efflux of bullion is sure, by rendering
money and all sorts of pecuniary accommodation scarce in
the metropolis, to affect the country banks as well as the
Bank of England ; and then the shock given to industry,
and the derangement of prices and transactions of all sorts,
is severe in proportion to the previous over-issue. A re¬
vulsion of this sort seldom occurs without destroying some
of the provincial banks, and exciting a panic, as was the
case in 1792-93, and in 1825-26. But even when this is
not the case, the check given to the practice of discount¬
ing, and the withdrawal of their accustomed accommoda¬
tions from vast numbers of individuals, necessarily occa¬
sion a great deal of inconvenience and distress. The Bank
of England, by bolstering up the Northern and Central
Bank in November 1836, averted the bankruptcy of that
establishment, which had no fewer than forty branches,
and by doing so prevented the occurrence of a panic, and
a run that would most likely have proved fatal to many
other joint-stock and private banks. Still, however, the
shock given to all sorts of industrious undertakings, by the
revulsion in the latter part of 1836, although unaccompa¬
nied with any panic, was very severe. All sorts of com¬
mercial speculations were for a while completely paralys¬
ed, and there were but few districts in which great num¬
bers of individuals were not thrown out of employment.
In Paisley, Birmingham, and various other towns, the dis¬
tress occasioned by the revulsion was very general and
long-continued. The following memorial, subscribed by
all the leading manufacturers, merchants, and traders of
Birmingham, was presented to Lord Melbourne in March
1837. It sets the disastrous influence of fluctuations in
the amount and value of the currency in a very striking
light.
“ My Lord,—We, the undersigned merchants, manu¬
facturers, and other inhabitants of the town of Birming¬
ham, beg leave respectfully to submit to your Lordship
the following facts:—1. During the last two or three
years a very great improvement has taken place in the
trade and commerce of the town and neighbourhood. The
workmen have generally been placed in a condition of full
employment and good wages, producing a general state of
satisfaction and contentment among them. Their employ¬
ers also have enjoyed a condition of ease and security
which might be called affluence when compared with the
losses, difficulties, and anxieties which they endured for
several years before. No stock of goods was accumulated,
no overtrading of any kind existed ; the products of one
D
Paper-
Money.
26
Paper-
Money.
PAPER-MONE Y.
man’s industry were readily exchanged for those of ano¬
ther ; and all the products of industry in every trade were
carried off into the absolute consumption of the people
quite as fast as they could be produced.
“ 2. Suddenly within the last three months, with all
the elements of general prosperity remaining unimpair¬
ed, this gratifying state of things has disappeared, and
has been succeeded by a general state of difficulty and
embarrassment, threatening the most alarming consequen¬
ces to all classes of the community. Orders for goods
are countermanded and discontinued, both for the foreign
and home trade.
“ The prices of goods are falling, so as in many cases
to occasion a loss instead of a profit on their produc¬
tion. The process of production is thus obstructed ; the
workmen are beginning to be discharged, or to be placed
upon short employment; and we are confident, that un¬
less remedial measures be immediately applied, a large
proportion of our population will shortly be thrown en¬
tirely out of employment.
“ 2. We earnestly solicit the serious and immediate
attention of his majesty’s government to this alarming
state of things, confidently hoping that they will forth¬
with adopt decisive and effectual measures for its relief.”
Certainly the legislature will most strangely neglect
its duty, if it allow a system productive of such fatal con¬
sequences to continue to spread its roots and scatter its
seeds on all sides. As long as any individual, or set of in¬
dividuals, may usurp the royal prerogative, and issue money
without let or hindrance, so long will it be issued in excess
far advantageous; but it would not hinder that competi¬
tion among the issuers that is so very injurious, nor pre¬
vent the supply of paper being at one time in excess, and
at another deficient. If we would provide for that unity
of action and that equality of value that are so indispen¬
sable, we must make an end of a plurality of issuers. If
one body only were intrusted with the issue of notes, it
would be able immediately to narrow the currency when
bullion began to be exported, and to expand it when it
began to be imported ; and it would be easy for the le¬
gislature to lay down and enforce such regulations as
would effectually prevent the fluctuations in the amount
and value of the currency ever exceeding those that
would take place if it consisted wholly of the precious me¬
tals. But nothing of the sort need be attempted, so long
as it is supplied by more than one source. Every thing
must then be left to the discretion of the parties. And
it will certainly happen in time to come, as it has inva¬
riably happened in time past, that some of them will be
increasing their issues when they should be diminished,
and diminishing them when they should be increased.
Mr S. J. Loyd, whose authority on all questions of this
sort is so deservedly high, states distinctly, that “ an
adherence to sound principle would certainly lead to the
conclusion, that the issues of paper-money should be con¬
fined to one body, intrusted with full power and control
over the issues, and made exclusively responsible for the due
regulation of their amount''1 He is, however, disposed to
think that the practice in this country, of individuals and
associations issuing notes, has been so long established,
Paper-
Money.
in periods when prices are rising and confidence high, and and become so intimately connected with the habits and
be suddenly and improperly withdrawn when prices are fall
ing and confidence shaken. All the causes of fluctuation
inherent in the nature of industry are aggravated a thou¬
sandfold by this vicious system, at the same time that it
brings many new ones into existence. There is not, in
fact, any reason for supposing, that if our currency had
been either metallic, or made to fluctuate exactly as it
would have done had it been metallic, that the difficulties
in which we were involved in 1836 and 1837 would ever
have been heard of. The inordinate increase of banks,
of money, and of the facilities for obtaining money, in
the spring of 1836, contributed powerfully to the rapid
and uncalled-for increase of prices, the multiplication of
wild and absurd projects, and the excess of confidence
which distinguished that period; at the same time that,
by bringing on a fall of the exchange and a drain for bul¬
lion, they insured the subsequent revulsion. If it be
wished that the country should be kept for ever under an
intermittent fever—now suffering from a hot and then
from a cold fit, now in an unnatural state of excitement,
leading to, and necessarily ending in, an unnatural state
of depression—the present money system is the best pos¬
sible. But we believe the reader will agree with us in
thinking, that a fever of this sort is not more injurious to
the animal than to the political body. So dangerous a
disorder is not to be trifled or tampered with. This is
not a case in which palliatives and anodynes can be of
any real service. If a radical cure be not effected, it will
go far to paralyse and destroy the patient.
Now, to accomplish this radical cure, that is, to make
sure that the fluctuations of the currency shall not exceed project for suppressing local notes been productive of
those which would occur were it wholly metallic, it is indis- any considerable loss to the issuers, it would have fur-
pensable, as already stated, that all local notes should be nished a plausible, though by no means a valid, argument
suppressed, and the issue of paper confined entirely to one against it; for it would be contradictory and absurd to
body. pretend that any set of persons can be entitled perma-
The exacting of security previously to the issue of nently to enjoy a privilege injurious to the community,
notes would guarantee the holders from loss, and be in so But there is no room nor ground even for an appeal ad mi-
prejudices of the people, as to leave but little hope of its
eradication. We do not, however, think that the diffi¬
culties in the way of the suppression of local notes would
be found to be nearly so great were it set seriously about,
as Mr Loyd seems to infer. Were parliament to enact
that all local or provincial notes payable on demand in
England and Wales should cease to circulate some two
or three years hence, their withdrawal might, we appre¬
hend, be effected with very little trouble and inconve¬
nience. The circulation of notes, now that those for less
than L.5 have been suppressed, is far from being one of
the principal sources of banking profits. The stamp-duty,
the expense of engraving, and the still heavier expense
necessary to keep notes afloat, and to provide for their
payment when they may happen to be presented, cut
deep into the profits made by their issue. Our readers
are no doubt generally aware that several country banks
have, within the half dozen years ending with 1837,
withdrawn their own notes from circulation, and issued
in their stead those of the Bank of England, according to
certain terms agreed on with the latter. The banks in
question would not certainly have done this had it made
any serious inroad on their profits. But it has not sensi¬
bly diminished them; and the proof of this is, that the
banks which have made this arrangement realise quite as
large profits as are realised by those that continue to is¬
sue notes of their own. We submit that this is decisive
of the whole question. It proves that the profits of the
provincial banks are not sensibly impaired by the substi¬
tution for their own, of Bank of England notes. Had the
1 Reflections on the Pamphlet of Mr Horsley Palmer, p. 52.
PAPER-MONEY.
Paper-
Money.
sericordiam on the part of the private issuers. The fact
„ that numbers of them have spontaneously, and without
solicitation of any kind, abandoned the privilege of issue,
and replaced their own notes with tho‘se of the central
issuer in London, shows conclusively that the privilege in
question is worth little or nothing, and, consequently,
that it may be withdrawn without entailing any consider¬
able hardship on any one. It is essential to the placing
of the currency on a proper footing, that all local notes
should be suppressed; and as their suppression would not
be injurious to the issuers, what possible reason can be
alleged for continuing their circulation ?
Mode in We have said that it would be easy, were there only
which a one issuer, to enforce compliance with such rules and re-
smgle issu-gU]ations as would make ^ amount and vaiue 0p ^
should^acT* currency vary at all times exactly as if it were metallic,
so as to This has been doubted; but nothing could be more facile,
make the Suppose that all local notes are withdrawn, and that there
amount is only one issuer of paper; all that would be necessary to
and value maintain an identity of amount and value between gold
rency vary and paPer would be’ to regulate the currency exclusively
exactly as the influx and efflux of bullion ; that is, never to issue
if it were an additional note except it be paid away for an equivalent
metallic, amount of bullion brought to the office, nor to withdraw a
note except when it is received in payment of an equiva¬
lent amount of bullion demanded from the office. The
business of such an office would be entirely routine. Its
managers would have no sort of discretion ; their duty
being merely to give paper for gold and gold for paper,
according to the demands of the public. It has been fre¬
quently objected to the establishment of a national bank,
that it would become a focus of intrigue and jobbing, and
would be prostituted, or supposed to be prostituted, for
the advancement of mere party purposes; and this, no
doubt, would be the case were it allowed to discount and to
transact ordinary banking business. A national bank for
such purposes would be a national nuisance, that would
very soon require to be abated. But were it confined, as
it should be, to the mere issue of paper cn the principle
and in the way now stated, it could not be perverted to
any sort of sinister object. Its conductors would be re¬
stricted to a sort of mill-horse path, and it would be im¬
possible for them, even if so disposed, to show favour or
paitiality to any one. All would depend on an invariable
rule; and the amount and value of the paper afloat would
never exceed nor fall short of the amount and value of
the bullion that would circulate in its stead were it with¬
drawn.
Supposing the average amount of paper afloat with a
single issuer to be from thirty to forty millions, a stock of¬
ten or twelve millions of bullion would be more than suf¬
ficient to begin with ; for, it is hardly possible to imagine
under such a system, that any thing should ever occur to
lessen the paper currency so much as twenty per cent., or
consequently to occasion a demand for so much as six or
eight millions of bullion.
27
sole issuer, she ought to have increased them, and con- Banks,
versely. But it is needless to say that this is a most un¬
satisfactory state of things, both as respects the Bank and
the country. The former is obliged to exercise a discre¬
tion which cannot be safely confided to any set of indivi¬
duals, whilst the latter is sure to suffer from all the er¬
rors into which the directors may fall, as well as from the
disastrous consequences resulting from that competition
of rival and conflicting issues, against which no degree of
intelligence on the part of the directors of the Bank of
England can possibly guard. In fact, wre have no idea
that it will be practicable for the latter and the country
banks to go on together on their present footing. As
matters now stand, the Bank of England may be brought
at any time, and frequently is brought, into the greatest
jeopardy by the proceedings of parties over whom she has
no sort of control. The over-issue of the provincial
banks, by depressing the exchange, drains the Bank of
gold ; and then their discredit, and perhaps failure, may,
by exciting a panic, bring her to a stand still! Provided
banks of deposit be established on sound principles, there
cannot be too many of them. But it is quite otherwise
with banks of issue. The more they are multiplied, the
gieatei is the chance of fluctuation in their issues, and con¬
sequently in prices, credit, and so forth. Had the Bank
England been the sole issuer of paper, the crashes of
1792—93 and of 1825-26, and the revulsion of 1836—37,
would not have occurred. They grew entirely out of the
competition and proceedings of the provincial banks, and
are in no degree whatever ascribable to anything else, do¬
mestic or foreign.
According to existing arrangements, the charter of the
Bank ot England must continue on its present footing till
1845. But we have no doubt, that w ere parliament to set
about suppressing local issues,—an improvement that must
precede every other,—the Bank would readily concur in
any arrangement by which the proper regulation of her
issues might be provided for and secured. But the sup¬
pression ot local paper is indispensable as a preliminary
to pave the way for other measures. Fluctuations in its
amount and value are of the essence of a currency supplied
by different issuers. If the country continue to tolerate the
latter, it will unavoidably continue to suffer the perpetual
recurrence of the former. r 1
PART II. BANKS.
TSh u,The k °l EnSla"d has endeavoured, for a consider-
e Bank 6 nuraber of years past, to govern her issues nearly in
England^6 way now pomted out. But, in her present situation,
deavours. avlno Fer operations frequently counteracted by other
govern issuers, she neither can nor ought alwavs to regulate her
^issues .- conduct by a regard to strict principle. She must look
£ a.' t0 the Procefdlags of others, by which she may be deeply
ncies to compromised ; and she must not only consider what may
itch she , *16 e“ect °‘ the measures she may adopt on the ex-
ust at- change, or on the influx and efflux of bullion, but how they
M. may be regarded by the provincial banks, and expected
to influence them. Hence the Bank may frequently be
justified in narrowing her issues when, had she been the
Banks are commonly divided into banks of deposit and Clashes of
banks ot issue; that is, banks that take care of other people’s banks,
money, and banks that issue money of their own. But
there are very few banks of issue that are not at the same
time banks of deposit. This class of banks, as they exist
in this and most other countries, are places where the mo¬
ney of individuals is received in deposit, payments beino-
also made on their account, and loans made to the public.
I he manageis ot such banks are sometimes accustomed,
as in most parts ot England and Scotland, to pay inte¬
rest at about one or two per cent, under the market rate
for the money deposited in their hands ; but when the
business to be transacted in the receipt and payment of
money on account of depositors is very large, it is not the
practice for bankers, unless the deposits be proportionally
great, to allow interest. The latter is the case in London.
It is there customary for merchants and other people to
send all the bills and drafts payable to them to their bank¬
ers, who make themselves responsible for their regular
presentation for payment, and for their noting if not paid ;
and it is there also the practice to make all considerable pay¬
ments by checks on bankers. Banking business is conducted
in London at a heavy expense, and no little risk; and the
‘28
PAPER-MONEY.
Banks.
London bankers do not, therefore, except in special cases,
allow interest on deposits. They are in the habit ot sti¬
pulating, in order to indemnify themselves tor their trouble
and outlay, that the individuals dealing with them shou
keep an average balance of cash in their hands, varying
according to the amount of business transacted on their
account. The bankers then estimate, as well as they can,
the amount of cash they must keep in their coffers o
meet the probable demands of their customers, and em¬
ploy the balance in discounting mercantile bills, in the
purchase of government securities, or in some other sor
of profitable adventure ; so that their profits consist of the
sum they realize upon such parts of the money lodged m
their hands as they are able to employ in an advantageous
way, after deducting the various exPens®s uattfndfai;^0nn
for the proper publication of such returns, so that eveiy-
body might know with whom they were dealing, but little
if any farther information would be required with banks
not issuing notes. There is in this respect a wide difler-
ence between them and banks of issue. It is the duty o
the government to take care that the value of the currency
shall be as invariable as possible ; but it has never been
pretended that it is any part whatever of its duty to in¬
quire into the security given by the borrowers to the len¬
ders of money, any more than into the security given by
the borrowers to the lenders of any thing else. Govern¬
ment very properly obliges a goldsmith to have his goods
stamped, this being a security to the public that they shall
not be imposed on in buying articles of the quality o
which they are generally ignorant; but it does not require
, J  colle nr fpnds his
Banks.
way, after deducting the various exPenseAs, att"nndfa"teD°on at 1.^06? ons o whom the goldsmith sells or lends his
the management of their eatabhshments A bank °f fcpo- P ^"e him a ^arantle for their payment. This
tne mana&emcm. m     - ,
sit would never be established if it had to depend on its
own capital. It makes no profit, in its capacity ot bank,
till it begins to employ the capital of others.
Jntroduc- The business of banking was not introduced into Lon-
tion and don till the seventeenth century. It was at first conducted
growth of by the goldsmiths, who borrowed money from their cus-
private tomers at a certain rate of interest, and lent it to govei n-
b an king. ment an(1 t0 private individuals at a higher rate. In the
course of time, the business came to be conducted by
houses who confined themselves to; it only’ a"d near ? 111
the mode in which we now find it. From 1708, as already
stated, down to 1826, with the exception of the bank ot
England, no company with more than six partners could
be established, either in London or anywhere else m Eng¬
land and Wales, for conducting banking business , and by
far the largest portion of that business is still conducted
in the metropolis by firms with a small number of partneis,
or by what are called private banks.
In 1775, the London, or rather the “ city bankers, esta¬
blished the “ clearing house.” This is a house to wine
each banker who deals with it is in the habit of daily
sending a clerk, who carries with him the various bills and
checks in the possession of his house that are drawn upon
other bankers; and having exchanged them for the bills
and checks in the possession of those others that are drawn
upon his constituents, the balance on the one side or the
other is paid in cash or Bank of England notes. By this
contrivance the bankers connected with the clearing house
are enabled to settle transactions to the extent of severa
millions a day, by the employment of more, at an a,e-
Clearing
house.
goods should give him a guarantee for their payment. This
is a matter as to which individuals are fully competent to
judge for themselves; and there neither is nor can be any
reason why a lender or depositor of bullion or notes shoul
be more protected than a lender or depositor of timber, coal,
or sugar. Gold being the standard or measure of value,
government is bound to take effectual precautions that the
currency shall truly correspond in the whole and in all its
parts with that standard,—that every pound note shall be
worth a sovereign, and that the amount and value of t e
aggregate notes in circulation shall vary exactly as a go
currency would do were it substituted in their stead. ut
this is all that government is called upon to do. . If A trust
a sum of money in the hands of B, it is their affair, and con¬
cerns no one else. Provided the money afloat correspond
with the standard, it is of no importance, in a public point
of view, into whose hands it may come. I he bankruptcy
of a deposit bank, like that of a private gentleman who
has borrowed largely, may be productive ot much loss or
inconvenience to its creditors. But if the paper in circu¬
lation be equivalent to gold, such bankruptcies cannot a -
feet either the quantity or value of money ; and are, there¬
fore, injurious only to the parties concerned.
The Bank of England, which has long been the princi- Establish-
pat bank of deposit and circutauon, not in th.s countrymen.^
only, but in Europe, was founded in 1694. Its principal^ B^nk
projector was Mr William Paterson, an enterprising and fEng_
intelligent Scotch gentleman, who was afterwards engaged
in the ill-fated colony at Darien. Government being at the
Regula-
tions to
which
banks for
millions a day, by ^/^P^^^^^orBank of time much distressed for want of money, partly from the
rage, than from L.200,000 to L.500,000 ca , defects and abuses in the system of taxation, and partly
England notes — - * ’  ^ ^   
The security afforded by a bank of deposit is a mattei
as to which there must always be more or less of doubt.
When, indeed, a banking company confines itself to its
proper business, and does not embark in speculations o
deposit on- ^usual hazard, or from which its funds cannot be easily
be Sect- withdrawn, in the event of any sudden run or demand, it can
ed. ' hardly ever fail of being in a situation to meet its engage
ments • whilst the large private fortunes that most com¬
monly belong to the partners afford those who deal with
it an additional guarantee. Much, however, depends on
the character of the parties, and on a variety ot cncum-
stances with respect to "'hich the public can never be cor-
from the difficulty of borrowing, because of the supposed
instability of the revolutionary establishment, the Bank
grew out of a loan of L.1,200,000 for the public service.
The subscribers, besides receiving eight per cent, on the
sum advanced as interest, and L.4000 a year as the ex¬
pense of management, in all L.100,000 a year, were in¬
corporated into a society denominated the Governor and
Company of the Bank of England. The charter is dated
the 27th of July 1694. It declares, amongst other things,
that they shall “ be capable, in law, to purchase, enjoy,
and retain to them and their successors, any monies,
lands, rents, tenements, and possessions whatsoever; and
stances with respect to wmen me paun^a. - — to purchase and acquire all sorts of goods and chattels
rectly informed; so that though there can ^ n0fd?^bntjt • whatsoever wherein they are not restrained by act ot
^  i.! ^ „K1 ^ /.lac/vrlntinn. this mav^not be parliament; and also to grant, demise, and dispose ot tbe
of the mosTunexceptionable 'description, this may not be
AirToim-stoa’tanks, or banks having more than six
partners, whether for deposit and issue, or for depos't mere-
ly, are ordered, by the act 3 and 4 Will. IV. cap. 83, to
send quarterly returns of the number and names of their
partners to the stamp-office. We see no good reason why
similar returns should not, and several why they should, be
parliament
same. , r .
“ That the management and government ot the corpo¬
ration be committed to the governor and twenty-four di¬
rectors, who shall be elected between the 25th of March
and the 25th day of April each year, from among the
members of the company duly qualified. , , .
“ That no dividend shall at any time be made by the
s™ -d save 0"ly out of the interest’
PAPER-MONEY.
29
Banks, profit, or produce arising by or out of the said capital
stock or fund, or by such dealing as is allowed by act of
parliament.
“ They must be natural-born subjects of England, or
naturalized subjects ; they shall have in their own name,
and for their own use, severally, viz. the governor at least
L.4000, the deputy-governor L.3000, and each director
L.2000, of the capital stock of the said corporation.
“ That thirteen or more of the said governors and di¬
rectors (of which the governor or deputy-governor must
be always one) shall constitute a court of directors, for
the management of the affairs of the company, and for
the appointment of all agents and servants which may be
necessary, paying them such salaries as they may consider
reasonable.
“ Every elector must have, in his own name and for his
own use, L.500 or more capital stock, and can only give
one vote. He must, if required by any member present,
take the oath of stock, or the declaration of stock in case
he be one of the people called Quakers.
“ Four general courts to be held in every year, in the
months of September, December, April, and July. A gene¬
ral court may be summoned at any time, upon the requi¬
sition of nine proprietors duly qualified as electors.
“ The majority of electors in general courts have the
power to make and constitute by-laws and ordinances for
the government of the corporation, provided that such by¬
laws and ordinances be not repugnant to the laws of the
kingdom, and be confirmed and approved, according to
the statutes in such case made and provided.”
The corporation is prohibited from engaging in any sort
of commercial undertaking other than dealing in bills of
exchange, and in gold and silver. It is authorized to ad¬
vance money upon the security of goods or merchandise
pledged to it; and to sell by public auction such goods as
are not redeemed within a specified time.
It was also enacted, in the same year in which the Bank
was established, by statute 6 William and Mary, c. 20,
that the Bank, “ shall not deal in any goods, wares, or
merchandise (except bullion), or purchase any lands or
revenues belonging to the crown, or advance or lend to
their majesties, their heirs or successors, any sum or sums
of money, by way of loan or anticipation, or any part or
parts, branch or branches, fund or funds, of the revenue,
now granted or belonging, or hereafter to be granted, to
their majesties, their heirs and successors, other than such
fund or funds, part or parts, branch or branches, of the said
revenue only, on which a credit of loan is or shall be grant¬
ed by parliament.” And in 1697 it was enacted, that the
“ common capital or principal stock, and also the real fund,
of the governor and company, or any profit or produce to
be made thereof, or arising thereby, shall be exempted
from any rates, taxes, assessments, or impositions whatso¬
ever, during the continuance of the Bank; that all the
profit, benefit, and advantage from time to time arising
out of the management of the said corporation, shall be
applied to the uses of all the members of the said associa¬
tion of the governor and company of the Bank of England,
rateably and in proportion to each member’s part, share,
and intej-est in the common capital and principal stock of
the said governor and company hereby established.”
In 1696, during the great recoinage, the Bank was in¬
volved in great difficulties, and was even compelled to sus¬
pend payment of her notes, which were at a heavy discount.
Owing, however, to the judicious conduct of the directors,
and the assistance of the government, the Bank got over
the crisis. But it was at the same time judged expedient,
in order to place her in a situation the better to withstand
any adverse circumstances that might afterwards occur, to
increase her capital from L.1,200,000 to L.2,201,171. In
1708, the directors undertook to pay oft' and cancel one
million and a half of exchequer bills they had circulating Banks,
two years before, at four and a half per cent., with the in-
terest upon them, amounting in all to L. 1,775,028, which
increased the permanent debt due by the public to the
Bank, including L.400,000 then advanced in consideration
of the renewal of the charter, to L.3,375,028, for which
they were allowed six per cent. The bank capital was
then also doubled, or increased to L.4,402,343. But the
year 1708 is chiefly memorable, in the history of the Bank,
for the act previously alluded to, which declared, that dur¬
ing the continuance of the corporation of the Bank of Eng¬
land, “ it should not be lawful for any body politic, erected
or to be erected, other than the said governor and com¬
pany of the Bank of England, or of any other persons what¬
soever, united or to be united in covenants or partnership,
exceeding the number of six persons, in that part of Great
Britain called England, to borrow, owe, or take up any
sum or sums of money on their bills or notes payable on
demand, or in any less time than six months from the
borrowing thereof.” This proviso, which has had so pow¬
erful an operation on banking in England, is said to have
been elicited by the Mine-Adventure Company having
commenced banking business, and begun to issue notes.
The charter of the Bank of England, when first granted,
was to continue for eleven years certain, or till a year’s
notice after the 1st of August 1705. The charter was
further prolonged in 1697. In 1708, the Bank having ad¬
vanced L.400,000 for the public service, without interest,
the exclusive privileges of the corporation were prolonged
till 1733. And in consequence of various advances made
at different times, the exclusive privileges of the Bank have
been continued by successive renewals, till a year’s notice
after the 1st of August 1855, under the proviso that they
may be cancelled on a year’s notice to that effect being
given on the 1st of August 1845.
We subjoin an account of the successive renewals of Renewals
the charter, of the conditions under which these renewals of Bank
were made, and of the variations in the amount and inte- charter,
rest of the permanent debt due by government to the Bank, with the
exclusive of the dead weight. cond.t.ons.
Date of
Renewal.
Conditions under which Renewals were
made, and Permanent Debt contracted.
Permanent Debt.
1694
1697
1708
Charter granted under the act 5
and 6 Will. III. c. 20, redeem- i
able upon the expiration of
twelve months’ notice after the
1st. August 1705, upon payment j
by the public to the Bank, of the
demand therein specified.
Under this act the Bank ad¬
vanced to the publicL. 1,200,000
in consideration of their receiv¬
ing an annuity of L. 100,000 a
year, viz. eight per cent, inte¬
rest, and L.4000 for manage¬
ment 
Charter continued by 8 and 9
Will. III. c. 20, till twelve
months’ notice after 1st of Au¬
gust 1710, on payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank took
up and added to their stock
L. 1,001,171 exchequer bills and
tallies.
Charter continued by 7 Anne, c.
7, till twelve months' notice af¬
ter 1st of August 1732, on pay¬
ment, &c.
Under this act the Bank ad¬
vanced L.400,000 to govern¬
ment without interest; and
delivered up to be cancelled
L. 1,775,027. 17s. lOd. exche-
s. d.
1,200,000 0 0
30
PAPE R-M 0 N E Y.
Banks.
Date of
Renewal.
1713
1742
1764
1781
Conditions under which Renewals were
made, and Permanent Debt contracted.
Permanent Debt.
Brought forward,
quer bills, in consideration of
their receiving an annuity of
L. 106,501.13s. being at the rate
of six per cent   
Charter continued by 12 Anne,
stat. 1, cap. 11, till twelve
months’ notice after the 1st of
August 1742, on payment, &c.
In 1716, by the'3d Geo. I.
c. 8, the Bank advanced to go¬
vernment, at five per cent 
And by the same act, the in¬
terest on the exchequer bills
cancelled in 1780 was reduced
from six to five per cent.
In 1721, by 8 Geo. I. c. 21,
the South Sea Company were
authorized to sell L.200,000 go¬
vernment annuities, and corpo¬
rations purchasing the same at
26 years’ purchase were autho¬
rized to add the amount to their
capital stock. The Bank pur
chased the whole of these annui¬
ties at 20 years’ purchase 
Five per cent, interest was
payable on this sum to mid¬
summer 1727, and thereafter
four per cent.
At different times between
1727 and 1738, both inclusive,
the Bank received from the pub¬
lic, on account of permanent
debt, L.3,275,027.17s. 10d. and
advanced to it on account of
ditto L.3,000,000 : Difference
Debt due by the public in
1738 
Charter continued by 15 Geo. II.
c. 13, till twelvemonths’ notice
after the 1st of August 1764,
on payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank ad¬
vanced L.1,600,000 witho.ut in¬
terest, which being added to the
original advance of L. 1,200,000,
and the L. 400,000 advanced in
1710, bearing interest at six per
cent., reduced the interest on
the whole to three per cent 
In 1745, under authority of
19 Geo. II- c. 6, the Bank de¬
livered up to be cancelled
L.986,000 of exchequer bills,
in consideration of an annuity
of L.39,472, being at the rate
of three per cent 
In 1749, the 23d Geo. II. c.
6, reduced the interest on the
four per cent, annuities,held by
the Bank, to three and a half
per cent- for seven years from
the 25th of December 1750,
and thereafter to three per cent.
Charter continued by 4 Geo. III.
c. 25, till twelve months’ notice
fter the 1st of August 1786,
on payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank paid
into the exchequer L. 110,000,
free of all charge.
Charter continued by 21 Geo.IlI.
c. 60, till twelve months’ notice
after the 1st of August 1812,
on payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank ad¬
vanced L.3,000,000 for the pub-
Carry forward 
L. s. d.
1,200,000 0 0
2,175,027 17 10
2,000,000 0 0
4,000,000 0 0
9,375,027 17 10
275,027 17 10
9,100,000 0 0
1,600,000 0 0
986,000 0 0
11,686,000 0 0
Date of
Renewal.
1800
Conditions under which Renewals were
made, and Permanent Debt contracted.
1833
Brought forward,
lie service for three years, at
three per cent.
Charter continued by 40 Geo. III.
c. 28, till twelve months’ notice
after the 1st of August 1833,
on payment, &c.
Under this act the Bank advanced
to government L.3,000,000 for
six years without interest; but
in pursuance of the recommen¬
dation of the committee ofl 807,
the advance was continued,
without interest, till six months
after the signature of a defini¬
tive treaty of peace.
In 1816, the Bank, under au¬
thority of the act 56 Geo. III.
c. 96, advanced at three per
cent., to be repaid on or before
the 1st of August 1833 
Charter continued by 3 and 4
Will. IV. c. 98, till twelve
months’ notice after the 1st of
August 1855, with a proviso
that it may be dissolved on
twelve months’ notice after the
1st of August 1845, on pay¬
ment, &c.
This act directs that in fu¬
ture the Bank shall deduct
L. 120,000 a year from their
charge on account of the ma¬
nagement of the public debt;
and that a fourth part of the
debt due by the public to the
Bank, or L. 3,638,250, be paid
off’. 
Permanent advance by the
Bank to the public, bearing in¬
terest at three per cent., inde¬
pendent of the advances on ac¬
count of dead weight, or other
public securities held by her...
Permanent Debt.
L.
11,686,000
Banks.
3,000,000 0 0
14,686,000 0 0
3,638,250 0 0
11,047,750 0 0
Suspfl'
iftash
For further details as to this subject, see the appendix,
No. 1, of the Report of 1832 on the Renewal of the Bank
Charter, and the acts of parliament referred to in it. See
also James Postlethwayt’s History of the Revenue, pp.
301-310; and Fairman on the Funds, seventh edition, pp.
85-88, &c.
The capital of the Bank on which dividends are paid
has never exactly coincided with, though it has seldom
differed very materially from, the permanent advance by
the Bank to the public. We have already seen that it
amounted in 1708 to L.4,402,243. Between that year
and 1727 it had increased to near L.9,000,000. In 1746
it amounted to L.l0,780,000. From this period it under¬
went no change till 1782, when it was increased eight per
cent., or to L.l 1,642,400. It continued stationary at this
sum down to 1816, when it was raised to L.14,553,000, by
an addition of twenty-five per cent, from the profits of the
Bank, under the provisions of the act 56 Geo. III. c. 96.
The act for the renewal of the charter 34 \\ ill. IV. c. 98,
directed that the sum of L.3,638,250, the portion of debt due
to the Bank to be repaid by the public, should be deduct¬
ed from the Bank’s capital; which, in consequence, is now
L.10,914,750. (Report on Bank Charter, Appen. No. 33.)
The Bank of England has been frequently affected by Runs upon
panics amongst the holders of her notes. In 1745 the the Bank,
alarm occasioned by the advance of the Highlanders, un¬
der the Pretender, as far as Derby, led to a run upon the
Bank; and in order to gain time to effect measures for
averting the run, the directors adopted the device of pay-
PAPER-MONEY.
31
cash
.yments
1797.
Banks, ing in shillings and sixpences ! But they derived a more
"v—'effectual relief from the retreat of the Highlanders, and
from a resolution agreed to at a meeting of the princi¬
pal merchants and traders of the city, and very numerous¬
ly signed, declaring the willingness of the subscribers to
receive bank-notes in payment of any sum that might be
due to them, and pledging themselves to use their utmost
endeavours to make all their payments in the same me¬
dium.
During the tremendous riots in June 1780 the Bank in¬
curred considerable danger. Had the mob attacked the
establishment at the commencement of the riots, the con¬
sequences might have proved fatal. Luckily, however,
they delayed their attack till time had been afforded for
providing a force sufficient to insure its safety. Since that
period a considerable military force is nightly placed in
the interior of the Bank, as a protection in any emergency
that may occur.
cash31011 ^ear *s t^e rnost important epoch in the recent
history of the Bank. Owing partly to events connected
with thewar in which we were then engaged; to loans to the
Emperor of Germany; to bills drawn on the treasury at home
by the British agents abroad ; and partly, and chiefly, per¬
haps, to the advances most unwillingly made by the Bank
to government, which prevented the directors from having
a sufficient control over their issues, the exchanges be¬
came unfavourable in 1795, and in that and the following
year large sums of specie were drawn from the Bank. In
the latter end of 1796 and beginning of 1797, considerable
apprehensions were entertained of invasion, and rumours
were propagated of descents having been actually made
on the coast. In consequence of the fears that were thus
excited, runs were made on the provincial banks in differ¬
ent parts of the country ; and some of them having failed,
the panic became general, and extended itself to London.
Demands for cash poured in upon the Bank from all quar¬
ters ; and, on Saturday the 25th of February 1797, she had
only L.1,272,000 of cash and bullion in her coffers, with
every prospect of a violent run taking place on the follow¬
ing Monday. In this emergency, an order in council was
issued on Sunday the 26th, prohibiting the directors from
paying their notes in cash until the sense of parliament
should be taken on the subject. And after parliament
met, and the measure had been much discussed, it was
agreed to continue the restriction till six months after the
signature of a definitive treaty of peace.
As soon as the order in council prohibiting payments in
cash appeared, a meeting of the principal bankers, merch¬
ants, traders, &c. of the metropolis, was held at the Man¬
sion-house when a resolution was agreed to, and very nu¬
merously signed, pledging, as had been done in 1745, those
present to accept, and to use every means in their power
to cause bank-notes to be accepted, as cash in all transac¬
tions. This resolution tended to allay the apprehensions
that the restriction had excited.
Parliament being sitting at the time, a committee was
immediately appointed to examine into the affairs of the
Bank ; and their report put to rest whatever doubts might
have been entertained with respect to the solvency of the
establishment, by showing, that at the moment when the
order in council apeared, the Bank was possessed of pro¬
perty to the amount of L.15,513,690, after all claims upon
her had been deducted.
Much difference of opinion has existed with respect to
the policy of the restriction in 1797 ; but, considering the
peculiar circumstances under which it took place, its ex¬
pediency seems abundantly obvious. The run did not ori¬
ginate in any over-issue of bank-paper, but grew entirely
out of political causes. As long as the alarms of invasion
continued, it was clear that no bank-paper immediately
convertible into gold would remain in circulation. And
as the Bank, although possessed of ample funds, was with- Banks,
out the means of instantly retiring her notes, she might,
but for the interference of government, have been obliged
to stop payment; an event which, had it occurred, must
have produced consequences in the last degree fatal to
the public interests.
The error of the government did not consist in their Resump-
coming to the assistance of the Bank, but in their conti-tion of
nuing the restriction after the alarm of invasion had ceas-cas^"l)a-v"
ed, and there was nothing to hinder the Bank from safely 111
reverting to specie payments. We have already pointed out
(see article Money, vol. xv. p. 402) the influence of the
suspension upon the conduct of the Bank, and the deprecia¬
tion to which it led. But the destruction of country-bank
paper in 1814, 1815, and 1816, having, by reducing the
amount of currency, raised its value nearly to a level with
that of gold, the legislature was able to revert with com¬
paratively little difficulty to the old standard. The act for
this purpose, 59 Geo. III. cap. 78, has been commonly
called Peel s bill, from its having been introduced and
carried through parliament by Mr (now Sir Robert) Peel.
To facilitate the return to specie payments, the Bank was
authorized, in the first instance, to pay in bars of standard
bullion. She, however, recommenced payments in coin in
May 1821, and has since continued them without interrup¬
tion.
Having already given some account of the derange-Bank-
ments of the currency in 1825-26, and in 1836-37, it is notes made
needless again to allude to them here. When the charter ten-
was renewed in 1833, the notes of the Bank of England der ever-v-
were made legal tender everywhere except at the Bank.!lh!re,etf‘
Of the wisdom of this regulation no doubt can be enter- Bank!
tained. Bank-notes are necessarily always equivalent to
bullion ; and by making them substitutes for coin at coun¬
try banks, the demand for the latter during periods of
alarm or runs is materially diminished, and the stability
of the Bank and of the pecuniary system of the country
proportionally increased. Since 1826 the Bank has esta¬
blished branches in some of the great commercial towns.
. The principle which the Bank endeavours to keep in Principle
view in conducting her business is, that she should so ma-on which
nage her affairs as to have always on hand a stock of cointhe Bank'
and bullion equal to a third part of her liabilities; that is, ®ndeav°urs
to a third part of the gross amount of her issues and de- her con ^
posits. But in practice she is obliged frequently to de- duct,
part from tins rule; and we have already seen that the cir¬
cumstances under which the Bank is placed, in conse¬
quence of there being hundreds of rival issuers, are such
as to make it impossible for her to abide constantly by any
system in the regulation of her issues, or to act in the way
that it would be for her interest as well as her duty to act
were she the sole issuer of paper.
The Bank of England transacts the whole business ofBank of
government. “ She acts not only,” says Dr Smith, “ as England in
an ordinary bank, but as a great engine of state. Sheco.n,n®cution
receives and pays the greater part of the annuities which
with the
are due to the creditors of the public; she circulates fx-E™’
chequer bills; and she advances to the government the
annual amount of the land and malt taxes, which are fre¬
quently not paid till some years thereafter.” Previously
to 1834 the Bank received about L.270,000 a year from
the public for her trouble in managing the national debt,
paying dividends, transferring stock, &c. But the act re¬
newing the charter having directed that L.120,000 should
be deducted from this charge, it now amounts to about
L. 150,000 a year.
The greater part of the paper of the Bank has generally Assistance
been issued in the way of advances or loans to govern-rendered
ment, upon security of certain branches of the revenue, bY Bank t0
and in the purchase of exchequer bills and other govern- t^e I?ier.*
rnent securities, and bullion. But her issues through thejantlle in"
R-MONE Y.
2 PAPE
Banks, medium of discounts and loans to individuals have not-
—^ withstanding been at all times considerable, while during
periods of distress they are often very large. Generally
speaking, however, the directors do not think it advisable
to enter into competition with private bankers in the tians-
acting of ordinary banking business, or in the discounting
of ordinary mercantile paper; and for this reason the in¬
terest charged by them is usually one or one and a halt
per cent, higher than that charged by private bankers and
dealers in discounts. When, however, any circumstances
occur to occasion a pressure in the money market, the
market rate of interest immediately rises to the rate hxed
by the Bank, and on such occasions the private bankers
and the public generally resort to her for aid. She then
becomes as it were a point d'appui—a bank of support
and has frequently rendered in that capacity essential ser¬
vice, as in the famous instances of 1792-93, 1815-16,
1825-26, and 1836-37. The interference of the Bank on
the latter occasion, in propping up the Northern and Cen¬
tral Bank, though in some respects objectionable, and in
supporting the American houses till they got their engage¬
ments greatly reduced, no doubt averted a severe pecuni- Banks,
ary crisis.
The Bank of England allows no interest, either at the
head office in London, or at the branches, for deposits.
She is, we believe, influenced in this respect by an appre¬
hension, that were she to allow interest, she might be
encumbered with too great an accumulation of deposits,
which it might be difficult to employ advantageously, and
which, in a period of alarm, might endanger her security.
It is not to be denied that there is great weight in these
considerations.
The dividends on bank stock, from 1767 to the present
time, have been-.—From 1767 to 1781, five and a half per
cent, per annum; from 1781 to 1788, six per cent.; from
1788 to 1807, seven per cent.; from 1807 to 1823, ten
per cent.; and from 1823 to the present time (1838) eight
per cent. The sums paid as dividends are exclusive of
those which have occasionally been advanced as bonuses :
the latter amount, since 1799, to L.3,783,780, over and
above the increase of the Bank’s capital in 1816, which
amounted to L.2,910,600.
TABLES EXHIBITING THE CONDITION OF THE AFFAIRS OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND
estate of the Affairs of the Bank of England, 29th of February 1832.
L.
Dr.
To bank notes outstanding 
To public deposits, viz. |
Drawing accounts  j 2,034,7*W
Balance of audit roll  i 550,550
Life annuities unpaid  85,030
Annuities for terms of years
unpaid 
Exchequer bills deposited 
To private deposits, viz.
Drawing accounts   
Various other debts 
To the Bank of England for the
capital 
To balance of surplus in favour
of the Bank of England 
38,360
490,000
5,683,870
54,560
L
18,051,710
3,198,730
5,738,430
14,553,000
2,637,760
L.44,179,630
Cr.
By advances on government se¬
curities ; by exchequer bills on j
the growing produce of the
consolidated fund in the quar¬
ter ending 5th of April 1832...
Ditto 5th of July 1832 
Exchequer bills on supplies 1825
Ditto for L. 10,500,000 for 1825.,
By the advances to the trustees
appointed by the act 3 Geo. IV.
c. 51, towards the purchase
of an annuity of L-585,740 for
forty-four years from 5th of
April 1823 
By other credits, viz.
Exchequer bills purchased 
Stock purchased 
City bonds 
Bills and notes discounted 
Loans on mortgages 
London Dock Company 
Advances on security, and va¬
rious articles 
By cash and bullion   
By the permanent debt due from
government 
L.
3,428,340
697,000
7,600
2,000
L.
4,134,940
2,700,000
764,600
500,000
2,951,970
1,452,100
227,500
570,690 [J
10,897,880
9,166,860
5,293,150
14,686,800
L 44,179,630
Best or surplus brought down..
Bank capital due to proprietors.
2,637,760
14,553,000
L,17,190,760
PAPER-MONEY
S3
11.—Account of the Amount of the Notes of the Banh of England in Circulation^ of the Deposits in the hands of the Bank,
of all Securities held by the Banh, of Bullion in her Coffers, and of the Rest or Surplus Capital of the Bank, on the
last day of February in each of the following years.
$
VOL. XVII.
E
III.—Average Quarterly Account of the Liabilities, Assets, and Surplus or Lest, of the Bank of England, as ordered by
the Act 3 and 4 Will. IV. cap. 98.
N. B The rest is found by adding together the circulation and deposits, and deducting their amount from the amount of the
securities and bullion.
PAPER-MONEY.
35
It will be unnecessary, after the principles laid down “ 3. The law does not impose any restrictions upon the Banks.
and the details given m the previous parts of this article, amount of nominal capital. This will be found to vary
banks of to enter at .any. consicJerable length into an examination from L.5,000,000 to L.100,000 ; and in one instance an
England of[the constitution of the joint-stock banks which combine unlimited power is reserved for issuing shares to any
and Wales. whh the business of deposit banks that of banks for the is- extent.
How con- sue of paper. They consist of bodies of partners, varying “ 4. The law does not impose any obligation that the
stituted- from seven to nearly 1500, each holding one or more shares whole or any certain amount of shares shall be subscribed
of the company s stock, and they are uniformly managed for before banking operations commence. In many in-
by boards of directors appointed by, and generally respon- stances banks commence their business before one half of
sible to, the body of shareholders. The conditions of co- the shares are subscribed for, and 10,000, 20,000, and
partnery vary materially in different associations ; but the 30,000 shares are reserved to be issued at the discretion
above are distinguishing features common to them all. of the directors.
T-heie can be no doubt that several of these banks are dis- “ 5. ihe law does not enforce any rule with respect to
erectly managed, possess adequate capital, and afford the the nominal amount of shares. These will be found to
amplest security to their customers and the public. But vary from L.1000 to L.5. The effects of this variation are
it is very doubtful whether this can be truly said of the strongly stated in the evidence.
greater number of these establishments. The shares in “ 6. The law does not enforce any rule with respect to
many joint-stock banks are very small, few being above the amount of capital paid up before the commencement
L.100, the greater number not exceeding L.50, whilst of business. This will be found to vary from L.105
many are only L.25, and some not more than L.10, and to L.5. J
even L.5 ! Generally, too, it is understood, or rather it “ 7. The law does not provide for any publication of the
is distinctly set forth in the prospectus, that not more than liabilities and assets of these banks, nor does it enforce
five, ten, or twenty per cent, of these shares is to be call- the communication of any balance-sheet to the proprietors
ed for, so that an individual who has ten or twenty shil- at large.
lings to spare may become a shareholder in a bank. And, “ 8. The law does not impose any restrictions by which
owing to a practice, or rather a flagrant abuse, introduced care shall be taken that dividends are paid out of bank-
into the management of various banks, by which they make ing profits only, and that bad or doubtful debts are first
large advances or discounts on the credit of the stock held written off.
by the shareholders, not a few individuals in doubtful, for “ 9. The law does not prohibit purchases, sales and
even desperate circumstances, take shares in them, in the speculative traffic on the part of these companies in their
view of obtaining loans, and bolstering up their credit! own stock, nor advances to be made on the credit of their
Ihe great danger arising from such banks is obvious ; and own shares.
partners in joint-stock associations, that is, to be informed
lie
~    MAAWt
36
PAPE R-M O N E Y.
Banks.
who the individuals are with whom they are dealing, and
who are responsible to them. But, unluckily, no effective
means are taken for supplying the public with this neces¬
sary information, and, consequently, of properly discrimi¬
nating between one establishment and another, ihe act
of 1333 (3 and 4 Will. IV. c. 83) directed, as previously
stated, that an account of the places where they cairy on
business, and of the names and' residences of the partners,
should be quarterly transmitted to the stamp-office. But
doubts have been entertained as to the correctness o
these returns, and comparatively little use has been, oi
indeed can be, made of them. The accounts of the names
and residences of the proprietors are not published; but
are carefully secluded from the public eye, in the reposi¬
tories of Somerset House! It is true that these lists
may be seen by those who choose to apply at the office,
for a small fee, and that certified copies may be procured
at no great expense. But few know that such returns ex¬
ist, and still fewer have the opportunity or think of avail¬
ing themselves of them as sources of information, lo
render them of any real utility, they should be brought
under the public eye, by being hung up in the offices of
the banks to which they refer, and periodically published
in the newspapers of the places where they carry on busi¬
ness. By this means the public would know exactly to
whom they had to look, and would act accordingly. 1 bey
would not be deceived, as they are liable to be at present,
by supposing that, because a bank has a number of part¬
ners, some of them must be opulent and trustworthy
They would know the precise state of the fact; and it it
were seen from the quarterly returns, that opulent and
intelligent individuals were withdrawing from any bank,
every one would be put on his guard, and would naturally
conclude that the parties had very sufficient reasons for
quitting the concern. Thus far publicity may be made
effectual, and would be of the very greatest importance.
Neither is it possible to allege a single plausible objection
to this proposal. It interferes in no degree, nor m any
way, with the proceedings of the parties ; all that it does
is to declare who and what they are, and to this degree
of publicity no honest man will object. But we have great
doubts whether it be possible to carry publicity farther
than this. The committee state that “ the law does not
provide for any publication of the liabilities and assets of
these banks, nor does it enforce the publication of any
balance-sheet to the proprietors at largeand it has been
proposed to compel the periodical publication of a state¬
ment of this sort. But it is very questionable whether any
such publication would not be a great deal worse than
useless. It is not proposed that commissioners should be
appointed to inspect the accounts of the different banks,
and to see that the returns are accurate. Ihis would be
too inquisitorial, too cumbrous, and too costly a plan to be
thought of for a moment. There would be nothing for it,
in fact, but to trust entirely to the honour of the parties.
Hence, in all cases in which a disclosure would be really
useful, the publication of an account of assets and liabili¬
ties would afford the means of deceiving the public, and of
representing a bankrupt concern as being in a prosperous
condition. Supposing, however, that the parties were in
all instances perfectly honest, still the publication of a ba¬
lance-sheet would be good for nothing. Every one knows
how sanguine people are in relation to their own affairs;
and that debts and obligations which other parties would
hardly reckon worth any thing, are estimated by them as
if they were so much bullion. But, independently of this,
the futility of the thing is obvious. A bank with a capi¬
tal of L.100,000 discounts bills and other obligations to
the extent, perhaps, of L.300,000 or L.400,000 ; the fact
that it has discounted them shows that it believes these
bills and obligations to be good; and they will, conse¬
quently, be reckoned amongst its assets. But should a re- Banks,
vulsion take place, or any circumstance occur to shake
credit, these bills may not be worth L.100,000 ; and those
who have dealt with the bank, on the hypothesis of its
having capital and assets more than enough to meet all
its obligations, will find to their cost that it is not possess¬
ed of a single shilling, but is, on the contrary, some
L.200,000 or L.300,000 worse than nothing!
The committee seem to think that some legulation
should be enacted, providing that a certain portion of its
capital should be paid up before a bank begins business.
But we incline to think that the better way would be to
prohibit all advertising of nominal capitals ; and to enact
that the capital actually paid up, whatever its amount,
shall always be represented as, and held to be, the capita
of the bank. But although such a regulation were made,
there would be no security that the capital said to have
been paid up had really been paid into the coffers of tie
bank, or that, if received, it had not again been lent out,
in one way or other, to the partners. Perhaps it mig it
be good policy to enact that no shares should be issued
under a certain sum, as L.50; and that no loans should be
made to the partners on the credit of their stock. But we
should not be inclined to lay much stress on the foimei
regulation; and the latter might, and no doubt would, be
defeated in a thousand ways.
We are decidedly hostile to a proposal we have heard
made, and which seems to be countenanced by the com¬
mittee, for obliging all banks to establish a guarantee fund ;
that is, for obliging them to accumulate a portion of then-
profits as a reserve stock. But where is the security that
such reserve would be always deducted from the piofits?
The truth is, that bankrupt and fraudulent concerns, and
none else, would gain by such a regulation; inasmuch as
it would enable them, by appearing to be prosperous, the
better to deceive the public, and to blind them as to the
real state of their affairs. It is plainly worse than absurd
to teach the public to depend on guarantees that cannot
be enforced, and which consequently must be good for
nothing, unless it be to tempt to and conceal fraud. Ihe
knowledge of who the partners are in a bank, and their
unlimited responsibility, are the only securities that, speak¬
ing generally, are worth anything. If these cannot pro¬
tect the public from fraud and loss, nothing else will; and
the question will come to be, not whether the system
should be reformed, but whether it should be entirely abo-
llSWe* have already noticed the extraordinary multiplica¬
tion of branch-banks all over the country; and it is not
very difficult to discover why banks of issue, at least, are
so very anxious about the establishment of these outworks.
They are bound, it seems, by the present law, to pay their
notes only at the parent establishment; so that, by issuing
them at a branch bank, perhaps a hundred miles distant
from the head bank, the chances are ten to one that they
will continue for a much longer period in circulation, and
that thev will consequently be able to carry on business
with a much less amount of capital, than if they weie,
as they ought to be, obliged to pay their notes at the
branches as well as at the principal office. It is obvious,
indeed, that the convertibility of the paper, even of first-
class banks, into either cash or Bank of England notes, is
at present exceedingly imperfect; and that very great fa¬
cilities are afforded for getting the worst class of notes
into circulation, and for keeping them afloat, even a ter
their quality may be suspected. I his defect in the law
ought undoubtedly to be amended, by obliging all banks
that issue notes to pay them indifferently at any of then-
offices. But we incline to think that parliament might go
farther than this, and that it should enact that no branch
be established, whether for the issue of notes or otherwise,
PAPER-MONEY.
Banks, beyond a certain distance (say fifty miles) from the head
office.
Several of the points recapitulated by the committee, as
to which the law is silent, respect the rights and interests
of the partners in joint-stock banks, in relation to each
other, and not as between them and the public. But it is
always a very difficult matter to interfere to dictate the
footing on which parties in any undertaking should stand
amongst themselves. Much should, in such cases, be left
to the judgment of the parties ; and public regulations, if
enforced at all, should only go to prevent obvious and ac¬
knowledged abuse. The parties may in most cases be safe¬
ly left to take care of themselves. The protection of the
public interest is the paramount consideration ; and we do
not well know what can be done to effect this, in the case
at least of such banks as do not issue notes, other than the
making known who their partners are.
The committee, like the manager who overlooked the part
of the prince in casting the play of Hamlet, have omitted
all refeience to by fai the most important matter connect¬
ed with their inquiry,—the suppression of the “issues of
private and joint-stock banks. Though the regulations
pioposed or hinted at by the committee were adopted, and
weie as effectual as they are sure to be ineffectual and mis¬
chievous, they would do nothing to prevent those oscilla¬
tions in the amount and value of money inherent in a cur¬
rency supplied by different issuers, and which periodically
overspread the country with bankruptcy and ruin. Even
the exacting of security for their issues, the only regula¬
tion it is possible to adopt in regard to them which can be
ot any leal value, though it would mitigate their violence,
would not get rid of these destructive fluctuations. No¬
thing, as has already been fully shown, can do this short
of the suppression of all local issues; and all schemes for
the improvement of banking in England which do not pro¬
ceed on this assumption, savour more of quackery and de¬
lusion than of anything else, and deserve but little atten¬
tion.
Banks.
TABLES EXHIBITING THE NAMES, PARTNERS, CAPITAL, &C. OF JOINT-STOCK BANKS.
I—Official Return of all Places where United or Joint-Stock Banks have been established under the Act 7 Geo. IV c 4(i ■ "tl
the Dates when such Banks were established, and the Number of Partners therein, down to the 22d November 1837 ' Sub' ^ ’
is the paid-up Capital and Circulation of certain Banks, according to the Returns rendered to the Secret Committee of 1337^
Places.
Name of the Bank.
Date when
Established.
:}
Ash ton-under-Lyne 
Barnsley 
Liverpool 
Manchester, Stockport, Bolton
and Newton 
Stockport  
Walsall and Penkridge |
Kendal 
Bilston |
Birmingham 
Ditto |
Ditto  
Bolton |
Bradford  
Ditto |
Bristol 
Bury 
Appleby, Carlisle, and Wigton... -j
Cheltenham and Tewkesbury |
Chesterfield |
Manchester, Preston, Burnley,')
Birmingham, Chester, Leek,
Burslem, Liverpool, Blackburn,
Ashbourn, Rochdale, Shrews¬
bury, Ellesmere, Uttoxeter,
Whitchurch, Hanley, New¬
port, and Ludlow 
Gloucester, Cheltenham, Burford,
Cirencester, Farringdon, Tet-
bury, Dursley, Northleach, and
Stroud 
Coventry and Nuneaton 
Ditto 
Workington, Cockermouth, Mary-
port, Wigton, and Penrith,
Ashton, Staleybridge, Hyde, and )
Glossop Bank   J
*Barnsley Banking Company 
Bank of Liverpool... 
*Bank of Manchester 
Bank of Stockport 
‘Bank of Walsall and South Staf- )
fordshire j
‘Bank of Westmoreland 
'Bilston District Banking Com¬
pany )
Birmingham and Midland Bank., j
Birmingham Town and District...
Banking Company )
Birmingham Banking Company... j
Bolton Joint-Stock Banking Com- )
pany   (
‘Bradford Banking Company 
‘Bradford Commercial Joint-)
Stock Banking Company f
‘Bristol Old Bank 
Bury Banking Company 
‘Carlisle and Cumberland Bank- )
ing Company. £
Cheltenham and Gloucestershire 1
Bank )
‘Chesterfield and North Derby-)
shire Banking Company J
Commercial Bank of England.
June 18, 1838.
Jan. 25, 1832.
April 23, 1831.
March 19, 1829.
May 3, 1836.
August 10, 1835.
June 8, 1833.
August 31, 1836,
August 18, 1836.
July 4, 1836.
Sept. 30, 1829.
May 30, 1836.
July 7, 1827.
Feb. 27, 1833.
June 16, 1826.
June 14, 1336.
Oct. 8, 1836.
May 19, 1836.
Dec. 21, 1831.
July 2, 1834.
'County of Gloucester Bank ' August l, 1836.
Coventry and Warwickshire Bank-)
ing Company f
Coventry Union Banking Com- )
pany f
‘Cumberland Union Banking \
Company j
Dec. 13. 1835.
May 12, 1836.
March 13, 1829.
Number of
Partners. Paid-up Capital.
317
112
503
677
331
154
153
150
265
398
298
183
167
155
7
110
284
151
07
664
281
284
151
146
/,.
20,330
25,100
380,170
741,030
66.625
30,575
21,450
27,375
f 36,400
50,000
20,670
77,900
43,095
140,000
63,925
50,950
22.625
23,280
s. d.
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
0 0
Circulation.
Quarter ended
Dec. 31, 183G.
N.B—The banks to which an asterisk is prefixed issue notes payable to bearer on demand,
have been made.
176,750 0 0
40,490 0 0
32,700 0 0
18,810 0 0
Z.
8,247
136,366
16,680
21,370
9,706
33,019
20,575
104,352
8,256
6,997
9,555
16,255
262,485 0 0 113,527
87,424
31,225
18,439
36,870
V here blanks are left no returns
38
PAPER-MONEY.
Table I.—Continued.
Places.
{
Darlington, Stockton, Stokesley, \
Barnard Castle, Northallerton., y
Derby and Belper  
Plymouth, Devonport, Kings-d
bridge, Totness, Bodmin, Ash¬
burton, St Austell, Liskeard, 1
Dartmouth,Newton-Abbot, Ex¬
eter, Collumpton, Faristock,
Crediton, and Daunceston 
Name of the Bank.
Dudley and Westbromwich.
Norwich, Great Yarmouth, Ips-)
wich, Swaff'ham, Lynn, East
Dereham, Foulsham, Faken.
ham, Harleston, Eye, Saxmund-
ham, Bungay, Watton, Lowes¬
toft, Beccles, Bury St Ed¬
mund’s, North Walsham, Ayls-
ham, Kenninghall, Thetford,
Halesworth, Wrentham, Stow-
market, Woodbridge, Ixworth,
Mildenhall, Downham J
Swansea and Neath -(
Date when
Established.
Number of [
Partners.
fDarlington District Joint-Stock)
Banking Company }
*Derby and Derbyshire Banking)
Company J
‘Devon and Cornwall Banking \
Company j
‘Dudley and Westbromwich)
Banking Company j
‘East of Jingland Bank.
Circulation.
Paid-up Capital, i Quarter ending
Dec. 31, 1836
Gloucester, Stroud, Newnham,'|
Evesham, Tewkesbury, Chel- r
tenham  
Halifax and Huddersfield \
Halifax.
Ditto 
Southampton, Fareham, Rumsey
Helston   
Hereford, Ross, Leominster, Led¬
bury, Kington, Hay, Mon¬
mouth, Coleford, Bromyard,
and Abergavenny   
Huddersfield and Holmfirth 
Hull, Barton, Beverley, Brigg,
Gainsborough, Goole, Grimsby,
Lincoln, Louth, South Cave, !
Caistor, Market-Raisin, Ret¬
ford, Howden, Snaith, and
Market-Weighton 
Knaresborough, Ripon,W etherby,
Easingwold, Hemsley, Thirsk,
Boroughbridge, Masham, Pate- .
ley Bridge, Otley, and Harro- |
gate |
Lancaster, Ulverstone, and Pres- I.
ton J
Leamington Priors 
Leamington Priors, Southam
Warwick, Kenilworth, and Ban
bury 
Leeds 
Glamorganshire Banking Com-)
pany /
‘Gloucestershire Banking Com-)
pany J
Halifax and Huddersfield Union )
Banking Company J
Halifax Commercial Banking)
Company J
‘Halifax Joint-Stock Banking 1
Company /
‘Hampshire Banking Company 
‘Helston Banking Company ...
‘Herefordshire Banking Company.
‘Huddersfield Banking Company.
‘Hull Banking Company.
Dec. 22, 1831.
Dec. 28, 1833.
Dec. 31, 1831.
Dec. 30, 1833.
Feb. 27, 1836.
Sept. 8, 1836.
June 28, 1831.
June 29, 1836.
June 21, 1836.
Nov. 11, 1829.
April 29, 1834.
August 4, 1836.
August 5, 1836.
June 7, 1827-
Nov. 30, 1833.
‘Knaresborough and Clare Bank¬
ing Company  
:}
Ditto.
Leeds and Bradford  (
Leicester, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, ^
Hinckley, Market-Harborough, l
and Melton-Mowbray j
Litchfield, Rugeley, Tamworth,)
and Birmingham j
Lincoln, Gainsborough, Louth,4
Horncastle, Brigg, Market-Rai- >
sin, Caistor, Sleaford, Alford, j
Spilsby, Epworth, and Partney. J
Inverpool y
Ditto f
ar-)
r... J
‘Lancaster Banking Company
‘Leamington Bank 
‘Leamington Priors and War¬
wickshire Banking Company
‘Leeds Banking Company ...
Leeds Commercial Banking Com- 1
pany f
‘Leeds and West Riding Banking 1
Company J
‘Leicestershire Banking Com-)
pany f
Litchfield, Rugeley, and Tam-)
worth Banking Company j
‘Lincoln and Lindsay Banking)
Company   j
Liverpool Borough Bank   June 28, 1836.
Liverpool Commercial Banking ) | ^ec< ^ 1832.
Company ) |
Sept. 14, 1831.
October 9, 1826.
May 8, 1835.
August 27, 1835.
Nov. 22, 1832.
June 21, 1836.
Nov. 28, 1835.
August 28, 1829.
Nov. 21, 1835.
Aug. 10, 1833.
250
192
185
L. $• d. j L.
55,425 0 0 73,285
40,900 0 0 27,656
200 i 56,820 0 0
32,325 0 0
541
107
248
408
167
207
152
19
126
326
239
162
127
165
111
430
216
245
139
158
225
407
311
32,500 0 0
100,000 0 0
83,775 0 0
65,000 0 0
44,475 0 0
28,445 0 0
4,190 0 0
30,300 0 0
65,180 0 0
44,200 0 0
110,762
42,030
156,322 10 0 84,574
60,750 0 0
40,125 0 0
22,920 0 0
120,450 0 0
50,000 0 0
67,725 11 6
49,440 0 0
28,000 0 0
53,510 0 0
206,225 0 0
338,900 0 0
76,132
44,549
13,348
25,395
26,466
2,896
38,580
74,960
21,620 0 0 | 37,944
48,701
287
24,145
34,193
21,975
37,695
36,332
67,055
PAPER-MONEY.
Table I.— Continued.
Places.
Manchester, Liverpool, Oldham,'
Warrington, Ashton-under-
Lyne, Bury, Blackburn, Wigan,
Preston, Staleybridge, Roch- ,
dale, Hyde, Stockport, Nant- -
wich, Hanley, Stafford, Burs-
lem, Leek, Lane-End, Cheadle,
Rugeley, Market-Drayton, and
Glossop J
Manchester 
Newport, Ponty-Pool, Usk, Chep-'J
stow, Cardiff, Sydney, Mon- I
mouth, Abergavenny, and Tre- f
degar Iron-Works J
Nottingham |
Aberystwith, Birmingham, Bre-'
con, Llandovery, Hay, Bath, ‘
Shepton-Mallet, Boston, Castle
Cary, Somerton, Bideford,
Southmolten,Torrington, Bury
St Edmund’s, Cheltenham, Car¬
diff, Bridge-End, Dursley,
Gloucester, Hereford, Honi-
ton, Stowmarket, Ipswich,
Woodbridge, Lichfield, Rugby,
Tiverton, Wisbeach, Whittle-
sea, Chatteris, Long Sutton,
Worcester, Ledbury, Wotton- ,
under-Edge,Yarmouth, Bristol, -
Leicester, Dolgelly, Amlwch,
Bala, Barnstaple, Okehampton,
Cowbridge, Crewkerne, Dar¬
lington, Machynlleth, Exeter,
Kington, Exmouth, Plymouth,
Ilfracombe, Deal, Ramsgate,
Wem, Kingsbridge, Whit¬
church, IManchester,Newcastle,
Emlyn, Stockton, Devonport,
Pwllheli, Tremadoe, Portma-
doc. Barnard Castle, Stokesley,
Holbeach, March, Bromyard, _
Lowestoft, and Halesworth j
Newcastle-upon.Tyne 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, North and
South Shields, Sunderland,
Durham, Alnwick, Alston, Mor¬
peth, Hexham, Hartlepool,
Blyth, and Bishop’s Auckland..
Newcastle-upon-Tyne |
Liverpool, Dolgelly, Bangor, Ma¬
chynlleth, Aberystwith, Holy-
well, Wrexham, Pwllheli, Bala,
Denbigh, Oswestry, Llanidloes,
Ruthin, Llanroost, Fastiniog, -
Mold,Newtown, Chester, Caer¬
narvon, Llangefni, Welchpool,
Bishop’sCastle,Llangfyllin, and
Holyhead 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Sunder¬
land, North Shields, Berwick-
upon-Tweed, Morpeth, Hex¬
ham, South Shields, Durham...
Manchester
Name of the Bank.
Date when
Established.
*Manchester and Liverpool Dis
trict Bank 
:}
Manchester and Salford Bank..
Monmouthshire and Glamorgan-)
shire Banking Company J
•Moore and Robinson’s Netting-)
hamshire Banking Company.... f
•National Provincial Bank of!
England i
Nov. 2G, 1829.
June 15, 1836.
July 28, 1836.
July 12, 1886.
Dec. 27, 1833.
‘Newcastle Commercial Banking Co.
‘Newcastle, Shields, and Sunder¬
land Union Joint-Stock Bank
ing Company 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne Joint-Stock |
Banking Company j
N orthampton, Daven try, W elling- }
borough, Kettering, Stamford, l
and Market-Harborough j
Northampton, Daventry, and Wei-)
lingborough  r
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Sunderl!
land. North and South Shields, f
Melksham, Devizes, Bradford,
Trowbridge, Westbury, Caine,
Chippenham, Warminster, Cor-
sham, Wotten-Bassett, Marsh¬
field, Swindon, Marlborough,
Highworth, and Malmesbury...
North and South Wales Bank.
North of England Joint-Stock \
Banking Company j
•Northern & Central Bank of England.
Northamptonshire Banking Com-)
Pany }
Northamptonshire Union Bank 
Northumberland and Durham |
District Banking Company J
•North Wilts Banking Company....
July 16, 1836.
July 11, 1836.
June 27, 1836.
April 30, 1836.
Nov. 28, 1832.
March 12, 1834.
May 23, 1836.
May 13, 1836.
May 23, 1836.
Nov. 6, 1835.
Number of I Circulation,
Partners. Paid-up Capital. iQuarter ending
Dec. 31, 1836
1302
239
341
146
800
134
446
529
625
1171
317
419
304
A. s. d.
749,725 0 0
271,900 0 0
128,580 0 0
51,282 0 0
L.
367,635 0 0
40,425 0 0
115,168 10 0
71 20,317 10 0
150,360 0 0 52,358
240,000 0 0
47,630 0 0
107,500 0 0
123,812 10 0
240 37,976 0 0
32,879
22,433
329,480
4,372
58,798
3,835
.105,670
305,082
33,657
89,776
60,152
39
40
PAPE ll-M O N E Y.
Table I.—Continued.
Places.
Name of the Bank.
Date when
Established.
Nottingham, Newark, Mansfield,"j
Loughborough, Worksop, and >-
East lletford )
Leicester, Hinckley, Leughb
rough, and Melton-Mowbray
Liverpool 
Saddleworth, Ashton, and Oldham
Sheffield and Rotherham 
Sheffield |
Sheffield, Rotherham, and Bake-)
wrell j
ShifFnal, Wellington, Newport
and Coalbrook Dale 
Manchester 
Stamford, Spalding, Boston, Oun
die. Bourn, and Peterborough
Stourbridge, Kidderminster, and
Stratford-upon-Avon....
Bristol, Axbridge, Bridgewater,'
Taunton, Wellington, Crew- ‘
kerne, Chard, Ilminster, Lang-
port, Wells, Glastonbury, Shep-
ton Mallet, Bruton,Wincanton,
Frome, Castle Carj^, Yeovil,
Barnwell, Weston-super-Mare,
Williton, Martock, Somerton,
South Petherton, Ilchester,
Midsomer, Norton, and Stowey J
Liverpool 
Manchester 
Wakefield 
Warwick, Leamington, Stratford-1
on-Avon, Southam, Henley-in- >-
Arden 
Bristol, Bath, Barnstaple, Exeter,
Swansea,Taunton,Bridgewater,
Cardiff, Newport, Wells, Glas¬
tonbury, Merthyr Tydvil, Wil¬
liton, Axbridge, and Somerton.
Salisbury, Warminster, Devizes,'
Trowbridge, Melksham, Chip¬
penham, Marlborough,Malmes¬
bury, Wootton-Bassett, Frome,
Yeovil, Dorchester, Blandford,
Wimborne, Poole, Bridport,
Sherborne, Mere, Fording-
bridge, Christchurch, Lyming-
ton, Paulton, Gillingham, and
Marshfield 
Devonport, Plymouth, Totnes,
Kingsbridge, Falmouth, Pen¬
zance, Truro, and St CoLumb...
Whitehaven and Penrith 
•Nottingham and Nottingham-)
shire Banking Company J
*Pares’s Leicestershire Banking |
Company, or the Leicestershire
Union Banking Company )
Royal Bank of Liverpool 
* Saddleworth Banking Company 
"Sheffield Banking Company 
Sheffield and Hallamshire Bank- )
ing Company j
Sheffield and Rotherham Joint-)
Stock Banking Company |
Shropshire Banking Company 
South Lancashire Bank ...
•Stamford, Spalding, and Boston )
Joint-Stock Banking Company.. J
•Stourbridge and Kidderminster)
Banking" Company j
"Stuckey’s Banking Company.
Union Bank of Liverpool 
Union Bank of Manchester 
•Wakefield Banking Company....
•Warwick and Leamington Bank-)
ing Company J
April 12, 1834.
March 15, 1836.
April 30, 1836.
June 29, 1833.
June 24, 1831.
May 20, 1836.
June 25, 1836.
May 27, 1836.
May 25, 1836.
Dec. 28, 1831.
April 9, 1834.
Oct. 9, 1836.
May 2, 1835.
May 6, 1836.
Oct. 25, 1832.
Sept. 10, 1834.
Wolverhampton 
York, Malton, Selby, Howden,
Scarborough, and Borough-
bridge 
York, Driffield, Thirsk, Malton,
and Burlington ...
York, Whitby, Malton, Driffield',)
Pocklington, Hull, and Leeds.. J
Leeds, York, Hull, Sheffield, Ha-|
lifax, Doncaster, Selby, Thirsk,
Malton, Bradford, Pontefract,
Ripon, Knaresborough, Hud¬
dersfield, Beverley, Richmond, -
Dewsbury, Wakefield, Settle,
Northallerton, Barnsley, Skip-
ton, Easingwold, Barnard Cas-
t*e, and Otley...... -
Whitehaven and Wigton.... 
Birmingham 
West of England and South)
Wales District Bank j
•Wilts and Dorset Banking Com¬
pany   
•Western District Banking Com¬
pany for Devon and Cornwall.. J
•Whitehaven Joint-Stock Bank-)
ing Company    f
‘Wolverhampton and Stafford-)
shire Banking Company J
•York City and County Banking |
Company   f
Dec. 23, 1834.
Number of
Partners.
•York Union Banking Company....
Yorkshire Agricultural and Com- )_
mercial Banking Company....
v*' u 
‘Yorkshire District Bank.
Jan. 11, 1836.
Sept. 1, 1836.
May 25, 1829.
Dec. 28, 1831.
March 2, 1830.
mqmoO jpudcmli
April 23, 1833.
July 27,:i836.
Bank of Whitehaven 
Birmingham Borough Bank.
J
diiffeuniq
July 30, 1834.
Jan. 23, 1837-
March 28, 1837-
341
46
258
110
203
617
275
276
411
88
220
38
341
449
102
125
558
Paid-up Capital.
Circulation.
Quarter ending
Dec. 31,1836.
L. s. d.
81,450 0 0
16,350 0 0
352,930 0 0
30,850 0 0
92,170 0 0
115,057 10 0
33,125 0 0
40,215 0 O
150,212 10 0
44,080 0 0
45,000 0 0
65,000 0 0
257,350 0 0
155,425 0 0
44,920 0 0
32,900 0 0
213,530 0 0
454
312
i •
2-15
234
266
267
63,105 0 0
604
1113
123
116
28,050 O 0
69,435 7 2
75,000 0 0
63,000 O 0
72,875 0 0
389,985 0 0
imf-
nftrn
L.
52,522
30,138
20,790
35,778
18,771
48,295
50,509
68,748
67,167
289,070
10,950
43,505
76,405
74,976
17,880
42,331
51,228
94,500
81,090
16,224
231,483
PAPER-MONEY.
Table I.—Concluded.
| Liverpool.
) Liverpool and St Helens.
Liverpool 
Oldham 
Richmond, Leyburn, and Bedale |
Huddersfield, Dewsbury, and
Wakefield 
Southampton.
Name of the Bank.
(
Carlisle City and District Bank-1
ing Company j
Liverpool Albion Bank (formerly
called Liverpool Tradesmen’s >
Bank) j
Liverpool Phoenix Bank 
Liverpool Banking Company (for- )
merly called Liverpool United >
Trades’ Bank) )
Oldham Banking Company 
Swaledaleand YVensleydale Bank-)
ing Company j
West Riding Union Banking Com- 1
pany (formerly called Mirfield (
and Huddersfield Banking Com- f
pany  )
Southern District Banking Com- )
Pany /
Date when
Established.
Number of
Partners.
Feb. 20, 1837-
March 22, 1836.
Jan. 26, 1837.
May 12, 1836.
Sept. 30, 1836.
Dec. 30, 1836.
Dec. 29, 1832.
Nov. 22, 1837-
280
434
134
201
69
223
457
124
Paid-up Capital.
L. s. d.
94,375 0 0
113,719 5 7
10,210 0 0
26,325 0 0
63,900 0 0
Circulation
Quarter ending
Dec. 31, 1836.
40,360
—An Account of the aggregate Number of Notes circulated in
England and Wales by Private Banks, and by Joint-Stock
Banks and their Branches, distinguishing Private from Joint-
Stock Banks. From Returns directed by 3 and 4 William IV.
c. 83.
Quarters Ended
Private Banks. Joint-Stock Banks
1833. December 28
1834. March 29 
... June 28 
... September 27-
December 28.
1835. March 28 
June 27 
September 26.
..• December 26
1836. March 26 
June 25 
September 24.
... December 31.
1837. April 1 
July 1 
September 30.
... December 30.
Total.
8,836,803
8,733,400
8,875,795
8,370,423
8,537,655
8,231,206
8,455,114
7,912,587
8,334,863
8,353,894
8,614,132
7,764,824
7,753,500
7,275,784
7,187,673
6,701,996
7,043,470
1,315,301
1,458,427
1,642,887
1,783,689
2,122,173
2,188,954
2,484,687
2,508,036
2,799,551
3,094,025
3,588,064
3,969,121
4,258,197
3,755,279
3,684,764
3,440,053
3,826,665
10,152,104
10.191.827
10,518,682
10,154,112
10.659.828
10,420,160
10,939,801
10,420,623
11,134,414
11,447,919
12,202,196
11,733,945
12,011,697
11,031,063
10,872,437
10,142,049
10,870,135
IiI'~A.^eturn of Joint-Stock Banks in Ireland, with the Dates
of then- Establishment, the Names of the several Towns and
1 laces where such Banks and their Branches have been Esta-
Wished, and the Number of Partners in each.
Joint-Stock Banks. ; When Established.
Towns and Places
where the Banks or
their Branches have
been Established.
Hibernian Jointj
Stock Company.]
t1
Number of
Partners.
Provincial Bank]
of Ireland.
VOL. xvn.
June 1825, i
By Special Act, [-Dublin.
5 Geo. IV. c. 159.i J
1 f Armagh,
j Athlone.
I Banbridge.
1 Bandon.
] I Ballina.
Ballymena.
Ballyshannon.
Belfast.
Cavan.
Coleraine.
Clonmell.
Cootehill.
Cork.
Downpatrick.
Dungannon.
Dungarvan.
Sept. 1825,
Under General
Act, 6 Geo. IV.
c. 42.
1
225
Joint-Stock Banks.
Where Established.
Provincial Bank
of Ireland—
Continued.
Northern Bank¬
ing Company,
| Dec. 31, 1825.
Belfast Banking
Company.
July 31, 1827.
Towns and Places
where the Banks or
their Branches have
been Established.
Number
Partners
Ennis.
Enniskillen.
Galway.
Kilkenny.
Limerick.
Londonderry.
Lurgan.
Mallow.
Monaghan.
Moneymore.
Omagh.
Parsonstown.
Strabane.
Sligo.
Tralee.
Waterford.
Wexford.
Youghal.
Armagh.
' Belfast.
Ballymena.
Coleraine.
Carrickfergus.
Downpatrick.
Lisburn.
Londonderry.
Lurgan.
Magherafelt.
Newton Lima-
vady.
'Armagh.
Aughnacloy.
Ballymena.
Ballymoney.
Belfast.
Banbridge.
Coleraine.
Cookstown.
Dungannon.
Londonderry.
Lurgan.
Larne.
Letterkenny.
Monaghan.
Magherafelt.
Ne. Limavady.
Newtown Ardes.
Portadown.
Strabane.
Stewartstown.
Tanderagee.
707
207
285
41
42
PAPER-MONEY.
Table III.—Continued.
Joint-Stock Banks.
When Established.
Agricultural
and Commer¬
cial Bank of
Ireland.
Oct. 28, 1834.
National Bank \
of Ireland. !} Jan. 24, 1835.
Limerick Na-4
tional Bank L Aug. 17> 1835
of Ireland. |)
Clonmel Na¬
tional Bank
of Ireland
Na-jl
lank )-
i. j
Towns and Places
where the Banks or
their Branches have
been Established.
May 20, 1836.
[ Armagh,
Ballina.
Ballinasloe.
Ballymena.
Bandon.
Belfast.
Boyle.
Castlebar.
Cavan.
Clifden.
Clones.
Coleraine.
Cork.
Dungannon.
Ennis.
Enniscorthy.
Enniskillen.
Fermoy.
Galway.
Kanturk.
Kilkenny.
Kilrush.
Killarney.
Kinsale.
Limerick.
Londonderry.
Longford.
Loughrea.
Mallow.
Nenagh.
New Ross.
Omagh.
Parsonstown.
Roscrea.
Roscommon.
Skibbereen.
Sligo.
Strabane.
Strokestown.
Thomastown.
Thurles.
Tipperary.
Tuam.
-Waterford.
Lurgan.
, Tralee.
^Donegal.
' Athlone.
Boyle.
Castlebar.
Castlerea.
Ballinasloe.
Galway.
Kilkenny.
Longford.
Loughrea.
Moale.
Roscommon.
Sligo.
Tuam.
|'Limerick.
Charleville.
Ennis.
Kilrush.
^Rathkeale.
1 Clonmel.
-< Cashel.
(Thurles.
Carrick-on-Suir
land. J
Waterford Na-|4
: l
tional Bank- j-May, 23, 1836.
of Ireland, j
Number of
Partners.
J- 3892
290
- 553
487
Garrick on-Suir.i 416
T Waterford.
J Dungarvan.
) New Ross.
[Tallow.
451
Table III.—Concluded.
Joint-Stock Banks.
Wexford and
Enniscorthy
National
Bank of Ire¬
land.
Tipperary Na¬
tional Bank
of Ireland.
Towns andPlaces where
When Established.
r May 24, 1836.
| May 26, 1836.
the Banks or their
Branches have been
Established.
Number of
Partners
j Wexford.
( Enniscorthy.
416
Kilkenny Na¬
tional Bank
of Ireland.
Cork National
Bank of Ire
land.
1
TraleeNational
Bank of Ire- J-May 27, 1836.
land.
j-June 7, 1837.
u
March 17,1837
Tipperary.
Fermoy.
Mitchelstown.
Nenagh.
Roscrea.
[ Tralee.
I Caherciveen.
J Dingle,
j Kanturk.
| Killarney.
fTarbert.
Kilkenny.
Cork.
Ulster Banking ) April 15) 183c.
Company. ) 1
Royal Bank of
Ireland.
Southern Bank
of Ireland.
| November 1836
Feb. 11, 1837.
( Antrim.
1 Armagh.
I Belfast.
Banbridge.
| Bally money.
1 Comber.
Downpatrick.
Enniskillen.
Lurgan.
Monaghan.
Portadown.
Tanderagee.
Dublin.
458
- 444
379
415
r 789
Heist)
! frill'
fciorf
ir.ions
Seotci
►
1 si 1 ol
363
Cork.
92
BifiOl
itSco1
i uraet
sre,
The act of 1708, preventing more than six individuals History
from entering into a partnership for carrying on the busi-and consti
ness of banking, did not extend to Scotland. In conse- tution of
quence of this exemption, several banking companies, with Scotch
numerous bodies of partners, have always existed in that an “
part of the empire. The Bank of Scotland was established
by act of parliament in 1695. By the terms of its charter,
it enjoyed, for twenty-one years, the exclusive privilege ot
issuing notes in Scotland. Its original capital was only
L.100,000. But it was increased to L.200,000 in 1744,
and now amounts to L. 1,500,000, ot which L.1,000,000
has been paid up.
The Royal Bank of Scotland was established in 1727.
Its original capital was L.151,000. At present it amounts
to L.2,000,000, which has been all paid up.
The British Linen Company was incorporated in 1746,
for the purpose, as its name implies, of undertaking the
manufacture of linen. But the views in which it origi¬
nated were speedily abandoned, and it became a banking
company only. Its paid up capital amounts to L.500,000.
Exclusively of the above, there are two other chartered
banks in Scotland; the Commercial Bank, established in
1810, and the National Bank of Scotland, established in
1825. The former has a paid-up capital of L.600,000, and
the latter of L.500,000.
None of the other banking companies established in
Scotland are chartered associations; and the partners are
jointly and individually liable to the whole extent of their
fortunes for the debts of the firms. Some of them, as the
Aberdeen Town and County Bank, the Dundee Commer¬
cial Bank, the Perth Banking Company, &c. have very
ilfeoi
S'S
PAPER-MONEY.
43
Banks, numerous bodies of partners. Generally speaking, they
v^'—'have been eminently successful. An original share, L.150,
of the stock of the Aberdeen Banking Company, estab¬
lished in 1767, is now (1838) worth no less that L.2500!
Their affairs are uniformly conducted by a board of direc¬
tors chosen by the shareholders.
There are very few banks with less than six partners in
Scotland. Almost all the great joint-stock banks have
numerous branches, so that there is hardly a town or vil¬
lage of any consequence without two or more banks.
The Bank of Scotland began to issue one-pound notes
as early as 1704, and their issue has since been continued
without interruption. With only one exception, all the
Scotch banks issue notes ; and, taking their aggregate cir¬
culation at from L.3,500,000 to L.4,000,000, it is supposed
that from L.2,000,000 to L.2,500,000 consists of notes for
L.l. In 1826 it was proposed to suppress one-pound notes
in Scotland as well as in England ; but the measure having
been strongly objected to by the people of Scotland, as
being at once oppressive and unnecessary, was abandoned,
.asons There have been very few bankruptcies amongst the
r the few Scotch banks. This superior stability is to be ascribed to
lures a variety 0f causes ; partly to the great wealth of the
early established banks, which had a considerable influ¬
ence in preventing an inferior class of banks acquiring any
hold on the public confidence ; partly to the comparatively
little risk attending the business of banking in Scotland ;
partly to the facilities afforded by the Scotch law for attach¬
ing a debtor’s property, whether it consist of land or move¬
ables ; and partly and principally, perhaps, to the fact of
the Scotch banks being but indirectly and slightly affected
by a depression of the exchange and an efflux of bullion.
The circumstances now mentioned render it unneces¬
sary to enforce that suppression of local issues in Scotland
i long
lotch
Inks.
“ppres-
sln of lo
i notes
i Scotland 's 80 ^dispensable in England, where the system of
itoeces-
e-v
oosits.
provincial banking is of a very inferior description, the
risk attending the business much greater, and where any
excess in the amount of the currency necessarily occa¬
sions a fall of the exchange and a demand for bullion.
The commerce and population of Scotland are too limited,
and that country is too remote from the metropolis, or from
the centre of the monied world, the pivot on which the
exchanges turn, to make it of importance that her curren¬
cy should be identical with that of England. We believe
that the Scotch attach much more importance than it de¬
serves to the issue of paper, and especially to the issue of
one-pound notes ; still, however, we do not think that the
circumstances are at present such as to call for or warrant
any attempt to introduce any material changes in their
banking system.
All the Scotch banks receive deposits, even of the low
amount of L.10, and allow interest on them at from one to
two per cent, below the market rate. But should a depo¬
sit be unusually large, as from L.5000 to L.l0,000, a spe¬
cial agreement is usually made with regard to it. This Banks,
part of the system has been particularly advantageous. It,
in fact, renders the Scotch banks a sort of savings’ banks
for all classes ; and their readily receiving all sorts of de¬
posits at a reasonable rate of interest, has tended to dif¬
fuse a spirit of economy and parsimony among the people
that would not otherwise have existed. The total depo¬
sits in the hands of the Scotch banks are believed at pre¬
sent (1838) to exceed L.25,000,000, of which fully a half
is understood to be in sums of from L.10 to L.200.
The Scotch banks make advances in the way of dis- Cash-ac¬
counts and loans, and on what are called cash-credits orcounts-
cash-accounts. By the latter are meant credits given
by the banks for specified sums to individuals, each of
whom gives a bond for the sum in his account, with two
or more individuals as sureties for its payment. Per¬
sons haying such accounts draw upon them for whatever
sums within their amount they have occasion for, repaying
these advances as they find opportunity, but generally
within short periods. Interest is charged only on the
average balance which may be found due to the bank.
The total number of these accounts in Scotland in 1826
was estimated at about 12,000; and it may now, perhaps,
be taken at about 14,000. 4 hey are Relieved to average
about L.500 ; few are for less than L.100, and fewer still
above L.5000.
It has been contended, and by no less an authority than
Adam Smith, that this species of accommodation gives
the Scotch merchants and traders a double command of
capital. “ They may discount their bills of exchange,”
says he, “ as easily as the English merchants, and have,
besides, the additional conveniency of their cash-ac¬
counts.”1 But this is an obvious error. The circulation
will take off only a certain quantity of paper; and to what¬
ever extent it may be issued by means of cash-accounts,
so much the less can be issued in the way of discounts.
The advantage of a cash-account does not really consist
in its enabling a banker to enlarge his advances to his
customers, but in the extreme facility it affords of mak¬
ing them. An individual who has obtained such an ac¬
count may operate upon it at any time he pleases, and by
drafts for any amount; an advantage he could not enjoy
to any thing like the same extent, without an infinite deal
of trouble and expense, were the loans or advances made
to him through the discounting of bills.
The Scotch banks draw upon London at twenty days’
date. This is denominated the par of exchange between
London and Edinburgh.
The follpwing table, extracted from a very useful publi¬
cation,2 exhibits the partners, branches, capital, prices of
shares, dividends, &c. in the five chartered banks, in De¬
cember 1837 ; and it also shows the aggregate partners,
branches, capital, &c. of the other joint-stock banks then
existing in Scotland.
j Partners- Branches.
Bank of Scotland    672
Royal Bank ! 764
British Linen Company I 164
25
7
42
Paid up Capital.
L.
1,000,000
2,000,000
500,000
I 1600
Commercial Bank ! 521
National Bank  1238
Twelve other Joint-Stock Cos  4128
74
48
33
72
Total  7487 | 227
3,500,000
600,000
500,000
1,937,700
6,537,700
Dividend.
Rate per
iCent.
6
8
6
6
6
6-04
6-01
Amount.
Payable.
L.
60,000
110,000
40,000
210,000
36,000
30,000
116,995
392,995
April & Oct.
Jan. & July.
June & Dec.
Jan. & July.
Ditto.
Shares Paid.
Present
Price.
83 6 8
100 0 0
100 0 0
100 0 0
10 0 0
L.
159
161
236
173
16
Wealth of Nations, book ii. cap. 2.
2 Oliver and Boyd’s Almanack for 1838.
44 P A P E R-1V
Banks. “ In no country, perhaps,” says Sir Henry Parnell,
the issuing of paper-money been carried to such an
System of jnjurj0us excess as in Ireland. A national bank was esta-
Treland m hlished in 1783, with similar privileges to those of the
Bank of England, in respect to the restriction of more than
six partners in a bank ; and the injury that Ireland has
sustained from the repeated failure of banks may be
mainly attributed to this defective regulation. Had the
trade of banking been left as free in Ireland as it is in
Scotland, the want of paper-money that would have arisen
with the progress of trade, would in all probability have
been supplied by joint-stock companies supported with
large capitals, and governed by wise and effectual rules.
“ In 1797, when the Bank of England suspended its
payments, the same privilege was extended to Ireland ;
and after this period the issues of the Bank of Ireland
were rapidly increased. In 1797, the amount of the notes
of the Bank of Ireland in circulation was L.621,917 ; in
1810, L.2,266,471; and in 1814, L.2,986,999.
“ These increased issues led to corresponding increased
issues by the private banks, of which the number was fifty
in the year 1804. The consequence of this increase of
paper was its great depreciation ; the price of bullion and
guineas arose to ten per cent, above the mint price , and
the exchange with London became as high as eighteen
per cent., the par being 8^. This unfavourable exchange
was afterwards corrected, not by any reduction in the is¬
sues of the Bank of Ireland, but by the depreciation of the
British currency in the year 1810, when the exchange
between London and Dublin settled again at about par.
(See article Exchange.)
“ The loss that Ireland has sustained by the failure of
banks may be described in a few words. It appears, by
the Report of the Committee on Irish Exchanges in 1804,
that there were at that time in Ireland fifty registered
banks. Since that year a great many more have been es¬
tablished, but the whole have failed, one after the other,
involving the country from time to time in immense dis¬
tress, with the following exceptions:—First, a few that
withdrew from business ; secondly, four banks in Dublin ;
thirdly, three at Belfast; and, lastly, one at Mallow.
These eight banks, with the new Provincial Bank and the
Bank of Ireland, are the only banks now (1827) existing
in Ireland. .
“ In 1821, in consequence of eleven banks having tailed
nearly at the same time, in the preceding year, in the
south of Ireland, government succeeded in making an ar¬
rangement with the Bank of Ireland, by which joint-stock
companies were allowed to be established at a.distance of
fifty miles (Irish) from Dublin, and the bank was permit¬
ted to increase its capital L.500,000. The act 1 and 2
Geo. IV. c. 72, was founded on this agreement. But mi¬
nisters having omitted to repeal in this act various restric¬
tions on the trade of banking that had been imposed by
33 Geo. II. c. 14, no new company was formed. In 1824
a party of merchants of Belfast, wishing to establish a
joint-stock company, petitioned parliament for the repeal
of this act of Geo. II.; and an act was accordingly passed
in that session, repealing some of its most objectionable
restrictions. (5 Geo. IV. c. 73.)
“ In consequence of this act, the Northern Bank of
Belfast was converted into a joint-stock company, with a
capital of L.500,000, and commenced business on the 1st
of January 1825. But the restrictions of 33 Geo. II., and
certain provisions contained in the acts 1 and 2 Geo. III., and
5 Geo. IV., obstructed the progress of this company, and
they found it necessary to apply to government to remove
them ; and a bill was accordingly introduced, which would
10 N E Y.
have repealed all the obnoxious clauses of the 33d Geo. Banks.
II., had it not been so altered in the committee as to leave
several of them in force. In 1825 the Provincial Bank of
Ireland commenced business with a capital of L.2,000,000;
and the Bank of Ireland has of late established branches
in all the principal towns.
“ The losses that have been sustained in Ireland by
abusing the power of issuing paper have been so great,
that much more is necessary to be done by way of pro¬
tecting the public from future loss, than the measure pro¬
posed last session (1826) by ministers, of abolishing small
notes, and the measure already adopted, of allowing joint-
stock companies to be established in the interior of the
country. As the main source of the evil consists in the
interference of the law in creating a national bank with
exclusive privileges, the first step that ought to be taken
for introducing a good system into Ireland, is the getting
rid of such a bank, and opening the trade of banking in
Dublin. The next measure should be the requiring of
each bank to give security for the amount of paper that
is issued ; for after the experience of the ignorance with
which the Irish banks have conducted their business, and
the derangement of the natural course of the trade, by
the long existence of the Bank of Ireland, it would be
unwise to calculate upon a sound system of banking
speedily supplanting that which has been established.
“ Under the circumstances in which Ireland is placed,
nothing would so much contribute to her rapid improve¬
ment in wealth, as the introducing of the Scotch plan of
cash credits, and of paying interest on deposits. By cash
credits, the capital which now exists would be rendered
more efficient, and the paying of interest on small depo¬
sits, would lead to habits of economy, and to the more ra¬
pid accumulation of new capital.
“ The charter of the Bank of Ireland has still to run
till the year 1838.”1
Since Sir Henry Parnell published the valuable pamph¬
let from which we have taken the foregoing extract, seve¬
ral joint-stock banking companies have been founded in
Ireland. The Provincial Bank, to which Sir Henry al¬
ludes, has a paid up-capital of L.500,000, and has been
well and profitably managed. But others have been less
fortunate. The Agricultural and Commercial Bank of
Ireland, established in 1834, with 2170 partners, a paid-
up capital of L.352,790, and many branches, stopped pay¬
ment during the pressure in November 1836, and by do¬
ing so involved many persons in great distress. It would
appear, from the statement of the auditors appointed to
audit the accounts, &c. of this bank, given in the Appen¬
dix to the Commons’ Report of 1837, that it had, to say
the least, been very ill managed. “ We have found,’ say
the auditors, “ that there was no efficient control over
the branches, and that the system of inspection was most
imperfect. A complete absence of plan for checking the
accounts existed at the head office in Dublin ; and the
book-keeping has been so faidty, that we are convinced no
accurate balance-sheet coidd at any time have been construct¬
ed. We have looked in vain for an account of ‘ outfit,
or of 4 premiums’ received; and we must add, that the
personal accounts at the head office require a diligent and
searching revision.”
More than half of the existing Irish joint-stock banks,
amounting to eighteen, were established in 1836 and 183/.
It is to be hoped that these establishments will take warn¬
ing by the disasters in which the Agricultural Bank has
been involved, and adopt a safer course. But if the power
to issue paper-money be continued to these establishments,
it is clear that no time should be lost in compelling them to
i Observations on Paper-Money, &c, by Sir Henry Parnell, pp. 171-177.
PATE R-M 0 N E Y.
45
!3anks. give security for its payment. Unless this measure be in-
•''V"-'' forced, or the issues be entirely suppressed, we run little
risk in affirming that Ireland has not seen either the last
or most severe of those violent oscillations in the amount
and value of money which produce so much bankruptcy
and ruin.
The capital of the Bank of Ireland amounts to L.2,769,230.
The rate of dividend from 1830 to 1836 was nine per cent.;
in 1836 it was eight and a half per cent. The charter,
which expires in the course of the present year, has not as
yet been renewed. It is almost needless to add, that there
is no room or ground whatever for the continuance of the
exclusive privilege the Bank of Ireland has hitherto en¬
joyed. We subjoin an
Account showing the Circulation of the Bank of Ireland
from 1823 to 1836, both inclusive.
Hreign
t ks.
Tik of
"V lice.
k of
A ster-
dd£.
Years, j Large Notes. ! Small Notes.
I I
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
183G
L.
1,827,700
1.938.200
1,90*9,300
1,502,700
1,460,300
1.540.200
1.615.200
1,541,800
1.488.600
1.534.400
1.600.600
1.608.400
1.623.400
1,708*500
L.
1.383.600
1.451.600
1,677,500
2,644,200
1.491.800
1.668.800
1.459.300
1,385,100
1.399.300
1.519.600
1.472.300
1.363.300
1,249,800
1,087,400
Post Bills.
L.
1,859,100
2,190,800
2,662,500
1,758,000
1,411,300
1,375,900
1.362.700
1.147.700
1,025,000
1,028,900
943,400
862,700
763,600
633,200
Total Average
Circulation.
L.
5,070,500
5.579,700
6.309.300
4,905,000
4,363,600
4,585,000
4.437.300
4,074,700
3,913,000
4,083,100
4,016,500
3,834,500
3,636,900
3.429.300
It would far exceed our limits to enter into any detail¬
ed statements with respect to the banks and banking sys¬
tems of foreign countries ; we shall therefore confine our¬
selves to a brief notice of such banks as have been most
celebrated, or are at present of the greatest importance.
The Bank of Venice was the most ancient bank in Eu¬
rope. Neither its date nor the circumstances which led
to its establishment are exactly known. Historians inform
us, that in 1171, the republic being hard pressed for money,
levied a forced contribution on the richest citizens, giving
them in return a perpetual annuity at the rate of four per
cent. An office was established for the payment of this
interest, which, in the sequel, became the Bank of Venice.
This might be effected as follows : The interest on the
loan to government being paid punctually, every claim re¬
gistered in the books of the office would be considered as
a productive capital; and these claims, or the right of re¬
ceiving the annuity accruing thereon, must soon have been
transferred, by demise or cession, from one person to an¬
other. This practice would naturally suggest to holders
of stock the simple and easy method of discharging their
mutual debts by transfers on the office books, and as soon
as they became sensible of the advantages to be derived
from this method of accounting, bank-money was invented.
The Bank of Venice was essentially a deposit bank.
Though established without a capital, its bills bore at all
times an agio or premium above the current money of the
republic. The invasion of the French in 1797 occasioned
the ruin of this establishment.
The Bank of Amsterdam was founded in 1609, on strict¬
ly commercial principles and views, and not to afford any
assistance, or to commix with the finances of the state.
Amsterdam was then the great entrepot of the commerce
ot the world, and of course the coins of all Europe passed
current in it. Many of them, however, were so worn and
defaced as to reduce their general average value to about Banks,
nine per cent, less than their mint value; and, in conse-
quence, the new coins were immediately melted down arid
exported. The currency of the city was thus exposed to
great fluctuations ; and it was chiefly to remedy this in¬
convenience, and to fix the value or par of the current
money of the country, that the merchants of Amsterdam
established a “ bank,” on the model of that of Venice. Its
first capital was formed of Spanish ducats or ducatoons,
a silver coin which Spain had struck in the war with Hol¬
land, and with which the tide of commerce had enriched
the country it was formed to overthrow ! The bank after¬
wards accepted the coins of all countries, worn or new, at
their intrinsic value, and made its own bank-money payable
in standard coin of the country, of full weight, deducting
a “ brassage” for the expense of coinage, and giving a
credit on its books, or “ bank-money,” for the deposits.
The Bank of Amsterdam professed not to lend out any
part of the specie deposited with it, but to keep in its cof¬
fers all that was inscribed on its books. In 1672, when
Louis XIV. penetrated to Utrecht, almost every one who
had an account with the bank demanded his deposit, and
these were paid oft' so readily, that no suspicion could ex¬
ist as to the fidelity of the administration. Many of the
coins then brought forth bore marks of the conflagration
which happened at the Hotel de Ville, soon after the es¬
tablishment of the bank. This good faith was maintained
till about the middle of last century, when the managers
secretly lent part of their bullion to the East India Com¬
pany and government. The usual “ oaths of office” were
taken by a religious magistracy, or rather by the magi¬
stracy of a religious people, that all was safe ; and the good
people of Holland believed, as an article of their creed,
that every florin which circulated as bank-money, had its
metallic constituent in the treasury of the bank, sealed up
and secured by oaths, honesty, and good policy. This blind
confidence was dissipated in December 1790, by a declara¬
tion that the bank would retain ten per cent, of all deposits,
and would return none of a less amount than 2500 florins.
Even this was submitted to and forgiven. But, four
years afterwards, on the invasion of the French, the bank
was obliged to declare that it had advanced to the states
of Holland and West Friesland, and the East India Com¬
pany, more than 10,500,000 florins, which sum they were
unable to make up to their depositors, to whom, however,
they assigned their claims on the states and the company.
Bank-money, which previously bore an agio of five per
cent., immediately fell to sixteen per cent, below current
money.
This epoch marked the fall of an institution which had
long enjoyed an unlimited credit, and had rendered the
greatest services. The amount of the treasure in the
vaults of the bank, in 1755, was estimated by Mr Hope
at 33,000,000 of florins.1
The Bank of Hamburg was established in 1619, on the Bank of
model of that of Amsterdam. It is a deposit bank, and Hamburg,
its affairs are managed according to a system that insures
the fullest publicity. It receives no deposits in coin, but
only in bullion of a certain degree of fineness. It charges
itself with the bullion at the rate of 442 schillings the
mark, and issues it at the rate of 444 schillings, being a
charge of four ninths, or nearly one half per cent., for its
retention. It advances money on jewels to three fourths
of their value. The city is answerable for all pledges de¬
posited with the bank : they may be sold by auction if
they remain one year and six weeks without any interest
being paid. If the value be not claimed within three
years, it is forfeited to the poor. This bank is universally
admitted to be one of the best managed in Europe.
1 Storch, Cours d'Economic Politique, tom. iv.
46
PAPER-MONEY.
Banks.
Bank of
F ranee.
The Bank of France was founded in 1803. The exclu-
1 sive privilege of issuing notes payable to bearer was grant¬
ed to it for forty years. The capital ot the bank consisted
at first of 45,000,000 francs, but it was subsequently in¬
creased to 90,000,000 francs, divided into 90,000 shares or
actions of 1000 francs each. Of these shares, 67,900 are
in the hands of the public; 22,100, being purchased up by
the bank, form part of her capital. 1 he notes issued by
the bank are for 1000 and 500 francs. The [dividend va¬
ries from six to ten and a half per cent., the latter being its
amount in 1837 ; and there is, besides, a reserve retained
from the profits, which is vested in the five per cents. A
bonus of 200 francs a share was paid out of this reserve to
the shareholders in 1820. No bills are discounted that
have more than three months to run. The customary rate
of discount is four per cent., but it varies according to
circumstances. The discounts in 1834 amounted to
306,603,000 francs, but they vary materially from year to
year, and are sometimes more than double this amount.
The bank is obliged to open a compte courant for every one
who requires it; and performs services for those who have
such accounts, similar to those rendered by the private
banks of London to their customers. She is not allowed
to charge any commission upon current accounts, so that
her only remuneration arises out of the use of the money
placed in her hands by the individuals whose payments she
makes. This branch of the business is said not to be pro¬
fitable. There are about 1600 accounts current at the
bank; and of the entire expenses of the establishment,
amounting to about 900,000 francs a year, too thirds are
said to be incurred in this department. The bank ad¬
vances money on pledges of different kinds, such as foreign
coin or bullion, government or other securities, &c. It
also undertakes the care of valuable articles, as plate, jewels,
bills, title-deeds, &c. The charge is one eighth per cent,
of the value of each deposit for every period of six months
or under. The average circulation of bank notes in 1834
was 207,321,000 francs, the price of a share of the bank’s
stock on the 8th of January 1838 was 2555 francs, a proof
that its condition is believed to be eminently flourishing.
The administration of the bank is vested in a council
general of twenty members, viz. seventeen regents, and
three censors, who are nominated by two hundred of the
principal proprietors. The king appoints the governor and
deputy governor. The first must be possessed of a hun¬
dred and fifty, and the latter of fifty shares. A compte
rendu is annually published, and a report by the censors,
which together give a very full exposition of the affairs
of the bank. The institution is flourishing, and enjoys un¬
limited credit. (For further details with respect to the
Bank of France, see Storch, Cours d’Economic Politique,
Paris, 1823, tom. iv. pp. 168-180 ; and the Comptes Eendus
of the different years.)
For further information as to continental banks and pa¬
per-money, the reader is referred to the interesting chap¬
ter on that subject in the fourth volume of the Cours d’Eco¬
nomic Politique of M. Storch, and to M‘Culloch’s Com¬
mercial Dictionary.
System of The system of banking in the United States has recently
banking in attracted a great deal of attention in this country. The
the United Bank of the United States was incorporated by Congress
States. in 1816, with a capital of 35,000,000 dollars, for the issue
of notes and the transacting of ordinary banking business.
Its head office was in Philadelphia, but it had branches
that carried on an extensive business in most considerable
towns of the Union. The charter was limited to twenty
years’ duration ; and the question, whether it should be re¬
newed, was debated with extraordinary vehemence in all
parts of America. The late president, General Jackson,
was violently opposed to the reincorporating of the bank,
and rejected a bill for that purpose, that had been sanc¬
tioned by the other two branches of the legislature. A
majority of Congress having come round to the president’s
views, the charter was allowed to expire. It has since,
however, received a new charter from the state of Penn¬
sylvania. But this merely enables it to carry on business
in that state ; though it may obtain, and has, in fact, al¬
ready obtained leave from some of the other states to es¬
tablish branches within their limits. It is, however, no
longer a national or government bank ; but it is now, as
formerly, the first monied institution of the new world,
and in this respect, indeed, is second only to the Bank oi
England.
We cannot help thinking, that the American govern¬
ment acted throughout the whole of this affair on the
most erroneous views. Banking in America is, it possible,
in a still worse condition than in England; and there can
hardly be a doubt that the establishment of the Bank of
the United States was of signal service to the republic,
by affording a currency of undoubted solidity, readily ac¬
cepted in all parts of the Union, and by its operating as a
salutary check on the conduct of other banks. General
Jackson, and the party of which he was the head, have, or
affect to have, a great horror of paper-money. But it
would be practising too much on the patience of our
readers were we to endeavour to prove by argument the
great utility, not to say necessity, of a paper currency of
some sort or other, to all great commercial countries like
the United States. To suppose that it should be alto¬
gether dispensed with, is as absurd as it wrould be to sup¬
pose that they should dispense with their improved roads
and carriages. A wise statesman should not attempt to
suppress what is indispensable, but should exert himself
to obviate its defects, and to make it as suitable as it can
be made to the objects in view. This, however, General
Jackson and his party have not done. On the contrary,
they declared war against the only unexceptionable bank
in the Union, and to injure it gave full scope to the rest.
Hence, instead of obviating any one of the gross defects in¬
herent in the existing banking system, the proceedings of
General Jackson have aggravated and multiplied them in
in no common degree ; and it is now infected with every
vice that it seems possible can belong to banking.
The American banks are all joint-stock associations.
But instead of the partners being liable, as in England, for
the whole amount of the debts of the banks, they are in
general liable only for the amount of their shares, or toi
some fixed multiple thereof. It is needless to dwell on the
temptation to commit fraud held out by this system, which
has not a single countervailing advantage to recommend
it. The worthlessness of the plan on which the banks
were founded was evinced by the fact, that between 1811
and the 1st of May 1830, no fewer than a hundred and
sixty-five banks became altogether bankrupt, many of them
paying only an insignificant dividend ; and this exclusive ot
a much greater number that stopped for a while, and after¬
wards resumed payments. The wide-spread mischief re¬
sulting from such a state of things has led to the de¬
vising of various complicated schemes for insuring the
stability and prudent management of banks ; but as they
all involve regulations wThich it is impossible to enforce,
they are practically worse than useless. In Massachusetts,
for example, it is provided that no bank for the issue of
notes can go into operation in any way, until at least halt
. its capital stock be paid in gold and silver into the bank,
and be actually existing in its coft'ers, and seen in them by
inspectors appointed for that purpose; and the cashier of
every bank is bound to make specific returns once a year
of its debts and assets, on being required to do so by the
secretary of state. But our readers need hardly be told,
that these elaborately contrived regulations are really good
Banks.
PAPE R-M O N E Y.
Banks, for nothing, unless it be to afford an easy mode of cheat-
ing and defrauding the public. Instances have occurred
of banks having borrowed an amount of dollars equal to
half their capital, for a single day, and of such dollars hav¬
ing been examined by the inspectors appointed for that
purpose, and reported by them, and sworn by a majority
of the directors to be the first instalment paid by the stock¬
holders of the bank, and intended to remain in it.1 We do
not of course imagine that such disgraceful instances can be
of common occurrence; but what is to be thought of a sys¬
tem which permits a company for the issue of paper-money,
founded on such an abominable fraud, to enter on business,
with a sort of public attestation of its respectability ? The
publicity, too, to which the American banks are subject, is
injurious rather than otherwise. Those who are so dis¬
posed may easily manufacture such returns as they think
most suitable to their views; and the more respectable
banks endeavour, for a month or two previously to the pe¬
riod when they have to make their returns, to increase the
amount of bullion in their coffers, by temporary loans, and
all manner of devices. The whole system is, in fact, bot¬
tomed on the most vicious principles. But it is unneces¬
sary, after what occurred in 1836 and 1837, to insist further
upon the gross and glaring defects of American banking.
Perhaps no instance is to be found in the history of com¬
merce, of such a wanton over-issue of paper as took place in
the United States in 1835 and 1836. The result is known
to every body; the revulsion to which this over-issue ne¬
cessarily led having, in May 1837, compelled every bank in
the Union, without, we believe, a single exception, to stop
payments.
47
Owing to the privilege claimed by the different states,
and exercised without interruption from the Revolution
downwards, it is, we fear, impossible to effect the sup¬
pression of local paper in America, or to establish a paper
currency which should at all times vary in amount and va¬
lue, as if it were metallic. But the states have it in their
power to do that which is next best; they may compel
all banks which issue notes to give security for their issues.
This, though it would not prevent destructive oscillations
in the amount and value of the currency, would, at all
events, prevent those ruinous and ever-recurring stoppages
and bankruptcies of the issuers of paper-money, that ren¬
der the American banking system one of the severest
scourges to which any people was ever subjected. Com¬
mon sense and experience alike demonstrate the inefficacy
of all the regulations enacted by the American legislature
to prevent the abuse of banking. It is in vain for them
to lay it down that the issues shall never exceed a certain
proportion of the capital of the bank, and so forth. Such
regulations are all very well, provided the banks choose to
respect them ; but there are no means whatever of insur¬
ing their observance; and their only effect is to make the
public look for protection and security to what is altogether
impotent and worthless for any good purpose. The sup¬
pression of local issues is indispensable in order to make a
paper currency what it ought to be. If, however, this be
impossible in America, there is nothing left but to take
security from the issuers of notes. All schemes for the im¬
provement of banks, by making regulations as to the propor¬
tion of their issues, and advances to their bullion, capital, &c.
are downright delusion and quackery. (c. c.)
Table shcncing the Number and Capital of the various Banks existing in the United States at the wider mentioned periods.
(See Letter of the Secretary of the Treasury, 4th of January 1837.)
States.
Maine 
New Hampshire....
Vermont 
Massachusetts...
.Rhode Island....
Connecticut 
New York........
Pennsylvania....
New Jersey 
Delaware 
Maryland 
West of Columbia..
Virginia 
North Carolina 
South Carolina 
Georgia 
Florida  
Alabama 
Louisiana  
Mississippi  ...
Tennessee 
Kentucky 
Arkansas 
Missouri 
Illinois.... 
Indiana 
Ohio 
Michigan 
WisconsinTerritorv
States’ Banks 
Union States Bank.
Total...
1st January 1811.
No. of
Banks.
Capital
estimated.
1st January 1820.
No of
Banks.
89
Dollars.
1,250,000
815,250
6,292,144
1,917,000
1,933,000
7,522,760
6,153,150
739,740
4,895,202
2,341,395
1,500,000
1,576,600
3,475,000
210,000
754,000
100,000
240,460
895,000
15
10
1
28
30
8
33
36
14
6
14
13
4
3
5
4
0
3
4
1
8
42
0
1
2
2
20
0
0
Capital
estimated.
Dollars.
1,654,900
1,005,276
44,955
10,485,700
2,982,026
3,689,337
18,988,774
14,681,780
2,130,949
974,906
6,708,131
5,525,319
5,212,192
2,964,887
4,475,000
3,401,510
469,112
2,597,420
900,000
2,119,782
8,807,431
250,000
140,910
202,857
1,797,463
1st January 1830.
No. of
Banks
42,610,601
10,000,000
52,610,601
307
1
102,210,611
35,000,000
18
18
10
66
47
13
37
33
18
5
13
9
4
3
5
9
1
2
4
1
1
0
0
0
0
0
11
1
0
Capital
estimated.
Dollars.
2,050,000
1,791,670
432,625
20,420,000
6,118,397
4,485,177
20,083,353
14,610,333
2,017,009
830,000
6,250,495
3,875,794
5,571,100
3,195,000
4,631,000
4,203,029
75,000
643,503
5,665,980
950,000
737,817
1,454,386
100,000
1st January 1836.
No. of No. of L-, ... ...
Banks. Branches. CaPltal Pa,d in'
1st December 1836.
329 110,102,268
1 35,000,000
308 137,210,611 i 330
145,192,268
36
26
19
105
61
31
86
44
25
4
18
7
5
3
8
14
5
2
14
5
3
4
0
0
2
1
31
7
0
I No. of No. of
Banks.' Branches.
566
1
567
0
0
0
0
0
3
2
0
0
4
2
0
18
4
2
11
0
4
31
8
4
10
0
1
5
10
1
3
0
123
23
Dollars.
3,935,000
2,663,308
1,125,624
30,410,000
8,750,581
8,519,368
31,281,461
18,858,482
3,970,090
817,775
8,203,575
2,339,738
6,511,300
1,769,231
7,936,318
8,209,967
1,484,386
6,558,969
34,065,284
8,764,550
4,546,285
5,116,400
478,220
1,279,857
8,369,744
909,779
216,875,292
35,000,000
146
251,875,292
59
23
20
138
64
31
98
50
26
4
28
7
4
3
8
14
9
3
15
11
3
4
2
0
2
1
32
17
1
677
0
677
0
0
0
0
0
3
2
0
0
4
3
0
18
4
2
11
0
4
49
12
4
10
0
0
6
10
1
3
0
Capital
authorized.
146
0
Dollars.
5,535,000
2,663,308
2,200,000
40,830,000
9,100,581
8,519,368
37,303,460
59,658,482
7,575,000
1,197,775
29,175,000
3,500,000
6,711,300
2,600,000
10,356,318
8,209,967
9,800,000
14,458,969
54,000,000
21,400,000
5,600,000
9,246,640
3,500,000
2,800,000
1,980,000
12,900,000
7,500,000
100,000
146
Some of the returns of capital in the last column are incomplete.
378,421,168
378,421,168
Banks.
1 Gouges Paper-Money and Banking in the United States, part ii. p. 157.
48
PAP
PAP
Papier
Mach^
PAPIER Mache'. This is a substance made of cut¬
tings of white or brown paper, boiled in water, and beaten
p ^ in a mortar, till they are reduced to a kind of paste, and
appUS' then boiled with a solution of gumarabic or of size, to give
tenacity to the paste, which is afterwards formed into dif¬
ferent articles, by pressing it into oiled moulds. When
dry, the work is done over with a mixture of size and lamp¬
black, and afterwards varnished. Ihe black varnish for
these articles is prepared as follows. Some colophony, or
turpentine boiled down till it becomes black and friable, is
melted in a glazed earthen vessel, and thrice as much
amber in fine powder is sprinkled in by degrees, with the
addition now and then of a little spirit or oil of turpentine.
When the amber is melted, sprinkle in the same quantity
of sarcocolla, continuing to stir them, and to add more
spirit of turpentine, until the whole becomes fluid; then
strain it out clear through a coarse hair bag, pressing it
gently between hot boards. This varnish, mixed with
ivory-black in fine powder, is applied, in a hot room, on
the dried paper paste, which is then set in a gently heated
oven, next day in a hotter oven, and the third day in a
very hot one, and allowed to remain each time till the oven
grows cold. The paste thus varnished is hard, durable,
glossy, and is not affected by liquor, however hot.
^ PAPHLAGONIA, in Ancient Geography, a country of
Asia Minor, beginning at Parthenius, a river of Bithynia,
on the west, extending in length to the Halys on the east,
and having the Euxine on the north, and Galatia on the
south. . .
PAPHOS, in Ancient Geography, two adjoining islands
on the western side of the island of Cyprus, the one called
. Palcea Paphos, and the other Nea Paphos ; and when Pa¬
phos is mentioned without an adjunct, this latter is always
understood.
PAPIAS, bishop of Hierapolis, a city of Phrygia, was
the disciple of St John the Evangelist, and the companion
of Polycarp. He composed a work in five books, entitled
Expositions of the Discourses of our Lord, of which there
are only some fragments now remaining. It was Papias
who introduced the opinion of the Millenarians.
PAPINIAN, a celebrated Roman lawyer of the third
century. The Emperor Severus had so high an opinion
of his worth that he recommended his sons Caracalla and
Geta to the care of the jurisconsult. Caracalla having mur¬
dered his brother, ordered Papinian to compose a discourse
excusing this murder to the senate and people; but the
lawyer refused to undertake the disgraceful task assigned
him, and the brutal emperor, enraged at his refusal, or¬
dered him to be beheaded, and his body dragged through
the streets of Rome. Papinian wrote several treatises on
professional subjects.
PAPISTS. See Pope and Roman Catholics.
PAPPAL, a district of Borneo, on the north-east coast,
the limits of which, on the north, are Sampanmangio and
Keemanees river, in latitude 5. 30. north. The produc¬
tions of this coast are, in general, sago, rice, betel-nut,
cocoa-nut oil, camphor, wax, pepper, and coarse cinna¬
mon. It is wrell watered, and has the convenience of many
rivers that are navigable for boats, and some for larger
vessels.
PAPPENHEIM, a city of the kingdom of Bavaria, m
the circle of the Rezat, which, with a district around it of
seventy-seven square miles, inhabited by 7500 persons,
forms a bailiwick, belonging to the mediatized count of that
name, who, besides this, has other estates within the Prus¬
sian dominions. The city is situated upon the river Alt-
muhl, and contains the palace, two Lutheran churches, and
2-20 houses, with 1960 inhabitants.
PAPPUS, an eminent philosopher of Alexandria, said
by Suidas to have flourished under the Emperor Theodo¬
sius the Great, who reigned from 379 to 395. His writings
Papua
prove him to have been a consummate mathematician.
Many of them, however, are lost; and those which remain p "rus
continued long in manuscript, detached parts only having ^
been occasionally published, until Carolus Manolessius
published his remains entire at Bologna in 1660, folio.
PAPUA, or New Guinea, a very large island, or, as
some suppose, a cluster of islands, the coast having never
been explored, and extending from the south end of Gilolo
and the north coast of Ceram, in a south-west direction,
about 1200 miles. It is indented by very deep bays, so that
it resembles a chain of peninsulas; and it is because none
of these inlets have been explored that it is uncertain whe¬
ther it be all one island or a chain of islands. It is sepa¬
rated from the neighbouring island of New Holland by
a narrow strait, discovered by Captain Flinders, in the In¬
vestigator. Viewed from the shore, Papua rises gradu¬
ally into hills of considerable elevation ; but there are
no mountains of any great altitude. The country produces
palm trees, and timber of a large size ; the cocoa-nut, and
the two species of the bread-fruit tree ; also pine-apples
and plantains, nutmeg trees in a wild state, and spice. The
woods abound with wild hogs, which are hunted and kill¬
ed by the natives with spears, and bows and arrows. The in¬
digenous inhabitants of the interior practise gardening, and
some sort of agriculture, and supply the inhabitants on the
coast with food, in exchange for axes, knives, and other
sorts of coarse cutlery. The Malays and Chinese chiefly
carry on this traffic, supplying the natives also with blue and
red cloths, and carrying back in return bark, slaves, amber¬
gris, sea-slug, tortoise-shell, small pearls, and black and red
loories, birds of paradise, and other birds, stuffed, in which
art the Papuans are very dexterous. The island has chiefly
been seen by navigators from the sea. Captain Forrest,
who landed on the north-west coast, observed the structure
of the Papuan dwellings, which was extremely singular,
being built upon posts fixed several yards below the water¬
mark, and a long stage supported by posts communicating
with the land just at high-water mark. The tenement
contains many families, who live in cabins on each side of a
common hall that runs through the middle of it, and has
two doors, one opening to the land and the other to the
water, for the purpose of facilitating the escape of the in¬
mates when they are attacked by their enemies. The
greater part of the inhabitants continue in their original
state of barbarity and nakedness, devoid of any fixed homes,
and subsisting on the precarious produce of the chase or of
the forests. They are engaged in continual wars with their
neighbours ; and about April and March they assemble in
great numbers, and make war on Gilolo, Ceram, Amboyna,
and Ambloo. The British have had as yet but little inter¬
course with these savages; and their ferocious habits do
not encourage any very close alliance. In 1791 they con¬
trived to decoy the surgeon of the Panther, a Bombay
cruiser, into their boats, where he was murdered; after
which they had the audacity to make an attempt on the
ship, discharging on it a shower of arrows, and wounding
several of the crew. They were, however, soon dispersed
by a discharge frotn the guns and small arms.
PAPYRUS, the reed from which was prepared the far-
famed paper of Egypt.
Before entering on a description of the papyrus, it may
be right to say a word or two as to the opinion generally
received in Europe concerning the disappearance of this
plant. Supposing the circumstance possible, the date of
it must be fixed at no distant period ; for it is not more
than two centuries since Guilandin and Prosper Alpin ob¬
served the papyrus on the banks of the Nile. Guilandin
observed the inhabitants of the country eating the inferior
and succulen t part of the stem, in the manner of the ancients;
a fact which shows that it must have been the papyrus.
This, and the practices related by Prosper Alpin, are suf-
PAP
IVpvnis- ficientto convince us that the plant is not wholly useless,
^although it is not now employed in the fabrication of pa¬
per. The alteration in the soil of Egypt, and the methods
of agriculture, have in all probability rendered the plant
less common ; but causes altogether local could not occa¬
sion the destruction of the papyrus, especially as its resi¬
dence in the marshes would prevent their operation. It is
needless, however, to reason from probabilities or analogy.
Mr Bruce not only saw the papyrus growing both in Egypt
and Abyssinia, but actually made paper of it in the same
manner as that in which it was made by the ancients. He
tells us, likewise, that, so far from any part of it being use¬
less, the whole plant is at this day used in Abyssinia for
making boats, a piece of the acacia tree being put into
the bottom to serve as a keel. That such were the boats
ot ancient Egypt, we know from the testimony of Pliny,
who informs us that the plants were first sewed together,
and then gathered up at stem and stern, and tied fast to
the keel: Conseritur bibula Memphitis cymbu papyro.
The papyrus, says Pliny, grows in the marshes of Egypt,
or in the stagnant places of the Nile, formed by the over¬
flowing of that river, provided they are not beyond the
depth of two cubits. Its roots are tortuous, and in thick¬
ness about four or five inches ; and its stem is triangular,
rising to the height of ten cubits. Prosper Alpin states
it as growing about six or seven cubits above the water ;
the stem tapering from the bottom, and terminating in a
pomt. Theophrastus adds, that the papyrus carries a top or
plume of small hairs, which is the thyrsus of Pliny. Gui-
landin informs us, that its roots throw to the right and left a
great number of small fibres, which support the plant against
xth V,0lence t^e and against the waters of the
Nile. According to him, the leaves of the plant are obtuse,
and resemble the typha of the marshes. Mr Bruce, on the
other hand assures us that it never could have existed in
the Nile. Its head, says he, is far too heavy; and in a
plain country the wind must have had too violent a hold of
U. I he stalk is small and feeble, and withal too tall; the
root is also too short and slender to stay it against the vio¬
lent pressure of the wind and current; and therefore it
could never have been a plant growing in the river Nile
itself, or in any very deep or rapid river, but only in the
cahshes or places where the Nile had overflowed and
was stagnant.
The Egyptians made of this plant paper fit for writing
(see Paper), which they called frCAoj, orphiluria, and also
whence the Latin charta ; for in general the word
c/iarta is used to signify the paper of Egypt.
v*he P/r-r38 produced in so great quantities on the
banks of the Nile, that Cassiodorus compares it to a fo-
rest. I here, says he, rises to the view, this forest with¬
out branches, this thicket without leaves, this harvest of
the waters, this ornament of the marshes. Prosper Alpin
G irS • W^° Slvfs us a plate of the papyrus, which cor-
men?innSHnKS°T^ defee With the descriPtion of the plant
S-Tr « The?Phi:astus 5 but by far the best drawing
ot it is that given by Bruce.
anciei{t botanists placed the papyrus amongst the
L — Plant® or dog-grass; ignorant of the particular
it undp WtK1Ch 11 belo"ged’ they were contented to specify
kinds ™ einaT 0 PaPyrus’ of which there were two
modelsT, y’ thiat 0t EgyPt’ and that of Sicily- The
Trfone an^ th611 eaV°Ure- t0 Sh°W that theSe two Plants
thisTennsl h^rme SPpCleS CyPerUS ; and 11 is under
srrinf' f ^ *1Cy are P°und *n the catalogues and de¬
work wherl H 3018 pubIished since the edition of Morrison’s
work, where the papyrus is called Cyperus Niloticus Syri-
acus maximm papyraceus. *
Sidlv^rf16 t0 deterndne whether the papyrus of
canid ZJ d iniany Way hy the Romans. In Italv it is
vol xfu™’ and> accordinS to Cesalpin, pipero. ‘This
PAP
49
papyrus of Sicily was cultivated in a garden at Pisa; and Papyrus
if we can depend on the authority of Cesalpin, who himself''
examined the plant, it is different from the papyrus of
■fc-gypt. The papyrus, says he, which is commonly called
ptpero in Sicdy, has a longer and thicker stem than the
plant cyperus. It rises sometimes to the height of four
cubits; the angles are obtuse, and the stem at the base is
surrounded with leaves growing from the root; and there
are no leaves on the stem even when the plant is at the
greatest perfection ; but it carries at the top a large plume,
which resembles a great tuft of dishevelled hairs. This
is composed of a great number of triangular pedicles, in
the foim of reeds, at the extremity of which are placed the
flowers, between two small leaves of a reddish colour like
the cyperus. The roots are woody, about the thickness of
reeds, jointed, and throw out a great number of branches,
which extend themselves in an oblique direction. These
are scented somewhat like the cyperus, but their colour is
a lighter brown: from the lower part issue many small
bres, and from the higher a number of stems shoot up,
juice1* m pr0p°rtl0n as they are tender> contain a sweet
The plume of the papyrus of Sicily is a tuft or assem¬
blage of a great number of long slender pedicles, which
grow from the same point of division, are disposed in the
manner of a parasol, and carry at the top three long and
narrow leaves, from which issue other pedicles, shorter
than the former, and terminating in several knots of flowers.
Micheh (A/ova Plantarum Genera, Florence, 1728) has
given an engraving of one of the long pedicles in its natu¬
ral length. It is surrounded at the base with a case of
about one inch and a half in height; and towards the ex-
tremity it carries three long and narrow leaves, and four
pedicles, to which are fixed the knots of flowers. Every
pedicle has also a small case surrounding its base. In short,
the papyrus of Sicily is well known to botanists. It were
to be wishea that we had as particular a description of the
papyrus of Egypt. It may be observed, however, that these
two plants have a near affinity to one another; that they are
confounded together by many authors ; and that, according
to I heophrastus, the sari and the papyrus nilotica have a
decided character of resemblance, differing only in this,
that the papyrus sends forth thick and tall stems, which
being divided into slender plates, are fit for the fabrica¬
tion of paper, whilst the sari has small stems, considerably
shorter, and altogether useless for any kind of paper.
1 he papyrus, which anciently served to make paper, must
not be confounded with the papyrus of Sicily, which is also
found in Calabria. According to Strabo, the papyrus was
not to be found anywhere except in Egypt and in India.
I he greater part of botanists have believed that the Sici¬
lian plant is the same with the sari of Theophrastus; but
others have alleged that the papyrus of Egypt and the
sari were the same plant in two different stages of its ex¬
istence, or considered with respect to the greater or less
height; which, according to them, might depend upon the
qualities of the soil, the difference of the climate, or other
accidental causes. In proof of this, it is maintained, that
there is an essential difference between the papyrus grow-
mg in the waters and the same plant growing on the banks
of rivers and in marshes. The first of these has thick and
tall stems, and a plume in the form of a tuft of hair very
long and slender, and without any seed. The second dif-
ers from the first in all these particulars ; it has a shorter
and more slender stem, its plume is loaded with flowers,
and consequently it produces seed. In whatever way we
consider these facts, it is sufficient for us to know, that the
difference between the papyrus and the sari neither de-
pends on climate, nor soil, nor situation. The plants whose
difference depended on these circumstances both grew in
Rgypb and were both employed in the manufacture of
r>o
PAR
PAR
Par
II
Para.
paper. But it is an established fact, that the sari cannot
be employed for this purpose. , , ^
Finally, the papyrus of Sicily began to be known by bota-
'nists in the years 1570, 1572, and 1583, at winch penods
the works of Lobel, of Guilandin, and of Cesalpin, hrst ap¬
peared. The ancients had no manner of knowledge of this
plant, and Pliny makes no mention ot it in his Natural
History ; from which it is evident that it was used neither
in Rome nor in Sicily. If he had seen this plant, he must
have been struck with its resemblance to the papyrus and
the sari, as these were described by Theophrastus; and
since he gives a particular description of the latter, he
would most naturally have hinted at their conformity to
the Sicilian papyrus, had such actually been the case.
PAR, in Commerce, signifies any two things which are
equal in value. See Exchange.
PARA, a province of Brazil, in South America, or im¬
mense extent, and of such surprising fertility that it is
characterized as at once the paradise of the Indies and ot
Brazil. It is a region of endless luxuriance, one where
every rood of ground would maintain its man ; and suiti-
ciently capacious to receive all the redundant population
of Europe; for the dwellings of man are scattered over it
so thinly that they have been compared to islands in a
vast ocean. It is situated to the south and south-east ot
Guiana, being separated from it by the river Amazons.
The river Madera, or Madeira, the great tributary of the
Amazons, separates it on the north-west and west from t ie
province of Solimoens and the territory of Peru. A line
drawn nearly parallel with the ninth degree of south lati¬
tude separates it from the province of Matto Grosso on
the south; Maranham bounds it on the east; and a con¬
siderable part of its northern limits is washed by the
Atlantic Ocean. Its greatest length, from the Atlantic to
the borders of Peru, is above fourteen hundred miles ; at
the broadest it is more than five hundred miles across, but
it narrows towards either extremity, lying east and west.
This vast tract of country is, to a considerable extent, a
terra incognita, and it is supposed that at least two thirds
of it are yet in possession of the aboriginal Indians. Lazal
divides it into four large districts, viz. Para proper, a flat
and wooded country, extending west of Maranham two
hundred miles to the river Toccantines or locannos, which
in this quarter traverses its whole extent from south to
north ; Xingutania, lying between the Toccantines and the
river Xingu or Ghingu, which falls into the Amazons, near
its mouth ; Tapajonia, extending from the latter river to
the Tapajos, which joins the Amazons about two hundred
and twenty miles higher up than the Xingu; and Mun-
drucania, so designated from the Mundrucu IpthimS’ who
inhabit it, extending from the Tapajos to the Madera,
which unites with the Amazons about the same distance
above the Tapajos that the latter river is above the con¬
fluence of the Xingu. Indeed, in examining a good map
of the country, nothing appears more striking than the
manner in which the province of Para is divided into four
portions by the rivers above named, all nearly ot equal size,
with the exception of Para proper, which is much smaller
than the others. Of these rivers, the Amazons and the
Madera haw already been described in this work; and
they constitute the leading hydrographical features ot the
country. The Toccantines is also a very large stream, in
one part expanding to ten miles in breadth ; and it is beau¬
tified with numerous islands. The Xingu and fapajos are
likewise considerable streams, originating in a cordillera of
moderate elevation, which runs from north to south in the
province of Matto Grosso. The upper courses of these
rivers have never been explored, and the country which
lies between them, and also between the lapajos an a
dera, where it joins with Matto Grosso, is consequently
known only by the reports of the Indians. There aie a
number of other rivers, but none which requires specific
mention, except the Annapu, which falls into the estuary
of the Amazons between the rivers Toccantines and Xingu.
Several islands lie at the mouth of the Amazons, one ot
which, called Majora, is a hundred miles in circumierence,
and so situated as to divide the river into two unequal
branches. The island of Majora is a low, flat, alluvial for¬
mation, covered with brushwood and grass, and abounding
in cattle and horses, with which it supplies 1 ara. It is
overrun with alligators, snakes, and wild beasts; and dur¬
ing the rainy season it is much flooded, and rendered very
unhealthy when the w aters have quitted it, and the sun has
begun to”exhale the malaria.
The geology of Para presents but little variety or novelty,
and is precisely similar to that of Maranham. The sod
upon which the city of Para stands is composed of clay
and sand. The beds of clay are very extensive, and fre¬
quently thirty or forty feet in depth. There is scarce y
any rock, and that only in particular and isolated masses ;
it is a coarse dark iron sandstone, with numerous particles
of quartz imbedded in it. This is the only stone, and it
is used as a building material. This species of sandstone,
with fragments of white quartz, is observable at Maranham,
and is the predominating formation at St Paul s, a little to
the southward of Rio. The beds of clay at Para are of
various qualities, some being admirably adapted for bnc s,
tiles, and coarse pottery ; whilst others, again, are very fine,
and capable of forming utensils which might vie in beauty
with the celebrated Wedge wood ware. Beds of yellow ochre
are abundant, and it is much in use for painting the houses
externally. Limestone is imported from 1 ortugal, granite
from Rio, and slabs and sills from Europe. A gold mine is
said to have been found in a mountainous hill on the coast
near Selina No organic remains have as yet been disco¬
vered in these parts. The larger portion of the soil of I ara
is of extraordinary fertility, as will be seen by the account
of the vegetable productions, remarkable alike for their va¬
riety and luxuriance. Situated immediately beneath the
equator, the climate is hot and sultry; the thermometer
averaging throughout the day from 84° to 89 in the
shade. A.t night it occasionally falls as low as 7o , with
very heavy and copious dews, particularly upon the river,
drenching such boats as may be upon it, as if a shower o
rain had descended. The river water is tepid, generally
about 84°. As the air cools in the evening, it chills the sur¬
face of the water, and in doing so a humid vapour is emitted.
There is no difference of temperature throughout the year,
the mean degree of heat being 84°. There are two sea¬
sons, the wet and the dry. The rainy season commences
in the latter part of December, and continues until July,
raining more or less every day, without intermission, for
many hours. The air continues sultry and oppressive,
with light variable winds, and occasional squalls from vari¬
ous points of the compass, accompanied by thunder and
lightning of the most appalling description, whilst the rain
at the same time descends in torrents. T ie 1 "
storms take place most frequently in the afternoon, about
two or three o’clock; and the same is observable at Rio and
other places. It generally begins to rain about eleven
o’clock in the forenoon, and continues until nine or ten
night. The country is flooded in many parts during this
season, and vessels are often detained several weeks, not
being able to take on board their cargoes. I he dry sea
son at Para occupies the remaining portion of the year,
from July to December. But even during this period lain
frequently falls, and thunder-storms occur in the afternoon.
This is also the peculiar season of winds, which blow fre.
from the north-east during the day, with a hght bree
only in the evening. Lightning is frequent .^theho-
zon every night. Of course the days and night, in this
“ region of the sun” are nearly of equal length throughou
Para.
P A R A.
Para, the year. For a country situated within the torrid zone,
-'-'/"’“■''Para cannot be considered as unhealthy, although it was
formerly reckoned so. But since the woods were thinned,
and cattle were introduced, a material improvement has
taken place. It is exempted from endemic diseases; but
intermittent fevers or agues attack those who have newly
arrived in the country, and they become more common as
the river is ascended. Those employed in the gathering
of sarsaparilla are very frequently attacked with fever, and
numbers of the natives die of it. Dysentery, tetanus, and
some other diseases, common to various parts of Brazil,
prevail in Para. In 1825, the small-pox is said to have car¬
ried off five thousand persons in the capital.
This province is unusually rich in vegetable productions,
particularly such as are called, par excellence, botanical.
There is an inexhaustible supply of timber of the very best
quality, and almost of every variety, so that there is abun¬
dance of fuel. The palms are amongst the most conspi¬
cuous and useful products of the vegetable kingdom.
They afford the inhabitants food, drink, and even raiment;
for the pith of some of these species of trees produces an
edible substance resembling sago, the pericarp of others
yields a pleasant beverage, and the leaves afford a covering
for houses, as well as materials for making hats and bas¬
kets. Some furnish them with oil; and canoes and boats are
hollowed out of the trunks of others. The palms are of vari¬
ous species ; one, called the areca, reaches a hundred and
thirty feet in height. Indeed there is to be found here
timber for every purpose for which man can require it,
from the soft cork-wood of the ochroma say opus, to the
dense hard iron wood. There is the cedrela odorata, or soft
cedar wood, very handsomely veined ; the white cedar or
bignonia leucoxylon, and an abundance of other bignonias;
the balsam copaiva tree, which affords good timber, besides
its medicinal product; ornamental woods of every hue
and grain, including rose-wood, satin-wood, yellow wood,
ebony, and others ; the bertholletia excelsa, a lofty spread¬
ing tree, producing a woody capsule three inches in dia¬
meter, so heavy, hard, and solid that it requires a power¬
ful blow of a sledge-hammer to break it (the bark of
tins tree, when beaten into flakes, is used in place of oakum
or hemp); the lecythis ollaris, or pot-tree (so called from
the seed-vessel resembling a rusty iron pot with a lid), the
nuts of which are esteemed as of a very superior quality,
and are sent as presents from the interior; the carapa
guareoides, or anderaba, the seeds of which yield an oil
that is put to a variety of uses, and amongst others as a
lamp-oil, and for making soap; the calabash, which fur¬
nishes the natives with many utensils; excellent wmods
for ship-building, equal to the teak of India ; and a vast va¬
riety of trees and plants which yield dye-stuffs of the finest
quality. Amongst these may be mentioned arnotta, of
which there are three species ; indigo ; crajaru, or the juice
of a plant (bignonia), formed into cakes of a bright red. It
is prepared by the Indians, and is a capital and very durable
oil colour. The amomum sylvestre yields a blue colour.
Para is exceedingly rich in oils, including turtle-oil, procur¬
ed from the fat of the turtle. Turtles frequent the upper
part of the river in immense numbers ; and no less than six
thousand jars of their oil, each containing seven gallons, are
annually received at Para. Besides these, may be mention¬
ed the azeite mammona, or castor oil, for lamps, and com¬
mon lamp-oil; the unctuous substance of cacao, which is
used in the manufacture of soap; a fine sweet oil resem¬
bling that of the olive, obtained from tbe patacia, a species of
palm ; the bacova, a species of palm oil; the common cocoa-
nut oil; and that of the anderaba, already mentioned.
Ihese oils can be procured in the greatest abundance, at
a very cheap rate, and may be rendered an object of con¬
siderable commercial importance. Amongst the medicinal
plants and drugs are sarsaparilla, balsam copaiva, tonquin
51
beans, procured in vast quantities, and which yield, by dis¬
tillation with spirits or with water, an odorous essential
oil; arnotta vanilla, which perfumes the woods, and creeps
up the trees like alarge and elegantly-leaved ivy; gum copal
of a spurious quality ; gum caju, or the gum of the cashew
apple ; the pod of the cassia jistularis, and the leaves of se¬
veral of the cassias, which are as good as senna ; the port-
la,ndia hexandria, which is an emetic, a cathartic, a febri¬
fuge, and a tonic ; the mirabilis jalapa, or the jalap of the
country, very common in Para; besides many others, which
it is unnecessary to enumerate. Not a few of the trees of
this province yield a milky juice, the fig-trees in particu¬
lar, and they are very numerous. One of the most re¬
markable of these is the vaccodendron lactifera, or milk¬
bearing cow-tree as it has been called, from its extraor¬
dinary property of yielding milk, similar, it is said, to that
of a cow. The tree is one of the loftiest in the forest, being
above a hundred feet in height. The fluid which it yields
appears to bear the nearest resemblance to animal milk
of any vegetable product. It is a rich white bland fluid,
without odour, and of the taste and flavour of common
milk, as a substitute for which it is extensively used.
Amongst the useful and curious products of the province,
the siphonia elastica or cahuchuc requires particular men¬
tion. It is the tree which produces the well-known elastic
gum or India rubber, and is amongst the largest of the fo¬
rest. It abounds to such an extent as to form one of the
staple articles of commerce, and Para is the great empo¬
rium for supplying Europe with this article. Very strong
and durable shoes, and other articles of wearing apparel,
are manufactured from it. Amongst the spices and aro¬
matics, this province produces turmeric, ginger, black pep¬
per, cayenne, native nutmeg, laurus cinnamomaides, clove
bark (having precisely the flavour of cloves, and used as
such), some aromatic amomums, several species of pepper,
piper amalayo, and ginger pepper. There are also lau¬
rels, cinnamon, cloves, and allspice cultivated for sale ; and
the tobacco raised is reported to be the genuine Orinoco.
Para yields great abundance of fruits, and also of farina¬
ceous grains and roots. Rice, Indian corn, and the favourite
mandioc root, supply the inhabitants with flour and tapio¬
ca. Cocoa is plentiful, and coffee and sugar are cultivat¬
ed for exportation. Amongst the fruits of the province
are several varieties of the most exquisite pine-apples, re¬
markably large and fine oranges, limes, sweet lemons, cus¬
tard apples, cherimoyas, alligator pears of an immense
size, very fine quality, and forming a part of the food of
the common people ; the fruits of the passiflora, tama¬
rinds, guavas, pawpaws, superb melons, plantains, and ba¬
nanas, mangoes in profusion, several species of the achras,
and palm drupas ; the bucari, ingas, rose-apple, bread-fruit,
and jacks; figs, sapodillas, abiu, macoubea, and abricot,
similar in flavour to the apricot. There is a small crop
of grapes three times a year. The marauta, or arrow-root
genus, affords several edible roots ; and, with regard to ve¬
getables, there are abundance of cucumbers, pumpkins, let¬
tuce, chilis, potatoes, cabbages, a variety of beans, yams
of several kinds, tomatas, and the egg-apple, besides others.
Without adverting to the flora of this province, farther
than stating generally that it is exceedingly beautiful and
various, the foregoing account of the vegetable kingdom
of Para will sufficiently show that, in the abundance, va¬
riety, and luxuriance of its products of this description,
it is not surpassed by the most favoured spots upon the
globe.
Para is equally prolific in wild animals, abounding in
monkeys, snakes, and lizards. The vampires fly about at
night in great numbers, and are exceedingly annoying; and
the vampire bat, in particular, is notorious in the country
for its blood-sucking powers. The guano tribe is numerous,
but harmless and timid as hares ; and there are numbers of
Para.
52
PARA.
Para, tapirs and ounces. The river-banks are infested with al-
v ligators, the island of Marajo being their rendezvous. The
electrical eel attains to a considerable size, and sometimes
kills a horse that is wading in the streams. Such is its
power, that by one stroke of its body it knocks the animal
down and kills it. There is an abundant supply of fish,
both from the river Amazons and from the ocean ; but
thev do not keepwell. The dorado is the most esteemed.
There are two large fishes of the silurus kind, which yield
isinglass; but a better sort is procured from the guru-
juda, a fish somewhat like a sturgeon in appearance, and
caught at the mouth of the river. The pereiba is a very
large fish, from five to six feet in length, and of a shark¬
like aspect. The pirarucoa is likewise a very large fish,
which the inhabitants salt; and there are various kinds of
small fish, which it is unnecessary to enumerate. The birds
of these regions are well known, being famous for their
beauty and splendour; and insects are so multitudinous
that, according to a writer who has visited the country,
“ the ants alone would be the labour of a person’s life to
detail; in every fruit, on every flower, there is almost a pe¬
culiar ant.’’1 Fire-flies sparkle beautifully at night amongst
the trees and bushes, flashing their meteoric wings, and
then vanishing in a moment. Some of the spiders are ex¬
tremely large and venomous ; and Para is noted for snakes,
amongst which is the gigantic boa-constrictor, that kills
an ox and immediately gorges the animal.
Capital. xhe city of Para stands on a low part of the right bank
of the eastern branch of the river Para, about fifty miles
from its mouth. As seen from vessels in the river, it pre¬
sents nothing particularly attractive or conspicuous except
its numerous churches. No lofty ranges of buildings are to
be seen in this city of the western world; and, being en¬
vironed by wood and the waters of the river, and built on
somewhat low ground, it has altogether a humble ap¬
pearance. It extends about two thirds of a mile along
the Para, and is about half a mile in breadth ; the high¬
est point of ground, that on which the church of St Anne
is situated, being about seventy feet above the surface
of the river. Directly opposite to it, and about two miles
distant, is the large island of Oncas, with several smaller
ones lower down the river. Rather more than a league
below the city there is an insulated rock, on which a
fort called Serra is built, and to which all vessels inward
or outward bound are obliged to send a boat with papers
before they are allowed to proceed to or depart from the
city. Somewhat less than a league above the city is the
mouth of the river Guama, up which passengers to Maran-
ham are said occasionally to proceed in an easterly direc¬
tion, and, crossing a narrow neck of land, embark in boats
on the sea, keeping close in along the coast. It is proba¬
bly on account of the facility which this and other rivers,
particularly the Toccantines, afford for a communication
with the interior of Brazil, that the present site of Para
was chosen. Between the mouth of the river Guama and
the city there is the naval arsenal, at which large vessels
are built. The city is protected by two forts, both placed
on steep and rocky but not elevated points. The streets
of Para are laid out at right angles to each other, but they
are not remarkable for their breadth, and only some of
them are paved. The houses in general are about two
stories high, and well built, having latticed blinds for win¬
dows, which adds to the sombre appearance of the city
Para has little of that bustle of business observable in most
commercial towns, but is dull, noiseless, and cheerless.
The principal building in Para is the palace, a large square,
two stories in height, having an open balcony at the
second story, ornamented with large wooden figures at
the outer part, and palm-trees between the windows. Se¬
veral of the government offices are in the palace, and it is
the abode of the president. Internally it is well but not
gaudily fitted up; and altogether it is a handsome and
commodious building, every way worthy of the purpose to
which it is appropriated. On the north, east, and west
sides the ground is open, and there the troops were wont
to be paraded every morning. Adjoining the palace are
the walls and several arches of what was intended for a
theatre; but although the design was good, the wffiole
has proved a failure. There are a cathedral and eight
churches ; and there either are or were four or five con¬
vents. The cathedral is built in the form of a Latin
and its structure and decorations, without being
Para.
Cl'OSS
gaudy, have a pleasing effect. The interior is neat, and
is of sufficient size to accommodate a large audience. The
bishop’s palace is in the cathedral square, and stands op¬
posite to that building. It is a large and plain but re¬
spectable edifice ; and appended to it is a church or chapel
for the domestic service of the bishop and his establish¬
ment. In the same square there is a comfortable hospital.
The remaining part of it is filled up with dwelling-houses.
In the middle of the city is the church of St Anne; close
to the water is the church of Los Mercez, and adjoining to
it are the custom-house and the prison. These three form
the most conspicuous range of buildings in the city, but
they are nevertheless by no means remarkable. The cus¬
tom-house is large, well built, and apparently commodious.
It has a distinct quay, with a broad flight of wooden stairs
leading to it; and immediately opposite to it stands one of
the forts.
The streets of Para have little or nothing that is attrac¬
tive about them. The shops and warehouses are nume¬
rous, and are tolerably well supplied with merchaftdise;
but there is a deficiency of taste and elegance in their ar¬
rangement. The markets are held close by the water-side,
near the church of Mercez, where women with vegetables
and fruit congregate for the most part of the day; but but¬
cher-meat is not to be obtained after ten in the forenoon, a
very salutary regulation, on account of the great heat of the
place. Cattle and horses are brought from Marajo and
some of the neighbouring islands, where they run wild,
but belong to individuals, some of whom are the proprie¬
tors of whole islands, and all the cattle upon them. The
horses are not large nor powerful; and in the wild state they
are valued at about five dollars each. They are occasion¬
ally exported to the islands of the West Indies. Although
Para possesses few attractions as a city, the environs con¬
tain numerous beautiful shady walks and cool retreats.
There is one public walk in the city, much resorted to in
the evening, for the delightful promenade which it affords.
The others are principally formed by rows of lofty silk-
cotton trees, which bear no little resemblance to the ele¬
gant horse-chestnut of Britain. The country in the imme¬
diate vicinity of Para is very beautiful, and the outlets to
it are abundant. In the suburbs of the city there are seve¬
ral elegant little villas, with extensive gardens attached to
them, rich in all the varieties of tropical produce. The
road to the Nazare church, distant about a mile from the
city, is a favourite resort of the people of Para. The
church, which is built on a small scale, like that of a vil¬
lage, is simple and neat, and most romantically situated on
the skirts of a wood, with a small open area in front. Here,
in the month of October, a scene of grand festivity takes
i Narrative of a Voyage to the Southern Atlantic Ocean during the years 1828, 1829, and 1830 ; extracted from the private jour¬
nal of W. H. B. Webster, surgeon of the vessel (vol. ii. p. 303). For further particulars regarding the vegetables and animals ot Bara,
the reader is referred to this work, from which the account in the text is chiefly taken.
P A
Para, place, called the fair of St Nazare, over which the clergy
preside, and it is attended by every inhabitant of Para. Fro¬
lic and feasting, the usual business of fairs, with the general
custom of gambling, continues for a fortnight, and the scene
closes with high mass, performed in the most imposing
style. Para is lamentably deficient in public institutions
for education. The whole town can only boast of one
school, which is under the direction of the clergy. There
is not, it is said, a bookseller’s shop in Para; so that gross
ignorance is the rule, not the exception. There is indeed
a weekly gazette published, but it is chiefly as a channel
through which the edicts of government are circulated.
The laws are bad, and they are also badly administered;
indeed justice is so tardy, that criminals may sometimes
lie in prison till they rot, before being brought to trial.
Para stands in longitude 48. 39. 45. west from Greenwich,
and latitude 1. 28. south.
Notwithstanding the natural riches and the superabun¬
dant advantages of Para, it is a very poor city, and re¬
ceives a subsidiary stipend from the neighbouring province
of Maranham, amounting to L.8000 annually, to defray
the expenses of its government. In consideration of this
gratuity, Para receives the goods imported into Maran¬
ham duty free, and likewise defrays the expenses of the
packets and men of wrar on the station. The currency of
the province is a good criterion of its general poverty.
Copper is the only circulating medium, and even that is
of the basest description. Besides, it is, or at least was a
few years ago, liable to be called up by the government
at pleasure, and restamped, by which operation it became
of twice its former value. “ It would appear,” says Mr
Webster, “ that this province is the very sink of the em¬
pire in respect to currency, as all the base copper coin
which is not passable in the other parts of the empire
finds here a ready circulation. No better idea of it can be
given than the fact, that what passes for one hundred
pounds in copper coin, is really and intrinsically worth
only eight pounds. Silver was at a premium of twenty-
five per cent.; and the very sight of a dollar, when we
were there, was quite a rarity. Hence the necessaries of
life are cheap. House-rent is moderate, and there are no
direct taxes.” In mentioning the price of articles, this
writer observes, that “ horses are worth sixteen shillings
each, and are generally fed with rice chaff. Foreign pro¬
duce is by no means high at Para, the wines of Portugal
and the manufactures of England being comparatively
cheap.” With regard to trade, he observes, “ it is said
that it was the miserable policy of the Marquis de Pombal,
not only to keep foreigners, but the Portuguese themselves,
ignorant of the value of this province ; a policy which was
realizing the character of the dog in the manger illustrat¬
ed by the fable. He did every thing in his power to de¬
grade and keep it in the back ground. The situation of
it is well adapted for rendering it the depot of an exten¬
sive and lucrative trade; but the commerce, in conse¬
quence of such short-sighted policy, is extremely small, a
kind of petty retail rather than any extensive or liberal
trade. A merchant is obliged to buy, from time to time,
small scraps and parcels; such, for instance, as a pound or
two of isinglass, by which means he is long in accumulating
a stock.” All the produce is brought to Para in canoes, from
a distance of six or seven hundred miles in the interior. Co¬
coa is the staple article of commerce, and it is produced in
vast quantities; but being now so much depreciated in the
foreign markets, it will not defray the expense of freight.
There is, in fact, no demand for it, and the aroba, or thirty-
tvvo pounds of cocoa, is sometimes worth only twenty pence.
Rice is very abundant, but cotton is scarce. Sarsaparilla,
which is principally exported to Lisbon, and thence to
London, balsam copaiva, tonquin beans, vanilla, farina, oils,
and Indian rubber, are the chief articles of exportation.
It A. 53
Those principally imported consist of flour, spermaceti Para,
candles, soap, shoes, and other goods, from the United
States; cotton goods and hardware from England; and
wines, vinegar, olive oil, limestone, drugs, chestnuts, and
some few other articles, from Lisbon. The manufactures
of Para are ladies’ combs, polished with the leaf of the
curatella Americana ; good leather, made of the skins of
the goats or hares of the country ; coarse and bad pot¬
tery ; chocolate, coarse hammocks, straw and palm hats,
lace, salt-fish, and jerked beef. The Indians bring down
from the interior elegant wands of beautiful feathers, call¬
ed sceptros, besides superbly ornamented hammocks, fea¬
ther dresses, bows and arrows, and stained calabashes.
The Brazilian tribes about Para appear to be a very fine,
healthy, and well-conditioned race of people. Their skin
is of a good firm copper colour, without a tinge of black ;
they have long jetty hair, with rubicund faces and in¬
telligent features, in which a general expression of mild¬
ness predominates. “ The superiority of the Brazilians
over the poor African tribes of slaves at Para,” says Mr
Webster, “ is particularly remarkable; and the contrast
is sadly against the latter. It is customary for the negro
slaves to come down in groups every morning to the river¬
side, to purchase various articles of produce brought down
from the interior by the native canoes. At this usual morn¬
ing rendezvous, some bring coffee ready made for break¬
fast, while others bring a favourite liquor called ‘ wTassa-
ree,’ an infusion of a small kind of palm. This beverage
has the colour of port wine, and when sweetened is highly
esteemed by these people. In fact, with a banana, or alli¬
gator pear, it forms the principal fare of many, while others
prefer the farina of the cassada with it.” The city of Para
was built by the Jesuits in the year 1615, and, before the
revolt of the negroes, contained about 20,000 inhabitants.
The population of the entire province was estimated in
1830 at 190,000.
The only other town of any consideration in Para pro¬
per is Bragan^a, formerly Cayte or Cahete, and the capi¬
tal of a short-lived captaincy. It is distant about twenty
miles from the sea, and nearly one hundred miles east-
north-east of Para. It is a port at which coasters touch
on their way from Maranham to the capital, and is one of
the oldest towns in the province, with a population of
about 2000 inhabitants. Villa Vico9a, or Cameta, is the
largest town in the whole province next to Para. It is
situated on the left bank of the Toccantines, about forty
miles from its mouth, and ninety miles south-west of the
capital, with which it has a distinct water communication,
by means of a natural canal, navigable with the tide. This
place is a mart between Para and Goyaz, and contains
about 6000 inhabitants. The river Toccantines here ex¬
pands to ten miles in breadth, and the tide extends twen¬
ty-six leagues higher up, to the registry of Fort Alcoba^a,
the navigation being thus far uninterrupted by either rocks
or rapids.
The colony of Para was originally an offset from that
of Maranham. In the year 1615, Francisco Caldeiro sail¬
ed from St Luiz with two hundred men in three cara¬
vels, intrusted with the project of selecting an eligible
situation for a settlement more immediately within the vi¬
cinity of the river Amazons, with a view to promote the
navigation of that river, and to frustrate the attempts of
any other nation to form settlements in this direction.
The Dutch at one time had establishments upon both
banks of the river, but they were expelled by the Portu¬
guese about the year 1622. The early history of the pro¬
vince exhibits the same nefarious system of slave-hunting'
that was practised in almost all the captaincies ; but it was
carried on in Para with peculiar cruelty. An end, however,
was at length put to the captivity of the Indians, none but
negroes being permitted to be sold as slaves ; and under
54
PAR
Parable the Jesuits the population became more numerous than
II that of the eastern provinces. The evil consequences of
Paracatu. expulsion were more perceptible here than in any
v Y ' other part of Brazil, says Mr Southey, “ because nowhere
had so many aldeias been established, nor had they any¬
where else been in so flourishing a state.” The city oi
Para was recently the scene of a fearful revolt of the na¬
tive Indians. The cause of quarrel was the confinement
of an Indian charged with having committed some offence.
His brother, having vainly solicited his liberation, assem¬
bled a body of about three hundred of his countrymen,
and attacked the city on the 14th of August 1835. The
assault was at first unsuccessful, and the contest continued
for several days without any result; but the insurgents
having gradually gained possession of the most favourable
positions, the inhabitants were seized by a panic, and the
Indians, rushing in through the by-lanes and narrow streets,
commenced an indiscriminate slaughter, at the same time
sacking and pillaging the city. An expedition sent against
them proved unsuccessful; but they voluntarily abandon¬
ed the city, and the imperial troops entered it on the 13th
of May 1836. When Para fell into the hands of the in¬
surgents, it was said to have contained British property to
the amount of L.300,000, but after the capture of the place
scarcely a vestige of it remained. (r. R. R.)
PARABLE, a fable or allegorical instruction, founded
on something real or apparent in nature or history, from
which a moral is drawn by comparing it with something
wherein the people are more immediately concerned: such
are the parables of Dives and Lazarus, of the Prodigal Son,
of the Ten Virgins, and others. Dr Blair observes, that
of parables, which form a part of allegory, the prophetical
writings are full; and if to us they sometimes appear ob¬
scure, we must remember, that in those early times it was
universally the mode throughout all the eastern nations to
convey sacred truths under mysterious figures and repre¬
sentations.
PARACATU, a comarca of the province of Minas
Geraes, in Brazil, South America. This district, which
was detached from Sahara, and formed into a separate co¬
marca in 1815, comprehends all the country lying to the
westward of the river St Francisco, from the Carinhenha
to the Abaite. Cazal states that the latter river is formed
by two streams of the same name, one coming from the
south-west, the other from the north-west, their sources
being nearly one hundred miles apart. The intervening
territory is a forest tract, called Matto da Corda, enclosing
several campinhas, or extensive grazing lands. The prin¬
cipal heads of the Paracatu are the Escuro and the Prata.
The latter is said to have yielded some fine diamonds, and
it was customary for a strong guard of soldiers to patrol
its banks. Twenty miles north of the confluence of the
Paracatu, the St Francisco receives the large river Uru-
cuya. At almost an equal distance between the mouths
of these two rivers is the considerable arraial of St Ro-
mao, which carries on an extensive inland trade, especial¬
ly in salt, obtained from Pilao Arcado and its vicinity.
Above the mouth of the Urucuya the St Francisco receives
on its western margin a number of rivers, on most of
which there is a parish or arraial, but immense tracts of
country are wholly unappropriated. On the banks of the
St Francisco, and to the eastward, great numbers of cattle
are bred, and large herds are sent to Rio, a distance of
above six hundred miles. The want of salt in these parts
is a serious evil, as it is requisite for the cattle; nor will
they, it is said, breed well without it. The river Abaite
is distinguished by having produced the largest diamond
that was ever found in America. It weighed nearly an
ounce, and was accidentally discovered by three outlaws
when searching for gold. This spot has since been wrought
at different periods with various success ; but although
PAR
large diamonds have been found, their quality has been in- Paracels
different, and the works are now abandoned. Paracatu do —
Principe, the only town in the district, owes its origin to
its mines, which were first discovered in 1744. A great
number of adventurers were lured to the spot by the quan¬
tity of gold found, and the Indians were expelled from their
native territory. The town, however, has very much de¬
cayed. The gold is of a good colour, but of indifferent
quality, and difficult of extraction, from the want of water.
Diamonds having subsequently been discovered in various
parts, the working of the gold-washings is now restricted
to a few leagues round the town. The town has the ad¬
vantage of a healthy situation, upon an elevated plain. The
houses are of taipe ; the streets are paved ; and, besides the
church, there are four hermitages. In the neighbourhood,
the vine, the orange, and the pine-apple flourish luxuriantly,
and there is abundance of deer and game. 1 he town con¬
tains above one thousand inhabitants, but of the population
of the district no correct estimate can be formed.
PARACELSUS, Philippus Aureolus Theophras¬
tus, a famous alchemist and enthusiast of the sixteenth
century, was born in 1493, at Einsiedeln, a small town of
the canton of Schwitz, distant some leagues from Zurich.
Flis father, who practised medicine at Villach in Carinthia,
was a near relative of George Bombast de Hohenheim,
who afterwards became grand-prior of the order of Malta ;
so that Paracelsus was not sprung from the dregs of the
people, as his sworn enemy, Erastus, pretends. His early
education appears to have been neglected, and he passed
a part of his youth leading the life of a strolling school¬
man of that period ; in other words, he wandered from
country to country, predicting future events by inspect¬
ing the stars and the lines of the hand, conjuring up the
dead, and repeating various operations in alchemy and ma¬
gic, into which he had been initiated either by his father,
or by different ecclesiastics, amongst whom he mentions
the abbot Tritheim, and several German bishops. As Pa¬
racelsus everywhere shows himself ignorant of the most
common and elementary parts of knowledge, it is not pro¬
bable that he had ever seriously studied in the schools.
He contented himself with visiting the universities of Ger¬
many, France, and Italy; and although he boasts of hav¬
ing been the ornament of these schools, there is no evi¬
dence of his having legitimately acquired the title of doc¬
tor, which he chose to assume. All we know is, that he
laboured for a long time in the house of a certain rich man,
named Sigismond Fugger de Schwatz, in order to learn
from him the secret of the philosopher’s stone. According
to the usage of the alchemists, Paracelsus travelled into
the mountains of Bohemia, Sweden, and the East, to in¬
spect the labours of the miners, get himself initiated into
the mysteries of the oriental adepts, and observe the won¬
ders of nature, particularly the celebrated magnetic moun¬
tain. He is also said to have traversed Spain, Portugal,
France, Prussia, Poland, and Transylvania, communicating
not only with the physicians, but also with the old women,
quacks, and magicians of these different countries. It is
even believed that he extended his travels as far as Egypt
and Tartary, and that he accompanied the son of the Khan
of the Tartars to Constantinople, in order to learn of a
Greek who resided in that capital the secret of the tincture
or elixir of Trismegistus. This vagabond life naturally
left Paracelsus very little time for reading; and, in fact, he
has himself stated, that during the space of ten years he
did not open a single book, and that all his medical library
consisted of about a dozen pages. Nor did his desire ot
knowledge increase with his years; for an inventory made
after his death shows, that the only books which he left
behind him were a Bible, a Concordance, a New Testa¬
ment, the Commentaries of St Jerome on the Gospels, a
volume on medicine, and some seven manuscripts.
PAR PAR 55
iracelsus. It is not known at what period he returned to Germany ;
■"'but it appears that, about the age of’ thirty-three, several
remarkable cures, which he wrought on persons of distinc¬
tion, gave him such celebrity, that in 1526, he was, on the
recommendation of Gicolampadius, called to fill the chair
of physic and surgery in the university of Basil. Here
Paracelsus commenced his career by burning publicly in
the hall the works of Avicenna and Galen ; assuring his au¬
ditors, that his shoe-ties knew more than these two physi¬
cians, that all the universities, and all the writers united,
were less instructed than the hairs of his beard, and that
he should be regarded as the sole monarch of physic. The
novelty of his doctrine, the confidence with which he spoke
of his success, the power to which he pretended of prolong¬
ing life, and curing the most inveterate diseases, and the
use of the vulgar tongue in his discourses, attracted to Ba¬
sil a crowd of credulous persons, equally indolent and en¬
thusiastic. The prelections which he delivered on prac¬
tical medicine have fortunately been preserved ; they are
in a mixed jargon of German and barbarous Latin, and con¬
tain nothing but a multitude of empirical remedies, indi¬
cated with the greatest pretension. So much impudence,
however, far from diminishing his renown, served only to
increase it, insomuch that Erasmus, who had long suffered
from gravel, applied to Paracelsus; and this circumstance
led to acorrespondence(which hasbeen preserved)between
these two men, who enjoyed such opposite kinds of cele¬
brity. But even at Basil people soon began to discover
that the new professor was an impudent and presumptuous
quack. Scarcely had a year elapsed when his prelections
were deserted. As soon as the novelty wore off, his jargon
was found to be incomprehensible, and his empiricism a
mere cloak for ignorance. But what contributed more
than any other cause to ruin his reputation was the cra¬
pulous life which he led. According to Oporin, who lived
two years with him, he almost never appeared in his lec¬
ture-room without being half drunk, and seldom dictated
to his secretaries except under the influence of wine. If
called to visit a patient, he rarely did so without having first
gorged himself with liquor. He had the custom of sleep¬
ing in his clothes, and sometimes passed whole nights in
low taverns drinking with peasants, so that in the morning
he had not the slightest recollection of what had passed
during the night. On one occasion, however, having ex¬
ceeded the ordinary license of his orgies, he assailed a
magistrate with the grossest abuse; and, dreading punish¬
ment for such an outrage, found himself under the neces¬
sity of decamping from Basil, towards the end of the year
1527. He took refuge in Alsace, whither he was followed
by his secretary Oporin, with all his chemical apparatus,
and then resumed the same kind of strolling life which he
had led in his youth.
Being thus cast loose again upon the world, he appeared
at Colmar in 1528, at Nuremberg in 1529, at Saint-Gall in
1531, at Pfeffers in 1535, and at Augsburg in 1536. He
then made some stay in Moravia, where he once more
compromised his reputation by the loss of some distin¬
guished patients, and was in consequence obliged to take
his departure for Vienna. From that capital he passed
into Hungary, and, in 1538, appeared at Villach, where
he dedicated his Chronicle to the states of Carinthia, in
gratitude for the favours which they had bestowed on his
father. But his stay here appears to have been short;
for, in 1540, we find him at Mindelheim, whence he pro¬
ceeded to Saltzburg, the ultimate term of all his wander¬
ings. On the 24th of September 1541 he died in the
hospital of St Stephen at that place, in the forty-eighth
year of his age, and in a state of abject poverty ; notwith¬
standing he pretended to the possession of the double se¬
cret of transmuting metals, and prolonging life even to the
extent of several centuries.
The life of this man forms a curious chapter in the his- Paracelsus,
tory of self-delusion and imposture. Yet in order to '-
judge rightly of Paracelsus, as well as of the reform which
he wished to effect in medicine, it is necessary to dismiss
all prejudice, and to disregard alike the hostility of Eras-
tus and the exaggerations of Murr. It is also proper to
keep in view the predominant spirit of the age in which
he lived, and to remember that this epoch was famous for
the reign of astrology and alchemy, the abuse of all sorts
of superstitious practices, the apparition of spectres, ghosts,
and hobgoblins, frequent demoniacal possessions, and the
juggleries of a crowd of seers and fanatics, who, through¬
out all Europe, and particularly in Germany, practised on
the credulity of the people. Such were the causes which
prepared the way for the system of Paracelsus, and inflicts
ed a severe blow on that of Galen. To speak in a vulgar
language, to write rather for the people than for the learn¬
ed, to introduce the cabbalistical art into medicine, as a
substitute for that knowledge which is only acquired by
study, to employ a crowd of mystical and barbarous terms,
which make the greater impression on the multitude the
less they are understood; such were the means of which
Paracelsus availed himself, and which, but for his own
indiscretion and misconduct, would most probably have
been attended with triumphant success.
His philosophical and medical system is curious, even by
reason of its absurdity. He takes as his primary supports
religion and the sacred books. He assures us that the con¬
templation of the perfections of the Deity is sufficient to
procure all knowledge and all wisdom ; that the Holy Scrip¬
tures conduct to all kinds of truth ; that the Bible furnishes
a key to the theory of diseases ; and that magical medicine
can only be learned by the study of the Apocalypse. The
man who blindly obeys the will of God, and who succeeds
in identifying himself with the celestial intelligences, pos¬
sesses the philosopher’s stone; he can cure all diseases,
and can prolong his life at pleasure, because he holds in
his possession the tincture which Adam and the patriarchs
employed before the Deluge to prolong the term of hu¬
man existence to eight or even nine centuries. Paracelsus
professed the grossest pantheism. He admitted the ex¬
istence of pure spirits without souls. According to him,
all beings, even the minerals and fluids, take aliments and
drink, and expel faeces. His physiological theory, a con¬
fused mass of the most incoherent ideas, is founded on
the application of the law of the cabbala to the demonstra¬
tion of the functions of the human body. The Sun has
an influence on the heart, the Moon on the brain, Jupiter
on the liver, Saturn on the spleen, Mercury on the lungs,
Mars on the bile, and Venus on the kidneys and the organs
of generation. Before attempting to explain the func¬
tions, or to cure diseases, the physician should know the
planets of the microcosm, their meridian, their zodiac,
their rising and setting; and it is by means of this know¬
ledge that he attains to the discovery of the most hidden
secrets of nature. The body is formed by the concourse
of sidereal, that is, immaterial salt, sulphur, and mercury.
Each of the elements may admit of all qualities, so that
there may be dry water and cold fire. Another of his
doctrines related to the archeus, a species of demon,
which performed in the stomach the function of an al¬
chemist, separating the poisonous matter contained in
the aliments from that which serves the purpose of nutri¬
tion.
Nor was Paracelsus less absurd in his pathological the¬
ory. Returning always to magic, he assures us that it is
the art of arts, and that from it all knowledge of medicine
must be derived. He glories in passing for a magician,
and even boasts that he had received from hell letters
written by Galen, and had maintained, in the vestibule of
that dreary region, keen disputes with Avicenna on porta-
56 PAR
Paraclete ble gold, the elixir of the philosophers, the quintessence,
li the mithridate, and the philosophers stone. He attiibutes
Paradise, jiggageg t0 bve general causes, which he names entities,
Y ■ ' and which have relation to the astrological system; so
that, instead of observing symptoms, a physician should
consult the planets, in order to distinguish if the entity
be divine, or astral, or natural, or spiritual, or poisonous.
He declares that there is an essential difference between
the diseases of men and those of women, because the ute¬
rus, as a microcosm within a microcosm, performs an im¬
portant part in all the affections of women. To the men¬
strual blood he attributes the most extraordinary proper¬
ties, particularly a poisonous quality. He explains each
malady in particular by the help of his three principles of
chemical entities, which he substitutes instead of the four
elements of the ancients. In therapeutics and in materia
medica his theory is altogether cabbalistical. He regards
gold as a specific in all cases where the heart is the pri¬
mary seat of the malady; recommends the study of ana¬
tomy and chiromancy in order to discover the virtues of
vegetables; and states that, before employing any medi¬
cament, it is indispensable to observe the state of the con¬
stellations. In surgery he altogether rejected the use of
cutting instruments, caustics, and even sutures, and pre¬
tended to cure fractures without bandages, by means only
of comfrey. He employed the magnet in cases of hae¬
morrhage, hysteria, epilepsy, and the greater part of the
spasmodic affections; and extended more than ever the
abuse of talismans. But amidst all this absurdity and
extravagance, Paracelsus had the undoubted merit of at¬
tempting to introduce into medicine the use of antimo-
nial, mercurial, and ferruginous preparations, which have
so efficacious an action upon our organs; and it is equally
certain that alchemy, which ruined so many adepts, prov¬
ed advantageous to the medical sciences, by reason of the
important discoveries which incidentally resulted from the
numberless experiments made by its professors.
Paracelsus published very few works in his lifetime,
and those which are attributed to him exhibit so many
contradictions that several of them have been ascribed to
his disciples. It would be a useless waste of space to
enumerate the titles of all his works; we shall therefore
content ourselves with indicating the different complete
collections. 1. The German editions, Basil, 1575, in 8vo,
ibid. 1589-1590, in ten vols. 4to, and Strasburg, 1603-
1618, in four vols. folio; 2. The Latin editions, Opera
Omnia Medico-Chymico-Chirurgica, Francfort, 1603, in
ten vols. 4to, and Geneva, 1658, in three vols. folio ; 3.
The French editions, La Grand Chirurgerie de Paracelse,
Lyons, 1593 and 1603, in 4to, and Montbeliard, 1608,
in 8vo. (See Adelung, Histoire de la Folie Humaine,
tom. vii.; the Biographic Universelle, article Paracelse;
and Sprengel, Histoire Pragmatique de la Medecine, tom.
iii.) (A>)
PARACLETE, the Comforter, a name given to the
Holy Spirit.
PARADANGA, a town of Bengal, in the district of
Cooch Behar, and pleasantly situated on a small river,
thirty-three miles north-east of Rungpore.
PARADISE, a term principally employed to signify
the garden of Eden, where Adam and Eve were placed im¬
mediately upon their creation.
There have been many speculations as to the situation
of the terrestrial paradise. It has been placed in the
third heaven, in the orb of the moon, in the moon itself,
in the middle region of the air, above the earth, under
the earth, in the site occupied by the Caspian Sea, and
under the arctic pole. The learned Huet places it upon
the river formed by the junction of the Tigris and Eu¬
phrates, now called the River of the Arabs, between this
junction and the division made by the same river before
PAR
it falls into the Persian Gulf. Other geographers have Paradox, !’"r3
placed it in Armenia, between the sources of the Tigris, pjra|
the Euphrates, the Araxes, and the Phasis, which they ^
suppose to be the four rivers described by Moses. But
concerning the exact place we must necessarily be very
uncertain, if indeed it can be thought at all to exist at
present, considering the many changes which have taken
place on the surface of the earth since the creation.
“ Learned men,” says Mr Miln, in his Physico-Theoh-
gical Lectures, “ have laboured to find out the situation
of Paradise, which seems to be but a vague and uncertain
inquiry; for the Mosaic description of it will not suit any
place on the present globe. He mentions two rivers in its
vicinity, viz. Pison and Gihon, of which no vestiges can
now be found. The other two still remain, viz. the Hid¬
dekel, supposed to be the Tigris, and the Euphrates, whose
streams unite together at a considerable distance above the
Persian Gulf. This gulf is eastward both of the land of
Midian and the wilderness of Sinai, in one of which places
Moses wrote his history. But since the formation of this
earth, it has undergone great changes from earthquakes,
inundations, and many other causes. The garden, however,
seems to have been a peninsula, for the way or entrance
into it is afterwards mentioned. We are told that a ‘ river
went out of it;’ which, according to some, should be ren¬
dered ‘ run on the outside of it,’ and thus gave it the form
of a horse-shoe ; for had the Euphrates run through the
middle of the garden, one half of it would have been use¬
less to Adam, without a bridge or boat wherewith to have
crossed it.”
Christians, we presume, need not be told, that, however
curious or amusing this inquiry may be, the determination
of the point at issue is of no importance, since we are all
well assured that the celestial paradise is that place of pure
and refined delight in which the souls of the blessed enjoy
everlasting happiness.
PARADOX, ‘TragaSegot', in philosophy, is a proposition
seemingly absurd, as being contrary to received opinions,
but yet true in fact.
The vulgar and illiterate take almost every thing, even
the most important, upon the authority of others, without
ever examining it themselves. But although this implicit
confidence is seldom attended with any bad consequences
in the common affairs of life, it has nevertheless, in other
things, been much abused ; and in political and religious
matters it has produced fatal effects. On the other hand,
knowing that learned men, in order to avoid this weakness,
have fallen into the contrary extreme, some of them believe
every thing to be unreasonable or impossible that appears
so to their first apprehension; not adverting to the narrow
limits of the human understanding, and the infinite variety
of objects, with their mutual operations, combinations, and
affections, which may be presented to it.
It must be owned that credulity has produced more
mischief in the world than incredulity ever has done, or
ever will do ; because the influences of the latter extend
only to such as have some share of literature, or affect the
reputation of knowledge. And since the human mind is
not necessarily impelled, without evidence, either to belief
or unbelief, but may suspend its assent to or dissent from
any proposition, till after a thorough examination, it is to
be wished that men of learning, especially philosophers,
would not hastily, and from the first appearances, determine
themselves with respect to the truth or falsehood, possibi¬
lity or impossibility, of things.
A person who has made but little progress in the ma¬
thematics, though in other respects learned and judicious,
would be apt to pronounce it impossible that two lines,
which were nowhere two inches asunder, may continually
approach towards each other, and yet never meet, though
continued to infinity ; and yet the truth of this proposition
PAR
PAR
57
aradoxi may be easily demonstrated. In fact, no science abounds
II more with paradoxes than geometry,
iraguay.^ PARADOXI, a sort of mimes or buffoons amongst the
ancients, who entertained the people with extempore effu¬
sions of drollery.
PARAGAUDiE, amongst the Romans, were wreaths
of gold, or of silk and gold, interwoven in, not sewed to,
their garments.
PARAGOGUE, in Grammar, a figure by which a let¬
ter or syllable is added to the end of a word.
PARAGONG, a town of Northern Hindustan, in the
province of Bootan. It is the capital of a district of the
same name, and carries on an extensive manufacture in
swords, daggers, arrows, and molten images of Buddha.
The governor of the district has his residence here, dwell¬
ing in a well fortified palace, which is also a handsome build¬
ing. Long. 89. 21. E. Lat. 27. 43. N.
PARAGUAY, formerly a province of the viceroyalty
of Buenos Ayres, in South America, but declared an in¬
dependent republic first in 1816, and again in 1826. It is
bounded on the north by the province of Matto Grosso, in
Brazil, from which it is separated partly by a river, and partly
by a mountain ridge, its most northerly point being between
the twentieth and twenty-first degrees of south latitude.
The river Parana constitutes its boundary on the east, south¬
east, and south, with the exception of a comparatively small
tract of country, called the Missions, which lies to the east¬
ward, on the right bank of the Parana; and along the whole
of the western side of the country flows the Paraguay, the
confluence of which with the Parana, in latitude 27. 27.
south, marks the limits of the country in this direction. In
longitude it extends from 54.40. to 58.30. west from Green¬
wich, and comprehends an area of above 25,000 square
miles, which is about half the superficies of England, ex¬
clusive of Wales.1
The history of Paraguay, from the time of its discovery
until it unfurled the standard of independence, along with
the other provinces, and shook itself free from European
domination, presents but little except the usual story of
the oppression and aggrandisement of the whites, with the
fierce struggles and the ultimate submission of the Indians.
But its annals since the revolution, when its destinies were
intrusted to Dr Francia, one of the most remarkable men
of his time, are replete with events equally interesting and
instructive. According to Techo, the word Paraguay signi¬
fies the Crowned River ; a name which it obtained from the
Indians who inhabited the shores of the river wearing coro¬
nets made of feathers. Dr Southey, however, is of opinion
that it is the same word as Paraguazu, or Great River ; and
this is supported by the fact, that the same word for a river
is observed in the Para and the Parana. On the other hand,
Azara informs us that the river and country of Paraguay
derive their name from the Payaguas, who formerly inha¬
bited that part of Brazil through which the river flows in
the early part of its course, and are now the most domesti¬
cated and useful of all the Indian tribes, with the exception
of the Guaranis. This name was altered a little by the
Spaniards, who, substituting one letter for another, made
it Paraguay instead of Payaguay. The country was disco¬
vered in 1526, by Sebastian Cabot, who was then in the
service of Spain. This intrepid navigator ascended the Pa¬
raguay thirty-four leagues above its junction with the Pa¬
rana, and there met an agricultural people, inhabiting the
banks, but found them too fierce, warlike, and sagacious to
be ensnared by promises, or induced to come to terms. Af¬
ter five years of fruitless attempts at negotiation, he was
compelled to abandon the enterprise; and for some time
the country remained almost unnoticed. In the year 1536, Paraguay,
however, the Spaniards, after a sanguinary struggle with
the natives, succeeded in forming a settlement; and in me¬
mory of the event, as well as in honour of the Virgin Mary,
they called their fortified port Assumption. This was the
origin of the capital city of that name, which increased so
rapidly, that in eleven years afterwards it was considered
as of sufficient importance to be constituted the seat or
see of a bishop. The history of the country for fifty years
after the first settlement presents merely a series of acts of
hypocrisy and violence. The Guarani tribes, who inhabited
Paraguay, and some other parts, were a brave but docile
people; and though many lives were lost before the supe¬
riority of the Spanish power was acknowledged, yet, of all
the tribes, the Guaranis, who were the most numerous,
proved in the end the most easily and effectually reduced
to obedience. But, satisfied with their subjugation, the
Spaniards did little or nothing for their improvement; and
it was not until towards the end of the sixteenth century
that the Jesuits brought all the zeal and influence of their
order to the task of civilizing the Guaranis, or, in other
words, reducing them from a state of savage independence
to one of civilized but complete subjugation. In the year
1586, the first settlement or mission of the Society of Je¬
sus was formed in Guayra; and so rapidly did these settle¬
ments increase, that, in the year 1629, they amounted to
twenty-one in number. These communities were of a
threefold character, namely, religious, military, and manu¬
facturing; for, whilst the Jesuits instructed the Indians in
the elements of education and the truths of religion, they
likewise trained them to habits of industry, and even taught
them the art of self-defence. Each of the settlements was
a considerable town laid out with straight streets. The
houses, generally consisting of earth, where whitened, co¬
vered with tiles, and provided with verandas on either side, to
preserve them from the sun and the rain. Each mission had
a mother church, which was generally built of stone, and
magnificently ornamented. Two curates, both Jesuits, were
the only ecclesiastics who exercised parochial functions, and
at the same time acted as inspectors of all civil economy.
In attempting to extend their spiritual conquest still fur¬
ther, the Jesuits were compelled by the Paulistas to fall
back to the south of the Serra Maracaju, and concentrate
their establishments between the Parana and Uruguay, in
that part where these rivers approximate most closely. But
at a subsequent period the Jesuits acquired an ascend¬
ency in Paraguay, as far as ecclesiastical authority was con¬
cerned,; and for more than a century their influence re¬
mained unshaken. In the year 1752, when seven of the
Jesuit missions were detached from Spain and annexed to
Portugal, so averse were the Indians to this separation,
that they had recourse to arms, and a war ensued, which
is known by the name of the War of the Seven Settlements.
But, after five years of hostility and bloodshed, they were
entirely subdued, and their spiritual teachers, who had at
first vainly urged them to submission, resumed their bene¬
ficent sway. Ihe Jesuits, it is well known, were finally
expelled from Brazil in 1760, under circumstances of un¬
exampled cruelty ; and in 1768, this was followed by their
complete expulsion from Paraguay, as wre learn from Cazal
and the despatches of Bucarelli. During more than thirty
years after this event the affairs of the country continued
in a state of frightful disorder; cruelty, plunder, and mi¬
sery in various forms prevailed ; and the population of the
Reductions, from having been upwards of 100,000, sunk to
less than half that number.
With the change of masters which followed this event,
Paraeua^wtiffwas^pL^11^6 W6 ^a,Ve been indebted for much valuable information to Mr W. P. Robertson, author of Letters on
pieious despotism under which know groins11*1^ in ^ C°Untl7 hy Francia> and experienced in his own case the rigour of that sus-
VOL XVII. b
u
58
PARAGUAY.
Paraguay, the spell that bound the Indians was broken ; and by the
' new plan of government there was established in the Gua¬
rani towns a system which in a few years led to the total
ruin of the Jesuits’ establishments. I he successors of these
missionaries appear to have been thoroughly embued with
the worst spirit of religious bigotry, and to have possessed
none of their redeeming qualities. Doblas, one of the ad¬
ministrators of the new system, and by far the most en¬
lightened and efficient of their number, as well as the able
historian of the Missions of Paraguay, strenuously urged
the Spanish government to sanction such a change of ma¬
nagement as would insure their preservation ; and ulti¬
mately the king of Spain showed a disposition to adopt his
suggestion. I3ut it wras then too late. The depopulation of
the Missions was complete ; and, in many places, the ruins
of their churches and buildings are all that now remain to
attest their having ever existed. The Jesuits have often
been attacked and unsparingly calumniated by those who
were interested in destroying the reputation of that cele¬
brated order ; but some authentic documents recently pub¬
lished will probably go far to correct many of the erroneous
, impressions which have thus been produced in disfavour
of that body. It must always be kept in view, however,
that, excepting the truly impartial testimony of Doblas, the
records alluded to are the productions of decided partisans
of the company of Jesus.1
From the commencement of the present century until the
year 1810, the country continued tranquil; but when the
tocsin of revolt was sounded throughout South America
and Mexico, an attempt upon the part of Buenos Ayres to
supplant the governor of Paraguay led ultimately to the
establishment of an independent government in that coun¬
try. In the month of October 1810 the junta of Buenos
Ayres despatched a thousand men under the command of
Manuel Belgrano, for the purpose of vindicating their autho¬
rity in Paraguay, and attaching it to the republic of the
United Provinces. This army penetrated without intenup-
tion into the heart of the country, and halted within about
two days’ march of Assumption, the capital. In the mean
while the Paraguayans collected together a force of from
five to six thousand armed men, and the hostile forces came
in sight of each other at the village of Paraguany. A battle
ensued, in which Belgrano was defeated, and obliged to
enter into a capitulation, in virtue of which he ultimately
withdrew from the province. But during the conferences
which took place, both before and after the capitulation, Bel¬
grano so infected the Paraguayan officers with notions of in¬
dependence, that at length these took full effect on their
minds. This short but triumphant appeal to arms had given
them a consciousness of the possession of strength, of which
they were not previously aware ; and seeing that the num¬
ber of Spaniards in Paraguay was small, and being also sti¬
mulated by the example of neighbouring states, by the re¬
collection of former wrongs, by the instinct of independence,
and by the hope of gain, the principal Creoles began more
and more to detach themselves from the government of
Old Spain, until at last, in the course of the year 1811, they
resolved to make common cause against it.
A plan for achieving independence was consequently or¬
ganized, but so badly concerted, that the secret began to
transpire, when some of the officers, more courageous than
the rest, resolved on taking a decisive step, before detec¬
tion had destroyed all their hopes. They proceeded to the
residence of the governor, Senor Velasco, and having enter¬
ed it, pistols in hand, arrested that functionary. So rapidly
were matters arranged, that the same morning two of the Paraguay,
chiefs of the revolution, Don Fulgencio Yegros and Don
Pedro Cavallero, were united with him in the government,
and a congress was called. After this body had met, the
members proceeded in a regular manner to depose the go¬
vernor, and supply his place by a junta, which, in imitation
of that established at Buenos Ayres, professed to act in the
name of Ferdinand VII. But it proceeded with much more
alacrity than any similar body in the other dependencies of
Spain, and did not hesitate at once to proclaim the disjunc¬
tion of Paraguay from the mother country. The junta con¬
sisted of a president, two assessors, and a secretary. The
person appointed to the latter office was the celebrated Don
Joseph Gaspar Rodriguez de Francia, since well known by
the name of the Dictator of Paraguay.
Francia, although merely secretary of the government,
not only controlled and ruled it with nearly absolute sway,
but with a petulance inherent in his temper, and inseparable
from his impatience of contradiction or restraint. 1 he ex¬
cesses which soon followed the revolution, and which, after
being long fostered in the bosom of Francia, were brought
to light, year after year, as his power ripened and his jea¬
lousy matured, are too well attested by numerous and im¬
partial witnesses to admit of dispute. He entered into office
a stern and unrelenting tyrant. His fixed and unalterable
resolution was to obtain power, absolute and uncontrolled ;
and, like other despots, he disregarded not the commission
of crime in any shape, if calculated to insure his object. It
was only to make his ultimate success more certain that he
opened up his schemes gradually, and increased his cruel¬
ties by successive steps ; and he was really the more for¬
midable to his victims, that his sphere of action was so li¬
mited, as to bring within the ken of his quick and jealous
eye every individual of the petty population of his groan¬
ing country. His colleagues in office, Yegros and Caval¬
lero, were men of mean capacity ; and whilst they were ex¬
hausting in parade the pleasure of newly-attained power,
the man destined to become dictator of Paraguay was plan¬
ning, in secret, those designs which not only overthrew all
competitors for office, and deposed his partners in the go¬
vernment, but left him the sole possessor of that iron sceptre
with which he has ruled his people, and overthrown every
presumptuous aspirant after liberty. Irom the moment of
his attaining the rank of consul, he paid the closest atten¬
tion to business. His first care was to organize a body of
men called Quarteleros, from being shut up within the only
barrack, or quartel, in the town. He also organized a body
of militia for the defence of the country against external inva¬
sion. Fie pulled down the monastic institutions, because
he knew well the influence of the priests over his bigoted
countrymen ; and influence, in his estimate of it, was crime.
Every man of education was turned out of the civil depart¬
ment, and replaced by low-born and uneducated tools of
the dictator. The Inquisition was abolished, because it
carried the semblance of an imperium in imperio. No holy
processions, no night services in the churches, were permit¬
ted, because Francia deemed none so likely to foster trea¬
son, or to arm the hand of the assassin against the enemy
of the church. At length he entirely threw aside the mask
which had hitherto imperfectly concealed the real fero¬
city of his disposition. Whilst he was yet consul, and only
dictator pro tempore, he had contented himself with im¬
muring his victims in prisons, from which he in no instance
released them; but now not only were the jails insufficient
to contain the unhappy objects of his suspicion, but the
J These religionists, who acted as missionaries in Paraguay, were certainly not so bad as their enemies represented them, and
yet by no means so philanthropic and disinterested as their friends have described them. Aggrandisement for themselves, and com¬
plete dependence upon the part of the Indians, were the undeviating principles ot their government. Uniform and constant labour
was exacted from their subjects on the one hand; and a humane, mild, paternal, and wise rule was exercised m return ; in fact, the
chains of the Indians sat so lightly upon them as to be wholly imperceptible to their simple and guileless minds.
ft,
r>
PARAGUAY.
59
praguay. scaffold began to stream with blood, and to afford him an
 easier and quicker mode of ridding himself of every one
whom he chose to consider as a political culprit. Vague
and remote conjecture, the villanous tales of informers, nay,
even an inauspiciously-interpreted look or action, entailed
banishment or death upon the suspected or denounced in¬
dividual. He founded a settlement, to which he gave the
name of Tevego ; and thither he banished, upon the most
trivial pretext, or s’ightest suspicion, all his least formidable
enemies. This place, which forms the Botany Bay of Para¬
guay, is 120 leagues above Assumption; except Bourbon,
it is the most northerly point of that country; and being
situated on a marsh, it is not only a hot-bed of malaria and
! mosquitos, but destitute of every thing capable of rendering
existence tolerable. The original object of selecting such
a spot for banishment was that of gratifying absolute cruel¬
ty of disposition; the collateral one, that of establishing a
colony of outcasts sufficient to resist the incursions of the in¬
domitable and ferocious tribe of the Mbaya Indians. The
unsettled state of the neighbouring provinces caused many
of their inhabitants to seek refuge in Paraguay ; but the
dictator, ever jealous of new-comers, sent most of them to
languish as exiles in Villa Real and Tevego.
1 he dictator, proceeding on his worse than Chinese prin¬
ciples of excluding intercourse with all foreign states, laid
prostrate the commerce of the country; and having thus
crushed the energies, and cut off the resources, of thousands
of his countrymen, he found it necessary to turn their atten¬
tion to agriculture, and the manufacture of cloth from the
native cotton of the country. This was pretty much as if the
Tartar sovereign of China should prohibit the manufacture
and exportation of tea, and set his subjects on the exclusive
cultivation of rice and cotton for their own consumption.
Less scrupulous than the head of the Celestial Empire, Fran-
cia did what the other has never attempted. He said, You
shall have no intercourse with foreign countries; let the
growth of the Paraguay tea, the cultivation of the Paraguay
tobacco, the interminable forests which furnish timber, and
the sugar-cane plantations which enrich your estates, be
disregarded ; and every man of you turn his attention to¬
wards deriving his means of subsistence from his own lands,
and his means of clothing from his own looms. The mer¬
chant who had before made L.500 a year by the exporta¬
tion of his commodities, was now ground down to L.50 at
most, derivable from the cultivation of his estate. Ships
rotted upon the beach ; produce mouldered to decay in the
warehouses; the inhabitant of a spacious house was re¬
duced to a mud cottage ; and this system Francia called an
encouragement of agriculture. Having destroyed the spirit
of the country, Francia now succeeded in laying prostrate
its natural resources. Attempts were from time to time made
to bring down the haughty authority of this despotic chief;
but they were all in vain. Every conspiracy was detected,
and every such detection conducted more numerous vic¬
tims to the gallows, chains, dungeons, imprisonment, or ba¬
nishment to Tevego. The towns of the whole country were
placed under the most rigid discipline; every inhabitant of
every house felt as if his father, brother, or wife, might be
a spy ; the whole land groaned and lay in abasement, under
a trembling awe of its relentless governor. Bonpland, the
enterprising companion of Humboldt, was detained nine
years a prisoner, because he had dared to form an esta¬
blishment for the manufacture and exportation of tea; and
ie was released at the end of that term, not from any la¬
tent spark of humanity on the part of the dictator, but be¬
cause he had acquired not only great popularity in that part
or the country where he was fixed, but a considerable pro¬
perty, ot the whole of which he was stripped, when thrust
ort at a moments notice from his home. He was allow-
e to ta e with him barely as much as sufficed to carry him
o uenos Ayres. He only left Paraguay in the year 1831.
The British subjects who had been detained by the arbitrary Paraguay,
will of the dictator were released some years previously, by
a happy interference on the part of Sir Woodbine Parish,
then (1826) consul-general of Buenos Ayres. Francia’s
great desire was to establish a direct diplomatic intercourse
with England, and he fancied that by releasing his detenus
he would accomplish his purpose. In this he was mistaken;
and upon finding himself afterwards disappointed, he gave
vent to an ungovernable fit of rage.
Paraguay, with the exception of the part which faces the
north, appears to be wholly enclosed by the rivers Parana
and Paraguay; and these noble streams constitute the
most remarkable physical features of the country. There
are, besides, a great number of smaller currents of water,
affluents of the large rivers, which traverse the country
from east to west and from west to east, falling respec¬
tively into the Paraguay and the Parana. The country is
thus abundantly supplied with water for the purposes of
agriculture ; and, with regard to navigation and commerce,
the breadth and depth of the two great rivers by which it
is nearly surrounded place it almost on an equality with
an island of the ocean. Generally speaking, the face of
the country is level; and, though sometimes undulating,
and here and there studded with hills, it is destitute of any
mountain ranges, notwithstanding that, upon most maps, a
cordillera, apparently of great extent, is made to traverse
the country, having a general bearing from north to south.
These elevations, which are situated considerably nearer
the Parana than the Paraguay, are not deserving of the
name of mountains. The rocks chiefly found in the coun¬
try are arenaceous, not calcareous, and they vary in hard¬
ness and in grain. There are here no mines of the precious
metals, and the minerals which belong to it do not so ma¬
terially differ from those found in many parts of the United
Provinces of the Rio de la Plata as to require specific men¬
tion. There are no salt marshes or brooks of any size, such
as are common in this region of America; but a substitute
for them is found in the earth called barrero, which consists
of a mixture of clay and salt. This is devoured with such
avidity by all animals, that they cannot be driven from it
by blows, and have been known to die in consequence of
swallowing too much of it. Salt is obtained in Paraguay
by collecting the white efflorescence which is found in
some valleys during the dry season. This is dissolved, fil¬
tered, and subjected to evaporation, when the crystals of
salt are formed ; but the quantity produced is so small that
Paraguay is dependent on Buenos Ayres for supplies of this
necessary article. The soil of Paraguay is invariably fer¬
tile, and of the same quality throughout.
The climate, although hot compared with that of Great
Britain, is highly salubrious. Azara, whose account of the
country, although half a century old, is still the best which
we have, found the heat throughout the summer to average
85° of Fahrenheit at Assumption, the capital. This was
in his chamber; but on very warm days the thermometer
stood at 100°. In winter it descended to 45°, which may
be taken as the medium temperature of this season; but
Azara says, that, in extraordinary seasons, he found water
congealed in the court of the house which he occupied, al¬
though this statement has been questioned. It is gene¬
rally observed in the country, that it is always cold when
the wind blows from the south or from the south-east,
and warm when it blows from the north. In fact, the
heat and the cold seem to depend much more on the winds
than on the situation or the declination of the sun. The
most common winds, and these invariably hot ones, blow from
the east and the north. Those from the south and south¬
west are much less frequent, though invariably cool and re¬
freshing. A west wind is scarcely known. The climate
is moist; and a considerable quantity of rain falls during
the summer months (which in this quarter of the globe
60
PARAGUAY.
Paraguay, correspond to those of our winter), accompanied by terrible
'storms of thunder and lightning.
In the abundance and variety of its vegetable produc¬
tions, Paraguay equals the most prolific portions or South
America ; and in one tree, that which supplies the cele¬
brated mate, it stands unrivalled. Not that it is solely con¬
fined to this country, for it is found more or less over the
whole table-land; but it is produced there in the highest
perfection, and in the greatest quantities. T\\e yerbamate
grows to a goodly size, and is cut to supply the market
in every state, from that of a shrub to that of a full-
grown tree. It resembles the tea-plant of China, and being
in fact a species of wild tea, it is commonly known in com¬
merce by the name of “ Paraguay tea.” The leaves and
thin stalks are cut off every two or three years, that period
beinf necessary for its reproduction. The small branches,
when gathered, are dried by means of fire ; the leaves are
then roasted and partially bruised, after which they are
packed up in hides, and sent to the different markets of
South America. This leaf constitutes the principal article
of export from Paraguay. The beverage which is produced
from it by infusion has a bitter flavour, not unlike Bohea;
and in some parts of the continent the use of it is said to
have prevailed amongst the Indians from time immemorial.
Every variety of wood is extremely abundant in Para¬
guay ; the territory of this republic being in fact as remark¬
able for the extent and excellence of its forests, as that of
Buenos Ayres is for the total want of them. The vessels
which are built here are extremely durable. Some species
of the wood of Paraguay are so hard as to resist the best
tempered axe. The hapacho, especially, is a wood of the
hardest and most durable kind, equal, if not superior, to the
best of our oak. Of the hapacho, vessels are built which
live on the waters for fifty years, and rafters are made
which support the roofs of houses for double that time.
So hard and close is the grain of this wood, that no worm
can penetrate it, and no rot can ever assail it. The carts of
Buenos Ayres are made of this or similar woods ; the algar-
robo, theurundey-pita, and the urundey*iray, being amongst
the strongest. The last, being very handsome, is likewise
used for furniture ; and when polished, it is equal in beauty
to rosewood, but of a lighter colour. I he other trees the tim¬
ber of which is in general use are, timbo, and the tatayiba
or wild mulberry ; lance-wood, and the orange tree, of
which gun-stocks and parts of carriages are made ; caran-
dey, alarge palm-tree, yielding a very hard wood; the tatare,
strong, and much used in the construction of vessels and ma¬
chinery, as is also the yberaro ; with the cedar and others.
There is a tree found here which grows in a very singular
manner, the trunk being composed of several stems closely
twined round one another, thus forming to appearance one
solid mass. The bark of the cebil and curupahi, found in
Paraguay and Corrientes, is used for tanning. There are
also several trees and plants which the natives make use
of for dyeing their linen. A large tree called palo santo,
or holy wood, produces an odoriferous gum, which is ex¬
tracted by boiling pieces of the wood, and is used as a per¬
fume. The incense tree, so called from the gum which it
produces, is used in the churches as incense. The man-
gaysy produces gum elastic, of which a very durable sort of
match is made. There are many other trees in the coun¬
try which yield different kinds of gum, and some are re¬
puted to possess great medicinal powers. With these a
Jesuit made numerous experiments upon the Indians, du¬
ring a residence of forty years amongst them ; and having
himself lived to the age of a hundred and twelve years, his
medical aphorisms were held in high veneration. Rhubarb
jalap is amongst the numerous medicinal plants which grow
in Paraguay. The cordage used in the vessels is mostly made
from the fibres of plants which are found in the country.
Tobacco, coffee, sugar, and cotton, are all cultivated here ;
and maize grows to great perfection, being much used as Paraguay, ^
an article of diet. Rice, indigo, cotton, and the vine,
which thrives but indifferently, are also cultivated to a great
extent. A root called aipim or pompin is sometimes made
use of as a substitute for bread. Honey and wax, vege¬
tables, and tropical fruits of various kinds, are abundant.
Indeed Paraguay has always been held in the highest esti¬
mation for the abundance, variety, and value of its produc¬
tions. The animal kingdom is as extensive and various as
the vegetable. Most of the animals belonging to this part
of South America are found in Paraguay ; amongst which
maybe mentioned the cougars, jaguars, tapirs, and the
water-wolf. The feathered tribes in particular have long
been celebrated for their number and their beauty ^ in¬
cluding the ostrich, parrot, vulture, turkey, humming-bird,
duck, and other game. Boas, rattle-snakes, lizards, and
other animals, are plentiful; and ants, locusts, and otier
insects, are numerous and troublesome, sometimes very
destructive. Immense herds of cattle roam in the vast
plains of Paraguay, and their hides and tallow constitute
considerable articles of export.
The inhabitants of this country are now almost wholly
engaged in agricultural operations, a portion only giving
such attention to manufactures as the wants of the whole de¬
mand. Before the non-intercourse system of Francia was
introduced, the population of the country was chiefly em¬
ployed on articles of export; the yerba-mate, tobacco, lum¬
ber of every kind, sugar, rum, tanned hides, &c. But when,
under Francia’s rule, these became useless as exports, his
own policy, as well as the natural w ants of the people, turn¬
ed the industry of the labouring masses into new channels.
The importation of cotton was superseded by the great ad¬
ditional growth of the native plant. Rice, maize, the yucca
root, and various leguminous and succulent plants, shared
an equal cultivation with the sugar-cane. Ihe breeding
of horses and of cattle was enjoined and encouraged ; and
Francia’s whole power was employed to realize his boast,
that he would make the people dependent on themselves,
and not on foreigners. .
Such have been a few of the results of the anti-social
policy of Dr Francia. He has changed the richest and most
commercial province in the old viceroyalty, Buenos Ayres
excepted, into perhaps the poorest, notwithstanding the
prodigal hand with v/hich nature has scattered over the
country her most luxuriant productions. He has arrest¬
ed the progress of civilization, and forced the inhabitants
of Paraguay to retrograde towards barbarism. He has
demoralized an active, hospitable, open-hearted, and sim¬
ple-minded people, and converted them into a ferocious
soldiery or a mass of spies on the one hand, and a terror-
striken, slavish multitude, on the other. And to these
miserable results he has waded through the blood of innu¬
merable victims, who have either perished on the scaffold,
or sunk to the grave in the noisome dungeon and the pes¬
tilential swamp, where a slower but not less certain death
awaited them. i f u
Before the reign of Francia commenced, the trade ot 1 a-
raguay with her neighbouring provinces, and particularly
with Buenos Ayres, was very considerable. About eighty
square-rigged vessels were constantly employed in the trade,
besides a great number of river craft, under the names of ga-
randumbas, piraguas, balsas, and chalanas. The exports
consisted of about 40,000 bales, containing 8,000,000 lbs.
of yerba-mate, 7000 to 8000 petacones of tobacco, contain¬
ing 1,000,000 lbs.; and these two articles produced about
one million two hundred thousand dollars annually ; whilst
lumber, rum, sugar, tanned hides, and a variety of minor
articles, produced about half a million more.
Before Francia assumed the reins of government, the
Paraguayans never thought of extending their care to the
cultivation of any other article than the tobacco-leaf, the
PARAGUAY.
61
raguay. sugar-cane, cotton, and the yucca-root. Mate, which grows
without any aid from art, in the vast forests of the north
and east, engaged almost all hands. Melons, oranges, In¬
dian corn, and other fruits, together with rice, maize, and
the two sorts of yucca-root, were now cultivated upon a
more extended scale, and with much greater diligence ;
and vegetables, which were hitherto unknown in Paraguay,
now cover the plains. During 1819, that destructive insect
the locust, which visits Paraguay every five or six years in
such multitudes as even to obscure the sun, spread devas¬
tation over a circumference of more than eighty leagues of
country. A scarcity seemed inevitable, for the preceding
harvest had been unusually bad ; but, to prevent this cala¬
mity, the dictator ordered the farmers to sow, a second time,
a considerable portion of the land which had been laid waste.
The experiment was completely successful, and the second
harvest proved one of the most abundant that had ever
been known. The proprietors had never before dreamed of
reaping a double crop in one year. Artisans also sprung up
under the auspices of the despot; and out of rude black¬
smiths, shoemakers, and masons, he contrived, by an inde¬
fatigable, and in many cases personal superintendence, to
create a double number of expert whitesmiths, saddlers,
and architects. Of the amount of the trade of Paraguay
no data from which to form an estimate have been obtain¬
ed. Ihe two great resources of the country are the fo¬
rests of timber for building, and the herb of Paraguay ; and
these form the staple articles of export. But, besides, there
are still sent out of the country tobacco, sugar, cotton, sweet¬
meats, tapioca, rum, wax, tallow, and hides. The imports
are not numerous ; for it has been the constant aim of the
dictator to render his country, if possible, altogether inde¬
pendent of any other.
It must be very evident, from what has been said, that
the whole power of government is centred in the dictator.
Ihere are, indeed, in imitation of the Spanish system, a
minister of finance, a secretary of state assisted by an un¬
der secretary, and a remnant of the ancient cabildo, con¬
sisting of two alcaldes, stationed at Assumption ; concilia¬
tors, and commissioners of police, together with a “faith¬
ful executioner,” an inspector of markets, weights, mea¬
sures, and some others; and, lastly, “an advocate of mi¬
nors,” whose duty it is to watch over the interests of mi¬
nors and of slaves. But the highest of these officers is little
better than a head clerk, who merely acts under the orders
of the dictator. The republic is divided, as in former
times, into twenty sections or comandancias, four of which
have for their capitals respectively the towns of Neembu-
cu or Villa del Pilar, Villa Rica, Yquamandiu or Villa de
San Pedro, and Villa Real de la Concepcion; the only
towns in the whole country, besides Assumption, which is
distinguished by the name of ciudad, the Spanish for city,
the others being called villas. But since the suppression
of their cabildos, which were charged with the local ad¬
ministration of justice, these towns no longer enjoy any
exclusive privileges. Each section is under the authority
of a commandant, who executes the orders of the dictator,
directs the operations of the police, decides on minor of¬
fences, and exercises the functions of conciliator. He
has under his orders some inferior officers of police ; and
there is also in each section a receiver of taxes. The laws
by which Paraguay ought to be governed are those made
in the time of the Spaniards; but they have been so al¬
tered, first by the junta, and subsequently by the dictator,
that the will of the latter may be said to be the law of the
country. Justice is administered in civil cases by the par¬
ties appearing before the commandant or one of the al¬
caldes, according as the place of trial is in the capital or
in the country, and by their pleading their cause in per-
s°n* appears to be a court of conciliation similar to
that which is established in Norway. If the attempt at
adjustment prove unsuccessful, the cause goes in the first Paraguay,
instance before one of the alcaldes, who pronounces a judg-^-——
ment, from which the parties have the right of appeal to
the dictator. In criminal cases he is generally the judge
himself; and he always proceeds in a summary manner.
With regard to punishments we can only speak generally.
They are severe, death being the award of crimes which
in Great Britain would only be visited by a few weeks’ con¬
finement ; and execution is made to follow the sentence as
quickly and surely as the thunder-peal follows the flash of
lightning. There are two kinds of prisons, namely, the
public prison and the state prison, and both are kept in a
wretched condition. The prisoners are treated with the
utmost severity, and attempts to escape from these horrid
places of confinement are punished by death. The police
is exercised in Paraguay by all those in office, from the
dictator down to the lowest functionaries, called zeladores.
All the officers of government, including a train of spies,
and also the regular troops and the militia, constitute one
great body of police, which exercises a surveillance much
sti icter than that of Prance under Fouche. Passports are
not only necessary to a person who wishes to quit the
country, but also before he can travel twenty leagues from
his residence. Hie whole population is thus kept in a sort
of captivity. Ihe post-office is also strictly looked after;
and indeed the system of police is a source not only of
great annoyance, but often of great loss, to the inhabitants.
There is kept up a regular army of about 3000 men ; and
the body of militia, which is entirely under the orders of
the dictator, is 10,000 strong. Every native of Paraguay
must enter the service as a private soldier, and learn the
military exercises; and with regard to the militia, the
name of every free man in the republic who has arrived at
the age of seventeen, and is capable of bearing arms, is in¬
serted in the rolls. I here is, besides, a troop of artillery,
and a small naval force.
Ihe revenues of the state arise from tithes, a tax upon
shops and storehouses in the capital, an import and export
duty, the sale-duty, stamps, postage of letters, fines, con¬
fiscations, “ droits d aubaine,” and the produce of the na¬
tional domains. Ihe tithes are the most productive source
of the public revenue; they are levied upon all species
of agricultural produce, upon flocks and herds, and even
upon poultry. The import and export duties can be re¬
ceived only at the custom-house at Assumption, and both
are very heavy. The duty upon all sorts of goods brought
into the country is nineteen per cent, ad valorem ; but the
duty is calculated on the retail price, and there is an ad¬
ditional impost of four per cent, as sale-duty, so that the
import-duty cannot be less than thirty per cent. The sale-
duty is levied upon every thing that changes owners, except
agricultural produce, and even for this there is a charge
made at Assumption. On articles exported the duty le¬
vied is nine per cent, ad valorem. The other branches of
the revenue, such as the stamp-duty and the tax upon let¬
ters, yield annually a considerable sum. The national do¬
mains of Paraguay extend over almost the half of its ter¬
ritory, consisting of pasturage-lands and forests, the Jesuit
Missions, the possessions of other religious corporations,
and a great number of country houses and farming esta¬
blishments confiscated by the dictator. The revenue must
therefore be very considerable ; but of its actual amount
no one except the dictator has any idea.
When Dr Francia assumed the reins of government, he
placed himself at the head of the church as well as of the
state. The bishop, w'ho opposed the revolution, was su¬
perseded by his vicar-general, Pay Montiel, a creature of
the dictator’s. Religious corporations were suppressed, and
the clergy were secularized, chiefly by reason of the dicta¬
tor’s inextinguishable hatred of all institutions which bore
any semblance of independence. In short, from the con-
62
PARAGUAY.
Paraguay, tempt in which he held the monks, he did every thing in his
' power to throw ridicule upon the monastic order. In I ara-
guay, as well as in the rest of South America, the education
of youth was formerly intrusted exclusively to the monks,
who established schools in the convents. Subsequently
elementary schools, taught by lay masters, were establish¬
ed in all the districts, and a college of theology was found¬
ed at Assumption. The latter was suppressed by the dic¬
tator in 1822 ; but he allowed the elementary schools to re¬
main, without, however, taking any steps to impiove them.
But as no obstacles were thrown in the way of establishing
private seminaries, several of these have been opened in
the capital, and education is rather on the advance. With
regard to literature, in the ordinary acceptation of that
term, it may be said to be wholly unknown in Paraguay.
In 1827 there was not a printing-press in the country ; but
since then, this instrument of civilization in a free country,
and of oppression in an enslaved one, has been established,
and of course exclusively used by the dictator.
The population of Paraguay has been variously estimat¬
ed, by those who have visited the country, at from 300,000
to 500,000 souls ; but the Weimar Almanac for 1835, with¬
out giving any authority, states the number as high as
600,000. The great mass of the inhabitants are Creoles; the
Indians composing about one tenth, and the mixed race
and the black about two tenths, of the whole population.
The'natives of Paraguay are gifted with considerable na¬
tural talents, and are of a mild, hospitable, and generous
disposition, but careless, unsteady, and as easily swayed
to evil as prompted to good. In regard to morals, their
minds maybe said to hang in even balance betvveen virtue
and vice, and readily to take an inclination either way.
Hence the remarkable influence which the Jesuits had over
them ; hence also the scenes of anarchy and bloodshed
which followed their expulsion ; and hence, lastly, the se¬
cret of Dr Francia’s system of despotism. Although not
possessed of the ardour of the inhabitants of the torrid
zone, they support the greatest fatigue with courage and
perseverance; but at other times they will remain whole
months in a state of the most complete inaction. They
are proud of their ancestors, as having been the founders
of the first establishment formed in South America, and
they have always been distinguished from the other Creoles
by their national spirit. In Paraguay the conquerors have
adopted the language of the conquered, and very many of
the Creoles are perfectly ignorant of Spanish, particularly
the female part of the rural population. In the mixed races
of Indian and black, the child follows the condition of the
mother, and is free or servile accordingly. Although the
men of colour are in a great measure free, yet they have
alwavs been supposed to be unfit for office; and notwith¬
standing that, since the revolution, some of them have
been admitted to places of trust, the ancient Spanish preju¬
dice is not the less strong against them. The blacks are
very few in number.
That part of Paraguay which is known under the name
of the Missions is governed in a somewhat different man¬
ner from the rest of the country. It extends over a sur¬
face of 600 square leagues, on the right bank of the Parana,
to the south-east of Assumption. The population consists
of eight tribes of Indians, and some thousands of whites,
who obtained land from the government, and established
themselves there, after the expulsion of the Jesuits. The
white population is governed by the commandants, as in the
other parts of the country; but the Indians attached to the
soil, and condemned to work on the state lands, have pe¬
culiar officers, who, under the name of administrators, ma¬
nage these lands, besides exercising the functions of com¬
mandants. These two classes of functionaries are under a
lieutenant of the government, who has the chief command
of all the country of the Missions, but without any control
over matters of finance. Several other villages inhabited Paraguay,
by Indians in the interior of the country, and which former-
ly belonged to the Jesuits or other religious communities,
have also managers set over them, and are subjected to the
authority of the commandant in whose section they hap¬
pen to be situated. The condition of the Guarani Indians,
who are still in the Missions, is inferior to that of the slaves.
In the time of the Jesuits, the Guaranis were tolerably well
fed and partially clothed ; and the fathers, by allowing them
processions, dancing, and music, upon holidays, contrived
to reconcile them to a state of dependence, and ameliorated
their condition whilst they profited by their labour. But
after the expulsion of the Jesuits, the managers who suc¬
ceeded them were chiefly occupied in pillaging the settle¬
ments, overworking the Indians, and rendering their fate
still more wretched by the utter destitution in which they
were held. Since the year 1823, however, the power of
the managers has been contracted by the dictator, and
neither purchases nor sales have been allowed to be made
without his permission. He also employed the Indians in
the service of the government.
Assumption, the capital city of the republic of Paraguay,
is built in the form of an amphitheatre, on a rising ground,
on the left bank of the river Paraguay, in latitude 25.17.15.
south, and longitude 58. 5. west from Greenwich. It has
been so completely altered by the dictator, that little of the
ancient city remains. But the idea of rebuilding it in a more
regular manner occurred to him in the year 1820, upon the
discovery of a conspiracy against his life. Its streets were
crooked, irregular, and the greater number of them so nar¬
row as to deserve only the name of lanes. The houses, con¬
sisting only of one floor, generally stood apart from each
other, and being interspersed with trees, little gardens,
brushwood, and patches of verdure, they presented the as¬
pect of a village rather than that of a city. Numerous
springs issued from the ground in every part of the town,
and formed streams, or stagnated into pools ; whilst the rain
furrowed and cut up almost all the sloping streets. The dic¬
tator commenced his architectural reformations by tracing
out, in the least populous parts of the city, longitudinal
streets, from north-west to south-east, crossed by others at
right angles, all of which were ordered to be made from
thirty-five to forty feet in width. These new streets serv¬
ed him as a model for the others which were to.be opened
throughout the city. They were distant from each other
one hundred paces ; but whenever a public building inter¬
fered, the space was either diminished or augmented, in
order to leave it standing. The proprietors of houses which
interfered with the new line of street were ordered to de¬
molish them ; other buildings were pulled down by the
mandate of the dictator, and their materials employed in
levelling the ground. In short, he completely destroyed
the old city; and as he had only to issue his commands to
insure obedience, a new one soon rose in its stead. The
owners of the dwellings which were thus demolished were
not indemnified for their loss, and many rich proprietors
were compelled to build mansions on sites pointed out to
them. The dictator paid only the master workmen, whose
plans were executed by some hundreds of prisoners. The
various divisions of the country were obliged to supply all
the materials gratuitously; and if the buildings carrying on
were outside the capital, the owners of them were also
bound to furnish a certain number of workmen. It was in
this manner that the fortresses on the frontiers, and seve¬
ral barracks and other edifices at Neembucu, at Assump¬
tion, and at Villa Real, were constructed. New roads
were also opened through the woods, and others which had
been broken up by the rains were widened and repaired.
Forty houses were built and let for the benefit of the state ;
and at every step in the progress of these operations the
country people were called upon either for their personal
PAR
: ragiiay
services or for the use of their cattle. The result has been
a perfectly renovated city, containing a number of spacious
public buildings, large streets, and handsome private man¬
sions. Assumption is the seat of government and the re¬
sidence of the dictator; and here are all the different of¬
fices for the transaction of public business. The number
of inhabitants may be estimated at 12,000.
Paraguay, a great river of South America, which forms
the western boundary of the republic just described. Its
head waters are formed by a great number of streams
which rise in those mountainous ridges called Sierra del
Pary, or Paraguay, a portion of the extensive Paricis, si¬
tuated in the Brazilian province of Matto Grosso, in lati¬
tude 13.30. south. A little below the last of a series of seven
lakes, called the Sete Lagoas, which communicate with
each other by narrow outlets, the Paraguay flows for a short
distance through a swampy country in a northerly direc¬
tion ; it then winds round by the west, and takes a south¬
erly course, which it maintains to its confluence with the
river Parana, at the south-western extremity of Paraguay.
The fiist large stream that joins it is the Xauru, which ori¬
ginates in the campos of the Serra Paricis, and after flow¬
ing a long way southward, bends to the east-south-east,
and falls into the Paraguay in latitude 16. 25. Father
Quiroga informs us, that, below the Xauru, the Paraguay
separates into two considerable branches, the principal one
running in a narrow but deep channel through the Xarayes,
and the other branch flowing some leagues to the west¬
ward. The Xarayes is an immense lake formed by the
abundant rains which fall during the months of November,
December, January, and February. At this season the
streams and rivers which feed the Paraguay become pro¬
digiously swelled; and the latter river, unable to continue
in its legitimate channel, inundates the country for many
leagues on both sides. A great part of the beds of the St
Louren?o, Tacoary, and Mondego, and other tributaries
on the eastern side, as well as the small lakes on the west¬
ern side, which appear to remain permanently, become
portions of this periodical Caspian ; and the elevated lands
assume the appearance of islands, inhabited by an accu¬
mulation of birds and wild beasts. Whilst the floods con¬
tinue, it is customary to navigate over the plains where
the current is less rapid, traversing prodigious plantations
of rice annually reproduced by.nature without any human
assistance, or sustaining any damage from the waters, be¬
cause it grows as they increase, always presenting, besides
the ear, a considerable portion of the stalk above the
flood. As the quantity of rain which falls is much greater
in some years than in others, the size of the Xarayes va-
nes^accordingly ; and as its figure or contour depends on
the nature of the country over which it spreads, it is also
extremely irregular, and cannot be accurately described.
Azara, who is always to be depended upon, thus speaks of
this great lake. “ It commences before the seventeenth
degree of latitude, and it may have in this place twenty
leagues of breadth to the east of the river Paraguay. It
preserves nearly the same size until the twenty-second
degree, that is to say, during more than one hundred
leagues, without speaking of the Sugar Loaf, Pau-de-
Azucar, and other little mountains which it surrounds
with its waters. To the west of the same river the lake
commences at 16. 30. and continues to 17. 30., immers-
TTo Qen^Ues of the Province of Chiquitos. From 17.
’f fy'^.its extent is inconsiderable ; but afterwards,
ill p,en y'thl,rd deSree’ k continues to extend much
in/ whac0’ anud Stl 1 more ln the country of the Chiqui-
os. We may, by approximation, estimate its length at
P A R
63
u j i / innate its lengtn at
e hundred and ten leagues, and its breadth at forty.”
_ Iing a Sreut part of the year it remains perfectly dry,
anda.veredwuluhecOTn.flag and other ai uatic ylan£
There are several other lakes of the Paraguay, of much
the same nature as the Xarayes, such as that of Aguara- Paraguay,
caty, about the twenty-fifth degree of latitude ; those
which are found to the north and south of the lake Ypoa
situated under the twenty-sixth parallel; those of Neem-
b.ucu, under the twenty-seventh ; and a multitude of others,
situated on the eastern margin of the Paraguay, and on
all the streams which flow into it.
I he affluents of this great river are very numerous.
Ine Porrudas, or St Louren^o, joins it in latitude 17. 52.,
some writers say nearly a degree farther south; and the
lacoary, in latitude 19. 15., in front of a square mass of
an elevated range, called Serra Albuquerque. Still fur¬
ther south are the mouths of the Mondego, thirty-five
miles below which are two high mounts, fronting each
other, upon the banks of the Paraguay. On the western
mount is built Fort Coimbra. The Tepoti flows into the
great river, in latitude 21. 45.; and this is nearly the limit
between what is called the High and the Low Paraguay.
1 he following is the order in which the rivers fall in, ac¬
cording to Father Quiroga, who navigated the Paraguay
10m the mouth of the Xauru to the confluence of the Pu-
99 a‘o emj)0uchure of the Corrientes is in latitude
; that of the Guarambari, in 23. 8.; that of the
Ipaneguazu, in 23. 28.; that of the Ipanimini, in 24 4 -
Sat25 t'!e,X7“i' j" ,2.4-.7-- that of ‘he Quarepoti, in’
• o?Athat 0 l!le Ib°bl’111 ‘-4- 29v ‘hat “fthe Mboicae,
in „4. 06.; and that of the Salado, in 25. 1. A little be¬
low the city of Assumption, the Pilcomayo runs into the
Paraguay by three mouths, after a very long course, its
origin being amongst the mountain ridges where the city
9fi Slt"ated\ The mouth of' the Tebiquari is in
Jb. Ihe Bermijo, sometimes denominated the Rio
Grande, joins in latitude 26. 54., eleven leagues of di¬
rect distance from the city of Corrientes, where the mag¬
nificent junction of the Parana and Paraguay takes place,
in latitude 27. 27. and longitude 58. 22. west of Green¬
wich. The combined rivers bear the name of Parana till
tne confluence of the Uruguay, when all these appellations
are sunk in that of the Rio de la Plata. The Spaniards,
however, sometimes call the river by the latter name as
far up as the junction of the Pilcomayo. Of these tri¬
butaries of the Paraguay, by far the largest and most im¬
portant are the rivers Pilcomayo and the Bermijo. They
offer great advantages to a commercial people; but, from
the scanty population of the country through which the
greater part of their course lies, these have not been turn¬
ed to proper account. Both rise in Bolivia, the first, as has
been mentioned, near the city of Potosi, and the second
m the vicinity of Tarija. They descend at first with con¬
siderable velocity from the heights where they originate •
but after they reach the level country, they flow in a tran¬
quil and majestic current. According to the best informa¬
tion, they possess no inconvenience except their numerous
windings, which arise from the want of fall in the ground
of the Gran Chaco, through which they run, and which is
the most level tract of country in all South America.
Ihe Paraguay is navigable for vessels of a hundred to
a hundred and thirty tons, provided they do not draw more
than ten or at most eleven feet of water. One ship, indeed,
of three hundred tons burthen, called the Primera, was
built at ^ ilia Real, and floated down the stream to the
ocean. I o obtain correct ideas of the breadth and depth
of the I araguay, Azara measured it at a time when it was
lower than it had ever been known to fall in the memory
of man. Ihe breadth in several parts was found to be 1332
trench feet; and from soundings made to ascertain its
depth, and experiments to prove the velocity of its current,
Azara calculated that it discharged, when at the very low¬
est, 98,303 cubic toises of water per hour. The mean quan¬
tity, he supposed, would be double this at least, if not
more; so that, according to his estimate, the Paraguay
r,4
I’araibi
P A 11
uischai^es throughout the year, at the city of Assump-
’ tion, nearly two hundred thousand cubic toises of water per
hour. So little does the country slope in this part of the
South American continent, that it has been calculated
that the Paraguay in its course from north to south does
not fall above one foot between the eighteenth and twen¬
ty-second degrees of latitude. At the capital the waters
of the Paraguay are always clear ; for the rains which tall
either above or below that city are not sufficient to trouble
so large a stream. The periodical increase of the river
commences at Assumption in the end of February, and
the augmentation continues with admirable equality till the
end ofJune. It then begins to decrease in the same re¬
gular manner, and this continues during an equal space of
time. This periodical increase is much greater in some
years than in others; and at Assumption the waters some¬
times rise five or six toises above their ordinary level, thus
inundating a great part of the country; yet there is little
variation at the commencement or at the end. 1 his in¬
crease of the river, which, singularly enough, does not be-
tnn till the rains have ended, appears to be thus produced.
All the rain which falls is first collected in the great natu¬
ral reservoir Xarayes; and it is not until this is full to
overflowing that it discharges itself into the river Paraguay.
We find that the Parana, which has no basin of this de¬
scription to collect the periodical rains, is at its greatest
height in December, about a month after the rainy season
has set in ; so that by this singularly happy arrangement,
the rivers Parana and Plata are kept during a great part
of the year at a very considerable size. (R. R- R-) _
PARA1BA, or Parahyba, a province of Brazil, in
South America, bounded on the south by Pernambuco, on
the north by Rio Grande da Norte, on the west by Sera,
and on the east by the Atlantic Ocean. It compre¬
hends about two thirds of the old captaincy of Itamarca,
and has between eighteen and nineteen leagues of sea-
coast, whilst towards the interior it extends westward about
sixty leagues. It derives its name from the river Paraiba
or Parahyba, which, originating in the Serra da Jabitica,
in Cayriris Velhos, not far from the source of the Capi-
baribe, runs to the north-east, and discharges itself into
the Atlantic by two mouths on either side of the island of
St Beneto. Its principal tributary is the Paraibuna, which
flows down from the back of the Serra da Montequeira,
under the name of the Rio Preto, which is a mere trans¬
lation of the Indian name for the river. It is about fifty
yards in breadth at the junction, flowing with a rapid and
turbid current, over a sandy channel eminently auriferous.
Caldcleugh informs us that the current of the Paraiba is
also very rapid, being about seven miles in the hour, and
the water cool, being twelve degrees under the tempera¬
ture of the air. “ The road was excessively bad, being
extremely narrow, with a gulley down the centre ; and
the soil being a red clay, was very insecure, from the hu¬
midity. From the summit the views on all sides were
magnificent; but more particularly the one which extend¬
ed along the valley of the Paraiba. Here and there the
eye caught a glimpse of the river glistening amidst the
deepest and most luxuriant vegetation.” This descrip¬
tion does not agree with the account sometimes given of
Paraiba, that two thirds of the whole surface are incapa¬
ble of any kind of culture. Mr Southey justly character¬
izes this statement as very erroneous; and recent travel¬
lers confirm the fact, that a great part of it possesses a
prolific soil, and an agreeable although hot climate. The
surface of the country, however, is very uneven, elevated
ridges traversing it in various directions. Mr Koster tia-
velled to Paraiba from Recife, by way of Goiana. The
road between Goiana and Paraiba, a distance of thirteen
leagues, presents nothing particularly interesting. I he
hills are steep, but not high ; the principal objects are
P A R
woods, plantations, and cottages. Returning by the sea- Paraiba.
coast, he found a considerable portion of it uninhabited ;
but wherever the land was low, and the surf not violent,
cottages were seen, and the banks of the rivers were par¬
tially settled. When the action of the tide ceases, the
streams all become insignificant, and most of them quite
dry. Nearly the whole of Brazil is celebrated for its ve¬
getable productions, particularly timber; and Paraiba is
not deficient in this respect. It is noted for the excel¬
lence of its Brazil wood, and its sugar, the culture of
which, however, has much declined, on account of the
droughts which are frequently experienced here; and
cotton has taken its place, that plant being said to endure
a want of water better than the cane. In the year 1820 a
few Britons established themselves here, in connection with
some merchants at Pernambuco, for the purpose of reviv¬
ing and extending the trade. Ihe exports of sugar at
one time exceeded nine hundred chests annually, but in
1819 it had sunk to less than half that quantity; whilst in
the same period the cultivation of cotton had increased in
proportion as the cane had decreased.
Paraiba, the capital of the province, is situated on the
south bank of the river Paraiba, about ten miles from the
sea, the river being navigable for a considerable way above
the town. The port is capacious and secure, and defended
by two or three forts. Vessels of one hundred and fifty
tons can pass the bar; sumacas can ascend to the capital,
and canoes as far as the town of Pilar, which is situated
about forty miles higher up. When this captaincy was
taken possession of by the Dutch in 1634, it contained
only seven hundred families and twenty engenhos. They
changed the name of the capital to Ferdinand, in honour
of the Prince of Orange; and gave a sugar loaf for its
arms, in allusion to the great quantity of sugar obtained
from the district, and in conformity to a plan then adopt¬
ed for granting armorial bearings significant of the prin¬
cipal leading articles in the different captaincies under
their dominion. The principal street is broad and well
paved; the houses are mostly of one story, but some of
the buildings are described as handsome. There are se¬
veral large and respectable convents here, but of late
years they have fallen into decay. Indeed the same thing
may also be said of the city, tor much of the commerce
which it once enjoyed is now centred in Recife, a seaport
in Pernambuco. Ihe lower town, which consists of small
houses, is situated, Mr Koster states, upon the borders of
a spacious basin or lake, formed by the junction of three
rivers, which discharge their waters into the sea by one
considerable stream. These rivers are probably the Pa¬
raiba and its two confluents the Guarahu and the small
river Unhaby. “ The banks of the basin,” he adds, “ are
covered with mangroves, as in all the salt-water rivers of
this country; and they are so close and thick that there
seems no outlet. I did not follow the river down to the
sea, but I understand that there are in it some fine islands,
with good land, quite uncultivated. One of these has
since been cleared, and some salt-works erected upon it.
Paraiba lies out of the road from the sertam to Recife;
that is, out of the direct way from the towns upon the
coast farther north ; the inhabitants of the interior will
therefore, in preference to Paraiba, make for Recife, as the
more extensive market for their produce. Notwithstand¬
ing the richness and fertility of the lands of this province,
a 'decided preference is given to plantations nearer to
Recife, so that those of Paraiba are to be purchased at a
much lower price. 1 he population of this small city may
amount to three thousand.
Besides the capital, this province contains seven towns
in the eastern part, or that next the ocean, with a few ar-
raials; and two in the western part. The names of those
in the east are, Pilar, Alhandra, Villa Real, Villa do Coil-
PAR
ir’araiba de, Villa da Rainha, St Miguel, and Montemor; and those
I) in the west are Pombal and Villa Nova da Souza. None
ribo14" t*1em are any extent or material importance. Villa
'^da Rainha, commonly called Campinha Grande, stands in
an extensive plain, one hundred and twenty miles north¬
west from the capital, near a lake which supplies the in¬
habitants with water. In seasons of drought, which are
by no means rare, the lake is dry, and the inhabitants are
compelled to fetch their water a distance of six miles.
The river Mamanguape, whose embouchure is ten miles
north of Point Lucena, but dry in summer a few miles up
from the sea, gives its name to a settlement near its banks,
which is larger than most of the towns of the province.
It is a thriving place, and forms a convenient stage be¬
tween Rio Grande and Goiana. The population of Pa-
raiba was estimated in 1812 at 122,000. From the census
of 1830 it is stated at 240,000, which appears to be too
large an allowance of inhabitants for such a small tract of
a country so thinly peopled as Brazil is, considering its vast
extent. (r. r. r.)
Paraiba, the name of a large river in the Brazilian
province of Rio de Janeiro, which see.
PARALIPOMENA, in matters of literature, denotes a
supplement of things omitted in a preceding work.
PARALLAX, in Astronomy, is the difference between
the places of any celestial object, as seen from the surface
and from the centre of the earth at the same instant. See
Astronomy.
Parallax is also used to denote the change of place
in any object arising from viewing it obliquely with re¬
spect to another object. Thus, the minute hand of a
watch is said to have a parallax when it is viewed oblique¬
ly ; and the difference between the instants shown by it
when viewed directly and obliquely is the quantity of pa¬
rallax in time.
PARALLEL, in Geometry, an appellation given to lines,
surfaces, and bodies, which are everywhere equidistant
from each other.
Parallel Sphere, that situation of the sphere in which
the equator coincides with the horizon, and the poles with
the zenith and nadir.
Parallel Sailing. See the article Navigation.
Parallels of Latitude, in Astronomy, are lesser circles
of the sphere, parallel to the ecliptic, and imagined to pass
through every degree and minute of the colures.
Parallels of Altitude, or Almucantars, are circles pa¬
rallel to the horizon, imagined to pass through every de¬
gree and minute of the meridian between the horizon and
zenith, and having their poles in the zenith.
Parallels of Declination, in Astronomy, are the same
with parallels of latitude in geography.
PARALLELOPIPED, in Geometry, is a regular solid,
comprehended under six parallelograms, the opposite ones
of which are similar, parallel, and equal to each other.
PARALOGISM, in Logic, a sophism in reasoning, or a
fault committed in demonstration, when a consequence is
drawn from principles which are false, or, though true, are
not proved ; or when a proposition is passed over which
should have been proved by the way.
PARAMARIBO, the principal town of Dutch Guiana,
and capital of the province of Surinam. It is situated on
the right bank of the beautiful river Surinam, about eigh¬
teen miles from its embouchure. It is about one mile and
a half in length by about three quarters of a mile in
breadth, and is built in the form of an oblong square.
The streets are regularly laid out, and lined with orange,
shaddock, tamarind, and lemon trees, which appear in per¬
petual bloom; whilst their branches are, at the same
time, weighed down with fruit. The walks are covered
with fine gravel and sea-shells, and not paved with large
stones. 1 he houses, which are generally of two stories in
voi.. xvir.
PAR
65
height, are sumptuously furnished. The rooms are sel-Paramatta,
dom papered or plastered, but wainscoated with' cedar,
Brazilian, or mahogany wood. The town-hall is an ele¬
gant edifice, covered with tiles, the other buildings being
for the most part roofed with thin split boards called
shingles. In this hall the different courts are held; and
underneath are the prisons for European delinquents.
There is a Protestant church, a Lutheran chapel, and two
Jewish synagogues, the one German, and the other Por¬
tuguese. Although not fortified, the town is defended by
Tort Zelandia on the east, and by the natural defences of
the river on the south-east, a large savannah on the west,
and an impenetrable wood on the north-east. The cita¬
del is separated from the town by a large esplanade, where
the troops parade. There is a large and commodious
military hospital. Opposite to the town the river Surinam
is about a mile in breadth, and thus affords a noble road
for shipping. The commerce of this town, although now
surpassed by that carried on in British Guiana, is consi¬
derable ; and the Dutch have made great and successful
exertions to improve it. The exports are coffee, sugar,
cocoa, cotton, and indigo; the imports are flour, beef,
poik, herrings, salted mackerel, spermaceti candles, horses,
lumber, and European manufactures. The number of in¬
habitants may be estimated at from 18,000 to 20,000.
1 ARAMA1 1 A, a town of New Holland, on the east
coast, situated at the head of Port Jackson harbour, at the
distance of about eighteen miles by water and fifteen by
land from Sydney. The river is for the last seven or eight
miles navigable only for boats of twelve or fifteen tons
burden. The town is built on a level plain, cleared of
trees to a considerable extent, but not very fertile, alon"
a small fresh-water stream which falls into the river. The
streets are regularly laid out, crossing at right angles, and
the towm, or rather the rudiments of a towo, may be said
to be extensive, the inhabitants being estimated at 3000,
and there being space enough for thrice that number. The
dwellings are generally poor structures or wretched hovels.
There are, however, a few good brick houses, to which is
attached a garden, in which British vegetables are culti¬
vated. , The government buildings are very large ; the go¬
vernor’s house is on the west side of the town, the factory
for female convicts on the east, the orphan-school on the
north, and the public granary on the south. An arm of
the sea, about the breadth of a third-rate English river,
stretches through the middle, and over it there is a bridge!
There are two very good inns, with all necessary accommo¬
dations for travellers, such as are found in Great Britain.
In the factory for female convicts, which is a large building*
well adapted for the convenience and comfort of its inmates^
there were above a hundred females when it was visited by
the missionaries from the South Sea Islands, and about as
many more were daily expected. They are employed in
dressing and spinning flax and wool, to be woven into cloth¬
ing materials by the men at their quarters. From this peni¬
tentiary the inhabitants of Sydney and Paramatta receive
a supply of domestic servants, many of wdiom behave with
perfect propriety. The orphan-school is an admirable
establishment, where upwards of one hundred children of
convicts are instructed in reading, writing, and arithmetic,
and in moral habits. After being kept there till the age of
fourteen or fifteen years, they are usually taken into families
as servants or apprentices. There are also two schools for
the education of the aborigines of the country, laudable
institutions, but which have not yet been attended with
much advantage, the natives being wedded to their native
habits of ignorance and idleness, and having a rooted aver¬
sion to industry. There were in each seminary only seven
boys and as many girls when it was visited by the South
Sea missionaries. The schools are supported by govern¬
ment, an allowance of L.20 being made for each child
i
66
PAR
Parana.
taught. The population is chiefly composed of inferior
traders, publicans, artificers, and labourers. I wo fairs, held
half yearly, are numerously and respectably at tended. 1 he
plain on which the town is situated is cleared of trees to a
considerable extent, and there is an excellent road through
Paramatta; but beyond this the uncleared soil is covered
with prodigious forests. Many farms, having been insulat¬
ed from this tract, are divided into fields, and well culti¬
vated, though the stumps of trees about a yard high are still
seen standing amidst the corn and grass. . I he houses of
the colonists, who follow agriculture each in his little do¬
main, are generally clean and comfortable abodes, and some
even have claims to elegance. _ ...
PARANA, a vast river of South America, originating
in those mountainous ranges which traverse the Brazilian
provinces of Minas Geraes and Goyas. Like the Paraguay,
it is formed of a great number of small streams, the sources
of which extend over several degrees, probably from the
sixteenth to the twentieth of south latitude. Before the
Parana reaches the parallel of south latitude under which
the Paraguay commences, it has drained an immense tract of
country, and become swelled to a mighty stream. About
this point, which is the verge of the great table-land which
forms the inner part of Brazil, it tumbles over a precipi¬
tous rocky channel, at a place called Setequedas, or Seven
Falls. Some have spoken of a continued rapid and bro¬
ken advance of the river for several leagues ; but Cazal,
a high authority, represents it as here narrowed from a
league in breadth to a hundred yards, by six small rocky
islands, between which the water rushes, foams, and falls.
But the hundred yards mentioned must refer only to the
breadth of that part of the river which is wholly uninter¬
rupted by the islands; between all of them various minor
currents must of course flow, and these are certainly not
included in the statement of the width of the Parana at
this part. Azara describes these stupendous cataracts un¬
der another name. The first, called Sant de Canendigu,
which was the name of a cacique who inhabited this part
of the country at the time of the coftquest, and Sant de
Guayra, from the vicinity of the province of that name, is
situated not far from the tropic of Capricorn, in 24. 4. 27.
of south latitude. It is a frightful cascade, and worthy of
being described by the poets. Immediately before this im¬
mense river falls over the precipice, or rather inclined plane,
it is suddenly contracted from above two hundred toises
to about thirty toises in breadth, and descends into the
frowning abyss with frightful fury, causing the solid earth
to tremble around. The fall is not vertical, but at an
angle of fifty degrees, the perpendicular descent being
fifty-two French feet. The vapours which rise from the
shock of the waters, and the pointed rocks situated in the
channel of the precipice, are seen at the distance ot many
leagues, in the form of columns. Rainbows ot the most
lively colours, formed by the rays of the sun, appear sus¬
pended over the cataract; and in these a quivering move¬
ment may be perceived. Ihe sound is heard at the dis¬
tance of six leagues; and the clouds which are formed by
the ascending vapours form an eternal rain in the vicinity.
There are other cataracts either belonging to the Parana or
its tributaries, but they are not of such magnitude as the Se¬
tequedas. The general bearing of the Parana, in by far the
greater part of its course, is southerly. About the twenty-
seventh parallel it takes a westerly direction, in which it
continues to flow until its junction with the Paraguay. Not
far from the point where it takes a great bend from south¬
west to nearly due west, it meets with a rocky^ edge, over
which it is precipitated at the island ot Apipe, and here
navigation for large vessels terminates. But when the
waters are large, the passage is free tor galliotes and small
craft. Near this is the lake Ibera or Ybyera, one ot the
most considerable in the country, and which, like the
PAR
Xarayes of Paraguay, is said to be formed by the water Parana.
of the upper part of the Parana. Azara, however, asserts's v—
that it has no connection with that river. It is thirty
leagues in breadth at its northern extremity, where it is
parallel with the Parana, and to which it is very near,
though without having any visible communication with
that river. Thirty leagues to the south, there is formed
what has been called the Gorge of Yuquicua ; after which
it again enlarges in proportion as it advances southward,
until it terminates by forming the river Miriiiay, which is
considerable, and flows into the Uruguay. From Yuquicua
the lake Ybyera also stretches thirty leagues to the west,
and there three rivers issue from it, called the Saint Lu¬
cie, the Corrientes, and the Bateles. It has no apparent
source, receiving neither river nor rivulet, and continues
during the year almost without any variation, being filled
with aquatic plants, and even with some trees. A great
part of it must therefore partake more of the character oi
a marsh than a lake ; and it is to be observed that several
recent authorities maintain that it is connected with
the river Parana, and follows the rise and fall ol its wa¬
ters. “ In the dry season,” says Luccock, “ it covers an
extent of about a hundred and fifty square leagues, and
all around the land supplies an abundance of food for cat¬
tle ; but about a month after the rains have commenced
in the upper country, that is, in December, the Ybyera
swells to a vast extent, covering hardly less than two
thousand square leagues. At this period it is said to com¬
municate both with the Parana and the Uruguay; a cir¬
cumstance which, if correctly stated, indicates that these
streams once united there, and that the lower grounds
have been formed by their concurrent operation continued
for ages.” Higher up on the same river, and in the
midst of the woods, is another lake called the Jagape, but
little more is known of it than its name, and that chiefly
from the report of people dwelling in its neighbourhood,
who occasionally find their way to Rio de Janeiro.
After the confluence of the Parana and Paraguay, in la¬
titude 27. 27., the river under the former name assumes
a grand and majestic appearance. It is studded with in¬
numerable islands, some of which are of considerable size,
thickly clothed with trees and shrubs, and forming a re¬
fuge for foxes, tigers, and other wild animals. The volume
of its waters is of course very great. It is above two miles
in breadth, of considerable depth, and has a current more
rapid than that of the Paraguay before its junction. “ The
Parana and Paraguay,” says Mr Luccock, “ rolling im¬
petuously through a very extended course, bring down
a great quantity of wreck, and soil of a reddish colour.
When they have arrived at the more level grounds, and
their currents are become comparatively slow, much of
it is deposited; there it remains until the next wet sea¬
son, when it is again urged onward by a resistless torrent,
which not only sweeps the bottom, but frets and tears the
banks, which had before been raised.” The main current
is never less than two fathoms and a half in depth ; and it
is near the sides of the river, not in the centre, that the
channel is deepest. Its periodical rise commences in De¬
cember, which is some time after the commencement of
the rainy season in the countries situated between the
tropic of Capricorn and the equator; and it continues
rising without interruption till the month of April, when
decreasing till J uly, with somewhat more rapidity than it
rose, it again shrinks within its legitimate bounds. In the
latter month it is usual to perceive a slight rising, which
the inhabitants of the country call “ El repunteand
which is attributed to the waters which the river receives
from the streams pouring down from the temperate zone,
where the season of winter is almost always rainy. But
the “ repunte” is of such trivial moment that it never
overflows the lands even in the lowest situations. The rains.
Parana.
PAR
although invariable as to their recurrence, are greater in
some years than in others; and the height to which the
river rises, of course, corresponds with the quantity of rain
which falls. Ihe navigation of this river is of considerable
importance. “ ihere are three causes which regularly im¬
pede the navigation of rivers,” says Don Ignacio Nunez,
in his work on the united provinces of the Rio de la Pla¬
ta, “ the great rapidity of their currents, the shallow¬
ness of their waters, and the shoals, rocks, or banks which
obstruct their passage. None of these inconveniences are
met with in the Parana, till reaching the island of Apipe.
The rapidity of its course varies with the state of the river,
and the conformation of its channel. When the rising is
PAR
at its greatest height, the velocity of its current is greater
than when it is on the decrease; and, in both seasons, it
is always greatest in those parts where its channel is the
narrowest. In the Rosario, in Punta Gorda, and in Her-
nan de Arias, which are the places where it is the most
straitened in width, six observations made during the time
of its rising gave for its average velocity a foot and a half
per second. When the river is in its natural bed its
stream has much less velocity, and that is not alike in
all places in its breadth. In the centre of the channel it
is greater than on the shore towards the bogs ; and there,
on account of its being very accessible, it is greater than
in the places near the islands, where the velocity is almost
null; which is not the case in the Rio de la Plata, in which
the currents are invariably in proportion to, and in direc¬
tion with, the winds which blow. It is therefore evident
that the rapidity of the current of the Parana is no impe¬
diment to its navigation; which, indeed, experience has
long since proved. As regards the depth, no person is
ignorant of its capability for the navigation of vessels of
all burdens as far as the island of Apipe; and it would
continue with depth enough for that object for a great
distance farther, did not a cataract situated in that place
impede its progress.” He then goes on to state, that its
depth at the shallowest is quite sufficient for very ]ar<re
vessels; and that the greater part of its sinuosities and
arms are not only navigable in the rainy season, but even
when the river is at the lowest. “ From ("ape Saint Maria to
the jsland of Apipe,” he continues, “ is a distance by u^ater
of five hundred leagues, navigable without any other reef
than the English Bank (Banco Ingles), which will cease
to be dangerous as soon as a vigilant and protecting go¬
vernment shall watch over the commerce and prosperity
or the country. In the whole course of the Parana there
is not a single stone; its bottom is clay and very fine
sand; and although some banks and shallows are here
and there met with, a sufficient channel is left at all times
tor the passage of vessels.” In reference to, the extent of
country inundated, he says, “ The average rising is about
twelve feet; but the islands and lands subject to be over-
novved never have that depth of water over them, owing
to their greater height. When the river is at the highest,
the lowest of the islands scarcely have more than three
eet over them, and some, for the distance of many leagues,
are covered by only eight or nine inches. There are also
places which are not inundated except during extraordi¬
nary risings, which may not occur for a considerable length
ot time. Ihere are likewise inundations so low that they
InTn fke-’ W!Uch disaPPear solely through evaporation
ana nitration, leaving a great quantity offish out of their
e ement. Calculating the immense extent of territory in-
undated by the Parana, only from its mouth to Cayasta,
o w nc i we can speak with accuracy from our own obser-
vatmns, ns waters during the inundation cover about one
thousand one hundred square leagues; and, making an
pp oximate calculation of the whole extent of country
Trnn e?nyS thlS beneficial circumstance, from near the
pic of Capricorn, where the river begins to assume this
quality, to its mouth, the space participating in so vast an
advantage, without any aid from art, may be reckoned at
about four thousand leagues.” A river so extensive as
the Parana is of course supplied by many tributary rivers.
Amongst the most considerable of these is the Salada or
oalado, which rises in the province of Salta, and flows into
the I arana at Santa Fe. It is navigable for many leagues,
and as it traverses a very fertile country, it will one day
become of far more importance than it is at present. It
is to be distinguished from another river of the same name,
which unites with the Rio de la Plata in latitude 36°, four
or five degrees farther down. The Parana flows into the
river last named by several mouths, comprehended be-
tween lat'tude 34. and 34. 20. south. Here also the Rio
de la Plata receives the Uruguay, and these united streams
flovv majestically to the Atlantic Ocean. (r. r. r,)
1 ARAN Y MPH, amongst the ancients, the person who
waited on the bridegroom, and directed the nuptial solem¬
nities, and who was also called pronubus and auspex, be¬
cause the ceremonies began by taking auspicia. As the
paranymph officiated only on the part of the bridegroom,
a woman called officiated on the part of the bride.
1 Alt APE F, in Fortification, an elevation of earth de¬
signed for covering the soldiers from the enemy’s cannon
or small shot.
PARAPHERNALIA, or Parapherna, in the civil
law, those goods which a wife brings her husband besides
her dower, and which are still to remain at her disposal,
exclusive of her husband, unless there is some provision
made to the contrary in the marriage-contract.
1 ARAPHRASE, an explanation of some text in clearer
and more ample terms, by which is supplied what the au¬
thor might have said or thought on the subject. Such are
esteemed Erasmus’s Paraphrase on the New Testament,
the Chaldee Paraphrase on the Pentateuch, and other works
of this kind.
PARAPHROSYNE, a word employed by medical writ¬
ers to denote a delirium, or an alienation of mind in fevers,
or from whatever other cause.
/A5£SANG’ an ancient Persian measure, which differ¬
ed at ditterent times and in different places, being usually
thirty, sometimes forty, and occasionally fifty stadia or fur¬
longs. ihe word, according to Littleton, is formed from
parasch angarius, that is, the space a postman rides from
one station or angaria to another.
PARASCENIUM, in the Grecian and Roman theatres,
was a place behind the scenes, whither the actors withdrew
to dress and undress themselves. The Romans more fre¬
quently called it Postscenium.
PARASELENE, in Natural Philosophy, a mock moon ;
a meteor or phenomenon encompassing or adjacent to the
moon, in form of a luminous ring; in which are observed
sometimes one and sometimes two or more images of the
moon. °
PARASEMON, amongst the Greeks, was the figure
carved on the prow of a ship, to distinguish it from others,
ilns figure was generally that of a bull, lion, or other ani¬
mal ; sometimes the representation of a mountain, tree,
flower, or other object.
PARASII E, amongst the Greeks, was originally a very
reputable title, the parasites being a kind of priests, or at
least ministers, of the gods, in the same manner as the epu-
ones were at Rome. 1 hey took care of the sacred corn,
or the corn destined for the service of the temples and the
gods, viz. sacrifices and feasts; and they had even the su-
pei intendence of sacrifices, taking care that these were duly
performed. At Athens there was a kind of college of
twelve parasites ; each tribe of Attica furnishing one, who
was always chosen out of the best families. Polybius adds,
that a parasite was also an honourable title amongst the
ancient Gauls, and was given to their poets. But it figs
67
Para¬
nymph
II
Parasite.
68
PAR
PAR
Parch-
ment.
Parasites degenerated into a term of reproach, and is now used to
signify a flatterer, sycophant, or mean dependent.
PARASITES, or Parasitical Plants, in Botany,%\\ch
plants as are produced out of the trunk or branches of other
plants, whence they receive their nourishment, and are in¬
capable of growing on the ground. Such are the misletoe,
some kinds of fungi, and others.
PARBUNCLE, in a ship, the name of a rope almost
like a pair of slings. It is seized both ends together, and
then put almost double about any heavy thing that is to be
hoisted in or out of the ship ; having the hook of the run¬
ner hitched into it to hoist it up by.
PARCiE, in heathen mythology, goddesses who were
supposed to preside over the accidents and events, and to
determine the date or period, of human life. I he Parcae
were three, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos; because, for¬
sooth, all things have their beginning, progress, and end.
Hence the poets tell us that the Parcae spun the thread of
men’s lives; that Clotho held the distaff, and drew the
thread; that Lachesis twirled the spindle, and spun it;
and that Atropos cut it. “ Clotho colum retinet, Lachesis
net, Atropos secat.”
But the ancients represent the Parcae differently. .Lu¬
cian delineates them in the shape of three poor old women,
having large locks of wool, mixed with daffodils, on their
heads; one of them holding a distaff, the other a wheel, and
the third a pair of scissars, wherewith to cut the thread of
life. Others represent Clotho as appearing in a long robe of
variegated colours, wearing a crown upon her head adorned
with seven stars, and holding a distaff in her hand ; whilst
Lachesis appears in a robe beset with stars, with several
spindles in her hand, and Atropos clad in black, cutting the
thread with a pair of large scissars. The ancients imagined
that the Faroe employed white wool for a long and happy
life, and black for a short and unfortunate one.
PARCHMENT, the skins of sheep or goats prepared
after such a manner as to render them proper for being
written upon, or used in covering books.
The wrord comes from the Latin pergamena, the ancient
name of this manufacture, which is said to have been taken
from the city of Pergamus, to Eumenes, the king of which,
its invention is usually ascribed ; although, in reality, that
prince appears rather to have been the improver than the
inventor of parchment. According to Diodorus, the I er-
sians of old wrote all their records on skins; and the an¬
cient lonians, as we learn from Herodotus, made use of
sheep and goat skins in writing, many ages before the time
of Eumenes. Nor need we doubt that such skins were
dressed for the purpose, after a manner not unlike that in
which our parchment is prepared, though probably not so
The manufacture of parchment is begun by the skinner,
and finished by the parchment-maker.. The skin having
been stripped of its wool, and placed in the lime-pit, the
skinner stretches it on a kind of frame, and pares off the
flesh with an iron instrument. This being done, it is moist¬
ened with arag; and powdered chalk being spread over it, the
skinner takes a large pumice-stone, flat at the bottom, rubs
over the skin, and thus scours off the flesh : he then goes
over it again with an iron instrument, moistens it as before,
and rubs it again with the pumice-stone without any chalk
underneath, by which means the flesh side is very consi¬
derably smoothed and softened. He then drains it again,
by passing over it the iron instrument as before. The flesh
side being thus drained, by scraping off the moisture, he in
the same manner passes the iron over the woolly or hairy
side, and then stretches it on a frame, and scrapes the flesh
side a^ain. This finishes its draining; and the more it is
drained the whiter it becomes. The skinner now throws on
more chalk, sweeping it over with a piece of amb-skin which
has the wool on; and this smooths it still farther. It ia
then left to dry, and when dried, taken oft the frame by
cutting it all round. The skin, being thus far prepared by
the skinner, is taken out of his hands by the parchment-
maker, who first, whilst it is dry, pares it on a summer, or
calf-skin stretched in a frame, with a sharper instrument
than that used by the skinner ; and, working with the arm
from the top to the bottom of the skin, takes away about
one half of its thickness. The skin, being thus equally
pared on the flesh side, is again rendered smooth by being
rubbed with the pumice-stone on a bench covered with a
sack stuffed with flocks, which leaves the parchment in a
condition fit for writing upon. The parings thus taken off
the leather are used in making glue, size, and the like.
What is called vellum is only parchment made of the
skins of abortives, or at least sucking calves. I his has a
much finer grain, and is whiter and smoother than parch¬
ment ; but it is prepared in the same manner, except that
it is not passed through the lime-pit. _
PARDIES, Ignatius Gaston, an ingenious and learned
French Jesuit, was born at Paris in 1636. He taught polite
literature for several years, during which he composed, with
peculiar delicacy of thought and style, small pieces both in
prose and verse. At length he devoted himself entirely
to mathematics and natural philosophy, and read all authors,
ancient as well as modern, in those branches of knowledge.
He died in the year 1673, of an infectious disorder con¬
tracted by confessing and preaching to the prisoners in the
Bicetre during the Easter holidays. Pardies published se¬
veral works ; but his Elements of Geometry are best known
in this country, where a translation of them has gone
through several editions. In 1672 he had a dispute with
Sir Isaac Newton respecting the theory of light and colours,
of which an account may be seen in the Philosophical
Transactions for that year. . . .
PARDON, in Criminal Law, is the remitting or for¬
giving an offence committed against the king. _
Law, says Beccaria, cannot be framed on principles of
compassion to guilt; yet justice, by the constitution of Eng¬
land, is bound to be administered in mercy. I his is pro¬
mised by the king in his coronation oath ; and it is that
act of his government which is the most personal and most
entirely his own. The king condemns no man ; that un¬
pleasant task he leaves to his courts of justice ; the great
operation of his sceptre is mercy. His power of pardoning
was said by the Saxons to be derived a lege sum dignitatis;
and it is declared in parliament, by stat. 27 Henry Vlll. c.
24, that no other person has power to pardon or remit any
treason or felonies whatsoever, but that the king has the
whole and sole power thereof, united and knit to the im¬
perial crown of this realm. # ... . T
Mr Godwin, in his Inquiry concerning Political Justice,
attacks this prerogative in the following terms: “ v\ iat
is the rule that ought in all cases to prescribe to my con¬
duct ? Surely justice ; understanding by justice the great¬
est utility of the whole mass of things that may be influ¬
enced by my conduct. What then is clemency ? It can
be nothing but the pitiable egotism of him who imagines
he can do something better than justice. Is it right tnat
I should suffer constraint for a certain offence . I he rec¬
titude of my suffering must be founded on its tendency to
promote the general welfare. He therefore that pardons
me, iniquitously prefers the imaginary interest of an indi¬
vidual, and utterly neglects what he owes to the whole.
He bestows that which I ought not to receive, and which
he has no right to give. Is it right, on the co«tr^y>
I should not undergo the suffering in question t Y\ ill he,
by rescuing me from suffering, do a benefit to me, and no
injury to others ? He will then be a notorious delinquent,
if he allow me to suffer. There is indeed a considerable
defect in this last supposition. It, while he benefits me,
he do no injury toothers, he is infallibly performing a pub-
Pardie*
Pardon.
PAR
ardon. lie service. If I suffered in the arbitrary manner which the
•“V**'' supposition includes, the whole would sustain an unques¬
tionable injury in the injustice that was perpetrated. And
yet the man who prevents this odious injustice has been
accustomed to arrogate to himself the attribute of cle¬
ment, and the apparently sublime, but in reality tyranni¬
cal, name of forgiveness. For, if he do more than has been
here described, instead of glory he ought to take shame to
himself, as an enemy to the interest of human kind. If
every action, and especially every action in which the
happiness of a rational being is concerned, be susceptible
of a certain rule, then caprice must be in all cases exclud¬
ed ; there can be no action which, if I neglect, I shall have
discharged my duty; and if I perform, I shall be entitled
to applause.”
That human nature is such as in the aggregate to need
control, no one who is acquainted with it will deny; and
there appears to be no other method of controlling man¬
kind but by general laws, which, through the natural im¬
perfection of human affairs, may be cruel in one case if
they are just in another. Cases may likewise occur where
the sentence of the law, without its execution, will answer
every purpose which could be expected from it, and where
the execution of it would be extreme cruelty, although it
might in strict unfeeling language be called justice, be¬
cause in strict conformity with the letter of the law. Yet
though such cases may and do often occur, it would be
absurd to abolish any of those laws which the security of
civil society has required; and therefore the only natural
remedy against legal injustice is the system of pardons.
Mr Godwin next goes on to trace the origin of pardons;
and instead of a definite system of law, we are told that it
is necessary to have a court of reason, to which the deci¬
sions of a court of law shall be brought for revisal. But
this is a remedy apparently too vague and indeterminate
to pioduce any lasting or good effect; for the proposal of
such a tribunal results from supposing mankind more vir¬
tuous and intelligent than they really are. He next pro¬
ceeds to consider the abuses of pardons, whence he would
diaw an argument for their abolition. He tells us that the
authority in this case is placed, first in the judge, and next
in the king and council. . “ Now,” says he, “ laying aside
the propriety or impropriety of this particular selection,
there is one grievous abuse which ought to strike the most
superficial observer. Those persons with whom the prin¬
cipal trust is reposed consider their functions in this re¬
spect as a matter purely incidental, exercise them with
supineness, and in many instances with the most scanty
materials to guide their judgment. This grows in a con¬
siderable degree out of the very name of pardon, which
implies a work of supererogatory benevolence.”
But it is obvious that pardons are in general granted in
consequence of an application from people who have more
t an scanty materials to guide their judgments, and on
whose fidelity in relating the circumstances of the case
confidence is or is not placed, according to their several
characters. Mr Godwin next proceeds to the arbitrary
ciaiacter of pardons. “ Such a system,” he says, “ to
speak it truly, is a lottery of death, in which each man
draws his ticket for reprieve or execution, as undefinable
accidents shall decide.- The allusion here to a lottery
ticket is peculiarly unfortunate, nor does the whole sen-
tence show any great degree of candour. It is possible to
define a particular crime, and to annex a particular pun¬
ishment to the commission of it; but the nature of mora-
i y consists not in the external action, but in the motives
Jic Prompted to it. Definite law, however, cannot al-
a>s make this distinction; and after the sentence of the
18 Pronoun<Jed> it comes to be considered whether
allevmtlng circumstances in the case ; and
er there are or not, must depend on the particulars
PAR
69
or accidents of the case. But it is impossible to suppose Pareenug.
that these accidents could be previously defined ; their na- gur.
ture does not admit of it. To particularize and define
every mode of an action which imagination can conceive, or
which experience has shown us may happen, would indeed
be an Herculean labour; and we might literally say with
the apostle, “ that the world could not contain the books
that might be written.” We are, however, told that
“ reason is a thousand times more explicit and intelligible
than law; and when we are accustomed to consult her,
the certainty of her decisions would be such as men prac¬
tised in our present courts are totally unable to conceive.”
VY ere reason, however, to be appealed to in all cases, and
to be the final criterion, it would leave far greater room
tor villany than any mode at present in practice. Reason
is a very uncertain and indefinite term, and may be made
any thing, according to the circumstances or passions of
men, at any given time.
We are next told that pardons are destructive to mo¬
rality. “ Another very important consequence,” says Mr
Godwin, “ grows out of the system of pardons. A system
of paidon is a system of unmitigated slavery. I am taught
to expect a certain desirable event. From what ? From
the clemency, the uncontrolled, unmerited kindness of a
fellow-mortal. Can any lesson be more degrading ? The
pusillanimous servility of the man who devotes himself
with everlasting obsequiousness to another, because that
other, haying begun to be unjust, relents in his career,—the
ardour with which he confesses the rectitude of his sen¬
tence and the enormity of his deserts,—will constitute a tale
that future ages will find it difficult to understand. What
are the sentiments in this respect that are alone worthy of
a rational being ? Give me that, and that only, which
without injustice you cannot refuse. More than justice
it would be disgraceful for me to ask, and for you to be¬
stow. I stand upon the foundation of right. This is a
title which brute force may refuse to acknowledge, but
which all the force in the world cannot annihilate. By
resisting this plea you may prove yourself unjust, but in
yielding to it you grant me but my due. If, all things
considered, I be the fit subject of a benefit, the benefit is
merited; merit in any other sense is contradictory and
absurd. If you bestow upon me unmerited advantage,
you are a recreant from the general good. I may be base
enough to thank you ; but if I were virtuous I should con¬
demn you. Ihese sentiments alone are consistent with
true independence of mind. He that is accustomed to re¬
gard viitue as an affair of favour and grace, cannot be emi¬
nently virtuous. If he occasionally perform an action of
apparent kindness, he will applaud the generosity of his
sentiments ; and if he abstain, he will acquit himself with
the question, May I not do what I will with my own ?
In the same manner, when he is treated benevolently by
another, he will in the first place be unwilling to examine
strictly into the reasonableness of this treatment, because
benevolence, as he imagines, is not subject to any inflexi¬
bility of rule; and, in the second place, he will not regard
his benefactor with that erect and unembarrassed mien,
that complete sense of equality, which is the only immove-
able basis of virtue and happiness.”
Such being Mr Godwin’s conclusion on this subject, we
leave it with our readers to determine whether his sys¬
tem or that which we at present enjoy would be the more
rigorous or unjust; or whether mankind have indeed ar¬
rived at so eminent a pitch of virtue as to disdain every
favour which they do not absolutely merit. The Christian
religion speaks a very different language.
PAREENUGGUR, a town of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Cutch, and district of Parkur. It was formerly a
place of great consequence, and celebrated for its temples,
which were dedicated to Buddha. It now contains only 300
70
PAR
PAR
Paregorics houses, chiefly inhabited by Sodah Rajpoots; its ancient
II inhabitants having long ago left it, on account of the tur-
Parent ku]ent state of the country, and migrated for safety to
— vNoanagur and other places. Ihe town is not fortified;
and when it is attacked, the inhabitants fly for refuge to a
neighbouring mountain, which is represented as rising to
a great elevation. During the era of its prosperity, which
was at a remote period, it was inhabited by numerous fa¬
milies of Banyans, whose temples were famous for elegance
and sanctity, and were resorted to from every quarter for
the purposes of devotion, i he idol of stone, Goreecha, was
an object of adoration to multitudes, who lesorted thither
from all quarters.
PAREGORICS, in Pharmacy, medicines that assuage
pain, and are otherwise called Anodynes.
PARELCON, in Grammar, a figure by which a word
or syllable is added to the end of another.
PAREMBOLE, in Rhetoric, a figure in which some¬
thing relating to the subject is inserted in the middle of a
period. According to Vossius, all the difference between
the parembole and parenthesis is, that the former relates
to the subject in hand, whereas the latter is foreign to it.
PARENT, a term of relation applicable to those from
whom we immediately derive our being. lo this subject
belongs an inquiry, first, into the legal duties of parents to
their legitimate children, and, secondly, their power over
them.
I. The duties of parents to legitimate children consist
in their maintenance, protection, and education. The duty
of parents to provide for the maintenance of their children,
is a principle of natural law, an obligation laid on them not
only by nature herself, but by their own proper act, in
bringing them into the world ; for they would be in the
highest degree injurious to their issue, if they only gave
their children life, that they might afterwards see them
perish. By begetting them, therefore, they have entered
into a voluntary obligation to take care that the life which
they have bestowed shall be supported and preserved.
And thus the children have a perfect right to receive
maintenance from their parents. The president Montes¬
quieu justly observes upon this head, that the establish¬
ment of marriage, in all civilized states, is built on the na¬
tural obligation of the father to provide for his children,
for that ascertains and makes known the person who is
bound to fulfil this obligation ; whereas, in promiscuous and
illicit conjunctions, the father is unknown, and the mother
finds a thousand obstacles in her way, shame, remorse, the
constraint of her sex, and the rigour of laws, which stifle
her inclinations to perform this duty; and, besides she
generally wants the ability to do so.
The municipal laws of all well-regulated states have
taken care to enforce this duty, though Providence has
done it more effectually than any laws, by implanting in
the breast of every parent that natural <rrogy»|, or affection,
which neither the deformity of person or mind, nor even
the wickedness, ingratitude, and rebellion of children, can
totally suppress or extinguish.
The civil law obliges the parent to provide maintenance
for his child; and if he refuse, judex de ea re cognoscet.
Nay, it carries this matter so far, that it will not suffer a
parent at his death totally to disinherit his child, without
expressly giving his reason for so doing; and there are
fourteen reasons reckoned up, which may justify such dis¬
inherison. If the parent alleged no reason, or a bad one,
the child might set the will aside, tanquam testamentum
inofficiosum, as a testament contrary to the natural duty
of the parent, by suggesting that the parent had lost the
use of his reason when he made the inofficious testament.
And this, as Puffendorff observes, was not to bring into
dispute the testator’s power of disinheriting his own off¬
spring, but to examine the motives upon which he did it,
and if they were found defective in reason, then to set
them aside. But perhaps this is going rather too far.
Every man has, or ought to have, by the laws of society,
a power over his own property ; and, as Grotius very well
distinguishes, natural right obliges to give a necessary
maintenance to children ; but what is more than that they
have no other right to, than as it is given by the favour of
their parents, or the positive constitutions of the munici-
PalLet us next see what provision our own laws have made
for this natural duty. It is a principle of law, that there is
an obligation on every man to provide for those descend¬
ed from his loins; and the manner in which this obligation
shall be performed is thus pointed out.
The father and mother, grandfather and grandmother,
of poor impotent persons, shall maintain them at their
own charges, if of sufficient ability, according as the quar¬
ter sessions shall direct; and if a parent run away and
leave his children, the church wardens and overseers of
the parish shall seize his rents, goods, and chattels, and
dispose of them towards their relief. By the interpreta¬
tions which the courts of law have put upon these statutes,
if a mother or grandmother marry again, and before such
second marriage had sufficient ability to keep the child,
the husband shall be charged to maintain it; for this
being a debt of his wife when single, shall, like others,
extend to the charge of the husband. But at her death,
the relation being dissolved, the husband is under no far¬
ther obligation. # .
No person is bound to provide a maintenance tor his
issue, unless where the children are impotent and unable
to work, either through infancy, disease, or accident; and
then he is only obliged to find them in necessaries, the
penalty on refusal being no more than twenty shillings a
month. For the policy of our laws, which are ever watch¬
ful to promote industry, did not mean to compel a father
to maintain his idle and lazy children in ease and indo¬
lence, but thought it unjust to oblige the parent, against
his will, to provide them with superfluities, and other in-
dul^encies of fortune; imagining they might trust to the
impulse of nature, if the children were deserving of such
favours. Yet, as nothing is so apt to stifle the calls of na¬
ture as religious bigotry, it is enacted, that it any Popish
parent shall refuse to allow his Protestant child a fitting
maintenance, with a view to compel him to change his reli¬
gion, the Lord Chancellor shall by order of court constrain
him to do what is just and reasonable. But this did not
extend to persons of another religion, of no less bitterness
and bigotry than the Popish; and therefore, in the very
next year, we find an instance of a Jew of immense riches,
whose only daughter having embraced Christianity, he
turned her out of doors ; and on her application for relief,
it was held that she was entitled to none. But this gave
occasion to another statute, which ordains, that if Jewish
parents refuse to allow their Protestant children a fitting
maintenance, suitable to the fortune of the patents, the
Lord Chancellor, on complaint, may make such order
therein as he shall see proper.
Our law has made no provision to prevent the disinhe¬
riting of children by will, leaving every man’s property in
his own disposal, upon a principle of liberty in this as well
as every other action, although perhaps it would not have
been amiss if the parent had been bound to leave them at
the least a necessary subsistence. Indeed, amongst per¬
sons of any rank or fortune, a competence is generally
provided for younger children, and the bulk of the estate
settled upon the eldest by the marriage articles. Heirs,
also, and children, are favourites of our courts of justice,
and cannot be disinherited by any dubious or ambiguous
wdrds ; there being required the utmost certainty of the
testator’s intentions to take away the right of an heir.
Parent.
PAR par 7]
rent. From the duty of maintenance we may easily pass to ful and designing persons ; and, next, of settling them pro- Parentalia
  'that of protection, which is also a natural duty, but rather perly in life, by preventing the evil consequences of too II
permitted than enjoined by any municipal laws; nature, early and precipitate marriages. A father has no otherParh®,ion-
in this respect, working so strongly as to need rather a power over his son’s estate than as his trustee or <TUar_
check than a spur. A parent may, by our laws, maintain dian; for although he may receive the profits during the
and uphold his children in their law-suits, without being child’s minority, yet he must account for them when the
guilty of the legal crime of maintaining quarrels. A pa- child comes of age. He may indeed have the benefit of his
rent may also justify an assault and battery in defence of children’s labour whilst they live with him and are main-
the persons of his children. Nay, where a man’s son was tained by him ; but this is no more than he is entitled to
beaten by another boy, and the father went near a mile to from his apprentices or servants. The legal power of a
find him, and there revenged his son’s quarrel by beating father (for a mother, as such, is entitled to no power, but
the other boy, of which beating he afterwards unfortunate- only to reverence and respect) over the persons of his
ly died, it was not held to be murder, but only manslaugh- children ceases at the age of twenty-one ; for they are
ter. Such indulgence does the law show to the frailty then enfranchised by arriving at years of discretion or
of human nature, and the workings of parental affection. that point which the law has established, when the empire
The last duty of parents to their children is that ofgiv- of the father or other guardian gives places to the empire
mg them an education suitable to their station in life ; a of reason. Yet till that age arrives the empire of the fa-
duty pointed out by reason, and one of the greatest im- ther continues even after his death, for he may by his will
portance. For it is not easy to imagine that a parent has appoint a guardian to his children. He may also delegate
conferred any considerable benefit upon his child by bring- part of his parental authority, during his life, to the tutor
mg him into the world, if he afterwards entirely neglect or schoolmaster of his child, who is then in loco parentis
his culture and education, and suffer him to grow up like and has such a portion of the power of the parent commit-
a mere beast, or to lead a life useless to others and shameful ted to his charge, namely, that of restraint and correction
to himself. Yet the municipal laws of most countries as may be necessary to answer the purposes for which he
seem to be defective in this point, by not constraining the is employed.
parent to bestow a proper education upon his children. PARENTALIA, in Antiquity, funeral obsequies, or the
Perhaps they thought it punishment enough to leave the last duties paid by children to their deceased parents
parent who neglects the instruction of his family to labour PARENTHESIS, in Grammar, means certain interca-
under those griefs and inconveniences which his family, lary words inserted in a discourse, which interrupt the sense
so uninstructed, will be sure to bring upon him. Our laws, but nevertheless seem necessary for the better understand-
though their defects in this particular cannot be denied, ing of the subject.
have in one instance made a wise provision for breeding PARGA, a town of Greece, situated on the coast of Al-
up the rising generation, since the poor and laborious part bania, fourteen miles from Cape Bianco, and ten from Paxos.
of the community, when past the age of nurture, are taken It is built on a conical rock about 250 feet above the level
out of the hands of their parents, by the statutes for ap- of the sea, which surrounds it on three sides, and, with a
prenticing poor children, and are placed out by the pub- fortress on the narrow neck which joins it to the main, forms
he in such a manner as may render their abilities, in their a strong post. The territory around extends two or three
several stations, of the greatest advantage to the common- miles in a circle, and till 1818 was inhabited by a popula-
wealth. The rich, indeed, are left at their own option tion of from 3000 to 4000 persons, who had cultivated the
whether they will breed up their children to be the orna- soil with equal care and success. They were mostly per-
ment or the disgrace of their family.. sons who had established themselves there in opposition
11. Ihe power of parents over their children is derived to Ali Pasha, who reigned absolute master of Albania, un-
from the former consideration, their duty; this authority der the nominal authority of the Grand Signior. These
being given them, partly to enable the parent more effec- people wished to place themselves under the protection of
tually to perform his duty, and partly as a recompense for the British government; but the terms upon which they
his care and trouble in the faithful discharge of it. Upon stood with Ali prevented an honourable acceptance of
this point the municipal laws of some nations have given their proposal. After some warlike demonstrations, which
a much larger authority to the parents than others. The were followed by negotiations, Ali agreed, on the place
ancient Roman laws gave the father a power of life and being given up to him, to pay the large sum of L.200,000
death over his children, upon the principle, that he who to the inhabitants, and give them permission to leave the
gave had also the power of taking away. But the rigour of territory. This most of them embraced, and were remov-
these laws was so softened by subsequent constitutions, that ed to the islands where British protection afforded them
we find a father banished by the Emperor Hadrian for security. Long. 20. 23. 30. E. Lat. 39. 16. 15. N.
killing his son, although he had committed a very heinous PARHELION, or Parhelium, formed from craga, near,
crime ; upon the maxim, that the patria potestas in pietate and ijAios, sun, in Natural Philosophy, a mock sun or meteor,
debet, non in atrocitate, consistere. But still they maintain - in the form of a very bright light, appearing on the one side
ed to the last a very large and absolute authority ; for a of the sun.
son could not acquire any property of his own during the Appearances of this kind have been mentioned both by
Ute ot his father; and all his acquisitions, or at least the the ancients and by the moderns. Aristotle observes, that
profits of them, belonged to the father during his life. in general they are seen only when the sun is near the ho-
Ihe power of a parent by the English law is much more rizon, though he takes notice of two which were observed
moderate, but is still sufficient to keep the child in order in the Bosphorus from morning to evening; and Pliny has
and obedience. He may lawfully correct his child, being related the occasions when such phenomena appeared at
under age, in a reasonable manner ; because this is for the Rome. Gassendi says, that in 1635 and 1636 he often saw
benefit of Ins education. The consent or concurrence of the one mock sun. Two were observed by M. de la Hire in
parent to the marriage of his child under age was also di- 1689, and the same number by Cassini in 1693, Mr Grey
reeled by our ancient law to be obtained; but it is now in 1700, and Ur Halley in 1702; but the most celebrated
a so utely necessary, for without it the contract is void, appearances of this kind were seen at Rome by Schemer,
nd this is also another means which the law has put into at Utrecht by Muschenbroeck, and at Sedan by Heve-
t e parent s hands, in order the better to discharge his du- lius. By the two former four mock suns were observed,
ty; first, of protecting his children from the snares of art- and by the latter seven.
72 PAR
Parhelion. Parhelia are apparently of the same size with the sun,
~v—though not always of the same brightness, nor even or the
same shape; and when a number appear at once, thei e is
in both these respects some difference amongst them. Ex¬
ternally they are tinged with colours like the rainbow, and
many have a long fiery tail opposite to the sun, but paler
towards the extremity. Parhelia are generally accompa¬
nied with coronas, some of which are tinged with rainbow
colours, but others are white. They differ in number and
size ; but all agree in point of breadth, which is that of
the apparent diameter of the sun
A very large white circle, parallel to the horizon, gene¬
rally passes through all the parhelia; and, if it were en¬
tire, it would run through the centre of the sun. Some¬
times there are arcs of lesser circles concentric to this,
touching those coloured circles which surround the sun.
They are also tinged with colours, and contain other par¬
helia. Other circles are said to have been seen obliquely
situated with respect to all those we have mentioned; but
of these we have met with no authentic account. The or¬
der of the colours in these circles is the same as in the
rainbow ; but on the inside, with respect to the sun, they
are red, as is also observed in many other coronas. 1 ar-
helia have been visible for one, two, three, and four hours
together; and in North America they are said to conti¬
nue several days, and to be visible from sunrise to sunset.
When the parhelia disappear, it sometimes rains, or
there falls snow in the form of oblong spiculae, as Maraldi,
Weidler, Krafft, and others, have observed ; and in fact
the air in North America abounds with such frozen spi-
culae, which are even visible to the eye. According to
Ellis and Middleton, such particles have been supposed to
be the cause of all coronas and parhelia.
Mr Ellis says, that at Churchill, in Hudson’s Bay, the
rising of the sun is always preceded by two long streams of
red light, one on each side of him, and about 20° distant
from him. These rise as the sun rises ; and as they grow
longer they begin to bend towards each other, till they meet
directly over the sun, just as he rises, forming there a kind
of parhelion or mock sun. These two streams of light, he
says, appear to have their source in two other parhelia,
which rise with the true sun ; and in the winter season,
when the sun never rises above the haze or fog which is
constantly found near the horizon, all these accompany
him during the day, and set with him in the same manner
as they rise. Once or twice Mr Ellis saw a fourth par¬
helion directly under the true sun; but this, it seems, is not
common. These facts being constant, are very valuable, and
may throw great light on the theory of such remarkable
phenomena.
Sometimes parhelia appear in a different manner; as
when three suns have been seen in the same vertical circle,
well defined, and touching one another. The true sun was
in the middle, the lowest touched the horizon, and they
set one after the other. This appearance was seen by M.
Maleziew in 1722, and others similar to it have been related
by M. Musschenbroeck.
' Sometimes the sun has been observed to rise or set with
a luminous tail projecting from him, of the same breadth
with his diameter, and perpendicular to the horizon. Such
an appearance was observed by Cassini in 1672 and 1692,
by De la Hire in 1702, and by Mr Ellis in Hudson’s Bay.
As M. Feuillee was walking on the banks of the river La
Plata, he saw the sun rising over the river with a luminous
tail projecting downwards, which continued till he had at¬
tained an altitude of six degrees.
Paraselense, or mock moons, have also been observed, ac¬
companied with tails and coloured circles, like those which
accompany the parhelia. An account ot several of these,
and in particular a description of a fine appearance of the
same kind, may be found in Musschenbroeck.
PAR
Various hypotheses have been framed by philosophers to
account for this phenomenon, more particularly by Mar- ^
riotte, Descartes, and Huygens. None of these, however,
seems satisfactory ; but those readers who wish to become
acquainted with them may consult Huygens’s Dissertation
on this subject, in Smith’s Optics (book i. chap, xi.), Muss-
chenbroeck’s Introduction (vol. xi. p. 1038, &c. 4to);
and Dr Priestley’s History of Vision, Light, and Colours
(vol. ii. p. 613, et seq.).
PARIA, a province of Bolivia, in South America, situ¬
ated in the department of Oruro. On the north and north¬
east it is bounded by the provinces of Pacajes and Oruro,
on the east and south-east by Porco, on the south-west by
Lipes, and on the west by Caranjas. This province is tra¬
versed by a rapid river called the Desaguadero, or Drain,
which is invariably represented in maps of Peru and Boli¬
via as flowing into the lake of TLiticaca, whilst the xeverse
is the fact. It issues from this celebrated sheet of water,
and, after flowing a considerable distance, its waters are
dissipated by spontaneous evaporation. The province of
Paria is situated in a mountainous tract of country, and be¬
ing very elevated, the temperature is consequently cold.
Like Oruro and other provinces in this region, it is a mining
district, and contains several mines of silver. There are
some lakes in the province, from which salt is extracted;
and also some hot springs. The lake of Paria is from three
to four leagues in length and two in width, and abounds
in excellent fish. Alcedo says that it has a whirlpool,
which sucks dowTn floating bodies, and finds a passage to
the sea under the cordillera, and through the shore, close
to the port of Iqueique. In 1748 its waters rose to an
immense height, a phenomenon which Alcedo attributes
to the stoppage of its subterranean passage; but this was
far more likely to arise from volcanic agency, so frequent
in this country, raising and depressing the land in various
directions. Farming operations are carried on in Paria,
but little grain is produced; the rearing of cattle, which
are plentiful, chiefly occupying the attention of the inha¬
bitants. The cheese made here of sheep’s milk is es¬
teemed a great delicacy, and is much sought after, .fhs
capital of the province, which bears the same name, is si¬
tuated 210 miles west-north-west of Chuquisaca, in 18°
50' south latitude, and 68° 20' west longitude. The popu¬
lation amounts to 50,000, of which number 37,000 are In¬
dians, and 13,000 Creoles.
Pari a, Gulf of, a gulf of South America, situated to the
north-west of the embouchure of the river Orinoco, and
having on the west the province of Cumana, and on the
east the large island of Trinidad. On Terra Firma, and
north-west from the mouths of the Orinoco, a peninsula or
neck of land projects towards the east, in the exact direction
of another but much smaller neck of land which juts out
from the north-western extremity of the island of Trini¬
dad. These projections approach within a few leagues of
each other, but the passage is interrupted by two or three
islands, which, from their relative position, form four open¬
ings called Boccas del Drago, or the Mouths of the Dragon.
Again, at the south-western extremity of Trinidad, a neck
of land advances in a westerly direction, towards a part of
the delta of the Orinoco, and approaches to within twelve
or fourteen miles of it. This passage is likewise interrupted
by islands, and is called the Serpent’s Mouth. Thus the
mainland embosoms an immense bay, whilst the island of
Trinidad, which lies at its mouth, forms also a bay, facing
the other, by its northern and southern extremities pro¬
jecting forwards. Both shores thus bend and mutually
approach each other, so as to form two comparatively nar¬
row entrances, by which the waters of the gulf communi¬
cate with those of the ocean. The Gulf of Paria, at its
widest part, that is, from the shores of Trinidad to those of
Colombia, is eighty-three miles across. In the other direc-
ParE
Parias
I!
IParinacO'
chas.
PAR
tion, from the Bocca on the south to the Boceas del Drago
on the north, it measures forty-three miles. In depth it
varies from eight to thirty fathoms ; but there is anchor-
^ age throughout its whole extent, though on the coast
of Paria its soundings are much less. On the south side
of the Serpent’s Mouth, which communicates with the
Atlantic Ocean, and receives in the rainy season the vast
flood of waters which pour as from an inland ocean through
the mouths of the Orinoco, a considerable current is found
setting into the gulf, which is thus reported to have its
waters raised four or five inches above their usual level.
The surface-water at this time, which is during the months
of July, August, and September, is also said to be fresh.
This is by no means an unlikely circumstance, arising from
the inferior specific gravity of fresh water as compared
with that of the sea ; and the surface of the gulf will also
continue a longer time partially fresh, from its being em¬
bayed on all sides by land, so as to shut out the swell and
agitation of the ocean, which would cause a more rapid com¬
mixture of the fresh and salt water. It was this current
which Columbus encountered, and which gave him so un¬
favourable an opinion of the Gulf of Paria, which he ac¬
cordingly called the Melancholy Gulf. It is of course
most violent during the rainy months; but a current gene¬
rally sets into the gulf through the Serpent’s Mouth to the
northward during the dry season; it is, however, partial and
unimportant. In the months of December, January, and
February the tide sets through the Dragon’s Mouth from
the northward, by which the current is occasionally over¬
powered. The water of the Gulf of Paria is generally of
a turbid and dull green cast, but in the interior it presents
everywhere a tranquil and glassy surface. The winds are
in general light, never increasing to more than a gentle
breeze, excepting in autumn, when a few transient squalls
disturb its serenity. It may indeed be regarded as a spa¬
cious harbour, affording secure anchorage in all its parts,
and perfectly free from gales, storms, and accidents; for
if vessels happen to get aground, the soft muddy bottom re¬
ceives them without injury. The nights are generally calm
and quiet, the principal annoyance to the mariner being the
want of wind ; so that coasting along the shores of the gulf
is extremely troublesome and tedious. Its waters abound
with various kinds of fish; and numerous flocks of terns
and pelicans may at all seasons be seen here and there,
busily employed in catching their prey. The western
shore of the gulf; which forms part of a province of Colom¬
bia formerly called Paria, is remarkable for its fertility
and beauty. Columbus spoke with rapture of this luxu¬
riant land, and in his enthusiasm he concluded that it
was the terrestrial paradise which had received the pro¬
genitor of the human race pure from his Creator’s hands,
(See the article Orinoco.) Fhe point of the peninsula,
which runs for a great many leagues into the sea opposite
the island of Trinidad, is called Point Paria, and is situated
in latitude 9. 12. north, and longitude 62. 1. west from
Greenwich. °
PARIAN Chronicle. See Arundelian Marbles.
t PARIAS, or Pariahs, a tribe of Hindus, so peculiarly
distinguished from all others, that they live by themselves
in the outskirts of towns; and, in the country, build their
houses apart from the villages, or rather have villages of
their own, furnished with wells. They dare not so much
as fetch water from those which other families make use
of; and, lest the latter should inadvertently go to one of
theirs, they are obliged to scatter the bones of dead cattle
about their wells, that they may be known. See Hindus¬
tan.
PARINACOCHAS, a province of Peru, in the depart¬
ment of Ayachucho. It has an elevated situation in that
part of the chain of the Andes which sweeps down in a
circular form towards Arequipa. The temperature there-
VOL. XVII.
PAR
73
fore is throughout cold, with the exception of some hollows Paris,
amongst the mountains, where it is comparatively mild; ’
and grain, herbs, and fruits, are produced in abundance.
The mountains abound in mines of silver and of gold. The
pasture of this province is plentiful, and of excellent qua¬
lity ; and numerous herds of cattle, and flocks of sheep and
goats, are reared in the plains and the valleys. In the more
elevated parts there are abundance of guanucas, or Peruvian
camels. The chief occupations of the inhabitants consist in
superintending their live stock, and manufacturing woollen
cloths. In this province there is a lake called Parinaco-
cha, seven leagues in length by about one in breadth, and
m which a white bird of the name of panuira breeds. This
name has been corrupted into Parina, and the word cocha
or lake being added, has given rise to the designation of
tie province. I he chief town is called Pausa, but it does
not appear to be a place of any importance. The popula¬
tion, about 12,000 souls, is dispersed in some thirty settle¬
ments. .
PARIS, the capital of France, is built on a plain wa¬
tered by the river Seine, which intersects the city, and is
situated in 48. 50. north latitude, and 2. 20. east longi¬
tude. °
The origin of Paris is enveloped in total obscurity. The Origin and
mention w e rind made of it is in the Commentaries history,
of Caesar, in whose time, about half a century before the
birth of Christ, it was the chief city of the Parish, one of
the numerous Celtic tribes by whom Gaul was at that time
inhabited. It was then entirely confined to the small island
in the Seine now called the Cite, or the He du Palais.
The houses which covered this small spot were, as Cresar
infbi ms us, of the most humble order, being composed
merely of mud, with straw roofs, and without chimneys.
W hen the Gauls, then newly and but partially subdued,
rose in general revolt against their Roman conquerors in
the yeai 53 before Christ, Labienus, one of the lieutenants
of Caesar, marched against the capital of the Parisii, then
called Lutetia, in the neighbourhood of which the revolted
tribes had assembled in great force. An obstinate conflict
ensued, and the 1 arisians fought with the fury of despair;
but their undisciplined valour was unable to withstand the
scientific tactics of the Roman legions. They were rout¬
ed with great slaughter; and the general, with all his chiefs,
and the greater part of his followers, were left amongst
the slain. This battle appears to have been fought about
four miles to the west of the He du Palais, but on which
bank of the river the brevity of Caesar’s narrative leaves
doubtful.
We find no further mention made of Paris till four
hundred years after the time of Caesar. The next no¬
tice of it is contained in the curious work of the Em¬
peror Julian, entitled Misopogon, in which he speaks of
having spent a winter in that town. This was in the
year 358. Julian describes Paris, which he calls his dear
Lutetia, as the little capital of the Parisii, and as situ¬
ated on a small island rising from the river, which sur¬
rounded it on every side. It was in Paris that Julian’s
soldiers, two years afterwards, forced him to assume the
imperial dignity, when the messengers arrived from Con-
stans in order to recall him from the government of
Gaul, which he then held. The Emperors Valentinian
and Valens also passed the winter of the year 365 in Pa¬
ris. Here the former issued many of his celebrated de¬
crees ; and Gratian, his son, lost, under its walls, a battle
against Maximus, which cost him his empire and his life.
In the year 486 this city passed from the dominion of
the Romans to that of the Franks; and early in the sub¬
sequent century it was established as the capital of that
people, who changed its name from Lutetia to Parisii or
Parisea. Christianity had already been introduced amongst
the Parisians by St Denis, about the year 250; and dur-
74
PARIS.
Paris.
ing the existence of the Merovingian race of princes, who
governed France fora period of above two centuries and
a half, numerous churches were erected, both within the
city of Paris, and on the ground to the north and south of
the river ; whilst the buildings on the He du Palais, which
still constituted all that was properly called Paris, were
now likewise surrounded by a wall. Ihe Merovingian
race of kings was supplanted, about the middle of the
eighth century, by Pepin, surnamed Le Bref, the father
of the celebrated Charlemagne. Under the Carlovingian
dynasty, the extension of Paris was greatly checked by
the disturbed state of the kingdom, and especially by the
predatory attacks of the Normans, who, between the years
845 and 885, ravaged or besieged the city no fewer than
four times. Few of the princes of the second dynasty re¬
sided at Paris, and under their feeble sway it became the
patrimony of one of the great barons, who thence assumed
the title of Count of Paris. Towards the close of the ninth
century, it was erected into a new fief under the name of
the Duchy of France ; and in the year 987, Hugh Capet,
who held this honour by inheritance from his ancestors, was,
on the death of Louis V., elected by the other nobles to
fill the vacant throne. Under the Capetian dynasty, Paris,
which had now become once more the capital of France,
and the principal residence of the monarch, extended itself
rapidly. The ancient privileges of the citizens were con¬
firmed, and many new immunities were granted them. Paris,
however, appears to have been without any regular muni¬
cipal government until the year 1060; but Philip I., soon
after his ascension to the throne, appointed a provost to
maintain that superintendence over the city which had
formerly been exercised by the Dukes of fiance. During
the reign of Philip's son, Louis le Gros, the schools of
Paris first acquired celebrity. For this they appear to
have been principally indebted to the celebrated Abelard,
whose lectures are said to have been at one time attended
by no fewer than three thousand scholars. At this period
many new churches were also erected; two fortresses
were built at the extremities of the bridges called Le
Grand and Le Petit Chatelet; and the suburbs of the city
were now for the first time enclosed by a wall. In the
reign of Louis VII., which extended from 1137 to 1180,
the5 first college properly so called was founded in Paris.
Various other schools and religious institutions, and seve¬
ral hospitals, were also established about this time.‘ But
it is to Philip Augustus, the son of Louis VII., that Paris
owes many of its chief ornaments. When that monarch
ascended the throne, most of the churches and other
public edifices were only of wood. He rebuilt many of
them of stone, and added several new ones of the same
material. He provided the different paits of the city with
public fountains, paved the streets, and completely sur¬
rounded the city and suburbs with a new wall. During
the reigns of Francis I. and his successor, additions were
made to the public buildings upon a most extensive and
magnificent scale, and the city increased with such rapi¬
dity that Henry II. deemed it necessary to restrain the
continued augmentation of his capital, by issuing an edict
prohibiting the erection of any more houses in the suburbs,
on pain of confiscation of the land and buildings. This
edict was repeated at different times by succeeding mo-
narchs, but apparently without any effect. Paris suffered
severely during the wars of the League, in consequence of
the hostile assaults and other calamities to which it was
exposed; and many of the public buildings and houses of
the nobility were laid in ruins. But these marks of civil con¬
tention were speedily effaced on the ascension to the tin one
of Henry IV., who was the first to embellish the city with
regular squares, decorated with the different orders of ar¬
chitecture. Several of the unaccomplished schemes of
this prince were carried into effect by his successor, Louis
Par
XIII.,. in whose reign the palace of the Luxembourg was ^
built by Maria de’ Medicis, and the Palais Royal by the
Cardinal de Richelieu, and the celebrated Jardin des Plantes
w’as laid out on the opposite side of the river, towards the
eastern extremity of the town. During the long reign of
Louis XIV. Paris was embellished by the erection of a
vast number of new and splendid buildings, both public
and private, and was extended in all directions. Ihe mag¬
nificent Hotel des Invalides was erected at the western
extremity of the Faubourg St Germain. Great additions
were also made to the royal palaces of the Louvre and the
Tuileries. The old ditches, from the standing water of
which putrid and noxious effluvia constantly arose, wrere
filled up; the ramparts were demolished, and the present
Boulevards formed in their place ; and. two triumphal
arches were substituted for the gates of St Martin and St
Denis. .
The reign of Louis XV. and his successor Louis AVI.
witnessed a considerable extension of Paris in various di¬
rections. Several of the adjacent villages weie joined to
it, and formed new faubourgs ; many improvements were
made in the interior of the city ; numerous schools, mar¬
kets, and places of public amusement, wrere also erected.
To the taste and energy of Napoleon, Paris owes many of
its most magnificent embellishments. Ihe improvements
which he added to it in the short space of twelve years
surpassed those of the three preceding reigns. These con¬
sisted of twenty-four new fountains, which served at once
to adorn and purify the streets; the public granaries in the
garden of the arsenal; the abatoirs, many new markets and
quays, four spacious cemeteries, and the Canal of the Ourcq;
besides the bridges of Arts, the City, Austerlitz, and Jena.
Several splendid new streets and public edifices may also
be mentioned amongst the works which were either com¬
menced or completed during his sway. I he fall of that ex¬
traordinary man interrupted for a time the embellishments
of Paris; but after the restoration, some works which had
long been projected or begun were after many interruptions
continued, and, now that they are finished, they may vie
with the most useful and splendid edifices of the capital.
Paris, as has been already stated, is built on a plain on Situat
both banks of the river Seine, which at this place flows in
a direction nearly from south-west to north-east. Ihe ri¬
ver, as it flows through the midst of the city," is interrupt¬
ed in its course by three small islands, the two most west¬
erly of which, the He de la Cite, and the He St Louis, are
covered with buildings. The third, called the He Lou-
vier, is used only as a depot for firewood. The parts of
the city on the opposite sides of the river are connected
with these islands and with each other by nineteen bridges,
several of which are distinguished by their elegance or
splendour, and add greatly to the beauty of the city.
Throughout its whole length within the barriers, the banks
of the Seine are skirted on both sides with spacious stone
quays, furnished with parapets, and forming two broad and
continuous streets between the water and the city. These
quays, thirty-four in number, not only improve greatly the
appearance of the river, but also furnish an impoitant
public accommodation. 4hey are decorated with vaiious
buildings, both public and private, and they form one of
the most pleasant walks in Paris.
Paris is nearly of a circular form. It consists of three Form
divisions; the Ville, situated on the north, the Universityexten
on the south, and the City in the centre. It stretches^
along the river about four miles and a half, and its bieadth
fronUhe barrier St Denis to the barrier St Jacques is about
three miles and a half. In the early part of the reign of
Louis XVI. it was surrounded by a wall about seventeen
miles in circumference, to prevent the introduction of con¬
traband goods; but as this wall encloses a considerable
space of ground which is uninhabited, and even under til-
PARIS.
Paris.
; treets.
touses.
ule-
-ds.
lage, the real extent of the city is very different from its
"''apparent magnitude.
The impression which the general appearance of this me¬
tropolis is calculated to make upon a stranger is not of the
most favourable kind. The streets in the more ancient
parts, and in the centre of the city, are crooked, narrow,
dark, and dirty. They are also extremely ill paved, and
tew of them even now possess any accommodation for foot
passengers. The causeway itself is often most rugged and
uneven, and is made to incline from both sides towards
the centre, in order to form a run for a constant stream of
black mire, there being no subterranean drains.
The general aspect of the French capital by night is sin¬
gularly gloomy, so that it is almost impossible for the pedes¬
trian to direct his steps aright. The lamps, instead of be¬
ing fixed on posts at the sides of the streets, are suspended
in the middle on ropes swung across, and having their op¬
posite ends fastened to the walls of the houses. It was these
ropes which the mob, in the first French Revolution, were
wont to make use of as halters for their victims, and hence
their well-known cry of d la lanterne, as they dragged them
along to execution. Gas has, however, long been intro¬
duced into the shops and public buildings, and the whole
city is expected in a short time to be lighted in the same
manner.
The houses, which are generally constructed of stone, are
often six or seven stories high. Their unusual height, the
massive thickness of the walls, and their lower windows,
which in many cases are strongly barricaded with iron, give
to them an air of gloom and precaution more suited to a
prison than a private dwelling. Like the buildings of the
Scottish metropolis, they are inhabited by a great variety
of families of all gradations of rank, from the nobleman,
who occupies the first floor, to the milkman or cobler, who
inhabits the garret. The whole of this motley communi¬
ty use the same magnificent staircase; and as the cleansing
of it is the duty of no particular individual, it is often suf¬
fered to remain for months without being profaned by the
mop or broom. Even when a hotel is inhabited bjr one
family only, it is not unusual to make the upper story the
receptacle for the hay and straw of the horses. Many of
the larger houses do not present a simple front to the
street, but only the side of one immense wing, or they are
completely concealed by a high wall, erected so as to inter¬
cept the view from the street. Adjoining houses often
form a complete contrast to each other in height, in work¬
manship, and in almost every other respect; and it not un-
frequently happens that a mansion of the humblest sort,
inhabited by the very meanest of the citizens, is situated
beside a splendid edifice, the residence of one of the most
opulent or most noble families of France.
To the general inelegance of the streets of Paris there
are, however, several remarkable exceptions. The Fau¬
bourg St Germain, in particular, contains some of the finest
streets in Europe. But perhaps the most spacious and ex¬
tensive street of the French metropolis is the celebrated
road called the Boulevards. The northern Boulevards are
twelve in number, the southern seven. They may be ge¬
nerally described as a road or street of great breadth,
along each side of which are planted double rows of elms.
I hose to the north of the river are lined on both sides,
ihroughout their whole extent, by buildings of the most
handsome description. Some of these are private re¬
sidences; others are shops, cafes, public hotels, and thea¬
tres. Ihese shady avenues present a striking picture of
rural beauty combined with artificial elegance and splen¬
dour. The magnificence of the buildings, the majestic
trees with which the place is adorned, the winding form
and great breadth of the street, and the gay and festive
crowds by whom it is frequented, give to the scene singu-
ar liveliness and brilliancy, and render the Boulevards one
75
Paris.
of the most interesting and splendid spectacles which any
modern city can exhibit.
According to MM. Berand and Dufey (Dictionnaire ffis-
torique de Paris), the streets of Paris, supposing all their
names counted, amounted, in 1828, to 1180, besides 120
cul-de-sacs, 158 passages, twenty-seven alleys, thirty-two
cross-ways, and seventy-four places or squares. There
wrnre also ten cloisters, twenty-twm courts, seven enclosures,
and forty-seven market-places. The town was lighted in
1830 by 4533 lamps, having 10,672 burners, exclusively of
482 lamps belonging to public establishments.
Ihe system of numbering the houses in Paris is much
more uniform and perfect than that in the British capital;
and there is a peculiarity in the manner which will often
prove a useful guide to the stranger. The numbers begin
with that part of the street which is nearest to the Seine,
or at the east end when the street is parallel wfith the
river. The even numbers are always arranged upon the
right, and the odd numbers on the left side," of the street.
Ihe numbers of the houses, and the names of the streets
winch are parallel with the course of the Seine, are painted
in led letters, but those which are perpendicular to the
Seine are in black.
It is universally allowed that Paris is superior to anyput)i;c
other European metropolis in the number and magnificence buildings,
of its public buildings. The palace of the Tuileries is of
comparatively modern date, and therefore possesses none
of those traditions of ancient feudal tyranny and magnifi¬
cence by which the palaces of European capitals are gene¬
rally distinguished. This edifice derives its name from hav¬
ing been erected on a piece of ground appropriated to the
manufacture of tiles. It was founded by the infamous Ca¬
therine de’ Medicis, when her former residence, the Palace
Tournelles, was destroyed by Charles IX. The land and
neighbouring houses were purchased by her at a considerable
expense, and the building was proceeding with great rapi¬
dity, when she became alarmed by an astrological predic¬
tion, which bade her beware of St Germain ; and the Tuil-
eiies being in the parish of St Germain 1’Auxerrois, the
completion of the sumptuous fabric was suddenly relin¬
quished. The palace was much enlarged by Henry IV.,
and the works, suspended by his death, were carried on and
terminated under Louis XIII. The architects Levau and
D’Orbay were employed by Louis XIV. to complete the
gallery, and to harmonize the discordant masses of this ex¬
tensive range of building, erected at different periods, and
exhibiting various orders of architecture, differing in height
and in ornament. Since then, few additions have "been made
to the original building of the Tuileries, but considerable
changes have taken place in others dependent upon them.
Ihe front now consists of five pavilions, comprising that in
the centre, with four ranges of buildings connecting them
together, and forming one grand fa9ade. The general ef¬
fect of the Tuileries is exceedingly imposing; more, how¬
ever, from its great length and varied outline, than from any
excellence of detail. The garden front is the best, and,
though heavy, and incongruous when analysed by archi¬
tectural taste, is unquestionably magnificent. The view of
the garden from the portico is unrivalled as a scene of ar¬
tificial beauty. Ihe eye ranges over an immense parterre,
bordered with orange trees, enriched with statues, diver¬
sified by fountains and shady groves, and crowded with a
pleasure-loving population. The view is continued across
the beautiful walks of the Elysian Fields for a distance of se¬
veral miles, and is terminated by the triumphal arch of the
Barriere de Neuilly, which crowns the summit of the hill.
The gardens of the Tuileries are the work of Lenotre, the
celebrated gardener of Louis XIV. They have always been
accounted the chief monuments of his genius ; and, indeed,
they are the finest specimens in the world of their pecu¬
liar style of disposition and embellishment. They are al-
76
PARIS.
Paris, ways open to the public, and are the most fashionable pro-
“—v''"''' menade of Paris, both in summer and in winter.
The palace of the Tuileries was the official residence of
Napoleon, and since his days it has remained the chief
abode of the reigning monarch.
On the side of the Seine, the celebrated gallery of the
Louvre connects that palace with the 1 uileries. Of the
more ancient palace, which was surrounded by ditches and
flanked by massive towers, there exist no remains. That
part of the edifice now known by the name of the Old
Louvre was begun under Francis I., but was first inhabit¬
ed by Charles IX., whose memory is associated with this
palace by the infamous deed of treachery and bloodthirsty
bigotry which is known by the name of the massacre of
St Bartholomew. The court of the Louvre forms a square
about 400 feet in extent. The buildings which surround
it, having been erected at different periods, vary materially
in their style of architecture and ornaments.
The principal faqade, commonly called the Colonnade
of the Louvre, was finished in 1670 under Louis XIV. by
the celebrated architect Claude Perrault, and is unques¬
tionably a magnificent monument of genius. The central
mass of the building, forming the gateway, is crowned by a
pediment, the sloping stones of which are each in a single
piece, fifty-two feet in length, and three feet in thickness.
The folding gates in the centre, constructed by order of
Napoleon, are of bronze, and are splendidly ornamented.
The general appearance of this important and interesting
edifice is indisputably grand and majestic ; but the narrow¬
ness of the open space in front, and the mean buildings
with which it is so immediately associated, weaken the im¬
pression which it is otherwise calculated to produce. Since
the reign of Louis XV. the Louvre has been devoted to the
reception of the various royal museums of the fine arts,
which constitute some of the principal and peculiar attrac¬
tions of the capital of France. It has occasionally been
used also for solemn purposes of state. During the impe¬
rial government, the palace of the Louvre was consider¬
ably repaired and embellished; and since the restoration
much has been done towards its completion. It still, how¬
ever, remains unfinished, in many places wanting windows,
and being for the most part destitute of interior ornaments.
The Palais Royal was built by the celebrated Cardinal
Richelieu, who, at his death, bequeathed it to Louis XIII.
In 1692, Louis XIV. gave it to his nephew Philip of Or¬
leans. At the time of the Revolution it was the residence
of the infamous Duke of Orleans, better known by the
name of Egalite, to whom it is indebted for much of its
present magnificence. Having exhausted his noble revenues
by a course of luxury and profligacy almost unparalleled, he
determined, in order to save himself from ruin, to convert
his splendid residence into an immense bazaar. The
beautiful arcades of the lower galleries were divided by
diminutive and ill-executed pilasters, and the garden was
surrounded by a row of little shops, which were speedily
let to the highest bidder. A few of the upper galleries
were appropriated to the lectures of various professors,
and to the meetings of litei'ary and scientific societies;
others were let to restaurateurs, but more were devoted to
the accommodation of the gambler and the sensualist, and
became the favourite haunt of every species of vice and
debauchery. The Palais Royal has been called, not with¬
out some reason, the capital of Paris. It is certainly en¬
tered both by inhabitants and strangers more frequently
than any other spot of equal dimensions in the city; and it
is the perpetual rendezvous of all the idle and worthless in
the capital. His present majesty, when Duke of Orleans,
resided in this palace (with the exception of the interval of
the “ hundred days’’) from 1814 till 1831, making some ad¬
ditions and improvements in various parts of the structure,
and fitting up the whole anew. At present it serves for
the accommodation of foreign princes during their resi- ^ Paris
dence in Paris.
The palace of the Luxembourg, one of the apartments
of which now forms the Chamber of Peers, is an edifice
remarkable for the beauty of its proportions, and for the
character of strength and solidity which it at the same
time possesses. It is a square building, with an ample por¬
tico in the centre. The front consists of two large pavi¬
lions, connected together by terraces, supported by open
galleries, in the centre of which rises an elegant cupola
surrounded with statues. Its interior contains a splendid
gallery of modern paintings.
The Palais d’Elysee Bourbon, an edifice remarkable for
its luxurious elegance, was the favourite residence of Na¬
poleon. It was to this palace that he returned after the
battle of Waterloo; and here was performed the closing
scene of the hurried drama of the “ hundred days.” After
the final departure of Napoleon it was inhabited by the
Duke of Wellington. It was afterwards the residence of
the Duke de Berri, and on his assassination it was ap¬
propriated to the Duke de Bordeaux. It now belongs to
the crown. The interesting associations connected with
this small palace render it one of the most valuable public
monuments of Paris.
Before the Revolution, Paris contained one hundred and Churcii
sixty Catholic churches or chapels. At present it does
not contain more than thirty-eight, namely, twelve parish
churches and twenty-six chapels of ease, thirty-five con¬
vents for women, and as many monastic seminaries. Six
chapels belong to different sects, viz. three to Calvinists,
one to those of the Augsburg Confession, one to the east¬
ern Christians, and one to the Jews.
The two most important churches which the French
capital exhibits are those of Notre Dame and the Pantheon
or church of St Genevieve. The cathedral of Notre Dame,
the mother-church of France, is a vast and magnificent
building of the Gothic order, and is the most ancient re¬
ligious edifice in Paris. It is 414 feet in length, 144 in
width, and 102 in height, without comprehending the space
allotted to forty-five chapels, and the astonishing thickness
of the walls. One hundred and twenty enormous columns,
which support this edifice, form a double colonnade extend¬
ing the whole length of the fabric ; and 297 columns, each
cut from a single block, are distributed in various parts of
the building. This magnificent structure is so old that
the precise date of its original foundation is unknown ; and
its massy and venerable appearance presents a striking con¬
trast to the modern buildings with which the city is filled.
The Pantheon, or church of St Genevieve, is perhaps
the most magnificent of the modern edifices in Paris. The
plan of the building is a Greek cross, forming naves which
unite in a centre, surmounted by a dome of vast dimensions,
which, being the highest object in Paris, is visible from
any part of the city. The west portico bears some resem¬
blance to the Pantheon at Rome, and is composed of twen¬
ty-two fluted Corinthian columns sixty feet in height and
six in diameter, which support a triangular pediment a
hundred and twenty feet in breadth by twenty-four in
height. The pediment is now receiving some sculptures by
David; and, on the frize beneath it, is the following in¬
scription, in reference to the vaults beneath the church be¬
ing used as a place of sepulture for illustrious characters:
Aux grands hommes la patrie reconnaissante.
Amongst the distinguished personages interred here are
Voltaire, Rousseau, the mathematician Lagrange, Bou¬
gainville the navigator, Marshal Lannes, and the Dutch
admiral De Winter. Of the other churches of Paris, those
of St Sulpice, St Eustache, and St Roche, are the only
ones which deserve to be particularly noticed for their size
and elegance.
PARIS.
Paris. The clergy of Paris are composed of one archbishop, two
■ —vicars-general appointed by the king, and nine others;
three secretaries, one penitentiary, three metropolitan offi¬
cials, four diocesan officials, and sixteen canons of Notre
Dame, the first of whom is archdeacon ; thirty-four hono¬
rary canons, two masters of the choristers, five superin¬
tendents of the edifice of Notre Dame, and three superiors
of seminaries. To these must be added the curates and
officiating ministers of the churches of Paris, of whom
there is one to each church. The number of vicars is not
accurately known, and there is also an indefinite number of
almoners of hospitals, convents, and other establishments.
The total number of the Catholic clergy in France is
about 41,298, including four cardinals, fourteen archbi¬
shops, and sixty-six bishops. To these maybe added 10,904
theological students intended for the priesthood. The num¬
ber of convents for nuns of different orders is about 3000,
and the number of nuns about 24,000. There are also in
France a few establishments of monksof LaTrappe,andone
of Carthusians or Chartreux. Of the ministers of other reli¬
gious denominations there are, Lutherans, 388; reformists
of the Confession of Augsburg, 345 ; Jews, eight; and of
other denominations, eighty-six. The total expense to the
state, of all religions, is 34,289,000 francs, or L. 1,371,560.
At the time of the Revolution the total number of eccle¬
siastics was 114,000, including 19,000 regular clergy, and
32,000 nuns of all orders. Their annual revenue amount¬
ed to seventy-two millions of francs, and the tithe to se¬
venty millions, giving a total of 142 millions, or L.5,680,000
sterling.
emete- The Parisians formerly buried their dead in the Roman
es. fashion, without the city walls, along the sides of the high
roads. But the increase of the population rendering it ne¬
cessary to extend the bounds of the city, the cemeteries
became in the process of time enclosed within the walls,
and at length were almost in the heart of the town. They
were so few in number, and so confined in space, that the
inhabitants were thereby compelled to adopt a mode of bu¬
rial altogether revolting to decency and humanity. Vast
trenches were opened, into which corpse after corpse was
deposited, until the putrid heap nearly reached the surface
of the ground. The earth was then thrown over them, and
similar trenches dug close by their side. As might have
been expected, the neighbourhood of these cemeteries be¬
came proverbially the seat of every pestilential disease, till
at length government interfered and prohibited all burials
within the city, and ordered three cemeteries to be enclosed
for the use of Paris, at a distance of about one mile from the
walls. The cemeteries of Paris are now five in number.
They are laid out in a picturesque style ; the monuments
are often in good taste, and the inscriptions are interest¬
ing. The cemetery of Pere la Chaise, in particular, is one
of the most beautiful as well as interesting sights of Paris.
The advantageous situation of this spot upon the slope of a
hill, surrounded by luxuriant valleys and rising grounds, and
commanding an extensive view of a picturesque and glow¬
ing landscape, has occasioned its being chosen by the most
distinguished personages as the place of their interment;
and hence no Parisian cemetery can vie with that of Pere
la Chaise in the number and beauty of its monuments,
tllacombs. 1784, the council of state issued a decree for clear¬
ing the cemetery of the Innocents, and for removing its
contents, as well as those of other cemeteries, and convert¬
ing their sites into squares or market-places. The bones
being separated, and carefully cleaned, were piled in some
of the immense galleries of the quarries by which a great
part of the city is undermined ; and the name of the Cata¬
combs was given to this new receptacle of the dead, in imi¬
tation of similar excavations appropriated to the same pur¬
pose in Rome, in Milan, in Naples, and in ancient Thebes.
The calculations differ as to the number of bones collected
77
in this vast charnel-house. It is certain, however, that it Paris,
contains the remains of at least three millions of human's—'V——'
beings.
The metropolis of France is extremely rich in literary Literary
and scientific institutions, not a few of which have obtained insthu*
great celebrity. The National Institute or Royal Society^ons’
is the most distinguished of these learned societies. The
great reputation of this institution, and the obligations which
it has conferred both on French and European science and
literature, are universally acknowledged. It was establish¬
ed during the reign of Louis XIV. and is composed of the
most distinguished philosophers, literary characters, and
artists of France, and maintains a correspondence with the
learned of every nation. It is divided into four classes,
which may be considered as forming so many distinct so¬
cieties. Each class has its separate meetings, but four
times in every year the whole society assembles, and a
general report is made of the labours and progress of the
institution. The first division is devoted to natural philo¬
sophy, chemistry, and mathematics; the second to French
literature and the French language ; the third to history
and ancient literature; and the fourth to the fine arts.
The public meetings of the National Institute are held in
a very extensive and magnificent apartment, adorned with
marble statues of the most celebrated persons whom
France has produced. The society of the Bureau des
Longitudes is engaged in constant astronomical observa¬
tions at the Observatory and in the Military School; and
for this purpose it has at its disposal all the astronomical
instruments belonging to government. It corresponds with
the other observatories of France, and with those of foreign
countries, and suggests to the government where it is de¬
sirable to establish observatories.
The University of France is indebted for its origin to Semina-
the illustrious Charlemagne, and has for centuries beennes*
celebrated throughout Europe. It was suppressed in 1792,
but afterwards re-established on a more extensive and li¬
beral plan. The superintendence of the business of edu¬
cation throughout France is now intrusted to a council,
under the Minister of Public Instruction, and no school
or place of instruction can be established without their
permission. The university possesses a library, which is
placed at the Sorbonne, and special funds are provided for
granting pensions to superannuated and infirm teachers.
There are many other establishments in Paris of a similar
description. Of these, perhaps, the most celebrated is the
Royal College of France, in which there are twenty-three
professors who give public and gratuitous lectures in every
department of science and literature. In addition to the
colleges, there are a great number of schools for special
purposes founded in Paris, mostly by the government. At
the head of these stands the Polytechnic School. The ob¬
ject of this most useful and justly celebrated institution is
to diffuse the knowledge of the mathematical, physical, and
chemical sciences, and to form pupils for the artillery, en¬
gineering, and other departments, into which no officer can
be admitted who has not been educated in this school.
The most distinguished masters in every branch of science
are employed by the government. Every year a certain
number of scholars are admitted, after undergoing the most
rigorous examination in the classics, the mathematics, me¬
chanics, and drawing. The number of pupilsamount to three
hundred. The period usually allowed for study is two years,
but in certain cases it is extended to three. The school pos¬
sesses an excellent philosophical and chemical apparatus,
and a well-selected library, consisting of 24,000 volumes.
The pupils of this establishment took a prominent part in
the Revolution of 1830. In the School of Bridges and
Roads, eighty pupils selected from the Polytechnic School
are taught every branch of science connected with the con¬
struction of bridges, canals, harbours, roads, and public
PARIS.
78
Paris, edifices. The museum contains a noble collection of plans,
charts, and models. There is also an academy, termed
the School of the Fine Arts, appropriated to the teaching
of painting, sculpture, and architecture, in which lectures
are given gratuitously, on every subject connected with the
fine arts, by twenty professors. Besides, Paris possesses
several great public schools devoted to elementary instruc¬
tion ; and every year is bringing improvements to this
most important branch of national education. There are
also many private academies; and, altogether, the institu¬
tions appropriated to the instruction of youth in the French
Capital are in a most, flourishing condition.
Libraries. Extensive and valuable collections of books are attached
to'almost every public institution and every public building
in Paris. The most splendid of these collections is the Royal
Library, which is justly considered as the largest and most
valuable in Europe. It contains no fewer than 900,000
books and printed pamphlets, 80,000manuscripts, 1,600,000
engravings, 300,000 maps and plans, and a most valuable
collection of medals and antiquities. With a liberality
highly honourable to the French character, people of every
class and rank, as well as strangers from any quarter of the
globe, are allowed access to it, and every necessary accom¬
modation is provided for their use. Of the other libraries,
which are extremely numerous, those of the arsenal, the
Pantheon, and the Institute, are the largest and most im¬
portant, and the greater part of them are open both to the
Parisians and to strangers. (See the article Libraries,
vol. xiii. p. 285.)
Museums. ^ Ile collections of works of art, and of subjects connect¬
ed with natural history, with which Paris abounds, ought
not to be passed over in silence. The Museum of the
Louvre, during the sway of Napoleon, was the boast of Pa¬
ris, and contained almost every celebrated work of art that
could be procured on the continent of Europe. On the
downfall of this extraordinary man, a portion of these trea¬
sures were restored to their rightful owners; but the col¬
lection, even as it now stands, is unrivalled. The walls
of the Louvre are still covered with a fine collection of
pictures and statues from the Luxembourg, Versailles,
and other royal residences, and partly from private collec¬
tions. The paintings also which adorned the numerous
churches destroyed during the frenzy of the Revolution
have found an asylum in this interesting and valuable mu¬
seum. The great gallery of paintings is a most magnificent
apartment, 1400 feet in length, and contains upwards of
1400 pictures of the most eminent masters of every school.
Few museums are more interesting, instructive, or va¬
luable, than the Conservatory of Arts and Trades, an im¬
mense repository of machines, models, and drawings, for
the improvement of machinery and implements connected
with manufactures, agriculture, and other branches of in-
dustry. It is a collection peculiar and highly creditable to
the metropolis of France, and has undoubtedly been pro¬
ductive of the most beneficial effects in diffusing an exten¬
sive knowledge of mechanics, and a skilful adaptation of
the simplest instruments to the most complicated purposes.
The Museum of Artillery is a repository of every kind of
warlike instrument. It likewise contains a valuable col¬
lection of the different kinds of armour used in every pe¬
riod of French history. The Museum of Natural History
in the Jardin des Plantes stands at the head of all insti¬
tutions of the kind, not only in France, but in the world.
The name of Jardin des Plantes expresses very inadequate¬
ly the real nature of the institution; for, in addition to
a noble botanic garden, it contains a large menagerie, a
museum of natural history and anatomy, and numerous
halls in which public lectures are delivered on every branch
of natural history and philosophy. This garden was found- ^ ^ari'
ed by Jean de la Brosse, physician to Louis XIII.; but it
is principally indebted for its present beauty and value to
the assiduous labours of Buffon. From the commencement
of the Revolution until the time of Napoleon, the institu¬
tion was greatly neglected and abused for want of funds.
But on his arriving at the head of affairs a new impulse
was given to the establishment, and the only temporary
check which it received was on the occupation of Paris by
the allies, when a body of Prussians were about to take up
their quarters in the garden; but the spirited remonstrances
of the celebrated traveller Humboldt obtained a safeguard
for the museum, and an exemption from all military requi¬
sitions. There was great reason to fear that the museum
would be deprived of some of the valuable parts of its con¬
tents, by the restitution of the treasures which had been
plundered from neighbouring countries. In fact, the magni¬
ficent cabinet of the stadtholder was reclaimed; but it was
afterwards agreed that an equivalent should be furnished
from the duplicates of the museum. An arrangement
equally friendly and equitable was effected respecting the
minerals and zoological specimens which had been taken
from the Austrian dominions in Italy. Since that time
the support of this museum has been munificently provid¬
ed for by the state, and its condition was never so flourish¬
ing as at the present moment. Its collections of every kind
are equally valuable and rare. The garden and the mena¬
gerie contain specimens of almost every living production
of the animal or the vegetable kingdom, arranged with great
taste and skill. For the cabinet of comparative anatomy,
incomparably the richest in existence, the museum is in¬
debted to the unwearied exertions ofBaron Cuvier, by whom
it was arranged, and under whose direction most of the
objects were prepared. The cabinet of natural history is
equally precious, and still more complete. In the zoological
and fossil departments it is unrivalled ; and one of the halls
contains some interesting specimens of the animal remains
of the antediluvian world, with the skeletons of numerous
animals now unknown or extinct. There are various other
institutions of a similar kind in Paris, of which the Royal
Museum at the Luxembourg, and the Cabinets of Minera¬
logy and Anatomy, are the most extensive and celebrated.
Of the public monuments the greatest is the column in Monu-
the Place Vendome, erected under the superintendence of meats.
Denon, in commemoration of the campaign of 1805, upon
the model of Trajan’s Pillar at Rome. It is 134 feet high
by twelve feet in diameter, formed of the metal of 425
brass cannon taken from the Austrians and Prussians in
that campaign. It was originally surmounted by the statue
of Napoleon, which was removed in 1814, and replaced in
1831. The triumphal arch in the Place du Carousel, built
on the plan of that of Septimius Severus at Rome, is not
inferior to its celebrated original. In 1806 a triumphal arch
of surpassing magnitude was commenced at the extremity
of the principal avenue of the Champs Elysees ; but after
it had attained a considerable elevation it was stopped by
the reverses of the Russian campaign. Our limited space
forbids our describing other monuments highly deserving
of notice, such as the gate of St Denis, the gate of St
Martin, the equestrian statue of Henry IV., the obelisk
on the heights of Chaillot, &c.
The hospitals and charitable institutions of Paris areHospit;
remarkably numerous and extensive. They are support¬
ed and maintained by government, and are under the di¬
rection of a general council and an administrative com¬
mittee, consisting of some of the most distinguished func¬
tionaries of the state, the principal magistrates, and others
remarkable for their talents and philanthropy.1 According
1 The name of Hospitals is generally appropriated to the establishments for the sick, and that of Hospices to those in which chil¬
dren and the aged and infirm are received.
PARIS.
79
Paris, to the report published by the prefect of the department
1834, the hospitals, thirteen in number, contained 5337
beds, and the hospices, eleven in number, 11,740 beds,
giving a total of 17,077 beds. The number of patients in
the hospitals on the 1st of January 1833 was 4170, in the
hospices 9567; and the number admitted during the year
was, in the former 61,765, in the latter 3190 ; giving a total
in hospitals and hospices for 1833 of 78,692. On the first
of January of the same year, there were supported by the
hospices 17,433 foundlings and orphans ; and to these were
added during the year 5693 foundlings, whilst 1760 chil¬
dren were placed out gratuitously to nurse, and 68,986 per¬
sons were relieved at home by the Bureau de Bienfaisance ;
thus giving a general total of persons supported and as¬
sisted by public charity during that year, of 172,564. The
proportion of the number of indigent persons in Paris to
that of the whole population is as one to eleven ; and the
number of the indigent families relieved was 31,723. Ac-
Paris.
naparte, commanded them to be burned, that they might
not fall into the hands of the enemy.
The Hotel Dieu, which is the oldest hospital in Paris,
is unfortunately situated in the most populous part of the
city. It was formerly very crowded and inconvenient, but
has received great improvements since the Revolution. It
comprises at present twelve wards for men and eleven for
women, containing altogether 1260 beds. There are many
other institutions in Paris of a charitable and benevolent
nature, which are all conducted on the most liberal prin¬
ciples, and of late years they have undergone very consi¬
derable improvements.
Ihere is also an excellent institution called the Caisse Savings’
d’Epergne et de Prevoyance, intended as a kind of sav-Bank.
ings’ bank, which deserves to be noticed for the import¬
ant benefits it has conferred upon the industrious classes.
I he administration is gratuitous, being defrayed out of
money with which it was endowed by the original founder.
cording to the same account, the total expenditure, in <Heposits of from one to fifty francs are received, and four
1833, of the hospitals and charitable institutions dependent per cent, compound interest is allowed on them. Not more
on them was 10,186,388 fiancs. Jhe mean time of a pa- than 2000 francs can be kept by any individual in this
tient s lemaining in the hospital was twenty-three days, bank, and the whole or part of the deposits may be with-
and the average cost of each patient was thirty-eight francs, drawn on giving five days’ notice. The total amount of
The number of deaths in the hospitals was 5886, giving a money paid into the establishment during the year 1835
mean mortality of one in eleven. In the hospices, the cost was 24,085,174 francs, divided amongst "l50,000 deposi-
of each patient per day was eighteen sous, the number of tors. It is gratifying to learn, that the importance and uti-
deaths 1548, and the mean mortality about one in six. lity of this most benevolent institution are extendin'1, every
The number of the foundlings was 23,126, and the cost of year.
supporting each was seventy-four francs. I here is aboard Ihe Minister of Justice is the supreme head of all the Courts,
of medical men, called the Bureau Central d’Admission, courts in the kingdom, and keeper of the seals. To him
established for the inspection of persons desiring to be ad- belongs the organization and superintendence of the whole
mitted into the hospitals^when the case is not one of ur- judicial system, and of the body of notaries,
gency. The particular hospital is indicated by this board Ihe courts of justice in France are now comprehended
to the patient, according to the nature of the complaint; under three grand divisions, viz. the Tribunaux de Pre-
and no one can be admitted into any without an order miere Instance, the Cours Royales, and the Cour de Cas-
from its members. . ... sation. There are, besides, several special courts, such as
At the head of the charitable institutions of Paris stands the Iribunaux de Commerce, the Cour de Comptes, and
the Hotel des Invalides. This magnificent edifice, which the Gfficialites or Ecclesiastical Courts,
has been termed the Chelsea Hospital of France, was erect- The Cour de Cassation, which is held in the Palais de
ed by Louis XIV. for the reception and maintenance of Justice, is the supreme court of appeal from all the tribu-
disabled and suneianniiat.pd snldipr«_ Ihe buildings are nals of .trance. It can alter the decisions or judgments
of any court or tribunal, and there is no appeal from its
decrees. It can censure the royal courts, summon the
judges to render an account of their conduct, and even
suspend them from the exercise of their functions. The
Court of Cassation is composed of a president, three vice¬
disabled and superannuated soldiers,
very extensive, and, with the adjoining grounds, which
are tastefully adorned with long alleys of trees, cover a
space of nearly seventeen acres.
This excellent institution is under the direction of the
minister of war. The governor is a marshal of France ; and
under him there are a lieutenant-general, commandant of presidents, and forty-five councillors, nominated for life by
the hotel, and a colonel called colonel-major, ihe establish- the king, and is divided into three sections, called sections
ment is capable of containing 7000 persons, but at present of requests, and of civil and criminal cassation,
there are not above 3500 in it; and even this number is The Cour des Comptes, or Court of Exchequer, is the
likely to be considerably diminished, in consequence of court next in rank to that of Cassation, and enjoys the
the long continuance of peace. Skilful physicians are at- same prerogatives. It takes cognizance of all matters re-
tached to it, and the Sisters of Charity nurse the sick with
the greatest care. These old warriors find in this asylum
abundant and wholesome food, every attention to their
infirmities and wounds, and pay proportioned to the rank
they held in the army. The officers and privates have se¬
parate refectories, and those above the rank of captain
dine in their own rooms. They all wear the same uniform,
and whenever the king comes within their walls they have
the exclusive privilege of guarding his person. Their only
duty is to mount guard at the hotel and its dependencies.
The interior was embellished by cannon taken at various
periods by the armies of France. A considerable number
of banners are ranged along both sides of the nave of the
church. They are mostly Spanish and Portuguese; but
amongst them there is a large collection of Algerine stand¬
ards, all won on the field of battle. In the time of Napo¬
leon nearly 3000 flags filled the nave; but on the evening
before the entry of the allied armies into Paris in 1814, the
Duke de Feltre, minister of war, by order of Joseph Bo-
lating to the revenue, and examines all the principal ac¬
counts of the kingdom. For the despatch of business it
is divided into three sections or chambers, each of which
has a president and six conseillers-maitres.
The Cour Royale consists of a president, five vice-pre¬
sidents, and numerous other officers. It is divided into five
chambers; three for civil actions, one for appeals from the
correctional police, and another for accusations or indict¬
ments.
The Tribunal de Premiere Instance is divided into eight
chambers ; five for civil affairs, and the others for affairs of
the correctional police, and all offences relative to the cus¬
toms, indirect taxes, excise, &c.
The judges of the Tribunal of Commerce are respect¬
able merchants, principally heads of ancient houses, who
are nominated in a general assembly of merchants, subject
to the approbation of the king.
The order of advocates is very numerous, and justly ce¬
lebrated for their talent and learning. They have a bureau
80
PARIS.
Paris.
Municipal
govern¬
ment and
police.
Prisons.
Trade and
manufac¬
tures.
for gratuitous advice to the poor, at their library in the
Palais de Justice.
The number of notaries in Paris who exercise their pro¬
fession within the jurisdiction of the Royal Court is 114.
They give security to the government, and on their re¬
tirement or death their places are sold.
The chief officer of the municipality of Paris is the pre¬
fect of the Seine, who may be said to exercise the func¬
tions both of what we should call lord-lieutenant of the
county or department, and of mayor of the city. Under
him is a council of prefecture, composed of five members,
and also a secretary-general. The council-general of the
department consists of forty-four members, three of whom
are elected by each arrondissement of Paris, and four by
each rural arrondissement. Each of the twelve arrondisse-
ments into which the city is divided has its particular mu¬
nicipality, presided over by a mayor and a justice of the
peace, and four commissaries of police, one for each of its
quarters. Besides the prefect of the department, who re¬
sides at the Hotel de Ville, there is also the prefect of po¬
lice, whose residence is in the He de la Cite, and who ex¬
ercises his authority in subordination to the minister of the
interior. The police of Paris has been brought to a state
of great perfection, and such is the immense number of
clerks, officers, and spies employed, and so strict is the
system of espionage, that they possess the most minute in¬
formation respecting the character and pursuits of every
suspected person ; indeed their secret agents, chosen from
all classes of society, and paid accordingly, are to be found
in almost every public assembly. The prisons of Paris were
at one time as wretched in their accommodations, and as
unhealthy, as those of any city in Europe. Immediately
before the Revolution, considerable progi-ess was made in
improving Them; but in 1795, the National Convention
ordered a report to be drawn up respecting the state of
the prisons; and in the following year a criminal and pe¬
nal code was formed, which fixed with greater precision
the competency of the different tribunals, and separate
prisons were appointed for the different classes of offend¬
ers. The changes effected in the criminal legislation since
the Revolution have necessarily produced a great improve¬
ment in the prison regulations ; and the new buildings
lately erected for such purposes promise to produce the
most beneficial results, not only to the prisoners, but also
to the community at large. The prisons existing in Paris
are now eight in number, and the persons confined in
them are divided into the following classes; those under
accusation, debt, or political offenders, and offenders liable
to only one year’s imprisonment; persons under trial, per¬
sons condemned to hard labour, juvenile criminals, and fe¬
males ; all of which are under the jurisdiction of the pre¬
fect of police. Besides, there are three military prisons,
under the jurisdiction of the minister of war.
Commerce and manufactures have by no means attain¬
ed that degree of prosperity which we might be led to ex¬
pect from the size, population, and facilities of the city.
The staple manufactures of the French capital consist chief¬
ly of articles of taste, and all kinds of fancy works, such
as jewellery, watches, artificial flowers, toys, and the like.
There are no authentic returns published of the produce
of the different manufactures of Paris, calculated to the
present day. An immense increase has, however, taken
place within the last ten years, and is still proceeding very
rapidly. The prefect of the department, in his report of
1834, estimates the manufactures of Paris exported to fo¬
reign countries at eighty millions of francs annually, and
those for the consumption of the departments at the same
amount. Of the manufacturing establishments of Paris,
two belong to the government; namely, those for tapestry
and carpets, and for snuff. The first of these, known by
the name of the Gobelins, from a dyer who instituted it
about the middle of the sixteenth century, manufactures Pi
that beautiful tapestry, the reputation of which has spread''-—
over all Europe. The principal subjects on which the
looms are employed are copies of the most celebrated
pictures of the French and Italian schools; for brilliancy
of colour, fidelity of outline, and delicacy of execution,
their productions are often little inferior to the most
masterly touches of the pencil. Of the other manufac¬
tures of the capital, paper-hangings, leather, jewellery,
chemical products, gas, fine hardware, fans, &c. give occu¬
pation to a vast number of persons, and yield considerable
profits. Printing, engraving, and the preparation of all
substances and materials connected with the fine arts,
form very extensive branches of trade.
As every thing which enters Paris must be introduced
by the Barriers, where duties are levied upon almost all
descriptions of necessaries as well as luxuries, the quanti¬
ties of the different articles of consumption used by the
population every year are ascertained with extraordinary
exactness. The following is a table of the consumption
of the town of Paris during the year 1834, extracted from
the Annuaire du Bureau des Longitudes.
Wine  877,769 hectolitres.
Brand';.::'.:.:...: ss,™ ...
Cider and perry 16,390 ...
Vinegar 19,275 ...
Beer 120,552 ...
(}rapes 1,569,356 kilogrammes.
Oxen 72,474 head.
Cows 14,175
Calves 70,739 ...
Sheep 364,409
Pigs 85,336 ...
Pies, preserved meats, &c... 1,122,466 kilogrammes.
Meat, coarse 2,553,422
Sausages, hams, salt pork, &c. 643,495 ...
Offal ....1,062,873 ...
Cheese, dry 1,150,187 ...
Sea-fish      4,229,388 francs.
Oysters 1,118,971
Fresh-water fish  307,949 ...
Poultry and game 7,728,041 ...
Butter 10,301,762 ,..
Eggs     .....4,441,384 ...
The ordinary consumption of Paris in grain and flour is
estimated at 158 sacks, each weighing 139 kilogrammes,
daily, or 91,695,300 kilogrammes annually. The price
of the loaf of household bread, of four pounds weight, va¬
ries from eleven to twelve sous. The annual consumption
of potatoes in Paris is nearly 325,000 kilogrammes, or
about 650,000 pounds. More than twenty cart loads of
water-cresses are brought into Paris daily, each of which
produces 300 francs, thus giving a daily consumption of
6000 francs for this article alone.
Indirect taxes produce on an average nineteen millions Taxes,
a year. The post-office collects annually in Paris alone
about four millions and a quarter. The direct taxes amount¬
ed, in the year 1815, to about twenty-two millions; but at
present they amount to twenty-eight millions. The reve¬
nues of the city of Paris for the year 1835 were 44,436,797
francs, and the expenditure for the same year was about
41,087,091 francs. During the year 1835 the sum of
6,286,000 francs was devoted by the municipality to the
embellishment of the town; a similar sum of 6,615,000
francs was allotted to the same purpose for the year 1836;
and the budget of the town for the year 1835 was ex¬
pected to give a clear excess of 4,782,004 francs, to be
devoted to improvements and embellishments. The total
territorial revenue of the Seine, in 1835, amounted to about
54,418,000 francs. The produce of the octroi duties has
PARIS.
Paris 
Saint-Denis,
Sceaux 
Total.
1789.
524,186
5,330
1,000
1801.
546,856
4,425
1,404
530,516 552,685
1811.
622,636
6.500
1.500
630,636
1821.
713,966
8,236
1,349
723,551
1831.
774,338
9,686
1,459
785,483
1836.
909,126
9,352
1,670
920,148
The above numbers are exclusive of strangers and troops,
which are never comprehended in these returns.
In the department of the Seine the numbers in 1836
were 1,106,891.
Paris 
Saint Denis.
Sceaux 
Men.
Children
and
Unmarried.
268,933
28,026
25,904
Married
Men.
174,080
23,804
17,967
Widowers.
16,513
2,419
1,739
Total.
459,526
54,249
45,610
Women.
Children
and
Unmarried.
223,080
26,244
19,670
Married
Women.
172,895
. 23,672
17,863
Widows.
Total.
53,625
5,892
4,565
449,600
55,808
42,098
All ranks of the^ inhabitants are distinguished by gay
and agreeable dispositions, and great civility of manners.
The polished character of Parisian society throws a veil
of external decency over the more disgusting features
of immorality. The eyes and the ears are not offended,
as in London or Edinburgh, with the rudeness and black¬
guardism of vice; but the statistics of Paris indicate that,
under the thin covering of superficial decency and civili¬
ty, there lies a deep substratum of criminality and corrup¬
tion.
The number of suicides in Paris is very great; on the
other hand, the executions are few. These were, in
1827. 1828. 1829. 1830. 1831. 1832. 1833. 1834. 1835.
Suicides...261 279 307 269 359 369 325 360 394
Executions...3 1611 1204
being an average of suicides of rather more than 346 for
the last six years ; whilst the capital punishments for the
same period are on an average one and a half annually.
The laws for licensing and regulating female licentious¬
ness, so far from checking the progress of corruption,
seem rather to foster it. Every prostitute* is compelled
to take out a license at the proper bureau, for which she
pays a stipulated sum. Her name, her age, and her abode,
are entered in the books of the police; and once in every
month she is visited by a medical man appointed for the
purpose, who gives her, or withholds, according to circum¬
stances, a carte de sante, or bill of health. Should she dare
to pursue her calling without this license and this medical
certificate, she is liable to fine, imprisonment, and corpo¬
ral punishment. Some notion of the actual number of
these females in Paris may be formed from the following
table of the number of inscriptions during twenty years,
which is abridged from the work of M. Perent Duchatelet,
whose benevolent exertions to prevent and restrain this
frightful social evil deserve the warmest gratitude of all
who are sincerely concerned in the welfare and improve¬
ment of the human race.
1813.
1815.
1820.
1825.
Annual Total. Monthly Average.
....20,113 1676-08
....22,249 1854-08
....32,957 2746-41
....31,483 2623-58
Annual Total. Monthly Average.
1826  29,948 2495-66
1827  29,663 2471-91
1828  31,956 2663-00
1829  34,118 2843-16
1830  36,337 3028-08
1831  39,128 3260-66
1832  42,699 3558-25
It thus appears that in 1832 the total number of females in¬
scribed or registered as public prostitutes amounted to above
42,000, and the average monthly inscriptions were above
3500. As the population of the French metropolis was
at the period referred to upwards of 800,000, the estimate
now given makes the number of public females spending
their lives in and subsisting by prostitution to be rather
more than one in twenty of the whole population.
In 1834, the total number of births was 29,104, deaths
23,015, marriages 8091. Of the 29,104 births, 9985 were
illegitimate, and of these, 4523 took place in hospitals and
public institutions, and 3649 were recognised by the fa¬
thers. 14,023 persons died at their own houses, 7759 in
civil hospitals, 895 in military hospitals, fifty in prisons,
and 288 were deposited at the Morgue.1 In the returns of
the population of Paris for 1835, the births were,
Boys. Girls. Total.
Legitimate 12,725 12,056 24,781
Illegitimate 5,476 5,297 10,773
Marriages 581. Deaths, males 15,519, females 14,587;
deposited at the Morgue, males 226, females, forty-two;
total 30,332. Of the foundlings who are every year re¬
ceived into the hospitals, above twenty per cent, die an¬
nually. According to the experience of a century and
a half, the months in which the greatest mortality pre¬
vails in Paris are March and April, and the least August
and July. The greatest number of children are born
in March and January, the smallest in June, Novem¬
ber, and December. The greatest number of marriages
take place in May, the smallest in March and January.
The number of male births exceeds that of females, on
the average of the last seventy-seven years, in the pro¬
portion of nearly twenty-six to twenty-five. For the
whole of France, the proportion is sixteen males to fifteen
1 The Morgue is a small building where unknown and unclaimed corpses found by the police are left to be recognised by their
■nends. A window is constructed so as to enable those who look through it to see distinctly the bodies deposited in it; and it rarely
happens that the passenger who turns aside to look will not be shocked with the view of one or more corpses on the door.
VOL. XVII. L
81
Paris, been gradually increasing for some time past; in 1834 it francs. The average annual duties paid for the navigation Paris,
amounted to 27,684,000 francs, and in 1835 to 29,050,000 of the Seine amount to about 700,000 francs.
The following are the official returns of the population of Paris.
82 PAR
Paris, females in the case of legitimate children, and as twenty-
three to twenty-two for illegitimate children. Of the po¬
pulation of Paris, it has been calculated that nearly one
half are working and labouring people, the rest being oc¬
cupied in some trade or profession, or living upon their
income. There are 80,000 servants, and nearly the same
number of paupers. Nearly 15,000 patients are always
in the hospitals, and about four times that number pass
through the hospitals in the course of the year. There
are about 20,000 foundling children supported by the state,
and nearly the same number of aged and infirm incapable
of working. The population of the prisons is generally
about 4000.
Paris, Matthew, one of our best historians, but of whose
life few particulars have been transmitted to us. Leland,
his original biographer, without determining whether he
was born in France or in England, informs us that he was
a monk of St Alban’s, and that he was sent by Pope Inno¬
cent to reform the monks of the convent at Holm in Nor¬
way. Bishop Bale, the next in point of time, adds, that,
on account of his extraordinary gifts of body and mind, he
was much esteemed, particularly by Henry HI., who com¬
manded him to write the history of his reign. Fuller repre¬
sents him as a native of Cambridgeshire, because there was
an ancient family of his name in that county, and also men¬
tions his being sent by the pope to visit the monks in the
diocese of Norwich. Bishop Tanner, Bishop Nicholson,
Doctor Dupin, and the Nouveau Dictionnaire Historique,
add not a single fact to those we have just related. Mat¬
thew Paris died in the monastery of St Alban’s in the year
1259. He was doubtless a man of extraordinary knowledge
for the thirteenth century ; possessing an excellent moral
character, and, as an historian, exhibiting strict integrity.
His style is unpolished ; but that defect is sufficiently aton¬
ed for by the honest freedom with which he relates the
truth, regardless of the dignity or sanctity of the persons
concerned. His works are, 1. Historia ab Adamo ad Con-
questum Angliae, lib. i. manuscript, col. C. C. Cantab, c. ix.
Mostofthisbook is transcribed, by Matthew of Westminster,
into the first part of his Florilegium. 2. Historia Major, seu
Rerum Anglicanarum Historia a Gul. Conquestoris adventu
ad annum 43 Henrici HI., several times printed. The first
part of this history, viz. to the year 1235, is transcribed
almost verbatim from the Chronicle of Roger Wendover ;
and the appendix, from the year 1260, is the work of Wil¬
liam Rashinger, who was also a monk of St Alban’s. 3. Vi-
tm Duorum Offarum, Mercim regum, S. Albani fundatorum.
4. Gesta xxii. Abbatum S. Albani. 5. Additamenta Chro-
nicorum ad Historiam Majorem. 6. Historia Minor, sive
Epitome Majoris Historic, in manuscript. Paris left se¬
veral works in manuscript.
Paris, the son of Priam, king of Troy, by Hecuba, and
also named Alexander. He was decreed, even before his
birth, to become the ruin of his country ; and when his
mother, in the first months of her pregnancy, had dreamed
that she should bring forth a torch which would set fire to
her palace, the soothsayers foretold the calamities which
were to be expected from the imprudence of her future
son, and which would end in the rijin of Troy. Priam, to
prevent so great and so alarming an evil, commanded his
slave Archelaus to destroy the child as soon as he was born.
But the slave, either touched with humanity, or influenced
by Hecuba, did not obey, .and was satisfied with exposing
the child upon Mount Ida, where the shepherds of the place
found him, and educated him as their own. Some attribute
the preservation of his life, before he was found by the
shepherds, to the motherly tenderness of a she-bear, who
suckled him. Paris, though educated amongst shepherds
and peasants, gave very early proofs of courage and intre¬
pidity ; and from his care in protecting the flocks of Mount
Ida from the rapacity of the wild beasts, he was named the
PAR
“ helper or defender.” He gained the esteem of all the par;Sj
shepherds; whilst his graceful countenance and manly de-'>—v^
portment recommended him to the favours of CEnone, a
nymph of Ida, whom he married, and with whom he lived
in the most perfect tenderness. Their conjugal peace, how¬
ever, was not of long duration. At the marriage of Peleus
and Thetis, the goddess of discord, who had not been in¬
vited to partake of the entertainment, showed her displea¬
sure by throwing into the assembly of the gods who were
at the celebration of the nuptials, a golden apple, on which
were written the words Deturpulchriori. All the goddesses
claimed it as their own, and the contention at first became
general; but at last only three, Juno, Venus, and Minerva,
wished to urge their respective claims to the prize, in vir¬
tue of superior beauty. The gods, unwilling to become
arbiters in so delicate an affair, appointed Paris to adjudge
the prize of beauty to the fairest of the goddesses ; and in¬
deed the shepherd seemed sufficiently qualified to decide
so great a contest, as his wisdom was so well established,
whilst his prudence and sagacity were also known. The
goddesses appeared before their judge without any cover¬
ing or ornament, and each endeavoured by promises and
entreaties to gain the attention of Paris, and to influence
his judgment. Juno promised him a kingdom, Minerva
military glory, and Venus the fairest woman in the world
for his wife. After he had heard their several claims and
promises, Paris adjudged the prize to Venus, and gave her
the golden apple, to which perhaps she seemed entitled as
the goddess of beauty. This decision of Paris drew upon
the judge and his family the resentment of the other two
goddesses.
Soon afterwards Priam proposed a contest amongst his
sons and other princes, and promised to reward the con¬
queror with one of the finest bulls of Mount Ida. His emis¬
saries were sent to procure the animal, and it was found
in the possession of Paris, who reluctantly yielded it. The
shepherd, anxious to regain his favourite, went to Troy
and entered the lists of the combatants. He was receiv¬
ed with the greatest applause, and obtained the victory
over his rivals, Nestor the son of Neleus, Cyenus the son of
Neptune, Polites, Helenus, and Deiphobus, sons of Priam.
He likewise obtained a superiority over Hector, who, en¬
raged to see himself conquered by an unknown stranger,
pursued him closely ; and Paris must have fallen a victim
to his brother’s rage, had he not fled to the altar of Jupiter.
This sacred retreat preserved his life; and Cassandra, the
daughter of Priam, struck with the similarity of the fea¬
tures of Paris to those of her brothers, inquired his birth
and age. From these circumstances, she soon discovered
that he was her brother, and as such she introduced him to
her father and to her brothers. Priam acknowledged Paris
as his son, forgetful of the alarming dreams which had
caused him to meditate his death : and all jealousy ceased
amongst the brothers. Paris did not long suffer himself to
remain inactive; he equipped a fleet, as if willing to redeem
tlesione, his father’s sister, whom Hercules had carried away
and obliged to marry Telamon the son of Abacus. This
was the pretended motive of his voyage, but the real causes
were far different. Paris remembered that he was to be the
husband of the fairest of women; and, if he had been led
to form these expectations whilst he was an obscure shep¬
herd of Ida, he had now every plausible reason to see them
realized, since he was the acknowledged son of the king of
Troy. Helen was the fairest woman of the age, and Venus
had promised her to him. On these grounds, therefore,
he went to Sparta, the residence of Helen, who had mar¬
ried Menelaus. He was received with great respect; but
he abused the hospitality of Menelaus, and whilst the hus¬
band was absent in Crete, Paris persuaded Helen to elope
with him, and to fly to Asia. Helen consented; and Priam
received her into his palace without difficulty, as his sister
PAR
PAR
83
Parish- was then detained in a foreign country, and as he wished to
»-v~~'show himself as hostile as possible to the Greeks. This af¬
fair was soon productive of serious consequences. When
Menelaus had married Helen, all her suitors had bound
themselves by a solemn oath to protect her person, and
therefore the injured husband reminded them of their en¬
gagements, and called upon them to recover her. Upon
this all Greece took up arms in the cause of Menelaus ;
Agamemnon was chosen general of the combined forces,
and a regular war commenced. Paris, meanwhile, who had
refused Helen to the petitions and embassies of the Greeks,
armed himself, with his brothers and subjects, to oppose
the enemy ; but the success of the war was neither hin¬
dered nor promoted by his means. He fought with little
courage, and at the very sight of Menelaus, whom he had
so recently injured, all his resolution vanished, and he re¬
tired from the front of the army, where he walked before
like a conqueror. In a combat with Menelaus, which he
undertook at the instigation of his brother Hector, Paris
must have perished, had not Venus interfered, and stolen
him from the resentment of his antagonist. In another
battle, however, he wounded Machaon, Euryphilus, and
Diomedes ; and, according to some opinions, he killed with
one of his arrows the great Achilles himself.
The death of Paris is differently related. Some say that
he was mortally wounded by one of the arrows of Philoc-
tetes, which had been once in the possession of Hercules;
and that, when he found himself becoming languid on ac¬
count of his wounds, he ordered himself to be carried to the
feet of CEnone, whom he had basely abandoned, and who
in the years of his obscurity had foretold him that he would
solicit her assistance in his dying moments. But he ex¬
pired before he came into the presence of GEnone; and the
nymph, still mindful of their former loves, threw herself
upon his body, and stabbed herself to the heart, after she
had plentifully bathed it with her tears. According to
others, Paris did not immediately proceed to Troy when he
left the Peloponnesus, but was driven upon the coasts of
Egypt, where Proteus, king of that country, detained him ;
and when he heard of the violence which had been offered
to the king of Sparta, he kept Helen at his court, and per¬
mitted Paris to retire. Whatever was the mode of his
death, it is said to have taken place about 1188 before
Christ.
PARISH, the precinct of a parochial church, or a circuit
of ground inhabited by people who belong to one church,
and are under the particular charge of its minister. The
word comes from the Latinand the Greek ffaeo/x/a,
habitation, compounded of waga, near, and 6/xos, house. Ac¬
cordingly, Du Cange observes, that the name ‘xagoiKiu was
anciently applied to the whole territory of a bishop, because
the primitive Christians, not daring to assemble openly in
cities, were forced to meet secretly in the neighbouring
houses.
In the ancient church there was one large edifice in
each city for the people to meet in ; and this they called
parochia, or parish. But the signification of the word was
afterwards enlarged, and by a parish was meant a diocese,
or the extent of the jurisdiction of a bishop, consisting of
several churches; unless we suppose, as some do, that those
bishops were only pastors of single churches. Dupin ob¬
serves, that country parishes were unknown before the
fourth century ; but those of cities are more ancient. The
city of Alexandria is said to have been the first which was
divided into parishes.
Of the first division of parishes there is no certain infor¬
mation ; for in the early ages of Christianity in this island,
parishes were unknown, or at least signified the same thing
as diocese. There was then no appropriation of ecclesias¬
tical dues to any particular church; but every man was at
liberty to contribute his tithes to any priest or church that
he pleased ; or if he made no special appropriation of them, Parish -
they were paid to the bishop, whose duty it was to distri- clerk
bute them amongst the clergy, and for other pious pur- H
poses, according to his own discretion. Camden says that jJ311,
England was divided into parishes by Archbishop Hono- v Ung^.'
rius, about the year 630. Sir Henry Hobart maintains that
parishes were first erected by the council of Lateran, held
in the year 1179. But Selden proves that the clergy lived
in common, without any division of parishes, long after the
time mentioned by Camden ; and it appears from the Saxon
laws, that parishes were in being long before the council
of Lateran in 1179. The distinction of parishes first occurs
in the laws of Edgar, about the year 970. It seems pretty
certain, says Justice Blackstone (Com. vol. i. p. 112), that
the boundaries of parishes were first ascertained by those
of a manor or manors; because it very seldom happens
that a manor extends itself over more than one parish,
although there are often many manors in one parish. As
Christianity spread, the lords began to build churches upon
their own demesnes or wastes, in order to accommodate
their tenants in one or two adjoining lordships; and, that
they might have divine service regularly performed there¬
in, they obliged all their tenants to appropriate their tithes
to the maintenance of the one officiating minister, instead
of leaving them at liberty to distribute them amongst the
clergy of the diocese in general. The tract of land the
tithes of which were thus appropriated formed a distinct
parish ; a circumstance which accounts for the frequent
intermixture of parishes one with another. For if a lord
had a parcel of land detached from the main part of his
estate, but not sufficient to form a parish of itself, it was
natural for him to endow his newly-erected church with
the tithes of such lands.
Parish-Clerk. In every parish the parson, vicar, or cu¬
rate has a parish-clerk under him, who is the lowest officer
of the church. Parish-clerks were formerly clerks in orders,
and their business at first was to officiate at the altar, for
which they had a competent maintenance by offerings;
but they are now laymen, and have certain fees at chris¬
tenings, marriages, and burials, besides wages for their
maintenance.
PARK (French parque, that is, locus inchisus) is a large
extent of ground enclosed and privileged for wrild beasts
of chase, by the king’s grant or prescription.
Manwood defines a chase a privileged place for beasts
of venery, and other wild beasts of the forest and chase,
tarn sylvestres quam campestres. A park, therefore, differs
from a chase or warren in this, that it must be enclosed;
for if it lie open, this is a good cause of seizure by the
king, as a thing forfeited.
Park, Mungo, a celebrated traveller, was born at Fowl-
shiels, near Selkirk, on the 10th of September 1771. His
father occupied the farm of Fowlshiels, under the Duke of
Buccleuch. He appears to have bestowed uncommon at¬
tention on the education of his children; and he even em¬
ployed a tutor to reside in his house, an expense which
was then supposed to exceed the resources of an ordinary
farmer. Young Park made a good figure at school. His
general demeanour was reserved and thoughtful; yet occa¬
sional sparks of ambition broke forth, indicative of that ad¬
venturous spirit which lay concealed under a somewhat
cold exterior. This thoughtful disposition led his friends
to consider the church as the profession best suited to his
character; but as he himself preferred physic to theology,
his wishes were acquiesced in ; and he spent three years at
the University of Edinburgh, in the studies necessary to
qualify him for that profession.
At Edinburgh Park studied with ardour and success ; and
in particular he imbibed a fondness for botany, which serv¬
ed to give a strong colour to his future life. It strength¬
ened his natural connection with his brother-in-law, Mr
84
PAR
PAR
Park,
Mungo.
James Dickson, who, notwithstanding many disadvantages,
attained such skill in that science, that, on going as a gar¬
dener to Hammersmith, he obtained a large share of the
patronage and favour of Sir Joseph Banks. This connection
induced Mr Park to repair to London. He was introduced
to Sir Joseph, who was so much pleased with him that he ob¬
tained for him the appointment of assistant-surgeon to the
Worcester East Indiaman. In this capacity Mr Park per¬
formed a voyage to Bencoolen, where he made some col¬
lections and observations in botany and natural history,
which were submitted to the Linnaean Society, and an ac¬
count of them printed in the third volume of their Trans¬
actions.
The African Association were now anxiously looking out
for a successor to Major Houghton, their unfortunate mis¬
sionary, who had perished in the attempt to penetrate to
the Niger and Timbuctoo. This opening, although foreign
to any of Mr Park’s former pursuits except that of natural
history, was immediately embraced by him with an ardour
which showed how congenial it was to the character of his
mind. Without hesitation, he offered himself for this ar¬
duous and perilous service, and, being supported by the
recommendation of Sir Joseph Banks, he was at once ac¬
cepted.
Park spent about two years in and near London, acquir¬
ing the qualifications necessary for his mission. In May
1795 he set sail, and on the 21st of June following arrived
at Jillifree, near the mouth of the Gambia. After spend¬
ing some months with Dr Laidley at Pisania, in acquiring
the Mandingo language, he, on the 2d of December 1795,
departed on his grand expedition. It would be superfluous
to enter here into a detail of events which are so generally
known, and which excited so deep an interest, as his cap¬
tivity amongst the Moors, his almost miraculous escape, his
discovery of the course of the Niger, and of the African ca¬
pital of Sego, his journey through Bambarra, and the train
of peril and difficulty through which he effected his return.
He arrived, after the length of his absence, and the want
of intelligence respecting him, had nearly extinguished all
hopes of his safety. Reaching London early in the morn¬
ing of Christmas 1797, he went to pass the time before
breakfast in the gardens of the British Museum, where, by
a singular chance, he met Mr Dickson, who embraced his
friend as one returned from the grave. An extraordinary
interest in his adventures was immediately excited amongst
the African Institution, its friends, and the public in gene¬
ral. Major Rennell drew up an important memoir, show¬
ing the new light thrown by his journey upon African geo¬
graphy, which, with an abstract of his narrative by Mr
Bryan Edwards, was speedily offered, to satisfy the curiosity
of the public. In the spring of 1799, Mr Park presented the
public with a full narrative from his own pen. Major Ren-
nell’s memoir was appended, and a considerable part of Mr
Edwards’ abstract was incorporated verbatim ; upon which
circumstance alone seems to have been built the rumour of
that gentleman having been the actual writer of the vo¬
lume. The work was read with an avidity proportioned to
the novelty and importance of the information contained
in it, and to the interesting and agreeable manner in which
the events were narrated.
Having finished this task, Mr Park seems to have resolv¬
ed to retire into domestic and professional life. In 1799,
he married Miss Anderson of Selkirk, daughter of the gen¬
tleman with whom he had served his apprenticeship as a
surgeon. In October 1801, he embraced an opportunity
which offered, of commencing a professional career at Pee¬
bles, and soon found himself in respectable practice. His Park,
situation now seemed sufficiently comfortable, being happy Mung)
in domestic life, possessed of a competence, and surrounded'''—"''
by respectable society; but his active mind was not to be
so satisfied, and was secretly panting after a higher sphere
of exertion.
Important as were his discoveries, their effect had been,
not to satisfy, but to excite still farther, the public curio¬
sity. The course of the Niger through the unknown and
central parts of the continent could not fail to excite pe¬
culiar interest. This was strongly felt, not only by the
scientific world, but by some intelligent members of ad¬
ministration, who, on the conclusion of the peace in 1801,
determined to fit out an expedition on a great scale, to
effect the discovery of the termination of this great river.
In autumn 1803, Lord Hobart, afterwards Earl of Bucking¬
hamshire, who was then colonial secretary, offered the com¬
mand of it to Mr Park, who, though he asked a short inter¬
val to consult his friends, seems never in his own mind to
have hesitated as to its acceptance. To those who repre¬
sented to him the dangers that were to be incurred, he
urged, that the hardships attendant on the obscure exercise
of his profession, his journeys to distant patients, his long
and solitary rides over “ cold and lonely heaths,” and over
“ gloomy hills, assailed by the wintry tempest,” would tend
as effectually to shorten life as the journey now in contem¬
plation.
In this new undertaking, Mr Park was amply supplied
with every thing which could insure success. Thirty sol¬
diers, and nearly the same number of carpenters and ar¬
tificers, were placed under his command; arms, beasts of
burden, and commodities to trade with, were amply sup¬
plied ; and he was empowered to draw upon the treasury
to the extent of L.5000. Everything, therefore, seemed
to augur a still more brilliant issue to his present than to
his former journey. But a dark destiny impended over it,
and rendered abortive all human means and efforts.
It would be superfluous to enter into a detail of that
afflicting train of events, with which the public are already
but too well acquainted.1 That Park perished in his voyage
down the Niger, may be considered as long since fully es¬
tablished ; and we need not swell our pages with the ru¬
mours which have been circulated respecting an event
which has for many years ceased to be doubtful.
Park has been pronounced by some the first of modern
travellers. Without altogether adopting this opinion, we
may observe, that the problem of the course of the Niger,
which he had the fortune partially to solve, was one which
had involved in error almost all former geographical sys¬
tems on Africa. D’Anville, indeed, had stated it correctly;
but as he had not communicated the grounds upon which
his conclusion rested, the opposite opinion, which repre¬
sented the Niger as flowing westward, and joining the
ocean by the channel of the Senegal, continued still pre¬
valent. This point, finally decided, fixed the geographi¬
cal character of the continent. In Bambarra, also, a name
as yet scarcely heard of by Europeans, Park found a king¬
dom much farther advanced in populousness and civiliza¬
tion than had yet been supposed to exist in the heart of
Africa.
Mr Park’s literary, though not equal to his active quali¬
fications, were nevertheless respectable. But notwithstand¬
ing his knowledge of botany, he cannot be considered as a
scientific traveller. We see not in him that varied and
splendid science which, in Humboldt, illustrates and adorns,
though it sometimes overlays the main subject. But with
1 The Narrative of this journey was published in 1815, in 4to, with a very interesting biographical memoir and preface, by Mr
Wishaw. It may not be amiss to notice here a singular oversight in Park’s Journal, lately observed by M. Walckenaer. A 31st day
is counted in April (p. 7); and as all the days before and after are accounted for, there can be no doubtf hat all the following dates are
one day behind. This, as Mr Bowdich has shown, is not so trifling an error as at first sight it appears ; for a false declination being
thus taken, an error, greater or less, and sometimes not inconsiderable, is committed in the calculation of all the subsequent latitudes.
PAR
Parlia¬
ment.
Walsingham. The archbishop also translated the Psalter. Parkur
This version was printed, but without a name, and has been
attributed to an obscure poet of the name of Keeper.
Such, at least, was Wood’s opinion, although it is more than
probable that he was wrong. But in the Gentleman’s Ma¬
gazine for 1781 (p. 566), Parker is proved to be the author
of a version of the Psalms.
PARKUR, a small district of Hindustan, situated about
the twenty-fourth degree of north latitude. This part of
the country has been seldom visited by Europeans, but is
described by the natives as of a sandy and rocky nature, ill
supplied with water. It has to the north the sandy desert,
to the south Cutch, to the east Gujerat, and to the west
the province of Sinde. There is no cultivation, except by
means of irrigation from wells or tanks. The territory is
said to contain between forty and fifty villages.
PARLEY, a conference with an enemy. To beat or to
sound a parley is therefore to give a signal for holding such
a conference, by beat of drum or sound of trumpet.
PARLIAMEN f, the grand assembly of the three es¬
tates of the kingdom, summoned together by the king’s
authority, to consider of matters relating to the- public
welfare, and particularly to enact and repeal laws.
Ihe original institution of parliament is one of those
matters which lie so far hidden in the obscurity of anti¬
quity, that the tracing of it out is a task difficult in itself,
and not likely to be productive of any satisfactory result.
The term parliament itself is comparatively of modern
PAR
arker. regard to the general aspect of nature, and the forms of
human society, his observations are careful, accurate, and
judicious. Nothing can be more lively than the idea which
we receive from him of the African forests and deserts, the
cities of Bambarra, the stream of the Niger or Joliba, and
the regions watered by that river. The spirit, joined to the
unpretending simplicity, of his narrative, has rendered his
work one of the most popular of its kind in the English
language.
Mr Park’s bodily frame was well fitted for the arduous
enterprises in which he engaged. He was six feet in height,
his limbs were well proportioned, and his whole frame was
active and robust. His countenance was prepossessing, and
his manners always retained their native plainness and sim¬
plicity. But this was combined with a natural coldness and
reserve, which rendered his conversation less interesting
than was expected by those who considered his general ta¬
lents and extensive opportunities of observation. His con¬
duct in all the relations of private life was highly exem¬
plary. He left a widow, three sons, and a daughter, (e.)
PARKER, Matthew, the second Protestant archbishop
of Canterbury, was born at Norwich in the year 1504,
the 19th of Henry VII. His father, who was a man in
trade, died when his son was about twelve years of age;
but his mother took especial care of his education, and at
the age of seventeen sent him to Corpus Christi College,
Cambridge, where, in 1523, he took his bachelor’s degree.
In 1527 he was ordained, created master of arts, and chosen
fellow of the college. Having obtained a license to preach, date, being derived from a French 'word, andsigniTyffig
he frequently discoursed at St Paul’s cross in London, and the place where they met and conferred together.0 It was
in other parts of the kingdom. In the year 1533 or 1534, first applied to 'general assemblies of the states under
he was made chaplain to Anne Boleyn, who obtained for Louis VII. in France, about the middle of the twelfth cen-
him the deanery of Stoke Clare in Suffolk, where he founded tury. But it is certain that, long before the introduction
a grammar-school. After the death of this unfortunate of the Norman language into England, all matters of im-
woman, Henry made him his own chaplain, and in 1541 portance were debated and settfed in the great council
appointed him prebendary of Ely. In 1544, he was, by the of the realm ; a practice which seems to have been uni-
king’s command, elected master of Corpus Christi College, versal amongst the northern nations, particularly the Ger-
and the following year appointed vice chancellor of the mans, and which was carried by them into all the countries
university. In 1547 he lost the deanery of Stoke, by of Europe which they overran at the dissolution of the
the dissolution of that college. In the same year he mar- Roman empire. Relics of this constitution, under various
ried the daughter of Mr Robert Harlestone, a Norfolk gen- modifications and changes, are still to be met with in the
tleman. diets of Poland, Germany, and Sweden.
In the year 1552 he was nominated by Edward VI. to In England, however, this general council has been held
the deanery of Lincoln, which, with his other preferments, immemorially, under the several names of michel-synoth,
enabled him to live in great affluence. But Mary had scarcely or great council; michel-gemote, or great meeting; and
succeeded to the throne when he was deprived of every more frequently wittena-gemote, or the meeting of* wise
office he held in the church, and obliged to live in obscu- men. It was also styled in Latin, commune concilium req-
rity, frequently changing his place of abode to avoid the ni, magnum concilium regis, curia magna, conventus mag-
fate of the other reformers. natum vel procerum, assisa generalis, and sometimes com-
Elizabeth ascended the throne in 1558; and in the fol- munitas regni Anglice. We have instances of its meeting-
lowing year Parker was at once raised from indigence and to order the affairs of the kingdom, to make new laws and
obscurity to the see of Canterbury, an honour vvhich he had to amend the old, or, as Fleta expresses it, novis injuriis
neither solicited nor desired. In this high station he acted emersis nova constituere remedia, as early as the renm of
with equal spirit and propriety. He founded several scho- Ina king of the West Saxons, Offa king of the Mercians
larships in Bennet or Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and Ethelbert king of Kent, in the several realms of the
and made large presents of plate to that and to other col- heptarchy. But, after their union, the Mirrour informs us
leges in this university. He gave a hundred volumes to the that Alfred ordained as a perpetual usage, that these coun¬
public library; and, besides, founded a free school at Roch- cils should meet twice in the year, or oftener if need be
dale in Lancashire. He took care to have the different sees to treat of the government of God’s people, and how they
filled with pious and learned men; and, considering the great should keep themselves from sin, live1 in quiet, and receive
want of Bibles in many places, he, with the assistance of right. The succeeding Saxon and Danish m’onarchs held
other learned men, improved the English translation, which frequent councils of this sort, as appears from their respec-
he caused to be printed on large paper, and dispersed tive codes of laws, the titles of which usually indicate that
throughout the kingdom. This estimable prelate died in the they were enacted, either by the king with the advice of
year 1575, aged seventy-two, and was buried in his own his wittena-gemote or wise men, as^Hcec sunt instituta
chapel at Lambeth. He was pious without affectation or quce Edgarus rex consilio sapientium suorum instituit; or
austerity, cheerful and contented in the midst of adversity, by those sages with the advice of the king, as, Hcec sunt
moderate in the height of power, and beneficent beyond judicia quce sapientes consilio regis Ethelstan instituerunt;
example. He was the author of several works, and likewise or, lastly, by both together, as, Hce sunt institutiones, quas
published four of our best historians; Matthew of Westmin- rex Edmundus et episcopi sui cum sanientibus wri* imfi
ster, Matthew Paris, Asser’s Life of King Alfred, and Thomas tuerunt.
85
86
PARLIAMENT.
Parlia¬
ment.
There is also no doubt that these great councils were
occasionally held under the first princes of the Norman
line. Glanvil, who wrote in the reign of Henry II. speak¬
ing of the particular amount ot an amercement in the she¬
riff’s court, says it had never yet been ascertained by the
general assize or assembly, but was left to the custom
of particular counties. Here the general assize is spoken
of as a meeting well known, and its statutes or decisions
are referred to in manifest contradistinction to custom or
to the common law. And in the time of Edward III. an act
of parliament, made in the reign of W illiam the Conqueror,
was pleaded in the case of the Abbey of St Edmund’s Bury,
and judicially allowed by the court.
Hence it indisputably appears that parliaments or gene¬
ral councils were coeval with the kingdom itself. How
those parliaments were constituted and composed is an¬
other question, which has been matter of great dispute
amongst our learned antiquaries; and, particularly, whe¬
ther the Commons were summoned at all, or, if summoned,
at what period they began to form a distinct assembly.
But without entering into controversies of this kind, it may
be sufficient to observe here, that it is generally agreed,
that, in the main, the constitution of parliament, as it now
exists, was marked out as long ago as the seventeenth
year of King John, 1215, in the Great Charter granted by
that monarch, in which he promises to summon all arch¬
bishops, bishops, abbots, earls, and greater barons, person¬
ally, and all other tenants in chief under the crown, by the
sheriff and bailiffs, to meet at a certain place, upon forty
days’ notice, to assess aids and scutages when necessary.
And this constitution subsisted at least from the year
1266, or the 49th of Henry III., there being still extant
writs of that date, to summon knights, citizens, and bur¬
gesses, to attend parliament. W'e proceed therefore to
inquire wherein consists this constitution of parliament as it
now stands; and, in the prosecution of this inquiry, we
shall consider, first, the manner and time of its assembling ;
secondly, its constituent parts ; thirdly, the laws and cus¬
toms relating to parliament; fourthly, the methods of pro¬
ceeding, and of enacting statutes, in both houses; and, lastly,
the manner of the parliament’s adjournment, prorogation,
and dissolution.
1. The parliament is to be regularly summoned by the
king’s writ or letter, issued out of chancery, by advice of
the privy council, at least forty days before it begins to sit.
It is a branch of the royal prerogative that no parliament
can be convened by its own authority, or by the authority
of any excepting the king alone ; and this prerogative is
founded upon very good reason. For, supposing it had a
right to meet spontaneously, without being called together,
it is impossible to conceive that all the members, and each
of the houses, would agree unanimously upon the proper
time and place of meeting ; and if half of the members met,
and half absented themselves, who could determine which
was really the legislative body, the part assembled, or that
which staid away ? It is therefore necessary that the par¬
liament should be called together at a determinate time
and place, and it is highly becoming its dignity and indepen¬
dence that it should be called together by none but one of
its own constituent parts ; but, of the three constituent
parts, this office can only appertain to the king, as he is a
single person, whose will may be uniform and steady, the
first person in the nation, being superior to both houses in
dignity, and the only branch of the legislature which has a
separate existence, and is capable of performing any act at
a time when no parliament is in being. Nor is it an excep¬
tion to this rule, that, by some modern statutes, on the demise
of a king or a queen, if there be then no parliament in being,
the last parliament revives, and is to sit again for six months,
unless dissolved by the successor; for this revived parlia¬
ment must have been originally summoned by the crown.
It is true indeed that the Convention Parliament, which
restored Charles II., met above a month before his return, ^
the Lords by their own authority, and the Commons in
pursuance of writs issued in the name of the keepers of
the liberty of England by authority of parliament; and
that the said parliament sat till the 29th of December, fully
months after the Restoration, and enacted many
Parlia.
ment.
seven
laws, several of which still remain in force. But this was
from the necessity of the case, which supersedes all law;
for if they had not so met, it would have been morally im¬
possible that the kingdom could have been settled in peace.
The first thing, however, which was done after the king’s
return, was, to pass an act declaring this to be a good par¬
liament, notwithstanding the defect of the king’s writ; so
that as the royal prerogative was chiefly wounded by their
so meeting, and as the king himself, who alone had a right
to object, consented to waive the objection, this cannot be
drawn into an example in prejudice of the rights of the
crown. Besides, we should also remember, that there
existed at that time great doubt amongst the lawyers, whe¬
ther even this healing act made it a good parliament; and
indeed it was held by many in the negative, though this
seems to have been too nice a scruple. But, out of abun¬
dant caution, it was thought necessary to confirm its acts
in the next parliament, by statute 13 Car. II. c. 7 and
c. 14.
It is likewise true, that at the time of the Revolution
in 1688, the Lords and Commons, by their own authori¬
ty, and upon the summons of the Prince of Orange, after¬
wards William III., met in a convention, and therein dis¬
posed of the crown and kingdom. But it must be remem¬
bered, that this assembling was held upon a similar prin¬
ciple of necessity as at the Restoration, that is, upon a full
conviction that James II. had abdicated the government,
and that the throne was thereby vacant; and this suppo¬
sition of the individual members was confirmed by their
concurrent resolution when they actually came together.
In such a case as the palpable vacancy of a throne, it fol¬
lows, ex necessitate rei, that the form of the royal writs
must be laid aside, otherwise no parliament could ever
meet again. For let us put another possible case, and
suppose, for the sake of argument, that the whole royal
line should at any time fail and become extinct, which
would indisputably vacate the throne; in this situation it
seems reasonable to presume that the body of the na¬
tion, consisting of Lords and Commons, would have a right
to meet and to settle the government. But upon this
and no other principle did the Convention assemble in
1688. The vacancy of the throne preceded their meeting
without any royal summons, and was not a consequence
of it. They did not assemble without writ, and then de¬
clare the throne vacant; but, the throne being previously
vacant by the king’s abdication, they assembled without
writ, as they must have done if they assembled at all.
Had the throne been full, their meeting would not have
been regular; but, as it was really empty, such meeting
became absolutely necessary. Accordingly, it is declared
by statute (1 William and Mary, stat. i. c. 1), that this
Convention was really the two houses of parliament, not¬
withstanding the want of writs, or other defects of form;
so that, notwithstanding these two capital exceptions,
which were justifiable only on a principle of necessity, and
each of which, by the way, induced a revolution in the
government, the rule laid down is in general certain, that
the king only can convoke a parliament.
And this, by the ancient statutes of the realm, he is
bound to do every year, or oftener if need be. Not that
he is, or ever was, obliged by these statutes to call a new
parliament every year ; but only to permit a parliament to
sit annually for the redress of grievances, and the despatch
of business, if need be. These last words are so loose and
PARLIAMENT.
ariia- vague, that such of our monarchs as were inclined to go-
ient. vern without parliaments neglected the convoking of them,
sometimes for a very considerable period, under pretence
that there was not need of them. But, to remedy this,
by the statute 16 Car. II. c. I, it is enacted, that the sit¬
ting and holding of parliaments shall not be intermitted
above three years at the most; and by the 1st of Wil¬
liam and Mary, stat. ii, c. 2, it is declared to be one of the
rights of the people, that, for the redress of all grievances,
and for the amending, strengthening, and preserving of the
laws, parliaments ought to be held frequently. And this
indefinite frequency is again reduced to a certainty by
statute 6 William and Mary, c. 2, which enacts, as the
statute of Charles II. had before done, that a newr parlia¬
ment shall be called within three years after the determi¬
nation of the former.
2. The constituent parts of a parliament are, the king’s
majesty, sitting there in his royal political capacity; and
the three estates of the realm—the Lords Spiritual, and the
Lords Temporal, who sit together with the king in one
house, and the Commons, w ho sit by themselves in ano¬
ther. The king and these three estates taken together
form the great corporation or body politic of the king¬
dom, of which the king is said to be caput, principium, et
finis. For upon their assembling, the king meets them,
either in person or by representation, without which there
can be no beginning of a parliament; and he alone pos¬
sesses the power of dissolving them.
It is highly necessary, for preserving the balance of the
constitution, that the executive power should be a branch,
though not the whole, of the legislature. The total union
of them, we have seen, would be productive of tyranny;
the total disjunction of them, for the present, would in the
end produce the same effects, by causing that union against
which it seems to provide. The legislature would soon
become tyrannical, by making continual encroachments,
and gradually assuming to itself the rights of the executive
power. Thus the long parliament of Charles I., whilst it
acted in a constitutional manner, with the royal concur¬
rence, redressed many heavy grievances, and established
many salutary laws. But when the two houses assumed
the power of legislation, exclusively of the royal authori¬
ty) they soon afterwards assumed the reins of administra¬
tion ; and, in consequence of these united powers, over¬
turned both church and state, and established a worse op¬
pression than any they pretended to remedy. To prevent
any such encroachments, the king is himself a part of the
parliament; and as this is the reason of his being so, the
share of legislation which the constitution has placed in
the crown consists in the power of rejecting rather than
resolving, this being sufficient to answer the end propos¬
ed. For we may apply to the royal negative, in this in¬
stance, what Cicero observes of the negative of the Ro¬
man tribunes, that the crown has not any power of doing
wrong, but merely of preventing wrong being done. The
crown cannot begin of itself any alterations in the estab¬
lished law ; but it may approve or disapprove of the alter¬
ations suggested and consented to by the two houses.
The legislature, therefore, cannot abridge the executive
power of any rights which it now has by law, without its
own consent, since the law must perpetually stand as it
now does, unless all the powers agree to alter it; and
herein consists the true excellence of the British govern¬
ment, that all its parts form a mutual check upon each
other. In the legislature, the people are a check upon
the nobility, and the nobility a check upon the people, by
the mutual privilege of rejecting each what the other has
resolved; whilst the king is a check upon both, which pre¬
serves the executive power from'encroachments. But this
very executive power is again checked and kept within
due bounds by the two houses, through the privilege they
87
possess’of inquiring into, impeaching, and punishing the
conduct of evil and pernicious counsellors. Thus every
branch of our civil polity supports and is supported, re¬
gulates and is regulated, by the rest. For the two houses
naturally drawing in two directions of opposite interest,
and the prerogative in another different from them both,
they mutually keep each other from exceeding their pro¬
per limits ; whilst the whole is prevented from separation,
and artificially connected together, by the mixed nature of
the crown, which is part of the legislature, and the sole
executive magistrate. Like three distinct powers in me¬
chanics, they jointly impel the machine of government in
a direction different from what either, acting by itself,
would have done; but at the same time in a direction
partaking of each separate impulsion, and formed out of
all, constituting the true line of the liberty and happiness
of the community.
3- The power and jurisdiction of parliaments, says Sir
Edward Coke, is so transcendent and absolute, that it can¬
not be confined either Tor causes or persons within any
bounds; and of this high court, he adds, it may be truly
said, Si antiquitatem species, est vetustissima; si dignita¬
tem, est honoratissima ; si jurisdictionem, est capacissima.
It has sovereign and uncontrollable authority in making,
confirming, enlarging, restraining, abrogating, repealing,
reviving, and expounding laws, concerning matters of all
possible denominations, ecclesiastical or temporal, civil,
military, maritime, or criminal; this being the depository
where that absolute power, which must in all governments
reside somewhere, is intrusted by the constitution of these
kingdoms. All mischiefs and grievances, operations and
remedies, which transcend the ordinary course of the
laws, are within the reach of this extraordinary tribunal.
It can regulate or new-model the succession to the crown,
as was done in the reigns of Henry VIII. and William
III. It can alter the established religion of the land, as
was done in a variety of instances in the reigns of Henry
VIII. and his three children. It can change and create
afresh even the constitution of the kingdom and of parlia¬
ments, as was done by the act of Union, and the several
statutes for triennial and septennial elections. It can, in
short, do every thing that is not naturally impossible; and
therefore some have not scrupled to call its power, by a
figure rather too bold, the “ omnipotence of parliament.’’
True it is, however, that what the parliament does, no au¬
thority upon earth can undo ; so that it is a matter most
essential to the liberties of this kingdom, that such mem¬
bers be delegated to this important trust as are most emi¬
nent for their probity, their fortitude, and their know¬
ledge. For it was a known apophthegm of Lord Trea¬
surer Burghley, that‘England could never be ruined but
by a parliament; and, as Sir Matthew Hale observes, this
being the highest and greatest court, over which none
other can have jurisdiction in the kingdom, if by any
means a misgovernment should anyway fall upon it, the
subjects of this kingdom are left without any manner of
remedy. To the same purpose Montesquieu, though we
trust too hastily, presages, that as Rome, Sparta, and Car¬
thage, have lost their liberty and perished, so the consti¬
tution of England will in time lose its liberty and perish ;
it will perish, says he, whenever the legislative power
shall become more corrupt than the executive.
io prevent the mischiefs which might arise by placing
this extensive authority in hands that are either incapable
or unfit to manage it, it is provided by the custom and law of
parliament, that no one shall sit or vote in either house, un¬
less he be twenty-one years of age. This is also express¬
ly declared by statute 7 and 8 William HI. c. 25. With
regard to the House of Commons, doubts have arisen, from
some contradictory judgments, whether or not a minor was
incapacitated from sitting in that house. It is also enact-
Parl la¬
in ent.
88
PARLIAMENT.
Parlia¬
ment.
ed by statute 7 Jac. I. c. 6, that no member shall be per¬
mitted to enter the House of Commons till he has taken
the oath of allegiance before the Lord Steward or his de¬
puty ; and by 30 Car. II. st. ii., and 1 Geo. I. c. 13, it is
provided that no member shall sit or vote in either house,
till he has, in the presence of the house, taken the oaths
of allegiance, supremacy, and abjuration, and subscribed
and repeated the declaration against transubstantiation,
the invocation of saints, and the sacrifice of the mass.
Aliens, unless naturalized, were likewise by the law of par¬
liament incapable of serving therein ; and it is enacted by
statute 12 and 13 William III. c. 2, that no alien, even
though he be naturalized, shall be capable of being a mem¬
ber of either house of parliament. But these are not the
only standing incapacities. If any person be made a peer by
the king, or elected to serve in the House of Commons by
the people, yet may the respective houses, upon complaint
of any crime committed by such person, and proof there¬
of, adjudge him disabled and incapable to sit as a mem¬
ber ; and this by the law and custom of parliament.
For as every court of justice has laws and customs for
its direction, some the civil and canon, some the common
law, others their own peculiar laws and customs, so the
high court of parliament has also its own peculiar law,
called the lex et consuetudo parliamenti ; a law which, Sir
Edward Coke observes, is ab omnibus quarenda, a multis
iqnorata, cl paucis cognita. It will not therefore be ex¬
pected that we should enter into the examination of this
law with any degree of minuteness ; since, as the same
learned author assures us, it is much better to be learned
from the rolls of parliament and other records, and by
precedents and continual experience, than can be express¬
ed by any one man. It will be sufficient to observe, that
the whole of the law and custom of parliament has origi¬
nated from this one maxim, “ that whatever matter arises
concerning either house of parliament, ought to be exa¬
mined, discussed, and adjudged in that house to which it
relates, and not elsewhere.” Hence, for instance, the
Lords will not suffer the Commons to interfere in settling
the election of a peer in Scotland; the Commons will not
allow the Lords to judge of the election of a burgess ; nor
will either house permit the subordinate courts of law to
examine the merits of either case. But the maxims upon
which they proceed, together with the method of proceed¬
ing, rest entirely in the breast of the parliament itself, and
are not defined or ascertained by any particular or stated
laws.
The privileges of parliament are likewise very large and
indefinite; and therefore, when in the 31st of Henry VI. the
House of Lords propounded a question to the judges con¬
cerning them, the chief justice, Sir John Fortescue, in the
name of his brethren, declared, “ That they ought not to
make answer to that question ; for it hath not been used
aforetime that the justices should in anywise determine
the privileges of the high court of parliament; for it is so
high and mighty in its nature that it may make law, and
that which is law it may make no law ; and the determi¬
nation and knowledge of that privilege belong to the lords
of parliament, and not to the justices.” Privileges of par¬
liament were principally established in order to protect its
members, not only from being molested by their fellow-
subjects, but more especially from being oppressed by the
power of the crown. If therefore all the privileges of par¬
liament were once to be set down and ascertained, and no
privilege to be allowed but what was so defined and deter¬
mined, it were easy for the executive power to devise
some new case not within the line of privilege, and under
pretence thereof to harass any refractory member, and to
violate the freedom of parliament. The dignity and in¬
dependence of the two houses are therefore in a great mea¬
sure preserved by keeping their privileges indefinite. Some,
however, of the more notorious privileges of the members
of either house are, privilege of speech, of person, of their ^
domestics, and of their lands and goods. As to the first, the
privilege of speech, it is declared by the statute 1 William
and Mary, st. ii. c. 2, as one of the liberties of the people,
“ that the freedom of speech, and debates, and proceedings
in parliament, ought not to be impeached or questioned in
any court or place out of parliament ” and this freedom
of speech is particularly demanded of the king in person
by the speaker of the House of Commons at the opening
of every new parliament. So likewise are the other pri¬
vileges of person, servants, lands, and goods, which are im¬
munities as ancient as Edward the Confessor, in whose
laws we find this precept: Ad synodos venientibus, sive
summoniti sint, sive per se quid agendum habuerint, sit
summa pax ; and so too in the old Gothic constitutions,
Extenditur hcec pax et securitas ad quatuordecim dies, con-
vocato regni senatu. This formerly included not only pri¬
vilege from illegal violence, but also from legal arrests and
seizures by process from the courts of law ; and still to
assault by violence a member of either house, or his me¬
nial servants, is a high contempt of parliament, and there
punished with the utmost severity. It has likewise pecu¬
liar penalties annexed to it in the courts of law by the
statutes 5 Henry IV. c. 6, and 11 Henry VI. c. 11. Nor
can any member of either house be arrested and taken
into custody without a breach of the privilege of parlia¬
ment.
But all other privileges which derogate from the com¬
mon law are now at an end, save only as to the freedom of
the member’s person; which in a peer, by the privilege
of peerage, is for ever sacred and inviolable, and in a
commoner, by the privilege of parliament, for forty days
after every prorogation, and forty days before the next
appointed meeting, which is now in effect as long as the
parliament subsists, since it is seldom prorogued for more
than eighty days at a time. As to all other privileges
which obstruct the ordinary course of justice, they were re¬
strained by the statutes 12 William III. c. 3, 2 and 3 Anne,
c. 18, and 11 Geo. II. c. 24, and are now totally abolished
by statute 10 Geo. III. c. 50, which enacts, that any suit
may at any time be brought against any peer or member
of parliament, their servants, or any other person entitled
to privilege of parliament; and that it shall not be im¬
peached or delayed by pretence of any such privilege, ex¬
cept that the person of a member of the House of Com¬
mons shall not thereby be subjected to any arrest or im¬
prisonment. Likewise, for the benefit of commerce, it is
provided by statute 4 Geo. III. c. 33, that any trader,
having privilege of parliament, may be served with legal
process for any just debt to the amount of L.100; and,
unless he make satisfaction within two months, it shall be
deemed an act of bankruptcy ; and commissions of bank¬
ruptcy may be issued against such privileged traders, in
like manner as against any other.
The only way by which courts of justice could ancient¬
ly take cognizance of privilege of parliament was by writ
of privilege, in the nature of a supersedeas, to deliver the
party out of custody when arrested in a civil suit. For
when a letter was written by the speaker to the judges to
stay proceedings against a privileged person, they rejected
it, as contrary to their oath of office. But since the statute
12 William III. c. 3, which enacts, that no privileged person
shall be subject to arrest or imprisonment, it has been held
that such arrest is irregular ab initio, and that the party
may be discharged upon motion. It is to be observed, that
there is no precedent of any such writ of privilege, but
only in civil suits ; and that the statute of 1 Jac. I. c.
13, and that of William III., which remedy some inconve¬
niences arising from privilege of parliament, speak only of
civil actions. Therefore the claim of privilege has usually
Parliii
menu
PARLIAMENT.   89
P&riia- been guarded with an exception as to the case of indict-
ment. able crimes; or, as it has been frequently expressed, of
treason, felony, and breach of the peace. Hence it seems
to have been understood that no privilege was allowable
to the members, their families, or servants, in any crime
whatsoever; for all crimes are treated by the law as being
contra pacem domini regis. Instances have not been want¬
ing in which privileged persons have been convicted of
misdemeanors, and committed, or prosecuted to outlawry,
even in the middle of a session ; proceedings w'hich have
afterwards received the sanction and approbation of par¬
liament. To this it may he added, that the case of writ¬
ing and publishing seditious libels was resolved by both
houses not to be entitled to privilege; and the reasons up¬
on which that case proceeded extended equally to every
indictable offence. Thus the chief, if not the only privi¬
lege of parliament, in such cases, seems to be the right of
receiving immediate information of the imprisonment or
detention of any member, with the reason for which he is
detained; a practice that is daily used upon the slightest
military accusations, preparatory to a trial by a court mar¬
tial, and which is recognised by the several temporary sta¬
tutes for suspending the habeas corpus act, by which it is
provided, that no member of either house shall be detain¬
ed, till the matter of which he stands suspected be first
communicated to the house of which he is a member, and
the consent of the said house obtained for his commitment
or detaining. But ever since the Revolution the usage has
uniformly been to make the communication subsequently
to the arrest.
4. For the despatch of business, each house of parliament
has its speaker. The speaker of the House of Lords, whose
office it is to preside there, and manage the formality of busi¬
ness, is the Lord Chancellor, or keeper of the king’s great
seal, or any other appointed by the king’s commission; and if
none be so appointed, the House of Lords may elect their
own speaker. The speaker of the House of Commons is
chosen by the house, but must be approved by the king.
And herein the usage of the two houses differs. The
speaker of the House of Commons cannot give his opinion
or argue any question in the house; but the speaker of
the House of Lords, if a lord of parliament, may do so. In
each house the act of the majority binds the whole; and
this majority is declared by votes openly and publicly
given, not, as in Venice, and many other senatorial assem¬
blies, privately or by ballot. The latter method may be
serviceable, to prevent intrigues and unconstitutional com¬
binations ; but it is impossible to be practised with us, at
least in the House of Commons, where every member’s con¬
duct is subject to the future censure of his constituents, and
therefore should be openly submitted to their inspection.
5. It now only remains to add a word or two concerning
the manner in which parliament may be adjourned, pro¬
rogued, or dissolved.
An adjournment is no more than a continuance of the
session from one day to another, as the word itself signi¬
fies ; and this is done by the authority of each house sepa¬
rately every day, and sometimes for a fortnight or a month
together, as at Christmas or Easter, or upon other particu¬
lar occasions. But the adjournment of one house is no ad¬
journment of the other. It has also been usual, when his
majesty has signified his pleasure, that both or either of
the houses should adjourn themselves to a certain day, to
obey the king’s pleasure so signified, and to adjourn accord¬
ingly. Otherwise, besides the indecorum of a refusal, a
prorogation would assuredly follow, and would often be
very inconvenient both to public and to private business.
For prorogation puts an end to the session ; and then such
bills as are only begun and not perfected must be resum¬
ed de novo, if at all, in a subsequent session ; whereas, after
an adjournment, all things continue in the same state as at
VOL. XVII.
the time of the adjournment, and may be proceeded in Parlia-
without any fresh commencement. ment.
A prorogation is the continuance of the parliament from
one session to another, as an adjournment is a continua¬
tion of the session from day to day. This is done by the
royal authority, expressed either by the Lord Chancellor
in his majesty’s presence, or by commission from the crown,
or frequently by proclamation. Both houses are neces¬
sarily prorogued at the same time, it not being a proroga¬
tion of the House of Lords or Commons, but of the parlia¬
ment. The session is never understood to be at an end
until a prorogation takes place ; although, unless some act
be passed, or some judgment given in parliament, it is in
truth no session at all. Formerly the usage was, for the
king to give the royal assent to all such bills as he approv¬
ed, at the end of every session, and then to prorogue the
parliament, though sometimes only for a day or two, after
which all business then depending in the houses was to be
begun again. This custom obtained so strongly, that it
once became a question, whether giving the royal assent
to a single bill did not of course put an end to the session.
But though it was then resolved in the negative, yet the
notion was so deep!}' rooted, that the statute 1 Car. I. c.
7, was passed to declare that the king’s assent to that and
some other acts should not put an end to the session; and
even as late as the reign of Charles II. we find a proviso
frequently tacked to a bill, that his majesty’s assent thereto
should not determine the session of parliament. But it
seems to be allowed, that a prorogation must be expressly
made, in order to determine the session ; and if, at the
time of an actual rebellion, or imminent danger of invasion,
the parliament shall be separated by adjournment or pro¬
rogation, the king is empowered to call them together by
proclamation, on fourteen days’ notice of the time appoint¬
ed for their re-assembling.
A dissolution is the civil death of the parliament; and
this may be effected in three ways.
The first is, by the king’s wall, expressed either in per¬
son or by representation. For as the king has the sole
right of convening the parliament, so also it is a branch of
the royal prerogative, that he may, whenever he pleases,
prorogue the parliament for a time, or put a final period to
its existence. If no one had a right to prorogue or dissolve
a parliament but itself, it might happen to become perpe¬
tual ; and this would be extremely dangerous, if at any
time it should attempt to encroach upon the executive
power, as was fatally experienced by the unfortunate
Charles I., who, having unadvisedly passed an act to con¬
tinue the parliament then in being till such time as it
should please to dissolve itself, at last fell a sacrifice to
that inordinate power which he had himself consented to
give them. It is therefore extremely necessary that the
crown should be empowered to regulate the duration of
these assemblies, under the limitations which the English
constitution has prescribed ; so that, on the one hand, they
may frequently and regularly meet together for the de¬
spatch of business and redress of grievances, and, on the
other, may not, even with the consent of the crown, be con¬
tinued to an inconvenient or unconstitutional length.
Secondly, a parliament may be dissolved by the demise
of the crown. This dissolution formerly happened imme¬
diately upon the death of the reigning sovereign; for he
being considered in law as the head of the parliament (ca¬
put, principium, etJinis), when that failed, the whole body
was held to be extinct. But the calling a new parliament
immediately on the inauguration of the successor being
found inconvenient, and dangers being apprehended from
having no parliament in being in case of a disputed suc¬
cession, it was enacted by the statutes 7 and 8 William III.
c. 15, and 6 Anne, c. 7, that the parliament in being should
continue for six months after the death of any king or
INI
90
PAR
PAR
Parlia¬
ment.
queen, unless sooner prorogued or dissolved by the succes¬
sor ; that if the parliament, at the time of the king’s death,
had been separated, by adjournment or prorogation, it
should notwithstanding assemble immediately; and that
if no parliament was then in being, the members of the
last parliament should assemble and be again a parliament.
Lastly, a parliament may be dissolved or expire by mere
length of time. If the legislative body were perpetual, or
if it lasted during the life of the prince who convened
it, as formerly, and were to be supplied, by occasionally fill¬
ing up the vacancies with new representatives ; in these
cases, were it once corrupted, the evil would be past all
remedy : but when different bodies succeed each other, if
the people see cause to disapprove of the present, they
may rectify its faults in the next. A legislative assembly,
also, which is sure to be separated, and its members to be¬
come private men, subject to the full operation of the laws
which they have enacted for others, will think themselves
bound in interest as well as in duty to make only such laws
as are good. The utmost extent of time that the same
parliament] was allowed to sit, by the statute 6 William^
and Mary c. 3, was three years; after the expiration ot
which, reckoning from the return of the first summons,
the parliament was to have no longer continuance. But
by the 1st of Geo. I. stat. ii. c. 38, professedly enacted to
prevent the great and continued expenses of frequent elec¬
tions, and the violent heats and animosities consequent
thereupon, and for the peace and security of the government,
then just recovering from the effects of a rebellion, this
term was prolonged to seven years ; and, what alone is an
instance of the vast authority of parliament, the very same
house which was chosen for three years, enacted its own
continuance for seven. As the constitution now stands,
therefore, the parliament must expire, or die a natural
death, at the end of every seventh year, if not sooner dis¬
solved by the royal prerogative.
We shall conclude this article with an account of some
general forms not noticed under any of the preceding heads.
In the House of Lords, the princes of the blood sit by
themselves on the sides of the throne j and at the wall, upon
the king’s right hand, the two archbishops sit by them¬
selves on a form. Below them, the bishops of London,
Durham, and Winchester, and all the other bishops sit ac¬
cording to the priority of their consecration. On the king’s
left hand the Lord Treasurer, Lord President, and Lord
Privy Seal, sit upon forms above all dukes, except those of
the royal blood; then the dukes, marquises, and earls ac¬
cording to their creation. Across the room are wool sacks,
continued from an ancient custom j and the Chancellor or
Keeper, being of course the speaker of the House of Lords,
sits on the first wool sack before the throne, with the great
seal or mace lying by him ; and below these there are forms
for the viscounts and barons. On the other wool sacks are
seated the judges, masters in chancery, and king’s counsel,
who are only to give their advice in points of law ; but
they all stand up till the king gives them leave to sit.
The Commons sit promiscuously, only the speaker has
a chair at the upper end of the house, and the clerk and
his assistant sit at a table near him. When a member of
the House of Commons speaks, he stands up uncovered,
and directs his address to the speaker only. If what he
says be answered by another, he is not allowed to reply
the same day, unless personal reflections have been cast
upon him ; but when the Commons, in order to have
treater freedom of debate, have resolved themselves into
a committee of the whole house, every member may speak
to a question as often as he thinks necessary. In the
House of Lords they vote, beginning at the puisne or
lowest baron, and so up ordei’ly to the highest, every one
answering content or not content. In the House of com¬
mons they vote by yens and nays; and if it be dubious
which are the greater number, the house divides. If the
question be about bringingany thing into the house, the yeas
go out, but if it be about any thing the house already has,
the nays go out. In all divisions the speaker appoints four
tellers, two of each opinion. In a committee of the whole
house, they divide by changing sides, the yeas taking the
right and the nays the left of the chair; and then there are
but two tellers. If a bill pass one house, and the other
demur to it, a conference is demanded in the painted cham¬
ber, where certain members are deputed from each house ;
and here the Lords sit covered, whilst the Commons stand
bare, and debate the case. It they disagree, the affair is
null; but if they agree, this, with the other bills which
have passed both houses, is brought down to the king in
the House of Lords, who comes thither clothed in his royal
robes. Before him the clerk of the parliament reads the
title of each bill, and as he reads, the clerk of the crown
pronounces the royal assent or dissent. If it be a public
bill, the royal assent is given in these words, Le roy le
vent, The king will have it so; if a private bill, Soit fait
comme il est desire, Let the request be complied with : but
if the king refuse the bill, the answer is, Le roy s’avisera.
The king will think of it; and if it be a money bill, the
answer is, Le roy remercie ses loyaux sujets, accepte leur
benevolence, et aussi le vent, The king thanks his loyal sub¬
jects, accepts their benevolence, and therefore grants his
consent.
High Court of Parliament is the supreme court in the
kingdom, not only for the making, but also for the execu¬
tion of laws, by the trial of great and enormous offenders,
whether Lords or Commoners, in the method of parliamen¬
tary impeachment. As for acts of parliament to attaint
particular persons of treason or felony, or to inflict pains and
penalties, beyond or contrary to the common law, in order
to serve a special purpose, we speak not of them ; they are
to all intents and purposes new laws, made pro re nata, and
by no means an execution of such as are already in being.
But an impeachment before the Lords by the Commons
of Great Britain in parliament, is a prosecution of the al¬
ready known and established law, and has been frequently
put in practice ; being a presentment to the highest or
supreme court of criminal jurisdiction by the most solemn
grand inquest of the whole kingdom. A commoner can¬
not, however, be impeached before the Lords for any ca¬
pital offence, but only for high misdemeanors; but a peer
may be impeached for any crime. In the case of an im¬
peachment of a peer for treason, the Lords usually address
the crown to appoint a lord high steward, for the greater
dignity and regularity of their proceedings j and this high
steward was formerly elected by the peers themselves,
though he was generally commissioned by the king ; but
it has latterly been strenuously maintained, that the ap¬
pointment of a high steward in such cases is not indispen¬
sably necessary, and that the house may proceed without
one. The articles of impeachment are a kind of bills of
indictment, found by the House of Commons, and after¬
wards tried by the Lords, who in cases of misdemeanors are
considered not only as their own peers, but likewise as the
peers of the whole nation. This is a custom derived from
the constitution of the ancient Germans, who, in their
great councils, sometimes tried capital accusations relating
to the public : Licet apud concilium accusare quoque, et dis-
crimen capitis intendere. And it has a peculiar propriety
in the English constitution, which has much improved up¬
on the ancient model imported hither from the Continent.
For although the union of the legislative and judicial powers
ought in general to be most carefully avoided, yet it may
happen that a subject, intrusted with the administration ot
public affairs, may infringe the rights of the people, and
be guilty of such crimes as the ordinary magistrate either
dares not or cannot punish. Of these the representatives
Parlia..
mem.
P A 11
’arma. of the people, or the House of Commons, cannot properly
judge, because their constituents are the parties injured,
and can therefore only impeach. But before what court
shall this impeachment be tried ? Not before the ordinary
tribunals, which would naturally be swayed by the autho¬
rity of so powerful an accuser. Reason therefore suggests
that this branch of the legislature, which represents the
people, must bring its charge before the other branch,
which consists of the nobility, who have neither the same
interests, nor the same passions, as popular assemblies. The
constitution of our island enjoys this vast superiority over
those of the Grecian and Roman republics, where the people
were at the same time judges and accusers, and where the
accused were continually liable to become the victims of
popular prejudice, passion, and resentment. It is there¬
fore proper that the nobility should judge, to insure jus¬
tice to the accused, as it is proper that thejpeople should
accuse, to insure justice to the commonwealth. Amongst
other extraordinary circumstances attending the authority
of this court, there is one of a very singular nature, which
\vas insisted on by the House of Commons in the case of
the Earl of Danby in the reign of Charles I., and is now
enacted by statute 12 and 13 William III. c. 2, that no par¬
don under the great seal shall be pleadable to an impeach¬
ment by the Commons of Great Britain in parliament.
For a more general view of the British Constitution, the
reader is referred to the article England.
PARMA, a sovereign state, called a duchy, in Italy. It
consists of three districts, viz. Parma, Piacenza, and Borgo
St Domino, which, under the government of Napoleon,
formed the department of the Taro, to which has been
added the small duchy of Guastalla, now a fourth division.
It is situated between Modena, the Austrian territory of
Mantua, and the river Po, extends over 2266 square miles,
and contains about 420,000 inhabitants, all of whom adhere
to the Roman Catholic church. The district is generally a
level plain, and part of it belongs to that of Lombardy. A
portion of the Apennines is within the duchy, but it in¬
cludes none of the higher elevations of that range of moun¬
tains. The Po, which is the northern boundary, receives
the waters of the numerous small streams which, rising in
the Apennines, serve the purpose of irrigation, and give
fertility to the soil. I he land is generally farmed on the
metayer system, and the succession of crops is generally as
follows: In the first year a fallow, with tobacco, maize, or
hemp, well manured; in the second year rye; in the third
beans ; in the fourth wheat, manured ; in the fifth clover;
and in the sixth corn of some kind. More grain is pro¬
duced than suffices for consumption, and abundance of flax,
tobacco, and maize is exported, as well as fruit, wine, and
olive oil. Silk is also produced in great abundance. The
greatest profit of the husbandry of Parma is derived from
the cattle. The cows are numerous, and of an excellent
race; and the cheese as well as the butter produced yield
large gains. The sheep are numerous, their flesh is good,
and many of them yield the finest wool. There are mines
of copper and of iron worked ; and the several articles com¬
posed of these metals are manufactured within the duchy.
Marble and alabaster are drawn from the quarries. Abun¬
dance of mineral oil is furnished from springs, and is used
not only for greasing wheels of carriages, but for lighting
the streets. I here are few manufactures, and those which
do exist are upon a small scale, and for domestic use.
The government is monarchical, and is at present vested
in Maria Louisa, the wife of Napoleon, but after her demise
it will descend to the Duchess of Lucca. The revenues
of the duchy amount to L.187,000. The military force
consists of 3600 men, dbut only one third of them is in
service at the same time.
I arm a, the capital of the duchy of that name, is a city
situated on the river Parma, which divides it into two parts,
PAR
91
and stands about three hundred feet above the level of the Parmi-
sea. It is surrounded with walls and ditches, protected by giano
bastions, and it has also a citadel; but the fortifications are p 11
scarcely tenable against a serious attack. It is well built, Parnassus-
and has broad, well-paved streets, with large palaces and
houses ; but few of them display much architectural taste,
and even the ducal residence is not elegantly constructed.
The opera-house is distinguished by its size; and some of
the churches are large and magnificent. There is a univer¬
sity of ancient celebrity, an episcopal seminary, and a col¬
lege for nobility. The inhabitants depend on their estates
or on the court, and amount to 28,750 persons. Lone. ]0.
15.14. E. Lat. 44. 48. 1. N.
PARMIGIANO, a celebrated painter, whose true name
was Francesco Mazzuoli; but he received that of Parmi-
giano from the city of Parma, where he was born in 1504.
He was brought up under his two uncles, and was an emi¬
nent painter when but sixteen years of age. He was fa¬
mous all over Italy at nineteen; and at twenty-three he
performed such wonders, that when the general of the
Emperor Charles V. took Rome by storm, some of the com¬
mon soldiers, having broken into his apartments, found him
intent upon his work, and were so struck with the beauty
of his pieces, that instead of involving him in the plunder
and destruction in which they were then employed, they
resolved to protect him from all manner of violence. His
works are distinguished by the beauty of the colouring, the
invention, and the drawing. His figures are spirited and
graceful, particularly in respect to the choice of attitude,
and the arrangement of drapery. He also excelled in
music, in which he much delighted.
In large compositions Parmigiano did not always reach
a high degree of excellence ; but in his holy families, and
other similar subjects, the gracefulness of his heads, and
the elegance of his attitudes, are peculiarly remarkable.
For the, celebrity of his name he appears to have been
chiefly indebted to his numerous drawings and etchings.
As his life was short, and a great part of it consumed in
the idle study of alchemy, and in the seducing avocations
of music and gambling, but little time remained for ap¬
plication to the laborious part of his business. His paint¬
ings in oil are few in number, and held in high esteem ; as
are likewise his drawings and etchings. Good impressions
of the last, however, are very rarely to be found. He was
the first who practised the art of etching in Italy; and
probably he did not at first know that it had been for
some years practised in Germany. His principal works
are at Parma, where he died poor in 1540.
PARNASSUS, a mountain of Phocis, near Delphi, with
two tops ; the one sacred to Apollo, the other sacred to
Bacchus. It is thus described by Chandler :—“ Parnassus
was the western boundary of Phocis, and, stretching north¬
ward from about Delphi toward the (Etajan Mountains,
separated the western Locri from those who possessed the
sea-coast before Eubcea. It was a place of refuge to the
Delphians in times of danger. In the deluge which hap¬
pened under Deucalion, the natives were saved on it by
following the cry of wolves. On the invasion by Xerxes,
some transported their families over to Achaia, but many
concealed them in the mountain, and in Corycium, a grotto
of the Nymphs. All Parnassus was renowned for sancti¬
ty, but Corycium was the most noted among the hallowed
caves and places. ‘ On the way to the summit of Parnas¬
sus,’ says Pausanias, ‘ as much as sixty stadia beyond Del¬
phi, is a brazen image ; and from thence the ascent to
Corycium is easier for a man on foot, and for mules and
horses. Of all the caves in which I have been, this ap¬
peared to me the best worth seeing. On the coasts, and
by the sea side, are more than can be numbered ; but some
are very famous both in Greece and in other countries.
The Corycian cave exceeds in magnitude those I have
92
PAR
PAR
Parnell, mentioned, and for the most part may be passed through
'without a light. It is sufficiently high; and has water,
some springing up, and yet more from the root, which pe¬
trifies, so that the bottom of the whole cave is covered
with sparry icicles. The inhabitants of Parnassus esteem
it sacred to the Corycian nymphs, and particularly to Pan.
From the cave to reach the summits of the mountain is
difficult even to a man on foot. The summits are above
the clouds, and the women called Thyades madden on
them in the rites of Bacchus and Apollo.’ Their frantic
oro-ies were performed yearly. Wheler and his company
ascended Parnassus from Delphi, some on horses, by a
track between the stadium and the clefts of the mountain.
Stairs were cut in the rock, with a strait channel, perhaps
a water-duct. In a long hour, after many traverses, they
sained the top, and entering a plain, turned to the right,
towards the summits of Castalia, which are divided by
deep precipices. From this eminence they had a fine
prospect of the Gulf of Corinth, and of the coast; Mount
Cirphis appearing beneath them as a plain, bounded on
the east by the bay of Asprospitia, and on the west by
that of Salona. A few shepherds had huts there. I hey
returned to the way which they had quitted, and crossed
a hill covered with pines and snow. On their left was a
lake, and beyond it a peak, exceedingly high, white with
snow. They travelled to the foot of it through a valley
four or five miles in compass, and rested by a plentiful
fountain called Drosonigo, the stream boiling up a foot in
diameter, and nearly as much above the surface of the
ground. It runs into the lake, which is about a quarter of
a mile distant to the south-east. They did not discover
Corvcium, or proceed farther on, but keeping the lake on
their right, came again to the brink of the mountain, and
descended by a deep and dangerous track to llacovi, a
village four or five miles eastward from Delphi. It was the
opinfon of Wheler, that no mountain in Greece was higher
than Parnassus; that it was not inferior to Mont Cems
amongst the Alps; and that, if detached, it would be seen
at a greater distance than even Mount Athos. I he sum¬
mits are perpetually increasing, every new fall of snow
adding to the perennial heap, whilst the sun has power only
to thaw the superficies. Castalis, Pleistus, and innumei-
able springs are fed, some invisibly, from the lakes and le-
servoirs, which, without these drains and subterraneous
vents, would swell, especially after heavy rains and the
melting of snow, so as to fill the valleys, and run over the
tops of the rocks down upon Delphi, spreading wide an in¬
undation, similar, as has been surmised, to the Deucalio-
nian deluge.” . ,
PARNELL, Dr Thomas, an ingenious divine and an
elegant poet. He was archdeacon of Clogher, and the in¬
timate friend of Pope, who published his works, with a
copy of recommendatory verses prefixed. He died in G18,
at the age of thirty-nine. “ The life of Dr Parnell, says
Johnson, “ is a task which I should very willingly decline,
since it has been lately written by Goldsmith, a man of
such variety of powers, and such facility of performance,
that he always seemed to do best that which he was do¬
ing ; a man who had the art of being minute without te¬
diousness, and general without confusion; whose language
was copious without exuberance, exact without constraint,
and easy without weakness. What such an author has
told, who would tell again ? I have made an extract from
his larger narrative ; and shall have this gratification fiom
my attempt, that it gives me an opportunity of paying due
tribute to the memory of a departed genius.
Parody.
To yag /££«£ ^ccvovruv.
“ The general character of Parnell is not great extent
of comprehension, or fertility of mind. Of the little that
appears, still less is his own. His praise must be derived
from the easy sweetness of his diction. In his verses there Pamella
is more happiness than pains ; he is sprightly without ef¬
fort, and always delights though he never ravishes ; every-
thing is proper, yet everything seems casual. If there is
some appearance of elaboration in the Hermit, the narrative,
as it is less airy, is less pleasing. Of his other composi¬
tions, it is impossible to say whether they are the produc¬
tions of nature so excellent as not to want the help of art,
or of art so refined as to resemble nature.”
PARNELLA, a town and district of Hindustan, in the
province of Bejapoor, and one of the most healthy in the
Mahratta dominions. Long. 74. 15. E. Lat. 16. 50. N. It
was at this place that Aurungzebe’s camp was stationed in
April 1701, when Sir W. Norris, the ambassador from the
English East India Company, arrived to treat with him.
PARO, more properly Bent, a great river of South
America, and one of the three principal streams which
form the famous Madera. Of these, the Paro is the first or
most western branch. It is formed of an infinite number
of smaller streams, which, falling into it within a short dis¬
tance of each other, soon constitute a very considerable
body of water. They have their sources in the mountains
of Pelechuco, Suches, Sorata, Challana, Songa, La Paz, Su-
ri, and Cochabamba, which ranges form part of the snowy
cordillera visible from the city of La Paz. The farthest
to the west is the Tuche ; then follow the Aten, the Ma-
piri or Sorata, and the rivers which, descending from the
celebrated mines of Tipuani, from Challana and from Co-
roico, afterwards unite ; then the Chulumani and its tri¬
butary streams, the Taniampaya, the Solacama, the Rio de
la Paz, the Suri, and the Canamena; and, last of all, there
is the Cotacajes. Owing to the rapidity with which these
currents descend from the cordillera, their navigation is
difficult and dangerous ; but the Indians display such dex¬
terity in the management of their balsas or rafts, that the
traveller has nothing to fear. Below Reyes, in about 12^°
of south latitude, the Paro receives various other streams
from the west, as the Tequeje, the Masisi or Cavinas, and
others. From its junction with the Marmore, in about 10°
south latitude, both rivers lose their names in that of the
Madera. The course of the Paro lies between 10° and
17° 30' of south latitude. It waters the whole of the dis¬
trict of Mosetenes, skirts the province of Moxos, and pur¬
sues its north-easterly course to the Marmore, through a
fine level country. It would be extremely easy to unite
the Beni with the Marmore, by means of the river Yacu-
ma, which rises near Reyes, situated on the eastern bank
of the Beni, and running eastward through the flat coun¬
try between them, falls into the Marmore close to the
town of Santa Anna. The fall of the land is so imper¬
ceptible, and so nearly on a level with the horizon, that it
does not exceed twenty feet in a distance of more than
sixty leagues. In the range of country traversed by the
Paro, there is every variety of hill and dale, and plains with
abundant smaller streams of running water. I he vast and
extensive levels along the banks offer the finest situations
for agricultural establishments, and for the maintenance of
a numerous population. The great fertility of the country is
evinced by the extraordinary growth of the trees, and the
innumerable plants which are spontaneously produced, af¬
fording sustenance and shelter to a prodigious variety of
the animal creation. The best lands are principally occu¬
pied by the Mosetenes Indians, who give their name to
the country where they chiefly reside. About Reyes are
the Maropas tribe of Indians ; lower down are the Paca-
quaras, and there are a number of others which do not re¬
quire to be particularly mentioned. (r. R. R.)
PARODY, a poetical pleasantry, consisting in apply¬
ing the verses written on one subject, by way of ridicule,
to another ; or in turning a serious work into burlesque, by
affecting to observe, as nearly as possible, the same rhymes,
Pari'
PAR
j irole words, and cadences, in treating a mean, low, or ridicu-
P'ili lous one.
; arr' The parody was first introduced by the Greeks, from
^ v-^/vvhom the name has been borrowed. It comes pretty near
to what some of the modern writers call travesty. Others,
however, have more accurately distinguished between a
parody and burlesque, observing, that the change of a
single word may parody a verse, or that of a single letter
a word. Thus, in the case of a word, Cato exposed the in¬
constant disposition of Marcus Fulvius Nobilior, by chang¬
ing Nobilior into Mobilior. Another kind of parody con¬
sists in the mere application of some known verse, or por¬
tion of a verse, in a writer, without making any change in
it, with a view to expose it. A fourth instance is that of
writing verses in the taste and style of authors little ap¬
proved. The rules of parody regard the choice of a sub¬
ject, and the manner of treating it. The subject should
be a known and celebrated work; and as to the manner, it
should be an exact imitation, with an intermixture of good-
natured pleasantry.
PAROLE, in a military sense, the promise made by a
prisoner of war, when he has leave to go anywhere, of re¬
turning at a time appointed, if not exchanged.
Parole means also a word given out every day in or¬
ders by the commanding officer, both in camp and in garri¬
son, for the purpose of distinguishing friends from enemies.
PARONOMASIA, in Rhetoric, a pun, or a figure, by
which words nearly alike in sound, but of very different
meanings, are affectedly or designedly used.
PAROS, an island belonging to the Turkish empire, in
the /Egean Sea. It is separated by a narrow channel from
Noxia on the eastern, and from Antiparos on the west¬
ern side. It extends over 104 square miles, and contains
about 2000 inhabitants. It is naturally fertile, but, by the
conduct of the government, the population, mostly Greeks,
are very much impoverished; and there is also a scarcity
of water. The chief town is Parichia, situated on the
western coast, with a good haven, and about 700 inhabi¬
tants. It was once celebrated for its marbles. Long. 19.
15. E. Lat. 42. 45. N.
PARPARSARAT, an island in the Eastern Seas, near
the coast of Sumatra, and in the Straits of Malacca. It is
fifty miles in circumference. Long. 102. 15. E. Lat. 1.
21. N.
PARR, Catharine, queen of England, was the eldest
daughter of Sir Thomas Parr of Kendal. She was first
married to John Nevil, Lord Latimer, and after his death
was, by her marriage with Henry VIII., raised to the
throne. The royal nuptials were solemnized at Hampton
Court on the 12th of July 1543. This lady, being religious¬
ly disposed, was, in the early part of her life, a zealous ob¬
server of the rites and ceremonies of the Catholic Church;
but on the dawning of the Reformation, she became as
zealous a promoter of the Lutheran doctrine, though with
all the prudence and circumspection which her perilous si¬
tuation required. Nevertheless, it is alleged that she was
in great danger of falling a sacrifice to the popish faction,
the chief of which was Bishop Gardiner, who is said to
have drawn up articles against her, and prevailed on the
king to sign a warrant to remove her to the Tower. This
warrant, however, was accidentally dropped, and imme¬
diately conveyed to her majesty. What her apprehensions
must have been on making such a discovery may be easily
imagined. Knowing the character of the monarch, and
recollecting the fate of his former queens, she was seized
with a sudden illness. The news of her indisposition
brought the king to her apartment. He was lavish in ex¬
pressions of affection, and sent her a physician. His ma¬
jesty also being soon afterwards indisposed, she prudently
returned the visit. With this the king seemed pleased,
and began to talk with her on religious subjects, proposing
PAH 93
certain questions, concerning which he wanted her opi- Farr,
nion. She answered, that such profound speculations were
not suited to her sex ; that it belonged to the husband to
choose principles for his wife ; that the wife’s duty was,
in all cases, to adopt implicitly the sentiments of her hus¬
band ; and that as to herself, it was doubly her duty, be¬
ing blessed with a husband who was qualified, by his judg¬
ment and learning, not only to choose principles for his
own family, but for the most wise and knowing of every
nation. “ Not so, by St Mary,” replied the king ; “ you
are now become a doctor, Kate, and better fitted to give
than receive instruction.” She meekly replied, that she
was sensible how little she was entitled to these praises ;
that although she usually declined not any conversation,
however sublime, when proposed by his majesty, she well
knew that her conceptions could not serve any other pur¬
pose than to give him a little momentary amusement;
that she found the conversation a little apt to languish
when not revived by some opposition, and she had ven¬
tured sometimes to feign a contrariety of sentiments, in
order to give him the pleasure of refuting her ; and that
she also proposed, by this innocent artifice, to engage him
into topics, whence she had observed, by frequent expe¬
rience, that she reaped profit and instruction. “ And is
it so, sweetheart?” replied the king ; “ then we are per¬
fect friends again.” He embraced her with great affec¬
tion, and sent her away with assurances of his protection
and kindness.
The time being now come when she was to be sent to
the Tower, the king, walking in the garden, sent for the
queen, and met her with great good humour; when the
chancellor, with forty of the guards, approached. He fell
upon his knees, and spoke softly with the king, who called
him knave, arrant knave, beast, fool, and commanded him
instantly to depart. Henry then returned to the queen,
who ventured to intercede for the chancellor : “ Ah, poor
soul,” said the king, “ thou little knowest how ill he
deserveth this grace at thy hands. Of my word, sweet¬
heart, he has been toward thee an arrant knave; and so
let him go.” The king died in January 1547, just three
years and a half after his marriage with this second Ca¬
tharine, who, in a short time, was again espoused to Sir
Thomas Seymour, lord-admiral of England ; and in Sep¬
tember 1548 she died in childbed. The historians of
this period generally insinuate that she was poisoned by
her husband, to make way for his marriage with the lady
Elizabeth.
Catharine Parr wrote, 1. Queen Catharine Parr’s La¬
mentation of a Sinner, bewailing the ignorance of her
blind life, London, 1548, 15G3, in 8vo ; 2. Prayers or Me¬
ditations, wherein the mind is stirred patiently to suffer
all afflictions here, to set at nought the vain prosperity
of this world, and always to long for the everlasting feli¬
city, printed by John Wayland, 1545, 4to, reprinted 1561,
12mo.
PARR, Samuel, a critic, metaphysician, theologian,
and one of the most learned classical scholars of the age
in which he lived, was born at Harrow-on-the-Hill, on the
15th of January 1747, O. S. His father, an apothecary and
surgeon at Harrow, was equally distinguished by vigorous
intellect, a spirit of manly independence, and great profes¬
sional skill.
At Easter 1752, young Parr w^as admitted on the foun¬
dation of Harrow School, at that time conducted by the
Rev. Dr Thackeray, and, for a long series of years, one of
the most celebrated and successful of those great classical
seminaries the pupils of which have contributed so largely
to shed unparalleled lustre on the English name. That
schools and universities can but initiate their pupils in
the principles of literature and science, and ought not,
perhaps, to aim at more, it would be unwise to dispute.
94:
PARR.
Parr.
That those pre-eminent geniuses who have, in all ages of
the world, enlarged the field of science by their discover¬
ies, or embellished literature by their taste, have owed
their success and reputation to their native talents and
persevering industry, may without scruple be admitted as
established facts in the history of the human mind. Still,
it is a truth no less capable of demonstration, that in most
instances the primary causes of great eminence and high
attainment in the pursuits of life may be traced to the
impulse given by the teacher’s well-directed precepts, and
the mutual collision of kindred minds in the strire of early
competition. It may fairly be assumed, that, to the rare
combination of these circumstances operating on a mind
essentially powerful and capacious, Parr was in no ordi¬
nary degree indebted for his extensive scholarship and
well-earned fame. When we find that Thackeray and Sum¬
ner were his instructors, and that such men as Sir Wil¬
liam Jones, and Dr Rennet, bishop of Cloyne, were his
schoolfellows and inseparable companions, we are natu¬
rally and easily prepared to anticipate, even in this early
period of his intellectual career, an energetic develop¬
ment of those powers of thought which, in the progress
of life, unfolded themselves with almost unexampled force
and vigour. At the early age of fourteen, he had by his
diligence and talents gained the approbation of his succes¬
sive teachers; and, in January 1761, he became the
bov of the school. The elevated rank which he thus held
amongst his school-fellows clearly indicates how thoroughly
and effectively he devoted himself to those classical studies
in which, to the latest years of his life, he felt such in-
tense delight- But to these, even at this period of his li t,
his time and attention were not exclusively confined. Be¬
fore he had completed his course of scholastic training at
Harrow, though metaphysics and dialectics offer but few
attractions to the mind of boyhood, he had made no incon¬
siderable proficiency in these branches of mental science,
and had maintained upon subjects connected with them
many a friendly conflict with the generous rivals of his
honours and partners of his studies. These prolusions of
luvenile genius and talent were not a useless display of in¬
tellectual gladiatorship, or unaccompanied with improve¬
ment to the youthful combatants. The faculties ot the
mind, like the powers of the body, are invigorated by fre¬
quent exercise, and only attain their lull development in
point of energy and capacity by the excitement of gene¬
rous and salutary competition.
In 1761, Parr, having completed the course of study
pursued at Harrow, left school, and was, for two or three
subsequent years, employed by his father in his own pro¬
fession. But though the duties in which he was thus ne¬
cessarily engaged occupied much of his time, and were
calculated in some degree to withdraw his attention from
the studies of earlier years, his classical pursuits were ne¬
ver entirely suspended, nor did his ardent devotion to
Greek and Roman literature experience any abatement or
change. It was not to be expected that one whose taste
was so exquisitely alive to the beauties of the classic page,
would apply with equal warmth of interest to the com¬
pounding of medicines, and the other duties of the la¬
boratory, or regard as any thing else than an irksome task
the manipulations of a profession which was so little con¬
genial to his aspirations and desires.
Determined by such unequivocal proofs of his decided
predilection for literary pursuits and academical studies,
his father, after considerable hesitation, resolved at last
to accommodate his views to the wishes ot his son, and in
1765 entered him at Emanuel College, Cambridge. In
this noble arena of mental activity, where all was in har¬
mony with his most eager wishes, his application to study
was enthusiastic, incessant, and severe. Classical read¬
ing, mathematics, and those subsidiary but indispensable
investigations by which a thorough knowledge of these
subjects is acquired and established, were pursued, not
merely for their own sake, but as opening up to their
successful cultivator the sure path to academical honours
and distinction. These exciting and pleasing^ prospects,
however, were not destined to be realized. The inade¬
quacy of the means necessary for his longer continuance
at Cambridge, in consequence of his father’s death, induced
him gratefully to accept the proposal made to him by Dr
Sumner, to take the vacant place of first assistant in Har¬
row School.
At Christmas 1769 he was ordained to the curacies of
Willsden and Kingsbury, in Middlesex, the duties of
which, in conjunction with those proper to the situation
which he held in the school, he continued to discharge
till the death of Dr Sumner in 1771. In Dr Sumner he
found a faithful friend and counsellor, and gave such sa¬
tisfaction to the pupils and their parents, that, on the oc¬
currence of this vacancy of the head-mastership of Har¬
row School, he felt himself called upon to become a can¬
didate, and was on every ground justified in making such
an application. He was unsuccessful; the election fell
on Dr Heath, an assistant at Eton, whose merit and suc¬
cess amply justified the choice of the governors. He so
far resented this decision in favour of the successful can¬
didate, as to resign his assistantship, and open a school at
Stanmore, to which he was, from affectionate attachment,
followed by forty of the pupils whom he had taught at
Harrow.
The success of this undertaking, however, corresponded
but ill with the auspicious beginning that ushered it in ;
and a variety of circumstances concurred, of such a nature
as to recommend the propriety of a change of situation,
and to render it desirable. Influenced, accordingly, by
these considerations, he became a candidate for the school
of Colchester, and having succeeded in attaining the ap¬
pointment, he went to reside there in 1777. During his
residence at Colchester he took priests orders,and his cu¬
racies were Hythe and Trinity Church.
In 1778, he obtained the appointment of head-master of
Norwich School, and early in 1779 entered upon the du¬
ties of his office. In the following year he published his
two sermons, “ On the Truth and Usefulness of Christi¬
anity,” and “ On the Education of the Poor.” He afterwards,
in 1785, resumed the subject of the latter at greater length,
in his “ Discourse on Education, and on the Plans pur¬
sued in Charity Schools.” This was the most popular of
all his writings, and is a conspicuous and noble monument
of its gifted author’s enlarged views, pure benevolence, and
deep insight into human character. The general educa¬
tion of the people in any nation, and still more the exten¬
sion of its advantages and blessings to the whole human
race, are subjects on which the genuine philanthropist and
truly enlightened Christian dwell with delight and rapture.
And in what, indeed, can the friend of his fellow-men more
worthily employ his time and talents, than in promoting
those comprehensive schemes which aim, not at the eleva¬
tion of one class of men above another in worldly dignity
and grandeur, nor at the temporary glory and exaltation
of any single nation or race ot men, but at raising higher
in the scale of intelligence and happiness all of every tribe^
on whom the Common Parent has bestowed the capacity of
mental, moral, and religious culture ? This has since be¬
come in.Great Britain a national and engrossing topic;
theory and practice have mutually and equally contributed
their aid to the advancement of national and universal edu¬
cation ; and he who, half a century before his death, advo¬
cated with such ability and power the cause of the poor
and ignorant, had the felicity to witness the dawn of that
brighter era in the history of mankind, the meridian efful¬
gence of which must precede or accompany the universal
an\
l-V'-'
PARR.
95
difFusion of pure religion and divine truth. These elaborate
and masterly discourses, elucidating, as they do, a subject
of permanent and incalculable interest, will always be per¬
used with admiration and benefit. They will extend the
reader’s information, and improve his heart. They are per¬
vaded and beautified by a deep tone of fervent piety, and
breathe the warmest wishes for the intellectual, moral, and
spiritual interests of the great family of man.
In 1781, Parr took his degree of doctor of laws in the
University of Cambridge, after supporting two theses,
which were regarded as compositions of superior excellence
and merit. In 1783, he was by Dr Robert Lowth, bishop
of London, appointed one of the prebends of St Paul’s ca¬
thedral. The duties of this office were nearly nominal,
but its revenues afforded him the means of comfort and in¬
dependence during the remainder of his life. In 1783, he
was presented by Lady Jane Trafford to the perpetual cu¬
racy of Hatton, Warwickshire, to which, after resigning
the school at Norwich, he went to reside in 1786. Here
he continued to devote his leisure to the tuition of a limit¬
ed number of pupils; and, by making it his permanent re¬
sidence to the end of his life, he bequeathed to it that ce¬
lebrity and interest which any locality, however obscure,
necessarily and justly derives from the fame of an illustri¬
ous inhabitant.
In 1787 appeared the justly celebrated preface to Bel-
lendenus, of which Henry Homer, fellow of Emanuel Col¬
lege, Cambridge, was editor. Bellenden, the author, was
a learned Scotchman, master of requests to James I., and
professor of humanity at Paris in the beginning of the
seventeenth century. The three books of Bellendenus are
in this edition dedicated to Mr Burke, Lord North, and Mr
Fox. The preface by Dr Parr, which is prefixed to the
original work of Bellenden, delineates, in elegant and vigor¬
ous language, the characters of the three distinguished
statesmen to whom the respective books are dedicated.
This singularly felicitous composition, though too slavishly
and undisguisedly a cento, is undeniably one of the most
successful modern imitations of Ciceronian Latin. But the
highly embellished eloquence and precise discrimination of
character, which give such value to this masterly declama¬
tion, can never be accepted as a compensation or atone¬
ment for the rude sarcasm, the contemptuous and unmea¬
sured virulence, with which he assails, unprovoked, the de¬
voted objects of his political vengeance. This extraordi¬
nary production was read with avidity, and created a very
uncommon sensation amongst the men of letters and politi¬
cians of the day. It was productive, however, of no effects
beneficial to the author; and alienated from him, in all pro¬
bability, the minds of many who would otherwise have
proved friendjy or indifferent. Even the statesmen whom
he had so lavishly and eloquently panegyrised, when they
reached the summit of power, and became dispensers of
ecclesiastical honours and emoluments, granted him no
promotion; and his warmest friends have seriously deplored
the employment of his talents in a manner so inconsistent
with his sacred character. It is a matter of deep regret
that he should have so far extinguished in his breast the
meek and gentle spirit of that religion, the peaceful and
holy duties of which he was bound, equally by precept and
example, to impress on the hearts and consciences of men.
The generosity of his nature, and his readiness to oblige,
by giving a real or supposed friend the benefit of his great
talents, brought him oftener than once into unhappy colli¬
sion with inferior men, who scrupled not to arrogate im¬
portance to themselves, by laying claim to compositions
in the merits and excellence of which they were in reality
entitled to but a secondary and subordinate share. In
1 /90, we find him involved in an obscure and intricate
controversy of this kind respecting the authorship of the
Bampton Lectures, published by Dr White. It would be
an uninstructive and fruitless deviation from the concise¬
ness necessary to be observed in this biographical outline,
to enter fully into the merits of this dark transaction; but
the letters published by Dr Johnson, in his memoirs of
Parr’s life and writings, have clearly established the fact,
that much of the talent displayed in these admirable com¬
positions, if not the conception of the whole work, must in
justice be ascribed to the transcendent energy of Parr’s
capacious mind. On the contrary, White, Badcock, and
the other individuals who make a figure in this discredit¬
able controversy, stand convicted, upon satisfactory evi¬
dence, of mean and ungrateful plagiarism.
I he “ Tracts by Warburton and a Warburtonian, not ad¬
mitted into the collection of their respective works,” ap¬
peared in 1789, with a dedication addressed by the editor
to a learned critic, containing some excellent critical re¬
marks, and abounding at the same time in forcible expres¬
sion and happy illustration. Of this composition Warton,
no mean authority, is reported to have said, that if he were
called upon to point out some of the finest sentences in
English prose, he would quote Parr’s Preface and Dedica¬
tion of the Warburtonian Tracts.
The tremendous explosion in France, of that revolu¬
tionary volcano which seemed to threaten the world with
a total dislocation of civilized society, made the shock be
felt in every region of the earth. The immediate vicinity
of Britain to the scene of this great convulsion, exposed
her population in a peculiar degree to the danger of being
involved in all the terrific consequences of a similar ca¬
tastrophe. The inhabitants of this island had long claimed
and enjoyed, as their inalienable birthright, the most un¬
limited freedom of thought, speculation, expression, and
action. In a country so situated and so circumstanced,
therefore, it was not to be conceived or expected that the
movements of so vast a revolution would not receive from
some the most sympathising admiration, whilst by others
they would be contemplated with horror and repugnance.
And whilst every member of the great British common¬
wealth discussed, with all the confidence of the most pro¬
found and enlightened statesman, such subjects as policy,
government, the rights, natural or acquired, of individuals
and communities, and all else that concerns the great desti¬
nies of man as a member of social life, it was not to be ex¬
pected that Dr Parr alone would remain apathetic and un¬
moved amidst the heats and conflicts of political controversy
by which he was surrounded. But although every action
of his long hfe proves him to have been the steady and
consistent advocate of freedom, he was too well acquainted
with the history of democracy in all its modifications, and
in every age, to favour its pretensions, or lend the aid of
his great talents to the support of its excesses and extra¬
vagance. Parr was no Jacobin. He was a decided, sin¬
cere, unflinching Whig, and in principle a firm supporter
of the constitutional liberties of Britain. He was not,
however, of a temper to disguise his opinions on any sub¬
ject in which he felt and took an interest; and accordingly
he sometimes expressed himself with such boldness and
freedom on questions of civil policy, that he incurred the
imputation of regarding with favour and partiality the doc¬
trines promulgated and acted upon by the republican re¬
volutionists of France. As the alleged abettor of such
principles, he was about this period of his life exposed to
assaults, on the assumed ground that he was guilty of po¬
litical delinquencies, which his life disproves and his writ¬
ings disavow.
Parr shunned neither churchman nor dissenter who was
unblemished in character and eminent in talents. With Dr
Priestley, amongst others, he had exchanged civilities ; and
when the library and philosophical apparatus of the latter
were in 1791 consigned to destruction by the Birmingham
rioters, the knowledge that such intercourse had subsisted
Parr.
96
PARR.
Pavr.
between them prompted the infuriated mob to regard both
' as holding and professing the same common principles and
sentiments. Under the influence of this dangerous delu¬
sion, they threatened to commit Dr Parr’s house and li¬
brary also to the flames, and manifested so decided a de¬
termination to carry their threats into execution, that it
was judged a necessary precaution to remove the books to
a place of safety. Before, however, the incendiaries were
able to put their design in execution, their proceedings
were checked by the seasonable interposition of the mili¬
tary. Of these riots a durable record is preserved in the
“ Sequel to the printed Paper lately circulated in War¬
wickshire, by the Rev. Charles Curtis, brother of Aider-
man Curtis, a Birmingham Rector, London, 1792;” of
which the preface is justly admired as one of the most per¬
fect specimens of the author’s composition in his best and
most laboured style. A prevalent rumour that the dis¬
senters in the following year meditated a meeting in com¬
memoration of the FrenchRevolution, similar to that which
had led to and provoked the riots of the preceding year, oc¬
casioned the hasty composition and publication of “ A Let¬
ter from Irenopolis to the Inhabitants of Eleutheropolis ;
or, a Serious Address to the Dissenters of Birmingham a
tract which, in elegance, perspicuity, and vigour, may safe¬
ly stand a comparison with the most finished and elaborate
of his former writings. The dissenters immediately pub¬
lished a declaration, in which they disclaimed all intention
of holding such a meeting as the reports currently circu¬
lated had given reason to expect.
In 1793, Parr, who it seems had with disinterested kind¬
ness afforded gratuitously considerable assistance to his
friend Homer in preparing for the press the variorum edi¬
tion of Horace in which he was engaged, was, upon the
death of the original editor, hurried into a painful contro¬
versy with Dr Combe, who prosecuted the work to its com¬
pletion. After Homer’s death, Dr Parr, for some reason
which has not been very clearly ascertained, not only
withheld his countenance and assistance, but published a
series of severe animadversions upon the work, in several
numbers of the British Critic. Dr Combe published in
reply a pamphlet, entitled “ A Statement of the Facts re¬
lative to the Behaviour of the Rev. Dr Parr to the late Mr
Homer and Dr Combe, in order to point out the source,
falsehood, and malignity of Dr Parr’s attack, in the British
Critic, on the character of Dr Combe, 1794.” The oppro¬
brious and highly offensive terms emblazoned on the title-
page of this tract were calculated to rouse the indignation
of the meekest spirit, and could not with propriety and a
sense of self-respect be allowed, unanswered, to infuse their
venom into and corrupt the public mind. Dr Parr was
neither insensible to the language of petulance and scorn,
nor was his temper such as to submit tamely and in silence
to outrage and abuse. He might indeed say with truth,
Q,ui me commorit (melius non tangere, clamo)
Flebit, et insignis tota cantabitur urbe.
Accordingly, he replied in a pamphlet, bearing the title,
« Remarks on the statement of Dr Charles Combe, by an
occasional writer in the British Critic, 1/95. It is mit¬
ten in a temperate, calm, and guarded tone ; the sarcastic
asperity of its author might have inflicted, and the pro¬
vocation would have justified, a much severer castigation
than the rash delinquent was doomed to endure.
In the vear 1800, by the appointment of Mr Alderman
Combe, lord mayor of London, Dr Parr preached the cele¬
brated Spital sermon in Christ-Church. Capacious as the
building is, it was crowded to excess by an intelligent au¬
dience, who, for nearly two hours, listened with the most pro¬
found attention to the speaker’s convincing arguments and
resistless eloquence. This elaborate discourse may be re¬
garded as a continuation and extension of those in which
he had previously with great ability advocated the cause
of general education ; and in the course of it the author
combats, with irresistible effect, the delusive metaphysics
of those philosophers who resolve benevolence and justice
into the principle of selfishness. Soon after its delivery,
this very original and almost unrivalled composition was
printed and published, exhibiting the extraordinary pro¬
portion of fifty-one pages occupied with text, and 212
with notes. It called forth some observations from Mr
Godwin, the author of 44 Political Justice, in an octavo
pamphlet, entitled 44 Thoughts occasioned by the perusal
of Dr Parr’s Spital Sermon, being a reply to Dr Parr, Mi-
Mackintosh, and others.” The author of this tract, who
knew as well as any man could do Dr Parr s political
leanings and opinions, states in one sentence, written whilst
his mind was soured by displeasure and chagiin, what L
quite sufficient to refute the charge too often made, and
too readily believed, that he was the abetter of i evolution¬
ary and democratic principles. 441 have always found him,
says Mr Godwin,44 the advocate of old establishments, and,
what appeared to me, old abuses.’ Parr wras ardently de¬
sirous to see the condition of mankind meliorated by gia-
dual improvements in their civil and social condition ; but
he was at the same time, in all its interests, a warm ad¬
mirer of the British constitution in church and state.
In 1802, Sir Francis Burdett presented him to the rec¬
tory of Graffham in Huntingdonshire. The generosity
which the baronet exhibited on this occasion is highly
creditable to his character, and the value of the gift to
the receiver of it must have been immeasurably enhanced
by the fine tact and delicacy with which it was conferred.
In the letter in which he makes the unsolicited offer, he
observes, that a great motive to make it was, that he be¬
lieved he could do nothing more pleasing to his friends,
Mr Fox, Mr Sheridan, and Mr Knight; thus making the
appointment in a great measure a favour conferred by
those personal friends whom Parr most highly esteemed.
Nor is the allusion in his reply to the part of Burdett’s
letter just referred to less honourable to the author’s
heart. 44 Most assuredly I shall myself set a higher value
upon your kindness, when I consider it as intended to
gratify the friendly feelings of those excellent men, as
well as to promote my own personal happiness.” He con¬
tinued, how-ever, to reside at Hatton, where he was greatly
esteemed by his parishioners, and had made such addi¬
tions to his house as to render it peculiarly suited to his
convenience and wishes.
On the renewal of the war with France in the year 1803,
he published his sermon, 44 preached on the late fast, Oc¬
tober 19, at the parish church of Hatton.” It is a noble
discourse, wrell calculated to rouse his hearers, and the na¬
tion generally} to heroic and determined resistance against
the threatened invasion by the French.
His next publication, and the last that is entitled to
particular notice, 44 Characters of the late Charles James
Fox, selected, and in part written, by Philopatris Varvi-
censis,” appeared in 1809. It consists partly of extracts
from the various public journals, and is partly of an original
character, addressed in the form of an epistle to Mr Coke,
with an additional volume of notes. This work, in which
the great statesman, his principles and powers of mind,
are delineated with much beauty and effect, remains a noble
monument of his worth, and of the talents and warm af¬
fection of his devoted and enthusiastic panegyrist.
Dr Parr was twice married ; in 1771 to Miss Jane Mar-
singale, who died on the 9th of Apri1 1810; and again, in
1817, to Miss Eyre, sister of the Reverend James Eyre of
Coventry. Of his children, one died at Norwich, and
another, Catherine, fell a victim to consumption at Teign-
mouth in 1805. A third, Sarah, was married to Mr Wynne
of Plasnewydd, Denbighshire, but she also died early.
PAR
In 1823, his strength began visibly to decline; and his
''’spirits ceased to display their wonted elasticity and ani¬
mation. On Sunday the 16th of January 1825 he perform¬
ed all the duties of the church at Hatton ; but was, in the
course of the following night, seized with severe fever and
delirium. From that period his vital powers gradually
declined; but he bore his sufferings with patient forti¬
tude and pious resignation ; and on the evening of Sun¬
day the 6th of March 1825 gently expired, having on the
26th of January completed the seventy-eighth year of his
age. His remains were deposited in a vault of Hatton
Church ; and Dr Butler, archdeacon of Derby, and head
master of Shrewsbury School, preached the funeral sermon,
from the text which Dr Parr had directed to be inscribed
on his monument: What doth the Lord require of thee, but
to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with
thy God?
Dr Parr was endowed by nature with a powerful intellect
and retentive memory ; in argument he was keen and irre¬
sistible ; but he was opinionative, strong in his likings and
aversions, and impatient of opposition. In politics he dis¬
played the most ardent love of freedom, the most incor¬
ruptible integrity, and resolute independence. In learning
he was perhaps unrivalled by any other individual of the
age in which he lived ; as a classical scholar he was not
surpassed j he excelled in metaphysics and moral philoso¬
phy ; and in theology he had read extensively and thought
deeply. Benevolence and charity, especially to young
men of promising talents, whose means were inadequate
to their support, were pre-eminent qualities of his frank
and generous heart. He was full of truth and integrity,
and his piety, though unostentatious, was fervent and sin¬
cere. (A. R. c<)
Parr, Thomas, a remarkable Englishman, who lived in
the reigns of ten kings and queens, and having married a
second wife when he was 120, had a child by her. He
was the son of John Parr, a husbandman of Winnington,
in the parish of Alderbury, in the county of Salop, w here
he was born in the year 1483. Though he lived to the
great age of upwards of 152 years, yet the tenor of his life
admitted of but little variety ; nor can the detail of it be
considered as of importance, further than what may arise
from the gratification of that curiosity which naturally in¬
quires after the mode of living which could lengthen life
to such extreme old age. Following the profession of his
father, he laboured hard, and lived on coarse fare. Tay¬
lor, the water poet, says of him :
Good wholesome labour was his exercise,
Down with the lamb, and with the lark would rise;
In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day,
And to his team he whistled time away :
The cock his night-clock, and, till day was done,
His watch and chief sun-dial was the sun.
And the same writer observes of him, that
From head to heel, his body had all over
A quick set, thick set, natural hairy cover.
The manner of his being conducted to London is also
noticed in the following terms: “ The Right Honourable
Thomas earl of Arundel and Surrey, earl marshal of Eng¬
land, on being lately in Shropshire to visit some lands and
manors which his lordship holds in that county, or for
some other occasions ot importance which caused his lord-
ship to be there, the report of this aged man w as signified
to his honour; who hearing of so remarkable a piece of
antiquity, his lordship was pleased to see him; and in his
innate, noble, and Christian piety, he took him into his
charitable tuition and protection, commanding that a litter
and two horses (for the more easy carriage of a man so
feeble and worn with age) to be provided for him; also,
that a daughter of his, named Lucy, should likewise at¬
tend him, and have a horse for her own riding with him ;
VOL. XVII.
PAR
and to cheer up the old man, and make him merry, there
was an antique-faced fellow, with a high and mighty no-v
beard, that had also a horse for his carriage. These were
all to be brought out of the country to London by easy
journeys, the charge being allowed by his lordship; like¬
wise one of his lordship’s own servants, named Bryan Kelly,
to ride on horseback with them, and to attend and defray
all manner of reckonings and expenses.” All this was ac¬
cordingly done.
“ Winnington is a parish of Alderbury, near a place
called the Welch Pool, eight miles from Shrewsbury;
from whence he was carried to Wem, a town of the earl’s
aforesaid ; and the next day to Shiffnall, a manor-house of
his lordship’s, where they likewise stayed one night: from
Shiffnall they came to Wolverhampton, and the next day
to Birmingham, and from thence to Coventry. Although
Master Kelly had much to do to keep the people off that
pressed upon him in all places where he came, yet at Co¬
ventry he was most oppressed, for they came in such mul¬
titudes to see the old man, that those who defended him
wrere almost quite tired and spent, and the aged man in
danger of being stifled; and, in a word, the rabble were so
unruly, that Bryan was in doubt he should bring his
charge no farther; so greedy are the vulgar to hearken to
or gaze after novelties. The trouble being over, the next
day they passed to Daintree, to Stony Stratford, to Rad-
burne, and so to London ; where he was well entertained
and accommodated with all things, having all the foresaid
attendance at the sole charge and cost of his lordship.”
When brought before the king, his majesty, with more
acuteness than good manners, said to him, “ You have lived
longer than other men, what have you done more than
other men ?” He answered, “ I did penance when I was a
hundred years old.” This journey, however, proved fatal
to him. Owing to the alteration in his diet, the change
of the air, and his general mode of life, he lived but a very
short time ; and having died on the 5th of November 1635,
he was buried in Westminster Abbey. After his death, his
body was opened ; and an account of the post mortem ex¬
amination was drawn up by the celebrated Dr Harvey.
“ Thomas Parr,” says that great physician, “ was a poor
country man of Shropshire, whence he was brought up to
London by the Right Honourable Thomas earl of Arun¬
del and Surrey ; and died after he had outlived nine princes,
in the tenth year of the tenth of them, at the age of 152
years and nine months.
“ He had a large breast, lungs not fungous, but sticking
to his ribs, and distended with blood ; a lividness in his
face, as he had a difficulty of breathing a little before his
death, and a long lasting warmth in his armpits and breast
after it; which sign, together with others, were so evident
in his body, as they use to be on those that die by suffo¬
cation. His heart was great, thick, fibrous, and fat. The
blood in the heart blackish and diluted. The cartilages of
the sternum not more h-my than in others, but flexile and
soft. His viscera were sound and strong, especially the
stomach ; and it was observed of him, that he used to eat
often by night and day, though contented with old cheese,
milk, coarse bread, small beer, and whey; and, which is
more remarkable, that he ate at midnight a little before he
died. His kidneys were covered with fat, and pretty sound ;
only on the interior surface of them were found some aque¬
ous or serous abscesses, whereof one was near the bigness
of a hen egg, with a yellowish water in it, having made a
roundish cavity, impressed on that kidney; whence some
thought it came that a little before his death a suppression
of urine had befallen him, though others were of opinion
that his urine was suppressed upon the regurgitation of all
the serosity into his lungs. Not the least appearance there
was of any stony matter either in the kidneys or bladder.
His bowels were also sound, a little whitish without. His
N
97
Pan-.
98
PAR
Parrels
spleen very little, hardly equalling the bigness of one kid¬
ney. In short, all his inward parts appeared so healthy,
that if he had not changed his diet and air, he might per¬
haps have lived a good while longer. 1 he cause of ms
death was imputed chiefly to the change of food and air;
forasmuch as coming out of a clear, thin, and free air, le
came into the thick air of London; and after a constant plain
and homely country diet, he was taken into a splendid family,
where he fed high and drank plentifully of the best wines,
whereupon the natural functions of the parts of his bocy
were overcharged, his lungs obstructed, and the habit o
the whole body quite disordered ; upon which there could
not but ensue a dissolution. His brain was sound, entire,
and firm ; and though he had not the use of his eyes, nor
much of his memory, several years before he died, yet 16
had his hearing and apprehension very well; and was able,
even to the 130th year of his age, to do any husbandman s
work, even thrashing of corn.”
PARRELS, in a ship, are frames made of trucks, ribs,
and ropes, which, having both their ends fastened to the
yards, are so contrived as to go round the masts, that by
their means the yards may move up and down upon the
mast. The parrels also, along with the breast-ropes, fasten
the yards to the masts.
PARRHASIUS, a celebrated painter, the son of bve-
nor, was a native of Ephesus, and flourished in the year 3 J7
before Christ, being the contemporary of Zeuxis, Eupom-
pus, and Timanthes. He was the first who succeeded in
giving the proper proportion to his figures, in throwing the
expression of the passions into the countenance, and in
causing the figure to appear to start from the canvass. Seve¬
ral who had preceded him were successful in finishing P^"
ticular parts, but none could rival him in putting the whole
together. Zeuxis was the only one of his contemporaries
wdio at all approached him, and even he was at last obliged
to acknowledge his inferiority. (See Zeuxis.) ot lus
most curious paintings was a representation of the Uemos
of Athens, in which he had contrived to exhibit all the va¬
rious passions with which that celebrated people weie a -
fected. His painting of the Hoplites, or the armed man
running, had the effect of a person perspiring from exces¬
sive exertion ; and another who was taking oft his arms
seemed to be panting for breath. Parrhasius was, like
Zeuxis, distinguished for his vanity and arrogant mode of
life. He used to wear a purple dress, a golden crown on
his head, to hold in his hand a staff studded with golden
nails, and to wear golden latchets to his shoes (TElian. for.
Hist. ix. 11). He was once beaten by limanthes, in the
subject of Ajax disputing with Ulysses respecting the arms
of Achilles (Plin. xxxv. 36, 7-11; Athen. xii. 543, e. d. xv.
687, b.c.). . • t i u
Parrhasius, Jamis, a famous grammarian in Italy, wiio
was born at Cosenza, in the kingdom of Naples, in the year
1470. He was intended for the law, the profession of his
ancestors ; but he refused to pursue it, and cultivated
classical learning. His real name was Johannes I aulus
Parisius; but, according to the practice of the grammarians
of the age, he took instead of it that of Parrhasius. He
taught at Milan with much reputation, being admired for
a graceful delivery, in which he chiefly excelled other pro¬
fessors. It was this charm in his voice which brought a vast
concourse of people to his lectures ; and, amongst others,
he had the pleasure of seeing General frimoles, who was
then threescore years of age. He went to Rome when
Alexander VI. was pope, and had nearly been involved in
the misfortunes of Bernardini Cajetan and Silius Savello,
with whom he had some correspondence; but he escaped
the danger, by the information of Thomas Phcedrus, profes¬
sor of rhetoric, and canon of St John Lateran, whose ad¬
vice he followed by retiring from Rome. Soon afterwards,
he was appointed public professor of rhetoric at Milan; but
PAR
the liberty which he took in censuring the teachers there
as arrant blockheads provoked them in return to asperse
his morals. He, in consequence, went to Vicenza, where
he obtained a larger salary ; and he held this professorship
till the states of the Venetians were laid waste by the troops
of the League ; upon which he went to his native country,
having made his escape through the army of the enemy.
He was at Cosenza when his old friend Phoedrus persuad¬
ed Julius to send for him to Rome; and although that de¬
sign proved abortive by the death of the pope, yet, on the
recommendation of John Lascaris, he was called thither
under Leo X. the successor of Julius. Leo was before fa¬
vourably inclined towards him, and on his arrival at Rome
appointed him professor of polite literature. He had been
now some time married to a daughter of Demetrius Chal-
condylas ; and he took with him to Rome, Basil Chalcon-
dylas, brother of Demetrius Chalcondylas, professor of the
Greek tongue at Milan. But he did not long enjoy the
office which had been conferred upon him by the pope;
for, worn out by his studies and labours, he became so af¬
flicted with the gout, that for some years there was no part
of his body unaffected except his tongue. He left Rome
and returned to Calabria, his native country, where he at
last died in the greatest misery. Several works have been
ascribed to him.
PARRIAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Bahar, and district of Tirhoot. There was formerly a fort
here, as a defence against the incursions of the natives from
the northern hills. Long. 85. 52. E. Lat. 26. 41. N.
PARRICIDE, the murder of one’s parents or children.
By the Roman law, this crime was punished in a much
more severe manner than any other kind of homicide. The
delinquents, after being scourged, were sewed up in a
leathern sack, with a live dog, a cock, a viper, and an ape,
and were then cast into the sea. Solon, it is true, in his
laws, made none against parricide, apprehending it impos¬
sible that any one could be guilty of so unnatural a bar¬
barity ; and the Persians, according to Herodotus, enter¬
tained the same notion, when they adjudged all persons
who killed their reputed parents to be bastards.
PARROT Islands, a cluster' of islands in Dusky Bay,
New Zealand, three miles south-west from Facile harbour.
PARSON and Vicar, in the Church of England. A
parson, persona ecclesice, is one wiio has full possession of
all the rights of a parochial church. He is called parson,
persona, because by his person the church, which is an in¬
visible body, is represented; and he is in himself a body
corporate, in order to protect and defend the rights of the
church, which he personates, by a perpetual succession.
He is sometimes called the rector or governor of the church;
but the appellation of parson, however it may be depre¬
ciated by familiar and indiscriminate use, is the most legal
and most honourable title that a parish priest can enjoy ;
because such a one, as Sir Edward Coke observes, and he
alone, is said vicem seu personam ecclesiez gerere. A parson
has, during his life, the freehold in himself of the parson¬
age-house, the glebe, the tithes, and other dues. But
these are sometimes appropriated; that is to say, the bene¬
fice is perpetually annexed to some spiritual corporation,
either sole or aggregate.
The appropriating corporations, or religious houses, were
wont to depute one of their own body to perform divine
service, and administer the sacraments, in those parishes
of which the society was thus the parson. This officiating
minister was in reality no more than a curate, deputy, or
vicegerent of the appropriator, and was therefore called vi-
carius, or vicar. His stipend was at the disci etion of the
appropriator, who was, however, bound of common right
to find somebody, qui Mi de temporalibus, episcopo de spi-
ritualibus, debeat respondere. But this was done in so
scandalous a manner, and the parishes suffered so much
PAR
by the neglect of the appropriators, that the legislature
was forced to interpose ; and accordingly it was enacted,
by statute 15 Richard II. c. 6, that in all appropriations of
churches the diocesan bishop should ordain, in proportion
to the value of the church, a competent sum to be distri¬
buted amongst the poor parishioners annually, and to pro¬
vide that the vicarage should be sufficiently endowed. It
seems that the parish were frequent sufferers, not only by
the want of divine service, but also by the withholding
of those alms for which, amongst other purposes, the pay¬
ment of tithes was originally imposed ; and therefore in
this act a pension was directed to be distributed amongst
the poor parochians, as well as a sufficient stipend to the
vicar. But he, being liable to be removed at the plea¬
sure of the appropriator, was not likely to insist too rigidly
upon the legal sufficiency of the stipend; and, therefore,
by statute 4 Henry IV. c. 12, it was ordained that the
vicar should be a secular person, not a member of any re¬
ligious house; that he should be vicar perpetual, not re¬
moveable at the caprice of the monastery ; and that he
should be canonically instituted and inducted, and be suf¬
ficiently endowed, at the discretion of the ordinary, to do
divine service, to inform the people, and to show hospita¬
lity. In consequence of these statutes, the endowments
have usually been by a portion of the glebe, or land be¬
longing to the parsonage, and a particular share of the
tithes, which the appropriators found it most troublesome
to collect, and which are therefore generally called petty
or small tithes; the greater, or predial tithes, being still
reserved for their own use. But the same rule was not
observed in the endowment of all vicarages. Hence some
are more liberally, and others more scantily, endowed;
and hence the tithes of many things, as wood in particu¬
lar, are in some parishes rectorial, and in others vicarial,
tithes.
The distinction therefore between a parson and vicar is
this. The parson has for the most part the whole right to
all the ecclesiastical dues in his parish ; but a vicar has ge¬
nerally an appropriator over him, who is entitled to the best
part of the profits, and to whom he is in effect perpetual
curate, with a standing salary. The method of becoming
a parson or vicar is much the same. To both there are
four necessary requisites; holy orders, presentation, insti¬
tution, and induction.
PARSONAGE, a rectory or parish church, endowed
with a glebe, house, lands, and tithes, for the maintenance
of a minister, with cure of souls within the parish.
PARSONAUTH, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of Bahar, situated amongst the hills, between Bahar and
Bengal. It is held in great estimation by the Jains, as a
remarkably holy place. One of the principal deities is named
Pariswanath, the real founder of the sect, who died at the
age of a hundred years.
PART is a portion of a whole, considered as divided or
divisible.
Logical Part is a division for which we are indebted
to the schoolmen. It refers to some universal as its whole;
in which sense the species are parts of a genus, and indivi¬
duals or singulars are parts of the species.
Physical Part is that which, though ‘it enter into the
composition of a whole, may yet be considered apart, and
under its own distinct idea; and in this sense a continuum
is said to consist of parts. Physical parts, again, are of
two kinds, homogeneous and heterogeneous. The first are
those of the same denomination with some other; the se¬
cond are of a different denomination. Parts, again, are dis¬
tinguished into subjective, essential, and integrant ; a di¬
vision of which the schoolmen were likewise the authors.
Aliquot Part is a quantity which, being repeated any
number of times, becomes equal to an integer. Thus 6 is
an aliquot part of 24, and 5 an aliquot part of 30.
PAR
99
Parthia,
Aliquant Part is a quantity which, being repeated any Partalpoo
number of times, becomes always either greater or less
than the whole. Thus 5 is an aliquant part of 17, and 9 is«
an aliquant part of 10. The aliquant part is resolvable
into aliquot parts. Thus 15, an aliquant part of 20, is re¬
solvable into 10, a half, and 5, a fourth part, of the same
number.
PARTALPOOR, a town of Bengal, in the district of
Midnapoor. Long. 87. 50. E. Lat. 22. 21. N.
PARTANNA, a city of the intendency of Trapani, in
the district of Mazzara, in the island of Sicily. It stands on
a hill, about eight miles from the sea, in a healthy situa¬
tion, fifty miles from Palermo, and contains 7100 inhabi¬
tants, employed in growing cotton wool, and in feediner
black cattle. b
PARTERRE, in Gardening, a level division of ground,
which for the most part faces the south or best front of a
house, and is generally furnished with evergreens, shrubs,
and flowers.
PARTHENAY, an arrondissement of the department
of the Two Sevres, in France, extending over 683 square
miles. It comprehends eight cantons, divided into forty-
six communes, and containing 55,300 inhabitants. The
capital is the city of the same name, situated on the river
Thoue. It was one of the chief seats of the Vendean war,
and suffered most severely. It contains 800 houses, and
3600 inhabitants. Long. 0. 19. W. Lat. 46. 40. N.
PARTHIA, a celebrated empire of antiquity, bounded
on the west by Media, on the north by Hyrcania, on the
east by Aria, and on the south by Caramania. It was sur¬
rounded on every side by mountains, which still serve as its
boundaries, though the name is now changed. According
to Ptolemy, Parthia was divided into five districts; Camin-
sine or Gamisene, Partheyne, Choroane, Atticene, and Ta-
biene. The ancient geographers enumerate a great many
cities in this country. Ptolemy, in particular, reckons twen¬
ty-five large ones; and it must have been very populous,
since we have accounts of two thousand villages, besides
several cities, which were destroyed by earthquakes. Its
capital was named Hecatompolis, so called from the circum¬
stance of its having a hundred gates.
The history of the ancient Parthians is involved in ob¬
scurity. All we know about them is, that they were first
subject to the Medes, then to the Persians, and lastly to Alex¬
ander. After the death of the Macedonian conqueror, the
province fell to Seleucus Nicator, and was held by him and
his successors till the reign of Antiochus Theus, about two
centuries and a half before Christ. At this time the Par¬
thians revolted, and chose Arsaces as their king. Seleucus
Callinicus, the successor of Antiochus Theus, attempted to
reduce Arsaces; but the latter, having had time to strengthen
himself, defeated his antagonist, and drove him out of the
country. In a short time, however, Seleucus undertook
another expedition against Arsaces, which proved still more
unfortunate than the former; for being defeated in a great
battle, he was taken prisoner, and died in captivity. The
day upon which Arsaces gained this victory was ever after¬
wards observed amongst the Parthians as an extraordinary
festival. Arsaces being thus established in his new king¬
dom, reduced Hyrcania and several other provinces ; but he
was at last killed in a battle against Ariarathes, king of Cap¬
padocia. From this prince all the other kings of Parthia
took the surname of Arsaces, as those of Egypt did that of
Ptolemy from Ptolemy Soter.
Arsaces was succeeded by his son, who, having entered
Media, made himself master of that country, whilst An¬
tiochus the Great was engaged in war with Ptolemy Euer-
getes, king of Egypt. Antiochus, however, had no sooner
found himself disengaged from that war, than he marched
with all his forces against Arsaces, and at first drove him
completely out of Media. But the latter soon returned
100
Parthia.
P A R T H I A.
with an army of a hundred thousand foot and twenty thousand
horse, with which he put a stop to the progress of Antio-
chus; and a treaty was soon afterwards concluded, by which
it was agreed that Arsaces should remain master of Par¬
thia and Hyrcania, upon condition of assisting Antiochus in
his wars with other nations.
Arsaces II. was succeeded by his son Priapatius, who
reigned fifteen years, and left three sons; Phrahates, Mi-
thridates, and Artabanus. Phrahates, the elder, succeeded
to the throne, and reduced the Mardians, who had never
b^en conquered by any but Alexander. His brother Mith-
ridates, who was invested with the regal dignity, reduced
the Bactrians, Medes, Persians, and Elymeans, and over¬
ran a great part of the East, penetrating beyond the boun¬
daries of Alexander’s conquests. Demetrius Nicator, who
then reigned in Syria, endeavoured to recover these pro¬
vinces ; but his army was entirely destroyed, and he himself
taken prisoner, in which state he remained till his death.
After this victory Mithridates made himself master of Ba¬
bylonia and Mesopotamia, so that all the provinces between
the Euphrates and the Ganges were now subject to his
sway.
Mithridates died in the thirty-seventh year of his reign,
leaving the throne to his son Phrahates II. But the latter
was scarcely settled in his kingdom when Antiochus Sidetes
marched against him at the head of a numerous army, on
the pretence of delivering his brother Demetrius, who was
still detained in captivity. Phrahates was defeated in three
pitched battles, in which he lost all the countries conquer¬
ed by his father, and was reduced within the limits of the
ancient Parthian kingdom. Antiochus, however, did not
long enjoy his good fortune ; for his numerous army being
obliged to separate to such distances as prevented them, in
case of any sudden attack, from reuniting, the inhabitants,
whom they had cruelly oppressed, took advantage of this
separation, and conspired with the Parthians to destroy them.
And this they accordingly effected. The vast army of An¬
tiochus, with the monarch himself, were slaughtered in one
day, scarcely a single person having escaped to carry the
news to Syria. Phrahates, elated with this success, pro¬
posed to invade Syria ; but happening to quarrel with the
Scythians, he was cut off with his whole army by that
people.
Phrahates was succeeded by his uncle Artabanus. The
new king, however, enjoyed his dignity for a very short
time, being, a few days after his accession, killed in another
battle with the Scythians. He was succeeded by Pacorus,
who entered into an alliance with the Romans, and was,
in his turn, succeeded by Phrahates III. This monarch
took under his protection Tigranes, the son of Tigranes the
Great, king of Armenia, gave the young prince his daugh¬
ter in marriage, and invaded the kingdom with a design to
place him on the throne of Armenia; but on the ap¬
proach of Pompey he thought proper to retire, and soon
afterwards solemnly renewed the treaty with the Romans.
Phrahates was murdered by his children, Mithridates and
Orodes; and soon afterwards the former was put to death
by his brother, who thus became the sole master of the
Parthian empire.
In his reign happened the memorable war with the Ro¬
mans under Crassus. This was occasioned, not by any
breach of treaty on the part of the Parthians, but by the
shameful avarice of Crassus. A t that time the Roman em¬
pire had been divided between Caesar, Pompey, and Cras¬
sus ; and in virtue of this partition, the eastern provinces
had fallen to the lot of Crassus. No sooner was he invested
with his new dignity, than he resolved to carry the war into
Parthia, hoping to enrich himself with the spoils of a people
who were then accounted wealthy. As the Parthians had
religiously observed the treaty, some of the tribunes oppos¬
ed him ; but Crassus having, by the assistance of Pompey,
carried every thing before him, left Rome in the year 55 Parthia
before Christ, and pursued his march to Brundusium, where
he immediately embarked his troops, and after a difficult
passage reached the ports of Galatia. From Galatia Cras¬
sus hastened to Syria, and, in passing through Judea, plun¬
dered the temple of Jerusalem. He then marched to the
river Euphrates, which he crossed on a bridge of boats,
and, having entered the Parthian dominions, began hostili¬
ties. As the enemy had not expected an invasion, they were
quite unprepared for resistance. Hence Crassus overran all
Mesopotamia; and if he had taken advantage of the conster¬
nation into which the Parthians were at first thrown, he
might also have reduced Babylonia. But instead of this
he repassed the Euphrates early in the autumn, leaving only
seven thousand foot and one thousand horse to garrison the
places he had reduced; and having put his army into win¬
ter quarters in Syria, he gave himself wholly up to his fa¬
vourite passion of amassing money.
Early in the ensuing spring, the Roman general drew out
his forces, in order to pursue the war with vigour ; but, dur¬
ing the winter, Orodes had collected a numerous army,
and was well prepared to oppose him. Before he entered
upon action, however, the Parthian monarch sent ambassa¬
dors to Crassus, to expostulate with him on his injustice in
attacking an ally of the Roman empire ; but Crassus, with¬
out attending to their representations, merely replied, that
they should have his answer at Seleucia. Orodes, finding
that a war was unavoidable, divided his army into two corps.
At the head of one he marched towards Armenia, to op¬
pose the king of that country, who had raised a consider¬
able army to assist the Romans; and the other he sent into
Mesopotamia, under the command of Surenas, an experi¬
enced general, by whose conduct all the'cities which Cras¬
sus had reduced were quickly retaken. Some Roman sol¬
diers who made their escape fled to the camp of Crassus, and
filled his army with terror by the accounts they gave of the
number, power, and strength, of the enemy. They stated
that the Parthians were numerous, brave, and well disci¬
plined ; that it was impossible to overtake them when they
fled, or escape from them when they pursued; that their
defensive weapons were proof against the Roman darts, and
their offensive weapons so sharp, that no buckler could re¬
sist them. Crassus looked upon all this as the effect of sheer
cowardice. But the common soldiers, and even many of the
officers, were so disheartened, that Cassius, who afterwards
conspired against Caesar, and most of the legionary tribunes,
advised Crassus to suspend his march, and consider better
of the enterprise before he proceeded farther. Crassus, how¬
ever, obstinately persisted in his resolution, being encouraged
by the arrival of Artabazus, king of Armenia, who brought
with him six thousand horse, and promised to send ten
thousand cuirassiers and thirty thousand infantry whenever
he should stand in need of them. At the same time the
latter advised the Roman general not to march his army
through the plains of Mesopotamia, but to penetrate through
the mountains of Armenia. He stated, that, as Armenia was
a mountainous country, the enemy’s cavalry, in which their
main strength consisted, would there be entirely useless,
and that the Roman army, in penetrating through this coun¬
try, would be plentifully supplied with all manner of neces¬
saries ; whereas, if the general marched through Mesopota¬
mia, he would be perpetually harassed by the Parthian
horse, and frequently be obliged to lead his army through
sandy deserts, where he would be distressed for want of
water, and every kind of provisions. This salutary advice,
however, was rejected, and Crassus entered Mesopotamia
with an army amounting to forty thousand men.
The Romans had no sooner crossed the Euphrates than
Cassius advised his general to advance to some of those
towns in which the garrisons still remained, in order to
halt and refresh his troops; or, if he disapproved of this, to
P A R T H I A.
arthia. march along the banks of the Euphrates to Seleucia, by
which means he would prevent the Parthians from sur¬
rounding him, at the same time that he would be plentifully
supplied with provisions from his ships. Crassus seemed to
approve of this judicious advice ; but he was dissuaded by
Abgarus, king of Edessa, whom the Romans took for an
ally, though he was in reality a traitor sent by Surenas to
effect the destruction of the Roman army. Under the con¬
duct of this faithless guide, the Romans entered a vast plain
divided by many rivulets. Their march through this fine
country proved easy; but the farther they advanced the
worse the roads became, insomuch that they were at last
obliged to climb up rocky mountains, which brought them
to a dry and sandy plain, where they could find neither food
to satisfy their hunger, nor water to quench their thirst. Ab¬
garus then began to be suspected by the tribunes and other
officers, who earnestly entreated Crassus not to follow him
any longer, but to retreat towards the mountains; and at
the same time an express arrived from Artabazus, informing
the Roman general that Orodes had invaded his dominions
with a great army, and that he was obliged to keep his
troops at home to defend his own dominions. The same
messenger advised Crassus, in his master’s name, to avoid
the barren plains, where his army would certainly perish
with hunger and fatigue, and to approach Armenia, that
they might unite their forces against the common enemy.
But all was to no purpose. Crassus, instead of hearkening
either to the advice of the king or to his own officers, first
flew into a violent rage with the messengers of Artabazus,
and then told his troops, that they were not to expect the de¬
lights of Campania in the most remote parts of the world.
They accordingly continued their march for several days
across a desert, the very sight of which was sufficient to fill
them with despair. They could not perceive, either near or
at a distance, the least tree, plant, or brook, nay, not so much
as a hill, or a single blade of grass ; all around, nothing was
to be seen but huge heaps of burning sand. The Romans
had scarcely penetrated through this desert, when intelligence
was brought them by their scouts, that a numerous army of
Parthians was advancing in full march to attack them. In
fact, Abgarus, on pretence of going out on parties, had
often conferred with Surenas, and with him concerted
measures for destroying the Roman army. Upon receiving
this intelligence, which occasioned great confusion in the
camp, the Romans being quite exhausted with their long
and troublesome march, Crassus drew up his men in order
of battle, at first following the advice of Cassius, who re¬
commended extending the infantry as widely as possible,
that they might occupy the more ground, and thus prevent
the enemy from surrounding them. But Abgarus having
assured the proconsul that the Parthian forces were not so
numerous as had been represented, he changed this dispo¬
sition, and, believing only the man who betrayed him,
drew up his troops in a square, which faced every way,
having on each side twelve cohorts in front; and near to
each cohort he placed a troop of cavalry to support them,
that they might charge with the greater security and bold¬
ness. Thus the whole army looked more like one phalanx
than troops drawn up in manipules, with intervening spaces,
according to the usual Roman formation. The general
himself commanded the centre, his son had charge of the
left wing, and to Cassius was committed the right.
In this order they advanced to the banks of a small river
called the Balissus, the sight of which was very agreeable
to the soldiers, who were much harassed with drought and
excessive heat. When they came in sight of the enemy,
they did not appear to be either so numerous or so terrible
as had been represented. But this was a stratagem of Sure¬
nas, who had concealed his men in convenient places, or¬
dering them to cover their arms, lest their brightness
should betray them, and to start up at the first signal and
101
attack the enemy on all sides. The stratagem had the de- Parthia.
sired effect. No sooner had Surenas given the signal, than '
the Parthians, rising as it were out of the ground, with
dreadful yells advanced against the Romans, who were
greatly surprised, not to say dismayed, at the sight; the
more so as the Parthians, throwing off the covering of
their arms, appeared in shining cuirasses, and helmets of
burnished steel, finely mounted on horses covered all over
with armour of the same metal. At their head appeared
in a rich dress young Surenas, who immediately charged
the enemy, endeavouring, by means of his pikemen, to break
through the first rank of the Roman army; but finding it
too close and impenetrable, the cohorts supporting each
other, he fell back, and retired in seeming confusion. The
Romans, however, were much surprised when they saw
themselves suddenly surrounded on all sides, and galled
with continual showers of arrows. Crassus ordered his
light-aimed foot and archers to advance and charge the
enemy ; but they were soon repulsed, and forced to cover
themselves behind the heavy-armed infantry. Then the
Pai thian hoi se, advancing near the Romans, discharged upon
them showers of arrows, every one of which did execution,
owing to the close order in which the legionaries had been
drawn up. Their arrows, too, were of an extraordinary
weight, and discharged with such force that nothing was
proof against them. The two wings advanced in good order
to repulse them, but without effect. The Parthians shot
their arrows with as great dexterity when their backs were
turned as when they faced the enemy; so that the Romans,
whether they kept their ground or pursued the flying ene¬
my, were equally annoyed with their fatal missiles.
The Romans, as long as they had any hopes that the
Parthians, after having spent their arrows, would either be¬
take themselves to flight, or engage them hand to hand,
stood their ground with great resolution and intrepidity.
But when they observed that there were a great many ca¬
mels in their rear loaded with arrows, and that those who
emptied their quivers wheeled about to fill them anew, they
began to lose courage, and to complain loudly of their gene¬
ral for suffering them thus to stand still, and serve only as
a butt to the enemy’s missiles, which, they perceived,
would not be exhausted till they were all killed to a man.
Upon this Crassus ordered his son to advance, at all ha¬
zards, and attack the enemy with thirteen hundred horse,
five hundred archers, and eight cohorts. But the Parthi¬
ans no sooner saw this choice body, the flower of the army,
marching against them, than they wheeled about, and, ac¬
cording to their usual custom, betook themselves to flight.
Young Crassus, crying out as loud as he could, “ They fly
before us,” pushed on after them at full speed, not doubt¬
ing that he should gain a complete victory. But when he
was at a considerable distance from the main body of the
Roman army, he perceived his mistake; for those who had
before fled now faced about and charged him with incre¬
dible fury. Young Crassus ordered his troops to halt, hop¬
ing that the enemy, upon seeing their small number, w ould
not be afraid to come to a close fight. But herein he was
likewise disappointed; for the Parthians, contenting them¬
selves to oppose his front with their heavy-armed horse,
surrounded him on all sides, and, keeping at a distance,
discharged incessant showers of arrows upon the unfortu¬
nate Romans. The Parthian army, in wheeling about,
raised so thick a dust that the Romans could scarcely per¬
ceive one another, much less the enemy ; nevertheless, they
found themselves wounded with arrows, though they could
not discover whence they came. In a short time the
ground on which they stood was covered with dead bodies.
In this desperate condition, Crassus, observing a rising
ground at a small distance, led the remains of his detach¬
ment thither, with a design to defend himself in the best
manner he could, till succours should be sent to him by
102
P A R T H I A.
Parthia. his father. The Parthians pursued him, and, having sur-
' rounded him in his new post, continued showering arrows
upon his men, till most of them were either killed or disa¬
bled, without being able to make use of their arms, or to
give the enemy proofs of their valour.
Young Crassus had with him two Greeks, who had set¬
tled in the city of Carrhse. Touched with compassion at
seeing so brave a man reduced to such straits, they pressed
him to retire with them to the neighbouring city of Isch-
nes, which had declared for the Romans; but the young
Roman rejected their proposal with indignation, telling
them that he would rather die a thousand times than aban¬
don so many valiant men, who sacrificed their lives for his
sake. Having returned this answer to his Grecian friends,
he embraced^ and dismissed them, giving them leave to
retire and to shift for themselves in the best manner they
could. As for himself, having now lost all hopes of being
relieved, and seeing most of his men killed round him, he
gave way to his grief; and, not being able to make use of
his arm, which was shot through with a large barbed ar¬
row, he presented his side to one of his attendants, and
ordered him to put an end to his unhappy life. His ex¬
ample was followed by Censorius, a senator, by Megabac-
chus, a brave and experienced officer, and by most of the
nobility who served under him. Five hundred common
soldiers were taken prisoners, and the rest cut in pieces.
The Parthians, having thus cut off or taken the whole
detachment commanded by young Crassus, marched with¬
out delay against his father, who, upon the first intelli¬
gence that the enemy were flying, closely pursued by his
son, had taken heart, the more so because those who had
remained to make head against him seemed to abate much
of their ardour. Having encouraged his troops, therefore,
he had retired to a small hill in his rear, to wait there till
his son should return from the pursuit. Young Crassus
had despatched frequent expresses to his father, to acquaint
the general with his danger; but they had all fallen into
the enemy’s hands, and only the last, who had escaped
with great difficulty, arrived safe, and informed him that
his son was lost if he did not send him an immediate and
powerful reinforcement. This news threw Crassus into the
utmost consternation. A thousand affecting thoughts rose
in his agitated mind, and disturbed his reason to such a de¬
gree that he scarcely knew what he was doing. However,
the desire he had of saving his son, and the many brave
Romans who were under his command, induced him imme¬
diately to march to their assistance; but he had not ad¬
vanced far before he was met by the Parthians, who, with
loud shouts and songs of victory, gave the unhappy father
notice of his misfortune. They had cut off the head of
young Crassus, and having fixed it on the point of a lance,
were advancing full speed to fall on the father. As they
drew near, Crassus was struck with the dismal and affecting
spectacle ; but though he suffered the deepest affliction, he
had the presence of mind to stifle his grief, for fear of dis¬
couraging the army, and to cry out to the dismayed troops,
« This misfortune is entirely mine; the loss of one man
cannot affect the victory. Let us charge, let us fight like
Romans; if you have any compassion for a father who has
just now lost a son whose valour you admired, let it appear
in your rage and resentment against these insulting barba¬
rians.” Thus Crassus strove to re-animate his troops ; but
his efforts proved unsuccessful. 1 heir courage was quite
sunk, as appeared from the faint and languishing shout
which they raised, according to custom, before the action.
When the signal was given, the Parthians, adhering to
their usual mode of fighting, discharged on the legionaries
clouds of arrows, which did such dreadful execution that
many of the Romans, to avoid the arrows, which occasion¬
ed a long and painful death, threw themselves, like men in
despair, on the enemy’s heavy-armed horse, seeking fiom
their spears a more speedy and easy kind of death. 1 bus ^Parthi
the Parthians continued plying them incessantly with their r -v
arrows till night, when they left the field of battle, crying
out that they would allow the father one night to lament
the death of his son.
This was a melancholy night for the Romans. Crassus
kept himself concealed from the soldiery, lying in the open
air, upon the bare ground, with his head wrapped up in his
paludamentum or military cloak, and, in that forlorn condi¬
tion, exhibiting a great example of the instability of for¬
tune, and a still greater of the pernicious effects of avarice,
temerity, and ambition. Octavius and Cassius having ap¬
proached him, endeavoured to raise him up and console
him; but, seeing him quite sunk under the weight of his
affliction, and deaf to all comfort, they summoned a coun¬
cil of war, composed of all the chief officers, in which it was
unanimously resolved that they should decamp before brea
of day, and retire, without sound of trumpet, to the neigh¬
bouring city of Carrhae, which was held by a Roman gar¬
rison. Agreeably to this resolution, they commenced their
march as soon as the council broke up, which producec
dreadful outcries amongst the sick and wounded, who, per¬
ceiving that they were to be abandoned to the mercy of
the enemy, filled the camp with their complaints and la¬
mentations. But their cries and tears, though very affecting,
did not stop the march of the others, which, indeed, was
very slow, in order to give the stragglers time to come up.
There were only three hundred light horse, under the com¬
mand of dEgnatius, who pursued their march without stopping,
and arrived at Carrhae about midnight. /Egnatius, calling
to the centinels on the walls, desired them to acquaint Co-
ponius, the governor of the place, that Crassus had foug t
a great battle with the Parthians; and, without saying a
word more, or letting him know who he was, continued
his march with all possible expedition to the bridge of
Zeugma, which he passed, and by that means saved his
troops. But he was much blamed for thus abandoning his
general at so critical a moment.
The message which he sent to Coponius was of some
temporary service to Crassus. For that commander, wise y
coniecturing, from the manner in which the unknown per¬
son had given him the intelligence, that some misfortune
had befallen Crassus, immediately ordered his garrison to
stand to their arms ; and having marched out, met Crassus,
whom he conducted, with the remains of his army, into
the city. The Parthians, though informed of his flight, did
not offer to pursue him, observing therein the superstitious
custom which obtained amongst them and the Persians, not
to fight in the night; but when it was day, they entered the
Roman camp, and having put all the wounded, to the number
of about four thousand, to the sword, dispersed their cavalry
all over the plain, in pursuit of the fugitives. One of the
lieutenants of Crassus, named Vargunteius, having separat¬
ed in the night from the main body of the army, with four
cohorts, missed his way, and was overtaken by the enemy.
At their approach he withdrew to a neighbouring hill, where
he defended himself, with great valour, till all his men were
killed, excepting twenty, who made their way through the
enemy, sword in hand, and got safe to Carrhee; but ar
gunteius himself lost his life on the occasion.
In the mean time Surenas, not knowing whether Crassus
and Cassius had retired to Carrhae or chosen a different
route, in order to be informed of the truth, and take his
measures accordingly, despatched a messenger, who spoke
the Roman language, to the city of Carrhae, enjoining him
to approach the walls, and acquaint Crassus himself, or
Cassius, that the Parthian general was inclined to enter into
a treaty with them, and demanded a conference. Both the
proconsul and his quaestor Cassius spoke with the messen¬
ger from the walls ; and, accepting the proposal with great
joy, desired that the time and place for an interview might
P A R T H I A.
: tliia. be immediately agreed upon. The messenger withdrew,
promising to return quickly with an answer from Surenas.
But that general no sooner understood that Crassus and
Cassius were in Carrhae, than he marched thither with his
whole army, and, having invested the place, acquainted the
Romans, that if they expected any favourable terms, they
must deliver up to him Crassus and Cassius in chains. A
council of the chief officers was summoned, in which it was
thought expedient to retire from Carrhae that very night, and
to seek for another asylum. It was of the utmost importance
that none of the inhabitants of Carrhae should be made ac¬
quainted with their design till the moment of its execution;
but Crassus, whose whole conduct evidently shows that he
was labouring under some strange infatuation, imparted the
whole matter in confidence to one Andromachus, choosing
him for his guide, and relying injudiciously on the fidelity of
a man whom he scarcely knew. Andromachus immediately
informed Surenas of the design of the Romans; promising, at
the same time, as the Parthians did not engage in the night,
to manage matters so that they should not get out of his
reach before daybreak. The traitor, pursuant to his pro¬
mise, led them through many windings and turnings, till at
last he brought them into deep marshy grounds, where the
infantry were up to the knees in mire. Cassius, suspecting
that their faithless guide had led them into those swamps
with no good design, refused to follow him any longer ; and
returning to Carrhae, took his route towards Syria, which he
reached with five hundred horse. Octavius, with five
thousand men under his command, being conducted by
trusty guides, gained the mountains called by Plutarch and
Appian Sinnaci, and there intrenched himself before day¬
break.
As for Crassus, he was still entangled in the marshes,
when Surenas, at sunrise, overtook him, and invested him
with his cavalry. The proconsul had with him four cohorts
and a small body of horse; and with these, in spite of all
opposition, he gained the summit of another hill within
twelve furlongs of Octavius, who seeing the danger that
threatened his general, flew to his assistance with a small
number of his men, and was soon followed by all the rest,
who, charging the Parthians with great fury, disengaged
Crassus, and obliged the enemy to abandon the hill. Upon
the retreat of the enemy, they formed themselves into a
hollow square, and, placing Crassus in the middle, made a
kind of rampart round him with their bucklers, resolutely
protesting, that none of the enemy’s arrows should touch
their general’s body till they were all killed fighting in his
defence. Surenas, unwilling to let his prey escape, sur¬
rounded the hill, as if he designed to make a new attack ;
but finding his Parthians very backward, and not doubting
but the Romans, when night came on, would pursue their
march, and get out of his reach, he had recourse again to
artifice, and declared before some prisoners, whom he soon
afterwards set at liberty, that he was inclined to treat with
the proconsul of a peace, and that it was better to come to
a reconciliation with Rome, than to sow' the seeds of an
eternal war, by shedding the blood of one of her generals.
Agreeably to this declaration, Surenas, as soon as the
prisoners were released, advanced towards the hill where
the Romans were posted, attended only by some of his of¬
ficers, and, with his bow unbent, and open arms, invited
Crassus to an interview. So sudden a change seemed very
suspicious to the proconsul, who therefore declined the in¬
terview, till he was forced, by his own soldiers, to intrust
his life with an enemy whose treachery they had all expe¬
rienced. 1 he legionaries flocked round him, and not only
abused him in an outrageous manner, but even menaced
him if he did not accept of the proposals made by the Par¬
thian general. Seeing, therefore, that his troops were ready
to mutiny, the proconsul began to advance, without arms
or guards, towards the enemy, after having called the gods
103
and all his officers to witness the violence his troops had of- Parthia.
fered him, and entreated all who were present, but especi-
ally Octavius and Petronius, two of the chief commanders,
for the honour of Rome, their common mother, not to men¬
tion, after his death, the shameful behaviour of the Roman
legionaries. Octavius and Petronius could not resolve to
let him go alone, but attended him down the hill, as did
likewise some legionaries, keeping at a distance. Crassus
was met at the foot of the hill by two Greeks, who, dis¬
mounting from their horses, saluted him with great respect,
and desired him, in the Greek tongue, to send some of his
attendants, who might satisfy him that Surenas, and those
who were with him, came without arms. Crassus then sent
two brothers, of the Roscian family; but Surenas having
caused them to be seized, advanced to the foot of the hill,
mounted on a fine horse, and attended by the chief officers
of his army. Crassus, who waited for the return of his two
messengers, was surprised to see himself confronted by Su¬
renas in person, when he least expected it. The Parthian
general, perceiving, as he approached Crassus, that he was
on foot, cried out, in a seeming surprise, “ What do I see ?
a Roman general on foot, and we on horseback? Let a
horse be brought for him immediately.” “ You need not
be surprised,” replied Crassus; “ we are come only to an
interview, each after the custom of his country.” “ Very
well,” answered Surenas, “ there shall henceforth be a last¬
ing peace between King Orodes and the people of Rome ;
but we must sign the articles of it on the banks of the Eu¬
phrates, for you Romans do not always remember your con¬
ventions.” Crassus would have sent for a horse ; but a very
stately one, with a golden bit, and richly caparisoned, was
brought to him by a Parthian, which Surenas presenting to
him, £/ Accept this horse from my hands,” said he, “ which
I give you in the name of my master King Orodes.” He
had scarcely uttered these words, when some of the king’s
officers, taking Crassus by the middle, set him upon the
horse, which they began to whip with great violence before
them, in order to make him quicken his pace. Octavius,
offended at this insult, took the horse by the bridle ; Pe¬
tronius and the few Romans who were present seconded
him, and all, flocking round Crassus, stopped his horse.
The Parthians endeavoured to repulse them, and clear the
way for the proconsul, upon which they began to jostle and
push one another with great tumult and disorder. At last,
Octavius, drawing his sword, killed one of the king’s grooms;
but, at the same time, another coming behind Octavius,
with one blow laid him dead at his feet. Both parties
fought with great resolution, the Parthians striving to carry
off' Crassus, and the Romans to rescue him out of their
hands. In this scuffle most of the Romans who came to
the conference were killed, and amongst the rest Crassus
himself, but whether by a Roman or a Parthian is uncer¬
tain. Upon his death, the rest of the army either surren¬
dered to the enemy, or, dispersing in the night, were pur¬
sued and put to the sword. The Romans lost in this cam¬
paign at least thirty thousand men; of whom twenty thou¬
sand were killed, and ten thousand taken prisoners.
When the battle of Carrhae was fought, King Orodes was
in Armenia, where he had made peace with Artabazus.
Whilst the two kings were solemnizing their new alliance
with expensive and public feasts, Styllaces or Syllaces, a
Parthian officer, whom Surenas had sent with the news of
his victory, and the head of Crassus as a proof of it, arrived
in the capital of Armenia. The transports of joy which
Orodes felt at this sight, and the tidings which accompanied
it, are not to be expressed; and the lords of both king¬
doms, who attended their sovereigns, raised loud and re¬
peated shouts of joy. Syllaces was ordered to give a more
particular and distinct account of that memorable action ;
and when he had done so, Orodes commanded molten gold
to be poured into Crassus’s mouth, thereby reproaching him
104
P A R T II I A.
Parthia. w ith avarice, which had always been his predominant pas-
' sion.
But Surenas did not long enjoy the pleasure of his vic¬
tory; for Orodes, jealous of his power and authority amongst
the Parthians, soon afterwards caused him to be put to death.
Pacorus, the king’s favourite son, was placed at the head of
the army, and, agreeably to his father’s directions, invaded
Syria; but he was driven back with great loss by Cicero and
by Cassius, the only general who had survived the defeat of
Crassus. After this no mention is made of the Parthians
till the time of the civil war between Caesar and Pompey,
when the latter sent ambassadors to solicit succour against
his rivals. This Orodes was willing to grant, upon condi¬
tion that Syria should be delivered up to him; but as Pom-
pey would not consent to such a proposal, the succours
were not only denied, but, after the battle of Pharsalia,
Orodes put in irons Lucius Hirtius, whom Pompey had
again sent to ask assistance, or at least to desire leave to
shelter himself in the Parthian dominions.
Caesar is said to have meditated a war against the Par¬
thians, which, in all probability, would have proved fatal to
them. His death delivered them from this danger. But,
not long afterwards, the eastern provinces, being grievous¬
ly oppressed by Marc Antony, rose in arms, and, having
killed the tax-gatherers, invited the Parthians to join them
in driving out the Romans. 1 he latter readily accepted
the invitation, and crossed the Euphrates with a powerful
army under the command of Pacorus, and Labienus a Ro¬
man general of Pompey’s party. At first they met with
great success, and overran all Asia Minor, reducing the
countries as far as the Hellespont and the iEgean Sea, and
likewise subduing Phoenicia, Syria, and even Judea. They
did not however long enjoy their new conquests. For,
being elated with their victories, and despising the enemy,
they engaged Ventidius, Antony s lieutenant, before Labi¬
enus had time to join them, and sustained a complete defeat.
This so disheartened the army of Labienus, that they all
abandoned him; and he himself, being thus obliged to wan-
der from place to place in disguise, was at last taken and
put to death at Cyprus. Yentidius, pursuing his advantage,
gained several other victories ; and at last entirely defeated
the Parthian army under Pacorus, cutting almost the whole
of them in pieces, and the prince himself amongst the rest.
He did not, however, pursue this victory as he might have
done, being afraid of giving umbrage to Antony, who had
already become jealous of the great honour gained by his
lieutenant. He therefore contented himself with reducing
those places in Syria and Phoenicia which the Parthians
had taken in the beginning of the war, until Antony arrived
to take the command of the army upon himself.
Orodes was almost distracted with grief on receiving the
dreadful news of the loss of his army, and the death of his fa¬
vourite son. However, wrhen time had restored the use of his
faculties, he appointed Phrahates, the eldest but the most
wicked of all his children, to succeed him in the kingdom,
admitting him at the same time to a share of the sovereign
authority. The consequence of this was, that Phrahates
very soon attempted to poison his father with hemlock;
but this, contrary to expectation, proving a cure for the
dropsy, which an excess of grief had brought upon the king,
the unnatural son caused him to be stifled in bed; and soon
afterwards not only murdered all his own brothers, thirty
in number, but also cut off the rest of the royal family, not
sparing even his own eldest son, lest the discontented Par -
thians should place him, as he was already of age, upon the
throne. .
Many of the chief lords of Parthia, intimidated by the
cruelty of Phrahates, retired into foreign countries. Amongst
these was Monceses, a person of great distinction, as well as
of skill and experience in wrar. This man, having fled to An¬
tony, soon gained his confidence, and was by him easily pre¬
vailed upon to engage in a war against his countrymen. But Part
Phrahates, justly dreading the consequences of the defection
of such a person, sent a solemn embassy to invite him home
upon such terms as he should think fit to accept; an offer
which greatly provoked Antony, though he did not prevent
him from returning, lest others should thereby be discouraged
from coming over to him. He therefore dismissed him with
great civility, sending ambassadors at the same time to Phra¬
hates to treat of a peace. Thus he hoped to divert the at¬
tention of the Parthian monarch from making the necessary
preparations for war, and that he should be able to fall upon
the despot in the spring, when he was in no condition to of¬
fer resistance. But in this he wTas greatly disappointed; for
on his arrival at the Euphrates, which he intended to pass,
in order to enter the Parthian dominions on that side, he
found all the defiles so well guarded, that he found it expe¬
dient to enter Media, with a design first to reduce that coun¬
try, and then to penetrate into Parthia.
This plan had been suggested to him by Artabazus, king
of Armenia, who in the end betrayed him; for instead of
conducting the army the straight way from Zeugma on the
Euphrates, to the Araxes, which separated Media from Ar¬
menia, and which was about five hundred miles distant from
the place whence he first set out, Artabazus led him over
the rocks and mountains, so that the army had marched
above a thousand miles before they had reached the bor¬
ders of Media, where they intended to begin the war. Thus
they were not only greatly fatigued, but had not sufficient
time, the year being far spent, to carry into effect the de¬
sign which they had come to put in execution. However,
as Antony was impatient to get back to Cleopatra, he left
behind him most of the baggage of the army, and three
hundred waggons loaded with battering rams and other
military engines for sieges ; appointing Statianus, one of his
lieutenants, with a body of ten thousand men, to guard
them, and to bring them, by slow marches, after the army.
With the rest of the forces he marched more than three
hundred miles, without allowing his men any respite till he
arrived at Praaspa or Phrahata, the capital of Media, which
he immediately invested. But the Parthians, well knowing
that he could not make any progress without his military
machines, passed by his army, in order to attack Statianus;
which they did with so much success, that the body com¬
manded by him were to a man cut off, and all their mili¬
tary engines taken, amongst which was a battering ram
eighty feet in length.
Notwithstanding this disaster, Antony continued the
siege of Praaspa; but was daily harassed by sallies of the
garrison from within, and by the enemy’s army without. At
last, finding it impossible to make himself master of the city,
he began to think of a retreat, when his provisions were al¬
most exhausted. But as he had to march three hundred
miles through the enemy’s country, he thought proper first
to send ambassadors to the Parthian monarch, acquainting
him that the Roman people were willing to allow him a
peace, provided he would restore the standards and prison¬
ers taken at Carrhae. Phrahates received the ambassadors
sitting upon a golden throne ; and, after having bitterly in¬
veighed against the avarice and unbounded ambition of the
Romans, told them that he would not part with the stand¬
ards and the prisoners, but that if Antony would immediate¬
ly raise the siege of Praaspa, he would suffer him to retire
unmolested.
Antony, who was reduced to great straits, no sooner re¬
ceived this answer than he broke up the siege, and marched
towards Armenia. However, Phrahates was not so good as
his word; for the Romans were attacked on their march by
the enemy no fewer than eighteen times, and were thrice in
the utmost danger of being cut off. As a famine also raged
in the Roman army, they began to desert to the enemy ; and
indeed Antony would probably have been left alone, had
P A R T II I A.
105
; thia. not the Parthians, in a very cruel as well as impolitic man-
ner, murdered all those who fled to them, in sight of the rest.
At last, after having lost thirty-two thousand men, and being
reduced to such despair that he was with difficulty prevent¬
ed from laying violent hands on himself, he reached the
river Araxes ; when his men, finding themselves out of the
reach of the enemy, fell down on the ground, and kissed it
with tears of joy.
Antony was no sooner gone than the kings of Media and
Parthia quarrelled about the booty which they had taken;
and, after various contests, Phrahates reduced all Media and
Armenia. Elated with his conquests, he then oppressed his
subjects in such a cruel and tyrannical manner that a civil
war broke out, in which the competitors were alternately
driven out and restored, until the middle of the first century,
when one Vologeses, the son of Gortarzes, a former king,
became peaceable possessor of the throne. He carried on
some wars against the Romans, but with indifferent success,
and at last gladly consented to a renewal of the ancient
treaties with that powerful people.
From this time the Parthian history presents nothing re¬
markable until the reign of the Emperor Trajan, when the
Parthian king, by name Cosdroes, infringed the treaty with
Rome, by driving out the king of Armenia. Upon this
Trajan, glad of any pretence to quarrel with the Parthians,
immediately hastened into Armenia. His arrival there was
so unexpected that he reduced almost the whole country
without opposition, and took prisoner Parthamasiris, the
king, who had been set up by the Parthians. After this he
entered Mesopotamia, took the city of Nisibis, and reduced
to a Roman province the whole of that wealthy country.
Early in the spring of the following year, Trajan, who
had withdrawn to winter quarters in Syria, again took the
field, but was warmly opposed by Cosdroes. The Roman
emperor found him encamped on the banks of the Euphrates,
with the design of disputing his passage, which in fact he
did with so much vigour, that Trajan, after having several
times attempted to ford the river, and been always repulsed,
was obliged to cause boats to be built on the neighbouring
mountains, which he privately conveyed thence on car¬
riages to the water, and having in the night-time formed a
bridge with them, his army passed the next day, though
not without great loss and danger, the Parthians harassing
his men all the time with incessant showers of arrows.
Having gained the opposite bank, he advanced boldly into
Assyria, the Parthians flying everywhere before him, and
made himself master of Arbela; and thence he pursued his
march, subduing, with incredible rapidity, countries where
the Roman standard had never before been displayed. Ba¬
bylonia voluntarily submitted to him, and Babylon itself
was, after a vigorous resistance, taken by storm; so that
he became master [of all Chaldaea and Assyria, the two
richest provinces of the Parthian empire. From Babylon
he marched to Ctesiphon, the metropolis of the Parthian
monarchy, which he besieged, and at last reduced. But
whilst Trajan was thus making war in the heart of the ene¬
my’s country, Cosdroes, having recruited his army, march¬
ed into Mesopotamia, with the design of recovering that
country, and cutting off all communication between the
Roman army and Syria. On his arrival in that province
the inhabitants flocked to him from all parts; and most of
the cities, having driven out the garrisons left by Trajan,
opened their gates to him. The emperoi’, however, de¬
tached Lucius and Maximus into Mesopotamia to keep in awe
such cities as had not revolted, and to open a communica¬
tion Vith Syria. Maximus was met by Cosdroes, and having
ventured a battle, his army was entirely defeated, and him¬
self killed. But Lucius being joined by Euricius and Clarius,
two other commanders sent by Trajan with fresh supplies,
gained considerable advantages over the enemy, and retook
the cities of Nisibis and Seleucia, which had revolted.
VOL. XVII.
Trajan, seeing himself thus possessed of all the best and Parthia.
most fruitful provinces of the Parthian empire, but at thev—-v—
same time being well aware that he could not, without vast
expense, maintain his conquests, or keep in subjection so
fierce and warlike a people, at so great a distance from Italy,
resolved to place over them a king of his own choice, who
should hold the crown of him and his successors, and ac¬
knowledge them as his lords and sovereigns. With this
view he repaired to Ctesiphon, and having there assembled
the chief men of the nation, he crowned one of the royal
family, by name Parthanaspates, king of Parthia, obliging
all those who were present to engage to pay him allegiance.
Thus the Parthians were at last subdued, and their king¬
dom made tributary to Rome. But they did not long con¬
tinue in this state of subjection. For no sooner had they
heard of Trajan’s death, which happened shortly afterwards,
than they drove Parthanaspates from the throne, and, re¬
calling Cosdroes, openly revolted against Rome. Hadrian,
who was then commander-in-chief of all the forces in the
East, and soon afterwards acknowledged as emperor by the
army, did not wish, although he was at that time in Syria
with a very numerous army, to engage in any new war with
the Parthians ; but contented himself with preserving the
ancient limits of the empire, without any ambitious pros¬
pects of further conquests. He therefore abandoned those
provinces beyond the Euphrates which Trajan had con¬
quered, withdrew the Roman garrisons from Mesopotamia,
and fixed the Euphrates as the boundary of the empire in
those parts, posting his legions along the banks of that
river.
Cosdroes died after a long reign, and was succeeded by
his eldest son Vologeses. In the reign of the latter, the Alani,
having broken into Media, which was then subject to the
Parthians, committed great devastations, but were prevailed
upon, with rich presents sent them by Vologeses, to aban¬
don that kingdom, and return home. Upon their retreat,
Vologeses, having no enemy to contend with at home, fell
unexpectedly upon Armenia, surprised the legions, and,
having cut them in pieces, entered Syria, defeated Attilius
Cornelianus, governor of that province, and advanced with¬
out opposition to the neighbourhood of Antioch, putting
everywhere the Romans, and those who favoured them, to
the sword. The Emperor Verus, by the advice of his col¬
league Antoninus, surnamed the Philosopher, having left
Rome, hastened into Syria; and having driven the Par¬
thians out of that province, ordered Statius Priscus to in¬
vade Armenia, and Cassius to enter the Parthian territo¬
ries, and carry the war into the enemy’s country. Priscus
made himself master of Artaxata, and in one campaign
drove the Parthians out of Armenia. Cassius, on the other
hand, having in several encounters defeated Vologeses, re¬
duced in four years all those provinces which had formerly
submitted to Trajan; took Seleucia, and burned and plun¬
dered the cities of Babylon and Ctesiphon, with the stately
palaces of the Parthian monarchs; and struck terror into
the most remote provinces of that empire.
However, Verus, who had never stirred from Antioch
and Daphne during the whole time of the war, took upon
him the lofty titles of Parthicus and Armenicus, as if he
had acquired them in the midst of his pleasures and de¬
baucheries. After the revolt and death of Cassius, Anto¬
ninus the Philosopher repaired to Syria to settle the affairs
of that province. On his arrival he was met by ambassa¬
dors from Vologeses, who having recovered most of the
provinces subdued by Cassius, and being unwilling either
to part with them or to engage in a new war, solicited the
emperor to confirm him in the possession of them; promis¬
ing to hold them of him, and to acknowledge the sove¬
reignty of Rome. To these terms Antoninus readily agreed,
and a peace was accordingly concluded between the two
empires.
o
106 PAR PAR
Parthia. Upon the death of Vologeses, the son of his brother Sa- been so perfidiously taken by Caracalla should be imme- Parti
  natruces, and grandson of Cosdroes, who bore the same diately restored, and a large sum of money paid to defray p J.
name, was raised to the throne. He sided with Niger against the expenses of the war. v ^
the Emperor Severus, who, having settled matters at home, As Artabanus on this occasion had lost the flower of his
marched with all his forces against him ; and advancing to army, Artaxerxes, a Persian of mean descent, but of great
the city of Ctesiphon, whither he had retired, laid close courage and experience in war, revolted against the Par-
siege to that metropolis. Vologeses made a gallant de- thians, and, having prevailed on his countrymen to join him,
fence, but the city was at length taken by assault. The attempted to recover the sovereign power, which, he said,
kino-’s treasures, with his wives and children, fell into the they had been unjustly deprived of, first by the Macedo-
emperor’s hands ; but Vologeses himself had the good luck nians, and afterwards by the Parthians their vassals. Upon
to make his escape. Severus, however, had no sooner crossed the news of this revolt, Artabanus marched with the whole
the Euphrates than Vologeses recovered all the provinces strength of his kingdom to suppress it; but being met by
which he had reduced, except Mesopotamia. These expe- Artaxerxes at the head of an army no less powerful, a bloody
ditions cost the Romans a great amount of blood and trea- battle ensued, which is said to have lasted three days. At
sure, without yielding any advantages in return. Vologeses length the Parthians, though they behaved with the utmost
was soon afterwards engaged in a war still more trouble- bravery, and fought like men in despair, were forced to
some and destructive, with his brother Artabanus, who, en- yield to the Persians, who were commanded by a more ex-
couraged by some of the discontented nobles, attempted to perienced leader. Most of their troops were cut oil in the
rob him of the crown, and to place it on his own head, flight; and the king himself having been taken prisoner,
Vologeses gained several victories over his rebellious sub- was soon afterwards put to death by order of Artaxerxes.
iects, but died before he could restore the empire to its In this fatal engagement, the Parthians having lost both
former tranquillity. their king and their army, were forced to submit to the
Artabanus, who had a numerous army at his devotion, did conqueror, and become the vassals of a nation which had
not now meet with any opposition in seizing the vacant been subject to them for the space of four hundred and
throne, although Tiridates had a better title to it, as being seventy-five years.
his elder brother. He had scarcely settled the affairs of PARTI, Partie, Party, or Parted, in Heraldry, is ap¬
his kingdom, when the Emperor Caracalla, desirous to sig- plied to a shield or escutcheon, denoting that it is divided
nalize himself, as several of his predecessors had done, by or marked out into partitions.
some memorable exploit against the Parthians, sent a solemn PARTICIPLE, in Grammar, an adjective formed of a
embassy to their king, desiring his daughter in marriage, verb, and so called because it participates partly of the pro-
Artabanus, overjoyed at this proposal, received the ambas- perties of an adnoun and partly of those of a verb. See
sadors with all possible marks of honour, and readily com- the article Grammar.
plied with their request. Soon afterwards Caracalla sent> PARTICLE, in Grammar, a denomination for all those
second embassy to acquaint the king that he was coming small words which connect or unite others, or express the
to solemnize the nuptials; upon which Artabanus went to modes or manners of words.
meet him, attended with his principal nobility and his best PARTISAN, in war, a person dexterous in command-
troops, all unarmed. But this peaceable train no sooner ing a party, and who, knowing the country well, is employ-
approached the Roman army, than the soldiers, on a signal ed in getting intelligence, or surprising the enemy s con-
given them, fell upon the king’s retinue, and made a most voys and posts. The word also means an officer sent out
terrible slaughter of the unarmed multitude, Artabanus upon a party, with the command of a body of light troops,
himself escaping with very great difficulty. Caracalla hav- generally under the appellation of the partisan corps,
ing by this abominable treachery gained great booty, and, PARTNERSHIP, is a contract amongst two or more
as he thought, no less glory, wrote a long boastful letter persons, to carry on a certain business, at their joint risk
to the senate, assuming the title of Parthicus, as he had and expense, and to share the gain or loss arising from it.
before done that of Germanicus, for murdering, in a simi- PARTRIDGE, a species of bird. See Ornithology.
lar manner, some of the German nobility. Partridge’s Island, on the south coast of Van Diemen’s
Artabanus having resolved to make the Romans pay dear Land, was so called by Entrecasteaux, the Fiench naviga¬
tor their inhuman and barbarous treachery, raised the most tor. Lat. 43. 23. S.
numerous army that had ever been known in Parthia, cross- PARTY, in a military sense, a small number of men,
ed the Euphrates, and entered Syria, which he ravaged horse or foot, sent upon any kind of duty, as into an ene-
with fire and sword. But Caracalla being murdered before my’s country to pillage, to take prisoners, and to levy con-
this invasion, Macrinus, who had succeeded him, met the tributions. Parties are often sent out to examine the roads
Parthians at the head of a mighty army, composed of many and ways, procure intelligence, forage, reconnoitre, or amuse
legions, and all the auxiliaries of the states of Asia. The the enemy upon a march; and they are also frequently sent
two armies no sooner came in sight of each other than they upon the flanks of an army or regiment, to discover the
engaged with the utmost fury. The battle lasted two days, enemy if near, and prevent surprise or ambuscade.
both^Romans and Parthians fighting so obstinately, that PARUPANADA, a town of Southern India, situated on
night only parted them, without any apparent advantage on the sea-coast of the province of Malabar. The small town
either side. The field of battle was covered with dead of Vuypura was originally called the North Parupanada. It
bodies ; about forty thousand, including both Romans and is pleasantly situated on the northern bank of a river, near
Parthians, having fallen in the conflict. Nevertheless Ar- the sea-coast, and which would be navigable for ships were it
tabanus was heard to say that the battle was only begun, not for a large bar at its mouth. The other town of Parupa-
and that he would continue it till either the Parthians or nada contains 700 houses, mostly built of stone, and is well
Romans were cut in pieces to a man. But Macrinus, being aired ; and the surf, compared with that which breaks on
apprised that the king came highly enraged against Cara- the Madras shore, is trifling; so that, excepting in some
calla, and dreading the consequences which would attend places where rocky head-lands run into the sea, boats of
the destruction of his army, sent a herald to Artabanus, ac- any kind may without any danger land on the coast. From
quainting him with the death of Caracalla, and proposing two to three thousand teak trees may be procured here an-
an alliance between the two empires. The king, under- nually. It is twenty-two miles south from Calicut. Long,
standing that his great enemy was dead, readily embraced 75. 55. E. Lat. 11. 2. N.
the proposal, upon condition that all the prisoners who had PARVICH, an island near Dalmatia, containing many
PAS
isanga Roman antiquities, which evidently show that it was a Ro¬
ll man station. It seems to have been amongst the number
aseal. t]10se islands which Pliny calls Celadussce, supposed to
be an inversion of ooaxiXa&os, meaning ill sounding or noisy.
Parvich is not of large extent, but is extremely fertile.
Every product attains perfection there, particularly those
which require a very shallow soil, such as wine, oil, mul¬
berry trees, and fruit. The aspect of this island is also
very pleasant at a distance, but that of the others adjacent
shocks the eye by their high, rocky, and naked hills. The
name of Parvich seems to have been given it because it is
the first one observed on going out of the harbour of Sibe-
nico ; the Illyrian word parvi signifying first.
PASANGA, a small island in the Eastern Seas, near the
western coast of Sumatra. Lat. 5. 10. S.
PASAY, a town of Sumatra, situated in a fine bay on
the northern extremity of the island, abounding in cattle,
provisions, and grain, and also in fine timber.
PASCAL, Blaise, one of the greatest geniuses and best
writers that France has produced, was born at Clermont, in
Auvergne, in the year 1623. His father, Stephen Pascal,
born in 1588, and descended of an ancient family, was pre¬
sident of the court of aids in his province ; and being a very
learned man, and an able mathematician, he was a friend of
Descartes. Having an extraordinary tenderness for this
child, who was his only son, he quitted his office, and set¬
tled at Paris in 1631, that he might be at leisure to attend
to his instruction ; and young Pascal never had any master
but his father. From his infancy he gave proofs of extra¬
ordinary capacity; for he desired to know the reason of
every thing, and when good reasons were not given him, he
would seek for better, refusing to yield his assent except
upon such as appeared to him to be well grounded. It was
feared that, with such a turn of mind, he might fall into
free-thinking, or at least into heterodoxy; but this appre¬
hension proved groundless.
What is told of his manner of learning the mathematics,
as well as of the rapid progress which he made in that
science, seems almost miraculous. His father, perceiving
in him an extraordinary inclination to reasoning, was afraid
lest the knowledge of the mathematics might prevent his
acquiring the languages. He therefore kept him as much
as he could from all notions of geometry, locked up all his
books on that subject, and even refrained from speaking of
it in his presence. He could not, however, prevent his son
from musing upon geometrical propositions, and one day
surprised him at work with some charcoal upon his 'cham¬
ber floor, and in the midst of figures. Having asked the
boy what he was doing, he received for answer, I am search¬
ing for such a property, which was in fact that demonstrated
in the thirty-second proposition of the first book of Euclid.
His father then asked him how he came to think of this*?
It was, says Pascal, because I had found out such another
thing; and so going backwards and using the names of bar
and round, he came at length to the definitions and axioms
which he had formed to himself. Does it not seem almost
miraculous that a boy should work his way into the heart
of a mathematical work, without ever having seen that or
any other book upon the subject, or knowing any thing of
the terms ? Yet we are assured of the truth of this by Ma¬
dame Perrier, and by several other writers, the credit of
whose testimony cannot reasonably be questioned. Thence¬
forward he had full liberty to indulge his genius in mathe¬
matical pursuits. He understood Euclid’s Elements as soon
as he cast his eyes upon them ; and this need not seem
strange, for, as we have seen, he understood them before. ''
At sixteen years of age he wrote a treatise on Conic Sec¬
tions, which was accounted by the learned a mighty effort
of genius; and therefore it is not wonderful that Descartes,
who had been a long time in Holland, should, upon read-
ing it, have been inclined to believe that M. Pascal the fa-
PAS 107
ther was the real author of the work. At nineteen he con- Pascal,
trived an admirable mathematical machine, which was es-s'—
teemed a wonderful thing, and would have done credit as
an invention almost to any man conversant with science,
far less to a mere youth. About this time his health be¬
came impaired, and he was in consequence obliged to sus¬
pend his labours ; nor was he in a condition to resume them
till nearly four years afterwards. About that period, having
seen Torricelli’s experiment respecting a vacuum and the
weight of the air, he turned his thoughts towards that sub¬
ject ; and in a conference with M. Petit, intendant of for¬
tifications, proposed to make farther researches. In pursu¬
ance of this idea, he undertook several new experiments.
In particular, having provided a glass tube, forty-six feet
in length, open at one end, and sealed hermetically at the
other, he filled it with red wine, that he might distinguish
the liquor from the tube. He then elevated the latter
in this condition ; and having placed it perpendicularly to
the horizon, stopped up the bottom, and plunged it into
a vessel full of water to the depth of a foot; after which
he opened the extremity of the tube, and the wine descend¬
ed till about thirty-two feet above the surface of the vessel,
leaving a considerable vacuum at the upper extremity. He
next inclined the tube, and remarked that the wine rose
higher ; and having inclined it till the top was within thirty-
two feet of the ground, making the wine thus run out, he
found that the water rose in it, so that it was partly filled
with that fluid, and partly with wine. He made also a great
many experiments with syphons, syringes, bellows, and all
kinds of tubes, employing different liquors, such as quick¬
silver, water, wine, and oil; and having published an account
of his experiments in 1647, he dispersed his work through¬
out all France, and also transmitted it to foreign countries.
All these experiments, however, ascertained effects, without
demonstrating the causes. Pascal knew that Torricelli con¬
jectured that those phenomena which he had observed were
occasioned by the weight of the air; and, in order to dis¬
cover the truth of this theory, he made an experiment at
the summit and foot of a mountain in Auvergne,'called Le
Puy-de-Dome, the result of which led him to conclude that
air had weight. Of this experiment he also published an ac¬
count, and sent copies of it to most of the learned men in
Europe. He likewise renewed the experiment at the top
of several high towers, such as those of Notre Dame at Pa¬
ris, St Jacques de la Boucherie, and some others; and he
always remarked the same difference in the weight of the
air at different elevations. This fully convinced him of
the weight of the atmosphere; and from this discovery he
drew many useful and important inferences. He also com¬
posed a large treatise, in which he thoroughly explained
this subject, and replied to all the objections which had
been started against it. As he thought this work rather too
prolix, and as he was fond of brevity aud precision, he di¬
vided it into two small treatises, one of which he entitled
a Dissertation on the Equilibrium of Liquors ; and the other,
an Essay on the Weight of the Atmosphere. These la¬
bours procured Pascal so much reputation, that the greatest
mathematicians and philosophers of the age proposed vari¬
ous questions to him, and consulted him respecting such
difficulties as they could not resolve.
Some years after, whilst tormented with a violent fit of
the toothach, he discovered the solution of a problem pro¬
posed by Father Mersenne, which had baffled the penetra¬
tion of all those who had attempted it. This problem was
to determine the curve described in the air by the nail of a
coach-wheel whilst the machine is in motion. Pascal of¬
fered a reward of forty pistoles to any one who should give
a satisfactory answer to the question. As no one succeed¬
ed, however, he published his own at Paris ; but as he now
began to be disgusted with the sciences, he did not put his
real name to it, and sent it abroad under that of A. d’Et-
108 PAS
Pascal, tenville. Tills was the last work which he published in the
’ mathematics; and his infirmities now increased so much
that he was under the necessity of renouncing severe study,
and of living so recluse that he scarcely admitted any per¬
son to see him.
After he had laboured thus successfully in mathematical
and philosophical disquisitions, he forsook these studies and
all human learning at once. He was not twenty-four years
of age, when the perusal of some pious books had inspired
him with this resolution; and he became as great a devo¬
tee as any age has produced. He now devoted himself
entirely to a state of prayer and mortification. He had al¬
ways in his thoughts the great maxim of renouncing all
pleasures and all superfluity; and this he practised with
rigour even in his illnesses, to which he was frequently
subject, being of a very feeble habit of body. He had no
violent affection for those he loved ; and he even thought it
sinful, since a man possesses a heart which belongs only to
God. He found fault with some discourses of his sister,
which she thought very innocent; and subjected himself to
severe mortification and abstinence.
But though Pascal had thus abstracted himself from the
world, yet he could not forbear paying some attention to what
was passing in it; and he even interested himself deeply in
the contest between the Jesuits and the Jansenists. I he
Jesuits, although they had popes and kings on their side,
were yet decried by the people, who raked up afresh against
them the assassination of Henry IV., and all the old stories
which were likely to render them odious. Pascal went
farther, and by his Lettres Provinciates, published in 1656',
under the name of Louis de Montalte, made them the sub¬
ject of the keenest irony and ridicule. These letters may
justly be considered as a model of eloquence and humour.
The best comedies of Moliere have not more wit than the
first part of them; and the sublimity of the latter part is
equal to any thing in Bossuet. It is true, indeed, that the
whole book was built upon a false foundation; for the
extravagant notions of a few Spanish and blemish Jesuits
were artfully ascribed to the whole society. Many absur¬
dities might likewise have been discovered amongst the
Dominican and Franciscan casuists; but this would not
have answered the purpose; for the whole raillery was to
be levelled only at the Jesuits. The Provincial Letters
were intended to prove that the Jesuits had formed a de¬
sign to corrupt mankind ; a design which no sect or society
ever had or can have. Voltaire considers Pascal as the
first of the French satirists; for Despreaux, says he, must
be regarded as only the second. In another place, speaking
of this work, he says, that examples of all the various species
of eloquence are to be found in it. “ Though it has been now
written almost a hundred years, yet not a single word occurs
in it savouring of that vicissitude to which living languages
are so subject. Here then we are to fix the epoch when
our language may be said to have assumed a settled form.
The Bishop of Lucon, son of the celebrated Bussy, told me,
that asking one day the Bishop of Meaux what work he
would covet most to be the author of, supposing his own
performances set aside, Bossuet replied, the Provincial Let¬
ters.” These letters have been translated into all languages,
and printed in every possible form. Some have said that
there were decrees of formal condemnation against them ;
and, further, that Pascal himself, in his last illness, detested
them, and repented of having been a Jansenist; but nei¬
ther of these statements seems to rest upon any good au¬
thority. Father Daniel wrote an answer to the Provincial
Letters, entitled the Dialogues of Cleander and Eudoxus.
These celebrated Letters appear to have been the joint pro¬
ductions of Arnauld, Nicole, and Pascal. Nicole and Ar-
nauld supplied the materials, which Pascal worked up into
those finished productions that fixed the language in which
they were written, and have been admired by every succeed-
P A S
ing age, as well as by that in which they were first given to I
the world.
Pascal was only about the age of thirty when the Pro¬
vincial Letters were published; yet he was extremely infirm,
and soon afterwards his disorders increased so much that,
conceiving his end to be fast approaching, he gave up all
farther thoughts of literary composition. He resolved to
spend the remainder of his days in retirement and religious
meditation ; and with this view he broke off all his former
connections, changed his habitation, and spoke to no one,
not even to his own domestics. He made his own bed,
fetched his dinner from the kitchen, carried it to his apart¬
ment, and brought back the plates and dishes in the even¬
ing ; so that he employed his servants only to cook for him,
to go to town, and to do such other offices as he could not
conveniently perform himself. In his chamber nothing was
to be seen but two or three chairs, a table, a bed, and a few
books. It had no kind of ornament whatever; he had
neither a carpet on the floor nor curtains to his bed: But
this did not prevent him from sometimes receiving visits;
and when his friends appeared surprised to find him thus
without furniture, he replied, that he had what was neces¬
sary, and that anything else would be a superfluity, unwor¬
thy of a wise man. He employed his time in prayer, and
in reading the Holy Scriptures; and he wrote down such
thoughts as this exercise inspired. Though his continual
infirmities obliged him to use very delicate food, and his
servants employed the utmost care in providing only what
was excellent, he never relished what he ate, and seemed
quite indifferent whether what they brought him was good
or bad.
But although he had now abandoned intense study, and
lived in the most temperate manner, his health continued to
decline rapidly ; and his disorders had so enfeebled his or¬
gans, that his reason became in some measure affected. He
always imagined that he saw a deep abyss on his left side;
and he never would sit down till a chair was so placed as
to secure him from the fancied danger which he apprehend¬
ed. His friends did everything in their power to banish
this melancholy idea from his thoughts, and to cure him of
his error, but without effect. Though he would become
calm and composed for a little, yet the phantom would in
a few moments return again and torment him with this
painful delusion. The cause of his seeing this singular
vision for the first time is said to have been the following.
Flis physicians, alarmed on account of the exhausted state
to which he was reduced, had advised him to substitute easy
and agreeable exercise for the exhausting labours of the
closet. One day, in the month of October 1654, having
gone, according to custom, to take an airing on the Pont de
Neuilly, in a coach and four, the two leading horses sudden¬
ly took fright opposite to a place where there was no para¬
pet, and threw themselves violently into the Seine ; but the
traces having luckily given way, the carriage remained on
the brink of the precipice. The shock which Pascal, in his
languishing situation, must have received from this dreadful
accident, may easily be imagined. It threw him into a fit,
which continued for some time, and it was with great diffi¬
culty that he could be restored to his senses. After this pe¬
riod his brain became so disordered that he was continually
haunted by the remembrance of his danger, especially when
his infirmities prevented him from enjoying sleep. During
the last years of his life, in which he exhibited a melancholy
example of the humiliating changes which take place in this
transitory world, and which, if properly considered, might
teach mankind not to be too proud of those abilities, how¬
ever splendid, which a moment may take from them, he at¬
tended all the stated prayers, visited every church in which
relics were exposed, and had always a spiritual almanack,
containing an account of all those places where paxticular
acts of devotion were performed. On this occasion it has
PAS
isco. been said that religion renders great minds capable of little
things, and little minds capable of great things.
In company Pascal was distinguished by his amiable be¬
haviour, his easy, agreeable, and instructive conversation,
and his great modesty. He possessed a natural kind of elo¬
quence, which was in a manner irresistible ; and no one ever
had the happiness of meeting him, without being at once in¬
structed and delighted. His divine humility showed itself
in all things, attempered with a grace and simplicity which
imparted to it an indescribable charm. Towards the close
of his life he employed himself wholly in pious and moral
reflections, writing down those which he judged worthy of
being preserved. The first piece of paper that he could
find was employed for this purpose; and he commonly put
down only a few words of each sentence, as he wrote them
merely for his own use. The bits of paper upon which he
had written these thoughts were found after his death filed
upon different pieces of string, without any order or connec¬
tion ; but being copied exactly as they were written, they
were afterwards arranged and published. He died at Paris
on the 19th of August 1662, aged thirty-nine years.
The works of Pascal were collected in five volumes oc¬
tavo, and published at the Hague by De Tune, and at Pa¬
ris by Nyon, in 1779. This edition of Pascal’s works may
be considered as the first published; at least the greater
part of them were not before collected into one body, and
some of them had still remained in manuscript. For this
collection the public were indebted to the Abbe Bossu, and
Pascal deserved to have such an editor. See remarks on
his philosophical character in the First Dissertation, prefix¬
ed to this work.
PASCO, a province of Peru, in the department of Ju-
nin, and celebrated for its mines of silver and gold, parti¬
cularly the former. This district is situated at a prodigious
elevation, some parts of it being more than 14,000 feet above
the level of the sea, and is consequently much colder than its
latitude would indicate, which is only about eleven degrees
south of the equator. The following notice of Pasco is from
an article in the Journal of the Geographical Society, giving
an account of the recent travels of Dr Poeppig in this coun¬
try : “ He then entered the plain of Bonbon, in which the
rich silver mines of Pasco are situated, and which extends
upwards of six leagues in width from east to west. The
greatest part of the waters collected on this plain run to the
lake Lauricocha, the source of the Amazon. The Cerro de
Pasco, in whose neighbourhood the richer mines are si¬
tuated, is an irregularly built place, with about 7000 inha¬
bitants (Lieutenant Smyth, in 1834, says from 12,000 to
16,000 inhabitants), and stated at 14,280 feet above the
sea. From the Cerro de Pasco the author gradually de¬
scended in a northerly direction, by the eastern declivity
of the Andes, to a valley traversed by the upper branch of
the Huallaga, called Huanuco. At Coxamarquilla, a vil¬
lage more than three leagues from the Cerro, the ground
had already so much lowered, that he found there planta¬
tions of vegetables. Trees made their appearance lower
down; and at San Rafael he saw the first fields of wheat,
which ascends in the valleys of the Andes to an elevation
of 9000 feet. Before reaching the town of Huanuco, the
level part of the valley was covered with sugar-cane plan¬
tations, and even the less steep declivities of the mountains
on both sides were cultivated. Dr Poeppig followed the
course ot the Huanuco or Huallaga, from its source to its
mouth. This river, which traverses more than five degrees
of latitude, rises in the plain of Bonbon, in the Laguna de
Chiquiacoba, not far from the Cerro, at an elevation of
13,200 feet above the sea. This alpine lake is only sepa¬
rated by a low ridge ot hills from the Laguna de Quilua-
cocha, from which the Rio Mantaro, one of the principal
branches of the Apurimac, issues under the name of Rio
de San Juan. The Rio Huanuco runs first north as far as
PAS 109
the town of Huanuco, then east about fifty miles with great Pasigraphy
violence through a rather narrow vale, and then it turns H
suddenly to the north-north-west and north, which course it PaS(luin-
pursues to its junction with the Amazon.” Before the re- "
volution the mines of Pasco yielded annually 131,000 lbs.
troy of silver. During that convulsion the costly machi¬
nery was destroyed, and the water was allowed to take full
possession oi the mines. Both loyalists and patriots re¬
peatedly plundered the stores, and for a long time opera¬
tions were nearly suspended. This province is noted only
for its mines. It is divided into three districts, each of
which has its church and priest; but, in spite of the efforts
of the latter, the miners belonging to the different districts
live in a state of almost perpetual hostility with each other.
When Lieutenant Smyth visited the mines of Pasco in 1834,
the working of them had been resumed with some spirit;
but the steam-engines which had been erected by an Eng¬
lish company some years before were found either destroyed,
or so much injured as to be unfit for use. These mines were
discovered in the year 1630, by Huari Capac, an Indian.
1 ASIGRAPHY (from “Taj, omnis, and yoa<pu, scribo),
the art of writing on any subject whatsoever, so as to be uni¬
versally understood by all nations of the earth. The idea
of establishing such a language is deemed by many ex¬
tremely fanciful and absurd, whilst the practicability of it
is as strenuously contended for by others. Hints respect¬
ing such a system of writing as might be understood by all
mankind are to be met with in the writings of many emi¬
nent philosophers ; but the attempt has signally failed, even
in the hands of a Leibnitz, a Kircher, a Becher, and a Wil¬
kins. Kant is clearly of opinion, however, that such a pa-
sigraphy falls within the limits of possibility; nay, he even
prognosticates that it will certainly be established at some
future period.
PASIHAN, one of the smaller Philippine Islands, near
the west coast of Leyta. Long. 124. 12. E. Lat. 10. 35. N.
PASIPHAE, in fabulous history, a daughter of the Sun
by Perseis, and who married Minos, king of Crete. She dis¬
graced herself by an unnatural passion for a bull, which we
are told she was enabled to gratify by a contrivance of
the artist Daedalus. I his celebrated bull had been given
to Minos by Neptune to be offered on his altars. But as
the monarch refused to sacrifice the animal on account of
his beauty, the god revenged his disobedience by inspiring
Pasiphae with an unnatural love for him. This fable, which
is universally believed by the poets, is discarded by some
writers, who suppose that the infidelity of Pasiphae to her
husband was betrayed in her affection for an officer of the
name of I aurus, and that Daedalus, by permitting his house
to be the place of assignation between the two lovers, was
looked upon as accessory to the gratification of Pasiphae’s
passion. From this amour with Taurus, as is farther re¬
marked, the queen became mother of twins; and the name
of Minotaurus arose from the resemblance of the children
to the husband and the lover of Pasiphae. Minos had by Pa¬
siphae four sons, Castreus, Deucalion, Glaucus, and Andro-
geus; and three daughters, Hecate, Ariadne, and Phaedra.
PASQUIN, a mutilated statue at Rome, in a corner of
the palace of the Ursini. It takes its name from a cobbler
of that city, called Pasquin, famous for his sneers and gibes,
and who diverted himself by cracking his jokes upon all
who passed through that street. After the death of the
cobbler, as some persons were digging up the pavement be¬
fore his door, they found in the earth the statue of an ancient
gladiator, well cut, but maimed and half spoiled ; and hav¬
ing set up this in the place where it was found, they by com
mon consent named it Pasquin. Since that time all satires
are attributed to the figure in question, and are either put
into its mouth, or pasted upon it, as if they were written by
Pasquin himself. They are addressed by Pasquin to Mar-
forio, another statue at Rome. When Marforio is attacked,
110
PAS
PAS
Pasquin- Pasquin comes to his assistance; and when Pasquin is at-
il(^e tacked, Marforio defends him in his turn ; in other words,
Pa, sau people make the statues say just what they please.
' ‘ PASQUINADE, a satirical libel fastened on the statue
of Pasquin. Such productions are commonly short, witty,
and pointed; and hence the term has been applied to all
lampoons of this description.
PASS, or Passade, in fencing, an advance or leap for¬
ward upon the enemy. Of these there are several kinds,
as passes within, above, beneath, to the right, to the left, and
passes under the line. T. he measure of the pass is when
the swords are so near that they may touch one another. See
Fencing.
PASSADE, in the manege, is a turn or course of a horse
backwards or forwards on the same spot of ground. Hence
there are several sorts of passades, according to the differ¬
ent ways of turning, in order to part or return upon the
same tread, which is called closing the passade ; as the pas¬
sade of one time, the passade of five times, and the raised
or high passades.
PASSAGE Island, a small island amongst the Philip¬
pines, about twenty miles east from the island of Leyta.
Long. 125. 27. E. Lat. 10. 44. N.
Passage Isle, a small island on the northern coast of Su¬
matra, which here forms a deep bay, where there are several
Malay ports. Long. 97. 55. E. Lat. 2. 31. N.
PASSAGES, a seaport town of the province of Guipus-
coa, in Spain. It stands on both banks of the river Oy-
arzun, near to the place where it falls into the Bay of Bis¬
cay, and having its entrance defended by the castle of St
Isabel. The harbour was formerly adapted to admit the
largest ships, but it is now so injured by the sand accu¬
mulated at its mouth, as to be accessible only to vessels of
light draught of water. It still has a naval arsenal and hos¬
pital, and capacious storehouses, though but little use is
made of them. It has two churches, a chapel, and an hos¬
pital, with 520 houses, and 2400 inhabitants, many of whom
find employment in the fisheries. Long. 2. 0. 5. W. Lat.
43. 20. 30. N.
PASSAMAN, a small province of Sumatra, being one
of the most northerly, and situated immediately under the
equinoctial line. It was formerly subject to the dominion
of Menancabow, but is now subject to the Achinese. . It is
divided into a number of petty kingdoms, each of which is
governed by a rajah, and was formerly a place of consider¬
able trade. Besides exporting large quantities of pepper,
it received much fine gold from the mountains that are situ¬
ated about three days’ journey inland.
PASSANT, in Heraldry, a term applied to a lion or
other animal in a shield, which appears to walk leisurely.
For most beasts, except lions, the term trippant is frequent¬
ly used instead of that of passant.
PASSAROUANG, a small town and forton the northern
shore of the island of Java. It is the capital of a large
principality, and is intersected by a large river, over which
there is a wooden bridge. It is pleasantly situated, has a
healthy climate, and its native population is numerous. The
surrounding country is fertile, and produces abundant crops
of rice and maize. The roads are good; posts have been
established along the coast; and it appears to be in all re¬
spects a busy and well-regulated settlement. It is situated
in longitude 113. 10. east, and latitude /. 3. south.
PASSAU, a city of the kingdom of Bavaria, in the circle
of the Lower Danube, being the capital of the circle, as well
as that of the bailiwick, of the same name. It is situated on
a peninsula, formed by the junction of the river Inn with the
Danube. It is strongly fortified, and farther defended by
a citadel and the castle of Oberhaus. There are handsome
bridges over both the Danube and the Inn. It is the see of
a bishop, who has a palace and a cathedral, and it contains
822 houses, with 10,350 inhabitants. Notwithstanding its
very advantageous situation on two navigable rivers, it en-
ioys very little trade, and has only some small manufac¬
tures. Long. 12. 54. E. Lat. 48. 35. N.
PASSION is a word of which, as Dr Reid observes, the
meaning is not precisely ascertained either in common dis¬
course or in the writings of philosophers. In its original
import, it denotes every feeling of the mind occasioned by
an extrinsic cause ; but it is generally used to signify some
agitation of mind, opposed to that state of tranquillity in
which a man is most master of himself. That it was thus
used by the Greeks and Romans, is evident from Cicero s
rendering “Tcctfos, the word by which the philosophers of
Greece expressed it, by perturbatio in Latin. In this sense
of the word, passion cannot be itself a distinct and indepen¬
dent principle of action, but only an occasional degree ot
vehemence given to those dispositions, desires, and affec¬
tions, which are at all times present to the mind of man;
and that this is its proper sense, we require no other proof
than that passion has always been conceived to bear an
analogy to a storm at sea or to a tempest in the air. See
Moral Philosophy.
Passion- Week, the week immediately preceding the fes¬
tival of Easter, and so called because in that week happen¬
ed our Saviour’s passion and death. The Thursday of this
week is called Maunday Thursday; the I* riday, Good Fri¬
day ; and the Saturday, the Great Sabbath.
PASSIR, a town and district of Borneo, pleasantly situ¬
ated on a river of the same name, about fifty miles from its
mouth, near the bottom of a large bay, on the eastern side
of the island. The river is joined by five other tributary
streams, and is very rapid near the town, above which the
tide ascends, rising to the height of several feet. The^town
consists of three hundred wooden houses, situated on the
northern side of the river, most of them inhabited by Bug-
gess merchants. This was formerly a place of considerable
trade. In the year 1772 the East India Company attempt¬
ed to establish a factory here for the sale of opium, piece-
goods, &c.; but the plan was frustrated by a commotion
amongst the natives, at which the English commander took
an alarm, and quitted the country. Passir has since this
period been seldom visited by Europeans; more especially
since several vessels have been cut off by the numerous pi¬
rates who frequent the coast and the neighbouring islands.
The Chinese who have settled here are remarkably indus¬
trious, and are in possession of the principal trade. The
surrounding country is fertile, and yields in great abun¬
dance rice, besides benzoin, aloes, pepper, cassia, and long
nutmegs ; also various kinds of fruit, excellent mastic and
other gums, particularly dragon’s blood; honey, gold dust,
and camphor. The imports are nearly similar to those of
the other Malay ports, namely, opium, fire-arms, gunpowder,
lead, iron, and steel, cutlery, swords, cloths, chintzes, look¬
ing-glasses, &c. The inhabitants do not bear a good cha¬
racter. They are fraudulent and treacherous, and have cut
off many ships in the most treacherous manner. They are
also unjust in their weights and measures, and are expeit
in the practice of various other frauds. The country is flat
and unhealthy, being covered with thick woods, and annu-
ally overflowed. The exhalations from this moisture, and
the thick fogs, are extremely insalubrious. The thick fogs
turn to rain, and are accompanied by chilling winds- Fhe
great numbers of frogs and vermin which are generated b\
the heat, and afterwards destroyed, occasion an intolerable
stench, and add to the unhealthiness of the place. Long,
of the town 116. 10. E. Lat. 1. 57. N. & u
PASSIVE, in general, denotes something that suffers the
action of another, which is called an agent or active power.
In grammar, the verb or word which expresses this passion
is termed a passive verb, and, in the learned languages, has
a peculiar termination; as, amor, doceor, legor, in Latin,
that is, an r is added to the actives, amo, doceo, lego; and, m
Passiu
fl ^
lassiy
p('; lover
PAS
sive the Greek, the inflection is made by changing w into o/^a/,
ience as ruTru, ru-rro/ia/, and vrsidu, Kudopai. But in^ the modern
languages the passive inflection is effected by means of auxi¬
liary verbs, joined to the participle of the past tense; as, I
am praised, in Latin laudor, and in Greek irtaiviofjMi; or, I
am loved, in Latin amor, and in Greek p/Aso/ia/. Thus it
appears that the auxiliary verb am serves to form the pas¬
sives of English verbs: and the same thing holds of the
French, as Je suis hue, I am praised; fai ete loue, I have
been praised, and so forth. See the article Grammar.
Passive Obedience, a political doctrine, very obnoxious
to the friends of freedom. Some nonjurors, imagining that
monarchy is the only lawful form of government, and that
hereditary monarchy is the only lawful species of that go¬
vernment, have coupled with passive obedience the ridicu¬
lous notion of a divine, hereditary, indefeasible right in cer¬
tain families to govern with despotic sway all other families
of the same nation. The absurdity of this notion scarcely
needs refutation; but it may not be improper to observe,
that it has nothing to do with passive obedience.
This, as taught by the ablest reasoners, who think that
they are supported by the Holy Scripture, is as much a
duty under republican as under monarchical governments ;
and it means no more than that private individuals are
bound, both by moral and religious ties, not to resist the su¬
preme power, wheresoever it may be placed, in any nation.
The supreme power can only be the legislature; and no
man or body of men, who have not the power of enacting
and abrogating laws, can, upon this principle, claim passive
obedience from any subject. Whether the principle be
well or ill founded, the absurdity which commonly attaches
to the phrase passive obedience originates from the mistaken
loyalty of the adherents of the house of Stuart, who, to ag¬
gravate the illegality of the Revolution, were accustomed
to represent James II. as supreme over both houses of par¬
liament, and of course also over all law. That such reveries
were foolish, we need no other evidence than the statute-
book, which shows, that in the office of legislation, the King,
Lords, and Commons, are co-ordinate; and that when any
one of these powers shall take upon itself to counteract the
other two, even the duty of passive obedience will oblige the
subject to support the legislature. That resistance to the
legislature can only be lawful to oppose insupportable ty¬
ranny, has been shown by Mr Hume with great cogency of
argument. That it can never be lawful on any occasion,
Bishop Berkeley has endeavoured to prove by a chain of
reasoning, which must, at least, be allowed to display con¬
siderable ingenuity and force. On this subject we refer
our readers to Hume’s Essays, Berkeley’s tract on Pas¬
sive Obedience and Non-resistance, and Locke’s Essay on
Government.
PASSOVER, a solemn festival of the Jews, instituted
in commemoration of their exod from Egypt, because, the
night before their departure, the destroying angel, who put
to death all the first-born of the Egyptians, passed over the
houses of the Hebrews without entering therein, as they
were marked with the blood of the lamb which had been
killed the evening before, and which, for this reason, was
called the paschal lamb. This feast was called pascha by
the Greeks and Romans, not, we presume, from vaa-^u, I
suffer, as Chrysostom, Irenaeus, and Tertullian suppose, but
from the Hebrew word pesah, signifying passage. What
God ordained concerning the passover of the Jews is con¬
tained in Exodus (c. xii.). The month of the departure from
Egypt was looked upon, from this time, as the first month
of the sacred or ecclesiastical year; and on the fourteenth
day of this month, between the two vespers, that is, be¬
tween the sun’s decline and his setting, or rather, accord¬
ing to our manner of reckoning, between two o’clock in the
PAS
111
afternoon and six o clock in the evening, at the ecjuinox, Passover,
they were required to kill the paschal lamb, and to abstain'
from leavened bread. The day following, being the fif¬
teenth, reckoning from six o’clock of the foregoing evening,
which concluded the fourteenth day, was the grand feast
of the passover, which continued seven days. But it was
only the first and the seventh day that were solemn. The
lamb killed was to be without any defect, a male, and yean¬
ed that year. If no lamb could be found, they might take a
kid. 1 hey killed a lamb or a kid in every family ; and if
the number of those who lived in the house was not suffi¬
cient to eat a lamb, two houses might join together. With
the blood of the paschal lamb they sprinkled the door¬
posts and lintels of every house, that the destroying angel,
at the sight of the blood, might pass over them, and thus
spare the Hebrew children. They were required to eat the
lamb the same night that followed the sacrifice. They ate
it roasted, with unleavened bread, and a salad of wild let¬
tuce ; the Hebrew says literally, with bitter things, as
mustard, or any thing of this nature, to give it a relish. It
was forbidden to eat any part of it raw, or boiled in water,
nor were they to break a bone of the victimand if any
tiling remained until the day following, it was thrown into
the fire. Jhey who ate of it were to be in the posture of
travellers, having their loins girt, their shoes on their feet,
their staves in their hands, and eating in a hurry. But this
last part of the ceremony was little observed, at least it
was of no obligation, excepting only on that night when
they went forth out of Egypt. During the whole eight
days of the passover no leavened bread was to be used;
and whoever should eat any, was threatened with being
cut off from his people.
The Jews observed the first and last day of the feast, yet
so as that it was allowed to dress victuals, which w as forbid¬
den on the Sabbath-day. The obligation of keeping the
passover was so strict, that whoever neglected to do it was
condemned to death.2 But those who had any lawful
impediment, as a journey, sickness, or any uncleanness, vo¬
luntary or involuntary, as, for example, those who had been
present at a funeral, or by any other accident had been
defiled, were to defer the celebration of the passover till
the second month of the ecclesiastical year, or till the four¬
teenth day of the month Jair, which answers to April and
May. It was thus that the Lord ordered Moses, upon the
occasion of an inquiry by some Israelites, who had been ob¬
liged to pay the last offices to some of their relations, and
who being thus polluted, were not capable of partaking of
the paschal sacrifice.3 The modern Jews observe in gene¬
ral the same ceremonies which were practised by their an¬
cestors in the celebration of the passover. Upon the four¬
teenth of Nisan, the first-born fast in memory of God’s
smiting the first-born of the Egyptians; but the morning
prayers are the same with those which are said on other
festivals. 1 hey take the roll of the Pentateuch out of the
chest, and read as far as the end of the twelfth chapter of
Exodus, and also what is contained in the eighteenth chap¬
ter of Numbers, relating to the passover. The matron of
the family then spreads a table, and sets on it two unlea¬
vened cakes, and two pieces of the lamb, a shoulder boiled
and another roasted, to put them in mind that God had de¬
livered them with a stretched-out arm. To this they add
some small fishes, because of the leviathan; a hard egg,
because of the ziz; some meal, because of the behemoth,
these three animals being appointed for the feast of the
elect in the other life; and pease and nuts for the chil¬
dren, to provoke their curiosity to inquire into the reason
of the ceremony. They likewise use a kind of mustard,
which has the appearance of mortar, to represent their mak¬
ing bricks in Egypt. The father of the family sits down
1 Exodus, vii. 46; Numbers, ix. 12; John, xix. 36.
2 Numbers, ix. 13.
3 2d Chronicles, xxx. 1, 2, &c.
V
112
PAS
Passport, along with his children and slaves, because upon this day
—v——' all are free. Being seated, he takes bitter herbs, and dips
them in the mustard, then eats, and distributes to the rest.
All then partake of the lamb, the history and institution ot
which is at the same time recited by the master of the fa¬
mily. The whole repast is attended with hymns and pray¬
ers. They pray for the prince under whose dominion they
live, according to the advice of Jeremiah (xxix. 7), “ Seek
the peace of the city whither I have caused you to be car¬
ried away captives, and pray unto the Lord for it; for in
tlie peace thereof shall ye have peace.” . The same things
are put in practice during the two following days ; and the
festival is concluded by the ceremony called habdala, or dis¬
tinction. This ceremony is performed at the close of the
Sabbath-day, at which time the master of the house usually
pronounces certain benedictions, accompanied with certain
formalities, requesting that everything may succeed well the
week following. After going out of the synagogue, they
eat leavened bread for the last time.1 Whilst the temple re¬
mained, they brought thither their lambs, and there saciifi-
ced them, offering the blood to the priest, who poured it out
at the foot of the altar. The passover was typically predic¬
tive of Christ, who is the Christian passover.2 As the destroy¬
ing angel passed over the houses marked with the blood of
the paschal lamb, so the wrath of God passes over those whose
souls have been sprinkled with the blood of Christ. I he
paschal lamb was killed before Israel was delivered ; so it
was necessary that Christ should suffer before wre could be
redeemed. It wTas killed before Moses’s law or Aaron’s sacri¬
fices were enjoined, to show that deliverance comes to man¬
kind by none of them, but only by the true passover, that
Lamb of God slain from the foundation of the world. it
was killed the first month of the year, which prefigured that
Christ should suffer death in this month.4 It was killed in
the evening ;5 and so Christ suffered in the last days, and
at this period of the day.6 At evening also the sun sets,
which shows that it was the Son of righteousness who was
to suffer and die, and that at his passion universal darkness
should overshadow the earth.7 The passover was roast¬
ed with fire, to denote the sharp and dreadful pains which
Christ should suffer, not only from men, but also from God.
It was to be eaten with bitter herbs, not only to put them in
remembrance of their bitter bondage in Egypt, but also to ty¬
pify our mortification to sin, and readiness to undergo afflic¬
tions for Christ.8 Many persons erroneously imagine that the
passover wras instituted in memory of the Israelites having
passed the Red Sea; although it is certain the feast was
held, and received its name, before the Israelites left Egypt,
and consequently several days before they passed the Rod
Sea. Besides the passover celebrated on the fourteenth ot
the first month, there was a second passover, held on the
fourteenth of the second month after the equinox, institut¬
ed by God in favour of travellers and sick persons, who
could not attend at the first, nor be present at Jerusalem on
the day. The Greeks, and even some of the Catholic doc¬
tors, take occasion, from the thirteenth, eighteenth, and nine¬
teenth chapters of St John, to conclude, that Jesus antici¬
pated the day marked for the passover in the law; but the
authority of three evangelists seems to establish the contrary.
PASSPORT, or Pass, a license or writing obtained from
a prince or governor, granting permission and a safe con¬
duct to pass through his territories without molestation. It
PAS
is also a permission granted by any state to navigate in Pass
some particular sea, without hindrance or molestation. pi
PASSUMAH, a district situated on the west coast of Su- as
matra. It is an extensive and populous country, governed
by four independent chiefs, who acknowledge the sovereign¬
ty of the sultan of Palembang.
PASTEBOARD, a kind of thick paper, formed of seve¬
ral single sheets pasted one upon another. The chief use
of pasteboard is for binding books, making letter-cases, and
other articles.
PASTERN of a Horse, in the manege, is the distance
between the joint next the foot and the coronet of the hoof.
This part should be short, especially in middle sized-horses,
because long pasterns are weak, and cannot so well endure
travelling.
PASTIL, or Pastel, amongst painters, a kind of paste
which is made of different colours, ground up with gum-
water, in order to form crayons.
Pastil, in Pharmacy, is a dry composition of sweet¬
smelling resins, aromatic woods, and the like, which is some¬
times burnt to clear and scent the air of a chamber.
PASTIME, any sport, amusement, or diversion. Pas¬
times of some kind seem to be absolutely necessary, and to
none more than to the man of study ; for the most vigorous
mind cannot bear to be always kept on the stretch. The
sports, amusements, pleasures, and recreations, of our an¬
cestors, as described by Fitz-Stephen,9 added strength and
agility to the wheels of state mechanism, whilst they had a
direct tendency towards utility. Most of these ancient re¬
creations are resolvable into the public defence of the state
against the attacks of a foreign enemy. The play at ball,
derived from the Romans, wras first introduced by this authoi
as the common exercise of every school-boy. The perform¬
ance was in a field, whither the most substantial and con¬
siderable citizens resorted to give encouragement and coun¬
tenance to this feat of agility. The intention of the amuse¬
ment at this period of time was to render the juvenile race
active, nimble, and vigorous ; qualities which were requi¬
site whenever their assistance should be wanted for the
protection of their country. The next species of pastime
indeed does not appear to have had this tendency ; but it
was only, as it should seem, an annual custom. This was
cock-fighting. The author informs us, that in the afternoon
of Shrove-Tuesday, upon w hich day this custom prevailed,
they concluded it by throwing the ball; which seems to in¬
sinuate that cock-fighting was merely in conformity to an¬
cient usage, and limited only to part of the day, in order to
make way for a more laudable performance. We may rea¬
sonably, suppose, although our author is entirely silent upon
this head, that whilst cock-fighting was going on, cock-
throwing was the sport of the lowest class of people, who
could not afford the expense of the former. Another spe-'
cies of manly exercise was truly martial, and intended to
qualify the adventurers for military discipline. “ Every Fri¬
day in Lent,” says Fitz-Stephen, “ a company of young men
comes into the field on horseback, attended and conducted
by the best horsemen ; then march forth the sons of the
citizens, and other young men, with disarmed lances and
shields, and there practise feats of war. Many courtiers
likewise, when the king is near the spot, and attendants
upon noblemen, do repair to these exercises; and while
the hope of victory does inflame their minds, they show by
1 See Leo of Modena, iii. c. 3, and the Rabbin. ^ f'x(1^us’ X11‘ ®'.. . „ xT , . 9
* 1st Corinthians, v. 7. Matthew, xxvn. 46; Hebrews, i. 2.
' ^ohTxviflSa 5 HebreWS’ 14‘ 8 CoLssiansA. 24.
9 Otherwise called William Stephanides, a monk of Canterbury, who lived in the reigns of Stephen and Richard I. He wrote a Latin
treatise, in which he gives an account of the several pastimes which were countenanced in his time. Bale, in his writings, draws a pleas¬
ing portrait of this person ; and he is likewise sketched with much commendation by Leland The tin?e y111^ Pe®P f faLitl
misemployed in an idle and frivolous manner,” says Bale, “ he consecrated to inquiries which tended to increase the fame and digii y
of his country ; in doing which, he was not unworthy of being compared to Plato, for, like him, he made the study of men and heaven
constant exercise.”
PAS
PAS
113
time, good proof how serviceable they would be in martial affairs.”
' This is evidently of Roman descent, and immediately brings
to our recollection the Indus Trojce, supposed to be the
invention, as it was the common exercise, of Ascanius. The
common people, in this age of masculine manners, made
every amusement where strength was exerted the subject-
matter of instruction and improvement. They were taught
to exert their bodily strength in the maintenance of their
country’s rights ; and their minds were also improved by
such exertion, being formed to every manly and generous
principle.
In the intervals of industry and labour, commonly called
the holidays, indolence and inactivity, which at this day
prevail, were found only in those whose lives were distem¬
pered with age or infirmity. The view which Fitz-Stephen
gives us of the Easter holidays is animated. “ In Easter
holydays they fight battles upon the water. A shield is
hanged upon a pole fixed in the middle of the stream. A
boat is prepared without oars, to be borne along by the vio¬
lence of the water; and in the forepart thereof standeth a
young man, ready to give charge upon the shield with his
lance. If so be that he break his lance against the shield,
and doth not fall, he is thought to have performed a worthy
deed. If without breaking his lance he runs strongly against
the shield, down he falleth into the water ; for the boat is
violently forced with the tide ; but on each side of the shield
ride two boats, furnished with young men, who recover him
who falleth as soon as they may. In the holydays all the
summer the youths are exercised in leaping, dancing, shoot¬
ing, wrestling, casting the stone, and practising their shields ;
and the maidens trip with their timbrels, and dance as long
as they can well see. In winter, every holyday before din¬
ner, the boars prepared for brawn are set to fight, or else
bulls or bears are baited.”
These were the recreative pursuits to which our sturdy
forefathers devoted their leisure, as far back as the year 1130.
Their immediate successors breathed the same generous
spirit. In the year 1222, being the sixth year of Henry III.,
we find, that certain masters in exercises of this kind made a
public profession of their instructions and discipline, which
they imparted to those who were desirous of attaining excel¬
lence and victory in these honourable achievements. About
this period, persons of better rank and family introduced
the play of tennis,1 and erected courts or oblong edifices
for the performance of the exercise.
About the year 1253, that is, in the 38th year of Henry
III. the quintan was a sport much in fashion in almost
every part of the kingdom. This contrivance consisted of
an upright post firmly fixed in the ground, and having upon
the top of it a cross piece of wood, moveable upon a spin¬
dle, one end of which was broad like the flat part of a hal¬
bert, whilst at the other end was hung a bag of sand. The
exercise was performed on horseback. The masterly per¬
formance was, when, upon the broad part being struck with
a lance, which sometimes broke it, the assailant rode swiftly
on, so as to avoid being struck on the back by the bag of
sand, which turned round instantly upon the stroke being
given, with a very swift motion. He who executed this feat
in the most dexterous manner was declared victor, and the
prize to which he became entitled was a peacock. But if,
upon the aim being taken, the competitor miscarried in
striking at the broadside, his want of skill became the ridi¬
cule and contempt of the spectators.
Dr Plott, in his Natural History of Oxfordshire, tells us
that this pastime was in practice in his time at Dedding-
ton, in that county. “ They first,” says he, “ fixed a post
perpendicularly in the ground, and then placed a small Pastime,
piece of timber upon the top of it, fastened on a spindle,
with a board nailed to it on one end, and a bag of sand
hanging at the other. Against this board they anciently
rode with spears. Now as I saw it at Deddington only with
strong staves, which violently bringing about the bag of
sand, if they make not good speed away, it strikes them on
the neck or shoulders, and sometimes perhaps strikes them
down from their horses ; the great design of the sport being
to try the agility both of man and horse, and to break the
board ; which, whoever did, was accounted conqueror ; for
whom heretofore there was some reward always appointed.”
These feats of honourable contest were succeeded by
the gilded banners of exhibition, and all the long train of
dependents in the interest of indolence. For the writers
of these times inform us, that the soft pleasures of the stage
forced the passes to public favour in the year 1391, and
likewise in the year 1409; so that utility, which before
stood upon the right hand of pleasure, was now ordered to
withdraw for a season. The drama, it seems, was attempt¬
ed by a set of useless and insignificant persons called pa¬
rish-clerks, who, because they had the knowledge of the
alphabet, ignorantly presumed that this included every other
species of knowledge. The subject was truly serious, be¬
ing the creation of the world; but the performance must
have been ludicrous. It wras, however, honoured with the
attendance of noble personages ; and royalty itself deigned
to cast a favourable eye upon it, for the king and queen
were present. These interludes lasted no longer than the
time requisite for the former confederacy of utility and
pleasure to resume its powers. The lance, the shield, the
ball, and the equestrian procession, came forward again,
and put the dramatic usurper to flight. After this period,
these objects of generous pleasure seem to have had their
audience of leave; and one general object, no less manly
than the former, filled their stations, we mean archery.
This continued till the reign of Charles 1.; for w e find in
many hospitals founded during that reign, that amongst the
articles of benefaction recorded upon their walls was this
singular provision, arms for the boys, which signified bows
and arrows.
There are, at this day, many places which were former¬
ly resorted to for the practice of this noble art, distinguish¬
ed by appellations w hich indicate their ancient usage;
such as Brentford Butts, Newington Butts, and many others
of the like denomination. It appears from 33 Henry VIII.
that, by the intrusion of other pernicious games, archery had
for a long time been disused; and to revive it this statute
was enacted. It seems that the bows of the best kind were
made of yew; and, that this wood might be readily obtain¬
ed for the purpose, yew-trees were planted in church-yards.
The sons of those only who were persons of fortune and
fashion, if under seventeen years of age, were permitted to
use such bows. The words of the statute are singular, and
run thus: “ No person under seventeen years, except he,
or his father or mother, have lands or tenements to the
yearly value of ten pounds, or be worth in value or move¬
ables the sum of forty marks sterling, shall shoot with any
bow of yew, which shall be bought for him, after the feast
of our lady next coming, under the pain to lose and for¬
feit six shillings and eightpence.” Upon these words two
observations present themselves. One is, that the yew-
wood, not being so common as other wood, might probably
be soon found deficient, as it was the best wood for making
bows, if the use of it had not been confined to particular
ages and persons, as young people wantonly destroy what
1 The word tennis seems to owe its origin to the French language ; and if so, the game is probably of French invention. Yet the word
tenez will hardly afford incontrovertible evidence upon this subject. For the holding or keeping possession of the ball is no part of the
game, but rather a circumstance casually attending it; since, during the performance of it, the ball is in continual motion, so that there
can be no tenez at this juncture. Perhaps some town in France called Tennois may have been the place where the balls were first made,
and the game first introduced.
VOL. XVII.
P
114 PAS
Pasto. is put into their hands for useful purposes. The other ob¬
servation is, that the age of seventeen is by this statute dis¬
tinguished as the age of discretion, when young people are
more attentive and considerate in things of private concern¬
ment. This statute makes provision of other kinds of wood
for the common people; and to the intent that every person
may have bows of mean price, it enacts, that every bowyer
shall, for every bow that he makes of yew, make four other
bows, meet to shoot with, of elm, witch-hazel, ash, or other
wood apt for the same, under pain of losing and forfeiting,
for every such bow so lacking, the sum of three shillings
and fourpence. It seems there was a species of yew at this
time called elk, a wood which was stronger and more pliant
than the common yew mentioned in the statute, and the
price of which it fixed. “ Moreover, no bowyer shall sell
or put to sale to any of the king’s subjects, any bow of yew
of the tax called elk, above the price of three shillings and
fourpence, under the pain to forfeit twenty shillings for
every bow sold above the said price.”
About the beginning of the reign of James I. military
prowess appears to have sounded a retreat. This king,
to gratify the importunity of the common people, and at
P A T
is situated at a great height, yet the temperature is also Pastop
high, from its vicinity to the equator; and wheat and other U
productions of such climates are found here. In the woods
grows the tree which yields a resin called in that country
mopa-mopa, from which the natives make a very beautiful
varnish, of so durable a quality that it cannot be softened by
boiling water, nor dissolved by acids. In its most northern
part rises the volcano of Pasto, of which the last eruption
took place in the year 1727. The principal town, also
called Pasto, is situated about eighty miles south-south-west
from Popayan, in latitude 1. 15. north, and longitude 76.
46. west. It is a considerable place, containing some seven
or eight thousand inhabitants, who are celebrated for the
manufacture of a peculiar species of cabinet-work. That
portion of the grain of Pasto which is exported is principally
conveyed to Popayan.
PASTOPHORI, amongst the ancients, w'ere priests
whose office it was to carry the images, along with the
shrines, of the gods, at solemn festivals, when they prayed
to them for rain, fair weather, or the like. In Sylla’s time,
the Greeks had a college of this order of priests. The cells
or apartments near the temples, where the pastophori lived,
the same time to obviate his own fears, published a book of were called pastophoria; and there were several lodging
sports, in which the people had some time before been in¬
dulged on Sunday evenings, but which had lately been pro¬
hibited. These sports consisted of dancing, singing, wrest¬
ling, church ales, and other profanations of that day.
Charles, his successor, wisely abolished these sports. The
act of Charles states in part the several amusements, by
which we may conjecture what were the remainder as stat¬
ed in the book of sports by James. It is necessary to tran¬
scribe the portion of the act relating to this subject. “ For¬
asmuch as there is nothing more acceptable to God, than
the true and sincere worship of Him, and service according
to His holy will, and that the holy keeping of the Lord’s
day is a principal part of the service of God, which in many
rooms for the priests of a similar kind in the temple of Je¬
rusalem.
FATA Isle, one of the small Sooloo Islands, lying due
north from Sooloo. It is inhabited, and contains a good
stock of cattle ; and it has also pits of saltpetre.
PAT/E Cl, in Mythology, images of gods which the Phoe¬
nicians carried upon the prow s of their gallies. Herodotus
denominates them <Tarw/xo/. The word is Phoenician, and
derived from pethica, signifying titulus} But Scaliger does
not agree in this, and Morin derives it from vidnxof, mon¬
key, an animal \Vhich had been an object of worship amongst
the Egyptians, and might therefore have been honoured by
their neighbours. Mr Eisner has observed, however, that
places of this realm hath been, and now is, prophaned and Herodotus does not call the pataeci gods ; but that they
neglected by a disorderly sort of people, in exercising and obtained this dignity from the liberality of Hesychius, Sui-
frequenting bear-baiting, bull-baiting, interludes, and com- das, and other ancient lexicographers, who place them at
mon-plays, and other unlawful exercises and pastimes, ne- the stern of ships, w hereas Herodotus placed them at the
glecting divine service both in their own parishes and else- prow. Scaliger, Bochart, and Selden have bestowed some
where: Be it enacted, that from and after forty days next pains upon this subject; and Morin has likewise inserted
after the end of this session of parliament, there shall be no a learned dissertation concerning it, in the Memoires de
meetings, assemblies, or concourse of people, out of their
own parishes, on the Lord’s day, within this realm of Eng¬
land, or any the dominions thereof, for any sports or pas¬
times whatsoever; nor any bear-baiting, bull-baiting, in¬
terludes, common-plays, or other unlawful exercises or pas¬
times, used by any person or persons within their own pa¬
rishes ; and that every person and persons offending in any
of the said premises, shall forfeit for every offence the sum
of three shillings and foui'pence; the same to be employ¬
ed and converted to the use of the poor of the parish w here
such offence shall be committed.” All this was no doubt
very proper, and showed the piety of the unfortunate monarch
by whom it was enacted. But this age w itnessed the close
of the ancient manly sports of Britain.
PASTO, a province of Colombia, in South America, in
the department of Cauca. It is the most southerly province
in the department, lying next to Quito, within half a degree
of the equator, and under the seventy-sixth meridian wrest
from Greenwich. The triple chain of the Magdalena cor¬
dilleras, and the double chain of those of Quito, here unite
into one mass, which is called by Humboldt the Knot of
the Mountains of Los Pastes. The inhabited parts of Pasto
are elevated 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. It is
the Thibet of equinoctial America. As its name indicates,
it abounds in excellent pastures, and consequently in cattle,
and is watered by several considerable rivers. Although it
VAcad, des Inscript, et des Belles Letlres ; but Mr Eisner
thinks it defective in point of evidence.
PATAGONIA, or Land of Magalhaens, a very large
tract of country, occupying the whole southern portion of
South America beyond the united provinces of the Bio de
la Plata, with the exception of portions of its western and
eastern coasts, which form parts of Chili and of Buenos
Ayres respectively. Its limits on the north have repeated¬
ly been altered. In the year 1740 an imaginary line was
drawn across the continent, in about 35° of south latitude,
and which separated the possessions of the Spaniards from
the territory of the Indians. But this boundary was never
respected by either party, inroads having been repeatedly
made by both into the neighbouring country. In 1822 the
government of Buenos Ayres built fortresses on a frontier
which extended to nearly the 38th degree of south latitude,
with the intention of repelling the roving tribes from all
the country which lies to the north of that parallel. The
Indians, however, never recognised this line of demarca¬
tion, and made frequent irruptions into the possessions ol
Buenos Ayres, plundering the country, and committing
dreadful havoc. From this debateable land Patagonia ex¬
tends to the 56th degree of south latitude ; a parallel in¬
cluding Cape Horn, which is in fact a small island, and
the most southerly of those lying immediately contiguous
to Tierra del Fuego. In longitude it extends from the
1 See Bocchart’s Chanaan, lib. ii. cap. 3.
PATAGONIA.
115
goiiia. 63d to the 75th meridians west from Greenwich. Its cessary, is too great to be performed, except upon occasions Patagonia.
y-—'' length, including Cape Horn, is above one thousand miles ; of extraordinary emergency.
but its breadth at the widest is not much more than one The largest river of the coast to the south of the Archi-
third of that space, and it gradually narrows to a point at pelago of Chiloe is called San Tadeo. It is, however, of
the southern extremity, where the land bends in a curve to inconsiderable size, and falls into the Gulf of St Estevan,
the south-east. The interior of this vast country is but over a shallow bar, upon which there is but very little depth
little known, only the sea-coast territory and the numerous of water. At the head of this gulf is St Quentin’s Sound,
islands having been as yet explored to any extent. Indeed, of easy access, and affording excellent anchorage. The
until very lately, our knowledge of any part of it, with the Guaianeco Islands form the southern head of the Gulf of
exception of the eastern coast, was confined to isolated and Penas. These are succeeded by Wellington Island, sepa-
often widely-separated portions of the country; but a sur- rated from the continent by the Mesier Channel, the ex-
vey of the coasts, taken between the years 1826 and 1836, tent of which is about 160 miles, and of course the island
by orders of the British government, and also some recent which it insulates is nearly of the same length; but its breadth
voyages, undertaken in vessels belonging to Great Britain, at the greatest does not exceed sixty or seventy miles,
the United States, and other countries, have gone far to The Mesier Channel joins the Strait of Concepcion be-
supply this blank in geography.1 We shall here 'describe hind the Madre de Dios Archipelago, at the Brazo Ancho
the country under three heads, viz. Western Patagonia; of Sarmiento. About thirty miles within the Mesier Chan-
Southern Patagonia, including Tierradel Fuego, and all the nel, Captain King says, the west side appears to be formed
other islands; and Eastern Patagonia. by a succession of large islands; and on both sides of the
Western Patagonia. The great cordillera of the Andes, channel the coast is hilly, but not very elevated, there being
which is known to traverse the continent almost from end to in many places much low and generally thickly-w^ooded land,
end without a break, gradually decreases in elevation as it The same character distinguishes the Mesier from all the
reaches the higher southern latitudes. In the neighbourhood other channels. In this locality the trees are nearly of
of the equator it rises in several places more than 20,000 feet the same description as those which are found in all parts
above the level of the sea; at Santiago of Chili, in latitude between Cape Tres Montes and the Strait of Magalhaens.
34° south nearly, the highest land is 14,000 feet; farther Of these the most common are an evergreen beech, .a
south it continues to decline ; and from the island of Chi- birch-like beech, the winter’s bark, a tree resembling a
loe to the Strait of Magalhaens,2 Captain King estimates cypress, of which the Indians make their spears, and a very
the average height at 3000 feet. He adds, however, that hard and heavy wood, of a red colour, which is used as
“ there are some mountains which may be between five and fuel. A great quantity of timber grows in the vicinity of
six thousand feet high.” About the parallel of 40° the Mesier Channel, but it attains no height, and, from the hu-
coast begins to assume, and retains to its furthest extremi- midity of the climate, is found to be decayed at the heart,
ty, a very different appearance from that which it exhibits and of very little use. About half way through, the Me-
to the northward. On the coast of Chili, and indeed along sier Channel changes its character entirely, becoming very
the whole of the western shore of the continent, to its narrow, tortuous, and strewed with islands, whilst the land
northern extremity, a belt of comparatively low land inter- on either side rises abruptly from the water in mountain-
poses between the ocean and the cordillera of the Andes, ous and precipitous ridges. ' This character it preserves to
and which affords but very few places of shelter for ves- its junction with the Wide Channel, in which the breadth
sels. But southward of the parallel specified, the base of increases to two miles and a half, and then running thirty-
the mountain chain is washed by the Pacific, the waters of four miles with a direct and unimpeded course, falls into
which, flowing as it were into the deep ravines'that wind the Strait of Concepcion. This strait separates the archi-
through its ramifications, form numerous channels, sounds, pelago of Madre de Dios from the mainland, which in this
and gulfs, and in many instances insulate considerable por- part is much intersected by deep sounds. The principal
tions of land. Indeed the whole western coast of Patago- of these is called the Canal of St Andrew, and it extends
nia is girdled by a chain of large islands and extensive to the base of the snowy range of the cordillera, which is
archipelagos, barren to seaward, but impenetrably wooded described to be “ suddenly and boldly closed by tremen-
towards the mainland. Of these the most conspicuous are dous and astonishing glaciers.” Sarmiento’s Puerto Buono,
the Archipelago of Chonos, Wellington Island, the Archi- as its name indicates, is a safe and commodious harbour,
pelago of Madre de Dios, Hanover Island, and Queen Ade- the depth of water being only nine fathoms all over, an ad-
laide s Archipelago. The land of Tres Montes is however vantage which few ports in this quarter afford. Behind
an exception, being a peninsula, and the only part of the Hanover Island, which is separated from the mainland by
continent, within the above limits, that is exposed to the Concepcion Strait, the continent is very much intersected
swell of the ocean. It forms the northern part of the Gulf by extensive sounds trending deeply into the land, like the
of Penas, and is connected with the mainland by a narrow St Andrew Channel, to the base of the Andes. South of
isthmus called Ofqui, over which the Indians, in travelling Hanover Island is Queen Adelaide’s Archipelago, through
along the coast, carry their canoes, to avoid the risk of which there are several channels that communicate with
passing round the peninsula, an undertaking of extreme the Strait of Magalhaens. The principal of these, called
danger. It was here that the celebrated Byron, ancestor Smyth’s Channel, falls into the strait at Cape Tamar,
o the great poet, and his shipwrecked companions, crossed The general character of Western Patagonia, given by
over with their Indian guides; but the route is not much its recent explorers, is very unfavourable. Wood and wa-
requented, for this part of the coast, like all the rest, is ter are indeed abundant everywhere ; fish are easily caught;
very thinly peopled, and the task of pulling their canoes and the steamer or race-horse duck, geese, wild-ducks,
to pieces and reconstructing them, which is absolutely ne- and other smaller birds, are everywhere numerous; but of
PafarrnniQairVe^ln^ i <I-Va8'es to which allusion has been made, are those of the Adventure and Beagle. In drawing up our account of
the + V,Wr, r- 111UC1 indebted to two notices of these expeditions which appeared in the Journal of the Geographical Society;
part ii ^ ^ ^ &ln ^in^’ coinmander of the expedition, being contained in vol. i., and the other, by Sir John Barrow, in vol. vi.
of orJnlnn re^ar(J,to tiie orthography of this great navigator’s name, Captain King says in a note, “ There has existed much difference
lanes • hntT u ® coJrec^ m°de of spelling this name. The French and English usually write it Magellan, and the Spaniards Magal-
nronri'ptv J n 16 • or^oguese, and he was a native of Portugal, it is universally written Magalhaes I have convinced myself of the
n y o owing the Portuguese orthography for a name which to this day is very common both in Portugal and Brazil.”
116
PATAGONIA.
Patagonh. any other useful productions the country is quite desti- mountains are higher, and more precipitous and rugged m Pat^
tute “ If,” says Lieutenant Skyring, “ we force a passage their outline, and consequently not easily to be ascended,
through the woods, it is over fallen trees and moss; if we They are in general three thousand, but some are found
walk over open, flat ground, we find the place a swamp s to be four thousand feet in height; and one, Mount Sar-
■md if we climb the hills, we travel over a continuous rock, miento, is upwards of six thousand feet high, and is cover-
tenerallv covered by a spongy moss, and entirely destitute ed throughout the year with snow The line of perpetual
- ’ „Lnv description.” The forests are so dense as to snow in the strait seems to be about three thousand five
te taptvtous toX sun’s rays, so that the rain, which hundred or four thousand feet above the sea. The strait
fills here incessantly, is never carried away by evaporation, here is quite free hom islands , and it is a remarkable fact,
T p risen,lence is that every foot of earth, and every tree that where the greenstone formation terminates, there the
Jnd staub! on these inhospitable shores, is always tho- islands cease to appear^ The slate formation continues
roughly wet Of course the country is uninhabitable, ex- as tar as Fresh-W ater Bay, situated about the middle ol
cent hy savages. Clouds, wind, and rain, only cease their the eastern shore of Brunswick I emnsula. Cape Negro
annoyance during the very few days on which the wind forming its northern extremity, and projecting from the
^easterly or perhaps southerly. Probably there are not narrow isthmus which unites the peninsula with the mam-
in days in twelve months on which rain or snow does not land. At Cape Negro the clay formation commences, and
fall, and not thirty on which it does not blow strongly.
But it is mild, and the temperature is surprisingly uniform
throughout the year. . . ,
The most striking feature of Southern Patagonia is the
long and comparatively narrow channel called the Strait of
IcliKl. -TLlz A I v/ UIIA. y AWi ^   
in that portion of the strait to the eastward of it the hills
are remarkable for the regularity and parallelism of their
direction, and their general resemblance to each other.
Captain King thus concludes his geological observations:
The irregularity of the topographic features of the more
Mhil^hacns^hlchseimnUes Tieirade, Fuego, and a great western portion of the strait, annbined with iu confused
number of other islands, from the mainland. The manner in assemblage and immense number of islands and rocks, the
Xch the land, continental as well as insular, is penetrated regularity of the strata, the coinciding paral ehsni of all
in all directions by large and small arms of the sea, is such as the bays, channels, and sounds, and the total absence ot
d‘,V verbal description. The indentations frequently as- islands m the central portion or slate formation together
same the character of immense inland seas, one of which, with the remarkable similarity of the direction of the hills
called Otway Water, nearly insulates a large portion of the and coast line, and the stratification of the north-eastern
continent to which the name of Brunswick Peninsula has tract, which is very different from that of the centre, are
been given. A natural canal connects Otway Water with very striking facts, and, geologically considered, areof great
Skvrinp- Water, which, stretching from east to west, along interest. ... . . ..
with another arm of the sea called Obstruction Sound, The character of the vegetation is also very interesting,
trending in a semicircle from north to south, nearly cuts not so much from the variety of phmts, as from their stunt-
off another large portion of the continent, which has been
called King William IV.’s Land. The south-eastern shore
of the Otway Water is high, rocky, and generally precipi¬
tous ; but the northern coast is formed by low, undulating,
ed growth to the westward, their luxuriance in the centre,
and the total absence of trees to the eastward. This re¬
markable dissimilarity, of course, arises from the soil differ¬
ing very much in these several localities. Light and thin
tnna • hut thp northern coast is lormeu uy iuw, uimuiamig, j   -- . .. .. . ,
arassv plains wholly destitute of timber. The shores of Sky- in the west and east, it is unfit for plants which ta e a
X Water have the same general character. Insome parts deep root; but m the centre, where there are large valleys
ttecountry is wooded, and possesses a dry and light but irrigated by numerous streams, which swell in the winter
tolerably c od soil. Captain King thus speaks of the sur- months, and deposit a great quantity of alluvium, a good
rev which had been made of this part of Patagonia. “ In superficial soil is formed, and here accordingly the shrubs
111 examination, the southern part of the cordillera was and plants become particular y luxuriant and productive,
ascertained The eastern shores of the interior channels whilst trees of several feet m diameter are numerous. The
were found to be low plains, with no hills nor mountains trees are similar to those already mentioned as belonging
were touna t I , i • ti1p feature also of to Western Patagonia, and they are not of much value.
the northern shores of the Otway and Skyring Waters, it is It is remarkable that, in this rigorous climate, the veronica,
the nort ei t J ti1P eas; 0f the sounds is and even the fuchsia, were found in full flower within a
a'continucd pampa or plain.” Traces of Indians were observ- short distance of the base of a mountain, covered about
ed but todo not appear to inhabit the shores of these two thirds down with snow, and with a temperature of 36
interior sounds at least permanently. No guanacoes were During summer, Captain King found it at night as low as
discovered bui several large herds of deer were observed 29°, yet the most delicate plants received no injury from
feeding on the shores. Sea-otters and black-necked swans the cold. 1 Ins is singular enough ; but the followi g
feeding on t e - things observ- facts relative to climate are still more remarkable. I have
^ * S S occasionally,” says this navigator, “ during the summer,
ed in these dreary solitudes.
“ The Strait of Magalhaens,” says Captain King, be¬
ing a transverse section of the continent, exhibits a very
crood view of its geological structure. The strait may be
divided into three portions, the western, central, and east¬
ern. The western end and centre are of primitive cha¬
racter, rugged, and very mountainous j whilst the eastern
portion is of a recent formation, and low. The western
part is composed of a succession ot stratified locks, a dif-
u . j* a.: Kxr fnrm nnrl nature Ol
 j j says tms navigator, •• during the summer,
been up the greater part of the night at my observatory,
with the internal as well as the external thermometers as
low as freezing point, without being particularly warmly
clad, and yet not feeling the least cold ; and in the winter
the thermometer, on similar occasions, has been at 24° and
26°, without my suffering the slightest inconvenience. This
I attributed at the time to the peculiar stillness of the air,
although within a short distance in the offing, and overhead,
ference at ™ce distinguishable by the form and nature of the wind was high. ’ The water of the ocean near the su -
the ranges and the direction of the shores; the hills are face is here so much warmer than the air that in the middle
irreffuladv heaped together; the sounds are intricate and of winter, which is June, a difference of no less than tlur-
tortuous in their course; and the shores are formed by ty degress has been observed, on which occasions the sea
deen sinuosities and prominently projecting headlands, was covered with a cloud of vapour, the result of a well-
The channels also areXdded with innumerable islands known law. Parrots and humming-birds, generally the m-
and rocks which are extremely dangerous for navigation, habitants of warm regions, are very numerous in the South-
Near die centre of the strait, the rock being clay-slate, the ern and western parts of the strait; a fact which proves that
PATAGONIA.
117
.£onia. the climate is mild although the temperature be compara-
"Y'"—^ lively low.
Tierra del Fuego is divided into three islands by two
channels or sounds. The most westerly of these is high
and rugged ; and although in the valleys, ravines, and shel¬
tered nooks, there is no want of vegetation, yet, in compa¬
rison with the eastern part of the strait, it has a very dis¬
mal and uninviting aspect. It bears the appropriate name
of South Desolation. To the east of it lies Clarence Island,
which is only fifty-two miles in length by twenty-three in
breadth. It is equally rocky with the former, but has a
much more verdant and agreeable appearance. These two
islands are of course surrounded by others without either
number or name ; and the southern and western part of
Tierra del Fuego may be briefly described by stating, that
deep but narrow arms of the sea intersect high mountain¬
ous islands, the summits of which are covered with snow,
whilst their steep and rocky shores are more than partially
covered with evergreen woods. Throughout the year cloudy
weather prevails, much rain falls, and fine days are very
rare. The natives, too, unlike those in other parts of the
country, are an ill-conditioned race, low in stature, badly
formed in body, and of a colour as dark as old mahogany.
The eastern island, which is by far the largest of the three,
is known on our charts by the name of King Charles’s South
Land. The northern part partakes of the geological cha¬
racter of the eastern portion of the strait; the centre is a
continuation of the slate formation ; and the south shore,
or seaward coast line, is chiefly composed of greenstone.
The eastern portion of Tierra del Fuego is a better coun¬
try than any south of the forty-fifth parallel. The eastern
shore towards the south part is lofty, but near the northern
part it is very low. The interior is also low, with exten¬
sive plains abounding with guanacoes. The natives are a
much better race of men than those in the western part
of Tierra del Fuego, and the climate is also more favour¬
able. At Port Famine, in the Strait of Magalhaens, situat¬
ed in latitude 53. 38£. south, and longitude 70. 54. west
from Greenwich, Captain King took careful observations of
the climate from the beginning of January till the middle
of August. From his tables it appears that the mean tem¬
perature for the autumnal period, the months of February,
March, and April, was 47° 2'; the maximum and minimum
being respectively 68° and 28°. For the three following
months, or the winter period, the mean temperature was
34° 5', and the maximum and minimum 49° 5' and 12° 6'
respectively. The natives of this territory are like those of
Eastern Patagonia, but they have no horses. Balls, and bows
and arrows, are their arms and hunting w eapons. They de¬
pend for subsistence chiefly on seals, guanacoes, and birds.
As a native of Tierra del Fuego is seldom out of sight of his
canoe, or a wigwam, the only constructions on which he ex¬
ercises his skill, some idea of these must be given. The ca¬
noe is made of several large pieces of bark sewed together.
Its shape is nearly that which would be assumed by the
strong bark of a tree from twelve to twenty feet in length,
and about eighteen inches or two feet in diameter, when
separated from the solid wood in one piece, and joined at
the ends, but kept open towards the middle by means of
sticks. It is ballasted by clay, and always carries a small
fire. There are two kinds of wigwams, one of which is made
of small straight trees, the upper ends of which are united,
whilst the lower form a circle. The other is formed by
branches stuck in the ground, then bent together at the
top, and slightly covered with skins, bark, grass, or leafy
twigs. A small aperture is left for the smoke to escape by,
but here the rain as readily finds entrance.
To the south of Tierra del Fuego are a vast number of
islands, the largest of which are called Hoste and Navarin
Islands. The south shores of these consist of hornblende,
which is the principal rock of which the islands in the neigh¬
bourhood, as w’ell as of that of Cape Horn itself, are com- Patagonia,
posed. The south summit of this small but celebrated ^
island is situated in 55. 58. 41. of south latitude, and 67. 21.
14. of longitude west from Greenwich. With the most bois¬
terous and humid climate on the globe, and with a low but
eminently uniform temperature, vegetation flourishes here
w ith surprising beauty and luxuriance. Some causes hither¬
to unexplained considerably modify the assigned law of di¬
minution of temperature in proportion to elevation, for here
it does not appear to hold true. Captain Foster, an accu¬
rate observer, says, that the character of vegetation on the
mountains of Staten Island and Cape Horn did not vary in
the least from that of the lowland plains. The hills about.
Cape Horn are very rarely covered with snow, yet, from the
temperature at the level of the sea, and the known altitude
of the hills, this ought to be the case.
It may be observed, that there are several other islands
which lie still farther south than Cape Horn ; but although
clothed with vegetation, they are small, and do not appear
to contain inhabitants. The vegetation of Horn Island is
similar to that of Staten Island, which has been very fullv
described by several intelligent navigators. It is rendered
remarkable by its position off the south-eastern extremity
of the South American continent, by the peculiarity of its
shape, it being so deeply indented by bays as to form nearly
four different islands, and by the circumstance of its offer¬
ing a good departure for ships bound to different parts of
the Pacific, as well as a landfall for those returning from the
islands situated in that quarter. It is about thirty-four miles
in length from east to west, and its extreme breadth is about
nine miles. Staten Island is separated from Tierra del
Fuego by the Straits of Le Maire, in w hich there generally
runs a very dangerous tide-rip. It is composed of an ac¬
cumulation of lofty hills of clay-slate, separated by narrow
ravines, little or no level ground being seen. The scenery
of the island is wild and romantic in the extreme; and al¬
though rugged and uncultivated, it is grand and pleasing.
It is clothed all over with luxuriant vegetation, consisting
chiefly of beautiful evergreen trees, the most common being
the antarctic beech, and a multitude of minor plants and
shrubs, many of which bear excellent fruits. The seal, the
otter, the rat, and the mouse, are the only quadrupeds on
Staten Island; but birds are more numerous. It has long
been the resort of vessels in search of seals, and they have
in consequence become considerably less numerous than
formerly. The climate of this island, like that of Tierra del
Fuego, is extremely humid and boisterous, the sky being
constantly charged with vapour. There are several harbours
in Staten Island, but they are all, with one exception, con¬
fined to its northern side.
The eastern coast of Patagonia, from the entrance of the
Strait of Magalhaens to the river Plata, is comparatively
lowr. From Cape Virgins, at the mouth of the straits, to
Port St Julian, in latitude 49. 15. 20. south, where porphy-
ritic clay-stone commences, the coast is formed of clay clift’s
horizontally stratified, and the country is undulating, with
extensive pampas covered w ith grass and destitute of trees,
like those of Buenos Ayres, which they otherwise resem¬
ble. “ At Port St Julian,” says Captain King, “ the country
becomes hilly, and continues so as far to the northward
as latitude 44°, the rock being porphyritic. The clay for¬
mation to the southward has been likened to the appearance
of the coast of Kent, and at a short distance it bears cer¬
tainly a very great resemblance to it; but the cliffs, instead
of being chalk, are composed of a soft marly clay, w ith-
out any gravel or impressions of organic remains, except¬
ing at Port St Julian, where fossil shells, both bivalves and
univalves, are found imbedded in clay cliffs ; and on the sur¬
face are lying strewed about large oyster-shells.” In the
clay formation there are three rivers, namely, the Gallegos,
in latitude 51.38.; Port Santa Cruz, in latitude 50. 7.; and
118
PATAGONIA.
Patagonia. Port St Julian. The first does not extend farther into the
' V ' interior than forty miles, and Port St Julian is of still smaller
size. The Gallegos can only be entered at high water, and
here the tide rises about forty-six feet, the stream being
very strong. Port Santa Cruz appears to be a very consi¬
derable river. In the sketch of the surveying voyages
communicated to the Geographical Society by Sir John
Barrow, it is thus spoken of:—“ In a twenty clays’ excur¬
sion up the river Santa Cruz, we passed through a similar
country, without variety, until extensive beds of lava were
found overlying the whole country. We reached nearly
to the eastern flank of the Andes; but, for want of provi¬
sions, could go no farther. The river was then, at two hun¬
dred miles from its. mouth, almost as large, and quite as ra¬
pid, as at twenty miles from the sea. Perhaps it runs for
a great distance along the base of the Andes, and so col¬
lects a great body of water ; or it may run from a lake into
which streams pour. Its water is not muddy. The current
runs six knots an hour ; none of our boats could pull against
it anywhere. Its average width is two hundred yards, and
its mean depth ten feet, perhaps more.” The same writer
thus speaks of the country in general: “ One naturally
asks why Eastern Patagonia should be condemned to per¬
petual sterility, while the western side of the same country,
in the same parallel of latitude, is injured by too much
rain ? The prevailing westerly winds and the Andes are
the causes. The winds bring much moisture from the Pa¬
cific, but they leave it all, condensed, on the west side of
the mountains. After passing the cordillera, those same
winds are very dry. Easterly winds are very rare upon the
east coast; they are the only ones which carry rain to the
almost deserts of Patagonia. Westward of the Andes, an
east wind is dry, and free from clouds. All this country is
exposed to severe cold weather in winter, and to excessive
heat in summer. Great and sudden changes of temperature
take place, when, after very hot weather, cold winds rush
northwards with the fury of a hurricane. Even the wander¬
ing Indians avoid this region, and only cross it to get salt,
or visit their burying places.” We are informed by Fal¬
coner, the Jesuit missionary, that after the dead have been
interred twelve months, the graves are visited by the tribe,
for the purpose of collecting the bones, and conveying
them to their family sepulchres, where they are set up, and
adorned with all the beads and ornaments which the friends
and family of the deceased are able to collect for the occa¬
sion. The ceremony is performed by certain women of the
tribe, whose peculiar office it is to attend to these rites, fin
corroboration of the Jesuit’s testimony, Captain King in¬
forms us, that near Port Desire he had seen the graves of
the Indians upon the summits of hills, but without the bo¬
dies, which he supposes to have in all probability been re¬
moved by the Indians. The Port Desire here mentioned
is situated in lat. 47. 45. south, having a narrow entrance
with strong tides, but affording in the offing very good an¬
chorage, as well as shelter from the prevailing winds. Not
many years before Spanish domination ceased in America,
that government formed an establishment here; but, from
the dry and parched nature of the land, it completely fail¬
ed. Thirty miles to the northward is Cape Blanco, between
which place and the Rio Negro, more than four hundred
miles to the north, navigation is considered as dangerous,
there being many extensive shoals, and strong tides. For
an account of the Rio Negro, the most important river of
Patagonia, see the article Negro, Rio. The Colorado,
which rises near Mendoza, in La Plata, is also a very large
stream, falling into the Atlantic in latitude 40.0. nearly. It
brings down a great quantity of water throughout the year,
but as it does not run into any of the numerous ports near
its opening, it is of no use to vessels as a place of shelter
or anchorage.
The aboriginal natives of Patagonia are a tall and extreme¬
ly robust race of men. Their bodies are bulky, and their Pata
heads and features large, but their hands and feet are small. s"*""v
Their limbs are neither so muscular nor so large boned as
their height and apparent bulk would lead one to suppose;
they are rounder and smoother than those of white men.
Their colour is a rich reddish brown, rather darker than the
hue of copper. Their heads are furnished with a profusion
of rough, lank, and coarse black hair, which is tied above
the temples by a fillet of plaited or twisted sinews; and
they wear no other covering upon this part of their body.
“ A large mantle,” says one of the recent voyagers, “ made
of skins sewed together, loosely gathered about them, hang¬
ing from the shoulders to their ankles, adds so much to the
bulkiness of their appearance, that one ought not to wonder
at their having been called gigantic. I am not aware that any
Patagonian has appeared during late years whose height
exceeded six feet and some inches; but I see no reason to
disbelieve the Jesuit Falkner’s account of the Casique Cau-
gapol, whose height, he says, was seven feet and some inch¬
es Among two hundred or three hundred natives of
Patagonia, scarcely half a dozen men are seen whose
height is under five feet nine or ten inches ; the women
are proportionably tall. I have nowhere seen an assemblage
of men and women whose average height and apparent
bulk equalled that of the Patagonians. Tall and athletic
as are many of the South Sea islanders, there are also many
among their number who are slight and of lower stature.
The Patagonians seem to be high shouldered, owing per¬
haps to their habit of folding their arms across the chest,
in their mantles, and thus increasing their apparent height
and bulk, because the mantles hang loosely, and almost
touch the ground. Until actually measured, it is difficult
to believe that they are not much taller than is the case.”
This description is so precise, and, from measurements hav¬
ing been made, so satisfactory, that the question as to the
actual size of the Patagonians may be regarded as com¬
pletely set at rest. Is it more improbable that there should
be races of men above the European standard, than it is
that there should be races whose height is below it? Yet
we know beyond a doubt that the Esquimaux are so.
With the exception of the head, little hair grows upon
their bodies; and from the face it is carefully removed by
shells or pincers. They do not disfigure their naturally
coarse features by piercing either nose or lip, but they be¬
daub their body with white, black, or red paint, forming
grotesque figures, such as circles around their eyes, or
great marks across their faces. This ornamental body¬
painting is practised by all the different races of Patago¬
nians, from Cape Horn to Buenos Ayres. On their feet
and legs they wear boots made of the skins of horses’ hind
legs; spurs made of wood, but of iron if they can get it,
balls (bolas), such as are used by the inhabitants of the
pampas; whilst a long tapering lance, and a knife it it can
be procured, complete their equipment. “ Mounted upon
horses of a middle size,” says the writer already quoted,
“ under fifteen hands high, and rather well bred, the Pata¬
gonians seem to be carried no better than dragoons who
ride eighteen stone upon horses able to carry ten; yet
they go at full speed in chase of ostriches or guanacoes.
When hunting or making long journeys, they often change
horses. The women are dressed and booted like the men,
with the addition of a half petticoat. They clean their hair,
and plait it into two tails. Ornaments of brass, beads, bits
of coloured glass, or such trifles, are prized by them. The
huts of these wanderers are somewhat like gipsy tents.
Poles are stuck in the ground, to which others are fixed.
Over them are thrown the skins of animals, an irregular
tilt-like hut being thus formed.” It is to be observed, that
the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego, and of the islands to
the south and south-west, where the climate is so singu¬
larly mild, wear little or no clothing. The Patagonians
PAT
P A T
119
onia. appear to possess nothing like towns, but lead a wander-
^■"ing and unsettled life, somewhat resembling that of the
Tartars.
The Falkland or Malouine Islands, being situated off
the coast of Patagonia, may, in a geographical point of
view, be considered as belonging to it. This group con¬
sists of two large islands and a number of small ones, some
of which are mere rocks, the whole being situated be¬
tween 50. 0. and 51. 20. of south latitude, nearly opposite
the southern extremity of Patagonia, which is the nearest
land. The two large islands, which are separated from each
other by a broad channel, are called Eastern and Western
Falkland; the names of the others it is unnecessary to
specify. East Falkland Island is favourably situated, both
for colonization and for the refreshment of vessels bound
round Cape Horn. It has other advantages, such as excel¬
lent harbours, abundance of wild cattle, and antiscorbutic
herbs, which point it out as a desirable resort for ships.
The climate is upon the whole mild, the general range of
the thermometer being in winter from 30° to 50°, and in
summer from 50° to 75°. The weather is rather unsett¬
led; but neither rain, snow, nor hail falls here in such
abundance as in Southern and Western Patagonia, whilst
it is free from the parching dryness of the eastern coast.
The soil is good, producing spontaneously different kinds
of vegetables; and wheat, flax, potatoes, turnips, and the
like, have here been very successfully cultivated; but the
island is destitute of trees. For fuel, peat and turf, which
are abundant, are used, and also two or three species of
shrubs, which are found growing all over the island. Herds
of horned cattle, hogs, and horses, all wild, are plentiful;
whilst rabbits, foxes, and game, especially wild geese and
ducks, are extremely numerous. Fish abounds in all the
bays and inlets, and those most common, when salted, are
thought superior to cod. Seals are found on the island, or
on the neighbouring rocks; and hair-seals, lions and ele¬
phants as they are called, abound along the shores. Many
black whales have also been caught in its neighbourhood,
in consequence of which the island has of late years been
much resorted to by fishing-vessels belonging to various
nations. I he Falkland Islands were uninhabited when
first discovered, and, with the exception of occasional and
transient residents, have still remained so; yet their posi¬
tion will always x-ender them important in the estimation of
commercial nations. In the year 1766 the English formed
a settlement on one of them; but it w^as destroyed in 1770
by a Spanish expedition from Buenos Ayres. Of late years
measures have been taken by the Argentine Republic for
forming an establishment here; that government laying
claim to sovereignty and jurisdiction, not only over the
Falkland Islands, but likewise over Tierra del Fuego, Cape
Horn, and the islands adjacent in the Atlantic Ocean, as
having succeeded to the sovereign rights of Spain. This
claim has been resisted ; but it is unnecessary to enter into
the merits of what seems based on so singular an assump¬
tion. Besides, it does not appear to be very material to
whom they belong ; the point of importance is their colo¬
nization, which would be highly advantageous to vessels na¬
vigating these seas.
It seems highly probable that Magalhaens was the origi¬
nal discoverer of the southern coast of Patagonia and the
northern coast of Fierra del Fuego, as well as of the strait
which bears his name. Sir Francis Drake passed the strait
in the year 1578; and being driven by storms to the south,
discovered the western and south-western coast of Tierra
® ]-Uef?0’ and also Cape Horn; although the honour of
t G (lHT)Very.of ^le ^atter has generally been ascribed to
ctr ii ^a*re’ a Dutchman in the service of the states
° iTj and‘ the year ^616, this navigator was the first
w io doubled that terminus of South America, and called
ape Horn, after a village in Holland. Proceeding in a
north-easterly direction, he crossed the strait which bears
his name, and discovered Staten Island, which he so desig¬
nated after the states of Holland. It is supposed that Da¬
vies, one of the companions of Cavendish, in his voyage to
the South Seas in J 592, was the first person who saw the
Falkland Islands ; but they were not, properly speaking, dis¬
covered till the year 1594, when Sir Richard Hawdcins ex¬
amined them, and called them in honour of his queen and
himself, Hawkins’ Maiden Land. The name, however, was
subsequently changed to Falkland Islands by Strong, another
English navigator. During the early part of the eighteenth
century, they were re-discovered by some French naviga¬
tors ; and hence the origin of the French name, Malouine
Islands. I o Captain Cook we are indebted for the first accu-
late account of the south-eastern coast of Tierra del Fuego,
which he explored in 1774; and so little was known con¬
cerning it before this period, that when actually in sight of
Cape Horn, he was unable to decide whether it was a de¬
tached island or a part of Tierra del Fuego. Amongst the
other distinguished names connected with the discovery or
investigation of this part of the South American continent,
are those of Sarmiento (whose account of a voyage down
the western coast, and through the Strait of Magalhaens,
has never been surpassed), Sir John Narborough, Cordova,
Byron, Willis, Carteret, Bougainville, and Weddel. To
these may now be added the names of the commanders of
the recent expedition, Captains King, Stokes, and F’itzrov.
It only remains to be noticed, that although repeated at¬
tempts have been made to form permanent settlements in
Patagonia, or upon the neighbouring islands, particularly
by the Spaniards, none of these has ever succeeded. With
regard to population, it must be quite obvious that no accu¬
rate idea can be formed. It has, however, been estimated at
200,000, though from what data we know not. By far the
greatest part of the country, that which stretches along the
eastern side of the Andes, from their base to the Atlantic
Ocean, is altogether unknown, with the exception of a very
few places upon the coast. It is quite possible, therefore,
that the inhabitants may be far more numerous in this re¬
gion than is supposed ; but the general sterility of the coun¬
try holds out little prospect of any great commercial ad¬
vantages to be gained by intercourse with them, except in
the precious metals, which are doubtless to be found in
the Patagonian Andes. (R. R, R>)
PA I AN, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Ajmeer,
and district of Harowty, situated on the south-eastern side
of the Chumbul. It is the capital of a district containing
two villages, and has a handsome temple, dedicated to
Vishnu, which was erected by one of the rajahs of Boon-
dee; as also a house or palace belonging to the rajah. Lon°-
75. 50. E. Eat. 25. 17. N.
PATANY, a port of Asia, on the eastern coast of the
peninsula of Malacca, and near the mouth of the Gulf of
Siam, situated almost six miles up a river which falls into a
bay and forms a good roadstead. It had formerly a con¬
siderable trade, which, however, has greatly fallen off. The
Chinese now carry on the trade, which consists chiefly in
the importation of European goods from Batavia, and the
exportation of gold dust, canes, rattans, dragon’s blood, &c.
Long. 101. 40. E. Lat. 6. 50. N.
PATARA, or Patera, a town on the sea-coast of Cara-
mania, in Asiatic Turkey. It had in ancient times a cele¬
brated oracle of Apollo, and still retains traces of its an¬
cient grandeur. It is now uninhabited, only a few solitary
peasants being seen wandering on the plain. Long-. 29
20. E. Lat. 36. 15. N.
PATATAN, a small town on the north-western coast of
Borneo, situated three miles up the river Patatan, which
has a smooth and shallow bar. It contains about 100 houses.
Long. 116. 5. E. Lat. 5. 50. N.
PATAVINITY (Patavinitas), amongst critics, denotes
120
PAT
Patchow a peculiarity of Livy’s diction, derived from Patavium or
Islands Padua, the place of his nativity ; but they are by no means
p i. A i , agreed in what this alleged patavinity consists. According
a rcuus. fa) Quintilian, Asinius Pollio taxed Livy with patavinity,
though what he meant by this censure no one can now say
with any certainty. Morhof believes it to consist in a sin¬
gular turn of expression, and in certain phrases peculiar to
the Paduese. All we certainly know about it, howevei, is,
that it was a fault in the language ol Livy? not in the sen¬
timents or the manners. In all probability it is one of those
delicacies which are no longer perceived or understood jin
a dead language. In 1685, D. Cr. Morhof published at Kiel
a treatise D& Pcifcxvitiitcttc Livicl'HQ^ in which he explains,
very learnedly, both the urbanity and peregrinity of the
Latin language.
PATCHOW Islands, a group of small islands, situated
on the coast of China. The easternmost is Typinsan, hav¬
ing on its north side an extensive reef, on which the Pro¬
vidence, Captain Broughton, was wrecked in 1797, in long.
125. 11. E. Lat. 25. 6. N. The southernmost island is in
long. 123. 52. E. and lat. 24. 6. N.
PATCOONA, a town of Bengal, and capital of a small
district of the same name. It is situated on the northern
shore of the Curcurry River, amongst the hills of Pacheet.
Long. 87. 2. E. Lat. 23. 3. N.
PATE, in Fortification, a kind of platform, resembling
in form a horse’s shoe.
PA TEE, or Pattee, in Heraldry, a cross, small in the
centre, and widening towards the extremities, which are
very broad.
PATERA, amongst antiquaries, a goblet or vessel used
bv the Romans in their sacrifices, in which they offered
their consecrated meats to the gods, and with which they
also made libations. The word is Latin, being formed from
pateo, I am open {quod pateat), because it has a great apei -
ture ; in contradistinction to bottles and other vessels, which
have only narrow necks, or the aperture of which is less
than the body of the vessel. .
The patera is also an ornament in architecture, which is
frequently observed in the Doric frise, and in the tympans
of arches. See Architecture.
PATERCULUS, C. Velleius, a Latin historian of con¬
siderable celebrity in the reign of Tiberius, is supposed bjf
Dodwell to have been born before Christ 30, and to have
been included in the fall of Sejanus, the favourite of Tibe¬
rius, A. D. 32. The place of his birth is unknown ; but his
great-grandfather, Minatius-Magius, was a native of Ascu-
lum, and took an active part in favour of the Romans dining
the Italic war; whilst another of his ancestors, Decius Ma-
gius, was of high rank in Campania (Pat. ii. 16). His pa-
tqrnal uncle, Capito, was a senator, and joined with Agrip-
pa in accusing Cassius, the murderer of Caesar (ii. 69). Pa¬
terculus commenced his military career under Caius Caesar,
the grandson of Augustus, and accompanied him to the East
as tribune in the second year of the Christian era. On his
death he attached himself to the fortunes of Tiberius, and
as commander of the cavalry was present during nine yeais
in his several expeditions in Germany, Pannonia, and Dal¬
matia. On his return to Rome he was raised to the prse-
torship, A. D. 14, the same year in which Augustus died;
but he does not appear to have reached any higher dignity.
Paterculus left an abridgment of Roman history, and had
promised a larger work, which it does not appear that he
ever executed. This epitome was still in progress, a. d. 30,
in the sixteenth year of the reign of Tiberius, and is en¬
titled Historice Romance ad M. Vinicium Cos. libn it.; but
it is incomplete, as the commencement is wanting, and also
a portion after the eighth chapter. Only one manuscript has
been found of this author, and even that has now disap¬
peared. It was discovered in 1515, by Beatus Rheuanus,
in the monastery of Marbach, in Oberelsass, and first pub-
P A T
fished at Basle in 1520. In this work Paterculus intended Pat
to give a sketch of the history of the world, more particularly
of whatever he thought likely to interest the Romans. He ^
began with the destruction of Troy, and the arrival of iEneas v*
in Italy, and ended with the year 30 of the Christian era. He
dwells particularly upon those parts of general history which
were connected with that of Rome, and intersperses the work
with moral reflections, that do honour to his heart and un¬
derstanding. In his description of particular characters, he
is more than usually happy, though his style is sometimes
rather too oratorical, and evinces too much anxiety to strike
the imagiation of the reader by startling thoughts and ex¬
pressions. His language is generally pure, and formed upon
the best models of an earlier period. Sallust seems to have
been the author whose style he more particularly imitated.
The best editions are those of Burmann, edited by C. H.
Frotscher, Leipzig, 1830; and of C. D. Jani and J. C. Krause,
Leipzig, 1800.
PATERNO, a city of the island of Sicily, in the inten¬
dency of Catania, and district of Demone. It is situated
on an inclined plain of Mount AStna, in an unhealthy situa¬
tion, near the river Garetta, 120 miles from Palermo. It
contains 9880 inhabitants, chiefly employed in cultivation.
Near to it are many interesting remains of antiquity.
PATERNOSTERS, Great, a cluster of shoals and
islets in the Eastern Seas, which are about 120 miles in
length from north-east to south-west, and thirty in breadth.
Long. 117. 10. to 119. 10. E. Lat. 6. 30. to 7/42. S.
Paternosters, Little. These consist of about thirteen
small rocks in the Eastern Seas, between the islands of Bor¬
neo and Celebes. They are covered with trees, and have
navigable channels between them; but they are surrounded
with numerous shoals very dangerous to mariners.
PATERY, a hilly and wuody district of Hindustan, in
the province of Berar, and situated on the north bank of
the Godavery River, seventy-eight miles south-east from
Aurungabad. Long. 77. 8. E. Lat. 19. 18. N.
PATHHEAD, a large well-built village of Scotland, in
the parishes of Crichton and Cranstoun, in the county of
Mid-Lothian, ten miles and a half from Edinburgh. It con¬
sists of one long street, built upon both sides of the road
leading to Kelso. The houses are generally of one story,
and occupied by those engaged in husbandry, in collieries,
and in furnishing the district with those necessaries which
cannot be easily supplied from the capital. The population
is about 1000. The parish church of Crichton is about
two miles distant, and was founded in the year 1449. It
is a neat little building, of Gothic architecture, in the form
of a cross ; and the internal arrangement is also Gothic.
Near it is the magnificent ruin of Crichton Castle, which,
for beauty of architecture, internal accommodation, and
strength of walls and situation, is hardly to be excelled by
any of the old baronial castles of Scotland.
Pathhead, a large and populous village in the parish of
Dysart, in Fifeshire, Scotland. It is contiguous to the town
of Kirkcaldy, being merely separated from it by a steep
ascent called the Path. The village consists of three streets
of plain substantial houses, inhabited by a most industrious
class, who are chiefly engaged in the weaving and manu¬
facturing of linen goods, especially of checks and ticks.
There are twm places of worship, one belonging to the
Established Church, the other to the body of Antiburghers.
An elegant and commodious school w as erected a few years
ago, for the free education of 150 children, by the trustees
of the late Robert Philp, Esq. of Kirkcaldy, who left a large
sum of money for that purpose. The population in 1831
amounted to 3330.
PATHOGNOMONIC, amongst physicians, an appella¬
tion descriptive of a symptom, or concourse of symptoms,
inseparable from a distemper, and which are found in that
only, and in no other disease.
121
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
'
ijiology. The term Pathology, in its widest signification, compre- directed to them only in as far as they are calculated to Pathology,
v .y^'hends all the knowledge which we possess relative to the elucidate the natural history of the particular disease that'^v—-"
state of Disease. For the facility of teaching and of study- may be at the time under consideration. In general pa-
ing, it has been found convenient to make various divi- thology, on the other hand, the consideration of symptoms,
sions of this extensive science. By the French, the terms of morbific agents, of proximate causes, and of organic le-
of external and internal pathology have been employed as sions, or those branches of medical science which have been
synonymous with what in this country are denominated termed symptomatology or semeiotics, aetiology, pathogeny,
the principles and practice of surgery and physic; the and morbid anatomy, constitute so many separate portions
purpose of this division obviously being to separate the of pathological doctrine, in which the whole of the sub-
objects of medical doctiine and practice into two depart- jects falling under each department are methodically ar-
ments, and to assign each of these to a particular class of ranged, and considered in reference to one another.
Sffial and cultivators and practitioners. Another very important di- It may perhaps tend to place the distinction between Illustra-
ge raL vision of pathology which has long been recognised, is that general and special pathology in a clearer light, if we en-tion.
into special and general; the first, or special pathology, deavour to illustrate it by a particular example,
being intended to comprehend the consideration of parti- It not unfrequently happens, that an individual exhibits
cular diseases, as they occur in nature; and the second, a combination of symptoms of the following kind. He has
general pathology, to include, in the first place, the more pain in some part of the chest, his respiration is difficult,
general facts or principles that have been ascertained re- and he is subject to cough ; and these symptoms, all of them
lative to the primary elements of diseases, as comprehend- obviously referrible to some derangement in the respira-
ing the causes, phenomena, and effects of the various de- tory organs, are attended with others of a more general
rangements to which the animal economy is subject; and, character,—with those symptoms which are denominated
in the second place, those more general facts or principles febrile, that is, with increased frequency of pulse, with in-
relative to the more obvious analogies of diseases, and the creased heat of skin, and with disturbance of several of the
natural groups to which they admit of being referred, which other functions of the body. Now the first object of the
medical men have deduced fiom the comparison of pa>rti- special pathologist, in respect of this combination of symp-
cular diseases with one another. Lnlike the division into toms, is to distinguish it as constituting a particular disease
internal and external, that into special and general makes which he terms pneumonia (or inflammation of the lungs),
no partition of the subjects of pathological inquiry ; for Both from other combinations of symptoms which may bear a
survey the whole of these subjects, though under different certain degree of resemblance to it,—to establish its diag-
aspects. General pathology, though in its investigation ob- nosis, or distinction from other analogous diseases. And
viously resting, as we had formerly occasion to show (see ar- even in the several cases which present the combination
tide Medicine), upon a knowledge of the special, has, in of symptoms that has been mentioned, the special patho-
teaching, been found to form a convenient and appropriate logist may be able to detect certain differences of cha-
introduction to it; just as, in other sciences, it is conve- racter which will lead him to establish more or fewer
ment to give a general view of the principles which have divisions of his particular disease; differences, for example
been established, before entering upon the particular de- in the condition of the pulse, and in the characters of the
tails the knowledge of which has led to the establishment pain and of the cough. Thus, of the disease in question,
of these principles, but of which details these principles, nosologists, or those who treat expressly of the divisions,
when once ascertained, very materially facilitate the com- definitions, nomenclature, and arrangement of diseases’
prehension and acquisition. have been led to recognise three principal forms, under
rhe^om- Under whatever point of view we consider the derange- the names of peripneumony, pleurisy, and bastard peri-
nients of the human economy, whether, with the clinical pneumony. The special pathologist, in his consideration
physician, we regard them as they present themselves in of the symptoms of pneumonia, besides distinguishing it
individual cases, or, with the special pathologist, as consti- from other diseases, and marking the more probable diversi-
tuting particular genera or species of diseases; or whether, ties in which it may present itself, traces its characteristic
with the general pathologist, we endeavour to reduce them symptoms throughout the whole course of the disease, and
to their primary elements; in each case, they offer pre- marks the diversities which these assume in its different
cisely the same subjects for our investigation. These are, stages, and the other less distinguishing symptoms with
first, the morbid phenomena or symptoms by which we be- which they are accompanied; in short, he applies his know-
come aware that derangements have actually occurred in the ledge of the morbid phenomena, or symptoms of this dis¬
economy; second, the morbific agents, by which derange- ease, to determining its definition, its diagnosis, and its
ments of the economy are liable to be produced; third, the history.
more immediate seats of the derangements to which the All of those symptoms which have been mentioned as
economy is liable, and the peculiar nature of each of these occurring in and characterizing pneumonia, fall under the
oerangements; and, fourth, the morbid alterations disco- consideration of the general as well as of the special pa-
verable in the dead body, in those who, during life, had thologist; but the view which the former takes of them
exhibited derangements in the performance of their func- is considerably different from that which we have just en-
tions, whether these perceptible alterations stand in the re- deavoured to sketch as being taken by the latter. By the
lation of cause or of effect to the derangements of function, general pathologist, these symptoms fall to be considered,
!nl' fi 11 ? m the mode of considering these several subjects, not in the combinations in which they present themselves
eei V?er.e .’ r^ther tllan ln the subjects themselves, that the in nature, but each of them as an abstract existence, and
istmction between general and special pathology must in its relations to the other morbid affections of the organ
be looked for. In special pathology, symptoms, morbific or function of which it indicates the derangement. Thus
agents, proximate causes, and organic lesions, are respec- the general pathologist has occasion to consider the symp-
tively considered in those combinations in which they give tom of quickness of pulse, in the general view that he takes
n&e to, or occur in, particular diseases; and attention is of the different morbid phenomena which result from de-
VOL. XVII.
122
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Pathology, rangements of the function of circulation. An opportunity
is thus afforded him of conisderingthis symptom of increased
frequency of pulse, not only in relation to the healthy state
of this phenomenon, but in relation also to the other mor¬
bid states to which it is subject, whether as regards its fre-
quencvj its strength, or its regularity. By studying, in this
manner, the morbid conditions of the pulse as a general
pathological doctrine, medical men are furnished with a
body of information of most important practical applica¬
tion in the investigation, not of one particular disease only,
but of many different diseases. The morbid phenomenon
or symptom of cough, in like manner, is obviously capable
of being considered as a particular subject of investigation
in reference to the other morbid derangements of func¬
tion to which the respiratory organs are liable, and parti¬
cularly in reference to the various modifications which this
symptom may itself exhibit.
Secondly, a similar difference may be traced in the
manner in which the special and the general pathologist
consider the morbid alterations of structure that are dis¬
coverable in the body after death. In pneumonia these
morbid alterations consist of more or less extensive marks
of inflammatory action in the contents of the cavity of
the chest. The special pathologist considers these mor¬
bid alterations in reference to the particular combination
of symptoms that characterize pneumonia, or may accom¬
pany its progress. He examines into the condition of the
contents of the chest, with a view to throw light on the
phenomena which the disease exhibits during life, to trace
the correspondence of the morbid appearances with the
nature, degree, and progress of the external symptoms.
The general pathologist likewise has occasion to direct his
attention to those morbid alterations of structure to which
we have alluded; but, in the view which he takes of the
diseased economy, they present themselves to his attention,
not, as they do to the special pathologist, in their connec¬
tion with a particular disease, but as constituting one of
the forms of morbid alteration of structure to which the re¬
spiratory organs are liable, the whole of which he passes
successively in review, simply as a department of the natu¬
ral history of the economy in its diseased conditions.
Thirdly, when the special pathologist, in endeavouring
to discover the morbific agencies by the operation of which
pneumonia has been excited, is led to ascribe its pi educ¬
tion to the influence of cold, he pays no further regard to
that morbific agent, than in its relation to this particular
disease; he considers merely the conditions under which
cold must be applied to the economy in order to produce
pneumonia, the length of time that intervenes between its
application and the appearance of the symptoms, and such
other points as bear directly upon the agency of the par¬
ticular cause in producing the particular effect. By the ge¬
neral pathologist, on the other hand, this morbific agent,
cold, falls to be considered as a special subject of inves¬
tigation, along with the various changes that are liable to
occur in the different physical conditions, and particularly
in the temperature, of the atmosphere; and not as giving
rise to one particular combination of symptoms or disease,
but, generally, in its injurious operation on the several func¬
tions and organs of the body.
Lastly, as regards the consideration of the proximate
cause of pneumonia, the special pathologist is led, by a con¬
sideration of the symptoms which he has observed dur¬
ing life, of the morbid changes which he has found after
death, and of the morbific agent to which he has traced
the production of the disease, to conclude that the more
immediate seat of derangement is in the substance or in
the membranes of the lungs, and that the particular mode
in which these parts are affected is that usually termed
inflammation. He is contented, therefore, with having de¬
tected the proximate cause of pneumonia as being inflam
1 IKS >
K| pfcf
i m
mation of the lungs. But the general pathologist, in con- I’athol
sidering proximate causes as a particular department ofy~
inquiry, endeavours to go farther back in the succession
of morbid changes, and to ascertain, from an investiga¬
tion of the circumstances which attend the development
of inflammation in different parts of the body, what are the
more intimate conditions of the economy to which that
morbid state is referrible, in whatever organ or texture it
may occur.
There can, we conceive, be little doubt, that a much Advan
more complete and satisfactory view must be obtained
each symptom, morbific agent, proximate cause, and or*tj10j0(^
ganic lesion, when treated of systematically, in connection
with other analogous phenomena, than when noticed in¬
cidentally in those varying combinations in which they
present themselves to the special pathologist, in tracing
and in describing the histories of particular diseases. And
if we reflect upon the circumstances under which the se¬
veral subjects of pathological investigation actually pre¬
sent themselves to the attention of the student of patho¬
logy, in the consideration of a particular disease, morbid
functions, morbid structures, morbific agents, and proxi¬
mate causes of disease, all of them combined in one whole,
the relations of the several parts of which it is necessary for
him, as if intuitively, to comprehend,—it must be obvious,
that unless he shall previously have had an opportunity of
taking a systematic view of each of these branches of pa¬
thological inquiry by itself, such as is afforded in the study
of general pathology, he cannot fail to be lost among the
multitudinous and imperfectly understood matters which,
simultaneously, as it were, press themselves upon his at¬
tention.
The pathologist, indeed, is in a great measure in the
same situation as the chemist, who meets in nature, for
the most part, with objects which consist, not of one, but
of several different elements, and which have been pro¬
duced and are maintained in their combinations by the
action, not of one, but of several different forces, lo be
able to understand the constitution of such a compound
object, and the share which each physical and chemical
force has had in its production and maintenance, it is ne¬
cessary that the chemist should be well acquainted with
those elements into which compound bodies are found to
be reducible. And he must also be acquainted with those
few powers or forces which, by their operation on the se¬
veral elements of matter, enable it to enter into those
multitudinous combinations that give rise to the great
diversity of substances of which the globe consists. In
short, the special pathologist has to do with particular
diseases, the general pathologist with the elements of dis¬
eases—elements which can be ascertained only by ana¬
lytical examination, founded on long-continued observation
and experience ; but a knowledge of which, when once ac¬
quired, is of primary importance in those synthetical ope¬
rations by which the special pathologist endeavours to
arrive at the establishment and distinction of particular
diseases.
The limits which we are obliged to prescribe to our-Topics
selves in the following article render it impossible to take e n •
a satisfactory view of the various subjects which fall under
the province of general pathology ; and, at the same time,
we are unwilling to occupy the pages of this work with a
bare enumeration of the topics which, in a systematic con¬
sideration of this department of medical science, would
properly claim our notice. We shall confine ourselves,
therefore, to some general observations relative to the state
of disease; the distinctions between this state and that of
health; the primary seats of diseased actions or diseased
conditions in the animal economy; and the more essen¬
tial differences existing among those simple pathological
states, morbid conditions, or primary elementaly deiange-
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
123
Viral.
Frm sup-
idogy. ments in the structure and functions of the different parts
■v-—^of the human economy, on which the series of morbid
phenomena constituting particular diseases depend—those
states, in short, to which the name of proximate causes
of disease has very generally been applied. The topics
which we have now enumerated are those the consideration
of which is usually included under the branch of general
pathology termed Pathogeny. A slight view of them, we
hope, may be rendered both interesting and instructive
to general readers ; and, at the same time, will prepare the
way for a review of the difficulties to which medical men
are exposed in endeavouring to determine, in individual
cases, the nature of the maladies with which their patients
are affected, which we purpose to sketch in the article
Physic, Practice of.
D litions The first duty of the pathologist seems obviously to be,
of sease. to define that which professedly forms the object of his
inquiries and speculations, viz. the state of disease. The
definitions of this term, which have been proposed by pa¬
thologists, have differed, not only in the precise language
in which they have been expressed, but in the general
principles on which they have been constructed. Some
have been merely what are called verbal definitions, that
is, substitutions of synonymous expressions ; such, for
example, is the definition which represents disease as a
change from the natural to a preternatural state, natural
and preternatural being nothing more than synonymous
expressions for healthy and diseased. It is needless to
insist on the obvious fact, that no possible benefit can re¬
sult to medical science from definitions of this kind.
In others of the definitions that have been given of the
pot final term disease, an attempt has been made to found this upon
caithe supposed final cause of the phenomena which that state
presents. Thus disease has been said by some patholo¬
gists, including the illustrious Sydenham, to be an ex¬
traordinary effort undertaken by nature, for the purpose of
throwing out from the system, by the motions excited,
some morbific or noxious matter, and of thereby averting
from it death and corruption. The attempt to establish
the final cause of any phenomenon obviously implies a per¬
suasion of our being acquainted, as far as the particular
object is concerned, with the views and intentions of the
Author of nature, in obedience to whose will the universe is
conducted. The ends or purposes of some of His arrange¬
ments seem sufficiently obvious to justify us in deducing
them; but there are others of these arrangements in which
this is far from being the case, and in attempting to es¬
tablish the final causes of which, we run the risk of sub¬
stituting some crude conception of our own minds for the
wisdom of the Creator. That there is great risk of doing
so in respect of disease, might easily be established, by the
various and even contradictory views of its end or purpose
which have been taken by those who have endeavoured to
derive their definition of this state from its final cause.
In a third set of definitions of the term disease, an at¬
tempt has been made to explain what has been called its
real essence; as when disease has been said to consist in
a disproportion of the four humours, or in an excess or de¬
ficiency of the principle of excitability. It would be easy
to show that the definitions of disease which have been
framed upon the principle of explaining its real essence,
have varied with the prevailing medical doctrine of the
period in which they have been proposed, inasmuch|as they
have necessarily borne a relation to the views entertained
by medical men respecting the powers by which the func¬
tions of the human economy are carried on in the state of
health, in whichever of the various forms of mechanical,
chemical, animistic, or vital doctrines, these powers may
have been sought for.
How, then, is disease to be defined ? Precisely, it is con¬
ceived, upon the same principles that every other object
rot sup'
osei real
ssei
which admits of definition ought to be defined. By an enu- Pathology,
meration of circumstances obvious to all, and acknowledged ''—“v'"*"''
by all, to appertain to it; an enumeration not depending for From.enu-
its reception on the speculative opinions of the person to^^1?110*
whom it isaddressed, but recognised as valid, whatever deci-characters,
sion we may come to on certain controverted points of phy¬
siological or pathological doctrine; whether, for example,
we suppose the functions of the animal economy to be
executed conformably to, or in a manner subversive of,
the physical and chemical laws of inorganized matter;
whether we admit or reject the agency of a rational soul,
or that of a peculiar principle of life, in regulatingits healthy
and morbid phenomena; whether we affirm or deny that
dynamical derangement must in all instances be preceded
by organic alteration; whether or not we suppose mental
derangement to be in all cases dependent on corporeal
affection; and whether or not we admit that the fluids
may be the primary seats of disease. Health and disease
must be defined in reference to one another. It is cer¬
tainly the occurrence of disease that suggests to the mind
the idea of health; but this idea is the rule or standard by
which we fix our notions of the state of disease. They
are both states of living beings; and the respects in
which they differ seem to be, that in the state of health
living beings maintain their ordinary structure, and are
capable of exercising all their functions with ease, regu¬
larity, and harmony; whilst in the state of disease there
is an obvious change in the structure or organization of
some of the solid parts of which the living beings consist, or
in the composition of some of their fluids; or there is a con¬
siderable deviation from the easy, regular, and harmonious
performance of one or more of their functions.
This definition, it is conceived, is applicable to any being,
or class of beings, of which health and disease can be pre¬
dicated. The structure of living beings is more or less
complicated, and the functions they perform are more or
less numerous, according to the place they hold in the scale
of organized existence. Consequently the number of par¬
ticulars falling within the two terms, health and disease, must
vary. In the human subject these terms must be under¬
stood as having reference to the exercise of the mental
faculties or functions, as well as of the corporeal; but the
definitions above suggested are, we conceive, equally ap¬
plicable to the simplest and to the most complicated of
organized beings. The definition which we have given of
disease makes provision also for those slighter diversities
in the manner in which different persons, or the same per¬
sons under different circumstances, exercise their functions,
which, though not consistent with perfect health, are still
too inconsiderable to amount to absolute disease; diversities
which are usually included by pathologists under the term
of the latitude of health.
Having pointed out the principles which should guide us Proximate
in the definition of the term disease, and the elements ofc^uses 0*
which that definition should consist, we shall now proceed^sease*
to offer some general observations on what are called the
proximate causes of diseases, or, in other words, those
morbid states or pathological conditions of the different
portions of the economy to which the morbid phenomena
or symptoms of diseases are ultimately referrible. As we
had formerly occasion to advert to the relations in which
symptoms and proximate causes stand to one another, we
shall not at present dwell on this subject farther than to
remark, that general readers as well as students of patho¬
logy are exceedingly liable to be puzzled by the great va¬
riety of synonymous terms which have been employed by
different pathologists to designate respectively the proxi¬
mate causes of diseases, and the concourses of symptoms
to which they give rise. Thus Professor Sprengel, in his
Institutiones Medicce, iv. 19, with the purpose of marking
the distinction between these two distinct constituent parts
124
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Pathology, of disease, has proposed to employ the term “ morbus,” or
''-“■"v'-*"'disease, to denote the internal morbid condition; or proxi¬
mate cause, and the term li affectio” affection or passion,
to mark the attendant combination of external symptoms.
“ Whatever,” he remarks, “ is perceptible by the senses of
the patient himself, or of his attendants, is to be considered
as the passion or affection, but the internal state is the true
disease.” By others of the German pathologists, and parti¬
cularly by Gmelin of Tubingen, and by the late Professor
Hartmann of Vienna, it has been proposed to mark the
same distinction between the internal morbid states and the
external symptoms of diseases, by the employment of the
terms disease, and form of disease ; the term disease being
applied by them, as it is by Sprengel, to the morbid or pa¬
thological condition or conditions of the economy in which
particular diseases essentially consist; whilst, by the term
form of disease, they wish to designate the combinations of
morbid phenomena occurring in concourse and succession
which manifest themselves in the progress of particular dis¬
eases, and which Sprengel has included, as we have just
seen, under the ambiguous and equivocal term of “ affectio.”
Besides the terms to which we have alluded, a considerable
variety of other appellations have been employed more
particularly to designate the internal morbid conditions of
the economy considered as the states on the existence of
which, singly or in combination, the phenomena or symp¬
toms of particular diseases depend. For in different patho¬
logical works these internal morbid conditions are treated
of under the various appellations of primary elements of
diseases, primary morbid states or pathological conditions,
and of simple morbid affections or simple diseases (morbi
simplices). Chomel speaks of them as the essences of dis¬
eases ; they form the internal morbid conditions of Brous-
sais, the simple affections, the internal alterations, and com¬
mon principles of diseases, of Buffalini; and the “ internee
indoles morbi' of Friedlander. Some pathologists have de¬
nominated them pathological, in contradistinction to noso¬
logical diseases ; the term nosological being applied in the
same sense as the “ morbi forma,” or form of disease, of the
later German writers, to those combinations of morbid phe¬
nomena or symptoms occurring in concourse and succes¬
sion, by which particular diseases are externally manifest¬
ed and are characterized in our systems of nosology.
May com- In speaking of the proximate cause of any disease, it is
prebend a necessary to keep in recollection, that under this title may
succession comprehended everything that goes on in the economy
of events, between the application to it, or action upon it, of the mor¬
bific agent which disturbs its physiological or healthy con¬
dition, and the manifest derangement of function which
results. Frequently the change from the healthy to the
morbid state does not consist in a single event, but in a
succession of events. Thus, when the effect of a blow in¬
flicted upon the head is to induce the concourse of symp¬
toms that are comprehended under the nosological disease
apoplexy, the first effect may have been the rupture of an
artery within the cranium ; as a consequence of this rup¬
ture there occurs an extravasation of blood; and, as a con¬
sequence of this extravasation, a particular state of the
brain, whether or not we may admit it to be of the nature
of compression. We may regard all this series of events
combined, as constituting the proximate cause of the apo¬
plectic attack; or we may restrict this term either to the
last event in the series which we are able to trace as pre¬
ceding the production of the symptoms, or to the event or
change which first succeeds to the operation of the morbific
cause.
Seats of A curious topic of inquiry relative to those primary
proximate morbid states or pathological conditions which constitute
causes. the proximate causes of diseases, relates to their seats, or
the parts of the economy in which the changes from the
healthy to the morbid condition, on which the production
of morbid phenomena or symptoms depends, may occur. Patholo*
We formerly noticed the division of proximate causes into^—yv
the organic or structural, and the dynamic or functional
(article Medicine). This is a division as to the propriety of^ic> ^
which much disputation has taken place amongst patholo¬
gists. If it were to be understood as drawing an absolute
line between pathological states arising out of altered con¬
ditions of the organic structure of the different textures,
systems, and organs of the body, and pathological states arh-
ing out of altered conditions of the properties or powers by
which the functions are executed, independently of any
altered conditions of the organic structure, the distinction
would obviously be fallacious. The properties or powers
by which the functions of the body at least are performed,
have no existence independently of its material organiza¬
tion. And accordingly we cannot conceive any change to
occur in the condition of these properties, without its being
preceded by a corresponding change in the condition of the
material organization. The proper signification to be at¬
tached to the terms organic and dynamic proximate causes
seems, therefore, to be, that in the former there occurs an
apparent alteration in the structure of some part of the
frame ; whilst in the latter, no alteration of structure is dis¬
coverable, the change in the condition of the material orga¬
nization being of too subtile a nature to be appreciable by
the senses.
The next question relative to the seats of the proximate Corpora
causes of diseases that presents itself for consideration is, an(l men
whether, when the mental functions betray evidence of ata’
deranged performance, this is to be considered as having
its primary origin in morbid conditions of the mind itself,
or in changes, perceptible or imperceptible, in the material
organization. It is allowed on all hands, that it is by no
means infrequent, in cases of mental derangement, to find
marks of organic alteration of structure in the brain, whilst
in other cases no such appearances are discoverable. Of
these dissimilar, not to say contradictory results, those who
contend for and those who oppose the dependence of men¬
tal derangements on morbid conditions of the material
organization are equally prepared to give explanations.
Those who oppose this dependence aver that when morbid
appearances are present, they are to be regarded as con¬
current effects of the condition which produces the symp¬
toms of mental aberration, and not as the causes of the
mental disturbance ; and hold that the independence of
mental upon bodily derangements is proved by those cases
in which all appearance of organic alteration is wanting.
The pathologists who contend for this dependence allege,
on the other hand, that whatever may be thought of the
morbid appearances observable in the first class of cases,
it is quite possible to conceive respecting the second, that
changes in the material organization actually exist, al¬
though they are of too subtile a nature to be discovered ;
in short, that mental derangements may be dependent on
dynamical and not on structural alterations of the material
organization.
Setting aside, then, as inconclusive, the arguments de¬
duced on either side from the results of anatomical in¬
vestigations, the opposed partisans appeal to the morbific
agents by which mental derangements are liable to be in¬
duced, and to the means by which their removal is best pro¬
moted, for corroboration of their respective views. The
advocates for the independence of the mind refer to cases
in which mental derangement has been produced or remov¬
ed by moral or purely mental causes ; whilst the advocates
for its dependence allege that almost every morbid affec¬
tion of the mind succeeds to the action of certain physical
and vital causes, which can be supposed to operate on the
mind only through the intervention of the organization,
and particularly of the brain; and they enforce the impor¬
tance of attention to the state of the corporeal organs in
ptl>(
P'
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
125
Vljjtier
ve|«eat-
l;he
logy, the treatment of insanity. This contrariety of opinion ob-
'''viously rests on the opposite views that have been pro¬
pounded relative to the connection of the mind and the
body in the state of health ; a subject into which we feel
indisposed here to enter, not from the apprehension that
any conclusion at which we could arrive regarding it
would be inconsistent with that belief in the future ex¬
istence of the soul which forms the groundwork of all re¬
ligion, but from a conviction that it is a question to the
solution of which the human faculties are incompetent.
There is still another question relative to the seats of
the proximate causes of diseases, which it is necessary for
the general pathologist to consider and determine, viz. it
being admitted that the different fluids of the body are
liable to morbid alterations in their physical and chemical
qualities, whether such morbid conditions of the fluids are
capable of constituting in themselves real proximate causes
of diseases ; or, in other words, whether the fluids are ever
the seats of those morbid conditions or pathological states
on which the external phenomena or symptoms of diseases
depend.
Against the supposition of morbid conditions of the fluids
ever being the proximate causes of diseases, it has been
argued, first, that the morbid alterations to which they are
liable depend on previously existing morbid conditions of
the solids, and are to be regarded in the light of effects
rather than as causes. When, for example, the secretion
of the kidneys contains some of its ordinary constituents
in undue proportion, or contains an element not usually
found in it, this morbid condition of the urine, it is urged,
must be supposed to depend on a previous morbid condi¬
tion of the kidneys. To estimate the force of this argu¬
ment, it is necessary to consider the fluids of the body as
belonging to two classes; first, the blood, and the fluids out
of which it is formed, the chyme and chyle; and, second,
the fluids formed out of the blood, including the various
secretions, as the saliva, the bile, the urine, &c. Now,
without any morbid action of the organs of digestion, and
merely in consequence of the introduction of unsuitable
food into the stomach, we may suppose the chyme and
chyle, and consequently the blood into which they are
converted, to be vitiated. Again, in passing through the
lungs, the blood may be acted on in such a way as to pro¬
duce important changes in its physical and chemical con¬
stitution, by elements contained in the inspired air, and
independently of any morbid condition of the solids. The
blood being vitiated in either of the ways supposed, or in
others that might be mentioned, the fluids secreted from
it may be conceived to participate in its noxious qualities
likewise, without any previous morbid condition of the solids.
But if, on the other hand, the blood be in a healthy state,
and the fluids formed from it be diseased, we must suppose
this to depend on some morbid condition of the secretory
organ, whether of a structural or dynamical character.
From this view it appears that morbid states of the fluids,
though they in some instances proceed from morbid con¬
ditions of the solids, in others occur independently of any
such conditions.
But it has been argued, secondly, that when there exists
any noxious principle in the fluids, and particularly in
the blood, whether preceded or not preceded by morbid
conditions of the solids, it is not immediately on the alter¬
ed state of the blood, but on a change which it induces in
the solid parts, that any morbid phenomena or symptoms
which manifest themselves depend; that the blood serves
merely as a vehicle for bringing certain noxious agents in
contact with those parts on which they most readily exert
their action ; so that the blood, when it has undergone any
morbid alteration, ought to be regarded rather in the light
of a remote or occasional, than as a proximate cause of dis¬
ease. Thus, for example, when, in consequence of extir¬
pation or disease of the kidneys, urea accumulates in the Pathology,
blood, this acts as a poison upon the nervous system. Here,N——v—
it is said, the blood can only be regarded as a vehicle of
the urea, which acts as a morbific agent upon the brain;
and it is in the brain that the change takes place which
constitutes the proximate cause of the comatose affection
that succeeds.
In this argument a fact seems to be overlooked, to which
we formerly adverted, viz. that between the first action of
a morbific agent upon some part of the economy, and the
manifestation of those phenomena or symptoms which ul¬
timately result, there usually occurs a succession of morbid
changes. Is the term proximate cause to be understood
as embracing the whole of these changes, or as being con¬
fined to one only ? and if to one, does it apply to the first
change which we can detect as being produced in the
economy, or to the last of the series which we are able to
trace, as immediately producing the development of the
symptoms? If we include the whole series of changes
under the term proximate cause, then morbid states of the
fluids must, we conceive, be admitted as forming a consti¬
tuent element of some proximate causes. Or if we restrict
the term to the change in the economy thatds first pro¬
duced, then we must admit that this occurs frequently in
the states of the fluids. So that it could only be by re¬
stricting the term proximate cause to the last change which
we are able to trace in the economy, previously to the ma¬
nifestation of the symptoms, that we could be supposed jus¬
tified in denying that morbid conditions of the fluids act
occasionally as the proximate causes of diseases.
The question, whether preternatural conditions of the
fluids, and of the blood in particular, can be regarded as
capable of constituting the proximate causes of diseases,
or indeed are themselves entitled to the appellations of
morbid or diseased states, has been supposed to depend
on the judgment that may be formed relative to the vita¬
lity of the fluids, or their possession of life ; it being ar¬
gued, that unless endowed with life, they cannot be subjects
of disease. There seems to us to be great fallacy in this ar¬
gument. We cannot concur in the physiological doctrine
which would represent life as a peculiar property, with
which certain bodies are endowed; nor are we any more
disposed to regard it as a single definite result. The phe¬
nomena of the human economy are no more effected by
the agency of a single property, power, or force, than are
those of a steam-ship ; and it would, in our estimation, be
as reasonable to suppose that the admission of a principle
of propulsion is necessary and sufficient for the explana¬
tion of the latter class of phenomena, as that the former
can be explained by the assumption of a principle of life.
The propulsion in the one case, and the life in the other,
are the effects of the conjunct operation of several proper¬
ties or powers, and do not constitute in themselves either
simple powers or simple results. The expression of the life
being in the blood, seems to be obviously a metaphorical
expression, of the same character as would be a poet’s in¬
vocation to steam as the principle of propulsion.
We shall now proceed to take a summary view of the
different forms of morbid states, pathological conditions or
proximate causes, from the existence and operation of which
severally, or more or fewer in conjunction, in the different
parts of the human economy, the various concourses of
symptoms, or nosological diseases, to which that economy
is subject, seem to originate. We shall, in the first place,
pass in review organic or structural proximate causes, or,
in other words, the visible morbid changes that are dis¬
coverable in the physical and structural conditions of the
different textures, systems, organs, and cavities of the body.
The greater degree of attention that is now bestowed on Organic
the examination after death, of the morbid changes which proximate
are liable to take place in the structure of the different parts causes-
126
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Pathology. 0f the body, must be regarded as one of the circumstances
' 'that most strikingly distinguish the medical investigations
of the present period from those of former times. Indeed,
the result of these investigations has been the creation of
an entirely new branch of medical science, designated by
the name of pathological anatomy, a branch the knowledge
of which is every day becoming more and more important,
from the discoveries that are continually making in it, and
from the light these discoveries have a tendency to throw
upon the phenomena, the nature, the effects, and the treat¬
ment of diseases. It may justly, indeed, be said, that it is
to the zeal and success with which morbid anatomy has
been cultivated during the last half century, that we prin¬
cipally owe the recent rapid progress and advancement of
pathological knowledge, and much of all that is most solid
and exact in medicine considered as a science.
Pathological anatomy has been said by the late Professor
Lobstein, in his work on that subject, to have three objects
to accomplish. In the first place, it describes the changes
which occur, in regard to the position, form, size, and inti¬
mate structure of each organ in the state of disease, and con¬
siders every such organ in its relations to the other parts
with which it is connected by more or less immediate sym¬
pathies. The second object of pathological anatomy is to
explain, as far as this may be possible, the morbid changes
that occur in different organs ; to point out the manner in
which these changes are effected; and to ascertain under
what influences, and according to what laws, they are pro¬
duced. These inquiries comprehend all questions relative
to the origin, formation, and development, of organic dis¬
eases. In the third place, it is the province of pathological
anatomy to compare organic alterations with the morbid
phenomena or symptoms that manifest themselves during
the course of a disease, to analyse these phenomena with
care, and to determine to what degree they are depend¬
ent on the alterations of structure by which they are ac¬
companied.
It is in the second of these points of view only that we
have occasion at present to consider this department of
medical science, as elucidating the origin, formation, and
development of the various visible structural alterations
which occur in the different organs of the body. As the
ing the economy, or they may prove the cause of new dis- Pathc
eases. ''""HI
The first physical change in the condition of the bodyPneui-
to which we shall allude, as giving rise to morbid pheno-tosis.
mena or symptoms, is the presence of air in situations in
which it does not naturally exist, or its excessive accumu¬
lation in situations in which it is usually met with. This
occurrence it has been proposed to designate by the name
of Pneumatosis. The presence of air in the subcutaneous
cellular substance, sometimes occurring as a consequence
of injury, and in other instances independently of injury,
has been long known to surgeons by the name of emphy¬
sema. In the sacs of the pleurae, a quantity of air occasion¬
ally collects, producing great disturbance of respiration,
an occurrence to which the name of pneumo- or pneumato-
thorax has in recent times been applied. It is w ell known,
too, that in some cases of sudden death occurring during
surgical operations, air has been found in the cavity of
the heart. In the cavity of the alimentary canal there
is always present a quantity of air or gas, but under cer¬
tain circumstances the quantity becomes greatly augment¬
ed, giving rise to the state of the abdomen termed by me¬
dical men tympanites. It belongs to the general patholo¬
gist to ascertain the different seats in which a preternatu¬
ral accumulation of gases is liable to occur, and their chemi¬
cal characters in these various situations; and to endea¬
vour to determine the sources from which, in each situa¬
tion, they maybe supposed to have been derived; whether
the particular form of pneumatosis under observation has
depended on the introduction of atmospheric air by natu¬
ral or accidental passages; on the putrefactive decomposi¬
tion of solid or fluid substances ; on mechanical obstruction
to the free passage of gases in parts which naturally con¬
tain them ; on the perforation of organs naturally contain¬
ing gases, and the consequent escape of these into other
parts; or whether a gas is ever exhaled from the surface
of a cavity or canal in the human body in consequence of
diseased action.
A second change that sometimes presents itself to those Aim
engaged in tracing the pathological conditions of the body,
and one which, according to its particular seat, may give
rise to the symptoms of various diseases, is a deficiency of
blood either in the vascular system generally (in which
case its most obvious indications are to be found in a peculiar
paleness of the face, and particularly of the lips and of the
in which it may be supposed to originate, whether from
absolute deficiency, or from vitiated qualities of the nutri¬
tious fluid.
A third morbid condition, which gives rise to symptoms Conge
morbid changes of structure that are liable to occur in dif¬
ferent parts of the body are all referrible to a certain num¬
ber of specific elementary forms, which exhibit the same
general characters, in whatever textures or organs they gums), or in the vessels of some particular textures or
may be seated, great advantage is derived from studying organs. To this state medical men give the name of
these elementary forms of morbid alterations of structure anaemia, or bloodlessness. It belongs to the general patho-
abstractedly, before proceeding to consider them as they legist to inquire into the various situations in which anae-
are observed to occur in the particular organs of the body, mia is liable to be met with ; and into the circumstances
This view of the elementary forms of diseased alterations
of structure might, perhaps, without impropriety, be con¬
sidered as forming a branch of pathogeny, the more pecu¬
liar province of morbid anatomy being, as we conceive, to _ ...
consider, what Professor Lobstein has marked out as its of much importance and of considerable variety according tion.
first object, the primary morbid changes as taking place in to the particular seat which it may occupy, is the reverse
the structure of each of the different textures, systems, of that last mentioned, consisting in a turgescence of the
and organs of the body individually.
The morbid changes of structure that occur in the
different textures and organs of the body may be tempo¬
rary, disappearing after a longer or shorter period of time,
and leaving the parts which they attack in their original
healthy condition. Hence it is that in many diseases not
of a fatal nature, it is only from death occurring accident¬
ally during their continuance, or in a short time after their
termination, that we have an opportunity of ascertaining
the morbid changes of structure by winch they are ac¬
companied. In other instances, again, the morbid changes
are of a more permanent nature, and when the disease in
whole, or of particular portions of the vascular system.
This is the morbid condition which medical men have
denominated congestion, and to which the terms active or
passive are affixed, according as it is supposed to depend
on an increased propulsion of blood into a particular tex¬
ture or organ, by the powers which maintain the circula¬
tion ; or on an obstruction, which prevents the blood that
has been sent to a part in due quantity, from being return¬
ed with proper freedom to the heart. When the state
of vascular turgescence is general, in consequence of an
excessive production of blood, the vascular system is said
to be in a state of plethora; so that plethora is general
the course of which they arise does not prove fatal, they congestion, and congestion is partial plethora. W hen the
may either continue to exist without materially disturb- blood is sent to some particular part of the body in in-
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL. 127
logy, creased quantity, without the morbid condition of inflam- or of the heart itself. An impediment to the capillary or Pathology,
mation being' produced, or, in other words, when there oc- venous circulation does not however appear to be essen- —v'—
curs active local congestion, English pathologists apply to tial to the production of dropsy. In certain inflammatory
this morbid state the name of determination, and French conditions of the membranes by which serum is naturally
pathologists that of fluxion. It forms by no means an secreted, dropsical effusion is liable to take place, constitu-
unimportant object of pathological inquiry, to determine ting what may be called inflammatory or active dropsy -
the characters by which local congestion occurring during and it would appear from modern investigations, that m
life may be distinguished, in the examination of dead bo- certain diseased conditions of the kidneys, dropsy occurs,
dies, from similar appearances originating during the agony without there being any reason to suspect mechanical iml
of death, or subsequently to that event, principally in obe- pediment to the capillary or venous circulation. Under
dience to the laws of dead matter. certain circumstances, an effusion of a serous fluid takes
or. Another morbid condition, and one nearly allied to con- place from membranes of a mucous character; but in this
gestion, is that in which the contents of the sanguiferous case the fluid, instead of accumulating in the body as in
system escape from the vessels in which they circulate, and serous dropsy, is discharged externally.
are discharged either on the surface of a cavity or canal, There is no morbid state to which the economy is liable, Inflamma-
or into the substance of an organ. This constitutes the of greater importance, in respect of the number of diseases tion.
state termed haemorrhage. We have examples of hae- of which it serves as the foundation or which it compli-
morrhage occurring on the surface of a cavity or canal in cates in^their progress, or in respect of the severity of these
the discharge of blood from the lungs, termed haemopty- diseases', and the frequency of their occurrence, than that
sis by medical men, or from the stomach in hmmatemesis; of inflammation. Every thing combines to prove that it is
and of haemorrhage occurring into the substance of an or- in the capillary vessels that this morbid state has its imme-
gan we have examples in many cases of apoplexy, in diate seat; but much diversity of opinion subsists amom;
which a larger or smaller quantity of blood is discharged pathologists as to the precise condition of these vessels’
into the substance of the brain. Like congestion, hae- in respect of increased or diminished action, in the state
morrhage may be active or passive, that is to say, it of inflammation. From its frequent occurrence on the
may depend either on the blood being propelled into surface of the body, as in inflammation of the skin or of
a particular texture or organ in greater quantity or with the eye, the phenomena of inflammation are more ^ene-
more force than is usual, or on some obstruction to its re- rally known to non-professional readers, than those of any
turn to the heart. To that state of the sanguiferous system other morbid condition to which the body is subject. But
on which active haemorrhage depends, pathologists give the pathologist is aware that these phenomena undergo
the name of the molimen hcemorrhagicum. It belongs to very considerable modifications, according to the texture in
the general pathologist to inquire into the various seats which the inflammation may happen to occur,
in which haemorrhage is liable to occur; the conditions The state of inflammation sometimes disappears entirely
of the blood, and of the blood-vessels on which it may from an organ or texture that has been affected by it, leaving
be supposed to depend; the modes in which the blood in them no trace of its having existed. In this case It is said
escapes from the vessels in cases in which no visible solu- to undergo resolution. Sometimes, again, it becomes as-
tions of continuity can be detected; whether this takes sociated with, or leaves behind it, various morbid conditions,
place by dilatation of open terminations of blood-ves- which have been denominated the terminations, local ef-
sels, or what is usually called sanguineous exhalation ; or fects, or consequences of inflammation. Of these termina-
whether by dilatation of pores in their coats, a theory of tions, some manifest themselves in the effusion either of an
haemorrhage which is intended to be expressed by the increased quantity of the fluids that are naturally secreted
terms sanguineous transudation. The changes which ex- or in the formation of preternatural fluids from surfaces, or
travasated blood produces on the surrounding tissues, and into the substance of organs. When boiling water, or a blis-
those which it itself undergoes in various situations sub- ter, is applied to the skin, the scarf-skin, in a longer or short-
sequently to its being extravasated, constitute inquiries of er time, rises in vesications; and if it be pierced, a quantity
very considerable importance to the pathologist, particu- of watery fluid exudes. This is an illustration of inflamma-
larly the question, whether, in any instances, extravasated tion terminating in an effusion of serum. If a part of the
blood is capable of becoming organized. body be removed by a cutting instrument, and after a short
In the state of health there occurs an effusion of a time the surface thus produced be examined, it will be
watery fluid into the cellular texture lying beneath the found to be covered by a glutinous fluid. Again, if a fluid
skin, or entering into the composition of parenchymatous be injected into the cavity of the abdomen, the serous
organs, and into those cavities of the body which are lined membrane which lines that cavity, and covers the intes-
by serous membranes; but the removal of this fluid by ab- tines, will in no great length of time be found coated with
sorption seems to go on as rapidly as its secretion, so that a similar glutinous matter. These are examples of the
the quantity never becomes considerable. In disease, how- termination of inflammation in effusion ofcoagulablelymph -
ever, an accumulation of watery or serous fluid is liable to an occurrence, as we shall presently see, of equal Smpor-
occur in the various situations that have been mentioned, tance, whether we regard its salutary or its noxious effects in
producing a pathological state which has long been known the economy. Every one knows, more or less, what is meant
to pathologists, under the name of dropsy, as a fertile source by an abscess, viz. a collection of what is called purulent
of morbid phenomena. It has been supposed that an ac- matter in some texture or organ of the body. The effu-
cumulation of serous fluid occurring in disease, might de- sion of purulent matter, whether into the substance of an
pend either on the secretion being increased without a organ or texture, or on the surface of a membrane, is uni-
proportionate increase in the power of absorption, or on formly preceded by inflammation, and constitutes what is
a diminished power of absorption not attended with a cor- denominated its suppurative process, or termination in sup-
responding diminution in the power of secretion. It is puration.
well ascertained, that in a large proportion of the cases in In many instances, the state of inflammation is follow-
which dropsical effusion occurs, there exists, as in passive ed by the removal or disappearance of a larger or smaller
congestion, an impediment to the free return of the blood portion of the substance of the body, in consequence of a
to the heart. Such, for example, seems to be the case in morbid absorption. We have illustrations of such a morbid
t ose organic diseases in the course of which dropsy is so absorption, first, in the formation of ulcers on the surface of
apt to supervene, such as the organic diseases of the liver, the body; this may be called «</ceraftTe absorption : second.
128
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Pathology, jn that process by which an abscess that may be seated at
' v " a considerable depth from the surface of the body, gradu¬
ally approaches towards it, and at last is discharged ex¬
ternally ; in which and similar cases, the absorption is said
to be progressive: and, third, in the mode in which parts
of the body that have become dead are separated from
the living, or what has been called disjunctive absorption.
The death of a part is another event which is liable to
occur as a termination of inflammation, particularly when
very intense in its character. Phis state has been vari¬
ously designated. By applying to the whole progress of
this consequence of inflammation, from its commencement
to its conclusion, the name of mortification, pathologists are
enabled to mark out two important stages, the first extend¬
ing to the period when the mortified part loses its vitality,
which stage has been named gangrene; and the second
designating the state in which the part is perfectly dead,
the stage or state of sphacelus.
As some of the terminations of inflammation are destruc¬
tive, so others of them are reparatory. We have already no¬
ticed the effusion of coagulable lymph as being frequently of
this character. If the two surfaces of an incised wound co¬
vered with coagulable lymph be brought into apposition,
they will adhere, and in a short time become united by
the passage of blood-vessels from one surface to the other.
This is called the termination of inflammation in adhesion.
But if the surfaces of a wound be not brought into appo¬
sition, the layer of coagulable lymph effused upon them
will in a short time exhibit a number of granular eminen¬
ces, which acquire a bright red colour, from their becoming
penetrated with blood-vessels. To this process is given
the name of granulation. In a longer or shorter time, the
granular surface becomes covered with a bluish-white lay¬
er, and being considerably diminished in extent by its own
contraction and the elongation of the surrounding integu¬
ments, it comes to be again skinned over, or, in the language
of surgeons, it undergoes cicatrization. Similar processes
take place in the interior parts of the body. Should a
person on the serous surface of whose bowels an effusion
of coagulable lymph has taken place, survive the violence of
the inflammatory attack, the lymph, in becoming organized,
will produce adhesion of the different folds of intestines to
one another, and to the inner surface of the walls of the
abdomen ; and an ulcer on the inner surface of the stomach
or intestinal canal may undergo the processes of granu¬
lation and cicatrization, just in the same way as an ulcer on
the skin.
Alterations In the progress of the various inflammatory processes
of eonsis- which we have enumerated, the different textures and or¬
gans in which they occur are liable to undergo alterations
in their consistence, becoming in some cases harder, and
in other instances softer, than natural. There seems rea¬
son to believe, however, that these changes of induration
and softening sometimes occur in particular organs or tex¬
tures, independently of any inflammatory action, and simply
from morbidly increased interstitial deposition, or morbid¬
ly increased interstitial absorption. Much attention, for
example, has recently been paid to a state of softening oc¬
curring in the brain, in cases in which there is no reason to
believe it to have been connected with inflammation. A
peculiar softening of the coats of the stomach, first parti¬
cularly noticed by Mr John Hunter, and attributed by him
to the solvent action of the gastric juice after death, has
been supposed by some pathologists to be a product of dis¬
ease, taking place during life, and characterized by a pecu¬
liar concourse and succession of symptoms. As softening
is a change liable to occur in the putrefactive decomposi¬
tion which the different parts of the body undergo after
death, considerable care is requisite to avoid confounding
pseudo-morbid with truly morbid softening of the textures.
The different textures and organs of the body sometimes
tence.
undergo an alteration in the amount of their natural sub-Patho!f,
stance, capable of modifying very considerably the exer-
cise of their functions, and consequently of constituting the™u»
proximate causes of diseases. Sometimes the substance ofga^0’
of the texture or organ is in excess, in which case it isslancf[
said to be in a state of hypertrophy. In other instances
there occurs a diminution in the amount of substance, or
what has been called atrophy, or, more properly, perhaps,
oligotrophy. Every one is aware how much the bulk of
the voluntary muscles depends upon the degree of exercise
to which they are subjected. A similar principle is applica¬
ble to the involuntary muscles ; and accordingly it is found,
that when by any cause impeding the free motion of the
blood in either circulation, the action of one or other ventri¬
cle of the heart requires to be performed with increased vi¬
gour, it takes on the state of hypertrophy. The same change
is liable to occur in the urinary bladder when there exists
a mechanical impediment to the discharge of its contents.
Under certain circumstances, one of the kidneys becomes
incapable of effecting its natural secretion. In this case,
the bulk of the organ very frequently diminishes, or, in
other words, the kidney passes into a state of atrophy ;
whilst its neighbour, taking upon itself, as it wei-e, the du¬
ties of both, becomes enlarged in bulk, or passes into a state
of hypertrophy. The only explanation we are able to give
of the production of this class of organic changes is, that
the nutritive vessels of the texture or organ which experi¬
ences them act with increased or with diminished vigour.
In a large number of cases of morbid alteration occurring New for.,
in the different textures and organs of the body, there ismations.
found replacing more or less of their natural substance, or
disseminated through it, a substance of a nature entirely
foreign to it. Sometimes this new or foreign substance re-Homoio.
sembles more or less closely one of the natural textures of plastic,
the body, as when a mass of fat, or portions of cartilage or
of bone, are formed in situations which they do not natu¬
rally occupy. To such productions of natural textures in
preternatural situations the name of homoioplastic forma¬
tions has been applied. In other instances, the new forma- Hetero.
tions consist of substances altogether foreign to the natural plastic,
organization of the body, as when masses of hard or of soft
cancer (the scirrhus and fungus hcematodes of pathologists)
are developed in one of the various situations in which
they may occur. Such formations receive the general de¬
nomination of heteroplastic. Various other divisions have
been made by pathologists, of the different new growths to
which the textures, systems, and organs of the body are sub¬
ject, according as they are symptomatic or idiopathic, cystic
or sarcomatous, &c.; but that which is perhaps of most prac¬
tical importance is, their division into the mild and the ma¬
lignant. The latter of these terms is applied to such new
growths as manifest more or fewer of the following cha¬
racters ; first, that at no period of their development are
they susceptible of resolution, that is, of being removed by
natural processes of the economy ; second, that they are
very apt to appear in different textures and organs of the
body simultaneously, or in succession; and, third, that when
they are removed by operation, growths of the same charac¬
ter are very apt to recur in the same situation, or to develope
themselves in some part not previously affected. It is ob¬
vious, that in the production both of the homoioplastic and
of the heteroplastic formations, the nutritive vessels of the
part must be supposed to secrete a matter different from that
which they habitually furnish ; with this distinction, that in
the first class the secreted matter is analogous to that which
the same vessels in the state of health furnish to other
textures, whilst in the second, the matters are totally differ¬
ent from those formed in any part of the economy in a
healthy condition.
The morbid products that have hitherto been mentioned Entozoa.
as occurring in the different parts of the body, are either
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
C< re-
tic i •
l| jology.inorganized, as in the cases of pneumatosis, dropsy, and
—" some of the new growths; or, if organized, it is by a vascu¬
lar communication with the body in which they exist. But
it sometimes happens that separate living beings are met
with in different textures and organs, constituting what
by naturalists are termed entozoa. The entozoa most fa¬
miliarly known are intestinal worms, which, as every one
is aware, give rise to a great variety of morbid phenomena
or symptoms. Sometimes the entozoon, instead of having
the general characters of a worm, consists of a nearly
transparent bag filled with serous fluid, in which case it is
termed an hydatid. The disease occurring in sheep, named
the sturdy in some parts of this country, depends on the
existence of hydatids in the brain; and entozoa of the
same generic character have now been found in the sub¬
stance of almost every organ and tissue of the human
body, and even in the fluids contained in the transparent
cavities of the eyeball. Entozoa are different from any
species of animals that are found out of living bodies;
and nothing is more perplexing to naturalists than to ex¬
plain the manner in which they are produced and propa¬
gated. It has been ascertained that some genera and
species of entozoa are confined to particular animals, whilst
others are distributed pretty widely over the animal king¬
dom.
It sometimes happens that a secreted fluid deposits a por¬
tion of the solid matter which it contains, and this by ac¬
cumulation comes to form one or more masses of various
dimensions, which may either remain in the situation in
which they were first formed, or may make their way into
other situations. These masses, of which we have exam¬
ples in the depositions that occur from the urine, from the
bile, from the saliva, and sometimes even from the tears,
are called concretions, calculi, or stones, by pathologists.
A singular form of concretion is not unfrequently met with
in certain veins of the body, particularly the uterine and
pelvic, to which, from their position, the name of phlebo-
lites has been given. In these several instances, we may
suppose the deposition to have depended either on a defi¬
cient quantity of the dissolving menstruum in which the
solid matters were contained, or on an excess of the saline,
&c. ingredients ; or it may in some cases have depended on
the presence of a foreign ingredient in the fluid, producing
precipitation of some of its natural principles. In the ali¬
mentary canal, concretions are occasionally formed by an
agglutination of matter introduced along with the food, and
the viscid secretions of the mucous surface of the stomach
or intestines. Thus it has been found, that in those dis¬
tricts in which oatmeal forms a large portion of the diet
of the labouring classes, such concretions are liable to be
formed by the inner beards of the oats; and an excessive
employment of magnesia as an antacid medicine has been
known to produce an analogous result. In horses, alvine
concretions, formed chiefly out of their food, sometimes
attain a very large size; and in those animals which are in
the habit of licking with their tongues their own hides, or
those of their young, balls of hair, curiously fashioned, are
very frequently met with.
Sometimes the several hollow organs of the body, with-
j 'V'out any appearance of change in the textures of which they
consist, are found to have undergone an alteration in their
Tvi ' ■ Capacity, which may either extend over a considerable por-
*jiion. tion, or be limited to a single point. In some instances
I the cavities or canals referred to are more capacious than
natural, or in a state of dilatation; in other instances thev
are less capacious than natural, or in a state of contrac¬
tion ; and sometimes contraction occurring in the course
of a canal may approach, if not amount, to obliteration.
ontraction, as occurring in a canal, constitutes simple
organic stricture. It not unfrequently happens that the
states of contraction and dilatation are met with in differ-
VOL. XVII.
129
Alte
tions
Conti
turn |
iblitti
:on.
ent parts of the same organ; for if a portion of the ali- Pathology,
mentary canal, for example, become contracted, so as tov'—"'
retard the passage of its contents through it, the portion
above the contraction will be very liable to become dilated
by distention. The arteries are liable to undergo two
different forms of dilatation, the one consisting in a pre¬
ternatural and permanent enlargement of the whole circle
of the canal, the other in a partial or lateral distention of its
coats, loa dilatation of the second kind the name of an an-
eurismal sac is given by pathologists, and much controversy
has existed as to the conditions of the coats of the vessels
in which it is formed. Permanent dilatation of the veins,
produced by the accumulation of blood in their cavities,
constitutes what has been called varix. In some instances
contraction at a particular portion of a canal, or stricture,
seems to be congenital. Of this there is a curious illus¬
tration in a contraction that has been repeatedly met with
in the aorta, or great artery of the systemic circulation,
at a very short distance from its origin in the heart. Con¬
genital stiicture, sometimes amounting to obliteration, is
not unfrequently met with at the lower extremity of the
intestinal canal.
Very serious morbid phenomena occasionally result from Alterations
textures or organs having undergone changes in their na-in position,
tural position. Ihus it sometimes happens that a portion
of the lining membrane of the gullet is protruded between
the layers of muscular fibres which surround it, and in this
way a pouch or bag is produced, which may occasion great
impediment to deglutition. Again, it sometimes happens
that a portion of the intestinal canal slips down, as it
were, into the portion immediately below it, forming an
invagination, as it is termed, and causing, so long as it
lasts, more or less obstruction of the bowels; or a portion of
bowel may escape from within the cavity of the abdomen,
through an aperture, natural or preternatural, in its parie-
tes, constituting what surgeons term a rupture, or hernia,
and requiring, in many instances, the performance ofa deli¬
cate surgical operation for its replacement or reduction. To
alterations in the relative position of the parts constituting
a joint, viz. the socket, and the lever which moves upon it
as a fulcrum, surgeons, as is well known, give the name of
dislocations.
Lastly, morbid phenomena are found to be referrible, in Malforma-
some cases, not to any structural alterations occurring in the tions.
progress of life, but to imperfections in the original organi¬
zation of the individual,—to what are called malformations or
monstrosities. These imperfections or malformations seem
sometimes to consist in the absence or incomplete develop¬
ment of a particular organ or set of organs, as if the natural
process of development had been arrested or retarded dur¬
ing the early stages of the growth of the feetus. In other
instances they consist in reduplication of one or more of
the parts of the body; and in others, again, the process of
development seems to have taken a perverted or vicious di¬
rection, so as to produce anomalies not referrible to either of
the two heads that have just been mentioned. Of malfor¬
mations compatible with life, but laying a foundation for dis¬
ease, we have examples in certain conditions of the heart,
and large vessels immediately connected with it, which
allow a portion of the blood to pass from the right side of
the heart to the left, without passing through the lungs, and
consequently without undergoing that depuratory process
which it is the purpose of respiration to effect. In this
case the extremities of the fingers, the lips, and other ex¬
ternal parts of the body, have more or less of a blue colour,
giving rise to the affection denominated cyanosis, or blue
disease.
Such seem to be the principal sensible alterations that
are liable to occur in the animal frame, and which, as giv¬
ing origin to various combinations of morbid phenomena
or symptoms, we regard as proximate causes of diseases.
130
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Pathology. We have, in the next place, to consider those proximate
  V 'causes of disease, pathological states, or morbid conditions,
Dynamic which are not attended with any sensible alterations in the
proximate tures or organs 0f the body, recognisable during hie
CaUSe8* or after death ; and the occurrence of which is inferred
solely from the disturbance that takes place m the exer¬
cise of particular functions. Thus, under certain circum¬
stances; the action of the heart may become irregular,
and yet after a time resume its wonted regularity, show¬
ing that no organic alteration had occurred in it; or t is
fact may be still more decidedly established, in case of
accidental death, by the actual inspection of the parts.
The secretion of the kidneys may, in like manner, be very
materially altered in respect of its quantity or composition,
without these organs having undergone any discoverable
change in their anatomical constitution. In our inability
to refer such derangements of function to perceptible or¬
ganic changes, we attribute them to changes or alterations
in the peculiar powers, forces, or principles, with which
the parts are endowed, that enter into the composition of
the texture or organ the function of which is deranged;
and it is in this respect that these derangements are pro¬
perly termed dynamical.
In judging of the structural changes which disease is
liable to induce in the several textures, systems, and or¬
gans of the body, it is obviously of primary importance
that we should be well acquainted with their healthy
structure and appearances, and with the changes which
these are liable to undergo subsequently to death, from
putrefactive decomposition, and other causes. The more
extensive and accurate our knowledge of these matters
becomes, the better must we be qualified to recognise
the presence of structural alterations, and to determine^ in
what they actually consist. In like manner, in considering
the dynamical derangements which are liable to occur in
the human economy, it is essential to have determined
what powers are concerned in the production of its various
healthy phenomena. The full consideration of this sub¬
ject obviously falls under the province of the physiologist;
but as it is one respecting which considerable confusion
of ideas seems to us to prevail, and the correct determina¬
tion of which is not less important to the pathologist than
to the physiologist, we shall venture to offer a few remarks
with regard to it.
In entering on this inquiry, it is necessary to keep in
mind, that all the phenomena of the human economy, as
far as they are corporeal, are produced by the reciprocal
action of certain external agents, and of the different parts
of the organized frame, upon one another. It is necessary
also to keep in mind, that all which is meant by ascribing to
any substance the possession of a particular property, is,
that when a certain other substance is present, a parti¬
cular change will take place in the condition of one or
other, or of both of them. In stricter language, we sub¬
stitute the term susceptibility for that of property, in those
cases in which the change is most obvious in the substance
to which we ascribe the property; and we use the term
power in those cases in which the change is most obvious
in the substance that is brought into relation with that to
which we ascribe the property. It is equally a property of
water to be solidified by a certain degree of cold, and to
dissolve salt; but, in accurate expression, susceptibility is
applicable to water in respect of the former, and power in
respect of the latter, of these phenomena. When the pa¬
thologist, therefore, speaks of derangements or diseased
conditions of the powers or properties of the human econo¬
my, as contrasted with morbid conditions of the structure
of the body, he does not mean to allege that changes have
taken place in certain mysterious agencies or spirits lurk¬
ing in certain textures of the body ; but he means that
changes not recognisable by our senses have occurred in
these textures, in consequence of which they differently af* Patholog
feet, or are differently affected by, external agents, from what
is habitual to them. It is of these differences in the mode of
affecting and of being affected that we, by observation, ob¬
tain a knowledge ; and it is by reasoning back from these
that we infer the occurrence of those changes in the condi¬
tions of the particular textures of the animal frame, of which,
in the application to them of the term dynamical, we avow
that we cannot obtain any more direct information.
Understanding the term power in this signification, we
may remark, that it is not peculiar to organic textures to
undergo changes in their powers or properties, without
any perceptible change of their interior physical condi¬
tions. When a bar of iron, on being struck with a hammer,
is rendered magnetic, or deprived of its magnetic power,
according to the direction in which it is previously placed
(see the article Magnetism), no change can be detected
in the characters of the mass, or of the particles of which
it consists. The only knowledge we obtain of any change
having taken place in the bar of iron, is derived from its
evincing or not evincing magnetic properties.
What, then, are the properties concerned in the produc¬
tion of the various phenomena of the human economy, so
far as these are of a corporeal nature ?
The learned and the unlearned all concur in recognis¬
ing a particular class of beings under the title of living or
organized, and in distinguishing this from another class
of beings, which they designate as inorganized, lifeless, or
dead. There is likewise a pretty general concurrence
in acknowledging that the prominent characters or out¬
standing phenomena by which living beings are distin¬
guished from those that are dead, are, Jirst, the conver¬
sion of foreign matters into their own substance, which is
continually going on within them; and, second, their in¬
variably taking their origin from a part which had pre¬
viously belonged to another being of exactly the same
nature with themselves. For accomplishing these two
ends (the processes of assimilation and reproduction, as
they are termed), it is found that certain determinate
series of phenomena are executed by living beings, to which
the name of vital or organic functions is assigned, such
as the functions of circulation, of respiration, of secretion,
&c. The question, therefore, as to the properties con¬
cerned in producing the various corporeal phenomena of
the human economy, resolves itself into the inquiry, what
powers or agencies are concerned in the execution of each
of these vital functions ? Are the phenomena of which each
of them consists, and which, as has been said, result from
the reciprocal action of external agents, and of the differ¬
ent parts of the body, on one another, when analysed and
separately examined, of the same nature as the phenomena
observed to occur in the inorganized world; or are they
of a nature specifically distinct from these; or is there a
correspondence in some and a diversity in others ? It is
on the determination of these questions, obviously, that
our judgment must be founded, how far it is necessary to
attribute to the different parts of the body powers, prin¬
ciples, or properties, distinct from those of inorganized
matter, or, shortly speaking, vital or organic properties,
since such properties, if recognised, can be considered only
as general expressions for determinate groups of phenome¬
na, identical in themselves, and different from any which
can be observed to occur in the inorganized world.
And here we may remark, that, in modern times parti¬
cularly, there has very generally prevailed among physi¬
ologists a great disinclination to admit an identity in the
various phenomena of living beings and resembling phe¬
nomena of inorganic matter; or, in other words, to admit
the operation, in the production of the phenomena of
living beings, of those physical and chemical properties to
which the various mutations that dead matter is liable to
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
p ology. undergo are usually ascribed. Accordingly, physiologists
^ very generally maintain that the agencies by which the cha¬
racteristic phenomena of living beings are produced, are
essentially different from those on which the phenomena of
inorganic matter depend. It is not denied that there is a
general correspondence in the material phenomena exhibit¬
ed by the two classes of beings; that in each of them there
is evidence of the occurrence both of motions in the sensible
masses, and motions in the insensible elements, of matter,
—of both physical and chemical changes. But there is a
great disposition to allege, that notwithstanding this gene¬
ral correspondence, there exist such special differences be¬
tween the physical and chemical phenomena of organized
and of inorganized bodies, as to render it necessary to
admit the operation, in the production of the former, of
powers or properties distinct from those which operate in
producing the latter; that vital physics and vital chemis¬
try are distinct sciences from inorganic physics and inor¬
ganic chemistry, acknowledging different and even contra¬
dictory laws. Before proceeding to consider what grounds
actually exist for this strong disinclination to recognise
the operation in the animal economy of the physical and
chemical properties of inorganic matter, we may remark,
that it may probably be traced in a great measure to two
sources, first, the abuse of physical and chemical explana¬
tions of the phenomena of the animal economy which was
practised by the mathematical and the chemical sects of
physicians; and, second, the wish which the cultivators of
any branch of knowledge generally entertain to establish
for it an independent character. It is not impossible that,
in the present instance, this latter feeling may be increas¬
ed by the pride of man rendering him averse to recognise
an identity, even in his corporeal operations, with those of
brute matter.
The opinions of physiologists respecting the operation in
the corporeal functions of the human economy, of powers
different from those which regulate the changes of inorga¬
nic matter, may perhaps be advantageously reduced to the
three following heads.
ls£, That all the phenomena of this economy are under
the guidance of a single property, by whatever name this
may be designated, which is capable of subverting, and
indeed is in a perpetual struggle with, the physical and
chemical laws of inorganic matter.
2d, That each function of the economy is under the
guidance of a particular or special principle; and,
3c?, That in certain animal textures, independently of,
or superadded to, the physical and chemical powers of in¬
organic matter, there are implanted powers specifically dis¬
tinct from these, which have an important share in the pro¬
duction of most or of all the phenomena of the animal eco¬
nomy.
To the two first of these doctrines there present them¬
selves objections of precisely the same nature. They con¬
found complex with simple results ; and refer to the agency
of a common power, a number of phenomena which, though
they may be considered as all tending to a common end,
are widely different in their essential nature from one
another. The function of respiration, for example, com¬
prehends a number of distinct phenomena, some physical
and some chemical, understanding by these terms respec¬
tively the motions of the sensible masses and of the in¬
sensible elements of matter; and to suppose that science
can be advanced by attributing all this variety of pheno¬
mena to the agency of a common principle, is a strange
deviation from the ordinary laws of philosophical inquiry.
If this observation be just in regard to one function, it must
certainly acquire additional force the greater the number
of functions, and consequently the greater the diversity of
phenomena, the production of which is referred to the
agency of the supposed principle.
131
The advocates of the third doctrine recognise the im- Pathology,
portant influence of those physical and chemical powers to
which the phenomena of inorganic matter are attributed,
in producing the phenomena of the several functions of the
animal economy, so far as these are corporeal. But an ana¬
lysis of these functions leads them to believe that, besides
the inorganic powers, there must be others concerned in
their production, seeing that some of their phenomena are
of a nature specifically distinct from those exhibited by
any form of dead matter. They do not content themselves
with the general conclusion that the function of digestion,
for example, is totally different from any process which
occurs in inorganic beings, and that it is consequently in¬
cumbent upon us to admit the existence of a peculiar vital
principle of digestion ; but analysing, as far as they are
able, the various phenomena which, in combination and
succession, constitute this function,—tracing the series of
antecedents and consequents by which it is effected,—they
endeavour to determine what are the precise phenomena
which do, and what are those which do not, admit of being
referred to the ordinary properties of inorganic matter,
and are thus led to judge what phenomena, from not being
referrible to these properties, require the recognition of
powers peculiar to living beings in general, or to the ani¬
mal economy in particular.
There are obviously two sources of error in the judg¬
ments which may be formed on these points. ls£, Our
imperfect knowledge of the phenomena respecting which
we are called on to judge; our inability to trace the suc¬
cessive series of changes by which the obvious result is
ultimately effected. How much of the knowledge requi¬
site for enabling us to refer the phenomena of digestion, to
resume our former example, to their respective causes,
is of very recent attainment? how much perhaps still re¬
mains to be acquired? But, 2d, our knowledge of the
laws which preside over the physical and chemical changes
of inorganic matter is likewise still very imperfect. There
are doubtless very many phenomena going on in the inor¬
ganic world, which have not even been observed, far less
generalized. These may have their resembling phenomena
in the economy of living beings; and, from our ignorance
of the one, we may fail to observe the other; or, in observing
them, we may erroneously suppose them to depend on prin¬
ciples or properties peculiar to the economy in which they
present themselves to our notice. The observations and
experiments of Mr Brown respecting the motions of mole¬
cular particles, those of Dutrochet relative to Endosmosis
and Exosmosis, and those of Professor Graham relative to
the transmission of gases, have brought to light in our own
days a number of phenomena occurring in the inorganic
world, which may very possibly have their resemblances
in the economy of organized beings; and other sources of
motion and change in inorganic matter may yet remain to
be discovered. And even in respect of those physical and
chemical agencies, with the operation of which, in the in¬
organic kingdom, w'e are more or less familiar, it is quite
possible that they may be taking a share in producing the
phenomena of organized beings, though we do not recog¬
nise their operation. Thus a very strong belief has been
entertained by many physiologists that electricity or gal¬
vanism exerts a very important influence in the perfor¬
mance of several of the functions of the animal economy ;
and that, in like manner, as this economy possesses within
itself the power of generating heat, so it is provided with
an apparatus capable of evolving electricity or galvanism.
It is not necessary to enter here into a consideration ot
the circumstances which have led to the belief that the
brain is such an apparatus, and the nerves the conductors
of the electrical or galvanic fluid. But we may suggest,
that if this opinion could be proved to be correct, many of
those phenomena which seem at present irreconcileable
132
Pathology.
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Muscular
irritability.
Its morbid
conditions.
Excessive
or defi¬
cient,
in facility;
with the ordinary properties of inorganic matter, and con¬
sequently to require the recognition of peculiar vital powers,
might find their explanation in the agency of this powerful
source of physical and chemical changes.
If these views relative to the powers concerned in pro¬
ducing the phenomena of living economies be correct, it
follows, that it is the duty of the pathologist, in tracing
the dynamical derangements to which the different parts
of the animal frame are subject, to keep in mind the varia¬
tions which may occur in the ordinary physical and che¬
mical properties of the solids and fluids of which that frame
consists, as well as in those properties which are peculiar
to itself; seeing that modifications of these inorganic prin¬
ciples must necessarily have great influence in inducing
pathological phenomena.
With this caution we shall now proceed to consider what
are the ultimate or simple phenomena occurring in the ani¬
mal economy, which seem to be specifically different from
phenomena observable in the inorganic kingdom, and to
require the recognition of peculiar vital properties, and to
what pathological conditions these properties seem to be
subject. The vital properties most usually recognised by
physiologists and pathologists seem to be Irritability, Toni¬
city, Sensibility, Nervous Energy or Innervation, Sympa¬
thy, and Vital Affinity.
Whatever differences may exist in the views which phy¬
siologists entertain respecting the other agencies by which
the various functions of the animal economy are executed,
they universally agree in admitting muscular irritability,
or the power which muscular fibres possess of shortening
on the application of certain agents, which physiologists
term stimuli, as a property of great influence in the pro¬
duction of the physical motions observable in the economy,
and as one to which nothing strictly analogous, so far as
is known, has been discovered in any other portions of
nature’s works. There are few, indeed, if any, of the cor¬
poreal functions of the animal economy, natural, vital, or
animal, in the exercise of which muscular fibres, and the
principle of irritability with which they have been endowed,
are not more or less immediately concerned. And, conse¬
quently, the dynamical morbid conditions of these fibres,
or the morbid conditions of the principle of irritability,
enter largely into the explanations which the pathologist
endeavours to give of the derangements to which the dif¬
ferent organs of the body are liable in the exercise of their
functions.
The deviations from healthy action to which the prin¬
ciple of irritability is subject, seem referrible to three prin¬
cipal heads, viz. Jirst, increased, second, diminished, and,
third, perverted or vitiated action.
In respect of irritability, physiologists distinguish be-
twee-n the facility and the force with which muscular fibres
contract, or the mobility and vigour ; and the same distinc¬
tion must be kept sight of in pathology. Irritability may
be excessive in facility, or, in other words, muscular fibres
may be excessively mobile, a slight stimulus producing a
contraction to which it would have been quite inadequate
in health; or irritability may be deficient in facility, or
muscular fibres preternaturally immobile or torpid, a stimu¬
lus which would have called a muscle into action in the
state of health being now insufficient to effect this. Of pre¬
ternatural mobility of muscular fibres we have an example
in the readiness with which, in particular states of disease,
the muscular coats of certain canals, as the gullet and
urethra, are excited to contraction by the introduction
into these canals of foreign bodies which, in their healthy
state, would pass through them without exciting any per¬
ceptible muscular contraction. Of preternatural immo¬
bility or torpidity, throughout all its possible degrees, we
have examples in the state of palsy, both in the voluntary
muscles and in involuntary muscular organs.
Again, irritability may be excessive in force, a given Pathol^
amount of stimulus producing a more forcible contraction
than in health; as frequently happens to the voluntary111*1®*
muscles in cases of mania, when the patient manifests a de¬
gree of physical strength greatly beyond his natural powers;
and as seems to occur in respect of the action of the vas¬
cular system on the circulating blood, in what is called
the phlogistic or inflammatory diathesis. Irritability may
likewise be deficient in force, as is well known to happen
to the voluntary muscular system in some diseases, as
fevers at a very early stage of their progress, and as hap¬
pens in all diseases, sooner or later, in the course of their
progress. Of deficient force of irritability in involuntary
muscular organs, we have an example in the action of the
sanguiferous system in the state of collapse, or sinking.
It may be remarked, that the states of diminished force
or vigour, and increased facility or mobility of contraction,
are frequently combined in the same muscles or muscular
organs; so that although a small amount of stimulus is suf¬
ficient to call them into action, their action is not power¬
ful. This fact is often exemplified in the contractions of
the heart, which may be very frequent in number, and at
the same time very feeble in force.
Besides increased and diminished force and facility of Vitiate!
action, there are other morbid conditions to which the
power of muscular irritability is liable, that may be re¬
ferred to the head of altered or vitiated action. In the
ordinary circumstances of the economy, the contraction of
a muscle, succeeding tc the application of a stimulus, is
speedily followed by a state of relaxation, and this even
though the stimulus which produced the contraction con¬
tinues to be applied. But there is a morbid state of the Spasm,
contraction of muscles that is not disposed spontaneously
to alternate with relaxation, and in which, too, the fibres
do not easily yield to any extending powers that may be
applied. Such a state of contraction, which may occur
either in voluntary muscles, or in involuntary muscular
organs, is called a state of spasm. Most persons have had
experience of those local spasms which, under various cir¬
cumstances, occur in the muscles of the extremities, par¬
ticularly of the calves of the legs, and to which the name
of cramps is familiarly given. That singular affection
which has been termed catalepsy, in which a part of the
body retains for a great length of time the position in
which it may be placed, however disagreeable or fatiguing
it might be to the person when in health, furnishes us with
an example of a tendency to spasmodic contraction per¬
vading the whole of the voluntary system of muscles.
The various muscular canals, as the gullet, the intestines,
the gall-ducts, the urethra, &c. are frequently the seat of
spasmodic affection, producing an inorganic form of stric¬
ture.
A second morbid condition of irritability that may be Convul-
referred to the head of vitiated or altered action, is that51011-
in which muscles and muscular organs are excited to con¬
traction by preternatural causes, and are contracted with
unusual velocity and force, and in which, especially, the con¬
tractions alternating with relaxation are frequently and
preternaturally repeated. Contractions of this kind are ob¬
servable in the greater part of the muscles of voluntary mo¬
tion, in the fits or paroxysms of the disease termed epi¬
lepsy; and to the same class belong the agitatory motions
observable in different parts of the body in chorea, or St
Vitus’s dance, and in hysteria. These contractions have
sometimes been called clonic spasms, whilst the epithet of
tonic spasms has been applied to contractions not alternated
with relaxations. But the terms tonic and clonic spasms are
now very generally laid aside by pathologists, and the two
different kinds of muscular contraction formerly designat¬
ed by them are now usually distinguished from one another
by the simple names of spasms and convulsions. Though
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
133
1 ex¬
ility.
To :ity.
lology. spasm and convulsion be in themselves distinct phenome-
v—^na, it would be easy, by a reference to particular diseases,
to illustrate the truth of Dr Cullen’s remark, that “ many,
and indeed most, of the diseases considered as spasmodic
affections, are, in respect of tonic and clonic contractions,
of a mixed kind.” (Sect. 1753.)
A wide difference of opinion has subsisted among phy¬
siologists as to the nature of the power by which the re¬
laxation of a muscle succeeding to its contraction, conse¬
quent on the application of a stimulus, is effected; some
conceiving that a sufficient explanation of this phenomenon
is to be found in the simple elasticity of muscular sub¬
stance, whilst others maintain that it can be accounted
for only by recognising in muscles an active power of ex¬
pansion as well as of contraction. Nor is it muscular tissue
only which has been supposed to be endowed with an ac¬
tive principle of expansion or dilatation. By many the
expansion which is liable to occur under peculiar circum¬
stances, in what has been called the erectile tissue, is sup¬
posed to have its primary origin in an active distention of
that tissue itself, and not in its mere passive dilatation
by fluids propelled into it from behind, or accumulating in
it in consequence of obstruction to their further course
(Chaussier, Adelon, Stieglitz, &c.): whilst by others it is
conceived, that to explain the state of orgasm, as it is call¬
ed, we must pre-suppose the existence of an increased vi¬
tal affinity between the blood and the tissue of the or¬
gan which is capable of distention (Muller). The pheno¬
mena in question are certainly highly deserving of investi¬
gation ; but we confess we are not at present prepared to
acknowledge the necessity of admitting a peculiar vital
property as being concerned in their production.
Many physiologists have admitted the existence in the
animal economy of another form of contractile power be¬
sides irritability, distinct from any observable in inorganic
matter, to which they have given the name of tonicity.
There has been great vagueness, however, in the attempts
which have been made to define the peculiar characters of
this property, so as to distinguish it from the elasticity of
inorganic matter on the one hand, and from muscular irri¬
tability on the other, as well as to determine by what tex¬
tures it is possessed.
Many phenomena seem to prove, that in living and
exi nee"0 healthy animals, the muscular fibres, both of the voluntary
muscles, and of involuntary muscular organs, have a con¬
stant tendency to become shorter, and, but for counterba¬
lancing powers, such as antagonist muscles or distending
liquids, would actually become so. Thus, if any joint be
bent by external force, the flexor muscles contract sponta¬
neously without any exertion of the will. If a muscle be
divided transversely by the knife of the surgeon, a consi¬
derable degree of retraction takes place in the separated
portions, and the antagonist muscle also contracts. That the
retraction in this latter case is not attributable to the stimu¬
lus of the knife, appears from the fact, that “ the separate
portions which have been retracted,” as Mr Mayo remarks,
“ if excited, shorten further, and then again become elon¬
gated to their last dimension.” Besides, when the tendon
of a living muscle is cut across, the muscle instantly con¬
tracts, and continues of its diminished length. In frac¬
ture of the patella, the rectus muscle of the thigh contracts
sometimes to a very great extent; and in most cases of frac¬
ture there occurs similar retraction, which, though it may
be in part explicable by the irritation of splintered pieces
of bone, cannot be wholly attributed to that cause. It is
found, also, that the arteries are always nearly accommo¬
dated to the quantity of blood contained in them. When a
ligature is placed upon an artery of a living animal, the part
of the artery beyond the ligature becomes gradually small¬
er, and is emptied to a certain degree, if not completely,
of the blood it contained. It has been observed, too, that
Su] lised
pre ofits
some hours after death the arteries are much diminished in Pathoiogy.
size, and this occasionally to such an extent as to be ren-
dered impervious.
By some physiologists it has been imagined that these
phenomena may be explained on the principle of simple
elasticity, it being conceived that in the living body mus¬
cles are atretched out or extended beyond their natural
state as dead elastic substances. “ To the elastic nature
of the muscles generally,” says Dr Bostock (Elem. Syst.
of Physiology, i. 160-1), “as consisting of a compound
of fibre and membrane, I should refer the natural con¬
traction of Whytt, those actions which Cullen, and many
physiologists since his time, have called tone or tonicity,
and which Bichat has classed under the head of contrac¬
tility from texture, in which, after a part has been distend¬
ed by any cause, when the distending force is withdrawn,
it gradually recovers its natural form and dimensions.”
But the supposition that muscles are stretched, in the
living body, beyond their natural elasticity, is opposed by
the fact, that when a dead muscle is cut out of the body,
before it has begun to putrefy it will be found to extend
farther than from its origin to its insertion, as is particu¬
larly evident in a long muscle, such as the sartorius.
There are other circumstances, too, which seem to show
that this constant tendency of muscular fibres to con¬
tract depends on their connection with the nervous system,
on a constant and regular action of the nervous system
on the muscular, a fact which does not seem reconcileable
with the notion of its being simple elasticity. When
the portio dura (or muscular nerve) of one side of the
face is divided, the muscles of the opposite side of the
face contract to such a degree as to draw the cheek of the
affected side over to it; and the same thing is liable to oc¬
cur as a consequence of cerebral apoplexy. It is usual to
explain this phenomenon by saying that the muscles of the
affected cheek, having lost their tonicity, no longer coun¬
terbalance those of the sound side, which, in consequence,
being left to the uncontrolled influence of their own toni¬
city, undergo contraction; nor does there appear to be
any mode of accounting for it, either on the hypothesis of
simple elasticity or of irritability. We may perhaps also re¬
gard the pathological condition of relaxation of the sphinc¬
ter muscles occurring in particular states of the nervous
system, as evidence of the dependence of tonicity upon
that system. It is proper, however, to keep in mind a fact
which seems to have been ascertained by Bichat, viz. that
when a muscle is transversely divided, the retraction is
equally prompt and energetic, whether the nerves of the
part have been previously cut through or not.
If, then, we recognise irritable contractility and tonic
contractility, or irritability and tonicity, as two distinct
vital properties, the following seem to be the characters
by which they must be distinguished from one another:
First, tonicity is the tendency which certain parts of the
animal frame have to contract, independently of the agency
of stimuli; irritability is the tendency of muscular fibres
to contract in consequence of the agency of stimuli: second,
the contractions dependent on irritability are alternated
with relaxation; those dependent on tonicity are not so
alternated. As a third distinctive character, it has been
alleged that while the contractions of irritability are in¬
stantaneous, those arising from tonicity are very gradual
and slow.
While the existence of tonicity as a separate power has Applica-
been a matter of considerable doubt and discussion to tion to pa-
physiologists, the language that has been used by patho-
legists would seem to imply that they were fully persuaded
of its existence and very extensive operation in the animal
economy; for there is no explanation of morbid phenomena
more familiarly in use with the learned or the unlearned,
than that of ascribing them to loss of tone, or the state of
134
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Pathology, atony. And, certainly, no class of remedies enjoys a high-
’er degree of popularity than those which, under the de¬
signation of tonics, are supposed to possess the power of
restoring or increasing the tone of the several organs of
the economy, and particularly of the digestive. In exa¬
mining these expressions with any degree of accuracy,
however, we shall find that all which is in general meant
to be implied by the use of the term tone, whether ap¬
plied to the economy generally, or to particular parts of it,
is merely vigour of action, without any consideration being
paid to the question, whether this depends on a single and
peculiar power, or is the result of the combined operation
of several distinct powers.
Even in regard of the voluntary muscles, it may be a
matter of no small difficulty to decide, when a particular
class of muscles are in a state of preternatural contraction,
whether this depends on what we have called spasmodic
irritable contraction of their own fibres, overcoming the re¬
sistance of their antagonists, or on their tonic contraction,
consequent on a loss of tone on the part of their antago¬
nists. In wry-neck, for example, is the primary affection,
so far as the muscles are concerned, in those on the side
towards which, or in those on the side from which, the head
is turned ? or may it in some instances depend on one of
these causes, and in other instances upon the other cause,
affording what Dr Good has designated the two varieties
of loxia irritata, or spastic wry-neck, from excess of mus¬
cular action on the contracted side; and loxia atonica, or
atonic wry-neck, from direct atony of the muscles on the
yielding side ?
In involuntary muscular organs, however, it must be a
matter of infinitely greater difficulty to trace the influence
of pathological conditions of the property of tonicity, in con¬
sequence of the more concealed and more limited field of its
operations. One of the pathological phenomena occurring
in an organic function which seems most to favour the hy¬
pothesis of tonicity as a distinct power from irritability, is
the state of the arteries in inflammation. Notwithstanding
the increased velocity with which, in some cases at least,
the small or capillary arteries of an inflamed part propel
their contents, they are in a state of distention. Dr Thom¬
son, in his experiments on the effects produced by apply¬
ing various substances to the web of the frog’s foot, found
that the state of the capillary vessels thus excited that bore
the greatest resemblance, in outward appearance, to the
state of inflammation, was that which occurred on the ap¬
plication of a saturated solution of common salt. In this
case, the arteries, instead of being contracted, as he found
to happen when ammonia is applied, were actually and sen¬
sibly dilated. “ The part of the web to which the salt was
applied became of a red colour, and this redness, which
was visible to the naked eye, lasted in general for a period
of from three to five or more minutes. It was impossible
to view with the naked eye the part to which the salt had
been applied, without conceiving it to be inflamed.” As
in some cases the application of the salt produced an in¬
creased velocity in the circulation through the dilated
larger and smaller arteries and capillary vessels to which
it was more immediately applied, the vascular distention,
obviously, could not be attributable to mechanical obstruc¬
tion.
Whether the distended state of the capillary arteries in
inflammation, a state which, it thus appears, can be so rea¬
dily imitated, if not induced, by the action of salt upon
the web of the frog's foot, be attributable to a loss of tone
in their parietes, seems a question fairly open for the con¬
sideration of pathologists. The idea seems to receive coun¬
tenance from an interesting observation of Dr Alison’s, who
found that when, subsequently to death, an artery going to
an inflamed limb is compared with the corresponding ar¬
tery going to an uninflamed limb, it is of larger calibre, and
possesses less power of re-acting upon a distending fluid. Pathci
(Edin. Med. and Surg. Journ. xlv. 98.)
On the whole, it may, we believe, without injustice be
affirmed that, to determine the propriety of recognising such
a peculiar vital property as tonicity at all, and, in the.event
of its recognition being found necessary, to ascertain the
particular phenomena, physiological and pathological, which
ought to be referred to its agency, would require a much
more precise method of analytical investigation than has
ever yet been brought to bear on the elucidation of this
subject.
The next vital property which we have to mention asSensib;
generally recognised by physiologists, is sensibility. As
voluntary motion consists of an affection of the mind suc¬
ceeded by an affection of certain parts of the organic frame,
viz. the voluntary muscles ; so sensation consists of an af¬
fection of certain parts of the organic frame, viz. the organs
of sense, succeeded by an affection of the mind. In both
cases we have reason to believe that the nerves are the
media of communication between the brain as the organ
of the mind and the other parts of the body. In speaking
of sensibility as a vital property, it is necessary to keep in
mind the twofold character of sensation, as a corporeal
and as a mental phenomenon. We presume that those
agents the application of which to certain parts of the body
is ultimately followed by those states of mind which we
designate sensations, produce some change in the state
of the nervous extremities, and that some corresponding
changes subsequently ensue in the nervous cords, and ulti¬
mately in the brain ; just as we presume that, in voluntary
motion, the affection of the mind acts in some way on the
brain, and that the change induced in this organ is propa¬
gated along the nerves to the tnuscular fibres.
Although the property of irritability is liable to be call¬
ed into play in a large class of muscles, by the particular
state of mind termed the will or volition, yet, in the assist¬
ance which it gives in effecting a number of the functions
of the animal economy the mind has no share, these func¬
tions being purely corporeal. Different names have been
given to the irritability of muscular fibres, according as it
is called into operation by one or other of these causes, viz.
the will or material stimuli, and amongst these the names
of animal and organic contractility. Some physiologists
have conceived that a similar distinction may be established
in respect of sensibility; that, besides what is called animal
sensibility, or that property of the nervous system in vir¬
tue of which impressions produced on particular parts of
the body by external agents, or by peculiar conditions of
its own textures, are communicated through the brain to
the mind, there is an organic sensibility, in virtue of which
the different textures themselves become sensible of the
action upon them of external agents; “la faculte,” says M.
Cailliot, “ qu’ont les parties des corps animes de recevoir
des impressions quelconques, qui produisent des change-
mens proportionnes a ces impressions.” So completely in¬
dependent of mind did Bichat, the great advocate of orga¬
nic sensibility, consider this property to be, that he ascribes
it to vegetables. “ Nature,” says he, “ has endowed each
portion of a vegetable with the faculty of feeling the im¬
pression of the fluids with which the fibres are in contact.”
(Anat. Gener. i. xli.) But if this application of the term
sensibility be legitimate, we do not see how it can be con¬
fined to the phenomena of organic beings. A piece of mar¬
ble may with equal propriety be said to be sensible of the
impression of the acid which resolves it into its constitu¬
ent elements ; and a detonating powder sensible of the im¬
pression of the blow which occasions its explosion. The
word sensibility, which is intended to denote a peculiar form
of susceptibility, a form the essential peculiarity of which
consists in its terminating in the production of a particu¬
lar state of mind, would in this way be rendered synony-
*
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
p ology. mous with susceptibility in general. It is probable that the
wy—idea of an organic sensibility may arise in part from the
belief entertained by physiologists, that, in many instances,
external agents, in acting upon our corporeal organs, do
not act upon them directly, but through the intervention
of the nerves, the same channels by which sensible impres¬
sions are conveyed to the brain as the organ of the mind.
But even this point of analogy, if fully established, would
not warrant us in connecting the name of sensibility with
a phenomenon with which the mind is in no way related.
It norbid In respect of sensibility, we know that, independently of
cc ations. any perceptible alterations in the organization of the several
parts concerned in the exercise of that function (from that
part upon which the impression is primarily made, to that
by which it is transferred as it were to the mind, so as to
become an object of consciousness), morbid variations are
liable to occur, both as regards the intensity of the sensa¬
tions produced by a given amount of impression, and as
In iccess. regards the qualities of the sensations. Under a variety
of circumstances more or less perfectly understood by us,
our sensations (both those depending on the impression of
external objects, and those which result from processes
going on within the body, or our sensations of impression
and of consciousness, according to the distinction recog¬
nised by Dr Cullen) are liable to become more intense
In than they are in the state of health. In other circum-
en stances, these sensations, particularly those of impression,
become less distinct than natural, or are not at all produ¬
ced ; a state variously designated by nosologists, according
to the seat which it may occupy, but which, from its fre¬
quent coincidence with diminished muscular irritability,
has often been improperly included under the term of pa¬
ralysis or palsy.
Pe'erted. The various morbid conditions of sensibility which can¬
not be referred to the two heads of increased and dimi¬
nished, and which are therefore included under that of vi¬
tiated or perverted, seem referrible to the three following :
ls£, The perception of objects that do not exist, as when
those appearances which have been called musca volitantes
are seen floating in the air like dark or luminous spots,
lucid ribbons, &c.; 2d, the perception of external objects
otherwise than they really are or appear to others, whether
as respects their number, form, size, colour, or state of
motion or rest; and, 3d, the perception of the qualities of
bodies different from what is usual to us, as when those
substances which in health are agreeable to us, become
disagreeable, or the reverse.
When these various conditions of sensibility occur as
dynamical affections, it is by no means easy for the patho¬
logist in all instances to ascertain in what portion of the
nervous system the dynamical affection has its more imme¬
diate seat; whether in the extremities of the nerves on
which the impression is first received, or in the nervous
cords by which it is conducted to the brain, or in the brain
itself, in which we presume that some change must be pro¬
duced previously to the affection of the mind which com¬
pletes the function of sensation. When, for example, the
sense of sight is lost, as in amaurosis, and no perceptible
change of structure can be discovered capable of explain¬
ing the morbid phenomenon, are we to seek for the seat
of the dynamical affection in the retina, in the optic nerve,
or in the part of the cerebral mass with which that nerve
is more immediately connected ?
Supj ed Before passing from the consideration of the properties
°* irritability an^ sensibility, we may observe, that nothing
andij isi_y ?an m.ore strongly the extreme difficulty which ex-
bilit; lsts obtaining the general recognition of the clearest
and best established truths of science, than the frequent
proposals that have been made, since the differences in the
characters of these two vital, or, more correctly speaking,
animal properties, irritability and sensibility, were fully de¬
monstrated by Haller, to re-unite them as one property Pathology,
under a common denomination, such as that of excitability,
&c. That there is a coincidence in some of their laws,
may be admitted; so is there in some of the laws of heat
and light, which, too, frequently occur in combination. <
But the physiologist has no stronger reason for alleging
identity in the one case, than the natural philosopher for
alleging it in the other; and nothing, we are persuaded,
can be conceived more calculated than this confusion to
retard the progress of medical science. It has frequently,
indeed, been argued in favour of this identity, that irritabi¬
lity implies sensibility; that everything which is irritable
must be sensible, in order that it may perceive the stimu¬
lus which calls it into action. But, as has been already
shown in speaking of organic sensibility, we might as well
say that every thing which is inflammable must be sensible,
in order that it may perceive the impression of heat; that
gunpowder must be sensible of the spark which inflames it.
A strong belief has existed among medical men that the Nervous
several organs of the body are greatly dependent, for theenergy.
suitable exercise of their functions, on an influence or
energy communicated to them by the different parts of
the nervous system; some organs being supposed to be
more immediately under the control of its cerebro-spinal,
and others under that of its ganglionic portion.
This belief has had its origin in the interruption to the
exercise of the different functions which has been found
to be occasioned by division of the nerves of their respec¬
tive organs, or by the removal or destruction of particular
portions of the nervous system, as well as in the functional
derangements that are observed to occur under the in¬
fluence of diseases of that system, or under the operation
of certain agents, such as opium, upon it.
But though the facts that have been alluded to seem Mode of
to warrant the general inference that the central portions operation,
of the nervous system exercise, through the medium of
the nervous cords, an important influence on the perform¬
ance of the several organic functions, as well as of those in
which consciousness is involved, it must be confessed that
we are still unable, from the results of physiological experi¬
ments, numerous as these have been, or of pathological ob¬
servations, to say in what particular manner this influence
is brought to bear upon the organic functions, and in what
manner it operates. Those who recognise the operation,
in the animal economy, of a peculiar principle, to which,
from its source, the name of innervation has been given,
are not able to say whether it produces or concurs in pro¬
ducing phenomena of a physical or of a chemical charac¬
ter ; whether its mode of operation be the same in all the
different functions, as the notion of its being a special
agent or principle would lead us to conclude, or peculiar
in each. Thus, for example, physiologists have very ge¬
nerally concurred in admitting that an influence derived
from the nervous system is essential to the performance
of the function of digestion, seeing that the division of the
par vagum, or the destruction of particular portions of the
brain or spinal marrow, put a stop to its continuance.
But there is very far from being a like concurrence of
opinion as to the particular process or part in the perform¬
ance of this function, with which that nervous influence
is more immediately connected, and the interruption of
which causes the discontinuance of the whole function;
whether the nervous influence be essential to the con¬
veyance of blood to those secreting organs by which the
fluids of the stomach are elaborated ; or whether it assists
these secreting organs in the performance of their task;
or whether it aids in those reciprocal chemical actions
which take place between the gastric fluids and the food
introduced into the stomach; or whether, by maintaining
the peristaltic motion of the stomach, it contributes to the
physical removal of the portion of food that has been acted
136
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
Supposed
identity
with gal¬
vanism.
Pathology, on by the gastric juices, and to the bringing of a new sur-
N—-v ' face of the food in contact with them; or, lastly, whether
it may not be that several or all of these successive phe¬
nomena of the function of digestion depend on the influ¬
ence which the stomach derives from the central portions
of the nervous system, the ganglionic as well as the cere-
bro-spinal, through the nerves which ramify in its parietes.
At one time there seemed reason to believe that physio¬
logists had ascertained the nature of the influence com¬
municated by the nervous system to the several organs of
the body—and were thus put in a fair train for ascertain¬
ing its mode of operation. When it was found that the
interruption to the process of digestion, occasioned by the
division of the par vagum, could be obviated by connect¬
ing the lower extremity of the nerve with a galvanic bat¬
tery, or even by allowing its divided extremities to ap¬
proach within a small distance of one another, it was
scarcely possible to resist the conclusion, that galvanism
was the active principle essential to the exercise of diges¬
tion, of which the division of its nerves deprived the sto¬
mach. More recent observations, however, have suggested
doubts as to the correctness of this conclusion, and threaten
to deprive us of the simple solution of the problem of in¬
nervation which it seemed to afford.
Some physiologists, indeed, doubt altogether the produc¬
tion in the central portion of the nervous system, and pro¬
pagation along the nervous cords, of an energetic power or
principle aiding the several organs in the exercise of their
particular functional phenomena; and conceive, that in re¬
spect of the organic functions the nervous system acts as
a medium of communication between their organs and the
stimuli or impressions by which they are called into action.
According to this hypothesis the food introduced into the
stomach produces a particular impression on the extre¬
mities of the gastric nerves, which is propagated along the
nervous cords to the nervous centres, and the nervous
centres being in some way affected by the impression, re¬
act, through the same medium of communication, upon
the organs in which a change is to be produced; as, for
example, upon those which secrete the gastric fluids, or
upon those which effect the peristaltic motion of the sto¬
mach. If this can be proved to be the correct explanation
of the manner in which the nervous system operates in
promoting the performance of the organic functions, it may
be right to employ some appropriate term to designate it;
but, Tor the reasons already assigned, we must avoid giv¬
ing to this intervention of the nerves the denomination of
sensibility, even with such a qualifying appellation as or¬
ganic.
With the physiological doctrine of innervation in a state
of so much embarrassment and uncertainty, it cannot be
expected that in pathology it should be possible to make
any very precise or extensive application of it to the ex¬
planation of morbid phenomena. It is obvious, however,
that many of the facts on which the doctrine of innerva¬
tion rests are of a pathological nature. And it is by avail¬
ing himself of the experiments which nature as it were
performs to his hand,—by noting, in cases of organic dis¬
eases of the different portions of the nervous system, the
changes which occur in the action of the several organs,—
that the pathologist may hope to contribute his share to
the elucidation of this difficult subject.
In recognising variations in the condition of this vital
power, as a probable source of morbid derangements in the
exercise of the functions, the pathologist must be careful
not to give to this source of morbid actions an overwhelm¬
ing preponderance, to the exclusion of variations in the
other powers, inorganic or organic, that are concerned in
the production of the various phenomena of the animal
economy. With some pathologists, dynamical derange¬
ment of function and innervatory derangement seem to be
Applica¬
tion to pa¬
thology.
regarded as synonymous expressions, as if, whenever an Pathol
organ, in which no structural alteration is discoverable, per¬
forms its function in an irregular manner, this must depend
on some disturbance of its innervatory influence. But
this is by no means the case. Of the three conditions of
the economy, for example, described by M. Andral, in
which palpitation of the heart is liable to occur, independ¬
ently of organic lesion, viz. a state of plethora, a state of
anemia, and a state unattended with either of these condi¬
tions of the vascular system, it is in the last only, in which
we conclude that the nervous centres are themselves af¬
fected, that we are entitled to attribute the palpitation of
the heart to a lesion of innervation.
From the nature of the connection which subsists be¬
tween the nervous system and the several organs of the
body, it follows that a dynamical affection of an organ,—
that is to say, a morbid exercise of its function, unattend¬
ed with any perceptible alteration in its pwm structure,—
may depend on an organic affection of some distant part of
the nervous system; and it is particularly by tracing such
dependencies that pathological anatomists have diminish¬
ed or sought to diminish the number of diseases previously
regarded as ultimately dynamical.
There is still another form of nervous conduction to Sympa.:
which, under the name of sympathy, pathologists frequent¬
ly refer in their explanations of morbid phenomena, and
which, without being in itself a new source of such phe¬
nomena, occasionally modifies in a very important manner
the'relations between proximate causes of disease and the
symptoms by which they manifest their existence.
There are, perhaps, few terms under which a greater
diversity of phenomena have been sought to be compre¬
hended than that of sympathy, owing in a great measure
to the very imperfect analyses with which medical in¬
quirers too frequently content themselves, of the succes¬
sion of events by which an obvious result is preceded.
To us it appears, that in medical language the term sym¬
pathy ought strictly to be confined to denote the arising
of sensations, motions, or other vital changes, in the ani¬
mal economy, suddenly and without the intervention of
the will, from external or internal impressions made upon,
or irritations excited in parts distinct or at a distance from,
those in which these sensations, motions, or changes, ac¬
tually occur; and in pathology more particularly to denote
a certain co-suffering or condolence of different parts, in
consequence of which, when one part is morbidly affected,
either all the other parts of the body, or some particular
and different part, is simultaneously affected, either in the
same or in some different but obvious manner. When the
sympathetic morbid affection extends to all parts of the
body, as when the state of fever is produced by a wound,
it is said to depend on the general sympathy of the eco¬
nomy. When, again, the sympathetic affection is limited
to some particular part, as when the presence of stone in
the bladder gives rise to itchiness and pain at the extre¬
mity of the urethra, it is said to depend upon a particular
sympathy.
The great variety of pathological phenomena which have
been regarded as sympathetic, may perhaps be referred to
two general classes, sympathetic sensations and sympathe¬
tic motions. According to the general definition that has
been given of pathological sympathetic phenomena, it ob¬
viously follows that sympathetic sensations are those which
we experience in a part distinct from that to which the ex¬
citing cause is applied ; as when the sensation of itchiness
of the nose is occasioned in children by the presence of
worms in the intestines. Sympathetic motions, in like man¬
ner, are those that occur in particular muscles or muscular
organs, in consequence of the application of a physical sti¬
mulus to a part distinct from that to which they immediate¬
ly belong, and with which they cannot be shown to have a
PATHOLOGY, GENERAL.
13*7
jaology. direct nervous communication ; as when cramps occur in render an explanation of many of the chemical processes oc-PatlioWy
■'v ' dilferent muscles, particularly those of the lower extremi- curring in organized bodies {second, that in living systems
ties, from the presence of acid or of bile in the alimentary chemical combinations are effected, or organic compounds
canal; or when disturbance of the action of the heart is pro- are formed, to which nothing analogous is met with in dead
duced by the same causes. matter, and which the chemist is unable to imitate; and
In every sympathetic phenomenon, two distinct parts third, that elements remain combined in living systems’
of the body must be considered as being concerned; 1st, which, under the ordinary laws of chemical affinity, would
that on which the primary impression of the external agent speedily separate from one another, so as to produce de¬
ls made; and, 2d, that in which the sympathetic effect is composition of their compound products. Notwithstand-
manifested. In speaking, therefore, of the sympathies of ing the confidence with which these arguments have been
any organ, as the stomach, for example, we may consider urged, and the assent which they have very generally re-
it either, 1st, as being the part primarily acted on by an ex- ceived, to us, we confess, it appears that if there really
ternal impression; or, 2d, as being the seat in which the exist in living economies any principle or principles ca-
operation of the external impression becomes apparent to pable of producing chemical combinations and decomposi-
us by the production of the sympathetic effect. It has tions different from those of inorganic chemistry, both its
been to mark this distinction that the terms active and general character, and the particular phenomena which
passive sympathies have been employed ; an organ being depend upon its agency, remain yet to be discovered,
said to have an active sympathy with another organ, when It is no way impossible that nature may employ in
an impression made on the first is followed by a sympa- living economies a peculiar principle of chemical action
thetic affection of the second organ, while, in this case, the just as, in the case of irritability at least, she employs in
second organ is said to have a passive sympathy with the the animal kingdom a peculiar principle of physical action.
first- , . , supposing this to be the case, from the harmony
“ In endeavouring to discover some general principle or which we find to prevail through all parts of nature’s
principles capable of accounting for the phenomena of sym- works, we may be assured that this chemico-vital princi-
pathy, medical men have been led to believe that sympa- pie, if it actually exists, must be supplementary and ad-
thetic connections exist principally between parts bearing ditional to, and not inconsistent with or subversive of, those
a close resemblance to one another in their structure, or other principles which regulate the phenomena of chemical
having a community of function, and between parts con- combination and decomposition.
nected with one another by means of vessels and nerves, In regard to the first argument which we have men-
or situated in the vicinity of one another. Finding that tioned in favour of the existence of a particular principle
the two former of these circumstances, resemblance of of vital affinity, it would not, we believe, be difficult to
structure and similarity of function, did not lead to any show that our inability to render an explanation of many
satisfactory explanation of the phenomena of sympathy, of the chemical processes that go on in the animal eco-
attention was more particularly directed to the two last of nomy, is owing to our ignorance of the phenomena as they
the circumstances mentioned, especially to the communi- actually occur—to our seeing the results only, and not the
cation existing between parts, whether near to or remote means by which they are brought about; that, so far as
from one another, through the medium of nerves. It was we are acquainted with the chemical phenomena of the ani-
soon observed that there are four ways in which a connec- mal economy, they do not exhibit anything inconsistent or
tion may be established between distinct or distant parts, irreconcileable with the ordinary laws of chemical affinity
through the medium of nerves; Itf, the same nerve may as manifested in the inorganic world; and that the bet-
in its course pass through different parts; 2d, a nerve ter we become acquainted with the circumstances under
may send branches to different parts; 3d, two or more which chemical actions take place in living bodies, the
nerves going to different parts may arise from the same more are we enabled to explain them conformably with
portion of the central part of the nervous system,—the these laws.
brain and spinal marrow; 4M, two or more such nerves, In regard to the second argument, it might, we con-
though arising from different portions of the common sen- ceive, be shown, that it is not universally true that or-
sory, may be connected with one another in their course ganic compounds cannot be imitated exterior to living
by anastomosing branches. These possible different modes economies, as is shown by the preparation of oxalic acid,
of nervous communication suggested to physiologists the of sugar, of camphor, of allantoic acid, and of urea, in the
further inquiry, whether, when a sensation, motion, or laboratory of the chemist; and that even though the che-
other vital action arises in some part of the body, in con- mist were unable to imitate organic chemical products, this
sequence of an impression made on some other distinct would not be a conclusive argument in favour of the exis-
part, the impression must first be communicated from the tence of a distinct vital chemical principle, unless we could
part primarily affected, to the brain, and from thence be show that the means employed by him in his attempts to
transmitted to the part in which the resulting sensation or effect this were, in every other essential, analogous to those
action occurs ; or whether the impression may pass directly which nature employs in the living economy,
from the part on which the external agent operates, to the The third argument which we have mentioned, is that
part ultimately sympathetically affected, without passing upon which the supporters of a principle of vital chemical
v v thr^hthe brain. affinity have most confidently relied. They appeal trium-
nu Physiologists are accustomed to assert, with very consi- phantly to the changes which an organized body under-
derable confidence, that the chemical processes or opera- goes subsequently to death, as exhibiting the natural ten-
tions which take place in organized beings are regulated dencies of the elements of which its several parts consist,
y law s not only different from, but opposed to, those that under the ordinary laws of chemical affinity ; and repre¬
preside over the chemical changes which occur in inor- sent the prevention of these during life as the effect and
ganic bodies; and that it is consequently necessary to the evidence of a peculiar chemico-vital principle. But
admit the agency, in their production, of a principle differ- it is strange that they should overlook how materially any
ent from any recognised in inorganic chemistry. To this one portion of an organized body, which they may mark as
principle, when regarded as distinct from the general vital undergoing putrefaction subsequently to death, is altered
principle of some physiologists, they give the name of vital in its circumstances from its condition during life, by the
affinity. 1 he arguments alleged in favour of the existence of cessation of the processes of absorption, nutrition, exhala-
such a principle are threefold : First, that we are unable to tion, &c. And it is, perhaps, still more strange, that they
VOL. xvn. c
138 PAT
Patience should think it necessary to invoke a peculiar agent for
11 the explanation of an effect, viz. the prevention oi putre-
Patin. factive decomposition, which, in the casks of the cuier, or
' ^ v the jars of the anatomist, they may see effected by pro¬
ducts of inorganic chemistry. . .
On the whole, we conclude, that the physiologist in pro¬
secuting his investigation of the changes of combination
and decomposition which occur in the animal economy in
the state of health, and the pathologist in endeavouring to
ascertain the deviations to which these are subject in the
state of disease, are entitled to proceed on the belief, that
whatever differences there may be in the resulting pro¬
ducts, their formation is regulated by the same laws to
which the chemical changes of inorganic substances are
subjected; and that where these laws seem inadequate to
the explanation of any particular phenomenon, they may
be certain that the circumstances of that phenomenon are
still imperfectly understood.
Conclu- We must here terminate the view which we have at-
sion. tempted to sketch of the vital powers that are concerned,
conjointly with the powers common to all forms of matter,
in producing the corporeal phenomena of the animal eco¬
nomy, and of the variations to which these powers are liable
in the state of disease. Though very imperfect, we trust
this view has been sufficient to show how little is as yet ac¬
tually known of what may be called the mechanism of the
functions, or the agencies engaged in the performance of
their several parts; and how little, consequently, medical
men are prepared to analyse and reduce to their primary
elements those deviations from healthy exercise which the
different functions experience in the various states of dis¬
ease, independently of structural alterations. Hence it hap¬
pens, that the pathologist is frequently compelled to stop
short, in framing his proximate causes, at the general func-
P A T
tional derangement of which he obtains evidence, instead
of attempting to trace this back to the particular dynami- s
cal condition or conditions upon which it may depend;
to be content with saying of a secretory organ, for example,
that its action is excessive, deficient, or vitiated, instead of
attempting to determine whether it is in its organic or in
its inorganic forces, and in which of these respectively, that
the primary source of derangement has its seat.
Before concluding, we shall only farther remark, that it
is impossible to review the different sensible alterations of
structure which have been enumerated in a former part
of this article, as constituting the proximate causes of the
various forms of organic diseases, without being satisfied
that in very few instances are these the immediate results
of the action of morbific agents on the several parts of the
body; and that previous to the occurrence of those changes
which render structural proximate causes perceptible to
the senses, dynamical or imperceptible changes must have
taken place, the nature of which can be for the most part
only a matter of inference. The application of a ligature
to a limb, or some other impediment to the return of the
blood to the heart by the veins, may produce congestion,
dropsy, or perhaps haemorrhage, as its direct effect; but
in those cases in which these morbid conditions occur in
what is called an active form, their appearance must have
been preceded by a dynamical affection of some portion of
the circulatory system. Hence the opinion of those who
maintain that the first changes towards disease are always
dynamical, is correct, provided it be understood that this
term signifies merely changes of action, independently of
perceptible changes of structure ; changes of action which
must primarily originate in the injurious operation of mor¬
bific agencies on the insensible conditions of the several
textures, systems, and organs of the body. (l. l. l. l.)
PATIENCE is that calm and unruffled temper with
which a good man bears the evils of life, from a convic¬
tion that they are at least permitted, if not sent, by the
best of Beings, who makes all things work together for
good to those who love and fear him.
PATIENTIA Strait, in the Eastern Ocean, is formed
by the south end of Gilolo Island, and the southern ex¬
tremity of Bachian Island.
PATIGUMO, a corruption of the words pate de gui-
mauve, is the name of a sort of paste or cake much used on
the Continent as an agreeable and useful remedy for ca¬
tarrhal defluxions, and supposed by Dr Percival to consist
of gum-arabic combined with sugar and the albumen of
eggs. It has been said, however, that the powdered sub¬
stance of the marshmallow is the chief ingredient of the
composition.
PATIN, Guy, professor of physic in the Royal College
of Paris, was born in the year 1G02. He made his way
in the world merely by the force of his genius, being at
first only corrector of a printing-house. He was a man of
great wit and erudition, and spoke with the gravity of a
Stoic; but his expressions were nevertheless very satiri¬
cal, and he hated bigotry, superstition, and knavery. Not¬
withstanding his sarcastic tendency, however, he was up¬
right and well disposed, an affectionate father and an ami¬
able member of society. He died in the year 1672, and
owed his reputation, not to any writings upon physic pub¬
lished in his lifetime, but to his letters, which appeared
after his death.
Patin, Charles, son of the preceding, was born in Pa¬
ris in 1633, and made so surprising progress, that he main¬
tained, in Greek and Latin, theses on all parts of philoso¬
phy, in 1647. He studied the law in compliance with the
wishes of an uncle, and was admitted as an advocate in the
parliament of Paris; but he could not lay aside the study
of physic, for which he had always a decided inclination.
Having therefore quitted the law, he devoted himself to
physic, and after taking his doctor’s degree, he applied
himself to practice with success. He afterwards travelled
into Germany, Holland, England, Switzerland, and Italy.
In 1676 he was appointed professor of physic in Padua;
and three years afterwards he was created a knight of St
Mark. He died in that city in 1694. His works are nu¬
merous, and well known to learned physicians.
PATKUL, John Reinhold, was descended of a no¬
ble family in Livonia, a province which then belonged to
the crown of Sweden. The Livonians having been strip¬
ped of their privileges, and great part of their estates,
by Charles XL, Patkul was deputed to prefer their com¬
plaint; a duty which he discharged with such eloquence
and courage, that the king, laying his hand upon his shoul¬
der, said, “ You have spoken for your country as a brave
man should, and I esteem you for it.” Charles, however,
was determined to punish the zeal and honesty which he
thought fit to commend; and a few days afterwards he caus¬
ed Patkul to be declared guilty of high treason, and con¬
demned to death. Patkul, however, found means to es¬
cape into Poland, where he continued until the death of
Charles. He hoped that his sentence would then have
been reversed; but being disappointed in this expecta¬
tion, he applied to Augustus king of Poland, whom he so¬
licited to attempt the conquest of Livonia. Augustus, act¬
ing on this suggestion, possessed himself of Livonia ; and
afterwards, when Charles XII. entered the province to re¬
cover it, Patkul commanded in the Saxon army which op¬
posed that remarkable man. Charles proved victorious;
and Patkul some time afterwards entered the service of
the Czar, a little before Charles compelled Augustus to
PAT
mos. abdicate the throne of Poland, and his subjects to elect
v'""*' Stanislaus in his stead. The Czar then sent Patkul, with
the title of his ambassador, into Saxony, to induce Au¬
gustus to meet him at Grodno, that they might confer
upon the state of their affairs. He succeeded, and the
proposed conference accordingly took place; but imme¬
diately afterwards the Czar left Grodno for Astracan, to
quell a rebellion which had broken out there. As soon as
the Czar was gone, Augustus ordered Patkul, who was then
at Dresden, to be seized as a state criminal. This proceed¬
ing surprised all Europe; for Patkul was not only an am¬
bassador, but an ambassador from the only power that could
afford him protection. Patkul, it seems, had discovered
that the ministers of Augustus were to propose a peace to
Charles upon any terms, and had therefore resolved to an¬
ticipate them, and procure a separate peace between Charles
and the Czar. But his design was discovered ; and, in or¬
der to prevent its success, Augustus ventured to seize his
person, assuring the Czar that he was a traitor, and had
betrayed them both.
Augustus was soon afterwards reduced to beg peace from
Charles at any price, and the latter granted it upon certain
conditions, one of which was, that he should deliver up
Patkul. This reduced Augustus to a sad dilemma. The
Czar had reclaimed Patkul as his ambassador; and, on the
other hand, Charles demanded, with threats, that the pri¬
soner should be put into his hands. Augustus, therefore,
contrived an expedient by which he hoped to satisfy both.
He sent some guards to deliver Patkul, who was prisoner
in the castle of Konigstein, to the Swedish troops ; but by
secret orders privately despatched, he commanded the go¬
vernor to let him escape. The governor, however, though
he received the order in time, disappointed its intention.
He knew that Patkul was rich ; and having it now in his
power to permit him to escape, he demanded a large sum
for the favour. Patkul refused to buy that liberty which
he made no doubt would be gratuitously restored; and,
in the mean time, the Swedish guards arrived with the
order for his being delivered up to them. By this party
he was carried to the head-quarters of Charles at Albran-
stadt, where he continued three months, bound to a stake
with a heavy chain of iron. He was then conducted to
Casimir, where, being ordered to be tried, he was, as a
matter of course, found guilty by his judges. After be¬
ing kept in a state of horrible suspense for several months,
he was, on the 30th of September 1707, put to death, with
circumstances of atrocious cruelty, having been broken
alive on the wheel, and his agony prolonged with unheard-
of barbarity.
Charles XII. has been severely censured for not par¬
doning Patkul, and we are not inclined to vindicate that
sovereign. Yet it must be remembered that this unhap¬
py man was guilty of a much greater crime than that
which drew upon him the displeasure of Charles XI. He
had incited foreign powers to attack his country when
under the government of a boy; hoping, as he said him¬
self, that it would in such circumstances become an easy
conquest. He was therefore a rebel of the worst kind,
and where is the absolute monarch to be found who would
readily pardon such rebellion ?
PATMOS, a small island of the Grecian Archipelago,
celebrated as the place of banishment of the apostle St
John, and where also he wrote his Revelations. It is si¬
tuated a little to the south of Samos, on the coast of Asia
Minor, is between thirty and forty miles in circumference,
and now scarcely produces subsistence for the support of its
scanty population. It is represented as having been more
productive about fifty years back, but has been cruelly laid
waste by the pirates who infest these seas. It does not
now contain more than 300 inhabitants. In the interior are
the remains of a monastery, in a strong position, where
PAT 139
formerly the natives were accustomed to take refuge and Patna
defend themselves against piratical invaders. Lono-. 2d. II
40. E. Lat. 37. 30. N. ° Patras.
PATNA, a large and celebrated city of Hindustan, in the
province of Bahar, of which it is the capital. It is a city of
great antiquity, and is supposed to have been the Palibo-
thra of the ancients. It is situated on the southern shore
of the Ganges, which is here five miles wide during the
rainy season, and deep enough to float a ship of war. The
city is built along the river, and is one continued street for
many miles along the Ganges, whilst it is only one mile in
breadth. The houses of the natives are generally built of
mud ;but those of the Europeans, which extend fromBanki-
poor, are of brick, and make a very handsome appearance,
which is not the case with the rest of the city. It con¬
tains several mosques and temples; but they are old, and
without ornament. It was formerly fortified after the fashion
of Hindustan, and still possesses a small citadel, which is
now used as a barrack and store-house; but neither this
nor the fortifications of the town could have resisted a re¬
gular attack of modern artillery for twenty-four hours, al¬
though it has often made an obstinate defence against the
attack of Indian troops. The town is large and populous ;
and chintzes and dimities of various kinds are manufac¬
tured here, as well as cloths resembling diaper and damask
linen. Flannels are also woven in the vicinity, as well as
a sort of canvass from cotton. The neighbouring country
produces the finest opium and saltpetre, and great quanti¬
ties of wheat and other valuable grains; also sugar and in¬
digo. Opium and saltpetre are strictly monopolized; but
a considerable trade is carried on in all other articles. A
large quantity of saltpetre is annually despatched for inter¬
nal consumption, and for exportation. It was here that the
English first established a factory, the remains of which
are still to be seen, where two hundred English prisoners
were massacred in 1763, under the orders of the German
adventurer Somro, or Summers, then in the service of
MeerCossim; immediately after which the city was captured
by the British, and has ever since remained in their pos¬
session. A monument is erected to the sufferers, in the
European burying-ground. The Company have erected
here a depot to contain rice. It is a building of stone, in
shape like a bee-hive, with two winding staircases on the
outside, which have been ascended on horseback. Banki-
poor, one of the suburbs of Patna, is the residence of the
servants of the Company. They compose a numerous es¬
tablishment, with liberal appointments. The travelling
distance from Patna to Calcutta by Moorshedabad is 400
miles, from Benares by Buxar 155, from Delhi 661, from
Agra 544, from Lucknow 316 miles. Long. 85. 15. E. Lat.
25. 37. N.
PATOMACK. See Potowmack.
PATONCE, in Heraldry, is a cross, flory at the ends,
from which it differs only in this, that the ends, instead of
turning down like a fleur-de-lis, are extended somewhat in
the pattee form.
PATRAS, a city of Greece, known to the ancients by
the name ot'Patrce, and to the Turks by that of Batra. It is
situated in the gulf of the same name, in a plain which is
green, and to appearance well cultivated, and, especially to
the northward, has extensive fruitful vineyards. The cur¬
rants grow most abundantly, and areas fine as those ofZante.
Vast quantities of them are annually exported. They are
spread in bunches along the ground, and in eight days are
sufficiently dried, when the stalks are picked off, and they
are laid on the ground in heaps, in the field, ready for the
purchasers. The city once contained 12,000 inhabitants,
but they suffered much during the hostilities which ter¬
minated in their independence. It was the residence of the
British consul-general of the Morea, and of agents from
most of the European nations. It was formerly celebrated for
140 PAT PAT
Fatree its fabrics of silk goods, but these have nearly disappeared, of modern times seems to have been skill in the art of war, Patriar
II and there is scarcely any other manufacture except that and success in the management of conquests.  y~
Patriarch.ofmakin ]eather saddle-bags. It has good anchorage, well Jewish Patriarch, a dignity, respecting the origin of
  "sheltered? with from three to ten fathoms depth of water, which there have been a variety of opinions ; some think-
I one 21 47 E Lat. 38. 14. N. ' ing °f veI7 anc*ent institution, whilst others contend
J°PATREE a "large” and populous town of Hindustan, in that it is not older than the time of Nerva, the successor
the province of Gujerat, and capital of a small district. It of Domitian. It seems probable that the patriarchs were
is defended by three walls, the inner one being surrounded of the Aaronic or Levitical race ; the tribe ot Judah being
hv a good wet ditch, which, even in the dry season, con- at that time too much depressed, and too obnoxious to the
tains a considerable quantity of water. It was formerly Romans, to be able to assume any external power. But
considered as a place of great strength, and is often men- of whatever tribe they were, their authority came to be
tioned in the annals of the country. But the fortifica- very considerable. Their principal business was to instruct
tions are now in a state of decay, and are in many places the people ; and for this purpose they instituted schools
falling to pieces. The north face is protected by a beau- in several cities. Having gained great reputation for ex-
tiful tank, which renders an attack on that quarter entire- traordinary learning, zeal, and piety, they might, in time,
ly impracticable ; and the town, on the whole, is still one not only have brought a great concourse ot other Jews from
of the strongest places in India. This place formerly be- foreign parts, as from Egypt a.nd other western provinces
longed to the rajah of Drangdra, an independent chief of of their dispersion, but likewise have proved the means
Cottewar • and is now governed by a Hindu chief, who is of their patriarchal authority being acknowledged there,
tributary to the Poonah Mahrattas. Long. 71. 35. E. Lat. From these they at length ventured to levy a kind of tn-
22 50 N. bute, in order to defray the charges of their dignity, and
PATRIARCH, Patriarcha, one of those first fathers of the officers under them, whose business it was to carry
who lived towards the beginning of the world, and became their orders and decisions through the other piovinces of
famous by their long lines of descendants. Abraham, Isaac, the dispersion, and to see them punctually executed by
and Jacob, and his twelve sons, are the patriarchs of the all, that some shadow of union at least might be kept up
Old Testament; Seth, Enoch, and others, were antedilu- amongst the western Jews. They likewise nominated the
vian patriarchs. The authority of patriarchal government doctors who were to preside over their schools and acade-
existed in the fathers of families, and their first-born after mies; and these were in process of time styled chiefs and
them, who exercised all kinds of ecclesiastical and civil ju- princes, in order to raise the credit of their dignity, or to
risdiction in their respective households ; and to this go- imply the great regard which their disciples to pay
vernment, which lasted till the time when the Israelites so- to them. Ihese chiefs became at length rivals of the pa-
iourned in Egypt, some have ascribed an absolute and des- triarchs ; and some of them possessed both dignities at
potic power, extending even to the punishment of death, once, an usurpation which not only caused great confusion,
In proof of this is produced the curse pronounced by Noah but oftentimes very violent and bloody contests. However,
upon Canaan j1 but it must be observed, that in this affair as the Jewish Rabbin have trumped up a much older era
Noah seems to have acted rather as a prophet than a pa- for this patriarchal dignity, and have furnished us with a
triarch. Another instance of supposed despotic power is succession of patriarchs down to the fifth century, in
Abraham’s turning Hagar and Ishmael out of his family;2 which it was abolished, it may not be amiss to give our
but this can hardly be thought to furnish evidence of any readers the substance of what they have written on the rise
singular authority vested in the patriarchs, as such, and and progress of this order of men; at the same time show-
peculiar to those early ages. The third instance brought ing the absurdity and falsehood of the pretended succes-
forward to the same purpose is that of Jacob’s denouncing sion to this imaginary dignity.
a curse upon Simeon and Levi,3 which is maintained by According to the Rabbin, the first patriarch was Hillel,
others to be an instance of prophetic inspiration rather than surnamed the Babylonian, because he was sent for from
of patriarchal power. The fourth instance is that of Judah thence to Jerusalem about a hundred years before the
with regard to Tamar,4 in reference to which it has been ruin of their capital, or thirty years before the birth ot
remarked, that Jacob, the father of Judah, was still living ; Christ, to decide a dispute about the keeping of Easter,
that Tamar was not one of his own family; that she had which on that day fell upon the Sabbath-day; and it was
been guilty of adultery, the punishment of which was death on account ol his wise decision that he was raised to that
by burning; and that Judah on this occasion might speak dignity, which continued in his family till the fifth cen-
only as a prosecutor, not as a judge. Upon the whole, tury. He was likewise looked upon as a second Moses,
however, it is difficult to say which of these opinions is because, like the Jewish legislator, he lived forty years in
most agreeable to truth. Men who believe that the origin obscurity, forty more in great reputation for learning and
of civil government, and the obligation to obedience, arise sanctity, and forty more in possession of this patriarchal
from a supposed original contract, either real or implied, dignity. They reckon him little inferior to that lawgivei
will be naturally led to weaken the authority of the pa- in other excellencies, as well as in the great authority he
triarchs; and those, again, who consider government as a gained over the whole Jewish nation. The wonder is, how
divine institution, will be as apt to exalt that authority to Herod the Great, who was naturally so jealous, could suffer
the highest pitch that either reason or Scripture will per- a stranger to be raised to such a height of power, barely
mit them. It cannot be denied, that authority existed in for having decided a dispute which must in all likelihood
fathers, and descended to their first-born, in the primitive have been adjudged by others long before that time,
ages of the world ; and it is neither unnatural nor impro- However, Hillel was succeeded by his son Simeon, whom
bable to imagine, that the idea of hereditary power and many Christians consider to have been the venerable old
hereditary honours was first taken from this circumstance, person of that name who received the divine infant in his
But whether authority has descended through father and arms. The Jews give him but a very obscure patriarchate,
son in this way to our times, is a circumstance that cannot although the authors above quoted make him, also, chief
in one instance be asserted, and may be denied in a thou- of the Sanhedrim ; and Epiphanius says, that the priestly
sand. The real source of the dignity and of the authority tribe hated him so much for giving testimony to the divine
1 Genesis, ix. 25.
2 Genesis, xxi. 9, &c.
3 Genesis, xlix. 7*
4 Genesis, xxxviii. 24.
PAT
PAT
141
triarch, child, that they denied him the rites of common sepulture.
But it is hardly credible that St Luke should have so
carelessly passed over his twofold dignity, if he had been
really possessed of such, and have given him no higher
title than that of a just and devout man.
He was succeeded by Jochonan, not in right of descent,
but of his extraordinary merit, which the Rabbin, accord¬
ing to custom, have raised to so surprising a height, that,
according to them, if the whole heavens were paper, all
the trees in the world pens, and all the men writers, they
would not suffice to record all his lessons. He enjoyed
his dignity but two years according to some, or five ac¬
cording to others; and was the person who, observing the
gates of the temple to open of their own accord, cried out,
“ O temple, temple, why art thou thus moved ? We know
that thou art to be destroyed, seeing Zechariah hath fore¬
told it, saying, ‘ Open thy gates, O Libanus, and let the
flames consume thy cedars.’ ” Upon this he is further re¬
ported to have complimented Vespasian, or rather, as some
have corrected the story, Titus, with the title of king; as¬
suring him that it was a royal person who was to destroy
that edifice, on which account they pretend that the Ro¬
man general gave him leave to remove the Sanhedrim to
daphne.
The Jewish writers add, that he likewise erected an
academy there, which subsisted until the death of Akiba;
that this was likewise the seat of the patriarch, and contain¬
ed three hundred schools, or classes of scholars. Another
he erected at Lydda, not far from daphne, and where the
Christians buried their far-famed St George. He lived an
hundred and twenty years, and being asked what he had
done to prolong his life, he returned this curious answer :
“ I never made wrater nearer a house of prayer than four
cubits ; I never disguised my name; I have taken care to
celebrate all festivals ; and my mother has even sold my
head ornaments to buy wine enough to make me merry
on such days, leaving me at her death three hundred
hogsheads of it to sanctify the Sabbath.” The doctors
who flourished in his time were no less considerable, both
for their number and character, particularly the famed
Rabbi Chanina, of whom the Bath Col was heard to say,
that the world was preserved for the sake of him; and
Nicodemus, whom they pretend to have stopped the course
of the sun, like another Joshua.
He was succeeded by Gamaliel, a man, according to
them, of insufferable pride, and yet of so universal autho¬
rity over all the Jews, not only in the west, but throughout
the whole world, that the very monarchs suffered his laws
to be obeyed in their dominions, not one of them offering
to obstruct the execution of them. In his days flourished
Samuel the Less, who composed a prayer full of the bit¬
terest curses against heretics (meaning the Christians),
which are still in use to this day. Gamaliel was no less
an enemy to them; and yet both have been challenged,
the former as the celebrated master of the great apostle
of the Gentiles, the other as his disciple in his unconvert¬
ed state.
Simeon II., his son and successor, was the first martyr
who died during the siege of Jerusalem. The people so re¬
gretted his death, that an order was given, instead of ten
bumpers of wine, which were usually drank at the funeral
of a saint, to drink thirteen at his, on account of his mar¬
tyrdom. These bumpers were in time multiplied, they
tell us, to such shameful height, that the Sanhedrim was
forced to make some new regulations for preventing so
great an abuse.
fhese are the patriarchs which, the Rabbin tell us, pre¬
ceded the destruction of the temple ; and we need no far-
t ler confutation of this pretended dignity than the silence
of the sacred historians, who not only make not the least
mention of it, but assure us all along that they were the
high priests who presided in the Sanhedrim, and before Patriarchs,
whom all cases relating to the Jewish religion were brought
to be decided. It was the high priest that examined and
condemned our Saviour, that condemned St Stephen, that
forbade the apostles to preach in Christ’s name, and that
sat as judge on the great apostle at the head of that su¬
preme court. The same may be urged from Josephus,
who must needs have known and mentioned this pretend¬
ed dignity, if any such had existed; and yet he is so far
from taking the least notice of it, that, like the evange¬
lists, he places the pontiffs alone at the head of all the
Jewish affairs, and names the high priest Ananus as having
had the care and direction of the war against the Romans;
an evident proof that there were then no such patriarchs
in existence.
lo all this let us add, that if there had been any such
remarkable succession, the Talmudists would have pre¬
served it to future ages ; whereas neither they, nor any of
the ancient authors of the Jewish church, make any men¬
tion of it, but only some of their doctors, who wrote a con¬
siderable time afterwards, writers to whom little credit can
be given in points of this nature, especially as there are
such insurmountable contradictions amongst them, as no
authors, either Jewish or Christian, have, with all their
pains, been hitherto able to reconcile.
Upon the whole, it appears that, however much Jewish
pride may have prompted them to falsify, and to claim an
origin more ancient than it really was, they cannot be
traced much farther back than the time of Nerva. Nor
have the Jews been faithful in giving an account of the
authority of these men. They have indeed exaggerated
their power beyond all bounds, in the hope of repelling
the arguments of Christians ; for their power wras far more
showy than substantial. In time, however, they certainly
imposed upon the people; and what power they did pos¬
sess in such matters as were connected with religion, they
exercised with great rigour. In particular, their pecuniary
demands became very exorbitant; and this was the cause
of their final suppression in the year 429.
Patriarchs, amongst Christians, are ecclesiastical dig¬
nitaries, or bishops, so called from their paternal authority
in the church, The pow er of patriarchs was not the same
in all, but differed according to the different customs of
countries, or the pleasure of kings and councils. Thus
the patriarch of Constantinople grew to be supreme over
the patriarchs of Ephesus and Caesarea, and was called the
oecumenical or universal patriarch ; and the patriarch of
Alexandria had some prerogatives which no other pa¬
triarch but himself enjoyed, such as the right of conse¬
crating and approving every single bishop under his ju¬
risdiction.
The patriarchate has ever been esteemed the supreme
dignity in the church. The bishop had only under him
the territory of the city of which he was bishop ; the me¬
tropolitan superintended a province, and had for suffragans
the bishops of his province ; the primate was the chief of
what was then called a diocese, and had several metropo¬
litans under him ; but the patriarch had under him several
dioceses, composing one exarchate, and the primates them¬
selves were under him.
Usher, Pagi, De Marca, and Morinus, attribute the
establishment of the grand patriarchates to the apostles
themselves, who, according to the description of the world
then given by geographers, pitched upon the three prin¬
cipal cities in the three parts of the known world, Rome
in Europe, Antioch in Asia, and Alexandria in Africa,
and thus formed a trinity of patriarchs. Others maintain
that the name patriarch was unknown at the time of the
council of Nice ; and that for a long time afterwards pa¬
triarchs and primates were confounded together, as being
all equally chiefs of dioceses, and equally superior to me-
142
PAT
PAT
Patrician.
Patriarchal tropolitans, who were only chiefs of provinces. Hence the priesthood till the year of Rome 49o. But the cog- Patrician,!
Cross Socrates <nves the title patriarch to all the chiefs of dio- nizance and character of these ancient families being al- ||
ceses, of whom he reckons ten. Indeed it does not ap- most extinguished by a long course of years, and frequent ,a
pear that the dignity of patriarch was appropriated to the changes in the empire, a new kind of patricians afterwards
five orand sees of Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, An- arose, who had no pretensions from birth, but whose title
tioch, and Jerusalem, till after the council of Chalcedon depended entirely upon the emperor’s favour. Tins new
in 451 ; for when the council of Nice regulated the limits patriciate, Zozimus tells us, was established by Constan-
and prerogatives of the three patriarchs of Rome, An- tine, who conferred the quality upon his counsellors, not
tioch, and^Alexandria, it did not give them the title of because they were descended from the ancient fathers of
patriarchs, though it allowed them pre-eminence and pri- the senate, but because they were the fathers of the re-
vileges as such ; and hence, when the council of Constan- public or of the empire. This dignity in time became the
tinople adjudged the second place to the bishop of Con- highest of the empire. Justinian calls it summa dignitas.
stantinople, who till then was only a suffragan of Hera- In effect, the patricians seem to have had the precedence
clea, it said nothing of the patriarchate. Nor is the term
patriarch found in the decree of the council of Chalce¬
don, by which the fifth place is assigned to the bishop of
Jerusalem; nor did these five patriarchs govern all the
churches.
There were, besides, many independent chiefs of dio¬
ceses, who, far from owning the jurisdiction of the grand
of the consulares, and to have taken precedence of them
in the senate ; though Faber asserts the contrary. What
confounds the question is, that the two dignities often
met in the same person ; because the patriciate was only
conferred upon those who had gone through the first of¬
fices of the empire, or had been consuls. Pope Adrian
made Charlemagne assume the title of patrician before
patriarchs, called themselves patriarchs ; such as that of taking that of emperor ; and other popes have given the
Aquileia ; nor was Carthage ever subject to the patriarch title to other kings and princes by reason of its eminence,
of Alexandria. Mosheim1 imagines, that those bishops who Patricians, in ecclesiastical writers, were ancient sec-
enjoyed a certain degree of pre-eminence over the rest of taries, who disturbed the peace of the church in the be-
their order, were distinguished by the Jewish title of ginning of the third century, and who were so called from
patriarchs in the fourth century. The authority of the their founder Pa.tricius, preceptor of a Marcionite called
patriarchs gradually increased, till about the close of the
fifth century, when all affairs of moment within the com¬
pass of their patriarchate came before them, either at first
hand or by appeals from the metropolitans. The conse-
Symmachus. His distinguishing tenet was, that the sub¬
stance of the flesh is not the work of God, but that of
the devil; and on this account his adherents bore an im¬
placable hatred to their own flesh, which they sometimes
crated bishops assembled yearly in council the clergy of carried so far as to kill themselves. They were also called
their respective districts ; pronounced a decisive judg- Tatianites, and formed a branch of the hincratitce.
ment on those cases where accusations were brought
against bishops ; and appointed vicars or deputies, clothed
with their authority, for the preservation of order and
tranquillity in the remoter provinces. In short, nothing
was done without consulting them ; and their decrees were
PATRICK, St, the apostle of Ireland, and the second
bishop of that country. He was born on the 5th of April
373, of a good family, at Kirkpatrick, near Dumbarton, in
what is now called Scotland, but was then comprehended
under the general denomination of Britain. His baptis-
executed with the same regularity and respect as those of mal name signified, in the British language, valiant in war.
the princes. During some inroad of certain exiles from Ireland, he waa
It deserves to be remarked, however, that the authori- taken prisoner, and carried into that kingdom, where he
ty of the patriarchs was not acknowledged throughout all continued six years in the service of Milcho, who had
the provinces w ithout exception. Several districts, both bought him of three different persons, whence Patrick ac-
in the eastern and the western empire, were exempted
from their jurisdiction. The Latin church had no pa¬
triarchs till the sixth century ; and the churches of Gaul,
Britain, and other countries, were never subject to the
authority of the patriarch of Rome, whose authority only
extended to the nearer provinces. There was no prima¬
cy, no exarchate nor patriarchate, owned here ; but the
bishops, with the metropolitans, governed the church in
Indeed, after the name of patriarch became
quired the name of Cothraig, or Ceathar- Tigh, that is,
four families. Here he made himself master of the Irish
language, and at last, having effected his escape, returned
home on board a ship. About two years afterwards, he
formed the design of converting the Irish; and, the better
to qualify himself for this undertaking, he travelled on the
Continent, where he continued thirty-five years, pursuing
his studies under the direction of his mother’s uncle, St
Martin, bishop of Tours, who ordained him deacon, and
frequent in the west, it was attributed to the bishops of afterwards under St German, bishop of Auxerre, who or-
Bourges and Lyons; but it was only in the primary sig¬
nification, namely, as heads of dioceses. Du Cange says,
that there were some abbots who bore the title of patriarchs.
PATRIARCHAL Cross, in Heraldry, is that where
the shaft is twice crossed, the lowrer arms being longer
than the upper ones.
PATRICIAN, a title given, amongst the ancient Ro¬
mans, to the descendants of the hundred, or, as some will
have it, of the two hundred, senators chosen by Romu¬
lus, and by him called patres, or fathers. Romulus es¬
tablished this order after the example of the Athenians,
who were divided into two classes, viz. the imarybai, pa-
tricii, and bripjoriMi, populares. Patricians, therefore, were
originally the nobility, in opposition to the plebeians. They
were the only persons whom Romulus allowed to aspire
to the magistracy ; and they exercised all the functions of
dained him priest, and gave him his third name of Mawn
or Maginim.
An ancient author, Henricus Antisioderensis, who wrote
a book concerning the miracles of St German, considers it
as the highest honour of that prelate to have been the in¬
structor of St Patrick. “ As the glory of a father shines
in the government of his sons,” says he, “ out of the many
disciples in religion who are reported to have been his sons
in Christ, suffice it briefly to mention one by far the most
famous, as the series of his actions shows, Patrick the par¬
ticular apostle of Ireland, who being under his holy disci¬
pline eighteen years, derived no little knowledge in the
inspired writings from such a source. The most godly di¬
vine pontiff, considering him alike distinguished in reli¬
gion, eminent for virtue, and stedfast in doctrine; and
thinking it absurd to let one of the best labourers remain
1 Ecclesiastical History, vol. i. p. 2114.
PAT
ick,St.inactive in the Lord’s vineyard, recommended him to Pope
“V""""' Celestine, by his presbyter Segetius, who was to carry to
the apostolic see a testimonial of the ecclesiastical merit of
this excellent man. Approved by his judgment, supported
by his authority, and confirmed by his blessing, he set out
for Ireland ; and being peculiarly destined to that people as
their apostle, instructed them at that time by his doctrine
and miracles ; and now does and will for ever display the
wonderful power of his apostleship.” Lastly, Pope Celestine
consecrated him bishop, at the same time giving him his
most familiar name of Patricius, expressive of his honour¬
able descent, and to impart lustre and dignity to the com¬
mission which he now charged him withal for converting
the Irish. Palladius had been there a year before him upon
the same errand, but with little success ; and the saints
Kieran, Ailbe, Declan, and Ibar, were precursors both of
Palladius and of Patrick. But the great office of apostle
of Ireland was reserved for our prelate, who landed in the
country of the Evolein, or at Wicklow, in the year 431.
His first convert was Sinell, eighth in descent from Cor-
mac king of Leinster; but not meeting with encourage¬
ment, he proceeded to Dublin, and thence to Ulster, where
he founded a church, afterwards the famous abbey of Saul,
in the county of Down. After labouring seven years in-
defatigably in this great work, he returned to Britain, which
he delivered from the heresies of Pelagius and Arius ; he
then engaged several eminent persons to assist him, and vi¬
sited the Isle of Man, which he converted in 440, when the
bishopric was founded; in the year 448, he returned to the
see of Armagh, which he had founded three years before;
and in thirteen years more completed the conversion of the
whole island. After giving an account of his commission at
Rome, he once more returned to Ireland, and spent the re¬
mainder of his life between the monasteries of Armagh and
Saul, superintending and enforcing the great plan of doc¬
trine and discipline which he had established. After hav¬
ing established schools, and an academy, he closed his life
and ministry at Saul Abbey, in the 120th year of his age,
on the 17th of March 493, and was buried at Down, in the
same grave with St Bridget, and St Columba the apostle
of the Piets. Respecting his burial-place, however, there
have been great disputes; and it has been a subject of as
much debate with the religious, as Homer’s birth-place
formerly was amongst the cities of Greece. Those of
Down lay claim to it, upon the authority of the following
verses:
These three in Down lie in tomb one,
Bridget, Patricias, and Columba pious.
Those of Glastonbury, in England, found on the old monu¬
ments of their church ; and some Scotch writers affirm
that he was both born and buried at Glasgow. His genu¬
ine works were collected and printed by Sir James Ware,
1656. His immediate successor in his see was St Binen
or Begnus.
Order of St Patrick, an institution which was founded
in Ireland in the year 1783. On the 5th of February in
that year, the king ordered letters patent to be passed
under the great seal of the kingdom of Ireland, for creat¬
ing a society or brotherhood, to be called “ knights of the
illustrious order of St Patrick,” of which his majesty, his
heirs and successors, were to be sovereigns, and his ma¬
jesty s lieutenant-general and general governor of Ireland
for the time being to officiate as grand master; and also
for appointing Prince Edward, and several of the prime
nobility ot Ireland, knights companions of the said illustri¬
ous order.
Patkick, Simon, a learned English bishop, was born at
Gainsborough in Lincolnshire in 1626. In 1644 he was
admitted into Queen’s College, Cambridge, and entered
‘ntohffiy orders. After being for some time chaplain to
cir Walter St John, and vicar of the church at Battersea
PAT 143
in Surrey, he was preferred to the rectory of St Paul’s, Co- Patrimony
vent Garden, London, where he continued all the time of .11 .
the plague in 1665 amongst his parishioners. In 1668 he ^at™tisni-
published his Friendly Debate between a Conformist and ” ^
a Nonconformist. This was answered by the Dissenters,
whom he had much exasperated; but by his moderation and
candour towards them afterwards they were perfectly recon¬
ciled to him, and he brought over many of them to the com¬
munion of the Established Church. In 1678 he was made
dean of Peterborough, where he was much beloved. In 1682,
Dr Lewis de Moulin, who had been professor of history at
Oxford, and had written many very bitter books against the
Church of England, sent for Dr Patrick upon his sick bed,
and made a solemn declaration of his regret on that ac¬
count, which he signed, and it was published after his
death. During the reign of King James, the dean’s be¬
haviour showed that he had nothing more at heart than
the Protestant religion, for which indeed he ventured all
that was dear to him, by preaching and writing against
the errors of the Church of Rome. In 1687 he published a
prayer composed for that difficult time, when persecution
was expected by all who stood firm to their religion. The
year after the Revolution, the dean was appointed Bishop
of Chichester, and was employed with others of the new
bishops to settle the affairs of the Church in Ireland. In
1691 he was translated to the see of Ely, in the room of
the deprived Bishop Turner. He died in 1707, after hav¬
ing published various works, amongst which are his Para¬
phrases and Commentaries on the Holy Scriptures, in three
vols. folio, which, with Lowth on the Proverbs, Arnold on
the Apocrypha, and Whitby on the New Testament, form
a regular and continued commentary in English on all the
sacred books.
PATRIMONY, a right or estate inherited by a person
from his ancestors. The term patrimony has also been ap¬
plied to church estates or revenues; in which sense authors
still say, the patrimony of the church of St Rimini, Milan,
and so on. The Church of Rome has patrimonies in France,
Africa, Sicily, and many other countries. To create the
greater respect for the estates belonging to the church, it
was usual to give their patrimonies the names of the saints
who were held in the highest veneration. Thus the estate
of the church of Ravenna was called the patrimony of
St Apollinarius ; that of Milan, the patrimony of St Am¬
brose ; and the estates of the Roman Church were called
the patrimony of St Peter in Abbruzzo, the patrimony of
St Peter in Sicily, and the like.
PATRINGTON, a town of the east riding of York¬
shire, in the wapentake of Holderness, 109 miles from
London. It is situated on the river Humber, which is
navigable beyond it, but does not now admit such large
vessels as formerly. There is a good market, which is held
on Saturday. The population amounted in 1801 to 894,
in 1811 to 1016, in 1821 to 1244, and in 1831 to 1298.
PATRIOTISM is a love of one’s country, one of the
noblest passions that can warm and animate the human
breast. “ Zeal for the public good,” says Mr Addison, “ is
the characteristic of a man of honour and a gentleman, and
must take place of pleasures, profits, and all other pri¬
vate gratifications “ whosoever wants this motive, is an
open enemy, or an inglorious neuter, to mankind, in pro¬
portion to the misapplied advantages with which nature
and fortune have blessed him.” This love of our country
does not import an attachment to any particular soil, cli¬
mate, or spot of earth, where perhaps we first drew our
breath, though those natural ideas are often associated with
the moral ones, and, like external signs or symbols, help to
ascertain and bind them ; but it imports an affection to
that moral system or community which is governed by the
same laws and magistrates, and the several parts of which
are variously connected one with the other, and all united
144
PAT
Patrol.
Patripas- upon the basis of a common interest. Wherever this love
sians of our country prevails in its genuine vigour and ex¬
tent, it swallows up all sordid and selfish regards ; it con-
, quers the love of ease, power, pleasure, and wealth; nay,
when the partialities of friendship, gratitude, private affec¬
tion, or regards to a family, come in competition with it,
it teaches us to sacrifice all, in order to maintain the rights
and promote and defend the honour and happiness of our
country.
PATIUPASSIANS, Patripassiani, in Ecclesiastical
History, a Christian sect, who appeared about the latter
end of the second century, and were so called from their
ascribing the passion to the Father. They asserted the
unity of God in such a manner as to destroy all distinctions
of persons, and to make the Father and Son precisely the
same ; and in this they were followed by the Sabellians
and others. The author and head of the Patripassians was
Praxeas, a philosopher of Phrygia, in Asia. Swedenborg
and his followers seem to hold the same faith.
PATROCLUS, a Grecian chief at the Trojan war. He
was the son of Mencetius, by Sthenele, whom some call
Philomela or Polymela. The accidental murder of Clyso-
nymus, the son of Amphidamas, in the time of his youth,
forced him to fly from Opus, where his father reigned.
Having gone to the court of Peleus, king of Phthia, he was
cordially received, and contracted the most intimate friend¬
ship with Achilles, the king’s son. When the Greeks pro¬
ceeded to the Trojan war, Patroclus went with them at the
express desire of his father, who had visited the court of
Peleus ; and he accordingly embarked with ten ships from
Phthia. He was the constant companion of Achilles, lodg¬
ing with him in the same tent; and when the hero refused
to appear in the field of battle, because he had been of¬
fended by Agamemnon, Patroclus imitated his example,
and by his absence became the cause of much evil to the
Greeks. At last, however, Nestor prevailed upon him to
return to the war, and Achilles permitted him to appear in
his armour. The bravery of Patroclus, together with the
terror which the sight of the arms of Achilles inspired,
soon routed the victorious armies of the Trojans, and ob¬
liged them to fly for safety to the city. He would have
broken down the walls ; but Apollo, who interested him¬
self for the Trojans, opposed him ; and Hector, at the in¬
stigation of that god, dismounted from his chariot to attack
him as he attempted to strip one of the Trojans whom he
had slain. The engagement was obstinate ; but Patroclus
was at length overpowered by the valour of Hector and
the interposition of Apollo. His arms became the pro¬
perty of the conqueror; and Hector would have severed
his head from his body had not Ajax and Menelaus pre¬
vented it. His body was at last recovered, and carried to
the Grecian camp, where Achilles received it with the
loudest lamentations. His funeral was observed with the
greatest solemnity. Achilles sacrificed near the burning
pile twelve young Trojans, four of his horses, and two of
his dogs; and the whole was concluded by the exhibition
of funereal games, in which the conquerors were liberally
rewarded by Achilles. The death of Patroclus, as de¬
scribed by Homer, gave rise to new events. Achilles for¬
got his resentment against Agamemnon, and entered the
field to avenge the death of his friend ; and his anger was
gratified only by the slaughter of Hector, who had more
powerfully kindled his wrath by appearing at the head of
the Trojan armies in the armour which had been taken
from the body of Patroclus. The patronymic of Actorides
is often applied to Patroclus, because Actor was father to
Menoetius.
PATROL, in war, a round or march made by the guards
or watch in the night time, to observe what passes in the
streets, and to secure the peace and tranquillity of a city
or camp. The patrol generally consists of a body of five
F A T
or six men, detached from a body on guard, and command- Patroi:
ed by a serjeant. p <1
PATRON, amongst the Romans, was an appellation ^ati^
given to a master who had freed his slave. As soon as the
relation of master expired, that of patron began. For the
Romans, in giving their slaves their freedom, did not de¬
spoil themselves of all rights and privileges in them ; the
law still subjected them to considerable services and duties
towards their patrons, the neglect of which was very se¬
verely punished.
Patron was also a name wdfich the people of Rome gave
to some great man, under whose protection they usually
placed themselves, paying him all kinds of honour and re¬
spect, and denominating themselves his clients ; whilst the
patron, on his side, granted them his credit and protec¬
tion. They were therefore mutually attached and mutu¬
ally obliged to each other ; and by this means, in conse¬
quence of reciprocal ties, all those seditions, jealousies, and
animosities, which are sometimes the effect of a difference
of rank, were prudently avoided. For it was the duty of
the patron to advise his clients in points oflaw, to manage
their suits, to take care of them as of his own children, and
secure their peace and happiness. The clients were to as¬
sist their patrons with money on several occasions; to ran¬
som them or their children when taken in war; to contri¬
bute to the portions of their daughters ; and to defray, in
part, the charges of their public employments. They were
never to accuse each other, or take contrary sides; and if
either of them was convicted of having violated this law,
the crime was equal to that of treason, and any one was
allowed to kill the offender with impunity. This patron¬
age was a tie as effectual as any consanguinity or alliance,
and had a wonderful effect towards maintaining union and
concord amongst the people for the space of six hundred
years, during which time we find no dissensions or jea¬
lousies between the patrons and their clients, even in the
times of the republic, when the populace frequently mu¬
tinied against those who were most powerful in the city.
Patron, in the Church of Rome, a saint whose name a
person bears, or under whose protection he is placed, and
whom he takes particular care to invoke ; or a saint in whose
name a church or order is founded.
PATRONAGE is a real or heritable right, of a peculiar
nature, connected with ecclesiastical benefices,.and of which
the main privilege is that of presenting a person to the
bishop, presbytery, or other competent ecclesiastical func¬
tionaries, in order to his being admitted, according to the
rules of the church, to the ecclesiastical office to which the
benefice is attached, and of being thereby inducted into
the possession of the benefice. This right had its origin
in the choice by particular churches, or the appointment
by the prince on their application, of defenders of their
rights and patrimony. These were at first chosen from
scholastics or lawyers, and afterwards from nobles and
men of arms, and were termed patroni, defensores, et advo-
cati ecclesice, from which last title comes the name jus ad¬
vocationis or advowson, still applied to the right. Origi¬
nally the privilege of presenting formed no part of the
right of the piatrons, who were chiefly guardians of the pro¬
perty of the church, with a certain interest in the funds,
termed patronagium. In time, founders of churches, or
those who acquired right to be so considered by adding
to the building or to the endowment, came to be regarded
as patrons; and the fourth council of Toledo, in the seventh
century, gave to the descendants of founders a right to
see that the incumbents did not embezzle or alienate the
funds, to which the ninth council (691) added the right
of nominating the successor, confining this privilege, how¬
ever, to the original founder himself, without extending it
to his heirs. The office of patron soon became hereditary,
but it would appear, from the Novels of Justinian, that in
PATRONAGE.
'e. his time the right of presentation was only allowed to the
descendants of founders in the case of oratories or pri¬
vate chapels (Nov. 123, c. 18), the privilege in regard to
churches being apparently confined to the original founder
(Nov. 57, c. 2). Subsequently, however, the right of pre¬
senting was allowed to descendants in regard to churches
also, which gradually became almost universally patronate;
and ultimately a rule was introduced into the canon law,
that where no right of patronage could be shown to exist,
the benefice was to be deemed subject to that of the pope
as universal patron. The general character of the right
of patronage was the same in all the kingdoms where the
canon law was received; and although some partial modi¬
fications may have been admitted since the Reformation
in particular countries, its principal features remain un¬
changed. We shall content ourselves with a sketch of it
as it exists in the northern portion of this island, which
presents some peculiarities not unattended with interest.
In Scotland, as in the other countries of Christendom,
the system of patronage, as it existed under the canon
law, became universally prevalent; but it is not thought
to have been introduced earlier than the tenth century.
Before the Reformation, however, a very great change had
taken place in the condition of the parochial benefices.
A large proportion of these were from time to time annex¬
ed or appropriated, by grant of the patrons, to bishoprics,
abbacies, priories, and other religious establishments. The
benefices thus appropriated were termed patrimonial, and
were no longer the subjects of the right of patronage. Such
benefices were permanently filled by the bishops or religious
houses, who drew the tithes as titular rectors, whilst the
cures were served either by a member of the religious com¬
munity to which the benefice was annexed, or by a chaplain
or curate having a salary paid him for his services, or at
times by a proper vicar drawing vicarage tithe, though in
many cases the vicarages also became appropriated as well
as the parsonages. A check was attempted to be opposed
to this practice of annexation by a statute in the reign of
James III. (1471, c. 43); but so general had it been, that
at the period of the Reformation there were in Scotland
only 262 non-appropriated parochial benefices out of the
whole number, consisting of about 940. These 262 were
of course the only patronate parochial benefices, and they
were partly of laic patronage and partly subject to that of
bishops or other ecclesiastics. On the Reformation, the
benefices were generally retained by the Roman Catholic
incumbents ; and in regard to abbacies and other prelacies
(as the greater benefices were termed), these were assumed
to have fallen to the crown on the abolition of the religious
bodies to which they belonged, and were gradually gifted
by the crown, first by temporary titles, and ultimately by
permanent grant and erection into temporal lordships, to
the nobles and persons of influence about the court. The
annexed churches of these prelacies were in general totally
unprovided for, the obligation to maintain a stipendiary
substitute, incumbent upon the religious establishment to
which the benefice was attached, not being fulfilled by the
new lay proprietors. To provide a maintenance to the mi¬
nisters serving the cures of these churches, which constitut¬
ed the greater proportion of the whole parochial churches,
the third of the rents of all benefices, including abbacies and
other prelacies, was directed to be levied, to form a fund, out
of which special grants might be made to such ministers;
but this fund of “ thirds” was so misapplied, that in reality
the ministers were for many years dependent mainly on the
voluntary contributions of their congregations, or of indi¬
vidual proprietors in their parishes. For a considerable pe¬
riod these stipendiary cures remained free from patronage;
but James VI., notwithstanding the remonstrances of the
church, gradually erected them into benefices, subject to
the patronage of the respective lords of erection, though,
VOL. XVII. > 6 >
145
as Sir George Mackenzie, a high prerogative lawyer of the Patronage,
reign of Charles II., observes, “ nothing could be so unjust
or illegal as these patronages were.”
In the meanwhile, as far as regarded the patronate paro¬
chial benefices, it had been enacted by a statute, passed in
1567, alongst with a series of acts abolishing Popery and
recognising the reformed church, that, whilst the examina¬
tion and admission of ministers were declared to be in the
kirk, the presentation of laic patronages should be reserv¬
ed to the just and ancient patrons. There was no reser¬
vation of ecclesiastic patronages, and the lay patron was
required, within six months after he should come to the
knowledge of the vacancy, to present a qualified person to
the superintendent or others having commission of the
kirk (who then executed the functions subsequently de¬
volved upon presbyteries), otherwise the rightofpresenting
was to fall to the kirk. It was further provided, that if
the superintendent refused to admit the person present¬
ed by the patron, the latter might appeal to the superin¬
tendent and ministers of the province, in other words, to
the provincial synod, and from them to the General Assem¬
bly, “ by whom,” the act bears, “ the cause being decided,
shall take end as they decern and declare.” Small as was
the number of unappropriated parochial benefices or par¬
sonages to vvhich ministers might be appointed as rectors,
these were, in a great many instances, conferred upon per¬
sons not in the function of the ministry at all; and, even
in 1592, it is set forth in a statute of that year, that these
benefices had been generally “disponed to bairns and other
persons altogether unable for the said office and function.”
1 o remedy this evil, all gifts of such benefices “ to sik persons
as are not in the function of the ministry, or able to discharge
the duty thereof,” are by the act declared to be null, with an
exception as to those conferred on senators of the College
of Justice (the judges of the supreme civil court); and by
another statute of the same year, establishing the presby-
terian form of church government as it at present exists,
presentations were appointed to be directed to presbyteries,
which had been generally erected in 1581, with power to
them to give collation; but providing always, that they
should be bound to receive and admit whatever “ qualified
minister should be presented by the king or laic patrons.
The same act provided that a previous statute of 1584,
declaring the king’s supremacy over all estates, as well
“ spiritual as temporal,” and that he and his councils were
judges competent over all persons spiritual or temporal,
and in “ all causes,” should in no way be prejudicial “ to
the privilege that God has given to the spiritual office¬
bearers of the kirk,” in regard, amongst other matters, to
the “ collation and deprivation of ministers.” In 16f2
presbytery was abolished, episcopal government restored,
and the king’s supremacy in all matters spiritual or tem¬
poral again unqualifiedly declared ; and at the same time
it was provided, that if the bishop, to whom presentations
were now to be directed, should refuse to admit a “ qua¬
lified minister” presented by the lawful patron, not only
might the patron retain the fruits of the benefice in his
own hands, but letters of horning might be obtained to
compel the bishop, by the usual executorials of the law,
“ to do his duty” in admitting the person presented. The
remedy thus provided applied only to the case of presen¬
tees who had been already admitted to the function of
the ministry, as appears also to have been the intent of
the provision as to the corresponding obligation on pres¬
byteries to receive presentees, contained in the act 1592,
and the privilege of retaining the stipend, provided also for
the case of the presbytery’s refusal to admit a qualified
“ minister,” in another act of the same year, which is ge¬
nerally viewed as merely an additional clause of that term¬
ed the charter of presbytery; so that there does not ap¬
pear to have been any remedy for refusal to admit a pre-
146
PATRONAGE.
Patronage, sentee not already in orders, nor any compulsitor to com-
pel even the bishops (who were subject to legal diligence
to enforce admission of a party ordained) to grant ordina*
tion. ,
In 1638 presbytery was restored, and the king s supre¬
macy in matters spiritual disclaimed; and in 1642 his
majesty agreed, that as to all crown patronages, he would
present one out of a list or leet, to be furnished by the pres¬
bytery, and which they were to make up with the advice and
consent of the greater part of the parishioners. The practi¬
cal result of this method was, that in all parishes subject
to the patronage of the crown, the particular individual
for whom the parish declared a preference generally ob¬
tained the presentation ; and in 1649 patronage was alto¬
gether abolished by an act of the estates of parliament.
By this statute it was declared, that “ whosoever should,
upon the suit and calling of the congregation, after due
examination of their literature and conversation, be ad-
' mitted by any presbytery unto the exercise and function
of the ministry in any parish within this kingdom,” should,
without any presentation, but simply “ by virtue of their
admission,” be entitled to the stipend, manse, and glebe;
and in order that the proper interests of congregations
and presbyteries, and what should be accounted the con¬
gregation having such interest, might be determined, it
was recommended to the General Assembly “ clearly to
determine the same, and to condescend upon a certain
standing way for being a rule therein for all time com¬
ing.” The General Assembly accordingly established a
directory, which in substance provided that the session
of the congregation were to elect a person, whom they
were to nominate to the congregation ; that if the peo¬
ple acquiesced and consented, the matter was to be re¬
ported to the presbytery, who were to take the party
chosen on trials, and, if found qualified, to admit him;
that if the major part of the congregation dissented, the
matter should in like manner be reported to the presby¬
tery, who were to order a new election, unless they found
the dissent to be founded on “ causeless prejudices but
that if only a minority dissented, the presbytery were, not¬
withstanding, to proceed to the trials and settlement, un¬
less relevant exceptions were verified to them. Under
this arrangement matters continued till the Restoration,
when episcopacy, the king’s supremacy in matters spirit¬
ual, and absolute patronage, were re-established. These,
again, were all done away at the Revolution, when the
presbyterian church government was restored, and the
matter of the appointment of ministers placed on a total¬
ly new footing. By the act 1690, c. 23, patrons were
deprived of the right of presentation, in consideration of
a sum of six hundred merks Scots (L.33. 6s. 8d. sterling),
and of a right to all tithes in the parishes of which they
were patrons, to which no one else could show a title.
The six hundred merks were to be paid by the heritors
of the parish, wdio were entitled to consign the money,
and compel the patron to execute a formal renunciation ;
whilst the patron, on the other hand, had efficient remedies
afforded him for enforcing payment of the compensation.
The patron’s right to present, however, ceased from the
date of the act, and the privilege became competent to the
new parties who were now to be intrusted with it, whether
the compensation was paid or not. These consisted of the
heritors of the parish, being Protestants, and the elders, who
were jointly to propose a person to the congregation, “ to
be either approven or disapproven by themand if the
congregation disapproved, the disapprovers were to give
in their reasons to the presbytery, by whose judgment the
“ calling and entry” of the minister was to be determined.
Under this statute only three or four parishes paid the
compensation money, and obtained renunciations from the
patrons. The heritors and elders being in possession of
their privilege without payment, and not anticipating the re- Patrons
peal of a statute considered as an essential part of the Re-'^—v--'
volution settlement, naturally did not press payment of the
sum, small though it was; whilst the patrons, entertaining
the hope of at some favourable opportunity recovering
their power, of course refrained from compelling payment,
and granting renunciations, and thereby, for a consideration
so trifling, cutting off that hope. The expectations of the
patrons proved just, and in 1711, the 10th of Queen Anne,
restoring their former rights, was passed. 1 his measure,
which originated with the opponents of the protestant suc¬
cession, was hurried through the House of Commons before
the members of the church were aware of it. A deputation
was, however, immediately despatched by the commission
of Assembly, who presented a remonstrance to the House of
Lords, and offered every opposition in their power, but un¬
successfully ; and no subsequent efforts to obtain its repeal,
which were repeatedly renewed by the church, were of any
avail. The assembly for many years inserted in their in¬
structions to their commission an injunction to seize any
favourable opportunity of applying to parliamentfor a repeal
of this statute ; but in 1784, the practice of inserting such
injunction was discontinued, the majority of the clergy, now
for a long period introduced by means of patronage, hav¬
ing become favourable to its subsistence ; and the right still
continues to rest upon the footing on which it was placed
by the 10th of Queen Anne. By that statute, patrons, with
the exception of the few cases where the six hundred merks
had been paid, and renunciations obtained, had their former
privileges restored, whilst they were also allowed to retain
the rights to tithes granted them by the act 1690, as part
of the compensation for the privilege then taken from them;
and the sovereign, in addition to the proper crown pa¬
tronages, acquired right to all those which had belonged
to the bishops and archbishops, having previously at the
Revolution, without any statutory authority, assumed pos¬
session, yw/'e coronce, of all the tithes and property belong¬
ing to these dignitaries.
The right of patronage, as now existing, is an heritable
right, which may be feudalized, and it may be united to and
pass along with lands ; whilst in regard to all patronages to
which no legal title can be shown, the king is held to be
patron, being deemed by lawyers to have succeeded in that
privilege to the pope. The patron is allowed six months
after each vacancy to present; and the period, by the 10th
of Queen Anne, runs, not from the time when he may come
to the knowledge of the vacancy, as under the act 1507,
but from the date of the vacancy itself. If the patron
“ neglect or refuse” to present within the six months, the
presbytery of the bounds become entitled to exercise the
privilegeywre devoluto ; but if he have executed a presen¬
tation, and taken all requisite steps for having it lodged
with the moderator or clerk of presbytery within the pro¬
per time, he will not be held to have “ neglected or re¬
fused,” so as to admit the jus devolutum, although, from
causes over which he has no control, the presentation may
not actually have been so lodged ; as, for instance, if the
patron of a church in Orkney, residing in Edinburgh, should
execute and despatch a presentation in amply sufficient
time to reach its destination under ordinary circumstances,
but it should not arrive in consequence of an unusual pre¬
valence of storms till the six months have expired. W here
a presentee has been rejected by a presbytery as disquali¬
fied, or on other legal ground, the patron is allowed as long
a period to present a second time, as remained unexpired
of the six months when his first presentation was lodged.
If, however, he have presented a minister already holding
a cure, or a party who will not take the oaths to govern¬
ment, or one who shall not within the six months accept
or declare his willingness to accept, his presentation of
such a party will not stop the currency of the six months;
PATRONAGE. 147
•onage. but if the presentation shall through any cause become in- accept of it in manner above mentioned, accompanied with Patronage,
effectual, and the six months have expired, the jus devolu- his letter of acceptance, and certificate of his, and also of s'“—
turn will take effect, as if no presentation had been offered, the patron’s, having taken the oaths to government, is
ThisprovisionwasintroducedbythebthGeo. I. c. 29,main- lodged with the presbytery, if there be any legal pbjec-
ly for the purpose of preventing patrons from keeping be- tions to it, or if another party dispute the right of presen-
nefices vacant by the presentation of parties who either tation, the presbytery generally delay procedure till the
were disqualified, or would not accept, or whose acceptance question raised be disposed of by the civil courts ; but if
was dependent, as in the case of ministers already settled, there be no legal objection, and no competition, they usual-
on the will of the church courts. Although, usually, there ly pronounce a deliverance sustaining the presentation
is only room for the exercise of the patron’s right when a (though in certain presbyteries no special deliverance is
vacancy occurs, the law, in special circumstances (where ever pronounced on the presentation), and proceed with
the presbytery are satisfied of the necessity of the pro- the steps towards forming the pastoral relationship be-
ceeding, from the age or permanent illness of the incum- tween the presentee and congregation, admitting him to
bent), sanctions a presentation during his life to an assis- the benefice, and ordaining him to the office of the minis-
tant and successor, who, on being admitted and ordained try, if not already an ordained minister. The first step is
by the presbytery, immediately becomes colleague in the to appoint the presentee to preach to the congregation
pastoral charge, though he cannot enter into possession of one or more times as the presbytery may see fit, and to
any of the rights of the benefice till the death of the in- fix thereafter a day for moderating in a call, as it is tech-
cumbent. In such cases a provision is always required nically termed, in his favourthat is to say, appointing the
by the presbytery to be made for the assistant and sue- presbytery to meet at the parish church on a particular
cessor, either by the incumbent, or by obligation on the day, or commissioning one of their number to attend on
part of the parishioners, or certain of their number. The that day, to moderate in or preside over a meeting of the
patron, before presenting, must take the usual oaths to go- congregation, summoned for the purpose of giving a call
vernment for persons in public trust; and if suspected of to the presentee to be their pastor. On this occasion, after
Popery he may be required to purge himself, by signing public worship, and a sermon by the minister appointed to
a special formula framed for that purpose. Any patron preside, the heritors, elders, and parishioners present are
refusing to take the oaths, or to subscribe this formula, invited to subscribe a written call, addressed to the pre-
when required, forfeits his right of presenting for that time sentee, which, after setting forth that the parties subscrib-
to the crown ; and in the event of failure by the crown to ing are destitute of a pastor, and have sufficient assurance
present within six months, the jus devolutum accresces to of his piety, literature, abilities, and suitableness to their
the presbytery. Whether this disability can be evaded capacities, proceeds thus: “ We heartily invite, call, and
by the disqualified patron nominating a commissioner who entreat you to undertake the office of a pastor among us,
can take the oaths, &c. seems not to be determined. and the charge of our souls, promising you, upon your ac-
Originally there was no restriction on the patron’s choice cepting this our call, all dutiful respect, encouragement,
in regard to the persons from among whom he might se- and obedience in the Lord.” The call being subscribed
lect his presentee, provided always that on trial the pre- by as many as incline, the presbytery take it into consi-
sentee should be found qualified. By a series of legisla- deration; and before proceeding to the trial of the qualifi-
tive' enactments, however, on the part of the church, a cations of the presentee, they uniformly pronounce a de¬
special class of persons has been constituted, from among liverance, sustaining or concurring with the call. As this
whom alone (or ordained ministers previously taken from proceeding presents a marked peculiarity unknown in Eng-
the same class) the patron must select his presentee, land, and as the question in regard to the competency of
These are denominated expectants or probationers, or the church courts refusing to settle a presentee in respect
more generally, at the present day, licentitaes. They are of the absence of what they may consider a sufficient num-
required to go through a preparatory train of study, in- ber of signatures to the call, or of the positive dissent from
eluding a full university course of philosophy, and a course it by a majority of the congregation, or of the male heads
of theology, consisting of four years regular or six years of families in communion with the church, has given rise
irregular attendance on the professors of theology, in one to keen discussion and most important consequences to
or other of the universities. They are then taken on the welfare of the church in past times, and has again be-
trials by the presbytery, that judicatory having previously come the subject of most anxious consideration, in a form
satisfied themselves that the candidate is of “ good report, which seems likely to lead to momentous results as regards
sound in his principles, pious, sober, grave, and prudent the interests of the Church of Scotland, a short notice
in his behaviour; of a peaceable disposition, and well af- of its origin and history will probably be interesting and
fected to the happy constitution established in this king- useful.
dom, both in church and state.” The trials consist of ex- The Scottish reformers, in framing their scheme of
amination into the candidate’s knowledge of the Latin, church polity, adopted, in regard to the appointment of
Greek, and Hebrew languages, philosophy, theology, and ministers, the principle confessedly acted on in the primi-
church history, and the delivery of an exegesis in Latin tive ages of the church, when pastors were elected by the
on some controverted head of divinity, and three dis- common consent of the clergy and people; and they al-
courses in English, on which he may also be specially ex- lowed to the people that potential voice which they consi-
amined. If the presbytery be satisfied, and the candidate dered them to have enjoyed in the earliest times, prior to
subscribe a formula acknowledging the Confession of Faith, the introduction of those limitations and restrictions, which
and the presbyterian order of church government, and they conceived to have been imposed by the clergy at an
promising to submit himself to the judicatories of the after period, though still antecedently to the existence of
church, they enrol him as a probationer, and grant him a patronage. Accordingly, in the First Book of Discipline,
license to preach the gospel. Though the party thus li- adopted in 1560, treating of “ vocation,” or calling to the
censed possesses the privilege of preaching, and of leading office of the ministry, which, used in a large and general
in public worship, he holds no office in the church, he sense, is said to consist of “ election, examination, and ad-
cannot administer the sacraments or marry, and is only mission,” our reformers declared, that “ it appertaineth to
considered as a recognised candidate on probation for the the people and to every several congregation to elect their
office of the ministry. minister.” For this purpose the congregation were allow-
When a presentation in favour of a party qualified to ed forty days, and if they failed within that time to pre-
148
PATRONAGE.
Patronage.sent a person for examination, the superintendent, with
v —— y —his council (who exercised the functions now devolved on
the presbytery), might present a person to them. It was,
however, provided, that if, before the superintendent and
his council, or superior church as it is termed, had thus
offered them a minister, the inferior church or congrega™
tion had agreed upon a person who on examination should
be found qualified, the latter was to be preferred to the
party nominated by the superintendent and his council ;
but, on the other hand, if the congregation still failed to
offer a person for examination, then they were to be judged
unreasonable if they refused the party offered by the su¬
perintendent and his council, and might be compelled to
receive him, by the censures of the church. In the Second
Book of Discipline, agreed to by the church in 1578, it
would rather appear, though that has been doubted, that
the initiative was intended to be with the presbytery ; but
at all events the consent of the people was equally re¬
quired ; and it cannot be disputed that, in the intention of
the framers of this book, the refusal to consent, though
without reasons assigned and judged sufficient by the pres¬
bytery, was considered a fatal defect in the vocation to
the pastoral office. Such being the system prescribed by
the church, it so happened, from the peculiar state of
matters in regard to the parochial cures, that for many
years after the Reformation it became in practice the ge¬
neral rule for the appointment of ministers. As already
noticed, the unannexed parochial benefices, which alone
afforded an opportunity for the exercise of patronage, were
comparatively few ; these were not vacated by the Ro¬
man Catholic clergy, but only gradually fell by the death
of the subsisting incumbents, when in most cases they
were conferred plena jure, by the crown and other patrons,
on parties not in the function of the ministry at all. As
to the remaining churches, constituting by far the larger
proportion of the whole, there was no right of maintenance
attached to them ; and the ministers of these were ap¬
pointed, not to a benefice, but simply to a cure of souls,
with a chance of procuring a pension out of the general
fund of “ thirds,” by special grant from the Exchequer,
or otherwise being left to be supported by the contribu¬
tions of their flocks. Of these cures, while they remained
in this condition, there was of course no patronage, and
thus, in by far the greater number of cases, there was no
obstacle of the nature of a right of presentation to obstruct
the rules prescribed by the church from being freely acted
upon. Accordingly there is evidence that in general mi¬
nisters w^ere appointed during the first period after the
Reformation, either by the direct choice of the people, or
with their full consent. The manner of appointment was
not always uniform, and the voice of the congregation was
expressed in diverse ways; but still their voice was re¬
quired and given; and this is stated by an author inti¬
mately acquainted with the records of the times (the late
learned Dr M'Crie) to have been the case even where
there existed a right of patronage.1
When the congregation themselves elected, their wishes
appear to have been expressed in the form of a call or in¬
vitation, of which the very first election of a pastor amongst
the reformers (the choice of Knox as colleague to John
Rough by the congregation in the castle of St Andrews)
affords an example, or rather the model, agreeably to which
the after-practice was fashioned. In accordance with a
prior agreement, Rough, after sermon, addressed himself
to Knox in these words, as recorded in Knox’s own his¬
tory : “ Brother, ye shall not be offended albeit I speak
unto you that which I have in charge, even from all those
that are here present, which is this : In the name of God
and of his Son Jesus Christ, and in the name of those that Patron
presently call you by my mouth, I charge you that ye re¬
fuse not this holy vocation ; but as ye tender the glory of
God, the increase of Christ’s kingdom, the edification of
your brethren, and the comfort of me, whom ye under¬
stand well enough to be oppressed by the multitude of
labours, that ye take upon you the public office and charge
of preaching, even as ye wish to avoid God’s heavy dis¬
pleasure, and desire that he shall multiply his graces with
you.” And in the end, he said to those that were present,
“ Was not this your charge unto me ? And do ye not ap¬
prove this vocation.” They answered, “ It was, and we ap¬
prove it.” In general, it would appear that the congre¬
gation usually expressed their wishes by commissioners
deputed by them to the presbytery, or others having com¬
mission to examine and admit, and at times in the form
of a letter ; but in either way their election assumed sub¬
stantially the form of a call directed to the party chosen
through the presbytery, or others having the power for
the time of examination and admission ; and, in whatever
mode expressed, the consent of the people wras in practice
a constant requisite to admission. Thus, it was over a
church in which, from the absence of patronage in most
instances, consequent on the want of benefices, either pro¬
per or stipendiary, the practice of admitting the people to
an effective voice, in accordance with the polity recognis¬
ed by the church courts, had already been established,
that patronage was gradually extended. By the more ef¬
fective restriction of presentations in the case of proper
benefices to persons who were really to exercise the func¬
tion of the ministry, and the gradual increase of patronages
by the erection of stipendiary benefices by the king, the
right of presentation was by degrees again extended over
nearly the whole churches of the kingdom. This, how¬
ever, was not a sudden or violent change, but a progres¬
sive superinduction of a right of patronage over churches
in which the practice of requiring the consent of the
people was already fixed and universally prevalent; and,
accordingly, as might have been expected, it continued to
co-exist, although there is doubtless a deficiency of evi¬
dence in regard to the actual effect on the right of pre¬
sentation in patronate churches. That the right of pre¬
senting on the part of the patron, and the privilege on the
part of the people of their consent being required, did, to
a certain extent, run counter to each other, and create
some obstruction in the settlement of ministers, may fair¬
ly be inferred from an act of assembly in 1596, by which
it was enacted, that any one seeking a presentation without
consent of the presbytery, should be deemed reus ambitus,
and as such should be rejected ; and that effect was in use
to be given to this enactment, is clear from a recorded in¬
stance in 1602, regarding the parish of Aberlady, in which,
while the presentee was found not to have been reus am¬
bitus, he having been in ignorance that a presentation was
applied for on his behalf, he was obliged to subscribe an
obligation, placing his presentation in the hands of the
presbytery, and wras only sent to the congregation on a
leet with others, the privilege of the people in this in¬
stance being allowed to supersede in a great measure the
right of the patron. By this time, too, the independence
of the church had been very nearly extinguished; and,
shortly afterwards, episcopacy', with its absolute patronage,
was introduced. Even during its subsistence, however,
and while the bishops might be compelled by legal dili¬
gence to admit a presentee in orders, the people appear to
have persisted in claiming a voice, though, as may be sup¬
posed, generally without effect; evincing, however, how
strongly the previous practice had been rooted in their
1 Life of Melville, vol. i. note EE, p. 467.
PAT
onage.habits. Daring all the previous period, and from the re¬
storation of presbytery in 1638, down to the abolition of
patronage in 1649, it would rather seem that there was
no such form as that of “ moderating’’ in a call. The con¬
gregation appear to have met by themselves, without the
presbytery or a member of presbytery to moderate in
or preside over their proceedings. When, however, the
directory of 1649 vested the election in the session, as that
body, during a vacancy, was without a moderator, and so
incapable of acting as a session unless a moderator were
supplied, the directory specially provided that one of the
presbytery should be appointed to attend and moderate in
the session at their act of election ; and this is the origin
of the peculiar phrase to “ moderate in a call,” which is
still retained, although the meeting is of the congregation,
and the presbytery as a body now usually attend themselves.
Under this directory the election of the minister was vest¬
ed in the elders of the congregation, at that time popularly
chosen; and the voice of the people was subjected to tiiis
qualification, that the presbytery might disregard the dis¬
sent of a majority if they found it to be grounded on cause¬
less prejudices. Under the act 1690, the heritors were
joined with the elders, and the qualification enacted as to
the voice of the people was more strict, the disapprovers
of the person proposed being required to give in their rea¬
sons, to be judged of by the presbytery. The right of the
heritors and elders under this statute was truly of the na¬
ture of a right of presentation, though in the act it was de¬
scribed as the right of “ calling” a minister; a phraseology
adopted, as is supposed, to render it more palatable to
those most hostile to patronage. It was totally dift’erent,
however, from the proper call by the congregation, although,
undoubtedly, for some time after the act 1690 was repealed,
a tendency to view the call with reference to that practice
is apparent. For several years after the repeal of that act,
in 1711, the exercise of the right of patronage was not at¬
tempted ; and even when presentations began to be issued,
they were usually in favour of a party who was likely to be
preferred by the people ; and the settlements in such cases
uniformly proceeded on the call, without the slightest no¬
tice of the presentation. In like manner, for many years
presentees never ventured to accept unqualifiedly a pre¬
sentation ; and the first instance of unqualified acceptance
is said to have occurred in 1731. In the immediately pre¬
ceding year a presentee had been for the first time since
the passing of the 10th of Queen Anne settled in a parish
by judgment of the Assembly, in virtue of a presentation,
in opposition to the dissent of a majority of the people;
and this judgment, which was an adherence to a sentence
of the commission, was not rested on the merits of the
cause, but was founded on the plea that the sentence of
the commission was final and conclusive. After, however,
such a settlement had once been accomplished, the Assem¬
bly proceeded avowedly on the ground of refusing effect to
such dissents ; and though several cases subsequently occur
in which presentees were refused to be settled in conse¬
quence of dissents from the call, or deficiency of signatures
to it, the general course of decisions was to sustain the call,
without regard to the number of signatures or the extent
of opposition (giving occasion to the two great secessions
from the Church), till at last, towards the end of the century,
the question as to the sufficiency of the call was rarely rais¬
ed. In all cases, however, down to the present day, the
invariable practice has been, that before proceeding to take
the presentee on trials, a call is moderated in, and a judg¬
ment pronounced by the presbytery sustaining that call.
Recently the disputes on this subject have been again re¬
vived ; and, wuth a view to establish a definite rule for de¬
termining on the validity of the call, the church have pass¬
ed an enactment, which sets out with a declaration that it
is a fundamental law of the church that no pastor be in-
PAT 149
truded on a congregation contrary to the will of the people, Patrony.
and provides, that if the major part of the male heads of fa- niic-
milies in communion with the church, and members of the v~—
congregation, shall dissent from the call, the presentee shall
be rejected. The legal effect of this provision, when acted
on by a presbytery, is at present the subject of discussion
in the courts of law.
Whatever may ultimately be determined on this point,
it is the undisputed privilege of the congregation to give
in, at the moderating in the call, specific objections to the
presentee, which are not limited to his moral character
and doctrine, nor to his talents or learning, but extend to
every personal quality, of whatever nature, which may af¬
fect his fitness for the charge of the particular parish, view¬
ed with reference to its peculiar characteristics and neces¬
sities. At any time, also, during the period allow ed for try¬
ing the qualifications of the presentee, any of the commu¬
nicants may proceed against him by libel, on any charge
affecting his soundness in doctrine or his moral character;
and, finally, when the trials are completed, and the presby¬
tery are assembled for the purpose of ordination, any of
them may appear in answer to the edict published to that
effect, and demand to be allowed instanter to verify suffi¬
cient objections to the presentee’s life or doctrine. In the
mean time, the presbytery have subjected him to trials of
a nature similar to those prescribed for licentiates; and if
they are satisfied, and no valid objections have been offer¬
ed, they ordain him to the office of the ministry, and admit
him as pastor of the parish.
Besides the rightof presentation, the patron was entitled,
in the event of a wrongful refusal of his presentee, to retain
the stipend in his own hand. By various statutes, how¬
ever, he was subjected to the obligation of expending it on
pious uses within the parish, though such a latitude was
given in the interpretation of “ pious uses” as to render
the disposal of the stipend a matter of some interest to the
patron. A recent statute, however, 54 Geo. III. c. 169,
has transferred the vacant stipend to the fund for provid¬
ing annuities to the widows of the clergy. Patrons also, in
virtue of the act 1690, c. 23, are, as such, titulars or im¬
propriators of all tithe in their parishes to which no one
else can show right; this being a part of the compensation
given them for the right of presentation thereby taken from
them, and allowed to be retained by them after the right
was restored; and, finally, if also heritors in the parish, they
have right to the first choice of a family seat in the division
and allotment of the area of the church. (a. r.r. a.)
PATRONYMIC, amongst grammarians, is applied to
such names of men or w'omen as are derived from those of
parents or ancestors. Patronymics are derived from the
father, as Pelides, that is, Achilles the son of Peleus; or
from the mother, as Philyrides, that is, Chiron the son of
Philyra; or from the grandfather on the father’s side, as M&-
cides, or Achilles the grandson of JSacus; or from the grand¬
father by the mother’s side, as Atlantiades, Mercury the
grandson of Atlas ; or, lastly, from the kings and founders of
nations, as Romulidae, the Romans, so called from their found¬
er King Romulus. The terminations of Greek and Latin
patronymics are chiefly four, viz. des, of which we have al¬
ready given examples; as, as Thaumantias, that is, Iris the
daughter of Thaumas ; is, as Atlantis, that is, Electra, the
daughter of Atlas; and ne, as Nerine the daughter of Nereus.
Of these terminations, des is masculine; and as, is, and ne
are feminine ; dcs and ns are of the first declension, as and
is of the third. The Russians, in their usual mode of ad¬
dress, never prefix any title or appellation of respect to
their names; but persons of all ranks, even those of the
first distinction, call each other by their Christian names,
to which they add a patronymic. These patronymics are
formed in some cases by adding Vitch, the same as our
Fitz, to the Christian name of the father; and in others by
Of or Ef. The former is applied only to persons of condi¬
tion, the latter to those of inferior rank.
PATROS, mentioned by Jeremiah and Ezekiel, appears
from the context to mean a part of Egypt. Bocchart thinks
it denotes Upper Egypt; the Septuagint translate it the
country of Pathure ; Pliny speaks of the Nemos Pathurites
in the thebais ; and Ptolemy mentions Pat/iyris, which was
probably the metropolis. From the Hebrew appellation
Potros comes the gentilitious name Pathrusim.
PATTAN, a town of Northern Hindustan, in the val¬
ley of Nepaul, situated at the distance of a mile and a half
from the present capital of Catmandoo, from which it is se¬
parated by the Bhagmutty river. It stands on a small but
elevated plain, and is said, whilst Patu existed as an inde¬
pendent state, to have comprehended 24,000 houses. It is
a neater town than Catmandoo, and contains some hand¬
some houses. Long. 85. 40. E. Lat. 27. 31. N.
Pattan, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Aurun-
gabad, belonging to the nizam, thirty-eight miles south¬
west of Aurangabad. Long. 75. 33. E. Lat. 19. 29. N.
It is the chief town of a district of the same name, in the
province of Gujerat, situated about the 24th degree of north
latitude. The country is but thinly inhabited, and is much
exposed to the ravages of the numerous predatory tribes in
this quarter of Gujerat. It contains the ancient capital of
Gujerat, and is bounded on the west by the great salt lake
called the Runn.
PATTEALAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Delhi, and district of Sirhind, and the residence of one of
the Sikh chiefs. It is a place of considerable extent, and
is now the most flourishing town in the district. It is sur¬
rounded with a strong mud wall, and has in the centre a
square citadel, which contains the palace of the rajah or
chief. It is said to have been founded about the year 1465,
by Rai Ram Deo. It contains numerous tombs of devout
Mahommedans. Long. 75. 38. E. Lat. 30. 18. N.
PATTI, a town on the northern coast of the island of
Java, about 380 miles east of Batavia.
PATTIARY, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
A.2ra, and district of Ferrukabad. Long. 79. 25. E. Lat.
27. 37. N.
PATTUR, or Puttugotta, a town of Bengal, in the
district of Boglipore, pleasantly situated at the foot of a
range of hills on the eastern bank of the Ganges, which is
here very steep. Near this place is a rock covered with
rude representations of the Hindu deities.
PAU, an arrondissement of the department of the Lower
Pyrenees, in France, 641 square miles in extent. It com¬
prehends eleven cantons, divided into 221 communes, and
contains 110,100 inhabitants. The capital is a city of the
same name, the seat of the departmental government and
of the courts of law. It stands on the river Gave de Pau,
in a fine valley, with romantic views of the neighbouring
mountains. It is a well-built city, with a fine place or
square, 1600 houses, and 11,600 inhabitants. Amongst the
curiosities are the palace or castle in which Henry IV. of
France was born. It has some manufactures of table and
other linen, and others of cottons and hats, and consider¬
able trade in wine, and especially in a celebrated kind of
hams. Long. 0. 14. W. Lat. 43. 15. N.
Pau, one of the Tefee Islands, in the South Pacific
Ocean, celebrated for sandal-wood. The inhabitants are
said to be cannibals, although some Englishmen have of
late resided on the island.
PAUCARTAMBO, a province of Peru, in the depart¬
ment of Cuzco, and situated to the east of the province and Paukpjj
city of that name. It is traversed by a considerable stream ten
of the same name, which flows into the Urubamba, one of gt ^
the southern affluents of the Amazons. Considerable quan-
titles of cocoa-leaf are annually exported from this province,
and the land also produces rice, cacao, yucas, camotes, In¬
dian corn, pine-apples, plantains, and other fruits, all in
great abundance, and of most excellent quality. A large
return, however, is only to be expected when the ground
has been carefully cultivated; and this is seldom the case,
owing to the indolent habits of the Indians, who are con¬
tent to live for the most part on chuno or blanched pota¬
to, sesina or sun-dried meat, and aji or capsicum. Vege¬
tables are scarcely ever seen, although the soil and climate
admit of the production of most sorts for the table. Orange
trees flourish remarkably well, and yield delicious fruit;
but only a very few have been planted, so lazy and indif¬
ferent to the natural fertility of their country are the In¬
dians. The Chunchos, as they are called, are, besides, a
filthy, immoral people, and live so wretchedly that they
suffer dreadfully from ague and fever, which carries them
off in great numbers, there being no one exercising medi¬
cal skill amongst them. Their favourite occupation is tra¬
velling with bow and arrow in hand through the forests in
pursuit of game, monkeys, wild boars, and other animals.
Paucartambo, the capital of the province, and situated fif¬
teen leagues east-north-east from Cuzco, is thus described
by General Miller, who traversed this hitherto unknown
region in the year 1835. “ This town, situated in a deep
ravine, and on the banks of a mountain stream, was once
of considerable importance, owing to its connection with
the valleys twenty leagues distant, at the easternmost foot
of the Andes, which formerly contained three curatos, and
upwards of one hundred estates, principally cocoa-leaf plan¬
tations. Of the latter, owing to sickness, hostile inroads of
the Indians, &c. only six now remain. Besides other causes of
decay, one third of the houses of the town of Paucartambo
have been carried away by its river within these few years,
and it now contains only about some hundred inhabitants,
mostly of Spanish blood, and distinguished for their supe¬
rior intellect, good countenances, and urbane bearing, as
compared with the rest of the population in the department
of Cuzco.”
PAUKPUTTAN, a town of Hindustan, possessed by
native chiefs, in the province of Mooltan, 130 miles east
bv south from the city of Mooltan. Long. 73. 30. E. Lat.
30. 20. N.
PAUL, originally Saul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, and
author of several portions of the New Testament canon.
Though a native of Tarsus, a city of Cilicia,1 he was the
son of Jewish parents, belonging to the tribe of Benjamin.2
From his father he inherited the rights of Roman citizen¬
ship,3 which had probably been conferred upon some of his
ancestors for some important services rendered to the com¬
monwealth ;4 * and it is with great probability supposed, that
the cloak and parchments which he so earnestly charged
Timothy to bring with him to Rome, were the Roman toga
and the certificates of his citizenship, which he expected
might be of use to him in his anticipated trial before the
emperor. The name Saul (bia^), which he received at his
birth, and which signifies “ the longed-for, the desired,”
would seem to indicate that he was the first-born son of
his parents, and that his birth was viewed by them as an
answer to many prayers; that he was not, however, their
only child, is apparent from Acts, xxiii. 16, where mention
1 Acts, xxii. 3, &c. 8 Philip, iii. 5. 3 Acts, xxii. 25-28.
4 The opinion that the natives of Tarsus enjoyed the jus civitatis as a birthright, is not supported by evidence. The fact of that city’s
having been created by Augustus an urbs libera (Plin. v. 27) does not lead to any conclusion as to the possession by its natives of the
right of Roman citizenship; and, from Acts, xxi. 39, compared with xxii. 24, 27, it may be inferred, that as the chief captain knew Paul
to be a native of Tarsus, and yet was ignorant of his Roman citizenship, these two were not necessarily conjoined.
P A
Paul, is made of his “ sister’s son.” His father being of the sect
v v-—'of the Pharisees, probably devoted him from his infancy to
the service of religion ; and with this view he seems to have
received such education as appeared most calculated to fit
him for the duties to which he was destined. At that time
Tarsus was eminently distinguished for its cultivators of
philosophy, and every other department in the circle of in¬
struction {(TiroMri vgbg rt <piXoffo<pi'av xcti r^v aXX?jv syxuxXtov
cctfueav vaibudv) j1 but to what extent the future apostle of
Christianity was indebted to the labours of such teachers for
his early education, no means are left us of judging. It is
probable that his obligations were not very great; for as his
ultimate destination was to the office of an expounder of
the Jewish law and traditions, it does not appear likely that
he would be sent by his parents to occupy himself with the
literature and philosophy of those whom the Jews despised
as outcasts, as well from the light as from the favour of
heaven. At the same time, it cannot be denied that his
residence in a city where the study of the liberal sciences
was so assiduously and successfully prosecuted as to place
it upon a par with “ Athens, Alexandria, or any other place
that could be named in which schools and studies are to be
found,”2 must have had a powerful influence in refining his
taste, and liberalising and expanding his views. It was at
Jerusalem, however, the centre of the Jewish world, that
the most important part of his education was received. At
an early age, in his twelfth or fourteenth year, as is sup¬
posed,3 he was brought to this city, and placed under the in¬
struction of Gamaliel, one of the most famous teachers of
Jewish learning at that time.4 Here he finished his edu¬
cation as a Pharisee, and at the same time, according to the
custom of the Jews, acquired a mechanical art, that of a cxti-
wroiog, which some render “ a mechanist,” 5 others “ a hair¬
cloth-maker,” 6 others “ a maker of tapestry or carpeting,”
and others, with most apparent propriety, as in our version,
“a tent-maker.”7 By this he probably supported himself
during the time he was engaged in the prosecution of his
studies, as we know he was in the habit of doing at an after¬
period whilst engaged as an apostle. How long he abode
in Jerusalem at this time, or whether he returned to Tarsus
at all before his conversion, are points on which no certain
information can now be obtained. In the history of the
early church, he is introduced to us, for the first time,8 as
“ a young man,”9 whose zeal for the religion of his fathers
U L. 151
had prompted him to assume the character of an active per- St Paul,
secutor of those who had forsaken that religion for the faith
of Christ. On the occasion of the martyrdom of Stephen,
he appears in the capacity of an abettor, and in some re¬
spects a sort of superintendent, of the act; and immediately
after this, he, as if rendered more ferocious by the blood he
had assisted in shedding, kindled the flames of a relentless
and unsparing persecution, in which all, without respect
of age or of sex, who had professed the hated religion, were
compelled to blaspheme the name of Jesus, or obliged to
endure the utmost indignities and the most condign punish¬
ments.11 It was whilst engaged in these cruel efforts of a
dark and bigoted zeal that he was made to experience
that extraordinary change of opinion and feeling which
gave a new direction to all his energies, and led him to de¬
vote his life to the advancement of that cause which he at
first deemed it serviceable to God to oppose and destroy.
Having obtained from the rulers of his nation a commis¬
sion to go to Damascus, in which city the Jews were very
numerous, and where also the new religion had obtained a
footing, for the purpose apparently of arresting such of the
Christians as had fled to that city, and bringing them back
bound to Jerusalem, he was himself arrested by a higher
power, and made to feel his utter impotency when attempt¬
ing to oppose the cause of Christ. Whilst crossing the
plain to the south of Damascus, about noon-day, and at a
short distance from that city, he was suddenly surrounded
by a miraculous light from heaven, which had the effect of
so paralyzing him, that he fell to the ground, whilst a voice
addressed to him the thrilling question, “ Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou me ?” In answer to the inquiry which
he made in return, the voice said, “ I am Jesus of Naza¬
reth, whom thou persecutest; but arise and go into the
city, and it shall be told thee what to do.” Confounded,
humbled, and agitated, he obeyed the heavenly vision ; and
as the brilliancy of the light had obscured his vision, he
was led by his astonished attendants into the city, where
he remained in a state of deep dejection for three days
and nights, during which he tasted neither meat nor drink.
From this painful condition he was relieved by the visit of
a man named Ananias, who, at the command of Christ,
sought him out, welcomed him as a brother, and baptized
him into the profession of Christianity.12
The first three years after his conversion were spent by
Strabo hb. xiv. c. 5. 2 Ibid. 3 Greswell’s Dissertations, vol. i. p. 554. 4 Acts, xxii. 3.
= Michaehs, Introd. by Marsh.; Haenlein, Einteitung, ch. iii. s. 301. 6 Eichborn, Einleit. iii. 9; Hug, Einleit. ii. 213.
' i ersons travelling m the East, in order to shelter themselves from the rain and noxious blasts during the night, carry with them
small tents made of leather or cloth ; and the manufacture of these is a profitable occupation.” (Winer, Bib. Realworterbuch in Paidus.)
-/tlCiS, Vll,
9 Nothing satisfactory, however, can be drawn from this as to Paul’s age at this period, for the word vsavias is applied with much inde-
hmteness to persons of from twenty-four to forty years of age. Perhaps his age was about thirty.
11 Acts, yiii. 1-3; xxvi. 10, 11. ; & n b y
1 Acts, ix. 1_18. The conversion of such a man, at such a time, and by such means, furnishes one of the most complete proofs that
nave ever been given qt the divine origin of our holy religion. That Saul, from being a zealous persecutor of the disciples of Christ,
necame all at once a disciple himself, is a fact which cannot be controverted, without overturning the credit of all history. He must
therelore have been converted in the miraculous manner in which he himself said he was, and of course the Christian religion be a divine
reveaion , oi he must have been either an impostor, an enthusiast, or a dupe to the fraud ol others. There is not another alternative
possible.
If he was an impostor who declared what he knew to be false, he must have been induced to act that part by some motive. (See
ihiracle.) Hut the only conceivable motives for religious imposture are, the hopes of advancing one’s temporal interest, credit, or
power ; or the prospect of gratifying some passion or appetite under the authority of the new religion. That none of these could be St
ranis motive tor professing the faith of Christ crucified, is plain from the state of Judaism and Christianity at the period of his for¬
saking the former and embracing the latter faith. Those whom he left were the disposers of wealth, of dignity, of power, in Judea;
tnose to whom he went were indigent men, oppressed, destitute of all means of improving their fortunes. The certain consequence,
, e^e 0re>^ .taking the part of Christianity, was the loss not only of all that he possessed, but of all hopes of acquiring more ; where-
as, y continuing to persecute the Christians, he had hopes rising almost to a certainty of making his fortune by the favour of those who
wi re a ic head of the Jewish state, to whom nothing could so much recommend him as the zeal which he had shown in that persecu-
10n- 7 s,, 01're<r?" or reputation, could the scholar of Gamaliel hope to gain either by becoming a teacher in a college of fishermen ?
°U •* ® liai4'er mmselr, that the doctrines which he taught would, either in or out of Judea, do him honour, when he knew that “ they
were to the Jews a stumbling block, and to the Greeks foolishness ?” Was it, then, the love of power that induced him to make this
grea c ange Dower over whom ? over a flock of sheep whom he himself had assisted to destroy, and whose very Shepherd had lately
een murdered . Perhaps it was with the view of gratifying some licentious passion, under the authority of the new religion, that he
commenced a teacher of that religion. This cannot be alleged; for his writings breathe nothing but the strictest morality, obedience to
magis rates, order, and government, with the utmost abhorrence of all licentiousness, idleness, or loose behaviour, under the cloak of
152
P A
St Paul. Paul in Arabia,1 where he received the Gospel he preach-
 v 'ed « by revelation from Christ,” and where in solitude and
quiet he was doubtless engaged in training himself for the
work in which he was about to engage. On his return to
Damascus, he openly appeared as a preacher ol Christiani¬
ty a circumstance which the Jews felt to be so injurious
to their cause, that they sought, by the aid of the governor,
who was in all probability himself a Jew, to put him to
death. Having by the aid of his Christian brethren es¬
caped their malice, he betook himsell to Jerusalem, where,
after the fears of the brethren, who remembered his former
enmity, but had not heard of his subsequent conversion
to Christianity, had been removed by the testimony of
his friend and companion Barnabas, he was gladly wel¬
comed amongst them, and permitted to occupy that rank to
which Christ had called him.2 The enmity of the Jews
again compelled him to change his residence. After being
fifteen days in Jerusalem, he went to Caesarea, and thence
to his native city Tarsus, where he abode for several years.3
In the mean time, Christianity, which had hitherto been
preached only to the Jews, had received some adherents
from amongst the Gentiles at Antioch; and this led to the
mission of Barnabas from Jerusalem, for the puipose of in¬
structing and regulating the church that had been foimed
there. Barnabas, after some time, finding the need of as¬
sistance and counsel, went to Tarsus, and letuined with
Paul to Antioch, where they abode for a year, occupied in
united efforts for the promulgation of Christianity. At the
close of that period, they were sent to Jerusalem by the
U L.
Christians at Antioch, with the contributions which had
been made by them on behalf of their brethren in Judea,
who were suffering from the effects of a dearth.4 This was
Paul’s second visit to Jerusalem since his conversion. Af¬
ter some months, they again returned to Antioch, accom¬
panied by John Mark, the nephew of Barnabas. The cause
of Christianity by this time had begun to flourish in that
city, and several persons had been received into the
church who were qualified to act as teachers to the rest
This rendered it the less necessary that Paul and Barna¬
bas should remain any longer with them ; and according¬
ly, shortly after their return, the church received a special
command from heaven to set them apart to general mis¬
sionary work. In obedience to this command, they were
sent forth ; and, accompanied by John Mark, who, how¬
ever, soon deserted them and returned to Jerusalem, they
visited Seleucia, Cyprus, Perga in Pamphylia, Antioch in
Pisidia, Iconium, Lystra and Derbe, cities of Lycaonia (at
the former of which, in consequence of Paul’s curing a
cripple, the people were on the point of offering him and
his companion divine honours, under the impression that
the gods had come down in the likeness of men, but were
restrained by the vehement expostulations of those for
whom these impious honours were designed ; and in a few
days after, they had so completely changed their minds,
that, at the instigation of the Jews, they stoned Paul, and
left him for dead); and then retracing their steps, they re¬
turned by way of Attalia, a city of Pamphylia, by sea to An¬
tioch, where they rehearsed to the church all that God had
relision We nowhere read in his works, that saints are ahove moral ordinances ; that dominion is founded in grace ; that monarchy is
desnotism Sch ought to be abolished; that the fortunes of the rich ought to be divided amongst the poor; that there is no difference in
moral actions that any impulses of the mind are to direct us against the light of our reason and the laws of nature ; or any of those
wicked tenets by which the peace of society has been often disturbed, and the rules of morality often broken, by men pretending to act under
{he sanction of divine revelation. He makes no distinctions, like the impostor of Arabia, in favour of himself; nor does any part of his
life eTther before or after his conversion to Christianity, bear any mark of a libertine disposition As amongst the Jews, so amongst the
Christians his conversation and manners were blameless. It has been sometimes objected to the other apostles, by those who were re¬
solved S to credit their testimony, that having been deeply engaged with Jesus during his life, they were obliged for the support of
their own credit, and from having gone too far to return, to continue the same professions alter his death ; but this can by no means
be said of St Paul. On the contrary, whatever force there may be in that way of reasoning, it all tends to convince us that St aid
muTnatural/y have continued a Jew, and an enemy to Christ Jesus. If they were engaged on one side, Ac was as strongly engaged on
the other If shame withheld them from changing sides, much more ought it to have stopped him, who, from his superior education,
must have been vastly more sensible to that kind of shame than the mean and illiterate fishermen of Galilee. The only other differ¬
ence was, that they, by quitting their Master after his death, might have preserved themselves ; whereas he, by quitting the Jews, and
takimr up’ the cross of Christ, certainly brought on his own destruction. , , . . , ,,
AsgSt Paul was not an impostor, so it is plain he was not an enthusiast. Heat of temper, melancholy, ignorance, and vanity, are the
ingredients of which enthusiasm is composed ; but from all these, except the first, the apostle appears to have been wholly free That
he had great fervour of zeal, both when a Jew and when a Christian, in maintaining what he thought to be right, cannot be denied , but
he was at all times so much master of his temper, as, in matters of indifference, to “ become all things to all men; with the most pliant
condescension bending his notions and manners to theirs, as far as his duty to God would permit; a conduct compatible neither with the
stiffness of a bigot nor with the violent impulses of fanatical delusion. That he was not melancholy, is plain from his conduct m em¬
bracing every method which prudence could suggest to escape danger and shun persecution, when he could do it without betraying the
duty of his office or the honour of his God. A melancholy enthusiast courts persecution, and when he cannot obtain it, afflicts himselt
with absurd penances ; but the holiness of St Paul consisted only in the simplicity of a godly life, and in the unwearied performance of
his apostolical duties. That he wife ignorant, no man will allege who is not grossly ignorant himself; for he appears to have been master
not only of the Jewish learning, but also of the Greek philosophy, and to have been very conversant even with the Greek poets. 1 hat
he was not credulous, is plain from his having resisted the evidence of all the miracles performed on earth by Christ as well as those that
were afterwards worked by the apostles ; to the fame of which, as he lived in Jerusalem, he could not possibly have been a stranger And
that he was as free from vanity as any man that ever lived, may be gathered from all that we see m his writings, or know of his life. He
represents himself as the least'of the apostles, and not meet to be called an apostle. He says that he is the chief of sinners; and he pre¬
fers in the strongest terms, universal benevolence to faith, and prophecy, and miracles, and all the gifts and graces with which he cqu
be endowed. Is this the language of vanity or enthusiasm ? Did ever fanatic prefer virtue to his own religious opinions, to illumina¬
tions of the Spirit, and even to the merit of martyrdom ,
Having thus shown that St Paul was neither an impostor nor an enthusiast, it remains only to be inquired, whether he was deceived
by the fraud of others; but this inquiry needs not be long, for who was to deceive him ? A few illiterate fishermen of Galilee . It was
morally impossible for such men to conceive the thought of turning the most enlightened of their opponents and the most cruel of their per¬
secutors into an apostle, and to do this by a fraud in the very instant of his greatest fury against them and their Lord. Hut could they
have been so extravagant as to conceive such a thought, it was physically impossible for them to execute it in the manner m winch we
find his conversion to have been effected. Could they produce a light in the air which at mid-day was brighter than the sun . C0l)ld
they make Saul hear words from out of that light which were not heard by the rest of the company ? Could they make him blind tor
three days after that vision, and then make scales fall off from his eyes, and restore him to sight by a word ? Or, could they make him
and those who travelled with him believe that all these things had happened, if they had not happened ? Most unquestionably no fraud
Since, then, St Paul was neither an impostor, an enthusiast, nor deceived by the fraud of others, it follows that his conversion was mi¬
raculous, and that the Christian religion is a divine revelation. See Lyttleton’s “ Observations on the Conversion of St Paul; a treatise
to which it has been truly said, that infidelity has never been able to fabricate a specious answer, and of which this note is a very short
and imperfect abridgement. .
1 Galatians, i. 11-17 Aots> lx-
* Acts, ix. 20-28. 4 B>id. 22-30.
Paul, done by them. This formed the apostle Paul’s first great
V"" missionary tour.1
After some time spent at Antioch, he and Barnabas again
went up to Jerusalem, for the purpose of consulting the
apostles and elders in regard to some dissensions which had
occurred in the church at Antioch, as to the obligation on
Gentile converts of the Mosaic ceremonial. This gave oc¬
casion to the holding of a council at Jerusalem, at which,
after much disputing, it was at length agreed unanimously,
at the suggestion of the apostle James, that they should
lay no stumbling-block in the way of their Gentile brethren,
by requiring of them more than simply that they should ab¬
stain from meats offered to idols, from uncleanness, from
things strangled, and from blood, whether pure or mixed
with anything else. A letter to this effect was written to
the church at Antioch in the name of the church at Jeru¬
salem ; and with this, two of the members of this church,
Judas and Silas or Silvanus, were appointed to accompany
Paul and Barnabas to Antioch.2 By these means the differ¬
ence of opinion amongst the brethren was removed, and the
church restored to peace. This led Paul to propose to Bar¬
nabas another missionary tour, to which that faithful fellow-
labourer having consented, they were on the verge of de¬
parture, when an unhappy contention, arising out of a de¬
termination on the part of Barnabas to take with them his
nephew John Mark, a step which Paul firmly resisted, on
the ground of Mark’s former conduct in deserting them,
produced a rupture between these two eminent individuals,
and led to their prosecuting a separate course.3 Whilst
Barnabas, in company with his nephew, went to Cyprus,
Paul, attended by Silas, went towards the east, and, passing
through Syria and Cilicia, revisited the scenes of his for¬
mer labours and sufferings in Lycaonia. At Lystra he
found Timothy, a young man who had been probably con¬
verted to Christianity on the occasion of the apostle’s for¬
mer visit, and who was so highly commended by the church
in that place that Paul selected him as the companion of
his travels, having previously ordained him by the imposi¬
tion of the hands of the presbytery.4 Accompanied by him
and Silas, the apostle next passed through the regions of
Phrygia and Galatia, and avoiding Asia strictly so called,
which he was forbidden by the Holy Spirit to enter, as well
as Bithynia, they came by way of Mysia to Troas, a city
and port on the borders of the Hellespont. Here he was
directed by an apparition in a vision to go into Macedonia;
and accordingly, with his companions, having crossed to
Samothracia, and thence to Neapolis, a seaport of Thrace,
he arrived in due course at Philippi. Here they remained
for some time, and made many converts, amongst others the
jailor of the prison, into which Paul and Silas had been
thrust after having been scourged, in consequence of a
charge which had been brought against them as disturbers
of the peace of the city, by a set of impostors whose trade
they had destroyed by expelling an evil spirit from a female
slave who brought them much gain by her skill in sooth-
saying. From Philippi they passed through Amphipolis
and Apollonia, cities of Macedonia, to Thessalonica, where,
though they abode only a short time, they preached the
gospel with great success. A tumult having arisen at the
instigation of the Jews, the Christian converts, fearing for
their safety, sent them by night to Berea, another city of
Macedonia, about forty miles west of Thessalonica, where
they were favourably received by their Jewish brethren,
until a party which had followed them from Thessalonica
stirred up a persecution against them. This determined
Paul to go to Athens, whilst Timothy and Silas, as less ob¬
noxious to the Jews, remained at Berea. It does not ap¬
pear to have been the apostle’s intention in the first in¬
stance in visiting Athens to preach the gospel there, at
least until Timothy and Silas, to whom he had sent a mes¬
sage on his arrival, requiring them to jo1 n him, should have
arrived; but as he waited for them, the sight of a city like
that of Athens, entirely given to idolatry, so stirred and ex¬
cited his spirit that he could no longer refrain ; and accord¬
ingly, in the synagogues he disputed with the Jews, and
in the market-place with such as he met. This led to his
coming into contact with certain Stoic and Epicurean phi¬
losophers, by whom he was contemptuously invited to un¬
fold his new doctrines, and describe the strange deities of
which they supposed him to be the votary; and for this
purpose he was taken to the Areopagus, where, with admir¬
able tact, he exposed the follies of their idolatry, and com¬
mended to them the worship of the one living and true God,
in the midst of avast assemblage of people, on many of whom
a favourable impression was produced by his address.5 Hav¬
ing been joined by Timothy,6 and in all probability by Silas
also,7 he sent the former again to Macedonia, and either
retaining the latter in his company, or despatching him to
some other quarter, he himself passed over to Corinth.8 On
the occasion of this his first visit to that city, he supported
himself by his labours as a tent-maker, in company with a
pious couple named Aquila and Priscilla, who had taken
refuge in Corinth after having been expelled from Rome
by an edict of Claudius Caesar against the Jews ; and at the
same time he availed himself of every opportunity of urging
the gospel of Christ upon the acceptance both of Jews and
Greeks. Here he was rejoined by Silas and Timothy, with
whom he continued a year and a half in active exertion
for the advancement of Christianity. By the persevering
enmity of his former opponents the Jews, he was again
compelled to leave Corinth, and betake himself, along with
Aquila and Priscilla, to Ephesus. Here he abode at this
time only a few days, having been commissioned by a divine
revelation to go up to Jerusalem in time for the approach¬
ing feast of the passover. On this journey, which ended
in his paying his fourth visit to Jerusalem since his conver¬
sion, he was accompanied by Barnabas, with whom his for¬
mer friendship had been re-established, and Titus, a Greek,
who seems to have been a convert of Barnabas. After a
brief residence there, he returned to Antioch, and so finished
his second great apostolic tour.9
At Antioch he abode for some time, and then commenced
another extensive tour, accompanied, as is supposed, by Ti¬
tus. Passing through Phrygia and Galatia, where he revisit¬
ed the churches he had formerly planted, he arrived at Ephe¬
sus. This city stood in the same relation to the region of
Hither Asia in which Jerusalem stood to Palestine, Antioch
to Syria, Corinth to Achaia, and Rome to the west; and
accordingly the apostle made it his head-quarters for three
years, during which time he was occupied in making con¬
verts in the city, and in paying short visits to the surround¬
ing places, and to Crete and other islands of the adjoining
archipelago. With so much success were his labours at¬
tended in Ephesus, that the revenues of those who were
interested in the support of the idolatrous worship of the
tutelar goddess of the city, Diana, began to be affected; and
at the instigation of one of these, by name Demetrius, a sil¬
versmith, who carried on an extensive manufacture of mi¬
niature representations of the famous temple of Diana at
Ephesus, a popular tumult was excited against the apostle,
which was with difficulty appeased by the calm and saga¬
cious conduct of the or town-clerk, who, along
1 Acts, xiii. xiv.
*Abid. xv. 1-31.
* Ibid. xv. 36-41.
4 1 Tim. iv. 14.
4 Acts, xvi. 17.
6 1 Thess. iii. 1.
7 Gres well, vol. ii. p. 31, 32.
8 1 Thess. iii. 1, 2, 6, compared with Acts, xviii. 5.
9 Acts, xviii. 1-22.
154
PAUL.
St Paul, with others of the chief men in the place, seems to have
been friendly towards Paul. Whether this tumult had any
effect in quickening the apostle’s determination to leave
Ephesus, is uncertain ; it is clear, however, that he had come
to that determination before it happened.1 By divine di¬
rection, he had resolved to go to Macedonia; and accord¬
ingly, shortly after the tumult, he departed from Ephesus,
and went by way of Troas to Philippi. There he seems to
have remained a considerable while, for, during his resi¬
dence at Philippi as his head-quarters, he preached the gos¬
pel in all the surrounding districts, even as far as to Illyri-
cum, on the eastern shore of the Adriatic.2 Leaving Philip¬
pi, he paid a second visit to Corinth, where he abode three
months, and then returned to Philippi, having been frustrat¬
ed in his intention of proceeding through Syria to Jerusa¬
lem by the malice of the Jews. From Philippi he sailed
for Troas, where he abode seven days; thence he jour¬
neyed on foot to Assos; and thence he proceeded by sea
to Miletus, having visited several of the intermediate places.
At Miletus he had an affecting interview with the elders of
the church at Ephesus, to whom, in the prospect of seeing
them no more, he gave a solemn and impressive charge, and
bade them farewell. From Miletus he sailed for Syria, and,
after visiting several intermediate ports, landed at Tyre,
where he remained seven days. Thence he journeyed by
way of Ptolemais and Caesarea to Jerusalem, which he vi¬
sited on this occasion for fifth time since his conversion.3
At Jerusalem he recounted to the whole church the events
connected with the progress of Christianity of which he
had been witness, and, apparently to quiet the scruples
of some. Jewish convei'ts, who thought he had too lax and
incorrect a view of the obligation of the Mosaic ritual, he
united himself, at the suggestion of the apostle James, to
four persons who had taken upon them the vows of Naza-
rites, and, entering with them into the temple, signified to
the priest that he would pay the cost of the sacrifices which
were necessary to absolve them and him from the vow.
Whatever effect this compliance had on the minds of his
scrupulous brethren, it procured for him no mitigation of
the hatred with which he was regarded by the unconverted
Jews. On the contrary, so eager was their zeal against him,
that, before his vow was accomplished, they seized him in
the temple, and would have put him to death, had not Ly¬
sias, commander of the Roman cohort in the citadel adjoining
the temple, brought soldiers to his rescue. By his permis¬
sion, and under his protection, Paul addressed to the infu¬
riated mob an apology for himself, in which he set forth the
main circumstances of his life from the beginning up to the
period when he opened his commission to the Gentiles. At
first he was listened to with attention, but as soon as he
spoke of placing the Gentiles on a par with the Jews, they
interrupted him with execrations, and shouted, “ away with
such a fellow from the earth, for it is not fit that he should
live.”4 The Roman commander seeing these demonstra¬
tions of popular resentment, and being ignorant of what
Paul had been saying, from the address having been utter¬
ed in the Hebrew tongue, imagined that he must be some
execrable criminal, and gave orders that he should be
brought into the fort, in order that he might by scourging
compel him to confess his crime. From this indignity Paul
saved himself by asserting his privileges as a Roman citi¬
zen, to bind or scourge whom was strictly forbidden by law.
Next day the chief captain brought him before the Sanhe¬
drim, for the purpose of hearing what it was that was urged
against him; and here Paul again entered into a defence of
his conduct, in the course of which he professed his attach¬
ment to the doctrine of a corporeal resurrection, and there¬
by stirred up a fierce controversy between the two parties St Pau;
composing the Sanhedrim, the Pharisees and the Sadducees,
the former of whom maintained, whilst the latter denied, this
doctrine. So angry and vehement did this discussion be¬
come, that the chief captain, fearing for the safety of his
prisoner, whom, as a Roman citizen, he was bound to pro¬
tect, commanded his soldiers to go down and remove him
from amongst the combatants, into the fort. Upon the day
following, above forty of the Jews entered into a solemn
engagement neither to eat nor drink until they had killed
Paul, and for this purpose proposed to the chief priests to
invite him to a conference, in the hope that they might
have an opportunity of assaulting him on his way from the
fort. This scheme was rendered abortive by intelligence
of it having been conveyed to Lysias by Paul’s sister’s son,
who, alongst with his mother, seems to have been an early
convert to Christianity.5 Matters assuming this desperate
aspect, Lysias determined to bring the whole under the
consideration of the procurator; and, accordingly, placing
Paul under the protection of a sufficient escortj he sent
him to Caesarea, with a letter to Felix, explaining the rea¬
sons of this step. After five days, Felix held a court, at
which Paul and his accusers were brought together, and
both parties heard at full length. The defence of the
apostle was triumphant; but Felix, unwilling to offend the
Jews, remanded him, under the pretence of obtaining far¬
ther information from Lysias. Some days afterwards, he
summoned him again to his tribunal, in order that he and his
wife Drusilla, who was a daughter of Herod Agrippa, might
hear him “ concerning the faith in Christon which occa¬
sion, the apostle, with all that fearless zeal and faithfulness
for which he was distinguished, expostulated so forcibly
with the procurator in regard to those vices for which he
was notorious, that Felix trembled, and hastily dismissed
him from his presence. Shortly after this, Felix was re¬
moved from his office, and was succeeded by Porcius Fes-
tus, before whom the Jews again brought their charges
against Paul. When both parties came to be heard, Paul
perceived so evident a disposition in the new governor to
favour the Jews, that he felt constrained to avail himself of
the privilege which, as a Roman citizen, he possessed, of
removing his cause from the province to the metropolis, by
appealing to the emperor. This led to his being sent to
Rome, but not before he had been again heard by Festus,
attended by King Agrippa and his wife Bernice, by whom
he was adjudged to have done nothing worthy of death or
of bonds, so that he might have been set at liberty had he
not appealed unto Caesar. His voyage to Rome was long
and disastrous. After coasting along Syria as far as Sidon,
they struck across to Myra, a port of Lysia, having passed
under Cyprus; thence they sailed slowly towards Cnidus,
and thence, in consequence of the wind being contrary,
to Crete, where they with difficulty put into a port on the
southern side of that island, called the “ The Fair Haven,”
near the city of Lasea. The season being now far advan¬
ced, Paul advised the centurion to proceed no farther; but
the place not being suitable for wintering in, and the wea¬
ther promising favourably, his advice was disregarded, and
they again set sail, intending to reach Phoenice, a port in
the same island, and there to winter. Scarcely, however,
had they ventured to sea when the apostle’s prediction was
verified ; for a boisterous wind arose and drove them at its
mercy across the Mediterranean. In this state they con¬
tinued for fourteen days, at the close of which they were
shipwrecked on the coast of Malta, but without any loss of
life. Here the apostle and his company remained for three
months, during which time he was actively employed in
2 Rom. xv. 19. 3 Acts, xx. xxi. 15. f Acts, xxii. 22.
. 6 Acts, xxiii. 16-22, compared with Ryui. xvi. 7, 11, 21.
Acts, xix. 21.
PAUL.
. instructing the inhabitants, and performed many miracles
for their benefit. On the approach of spring, they availed
themselves of a ship of Alexandria that had wintered in the
island, and set sail for Syracuse, where they remained three
days ; thence they crossed to Rhegium, and thence along
the coast to Puteoli, from which place he journeyed by
land to the imperial city. Here he was delivered by the
centurion in whose charge he had come from Caesarea, to
the captain of the guard, who, with great lenity, permitted
him to dwell in his own hired house, under the charge of
a soldier.1
The sacred historian closes his narrative by informing
us that Paul continued in this state of easy imprisonment
for “ two years, receiving all that came to him, preaching
the kingdom of God, and teaching those things which con¬
cern the Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence, no man
forbidding him.” Of the subsequent events of the apostle’s
life, consequently, we have much less direct and certain in¬
formation ; and from this has arisen much diversity of opi¬
nion on the subject. By many it is supposed that this his
first imprisonment at Rome was his last, and that he pe¬
rished in the persecution which Nero excited against the
Christians, by representing them as the agents in the burn¬
ing of the city; whilst others contend that he was set at
liberty before that event, and that he set out on another
great missionary tour to the west, in the course of which
he preached the gospel throughout Spain, and, according to
some, in Britain also f revisited Ephesus and other places
in Lesser Asia, passed over to Crete, returned to Ephesus,
passed through Troas into Macedonia, thence to Nicopolis
in Epirus, Dalmatia in Rlyricum, and back again to Asia,
when he was apprehended and conveyed to Rome the se¬
cond time, where he suffered martyrdom. By some who
hold this latter opinion the order of places visited is com¬
pletely reversed, and Paul is supposed to have commenced
his tour in Asia, and ended it in Spain. It would re¬
quire a much larger space than this article can be permit¬
ted to occupy, to enter into any examination of the ai'gu-
ments and evidence on both sides of this question. Suf¬
fice it to remark, that whilst the whole subject is involved
in much uncertainty, and whilst little more than proba¬
ble conjecture can be furnished for the details of either hy¬
pothesis, the preponderance seems to be in favour of the
latter. Our readers will probably be satisfied of this by a
reference to what has been written on it by Mr Greswell
and Professor Neander ; the former of whom contends for
it with all the zeal of an advocate, whilst the latter ad¬
mits it with all the deliberation of a cautious and impartial
judge.3
In the above sketch of the principal events of the apos¬
tle’s life no attempt has been made to assign to each its
proper date. I his has resulted from the great perplexity
in which this part of the subject is involved, and the con¬
sequent inexpediency of adopting any particular chrono¬
logy without assigning the reasons on which it is founded ;
a course which would have extended this article greatly
beyond its proper bounds. We have deemed it preferable,
therefore, to present, in the first instance, the leading facts
in the history of Paul in the order of their occurrence, and
shall now furnish a table of the dates assigned to the more
important of these in those systems of chronology which
are most deserving of notice, leaving it with our readers to
155
38
44
52
37
41
43
48
52
56
37 or 38
40 or 41
46
47?
56
60
63
Neander. 7
36
39
44
50
54
58
consult the works in which they are unfolded, for the argu¬
ments by which they are respectively supported.
Usher. 4 Greswell. s Eichhorn. e
Paul’s Conversion     35
... 1st visit to Jerusalem )
(Acts, ix. 26) )
... 2d do. do. (Acts, xi. 30)
... 3d do. do. (Acts, xv. 4)
... 4th do. do. (Acts,) Ka
xviii.22) 56
... 5th do. do. and appre- }
... arrival at Rome   63 59 63 61
... liberation  65 61 ... 62 or 63
... martyrdom  67 66 65 or 68 66?
During the brief intervals of comparative ease which the
apostle enjoyed amid his arduous and almost incessant ex¬
ertions as a preacher of Christianity, he wrote several trea¬
tises, more or less elaborate, both of a doctrinal and a prac¬
tical nature, in the shape of epistles to different churches.
Of these, thirteen, avowedly of his composition, and one
that is with great probability ascribed to him (the Epistle
to the Hebrews)8 have come down to us ; and there is good
reason to believe that in these we have the whole of those
compositions which, as an apostle of Jesus Christ, he gave
to the church. It is supposed, indeed, by many distin¬
guished biblical critics, that there is evidence in the first
of his extant epistles to the Corinthians, of his having writ¬
ten one to that church antecedently to either of these ; but
the basis of evidence on which this rests is at best very
slender, and the support which it lends to what is raised on
it very doubtful.9 In what order these epistles were wTit-
ten, and what date is to be assigned to each, are points on
which much discussion has been expended. The following
lists present the results of the investigations of Greswell
and Neander; and the agreement of these two very able
and independent inquirers in so many particulars may be
safely regarded as an argument in favour of the general
correctness of that scheme which, with trifling variations,
both adopt.
I Neander.
IstThess.) r ~
2d Thess. { •••fr°m Connfh.
Galat   Ephesus.
1st Cor Ditto.
2d Cor Macedonia.
Romans   — Cenchrea.
Coloss Rome.
Ephes Ditto.
Philem Ditto.
Philipp   Ditto.
1st Tim Macedonia.
Titus Crete.
2d Tim  Rome.
St Paul.
Thess8 • Jrom Corinth A D. 50.
Greswell.
1st Thess.
2d
1st Cor Ephesus.
2d Cor Macedonia.,
Galat Ditto 
Romans Cenchrea...
Ephes Rome 
Coloss Ditto 
Philem Ditto 
Philipp Ditto 
Hebrews   Puteoli 
Titus Macedonia..
1st Tim Nicopolis...
2d Tim Rome 
,.55.
.55.
.55.
.56.
.60.
.60.
.60.
.60.
.63.
.64.
.65.
.66.
Neander regards the Epistle to the Hebrews as of un¬
certain authorship, but deems it probable that it wus writ¬
ten about the period of the apostle’s martyrdom, by “ some
apostolic man of the Pauline school.”10
In perusing the history and the writings of St Paul, it
is impossible not to be struck with the amazing energy of
thought and action by which he was characterized. The
conception of potver is impressed upon the mind by every
view of his history, and the study of every page of his wTit-
ings. The ease with which he threw off the prejudices of
1 Acts, xxi. 16; xxvni. 31. 2 See Bisbop Stillingfleet, Antiquity of the British Churches, vol. iii. p. 25-28, ed. 1770; and others,
s 267r‘>8ie 8 ^>i',S,lrta^10nS’ V0^’ 11 • PP- 78-100; Neander’s Gcschichte d. PJlanzung und Zeitung d. Christliche Kirche, u. s. w., &c.
7 Annahs Geneva;, 1722, p. 568. 5 Dissertations, &c. 5 vols. 1837. 6 Einleitung ins, N. T. 3 bde.
2 <? ’m u* s; w> 8 See Stuart’s Commentary on the Hebrews, vol. i.
®1(h Iiecensio Synoptica, on 1st Cor. v. 9; and a note by the translator of Billroth’s Commentary on the Corinthians (Edin
bursh Biblical Cabinet, No. xxi. vol. i. n. 4').
0 Geschichte, s. 281.
156
St Paul.
P A U
Judaism, notwithstanding the deep hold which these had
taken of his mind; the rapidity with which he expanded
his thoughts to embrace the vast conceptions unfolded by
the free offers and unbounded claims of Christianity, so
different from the narrow sectarianism of his former reli¬
gion ; the accuracy with which he received into his mind,
almost instantaneously, and in all their multiplicity, the
mutual bearings and relations of the old economy and the
new; the dauntless intrepidity with which, from the very
commencement of his Christian profession, he entered into
discussion with the advocates of Judaism, and vanquished
them with their own weapons ; the unflinching perseve¬
rance with which, in spite of danger, suffering, contumely,
persecution from enemies, ingratitude and desertion from
friends, he prosecuted his arduous and exhausting labours;
the unwearying assiduity with which he watched over the
churches of which he had the care, and the promptitude
and accuracy with which he adopted and executed mea¬
sures for their advantage, widely scattered and variously
circumstanced though they were ; the resistless force of his
arguments, the persuasiveness of his appeals, the bitterness
of his irony ; all conspire to show that he possessed, in a
high degree, those capacities for command by which men
are fitted to be the leaders and directors of their fellows in
enterprises of importance to the interests of the race. But
it was not by attributes of strength and power alone that
the mind of Paul was characterized. The sternness of these
was relieved and softened by others of a more amiable and
gentle cast. A vein of tenderness and sensibility flowed
through his soul, which, whilst it made him the more sus¬
ceptible of suffering from ingratitude or persecution, ren¬
dered him at the same time gentle and compassionate to
the feelings of others. With all his freedom from Jewish
prejudices, he never lost his reverence for the country and
institutions of his fathers; and with all his zeal for recti¬
tude, and all his firmness in rebuking error, he never for¬
got what was due to the imperfections of his brethren, or
deemed that truth could be made attractive if divorced
from charity. Removed alike from the extremes of fana¬
ticism on the one hand and apathy on the other, his whole
life was a noble instance of the consecration, on sound and
elevated principles, of the highest powers, and the most
indefatigable energies, to a work in which he had no per¬
sonal interest apart from that of his fellow Christians, and
from the honour which was to accrue from his exertions
to that Master whom it was his high ambition to serve in
life, and his animating expectation to join at death. Apart
altogether from his character as an apostle of Christ, his
labours in the cause of human amelioration entitle him to
veneration as one of the greatest benefactors of the spe¬
cies ; whilst in his peculiar capacity as one of the founders
of the Christian church, and an inspired expositor of di¬
vine truth, he stands without a rival in his claims upon
our gratitude and reverence. His history is a standing
evidence of the truth of our religion ; to his labours we
are indebted mainly for the rapid extension of Christianity
both in the East and in the West; and in his writings are
contained those treasures of heavenly doctrine which it
has been the chosen occupation of some of the greatest
minds of subsequent ages to explore and to unfold. With
these irresistible claims, the more his life, character, and
writings are studied, the deeper will be the veneration in
which he will be held, and the more sincere will be the
gratitude of every pious mind to the Author of all good,
for having, in so remarkable a manner, supplied the church
with a teacher so eminently qualified to advance its best
interests, and establish, to the end of time, the faith, efficien¬
cy, and enjoyment of its members. (n. n. n. n.)
Paul, St, an island in the South Pacific Ocean, about
10,000 toises in circumference. Long. 75. 2. E. Lat. 37.
56. S.
P A U
Paul, first bishop of Narbonne, or Sergius Paulus the
proconsul, converted and made bishop by St Paul, was de¬
scended from one of the best families of Rome.
Paul, Father, whose name, before he entered into the v
monastic state, was Peter Sarpi, was born at Venice, on the
14th of August 1552. His father followed merchandise,
though with so little success, that at his death he left his family
very ill provided for, but under the care of a mother whose
piety was likely to bring the blessing of Providence upon
them, and whose wise conduct supplied the want of fortune.
Happily for young Sarpi, she had a brother, master of a
celebrated school, under whose direction he was placed by
her; and here he lost no time, but cultivated his abilities,
which were naturally of the first rate, with unwearied appli¬
cation. He was born for study, having a natural aversion
to pleasure and gaiety, and a memory so tenacious that he
could repeat thirty verses after once hearing them. Pro¬
portional to his capacity was his progress in literature. At
the age of thirteen, having made himself master of school
learning, he turned his attention to philosophy and the ma¬
thematics, and entered upon logic under Capella of Cre¬
mona, who, though a celebrated master of that science,
confessed that in a very little time he found himself unable
to give his pupil any further instructions.
As Capella was of the order of the Servites, his scholar
was induced by him to engage in the same profession, al¬
though his uncle and his mother represented to him the
hardships and austerities of that kind of life, and advised
him with great zeal against it. But he was steady in his re¬
solutions, and in 1566 took the habit of the order, being then
only in his fourteenth year ; a time of life with most persons
very improper for such engagements, but in him attended
with such maturity of thought, and such a settled temper,
that he never seemed to regret the choice which he then
made, and afterwards confirmed it by a solemn public pro¬
fession in 1572.
At a general chapter of the Servites which was held at
Mantua, Paul, being then only twenty years old, distinguish¬
ed himself so much in a public disputation, by his genius and
learning, that William duke of Mantua, a great patron of
letters, solicited the consent of his superiors to retain him at
his court, and not only made him public professor of divi¬
nity in the cathedral, and reader of casuistical divinity and
canon law in that city, but honoured him with many proofs
of his esteem. But Father Paul finding a court life not agree¬
able to his temper, quitted it two years afterwards, and re¬
tired to his beloved privacy, being then not only acquainted
with the Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic languages,
but with philosophy, the mathematics, canon and civil law,
all parts of natural philosophy, and chemistry itself; for his
application was unintermitted, his head clear, his appre¬
hension quick, and his memory retentive.
Being made priest at twenty-two, he was by the illus¬
trious Cardinal Borromeo honoured with his confidence, and
employed by him on many occasions, not without the envy
of persons of inferior merit, who were so far exasperated
as to lay a charge against him before the Inquisition, for
denying that the Trinity could be proved from the first
chapter of Genesis ; but the accusation was too ridiculous
to be entertained. After this he passed successively through
the dignities of his order, and having been chosen provin¬
cial for the province of Venice at the age of twenty-six, he
discharged the duties of his office with such ability, that in
1579 he was appointed, with two others, to draw up new
regulations and statutes for its government. This he ex¬
ecuted with great success; and when his office of provin¬
cial expired, he retired for three years to the study of na¬
tural and experimental philosophy and anatomy, in which
he is said to have made some useful discoveries. In the in¬
tervals of his employment he applied himself to his studies
with an extensive capacity, which left no branch of know-
Pauli
Paths
Paul.
P A U
ther ledge untouched. Acquapendente, the great anatomist,
iiul. confesses that he learned from Paul how vision was per-
v 'formed; and there are proofs that he was not a stranger to
the circulation of the blood. He frequently conversed on
astronomy with mathematicians, on anatomy with surgeons,
on medicine with physicians, and on the analysis of metals
with chemists, not as a superficial inquirer, but as a com¬
plete master. He was next chosen procurator-general of
his order; and, during his residence at Rome, he was not
only greatly esteemed by Pope Sixtus V., but also con¬
tracted an intimate friendship with Cardinal Bellarmine and
other eminent persons.
But the hours of repose, which he employed so well, were
interrupted by a new information in the Inquisition, where
a former acquaintance produced a letter written by him in
ciphers, in which he said, “ that he detested the court of
Rome, and that no preferment was obtained there but by
dishonest means.” This accusation, however dangerous,
was passed over on account of his great reputation ; but it
made such an impression on that court, that he was after¬
wards denied a bishopric by Clement VIII. After these
difficulties were surmounted, Father Paul again retired to
his solitude, where he appears to have turned his attention
more to improvement in piety than to learning. Such was
the care with which he read the Scriptures, that, it being
his custom to draw a line under any passage which he in¬
tended more nicely to consider, there was not a single word
in his New Testament but was underlined. The same
marks of attention appeared in his Old Testament, Psalter,
and Breviary.
But the most active scene of his life commenced about the
year 1615, when Paul V., exasperated by some decrees of
the senate of Venice which interfered with the alleged
rights of the church, laid the whole state under an inter¬
dict. The senate, filled with indignation at this treatment,
forbade the bishops to receive or publish the pope’s bull;
and, convening the rectors of the churches, commanded
them to celebrate divine service in the accustomed manner,
with which most of them readily complied ; but the Jesuits
and some others, having refused, were by a solemn edict
expelled the state. Both parties having proceeded to ex¬
tremities, employed their ablest writers to defend their
measures. On the pope’s side, Cardinal Bellarmine entered
the lists, and, with his confederate authors, defended the
papal claims with great vehemence of expression, and very
sophistical reasonings; which were confuted by the Vene¬
tian apologists in much more decent language, and with
greater solidity of argument. On this occasion Father Paul
was eminently distinguished by his Defence of the Rights
of the Supreme Magistrate, and his Treatise of Excommu¬
nication, translated from Gerson, with an Apology, and
other writings. For these he was cited before the Inqui¬
sition at Rome; but it may easily be imagined that he did
not obey the summons.
The Venetian writers, whatever might be the abilities of
their adversaries, were at least superior to them in the jus¬
tice of their cause. The propositions maintained on the
side of Rome were, that the pope is invested with all the
authority of heaven and earth ; that all princes are his vas¬
sals, and that he may annul their laws at pleasure; that
kings may appeal to him, as he is temporal monarch of the
whole earth ; that he can discharge subjects from their
oaths of allegiance, and make it their duty to take up arms
against their sovereign; that he may depose kings without
any fault committed by them, if the good of the church re¬
quires it; that the clergy are exempt from all tribute to
kings, and are not accountable to them even in cases of
high treason ; that the pope cannot err; that his decisions
are to be received and obeyed on pain of sin, though all the
world should judge them to be false ; that the pope is the
vicegerent ol God upon earih; and that to call his power
P A U 157
in question is to call in question the powTer of God; maxims St Paul
which it did not require the abilities and learning of Father II
Paul to prove to be false and destructive. It may easily be^ ^>ai^ee‘
imagined, that such principles were quickly overthrown, and v-"-
that no court but that of Rome thought it for its interest to fa¬
vour them. The pope, therefore, finding his authors confut¬
ed and his cause abandoned, was willing to terminate the af¬
fair by a treaty ; which, by the mediation of Henry IV. of
b ranee, was concluded upon terms very much to the honour
of the Venetians. But the defenders of the Venetian rights,
though comprehended in the treaty, w ere excluded by the
Romans from the benefit of it. Some, upon various pre¬
tences, were imprisoned; others were sent to the galleys;
and all were excluded from preferment. But their malice
was chiefly aimed against Father Paul, who soon felt the
effects of it; for, as he wras going one night to his convent,
about six months after the accommodation, he was attacked
by five ruffians armed with stilettoes, who gave him no less
than fifteen stabs, three of which wounded him in such a
manner that he was left for dead. The murderers fled for
refuge to the nuncio, and were afterwards received into the
pope’s dominions ; but they were pursued by divine justice,
all, except one man w ho died in prison, having perished by
violent deaths.
This, and other attempts upon his life, obliged him to
confine himself to his convent, where he engaged in writ¬
ing the History of the Council of Trent; a work unequalled
for the judicious disposition of the matter, and the skilful
texture of the narration. It is commended by Dr Burnet as
the completest model of historical writing, and celebrated
by Mr Worton as equivalent to any production of antiquity;
a work in which the reader finds “ liberty without licen¬
tiousness, piety without hypocrisy, freedom of speech with¬
out neglect of decency, severity without rigour, and exten¬
sive learning without ostentation.”
In this, and other works of less consequence, he spent the
remaining part of his life, until the beginning of the year
1622, w hen he was seized with a cold and fever, which he
neglected till it became incurable. He languished more
than twelve months, wrhich he spent almost wholly in prepa¬
ration for his passage into eternity; and amongst his prayers
and aspirations he was often heard to repeat, “ Lord, now
let thy servant depart in peace.” Throughout the whole
course of his illness, to the last hour of his life, he was con¬
sulted by the senate in public affairs, and returned answers
in his greatest weakness with such presence of mind as
could only arise from the consciousness of innocence.
On the day of his death he had the passion of our blessed
Saviour read to him out of St John’s Gospel, and spoke of
the mercy of the Redeemer, and his confidence in his
merits. As his end approached, the brethren of his con¬
vent came to pronounce the last prayers, with which he
could only join in his thoughts, being able to pronounce no
more than the words Esto perpetua, which was understood
to be a prayer for the prosperity of his country. He died
in the seventy-first year of his age, hated by the Romans
as their most formidable enemy, honoured by all the learn¬
ed for his abilities, and esteemed by the good for his in¬
tegrity.
PAULEE, or Pauleegur, a celebrated fortress and
towm of Hindustan, province of Aurungabad, and district of
Concan. It is erected on the top of an insulated mountain,
about 1500 feet in height, and is inaccessible on the north
side, which is well defended. It contains several reservoirs
of water, and the store-rooms and other places are hewn
out of the solid rock. This extraordinary fortress wras taken
in 1818 by the British troops. There is another town of the
same name in the province of Ajmeer, and one of the great¬
est commercial marts in Rajpootana, where the commodities
of Europe, Persia, and the Deccan are exchanged for those
of Cashmere and the northern and eastern parts of Hindu-
158
P A U
P A U
Paulianists stan. Paulee is also the name of a town and fortress in the
II. south of India, province of Malabar.
1 aulicians. PAULIANISTS, PaulianisTj®, a sect of heretics, so
* L ^ denominated from their founder Paul of Samosata, who was
elected bishop of Antioch in 262. His doctrine seems to
have amounted to this, that the Son and the Holy Ghost
exist in God in the same manner as the faculties of reason
and activity do in man ; that Christ was born a mere man,
but that the reason or wisdom of the Father descended into
him, and by him wrought miracles upon earth, instructing
the nations; and that, on account of this union of the Di¬
vine Word with the man Jesus, Christ might be called
God, though, as he conceived, improperly. It is also said
that he did not baptize in the name of the Son ; for which
reason the council of Nice ordered those who had been
baptized by him to be rebaptized.
Being condemned by Dionysius Alexandrinus in a coun¬
cil, he abjured his errors to avoid deposition; but he soon
afterwards resumed them, and was actually deposed by an¬
other council in 269. This man may be considered as the
father of the modern Socinians ; and his errors were severely
condemned by the council of Nice. The creed agreed upon
by the Nicene fathers, with a view to the errors of Paul
of Samosata, concludes thus: “ But those who say there
was a time when he was not, and that he was not before he
was born, the catholic and apostolic church anathematizes.”
To those who have any veneration for the council of Nice
this must appear a very severe, and perhaps not unjust, cen¬
sure of some other modern sects, as well as that of the So¬
cinians.
PAULICIANS, a branch of the ancient Manicheans, so
called from their founder, Paulus, an Armenian, who lived
in the seventh century, and who, with his brother John,
both of Samosata, formed this sect; but others are of opi¬
nion that they were so called from another Paul, an Ar¬
menian by birth, who lived under the reign of Justinian II.
In the seventh century a zealot called Constantine revived
this drooping sect, which had suffered much from the vio¬
lence of its adversaries, and was ready to expire under the
severity of the imperial edicts, and the zeal with which these
were carried into execution. The Paulicians, however, by
their number, and the countenance of the Emperor Nice-
phorus, became formidable in all the East.
But the cruel rage of persecution, which had for some
years been suspended, broke forth with redoubled violence
under the reigns of Michael Curopalates and Leo the Ar¬
menian, who inflicted capital punishment upon such of the
Paulicians as refused to return into the bosom of the church.
The Empress Theodora, tutoress of the Emperor Michael,
in 845 obliged them either to recant or to quit the empire ;
upon which several of them were put to death, and more
retired amongst the Saracens.
Upon this they entered into a league with the Saracens ;
and choosing as their chief an officer of the greatest reso¬
lution and valour, whose name was Carbeus, they declared
against the Greeks a war which was carried on during fifty
years with the greatest exasperation and fury. During
these commotions, some Paulicians spread their doctrines
amongst the Bulgarians ; but many of them, either from a
principle of zeal for the propagation of their opinions, or from
a natural desire of flying from the persecution which they
suffered under the Grecian yoke, retired, about the close of
the eleventh century, from Bulgaria and Thrace, and form¬
ed settlements in other countries. Their first migration
was into Italy; and thence, in process of time, they sent
colonies into almost all the other provinces of Europe, and
formed gradually a considerable number of religious assem¬
blies, who adhered to their doctrine. In Italy they were
called Patariniy from a certain place called Pataria, being
a part of the city of Milan, where they held their assem¬
blies ; and Gathari or Gazari, from Gazaria, or the Lesser
Tartary. In France they were called Albigenses, and anxi¬
ously concealed their more obnoxious doctrines. The first
religious assembly which the Paulicians had formed in Europe
is said to have been discovered at Orleans in 1017, under
the reign of Robert, when many of them were condemned
to be burned alive. The ancient Paulicians, according to
Photius, expressed the utmost abhorrence of Manes and
his doctrine; but it is nevertheless certain that their suc¬
cessors were Manicheans. The Greek writers comprise
their errors under the six following heads. They denied that
this inferior and visible world is the production of the Su¬
preme Being, distinguishing the Creator of the world and
of human bodies from the Most High God who dwells in
the heavens; they treated contemptuously the Virgin Mary;
they refused to celebrate the institution of the Lord’s Sup¬
per ; they loaded the cross of Christ with contempt and re¬
proach ; they rejected the books of the Old Testament, and
looked upon the writers of that sacred history as inspired
by the Creator of this world, and not by the Supreme God ;
and they excluded presbyters and elders from all share in
the administration of the church.
PAULINUS, a bishop who flourished in the early part
of the seventh century. He was the apostle of Yorkshire,
and the first archbishop of York. This dignity seems to
have been conferred upon him about the year 626. He built
a church at Almonbury, which he dedicated to St Alban,
and there he preached to and converted the Brigantes.
Camden mentions a cross at Dewsborough, which had been
erected to him, with this inscription, “ Paulinus hie praedi-
cavit et celebravit.” About this time York was so small
that there was not so much as a church in it in which King
Edwin could be baptized. Constantius is said to have made
it a bishopric; and Pope Honorius erected it into a metro¬
politan see. We are told that Paulinus baptized in the river
Swale, in one day, ten thousand men, besides women and
children, on the first conversion of the Saxons to Chris¬
tianity. At Walstone, in Northumberland, he baptized
Segbert king of the East Saxons. Bede says, “ Paulinus
coming with the king and queen to the royal manor called
Ad Gebdrin (now Yeverin), staid there thirty-six days with
them, employed in the duties of catechizing and baptizing.
In all this time he did nothing from morning to night but
instruct the people, who flocked to him from all the villages
and places, in the doctrine of Christ and salvation; and,
after they were instructed, he baptized them in the neigh¬
bouring river Glen.” According to the same venerable
author, “ he preached the word in the province of Lindissi;
and first converted the governor of the city of Lindocollina,
whose name was Blecca, with all his family. In this city
he built a stone church of exquisite workmanship, whose
roof being ruined by long neglect or the violence of the
enemy, only the walls are now standing.” He is also said
to have founded a collegiate church of prebends near South-
well, in Nottinghamshire, dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
This church he is stated to have built when he baptized the
Coritani in the Trent.
PAULO, Marco, a celebrated traveller, was son of Ni¬
cholas Paulo, a Venetian, who, with his brother Matthew,
about the year 1255, visited Constantinople, in the reign
of Baldwin II. Nicholas, at his departure, left his wife
pregnant; and she brought to the world the famous Marco
Paulo, the subject of this notice. The two Venetians, hav¬
ing taken leave of the emperor, crossed the Black Sea, and
travelled into Armenia, whence they passed over land to
the court of Barka, one of the greatest lords of Tartary,
who loaded them with honours. This prince having been
defeated by one of his neighbours, Nicholas and Matthew
made the best of their way through the deserts, and arrived
at the city where resided Kublai, khan of the Tartars.
Kublai was entertained with the account which they gave
him of the European manners and customs; and appointed
P A U P A U l5g
raul°-them ambassadors to the pope, in order to demand of his 20.30. and 28.0. of south latitude, measuring 450 miles from San Paulo
• v 'holiness a hundred missionaries. They accordingly return- north to south, and having a medium breadth of 340 miles
ed to Italy, obtained from the pontiff' two Dominicans, the St Paulo is divided into three comarcas or ouvidorias viz’
one an Italian and the other an Asiatic, and carried along St Paulo, Hitu, and Curytiba, each called after the princi-
with them young Marco, for whom Kublai expressed a sin- pal town situated in it. Excepting on the eastern part
gular affection. This young man, having learned the differ- where a cordillera or elevated ridge of mountains runs pa-
ent dialects of Tartary, was employed in embassies which rallel with the coast, this province is not mountainous With
gave him the opportunity of traversing Tartary, China, and the exception of Para, not one of the maritime provinces
other eastern countries. At length, after a residence of contains so many navigable rivers as St Paulo; but unfor-
seventeen years at the court of the khan, the three Vene- tunately, all these flow into the interior, and are absorbed
tians returned to their own country, in the year 1295, with by the mighty Parana, so that they do not in any wav fa-
mimense fortunes. A short time after his return, Marco, cilitate intercourse with the coast. The few streams or
serving his country at sea against the Genoese, lost his gal- mountain torrents which descend the eastern declivity of
ley, in a great naval engagement, and was himself taken pri- the cordillera, and fall into the Atlantic, are of no use in
soner and carried to Genoa. He remained there many a commercial point of view, not being navigable This
years m confinement; and, to amuse his melancholy as well province, like most others of Brazil, abounds in lar^e fo-
as to gratify his friends, he sent for his notes from Venice, rests, the trees being such as are common to the country
and composed the history of his own and his father’s voy- These are succeeded by plains and gently rising hills’
ages in Italian, under this title, Belle Maraviglie del Mon- covered with scattered bushes, and extensive tracts of
do da Im vidute; the first edition of which appeared verdure, which form by for the largest proportion of its
at Venice m 1496, in 8vo. His work was translated surface; and hence St Paulo is pre-eminently adapted for
into different languages, and inserted in various collections, the breeding of cattle, vast herds of which everywhere
The editions most esteemed are the Latin one published abound. Oxen, horses, and mules thrive exceedingly well
by Andrew Muller at Cologne, 1671, in 4to, and that in and are particularly numerous. Sheep are not attended to;
trench, to be found in the collection of voyages published but here there is a very fine and large breed of goats
by Bergeron, at the Hague, 1735, in two vols. 4to. In the whose milk is generally used. The soil of this province is
writings of Marco Paulo there are some things true, and in many parts very rich, and the vegetable productions are
others highly incredible. It is indeed difficult to believe, numerous and luxuriant. The articles chiefly cultivated
tnat as soon as the khan was informed of the arrival of the are wheat, rye, maize, manioc, rice, and potatoes; and lately
two Venetian merchants, who were come to sell theriaca, or the vine has been introduced with perfect success. The
treacle, at his court, he sent before them an escort of forty palma Christi grows in such abundance that castor oil is
thousand men, and afterwards despatched these Venetian burned in lamps instead of spermaceti. Cotton and coffee
ambassadors to the pope, to beseech his holiness to send do not appear to thrive very well, and the sugar-cane but
him a hundred missionaries. It is equally difficult to be- indifferently; yet rum is made in quantities sufficient to
heve that the pope, who doubtless had an ardent zeal for supply the home consumption of that article. Little man-
the propagation of the faith, should, instead of a hundred, dioc is cultivated, but maize is raised to a great extent
have sent him only two missionaries. There are, there- and considerable quantities of it are sent to Rio. In some
fore, some errors and exaggerations in Marco Paulo’s nar- parts this grain, and also rice, yield two hundred and fifty
rative ; but many other things which were afterwards veri- fold ; an extraordinary return,” when we consider that in
fied, and which have been of no little service to succeeding England the produce of wheat is only as twelve to one. The
travellers, prove that in several respects his relation is va- mulberry tree attains to great perfection in this climate, and
Juab e. He not only gave better accounts of China than the silk-worms are said to produce a very beautiful thread
had before been received, but likewise furnished a descrip- so that the culture of silk might be carried on with great
tion of Japan, of many of the islands of the East Indies, of success. The cochineal insect is also found in many parts
Madagascar, and of the coasts of Africa; so that from his of the province, and might be made to furnish an equally
work it might be easily collected, that a direct passage by profitable branch of trade. But the aversion of the Vau-
sea to the Indies was not only possible, but practicable, listas to laborious work, as long as they can obtain the rich
It may be worth while to add, that, in the opinion of the gifts of nature without much trouble, has hitherto prevent-
authors of the Universal History, what he wrote down ed this branch of industry from being prosecuted. The
from his own knowledge is both curious and true; so that jasmine is here a favourite tree, and bears flowers peren-
where he has erred, his father and uncle must have deceiv- nially, as does also the rose. Bees are by no means uncom-
uTttt ^ o , , • mon ’ and although insects are numerous, the mosquito is
i" AULO, 8an, a large and important province of Brazil, less troublesome than in Rio or La Plata,
m South America, celebrated for the courage of its inhabi- The bulk of the inhabitants of St Paulo are graziers, the
rants, and for the number of expeditions which have sailed breeding of cattle being the chief occupation. The vast
from it for the purpose of exploring the interior. It is grassy campos, which extend over the surface of the pro-
formed by the union of a part of the old capitanship of St vince, afford every facility for prosecuting it upon a great
Amaro with ha f of that of St Vincente, and received its pre- scale; and, by the following extract from the valuable
sent name in the year 1710, when John V., having incor- work of Dr Von Spix, it will be seen that the Paulistas
porated them with the crown-lands by purchase, appointed take every advantage of their situation. “ Every land-
the city of St Paulo as the residence of the captain-gene- holder possesses, according to the extent of his farm, from
ral. it is separated from the province of Rio de Janeiro several hundred to two thousand, nay, even forty thousand,
on the north-east by a line which, traversing the heights head of cattle. They generally reckon from three to four
ot the vast serra from the point of Joatinga to the head of thousand head on an estate which has two square miles of
the Jacuy descends that river till it joins the Paraiba. good pasture. AH these roam at liberty in a wild state;
i ie berra do Montequeira interposes between it and Minas but every farmer keeps, besides, as many tame draught oxen
vreraes on the north, the Rio Grande and the Parana se- and cows as he requires for the purposes of agriculture and
parate it 10m Poyaz and Matto Grosso on the west and milk, which is partly made into cheese. The attendance
nor i-west, the Saha from St Catherina on the south, and on the wild cattle gives but very little trouble; all that is
r i eastern boundary it has the Atlantic Ocean. Its required is to brand them with the mark of the owner, and
territory is almost all within the temperate zone, between to catch the animals intended to be slaughtered. From
PAULO, SAN.
160
San Paulo, four to six servants, under the direction of a chief cowherd,
y'~—perform all these services; they prevent the herds from
straying beyond the boundaries, and defend them fiom the
attacks of the ounces, wolves, and wild dogs. I hese people
are almost always on horseback, as their office compels
them to ride twenty miles or more in a day. Every year
the whole herd is collected at different times in a place in
a high situation, and sometimes fenced in. On this occa¬
sion the mark of the owner is branded on the hind (quarter
of the beasts one year old, of which they reckon a thousand
annually for a herd of five or six thousand. Those of four
years old or more are selected for slaughter.” The hide is
always the most valuable part of the cattle; but the flesh
also, after being salted, is exported in great quantities to
the cities of the north. The breeding of horses and mules
likewise occupies the attention of the farmers of St Paulo.
The horses of this province are of a middling size, of slen¬
der make, and, if they are attended with care, acquire an
elegant carriage, and become excellent racers. In general
twenty or thirty of these wild horses herd together, and
hardly ever separate. Both they and the wild cattle are
captured, as in the pampas of Buenos Ayres, by long leath¬
ern nooses, which, Mr Mawe informs us, the Paulistas use
with incredible dexterity. The mules here are more hand¬
somely formed animals than the horses. They are com¬
monly equal in size to the European horse; and their co¬
lours” are black, brown, fallow, or they are striped like
the zebra. They are preferable to the horses, especially
on long journeys, as they can endure hunger and thirst
much longer, and carry heavier burdens with much greater
security.
The working of the gold and iron mines of St Paulo is
the next branch of the industry of the province which re¬
quires to be noticed. The celebrated gold-mines of Jaxa-
gua are situated about twenty-four miles from the capital
of the province. They were the first discovered in this
country, and, on account of the immense treasures which
they produced above a century ago, this district was regarded
as the Pasco of Brazil. After having been abandoned for
some time, the gold-washing had been resumed at the pe¬
riod of Dr Von Spix’s visit in 1818. The mountain of
Jaragua is one of the most southerly branches of the Serra
do Montequeira, which, after running for more than fifty
miles to the north, disappears in this latitude. The rock is
granite, sometimes gneiss, containing a portion of horn¬
blende with mica. The earth washed for gold Dr Spix
describes as “ a ferruginous sandstone conglomerate. The
soil is red and remarkably ferruginous. The gold lies for
the most part in a stratum of rounded pebbles and gravel,
called cascalhao, incumbent on the solid rock. In the val¬
leys where there is water occur frequent excavations made
by the gold-washers, some of them fifty or a hundred feet
wide, and eighteen or twenty feet deep. On many of the
hills, where water can be collected for washing, particles of
gold are found in the soil, scarcely deeper than the roots of
the grass.” The gold is obtained by the usual process of
washing with water, negroes being chiefly employed in the
operation. The pursuit of this precious metal has now
much declined in St Paulo, the gold-hunters finding a
richer harvest in the provinces of Minas Geraes and Matto
Grosso.
In the mountain of Guarassojava, situated about twenty
leagues from St Paulo, the capital city of the province,
there are vast mines of magnetic ironstone ; and a foundery
for obtaining the metal has been erected on the banks of the
Ypanema or Hipaunema, round which a small village has
grown up. The mines were never regularly worked until
1810, when a company of Swedish miners were brought to
the spot, and erected two small furnaces. In 1818 a handsome
and extensive edifice was built, with every necessary conve¬
nience for the miners. Operations then commenced with
considerable vigour ; but as the wood in the neighbouring San Pav
forests is the only kind of fuel of which they have any com-
mand, Dr Spix anticipates that a want of this indispensable
article will by and by be experienced. The ore appears
to be very rich, some of it containing ninety per cent.; and
it exists in such incredible abundance, that Dr Spix thinks
St Paulo might supply not only Brazil, but all the rest of
the American continent, with that metal, if exportation
were only facilitated by making a proper road or canal to
the coast. The mountain which produces this extraordi¬
nary quantity of ore rises behind the neat little tow n of
St Joao de Ypanema, a quarter of a mile to the west, and
extends, as a rather insulated mountain ridge, a league in
length from south to north. The mass of magnetic iron¬
stone is either compact or traversed by veins of red ochre.
The surface of the masses of rock, which rise nearly per¬
pendicularly to the height of forty feet and more, is almost
everywhere flat and even, with slight depressions and ca¬
vities, and has a crust of imperfectly oxidated ironstone.
Dr Spix informs us that he did not observe that the great
masses caused any motion in a suspended needle; but
small pieces, especially when just struck off, had a consi¬
derable effect on it.
The city of St Paulo, from which the province derives its
name, is the most ancient in Brazil, and, beyond every other,
interesting in an historical point of view. “ Here, more
than in any other place,” says Dr Spix, “ we find the pre¬
sent connected with the past. The Paulista is sensible of
this, and says, not without pride, that his native city has a
history of its own.” It is situated at the angle of the con¬
fluence of the Tamandatahi, which washes it on the west,
with the Hynhangabahu, which flows on the eastern side.
The celebrated Anchieta and his brother Jesuits commenced
this city in the year 1552, with the foundation of a college,
in which they celebrated the first mass on St Paul’s day;
and when, six years afterwards, it acquired the denomination
of a town, its name was determined by this circumstance.
Its first inhabitants were Indians, but they were soon joined
by Europeans in great numbers, and a mixed race rapidly
augmented the population; so that, before a century had
elapsed, the Paulistas had become as formidable by their
numbers as they were distinguished by their spirit of enter¬
prise. Their love of travelling, and the hope of discover¬
ing the treasures of the New World, prevented them from
cultivating their own fertile territory. They visited almost
every part of Brazil. They crossed lofty mountains, un¬
til then deemed impassable. They were not checked by
rivers, deserts, nor savage men, who waged perpetual war
against them. The richest mines of Brazil were discover¬
ed by the Paulistas, who abandoned them with regret, and
reluctantly submitted to the authority of their government.
But this ardour of enterprise also led to serious evils. The
early historians describe them as a lawless tribe, who had
shaken off the yoke of Portugal, and constituted themselves
a separate republic. They certainly acted in many instances
in a perfectly independent manner, making incursions into
the neighbouring countries, and committing the most dread¬
ful barbarities. Paraguay suffered severely by these in¬
roads, and the missions which had been formed in that coun¬
try were at one time nearly ruined by the Paulistas. (See the
article Paraguay.) The selfish rudeness and insensibility
which formerly distinguished the Paulista is now much soft¬
ened ; and, although pride, revenge, and stubbornness are
still recognised as forming part of his character, he enjoys
throughout Brazil the reputation of great frankness, undaunt¬
ed courage, and a romantic love of adventures and dangers.
The city of St Paulo is well laid out on an eminence of
about two miles in extent, and rising about fifty feet above the
wide plain of Pirantininga. Placed exactly at the angle form¬
ed by the confluence of the rivers Tamandatahi and Hynhan¬
gabahu, the former washes it on the western, and the latter
PAULO, SAN.
i ’aulo. flows past its eastern side. The streets are broad, light,
and cleanly ; and some of them are well paved, with a ma¬
terial in which particles of gold are found after a heavy rain
has searched the chinks and hollows. The houses in the
principal streets are two or three stories in height, stuccoed
in various colours, and frequently having latticed balconies.
The walls are erected by means of a framework made of
wood, into which earth is put, which the workmen heat and
occasionally moisten with water, until it acquires solidity.
These houses of earth appear to be very durable, for Mr
Mawe mentions that he saw some which had lasted two cen¬
turies. The residence of the governor, formerly the Je¬
suits’ College, is built in a very good style, but has fallen
into decay. The episcopal palace and the Carmelite convent
are large and stately edifices, and the cathedral and some
of the churches are spacious. The city is divided into two
parishes ; that of the Cathedral, and that of the Church of St
Efigenia. Besides the public buildings already mentioned,
St Paulo contains several chapels, monasteries, and nunne¬
ries, and three hospitals. Few manufactures of any conse¬
quence are carried on. A little coarse cotton is spun by the
hand, and woven into cloth, which serves for a variety of pur¬
poses. By the most recent accounts which we have received,
the manufactures are said to be improving. There is made
here a beautiful kind of network for hammocks, which are
fringed with lace, and form an elegant piece of furniture.
The making of lace is a general employment for females,
some of whom excel in it. Shopkeepers are a very nume¬
rous class here, and various trades are prosecuted with con¬
siderable spirit. A coarse earthenware is made at the out¬
skirts of the city; but the great proportion of the inhabi¬
tants are farmers and inferior husbandmen, who cultivate
small portions of land, on which they breed large stocks of
pigs and poultry for sale. With these the market is gene¬
rally well supplied, and also with various kinds of fruit and
vegetables. St Paulo is esteemed a most healthy situation;
and the climate, Dr Spix says, is one of the most agreeable
in the world. Its situation, almost under the tropic of Ca¬
pricorn, as w ell as its elevation of 1200 feet above the surface
of the sea at Santos, imparts to the city all the charms of a
tropical climate, without any great inconvenience from heat.
The thermometer ranges from 50° to 80° of Fahrenheit.
The population, including the dependent parishes, was es¬
timated, Dr Spix says, at above 30,000 souls, of which one
half were whites, or those who were reckoned such, and
one half were people of colour. Henderson, in his history
of Brazil, states the population as being from 35,000 to
40,000; but an official return for 1815 fixes the popula-
tion of the city at 25,313 souls, of whom 12,274 were whites,
845 free blacks, 6239 free mulattoes, and 5955 slaves. The
number of inhabitants must have considerably increased
since the date of the above census, and, in the absence of
official reports, we probably do not over-estimate the popu¬
lation in 1838 at 40,000. In general the principal charac¬
teristics of the Paulistas are, a lofty, and, at the same time,
broad make; strongly-marked features, expressive of a
bold, independent spirit; with eyes full of fire, and motions
indicative of great vivacity. They are considered as the
strongest, most healthy, and most active inhabitants of the
country; and “ the appellation of Paulista,” says Mr Mawe,
is considered by all the females here as a great honour,
the Paulistas being celebrated throughout Brazil for their
attractions and their dignity of character.” The city of St
Paulo stands in lat. 23. 33. 10. south, and long. 46. 39. 10.
west from Greenwich.
Santos is the only harbour in the province which has a
direct intercourse with Europe ; but, although no more than
twelve leagues distant from the capital, the want of water
communication, and the difficult nature of the road be¬
tween the two cities, render the transport of goods a mat¬
ter of considerable labour and expense. The road from San-
VOL. XVII.
161
tos to St Paulo is cut in many places through solid rocks, San Paulo,
and in others along the edge of precipices, which are s-—
fenced by parapets, otherwise the traveller might be in dan¬
ger of falling into an impervious thicket more than thirty
yards below him. Some fine springs, issuing from elevated
sources, form romantic cascades in the midst of detached
rocks. In these places the rocks consist of granite, and
soft ferruginous sandstone, but everywhere else the moun¬
tains are covered with thick woods ; even on the road
branches of trees meet and form arbours, that defend the
traveller from the rain, and shelter him from the heat of
the sun. There are two other seaports, but they are si¬
tuated at a much greater distance from St Paulo, and both
are inconsiderable. The harbour of Santos has a safe en¬
trance, and is very secure. It is a strait, having the island
of St Vincente to the left, for the extent of half a mile,
when it takes a different direction. Here is situated the
port, which has good anchorage and regular soundings
along the shore, and is the resort of many vessels trading
to the Plata. Hides and tallow are the principal articles of
export, and sugar, coffee, and some European articles are
received in return. Its intercourse with the capital is car¬
ried on by means of mules, which come laden with the
produce of the interior, and carry back salt, earthenwares,
cutlery, and other goods from Europe. Santos is tolerably
well built, most of the houses being of stone, and very an¬
cient. The situation is by no means healthy, as the country
around is low, woody, and frequently deluged with rain. The
rice of this district, which is raised in great quantities, is
esteemed the best in Brazil, and the bananas are equally ce¬
lebrated. I he population, consisting chiefly of merchants,
shopkeepers, and artificers, amounts to about 7000. Not
far to the north of Santos Bay is the fine island of St Se¬
bastian, which is above twenty miles in length. It is very
fertile, and is reputed to produce the best sugar, rum, and
tobacco, as well as the finest cattle, in all Brazil. There is
a town situated on it; and opposite the island, on the main¬
land, is St Sebastian, formerly of some note, but nowr re¬
duced to 2000 or 3000 inhabitants.
Amongst the other towns of St Paulo is Sorocaba, a
flourishing place, situated on a small river of the same name
which flows into the Tiete, one of the tributaries of the
Parana. It is a great thoroughfare and market for mules
from Rio Grande do Sul; above thirty thousand of which,
it is reckoned, pass through Sorocaba annually. The po¬
pulation may be between five and six thousand, two thirds
of the wdiole being whites. Sorocaba is situated in the co-
marca of Hitu, sixty miles west from the capital. Eighteen
miles to the north-west is Hitu or Ytu, the chief town of the
comarca to which it gives name. It is situated at the foot
of the hills, and is excessively hot in the summer months.
The soil in the neighbourhood is said to be well adapted to
the culture of the sugar-cane; but it does not appear that
any advantage is taken of this circumstance. There are
several other towns in the comarca, but none of them of
any importance.
The comarca of Curutiba is situated in the southern part
of the province, and is generally mountainous on the coast,
but expands inland into beautiful and salubrious campos. Mr
Mawe speaks of these elevated plains as the finest district
in the country, and indeed one of the finest in the world,
in point of climate. Its soil and air are so excellent, that
olives, grapes, apples, peaches, and other fruits grow to as
great maturity as in Europe, though they are here almost
in a wild state. Curutiba, the principal town, is stated to
have a magnificent church ; all its structures are of stone
or brick, and the streets are paved. The district abounds
in pine forests; hence its name curu, pine, and tiba, many ;
and the cedar is also common in many parts. These fb- .
rests abound with the mountain hog, herds of which may
be met with to the number sometimes of a hundred or more.
x
162
P A U
Paungaow The Curutibanos, who are very robust, are chiefly employe
H in breeding cattle, horses, and mules; but they also culti-
Pausanias. vate tjle ground. Paranagua, which, prior to the year 1H1
' was the seat of the provincial magistracy, like Curutiba, is
built of stone, and stands on the southern bank of the river
from which it derives its name, about ten miles from the sea.
The other villas of this comarca are Villa Vovade St Luis,
or Guaratuba, seven miles from the sea; Antonio, ten miles
west of Paranagua, at the extremity of the bay of that
name; Cannanca, situated upon a small island, about ten
miles within the bar of the river of the same name; and
several others, including Nossa Senhora dos Prazeres, the
most southern town in the province, and much infested by
the savages. The Indians have still some villages, in which
they live in a half-civilized state, making occasional preda¬
tory attacks on the plantations and cattle of theii neigh¬
bours. On the other hand, numbers have become civilized,
and reside peaceably in settlements by themselves, imitat¬
ing the manners and customs of the European or Creole
part of the population. The only town of importance which
remains to be noticed is Taubate, a considerable place,
and rivalling the capital in antiquity. It is reckoned about a
hundred miles north-east from St Paulo. In former times,
when the thirst for gold was at its height amongst the Pau-
listas, a government establishment for the refining of the
metal was founded here; and the rivalry between the lau-
batenos and the Paulistas of Piratininga, rose to a rancor-
ous and implacable feud, and many sanguinary conflicts
were the consequences of this enmity, traces of which are
said to exist at the present day, although gold-washing is
no longer pursued at Taubate.
According to official reports, dated in 1815, the population
of the whole province then amounted to 215,021 souls. By
a previous census for the year 1808, the number was
200,478, which shows an increase of nearly fifteen thou¬
sand in seven years. The population in 1830 was said to
be 610,000 souls. Considering the size of the province, its
vegetable wealth, and the number of its inhabitants, the
trade which it carries on is comparatively small, and the
proportion of pecuniary wealth in it is inferior to that of the
more northern provinces. The chief articles of export are
sugars, rice, hides, and Peruvian bark. (r. R. R.)
PAULUS jEmilius. See ^Emilius, Paulus.
PAUNGAOW, a small walled town belonging to the
Mahrattas, in the province of Aurungabad, eighty-eight
miles south-east from Ahmednagur. Long. 76. 12. E. Lat.
18. 14. N.
PAUSANIA, in Grecian antiquity, a festival with so¬
lemn games, in which nobody contended except free-born
Spartans. They were instituted in honour of Pausanias
the Spartan general, under whom the Greeks overcame the
Persians in the famous battle of Platsea.
PAUSANIAS, a Spartan king and general, who signa¬
lized himself at the battle of Plataea against the Persians.
The Greeks, sensible of his services, rewarded his merit
with a tenth of the spoils taken from the Persians. He
wras afterwards appointed to command the Spartan armies,
and he extended his conquests in Asia; but the haughti¬
ness of his behaviour created him many enemies; and the
Athenians soon obtained a superiority in the affairs of
Greece. Pausanias, dissatisfied with his countrymen, of¬
fered to betray Greece to the Persians, if he received in
marriage, as the reward of his perfidy, the daughter of their
king. His intrigues being discovered by the Ephori of
Sparta, he fled for safety to a temple of Minerva; and as
the sanctity of the place screened him from the violence
of his pursuers, the sacred building was surrounded with
heaps of stones, the first of which was carried there by the
indignant mother of the unhappy man. He was starved
to death in the temple, and died about 474 years before
the Christian era.
P A U
Pausanias, a very celebrated antiquary, who is believed Pausani:
by Fabricius to be the same mentioned by Philostratus, inv-/
his Lives of the Sophists (ii. 13), as a native of Caesareia
ad Argamm, in Cappadocia, was the disciple of Herodes
Atticus, and spent the greater part of his life at Rome,
where he died at an advanced age. Siebelis, however, in
the preface to his valuable edition of the works of Pausa¬
nias, remarks that this supposition respecting the place
of his birth does not agree with what may be inferred from
his own statements. In one passage (v. 13, 4) he seems
to speak of Lydia as his native province; and though he
frequently alludes to Herodes Atticus, he never speaks of
him as his master, which he would scarcely have failed to
do if he had owed any part of his education to him. Be¬
sides, Philostratus and Suidas are both silent in respect to
the work upon Grecian Antiquities which has come down
to us; and such an omission is a strong proof that they
were not the same individual. The exact period of his
birth and death is unknown, but he was employ ed on a
part of his work in the reign of Hadrian, who died a. d.
139, and was writing the Antiquities of Elis a. d. 174, in
the fourteenth year of the reign of M. Aurelius (v. 1, 1).
He must thus have been contemporary with Aulus Gellius,
Ptolemy the geographer, Pronto the philosopher, Apuleius,
and Lucian, though his pursuits were not likely to bring
him in contact with any of them.
The work which he has left is entitled Trj; 'EXXado;
UegiriyMig, The Description of Greece, and is divided into
ten books, containing an account of the antiquities in
each of the provinces of Greece, in the following order:
Attica, Corinthiaca, Laconica, Messeniaca, two books en¬
titled Eliaca, Achaica, Arcadica, Bceotica, and Phocica.
He must have examined minutely every part of these pro¬
vinces ; and it is observed by Sir John Hobhouse, in his
Journey through Albania, “ that the exact conformity of
present appearances with the minute descriptions of the
itinerary is no less surprising than satisfactory.” He evi¬
dently took every means in his power to be accurate in his
descriptions, as he constantly refers, as a corroboration of
his statements, to inscriptions on ancient monuments and
works of art, and to gifts dedicated in the temples of the
gods. Poets and historians also furnished him with mate¬
rials to illustrate the antiquities of the places he visited.
He is accused, however, like the Latin historian Livy, of
credulity, and of narrating many stories which have no
pretension to credibility. But, aware that such an accusa¬
tion might be brought against him, he states (vi. 3, 4) that
he thought himself bound to give these traditions of the
Greeks, though there was no reason why he should believe
them. In his style he is thought to have imitated Herodo¬
tus, but it is by no means successful.
The Greek text of Pausanias was first published at Ve¬
nice in 1516 by Aldus, who was assisted by Musurus; but
this edition, which is in folio, is very incorrect, having been
printed from a bad manuscript. That of Francfort, 1583,
in folio, reprinted at Hanau in 1613, and that ol Leipzig,
1696, in folio, published by Kuhn, are accompanied by the
Latin translation of Amaseo, which had appeared separate¬
ly, Florence, 1551, in twro volumes. This version, more
elegant, but less faithful, than that of Loescher, published
without the Greek text, by Oporin, forms the fourth vo¬
lume of the edition published at Leipzig by Facius, 1794-
1797, in four volumes 8vo., the first in which an attempt
was made to collate the text with the manuscripts. The
edition of Schoefer, Leipzig, 1818, in three small volumes,
contains only the Gretjn But that of Clavier, Paris, 1814-
1821, in six volumes 8vo., is preferable to both these, not¬
withstanding the numerous typographical errors by which
it is deformed; and it is accompanied by a new French trans¬
lation. It is only necessary further to indicate the Italian
translation of Bonaccinoli, Mantua, 1597, in 4to; and that
P A U
luise which appeared at Rome 1792-1793, in five volumes 4to ;
I) the English translation of Taylor, London, 1793-1794, in
auw. three volumes 8vo; and the German translation of Gold-
hagen, Berlin, 1798, in two volumes Svo.
PAUSE, a stop or cessation in speaking, singing, play¬
ing, or the like. One use of pointing in grammar is to
make proper pauses in certain places.
PAUW, Cornelius de, sometimes called Nicolas, a
moral philosopher and historian, born at Amsterdam in
1739. He is better known as the uncle of the revolutionist
Anacharsis Clootz, than by the ancestors from whom he
was descended ; they are, however, reported by his nephew
to have distinguished themselves in the revolutions of Hol¬
land in the sixteenth century.
It appears, from the same authority, that his name was
Cornelius, and not Nicolas, but that he was not related to
Cornelius de Pauw, the critic and the rival of Dorville ;
and that it was upon the marriage of his sister to Clootz’s
father that he obtained, through the interest of his brother-
in-law, a Catholic canonicate at Xanten, in the territory of
Cleves. He was afterwards appointed reader to Frederic
king of Prussia, perhaps as an advocate of the new doc¬
trines and principles which that sovereign was disposed to
patronize; but he is said to have declined the offer of the
place of an academician of Berlin, and a bishopric at Bres¬
lau. His attacks on the Jesuits, whom he accused of gross
misrepresentation and exaggeration in their historical and
geographical memoirs, rendered him unpopular with the Ca¬
tholic clergy, though his learning and talents commanded
a certain portion of their respect. He was simple in his
manners, and somewhat negligent of his appearance. The
close of his life was embittered by a tedious and painful dis¬
ease ; and he died on the 7th of July 1799.
His principal publications are, l.Recherches sur les Ame-
ricains, Berlin, 1770 and 1772, in Svo; a work intended to
show the “ degraded state of the savage Americans,” and
forming a contrast to f e speculations of some contemporary
writers of celebrity: 2. Defense des Recherches, Berlin,
1771, Svo : 3. Recherches sur les Egyptiens et les Chinois,
Berlin, 1774, in two vols. Svo ; Philosophical Dissertations
on the Egyptians and Chinese, translated by Captain J.
Thomson, London, 1795, in two vols. Svo. The investi¬
gation was undertaken, he observes, to show that “ no two
nations ever resembled each other less than the Egyptians
and the Chineseand it must be admitted that he has suf¬
ficiently established his proposition. There is, indeed, one
argument that he has employed, which appears to be founded
on a mistake of the Greek historians of Egypt, who have
asserted that the Egyptians had long been in the use of al¬
phabetical characters; and the want of any alphabet amongst
the Chinese is stated by M. de Pauw as affording a marked
distinction from the Egyptians. There is, however, scarcely
a shadow of resemblance in the particular hieroglyphical
characters employed by the two nations, although the gene¬
ral system of beginning with a representation of a visible
object, and departing, more and more, by degrees, from the
fidelity of the delineation, must necessarily have been com¬
mon to both. But it so happens, that out of about seventy
Egyptian characters, which are compared by the Jesuits and
Dr Morton with the Chinese in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions for 1769, there are about twenty of which the sense
has been ascertained with tolerable accuracy by Dr Young;
and of these there is only one that happens to have been
rightly determined by the comparison with the Chinese, ex¬
cepting two or three which are obviously mere pictures, as
the moon and a bowr. There is also amongst the old Chi¬
nese characters a figure of a chain, which agrees remarkably
in its form wdth the Egyptian hieroglyphic employed as a
copulative conjunction ; but there is a still more striking co¬
incidence, which M. Jomard has noticed, between the Egyp¬
tian and Chinese characters for a thousand, both of which he
pay 163
derives from the seed-vessel of the lotus, as containing a Pavan
multitude of seeds ; and if the older Chinese characters be H
found to preserve this resemblance as perfectly as they Pavihon.
ought to do, it must be confessed that the suspicion of a
common origin will be much strengthened by the argu¬
ment. Both the Egyptians and the Chinese were condemn¬
ed, M. de Pauw observes, “ to an eternal mediocrity and
the weight of this observation is certainly not diminished by
any thing that has been inferred from the study of the hie-
roglyphics of the Rosetta stone and other monuments.
There are several papers of M. de Pauw on antiquarian
subjects in the Memoirs of the Society of Cassel, and in
particular one on the Temple of Juno Lacinia, vol. i. 1780.
Recherches sur les Grecs were published at Berlin, 1787,
in two vols. Svo ; Philosophical Dissertations on the Greeks,
translated by Thomson, London, 1793, in two vols. Svo.
This work is principally devoted to the Athenians, amongst
whom their boasted liberty is shown to have been confined
to a very small number of citizens, who tyrannized over the
rest of the inhabitants of their country. The Lacedemo¬
nians, the vEtolians, the Thessalians, and the Arcadians, are
separately discussed, but considered as comparatively con¬
temptible ; the Lacedemonians in particular, and their suc¬
cessors the Mainotes, are treated with great severity, as a
worthless race of dishonourable vagabonds. The athletic
education of the Athenians is, however, highly applauded,
from a visionary theory of the importance of the physical
perfection of the body to the operations of the mind. An
edition of the author’s three principal works appeared at
Paris, in seven volumes octavo, 1795. (See Dorsch, Char-
don-Larochette, and Clootz, Magaz. Encycl. 1799; An. V.
vol. ii. Widdigen, Westph. Nationalk. 1801, p. 215 ; N. Allg.
T. Bibl. Ixxiv. p. 77; Denina, Prusse Litteraire, iii. N.
Diet. Hist. ix. Svo, Par. 1804; Chalmers’s Biographical
Dictionary, xxiii. Svo, Lond. 1815.) (l. L.)
PAVAN, or Pavane, a grave dance used amongst the
Spaniards, and borrowed from them, in which the perform¬
ers made a kind of wheel or tail before each other, like that
of pavo, a peacock ; from which circumstance the name is
derived. The pavane was formerly in great repute, and was
danced by gentlemen with cap and sword, by those of the
long robe in their gowns, by princes with their mantles, and
by the ladies with their trains trailing on the ground. It
was called the grand ball, from the solemnity with which it
was performed.
PAVIA, a province or delegation of the Austrian ter¬
ritory of Milan, in Italy, bounded on the north by Milan,
on the east by Lodi, on the south by Parma and Sardinia,
and on the west by Sardinia. It extends over 495 square
miles, comprising, besides the capital, eight market-towns,
and 183 villages, with 168,500 inhabitants. It is a very
level district, drained by the river Po, and by the smaller
streams of the Ticino, Lambro, and Olona. It is well culti¬
vated, and, besides the common grain, produces much rice
and maize, with some silk.
Pavia, a city of the Austro-Italian dominions, the capi¬
tal of the delegation of the same name. It stands on the
river Ticino, over which there is a marble bridge of seven
arches. It has been fortified, but is now scarcely defensible.
It is the see of a bishop, and, besides the cathedral, con¬
tains eighteen churches. It has a university furnished with
a library of 33,000 volumes, a botanic garden, an anatomi¬
cal theatre, a laboratory, and a physical museum. The
professors are thirty-three, and the pupils from seven to
eight hundred. It has some trade in silk, and in the other
productions of the soil in its vicinity. It contains 1830
houses, and 23,800 inhabitants. Long. 9. 4. 18. E. Lat.
45. 10. 7. N.
PAVILION, in Architecture, signifies a kind of turret
or building, usually insulated, and contained under a single
roof, sometimes square, and sometimes in form of a dome;
164
P A W
Pawn.
Pavilion and it is so called from the resemblance of its roof to a tent.
Pavilions are sometimes projecting pieces in the front of a
building, marking the middle of it; but sometimes the pa¬
vilion flanks a corner, in which case it is called an angular
pavilion. The Louvre is flanked with four pavilions. These
are usually higher than the rest of the building. Pavilions
built in gardens are commonly called summer-houses, plea¬
sure-houses, and the like. Some castles or forts consist only
of a single pavilion.
Pavilion, in military affairs, signifies a tent raised upon
posts to lodge in during the summer time.
Pavilion is also sometimes applied to flags, colours, en¬
signs, standards, banners, and the like.
Pavilion, in Heraldry, denotes a covering in the form
of a tent, which invests or wraps up the armories of differ¬
ent kings and sovereigns, depending only upon God and
their sword. The pavilion consists of two parts ; the top,
which is the chapeau or coronet, and the curtain, which
forms the mantle. According to the French heralds, none
but sovereign princes may bear the pavilion entire and in all
its parts. Those who are elective, or have any dependence,
say the heralds, must take off the head, and retain nothing
but the curtains.
Pavilions, amongst jewellers, are the under-sides and cor¬
ners of the brilliants, lying between the girdle and the collet.
PAVING, the construction of ground-floors, streets, or
highways, in such a manner that they may be conveniently
walked upon. In Great Britain the pavement of the streets
and roads usually consists of flint or rubble-stone; but courts,
stables, kitchens, halls, churches, and the like, are paved
with tiles, bricks, flags, or fire-stone, and sometimes with a
kind of freestone or ragstone
P A Z
money lent. It is said to be derived a pugno, quia res
quce pignori dantur, pugno vel manu traduntur ; which is s
certainly a far-fetched etymology. See Broker.
PAZ, La, the name of a department, a province, and a
large city of Bolivia, in South America. A general account
of the department, with the number of its inhabitants, will
be found in the article Bolivia. The province of La Paz
is a district surrounding the city of the same name, in the
vicinity of the western cordillera of the Andes, and at a
considerable elevation above the level of the sea. This ter¬
ritory is rough and uneven, but fruitful in barley, cocoa, pa¬
pas, and fruits of various kinds. Its appearance has been de¬
scribed by Mr Temple. “ In casting a glance farther round,”
says he, “ you perceive squares and patches of every shade of
green and yellow, which, to a European, is perhaps the most
striking part of the interesting scene. Corn, and fruit, and
vegetables, and crops of every kind, may be seen in all
their stages, from the act of sowing to that of gathering
them in. Here a field of barley luxuriantly green ; there
another in full maturity, which the Indians are busily reap¬
ing ; next to it a crop just appearing above the ground;
further on another arrived at half its growth ; beyond it a
man guiding a pair of oxen, yoked to a shapeless stick, the
point of which scratches the earth sufficiently for the recep¬
tion of the seed, which another man is scattering in the
furrows ; trees bearing fruit, and at the same time putting
forth buds and blossoms, complete the scene of luxuriance.
Yet it requires only to raise the eyes from the lap of this
fruitful Eden, to behold the widest contrast in the realms of
nature. Naked and arid rocks rise in mural precipices
around. High above these, mountains, beaten by furious
tempests, frown in all the bleakness of sterility ; higher still,
Paz, h
Pavements of churches frequently consist of stones of the tops of others, reposing in the region of eternal snow,
several colours, but chiefly black and white, and of several glisten uninfluenced in the presence of a tropical sun.”
forms, but chiefly squares and lozenges, artfully disposed.
Indeed there needs no great variety of colours to pro¬
duce a surprising diversity of figures and arrangements.
M. Truchet, in the Memoirs of the French Academy, has
shown by the rules of combination, that two square stones,
divided diagonally into two colours, may be joined toge¬
ther chequerwise in sixty-four different ways; which ap¬
pears surprising enough, since two letters or figures can
only be combined two ways. The reason is, that letters
only change their situation with regard to the first and se¬
cond, the top and bottom remaining the same ; but in the
arrangement of these stones, each admits of four several
situations, in every one of which the other square may be
changed sixteen times, which gives sixty-four combinations.
Indeed, from a further examination of these sixty-four
combinations, he found that there were only thirty-two dif¬
ferent figures, each figure being repeated twice in the same
situation, though in a different combination, so that the two
differed from each other only in the transposition of the
dark and the light parts.
PA VO, in Astronomy, a constellation in the southern
hemisphere, unknown to the ancients, and not visible in
our latitude.
PAVOR, a Roman deity, whose worship was introduced
by Tullus Hostilius. The latter, in a panic, vowed a shrine
to him and one to Pallor, Paleness ; and therefore both are
found on the coins of that family.
PAW, in the manege. A horse is said to paw the
ground, when, his leg being either tired or painful, he does
not rest it upon the ground, and fears to hurt himself as he
wralks.
PAWANGHUR, a fortified town of Hindustan, in the
The mountains here mentioned are the Nevada de Illimani
and others, situated to the south of La Paz. “ Illimani, or
Yllimani,” says Mr Pentland, “ appears to derive its name
from its icy covering, Illi, in the Ymarra dialect of the
aborigines, signifying snow. The Nevada of Illimani is si¬
tuated in latitude 16. 40. Its form is that of a serrated
ridge, elongated in the direction of the axis of the chain
upon which it rises, offering four principal peaks to the ob¬
server, when seen from its western side. From the city of
La Paz (latitude 16. 30.), distant about thirty miles, it pre¬
sents itself with the imposing grandeur of Mont Blanc, w hen
seen from Salanches, or of Monte Rosa, from the subjacent
valley of Macugnaga. The elevation of this giant of the Boli¬
vian Cordillera is 24,200 feet, and the lowest glaciers on its
northern declivity do not descend below 16,500.” This is
the highest mountain in the New World, with the exception
of the Nevada de Sorata, the highest peak of which attains
an elevation of 25,250 feet above the level of the sea.
La Paz, the largest city in the republic of Bolivia, is si¬
tuated in a deep valley, penetrated by the mountain torrent
of Choqueapo. It was founded in the year 1548, and has a
fine cathedral, several churches and convents, a college, an
hospital, and numerous warehouses for the reception of goods.
La Paz is the great emporium of Upper Peru, all merchan¬
dize from the coast of the Pacific being transported thither,
and then conveyed, by merchants and other dealers, to the
towns and villages of the interior. In the seventeenth cen¬
tury, about a league from this city, a large mass of solid
gold wras found by an Indian, and purchased for about eleven
thousand dollars, by the Spanish viceroy, who sent it to the
cabinet of natural history at Madrid. Large quantities of
native gold have also been found from time to time at the
Mahratta territories, province of Bejapoor, and district of base of the Illimani, in a lake situated at the enormous ele-
Parnella, of which it is the capital. It is considered as a vation of 15,780 feet above the level of the sea. This
place of great strength, and is forty-two miles south by lake is celebrated as having been the depository of a great
west from Merritch. Long. 74. 20. E. Lat. 16. 52. N. part of the treasures of the once famed city of Cuzco ; for,
PAWN, a pledge or gage for surety or payment of according to tradition, the Indians chose rather to bury their
PEA
ice, wealth beneath the waters, than resign it to the rapacity of
ile of t]ie jnVaders. The city of La Paz, although elevated 12,195
ce feet above the level of the sea, yet, from its sheltered si-
tuation, enjoys a mild and pleasant climate. The population
amounts to about 40,000.
PEACE, Temple of, a very celebrated fane at Rome,
which in the year 191 was consumed by a fire, produced,
as some writers suppose, by a slight earthquake. Dio Cas¬
sius, how ever, supposes that the fire began in the adjoining
houses; but however this may have been, the temple, with
all the surrounding buildings, was reduced to ashes. That
magnificent structure had been raised by Vespasian after
the destruction of Jerusalem, and enriched with the spoils
and ornaments of the temple of the Jews. The ancients
speak of it as one of the most stately buildings in Rome.
There men of learning used to hold their assemblies, and
to deposit their writings, as many others deposited their
jewels, and whatever else they esteemed of great value.
It was likewise employed as a kind of magazine for the
spices which were brought by the Roman merchants from
Egypt and Arabia; so that many rich persons were redu¬
ced to beggary, all their valuable effects and treasures
having been consumed in the conflagration.
PEAK of Derbyshire, a chain of high mountains in
the county of Derby, in England, famous for the mines
they contain, and also for their remarkable caverns. See
Derbyshire.
PEARCE, Dr, lord bishop of Rochester, was the son of
a distiller in High Holborn. He received his education in
Westminster school, where he was distinguished by his
merit, and elected one of the king’s scholars. In 1710,
when he was twenty years old, he was elected to Trinity
College, Cambridge. During the first years of his resi¬
dence at the university, he occasionally amused himself
with lighter compositions, some of which are inserted in the
Guardian and Spectator. In 1716, he published his edition
of Cicero De Oratore, and, at the desire of a friend, dedi¬
cated it to Lord Chief Justice Parker, afterwards Earl of
Macclesfield, to whom he was an entire stranger. This in¬
cident laid the foundation of his future fortune; for Lord
Parker soon recommended him to Dr Bentley, master of
Trinity, to be made one of the fellows ; and the doctor con¬
sented to this upon condition that his lordship would pro¬
mise to “ unmake” him again as soon as it lay in his power
to give him a living. In 1717, Mr Pearce was ordained at
the age of twenty-seven, having taken time enough, as he
thought, to attain a sufficient knowledge of the sacred of¬
fice. In 1718, Lord Parker was appointed chancellor, and
invited Mr Pearce to live with him in the capacity of his
chaplain. In 1719, the latter was instituted into the rec¬
tory of Stappleford Abbots, in Essex ; and, in 1720, into that
of St Bartholomew, behind the Royal Exchange, worth L.400
a year. In 1723, the lord chancellor presented him to St
Martin’s-in-the-Fields. His majesty, who was then at Ha¬
nover, had been applied to in favour of Dr Claget, who was
then along wath him, and the doctor actually kissed hands
upon the occasion ; but, upon the king’s return, the chan¬
cellor disputed the point, and was permitted to present Mr
Pearce. The latter soon attracted the notice and esteem
of persons in the highest stations and of the greatest abili¬
ties. Besides Lord Parker, he could reckon amongst his
patrons or friends, Mr Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath,
Archbishop Potter, Lord Hardwicke, Sir Isaac Newton, and
many other eminent personages. In 1724, the degree of
doctor of^ divinity was conferred on him by Archbishop
Wake, 1 he same year he dedicated to his patron the Earl
of Macclesfield his edition of Longinus on the Sublime, with
a new Latin version and notes.
When the church of St Martin’s was rebuilt, Dr Pearce
preached a sermon at the consecration, which he afterwards
printed, and accompanied with an essay on the origin and
PEA
165
progress of temples, traced from the rude stones which were Pearce,
first used for altars to the noble structure of Solomon, ''■—■'v-'"*
which he considers as the first temple completely covered.
His observations on the building called the Temple of Da-
gon removes part of the difficulty which presents itself in
the narration of the manner in which Samson destroyed it.
The deanery of Winchester having become vacant, Dr
Pearce was appointed to it in 1739 ; and in the year 1744
he was elected prolocutor of the Lower House of Convo¬
cation for the province of Canterbury. His friends now
began to think of him for the episcopal dignity; but he
appeared rather to decline it. However, after several diffi¬
culties had been started and removed, he consented to ac¬
cept the bishopric of Bangor, and promised Lord Hard¬
wicke to do it with a good grace. He accordingly made
proper acknowledgements of the royal goodness, and was
consecrated on the 12th of February 1748. Upon the de¬
clining state of health of Dr Wilcoeks, bishop of Roches¬
ter, the bishop of Bangor was several times applied to by
Archbishop Herring to accept of Rochester, and the dean¬
ery of Westminster, in exchange for Bangor ; but he then
for the first time signified his desire to obtain leave to re¬
sign and retire to a private life. His lordship, however,
upon being pressed, suffered himself to be prevailed upon.
“ My Lord,” said he to the Duke of Newcastle, “ your
grace offers these dignities to me in so generous and friend¬
ly a manner, that I promise you to accept them.” Upon
the death of Bishop Wilcocks he was accordingly promot¬
ed to the see of Rochester and deanery of Westminster in
1756. Bishop Sherlock died in 1761, and Lord Bath of¬
fered his interest to get the Bishop of Rochester appointed
to succeed him in the diocese of London; but the latter
told his lordship, that he had determined never to be Bishop
of London or Archbishop of Canterbury.
In the year 1763, his lordship being then in the seventy-
third year of his age, and finding himself less fit for the bu¬
siness of his stations as bishop and dean, informed his friend
Lord Bath of his intention to resign both, and live in a re¬
tired manner upon his private fortune. Lord Bath undertook
to acquaint his majesty, who named a day and hour, when
the bishop was admitted alone into the closet. He told the
king, that he wished to have some interval between the fa¬
tigues of business and eternity ; and desired his majesty to
consult proper persons about the propriety and legality of
his resignation. In about two months the king informecl
him that Lord Mansfield saw no objection, and that Lord
Northington, who had been doubtful, on further considera¬
tion thought that the request might be complied with. Un¬
fortunately for the bishop, Lord Bath had applied for Bishop
Newton to succeed him. This alarmed the ministry, who
thought that no dignities should be obtained except through
their hands. They therefore opposed the resignation ; and
his majesty was informed that the bishops disliked the de¬
sign. His majesty sent to him again, and at a third au¬
dience told him that he must think no more of resigning.
1 he bishop replied, “ Sire, I am all duty and submission
and then retired. In 1768 he obtained leave to resign the
deanery; in 1773 he lost his lady ; and after some months
of lingering decay he died at Little Ealing, on the 29th of
June 1774.
This eminent prelate distinguished himself in every part
of his life by the virtues proper to his station. His Literary
abilities, and application to sacred and philological learning,
appear by his works, the principal of which are, 1. A Letter
to the Clergy of the Church of England, on occasion of
the Bishop of Rochester’s commitment to the Tower, 1722;
2. Miracles of Jesus vindicated, 1727 and 1728 ; 3. A Re¬
view of the Text of Milton, 1733; 4. Two Letters against
Dr Middleton, occasioned by the doctor’s letter to Water-
land, on the publication of his Treatise entitled Scripture
Vindicated, 1752 ; and, 5. a Commentary, with notes, on the
166
PEA
PEA
Pearl
Pearl-Asb
four Evangelists and the Acts of the Apostles, together with
a new translation of St Paul’s first Epistle to the Corin¬
thians, and a paraphrase, with notes, in two vols. 4to.
PEARL, in Natural History, a hard, white, shining
body, usually roundish, found in a testaceous fish, a species
of Mya. Pearls, though esteemed of the number of gems,
and highly valued in all ages, proceed only from a distem¬
per in the animal which produces them, analogous to the
bezoars and other stony concretions in several animals of
different kinds. Mr Bruce mentions muscles found in the
salt springs of the Nubian desert, in many of which he ob¬
served those excrescences which might be called pearls,
but all of them ill formed, foul, and of a bad colour, though
of the same consistence, and lodged in the same part of the
body, as those of the sea. “ The muscle,” says he, “ is in
every respect similar, I think larger. The outer skin or
covering of it is of a vivid green. Upon removing this,
which is the epidermis, what next appears is a beautiful
pink without gloss, and seemingly of a calcareous nature.
Below this, the mother-of-pearl, which is undermost, is a
white without lustre, partaking much of the blue and very
little of the red; and this is all the difference I observed
between it and the pearl-bearing muscle of the Red Sea.”
In Scotland, especially to the northward, in all rivers
running from lakes, there are found muscles which have
pearls of more than ordinary merit, though seldom of large
size. They were formerly tolerably cheap, but the wear¬
ing of real pearls having come into fashion, those of Scot¬
land have increased in price greatly beyond their value,
and superior often to the price of oriental ones when bought
in the East. The reason of this is a demand from London,
where they are actually employed in work, and sold as ori¬
ental. But the excellency of all glass or paste manufac¬
tory, it is likely, will keep the price of this article, and the
demand for it, within bounds, when every lady has it in her
power to wear in her ears, for the price of sixpence, a pearl
as beautiful in colour, more elegant in form, lighter and
easier to carry, and as much bigger as she pleases, than the
famous ones of Cleopatra and Servilla. In Scotland, as well
as in the East, the smooth and perfect shell rarely produces
a pearl; the crooked and distorted shell seldom wants one.
Artificial Pearls. There are methods of making arti¬
ficial pearls, in such manner as to be with difficulty distin¬
guished from the best oriental. The ingredient used for
this purpose was long kept a secret; but it is now discover¬
ed to be a fine silver-like substance found upon the under
side of the scales of the blay or bleak fish. The scales,
taken off in the usual manner, are washed and rubbed with
fresh parcels of water, and the several liquors suffered to
settle ; after which the w ater being poured off, the pearly
matter, of the consistence of oil, remains at the bottom, and
is called by the French essence d'orient. A little of this is
dropped into a hollow bead of bluish glass, and shaken about
so as to line the internal surface; after which the cavity is
filled up with wax, to give solidity and weight. Pearls made
in this manner are distinguishable from the natural only by
their having fewer blemishes.
Mother-of-Pearl, the shell, not of the pearl oyster, but
of the mytilus margaritiferus.
Pearl-Ash, a fixed alkaline salt, prepared chiefly in Ger¬
many, Russia, and Poland, by melting the salts out of the
ashes of burned wood, and, having reduced them to dry¬
ness, evaporating the moisture, and, calcining them for a
considerable time in a furnace moderately heated. The
goodness of pearl-ashes may be ascertained by a uniform
and white appearance ; but they are nevertheless subject to
a common adulteration, not easily distinguishable by the
mere appearance, and which is done by the addition of
common salt. Pearl-ashes are much used in the manufac¬
ture of glass, and need no preparation, except where very
great transparency is required.
PEARSON, John, a learned English bishop, was born
at Snoring in 1613. After his education at Eton and Cam¬
bridge, he entered into holy orders in 1639, and was the,
same year collated to the prebend of Netherhaven, in the
church of Sarum. In 1640 he was appointed chaplain to
the lord-keeper Finch, and by him presented to the living
of Torrington in Suffolk. In 1650 he was made minister
of St Clement’s, East-Cheap, in London. In 1657, he and
Mr Gunning had a dispute with twm Roman Catholics upon
the subject of schism, a very unfair account of which was
printed at Paris in 1658. Some time afterwards he pub¬
lished at London an Exposition of the Creed, in folio, de¬
dicated to his parishioners of St Clement s, East-Cheap,
to whom the substance of that excellent work had been
preached several years before, and by whom he had been
desired to make it public. The same year he likewise pub¬
lished the Golden Remains of Mr John Hales of Eton; to
which he prefixed a preface, containing a character of that
great man, with whom he had been acquainted for many
years, drawn up with great elegance and force. Soon after
the Restoration, he was presented by Juxon, then bishop
of London, to the rectory of St Christopher’s in that city ;
created doctor of divinity at Cambridge, in pursuance of
the king’s letters mandatory ; installed prebendary of Ely,
archdeacon of Surrey, and made master of Jesus College
in Cambridge, all before the end of the year 1668. On
the 25th of March 1661, he was appointed Margaret pro¬
fessor of divinity in that university ; and, on the first day of
the ensuing year, he was nominated one of the commis¬
sioners for the review of the liturgy in the conference held
at the Savoy. On the 14th of April 1662, he was admitted
master of Trinity College in Cambridge ; and, in August,
resigned his rectory of St Christopher’s and his prebend of
Sarum. In 1667 he was admitted a Fellow of the Royal So¬
ciety. In 1672 he published at Cambridge, Vindiciae Epis-
tolarum S. Ignatii, in 4to, in answer to M. Daille ; to which
is subjoined, Isaaci Vossii Epistolae Duse adversus Davidem
Blondellum. Upon the death of the celebrated Dr Wil¬
kins, Pearson was appointed his successor in the see of
Chester, to which he was consecrated on the 9th of Fe¬
bruary 1672-1673. In 1682, his Annales Cyprianici, sive
tredecim annorum, quibus S. Cyprianus inter Christianos
versatus est, Historia Chronologica, was published at Ox¬
ford, with Fell’s edition of that father’s works. Pearson
was disabled from all public service by ill health a consi¬
derable time before his death, which happened at Chester,
on the 16th of July 1686.
PEASANT, a hind, one whose business consists exclu¬
sively in rural labour.
PEAT, a well-known inflammable substance, employed
in many parts of the world as fuel. There are two species
of peat.
The first is a yellowish-brown or black peat, found in
moorish grounds in Scotland, Holland, and Germany. When
fresh, it is of a viscid consistence, but hardens by exposure
to the air. It consists, according to Kirwan, of clay mixed
with calcareous earth and pyrites ; sometimes also it con¬
tains common salt. Whilst soft, it is formed into oblong
pieces for fuel, after the pyritaceous and stony matters are
separated from it. By distillation it yields water, acid, oil,
and volatile alkali, the ashes containing a small proportion
of fixed alkali, and being either white or red, according to
the proportion of pyrites contained in the substance. 1 he oil
which is obtained from peat has a very pungent taste, and
an empyreumatic smell, less fetid than that of animal sub¬
stances, but more so than that of mineral bitumens. Itcon"
geals in the cold into a pitchy mass, which liquefies in a small
heat; it readily catches fire from a candle, but burns less
vehemently than other oils, and immediately goes out upon
removing the external flame ; and in rectified spirit of wine
it dissolves almost totally into a dark brownish-red liquor.
PEC
PEC
167
jas The second species is found near Newbury in Berkshire.
In the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1757, we have
k,_ y an account of this species, the substance of which is as fol¬
lows : Peat is a composition of the branches, twigs, leaves,
and roots of trees, with grass, straw, plants, and weeds,
which, having lain long in water, is formed into a mass soft
enough to be cut through with a sharp spade. The colour
is a blackish brown, and it is used in many places for fuel.
There is a stratum of this peat on each side of the Kennet,
near New'bury in Berks, which is from about a quarter to
half a mile in width, and many miles in length. The depth
below the surface of the ground is from one foot to eight.
Great numbers of entire trees are found lying irregularly in
the true peat. These are chiefly oaks, alders, willows, and
firs, and appear to have been torn up by the roots; many
horses’ heads, and bones of several kinds of deer, the horns
of the antelope, the heads and tusks of boars, and the heads
of beavers, are also found embedded in it.
PEBAS, a district of Peru, in South America, situated
upon the left bank of the river Marahon, to the east of the
confluence of the Ucayale with that river. It produces co¬
coa, sarsaparilla, vanilla, white and black bees-wax, maize,
yucas, plantains, camotas, and papayas, and some dye-stuff's
of a peculiar description. The river here supplies vaca
marina, tartaruga, gavitanas, sungarros, and pacos. In the
woods there are tigers, tapirs, deer, roonsookas, and black
and white monkeys. The pueblo or town of Pebas is si¬
tuated on a height, upon an elevated part of the bank of the
river. It is built without any regard to regularity, and is
chiefly inhabited by Indians, who are a cheerful and indus¬
trious race of people.
PEBBLES, a trivial name frequently given to different
varieties of the agate and calcedony.
PECK, Francis, a laborious and learned antiquary, was
born at Stamford, in Lincolnshire, on the 4th of May 1692,
and educated at Cambridge, where he took the degrees of
bachelor and master of arts. He was the author of many
works, the first of which is a poem entitled Sighs on the
Death of Queen Anne, printed probably about the time of
her death in 1714. Two years afterwards he printed an
Exercise on the Creation, and a Hymn to the Creator of the
World, being an attempt to show the beauty and sublimi¬
ty of the Holy Scriptures, 1716, 8vo. In 1721, being then
curate of King’s Clifton in Northamptonshire, he issued
proposals for printing the History and Antiquities of his
native town^a work which was published in 1727, in folio,
under the title of Academia tertia Anglicana, or the Anti¬
quarian Annals of Stamford, in Lincoln, Rutland, and North-
amptonshires, inscribed to John duke of Rutland. This
work was hastened by an Essay on the Ancient and Present
State of Stamford, 1726, in 4to, written by Francis Hargrave,
who, in his preface, mentions the difference which had arisen
between him and Mr Peck, on account ofhis publication hav¬
ing forestalled that intended by the latter. Mr Peck is also
very roughly treated on account of a small work which he
had formerly printed, entitled the History of the Stamford
Bull-running. Mr Peck had before this time obtained the
rectory of Godeby, near Melton, in Leicestershire, the only
preferment he ever enjoyed. In 1729, he printed, on a single
sheet, Queries concerning the Natural History and Antiqui¬
ties of Leicestershire and Rutland, which were afterwards re¬
printed in 1740 ; but although the progress he had made in
the work was considerable, yet it never made its appearance.
In 1732 he published the first volume of Desiderata Curiosa,
or a Collection of various scarce and curious Pieces relating
chiefly to Matters of English History. This volume was
dedicated to Lord William Manners, and was followed, in
1735, by a second volume, dedicated to Dr Reynolds, bishop
of Lincoln. In the year 1735 Mr Peck printed a complete
catalogue of all the discourses written for and against Popery
in the time of King James II., containing in the whole an
account of457 books and pamphlets, a great number of them
not mentioned in the three former catalogues; writh refer¬
ences after eagh title, for the more speedily finding a further
account of the said discourses and their authors in sundry
writers, and an alphabetical list of the writers on each side.
In 1739 he edited Nineteen Letters of the Reverend Dr
Henry Hammond, author of the Annotations on the New
Testament, written to Mr Peter Stainnough and Dr Na¬
thaniel Angelo, many of them on curious subjects. These
were printed from the originals, communicated by Mr Ro¬
bert Marsden, archdeacon of Nottingham, and Mr John
Worthington. The next year, 1740, he produced two vo¬
lumes in quarto, one of them entitled Memoirs of the Life
and Actions of Oliver Cromwell, as delivered in three pane¬
gyrics of Noll, w ritten in Latin, and supposed to have been
composed by John Milton, Latin secretary to Cromwell.
1 he other contained New Memoirs of the Life and Poetical
Works of Mr John Milton, with an examination of Milton’s
style, and explanatory and critical notes on different pas¬
sages in Milton and Shakspeare, by the editor; besides a
variety of other pieces, which it would be tedious to enume¬
rate. These were the last publications which he gave the
world. W hen they appeared, however, he had in contem¬
plation no less than nine different works ; but, from some
cause not -explained, none of them was ever made public.
He concluded a laborious, and, it may be added, useful life,
wholly devoted to antiquarian pursuits, on the 13th of Au¬
gust 1643, at the age of sixty-one years.
PECS, a city of the Austrian kingdom of Hungary, in
the province of the Hither Danube, and circle of Baranyer.
It is situated on a river of the same name, upon w hose banks
it extends in a single street more than six miles in length.
It is the see of a bishop, the seat of a Catholic seminary,
and contains convents and hospitals, with 2160 houses, and
9640 inhabitants, who produce vinegar, tobacco, starch, and
some good wine. It has also much trade, arising from seve¬
ral great fairs for cattle and leather, w7hich are held there.
Long. 18. 10. E. Lat. 46. 5. 13. N.
PECTORAL, a sacerdotal habit or vestment, which was
worn by the Jewish high priest. The Jews call it Hhoschen,
the Greeks yoXiov, the Latins rationale and pectorale, and in
our version of the Bible it is called breastplate. It con¬
sisted of embroidered stuff, about a span square, and was
worn upon the breast, set with twelve precious stones, ar¬
ranged in four rows, and containing the names of the twelve
tribes. It was fastened to the shoulder by two chains and
hooks of gold. God himself prescribed the form of the
pectoral.
Pectoral, a breastplate of thin brass, about twelve fin¬
gers square, worn by the poorer soldiers in the Roman
army, who were rated under one thousand drachmae.
PECULIAR, in the Canon Laiv, signifies a particular
parish or church that has jurisdiction within itself for grant¬
ing probates of wills and administrations, exempt from the
ordinary or bishop’s courts. The king’s chapel is a royal
peculiar, exempt from all spiritual jurisdiction, and reserved
to the visitation and immediate government of the king
himself. There is likewise the archbishop’s peculiar ; for
it is an ancient privilege of the see of Canterbury, that
wherever any manors or advowsons belong to it, these
forthwith become exempt from the ordinary, and are re¬
puted peculiars. In the see of Canterbury there are fifty-
seven such peculiars.
Besides these, there are some peculiars belonging to
deans, chapters, and prebendaries, which are only exempt¬
ed from the jurisdiction of the archdeacon. They are de¬
rived from the bishop, who may visit them, and to whom
there lies an appeal.
Court of Peculiars is a branch of, and annexed to,
the court of arches. It has a jurisdiction over all those
parishes dispersed throughout the province of Canterbury
168
P E D
P E D
Pedatura.
Peculium in the midst of other dioceses, which are exempted from the
ordinary’s jurisdiction, and subject only to the metropolitan.
PECULIUM signifies the stock or estate which a per¬
son in the power of another, whether male or female, either
as his or her slave, may acquire by his industry. Roman
slaves frequently amassed considerable sums in this way.
rfhe Word properly signifies the advanced price which a
slave could get for his master’s cattle or stock above the
price fixed upon them by his master, and which was the
slave’s own property.
In the Catholic church, peculium denotes the goods which
each religious reserves to and possesses by himself.
PEDAGOGUE, or Ppedagogue, a tutor or master, to
whom is committed the discipline and direction of a scho¬
lar, to be instructed in grammar and other arts. The word
is formed from the Greek xaiduv ayuyog, puerorum ductor,
or leader of boys.
PEDAL (pedale in Italian), is a musical term ol various
meanings. For example, pedal means one of the largest
pipes, or one of the foot-keys, of an organ; or the foot-
piece attached to a piano-forte, a harp, or the like, and by
which, in the former, the intensity of the sound is modi¬
fied, and, in the latter, the chromatic changes of intona¬
tion are produced. It also signifies a particular sort of
passage in the course of a piece of music, where the har¬
mony moves upon a sustained sound, which is either the
dominant or the tonic of the key. (See the article Music,
vol. xv. p. 640.)
PEDANT, a schoolmaster or pedagogue, who professes
to instruct and govern youth, and to teach them the lan¬
guages and the arts.
Pedant is also used for a rough, unpolished man of let¬
ters, who makes an impertinent use of the sciences, and
abounds in unseasonable criticisms and observations.
PEDARIAN, in Roman antiquity, were those senators
who signified their votes by their feet, not with their
tongues ; that is, such as walked over to the side of those
whose opinion they approved of, in divisions of the senate.
Dr Middleton thus accounts for the origin of the word.
He says, that though the magistrates of Rome had a right
to a place and vote in the senate both during their office
and after it, and before they were put upon the roll by the
censors, yet they had not probably a right to speak or de¬
bate there upon any question, at least in the earlier ages of
the republic. For this seems to have been the original
distinction betw een them and the ancient senators, as is
plainly intimated in the formula of the consular edict, sent
abroad to summon the senate, which was addressed to all
senators, and to all those who had a right to vote in the
senate. From this distinction, those who had only a right
to vote were called in derision pedarian; because they
signified their votes by their feet, not their tongues, and
upon every division of the senate wrent over to the side of
those whose opinion they approved. It was in allusion to
this ancient custom, which seems to have been wholly drop¬
ped in the latter ages of the republic, that the mute part of
the senate continued still to be called by the name of pe-
darians ; as Cicero informs us, w ho, in giving an account to
Atticus of a certain debate and decree of the senate upon
it, says that it was made with the eager and general con¬
currence of the pedarians, although against the authority of
all the consulars.
PEDATURA, a term used in Roman antiquities to in¬
dicate a space or proportion of a certain number of feet
set apart. This word often occurs in writers on military
affairs. In Hyginus De Castrametatione we meet with the
following passage, viz. “ Meminerimus itaque ad computa-
tionem cohortis equitatm milliarise pedaturam ad mille tre-
centos sexaginta dari debere the meaning of which is, that
pedatura, or space allowed for a collars equitata or provincial
cohort, consisting of both horse and foot, could not be the
Pedr
bom
same as the pedatura of an uniform body of infantry, of the Peddab,
same number, but must exceed'it by 360 feet; for the pro- karaj;
portion of the room occupied by one horseman to that occu¬
pied by one foot soldier was estimated as two and a half to one.
PEDDABALABARAM, a town of Hindustan, in the n-
Mysore rajah’s territories. The fort is built entirely of
mud, but it is nevertheless large and strong ; and one side
is surrounded by gardens, the other by the town. Its trade
is inconsiderable. Long. 77. 47. E. Lat. 13. 17. N.
PEDDAPORE, a town of Hindustan, in the Northern
Circars, and district of Rajamundry, twenty-five miles east-
north-east from the town of Rajamundry. Sugar is cul¬
tivated in the neighbourhood to a considerable extent. A
battle was fought here in 1758, between the French and
English, in which the former were totally defeated. Long.
82. 15. E. Lat. 17. 5. N.
PEDESTAL, in Architecture, the lowest part of an or¬
der of columns, being that part which sustains the column,
and serves it as its base.
PEDLEAN, in Grecian antiquity. The city of Athens
w-as anciently divided into three different parts; one on the
descent of a hill, another on the sea-shore, and a third in
a plain between the other two. The inhabitants ot the
middle region were called Uzbiaot, Pediceans, from xohov,
plain or flat; those of the hill, Diacrians; and those of the
shore, Paralians. These quarters usually composed as many
different factions. Pisistratus made use of the Pediaxms
against the Diacrians. In the time of Solon, when a form
of government was to be chosen, the Diacrians chose the de¬
mocratic, the Pediaeans demanded an aristocracy, and the
Paralians a mixed government.
PEDICLE, amongst botanists, that part of a stalk which
immediately sustains the leaf of a flower or a fruit, and is
commonly called a footstalk.
PEDlil, a town on the western coast of the island of
Sumatra, from which are exported betel-nut, pepper, gold
dust, canes, rattans, bees-wax, camphor, and benzoin or
frankincense. The soil around is fertile, and the country
well watered.
PEDOMETER, or Podometer, formed from crous, pes,
foot, and fargov, measure, a mechanical instrument, in the
form of a watch, consisting of various wheels with teeth,
catching in one another, all disposed in the same plane,
which, by means of a chain or string fastened to a man s
foot, or to the wheel of a chariot, advance a notch each step,
or each revolution of the wheel; so that the number being
marked on the edge of each wheel, one may number the
paces, or measure exactly the distance from one place to
another. There are some of them which mark the time on
a dial-plate, and, being very much like a watch, are accord¬
ingly worn in the pocket.
PEDRA Blanca, a large and elevated rock, perfectly
white, and situated in the Sea of China. Long. 114. 57. E.
Lat. 22. 19. N.
PEDRO, Dom, of Portugal, Duke of Coimbra, was the
fourth child and second surviving son of King John of Por¬
tugal, and was born on the 4th of March 1394. His father
gave him an excellent education, which, joined to strong
natural abilities and much application, rendered him one of
the most accomplished princes of his time. He wras not only
very learned himself, but a great lover of learning, and also
a patron of learned men. It was chiefly with a view to im¬
prove his knowledge that he spent four years in travelling
throughout different countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa,
with a train suitable to his quality. There is a relation of
these travels still extant, but so loaded with fabulous cir¬
cumstances, that it wounds the reputation it was designed
to raise. At his return he espoused Isabella, daughter to
the Count of Urgel, and grand-daughter to Dom Pedro, the
fourth king of Portugal; which w7as esteemed a very great
advancement of his fortune. He was elected a member of
PEE
pules- the most noble order of the Garter on the 22d of April
Fire. 1417, in the fifth year of the reign of his cousin Henry
— * y. a grandson of John of Gaunt by the father’s side, as
our Duke of Coimbra was by the mother. In 1440 he
was declared regent during the minority of his cousin Dom
Alonzo V. son of King Edward, who died of the plague.
He found, some difficulty at first in the discharge of his
office, both from the queen-mother and others. But, up¬
on the whole, his administration was so mild and so just,
that the magistrates and the people of Lisbon concurred in
demanding permission to erect a statue to him. The re¬
gent thanked them, said he should be unwilling to see a
work of theirs demolished, and that he was sufficiently re¬
warded by this public testimony of their affections. The
queen dowager wished to raise disturbances in Portugal, by
aiming at recovering the regency to herself; but the steadi¬
ness of the regent’s administration, the attachment of the
greater part of the nobility to him, and his enjoying in so
absolute a degree the confidence of the people, not only
secured the interior tranquillity of the state, but likewise
raised the credit of the crown of Portugal to a very great
height in the estimation of its neighbours. In the course
of his regency he had made it his continual study to pur¬
sue the public good ; to ease the people in general, and the
inhabitants of Lisbon in particular, of several impositions ;
to maintain the laws in their full vigour ; to give the king
an excellent education ; and, if that had been at all practi¬
cable, to diffuse a perfect unanimity throughout the court, by
assuaging the malice and envy of his enemies. The king,
when he came of age, and the cortes or parliament, express¬
ed their entire satisfaction with the regent’s administration ;
and all parties entirely approved of the king’s marriage with
Donna Isabella, the regent’s daughter, which was celebrat¬
ed in 1446. The enmity of his enemies, however, was not
in the least abated by the regent’s being out of office. They
still persecuted him with their unjust calumnies, and un¬
fortunately induced the king to hearken to their falsehoods.
The unfortunate duke, when ordered to appear before the
king, was advised to take with him an escort of horse and
foot. In his passage he was proclaimed a rebel, and al¬
most immediately surrounded by the king’s troops. Soon
afterwards he was attacked, and killed in the heat of action.
Nor was the envy of his enemies even then satiated. His
body was denied burial, and at length taken away privately
by the peasants. But his virtue, however hated in courts, was
adored by the uncorrupt part of his countrymen. At length,
by an inspection of his papers, the king saw, when it was
too late, the injustice which had been done to the man who
had behaved so well in a high and difficult office ; and his
papers discovered indications of further benefit contemplated
for the king and his dominions. In consequence of these
discoveries, the duke’s adherents were declared loyal sub¬
jects, all prosecutions were ordered to cease, and the king
desired the body of Coimbra to be transported with great
pomp from the castle of Abrantes to the monastery of Ba-
talha, where it was interred in the tomb which he had caused
to be erected there for himself.
PEEBLESSHIRE, or Tweeddale, a county in Scot¬
land, situated between 55. 24. and 55. 50. north latitude,
and between 2. 45. and 3. 23. west longitude from Green¬
wich. It is bounded on the north by Mid-Lothian or Edin¬
burghshire, on the east by the county of Selkirk, on the
south by Dumfriesshire, and on the west by Lanarkshire.
I Its greatest extent from north to south is about thirty
miles, and its greatest breadth from east to west about
twenty-two; the contents being 229,778 English acres, of
which only about a tenth part is fit for cultivation. It is
divided into sixteen parishes, twelve of which form the
presbytery of Peebles, and four belong to that of Biggar,
but all are under the synod of Lothian and Tweeddale.
The surface of this county is hilly, and towards the south
VOL. XVII.
PEE 169
mountainous, several of the high grounds in that quarter, Peebles-
such as Hartfield, Harstane, Broadlaw, and Dollarlaw, being shire,
from 2800 to nearly 3000 feet above the level of the sea. "v-—''
The general elevation of the pasture lands is about 1200
feet; yet, with few exceptions, the hills are covered with
green herbage, heath being almost confined to a few of
the highest ridges on the south-east. On the banks of its
streams are many pleasant and fertile spots ; but, from the
want of wood, the general appearance is naked and unin¬
teresting ; though of late great attention has been paid to
planting, and it is estimated that there are now nearly 7000
acres under wood. The soil of the cultivated land, lying
chiefly on the sides of the lower hills and the banks of the
streams, is for the most part a light loam, with clay, moss,
and moor on the high grounds. Coal, limestone, and free¬
stone abound in the parishes of Linton and Newlands, on
the north side of the county, and in the latter ironstone is
also found. Limestone and freestone are worked profitably
in the parish of Linton; but the coal formerly obtained
from Newlands has been abandoned, as not repaying the
cost of outlay. Lime, however, may still be purchased at
Magbiehill, the coal for burning which is brought from
Linton. At Stobo, slate of a good quality is quarried, and
sold with advantage to the proprietor. In the parish of
Traquair there is also a slate quarry in active operation.
The river Tweed, from which this district is often called
Tweeddale, rises from a well of the same name, in the pa¬
rish of Tweedsmuir, in the south-western extremity of the
county, about 1500 feet above the level of the sea, and,
flowing first north-east and then east, dividing the county
into two nearly equal parts, it passes into Selkirkshire at
Gatehaup Burn, after a winding course of about thirty-six
miles. The Annan and the Clyde have their source in the
same hill. Of the other streams, here called waters, the
most considerable are Biggar, Lyne, Peebles or Eddie-
stone, Leithan, Manner, and Quaff, which fall into the
Tweed; and the North and South Esks, which pursue
their course into Mid-Lothian. The lakes or lochs are St
Mary’s, Waterloch, and Slipperfield. These, as well as the
rivulets, abound in the common fresh-water fish, and most
of the streams are occasionally frequented by salmon ; but
salmon are not found in such numbers, even in the Tweed,
within the bounds of this county, as to afford a fishery that
will pay rent.
The climate of Peeblesshire, owing to its elevation and
want of shelter, is perhaps more rigorous than that of any
other of the southern counties of Scotland. Cold easter¬
ly winds prevail in spring, and greatly retard vegetation;
whilst in summer frosts often occur, which injure the pota¬
to and other crops; and the winters are frequently so se¬
vere as to destroy turnips, the snow lying so deep and so
long as sometimes to occasion great loss amongst the flocks.
As this is almost exclusively a pastoral country, the
farms are in general large, most of them being from 1000
to 4000 acres. On the arable land they are small, the greater
number being below 100 acres. These are in general held
on leases for nineteen years, as in other parts of Scotland.
Taking the extent and rental as before stated, the average
w’ould be nearly five shillings the English acre. This is
chiefly derived from live stock, especially sheep, of which
there may be about 120,000. These were formerly of
the black-faced heath variety, sometimes called Tweeddale
sheep, from the name of the county, or Linton sheep, from
the name of a village on the northern side of the district,
where great fairs are held for the sale of them; but of late
years the Cheviot breed, which bears a much more valuable
fleece, has been established on many of the lower hills, and
the majority of those now fed in the county are of this variety.
The crops are the same as in other parts of Scotland, ex¬
cepting that wheat is cultivated only upon a very small scale.
A variety of oats called the red oat, and sometimes the Mag-
Y
170 PEE
Peebles- biehill oat, from its being first cultivated here on that estate,
shire jg very well adapted to high and exposed situations, both
p 'l i . because it ripens earlier than the common kind, and is less
. CCv . liable to be beaten out by wind, whilst on good land it is
found to be highly productive.
Many of the proprietors have seats distinguished either
for their antiquity or their beauty; but the Earl of Traquair is
the only nobleman who now resides in the county. Peebles-
shire, in 1811, was divided into about eighty estates, many
of them large, but not valuable in proportion. The valua¬
tion of the whole is L.51,937.13s. lOd. Scotch ; and the real
rent, as assessed for the property-tax that year, was, for the
lands L.57,382 sterling, and for the houses L.2568. Two
thirds of the estates are valued under L.500 Scotch, a sum
which may indicate pretty nearly their present yearly value
in sterling money; and little less than two thirds of the
whole are entailed.
In the county there are several remains of Roman camps.
Drochil Castle in the parish of Newlands, and Nedpath
Castle in the parish of Peebles, are the only two which are
in tolerable preservation; but vestiges of ancient castles
or towers abound in the whole valley of the Tweed. The
remains of the Castle of Tinnes or Thanes are six feet in
thickness, and the mortar is as hard as the stone.
PEE
The inhabitants are generally educated, intelligent, and PeebieH P«
attentive to religious duties, though few of the labouring
classes or shepherds consider poaching as in any degree pee|j^ *
criminal, and accordingly practise it to a considerable ex- ^ ^
tent, both by land and water. To this they are tempted
by the abundance of the game, which in some districts
is most destructive to the poor. The principal towns or
villages in Peeblesshire are, Peebles, Linton, Eddlestone,
Skirling, Broughton, and Innerleithen. At this latter place,
Lord Traquair, the proprietor of the village, has erected a
neat building with corridor over a mineral well, which for
some years past has attracted numerous visitors to the vil¬
lage during the summer.
The royal burgh of Peebles formerly joined with Selkirk,
Lanark, and Linlithgow, in returning a member for the
burghs; but since the passing of the reform act, the burgh
is merged in the county, and both united return a member
to serve in parliament; the qualification to vote for a can¬
didate being the same in the burgh as in the county, viz.
ten pounds property, or fifty pounds rental per annum.
At the passing of the reform act there were, of old consti¬
tuency forty-seven, new constituency 300; but, in conse-
quence of the creation of votes for party purposes, there
are now 760 electors on the poll-books.
Population in 1831.
Parish or Burgh.
Broughton 
Drumelzier 
Eddlestone 
Glenholm 
Innerleithen (part of) 
Kilbucho 
Kirkurd 
Linton, West 
Lyne and Thiggate 
Manor 
Newlands 
Peebles (part of burgh and |
parish) J
Skirling 
Stobbo   
Traquair 
Tweedsmuir  
49
42
144
48
138
59
58
269
25
35
186
455
61
66
105
49
HOUSES.
1789
51
42
144
50
150
59
58
297
26
41
205
643
64
85
108
49
2072
14
2
2
1
8
2
11
15
1
3
8
3
OCCUPATIONS.
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Agricul¬
ture.
Families
chiefly em¬
ployed in
Trade, Ma¬
nufactures,
and Handi¬
craft,
All other
Families
not com¬
prised in
the two
preceding
classes.
13
26
80
30
51
31
31
63
20
34
109
93
22
41
68
24
58
736
15
8
29
7
33
11
10
92
2
6
38
365
17
8
20
5
666
23
8
35
13
66
17
17
142
4
1
58
185
25
36
20
20
PERSONS.
Males.
Females.
670
154
107
439
127
357
163
161
867
83
129
523
1366
172
213
336
145
5342
145
116
397
132
389
190
157
710
73
125
555
1384
186
227
307
143
Total of
Persons.
5236
299
223
836
259
746
353
318
1577
156
254
1078
2750
358
440
643
288
10578
Peebles, the county-town, is not distinguished for any
particular trade or manufacture. The majority of the ope¬
ratives are hand-loom weavers, whose wages do not ave¬
rage more than from five to seven shillings per week ; the
remainder of their living being procured by fishing, harvest-
work, &c. It is not known when Peebles was erected
into a royal burgh; but in 1357 the burgh sent two
members to parliament. The property of the burgh, con¬
sisting of lands, mills, &c. yields an annual revenue of
L.1343. 11s. 2d., which is expended in salaries to teachers,
in paving and lighting the streets, supplying the town with
water, and other useful purposes. The whole matters of
police are regulated by a provost, two bailies, a treasurer,
dean of guild, and twelve councillors, chosen by the inhabi¬
tants. Considerably more property was secured to the bur¬
gesses and inhabitants by charter of James VI. dated the
10th of November 1621; but, as in most of the other burghs,
this was dissipated by the members of the corporation.
Peebles is divided into the old and the new town ; and it
is bounded on the south by the Tweed, and on the north
by the Eddlestone Water. It is worthy of remark, that
the Tweed runs almost from due west to east, whilst the
Eddlestone Water, on the other side of the town, flows
exactly in the contrary direction. The population returns
for the burgh and parish were, in 1811, 2485; in 1821,
2701 ; and in 1831, 2750. The real value is estimated at
L.9255. Peebles is distant twenty-two miles south of Edin¬
burgh.
PEG
i»ek PEEK, in nautical language, is a word used in various
i! senses. Thus the anchor is said to be a-peek when the
tKau‘ ship, being about to weigh, comes over her anchor in such
a manner that the cable hangs perpendicularly between
the hawse and the anchor.
To heave a-peek is to bring the peek so that the an¬
chor may hang a-peek. A ship is said to ride a-peek when,
tying with her main and fore-yards hoisted up, one end of
her yards is brought down to the shrouds, and the other
raised up on end ; which is chiefly done when she lies in
rivers, lest other ships, falling foul of the yards, should
break them. Riding a broad peek denotes much the same
thing, excepting that the yai'ds are only raised to half the
height.
Peek is also used for a room in the hold, extending from
the bitts forward to the stern. In this room men of war
keep their powder, and merchantmen their provisions.
PEEL, a town on the western side of the Isle of Man,
in the Irish Channel, formerly called Holm. It is a scatter¬
ed place, containing nothing remarkable excepting an old
cathedral in a dilapidated state, and a castle on a small
island, or rather rock, at the mouth of the river of the same
name as the town. It has but little trade, and about 1300
inhabitants.
PEELAS Isles, a cluster of small islands in the East¬
ern Seas. Plenty of cowries are found along the beach.
The Peelas are covered with wood, but are destitute of
fresh water, and have no settled population.
PEER, in general, signifies an equal, or one of the same
rank and station. Hence, in the acts of some councils, we
find these words: “ with the consent of our peers, bishops,
abbots,” and others. Afterwards the same term was applied
to the vassals or tenants of the same lord, who were called
peers, because they were all equal in condition, and obliged
to serve and attend him in his courts ; and peers in Jiefs,
because they all held fiefs of the same lord.
Peer of the Realm, a lord who has a seat and vote in
the Houseof Lords, which is also called the House of Peers.
These lords are called peers, because, though there is a
distinction of degrees in our nobility, yet in public actions
they are equal; as in their votes in parliament, and in try¬
ing any nobleman or other person impeached by the Com¬
mons. See Parliament.
PEERESS, a wroman who is noble by descent, by crea¬
tion, or by marriage. As we have noblemen of several ranks,
so we may also have noblewomen. Thus Henry VIII.
made Anne Boleyn, Marchioness of Pembroke ; James I.
created the Lady Compton, wife of Sir Thomas Compton,
Countess of Buckingham, in the lifetime of her husband,
without any addition of honour to him ; the same king also
made the Lady Finch Viscountess of Maidstone, and af¬
terwards Countess of Winchilsea, to her and the heirs of
her body; and George I. made Lady Schulenberg Duchess
of Kendal. If a peeress, by descent or creation, marry a
person under the degree of nobility, she still continues
noble; but if she obtain that dignity only by marriage,
she loses it on her afterwards marrying a commoner; yet,
by the courtesy of England, she generally retains the title
of her nobility.
PEERGAUM, a town of Hindustan, in the Mahratta
territories, and in the province of Aurungabad, sixty-
eight miles east from Poonah. Long. 75. 2. E. Lat. 18.
32. N.
PEGASUS, amongst the poets, a horse imagined to
have had wings, being that on which Bellerophon was fabled
to have mounted when he engaged the Chimaera.
Pegasus, in Astronomy, the name of a constellation of
the northern hemisphere, in the form of a flying horse.
PEGAU, a city of the kingdom of Saxony, situated in
the circle of Leipsich, and bailiwick of Borna. It is built on
the banks of the White Elster, and contains two churches,
peg m
420 houses, and 2680 inhabitants, employed in making va- Pegmares
rious kinds of linen goods, and also as shoemakers. Il
PEGMARES, a name by which certain gladiators were ^eSu*
distinguished, who fought upon moveable scaffolds called "V’*-*'1
pegmata, which were sometimes unexpectedly raised, and
by this means surprised the people with gladiators in hot
contention. These scaffolds were sometimes lifted up so
suddenly as to throw the combatants into the air; and some¬
times they were let down into dark and deep holes, and
then set on fire, thus becoming the funeral piles of those
miserable wretches, and roasting them alive to divert the
brutal populace.
PEGU, formerly an independent kingdom of Asia, now
incorporated with the Birman empire, by whose sovereign
it was subdued, after long wars. The limits of this state
were never very accurately defined, and it probably varied
with the fate of war. It included a large tract of country,
about 350 miles in length from north to south, and as much
in breadth from east lowest, situated on and comprising a
large portion of the delta of the Irrawaddy. Arracan and
Ava were its northern boundaries, Siam its limit on the
east, on the south Siam and the sea, and on the west the
Bay of Bengal and part of Arracan.
This country, being intersected by the Irrawaddy and
its branches, is fertile and well watered ; but, owing to the
desolations of war, it is wild and uncultivated, overrun in
many places with jungle or rank luxuriant grass, affording
cover for wild animals, such as tigers, elephants, buffaloes,
deer, and other animals. Both banks of the river are
covered everywhere with a narrow belt of tall reedy grass.
The country from Rangoon throughout is a low cham¬
paign. As far as the tide reaches it is covered with a
narrow belt of tall reedy grass, and behind with a thick
and continuous forest of moderate-sized trees, amongst
which the most frequent and remarkable are the sonnera-
tia appetalu, and heritiera fames. Here and there are a
few grassy plains. The character of the vegetation changes
where the influence of the tide ceases. The country is
then covered with a tall rushy grass, a species of saccha-
rim, amongst which are scattered trees of from twenty
to sixty feet in height. There is very little appearance of
inhabitants along the shores of the river, which ought to
be the most populous portion of the country. Here and
there, on the immediate banks, are a few fishing villages,
and in the interior other agricultural villages, with a few
patches of rice culture about them. The only culture of
any extent is that of the banana, of which extensive groves
line the sides of the river. In some parts advantage is
taken of the vicinity of the river for the purposes of irriga¬
tion ; but in general the country is nearly in a desolate
state. Symes, who was sent as ambassador to Ava, gives a
similar description of the country. “ The country round,”
he observes, “ as far as our view could reach, displayed a
level plain, with clumps of trees at distant intervals ; a
thick reedy grass had grown in some places very high; in
others, where it had been burnt, there appeared good pas¬
turage for cattle ; we saw the embanked divisions of a few
rice plantations, and discovered the vestiges of former
culture and population; but during a walk of two hours
the eye was not gratified with the sight of house or inha¬
bitant. Desolated by the contentions of the Birmans and
Peguans, the country had not yet recovered from the ra¬
vages of war. In our walk we observed many tracks of wild
elephants, the spots where hogs had rooted and deer lain,
and found the remains of two antelopes that had recently
been killed, and were half devoured by tigers. The walks
on each side of the river are low, and the land seems adapt¬
ed to produce excellent crops; but it is now quite deserted,
and become the undisputed domains of the wild beasts of
the forest.” The chief produce of the country is rice;
but where those who sow are not sure that they shall reap
172 PEG
Peeu. the fruits, they seldom cultivate more than suffices for their
immediate subsistence; and to such grievous oppression
have the people often been subjected, that they have been
forced to abandon their villages and fly into the woods,
where they have cultivated small patches of ground, and
lived principally upon fish, fowl, venison, and reptiles. 1 he
country around Pegu, the capital, was completely laid
waste by the victorious troops of Alompra, when he con¬
quered that city in 1757; and to such oppressions were
the Peguans subjected, that the country, though huitrul in
the extreme, and one of the fairest and most healthful on
the globe, has never recovered its former prosperity. The
subjugation of the people by the Birmans ushered in a
lon« era of tyranny and persecution, under which, though
mitumted, they still suffer. Severe penal laws were impos¬
ed on the Taliens or native Peguans. But these have been
abrogated by the present sovereign; justice has also been
more impartially administered; and it is mentioned by
Symes, that the only distinction between the subjected
Peguans and the Burmese is the exclusion of the foimei
from all places of public trust and power. The people
have also been more reconciled to the Birman yoke by
other proceedings of the present monarch, especially by
the order which he issued for rebuilding Pegu the capital,
encouraging settlers by grants of ground, and inviting Uie
scattered families of former inhabitants to return and ic-
people their deserted city. The preservation and embel¬
lishment of the ancient national temple of Shoomandoo,
which has been ordered by the government, is also a po¬
pular act. These measures do not appear, however, to
have conciliated the Peguans, as Mr Crawford, who visited
the country, mentions that in 182/ they had lisen in re¬
bellion against the authority of the Burmese ; and he was
himself a witness to an action between the two contending
parties.
Pegu possesses mines of iron, tin, and lead ; also of pre¬
cious metals, namely, rubies, sapphires, and rock crystal.
Its most valuable produce, however, is the teak timber,
used for ship-building, which is impervious to worms or the
bad effects of salt water. The trees, some of which are
sixty feet in length by nine in girth, are floated down
the Irrawaddy and its tributaries during the rainy seasons.
This river is the largest in the country, and, about a hun¬
dred miles from the sea, divides into numerous branches,
the principal being those of Persaim and Rangoon, which
overflow an extensive tract during the rainy season. The
Sitang, another large river, flows into the Gulf of Martaban.
The principal ports are Siriam, Negrais, and Rangoon.
The history of the eastern nations is for the most part
involved in darkness, until the period when the Europeans,
in the progress of navigation, found out a maritime route
to India; and we learn from the testimony of the Portu¬
guese historians, that about this time four powerful states
divided amongst them the regions which lie between the
south-east province of British India, Yunan in China, and
the Eastern Sea. These states were distinguished amongst
the Europeans by the names of Arracan, Ava, Pegu, and
Siam ; and, from all that is known respecting them, it ap¬
pears that they carried on constant wars with each other,
and with various success. It is mentioned on the autho¬
rity of Mendez Pinto, that the Birmans, though formerly
subject to the king of Pegu, became afterwards masters
of Ava, and caused a revolution in Pegu about the middle
of the sixteenth century. Their‘supremacy continued
throughout the seventeenth and also during the first forty
years°of the last century, when the Peguans in the pro¬
vinces of Dalla, Martaban, Tongo, and Prome revolted,
and a civil war ensued, which was carried on by both
parties with the most revolting ferocity. In the year
1744 the British factory at Siriam was destroyed by the
rage of the contending parties. After a tedious and pro-
P E G
tracted war, which was long doubtful, the Peguans, aided P
with arms by European traders, and joined by renegade
Dutch and Portuguese adventurers, gained important ad¬
vantages over the Birmans, in the years 1750 and 1/51.
They finally invested Ava, the capital, which the Birmans,
disheartened by defeat, surrendered at discretion, and
Dweepdee, the last of a long line of kings, was made pri¬
soner with all his family, excepting two sons, who fled to
the Siamese, from whom they met with a friendly recep¬
tion, and with assurances ot succour. Apporaza, the bro¬
ther of the king of Pegu, was left in Ava, the capital, to
complete the reduction of the Burmese. But a deliverer
unexpectedly arose to the Birmans, in the person of the
celebrated Alompra, who was ot low extraction, but en¬
dowed with a spirit of boldness and enterprise which
qualified him for great achievements. He had collected
around him a hundred devoted followers, on whom he could
rely; and, availing himself of the favourable opportunity
when the Birmans were exasperated by oppression, and
when the garrison of Ava had been greatly diminished, he
attacked the Peguans with irresistible fury, and put every
man to the sword. He then retreated to the fort of Mon-
chaboo, where he repelled the feeble assaults of the I e-
guans, and became the assailant in his turn, attacking and
defeating their scattered forces, and finally advancing, by
a bold and well-concerted movement, to Ava, of which he
took possession. A large armament was now fitted out by
the king of Pegu, the command of which was given to
Apporaza, who, ascending the stream of the Irrawaddy,
appeared before Ava, which he summoned to surrender,
but which Shemhuan, the lieutenant of Alompra, declared
that he would defend to the last extremity. Alompra had
in the mean time collected a formidable fleet, which Ap¬
poraza proceeded to attack. The action, which was ob¬
stinate and bloody, terminated in the entire discomfiture
of the Peguan general, who retired with the wreck of his
army to his own country. This action took place in 1754.
An alarm was at this time spread in Pegu, that the Bir¬
mans in that city were engaged in a conspiracy against
the government, upon which the terrified inhabitants flew
to arms, and having murdered the deposed monarch, who
was detained in prison, they proceeded to put to death
every Birman who was found within the city. T-his act
of cruelty was the signal for a general revolt of the Birmans
throughout the empire, who retaliated the barbarity ot
their oppressors, and quickly made themselves masters ot
Prome, Denobew, Loonzay, and other places. The mo¬
narch of Pegu, Beinga Della, alarmed by this disastrous
intelligence, levied a new army, with which he marched
from Pegu, and commenced the siege of Prome. The city
made a resolute defence; and the besiegers, repelled in
several attacks, were forced to convert the siege into a
blockade. Alompra detached part of his fleet and army to
the aid of the besieged, and forty days afterwards followed
with his choicest troops. He immediately commenced an
attack on the works of the besiegers, who, defeated in a
long, close, and bloody action, were at length compelled to
seek safety in a precipitate flight. Alompra did not fail to
improve his victory. He commenced an active pursuit, and
his troops advanced within a few leagues of Bassein unmo¬
lested by the enemy. The intelligence of this disaster spread
consternation throughout the dominions of Pegu; the king
retired from Bassein to his capital; his adherents, aban¬
doned and terrified, consulted each his own safety, and the
town and fort of Persaim were completely deserted. Each
party was at this time anxious to procure the aid of the
French or English, who had factories at Syriam, and who
alternately espoused the one or the other side, according as
it seemed to suit their interests. Many skirmishes ensued,
and the war was for some time carried on without any deci¬
sive success on either side. The Birmans, however, sup
PEG
gu. ported by the vigour and capacity of Alompra, were making
/-“■'slow but sure advances, and in April 1755 that chief gain¬
ed a decided victory over Apporaza, in his camp at Synan-
gong. The Peguans, disheartened, fled to Syriam, and
many did not halt till they reached Pegu itself. The Bir¬
mans soon afterwards took possession of Rangoon ; and an
attempt to recover the place by the Peguans was repulsed
with loss. It was again attacked by the Peguans, aided
by three English ships, and the Birmans were driven from
their boats. They still, however, maintained their posi¬
tion on shore till their enemies retreated. In July 1756,
Syriam was taken by assault, and its fall may be said to
have decided the contest. As soon as the rainy season
subsided, and the low and swampy country which lies be¬
tween Pegu and Syriam had emerged from the inunda¬
tions of the monsoon, Alompra ordered his general to ad¬
vance towards Pegu with a strong body of troops. The
whole army followed a few days afterwards, and in four
days reached the city, marching through a wasted country.
The city of Pegu was occupied by the royal family, and
the principal nobles of the nation. Alompra, according
to the usual tactics of the Birmans, had recourse for the
reduction of the city to blockade, rather than to the doubt¬
ful attempt of an assault. The Peguans, reduced to the
utmost straits, were forced at last to surrender the city,
which was given up to indiscriminate plunder; a decisive
blow was thus given to the independence of Pegu; and
Alompra, improving his victory, proceeded to bring into
subjection the countries to the eastward, including the fer¬
tile districts between Pegu and the three pagodas, which
were the ancient boundaries of Pegu and Siam. From
this period the kingdom of Pegu has been incorporated
with the Burmese dominions ; and the Peguans, though
occasionally rebelling, have never been able to shake off
their oppressive yoke.
Pegu, the capital of the former kingdom of Pegu, situ¬
ated on the Sitang, formerly a large and populous city, the
extent of which may be still traced in the ruins of the
walls. These were compose.d of brick badly cemented with
clay, about thirty-five feet thick, with small equidistant bas¬
tions about 300 yards asunder. The ditch was about sixty
yards in breadth, and ten or twelve feet in depth. The an¬
cient city was razed to the ground by the conqueror Alom¬
pra, when he took it in 1757, with the exception of the
temples, which are numerous; and of these, the great temple
of Shoomandoo has alone been renewed and kept in re¬
pair. Europeans who visited this city in the year 1600,
describe it as a place of great splendour, the streets spa¬
cious, and running in a straight line from gate to gate. The
king’s palace, with walls and ditches, stood in the middle of
the town, built like a fortress; but the interior apartments
were all composed of wood with gilt roofs, and the popu¬
lation amounted to 150,000.
As stated in the former article, orders were issued by
the Birman monarch to rebuild the ruined city; and the
governor of the province was induced to quit Rangoon and
to make Pegu his future residence. These measures so
far succeeded that a new town was built on the site of the
ancient city ; and the inhabitants, consisting chiefly of the
priests, the followers of the court, and a few poor families,
now amount to 7000. The great proportion of the former
inhabitants are either extinct, or have been dispersed over
the whole extent of the empire. The new city of Pegu is
built on the plan of the former city, and occupies about
one half of its area; it is fenced round by a stockade from
ten to twelve feet high. The plan of the new town is that
of one main street running east and west, crossed at right
angles by two smaller streets not yet finished. At each
extremity of the principal street there is a gate in the
stockade, which is defended by a wretched piece of ord¬
nance and a few musqueteers. There are two inferior
PEI 173
gates on the north and south sides of the stockade. The Peiho
streets are spacious, like those of most Birman towns; and [I
the town is paved with brick, large supplies of which are Peina*
found in the old ruins. All the houses, even those of the ^ v ^
meanest classes, are raised from the ground, either on wood¬
en posts or bamboos, according to the size of the building.
The monasteries of the priests, and the habitations of the
higher classes, are raised to the height of six or eight feet.
The houses are all made of mats or sheathing boards, the
use of brick or stone in private buildings being prohibited by
a royal edict. The dwellings being composed of such com¬
bustible materials, the inhabitants are in continual dread of
fire; and almost every house has earthen pots filled with
water on the roof; and a class of firemen perambulate the
streets day and night. The roofs are lightly covered;
and, as an additional precaution against fire, at each door
stands a long bamboo, with an iron hook at the end, to
pull down the thatch. There is also another pole with
a grating of iron, to suppress flame by pressure. The
house of the maywoon or viceroy is a spacious building,
possessing, however, few ornaments; gilding is forbidden to
all subjects in the Birman empire; few have even the li¬
berty to paint the pillars of their house, or to use lacker;
and the naked wood gives an unfinished appearance to
their houses, however roomy or well adapted to their pur¬
poses. The greatobject that attracts attention in Pegu is the
noble edifice of Shoomandoo or the Golden Supreme. This
extraordinary pile of building is erected on double ter¬
races, one raised upon another; the lower and greater ter¬
race, about ten feet above the natural level of the ground,
forming an exact parallelogram; the upper and lesser ter¬
race is similar in shape, and rises about twenty feet above
the lower terrace, or thirty feet above the level of the
ground. These terraces are ascended by flights of stone
steps. The temple is pyramidal, composed of brick and
mortar, without excavation or aperture of any sort; it is
octagonal at the base and spiral at the top, and each side
measures at the base 162 feet. This breadth diminishes
abruptly, so that its form has been compared to that of a
speaking trumpet. The extreme height of the edifice from
the level of the country is 361 feet; and on the top is an
iron tee or gilded umbrella, seen on every building in the
Birman dominions, fifty-six feet in circumference. All
around the steps or ascent are placed innumerable marble
images of Gaudama their saint. The Rahaans or attendant
priests assert that the foundation of this temple was laid two
thousand years ago, and that it was brought to its present
state of magnificence by successive monarch?. On the
south-east angle of the upper terrace are two handsome
saloons, supported on pillars sixty feet in length by thirty
in breadth; at each angle of the interior and higher ter¬
race is a temple sixty-seven feet in height, resembling
in miniature the great temple; and in front are four gi¬
gantic representations in masonry of Palloo the evil ge¬
nius, half beast, half man, seated on his hams, with a large
club on the right shoulder. Long. 96. 12. E. Lat. 17.
10. N.
PEIHO, a considerable river of China, in the province
of Pe-che-lee. It has its rise on the borders of Tartary,
and in its course northwards passes within a few miles of
the capital, maintaining its communication, by the great
canal, with the Yellow Sea, into which it discharges itself
in lat. 39. 3. N. The country through which it flows is
mostly a dead flat, and the tide is perceptible 400 miles
from its mouth.
PEINA, a city of the kingdom of Hanover, in the pro¬
vince of Hildesheim, the capital of a bailiwick of the same
name, situated on the river Fuse. It is surrounded with
walls, and contains a castle used now as a workhouse, a Ca¬
tholic and a Lutheran church, a capuchin monastery, 440
houses, and 3460 inhabitants, employed chiefly in spinning
174
Peine
Forte et
Dure
tl
Peiresc.
P E I
and weaving linen goods, and in agriculture. Long. 10. 6.
31. E. Lat. 52. 19. 34. N. t
PEINE Forte et Dure (Lat. pcena fortis et dura) sig¬
nifies a special punishment inflicted on those who, being
arraigned of felony, refuse to put themselves on the ordi¬
nary Vial, but stubbornly stand mute. It is vulgarly called
pressing to death.
PEINGHEE, a town in the Birman empire, on the west¬
ern side of the Irrawaddy. The teak timber grows in the
western mountains, which are in sight, in great abundance,
and is carried to Kangoon, whence it is exported to the
British territories. Here also ships are built, although the
distance from the Rangoon, including the windings of the
river, is 150 miles. Long. 94. 50. E. Lat. 18. 31. N.
PEIRCE, James, an eminent dissenting minister, born
at Wapping, London, in the year 1674. He was educated
at Utrecht and Leyden ; after which he spent some time
at Oxford, in order to enjoy the benefit of frequenting the
Bodleian Library. He then for two years preached the
Sunday-evening lecture at the meeting-house in ZVIiles
Lane, London, and afterwards settled at Cambridge. In
1713 he was removed to a congregation at Exeter, where
he continued until the year 1718; when the Calvinists
amongst the dissenters having proposed a subscription to
articles of faith, which were to be signed by all the dissent¬
ing ministers in the kingdom, he refused, and was conse¬
quently ejected from his congregation. Upon this, a new
meeting was opened at Exeter, of which Mr Peirce conti¬
nued minister till his death in 1726. He was a man of strict
virtue, exemplary piety, and great learning ; and he wrote,
1. Exercitatio Philosophica de Homcemeria Anaxagorea ;
2. Thirteen pieces on the Controversy between the Church
of England and the Dissenters; 3. Ten pieces on the Con¬
troversy about the Ejectment at Exeter ; 4. Six pieces on
the Doctrine of the Trinity ; 5. A Paraphrase and Notes
on the Epistles of St Paul to the Colossians, Philippians,
and Hebrews ; 6. An Essay in favour of giving the Eucha¬
rist to Children ; and, 7. Fourteen Sermons.
PEIRESC, Nicolas Claude Fabri, born in 1580, was
descended from an ancient and noble family, which had
been originally established at Pisa in Italy. At ten years of
age he was sent to Avignon, where he spent five years in the
Jesuits’ college, studying what in Scotland and on the Con¬
tinent is called humanity. From Avignon he was, in 1595,
removed to Aix, and entered upon the study of philosophy.
In the interim, he attended the proper masters for dancing,
riding, and handling arms, in all which, though he per¬
formed the lessons regularly, it was with reluctance ; for
this being done only to please an uncle, whose heir he was
to be, he never practised by himself, esteeming all the
time lost which was not spent in the pursuits of literature.
During this period, his father being presented with a me¬
dal of the Emperor Arcadius, which had been found at
Belgenser, Peiresc begged the favour of it; and, charmed
with deciphering the characters in the exergue, and read¬
ing the emperor’s name, he carried the medal, in a trans¬
port of joy, to his uncle, who for his encouragement gave
him two more, together with some books upon the subject.
This is the epoch of his application to antiquities, for which
he became afterwards so famous. In 1596, he was sent
to finish his course of philosophy under the Jesuits at
Tournon, where he turned his attention particularly to cos¬
mography, as being necessary to the understanding of his¬
tory ; abating, however, nothing of his application to anti¬
quity, in which he was assisted by Petrus Rogerus, one of
the professors, and a skilful medallist. Nor did he neglect
the study of humanity in general, in which he was the
master and instructor of a brother who lived with him. But
to do all this he was obliged to sit up late at night; and
as he was naturally of a feeble constitution, so much la¬
bour and attention increased the weakness of his stomach,
P E I
formerly contracted, and for which he had used a kind of Peire
digestive powder. Being recalled by his uncle in 1597, ^
he returned to Aix, and there entered upon the study of ry
the law. which he prosecuted, however, so as to find leisure
to visit and converse frequently with Bagarr, a most skil¬
ful antiquary, who was afterwards master of the jewels to
Henry IV.
The following year he went again to Avignon, to carry
on his course of law under one David, who being also well
skilled in antiquities, was pleased to see Peiresc join this
study to that of the law. But Ghibertus of Naples, auditor
to Cardinal Aquaviva, fed his curiosity the most, in show¬
ing him some rarities, such as he had never seen before.
Having now spent almost three years in Italy, he began to
prepare for his departure, and in the end of 1602, having
packed up all the rarities, gems, and other articles which
he had procured, and despatched them to Marseilles, he
left Padua, and, crossing the Alps of Geneva, proceeded
to Lyons. From Lyons he went to Montpellier, to im- j
prove himself in law under Julius Parius. From Mont¬
pellier he despatched more rarities to his uncle, and arriv¬
ed at Aix in November ; but having brought Parius along
with him, he obtained leave to return in a few days to
Montpellier. He accompanied Parius back again, and
under him continued pursuing his legal studies till the
end of 1603, when he returned to Aix, at the earnest re¬
quest of his uncle, who, having resigned to him his sena¬
torial dignity, had ever since the beginning of the year
laboured to get the king’s patent. The degree of doctor
of laws was a necessary qualification for this dignity. Pei¬
resc, therefore, having performed the usual exercise, took
that degree, in January 1604, when the patent was given
to the senate, and ordered to be recorded; yet Peiresc
procured leave not to be presently entered into the list of
senators. The bent of his inclination was not so much
to business as to advancing arts and sciences, and assist¬
ing all the promoters of learning. For this purpose, he
resolved to lead a single life ; so that when his father had
concluded a match for him with a respectable lady, he
begged to be excused.
In the year 1605 he accompanied Varius, first president
of the senate at Aix, who was very fond of him, to Paris,
whence, having visited every thing curious, he, in 1606,
crossed the Channel to England, in company with the king’s
ambassador. He was very graciously received by King
James I.; and having seen Oxford, and visited Camden,
Sir Robert Cotton, Sir Henry Saville, and other learned
men, he passed over to Holland. After visiting the seve¬
ral towns and universities, with the literati in each, he
passed through Antwerp to Brussels, and thence returned
to Paris to witness the ceremony of the Dauphin’s bap¬
tism, which was solemnized on the 24th of August 1606.
In 1629 he began to be much tormented with stran¬
gury and haemorrhoids; and in 1631, having completed
the marriage of his nephew Claudius with Margaret Al-
resia, a noblewoman of the county of Avignon, he be¬
stowed upon him the barony of Rians, together with a
grant of his senatorial dignity, only reserving the function
to himself for three years. But the parliament not wait¬
ing for his surrender of it, he resented that affront so hein¬
ously, that in 1632 he procured letters patent from the
king to be restored to the exercise of his office during five
years longer, which happened to be till the time of his
death ; for, being seized, in June 1637, with a fever, which
brought on a stoppage of urine, this put an end to his life,
in the fifty-seventh year of his age.
The works which he published are, 1. Historia provin-
ciae Gallise Narbonensis; 2. Nobilium ejusdem provincise
Familiarum Origines, et separatim Fabricias; 3. Commen-
tarii rerum omnium memoria dignarum sua setate gesta-
rum; 4. Liber de ludicris Naturae operibus; 5. Mathema?
P E K
p* ngho tica et astronomica varia; 6. Observationes mathematicee;
* II 7. Epistolae ad S. P. Urbanum VIII. Cardinales Barbe-
1 inS- rinos, &c.; 8. Authores antiqui Graeci et Latini de ponde-
ribus et mensuris; 9. Elogia et Epitaphia; 10. Inscrip-
tiones antiquae et novae ; 11. Genealogia domus Austriacae;
12. Catalogus librorum Bibliothecae regiae; 13. Poemata
varia; 14. Nimimi Gallici, Saxonici, Britannici, &c.; 15.
Linguae orientales, Hebraea, Samaritana, Arabica, Egyp-
tiaca, et Indices librorum harum linguarum ; 16. Obser-
vationes in varies auctores.
PEKIANGHO, a considerable river of China, in the
province of Quangtong, having its origin on the southern
side of the mountains by which that province is divided
from Kiangsee. It forms part of the great navigable com¬
munication between Peking and Canton.
PEKING, or Pekin, a celebrated city of Asia, and ca¬
pital of the great empire of China. It is built in the form
of an oblong square, of which the four walls face the car¬
dinal points, and enclose an area of about fourteen square
miles, independently of the suburbs, which are very exten¬
sive. The walls are built of brick, and are thirty feet in
height. In the south wall there are three gates, and in each
of the other sides two, from which it is sometimes called
the city with nine gates; but its usual name is Peking, or
the Northern Court. The city is divided into two parts ;
namely, the old city, which is inhabited by the Chinese; and
the new city or the imperial city, which is inhabited by the
Tartars. It is in the shape of a parallelogram, and is about
a mile in length from north to south, and three fourths of
a mile from east to west. The middle gate on the south
side opens into this space; and it is surrounded by a wall
built of large red polished bricks, twenty feet in height,
covered with a roof of tiles painted yellow and varnished.
Here are contained the imperial palace and gardens, all
the tribunals or public offices of government, and lodgings
for the ministers, eunuchs, artificers, and tradesmen be¬
longing to the court. Within the enclosure flows a winding
rivulet, which being formed into canals, basins, and lakes,
with artificial mounts, rocks, and groves, exhibits a lively
imitation of the picturesque and the beautiful in natural
scenery. The imperial palace of Yuen-mien, which is situ¬
ated without the city, is even on a larger scale, the grounds
being at least ten miles in diameter, and comprising an
area of 60,000 English acres, laid out, like the grounds in
the palace within the walls, in representing all the great
features of nature, namely, lakes, mountains, forests, rocks,
and rivers, which are thrown together with an irregular
boldness of style that has a striking effect. These grounds
contain thirty distinct places of residence for the emperor,
besides a village of considerable size. These buildings,
however, are remarkable for their meanness, resembling
rather cottages than palaces. Even the very dwelling of
the emperor, and the grand hall of audience, when divest¬
ed of their colour and gilding, are not much superior to
the barns of an English farmer. Nor is any rule of propor¬
tion studied in the construction of these apartments. The
length of the audience-hall is a hundred and ten feet, by
forty-two in breadth, and the height is twenty feet. The
ceiling is embellished with circles, squares, and polygons,
and loaded with a great variety and glare of colours. The
throne, placed in the recess, is adorned with exquisite carv¬
ing. It is supported by rows of pillars painted red, and con¬
sists entirely of a wood resembling mahogany. Between the
other two gates in the south and north walls run two streets
in a straight line, four English miles in length, and about
a hundred and twenty feet in breadth. These are crossed
by one street of the same breadth, which runs from the gate
of the eastern wall to the opposite gate on the west. There
is another street which runs in the same direction; but it
is interrupted in its progress by the north wall of the im¬
perial city, round which it is carried. The cross streets,
P E K ns
which branch off from the main streets at right angles, are Pekin?,
merely lanes, being very narrow. They are all unpaved,
and covered with sand and dust, but are frequently water¬
ed, and kept very clean. The houses are low, few being
more than one story in height; not a chimney is to be
seen rising above the ordinary level; and this circumstance,
together with the regularity of the streets, all laid out in
straight lines, give to the city the appearance of an en¬
campment. None but the great shops have either win¬
dows or openings in the front wall, though most of them
have a sort of terrace, with a railed balcony or parapet
wall in front, ornamented with flowers, shrubs, or stunt¬
ed trees. The principal streets have on each side a
line of buildings, consisting entirely of shops and ware¬
houses, in front of which the goods are displayed; and
large wooden pillars are erected higher than the houses, on
which are notified in gilt characters the nature of the goods
to be sold, and the honest character of the dealers, and
which are, besides, decorated with various-coloured flags,
and streamers and ribands from top to bottom, exhibiting
the appearance of a line of shipping dressed in the colours
of all the different nations of Europe. Nor are the sides
of the houses less brilliant in the several colours in which
they are painted, consisting generally of sky-blue or green,
mixed with gold ; and amongst the articles which make the
most splendid show are the coffins for the dead, and the
funeral biers, which vie in their expensive trappings with the
marriage cars. Barrow, who visited China with Lord Mac¬
artney’s embassy, gives a lively description of the animat¬
ed scene which the first coup d'ceil of the streets present¬
ed to the view. “ The multitude of moveable workshops,”
says Mr Barrow, “ of tinkers and barbers, cobblers and
blacksmiths ; the tents and booths where tea and fruit, rice
and other eatables, were exposed for sale, with the wares
and merchandise arrayed before the doors, had contracted
the spacious street to a narrow road in the middle, just
wide enough for two of our little vehicles to pass each ‘
other. The cavalcade of officers and soldiers that preced¬
ed the embassy; the processions of men in office, attend¬
ed by their numerous retinues, bearing umbrellas, and flags,
and painted lanterns, and a variety of strange insignia of
their rank and station ; different trains that were accom¬
panying with lamentable cries corpses to their graves, and,
with squalling music, brides to their husbands ; the troops
of dromedaries laden with coals from Tartary, the wheel¬
barrows and hand-carts stuffed with vegetables; occupied
nearly the whole of this middle space in one continued line,
leaving very little room for the cavalcade of the embassy
to pass. All was in motion. The sides of the streets were
filled with an immense concourse of people buying and
selling, and bartering their different commodities. The
buzz and confused noises of this mixed multitude, proceed¬
ing from the loud bawling of those who were crying their
wares, the wrangling of others, with every now and then
a strange twanging noise like the jarring of a cracked Jew’s
harp, the barber’s signal made by his tweezers, the mirth
and laughter that prevailed in every group, could scarcely
be exceeded by the brokers in the bank rotunda, or the
Jews and old women in Rosemary Lane. Pedlars with
their packs, and jugglers and conjurers, fortune-tellers,
mountebanks, quack-doctors, comedians and musicians, left
no space unoccupied.” Tartar women are commonly seen
amongst the crowd, either walking or riding on horses, which
they bestride like men. The Chinese women are, however,
rigidly confined to the house in Peking, as in other parts of
the empire.
Of the ornamental structures to be seen in Peking, the
most remarkable are three singular erections at the four
points where the great streets intersect each other, called
triumphal arches, but which are rather monuments to the
memory of distinguished characters, especially of those
176
P E K
Pelagians, who have attained to extraordinary longevity. They are
formed sometimes of stone, but generally ot wood; and
consist of a large central gateway, with a smaller one on
each side, all covered with narrow roofs; and, like the
dwelling-houses, they are splendidly painted, varnished, and
gilt. Large characters of gold announce that each monu¬
ment was erected in commemoration of some distinguish-
ed person, or of some interesting event.
The police of this capital is well regulated, and the public
peace seldom disturbed. At certain distances, and at the end
of every cross street, is placed a soldier, who keeps watch
in a sentry-box; and few streets are without a guard¬
house. The proprietor or inhabitant of every tenth house
is, besides, held responsible for the conduct of his nine neigh¬
bours ; and is bound, on the appearance of any riotous con¬
duct, to give intimation to the nearest guard-house. The
soldiers also on guard go their rounds, and at intervals strike
upon a short tube of bamboo, which gives a dull hollow
sound, and which, Barrow mentions, prevented himself and
other members of the British embassy from sleeping until
they became accustomed to it. “ The city,” says Sir George
Staunton, “ partakes of the regularity and interior safety
of a camp, but is subject also to its constraints. In the
suburbs only public women are registered and licensed,
though they are not numerous. The inhabitants of Peking
are not remarkable for their cleanliness. Ihere are no
common sewers in the city to carry off the dirt and diegs
that must accumulate amid such a large collection of
people; and such are the singular and revolting habits of
the people, that no kind of filth or nastiness is thrown into
the streets to create an offensive smell: it is carefully stored
up within the house in an earthen jar kept for the pur-
pose; and when it is full, it is sold for manure, and canied
off in small bored carts with one wheel, which supply the
city with vegetables. The consequence of this filthy prac¬
tice is, that a disgusting odour remains about all the houses
the whole day long.”
The walls by which the city is surrounded do not ap¬
pear to exceed twenty-five, or at most thiity feet in height.
They are flanked with square towers, placed at regular dis¬
tances of about seventy yards each, with a small guard¬
house on its summit; and these towers project about forty
feet from the line of the wall. The wall at its base is
about twenty-five feet thick, and the width across the top
within the parapets is twelve feet. The middle part, com¬
posed of the earth which had been dug out of the ditch,
is kept together by two retaining walls, partly of brick and
partly of stone. No cannon are mounted on the walls or
bastions ; but in the high building surmounting the gate,
and which is several stories in height, the port-holes are
closed with red doors, on the outside of which are painted
representations of cannon, not unlike the sham ports in a
ship of war.
The most exaggerated ideas were formerly entertained of
the population of Peking. In the last century the Jesuit
Grimaldi carried it to the amount of sixteen millions. Ac¬
cording to the most accurate information that could be ob¬
tained by the embassy of Lord Macartney, the present po¬
pulation of Peking may be estimated at three millions. The
low houses seem to be by no means adequate to so vast a
population ; but very little room is required for a Chinese
family, especially amongst the middling and lower classes.
A Chinese dwelling, surrounded by a wall six or seven feet
in height, contains a whole family of three generations, with
their respective wives and children. Still, with all these
allowances, it is probable that this estimate of three mil¬
lions, given by the Mandarins to the British embassy, is
considerably exaggerated. Long. 116. 28. E. Lat. 39.
55. N.
PELAGIANS, a Christian sect who appeared about the
end of the fourth or beginning of the fifth century. They
PEL
maintained that Adam was by nature mortal, and, whether Pelaj)<
he had sinned or not, would certainly have died ; that the
consequences of Adam’s sin were confined to his own per-,
son; that new-born infants are in the same situation with
Adam before the fall; that the law qualified men for the
kingdom of heaven, and was founded upon equal promises
with the gospel ; that the general resurrection of the dead
does not follow in virtue of our Saviour’s resurrection; that
the grace of God is given according to our merits; and
that this grace is not granted for the performance of every
moral act, the liberty of the will, and information in points
of duty, being sufficient. The founder of this sect was Pe-
lagius.
PELAGIUS was a native of Great Britain, but whether
of England, Scotland, or Wales, is as uncertain as it is im¬
material. He was born towards the close of the fourth cen¬
tury, and educated in the monastery of Bangor, in Wales,
of which he became a monk, and afterwards abbot. In the
early part of his life he passed over to France, and thence
proceeded to Rome, where he had the insolence to promul¬
gate certain opinions different from those of the church.
His morals being irreproachable, he gained many disciples;
and the heresy he preached made so rapid a progress, that
it became necessary for the pope to exert his power, lo
avoid the danger, Pelagius passed over to Sicily, in the year
409, attended by his friend and pupil Celestius. In 411 they
landed in Africa, continued some time at Hippo, and were
present at the famous conference between the Catholics
and Donatists, which was held at Carthage in 412. From
thence they travelled into Egypt, and from Egypt, in 415,
to Palestine, where they were graciously received by John
bishop of Jerusalem. In the same year Pelagius was cited
to appear before a council of seventeen bishops, held at
Diospolis. They were satisfied with his creed, and ab¬
solved him of heresy. The African bishops, however, be¬
ing displeased with their proceedings, appealed to the Ro¬
man pontiff, who first approved, and afterwards condemn¬
ed, the opinions of Pelagius ; the latter, with his pupil Ce¬
lestius, was publicly excommunicated ; and all the bishops
who refused to subscribe the condemnation of the Pela¬
gian heresy were immediately deprived. What became
of him after this period is entirely unknown ; but it seems
very probable that he retired to Bangor, and died abbot
of the monastery of that place. He wrote, 1. Expositio-
num in Epistolas Paulinas, lib. xiv.; 2. Epistola ad De-
metriadem de Virginitate; 3. Explanatio Symboli ad Da-
masum ; 4. Epistolae ad viduam duse ; and, A. De Libero
Arbitrio. These, and many other fragments, were scatter¬
ed amongst the works of St Jerome. They were also col
lected by Garnerius, and published in Append. Op. Mer-
caloris, p. 373.
PELAIGHE, a town of Hindustan, tributary to the
Mahrattas, and situated in the province of Agra, twelve
miles north from Narwar. Long. 78. 8. E. Lat. 25. 51. N.
PELANDAH, a large village of Hindustan, in the Raj¬
poot territories, and province of Ajmeer, said to contain
1000 houses. It is seventy miles east-south-east from Jye-
nagur. Long. 76. 45. E. Lat. 26. 36. N.
PELANGY, a river in the island of Magindanao, on
which the capital is situated, and here as broad as the
Thames at London bridge.
PELASGI, or Pelasgians, a very ancient people, of
whom the historical inquirers in the Augustan age could
find no trace amongst any race then subsisting, and about
whom so many opposite opinions have been confidently
maintained, and so much learning unprofitably accumu¬
lated, that it is difficult, if not impossible, to arrive at any
distinct or satisfactory conclusion.
Disregarding that spurious philology which raises pre¬
tensions to knowledge concerning races whose annals have
long since perished, we may, however, observe, that the
P E L A S G I.
177
:gi. people known by the name of Pelasgians are supposed to
^ have originally occupied Greece, and to have penetrated
into central Italy long before the establishment of the Hel¬
lenic colonies in Magna Graecia, that is, the southern portion
of the Italian peninsula. Thus much seems to be admitted
on all sides, because it is borne out by the concurring tes¬
timonies of ancient authors, who are agreed in almost no¬
thing else, respecting either the origin or the migrations of
this primitive race. The questions that have been most
keenly agitated amongst the learned are, whether the Pe¬
lasgians were a different nation from the Hellenes, or the
same people under a different denomination; and whether
they were Scythians or Goths, as Mr Pinkerton contends, or
a branch of some other distinctive race of men, as others
have maintained. The discussion of these matters, we are
well aware, is rather a subject of antiquarian research and
learned curiosity than one calculated to afford either amuse¬
ment or instruction to the generality of readers ; but as it
has called forth displays of profound erudition, and elicited
much ingenuity, a concise and comprehensive view of the
actual state of the dispute may not be altogether out of place
in a work which has for its object to embrace the whole
cycle of human knowledge and research, even without refer¬
ence to the secondary considerations of immediate interest
or utility.
Mr Pinkerton, in strict accordance with his general
theory, maintains that the Pelasgians were Scythians, and
also that the Hellenes or Greeks were Pelasgians, or, in
other words, of Scythian or Gothic origin. He argues, that
as the Pelasgians certainly descended from the north-east
into Greece, and thus came from, or at least through, a
country which had been overspread by the Scythians long
before the period of their descent into Hellas, it may be in¬
ferred that they were of the same origin and race with the
inhabitants of Thrace, Thessaly, and the other countries
where they first made their appearance ; a conclusion, we
may observe, which, whether it be well or ill founded,
does not necessarily follow from the premises, because
the circumstance of a roving or migratory tribe passing
through a particular country in its progress towards other
settlements, by no means warrants the supposition either
of identity or diversity of origin with reference to the
prior inhabitants of such country. Mr Pinkerton, how¬
ever, contends, that at a very early period Pelasgian settle¬
ments were established on the Hellespont; that, in the days
of Homer, and even much later, a district in Thessaly was
named Pelasgia; that the people of Macedonia were an¬
ciently called Pelasgians ; that the Thracians, who, under
Eumolpus, colonized Attica, were by Herodotus denomi¬
nated Pelasgians ; and that Plutarch describes the same
people as a roving or migratory race, who, having sub¬
dued the inhabitants, settled in the countries they had
I conquered,—a description which, he thinks, can only apply
to the Scythians. Besides, Herodotus, Thucydides, and
Strabo, all state that the Pelasgians came originally from
Thessaly into Greece ; and as Thessaly was anciently ac¬
counted a part of Thrace, Mr Pinkerton thence concludes
that the Pelasgians were Thracians, that is, Scythians or
Goths. According to him, ancient Pelasgia included
Macedonia, Epirus, and afterwards the. country which in
later times was called Hellas or Greece; and he follows
the opinion of the majority of the learned in holding that
Pelasgi and Hellenes were but different names for one and
the same people.
This assumed identity necessarily implies, that if the
Pelasgians were Scythians or Goths, so also were the Hel¬
lenes. Mr Pinkerton, however, devotes a separate section Pelasgi.
to the discussion of this point, and accumulates a num--v—
ber of authorities in support of his position, that the Hel¬
lenes were Scythians. That the Hellenes were originally
a small tribe in Thessaly, is, he conceives, proved by the
authority of Thucydides, which is confirmed by that of
Herodotus and Strabo. The same authors make it equally
clear that the Thessalians were Thracians, a people who
extended as far down as Phocea; whilst later authorities
state, that all the people south of the Hellespont, includ¬
ing the Macedonians and Greeks, were of Scythian origin.
Besides, the language and manners of the whole of Hellas,
from Ihrace to the Ionian Sea, were, according to Pinker¬
ton, Ihracian or Scythian, that is, Gothic. No ancient
writer has mentioned, nor even hinted at, any diversity of
speech, save as to refinement, between Peloponnesus, At¬
tica, Epirus, Ihessaly, Macedonia, and Thrace. In Ho¬
mer s time the name of barbarians was not applied to the
I hracians, w ho appear to have spoken the same language
with the Hellenes; and Diodorus Siculus states that the
Scythae Hyperborei, or most distant Scythians, used a form
of speech akin to that of Athens and Delos, in other words,
Peiasgic or Gothic. Anacharsis, the Scythian philosopher,
who had learned the language and studied the manners of
the Greeks, pronounced them Scythian ;x and even Xeno¬
phon bears indirect testimony to the accuracy of this judg¬
ment. The similarity between the Greek and the Gothic
language is attested by Ovid ;2 and, in modern times, Sal-
masius, Junius, Casaubon, Hire, Jamieson, and many other
learned scholars and antiquaries, have pronounced the
Greek and the Gothic to be merely dialects of the same
original language, though some of them have fallen into
the mistake of deriving the latter from the former. In
corroboration of the same general view, Bibliander states,
that in the German, which is a dialect of the Gothic, eight
hundred out of two thousand radicals are common to the
Greek and Latin, as well as the German ; and as to the La¬
tin, every scholar knows that, originally, it was merely the
iEolic dialect of the Greek. But of all marks or proofs of
the origin of nations, that of language is the most certain ;
and from this remarkable coincidence in radical structure,
taken in connection with the other circumstances adverted
to by him, Mr Pinkerton concludes, that the Pelasgians,
the ancestors of the Greeks, afterwards called Hellenes,
from the leader of the last tribe that arrived, were original¬
ly settled in Macedonia and Thessaly; that they were Thra¬
cians, and that the Thracians were all Scythians or Goths.
The Pelasgians or Hellenes were, according to our au¬
thor, much improved by the situation of Greece, their new
settlement, which, being surrounded by the sea on every
side except the north, proved a centre of attraction for small
colonies from Egypt and Phoenicia, countries celebrated for
their early civilization. Letters were imported, tillage was
introduced, and the arts of life began to be cultivated. But
the colonies to which this branch of the Scythians were
mainly indebted for these advantages appear to have all
adopted the Peiasgic or Hellenic language, and conform¬
ed to the Peiasgic or Hellenic rites and customs; and it
might even be shown that the Greek mythology was only
an improved version of that which obtained in ancient Scy¬
thia, the gods being mostly deified heroes or princes. Many
ideas of the Greek mythology may also be found in the Go¬
thic, though in a form far less polished and refined. The
most ancient Greek poets, it is well known, were the sole
teachers of the people ; they were the first who, by blend¬
ing allegory with popular superstition and legendary ro-
S«, (pn<ni o Tavri; 'Exx»iv8f 2xvti£cv<ri. (Clemens Alexand. Strom, lib. i. p. 364.)
2 Exercent illi sociae commercia linguae,
Graiaque quod Getico.victa loquela sono cst. (Triistia, lib. v. 10.)
z
178
P E L A S G I.
Pelasgi. mance, composed systems of theogony and mythology. But
■—-    these early poets and teachers were all of I brace. Linus,
Orpheus, Musjeus, Thamyris, and Eumolpus, were Thra¬
cians, and consequently Scythians or Goths, familiar with
the ancient traditions of the race to which they belonged.
This circumstance has been remarked by Eustathius, and
it is certainly not a little singular, in reference to the sub¬
ject before us. In a word, it appears that the Greeks ori¬
ginally “ Scythicised,” as Anacharsis called it, that is, fol¬
lowed the customs, manners, and traditions of the Scy¬
thians ; but being improved by the introduction of foreign
alts and the admixture of foreign settlers, they soon as¬
sumed a character quite distinct from that of their north¬
ern progenitors, and at length attained to the highest de¬
gree of civilization and refinement.
& Such is a condensed abstract of Mr Pinkerton’s system,
which, whether it be well founded or not, has at least the
peculiar merit of being clear, distinct, and intelligible. We
cannot say as much, however, for the speculations of al¬
most any other writer who has treated of this subject, and
least of all for those of Niebuhr, whose chapter on the Pe-
lasgians is the most obscure, and therefore the least inte¬
resting, in his History of Rome. The fact seems to be, he
had no settled views on the subject; and though he dis¬
cusses his authorities with great ability, he has somehow
failed to extract from them any definite or general results.
We shall endeavour, as we best can, however, to give the
reader some general notion of what this celebrated author
has written respecting a race which has a double claim to
attention, from its connection with the ancient history of
both Greece and Italy.
According to Niebuhr, the Pelasgians were a different
nation from the Hellenes, and had a language of .their own,
which was peculiar, and not Greek. This is his general
principle, to which he repeatedly recurs, though without
explaining how he arrived at such a conclusion. Yet, not¬
withstanding the difference here supposed, he thinks it
probable that there was an essential affinity between them,
from the ease with which so many Pelasgian nations ripen¬
ed into Hellenes, and from the Latin containing an ele¬
ment which is half Greek, and admitted to have been of
Pelasgic origin. But it is not easy to see how this total
difference and essential affinity are to be reconciled, or how
Latin could have contained an element half Greek and of
Pelasgic origin, if the language of the Pelasgians was pe¬
culiar, and not Greek. Herodotus says that in process of
time they came to be accounted Greeks, and that from
them the Grecian theology was derived ; circumstances
which certainly serve to indicate the essential affinity to
which Niebuhr refers. But the difficulty still remains to
account for the diversity in nation and language which is
predicated of the same people. It is perfectly true, as
Niebuhr remarks, that the Pelasgians, in that part of his¬
tory to which our monuments and traditions reach, were
in a state of ruin and decay. They seemed a race that had
outlived a period of other forms, looking like strangers
left to languish in an altered world ; and this is the reason
why their history is shrouded in such obscurity. The old
traditions spoke of them as a race pursued by the heaven¬
ly powers with never-ending calamities ; and the traces of
their abode in widely-distant regions probably gave rise to
the notion that they roamed about from land to land in or¬
der to escape from these afflictions. But, surrendering to
the poets the fable of their wanderings, Niebuhr thinks that
he who rightly interprets the scattered hints of tradition,
and searches for traces of their diffusion, will recognise in
this singular people one of the very greatest nations of an¬
cient Europe, who in the course of their migrations spread
themselves almost as widely as the Celts, though in a man¬
ner still less known, and leaving even fewer memorials of
their existence.
The learned historian, however, has not thought fit to Pel
apply bis erudition and critical sagacity to the elucidation
of this important point, which would have been a thou¬
sand times more instructive and interesting than the most
elaborate discussion of authorities. He seems to have
been perplexed with the discrepancies he encountered,
and the difficulties with which he was beset, especially in
reference to the Pelasgian tribes which originally pene¬
trated into Italy; but having adopted no hypothesis, and
hit upon no general principle, he has left the origin and
history of the Pelasgians as obscure as ever ^ nor has he
even succeeded in disentangling that pait of the question
which relates to their settlement in Italy, whither they
are said to have carried the language of Greece in its most
ancient or Aiolic form. The boldness of speculation by
which his disquisitions on other parts of his subject are
characterized, is here altogether awanting. Instead of
grappling at once with the difficulty, like Pinkerton,^ and
thus imparting method and system to his investigations,
he fritters away the whole question in detail; leaving no
distinct impression on the mind, and disappointing the ex¬
pectations which he had himself raised. The only lead¬
ing ideas we have been able to detect are those which
we have already mentioned. The important considera¬
tions of language and race enter not as elements into the
investigation ; and he at last concludes by reiterating the
paradox with which he had commenced.
“ The facility,” says he, “ with which they were mould¬
ed into Greeks, is a characteristic of the Pelasgian tribes,
and a main cause of the dissolution and extinction of the
nation. It is natural to view it as resulting from the affi¬
nity between the two races, which yet were not on that
account the less essentially different; and such I believe
to have been the case: yet we may observe a magical
power exercised by the Greek language and national cha¬
racter over foreign races that came in contact with them,
even where no such affinity can be conceived. The inha¬
bitants of Asia Minor hellenized themselves from the time
of the Macedonian conquest, almost without any settle¬
ments amongst them of genuine Greeks ; Antioch, though
the common people spoke a barbarous language, became
altogether a Greek city ; and the entire transformation of
the Syrians was averted only by their oriental inflexibili¬
ty. Even the Albanians, who have settled as colonies in
modern Greece, have adopted the Romaic by the side of
their own language, and in several places have forgotten
the latter. It was in this way only that the immortal Suli
was Greek; and the noble Hydra itself, the destruction of
which we shall perhaps have to deplore, is an Albanian set¬
tlement.” . , • • JO T
This is, no doubt, very ingenious; but is it sound r io
say nothing of the difficulty of conceiving the co-existence of
an essential affinity with an essential difference, the cases
here put are those of more refined nations in contact with
such as are less so, and the consequent influence of the
former upon the latter. But where is the evidence that the
Greeks stood in this relation to the Pelasgians? Has it
been shown by our author that the latter were really a dif¬
ferent people from the Hellenes ? Or, if so, which was
the more ancient ? Were there Greeks, properly so called,
in Greece anterior to the arrival and settlement of the Pe¬
lasgians in that country ? The latter have generally been
supposed the most ancient inhabitants of the country; and
it is certain that the name of Hellenes or Greeks is of
later origin. The alleged facility with which the Pelas¬
gian tribes were moulded into Greeks must therefore be
explained on some principle different from that assumed
by Niebuhr from inapplicable analogies. According to Pin¬
kerton, this facility arose from the simple circumstance that
the Pelasgians and Hellenes were in reality one and the
same people. (Av <
PEL
PEL 179
] vtoe
p us.
s-,\~
PELATiE were those free-born citizens amongst the
Athenians, who by poverty were reduced to the necessity
of serving for wages. During their servitude they had no
^vote in the management of public affairs, from having no
estate to qualify them ; but this restriction was removed
whenever they had released themselves from their servile
situation, whfch they were allowed to do when able to sup¬
port themselves. Whilst they continued servants, they
had also a right to change their masters. We find them
sometimes distinguished by the name of Thetce.
PELAUD AH, a large village of Hindustan, in the Raj¬
poot territories, and province of Ajmeer, containing 1000
houses. It is seventy miles east-south-east from Jyena-
gur. Long. 76. 45. E. Lat. 26. 36. N.
PELEG, son of Eber, was born in the year of the world
1757. The Scripture says his father gave him the name
of Peleg, signifying division, because in his time the earth
began to be divided (Gen. xi. 16 ; x. 25) ; whether it was
that Noah had begun to distribute the earth amongst his
descendants, some years before the building of Babel, or
that Peleg came into the world the same year that Babel
was begun, and at the division of languages, or that Eber
by a spirit of prophecy gave his son the name of Peleg
some years before the tower of Babel was begun, is not ab¬
solutely certain. That which perplexes the interpreters
is, that Peleg came into the world not above a century
after the deluge. But it would seem, that the number of
men in existence was not then sufficient for such an un¬
dertaking as that of Babel. In the next place, Joktan the
brother of Peleg had already thirteen sons at the time of
this dispersion, which happened after the confusion of
Babel (Gen. x. 26, 27, 28). But Peleg being born in the
thirty-fourth year of Eber (Gen. xi. 16), it is impossible his
brother Joktan should have had such a number of children
at the birth of Peleg. It would seem, therefore, that he was
not born at the time of the dispersion. To this it may be
answered, that Moses has there enumerated the names of
the thirteen sons of Joktan (in Gen. x. 26) by way of an¬
ticipation, though they were not born until some time after
the confusion at Babel; but as they possessed a very large
country, it was convenient to take notice of them, and "to
name them amongst the other descendants of Noah, who
divided the provinces of the East amongst themselves.
However this may have been, at the age of thirty years
Peleg begat Reu, and died at the age of 239.
PELETHITES. The Pelethites and Cherethites were
famous under the reign of David. They were the most
valiant men in the army of that prince, and guarded the
person of the king.
PELEUS, in fabulous history, a king of Thessaly, son
of iEacus, and Endeis, the daughter of Chiron. He mar¬
ried Thetis, one of the Nereids, and was the only mortal
man who had ever married an immortal. He was concerned
in the murder of his brother Phocus, and was therefore
obliged to leave his father’s dominions. He fled to the
court of Eurytus the son of Actor, who reigned at Phthia,
or, according to the opinion of Ovid, the truth of which is
questioned, to Ceyx king of Trachinia. He was purified of
this murder by Eurytus, with the usual ceremonies, and the
king gave him his daughter Antigone in marriage. After
this, when Peleus and Eurytus went to the hunting of the
Caledonian boar, the father-in-law was accidentally killed
by an arrow which his son-in-law had aimed at the beast.
This unfortunate action obliged him to withdraw himself
from the court of Phthia, and he went to lolchos, where
he was also purified of the murder of Eurytus by Acastus,
the king of the country. His residence at lolchos was
short. Astydamia, the wife of Acastus, fell in love with
him ; but when she found him insensible to her passionate
declarations, she accused him of attempts upon her virtue.
The king her husband partly believed the accusations of
his wife, but, not willing to violate the laws of hospitality, Pelew
by putting his guest instantly to|death, he ordered his officers Islands.
to conduct him to Mount Pelion, on pretence of hunting,
and there to tie him to a tree and leave him a prey to the
wild beasts of the place. The orders of Acastus were
faithfully obeyed; but Jupiter, knowing the innocence of
his grandson Peleus, ordered Vulcan to set him at liberty.
As soon as he had been delivered from danger, Peleus as¬
sembled his friends in order to punish the ill treatment which
he had received from Acastus. He took lolchos by force,
drove the king from his possessions, and put to death the
profligate Astydamia. On the death of Antigone, Peleus
made love to Thetis, of whose superior charms Jupiter
himself had been enamoured. His pretensions were re¬
jected; for as he was but a mortal, the goddess fled from
him with the utmost abhorrence, and, the more effectually
to evade his inquiries, she generally assumed the shape of
a bird, or a tree, or of a tigress. Peleus’s passion was
inflamed by refusal. He offered a sacrifice to the gods ;
and Proteus informed him, that to obtain Thetis he must
surprise her whilst she was asleep in her grotto, near the
shores of Thessaly. This advice was immediately attend¬
ed to ; and Thetis, unable to escape from the grasp of Pe¬
leus, at last consented to marry him. Their nuptials were
celebrated with the greatest solemnity, all the gods at¬
tending and making them each the most valuable presents.
The goddess of Discord was the only one of the deities
who was absent, and she punished this seeming neglect by
throwing an apple into the midst of the assembly of the
gods, with the inscription of Detur pulchriori. The fruit
of this marriage was the celebrated Achilles, whose edu¬
cation was early intrusted to Chiron the Centaur, and af¬
terwards to Phoenix, the son of Amyntor. Achilles, it is
well known, went to the Trojan wrar, at the head of his
father’s troops; and Peleus gloried in having a son who
was superior to all the Greeks in valour and intrepidity.
His death, however, was the source of great grief to Pe¬
leus ; but Thetis, to comfort her husband, promised him
immortality, and ordered him to retire into the grottos of
the island of Leuce, where he should see and converse
with the manes of his son. Peleus had by Antigone a
daughter called Polydora.
PELEW Islands, or Palaos, a cluster of islands,
mostly small, in the western part of the Pacific Ocean, si¬
tuated between the Philippine and the Caroline Islands,
and chiefly between the seventh and eighth degrees of
north latitude, and the 134th and 135th of east longitude.
These islands are eighteen in number, and their names are,
Oroolong, Emungs, Emillegue, Artingal, Corooraa, and
Pelelew. These islands were first visited by the Spaniards
from the Philippines, and received from them the appella¬
tion of the Palaos Islands, from the tall palm trees with
which they are covered, and which at a distance have the
appearance of ships’ masts, as the term indicates. The lar¬
gest of these islands is named Baubelthanap, and is about
sixty miles in circumference; the smaller islands are to the
south. The latter are well covered with trees of various
kinds and sizes; some of them of the largest dimensions,
and sufficient for forming a canoe capable of holding thirty
persons. Amongst the variety of trees found here is the
ebony, and a tree from which, when pierced by a gimblet,
there exudes a thick white liquid of the consistence of cream.
A species of tree also grows here, the sap of which blisters
the skin. There is another singular tree, the branching of
which is not unlike our cherry-tree ; but its leaves resem¬
ble the myrtle. It has no bark, having only an outward
coat about the thickness of a card, darker than the inside,
though equally close in texture. It has the colour of ma¬
hogany in the interior, and is so extremely hard that no
tool can work it. The other trees are the cabbage-tree,
and a tree the fruit of which resembles the almond ; the ca-
180
PEL
P E L
Pelew rimbola, and the wild bread-fruit tree ; the cocoa-nut tree.
Islands. tiie fruit 0f which is one of the chief articles ot subsistence ;
' and the betel-nut tree, which is in great abundance, ban¬
tams, bananas, oranges, lemons, and sugar-canes, abound;
likewise the turmeric, which the natives use as a dye, and
with which they stain their skins. On none ol these
islands, when they were visited by the English, was there
any kind of grain, or any quadruped except some brown¬
ish-gray rats, which ran wild in the woods, and a few lean
cats, which were seen in some of the houses, and had pro¬
bably escaped to the shore from some wreck or dnlt-wood.
The common domestic fowls, such as cocks and hens,
abound in the woods, though they are not domesticated;
and, previous to the arrival of the English, they were not
used for food by the natives, who reared pigeons for this
purpose. Along the shores fish in great variety are found,
with many shell-fish, particularly the large Kima cockle,
which they procure by diving, and which, like other bar¬
barous nations, they eat raw. Many of the other birds are
distinguished alike by the beauty of their plumage and
the variety and melody of their notes. There were seve¬
ral small birds of very melodious notes, especially one
whose notes resembled those of a flageolet, and which
sings morning and evening.
These islands, when seen from the sea, appear of a rug¬
ged mountainous aspect, and covered with wood ; the inte¬
rior parts being mountainous, and the valleys extensive and
beautiful, opening into prospects of picturesque beauty.
A reef of coral surrounds the shore, which is about hve or
six leagues broad, and in no case less than three, ^he
soil is in general rich, and produces luxuriant heibage,
which, as there is no cattle to eat it, grows high, and is
scorched and burned with the heat of the sun. I hej cli¬
mate, as in all tropical countries, is divided into the two
seasons, the wet and the dry. There is nothing in these
islands which deserves the name ot a river ; and the mha-
bitants derive their supplies of fresh water from small ri¬
vulets and ponds. . i u n •
From the accounts given of these islands by Laptain
Wilson, commander of the Antelope packet, in the set vice
of the East India Company, who was wrecked on them, and
by other navigators, the inhabitants appear to have made
but little progress in civilization. They are not, indeed, as
they had been represented, irreclaimable savages, inhu¬
man and barbarous, and feeding on human flesh ; but, on
the contrary, hospitable, friendly, and humane in their dis¬
positions, though ignorant of the arts and manners of civi¬
lized life. They are, however, industrious, and every part
of the island bears marks of cultivation. Earns and cocoa-
nuts are the chief articles of subsistence, and to the rear¬
ing of these their attention was chiefly directed. 'Ihey are
a Itout and well-made people, rather above the middle
stature; and their complexions are not black, though ot a
deeper shade than the Indian copper-colour. They have
long flowing hair, rather disposed to curl, which they form
into one large loose coil round their heads. Some ot
the women, who have remarkably long hair, allow it to
hang down their backs. The men go entirely naked ; the
women wear a slight covering of two little aprons, or rather
thick fringes, one before and one behind, about ten inches
deep and seven wide ; these are made of the husks of the
cocoa-nut, stripped into narrow slips, and dyed with dif¬
ferent shades of yellow. Both men and women have the
savage practice of tattooing, which operation takes place
when both sexes arrive at maturity. One ear of the men
is bored, and in the women both ears, and beads are worn
in the perforated ear by the men ; but the women put some
leaf through, or an ear-ring of tortoise-shell inlaid. Ihey
also perforate the cartilage between the nostrils in both
sexes, through which they frequently put a little sprig or
blossom of some plant or shrub that pleases their fancy.
Like most barbarous nations, both sexes are expert swim¬
mers, and appear to be as perfectly at ease in the water as
on land. In diving their skill is also remarkable ; and the
men, if they saw any thing at the bottom of the sea which
attracted their attention, would instantly jump overboard
and bring it up. They mix no salt nor any other season¬
ing in any thing they eat; and the milk of the cocoa-nut
forms their usual beverage. I hey had no method of mea¬
suring time but by the height of the sun, though they had
some knowledge of the stars, having names for several of
them, which they pointed out to their English visitors.
Their houses were of a rude construction. I hey were rais¬
ed about three feet from the ground, and placed on large
thick and oblong stones, as if cut from the quarry. Their
fishing-tackle was, however, well manufactured. The
hooks were made of tortoise-shell; and their twine, their
cord, and all their fishing-nets, were well manufactured
from the husks of the cocoa-nut. I hey form the mats on
which they sleep, and which they throw over them when
at rest, out of the plantain leaf. Ihey use the plantain leaf
at their meals instead of a plate ; the shell of the cocoa-nut
they polish very nicely, and it serves them as a cup to
drink out of. Their best knives are made of a piece of mo¬
ther-of-pearl oyster-shell. They make vessels of earthen
ware, in which they boil their fish and yams; and their
hatchets are made of the Kima cockle ground to a sharp
edge. Their principal weapons are spears twelve feet
long, made of bamboo, pointed with some hard wood, and
darts and slings. They carry on a maritime warfare with
each other in canoes, which they make from the trunk of
a tree, with an outrigger, and furnished with lateen sails
made of mattine.
The government of these islands is monarchical. I he
king has the supreme authority, and, though divested of all
external decorations of royalty, he is honoured with every
mark of personal distinction. The nobles approach him
with the greatest respect; and his common subjects, when¬
ever they pass him, or have occasion to address him, use
every mark of the meanest servility, crouching towards
the ground in his presence, or even before any place where
he is supposed to be. The officer who approaches nearest
to the king in power is his brother, who is generalissimo
of all the forces. The king is always attended by a parti¬
cular officer, who does not appear to possess any heredi¬
tary, but rather a delegated authority. He is first con¬
sulted in all public affairs, and has other marks of high
dignity; but whether his office and character were religious
or civil, the English could not exactly learn. Polygamy
prevails in these islands, but in general the natives have
not more than two wives, though the king had five, who lived
in separate dwellings. They have little or no religion, and
no outward observances that the English could perceive
whilst they resided amongst them. 1 he king became much
attached to the English who were shipwrecked on these
islands, and showed them great kindness. Indeed, so highly
did he esteem Captain Wilson, that he intrusted his second
son. Prince Lee Boo, to his care, to accompany him to
England. This young prince was of the most amiable
dispositions, anxiously desirous of knowledge, and capable
of receiving it. He died of the small-pox, at Captain Wil¬
son’s house in London, in 1784, at the age of about twenty
years. In return for the kindness shown by Abba ihulle,
the prince of Pelew, to the crew of the Antelope wrecked
on the island of Oroolong in 1783, the East India Com¬
pany sent him, in the year 1791, a present of four young
cows in calf, two young bulls from Sebojee, and ten ewes
and two rams of the Bengal breed, eight she-goats and
two rams of the Surat breed, with sows, boars, geese,
ducks, hens, and turtle-doves, besides European swords
and hardware, arms, and ammunition. In 1791, the cap¬
tain of the Panther, a Bombay cruizer, was so much pleased
PEL PEL 181
ig. with the manners of the natives, that he resigned his com-
—' mand, with a view of spending the remainder of his days
amongst them. But he soon wearied of being amongst
savages, and returned in his pinnace to Macao. Several
Europeans have been in the habit of residing here for
the purpose of collecting biche de mer, tortoise-shell, and
shark fins, for the China market. The Jesuits of Manilla,
in the Philippines, endeavoured, in 1696, to reduce these
islands, and effected a landing in 1710. But those who
landed were never more heard of; and the ship from which
they disembarked, after waiting long for them in vain, was
at length compelled to depart, and to leave them on the
island. Long, between 134). 5. and 134>. 4)0. E. Lat. be¬
tween 6. 54. and 8. 12. N.
PELIAS, in fabulous history, the twin-brother of Neleus,
was son of Neptune by Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus.
His birth was concealed by his mother, who wished her
father to remain ignorant of her incontinence. He was
exposed in the woods, but his life was preserved by shep¬
herds ; and he received the name of Pelias, from a spot of
the colour of lead in his face. Some time afterwards
Tyro married Cretheus, son of iEolus, king of lolchos,
and became mother of three children, of whom iEson was
the eldest. Pelias visited his mother, and was received
into her family; but after the death of Cretheus, he un¬
justly seized the kingdom, which belonged to the children
of Tyro by the deceased king. In order to strengthen
himself in his usurpation, Pelias consulted the oracle; and
when he was told to beware of one of the descendants of
iEolus, who should come to his court with the one foot
shod and the other bare, he privately removed the son of
Aison, after he had openly declared that he was dead. But
these precautions proved vain. Jason, the son of iEson,
who had been educated by Chiron, returned to lolchos
when come to years of maturity ; and having lost one of
his shoes in crossing the river Anaurus or Evenus, Pelias
immediately perceived that this was the person whom he
had so much dreaded. His unpopularity prevented him
from acting with violence to a stranger’, whose uncommon
dress and commanding aspect had raised admiration in the
people. But his astonishment was greatly excited when
he saw Jason arrive at his palace, with his friends and re¬
lations, and boldly demand the kingdom which he had
usurped. Pelias, conscious that Jason’s complaints were
well founded, endeavoured to divert his attention, and told
him that he would voluntarily resign the crown to him,
if he should proceed to Colchis in order to avenge the
death of Phryxus, the son of Athamas, whom iEeres had
cruelly murdered. He further declared, that the expedi¬
tion would be attended with the greatest glory, and that
nothing but the infirmities of old age could prevent him¬
self from vindicating the honour of his country, and the
injuries of his family, by punishing the assassin. This pro¬
posal, so warmly recommended, was with equal warmth
accepted by the young hero, and his intended expedition
was made known all over Greece. Whilst Jason was ab¬
sent on the Argonautic expedition, Pelias murdered iEson
and all his family ; but, according to the more received
opinion, iEson was still living when the Argonauts return¬
ed, and he was restored to the flower of youth by the
magic of Medea. This change in the vigour and consti¬
tution of iEson astonished all the inhabitants of lolchos;
and the daughters of Pelias, who have received the pa¬
tronymic of Peliades, expressed their desire to see their
father’s infirmities vanish by the same powerful magic.
Medea, who wished to avenge the injuries which her hus¬
band Jason had received from Pelias, raised the desires of
the Peliades, by cutting an old ram to pieces, boiling the
flesh in a cauldron, and then turning it into a fine young
lamb. Having witnessed this successful experiment, the
Peliades cut their father’s body to pieces, after they had
drawn all the blood from his veins, on the assurance that Pelicondah
Medea would replenish them by her wonderful power. The 11
limbs were immediately put into a cauldron of boiling water; v^eIletie1'
but Medea, suffering the flesh to be totally consumed, re- ^ V'~K““
fused to give the promised assistance, and the bones of
Pelias did not even receive the honours of sepulture. The
Peliades were four in number, Alceste, Pisidice, Pelopea,
and Hippothoe, to whom Hyginus adds Medusa. Their
mother’s name was Anaxibia, the daughter of Bias or Phi-
lomache, the daughter of Amphion. After this parricide,
the Peliades fled to the court of Admetus, where Acastus,
the son-in-law of Pelias, pursued them, and made their
protector prisoner. The Peliades died and were buried
in Arcadia.
PELICONDAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of the Circars, and district of Cicacole. Long. 84. 10. E.
Lat. 18. 33. N.
PELIME, a river of Asiatic Russia, which falls into the
Taudo, near the town of the same name.
PELING, an island in the Yellow Sea, near the coast
of Corea, ten miles in length and four in breadth. Long.
124. 28. E. Lat. 38. 24. N.
Peling Isle, an island in the Eastern Seas, near the
east coast of the island of Celebes, between the 123d and
124th degrees of east longitude. It is fifty miles in length
by fifteen in breadth, and is surrounded by many smaller
isles, with numerous rocks and shoals. Long. 124. 28. E.
Lat. 38. 24. N.
PELION, a mountain of Thessaly, near Ossa. It rises
majestically over the Sinus Pelasgicus, having its top co¬
vered with pines, and its sides with oaks. From this moun¬
tain was cut the spear of Achilles, called pelias, which none
but himself could wield.
PELLA, in Ancient Geography, a town situated on
the confines of Emathia, a district of Macedonia. It was
the royal residence, and being situated on an eminence
verging to the south-west, was encompassed with impassa¬
ble marshes summer and winter.
PELLETIER, Bertrand, a celebrated chemical phi¬
losopher, was born at Bayonne in the year 1761. He very
soon discovered a strong predilection for the sciences, to
cherish which he had every thing in his father’s house that
could reasonably be desired, and there acquired the ele¬
ments of that art for which he was afterwards so famous.
His subsequent progress took place under Darcet, who
admitted him amongst the pupils attached to the che¬
mical laboratory of France. Five years of intense appli¬
cation under such a master gave him a stock of know¬
ledge very uncommon at his years. As a convincing proof
of this, when only twenty-one years of age, he published a
number of valuable observations on arsenic acid; proving,
contrary to the opinion of Macquer, that sulphuric acid
distilled from the arseniate of potash disengages the acid
of arsenic.
Encouraged by the success which had attended his first
chemical labours, he communicated his remarks on the
crystallization of sulphur, cinnabar, and the deliquescent
salts ; as also the examination of zeolites, particularly the
false zeolite of Freyburg, which he discovered to be mere¬
ly an ore of zinc. He likewise made observations on the
oxygenated muriatic acid, in reference to the absorption of
oxygen ; on the formation of other acids, chiefly the mu¬
riatic and the acetous; and a number of memoirs on the
operation of phosphorus made in the large way, its conver¬
sion into phosphoric acid, and its combination with sul¬
phur and most metallic substances.
It was by his operations on phosphorus that he burned
himself so severely as nearly to endanger his life. Imme¬
diately on his recovery he began the analysis of different
varieties of plumbago from France, England, Germany,
Spain, and America, and gave both novelty and interest
PEL
to his work, even after the labours of Scheele on the same
subject had made their appearance, dhe analysis of car¬
bonate of barytes led him to make experiments upon ani¬
mals, from which he discovered that this earth is a real
poison, in whatever way it be administered. Strontites was
also analysed by this celebrated chemist, and found to con¬
tain a new earth.
Pelletier discovered a process for preparing verditer in
the large way, equal, it is said, in beauty to that which is
manufactured in England. He was likewise amongst the
first who showed the possibility of refining bell-metal, and
separating the tin. His first experiments were performed
at Paris, after which he went to the foundery at Romilly
to prove their accuracy in the large way. He was soon
after this admitted a member of the Academy of Sciences
at Paris, and subsequently accompanied Borda and Gene¬
ral Daboville to La Fere, to assist in experiments upon a
new species of gunpowder. Being obliged to pass great
part of the day in the open air during a cold and moist
season, in order to render his experiments more decisive,
his health, which was naturally delicate, became very much
impaired. He partly recovered it, but again fell a victim
to his thirst of knowledge ; for he was at one time nearly
destroyed by inspiring the oxygenated muriatic acid gas,
which occasioned a convulsive asthma, that at times appear¬
ed to abate, but was found to be incurable. The assistance
of art was insufficient to save him, and he died at Paris
on the 21st of July 1797, of a pulmonary consumption,
in the flower of his age, being only thirty-six.
PELLEW, Sir Edward’s Group, a cluster of islands
on the north coast of New Holland, which occupy a space
of thirty-four miles east and west, by twenty-two north
and south, on the western coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria.
These islands are far from being fertile, and when the sur¬
face is not bare rock, it consists of sand, with a greater or
less proportion of vegetable soil. The larger islands 'are
covered with trees, bushes, and grass. In the large islands
traces of the kangaroo are to be seen, and turtle-tracks on
the beaches. Their names are Yanderlin’s Island, North¬
west, South-west, and Centre Islands. The latitude of
Centre Island is 15. 39. S.
PELLISSON, or Pellisson Fontanier, Paul, was
the son of James Pellisson, counsellor at Castres. He was
born at Beziers in 1624, and educated in the Protestant
religion. He studied with success the Latin, Greek,
French, Spanish, and Italian tongues, and applied him¬
self to the perusal of the best authors in these languages;
after which he studied with reputation the law at Castres.
In 1652 he purchased the post of secretary to the king, and
five years afterwards became first deputy to M. Fouquet.
He suffered by the disgrace of that minister; and in 1661
was confined in the Bastille, whence he was not discharged
till four years afterwards. During his confinement he
applied himself to the study of controversy ; and in 1670
he abjured the Protestant religion. Louis XIV. bestowed
upon him an annual pension of two thousand crowns, and
he likewise enjoyed several posts. In 1676 he received the
abbey of Giment, and some years afterwards the priory of
St Orens at Auch. He died in 1693. His principal works
are, 1. The History of the French Academy ; 2. Reflec¬
tions on religious Disputes, in four vols. 12mo; 3. The
History of Louis XIV.; and, 4. Historical Letters and Mis¬
cellanies, in three vols. 12mo.
PELOPIA, a festival observed by the Eleans in ho¬
nour of Pelops. A ram was sacrificed on the occasion;
but priests and people were both prohibited from partak¬
ing of it, on pain of excommunication from Jupiter’s tem¬
ple ; the neck only being allotted to the officer who pro¬
vided wood for the sacrifice. This officer was called 3v-
Xivs; and white poplar was the only wood made use of at
this solemnity.
P E M
PELOPONNESUS, a large peninsula to the south of Pelope
the continent of Greece. It was called the island of Pelops, nesun
though properly not an island, but a peninsula, ending in a II
point like the leaf of the plane-tree. Anciently called Apia ^era^r(J
and Pelasgia, this peninsula was second to no other coun-. s ‘r(:
try for nobleness, being situated between the iEgean and ^
Ionian Seas, and resembling a plane-leaf, on account of
its angular recesses or bays. It is now called the Morea.
PELOPS, in fabulous history, the son of Tantalus,
king of Phrygia, went into Elis, where he married Hip-
podamia the daughter of Gilnomaus, king of that coun¬
try, and became so powerful, that all the territory which
lies beyond the isthmus, and composes a considerable part
of Greece, was called Peloponnesus, from his name Pelops,
and the Greek word mjco;, an island.
PELTA, a small, light, manageable buckler, used by
the ancients, and also worn by the Amazons. The pelta
is said by some to have resembled an ivy leaf in form; by
others it is compared to the leaf of an Indian fig-tree, and
by Serbius to the moon in her first quarter.
PELUSSIN, a town of France, in the department of
the Loire, and arrondissement of St Etienne. It has some
considerable manufactories of silk; and the neighbourhood
is remarkable for the great quantity of chestnuts which are
collected annually for exportation. It contains about 460
houses, with 3350 inhabitants.
PELUSIUM, in Ancient Geography, was a strong city
of Egypt, without the Delta, distant twenty stadia from
the sea, and situated amidst marshes, from which circum¬
stance it derived its name. It was called the key or inlet of
Egypt, because, if taken, the rest of Egypt lay quite open
and exposed to an enemy.
PEMBA, a low, well-wooded, and extremely fertile
island, fourteen leagues in length, near the eastern coast
of Africa. It exports both corn and cattle to a consider¬
able amount. Long. 41. E. Lat. 5. S.
PEMBERTON, a township of the parish of Wigan, in
the hundred of West Derby, in the county of Lancaster,
198 miles from London. It has no market, and is chiefly
inhabited by manufacturers. The population amounted
in 1801 to 2309, in 1811 to 2934, in 1821 to 3679, and
in 1831 to 4277.
-Hot
PEMBROKE, the county-town of the shire of that
name, in South Wales, situated on a branch of the fine
haven of Milford. It is 250 miles from London, and ten
from Haverford West. It is a very ancient town, and
was once defended by strong walls and a powerful castle,
the ruins of which still remain. It consists of one long
street, rising up to the remains of the castle, which has an
imposing aspect. There are two churches, St Mary’s and
St Michael’s, the latter of which is of a remote age. The
county assizes and elections are held here; and there is a
tolerable market, which is held on Saturday, but little trade
of any kind. In virtue of the municipal reform law passed
in 1835, the town elects annually a corporation, consisting
of a mayor, six aldermen, and eighteen councillors, with
justices of the peace nominated by the crown ; for which
purpose it is divided into two wards. The population
amounted in 1801 to 2595, in 1811 to 2525, in 1821 to
4925, and in 1831 to 6511.
PEMBROKESHIRE is a maritime county of South
Wales. It forms a peninsula at the south-west corner of
the principality, and is surrounded by the sea everywhere
except on the eastern side, where it is bounded by Car¬
marthenshire and by Cardiganshire. Its shape is very ir¬
regular, w'hich makes it difficult to ascertain its exact ex¬
tent. Its extreme length is thirty, and its extreme breadth
twenty-seven miles. Its area is estimated, but with no de¬
cided accuracy, at 575 square miles.
It is generally an undulating county, composed of plains,
with hills of no great elevation, except in the northern part,
P E M
jke-where a range of mountains is stretched out to the extent
of nine or ten miles. The loftiest points of this group are
Precelly Top, 1754 feet, and Brennin-Vaur, 1285 feet above
the level of the sea. Few of the hills in the other parts
of the county attain a greater height than 290 feet. As
the greater part of the country is destitute of woods, it has
a bare and bleak appearance, except in the valleys, where
the numerous brooks which flow through them impart a
pleasing verdure to the bordering meadows.
The most considerable rivers are the Eastern Cleddaus,
which forms at first the dividing line between this county
and Carmarthenshire ; and the Western Cleddaus, w’hich
traverses a considerable portion of Pembrokeshire. These
two rivers unite, and form the admirable estuary of Mil¬
ford Haven, which is considered as the best harbour in the
British islands. It is sufficiently capacious to contain the
whole navy of England, is so completely sheltered as to be
secure from all winds, and has good holding ground, with
competent depth of water. During the war these advan¬
tages induced the lords of the admiralty to establish a
dock-yard, chiefly with the view of building ships. It is
situated on the southern shore of Milford Haven, about
two miles from the town of Pembroke. It includes an
area of about sixty acres, its surface descending in a gra¬
dual slope to the water’s edge, along the shore of which
there is ample space for a couple of dry docks, and at least
twelve building slips. The work has been executed with
care and accuracy; but, owing to the state of general tran¬
quillity which has prevailed for more than twenty years,
it is not of the vast importance that it may become in case
of another extended naval war. When at its greatest
height, this establishment had about five hundred men.
The town of Huberstone, on this bay, is now the resort
of the packet for the south of Ireland, and is thus a place
of much activity, as far as regards the number of passen¬
gers to and fro. The entrance to this important estuary
is almost free from danger; the principal difficulty is a
sunken rock called the Chapel Rock, but it may easily be
avoided, and has at low tide seventeen feet of water on it.
This rock, as well as the shoals near it, is well buoyed.
There are several bays on this coast, in which are good
anchorage and safe riding for ships. The most important
of these are St Bride’s Bay, Ramsey Sound, and Nayland
Road.
» The rivers of this county are but of short course, and,
with the exception of those two which empty themselves
into Milford Haven, discharge but little water. The names
of these rivers are the Newgall, the Solva, the Alan, the
Gwayn, the Nevern, the Cuch, and the Tivy.
The soil of the county is generally a red loam, in many
parts resting on a calcareous subsoil, and admirably adapt¬
ed for the growth of corn. In some places the surface is
covered with porous stones, which are supposed to imbibe
and retain the salt from the saline air, and to render the
land highly prolific. The principal grain consists of wheat,
barley, and oats ; but in some parts of the county rye is
extensively cultivated. The modes of cultivation are com¬
monly the same as those which prevailed in remote ages,
that is, growing wheat, barley, and oats in succession, till
the land was so exhausted as to yield no increase, when it
was suffered to return to its natural state, under the idea
of recovering itself by rest. Very little attention is paid
to the preservation of manure ; the barns and farming erec¬
tions are very badly constructed ; and the agricultural im¬
plements, especially the ploughs, are of a rude and antique
form. Such is the description of the greater part of the
agricultural state of the country; but there are splendid
exceptions. The size of the farms varies from fifty to a
hundred acres ; but the average extent of them is estimat¬
ed to be about two hundred. Some of the occupiers are
annual tenants, but many hold from the lords of manors
P E M 183
by leases for three lives at an agreed rent, though without Pembroke-
any fine on the renewal of a life, as is customary in Eng- shire-
land, and on the lands in Pembrokeshire belonging to the 'v'"—'
church.
The black cattle of this county are of an excellent race,
and are annually distributed over the south of England in
droves, which travel from fair to fair till the whole are
sold. They are commonly sent to market when they are
in calf for the first time. Some valuable horses are bred
here. The sheep are small, and yield little wool, but the
mutton is very highly esteemed.
At no very remote period silver was found in the pa¬
rish of St Elwys, or St Bride’s Bay. The mine, which was
discontinued in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, was resum¬
ed some years ago, but not with such success as to induce
perseverance. Some excellent lead ore is found upon the
banks of the Tivy, but the mines are not worked with
any degree of spirit. The most important production of
the mines is coal. It is confined to a district of narrow
extent on the southern side of the county. The strata lie
near the surface, and the quality is not very good. The
inhabitants use the small coal mixed with clay and form¬
ed into balls; it is sulphureous, and highly offensive to
strangers.
The manufactures of this county are exceedingly few,
but the building of ships and boats gives employment to
about 400 persons. There are about 130 weavers of wool¬
len cloth and flannels ; but they are so much scattered
about the county, that the largest number in any one place
is no more than seventeen at St David’s. Attempts have
been made to introduce cotton-spinning, but without suc¬
cess. The chief trade now consists in the conveyance of
coals from Tenby to the opposite shore of Devon, Corn-
w^all, and Somerset, where they are found fitter for lime-
burners and maltsters than for fuel in dwellings. The great
travelling causes the circulation of much money, and some
is derived from the company that in the summer frequent
Tenby for the purpose of sea-bathing.
The inhabitants are of two distinct races. If a line be
drawn through the whole county, bisecting the town of
Haverford West, it will be found that on one side of the
line nothing but English is spoken, and on the other side
only Welsh. This is so definite, that in the town of Haver¬
ford West the one language is spoken in the upper, and the
other in the lower part of it; and there are two markets,
one frequented by the English, the other by the Welsh
peasantry. The part where the English live, commonly
called Little England beyond Wales, was originally peopled
by a colony of Flemings, who have kept themselves dis¬
tinct since the first colonization. It is admitted that they
speak the English language with more purity than the lower
classes in any other part of the island.
One member of parliament is chosen by the freeholders
for the county, and the polling-places are Haverford West,
Pembroke, Narberth, Fishguard, Newport, Tenby, and
Mathry. The towns of Milford, Pembroke, Tenby, and
the ancient borough of Wiston, elect one member amongst
them.
St David’s, the see of a bishop, is a miserable collection
of cottages, in the midst of traces of ancient, extensive, and
numerous buildings. The object deserving of most notice
is the cathedral, the antiquity of which is very great, hav¬
ing been originally built about the year 1180, and enlarged
in 1280 and 1328. The bishop’s palace is a magnificent pile,
not far from the cathedral, on the opposite side of the river
Alan. It was originally a quadrangular building of great
extent, of which at present only one side remains entire.
Amongst the ancient buildings in this county, the most
remarkable are Carew Castle, on a creek of Milford Ha¬
ven ; Manorbeer, the mansion of the Barry family, of which
Giraltlus Cambrensis was a member; and Killgarran, on
Pen-
184 r E N
Petngur the river Tivy, the massy towers and fragmented bastions
of which present a most imposing spectacle.
The picturesque beauties of this county, the mddness o
the air, and the abundance of every thing, have induced
many gentlemen to select it as the place of their residence.
The houses of this description are therefore too numerous
to be mentioned; but amongst the more ancient proprietors
who have splendid seats are, Lord Milford, Sir John Owen,
Lord Kensington, Lord Cawdor, and several others.
The population of the county amounted in 1801 to
56,280, in 1811 to 60,615, in 1821 to 74,009, and in 183
to 80,900. The annual value of the real property, as as¬
sessed in 1815 for the property tax, was L.219,589.
According to the returns of the year 1831, the families
chiefly employed in agriculture were 7974; those chiefly
employed in trade, manufactures, and handicraft, were
4510- and those comprised in neither of the preceding
classes were 4102. The number of males under twenty
years of age was 18,356. The occupiers employing a-
bourers were 1842, and the occupiers not employing la¬
bourers were 1864. The labourers employed in agricul¬
ture were 6075. Persons employed in manufactures or
manufacturing machinery were 131; those employed in
retail trade, or in handicraft, or masters, or as workmen,
4785 ; capitalists, bankers, professional and other educat¬
ed men, 605 ; labourers employed in labour not agricultu¬
ral, 1599; other males under twenty years of age (except
servants), 1124; male servants, twenty years of age, 331;
male servants under twenty years of age, 21A 5 female ser¬
vants under twenty years of age, 4929. Ihe towns and
their population which exceed 2000 persons are,
broke, 6511; Haverford West, 3915; Narberth, 2589;
St David’s (city), 2388; Tenby, 2128; and Dogmels,
2109. . , . f
PEMGUR, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Khandeish, belonging to the Mahrattas, on the southern
bank of the Nerbuddah, seventy-three miles south-east
from Oojain. Long. 76. 35. E. Lat. 22. 28. N.
PEMNAGUR, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Bahar, and district of Tirhoot. It formerly possessed a
strong fort, surrounded by a thick wood. Long. 8o. 43.
E. Lat. 26. 29. N.
PEN, a little instrument, usually formed of a quill, and
serving to write withal. But pens are sometimes made of
silver, brass, or iron.
Dutch Pens are made of quills which have passed
through hot ashes, to take off the grosser fat and moisture,
and render them more transparent.
Pountain Pen is a pen of silver, brass, or other metal,
so contrived as to contain a considerable quantity of ink,
and let it flow out by degrees, to supply the writer a long
time without his being under the necessity of taking fresh
ink.
The Geometric Pen is an instrument by which a right
line, a circle, an ellipse, and other mathematical figures,
may be described by a circular motion. It was first in¬
vented and explained by Suardi, in a work entitled Nuovo
Instromento per la Descrizzione di diverse Curve antiche e
moderne. Several writers had observed the curves arising
from the compound motion of two circles, one moving
PEN
round the other; but Suardi first realized the principle, Penal
and reduced it to practice. < p ]!
PENAFIEL, a town of the province of Toro, in Spain,
the capital of a partida of the same name. It is situated
on the river Duraton, and has a citadel, four churches, two
monasteries, and 650 houses, with 3400 inhabitants.
PENANCE, a punishment, either voluntary or imposed
by authority, for the faults which a person has committed.
Penance is one of the seven sacraments of the Catholic
church. Besides fasting, alms, abstinence, and the like,
which are the general conditions of penance, there are
others of a more particular kind; as the repeating a cer¬
tain number of ave-marias, pater-nosters, and credos, wear¬
ing a hair-shirt, and giving one’s self a certain number of
stripes.
PENARANDA, a town of Spain, in the province of
A vela, and partida of St Jago. It is the capital of a small
district called the Sermo de St Vincente. It was once
fortified, but its walls are now in a dilapidated state. It
has a fortress, three churches, two monasteries, nine hun¬
dred and fifty houses, and about 3500 inhabitants, depend¬
ing for a scanty subsistence chiefly on the cultivation of
the soil.
PENATES, in Roman antiquity, were a kind of tutelar
deities, either of countries or particular houses, in which
last sense they differed in nothing from the lares. Ihe
penates were properly the tutelar gods of the Trojans, and
were only adopted by the Romans, who gave them the
title by which they are here described.
PENCIL, an instrument used by painters for laying on
their colours. Pencils are of various kinds, and made of
various materials. The largest sorts are made of boars bris¬
tles, the thick ends of which are bound to a stick, larger or
smaller, according to the uses they are designed for. The
finer sorts of pencils are made of camels’, badgers’, and
squirrels’ hair, and of the down of swans, which are tied at
the upper end with a piece of strong thread, and enclosed
in the barrel of a quill.
Pencil is also an instrument used in drawing or writ-
It is made of long pieces of black lead or red chalk,
placed in a groove cut in a slip of cedar; upon which other
pieces of cedar being glued, the whole is planed round, and
one of the ends being cut to a point, it is fit for use.
PENDANT, an ornament hanging at the ear, and fre¬
quently composed of diamonds, pearls, or other jewels.
Pendants, in Heraldry, parts hanging down from the
label to the number of three, four, five, or six at most, re¬
sembling the drops in the Doric frize. W hen they are
more than three, they must be specified in blazoning.
Pendants of a Ship are those streamers, or long co¬
lours, which are split and divided into two parts, ending
in points, and suspended at the heads of masts, or at the
yard-arm ends.
PENDLETON, a township in the parish of Eccles and
hundred of Salford, in the county of Lancaster, a hundred
and eighty-eight miles from London and three from Man¬
chester. It has no market, and is chiefly inhabited by ma¬
nufacturers of cotton goods. The population amounted
in 1801 to 3611, in 1811 to 4805, in 1821 to 5948, and in
1831 to 8435.
•r/
185
PENDULUM.
ilum. When a solid and heavy body of any form and descrip-
tion is suspended from an axis fixed horizontally, and round
which it can turn with freedom, or at least with a very
slight degree of friction ; if we withdraw it, however little,
from the position of equilibrium at which it naturally places
itself when at rest, and then abandon it to itself, the force
of gravity, which is now no more destroyed by the resist¬
ance of the axis of suspension, brings back the body to¬
wards its primitive position of equilibrium whth a velocity
continually accelerated. When it reaches this position,
the accelerating force ceases for a moment to act on it,
but the body, continuing to move in consequence of the
velocity already acquired, rises on the other side of the ver¬
tical line, and continues rising until the constantly increas¬
ing force of gravity destroys its velocity—then it stops for
an instant, and again yielding to the continued action of
gravity, to which there is now no more opposition, it again
falls with a motion exactly similar to that which it had
when it began to descend from the opposite side of the
vertical. It returns then, in the same manner, to its pri¬
mitive position of equilibrium, passes it, and re-ascends on
the opposite side of the vertical, to the point where its ve¬
locity is destroyed anew; after which it again begins to
descend, and again to remount; and the oscillatory motion
which results from these alternations only ceases in conse¬
quence of the resistance of the air and the friction of the
axis, which gradually reduce it to nothing.
An apparatus of this kind is termed a pendulum. The
oscillations of pendulums can be calculated completely, and
with perfect rigour, by the principles of mechanics, when
they are supposed to take place in a vacuum, and round
an axis, which presents no friction. The results in regard to
this imaginary case are so much the more important to be
known, as in the real experiments we always endeavour to
approach it as near as possible, by combining to the utmost
every circumstance which can tend to prolong the duration
of the pendulum’s motion. These are the results, then,
which it is proper to present first in order, as they exhibit
a first approximation to every motion of this kind which
can be realized.
In this simple case, whatever be the form of the body
which constitutes the pendulum, provided that it remains
invariably constant, all the successive oscillations have
equal amplitudes, and are also of equal duration among
themselves, so that the motion, once begun, never ceases
to go on. In the case of oscillations with different ampli¬
tudes, the duration is in general unequal ; but this inequa¬
lity diminishes in proportion as the amplitudes become less,
and it ceases altogether at the limit where they become in¬
finitely small; so that all the oscillations made with ampli¬
tudes, which, in a physical sense, may be reckoned infinitely
small, are sensibly of equal duration.
In regard to the nature of the motion in each oscillation,
it is absolutely the same for every body, whatever be its
form; and we may always consider it as iden¬
tical with that of a pendulum formed by a
material gravitating point suspended at the
extremity of a thread, supposed to be inflexi¬
ble and without weight. Let l denote the
ideal length of such a pendulum, which is call¬
ed a simple pendulum. Let m be the mass of an
oscillating body (fig. 1) with which we wisii to
compare it, and which we shall call, in opposi¬
tion to the other, a compound pendulum. From
the centre of gravity of this body, denoted by ,
(j, conceive a perpendicular SG drawn to the axis of sus-
vol. xvir.
Fig. 1.
pension, and call h the length of this line. If we multiply pen(juiuni.
each element of the mass m by the square of its distancey—
from the same axis, and denote the sum of the whole
by c, the product c thus formed will be what is called in
mechanics the momentum of inertia of the body m rela¬
tively to the axis in question. In order that the motion of
the simple pendulum SP be exactly isochronous with that
of the body m, it is sufficient that we have the equation
c
l — ^ and, besides this, that the lines SP and SG have
at any one instant equal angular velocities at the same
distance from the vertical. This last condition will be ful¬
filled if, for example, at the beginning of the motion the
lines SP, SG are equally distant from the vertical, and
that the simple and compound pendulum be then aban¬
doned together to the action of gravity, or be driven with
equal velocities in the plane of their oscillations. The
simple pendulum will then accompany the compound one
in all its successive excursions, and its direction will al¬
ways coincide with the line SG drawn from the centre of
gravity of the body perpendicular to the axis of sus¬
pension. The length l being ascertained by this formula,
wre can lay it off on the line SG, setting out from the axis
of suspension S; and the point P, where it terminates, is
called the centre of oscillation of the body rn.
The initial conditions above stated can always be esta¬
blished, and the analytical value of l is also always real.
For every given compound pendulum, then, we can always
assign a simple pendulum, which is isochronous with it, and
of which the motion is absolutely similar to that of the
line SG. By means of this substitution, we have nothing
more to consider or to compare, but the different lengths
of the simple pendulums, and it then only remains to as¬
certain the mode in which such pendulums perform their
oscillations.
To do this in the simplest manner possible, let us con¬
ceive that the arc ZP (fig. 2) is half the
extent of the oscillations through the ver¬
tical SZ, and suppose that the pendulum
arrived or placed in this position is there
abandoned to the sole action of gravity
without any initial velocity of impulsion.
Call a the angle PSZ, and denote by g
the intensity of gravity measured by the
double of the space which heavy bodies
describe at the place where the experi¬
ment is made, when they fall freely in a
right line during the unity of time. Then denoting alwrays
by l the length of a simple pendulum SP or SZ, the time
T of its whole oscillation in the arc PZP' or PP' will be ex¬
pressed by the following series:
Fig. 2.
cr J1- j 1 + (£) sin.? a + ^^0 sin.4 £ a +
(^) sin-6i“+’&c-}’
(1.) T =
tt being the ratio of the circumference of the circle to its
diameter, or 3*14159.
If, besides, we denote the velocity of the pendulum in
any point of its oscillation by V, d being its angular distance
from the vertical, we have
(2.) Y2 = 2 gl (cos. 0 — cos. a),
or, what comes to the same thing,
V2 =: fyl sin. i (« + 6) sin. | (a — Q).
2 A
186
PENDULUM.
Pendulum. These formulae will still serve if the pendulum, instead of
'   ' falling freely from the extremity of the are, receives there
an initial velocity expressed by V', provided always this
velocity is within the limits which permit the oscillatory
motion to take place. If this be the case, indeed, it will be
sufficient to consider the pendulum as setting out with an
initial impulse from another angular distance, a,. I hen it
will be necessary that this unknown distance a' satisfy, in¬
stead of a, the general equation of the velocities, and that
a becomes in it 6, which gives
(3.) V'2 — 2gl (cos. a — cos. a).
The half amplitude a! of the oscillations being the only
unknown quantity in this equation, will be thus determined,
and their duration will be then obtained by the equation
(1), but putting in it a' instead of a. This same substitu¬
tion made in the equation (2) will give
V2 = 2^/ (cos. 0 — cos. a')
for the velocity in any point whatever of the oscillation.
But these transformations are only possible when the equa¬
tion (3) gives for a' a real arc, and consequently for cos. a!
a value comprehended between + 1 and — 1. We may
easily conceive, that, when the cos. a! exceeds these limits,
it is because the velocity of impulse V' exceeds the great¬
est velocity of the fall which the pendulum can acquire in
a circle of a radius /, even supposing it to fall from the
very summit. It is evident indeed that the oscillatory mo¬
tion can then no more produce such a velocity, and we
know also that, in that case, it will change into a continued
motion of rotation. If we exclude this circumstance, the
formulae (1) and (2) will determine generally every parti¬
cular regarding oscillatory motions. When the ampli¬
tudes of the oscillations become so small that we can, in
the series (1), neglect all the powers of sin.2 ^ a, compared
with the unity which precedes them, we will have simply
l=.h +
mli
fenduty
Now, when h is given, this expression only furnishes one
value of l; that is to say, a single length for a simple pen¬
dulum isochronous with tlie mass m. But if l be given,
then there are two values of h which give the same value
to /; and these are deducible from the preceding equation,
by taking h in it as the unknown quantity. If w’e denote
these two values of h by A' and A", it is easy to see that
their sum is /, and that thus the first being SG (fig. 1), the
second will be PG. If, then, after having placed the axis
of suspension in S, we place it in P, that is, in the centre
of oscillation itself, preserving it always parallel to its first
direction, the oscillations performed round the axis P will
be of the same duration as those performed round the axis
S, provided always that in both cases the amplitudes of the
oscillation, as well as the initial velocities, are equal. This
remarkable theorem we owe to Huygens.
It is easy to extend it to one much more general. In
all solid bodies, whatever be their figure, we may draw
through the centre of gravity three rectangular axes, termed
in mechanics principal axes, and w hich possess several pro¬
perties extremely remarkable. Let the momentum of in¬
ertia of the mass m relatively to these axes be denoted by
A, B, C. Then, if we consider any axis of suspension of
which the distance from the centre of gravity is expressed
as above by A, and which forms w ith the preceding certain
angles, X, Y, Z ; it is shown, in mechanics, that the mo¬
mentum of inertia c", relative to this axis, can be expressed
in the following manner:
c" — mli2 + A cos.2 X + B cos.2 Y + C cos.2 Z ;
and this value being substituted in l, instead of the letter c,
gives
, , , A cos.2 X + B cos.2 Y + C cos.2 Z
' = ,‘+ Wh 
Nowr, the angle a entering no more into the value of T,
it appears that its value will have no influence on it; that
is to say, that for tlie same pendulum moved in a vacuum,
all the oscillations which are performed icith amplitudes in¬
finitely small, are of equal durations.
In actual experiment, the oscillations can never be alto¬
gether infinitely small, but we may take care, at least, to
confine them within amplitudes so limited that the angle
a has a very small value. We have then an approxima¬
tion perfectly sufficient in limiting the series to the term
which contains the square of the sin. | a. We may then,
in the same order of approximation, substitute £ sin.2 a for
sin.2 a; and the series (1), being thus limited to its two
first terms, gives
T = ’r^{1 + ^sin'2“}’
a being always the half amplitude of the oscillation.
We have seen above, that, by supposing the simple pen¬
dulum l isochronous with the compound pendulum of the
mass m, we have
1= -
mh’
c being the momentum of inertia of the mass m, relatively
to the axis of suspension. But if we call d the momentum
of the same mass, relatively to an axis parallel to the pre¬
ceding, and passing through the centre of gravity G, we
find, by mechanics, that the quantities c, d have betw een
them the following relation :
c — mh2 + d.
This value of c, being substituted in the expression of /,
gives evidently
If, now, the axis of suspension be given along w ith the
distance A, this expression gives but a single value for l;
but if we regard l as given, and constant, then there arises
between the angles X, Y, Z, and the distance A, a simple
relation, which we can satisfy in an infinity of different
ways, so that there result as many different axes of suspen¬
sion, which are all isochronous with each other. To be
sensible of the extensive application of such solutions, let
us transform the preceding relation into one with rectilineal
co-ordinates. Let x, y, and z, be such co-ordinates directed
rectangularly, according to the three principal axes of the
mass m, and having their common origin at the centre of
gravity of this mass, the axis of suspension relatively to
these co-ordinates will have its equations of the form
(4.) x = az + a. y — bz /3,
a, b, a, (3, being four constant indeterminate quantities, de¬
pending on their position in space. We have, besides, by
the well-known theorems of analytical geometry,
cos. X = ^ +~A2’ C°S' ^ “ vT+a2+F
1
r, and, lastly, A =
cos. Z — — ,
V \ + or + Ir */\ -f w f - b-
By substituting these values in the general expression of
l, it becomes
vV + /32 ^ Aal + BA2 + C
vT d2 f- br mVor fl- /S2 VT + a2 + U2
By supposing l constant, this relation, combined with the
equation (4), will characterize the isochronous axes: but as
this combination only furnishes three equations, while there
are four constant indeterminate quantities a, b, a, (3, in the
position of the axis, it hence appears that we may still as¬
sume at pleasure an additional condition among the quan-
PENDULUM.
187
alum, titles themselves, after which, by eliminating them, we shall
^ have, in xyz, the equation of a surface on which will be
found the isochronous axes fitted to satisfy the condition
prescribed.
Having thus made known the laws of oscillatory motion
in a vacuum and round an axis altogether free from fric¬
tion, let us now consider them in a feebly resisting medium
like air, and supposing a slight degree of friction round the
axis, such as is invariably the case in the experiments.
In the first place, whatever be the nature of the physical
process by which the two causes operate, their definite ef¬
fect will always be to retard the pendulum, according to a
certain function of the velocity. But whatever be the form
of this function, provided it be such as to become nothing
when the velocity is nothing, which is an essential condi¬
tion of the kind of obstacles it is designed to express, we
may always assign a simple pendulum which, moving with
the same laws of friction and resistance, will be exactly iso¬
chronous with the compound pendulum we are consider¬
ing ; and, what is very remarkable, the length of this simple
pendulum is exactly the same as it would be if the oscilla¬
tions were performed in a vacuum, and consequently the
same as that of which we have given the expression above.
Thus the centre of oscillation of solid bodies, such as we
have defined it, has in each of them a situation independent
of the medium in which they move, and of the resistances
of every kind which their motions may suffer. This im¬
portant proposition was first demonstrated by Clairault.
Now, for the simple pendulum, as well as for the com¬
pound one which accompanies it, the resistance of the air
and the friction of the axis diminish continually the extent
of the arcs in which the successive oscillations are perform¬
ed ; but it happens, from a circumstance well worthy of re¬
mark, that when this retarding force is very slight, and acts
with continued and equal effect on both sides of the verti-
tical, the durations of the oscillations are not altered on this
account. For, although the resistance which the pendu¬
lum suffers must retard, no doubt, its fall, and consequently
prolong its duration in each half oscillation in descending;
yet in each half oscillation in ascending, this same cause
accelerates the extinction of the velocity, and rather brings
on the instant when this half oscillation is terminated. And
whatever be the mathematical law of the motion thus per¬
formed, if the amplitudes of the successive oscillations di¬
minish very slowly, which always takes place when the body
put into oscillation has a very considerable density relative
to that of the air, and if we make it perform vibrations only
of very small extent, and round an axis of suspension so
worked as to present but a slight degree of friction, then
the motion of the pendulum presents a succession of velo¬
cities almost exactly similar in each descending half oscil¬
lation, and in the ascending half which follows it. The al¬
terations produced in these velocities by the friction and
the resistance of the air are then almost equal, so that their
effects are almost exactly compensated in the actual obser¬
vations. Hence it follows that the isochronism of small
oscillations, though altered in each particular half oscilla¬
tion, is still found to subsist in the total oscillations, not¬
withstanding of the friction of the axis and the resistance
of the air, provided always that these two forces are ren¬
dered so feeble as to have but a very gradual influence on
the motion. This is at least proved by experiment; for,
when a compound pendulum of any form whatever oscil¬
lates in the air round a suspension, so free that the decrease
of its vibrations goes on with great slowness, if we observe
the amplitudes of these vibrations at intervals so near each
other that their absolute diminution is inconsiderable, and
apply to the number of oscillations performed during this
interval the reduction of amplitude calculated according to
the mean value of the arcs thus observed; the number of
oscillations corrected and reduced in this manner to the
case of amplitudes infinitely small, is also found invariably Pendulum,
the same for the same pendulum, at least with all the de-
gree of exactness admitted by physical experiments ; which
shows that the correction of the amplitude is the only one
which the oscillations require in order to reduce the motion
of the pendulum to a uniformity quite mathematical. This
spontaneous compensation, which is produced in the effects
of the resistance of the air on the two descending and as¬
cending half oscillations, had first been remarked and point¬
ed out by Newton in his Principia, lib. ii. prop, xxvii.
theor. xxii. coroll. 2. He even gives a rigorous demon¬
stration of it in prop. xxvi. and xxvii. for the case of a re¬
sistance proportional to the two first powers of the velocity
—the motion being then in the cycloid. M. Poisson has
given the analogous demonstration for a circular motion in
the seventh volume of the Journal de l' Ecole Poly technique.
These demonstrations, however, only apply to that part of
the resistance which arises from the direct impulse with
which the moving body strikes the aerial particles, suppos¬
ing these particles quite removed after the stroke, and con¬
sequently without regard to the peculiar agitation which
their displacement produces in the medium itself. But, as
Newton remarks in the corollary above cited, the descend¬
ing half oscillation, w'hich is performed with a motion con¬
tinually accelerated, must, on this account, excite a resist¬
ance in a slight degree stronger than the half oscillation as¬
cending, which goes on with a motion continually retarded ;
because, in this second case, the aerial particles struck by
the pendulum may fly from it, and withdraw themselves
from its action more easily than in the former. This dimi¬
nution of the resistance in the second half of the oscillation
must cause it to last a little longer than it would have done
without this circumstance, and thus the time of the whole
oscillation must be a little augmented. Fortunately this
cause, it appears, becomes insensible in the most important
experiments to which the pendulum is applied ; for in these
the observations are never made but with very small am¬
plitudes, which produce very small velocities, and these can¬
not excite any sensible resistance except by the direct im¬
pulse communicated to the ambient medium.
But, independently of its resistance, the air, by its mere
presence, floating round the oscillating body, produces on
the motion another effect, which may be called statical,
and which must be attended to, in order to compare the ob¬
servations made in different states of this fluid. As a gra¬
vitating medium, in fact, it deprives the oscillating body of
a part of its weight equal to that of the volume of air which
the body displaces, so that the latter, in reality, only gravi¬
tates in consequence of the difference between these two
quantities. To calculate the resulting effect on the oscil¬
lations, call P the absolute weight of the body in vacuo, A
its density, compared with that of the air in the circum¬
stances under which we are operating. The weights of
bodies of equal volume being proportional to their densities,
the weight of the air displaced by the body wdll be P • —»
thus the apparent weight of this same body, during its os-
P
cillations, will be P , so that it will be to its absolute
A
weight as 1 to 1. The effect, then, will be the same
as if the absolute weight P were acted on, not by the ac¬
tual gravity itself, but by a force diminished in this ratio.
We have only, therefore, to reduce the elements of this
correction to terms that we can compare together. For
this purpose, suppose that at the temperature of freezing,
and under an atmospheric pressure measured by a column
of mercury of 0*76 metre in height, D represents the den¬
sity of *he substance of the pendulum, that of the air being
188
PENDULUM.
Pendulum, taken as unity. If we denote the cubic dilatation of this
substance for a change of temperature equal to a centesi¬
mal degree, by c, its density at t degrees will become very
nearly 1) (l — c<) ; and if p is the atmospheric pressure at
this temperature, the corresponding density of the air, ac¬
cording to the known law of the dilatation of this fluid, will
be
 P_ 
0m*76(l* + U0*00375)’
Then denoting the absolute intensity of gravity, as it is
exerted on the body in vacuo, by cj, and the apparent force
with which it really moves the body in the air by g', we
shall have
^ J\ P I .
O' ~ 9 yl — 0"-76(l +*-0-00375)(I— c 0D J
To illustrate the use of this correction, let V represent
the length of a simple pendulum, which performs its oscil¬
lations in the time T', under the influence of the apparent
gravity g', and with the amplitude 2a', we shall have
T' — ir J1 + (£)* sin.21 a' +, &c. .
In the same manner, if we call l the length of a simple
pendulum, which makes its oscillations in the time T, un¬
der the influence of gravity g, and with the amplitude 2a,
we shall have
T = 11 + (l)2sin.2a +, &c. |.
If onw we wish the two pendulums to oscillate with equal
amplitudes, we have only to make a = a'; if we wish, also,
to have their times of oscillation equal, we have only fur¬
ther to suppose T' = T, then the two preceding expressions
l l1 19 c
being equal to each other, wre obtain - — -and l — from
which we can calculate l, when we know from observation
l' and -.
As the density of the solid mass of the pendulum is usu¬
ally very great, compared with that of the air, D is a very
considerable number, so that this correction is always very
small. Bouguer appears to have been the first philosopher
who made use of it, as appears by his work on the figure of
the earth. But before him Newton was well aware of the
necessity of paying attention to it, as we may conclude
even from the enunciation which he gives to the proposi¬
tions regarding the resistance of the air above alluded to.
For he there compares the motion of the pendulum, affect¬
ed by this resistance, to that which would take place in a
medium of the same specific gravity, and which would pre¬
sent no resistance.
Having thus explained in general the mathematical laws
of the motion of the pendulum, whether in the air or in
vacuo, we shall now describe the principal applications
which have been made of them in physical science. These
are, ls£, the measurement of time ; 2c?, the estimating of
the resistance of fluid media; 3c?, the comparison of the
intensities of gravity on different parts of the surface of the
terrestrial spheroid, from which certain positive conclusions
have been drawn regarding the figure of a spheroid, as well
as the arrangement and the density of the strata of which
it is formed.
The first idea of employing the pendulum as a measure
of time is due to Galileo ; and it occurred to him when he
was observing the apparent isochronism of the small oscil¬
lations of suspended bodies. But the variation in the
length of these oscillations, in proportion as the resistance
of the air diminishes their amplitude ; the necessity of fre¬
quently renewing, by a new impulse, the motion which this
resistance was destroying; and, lastly, the tedious necessity Pendui
of following, and counting directly, the oscillations, one by S'—V'
one, during the whole interval that is to be measured; these
proved serious obstacles to a practical and certain use of
the instrument. Huygens had the merit of surmounting
all these difficulties, by employing the pendulum in clocks
to regulate the motions of a system of wheels, acted on by
a constant pow er which tends continually to make them re¬
volve ; the pendulum determining the rate of their gradual
rotation, by acting on them at equidistant intervals. The
pendulum carries at its upper extremity a piece in the form
of an anchor, which is termed the escapement, and of which
the two ends, carried successively from right to left, and
from left to right, by the oscillatory motion, are alternately
engaged and disengaged with the teeth of a principal wheel,
whose rotation they thus serve to check, and which, in its
turn, serves as a similar alternate check to the other wheels.
These now turn more or less slowly, according to the rela¬
tion of the number of their teeth to that of the principal
wheel. By applying, then, to their axes one or more in¬
dices, which turn on a dial-plate divided on the outside, we
obtain by their indications so many unities of different
kinds, the amount of which shows the number of oscilla¬
tions that have been made. These unities of time are
hours, minutes, and seconds. Great care is taken in the
construction as well as in the application of the wheels, so
that their motion may be as easy as possible, and that they
may always obey, with equal facility, the intermitting im¬
pressions of the pendulum. The body of the pendulum
itself is constructed with particular precautions. It is form¬
ed of a rod, or system of rods, of metal, terminated below
by a mass also of metal, and very heavy; generally of a
lenticular form, which, as the edge lies in the direction of
the plane of oscillation, possesses the advantage of diminish¬
ing the effect of the air’s resistance. Besides this, as the
dilatations and contractions of the metal, by the changes of
temperature, w ould lengthen or contract the pendulum, and
thus cause it to alter the duration of its oscillations, the
stalk of the pendulum is composed of a number of slips of
different metals, which are so combined that the centre of
oscillation of these slips and of the lenticular weight re¬
mains constantly at the same height.
Such is, in general, the mode of applying the pendulum
to clocks, which we owe to Huygens, and which, by the
exactness it has introduced in the measurement of time, is
one of the finest and most valuable presents which the
sciences have ever received from the hands of genius.
The second application of the pendulum, namely, its use
in determining the resistance of fluid media, we owe to
Newton, who has explained it with much detail in the sixth
section of the first book of the Principia. The intensity,
and the lawr of the resistance, are estimated from the progres¬
sive diminution of the amplitudes, determined by observa¬
tion. We may see in that part of the work above referred
to, the profound nature of the theory on which this deduc¬
tion is founded, as well as the experiments themselves to
which Newton applies it. The pendulums which Newton
made use of were, in general, spheres of w ood, or of metal
suspended by threads. Besides the law, also, of resistances,
several important points in physics depend on this sort ot
observation. Newton, for example, made use of it to es¬
tablish the fact, that the action of terrestrial gravity upon
all bodies is proportional to their mass; and also to inquire
if these bodies, when in motion, suffer any sensible resist¬
ance by the presence w ithin them of subtile media, which
have been supposed to spread throughout the whole uni¬
verse.
Lastly, it now remains to consider the use of the pendu¬
lum in measuring the intensity of gravity on different parts
of the terrestrial spheroid ; and wc have kept tins applica¬
tion for the last, on account of the delicate nature of the
PENDULUM.
189
; im. experiments which it requires, and which are now really
performed. It woidd be of no use to enumerate here all
the methods which have been successively employed, and
successively abandoned as experiments of greater exact¬
ness came to be required. Even the results of these first
attempts, though they may have been at the time very use¬
ful, cannot now be any more employed, so much do the
limits of the errors which they admitted of exceed those
which are allowed by our actual processes. These can be
reduced to three principal methods ; two of them give the
absolute measure of the pendulum ; the one is due to Bor-
da, the other to Captain H. Kater ; the third gives merely
the relations of the lengths of pendulums in different places,
and deduces these by comparing the number of oscillations
performed in the same interval of time by the same com¬
pound pendulum, supposed to be of an invariable form, and
which is carried successively to the different places of ob¬
servation.
I.—borda’s method.
The method used by Borda was originally described in
a memoir inserted in the third volume of the work which
Delambre has published under the name of Base du St/s-
time Metrique Decimal. The same memoir includes a de¬
tailed account of a very great number of experiments per¬
formed in this manner by Messrs Borda and Cassini, to de¬
termine the length of the seconds pendulum at the ob¬
servatory at Paris. The method of Borda has since been
simplified by the French astronomers, so that, without los¬
ing any of its original exactness, it has been rendered more
easy of execution in travelling, and in places where the
observer can only reckon upon the resour¬
ces he carries with him. Under this new
form this method has been employed on a
great number of points of the terrestrial
arc, comprehended between the Pithiuse
Islands and the Shetland Islands. The
description of these modifications, and of
the results thus obtained, will be found in
a volume which forms a sequel to that of
Delambre, and which has been published
by Biot and Arago. It is from thence
that we shall take our general account of
this method, the description of which will serve also for the
explanation of the others, these having many points in com¬
mon with it.
The fundamental principle of this method consists in em-
i ploying for a pendulum a system of
bodies which approaches the nearest
possible in its properties to the simp e
pendulum, and which we can reduce
to this ideal case by corrections equal¬
ly simple to calculate, and exact in
their application. The pendulum is
formed by a ball of platina, suspend¬
ed to a metal wire (fig. 3). The un¬
der extremity of the wire is screwed
into the bottom of a spherical cap of
copper, of the same radius as the ball,
and which being applied on its sur-
tace with a little tallow, adheres to it
in consequence of the pressure of the
atmosphere, and of the perfect con¬
tact resulting from its sphericity. The
other end of the wire is attached to a
suspended knife (fig. 4), which oscil¬
lates on a plane of agate (fig. 5), fur¬
nished with adjusting screws, by which
it can be brought perfectly horizontal; a circumstance
which is ascertained by placing on this plane a glass spirit-
Fig. 5.
level without its frame. The mass of the knife is previous- Pendulum,
ly adjusted, so that its oscillations may be very nearly iso-
chronous with those of the clock, by which the whole pen¬
dulum must be regulated. This is done by the motion of
a small ring of metal A, which screws
round a metal rod T T fixed to the
knife, and which, by screwing and
unscrewing, approaches to or re¬
cedes from the plane of suspension,
giving to the momentum of inertia of
its mass a greater or less influence on
the motion of the system of the knife
and its rod. When the isochronism
of the oscillations of the knife and of"
the clock is as perfect as can be ob¬
tained by this method, we suspend from the knife the wire
and ball, giving to the wire such a length that the oscilla¬
tions of the whole system may differ but little from those
of the clock, consequently from those of the knife itself. It
can then be shown, as well by calculation as by experiment,
that the mass of the knife exerts no sensible influence on
the length of the pendulum, wdiich arises from its centre
of gravity being then excessively near the plane of suspen¬
sion. The whole system of the knife, the ball, and the wire,
has only now to exert an effort infinitely small to complete
the exact regulation of the oscillations of the knife, and to
make them agree with those of the whole system.
The pendulum is enclosed, with the clock, in a glass case,
where it is exempt from the agitation of the air. Behind
the wire, at a very small distance, is fixed horizontally a
scale of equal parts, which serves to measure the amplitudes
of the oscillations. Two sensible thermometers, carefully
adjusted, are fixed near the wire, the one at the height of
the plane of suspension, the other at the height of the ball,
in order to indicate, at every instant, the temperature of
the air around the wire. But as the wire, on account of
the smallness of its mass, receives the impressions of tem¬
perature much more rapidly than the most sensible ther¬
mometer, the experiment is made in a room so large and
sheltered, that the temperature of the air in it may change
very slowly. The state of the thermometers is observed
through the glasses of the case without ever opening it du¬
ring the period of the oscillations.
Every thing being thus disposed, we place, at the dis¬
tance of seven or eight metres, a telescope fixed horizon¬
tally, and the eye-glass of which has a wire fixed vertically
before it. We direct this wire upon that of the pendulum
when in a state of rest, and we then place in the same di¬
rection, on the ball of the clock, also at rest, a small circle
of paper to serve for an index. These preparations being
made, the clock is set to oscillate, and is no more stopped.
When its rate of going has become very steady, we cause
the pendulum also to oscillate, and shutting the door of the
glass case, we proceed to observe it from without with the
telescope. If it should move exactly at the same rate with
the clock, it would always be found in the same position in
relation to the index in all its consecutive oscillations. But
this never happens, and the pendulum goes always quicker
or slower than the clock. If it goes quicker, it only coin¬
cides for an instant with the index, after which it passes it,
recedes from it, returns to it in the opposite direction, passes
it anew, and, after having receded from it again, returns to
coincide w ith it a second time, and follows its motion of os¬
cillation for an instant. The telescope which serves to ob¬
serve these separations and these coincidences magnifies
the arc described by the pendulum and by the clock, aug¬
ments their apparent velocity, and thus enables us to judge
of the instants of coincidence with singular precision. Be¬
tween two consecutive coincidences the pendulum gains or
loses two oscillations upon the clock, jmd a simple propor¬
tion determines how much it must gain or lose in twenty-
190
PENDULUM.
Pendulum, four hours of the clock if it be sexagesimal, or in ten hours
' v ' if it be decimal. If we suppose N to denote the interval
between two coincidences, in clock time, it follows, that
while the clock makes N oscillations, the pendulum makes
^ —f— >2 • the sign -f- being employed it the pendulum
goes quicker than the clock, and the sign — if it goes
slower. Thus, during any number of oscillations of the
dock, denoted by J, the number of oscillations of the pen-
f N r±= 2 ) 2 J
dulum will be proportionally J j ^— j ’ or J
N J’ N’
a result which we may represent in an abridged form by
J I ~ 72,
If the clock be sexagesimal, the number J of its beats in
twenty-four hours is 86,400. If it be decimal, this num¬
ber is equal to 100,000. Both these systems have been
employed by the French observers. Whatever may be the
one which we adopt, we regulate the length of the wire of
suspension in such a manner that the coincidences of the
pendulum with the clock may not be very near to each
other, which would multiply unnecessarily the trouble of
the observer. But neither must they be made too distant,
because in that case the pendulum and the clock, detach¬
ing themselves too slowly from each other, the precise in¬
stants of each coincidence become more difficult.to observe.
A few trials will soon point out a convenient medium be¬
tween these extremes. Then the difference in the diurnal
we may express in an abridged form by 1 -{- fa and conse- Penda,
quently the J + n oscillations of the pendulum supposed
to be made in this arc will be equal to a number of oscil¬
lations infinitely small, expressed by
(J + ») (I + /*), or J + » + /* (J + n),
a result which we may represent in an abridged form by
J + ri ; the number n’, according to what has been above
established, never being any way considerable.
If the arcs 2a, 2a' differ more than in a slight degree
from each other, as, for example, when the interval be¬
tween the coincidences which we compare is large enough
for permitting the resistance of the air to have a consider¬
able effect in modifying the first of these arcs, it will then
be no more sufficiently exact to suppose all the oscillations
made with the mean amplitude a d- a>‘ But this inconve¬
nience may be remedied, by observing experimentally the
law of the gradual decrease of the amplitudes. This law
is in geometrical progression when the number of oscil¬
lations increases in arithmetical progression; that is, if we
begin with the instant when the half amplitude was a,
and represent by a„ the amplitude which takes place af-
kiliii
A-
ter n oscillations, we find an — or because a and an are
supposed very small, sin. a„ — - j£~ ; K being a co-efiB-
rate =t= -l, or n, between the pendulum and the clock, al-
N
ways forms a very small number of oscillations. But the
extent of the arcs described by the pendulum, diminishing
always by the effect of the resistance of the air, while the
clock, having its motion restored by the action of its weight,
preserves always the same amplitude, it hence always hap¬
pens that the intervals between the successive coincidences
of the same pendulum vary with the time, which alters the
value of the number n. During this inevitable change, the
period when the coincidences are observed with the great¬
est precision is that where the amplitudes of the oscilla¬
tions of the pendulum and of the clock are equal to each
other ; so that if we are obliged, by any consideration, only
to observe a small number of coincidences, we must icgu-
late the primitive range of the pendulum, so as to approach
as near as possible this condition of equality.
cient, which, in the same state of the air, is constant for
the same pendulum, and depends on its length, its shape,
and its other physical qualities. This law, first remarked
by Borda, and since confirmed by the other French ob¬
servers, is a necessary consequence of the smallness of the
amplitudes, and of the feebleness of the resistance, which
alters each amplitude in succession, proportionally to its
extent. But however this may be, it is enough that it
really subsists, to enable us to calculate by it the exact
sum of the squares of the half amplitudes in the successive
oscillations ; a problem which is reduced to the summing of
a geometrical progression of n terms, of which the ratio
1
K’
This sum is simplified when we consider the ex-
2J i
The difference in the rate or n corresponds with those
oscillations of the pendulum which are performed between
the coincidences which we compare together, that is to say,
with an amplitude of arc varying from 2a at the beginning
of the interval to 2a' at the end of it. The duration of
these oscillations is larger than if the oscillations had been
performed with the same pendulum, but with amplitudes
infinitely small; and, therefore, to render the results com¬
parable with each other, they must be reduced to this lat¬
ter case. For this purpose, at the moment of each coinci¬
dence, we observe, through the fixed telescope, the point
of the horizontal scale at which the wire stops in its excur¬
sions on each side of the vertical. This furnishes sufficient
data to calculate the angular deviation of the pendulum
from the vertical, at the instant of the coincidence, since
we know the distance of the scale from the plane of sus¬
pension at which the centre of rotation lies. We mark
also the state of the interior thermometers, and that of the
barometer, at the same instant. If the arcs a and a are
both very small, as it is usual to make them, we may, with¬
out sensible error, suppose all the oscillations made with
the mean amplitude a + a'. Then, after what has been
shown above, each of them, expressed in oscillations infi¬
nitely small, will be equal to 1 -{■ yrr sin.2 (a + a'), which
treme minuteness of the arcs which we compare, and by
then pushing the approximation to their second power in¬
clusively, which is the limit of the correction necessary for
each individual amplitude. We thus find
sin. (a + a') sin, (a — a') .
^ “ 32 M (log. sin. a — log. sin. a'} ’
M being the modulus of the tables of common logarithms,
or 2-30258509. If we suppose the arcs a and a so small,
that in the development of their series and of their loga¬
rithms we may limit ourselves to their first power, this ex¬
pression of /x, becomes what we have already obtained by
our first approximation.
By these calculations we ascertain the rate of the rela¬
tive going of the pendulum on the clock, which serves to
measure the intervals between the coincidences, ^e
know that it performs J n' infinitely small oscillations,
while the clock makes J of them. Suppose now that the
latter advances, during the mean solar day, a number of
oscillations equal to h, that is, that it performs J + /t oscil¬
lations during the same time that a clock, exactly regulat¬
ed by mean time, performs the exact number J, we shall
evidently obtain this proportion ; J oscillations of the clock
are to J + n' infinitely small oscillations of the pendulum,
as J + A oscillations of the clock, or a mean solar day, are
to the number of oscillations of the pendulum during a
mean solar day. The latter number is thus found equal to
(J + n') (J + h), or j _j- n> -{- A -j- the quantity which,
J ’ ’ ■ - ■ j
for simplicity, we shall represent by J + With the
PENDULUM.
Fig. 6.
um. apparatus so disposed as we have described, if the clock is
—''not very far from mean time, so that h denotes a small
number of oscillations, the correction expressed by the last
term, the only one which demands a calculation, will be
of an extreme minuteness, and easily obtained with great
precision.
It now remains to measure the length of the pendulum
from the plane of suspension to the bottom of the ball of
platina. For this purpose we place beforehand, under this
ball, a small plate of metal, well polished, perfectly hori¬
zontal, and which can be made to sink or rise vertically by
means of a screw, of which the threads being very fine,
permit the smallest motion. When the coincidences are
finished, we open the glass case, and we
raise gently this plane until it comes in
contact with the ball of platinum. We
must be equally careful to avoid raising
it too much, which would raise the ball,
and make the pendulum too short, or not
raising it so high as the contact, which
would give a pendulum too long; but if
we take for an index the disappearance
of a thread of light between the plane
and the ball, at their common point of
contact, we may then succeed, by a little
skill, in fixing this contact with the ut¬
most degree of rigour. This, however,
is never done at the first attempt, for the
entry of the observer into the glass case,
however short, always elevates in a slight
degree the temperature of the air con¬
tained in it, and consequently that of the
wire, which acquires this temperature in
the same instant, from whence arises a
small increase of its length, which we
ought to be aware of. On this account, instead of esta¬
blishing a perfect contact between the plane and the
ball, in that accidental state of the wire which the interior
thermometers, less sensible than it, do not perhaps indi¬
cate with sufficient exactness, it is better to confine our¬
selves at first to the mere preparing for the operation, by
making the little plane approach extremely near the ball,
without, at this time, actually touching it. We observe
now the point where the index of the screw that moves the
ball stops, and then coming out of the glass case, we shut
it until the temperature within, and the thermometers
which measure it, have had time to return to a state of
rest. We then open the case anew, and finish in an in¬
stant the operation of contact, which is easily done, as we
have only to give to the plane of contact a very slight de¬
gree of motion, and such as we are previously quite pre¬
pared for. At this moment, or rather before entering the
glass case, we mark the temperature of the thermometers
within, and consider this as the temperature of the wire at
the instant of contact.
The distance of the plane of suspension from the bot¬
tom of the ball is now fixed, and in such a manner that it
is henceforth invariable, or at least we may suppose it
such during a long interval of time. For, the supports of
the plane of suspension being fixed in the wall itself, and
those of the plane of contact being cemented to a large
stone resting on this wall, or sunk into the ground, the acci¬
dental variations of temperature cannot alter the distance
which separates them, excepting in a very slow degree.1
It remains then to measure this interval by means of a di-
191
Fig. 7.
vided rod of metal; but to determine the length of such a Pendulum,
rule, its extremities must be quite free; and how can we, ^
in that case, apply its summit exactly on a level wdth the
plane of suspension ? Borda has very happily resolved
this difficulty, by adapting to one of the extremities of the
rule a knife of suspension, which is fixed to it, so as to
touch it on its edge. Suppose we wish first to measure
the length of the.rule, we take off the
knife, and apply the rule itself to the
apparatus intended for that object. If
we wish then to measure the length of
the pendulum, we replace the knife,
and suspend the rule, thus armed, on
the plane of suspension, in place of
the pendulum itself. In our experi¬
ments, the knife is adapted to the
rule by means of a metal case; the
rule is inserted into this case until it
touches the knife, when it is fixed
in this position by means of a strong   
pinching screw, denoted by V, and which is screwed by
an iron key. It only remains to alter the length of this
rule in such a manner as to render it exactly equal to the
actual distance which is found between the bottom of the
bail and the plane of suspension. For this purpose, in the
experiments of Borda, the rule carried, on its under part, a
divided tongue, having a free motion. When the observa¬
tions of the coincidences were finished, the pendulum was
removed, and for it was substituted this rule, of which the
tongue was let down until it fell upon the little plane which
had touched the ball of the pendulum. Then, by reading,
with a magnifying glass, the divisions of the tongue, it is
easy to know the distance between the bottom of the ball
and the axis of suspension.
In Borda’s experiments, the pendulum was twelve feet
long. A rule of such a length could not have been carried
in travelling, or even in stations of difficult access, without
the risk of serious errors, resulting from the bending which
it must have received. On this account the French ob¬
servers, who were intrusted with such experiments, thought
it necessary to modify in this point the apparatus of Borda,
and they confined themselves to pendulums much shorter;
as are those which swing mean sexagesimal or mean deci¬
mal seconds. This enabled them to make use of rules much
shorter, more portable, and which they could also make
larger and more solid without increasing too much their
weight ; but then it became indispensable to introduce a
still greater degree of precision than before into the deter¬
mination of the length of the rules ; into that of the divisions
traced upon the tongues which were fixed to them; and,
lastly, into the measurement of the variable parts of these
tongues, which were used in each experiment, in order to
adapt them to the different lengths of the pendulum which
they were intended to measure. All these elements Avere
obtained Avith unexpected exactness, by employing for their
determination the apparatus already used Avith such success
for the comparison of metrical scales, under the name of
comparateur. All the details of this application may be
seen in the work of Biot and Arago, above referred to.
By means of the operations above described, we find the
total length of the pendulum, from the plane of suspension
to the bottom of the ball of platina; such at least as it is
at the instant of contact of the latter with the little plane.
But this length may not be, and is not in general, the same
which the pendulum has when it began to oscillate ; because
imnni-tar./.a +i!e ln lsPensal)le necessity which there is of preserving rigorously this quantity invariable, it appears to be of extreme
beunnri ° • e ground may not yield Avhen the observer approaches to complete the measurement. The only means of avoiding,
from ^Uri0nY-T 18 t° construct round the pendulum a platform, supported on certain points of the ground, at a distance
W:‘h "■hiCh W<! effeCt °f tlK this W**"* "“>■ b“‘
192
PENDULUM
Pendulum, the temperature, which modifies almost instantaneously the
N v y length ot' the wire, cannot have been the same at the time
of the contact of the plane, and during the observation of
the coincidences. But it is to this state that we must evi¬
dently reduce the length that we have attained. For this
purpose, let it be denoted by A, and suppose t the tempe¬
rature of the wire in degrees of the thermometer at the in¬
stant of contact, t being its mean value during the coinci¬
dences ; then if IF represent the radius of the ball of pla-
tina at the temperature of V when the contact was produ¬
ced, the length of the wire at that instant was A—2 IF; so
that, calling K the lineal dilatation of the matter of the
wire, for a difference of one degree in the temperature, the
length of the wire at the time of the oscillations must have
been (A — 2IF) {1 + K(* — F).} In the same manner,
if K' be the lineal dilatation of the substance of the ball,
its diameter, at the time of the oscillations, will be 2IF
11 -j_ K' it— F)] ; and adding this quantity to the length
of the wire, we obtain A + AK (t— F) -}- 2R' (K' — K)
(t — f) for the distance of the plane of suspension from the
bottom of the platina ball during the actual time of the os¬
cillations. By deducting from this length the radius of
the ball, such as it was at the same instant, that is, IF
{1 + K'((_C)} , we shall have the distance of the centre
of the ball from the plane of suspension, a distance which
we shall call h. This being determined, if the wire which
sustains the ball, and the cap which fits upon its surface,
were both without weight, or if their weight could be alto¬
gether neglected in comparison with that of the ball, the
length l of the simple pendulum isochronous with the com¬
pound one thus formed would be obtained by the above for¬
mula, and would be l — h rn being the mass of the
ball, and c' its momentum of inertia relative to an axis
drawn through its centre. But calling g the density of the
mass of the ball, and R its radius, at the temperature at
which the pendulum oscillates, its mass m is equal to -
g
?rgR3, and the value of c' is — -rgR5. Substituting these
2R2
values, we have l — h ~j- ; hence it appears, that it
.would be easy to calculate l, since R and h are known.
But, in truth, the weight of the wire and that of the cap
can never be absolutely nothing. They are only very small,
relatively to the weight of the ball; so that the preceding
value of l is but an approximation, which, to become quite
exact, requires a small correction, depending on the rela¬
tion of these masses. This correction being rather compli¬
cated in its expression, we shall not repeat it here, but re¬
fer to the memoir of Borda, or the work of Biot and Arago,
already mentioned, and represent it by Q; as it is always
negative, the length l of the simple pendulum isochronous
2R9
with the pendulum observed will become l — h ——
— Q. Now we have seen, that, in these experiments, the
apparent gravity which impels the pendulum is less than
the real gravity which operates in vacuo, on account of the
statical effect of the ambient medium; but for a simple
pendulum of the length l moved by the force of gravity ff,
the time T of its infinitely small oscillations is expressed by
t>d ’ an(> *f we wish to obtain oscillations of equal du¬
ration with different forces of gravity, we must vary the
lengths in proportion to these forces, so that the relation Ferula
L may remain constant. Now, after what we have before
seen, if we denote by D the density of the substance of the
pendulum at the temperature of freezing, and under the at¬
mospheric pressure of 0m-76, that of the air being 1, if, be¬
sides, we denote by c the cubic dilatation of this same sub-
stance, the relation of the apparent gravity in air to the
gravity in vacuo, under the pressure p, and at the temperature
t, will be expressed by 1 “ 0™.76 (t + ^ 0-00375) (l—ct) D*
which, for simplicity, may be represented by 1 — y. Then,
to obtain the length l" of the simple pendulum, which, mak¬
ing its oscillations in vacuo under the influence of the gra¬
vity ff, would be isochronous with the actual pendulum
going in the open air, we must take V — ^ , which, on
account of the smallness of y, may be reduced to l" — l
-f- yl'. We have denoted above by J -}- n" the number of
infinitely small oscillations performed by the actual pendu¬
lum in a mean solar day. Such, then, is also the rate of
the pendulum V’. If we wish, in fine, to obtain the length
lm of a pendulum which would move exactly to mean time
in vacuo, under the influence of the same power of gravity
as we have only to consider that, according to the pre¬
ceding expression of T, the lengths H must be directly pro¬
portional to the squares of the times of their oscillations,
and therefore reciprocally as the squares of the number of
oscillations made in equal times. We must take, then,
jr
l"
L — w]ience we obtain l1" —
/;/ — T2 ’
, 2«" l" n'*?
P ’   7 ~ ~J ** J- *
The length lf" thus obtained is now free from all the vari¬
able elements, which depend on particular circumstances of
their observations. This constitutes what we should pro¬
perly call the absolute length of the simple pendulum in
the place of observation.
The experimental method which we have described,
when it is employed with all due care, gives results which,
in the same place, are perfectly comparable with each other.
For, with various lengths, such as the sexagesimal pendu¬
lum, for example, or the decimal pendulum,' the deductions
from particular experiments do not differ generally from
each other more than in the thousandth parts of a milli¬
metre. To establish, however, completely the theoretical
certainty of this method, it is necessary to examine more
particularly some of the circumstances which form a part
of it. .
Our first remark relates to the extensibility of the wire
to which the platina ball is suspended. It is clear, that,
during the period of each oscillation, the wire is impelled
in the direction of its length by two forces of different kinds,
and of different intensities; of which the one is the vary¬
ing traction, acting on it every instant by the weight of the
ball decomposed into its direction; and the other is the
centrifugal force, which the motion of oscillation generates.
It may evidently be a question, whether this double action
has not on the oscillations a sensible influence, which, dis¬
appearing in the measurement of the length taken when
the pendulum is at rest, would alter the result which we
have obtained. M. Poisson has submitted this question to
calculation in the eighth volume of the Journal de PEcole
Poly technique, and he lias found, first, that the symmetry
of the oscillations on each side of the vertical is not alter¬
ed by the extensibility of the wire; at least if w^e suppose
them to be performed in vacuo, a circumstance which it
was easy to anticipate from the symmetry itself of the mode
of action of this force. But he has found that their dura¬
tion is affected with a periodical inequality, in consequence
PENDULUM.
luin. of which the successive oscillations are not isochronous
"‘—''among themselves. When the total extension, however,
suffered by the wire is very small, which is generally the
case in experiments where the wires are formed of metallic
substances, the effect of this inequality neutralizes itself in
the mean duration of a great number of oscillations; only
this mean period is a little longer than if the wire had been
altogether inextensible. Let /, for example, be the lineal
length which the wire would naturally have if left to the
sole attractive action of its particles on each other; and
suppose that, by suspending the platina ball at its lower ex¬
tremity, it lengthens by a small quantity X. This being the
case, if the half amplitude of the oscillation is denoted by
a, M. Poisson finds that, limiting the results to the square
of a, the mean duration T of the whole oscillations will be
193
t - *{1+1U1+x) sin-?a} •
If we wish to suppose the wire inextensible, we have only
to make X equal to nothing, and it hence appears that the
extensibility only modifies the correction of amplitude, al¬
ready in itself so small, and alters it by a quantity which,
from the small extensibility of the metals, cannot in general
produce any effect that could be detected by observation.
A second circumstance, which deserves equally to be ex¬
amined, is the probable influence of the motion of rotation
of the platina ball round the direction of the wire, and any
twisting which the wire may suffer during the oscillations.
M. Poisson has examined, by a calculation in the Connois-
sance des Terns for 1815, the effect of such a motion ; and
he has found that, in the ordinary disposition of the pendu¬
lum of Borda, it is rendered in a manner insensible by this
circumstance, that the momentum of inertia of the ball,
and of the whole pendulum, relatively to an axis drawn
through the direction of the wire, is a very small quantity.
Let R be the radius of the platina ball, h the distance of its
centre from the axis of suspension, a the angle which the
rotation of the ball makes each of the points of its surface
describe during the period of an oscillation, this angle be¬
ing measured in a circle of a radius equal to 1, T the time
of an infinitely small oscillation of the same pendulum, in the
case when the rotation is nothing; M. Poisson finds that the
real duration of the oscillations will be T 4 1 *  V
50A4w2J ’
v being always, as before, the circumference to the diame¬
ter, which is unit, or, what is the same thing, the semi-cir¬
cumference, of which the radius is 1. In regard to the ef¬
fect of the torsion communicated to the wire by the rota¬
tion of the ball, M. Poisson proves that it can have no in¬
fluence on the duration of the oscillations. In the short¬
est lengths of pendidum which have been observed by
the above process, R was less than 0m*02, and l nearly
equal to 0m‘74. Adopting these numbers, and suppos-
ing, besides, that the ball describes two whole circum-
. ferences for each oscillation, which would be a very rapid
motion of rotation, we shall then have — 4, and
h 37 w
„ . a2R4 1
consequently ’ whence it appears that the
time of the oscillation would be diminished only by a quan¬
tity altogether insensible, even on the above suppositions.
But it is far from being the case that a rotation so rapid as
we have supposed really takes place in the experiments;
on the contrary, when we set the pendulum in motion, we
take great care to avoid every movement of this kind ; we
a so pay particular attention to let fall the ball without any
ateral impulse, so that its oscillation may be performed as
exactly as possible in a vertical plane, which we also take
care to verify by observation, when the pendulum is in mo¬
on. It would be useless to attempt to obtain this condi-
vol. xvh.
tion in a manner more exact; for it is known by the cal- Pendulum,
culation of conical oscillations, that when these take place ^
in an orbit much flattened, their duration is almost exactly
the same as if they were quite plain.
The last object to be considered, and of which the dis¬
cussion is as imnortant as it is delicate, is the influence
which the form of the suspending knife may have upon the
oscillations of the same pendulum. Comparing, indeed, the
motion of the pendulum to that which would take place
round an axis of suspension perfectly rectilineal and mathe¬
matically straight, we suppose, or at least seem tacitly to
suppose, that the edge of the knife forms such an axis, which
is physically impossible, since the most perfect art cannot
give it any other form than that of a round surface, the
breadth of which is sensible to the microscope, and which,
even there, appears always like a saw indented with teeth
more or less deep. Now, if this surface were a circular cy¬
linder, a simple calculation, which was first made by Euler,
shows that the durations of the oscillations will be the same
as if they were performed round a rectilineal axis placed
under the surface of the cylinder, and at a distance equal
to the radius of its curvature ; and in the case of very small
oscillations, this result may be extended to a knife of any
form, if we take for its curvature that of its osculating circle.
Hence it follows, that in order to have the true length of
the simple pendulum in this circumstance, we must sub¬
tract the radius of this circle from the length calculated on
the hypothesis of a rectilineal axis, according to the oscil¬
lations observed. But such a correction would throw great
uncertainty upon the results ; for the osculatory curvature
of the knife cannot be measured, or even appreciated, by
any process, and it must vary considerably, either by the
difference of workmanship in different knives, or by the in¬
evitable wearing which the edge of the knife undergoes
when the weight suspended from the wire presses it against
the plane of suspension. Fortunately, the extent, and the
variableness itself, of the effects which this cause should pro¬
duce, serve to prove that it has no action whatever in ex¬
periments ; for, in the first place,- by loading successively
the head of the same knife with several weights very dif¬
ferent among themselves, in order to observe if these dif¬
ferent systems, previously according with the same clock,
would have an influence on the length of the pendulum,
Borda has found that this influence was absolutely insensi¬
ble, although the curvature of the edge, to which he did
not pay attention, was then undergoing very different mo¬
difications under the unequal compressions to which they
were subject. Secondly, the length of the simple pendulum,
beating seconds at the Observatory of Paris, which Borda
had deduced from a pendulum of twelve feet long, has since
been found as exactly the same as the difficulties of the
operation would permit, by employing, with the same knife
and the same ball, wires four times shorter, which gave a
much greater influence to the alterations of length which
the curvature of the knife could produce. Lastly, by ob¬
serving successively, at the same place, with the same ball,
and the same length of wire, but with knives whose edges
presented an extreme diversity, from the highest possible
finish to the greatest coarseness in the execution, M. Biot
has obtained, at Leith Fort, in Scotland, such lengths for
the simple pendulum, between which no sensible differ¬
ence could be observed, although no correction whatever
was made for the curvature of the knife. These proofs of
different kinds, but all agreeing in their consequences, seem
to show evidently that in the process of Borda the shape of
the edge of the knife has no sensible influence on the re¬
sults, and that it is unnecessary, therefore, to pay any at¬
tention to it; and yet, as the theory of oscillations round
cylindrical axes cannot be questioned, we must either con¬
clude that in this circumstance the oscillation is really not
performed on a cylinder of sensible dimensions, but upon
2 B
194
PENDULUM.
Pendulum, the ideal axis of insensible dimensions, formed by the aspe-
' v   rities which still exist in the grain of metal of which the
knife is composed ; or that the agreement previously esta¬
blished between the proper motion of the knife and the
total motion of the pendulum, compensates physically the
effect which the curvature of the knife would have upon
the oscillations, if it consisted really of a simple cylinder
without mass attached to the wire.
II.—METHOD OF KATER.
The method employed by Captain Kater to measure the
length of the pendulum is founded upon this theorem of
Huygens, that whatever be the form of the oscillating body,
the centre of oscillation and the centre of suspension are
reciprocals to each other, a theorem of which we have al¬
ready given the demonstration. To realise this disposi¬
tion, Mr Kater chose a body of such a form that it was
easy to determine by calculation the approximate position
of its centre of oscillation for a given position of the axis of
suspension. These two points being thus known, he fixes
there immoveably two knives parallel to each other. In
the space which separates them he then adapts to the body
a moveable weight, and having first placed it at random,
he makes the system oscillate successively upon the one
knife and upon the other. If, as it almost always happens
in the first trial, the oscillations performed in the two cases
are of unequal duration, he moves the intermediate weight,
so as to bring them nearer to an equality; then, compai ing
these anew by observation, he finds necessarily a less dis¬
parity between them, which he again reduces, until at last,
after a few trials, the duration of the oscillations performed
round the two axes become exactly equal. The justness
as well as the rapidity of these reductions are favoured by
the form which Mr Kater has chosen for his oscillating
body. This form is a simple rectilineal bar of brass, to¬
wards the two extremities of which are placed two known
weights; the one of which is immoveably fixed, and the
other, being moveable, but at the same time capable of be¬
ing fixed in a similar manner, serves, first, by its motion, to
establish between the two knives, not exactly, but approxi¬
mately, that reciprocity between the oscillations to which
it is desired to bring up the system. This reciprocity is
then rendered rigorously exact, by the much more delicate
motion of a third smaller weight placed between the knives,
in that part of the rod where we know, by calculation, the
effect of its displacement will have the least sensible influ¬
ence upon the oscillations, which is found to be towards
the middle of the rod, in the division of the weights adopt¬
ed by Mr Kater. A divided scale, engraved upon the bar
of the pendulum itself, serves to measure the displacement
of this latter moveable weight. In the experiments of Mr
Kater, this scale was divided into twelfths of an inch, and
a displacement of twelve parts produced a difference of
about four seconds in the diurnal rate of the system, reckon¬
ing sexagesimally; whence we may be able to appre¬
ciate the extreme delicateness of this mode of regulation.
The bar, with its weights, is represented in fig. 1, Plate
CCCCIII. Fig. 2 shows its disposition during the obser¬
vations.
It is then, as appears, placed before a clock, with which
it is compared, by means of a fixed telescope, after the
method of coincidences of Borda. But the mode of expe¬
riment employed by Kater, requiring the oscillations round
the two axes to be observed in a state of rigorous equality,
it becomes necessary to avoid, in their comparison, every
change of temperature, and thus it is necessary to make the
results independent of the variations of this kind which
inevitably arise in the atmosphere, d hat could only be
obtained by rendering the series of coincidences very
sliort, and multiplying the successive inversions of the ap¬
paratus. But then, to obtain the same exactness, it is ne- Pen<luit(
cessary to fix the coincidences with much greater precision
than in the method of Borda, where the little influence
which they have is one of the principal advantages. Mr
Kater has attained this object, by fixing upon the lentil of
his clock a white disc, traced upon a black ground, and of
such a size that it is exactly covered, and no more, by the
interposition of the bar of the pendulum, when this is at
rest in the situation of the vertical. This same occulta-
tion, being then observed during the motion of the clock
and of the pendulum, serves to fix the instant of the coin¬
cidence ; and Mr Kater finds, that in this manner there
cannot be any error greater than a second on the instant
to which each coincidence belongs.
The rest of the details of the observation are the same
as in Borda’s process. The amplitude of the arc of oscil¬
lation is observed at each coincidence, as well as the state
of the barometer and thermometer ; and these are employ¬
ed in the same manner to reduce the oscillations to what
they would have been if they had taken place in vacuo,
and with amplitudes infinitely small, at the observed mean
temperature of the oscillating body.
It still remains to obtain the length of the simple pendu¬
lum corresponding to this rate of going. After an equality
has been obtained in the oscillations round the two knives,
this length is equal to the distance betvyeen the edges of
the knives at the moment of the oscillation of the pendu¬
lum, at least if we consider these edges as lineal axes. It
would be evidently impossible to observe the distance in
question during the actual motion of the pendulum; but
this defect may be supplied by determining it first for some
known temperature, and reducing it by calculation to the
value which it ought to have during the coincidences, ac¬
cording to the temperature at the time these took place,
and the dilatation of the substance of the pendulum, which
is also known. It is thus that Mr Kater operated, and he
has obtained the true distance betw een the knives, in com¬
paring it by a microscopic process, with the metal rule
which he employed as a standard of measure. In order
that this operation may be put in practice, the two edges
of the knives must be very exactly parallel. Mr Kater ac¬
cordingly disposed them in this manner before the expe¬
riments, employing the measure itself of their distance to
determine and to prove the accuracy of their position, to
which they were gradually brought by means of adjusting
screws, which allowed each knife to move by very small
displacements. He also took advantage of this method to
render their direction quite perpendicular to the length of
the bar. Lastly, as the distance between the knives, which
we are seeking to determine, is that which took place
when the pendulum was in a vertical situation, Mr Kater,
during the measurement, applied to the bar, novy horizon¬
tal, a force of longitudinal traction equal to what it exerted
on itself by its own weight, and in a state of oscillation. In
calculating the influence which the curvature of the knives,
supposing it to be circular, can have upon the length of
the simple pendulum, deduced from the oscillations of a
similar apparatus, M. Laplace has found it to be equal
to nothing, and that this length was always rigorously equal
to the distance between the edges of the knives. This
theorem is only true on the supposition that the two edges
are of the same curvature; but whatever precaution may
be taken to render them identical, even making them to¬
gether, and with a single piece of steel, it will be impossi¬
ble to be assured that there may not be found differences,
not merely very small, but very considerable, in the raan
of curvature of their oscillatory circles ; since these circles
are the result, not of any measured and geometrical opera¬
tion, but of a work of reducing and polishing necessarily
vague and irregular. It wrould appear then by this, that
the results of this method would still be subject to the
PENDULUM.
195
Pei Jimu same uncertainty in theory as the results of the others are;
''but these uncertainties are dispelled in both cases, by the
experimental proofs already described, that, in the process
of Borda, the figure of the edge of the knives has no influ¬
ence upon the length of the simple pendulum, deduced
from their oscillations. In short, what completes the proof,
that these two methods do not include in themselves any
source of inaccuracy, is the surprising and almost ideal co¬
incidence of the results which they afford, notwithstanding
the diversity of the two processes. We shall have occasion
to give a striking proof of it at the conclusion of the ensu¬
ing paragraph.
III. PENDULUMS OP COMPARISON.
The two methods which we have been explaining make
known the absolute lengths of the simple pendulum in every
place where it is observed. Both of them, therefore, re¬
quire to be absolutely determined, on the spot, in lineal
measures ; and this cannot be done with sufficient exactness
but by a process of extreme delicacy, the practice of which
implies numerous preparations. But when we wish merely
to determine the ratios of the lengths of the simple pendu¬
lum to each other, for different places on the earth, we may
obtain this without any absolute measurement, and by the
mere comparison of the oscillations made in these places in
equal times by a compound pendulum of any form. To de¬
monstrate this, suppose, first, that the figure of the mass of
this pendulum is quite invariable, and that it suffers neither
dilatation nor contraction by the changes of temperature ;
or, what comes to the same thing, suppose the observations
are always made during temperatures exactly equal; in
this case, according to the formulae laid down in the be¬
ginning of this article, the length l of the simple pendu¬
lum isochronous with that compound pendulum, may be
expressed by m being the mass of the oscillating body,
h the distance of its centre of gravity from the axis of sus¬
pension, and, lastly, c its momentum of inertia; that is to
say, the sum of all the elements of its mass, multiplied by
the squares of their respective distances from the axis of
suspension. This length /, then, will be the same in what¬
ever place we observe it, since its analytical expression de¬
pends only on the figure of the oscillating body and the
density of its parts, but in no respect on the intensity of
the gravitating force which impels it; so that if we take
any compound pendulum, of any form whatever, but hav¬
ing its mass and figure constantly the same, and make it
oscillate successively in different parts of the earth, it is the
same thing as to cause a simple pendulum to oscillate suc¬
cessively in the same places. But, supposing the oscilla¬
tions performed in vacuo, ancl^ with infinitely small ampli¬
tudes, or, what is the same thing, supposing them reduced
to these conditions by calculation, the durations T', T1' of
the oscillations of the same simple pendulum, whose length
is /, are connected with the intensities {/', g’’ of the gravi¬
tating force, which impels them by the following relations,
0’ - ~ " g"’ whence we obtain = ipF*
that is to say, that the intensities of the gravitating forces
are reciprocally as the squares of the times of the oscilla¬
tions ; or, what is the same thing, they are directly propor¬
tional to the squares of the numbers of oscillations made in
equal times. For let N', N" be these numbers, and T the
total time which corresponds with them, then T' will be
T ’ T
equal to —, and T" equal to so that, by substituting
T« = ?r24> T"2 -
• N/r2
their values, the preceding relation will become ~ =
mulae l"2 ~
N«'
By such experiments, then, made with the same compound Pendulum,
pendulum, we may be able to determine the relative forces
of gravity in the different places of observation. But we
may, with equal facility, deduce from them the ratios of
the absolute lengths which it would be necessary to give to
twm simple pendulums in the same places, for making them
bear an equal number of oscillations in a given time; for
example, to beat the mean second. For let X', X" be these
unknown lengths, since the corresponding times of oscilla¬
tion are each one second, we shall have by our general for-
<irX or‘2X" . X" q”
——, — ——; whence we obtain — ~
9 X
that is, that the lengths required are proportional to the in¬
tensities of gravity in the two places. But we have seen
that the ratio of the gravitating forces may be deduced
from the observations made with the same compound pen¬
dulum ; and introducing this determination into the pre-
V N"2
ceding expression, we obtain — = — . Hence, when we
have observed the numbers of infinitely small oscillations
made in two different parts of the earth, by the same com¬
pound pendulum, of a constant form, the ratio of the squares
of these numbers will be equal to the ratio of the lengths
of the simple pendulums, which swing seconds in the same
places. All these results suppose, as we have seen, that
the mass and form of the compound pendulum are rigo¬
rously the same at the two stations. To obtain a degree
of permanency in the mass, we form the pendulum of me¬
tal, cast in one piece, to which we adapt for suspension a
knife edge made by a process which insures the firmness of
the connection, and wre take every precaution possible to
prevent any physical or chemical alteration from modify¬
ing it during the carriage. But the permanency in its
dimensions and figure is much more difficult to be ob¬
tained, because the inequalities of temperature in the dif¬
ferent places of observation, and the accidental variations
of natural heat, even in the same place, tend perpetually
to disturb it. It is physically impossible to prevent the ef¬
fects of these alterations in any other way, than by pre¬
serving constantly round the pendulum the same artificial
temperature; a method which has been really employed,
but which requires very great precautions to render the
temperature round the pendulum uniform, and a constant
attention to manage the sources of cold and of heat, in or¬
der to maintain it at the same fixed degree. It is on this
account more simple, and perhaps more accurate, when the
thing is possible, to dispose the experiment so as to have
only very slow changes of temperature; then to allow the
pendulum to partake of these changes, and to correct this
effect on its form by calculation, from the observation of
the temperature, and the knowledge of the proper dilata¬
tion of the substance of which it is composed. This cor¬
rection is extremely easy ; for if we resume the expression
Q
l — -^j, which expresses the corresponding length of the
simple pendulum, the momentum of inertia c is of the same
order as the mass, multiplied by the square of the dimen¬
sions of the oscillating body, and the denominator mh is the
product of this same mass by a single dimension ; whence it
is easy to conclude, that if the dimensions should vary in the
same proportion in every direction, which really happens in
changes of temperature, the quantity will vary accord¬
ing to this simple proportion. Hence, if we name l the
length of this simple pendulum, isochronous with the com¬
pound pendulum, when the latter is at the standard tem¬
perature t, and denote by l' the analogous length when the
temperature is t', representing also by K the lineal dilata¬
tion of the mass of the pendulum, for a change of one de¬
gree of the temperature, and for a length equal to unity.
196
PENDULUM.
Pendulum. we s]ia]i evidently have=r / {1 K— <)}• Suppose
v ^ ^ now the pendulum l' has made a number N' of oscillations
in a given interval of time, for example, a mean solar day,
it will be easy to calculate how many the standard pendu¬
lum l would have made in the same time, if it had been
acted on by the same force of gravity ; for the squares of
the numbers of oscillations made in equal times being re¬
ciprocally as the lengths of the pendulums which perform
them, the square of the number sought will then be
^. or N'211 + K (('-()}■
Hence we obtain for this number itself N' V l -srK(t'-—i) ;
or, reducing the radical into a series, and limiting it to
the first power of K, N' + ^ N' K (f — t). This approxi¬
mation is always sufficient, because the co-efficient K of the
lineal dilatation is always very small in solid bodies, and
the difference t' — t of the natural temperatures in the
places of observation can never exceed a small number of
degrees. Captain Kater, for example, has operated with a
similar pendulum, made of brass, the observed lineal dila¬
tation of which was 0-00000982 for one degree of Fahren¬
heit. In an experiment made in London, this pendulum
was found to perform a number of oscillations equal to
86051-32, the temperature being 71°-6. If we wish to re¬
duce this experiment to the standard temperature of 62
degrees, which was adopted by Mr Kater, we shall have
N' z= 86051-32, K = 0-00000982, t' — t= + 9°-6, whence
we obtain, for the correction of the temperature, ^ N'K
(t> — 0 = + 4"-04, that is to say, four oscillations, and four
hundred parts, added to the number of oscillations observed.
By operating in the same manner in every other case, we
can reduce all the observations to the constant temperature
once fixed as a standard.
But one of the indispensable elements in this reduction
is the actual temperature of the pendulum during the ex¬
periments, and some precautions are necessary to obtain it
with exactness. For the pendulum being always very large
compared with the thermometers, which we can place by
the side of it, it partakes much more slowly than them of
the variations of temperature, so that it ought always to be
a little colder than the thermometers when the tempera¬
ture of the air is rising, and a little warmer when it de¬
scends. It would be impossible to estimate these differ¬
ences of state; but w-e can render their effect insensible,
by operating in a room, so large and sheltered form the
sun that the temperature remains in it nearly constant, or
at least suffers such slow variations, that the mass of the
pendulum has time to partake of them. For in that case
the thermometers will point out the state of this mass in
indicating that of the ambient air ; or if there remains some
difference between both, the effect of this will disappear
by compensation in a series of experiments sufficiently re¬
peated.
We have mentioned above, that the corrections relative
to the amplitude of the arcs and the density of the air, are
made in every place for the compound pendulums, the same
as in the experiments with the absolute pendulum. The
duration of the oscillations may also be determined in the
same manner by the method of coincidences, comparing
the experimental pendulum with a clock that is actually
regulated by astronomical observations. Thus, in applying
this process, and these corrections, we shall obtain the num¬
bers of oscillations which a compound pendulum w ould
have made at the different stations, if it had oscillated in
vacuo, and at a temperature always constant. Whence we
may then deduce the relation of the intensity of gravity at
these stations, or the ratio of the lengths of the simple pen¬
dulum, swinging the same fixed number of seconds in a
given time.
To give an example of this deduction, we shall relate
the following result, obtained in 1818, by Captain Kater, Pendu L
with the same compound pendulum the dilatation of which “v /
is stated above. The numbers of oscillations expressed in
the last column are reduced by calculation to the case of
amplitudes infinitely small, the pendulum in vacuo, and the
temperature being the standard of 62° Fahrenheit.
■
Names of the
Places.
Latitudes of the
Stations.
Number of Oscil¬
lations of the
Compound Pen¬
dulum in 24 mean
Solar Hours.
London 
Leith Fort...
Unst 
51° 3 F 8"
55 58 37
60 45 25
8606I"-30
86079 -22
86096 -84
From other experiments previously made by means of
the method of inversion, Captain Kater had determined the
length of the absolute seconds pendulum at London, pre¬
cisely at the same place, and in the same room, where he
since made his compound pendulum oscillate. This length,
expressed in English inches, on Sir George Shuckburgh’s
scale, was found to be 39-13908 inches. If then we call
this length X, and X', X" the analogous lengths for the two
other stations of Leith and of Unst; also N, N', N" the
number of oscillations of the portable pendulum in these
three stations, w-e shall have, according to the formula?
N'2 N"2
above laid down, X' rr X . , X" — X. —, which will give
for the length of the simple pendulum, at the station of
Leith, 39-15538 inches, at the station of Unst 39-17141
inches. Now, by comparing, by methods of extreme pre¬
cision, the scale of Sir George Shuckburgh, with a metre
of platina, executed under the directions of the Board ot
Longitude of France, and verified by a commission of se¬
veral members of this body, Mr Kater has found that the
metre, taken at its own standard temperature, which is that
of melting ice, is equal to 39-37079 inches of the scale of
Sir George Shuckburgh, taken also at its own standard tem¬
perature, which is 62 degrees Fahrenheit. Hence it fol¬
lows, that any length l expressed in inches of this scale,
taken at its standard temperature, is equal in millimetres to
1000-/
39-37079'
The preceding lengths of the simple pendu¬
lum, both at Leith and Unst, being already reduced to
this standard state, we may apply to them directly this for¬
mula, and deduce in millimetres the following values, which
are set down, compared with those of Biot, obtained by the
method of Borda, from observations made with great care,
the preceding year, in the same stations of Leith and Unst.
Names of the
Stations.
Leith Fort
Unst 
Lengths of the
Simple Pendu¬
lum according
to Kater.
m m
994-528685
994-935840
Lengths of the
Simple Pendu¬
lum according
to Biot.
m m
994-524453
994-943083
Differences of
Rater’s Mea¬
surement.
m m
+ 0-004232
_ 0-007243
The differences of the results, it will be seen, are exces¬
sively minute, for they consist only in some thousandth parts
39
of a millimetre, which is equal to ^ oooooq an
inch ; and they are, besides, affected with contrary signs at
Unst and at Leith. We may reasonably conclude, then,
that they fall within the limits of that uncertainty to which
all physical results are subject; and it may therefore be in¬
ferred, that the method of Borda and that of Captain Kater
PENDULUM.
iilum are equally precise, and both give, with exactness, the ab-
r“—' solute measure of the pendulum.
In attempting to carry compound pendulums on distant
journeys, or when we are obliged to observe them in places
where the apparatus cannot be fixed to solid buildings, this
must necessarily be modified, so as to be complete in itself.
To do this, we may prepare for the pendulum a support of
metal, made from a single casting, the feet of which spread¬
ing out, can be firmly fixed in the ground, while they al¬
low the pendulum, at the same time, to oscillate at freedom
between them. The upper part of this support must con¬
sist of a plate having a longitudinal opening in it, to allow
the stem and knife of the pendulum to pass through. On
this is fixed, with long screws, a polished plate pierced
with a similar opening, and which can be set horizontally
with a spirit-level before fixing it ; and it is on this plane
that we place the knife of the pendulum. A divided scale,
unconnected with the pendulum, is placed horizontally, im¬
mediately under the lower extremity of its stem, which
being furnished with a point, indicates, by its excursions
upon this scale, the amplitudes of the oscillations. In or¬
der, now, to determine the rate of the pendulum’s going, it
is not always possible to procure the necessary facilities for
employing the method of coincidences. In that case, we
may substitute for it the comparison of the pendulum with
an adjoining clock, or else with a chronometer, counting, as
Bouguer did, the whole oscillations which the pendulum
performs during a given time, and determining the frac¬
tions of oscillations, by observing the part of the amplitude
with which the point of the stalk corresponds at the com¬
mencement and termination of the interval of the time ob¬
served. But in making use of this last process, which is
indispensable for fixing the extreme terms of each compar¬
ed interval, we can dispense with the counting of the oscil¬
lations one by one ; for it will be sufficient to follow them
with a counter, the rate of which is adjusted very nearly
to that of the experimental pendulum, and which we take
c»re from time to time to regulate according to it; acce¬
lerating or retarding its motion by an impulse given to its
lens before it has lost or gained a whole oscillation. This
last part of the proceeding has been suggested by M. Ara-
go, and employed by Captain Freycinetin his voyage round
the world. Then it only remains to fix, by observation,
the position of the stem upon the arc of amplitudes at the
periods of comparison with the chronometer or the clock,
and from thence to deduce the fractions of oscillations
which the counter could not indicate. These fractions may
be obtained from the mathematical law which regulates the
motion of the pendulum in each oscillation. If we call 2a
the whole amplitude with which the pendulum oscillates,
and 1 the total time which it takes to describe it, also g the
arc which it describes, during the time t, in falling from the
extremity of this amplitude, the law of the descent, limited
197
to small amplitudes, gives g = 2a sin.2 j 90° • j so that, by
representing the half amplitude a by 1000 parts, and sup-
posing / successively equal to ^th, T%ths, T%ths of T, or of
the duration of a whole oscillation, we obtain for g the fol¬
lowing values.
Values of t in
lOths of the
whole Oscil¬
lation.
Portions of the
Half Amplitude
described.
48*9
191-0
412-2
691-0
1000-0
It would evidently be of no use to push the calculation Pendulum.
ot these numbers beyond a half amplitude, since they mustv    
be symmetrical on each side of the vertical, when the
values of the time Z are reckoned, as they always can be,
rom the extremity of the half oscillation in which the pen¬
dulum actually is. This being understood, the use of the
table is easily explained; for the immediate observation
gives the demi-amplitude a at the period of the compari¬
son with the chronometer; it gives also, at this instant, the
value of the arc g, according to the division on the scale
of amplitudes to which the stem of the pendulum corre¬
sponds. Dividing s by a, the decimal fraction which will
hence result, being multiplied by the number 1000, may
be compared with the numbers contained in the second
co umn of the above table ; and the first column will im¬
mediately give, either directly or by interpolation, the
traction of time corresponding to this position of the stem,
a fraction which must be added to the whole number N
of the preceding oscillations if the pendulum is on its de¬
scent towards the vertical, and subtracted from N + 1 if
the pendulum is on its ascent towards the end of the oscil¬
lation.
The experiments on the variation of gravity at different
places on the earth were not at first made with a free pen¬
dulum such as we have now described, but with a pendu-
um adapted to a clock. It was in this manner that Ilicher
discovered the existence of this phenomenon in 1672, in a
voyage which he made to Cayenne by order of the Aca-
emy of Sciences, for the prosecution of various researches
in physics and astronomy, among the number of which
was the measurement of the pendulum. On his arrival at
Cayenne, Richer remarked that his clock, the weights of
which had not been altered since his departure," had a
diurnal rate of going of 2' 28" slower than at Paris ; and
not only did this observation prove the fact of the diminu¬
tion of gravity, in going from the pole towards the equa¬
tor, but, if we had known the details, particularly in regard
to the relative differences of temperature, we might then
probably deduce a more certain and exact measure of this
diminution than what can be drawn from the absolute length
of the equatorial pendulum, determined by the same Richer
at Cayenne, with the imperfect methods w hich were then
m use. We shall not dissemble that this assertion re¬
quires some proof; for the mode of observing by clocks
appears necessarily subject to great uncertainty, the pen¬
dulum’s own motion being constrained or modified by the
motion ot the wheels. But this influence is not, perhaps,
m reality so great as one wotild be led to suppose; in fact,
it is not the pendulum, but the weight applied to the clock,
which makes the wheels move ; the pendulum merely re¬
gulates^ the intermittances in the fall of this w'eight, bv its
oscillations, which stop it and set it free by turns; and
this alternation is performed by means of the escapement,
which now disengages itself from the teeth, and then lays
hold of them again. When it is disengaged, the action
of tiie weight which turns the wheel excites it, and accele-
rates its fall it its descent. But in the ascending half os-
cd ation which follows, the same action confines the pen-
dulum and retards it; so that these two contrary efforts,
which both operate with very slight degrees of friction,
appear, like the resistance of the air, and every other con-
sttint fiiction, to balance their mutual influences on the
motion in each whole oscillation, and merely to limit the
amplitude of the arcs in which this oscillation takes place ;
a limitation wdiich we can easily take into account, by ob¬
serving the amplitudes, and reducing all the oscillations,
by calculation, to the case of their being infinitely small.
It would be curious to make experiments on this subject,
and it could be easily done ; for it wxmld be sufficient to
vary the weight applied to a clock, and to see if the varia¬
tions of amplitude which would result are such that, in
198
PENDULUM.
. hp brought back posite modifications seem to compensate each other, at Pendpjtj
Pendulum paying attention to them, th® ™ ya]^eaL made indi- feast with a sensible equality, in each complete oscillation.
to its original rate. Some observations a , y , „T1 „r„ ™OT, with pmml nrnbabihtv. that the
cate the exactness of this restitution, or at least the very
"TnXTvehtaLapland, for canrp.e, undertaken by
the French academicians in 1736, an excellent clock by
Graham was carried out to be employed in determining
Whence we may conclude, with equal probability, that the
greater or less facility in the motions, and the various
energies of friction produced by the unequal tenacity of
the oil, at different periods and at different temperatures,
can have but a very small influence on the proper motion
  v . f Thi^celebrated artist had con- of a pendulum, and which must become quite insensible
the variation of gravity. Ihis celebrate employing an oil of tried permanence of constitution;
structed it for this purpose, and had done s» " * ^C and above all, by producing Artificially, at all the stations,
ticular care. In order to render it more steadily compar- “d Lers.nre „ was done bv the French
ticular care, xu ^ *  . i i r* j
able with itself, he had adapted to it a pendulum, formed
of a simple rod of brass, to the bottom of which was af¬
fixed a lenticular mass of a constant weight; and he had
provided pieces which raised the rod up during the voyage,
and kept its summit free from all contact, so that the knife
edge could not be altered by any friction against the plane
of suspension, although the rod was always at liberty to
follow the dilatations and contractions produced by the
changes of temperature. Now, in the account of the la¬
bours connected with this operation, which Maupertms has
published, under the title of Figure de la Terre Determi¬
ne we find, that with the action of the weight usually
applied to this clock, it made, at Paris, 86394M, during a
revolution of the fixed stars, in describing arcs of 2 10
on each side of the vertical, while, with a weight twice as
small, it made 4" more, that is, 86398'H in the same inter¬
val, describing arcs of 1° 15'. Now, if we apply here the
correction relative to the amplitude of the arcs, which is
— N sin.2 «, calling N the number of oscillations, and a
16
the demi-amplitude, we shall then find, that in the first case
it is necessary to add 7''711 oscillations, and in the second
2"*563, to reduce each of them to the case of amplitudes
infinitely small, which gives 86402*1 and 86401*0 for the
total number of oscillations infinitely small in the two
cases. These quantities only differ by 1*1, and as the ob¬
servations at this period were not carried to a greater
exactness than this difference, it would be of no use to
look for a more perfect agreement between them. VVe
have still the example of a similar proof made by Graham
himself, upon another clock, which he had constructed to
determine the variation of gravity between London and
Jamaica; an object for which it was really employed, its
rate having been observed for this purpose by Graham in
London, and at Jamaica by C. Campbell, a skilful ob¬
server, and the friend of Bradley. In the account of this
operation, which has been given by Bradley himself,^in
the same fixed temperature as was done by the French
academicians in 1736, in their journeys in Lapland, and
also by the intrepid English mariners in 1820 in their
memorable voyage to the North Pole. But admitting the
constancy of the results obtained at the same place by this
mode of observation, which, we repeat, still wants to be
completely proved by new experiments, it is clear that no
other method could be more convenient. For it would
be sufficient in every place to prepare the clock; to set it
up, with every precaution in levelling which can place it
in a state and situation similar to itself; then to compare
its rate of going with the diurnal motion ot the heavens,
either with a small transit instrument, or even by means
of a simple telescope, firmly fixed to some immoveable
mass, and directed towards a star, the diurnal return of
which could be observed with fixed wires stretched in
the focus. MM. Breguet instituted a series of experiments
on this subject; but as the processes for determining results
of this nature cannot be too severely scrutinized, we sin¬
cerely wish that other observers would make similar at¬
tempts, and publish the results deducible from them.
USE OF THE PENDULUM IN DETERMINING THE OBLATENESS
OF THE EARTH, AND THE INTENSITY OF GRAVITY AT DIF¬
FERENT LATITUDES.
According to the theory of universal attraction, if we con¬
sider the earth and the planets as having been originally
masses in a fluid state, endowed with a motion of rotation
round themselves, they must have taken the form of a
spheroid, flattened at its poles; and the force of gravity,
which is observed at their surfaces, would then be the re¬
sult of two distinct forces, of which the one is the general
attraction, exerted upon each point of the surface by all the
particles of matter in the spheroid, according to their masses
and distances; and the other is the centrifugal force, ex¬
cited at the same point by the motion of rotation. But the
f^D'^S^of'tli^^hUosophit^ Transactions^ th‘a" intensity of the attraction, exerted open different points rf
^ HavU taken Lay the weight front Ls Cock,
causes, then, must produce in the force of gravity inequa¬
lities, which observation may discover. But we may easily
rid these inequalities of the effect of the centrifugal force;
for this can be calculated for each point, when we know
the dimensions of the spheroid, its rotation, and the axis
round which it turns. The observations thus reduced pre¬
sent results which are only dependent on the attraction of
the spheroid upon which they are made; and they may con¬
sequently serve to determine its exterior configuration, as
well as the laws of density, by which the attractive matter
is distributed through its interior. The remarkable dis¬
covery of these relations, between the force of gravity at
the surface of the heavenly bodies, and their form, as wtU
as their internal constitution, we owe to Newton; and this
great man, in following them out, determined even the va¬
lue of the oblateness which the terrestrial spheroid ought
which was 121b. lO^oz., and having replaced it by another
of 61b. 3oz., the amplitudes of the oscillations, which were
at first 3° 30', were reduced to 3°, and the diurnal rate of
the clock slackened by !£". Now, if we reduce each of
these rates to the case of amplitudes infinitely small, in
taking successively for a, 1° 45' and 1° 15', we find for the
reduction in the first case 5"*03, in the second 2"*6, of
which the difference is 2''*4, instead of 1", which Graham
had observed; and as this able artist had not had any
other end in view than to prove the small alteration in the
diurnal motion by a change of weight so considerable, it is
possible that he may not have taken the same pains in de¬
termining the temperature and other details of the obser¬
vation, which he would have done if he had been seeking
to determine an element of correction with a perfect ac¬
curacy. It appears very probable, then, by these exam¬
ples, that in clocks constructed in this manner, the action
nlcs that in clocks constructed in tms manner, me action me ui uie y" . , r ,  1 .
of the weight, transmitted by the wheels, accelerates the to have, supposing it elliptical and homogeneous,1
proper motion of the pendulum, during each descending to be in equihbno with the actual velocity o f ,
Gf oLXSTas much nearly L it retards it in the as- He thus found, tl,at denotmg by ? the observed ra» of to
cending half oscillation which follows. So that these op- centrifugal force to the force of gravity at the equator, tne
e.)
PENDULUM.
199
oblateness of the spheroid must be ; and as <p, from ob¬
servation, may be estimated for tlie earth at or at
5 1
(>00346031, there results the oblateness ^ <P = or
0*004325, a quantity much superior to the observed value,
000326, which shows that the terrestrial spheroid is not
homogeneous. But, as this element of measure had not as
yet been determined in the time of Newton, he could not
draw this consequence. He confined himself, therefore, to
the determination of the variations of gravity in the case of
the supposed homogeneity, and he found it, as it is in fact,
proportional to the square of the sine of the latitude. But
he erred in endeavouring to extend these determinations to
the case of any ellipsoid, composed of concentric strata of
unequal density. For, finding that the observations of the
pendulum gave the actual variation of gravity in proceed¬
ing from the equator to the pole, greater than the calcula¬
tion established for the case of homogeneity, he thought
that the oblateness ought to increase at the same time with
this variation, although the real measures of degrees have
since pointed out the inverse of this result; for they agreed
in giving a slighter oblateness than 0*004325, with a more
considerable variation of gravity. Clairault, in his admir¬
able work on the figure of the earth, was the first to point
out this error, which had escaped Newton ; and he demon¬
strated at the same time this remarkable theorem, that, in
all the hypotheses, the most probable that can be formed
regarding the density of the interior parts of the earth,
which must always be supposed most dense towards the
centre, there is always such a connection between the frac¬
tion which expresses the difference of the axes, and that
which expresses the diminution of gravity from the pole to
the equator, that, if the one of these two fractions exceeds
0*004325, the second will fall short of it by the same quan¬
tity ; so that their sum must be always equal to the double
of 0*004325, or to 0*00865. In this case, also, the length
of the seconds pendulum varies from the equator to the
pole, in proportion to the square of the sine of the latitude.
Thus, calling X this length at any latitude L, and A the
length at the equator itself, we have in general X = A + B
sin.2 L, B being a constant co-efficient, to be determined by
observation. It must be remarked, however, that this re¬
sult supposes the lengths of the pendulum to be observed
at the very surface of the terrestrial spheroid ; for, in re¬
ceding from this surface, although at the same latitude, the
intensity of gravity diminishes nearly in proportion to the
square of the distance from the centre, and consequently
the length of the pendulum must diminish according to
the same law*. Reciprocally, then, if we have observed
this length at any height h above the terrestrial surface,
and that we have found for it a value expressed by l, a
being the radius of the earth at this latitude, the length
reduced to the level of the sea will be or
/+ — +
a
Ih*
But this reduction may be simplified, by
considering that, on account of the small height to which
we can rise above the earth’s surface, - is always a fraction
a J
so excessively small, that the first power of it is sufficient
to be used. So that, limiting ourselves to this order of ap-
2hl
proxunation, the reduced length w*ill become l + —. The
a
„ m c .
Ierm *orms> then, the correction which the experiments
require that they may be reduced to the level of the sea,
and thus rendered comparable with each other. Such is, Pendulum,
in fact, the mode of reduction generally employed; but we
must remark, that it is itself subject to uncertainty. For
the mountains on which we ascend attract the pendulum by
virtue of their own mass ; in consequence of which, it be¬
comes necessary to pay attention to this attraction, that the
reductions may be made rigorously exact, instead of apply¬
ing the bare formula, which supposes the observations to
have been made in the open atmosphere. But this is an
inconvenience which is unavoidable; for it is impossible to
calculate exactly the peculiar attraction of the masses on
which we operate, since this would require the knowledge
of their relative density, and even of the arrangement of
the materials which enter into their composition. But, as
w*e cannot avoid this uncertainty, we must endeavour to
render it as small as possible, by making our observations
as near the level of the sea as we are able. We must then
x'ecollect, that, by ascribing at the highest station the whole
of the force of gravity to the sole and distant, action of the
earth, we suppose it to be more powerful than it really is.
So that, by reducing it, on this hypothesis, to what it would
really be if it had been observed at the level of the sea
itself, we commit a double error; the mountain’s own at¬
traction tending, in this second case, by its contrary direc¬
tion, to weaken the effect of gravity, which it had before
augmented. Fortunately, the excessive smallness of the
highest mountains, compared with the mass of the globe,
must diminish extremely their relative influence, and ren¬
der equally minute the errors which may arise from neglect¬
ing it.
To determine, now, the co-efficients A and B of the ge¬
neral formula, we shall employ the oblateness 0*00326, or
306*75 ’ M* Laplace has obtained by submitting to
a general and profound discussion the measures of the ter¬
restrial degrees, and the lunar inequalities depending on the
oblateness of the earth. We shall join to it the length of the
simple pendulum of sexagesimal seconds, found by Biot at
the station of Unst, a length which, we think, may be con¬
sidered as one of the most certain that has been observed;
first, because having been the last of the observations made
by Borda’s method, it must have been taken with all the
precautions suggested by preceding experiments; secondly,
on account of the great number of series from which it re¬
sults, these being fifty-six in number, and made with differ¬
ent rules, and pendulums of unequal lengths, which all
agreed in assigning for the definitive result values differing
excessively little from each other ; and, lastly, from the
perfect agreement which is found between it and the re¬
sults of the observations of Captain Kater. This single ab¬
solute length, together with the oblateness 0*00326, will
suffice for determining the two constant quantities A and
B of the general formula, which expresses the length of the
pendulum at any latitude. Now, according to this formu¬
la, the length of the pendulum at the equator, where L is
nothing, is equal to A, and at the pole, where L z= 90°, it
Jg
is A -f- B. So that — is the relation of the total variation
of the pendulum to its absolute length at the equator; a
ratio which is the same as that of the increments of gravity
to the absolute force of gravity itself. Adding, then, to
the oblateness 0*00326, we shall have, by the theorem of
Clairault, the following condition, “ + 0*00326 = 0*00865,
whence we obtain B = A*0*00539, and consequently X =r A
(1 -f 0*00539* sin.2L). Now we have seen above, that at
the station of Unst, in latitude 60° 45' 25", the length of
the sexagesimal seconds pendulum determined by the ob-
200
Pendulum.
PENDULUM.
serrations of Biot was 994*943105. The height of this
station was only 9’n above the level of the sea, which gives
for the reduction + (>"‘-0028! 8. Whence there results,
at the level , of the sea, the height 994-945923 Putting
this value, then, and that of L in the formula, the co-em-
m m
cient A is determined, and we find A = 990-879660, con-
sequcntly B = 5-340843 ; which gives for any latitude L,
990-879660+ 5-340841 sin2L.
If we wish to reduce this formula to English inches, all the
39*37079
terms must be multiplied by —j000 and then
in. *i. pen,f
39-0117150 + 0-2102732 sin.2 L. ^
Finally, if we wish to reduce it to the decimal pendulum
employed by the French observers in their calculations, we
(864 \2
’ the ratio of the deci¬
mal to the sexagesimal pendulum. We then have
mm mm
X=739-687686 +3-986917 sin.2 L.
If we calculate from this last formula the lengths of the
decimal pendulum for the stations where the French ob¬
servers have operated, from I ormentera to Unst, and com¬
pare them with their results, we obtain the following table.
Names of the
Places.
Unst 
Leith Fort.
Dunkirk —
Paris.
Clermont 
Bordeaux 
Figeac 
Formentera...
Names of the
Observers.
Biot.
Biot, Mudge.
Biot, Mathieu.
Biot,Mathieu, 1
Bouvard. j
Biot, Mathieu.
Biot, Mathieu.
Biot, Mathieu.
Biot, Arago, j
Chaix.
North Latitudes.
Length of the Decimal Pendulum at
the Level of the Sea.
By Calculation. By Observation
60° 45' 25"
55 58 37
2
51
10
48 50 14
45 46 48
44 50 26
44 36 45
38 39 56
m m
742-723136
742-426416
742-098066
741-947360
741-735412
741-670048
741-654181
741-243950
m m
742-723136
742-413435
742-077030
741-917490
741-705180
741-608720
741-612280
741-252000
Excess of Calcu¬
lation.
0-000000
+ 0-012981
+ 0-021036
+ 0029870
+ 0-030232
+ 0-061328
+ 0-041901
—0-008050
The progression of the deviations contained in the last
column of this table shows, in proceeding from the north
to the south, a progressive decrease of gravity, greater in
a slight degree than the elliptical figure requires ; a result
which had already been remarked in regard to Scotland
and England by Captain Kater. It may be observed here,
that the absolute value of this variation for Unst, Leith,
and Dunkirk, agrees exactly with that which Captain Kater
has found, or what could be deduced from his experiments.
But the same effect is observed to continue throughout
France, being most sensible at the station of Bordeaux.
It becomes less even at Figeac, situated more inland, and
on a more solid base. It again becomes nothing at For¬
mentera, where the deviation of the formula compared with
gmm
observation is — in a contrary direction, which would
seem rather to indicate a slight local excess in the intensity
of gravity. This singular anomaly, which is so stated, in
regard to the force of gravity, throughout the terrestrial arc
which extends over all this part of Europe, is, without
doubt, owing to peculiarities in the geological constitution
of the countries which are situate on it; and it appears by
this example, how well the observations of the pendulum
are adapted for pointing out the irregularities of this con¬
stitution. But, for this purpose, the observations must pos¬
sess so great a degree of exactness that the peculiar uncer¬
tainties to which they are liable may be, as we may suppose
they were in those which we have employed, much smaller
than the variations of constitution which they are intended
to indicate. Here it may be remarked, that the part of
France where these variations are the most sensible, are
precisely the same where there were found, by Delambre’s
observations, the greatest anomalies in the lengths of the
degrees.
From the preceding formulae may be deduced the varia¬
tion in the diurnal rate which a compound pendulum, of an
invariable form, must present when carried to different la¬
titudes. If we denote by N, N the number of oscillations
of this pendulum at two different stations, where the lengths
of the siipple seconds pendulum are X, X', we have shown
above that
X'
X'
whence N,z =—. N2
A
Now, calling L,
N'2
X N2:
L' the latitudes of the two stations, the above formulae give
the values of X and of X', as well as their relations; substi¬
tuting, then, these values in the preceding equation, we ob¬
tain N'2—S?n-2!- N2; an expression by means of
A + B sm.2 L
which we can calculate N' when we know N.
The total variation of gravity from the equator to the
pole is so inconsiderable that the difference between the
numbers N, N' is always very small compared with these
numbers themselves. This difference, then, is the element
which we must try to put in evidence in the formulae. But
nothing is easier ; for, if we denote it by n, so that N' is re¬
presented by N + «, the preceding equation will become
A + B sin.2 L' '
— A + Bsin.2L‘ *
Whence we deduce
B sin. (L' + L) sin. (L'— L)
- A + B sin.2 L
and resolving the value of N into a series,
B sin. (L' + L) sin. (L'— L) N
~ (A + 6 sin.2 L)
(L' + L) sin.2 (L' — L)
(A + B sin.2 L)2
But from the value of the oblateness which we have adopt¬
ed, we have seen that B is equal to 0-00539 A. Substi¬
tuting this value in our series, it becomes
+ 0-00539 N sin. (L' + L) sin. (L' — L)
J ~ ~ 2 (1 + 0-00539 sin.2 L)
) — 0-(
C 8(1 + 0-00539sin* L)2
The second term will be almost always insensible, and it
will be quite needless to take in any of the following ones.
To show the use of this formula, we shall apply it to the
following observations, which belong to the most distant
countries on the earth.
N2 + 2« N + w2
2mN +
N2
ici resolving tne va
f B sin. (L'j
_ ) —2 (A
” 1 — B2 sin.2
(_ 8,
   )
1-000029 N sin.2 (L' + L) sin.2 (L'— L) ^ I
T7I + 0-00539sin* L)2 ’ J
PENDULUM.
Ilum.
Names of the
Observers.
G. Graham & C.
Campbell, in
173 land 1732
Maupertuis,Clai
rault, Lemon
nier, 1738 
Names of the
Stations.
Graham, 1738..
Freycinet 
Sabine, 1818.
Sabine, 1820.
Jamaica 
London 
Paris 
Pello 
London  
Paris  
Rio Janeiro  
Cape of Good )
Hope  f
London 
Brassay 
Hare Island 
London 
Longitudes,
reckoned from
Greenwich.
Latitudes
76° 45' 15" W.
0 0 0
2 20 15 E.
0 0 0
2 20 15 E.
43 18 37 W.
Melville Island...
18 24
0 0
0 E.
0
0 0 0
110 49 0 W.
18° 0' 0"N.
51 31 0 N.
48 50 14 N.
66 48 0 N.
51 31 0 N.
48 50 14 N.
22 55 2 S.
33 55 15 S.
51 31 8 N.
60 9 42 N.
70 26 17 N.
51 31 8 N.
74 47 14 N.
Number of Oscilla¬
tions performed by
the Compound Pen¬
dulum in a Sidereal
Day, or in a mean
Solar Day, at the
same Temperature.
Variation
of the
Diurnal
Rate, by
Observa¬
tion.
Variation
of the
Diurnal
Rate, by
Calcula¬
tion:
Difference.
86283-0
86401-2
86394-4
86453-5
86402-1
89143-8
89048-8
89086-4
86497-40
86530-51
86562-64
86455-65
86530-38
118"-2
59 -1
51 -4
95 -0
57 -4
33 -11
65 -24
74 -73
119"-96
64 -70
53 -85
99 -43
61 -10
31 -82
62 -46
73 -93
—P-76
—5 -60
—2 -45
—4 -43
—3 -70
+ 1 -29
+ 2 -78
+ 0 -80
The experiments of Captain Sabine were made with two
pendulums applied to two different clocks, the results of
which have agreed very well in their relations. We have
only stated here the mean of these results. The observa¬
tions of Maupertuis, Clairault, and Lemonnier, were made
by a process of the same kind, but with a single clock by
Graham. In these two expeditions the observers produced
artificially at the second station the same temperature as at
the first. In the operation by Campbell, the same pains
were not taken; but in Bradley’s computations, an allow¬
ance was made according to the indications of the thermo¬
meters. The experiments of Captain Freycinet were made
on detached pendulums, the rate of which, first determined
by Arago, Mathieu, and himself, at the Royal Observatory
of Paris, was compared in the voyage with well-regulated
chronometers, making allowance, by calculation, for the
changes of temperature. The smallness and the irregula¬
rity of the differences which are found between the results
of these different experiments, and the numbers given by
the formula, show that the latter is the general expression
of them, modified only by the accidental variations which
may be occasioned in each place by small differences of
density in the neighbouring strata of the surface of the
earth. Ihe formula being grounded upon the oblateness
0-00326, or its agreement with the facts proves that
this value of the oblateness, if not rigorously exact, is at
least a very near approximation, and is, besides, common
to the two hemispheres of the globe, since the observations
of Captain Freycinet in the southern hemisphere, at the
Cape of Good Hope, are as correctly represented by it as
the observations made in the northern hemisphere. This
puts an end, then, to the notion entertained after the mea¬
surement of the degree by Lacaille in this part of the globe,
that the southern hemisphere was more oblate than the
northern ; a notion, however, already much weakened by
the agreement of the oblateness observed in this latter he¬
misphere, with that which was deduced from the inequali-
ties of the moon ; since the motion of this satellite must be
influenced by the mean of the two ellipticities, if they were
liferent ; but it was nevertheless of consequence to see
tns suspicion wholly extinguished, as it is now by Freyci¬
net s observations.
The general experiments on the length of the pendulum
VOL. XVII.
wt
201
Pendulum'
which we have above described, being verified by the dif¬
ferent observations by which we have compared them, will
serve to determine the intensity of gravity, whether abso¬
lute or relative, on any of the places of the terrestrial globe.
For, calling X the length of the simple pendulum, which
makes its oscillations in a second of time in a given place,
and denoting by g the double of the space which gravity
makes bodies describe in their fall in the same place, and
during the same interval of a second, the fundamental for¬
mula of oscillations, infinitely small, gives 1
sequently g — ^X, * being the ratio of the circumference
to the diameter, or 3-14159. But we have already given
for any latitude the value of \ expressed in millimetres and
in English inches, taking for the unity of time either the
decimal or the sexagesimal second. Multiplying these ex¬
pressions by the square of v, we shall have the value of g
for the same latitude, and the same kind of unity of time
which may be chosen.
It may be objected, that we have not made use of the
lengths of the simple pendulum observed under the equator
by Bouguer, and detailed in his work on the figure of the
earth. The reason is, that, notwithstanding the ability
of Bouguer as a philosopher and an observer, and the in¬
finite pains which he took in his measurements of the pen¬
dulum, it appears to us, on account of the nature of the
processes he made use of, that they are too inexact to be
employed with advantage. The method of Bouguer con¬
sisted in forming a sort of simple pendulum, with a very
small weight suspended to a stem, the other extremity of
which was attached to a pincer fixed into a solid wall. He
made this little pendulum always of the same length, by
comparing it with an iron rule, which served him for a
standard; after which he determined the value of its oscil¬
lations by comparing its rate with that of a clock regulated
by the heavens. But M. Laplace has justly remarked,
that the bending of the stem at the point of suspension,
where it is inserted into the pincer, must produce the same
effect on the oscillations as a contraction in the wire; so
that the length, measured in a state of repose, must be too
great, and would appear to give the pendulum too long.
This effect, indeed, must have been produced on all the
lengths given by Bouguer, since they were all observed in
the same manner. From that it would seem that these ob-
2 c
202
PENDULUM.
Pendulum, servations might at least be employed in comparison with
' 'each other, and in that case give exact ratios. But the
process by which Bouguer judged of the length ol his little
pendulum, and compared it with his standard rule, appears
to us not accurate enough for giving a sufficient certainty
in his results. For it consisted in laying this rule close to
the pendulum, placing its upper end in contact with the
point, and judging of its equality by the eye, in comparing
it with the pendulum at its lower extremity. But no one,
bv such an operation, can answer for an exactness greater
than T^nths of a line. Now ^ths of a line being equal
to -J-th of a millimetre, such an error, with the methods
now* actually employed, would be accounted gross, and such
indeed as, with the least attention, it is quite impossible to
commit. These results cannot, then, be compared with the
observations which are made now ; and, unfortunately, the
same remark applies with equal justice to the measure¬
ments of the absolute lengths of the pendulum which were
made about the same period, as well in France as in vari¬
ous other parts of the globe. We think it extremely pro¬
bable, that to the want of exactness in the methods em¬
ployed at that time may be ascribed, at least in a great
measure, the strange anomalies observed by Grischow in
the lengths of the pendulum, in the neighbourhood of St
Petersburg, between stations very little distant from each
other; anomalies so much more justly suspected, since the
different instruments employed by Grischow to establish
them are far from agreeing with each other. Neverthe¬
less, for removing entirely all suspicion with regard to a
point so important, it would be a useful undertaking to re¬
peat these experiments in the same places where Grischow’s
observations were made; employing for this purpose our
present much more accurate methods. (s. s. s. s.)
Much has been done in this department of science since
the preceding part of this article, which was written by M.
Biot for the Supplement to the sixth edition of this work,
was published. This took place not long after a most im¬
portant addition had been made both to the instruments of
research and to the methods of experimenting, by the in¬
vention, or at least the construction and application, of the
convertible pendulum.
IV. DETACHED PENDULUMS.
Although Professor Bohnenberger, in a treatise on as¬
tronomy, published at Tubingen in the year 1811, had
suggested that the length of the seconds pendulum might
be obtained by means of Huygens’s theorem, yet he seems
to have done nothing towards putting the scheme in prac¬
tice ; nor had any notice of such a suggestion reached
Captain Kater till fully eight years after he had devised
and executed his valuable experiments, as described in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1818. These form a new era
in the history of the pendulum, and have greatly increased
the interest and importance which, only a few years before,
had begun to be attached to researches on this subject,
and which have ever since continued to increase. This is
evinced, not only by the repeated and valuable labours of
several of the most distinguished mathematicians and ex¬
perimentalists of the present age, but also by the numerous
scientific voyages that have been undertaken by various
governments, with the view of ascertaining and comparing
the results of different pendulum experiments made in va¬
rious parts of the world, and thence to determine the true
figure of the earth. The most valuable and extensive ex¬
periments of this sort are those made by Major Sabine and
those by the late Captain Henry Foster, in almost every
practicable latitude, and embracing a greater variety and
range of temperature than those of any other experimen¬
talist. As is the usual method among the English experi-Pen
menters, invariable pendulums, which had been first ob-
served in London to ascertain the number of vibrations
made there per day, were afterwards observed in the same
manner at all the stations, and similarly again on returning
to London. In this manner, without regarding the abso¬
lute force of gravity at any one place, the proportion of it
at different places is found probably with greater accuracy
than by any other method. With the French philosophers,
however, it is more usual to observe the absolute length
of the seconds, pendulum at every station. In this manner
they have experimented in a great variety of places ; but
in some cases they have also employed invariable pendiir
lums, which are the same with those called pendulums of
comparison” in the preceding article; for the term inva¬
riable does not refer to any compensation for temperature,
&c., but merely implies that the effective length is never
interfered with, by shifting or altering the positions or mag¬
nitudes of any of the parts. In this way the results at dif¬
ferent stations are more capable of being compared.
It is not many years since such results, especial!} the
number of vibrations which are made in a mean solar day,
whether by the same or by different pendulums, were con¬
sidered as strictly comparable with each other, provided
only they were reduced, by means of certain hypothetical
rules, to what it was believed they should have been under
the following circumstances : ls£, at the mean level of the
sea ; 2rf, in a vacuum ; in indefinitely small arcs ; and,
4^/j, at a common standard of temperature.
The late Dr Thomas Young, however, at length demon¬
strated that the formerly-received formula for the reduc¬
tion to the level of the sea is in most cases too great. M.
Bessel next questioned the old formula for the reduction to
a vacuum, as having the contrary fault of being too small.
This he had inferred from some very far-fetched experi¬
ments ; but that the old correction was really too small,
has since been amply confirmed by the direct experiments
of Major Sabine and Mr Baily. In this reduction to a va¬
cuum they had all to a certain extent been anticipated by
the Chevalier Du Buat, who has treated the question ex¬
perimentally, and at great length, though in a much less
satisfactory manner, in his Principes d Hydraulique, second
edition, 1786, and third edition, 1816. But his researches
having appeared before any great interest had been taken
in this question, they were till lately almost totally over¬
looked and unknown. The like may be said of some hints
given by Newton, and well deserving of notice, in his Prin-
cipia, lib. ii. prop. 27, cor. 2. Fortunately, this defect in the
old formula for the reduction to a vacuum has not been
productive of any considerable errors in the determinations
of the proportions of the force of gravity at different places.
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1831, Major Sabine
has described a variety of experiments, which have led him
to question the accuracy of the usual formula for the reduc¬
tion to indefinitely small arcs. He had previously, in his
work on the figure of the earth, pointed out the discordant
results arising from the use of different agate planes with the
same knife-edge; and had also stated his decided opinion on
the powerful effects of certain geological strata, or even of
an increase of buildings, in the immediate neighbourhood of
the pendulum. MrBaily, again, in the Philosophical liansac-
tions for 1832, has gone much farther, in having pointed out
great discordances between experiments executed with the
same knife-edge of the same pendulum, and on the same
plane. He likewise acknowledges, that to whatever cause the
observed anomalies may be owing, he has, during a long
course of experiments on various pendulums, at different
seasons of the year, and under a variety of circumstances,
frequently met with discordances that have baffled every
attempt at explanation by any of the known laws applica¬
ble to the subject; and other persons, also, who have had
1
P E N D U L U M.
203
ulum. much practice in such experiments, have occasionally met
' with anomalies for which they have been as unable to ac¬
count. As it is desirable, however, that these difficulties
should be cleared up, if possible, and as every information
connected with so important a subject, founded on such
delicate experiments, must add to our means of removing
them, we shall by and by give a summary account of the
results of a variety of experiments made by Major Sabine
and Mr Baily, with pendulums of various forms and con¬
structions, immediately bearing on the discordances in ques¬
tion.
It is evident that till two pendulums can be constructed
which will always give precisely the same results, cleared
of all these discordances, the important problem of deter¬
mining the length of the simple pendulum cannot be con¬
sidered as fully solved ; neither can the observations made
by different experimentalists, in different parts of the globe,
with different pendulums, be strictly and directly compa¬
rable with each other. We have, it is true, two pendu¬
lums, differing widely in form and construction, and yet
agreeing surprisingly in their results, viz. Borda’s and Ka-
ter’s. But although this evinces the talent and skill of
the distinguished persons who made the experiments, it
should not be forgotten that the reductions to a vacuum
were, in both cases, made agreeably to the old formula;
and that since the date of M. Bessel’s important researches
on this subject, which indicate the necessity of revising the
computations of all preceding experiments, no rigid com¬
parison of the results has yet been repeated. The amount
of the additional corrections for Borda’s pendulum and for
that of Kater differ materially, as will be shown in the se¬
quel, so that we are as yet ignorant whether the results of
any two pendulums that have ever been differently con¬
structed are in strict accordance with each other ; nor, un¬
til this is practically accomplished and repeated, can the
true length of the seconds pendulum be considered as satis¬
factorily determined.
[edition It had long been the practice to make allowance for the
fIlevel height of any station above the level of the sea, without
<i ;ea- taking into account the attraction of the elevated parts
themselves. Dr Young showed that this was far from being
correct; but no one has yet been able to estimate the ex¬
act amount of the error, nor is it likely ever to be attained.
It is, however, obvious, that if we were raised on a sphere
of earth a mile in diameter, its attraction would be about
of that of the whole globe ; and instead of a reduc¬
tion of in the force of gravity, we should obtain only
3-^, or three fourths as much. Nor is it at all probable
that the attraction of any hill a mile in height would be so
small as this, even supposing it to have been only two thirds
the mean density of the earth. That of a hemispherical
hill of the same height would be fully one half more than
the sphere, or would exceed its attraction in the ratio of
1-586 to 1. And it may be easily shown that the attrac¬
tion of a large tract of table-land, considered as an exten¬
sive flat stratum a mile in thickness, would be three times
that of a sphere a mile in diameter, or about twice as great
as that of such a sphere having the mean density of the
earth ; so that for a place so situated the allowance for ele¬
vation would be reduced to one half; and, in almost any
country that could be chosen for the experiment, it must
remain less than three fourths of the whole correction de¬
duced immediately from the reciprocals of the squares of
the distances from the earth’s centre. From Dr Young’s
view of the subject, it also appears that the correction for
the elevation above the sea will vary, according to the na¬
ture of the eminence, and also its density, from one half to
three fourths of the quantity which it was customary to de¬
duce from the inverse ratio of the squares of the distances
from the earth’s centre. Thus, if the mean density of the Pendulum,
earth be taken at 5-5, and that of the matter surrounding v—
the station at 2*5, the quantity deduced from the duplicate
distances should be multiplied by to obtain the correc¬
tion for a table-land, and by for that of an eminence of
moderate declivity. (Philosophical Transactions for 1819.)
Perhaps some estimate might be formed of the local ef¬
fects of a cavity, or of a circumscribed mass of any pecu¬
liar density, and hid under the surface, by swinging the
pendulum at several places around the principal station, and
not far from it; and it might even throw some light on the
subject to swing the pendulum both in the plane of the me¬
ridian and at right angles to it.
In 1824 a series of pendulum experiments was made by
Carlini at the summit of Mont Cenis, to ascertain the di¬
minution of gravity at the height of a geographical mile, as
detailed in the Milan Ephemeris. He obtained for the mean
density of the earth 4-39 ; but the changes which experi¬
ment has shown to be necessary on the elements of reduc¬
tion throw some doubt on its value Mont Cenis is pecu¬
liarly favourable for such experiments, as it forms nearly a
segment of a sphere, of which the chord is about eleven
geographical miles, and the versed sine one mile. It con¬
sists of calcareous rocks whose mean density is 2-66. The
mountain Schehallien, on the attraction of which Maske-
lyne and Hutton made experiments, has since then under¬
gone a mineralogical survey; and from the more correct
data so obtained some alteration lias been made on the ori¬
ginal numerical results. The calculations of Cavendish’s
experiments on attraction were also corrected by the late
Dr C. Hutton, as detailed in the Philosophical Magazine
for July 1821. Professor Reich of Freyberg has recently
repeated Cavendish’s experiment, though in some respects
on a smaller scale ; for the larger leaden sphere was only
7-75 inches in diameter, and he used only one such sphere
at a time. The result gave 5-44 for the mean density of
the earth, and an iron ball of the same size gave 5-43. Ca¬
vendish’s experiment is also about to be repeated in this
country, and a new proposal will be noticed afterwards.
Newton and Du Buat had, as already mentioned, made Reduction
it plain that the air affects in several ways the motions ofto a va-
pendulums ; and more recently M. Bessel has called atten-cuum*
tion to the subject by his very interesting work on the pen¬
dulum,1 in which he has shown that the usual formula for
the reduction to a vacuum, as far as the specific gravity of
the moving body is concerned, is very defective, and by no
means expresses the whole of the correction which ought
to be applied ; in fact, that a quantity of air is also set in
motion by and adheres to the pendulum (varying according
to its form and construction), and thus a compound pendu¬
lum is in all cases produced, the specific gravity of which
will be much less than that of the metal itself. He ob¬
serves, that if we denote by m the mass of a body moving
through a fluid, and by m! the mass of the fluid displaced
thereby, the accelerating force acting on the body has,
• • 'flu ■
since the time of Newton, been considered equal to — .
This formula is founded on the assumption that the moving
force which the body undergoes, and which is denoted by
m — m!, is confined to the mass m. But it must be distri¬
buted not only over the moving body, but on all the par¬
ticles of the fluid set in motion by that body, and conse¬
quently the denominator of the expression denoting the ac¬
celerating force must necessarily be greater than m. M.
Bessel then enters into a mathematical investigation of the
principles from which the results of his experiments are de¬
duced, and at length concludes, that a fluid of very small
density surrounding a pendulum has no other influence on
1 Untersuchungen uber die Lange des einfachen Sccun&enpendels, 4to, Berlin, 1828.
204
PENDULUM,
Pendulum, the duration of the vibrations than that it diminishes its
v—**~gravity and increases the momentum of inertia. When the
increase in the motion of the fluid is proportional to the
arc of vibration of the pendulum, this increase of the mo¬
mentum of inertia is very nearly constant: in all other
cases it will depend on the magnitude ot that arc.
In the Memoires de VAcademic, tome xi. 1832, and in the
Connaissance des Terns for 1834, Baron Poisson has endek-
voured to investigate the relations between the simultaneous
movements of a pendulum and the surrounding air, and has
deduced that the loss of weight of a sphere exceeds by one
half the weight of air it displaces. Such investigations are,
however, unavoidably mixed up with assumptions. The
resistance of the air to a ball pendulum has also been con¬
sidered by M. Plana, in a memoir published at Turin in
1835, in which the case of an incompressible fluid is first
discussed, and then that of an elastic fluid ; and from both
the author concludes, as Poisson had done, that the loss of
weight of the sphere exceeds by just one half the weight
of the fluid it displaces. The question, however, has not
yet received a satisfactory solution, since theory has hither¬
to failed to account for one of the leading circumstances of
the case, viz. that the co-efficient of resistance is different
for spheres of different diameters. This difference, it ap¬
pears, would equally exist whether the balls vibrated in a
confined apparatus or in free air. The vibrations of a pen¬
dulum in fluid media have likewise been investigated by
Mr Green, in the Transactions of the Royal Society ot
Edinburgh, vol. xiii.
In the theoretical researches on this question, it does
not seem to be considered, that since each vibration of a
pendulum in air tends to create a current of that fluid,
the usual reduction to a vacuum was much too small. The Pend
first method, which he considered the preferable one, gaveN
1-956, and the second 1-625, as the factor by which the old
formula should be multiplied, in order to obtain the true
correction. To such experiments we can attach very little
importance, because these numbers are still reached nearly
as much through the medium of a hypothesis as the old for¬
mula. What the swinging of a ball in water has to do with
the rate of a pendulum in a vacuum, we cannot pretend to
see. The experiments of Du Buat were very similar to
those of M. Bessel, but if possible still more objectionable.
The old correction for reducing the number of vibra- Old (:,
tions to a vacuum had been deduced from the relative rectio
weights of the air and of the pendulum by means of the
formula
N x s' ,\ x T x 1+ (a+ ^.)((’-«)’
f
where N is the number of vibrations in a mean solar day,
S the specific gravity of the pendulum, o’ the specific gra¬
vity of air, [i the expansion of mercury, and a the expan¬
sion of air for one degree, /3' the height of the barometer,
and t' the temperature during the experiments, /3 and t the
standard pressure and temperature for computing the spe¬
cific gravities. But in this, S ought not, as hitherto, to de¬
note the mean specific gravity, as determined in the usual
manner, for the pendulum, when at rest, if it consists of
several parts, whose specific gravities are different; for in
all such cases we should compute the vibrating specific
gravity of the mass in the following manner. Let d', d", d"\
&c. denote the distance of the centre of gravity of each
against which it is to return in the succeeding vibration, body respectively from the axis of suspension (these being
1 * ' positive if below, and negative if above it) ; w', w”, wm, &c.
the alternating motion of the pendulum must subject it to
a very different and much greater resistance from the air
than if its motion were continuous and not reciprocating.
But on what principles a formula could be framed to ex¬
press the velocity and mass of such currents, or their resist¬
ance, we cannot pretend to say. No doubt, if the space in
which the pendulum vibrates be very confined, that will
farther affect the result. Such considerations seem to set
at defiance every attempt at framing any thing beyond an
empirical formula for these reductions.
But those experiments and researches, though very im¬
perfect, are sufficient to show that the amount of the cor¬
rection will not only vary according to the size, figure,
weight, and density of the moving body, but also, that in
the case of the convertible pendulum (except, perhaps,
when it makes the fewest vibrations possible) the correc¬
tion will not be the same for the two knife-edges, and con¬
sequently that a pendulum which has been made converti¬
ble in air, will not be so when tried in a vacuum. It be¬
comes, therefore, of importance to know how far the dif¬
ferently constructed pendulums used by various experi¬
mentalists are affected by this newly-discovered principle,
in order that their results may be strictly comparable with
each other. The amount of the required correction, how¬
ever, cannot in the present state of the question, and most
probably never will, be determined by calculation founded
on any satisfactory theory, but must for every pendulum
be ascertained by actual experiment. The most direct,
and perhaps the only certain method of effecting this, ap¬
pears to be by swinging the pendulum in a vacuum ; al¬
though M. Bessel himself, on account of some undefinable
doubts which he entertained regarding it, adopted two
other and very different methods of experimenting for this
purpose. The first was by swinging in air one sphere of
brass and another of ivory, each being about 2-14 inches in
diameter, and suspended by a fine steel wire; the other
method consisted in swinging the same brass sphere, first
in air and then in water. The results persuaded him that
the weight in the air of each body; s', s", s'", &c. their
specific gravities determined in the usual manner. Then will
the required vibrating specific gravity of the pendulum be
_ idd! + add!' + wwd<» + , &c.
S —
w'd’ , id'd" , ic'"dr"
+
+ ,&c.
which is Professor Airy’s formula.
The other parts of the above formula forming the old
correction are so far erroneous, that no account is taken of
the effect of the air set in motion by and accompanying
the pendulum, as if adhering thereto; and which is now
found to influence the result very materially. Mr Baily
thinks, that in the case of the gridiron pendulum, it may
be a matter of doubt whether the air between the vertical
rods may not diminish their specific gravity, when consi¬
dered as a vibrating body.
Early in the year 1828, a proposal was made to the late Majors
Bojird of Longitude, that, on account of the uncertainty in
the extent of the defects which M. Bessel had discovered11111
in the old formula for reducing the vibrations of a pendu¬
lum in air to what they should be in a vacuum, it w ould
be of great importance to submit the question to the most
direct experiment, by the construction of an apparatus in
which a pendulum might be alternately vibrated in air of
full atmospheric pressure, and in air rarefied nearly to a
vacuum. This proposal having been favourably entertain¬
ed by the Board, orders were given for fitting up an appa¬
ratus for this purpose at the public expense, and which was
ably executed by Mr Newman, under the direction of Ma¬
jor Sabine, by whom it was to be used ; but, that it might
also be useful to others who might wish to avail them¬
selves of it for similar purposes, a place w as allotted for it in
the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. This apparatus, or
chamber for forming the vacuum, consists principally of
six pieces, exclusive of the iron frame by which the sus¬
pension is fixed securely to the w all of the apartment. The
PENDULUM.
205
[lain, pedestal, which has a broad exterior base, is of cast-iron,
^—•''forming a cylindric dish one foot wide within, and the
same in depth ; and from a hole in its side proceeds a
pipe, which communicates with an air-pump, but can be
closed at pleasure by a stop-cock. The three next pieces
of the chamber rising in succession above the pedestal are
open-ended glass cylinders, each being fifteen inches in
depth, and slightly tapering upwards. These and the pe¬
destal have their rims ground to fit upon one another.
The suspension-piece, which is the next above the three
glasses, is a metal plate, having holes to receive the screws
of the bed containing the agate planes, and to admit the
pendulum to its place. It is surrounded by a circular me¬
tal ring, the outside of which forms a part of the exterior
of the apparatus, and the upper and lower surfaces are
ground so as to form close joints with the rim of the glass
cylinder beneath, and with a bell-glass, which is the sixth
piece, closing in the top of the chamber. The ring sur¬
rounding the suspension plate is perforated, to admit,
through a stuffing-box, a screw, which acts on an inclined
plane beneath the Y’s, serving to raise the pendulum by
means of the Y’s, and to lower it again on the planes. The
pedestal cylinder is also perforated, to admit, through a
stuffing-box, a wire with a cross piece at the extremity, for
the purpose of stopping or of giving fresh impulse to the
pendulum. A clock was placed about eighteen inches be¬
hind the centre of the apparatus, and the coincidences of
the two pendulums were observed by means of a telescope
about sixteen feet distant. A detached diaphragm, having
a vertical opening, the sides of which, viewed from the te¬
lescope, were tangents to the disc on the pendulum of the
clock, was placed between the apparatus and that disk.
The pendulum was first vibrated in air of full pressure,
then in rarefied air, and lastly in that of full pressure.
A mean being then taken between the two series in the
air, was compared with that in the rarefied medium. The
result was thus independent of the daily rate of the clock.
It was also carefully ascertained, by experiments made on
purpose, that, with a free communication between the in¬
terior of the apparatus and the external air, the pendu¬
lum made just the same number of vibrations as when the
glasses were removed altogether.
The following table contains the final results ; but for the
details we beg to refer to the Philosophical Transactions
for 1829, where they are given at great length.
No.
| Tempe- Inc]les_
rature.
Inches.
72°
69
35
32
36
35
38
41
7-08
1- 71
2- 38
3- 59
0-653
14-116
22-765
27-721
27-459
26-138
29- 109
16-080
30- 193
30-113
Vibra¬
tions.
7-38
9-065
9-54
9-17
10-38
5-705
10-525
10-560
Vibra- Differ-
tions. ence.
7-42
9-08
9-66
9-26
10-24
5-65
10-575
10-48
+ •05
+ •015
+ •12
+ •09
—•14
—•055
+ •05
—•08
Means
45 -17
26-197
9-042 ! 9-046
+ •005
The third column is the pressure w ithin the apparatus by
the gauge; the fourth the difference between that of the
barometer and the third ; the fifth the observed retardation,
or the difference between the number of vibrations made
per day under the full pressure and that in column third ;
the sixth the retardation by calculation ; and the seventh
their difference.
In the seventh and eighth experiments, a near approach
had been made to a vacuum by repeatedly filling the ap¬
paratus with hydrogen, and then exhausting it as far as
practicable. At the same time experiments were made on
the rate of the pendulum in hydrogen having the full at- Pendulum,
mospheric pressure, for the purpose of comparing it with v——'
the rate in air. From one experiment, it appeared that at
the same height of the barometer, 30-193 inches, the pen¬
dulum made 8-515 vibrations per day more in hydrogen
than in air, the temperature of the gas being 39°-32, and
of the air 38°-l. From another experiment it appeared,
first, that at nearly equal heights of the barometer (30-120
for hydrogen, and 30-113 for air), the pendulum made 8-56
vibrations more in hydrogen at 39°-75, than in air at 41°-25 ;
second, that it made 1-95 vibration per day more in hydrogen
of 0-872 inch pressure, than when the pressure of the gas
was 30-120. Hence 1-95 vibration corresponds to a dif¬
ference of 29-248 inches pressure of hydrogen, and, there¬
fore, two vibrations per day will be the reduction to a va¬
cuum for hydrogen of thirty inches pressure at 40°. The
retardation of the pendulum in air is to that in hydrogen as
10-41 to two, and as 10-55 to two, when both are reduced
to the same pressure and temperature; the mean being as
5-24 to one nearly. Now, the densities of air and hydrogen
being nearly as thirteen to one, shows that the retardation
in different elastic fluids is not in the simple ratio of their
densities. Major Sabine supposes it to indicate an inhe¬
rent property in the elastic fluids, analogous to that of visci¬
dity in liquids, of resistance to the motion of bodies passing
through them independently of their density.
But perhaps a less hypothetical reason might be given
why hydrogen gas should occasion a greater retardation
than one thirteenth that of air of full pressure. The retar¬
dation of air in these experiments appears to be as its den¬
sity ; thus, for example, air rarefied thirteen times should
only offer one thirteenth of the retardation of air of full
pressure. Now, it has been shown in the article Hygro-
metry, vol. xii. page 118, that the specific heat of a given
volume of air is as its density ; so that air which is thirteen
times rarer will emit only one thirteenth as much heat on
being compressed. But, from Dr Haycraft’s experiments,
it appears that, under equal volumes, pressures, and tem¬
peratures, hydrogen and air have equal specific heats. Con¬
sequently hydrogen of full pressure, on being compressed
by the motion of the pendulum, will emit thirteen times
more heat than air equally rare would do on being so com¬
pressed ; and the like may be said of any cold due to the
rarefaction occasioned by the motion of the pendulum.
Here, it is true, the changes of temperature in the two
gases themselves would still be equal, were it not that the
materials of the apparatus will have far more power to
check any fluctuations or undulations of temperature in the
rarefied air than in the hydrogen, which is thirteen times
better supplied with sensible heat, and which, therefore,
having the equilibrium between the temperatures of its
different parts more disturbed by the motions of the pen¬
dulum, will be thereby put into a state of greater commo¬
tion than the rarefied air, and consequently will so much
the more disturb the free motion of the pendulum.
From the mean of the results in the above table w e have
9-042 vibrations per day as the reduction to a vacuum of
the invariable pendulum vibrating in air of 45° under a
pressure of 26-2 inches, and consequently in the same pro¬
portion we have 10-36 vibrations under a pressure of thirty
inches ; but which, if reduced to 32°, by multiplying it by
448 + 45
448 + 32’
as explained below, will be
10-64 vibrations^
As we have no information regarding the humidity of the
air when Major Sabine made his experiments, we have taken
it to be perfectly dry, which it never is. The old “ correc¬
tion for buoyancy,” as formerly computed, would have been
6-26 vibrations, which is less than 10-36 in the ratio of one
to 1-655, and less than 10-64 in the ratio of one to 1-7.
Now, from the principles developed in the article Hy-
20f)
PENDULUM.
Pendulum. GEOMETRY, vol. xii. p. 131, it appears that if the specific
' gravity of dry air under the pressure P and at the Fahren¬
heit temperature T be reckoned unit, the specific gravity
of a mixture of air and aqueous vapour whose joint pres¬
sure is p and temperature t will be
P
•375/ T + 448
p X t + 448’
where f is the force of the vapour. If, therefore, the re¬
duction to a vacuum, which amounts to 10-36 vibrations
when P = 30 and T = 45°, vary as the density of the me¬
dium, it will in all cases be
p--375/ x x io-36 = x 10'64-
Hence, when p = 30 inches and t = 80°, the reduction
will be diminished about an eightieth part by the presence
of aqueous vapour in a state of saturation, for then/— 1
inch. However, from the circumstance that hydrogen, com¬
pared with air, requires a greater reduction than in the ra¬
tio of the density, something of the sort may in a slight
degree belong to aqueous vapour. It is farther to be ob¬
served, that the constant factor of the above correction ap¬
plies to the invariable pendulum used by Major Sabine ; and
that almost every pendulum of a different form or con¬
struction will require a different number. A table of these
is given on next page. . .. .
That part of the difference between the old and new
corrections which is occasioned by barometric variations,
must be extremely small in all cases of comparison between
stations which differ little in their heights above the level
of the sea. The specific gravity of an invariable brass pen¬
dulum being about 8-4, an inch in the barometer will corre¬
spond in buoyancy to about 0-21 of a vibration a day, which,
multiplied by 0-65, is about 0-14 vibration. In the compari¬
son of tropical and extratropical stations, the barometer, in
the middle and high latitudes, is liable to fluctuate an inch
and more from the mean height, which is uniform, or nearly
so, within the tropics ; but as the observations generally in¬
clude several days at each station, and as, in proportion to
their continuance, the barometer will approximate to its
mean height, it will be found that a difference of half an
inch in the barometric height at two stations is a rare oc¬
currence. The correction for this is not more than 0-07 of
a vibration to be added to the daily number at the station
where the barometer was highest. 1 he liability to error
from variations of temperature at different stations is, how¬
ever, far more considerable than from variations of pres¬
sure ; sufficiently so, indeed, to become in some cases in¬
fluential on the ellipticity deduced. A difference of 40° of
Fahrenheit between the temperatures in the tropics and
the high latitudes is by no means unfrequent; and as 16°
Fahrenheit are nearly equivalent in their influence on the
density of the air to one inch of the barometer, the error in
such a case may amount to 0-52 X 0-65 — 0-34 of a vi¬
bration per day. Moreover, as the difference of tempera¬
ture is always in favour of the tropical stations, the error
will be of a constant nature, unlike the greater part of the
small irregularities to which pendulum experiments are
liable, and which may compensate themselves by the mul¬
tiplication of the experiments. . .
The correction for the expansion or contraction of an in¬
variable pendulum is sometimes derived from pyrometric
experiments; but as these are apt to give rather uncertain
results, it is more accurate to ascertain, by direct experi¬
ments,’the difference in the number of vibrations which the
pendulum makes in extreme temperatures. This was the
method followed by Major Sabine, who found the correc¬
tion for a brass pendulum to be about 0-44 of a vibration
per day for each degree of I' ahrenheit; but this depends
on the particular materials of which the pendulum is formed.
The experiments of Captain Kater were made, as is well Pend;
known, in the free air, and its influence in retarding the
vibrations, and thereby interfering with the effect of gra¬
vity, was only computed and allowed for on the old principle
then generally received, but now known to be erroneous.
To clear up this point, Major Sabine, at Captain Rater’s
request, undertook to ascertain, by direct experiment, with
the apparatus above described, the actual acceleration which
his pendulum would exhibit in a vacuum ; and especially
to determine what influence the wooden tail-pieces might
have had on the original results. For, in the account of
Captain Rater’s experiments, it is recorded, that on the air
suddenly becoming drier, the number of vibrations, which
had previously been the same in both positions of the pen¬
dulum, ceased to be so ; an effect which he attributed to
the wooden tail-pieces losing weight by becoming drier.
Major Sabine having removed the pendulum to the Royal
Observatory, commenced by ascertaining its rate upon both
knife-edges, in its original form unaltered, first in air of full
pressure, and then in the vacuum apparatus nearly ex¬
hausted. The like experiments were repeated with the
wooden tail-pieces reduced from their original length of
seventeen inches to 6-4 inches, the moveable weights being
altered to restore the equality of vibration. The wooden
tail-pieces were next entirely removed, and brass ones seven
inches long substituted for them, the weights being again
altered to restore the convertibility. Lastly, the brass tail¬
pieces, together with the larger moveable weight, were en¬
tirely removed; and a part was filed from the heavy end,
to enable the small slider to restore the convertibility.
The following are the results in the four different forms,
and for both positions of the pendulum. With the wooden
tail-pieces of their original length, and with the heavy end
above, the daily acceleration over that in air having a pres¬
sure of thirty inches and temperature 49°, was 16-1 vibra¬
tions ; and with the heavy end below, 15-7 vibrations. With
wooden tail-pieces of 6-4 inches, and heavy end above,
at 53°-5, the acceleration was 14-9 vibrations; below, 12-4.
With brass tail-pieces, and heavy end above, at 60°, it was
12-8; below, 11-8. Lastly, without any tail-pieces, and
heavy end above, at 57°-4, it was 13*7 ; below, 12-1. But in
all of these the actual difference of pressure having been
rather less than thirty inches, an allowance was made for it
by simple proportion. The details are given at great length
in the Philosophical Transactions for 1829 and 1831.
Major Sabine considers it a fortunate circumstance that
Captain Rater had used the wooden tail-pieces just of the
very sort and size as they happened to be in his original
experiments, as by that means his pendulum in its original
state was almost as nearly convertible in vacuo as in air.
But in making this remark, Major Sabine seems to have
forgotten what he had just before mentioned regarding the
great effect which a change of dryness was found to have
in deranging the convertibility. For if, as there is every
reason to believe, the wood became much drier in vacuo
from evaporating its moisture, we should be very apt to
doubt the accuracy of any experiments upon, or of any com¬
parison between, the rates of the pendulum in air and in
vacuo, while so changeable a material as wood entered into
its composition.
Mr Baily being also desirous of ascertaining, by a more Mr Be
direct process than that of M. Bessel, the true value of the
correction for the numerous and various pendulums in his"1611
possession, and considering the subject to be otherwise of
importance to science, resolved to devote some time to ex¬
amine it more minutely, and for this purpose had a vacuum
apparatus fitted up, but which is of a much simpler con¬
struction than that erected in the Royal Observatory at
Greenwich, as already described. It consists of a brass cy¬
lindrical tube about five feet long and six and a half inches
in diameter, rounded at the bottom, and soldered at the
PENDULUM.
Jam. top to a thick iron frame, on which the agate planes rest.
rw'But the confined dimensions of this tube proved a serious
inconvenience, as it could not admit Kater’s and some other
pendulums. The iron frame is firmly screwed and fastened
to solid mahogany beams fixed to the walls in the corner
of a room remarkable for its uniform temperature. The
upper surface of this iron frame is ground perfectly plain,
and is surmounted with a moveable bell-glass. The brass
tube has two small glazed openings or windows, cut in op¬
posite sides, for the purpose of observing the arc of vibra¬
tion, and the coincidences with the pendulum of the clock,
which is placed behind. The lower part of the tube is se-
207
cured also by cross beams, to prevent any lateral motion. Pendulum.
In other respects this apparatus is not materially differentv-’—^
from that in the Royal Observatory.
The following table is a summary of the results of only
a part of the experiments which Mr Baily made with this
apparatus. It exhibits a comparative view of the old and
new corrections for the reduction to a vacuum, together
with the factor n for reducing the old to the new ; as also
the weight of adhesive air, or that dragged by the pendu¬
lum. The difference of pressure, we suppose, is meant to
be thirty inches, and the temperature 32°. The mean of
Major Sabine’s, in the table on page 205, was 45°.
Kind of Pendulum.
Sphere of platina 1*44 inch diameter, like Borda’s.
Sphere of lead T46 inch diameter 
Sphere of brass T46 inch diameter 
Sphere of ivory 1'46 inch diameter 
Spheres 2-06 inches diameter..
on knife-edge
I Lead.
Brass.
(Ivory.
on cylinder \ Load.,
J | Ivory.
No.
Old Cor¬
rection.
Brass cylinder 2*06 (with wire’ ends horizontal.
- - - -- 1 1 flat ends vertical.
inches in diame-< , i uaL enus venica ..
ter and in length, / Wlth rod’ ) dat ends vertical.
v fiat ends horizontal.
Brass tube 2-06 inches diameter, filled with lead, ends horizontal.
Ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto.
•ditto hollow, both ends open.
• ditto ditto top open, bottom closed..
• ditto ditto top closed, bottom open..
•ditto ditto both ends closed 
•ditto ditto hermetically sealed 
Lens of lead one inch thick, 2-06 diameter, and horizontal.
Round copper rod 58-8 inches long and 0*41 diameter  21
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
2-709
5003
7-343
30-080
Factor n.
1-881
1-871
1-834
1-872
4-988
7-032
32-143
4-988
32-143
1-738
1-751
1-755
1-746
1-741
6-882
6-859
6-859
6-859
20
Kater’s invariable brass pendulum.
Kater’s convertible with the j with great weight below,
wooden tail-pieces / ditto above.
Plain bars two
inches broad
and conver¬
tible 
f inch thick....brass -f on £.
1 on knife-edge B..
(copper.... fon j^fe-edge A.
i inch thick,-’ Jon knife-edge B.
I iron J on knife-edge A-
^   (on knife-edge B .
? on knife-edge A.
i inch thick....brass J on ®'
* j on knife-edge C .
(oo knife-edge D.
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
5-448
22-172
21-437
21-955
21-227
25-191
5-000
6-519
1-860
1-920
1-950
1-922
2-032
1-925
1-940
1- 975
2- 000
2-070
1-580
New Cor¬
rection.
Grains of
Adhesive
Air.
5-104
9-362
13-467
56-310
0-496
0-468
0-457
0-472
8-668
12-317
56-420
doubtful
doubtful
12-800
13-169
13-377
13-188
11-070
42- 686
41- 582
43- 378
42- 468
52-150
1-115
1-140
1-164
1- 945
2- 378
2-451
2-382
4-558
4-045
4-165
4-283
4-454
4-532
2-932
6-697
7-630
7-630
Long brass tube-
on plane A  35
on plane C  
on plane a   
on plane c 
36
37
38
Mercurial clock pendulum, spring suspension.
Leaden cylinder upon round wooden rod 
Ditto.........ditto flat rod 
39
40
41
7-002
7-002
6-519
6- 519
7- 319
7-319
6-980
6-980
6-980
6-980
18-546
18-546
18-546
18-546
5-312
5-190
5-190
1-590
2-144
2-204
1-848
1-968
1-891
1-991
1- 945
2- 064
2-071
2-078
2-099
2-087
2-318
2-258
2-267
2-317
7-900
19-117
0-438
10-649
16-356
16*815
12- 938
13- 780
12-330
12-980
14*237
15-107
14- 460
14-569
14-506
14-612
4-904
8-339
16-705
19- 049
20- 986
23-276
22-455
25-435
40-594
40-594
40-594
40-594
2-343
2-589
2-827
42-990
41- 874
42- 048
42-974
45-937
43- 563
44- 195
45- 900
12- 448
13- 104
14- 312
17-003
17-462
20-120
208
PENDULUM.
Pendulum. There are several things in the table which will require
v v'-'—'some farther explanation to make them quite intelligible.
No. 1 is similar to Borda’s pendulum, which 18 P^1"
cularly described in the preceding article. os. > >
were also suspended as Borda’s, and so weie os. , ,
Nos. 8, 9 are the same as 5, 7, but they were merely sus¬
pended by a fine wire, which was slightly held aside by the
round surface of a steel wire one-fifteenth inch m diameter,
a contrivance of M. Bessel, the relation of which to any
practical application of the pendulum we cannot pretend to
see. No. 10 is a brass cylinder with its axis vertical, and
suspended by a fine wire and knife-edge. No. 11 is the
same, with its axis across the plane of motion, but suspend¬
ed by a knife-edge and brass rod. No. 12 is the same as
the last, but with flat ends across the plane of motion. No.
13 the same, with flat ends horizontal. No. 14 is a brass
tube 2-06 inches diameter and four inches long, filled with
lead. It was suspended with its axis vertical by a fine wire
and knife-edge. Nos. 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 are the same tube
empty. No. 20 has a flat circumference about a quarter
of an inch wide. It is suspended horizontally by a kmie-
edge and wire. No. 21 has a similar suspension. No.
is Kater’s invariable pendulum, with which Major Sabme
made the experiments described on page 205. It has a brass
tail-piece about sixteen and a half inches long, for which
there was not room in Mr Baily’s apparatus ; so that t le
results are those of Major Sabine, and so are the results
with Nos. 23 and 24. But Major Sabine having removed
the tail-pieces altogether, found the value of 1*8/5 tor
knife-edge A, or with the heavy end below, and _ 2-ido
for knife-edge B, or with heavy end above. Mr Baily, it
is true, has slightly altered Major Sabine’s numbers, by as¬
suming a different specific gravity for the pendulum, and
also for the air at a different temperature. Nos. 2d, 26 are
the results on the knife-edges A and B of a convertible
pendulum formed of a plain brass bar 62*2 inches long.
Nos. 27, 28 are those of a copper bar 62*5 inches long;
and Nos. 29, 30 those of an iron bar 62-1 inches long.
The last two pendulums were taken out by the late C ap-
tain Foster, in his scientific expedition to the south, which
we shall notice farther on. Nos. 31, 32, 33,^34, aie the
results w ith the four knife-edges, named A, B, C, D, of a
doubly-convertible pendulum, described by Mr Baily in
the Philosophical Magazine for February 1829, along with
the account of some experiments which differ to an extent
for which he acknowledges himself unable to give any sa¬
tisfactory reason, unless it be owing to irregularities in the
knife-edges and planes. It consists of a plain brass rod
sixty-two inches long, without any moveable weights or
sliding-pieces, and has its knife-edges convertible in pairs
taken alternately ; thus forming, in effect, two convertible
pendulums. The distance between the knife-edges A and
C was 39-3038 inches, and the number of synchronous vi¬
brations 86218-3. The distance between B and D was
39-3084 inches, and made 86204-6 vibrations. Conse¬
quently, from these data, the lengths of the seconds pendu¬
lum will be respectively
/ 86218-3 \2 39.3038 _ 39.1386,
V 86400 )
/ 86204-6 \ 2 39.3084 = 39-1307.
V 86400 ) A
The first agrees nearly with that of Captain Kater; but it
is not easy to account for the discrepancy between these
two results. Mr Baily does not inform us whether he had
ascertained that this pendulum was perfectly free from Pena
magnetic influence, which is far from being always the case w
with articles of brass or copper. Nos. 35, 36, 37, 38 are
the results with the four planes named A, C, a, <*, which are
used in place of knife-edges on a doubly-convertible pen¬
dulum formed of seven different brass tubes drawn closely
one within the other, their joint thickness being 0-13 inch.
The diameter of the outside is 1-5 inch, the ends are open,
and the length is fifty-six inches. This pendulum is of a
very singular construction ; for, instead of being fitted up
with steef knife-edges vibrating on agate planes, it is fur¬
nished with circular steel planes, which vibrate on a pair
of fixed agate knife-edges, which are common to all the
planes. The mode of suspension, therefore, is in this case
reversed. The planes A and a are convertible, and so are
C and c ; the length between each of these pairs is very
nearly a standard yard. We should, however, consider this
to be rather a vague kind of pendulum, because the axis of
suspension is so indeterminate that it is not restricted to
such straight lines in the surface of the plane as pass through
the axis of the tubes, and therefore the results must be ra¬
ther indeterminate.1 No. 39 does not materially differ from
the mercurial pendulum described farther on. No. 40 is a
pendulum with a spring suspension, and deal-rod three
eighths of an inch in diameter, the lower part of which is
encased by a leaden tube 13-5 inches long and 1-8 inch in
diameter. This tube serves as the bob, and is also meant
to act, by its upward expansion, as a compensation for tem¬
perature. No. 41 only differs from the preceding in hav¬
ing a flat deal-rod one inch broad and 0-14 inch thick, which
was bevilled to a thin edge, and moved edgewise. 1 he fac¬
tor n, it will be seen, is greater with the flat than with the
round rod. This was also found to be the case when rods
of the same form as the wooden ones, but of other mate¬
rials, were substituted for them.
The preceding table does not contain the half of Mr
Baily’s experiments. The results generally accord pretty
well with the theory that a quantity of air adheres to every
pendulum when in motion, and, by thus forming a portion
of the moving body, diminishes its specific gravity, or rather
adds to its inertia. This adhesive air seems to be confined
chiefly to the two opposite portions of the pendulum which
lie in the line of its motion, and very little of it adheres to
or is dragged by the sides of the moving body. I he shape
of this coating of air will consequently partake in some mea¬
sure of the form of the pendulum, subject probably to some
slight modifications, of the nature of which nothing is yet
known. The quantity of air dragged by the pendulum
seems to depend on the extent and form of surface oppos¬
ed to its action, and is not affected by the density of the
body. In the case of a sphere one inch in diameter suspend¬
ed by a fine wire, the weight of air dragged by the sphere
alone appears to be about 0*123 grain; and for different
spheres it is nearly as the cubes of their diameters. The
weight of air dragged by the wire of the length of the se¬
conds pendulum may amount to, but probably does not ex¬
ceed, 0-1 grain, and perhaps is nearly the same for all fine
wires of that length ; so that with spheres less than an inch
in diameter the weight of air dragged by the wire is nearly
the same as that dragged by the sphere.
With respect to cylinders suspended by rods and swung
with their flat sides opposed to the line of motion, the law
of the variation is not so manifest, owing to the precise
effect of the edge of the cylinder being as yet unknown.
Neither are there yet sufficient data to develope the effect
1 In the Philosophical Transactions for 1830, p. 207, Mr Lubbock professes to prove that if the knife-edge is rounded or cyMrical,
the distance between the planes is still the length of the equivalent simple pendulum. But m this he has d?c“^d hl™s®1 j , theorem)
ed the converse of the proposition; for it is easily shown (as we have done farther on m the precisely similar case ot Laplace i’
that whenever the centre of gravity is within a certain distance of the middle between tlm jdanestheirdistaiice isgreater ^
of the equivalent simple pendulum. Besides, Mr Lubbock entirely overlooks the uncertainty in the position of the axis of susp
PENDULUM.
209
ulam. of the air on cylinders suspended by rods or wires, and in the case of the convertible pendulum tried by him, would Pendulum.
y'—'swung with1 their flat sides in a horizontal position, similar require the hitherto assumed corrections to be multiplied'  
to the pendulums Nos. 10 and 14. In these cases the cy- by M3 when the great weight is below, and by 1-4 when
linder four inches long drags much more than double the above. As this was somewhat at variance with Mr Baily’s
quantity of air adhering to the cylinder of two inches, al- view of the matter, he determined on making a few trials,
though they have precisely the same diameter. With re- in order to ascertain more minutely, by experiment, the
spect to very thin cylinders or discs swung with their flat difference which really arises from the use of larger and
sides opposed to the line of motion, the weight of air drag- smaller arcs; and for this purpose he took a brass bar con-
ged by a disc of one inch in diameter appears to be about vertible pendulum, placing it in the vacuum apparatus, un-
0-149 grain, and for different discs is nearly in the ratio of der about one inch pressure of the atmosphere. Two series
the cube of the diameter; whence it appears that a thin were made on the knife-edge which was nearest the end
disc drags more air than a sphere of the same diameter. of the bar, and which he calls A, and two on the other,
The last column of the table contains the weight ol air named B ; and each of these series was divided into three
which is supposed to adhere to and be dragged by the pen- portions, in the first of which the width of the arc was taken
dulum, in consequence of the air put in motion thereby, from about 1° to0°-6, in the second from 0°-6 to 0°-38, and
when vibrating in the mean state of the atmosphere; or in the third from 0°-38 to 0°-2 and 0°-l. The first series
rather the quantity of air which, if applied to the centre of on the knife-edge A required the usual correction to be
gyration of the .pendulum, would produce the retardation increased about a tenth, which agi-ees'nearly with Major
shown by the experiment. This view of the subject was Sabine’s experiments; but the second series on the same
knife-edge required the correction to be diminished nearly
as much. Mr Baily, therefore, considers these two series as
neutralizing each other, and that the difference observed
must lie within the errors of observation. On the knife-
edge B, both series required the correction to be increased
one fifth, which is only half the amount indicated by Ma¬
jor Sabine’s experiments. Further inquiries, therefore, are
suggested by Professor Airy, the present distinguished as¬
tronomer royal, who also gives the following investigation
and formula for computing the weight of adhesive air. Let
N denote the number of vibrations made by a pendulum
in a mean solar day, when swung in air ; and let v be the
additional number which it makes when swung in vacuo.
Also, let w be the w-eight of the pendulum in grains troy,
S its vibrating specific gravity, and a the specific gravity of necessary to clear up this point ;l not only as to the cause
the air. Now-, since the force of gravity diminishes in the of the anomaly, whether it arises, as Major Sabine supposes,
c/-at _i_ . xt" • xi, • i r , 2A from a sliding of the knife-edges on the agate planes, in
ratio of (N + v)2 to N-, or in the ratio nearly of +-J which case it may differ in different pendulums, but also as
to the accuracy of the generally received formula, which
several mathematicians allege to become inaccurate when
the arc is very large. But whether the difference really
to 1, it follows, that when the pendulum vibrates in air, it
is as if, retaining the inertia of its weight w, it had the gra-
N2 / 2A
vity of only w x , v/ = 20 (1 ~ nearly; or as if
(N + f)2
2v
it had lost the weight w X But the weight which it
has really lost from the displacement of a quantity of air is
so X g. Consequently, the portion w-hich is not accounted
for by the mere displacement of the air is co — gj, and
which may be considered as the additional weight gained
by the pendulum (or rather the addition to its inertia)
when moving in air supposed to be applied to the centre of
gyration. The inertia of the whole pendulum in resisting
angular motion is the same as if it were collected at the
centre of gyration. The immediate result of the experi¬
ment and formula above given is, that the inertia of the
whole pendulum ought to be increased in the proportion of
0 N — s) t0 1 ’ 0r t*lat> instead of supposing the in¬
ertia w to be applied at the centre of gyration, the inertia
^ (i + — g-j ought to be applied there. The addi¬
tion to the inertia is therefore w
Vn sy
applied where
that of the whole pendulum may be supposed to be applied,
that is, at the centre of gyration.
^ already mentioned, Major Sabine has alleged, that
1) Tail1 lc formula for the reduction of the vibrations of a
pendulum to indefinitely small arcs is erroneous, as it does
a£^ee with the result of a series of experiments which
ie had undertaken for the purpose of testing it, and which,
arises from a defect in the formula, or from a sliding of the
knife-edges, or from the variable effect of the air on the
pendulum, or from all three, remains still to be decided.
Perhaps magnetism is not always sufficiently guarded against.
There are instances of articles of brass having become high¬
ly magnetic from the manner in which they have been work¬
ed ; so much so, indeed, in parts of chronometers, as not only
to derange their performance, but even to arrest their mo¬
tions altogether. According to M. Bessel, the knife-edges
slide on the planes. The sliding is proportional to the ex¬
tent of the arc of vibration, and is always in the direction
in which the pendulum is moving. Now, if the sliding can
really be so well observed and appreciated, it must be very
considerable; probably far exceeding the sliding and fric¬
tion of a fine cylindric surface turning, or rather sliding
round, in a nicely jewelled groove.
It has been shown by Major Sabine in his work on the Defects of
figure of the earth, page 195, that in a pendulum with knife-the knife-
edges, a considerable difference may arise in the results, ife^68 an(l
they be used with different planes; but it does not seem to ^ line*'
have occurred to any one versed in these experiments, till
discovered by Mr Baily, that a much greater difference than
that just referred to may arise while using the same knife-
edge with the same plane. This fact had probably long
escaped detection, from the peculiar manner in which pen¬
dulum experiments are usually conducted; for, on examin¬
ing the detail of most of them, it will be found that, after
the pendulum, at any one station, has been placed in its
Y’s, it has never been removed from them, but merely
raised and lowered again as occasion may require, till it has
been ultimately dismounted and packed up for another sta¬
tion. In this way any inconsistency that might otherwise
have occurred is avoided, and consequently escapes detec¬
tion. Mr Baily considers the pendulum furnished with a
should how/vo V,1Ses’ a Mure experiments on this question should be made in the free air, and not, as formerly, in vacuo. We
and narmwor , f . t®. , the correctness of this opinion ; for how then could the very different effects of the air on wider
VOL xvii 1 ra 10nS ^ ^lstin^llls ie(^ from the effects which belong to the differences of the arcs themselves ?
2 D
210
PENDULUM.
Pendulum, knife-edge and agate planes, as at piesent constructed, to
V be a very inadequate instrument for the delicate purposes
for which it was originally intended; and that a more rigic
examination and adjustment of those parts of the instru¬
ment are requisite, before we can depend on it, eithei foi
the determination of the length of the^seconds pendulum
or even for the comparison of results obtained m diffeient
parts of the world. The knife-edge is seldom or never per¬
fectly straight; the planes, whether from being carelessly
ground, or being so thin as to be flexible, are seldom or
never perfectly true; so that as there is generally a little
play in the Y’s, the knife-edge is not always let down on
the same parts of the agate plane. This may be detected
bv holding a candle behind the knife-edge while it is rest¬
ing on the plane; for, by means of its rays, the smallest in¬
equalities in the points of contact are readily discernible.
But the fact is rendered still more evident, by reversing the
ends of the same knife-edge in the \’s, when a sensible dif¬
ference in the result generally takes place. Among the
numerous pendulums in Mr Baily’s possession, he has only
met with one whose results were not altered by an appre¬
ciable quantity when the knife-edge is reversed in the Y s,
or turned half round in azimuth. If the knife-edge and
plane were perfectly correct and true, there ought to be no
difference in the results, whichever side of the pendulum is
next the observer; whereas a difference of upwards of two
vibrations in a day actually occurs in one of the pendulums
above alluded to. r
Rolling The theory of pendulums suspended on rolling cyhn-
penduhnn, t}ers vmder various forms and circumstances, is treated at
considerable length, and with such ability, by Euler, in the
Acta Petropolitana (tom. iv. part n. for 1 i80), and again m
the Nova Acta (tom. vi. for 1788), that in place of here en¬
tering into any elaborate investigation on this head, we shall
now, for brevity’s sake, take advantage of Eulers results,
especially in examining the merits of that celebrated theo¬
rem which the late illustrious Laplace discovered about
twenty years ago, and which, when it appeared, tended
greatly to allay the very considerable fears which had pre¬
viously existed regarding the accuracy of the experiments
with convertible pendulums. For the knife-edges on which
these had been suspended were considered liable to become
blunted, or in some measure changed into cyhndnc sur¬
faces, by their turning, under considerable pressure, on the
horizontal planes ; and it had been feared that this might
affect the time of vibration. The theorem, though some¬
times a little differently expressed, amounts to this : when
a rolling pendulum is convertible, vibrating alike fast on
each of two equal and parallel cylinders rolling on a hori¬
zontal plane, the distance between the cylindric surfaces is
the length of the equivalent simple pendulum.
Though usually regarded as universally true, this theo¬
rem fails whenever the distances of the two cylinders from
the centre of gravity do not differ by a quantity which
greatly exceeds a diameter of the cylinders, fortunately,
it holds good in the cases which are of most importance tor
the convertible pendulum ; but it is not perhaps much to
the credit of science that the true limits of the theorem
should not have been ascertained ; and probably, too, from
mathematicians having so much mistaken the natm e of the
proposition, that the reasonings hitherto employed by them
in proof of it have at best amounted to demonstrations of
its converse, or rather of the converse only of its possible
cases, namely, that positions may always be found for two
rolling suspensions of the sort above described, such, that
they shall make the pendulum convertible, and have their
distance equal to the given length of an equivalent simple
P The investigation of Laplace himself, while it has the de¬
fects just noticed, is so unnecessarily intricate, that it would
be tedious to discuss its merits; but in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1818, p. 95, the late eminent philosopher, Peni
Dr Thomas Young, has given what he considered to be a''—
more elementary demonstration of this theorem, though it
is, in fact, of its converse ; and he has again, in the Philo¬
sophical Transactions for 1819, p. 94, attempted, from some
of Euler’s results, to deduce the same thing, but which
comes to be still its converse, as will be afterwards noticed.
There is likewise an abridgement of Euler’s investigations
for 1788 given in the Philosophical Magazine for December
1821, and with it is coupled a similar, but not more success¬
ful, attempt at deducing the theorem in question ; for in all
of these the proof is applicable to nothing more than the con¬
verse of the possible cases of Laplace s theorem, though that
converse itself really forms a theorem which never fails.
If a be the distance of the centre of gravity of the rolling
pendulum from the centre of the upper cylinder, c the ra¬
dius of each cylinder, and k the radius of gyration, with re¬
spect to an axis passing through the centre of gravity of the
pendulum, and parallel to the axes of the cylinders; then
it has been demonstrated by Euler, in the Nova Acta Pe¬
tropolitana for 1788 (p. 149), that this rolling pendulum will
perform a small vibration in the same time as a simple pen-
dulum whose length is Z =   • But it is easily
Laplace’s
theorem.
shown that this must vibrate in a shorter time, especially
with the heavier end of the convertible pendulum uppermost,
than the same pendulum would do were it suspended by
knife-edges substituted for, and put exactly in the places
of, the cylindric surfaces. For, supposing the pendulum to
continue a convertible one, after being thus modified, we
should, from the well-known relation between the centres
of suspension, gravity, and oscillation, have k a mean pro¬
portional between the segments into which the centre of
gravity divides l the distance between the knife-edges, or
we should have hr — {l — a + c) (a — c), and thence
l — ^ ? which corresponds to a simple pendu-
a — e
lum longer than the former in the ratio of a to a — c.
Hence it appears, that a rolling pendulum always vibrates
faster than if it were suspended by a knife-edge substituted
exactly in the place of the cylindric surface; so that when
the rolling pendulum is a convertible one, the cylindric
surfaces always have positions different from those of two
knife-edges, which, with an equal interval between them,
would also render the same pendulum convertible, and pre¬
serve the same time of vibration; and, therefore, to make
the two proposed knife-edges keep time with the cylinders,
the former would need to be shifted so as to shorten the
time of vibration, which, when possible, may be effected by
bringing the more distant knife-edge nearer the centre of
gravity, and removing the other as much farther off, so as
still to preserve an interval = l between them. In that
case, putting x for the space to be so shifted, we should,
for the reason above given, have A2 — {l — a + c x)
(a — c + xX and l — ^ ^ ~ > winch, accord-
ing to the theorem, is to equal the efficient length of the
rolling pendulum, namely,
h2 + {a — c)
Wherefore, sub¬
stituting the above value for k2 in this last formula, should
afford a ready means of finding such an expression for x
as shall reconcile, when possible, the times of vibration on
the two different sorts of suspensions ; for it then becomes
l (a — c + x) — 2 (a — c) x — x2
l — —  
a
whence x2 — (j> — 2 {a — c)^ x — cl, and x 2 ^ a'
c;_+- l a + c)2 — c/), where both values of ^
PENDULUM.
211
ilum, when real, will be positive, or both negative, according as
i / is greater or less than a — c. But both become ima¬
ginary; and, consequently, Laplace’s theorem fails when
(11 — a + c)2 is less than cl; because the rolling pendu¬
lum then vibrates unavoidably faster than the other. This
is, besides, still more obvious from another consideration
in the case when the centre of gravity is midway between
the cylinders; for then no knife-edges embracing as great
an interval can give the same time of vibration, because
when the knife-edges coincide with the cylindrical surfaces,
they are already too slow, and would be still more so if at
unequal distances from the centre of gravity. Thus, the
£2 -f (a c)2
rolling pendulum, in that case, having only   -
2 (a — c)z
for its effective length, must vibrate more
#>1/3 c\2
quickly than the other, whose effective length is —> L
= 2 (a — c), and exceeds the former by nearly 2c, but
would be still greater were the knife-edges at unequal dis¬
tances from the centre of gravity. The defects of this ce¬
lebrated theorem, therefore, increase with the diameter of
the cylinders; and it also appears from Euler’s investiga¬
tions, that the times of vibration in the rolling pendulum
are more unequal, or increase still more with the width of
the arc, than they do in the circular pendulum. For in the
irh <!rb~ (h2 + 4ac)
V {2ag) ‘ 4/i */{2ag) ’
, • , irk , irb2 h , ....
and in the latter —- + -———-; where b is the sme
V(2ag) 4i/(2ag)
of one fourth the arc of vibration, g the force of gravity,
c — 3T416, and /i2 =■ k2 + (a — c)2; but when c = 0,
h- =zk2 + a2 only. The second term in each of the above
expressions is the respective reduction of the times of vi¬
bration, to what they should be in indefinitely small arcs.
I — ^ (a— c)2
former the time of vibration is
From the equation
-, Dr Young, in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1819, p. 94, deduces a = \l
+ c =±= .... The last term he leaves blank, as of no
consequence, because he supposes these two values of a to
be the parts into which the centre of gravity divides the
distance between the centres of the cylinders, so that when
added together, the two quantities affected by the radical
sign, no matter of what value, should destroy one another,
leaving the remaining sum — / + 2c, which he thence in¬
fers to be the distance between the centres of the cylinders.
But this eminent mathematician, by thus omitting the quan¬
tity affected by the radical sign, has overlooked the circum¬
stance that it, namely, r±z y'(£ tL -J- cl — W), never vanishes,
and, consequently, that his investigation does not embrace
those cases in which the distances of the cylinders from the
centre of gravity do not differ by far more than one of
their diameters. So that the premises of the proposition
which he proves do not suppose the cylinders to have given
positions, or already to have positions forming a convertible
pendulum, but that two positions may always be found for
them, such that their time of vibration, and the interval be¬
tween them, shall be equal to those of two knife-edges with
given positions. In short, the proof applies to nothing more
than the converse of the possible cases of Laplace’s theorem.
In order to ascertain the limits of certain errors, though
of a different description from those now discussed, but
which may be supposed to arise in experiments with the
convertible pendulum, Mr Lubbock has, in the Philosophi¬
cal Transactions for 1830, investigated the effect on the
number of vibrations of a given pendulum, corresponding
to given deviations in the positions of the knife-edges and
planes, and finds that a small deviation of one of the knife-
edges in azimuth has no sensible effect. It is otherwise
with a deviation in altitude; for one degree on that position Pendulum,
of the knife-edge produces an acceleration of three seconds N'—“y'—
in twenty-four hours. Still more considerable is the effect
of a deviation from horizontality in the agate planes; for
ten minutes of a degree produce a daily acceleration of
six seconds. Both the two latter deviations render the dis¬
tance between the knife-edges greater than the length of
the equivalent simple pendulum.
During the last twenty years, a vast number of experi¬
ments have been made by means of the pendulum, on the
relative force of gravity in different parts of the world, with
the view of contributing towards the determination of the
true figure of the earth. Accounts of these have been pub¬
lished in the scientific periodicals, and in separate works;
but our limits will only permit us to notice briefly a few
which are more particularly interesting.
The length of the seconds pendulum having been de- Difference
termined in London by the method and apparatus of Kater, in pendu-
and in Paris by those of Borda and Biot, and the standardlums at
linear measures of the two countries having been respec- p0^
tively referred to these pendulums for future verification,4
an attempt was made about twenty years ago to ascertain
the difference between the actual number of vibrations
which invariable pendulums conveyed between London and
Paris would make at these places. A summary account of
the operations is given in the Base du Sysieme Metrique,
tom. iii.; but, from certain accidental causes, some doubts
have always attached to the result. To clear up this point
by solving the question anew, Major Sabine, early in the
year 1827, had two invariable pendulums conveyed to Paris,
where an extensive series of experiments were made by
himself, and several eminent French philosophers, in the
very spot where M. Biot had determined the length of the
seconds pendulum. The two pendulums were next brought
back to London, and similar operations werg made with
them in the room of Mr Browne’s house, Portland Place,
where Captain Kater had originally made his experiments.
The comparison of the results showed, that in the latter
place the pendulums made twelve vibrations more per day
than at Paris, answering to 0"01088 inch in the length. The
reductions, it is true, w'ere made according to the old rules,
though it is likely that this would occasion nearly equal
errors in both quantities, so as not to affect their difference.
The details are given at great length in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1828, and the new corrections may still be
applied.
In order the better to insure that the various pendu-Difference
lum experiments which had been made in Mr Browne’sin pendu-
house, Portland Place, London, particularly those of Cap-
tain Kater, might be rendered comparable with any simi-j^Q^^
lar experiments made at the Royal Observatory at Green-wich.
wich, Major Sabine, at the request of the Royal Society,
undertook to settle the question by direct experiment, as
detailed at great length in the Philosophical Transactions
for 1829. For this purpose, he first made a series of ex¬
periments on the daily rate of an invariable pendulum in
Mr Browne’s house, and then did the like with the same
instrument taken to Greenwich. The result was, that the
pendulum made 0-52 of a vibration more per day at Green¬
wich than at London. The knife-edge of the pendulum
was then fresh ground, and a new series of experiments
made at both places, with a similar result of 0-44. The
mean is 0*48 of a vibration. Now, as the latitude of the
Royal Observatory is 2' 28" south of Mr Browne’s house,
and as it is about fifty feet above its level, a retardation,
from these causes combined, of about 0-27 of a vibration,
was to have been expected at Greenwich, instead of an ac¬
celeration. The retardation, as computed for the difference
in latitude, w ould be 0-15 vibration ; and that for fifty feet
of difference in elevation, being about 0*20, would, when
multiplied by Dr Young’s co-efficient of 0*6, be 0T2 of a
212
PENDULUM.
Captain
Foster’s
experi¬
ments.
Pendulum, vibration. These added to 0*48, make 0*75 of a vibration;
by which amount the result of actual experiment differs
from what might have been anticipated by mere theory.
In the autumn of the same year, 1828, Major Sabine
transported the same invariable pendulum to Altona, where
he made a series of observations with it. The like was
done with the same instrument again in 1829, at Green¬
wich. The result was, that the pendulum made S’SB more
vibrations per day at Altona than at Greenwich.
The late lamented Captain Henry Foster, who had been
sent out on a scientific expedition towards the south, the
principal object of which was to swing the pendulum near
the equator, and also at various places in the southern
hemisphere, took out with him four pendulums, two of
which were of the kind called Kater’s invariable pendulum,
but the other two were of a new construction, recommend¬
ed by Mr Baily, the one of iron and the other of copper,
each of which was furnished with two knife-edges ; so that,
in effect, Captain Foster might be considered as having taken
out six different and independent pendulums. These were
swung at fourteen different places, and, with the exception
of the experiments with one of the brass pendulums at
South Shetland, the results are very accordant, and show
that the pendulum, even with its present imperfections,
affords an accurate measure of the relative force of gravity
at different places. But the sources of minute errors more
recently detected in this instrument will render future ex¬
periments more valuable and comparable with each other.
As our limits will not admit of entering into a compara¬
tive examination of the results obtained at each place, it
must suffice here to state the general result at the several
si'
285-26
ber of coincidences made by Captain Foster was more than
stations, referring, for the whole details, to the Memoirs of 20,000, and occupied upwards of 3180 hours. Ihe total
the Astronomical-Society, vol. vii. For the purpose of de- time occupied by Major Sabine was only 598 hours ; that
ducing these results with the least chance of error, Mr by Captain Freycinet only 367 hours; and that by Captain
Baily has adopted the usual method of minimum squares, Duperrey only 256 hours. So that Captain Foster’s expe-
whereby he finds that if v be the number of vibrations at riments are five times more extensive than Major Sabine’s,
the equator, f the co-efficient of the increase of the force of and fully twice and a half more extensive than those of all
gravity, L the latitude of any other place where the same the above experimentalists united. 1 hey have also the
pendulum makes V vibrations, the general formula Y
(1 + / sin.2 L)1 becomes, in the present case, and accord¬
ing to Captain Foster’s experiments,
V = (7441507482 + 38666418 sin.2 L)i
The following table shows the observed mean results of
all the pendulums, deduced from the whole of the experi¬
ments, at each station, as well as the value computed from
the above formula, together with the error or difference
thence arising.
Stations.
e.}
Para.......
Maranham
Fernando de
Noronha
Ascension.
Porto Bello 
Trinidad 
St Helena 
Cape of Good }
Hope /
Monte Video..
Greenwich....
London 
Staten Island..
Cape Horn
Latitude.
Observed j Computed
Vibrations. Vibrations.
27' 0"S.
31 25
3 49 59
55 23
32 SON
38 55
56 7 S.
33 54 37
34
51
51
54
55
South Shetland 62
54 26
28 40 N
31 17
46 23 S
51 20
56 11
86260-61
86258-74
86271-20
86272-25
86272-01
86267-24
86288-29
86331-33
86264-30
86264-60
DifFer-
— 3-69
— 5-86
86265-16
86268-44
86270-32
86271-84
86281-06
86333-90
86334-36
86398-90
86400-00
86415-22
86417-98
86444-52
86337-52
86401-24
86401-40
86413-58
86417-54
+ 6-04
+ 3-81
+ 1-69
— 4-60
+ 7-23
— 2-57
— 3-16
— 2-34
— 1-40
+ 1-64
-j- 0-44
86441-72 +2-80
The last column clearly indicates that the pendulum is dunces rarely do any thing like this in the ordinary affairs
powerfully affected by local circumstances, since the dif- of life; and why should such blunders pervade writings which
ference between the observed and computed results in profess to be scientific ?
'
most of the cases far exceeds the probable errors of obser- Pemu 'i1
vation, and all the pendulums agree in their indication ofs
the degree of intensity at the several places. This fact,
however, is rendered more striking by combining the ex¬
periments hitherto made with the invariable pendulum
by the several English, French, and Russian voyagers. In
this manner Mr Baily has obtained fifty-one different places
where the pendulum has been swung; and at several of
these stations this has been done by more than one expe¬
rimentalist. The results, therefore, being in several in¬
stances confirmed either by the experiments of various
persons, or by various pendulums swung by the same per¬
son, show most decidedly that there is some local influence
on the pendulum at such stations, with the exact nature of
which we are unacquainted, and which baffles all our ef¬
forts to deduce the true figure of the earth from pendulum
experiments made at a few places only ; for the results de¬
duced from such experiments will vary according to the
selection which is made of the stations. And it is a re¬
markable circumstance, that the force of gravity seems to
be greater in islands remote from the mainland, such as
St Helena, Ascension, &c. than it is on continents.
The ellipticity of the earth, deduced from Captain Fos¬
ter’s experiments, is ; Major Sabine made it g-g.q,/
the mean of the French and Russian experiments is ;
the mean of the whole combined, The total num-
advantage of having been made with a greater variety of
pendulums, and cannot fail to be duly appreciated in all
inquiries connected with that important subject which they
were intended to elucidate, the true figure of the earth.
Among the various sources of discordance between the
results of different experimenters, a fertile one seems to be
the very different reductions which they use for the expan¬
sion of the air, or for reducing its density from one tempe¬
rature to another. Thus, although few things in natural
philosophy are better determined than the expansion of the
air, almost every one uses his own favourite reduction for
it. According to the experiments of Dalton, Gay-Lussac,
&c., the expansion of air for one degree of Fahrenheit, and
whether dry or moist, is equal to the (t + 448)th part of
its bulk, under a constant pressure, at the temperature t.
From the circumstance of this being the 480th part of the
bidk at 32°, and from 32° being often used as a standard
temperature, seems to have arisen the common-place phrase,
that “ the expansion of air for one degree is the ^SOth part,”
a phrase which is always more or less erroneous, unless it
mean the bulk at 32®; for it is the 448th of the bulk at
the zero of Fahrenheit, the 528th of it at 80°, and the
660th of the bulk at 212°, &c. This, though an extremely
simple affair, seems much too abstruse for the greater part
of writers on chemistry, and for not a few on natural phi¬
losophy, among whom we find the above phrase means the
480th part of the bulk at any temperature whatever. The
error is precisely of the same sort as if, because a shilling
is the 480th part of twenty-four pounds, it should be rec¬
koned the 480th part of every other sum. The greatest
PENDULUM.
213
am. In 1830, Major Sabine having entirely removed the tail-
—^ pieces and the larger moveable weight from Captain Ka-
ter’s convertible pendulum, executed a very extensive series
’m of experiments with it at the Royal Observatory, Green-
n- wich, for the purpose of accurately determining the length
of the seconds pendulum there ; and the result was, that
at the temperature of 62°, and in a vacuum, it is 39-13734
inches. But notwithstanding the very great care which
seems to have been bestowed on these experiments, doubts
regarding their accuracy have been started by Mr Baily,
particularly on account of an anomaly which occurs on the
face of the observations. For it appears, that when the
small sliding weight was shifted about 0-133 inch, it caused
a daily acceleration of 0-10 vibration on the knife-edge A,
or with the heavy end below; whilst it caused a retarda¬
tion of 1-12 vibration on the knife-edge B. Now this is
quite contrary to the known principles of the pendulum,
since the effect of a slider of this sort is to produce an al¬
teration of the same kind in each knife-edge, differing only
in degree.
We suspect that with convertible pendulums sufficient
care is not always taken to insure that the centre of gravity
and both knife-edges shall be accurately in the same plane;
without this the results must be very doubtful.
V.—ATTACHED PENDULUMS.
Thus far we have treated principally of what relates to
detached pendulums, and of the corrections to be computed
and applied to the numerical results. What follows more
especially belongs to clock pendulums, and to the contri¬
vances which enable them to correct or compensate them¬
selves for the effects of atmospherical pressure, tempera¬
ture, &c.
lsa- On examining the new correction for the mercurial pen-
1 dulum, which is the one now generally employed in clocks
, for astronomical purposes, though, for reasons given farther
on, we do not consider it as affording by any means the
best compensation for temperature, it will be found that a
difference of one inch in the pressure of the atmosphere
should alter the daily rate of the clock by 0-414 second,
which is more than double the quantity hitherto assumed
as depending on the change of the barometer, and which
therefore should no longer be disregarded by the astrono¬
mer. To obviate this defect in the clock at the Observa¬
tory at Armagh, Dr Robinson has attached two syphon-ba¬
rometers to the mercurial pendulum, one on each side of
the rod, and so placed that the variations in the height of
the mercury in their tubes may exactly compensate the
effect of a change of atmospheric pressure.1 In the Quarterly
Journal of Science (vol. xv.) Mr Davies Gilbert has endea¬
voured to show how a compensation for the effects of pres¬
sure may be produced, by making the arc of vibration just
of such an extent that the effect produced by the differ¬
ence of density in the atmosphere may be exactly coun¬
terbalanced by the effect arising from the difference in the
arc of vibration caused by such difference of density. But
by proceeding agreeably to the formula which Mr Gilbert
has there given for finding the value of such arc, and on
the assumption of the accuracy of the new correction above
mentioned, Mr Baily finds that the required arc of semi-
vibration should be 2° 45', whereas in astronomical clocks
it seldom exceeds 2°, which would produce only half the
requisite compensation ; so that, after following up Mr Gil¬
bert’s theory, there still remains a part of the effect, ex¬
ceeding 0-2 second, on the daily rate of the mercurial pen¬
dulum, as produced by a difference of one inch of pressure.
Did the extent of the arc depend on no other variable
cause than the density of the air, we should think that an Pendulum,
increase in the bulk of the pendulum would readily give
the requisite addition to the compensation. For, from Mr
Baily’s experiments, it appears that the retardation of the
air depends principally on the bulk of the pendulum, though
it seems to be affected by other circumstances at present
not well understood. But since the extent of the arc of
vibration depends very much on the variable state of the
oil, and the degree of cleanness of the clock, neither of
which keeps pace with the density of the air, it seems
greatly preferable to have recourse to barometers like those
of Dr Robinson, and to employ a spring of suspension,
having its length, if possible, so adjusted as to equalize the
times of vibration in the wider and narrower arcs, which is
more particularly considered farther on.
All bodies expand by heat and contract by cold in aCompensa-
greater or less degree; and consequently every attempt to t'on *or
discover any simple pendulum-rod, whether natural or ar-^™,peia"
tificial, which could continue of an invariable length, so as
to have its rate of motion independent of variations of tem¬
perature, has uniformly failed. To obviate this inconve¬
nience, a variety of devices have been resorted to by inge¬
nious persons, and some of them with success. About the
year 1715, the celebrated artist Mr George Graham at¬
tempted, by means of the very imperfect pyrometers then
in use, to ascertain the relative expansions of several metals,
in the expectation that the difference in some two or more
of them, when applied to act in opposite directions, would
enable him to construct a compound rod of an invariable
length. But, owing to the defects of his pyrometer, the
difference between their expansions seemed so inconsider¬
able, that he then relinquished all hope of effecting a com¬
pensation in this way. Some time after, it occurred to him
that the great expansibility of mercury might be rendered
available for this purpose; and, accordingly, in 1721 he
had succeeded so far in the construction of the following
kind of pendulum, that the usual error in the extremes of
temperature was reduced to one eighth, as is described at
length in the Philosophical Transactions for 1726.
The bob or weight of the mercurial pendulum, repre- Mercurial
sented in fig. 3, Plate CCCCIII., consists of a cylindrical Pen<h*hHH.
glass jar A, containing mercury. The rod BB is of steel,
and single till it reaches down thirty-two inches from the
suspension, or within ten inches of the bottom, where it
screws into the milled-headed nut D, in the middle of the
cross bar EE of the stirrup FF, which carries the glass jar
resting on the circular base G. This base, shown separate¬
ly in fig. 4, is of brass, slightly hollowed to fit the jar, and
a cover precisely similar to it is used on the top of the jar.
Besides this, Mr Browne, with the view of keeping the sur¬
face of the mercury perfectly flat, covers it with a float of
plate-glass. The jar is generally about two inches wide
and eight deep, having about 6-8 inches of this depth filled
with mercury ; but the quantity of mercury depends very
much on the weight and expansibility of the other mate¬
rials. If, upon trial, the clock go too slow with an increase
of temperature, showing the downward expansion of the
rods to be too great for the upward expansion of the mer¬
cury, more of this fluid must be poured into the jar ; if the
reverse take place, some mercury must be withdrawn. In
this manner may the expansion and contraction of the mer¬
cury be made exactly to compensate those of the other ma¬
terials, so as to preserve invariable the distance of the cen¬
tre of oscillation from the axis or other suspension. This
pendulum, though in great repute, is by no means free
from objection ; for, since there is often a sensible difference
of temperature in a small difference of height, the mercury,
being much lower down than the greater part of the rod, is
liable to have a somewhat different temperature, and con-
J See Memoirs of the Astronomical Society, vol. v.
214
Pendulum.
PENDULUM.
Trough-
ton’s mer¬
curial pen
dulum.
Ward’s
pendulum
sequently to fail in producing at all times an exact compen¬
sation. It is also alleged, that such a great mass of mei -
cury, being enclosed in so bad a conductor as glass, does
not acquire the changes of temperature so promptly as the
metallic rods. To obviate this last, glass is sometimes dis¬
pensed with, and an iron cylinder, or one of brass, varnish¬
ed inside to prevent the action of the mercury, is substi¬
tuted for the glass. On the other hand, Captain Katei had
a cylinder and rod blown all in one piece of glass, similar
to a bottle with a very long neck. He had no other rod
or frame. A cap of brass was clamped by screws to the
top of the glass rod, and to this was pinned the suspension
spring. Pendulums of this sort are said to have been at
one tune used in France. They are much less expensive
than those with the metal rods, &c.
In the Philosophical Magazine for August 1819, Dr
Firminger has given a description of a mercurial pendulum,
with the dimensions of all the parts, apparently to a great
degree of exactness, as computed by Mr Gavin Lowe for
the Royal Observatory, and which have, therefore, been
often copied and referred to as of standard authority. But,
on examination, they will be found to be very incorrect;
for, in computing the position of the centre of oscillation,
and even by means of an algebraic formula, no regard is
had to any dimensions of the materials but their lengths.
Thus, neither the diameter of the cylinder, nor the still
greater breadth of the frame or stirrup, is taken into ac¬
count, although both have a considerable influence on the
result.
The late ingenious Mr Troughton contrived a method
of constructing a compensating pendulum with much less
mercury than is usually employed. Instead of the cylin¬
drical cistern, he put the mercury into a bulb and tube in
the form of a large thermometer. In that case, forty-five
ounces of mercury sufficed for the compensation, but he
also used an ordinary bob. According to Dr Pearson, it is
a property of this contrivance, that if the column of mer¬
cury be made to reach either above or not quite up to the
middle of the pendulum, at a mean temperature, the com¬
pensation will be in defect; but when the column reaches
exactly to the middle, at a mean temperature, the compen¬
sation is exact. But in this there must be some mistake ;
for nothing can be more evident than that the column may
reach exactly to the middle, while the sizes of the bulb and
tube may be such as to produce nothing at all approaching
to a correct compensation.
Ward’s pendulum is a more recent one than the gridiron
pendulum ; but being essentially the same, and simpler in a
very great degree, the description of it will form an easy
introduction to that of the other. It is shown in fig. 5,
Plate CCCCIIL, where ua and bb are two flat rods of iron
or steel, about half an inch broad and an eighth thick. Be¬
tween these is a third rod cc of zinc, nearly the same in
breadth, and a quarter of an inch thick. The one steel rod
aa is cranked at the upper end, and the other bb, at the
lower end, for the purpose of bringing the suspension spring
and the centre of the bob to be in the same vertical line
with the zinc rod. These three rods are held together by
the screws d, d, d, d, but only so as still to allow them to
shift with ease upon each other in a slight degree. These
screws, passing through oblong holes in the rods aa and cc,
screw into the rod bb, while the rod aa is held firmly to the
zinc one cc by the single screw e, which, therefore, forms
in effect the lower limit of the zinc rod; but since the pro¬
per length of the zinc rod can almost never be hit on at
first, several holes are provided for the screw e, in order
that on trial it may be put into the one which gives the
true compensation. The steel rod bb, which carries the
bob of the pendulum, is knee’d, so as to hook against the
upper end of the zinc i'od; and the other steel rod aa
might in like manner, without the screw e, have hooked
against the lower end of the zinc, but in that case it would Peno
not have been so easy to adjust the proper length of the ^
zinc. The expansion of zinc exceeds that of steel in the
ratio of 2*7 to one nearly. In some pendulums the zinc
rod is about twenty-five inches long, in others fully twenty-
seven. It is obvious, that as the two rods of steel aa, bb
expand downward, lengthening the pendulum, the zinc rod
cc expands upward, drawing up the bob by means of the
steel rod bb, so as to raise, or rather preserve the proper po¬
sition of the centre of oscillation. It is necessary that the
expansion of the zinc rod should more than compensate
an equal length of each of the steel rods, because they
stretch beyond it both ways. But the bob itself, by ex¬
panding upward from the nut on which it rests beneath,
will a little aid the compensation.
The gridiron pendulum, the invention of the celebratedGrioi
John Harrison, is represented in fig. 6, Plate CCCX IIL, I'eil(J
and ordinarily consists of five rods of steel and four of brass,
placed in alternate order, the former being shaded darker
for distinction ; but since eight of these act in pairs for the
sake of steadiness, there are in effect only three rods of
steel and two of brass. Their mode of action will be rea¬
dily understood by tracing the expansion of the rods in the
order of their connection ; l.sf, tracing down from the cross
bar attached to the suspension, the two outer rods of steel,
which expand downward, and act together as one rod only;
2d, tracing up the two brass rods next on the inside of
these, which expand upward, and likewise act together;
3d, down the two steel rods inside of the last, which expand
downward $ ^t/i, up the two rods of brass next inside of
these, which expand upward ; and, lastly, down the middle
rod of steel, which carries the bob, and expands downward.
None of the cross pieces have any hold of the middle rod ex¬
cept the very short one at its upper end. The other cross
pieces at some distance from the ends are double, two being
on each side of the rods ; but they are only fixed to the two
outer rods to keep the whole system more evenly. In this ar¬
rangement, the expansion of all the steel rods is downward,
and that of all the brass upward. It is necessary that the
expansion of the latter metal should be much the greater,^
in order to compensate for there being one rod more of
steel than of brass, and for the parts of steel which reach
above and below the brass. But the precise compensation
required is so uncertain, that the length of the rods can only
be previously estimated approximately, and must afterwards
be adjusted by trial if necessary. This, when well executed,
is a more perfect compensation than the mercurial pendu¬
lum ; because the average temperatures of the parts w hose
expansions are opposed to each other must be almost exactly
the same. The number, order, length, and thickness of
the bars often differ considerably from the above. T hus,
it is evident that the whole gridiron part now described
might be inverted without altering the effect. Sometimes
the gridiron consists of a numerous assemblage of very short
rods at the lower end of the pendulum, where they are
liable to have a different temperature from that of the prin¬
cipal rod, which they are meant to compensate, and which
has its greater part far above them. Berthoud w ould have
liked to have deprived Harrison of the honour of inventing
the gridiron pendulum, because he did not publish an ac¬
count of it till 1767. But it was known to the public al¬
most from the time it was made in 1726; and Short has
described it in the Philosophical Transactions for 1751.
Graham had proposed to increase the effect of the dif-
ference between the expansions of two metals by means ofPens‘
levers. This was put in practice by Ellicot in a pendulum
described by him in the Philosophical Transactions for
1751. Many other pendulums have been made on this
principle ; but, unless great care be taken to avoid friction,
they are liable either not to act at all, or to move by starts
in a very uncertain uianner.
1;
PENDULUM.
215
Jilum. Some pendulums are partly composed of tubes, and these to have the tube at first too long, and then gradually to Pendulum.
—' generally differ only in form from those of the gridiron con- reduce it by repeated trials, because the expansion of the ' ’
r struction. The following is perhaps amongst the best, as wood is so very uncertain. Mr Stevelly considers a bracket of
[m| i lras• well as the simplest, of the tubular sort in use. A rod of wood firmly fixed on the lower end of the rod to be greatly
steel attached to and descending from the suspension is preferable to a nut and screw for the tube to rest upon; and,
covered by a tube of zinc, which rests on a shoulder or nut to regulate the clock, he varies the length of the suspension
on the bottom of the rod; over this again is put a tube of spring in a very ingenious manner, by means of a micrometer
iron or steel, having a contraction or flat ring at its upper screw, which works a nut and screw at the top of the pen¬
dulum. T'
ie Ps
end, to rest or hang upon the top of the zinc ; and this
outer tube carries at its lower end the bob or weight. This
pendulum needs no farther description, being essentially
the same as that of Ward, only the parts are not so equal¬
ly exposed to changes of temperature. Sometimes lead is
used in place of zinc, and rods of steel instead of the outer
tube.
Smeaton’s pendulum has a solid glass rod, covered to the
extent of a foot by a tube of zinc, which rests on a nut or
shoulder at the bottom of the rod, and expands upward.
This is covered by a tube of iron also a foot long, hooking
upon the top of the zinc, and expanding downward. The
iron again has a shoulder at the bottom, on which rests a
massy tube of lead incasing the other two, and expanding
upward. These three tubes therefore form both the bob
and the compensation. This construction is neither diffi¬
cult nor expensive, but the parts whose expansions are op¬
posed to each other are, like those of some of the pendu¬
lums already described, liable to be of somewhat different
temperatures.
id join- Mr Adam Reid’s compensation has a very long central
is! >n. rod of steel descending considerably below* the bob, and
has this lower part covered by a zinc tube. The bottom of
the zinc rests on a nut fixed on the lower end of the rod,
while the bob, again, rests on the top of the zinc tube.
Hence, if the zinc, by expanding upward, raise the centre
of oscillation as much as the downward expansion of the
long steel rod depresses it, a compensation will be effected.
The length of this pendulum exposes it to much resist¬
ance from the air ; and the zinc being so low down, is apt
to differ materially in temperature from the steel rod. Cap¬
tain Kater’s pendulum of 1808, noticed below, is older than
this, and only differs from it in having a wooden rod.
xm, Somewhat allied to the last is the very home-made kind
idu n. of pendulum consisting of a wooden rod partly covered by a
leaden tube, and which has often received far more than its
due share of commendation. Pendulums with wooden rods
are described by Captain Kater, in Nicholson’s Journal for
1808, and in the volume on Mechanics in Lardner’s Cyclo¬
paedia ; by Colonel Beaufoy, in the Annals of Philosophy for
March 1820 ; by Mr Baily, in vol. i. Memoirs of Astrono¬
mical Society; by Mr Squire, in Philosophical Magazine
for January 1825 and July 1827 ; and by Professor Stevelly,
in the Reports of the British Association (vol. v.). This last,
though professedly written in refutation of the rules given
by Captain Kater and Mr Baily for the construction of com¬
pensating pendulums, is itself far from being correct; for
Mr Stevelly only takes into account the expansion of the
wood in so far as it affects the position of the lead, and quite
overlooks it as affecting the position of its own mass; so
But of this part of the scheme we do not approve,
no matter to what sort of pendulum it were applied. For
we are much of the opinion which has often been advanced,
that the suspension spring ought to be so contrived as to
equalize the times of the wider and narrower vibrations, a
great desideratum for every nice pendulum, as will be no¬
ticed more particularly afterwards. The proper length of
such a spring could only be ascertained by actual trials; and
it that were done, the length could not afterwards be varied
without disturbing the isochronism of the vibrations. The
like may be said of all those compensations whose effect
depends on their varying the length of the spring, as is the
case with those of Deparcieux, Julien Leroy, Fordyce,
Wynn, and many others.
Although the effects of moisture in altering the dimen¬
sions and weight of the wood may be in a great measure
obviated by baking, and by impregnating and coating it
with certain substances, yet these again tend to increase its
expansion by heat. But another objection, which applies
to every pendulum in which the bob acts as the compensa¬
tion, is, that the middle of the bob being far below the middle
of the rod, their temperatures are apt to differ materially;
and especially in this case, where the temperature of the
wood must change much more sloAvly than that of the metal.
Bars composed of plates of two different metals, as, for
instance, brass and steel soldered or riveted together, have
also been used in the construction of various compensations.
Thus, a bar of this sort being placed across the pendulum
rod, and having the more expansible metal on the under
side, carries a weight at each end. The consequence is,
that a rise of temperature tends to raise the ends of the bar,
together with the weights, and of course to raise the centre
of oscillation ; and a tall of temperature has just the oppo¬
site effect. If the bar is thin, it is apt to be in a state of
perpetual tremor; and if so thick as to obviate this, it
scarcely yields under the variations of tem¬
perature. Other forms of this sort of com¬
pensation are generally very complicated.
There are many other compensating pen -
dulums, but the most of them are either the
same in principle with those we have de¬
scribed, or they fall under some of the ob¬
jections stated in the course of this article.
We shall, therefore, only add a description
of the following one, wichh we presume to
be new, and free from the objections just al¬
luded to.
If an elastic hoop of metal in the figure
of an ellipse have a force applied to it, as it
were, slightly,'to alter the length of either axis,
that he provides no compensation for the wooden part of the length of the other axis will at the same
his pendulum, although he is to have such a mass of wood
at the lower end of the rod that the wooden part alone is to
vibrate in a second when there is no lead on it at all.
Mr Baily, probably including the suspension spring, makes
the rod of deal 45*75 inches long and 0*375 in diameter;
the tube of lead 14*3 inches long and from 1*25 to 2*25
inches diameter outside, with a bore just sufficient to hold
the rod. Mr Stevelly uses a suspension spring two inches
long; a deal-rod 44*995 inches long and 0*6 diameter ; a
leaden tube 16*965 inches long and 1*5 diameter outside,
with a bore to fit the rod. But, without endeavouring to
correct either of these rules, the safe way, we presume, is
time undergo a contrary change; and the
variations of these axes will be to each other
in the inverse ratio of the axes themselves.
Thus, if the greater axis A C were nine inches
long, and a force were applied to increase it
to 9*01, the smaller axis B D, if three inches,
would be reduced to 2*97; or if A C were
reduced to. 8*99, B D would be increased to
3*03. This property we have found by trial
upon a large scale to be either accurately or very nearly true,
for minute variations of the axes. Whether it admit of de¬
monstration is not of much consequence to our present pur-
?c Principle of
a proposed
compensa¬
tion pendu
lum.
216
Pendulum,
PENDULUM.
pos©. Indeed, the probability of forming a hoop of an ac¬
curately elliptical figure is not very great, and as little is the
chance that it would be perfectly uniform in its stiffness.
Without these conditions it would be nearly useless to at¬
tempt any demonstration.
In the annexed outline of a compensation pendulum on
this principle, let the elliptic hoop A J> C 1) be of the di¬
mensions above stated, and of steel, while the horizontal
rod A C, occupying the position of the longer axis, is of
zinc ; since the expansions of these metals are nearly as one
to 2-7, the excess of the expansion of the zinc rod of nine
inches over that of an equal length of steel would still com¬
pensate 9 X 1’7 = 15-3 inches of steel. But, by the pi'O-
perty just described, the corresponding excess of the con¬
traction of the shorter axis B D in the vertical direction
over its own expansion, being equal to three times the ex¬
pansion of those 15*3 inches of steel, will compensate 45-9
inches of the steel pendulum rod EF attached in two pieces
EB, DF to the opposite sides of the hoop.
This rough computation will, we presume, be sufficient to
show the efficiency of such a mode of compensation, in which,
if the hoop be only pressed against the rounded ends of the
zinc rod by the weight of the pendulum, there need be no
friction, and consequently no moving by jerks or starts,
w hilst the temperature is changing. It is, besides, a great
recommendation to this compensation, that the hoop will
readily admit of being so placed in the pendulum rod as to
have the average temperature of its different parts. The
construction will be easy, and attended with little expense.
Perhaps, in place of a single hoop, it might in some cases be
preferable to use two of a smaller and less eccentric figure,
and even to employ other metals. But since the greater
the eccentricity of the ellipse, the greater, within proper
limits, will be the compensating effect; and therefore, by
putting in a longer or shorter rod of zinc, the effect may
be easily adjusted. The compensation might be still more
readily regulated by forming the zinc rod in two pieces,
screwing together in the middle, and thus being capable of
lengthening and shortening, like the common contrivance
for stretching a hat. The length of the zinc rod, when so
adjusted, together with the weight of the pendulum, will
readily bring and keep the hoop to the proper eccentricity,
unless it has originally been very far from it, in which case
it must be altered. It would, however, be an advantage
that the hoop should be rather longer than the zinc, in or¬
der to lessen the pressure on the ends of the rod, when
brought to bear against it by the weight of the bob. But
the ends of the rod might be capped with steel or other
hard substance, which could both protect the zinc and
lessen any chance of friction, by presenting a sharper point
to bear against the hoop. It is evident that this principle
of compensation is equally applicable to the balances of
chronometers. But we cannot here enter into the details
of the construction.
General re- The expansion of one material cannot be expected accu¬
rately to compensate that of another, unless they either pro¬
ceed pari passu everywhere alike exposed for temperature,
or have the average temperatures of their several parts ex¬
actly the same ; or at least have these parts so arranged that
they may with good reason be expected to produce the same
effect as if the whole apparatus underwent the same change
of temperature. Now, the following considerations render
it more than probable that many compensations are liable
to this objection, and that they are therefore unfit for the
purpose. Generally speaking, the external air is colder as
the height is greater, but the reverse is more commonly
the case with confined air, or that within doors; so that a
thermometer near the floor often indicates a temperature
lower by several degrees than another near the ceiling; and
this difference is said to be greater as the weather is more
inclined to rain. In an upper room the ceiling is liable to
marks.
great fluctuations of temperature from the vicissitudes ofPenc; ^
the weather, and, no doubt, may occasionally be much colders
than the floor. But at any rate, it is found that, even in
confined air, a difference of thirty-nine inches in height,
which is far short of the length of many a pendulum rod, is
often attended with a sensible difference of temperature.
Thus, on examining the extensive tables of Mr Baily’s ex¬
periments in the Philosophical Transactions for 1832, we
find that he had placed two thermometers within his va¬
cuum apparatus, the one being at the axis of suspension of
the pendulum, and the other on a level with the centre of
oscillation, and that they frequently differ by half a degree
and more, though the apartment was one of an uncommonly
steady temperature. Generally the upper thermometer was
at the higher temperature, though sometimes the reverse.
In some cases the air was of the full pressure, in others
nearly exhausted. There is likewise reason to fear, that a
difference frequently exists between the temperature of a
pendulum rod and that of the parts compensating it, when
the latter are separate from the pendulum and at rest, and
especially when they are at some distance from it, with per¬
haps some board, stone, or partition intervening W hen a
tube encloses one or more rods or tubes, it may be expect¬
ed to partake sooner of any change in the air’s temperature
than the parts within; and still more will this be the case
where several tubes successively incase one another. Be¬
sides, different materials differ greatly in the promptitude
with which they acquire a change of temperature. Marble,
mica, glass, and even earthenware, have sometimes been
used for pendulum rods. But such substances, if slender, s
are extremely liable to be broken; and if thick, they are
apt, from their being very bad conductors of heat, to take
longer time in changing their temperatures than the other
parts of the pendulum which are to form the compensation;
hence, none of these materials can be compared with the
metals. It is likewise to be feared that some of these will
be liable to have their weights continually varying with the
changes of humidity. Still more objectionable are vege¬
table or animal materials, owing to their changeable tex¬
ture, and the perpetually varying effects of heat and mois¬
ture in altering their dimensions and weights in an uncer¬
tain manner.
Sudden alternations in the temperature of a pendulum
might surely be in a great measure prevented by making
the clock-case of double boards, with a small space be¬
tween them, which might be either left empty, or filled
with some bad conductor of heat. But we very much
doubt if this, or any other simple method, could insure, that
parts which are at a distance and on different levels, as,
for instance, that both ends of a pendulum, would have
the same temperature, the w ant of which is a serious ob¬
jection to many a compensation, not excepting the mer¬
curial pendulum. In all cases in which the parts of the
pendulum slide or turn with friction under considerable
pressure, the compensation is apt either not to act at all, or
to be too long in moving, and then to go too far by a start
or jerk. ,
We have noticed above, and also in the article Clock-Equ:
work, that the vibrations of a pendulum naturally occupy tim
more time in the wider arcs of the same circle than in the
narrower.
   But since the width of the vibrations is liable _
to be considerably affected by the state of the oil and the
degree of foulness of the clock, it would be of great con¬
sequence that the rate of the clock should be rendered in¬
dependent of the variable extent of the arc, because with¬
out this every compensation, whether for temperature or
pressure, must at times fail to some extent, though it would
only be worth the while to equalize the times in a clock
having a dead beat, or detached scapement, or one whose
rate is otherwise independent of any inconstant action of
the wheels upon the pendulum.
PENDULUM.
iilum. Smith, in his Horological Disquisitions, published in
y-“"> 1694, alleged that it is possible to form the spring of sus¬
pension such that it would equalize the times of wider and
narrower vibrations. The same idea was afterwards ad¬
vanced by Peter Leroy, in a memoir published in 1770;
and again by Berthoud, in his Supplement an Traite des
Montres d Longitude, 1807, where he says, “ la suspension a
ressort bien construite tend a rendre isochrones les oscil¬
lations du pendule.” In the Philosophical Magazine for
April 1833, Mr Scrymgeour has given an account of his
trying this with success upon the pendulums of two clocks,
both of which had dead-beat scapements. The one pen¬
dulum had a wooden rod and a common lenticular bob of
four pounds, with a brass ball under it of half a pound. The
suspending spring was originally about three fourths of
an inch long, and of a middling strength. It was then in
effect shortened by fixing on each side of it a piece of
steel, which was also joined to the rod. Mr Scrymgeour
found, that when the length of the acting part of the
spring was by this means reduced to about an eighth of
an inch, the time in an arc of 3° did not differ more than
half a second in twenty-four hours from that in an arc of
5°. The other pendulum was a mercurial one, with a
suspending spring nearly half an inch broad and -0083
thick. A moveable clamp was made to fasten near the
top of the rod, so as to be shifted up and down at plea¬
sure, and to clasp the spring. The times in different arcs
were found to be equalized when the length of the acting
part of the spring was reduced to about one twentieth of
an inch. After both clocks had been kept going for a con¬
siderable time, they had lost in their rate, which Mr Scrym¬
geour ascribes to the gradual weakening of the spring.
In this he was probably right; and if so, it seems also to
show that the springs were too soft, otherwise they would
rather have broken than shown any symptoms of losing
their force. The usual and needless practice of softening
the ends of the spring, that it may be more easily pierced
for the rivets, was very likely the cause of this. However,
the springs may likewise have at length acquired a little
play in the slits in which they were held. For, after all,
we suspect that this property of isochronism in so short a
spring must have been in a great measure owing to its
coming to act more closely against the corners of both slits,
when the pendulum vibrated in larger arcs than in smaller.
A much longer and stiffer spring, when curved into an arc
of 2°, or of half a vibration, might tend to shorten the pen¬
dulum, though by an almost inappreciable quantity; but
this seems nearly out of the question w ith a short slender
spring. Neither does Hooke’s law of the force of a spring
being as the tension at all account for it.
We have sometimes thought, that if two pieces of a slen¬
der spring were laid together, and firmly held at both ends,
the compound spring so formed would have the propertv
of transgressing Hooke’s law, so as to have its force increas¬
ing in a higher ratio than the tension. For, whilst bending
at first very slightly, the one part of this compound spring
would not sensibly interfere with the action of the other, and
so the force of both would be only double that of either
singly ; but as the curvature increased, the one part would,
as it were, become too long for the other, and so their joint
force would be more than double that of either separately.
In this way the force would increase faster than the arc of
vibration, which is just the thing wanted. Such a spring
would obviously break or be wrinkled useless, if it were
orced through a large arc, but would safely bear to be
bent through arcs more than sufficiently large for the pur-
‘p: ting poses of the pendulum.
* As some clocks, in place of altering the bob, are regu-
ated by having a small weight to shift along the pendu-
luni rod, which was a contrivance of Huygens, it may be
use u here to show, that the effect of such regulating w eight
VOL. xvii. & a &
217
to accelerate the clock is greatest when it is exactly half- Pe ndulum.
way between the axis of suspension and the centre of os- ‘
dilation ; because, unless this is kept in view, the shift¬
ing the weight upward may really make the clock go slow¬
er instead of faster, and vice versa. Let A be the sum of
the products of all the particles of the pendulum, except
those of the moveable weight, into the squares of their dis¬
tances respectively from the axis of suspension, and let B
be the sum of all the products of the same particles into
their simple distances from that axis; also, let C be the
moveable weight at the variable distance x from the axis
of suspension. Since the greatest acceleration will occur
when g, the effective length of the pendulum, is a mini¬
mum, and since, by the well-known property of the pendu-
lum, y = ^ -, its fluxion will then be =r 0; or
B + C a;’
2 (B + Ca;) Vxdx — (A + C a;2) GWa? = 0. From this we
'B2 . A\ B
obtain x _ — + ^j) — Substituting now
the positive value of x in the above expression for y, and
reducing, it will be found that the value of y is just double
that of x, or that x — \y. This question is treated in a
very different manner, and at great length, in the Connais-
sance des Terns for 1817, by Baron de Prony, who recom¬
mends this mode of regulating, because the small weight
admits of being shifted over a much more appreciable
space than the bob does, and because it may be placed
so high on the rod as to be readily shifted without stop¬
ping the clock. If placed above the middle of the effec¬
tive length of the whole pendulum, it must be moved down¬
ward to make the clock go faster, and upward to make it go
slower. ”
Mr Browne’s mode of regulating consists in having some
convenient surface so situated on the pendulum, that crook¬
ed bits of lead may either be readily put on it or removed,
without disturbing the motion of the clock.
The British government has lately granted a sum ofPendulum
money towards defraying the expenses of repeating Ca-fordeter-
vendish s experiment for determining the mean density of mining the
F /"VO Y't- L n v\ sA 4- l~* A'V    _ •  a 1 /■* i ■ .1 1A  _ X'
the earth, and the apparatus is in the course of being con- density of
,,.(-^,1 tj. a.— ..i— i „ .i ..... --the earth.
structed. But we have often thought that in this case (as well
as in that proposed under the article Clock-work, vol. vi.
p. 784, for determining the velocity of sound), the applica¬
tion of clock-work might furnish a more systematic mode
of settling the question. If two accurate clocks, perfectly
equal in every respect, and provided with very long pendu¬
lums, but without any compensations, were adjusted to
the same rate; then, by placing one or more great masses
of lead near to the ball of the one pendulum, the effect of
this on its rate, if at all appreciable, would be very accu¬
rately pointed out by the difference in the times shown by
the two clocks. The spaces in which the two pendulums
moved could still be kept exactly equal, by placing equally
near the other pendulum patterns of the lead, but formed of
some light substance. In this way, with proper precaution
to have both clocks at the same, though perhaps a variable,
temperature, no corrections for temperature or pressure
would be required, and the two clocks, left to themselves,
would repeat the experiment thousands of times, and regis¬
ter the amount. By making the ball of the pendulum vi¬
brate through a massy ring of lead placed vertically, with a
slit at the top to make way for the rod, the clock should be
accelerated. This acceleration, together with the extent of
the vibrations, and the masses and dimensions of the ring
and pendulum, would furnish data for computing the at¬
traction and mass of the earth in terms of those of the ring.
If the lower end of the pendulum rod were formed into a
sufficiently large loop linking into the ring, it might move
clear of it without the lead having any slit. But there are
various other forms in which the lead might be presented
2 E
218 PEN
Penella to the pendulum, either to accelerate or retard it.
II. masses might be so placed as to accelerate the one clock
^ Pemsa- anj retar(i the other. : _ TJ.
Horriv’s Hardy’s inverted pendulum, represented in hg. 7, Plate
inverted CCCCIIL is similar to an ordinary clock pendulum hav-
pendulum. jng a spring suspension, but only inverted. It is also tur-
nished with a weight, which can be shifted along the rod,
to render its vibrations of any required duration. 1 his in¬
strument has been much used by Captain Kater and others
as a test for the steadiness of the supports on which their
pendulums were swung; because its sensibility was be¬
lieved to be such, that the slightest vibration of any thing
on which it stood would set it a nodding. But the follow¬
ing consideration has led us to doubt its extreme sensibi¬
lity, and therefore also to question whether the discrepan¬
cies5 in some pendulum experiments may not have been
owing to the unbounded confidence reposed in this instru¬
ment. The spring which supports the rod, and connects
it with the pedestal, must be incomparably more stiff in
proportion to the mass of the pendulum, than is usual with
springs of suspension; otherwise this pendulum would to
a certainty lean over to one side, or fall down altogether.
Such a stiff spring must therefore render the instrument
PEN
quite insensible to any very slight vibrations of the article Penis
on which it is set. Another defect is, that the force of gra- ||
vity acts upon it in the most disadvantageous manner, and 1 ^
makes the durations of the vibrations increase prodigiously« ar
with their width. From such considerations, we should be
disposed to reject this form of instrument altogether, as not
being a trustworthy test for the steadiness of supports. All
we would retain of it is the mere frame, from the top of
which, if a leaden ball were suspended by a thread or fine
wire, it would be possessed of far greater sensibility, would
have its wide and narrow vibrations nearly isochronous, and
would join in or comply with the vibrations of the support,
whatever might be their direction ; whereas Hardy’s instru¬
ment can only act in a single plane. Ihe thread, too,
could most readily have its length altered, so as to fit it for
vibrations in accordance with those which
might be suspected in any support. _
In addition to the various references and authorities which
have been mentioned in the course of this article, and in
that on Clock-work, we beg to refer to the different scien¬
tific periodicals, and to the accounts of the various expedi¬
tions which have been more recently undertaken for pur¬
poses of scientific investigation. (e. e. e.)
PENELLA, a town of the kingdom of Portugal, in the
province of Beira, and corregimiento of Cambra. It is si¬
tuated upon an elevated spot, and is defended by two cas¬
tles. It contains two churches, an hospital, and a poor-
house, 746 dwellings, and 3760 inhabitants.
PENELOPE, in fabulous history, the daughter ot Ica¬
rus, married Ulysses, by whom she had Telemachus. Dur¬
ing the absence of Ulysses, who had gone to the siege o
Troy, and who staid twenty years from his dominions, se¬
veral princes, charmed with Penelope’s beauty, told her
that Ulysses was dead, offered to marry her, and pressed
her to declare in their favour. She promised compliance
on condition that they would give her time to finish a piece
of tapestry she was weaving; but at the same time she
undid in the night what she had done in the day, and by
this artifice eluded their importunity till Ulysses’s return.
PENETRATE, a sacred apartment or chapel in private
houses, which was set apart for the worship of the house-
hold gods amongst the ancient Romans. In temples also
there were penetralia, or apartments of distinguished sanc¬
tity, where the images of the gods were kept, and certain
solemn ceremonies performed.
PENGUIN Island, a small island near the coast ot
New Holland, at the entrance of Adventure Bay. Long.
147. 33. E. Lat. 43. 21. N.
PENICHE, a city of Portugal, in the province of Estre-
madura, and corregimiento of Leiria. It stands upon a pe¬
ninsula, which is divided from the continent by a narrow
channel, at times nearly dry. It is fortified and protected
by a citadel called Amparo, and also by a fort on Cape Ca-
rooeiro. It contains three churches, a monastery, a hos¬
pital, a poor-house, 920 dwelling-houses, and 4800 inha¬
bitants. In the harbour, which is small, there is depth of
water sufficient for large ships. The fishery affords occu¬
pation to the greater portion of the population.
PENIGK, a city of the kingdom of Saxony, in the cir¬
cle of the Erzgebirge, and the capital of the patrimonial
bailiwick of the same name. It is situated on the rivei
Mulde, and contains 440 houses, with 3450 inhabitants. It
has a palace belonging to the mediatized count. 4. he chief
occupation consists in making and printing cotton goods.
PENINSULA, in Geography, is a portion or extent of
land joining to the continent by a narrow neck or isthmus,
the rest being encompassed with water.
PENISA, a town of Spain, in the partida of Denia, and
the province of Valencia. It contains 3200 inhabitants,
who are chiefly occupied in drying raisins for distant coun¬
tries, an article which is peculiarly excellent in its quality,
being the growth of the vicinity.
PENISCOLA, a city of Spain, in the province of Va¬
lencia, and the capital of a department of the same name,
which runs along the coast of the Mediterranean, in the
north-east part. The city stands on a hill which runs out
into the sea. It has a citadel, and is surrounded with walls.
This place is remarkable for the purity of the air. The
inhabitants amount to 3000, a great part of whom are em¬
ployed in the fisheries. 4 he fields are not so well cultivated
as in most other parts of the province. Long. 0. 23. 25. W.
Lat. 40. 22. 40. N.
PENITENCE is sometimes used for a state of repen¬
tance, and sometimes for the act of repenting. It is also
used for a discipline or punishment attending repentance,
more usually called penance. Besides, it gives title to se¬
veral religious orders, consisting either of converted de¬
bauchees and reformed prostitutes, or of persons who de¬
vote themselves to the office of reclaiming them. Of this
Icittcr kind is the
Order of Penitence of St Magdalen, established about
the year 1272 by one Bernard, a citizen of Marseilles, who
devoted himself to the work of converting the courtezans
of that city. Bernard was seconded by several others,
who, having formed a kind of society, were at length erected
into a religious order by Pope Nicholas III. under the rule
of St Augustin. F. Gesnay says that they also constituted
a religious order of the penitents, or women they converted,
giving them the same rules and observances which they
themselves followed.
PENITENTIAL, an ecclesiastical book, retained among
the Catholics, in which is prescribed what relates to the
imposition of penance and the reconciliation of penitents.
There are various penitentials, as the Roman peniten¬
tial, that of the venerable Bede, that of Pope Gregory
III. and several others.
PENITENTIARY, in the ancient Christian church, a
name given to certain presbyters or priests, appointed in
every church to receive the private confessions of the
people, in order to facilitate public discipline, by inform¬
ing them what sins were to be expiated by public penance,
and to appoint private penance for such occult crimes as
were not proper to be publicly censured.
PEN
PEN
219
iten- Penitentiary, at the court of Rome, is an office in
iry which are examined and delivered out the secret bulls,
I graces, or dispensations relating to cases of conscience,
!nn' , confessions, and the like.
v Penitentiary, a prison or place of confinement for
criminals, in which the prisoners are made to labour, and
a system of discipline is employed for effecting their refor¬
mation. See Prison and Prison-Discipline.
PENJINE, a river of Asiatic Russia, near the north¬
eastern extremity of the government of Irkoutsk. Its ori¬
gin and course is but imperfectly known.
PENKR1DGE, a market-town situated within the hun¬
dred of Cuttlestone, in the county of Stafford, 129 miles
from London. It stands on the river Penk, and has a mar¬
ket, which is held on Saturday. It is a very ancient town,
being supposed to have been the Pennocrucicum of the Ro¬
mans ; but it has very little trade. The population amount¬
ed in 1801 to 1133, in 1811 to 1934, in 1821 to 2299, and
in 1831 to 2351; but the parish, which is more extensive,
appears by the last census to have contained 2991 persons.
PENMAN-Mawr, a mountain in Caernarvonshire, 1400
feet in height. It hangs perpendicularly over the sea, at so
vast a height, that few spectators are able to look down the
dreadful steep. On the side which is next the sea, there
is a road cut out of the side of the rock, about six or seven
feet wide, which winds up a steep ascent.
PENN, William, an eminent writer amongst the Qua¬
kers, and the planter and legislator of Pennsylvania, was the
son of Sir William Penn, and born at London in the year
1644. In 1660 he was entered a gentleman of Christ-
Church, in Oxford ; but having previously received an im¬
pression from the preaching of one Thomas Loe, a Quaker,
he withdrew, with some other students, from the national
worship, and held private meetings, where they preached
and prayed amongst themselves. This having given great
offence to the heads of the college, Mr Penn, although only
sixteen years of age, was fined for non-conformity ; and,
continuing his religious exercises, he was at length expelled
the college. Upon his return home, he was on the same
account treated with great severity by his father, who at
length turned him out of doors; but his resentment after¬
wards abating, Penn was sent, in company with some per¬
sons of quality, to France, where he continued for a con¬
siderable time, and returned not only well skilled in the
French language, but a polite and accomplished gentle¬
man. About the year 1666, his father committed to his
care a considerable estate in Ireland. Being found in one
of the Quakers’ meetings in Cork, he, with many others,
was thrown into prison; but having written to the Earl of
Orrery, he was soon after discharged. However, his father
being informed that he still adhered to his opinions, sent
lor him to England, and finding him unmoved by all his ar¬
guments, turned him out of doors a second time. About
the year 1668, he became a public preacher amongst the
Quakers, and in that year was committed close prisoner to
the Tower, where he wrote several treatises. Being dis¬
charged after seven months’ imprisonment, he went to Ire¬
land, where he also preached amongst the Quakers. Re¬
turning to England, he was, in 1670, committed to New¬
gate for preaching in Gracechurch Street meeting-house,
London; but being tried at the sessions-house of the Old
Bailey, he was acquitted. In September the same year his
father died, and, being perfectly reconciled to his son, left
him both his paternal blessing and a good estate. But his
persecutions were not yet at an end; for in the year 1671
he was committed to Newgate, for preaching at a meeting
in Wheeler Street, London; and during his imprisonment,
which continued six months, he also wrote several trea¬
tises. After his discharge he went into Holland and Ger¬
many ; and, in the beginning of the year 1672, married
and settled with his family at Rickmansworth, in Hert¬
fordshire. The same year he published several pieces,
and particularly one against Reeve and Muggleton. In
1677 he again travelled into Holland and Germany, in
order to propagate his opinions, and had frequent conver¬
sations with the Princess Elizabeth, daughter to the Queen
of Bohemia, and sister to the Princess Sophia, mother of
George I. In the year 1681, Charles II., in consideration
of the services of Mr Penn’s father, and several debts due
to him by the crown at the time of his decease, granted
Mr Penn and his heirs the province lying on the western
side of the river Delaware, in North America, which thence
obtained the name of Pennsylvania. Upon this Mr Penn
published a brief account of the province, together with the
king’s patent; and proposing an easy purchase of lands,
and good terms of settlement, for such as were inclined to
remove thither, he induced many to proceed to the new
settlement. These having made and improved their plan¬
tations to good advantage, the governor, in order to secure
the planters from the native Indians, appointed commis¬
sioners to purchase the land which he had received from
the king of the native Indians, and concluded a peace with
them. The city of Philadelphia was planned and built;
and he himself drew up the fundamental constitutions of
Pennsylvania, in twenty-four articles. In 1681 he was
elected a member of the Royal Society; and the next
year he embarked for Pennsylvania, where he continued
about two years, and returned to England in August 1684.
Upon the accession of James II. to the throne, he was
taken into a great degree of favour with his majesty,
which exposed him to the imputation of being a Papist;
but from this he fully vindicated himself. However, upon
the Revolution, he was examined before the council in
1688, and obliged to give security for his appearance up¬
on the first day of next term, which was afterwards con¬
tinued. He was several times examined and discharged;
and at length warrants being issued out against him, he
was obliged to conceal himself during two or three years.
But being at last permitted to appear before the king and
council, he represented his innocence so effectually that
he was acquitted. In August 1699, he, with his wife and
family, embarked for Pennsylvania, whence he returned
in 1701, in order to vindicate his proprietary right, which
had been attacked during his absence. On Queen Anne’s
accession to the crown, he was in great favour with her
majesty, and often at court. But in 1707 he was involved
in a law-suit with the executors of a person who had for¬
merly been his steward ; and, though many thought him
aggrieved, the Court of Chancery did not deem it proper
to afford him any relief; upon which account he was ob¬
liged to live within the rules of the Fleet for several months,
till the matter in dispute was accommodated. Penn died
in the year 1718.
At one period of his life Penn lodged in a house in
Norfolk Street, in the Strand. In the entrance to it he
had a peeping-hole, through which he could see any per¬
son who came to him. A creditor one day sent in his
name, and having been made to wait more than a reason¬
able time, he knocked for the servant, whom he asked,
Will not thy master see me?’ “Friend,” answered
the servant, “ he has seen thee, but he does not like thee.”
Mr Penn’s friendly and pacific manner of treating the
Indians produced in them an extraordinary love for him
and his people ; so that they maintained a perfect amity
with the English settled in Pennsylvania. He was the
great bulwark of the Quakers, in defence of whom he
wrote numberless pieces. The most esteemed of these
are, 1. His Primitive Christianity revived; 2. His de¬
fence of a paper entitled Gospel Truths, against the excep¬
tions of the Bishop of Cork ; 3. His Persuasive to Mode¬
ration ; 4. His Good Advice to the Church of England,
Roman Catholic, and Protestant Dissenter; 5. The Sandy
Penn.
220
PEN
PEN
Pennant. Foundation shaken • 6. No Cross, no Crown; 7. The solicitations from private friends, as well as the wishes of Penn
' ereat case of Liberty of Conscience debated; 8. The persons entirely unknown to him, which were expressed
Christian Quaker and his Testimony stated and vindicat- in the public prints. This was unquestionably a very
ed • 9 A Discourse of tbe general Rule of Faith and bold attempt in a man who was turned oft seventy, a pe-
Practice and Judge of Controversy ; 10. England’s Pre- riod at which the faculties of the mind must certainly be
sent Interest considered • 11. An Address to Protestants ; impaired, especially when exerted with vigour for such a
12 His Reflections and Maxims; 13. His Advice to his number of years before. Notwithstanding his great age,
Children • 14 His Rise and Progress of the People called however, the work is executed in an able manner, bearing
Ch.nher*’ 1 ^ A Treatise on Oaths. Most of these have a strong resemblance to the introduction of his Arctic
passed through several editions, some ofthem many. The Zoology.
letters between William Penn and Dr Tillotson, and Wd- He also published a letter on the earthquake which was
liam Penn and William Popple, together with Penn’s letters felt at Downing in Flintshire, in the year 1753; another
to the Princess Elizabeth of the Rhine, and the Countess which was inserted in the Philosophical Transactions in
of Hornes as also one to his wife on his going to Penn- 1756 ; his Synopsis of Quadrupeds in 1771 ; a pamphlet
sylvania, are inserted in his works, which were first col- on the militia; a paper on the turkey, and a volume of
lected and published in two volumes folio ; and the parts miscellanies. .
since selected, and abridged into one volume folio, are de- Pennant was enabled to exhibit the greatest hospitality
servedly admired for the good sense by which they are cha- at his table, in consequence of the ample fortune which had
racterized. been left him at his father’s decease ; and he gave the pro-
PENNANT, Thomas, a celebrated naturalist, was fits arising from the sale of several publications to chari-
born in Flintshire, about the year 1726. His family had table endowments. By his generous patronage a number
their residence in that country for several hundred years ; of engravers met with great encouragement, and he con-
and he himself informs us that he acquired the rudiments tributed not a little to the promotion of the fine arts,
of his education at Wrexham, whence he was sent to Ful- About the age of fifty he married for the second time, a
ham. Not long after this he went to the university of Ox- Miss Mostyn, sister of his neighbour, the late Sir Roger
ford’ where his&progress in classical knowledge was very Mostyn of Flintshire. The concluding part of his life was
considerable, after which he turned his attention to the cheerful, and it may be affirmed that he scarcely felt the
study of jurisprudence ; but it is nowhere said that he ever advances of old age. He died at his seat at Downing in
followed the law as a profession. 1798, in the seventy-second year of his age. _
We are informed that his taste for natural history, by Pennant inherited from nature a strong and vigorous con-
his knowledge of which he afterwards became so conspi- stitution ; his countenance was open and intelligent; his dis-
cuous, was first excited by the perusal of Willughby’s position was active and cheerful; and his vivacity, both in
Ornithology, a copy of which had been sent him in a pre- writing and conversation, made him perpetually entertain-
sent. He began his travels at home, which was certainly ing. His heart was kind and benevolent, and in the re-
the most proper step, to acquire a knowledge of the man
ners, curiosities, and productions of his native country,
before he attempted to delineate those of any other na¬
tion. He then visited the Continent, where he acquired
additional knowledge respecting his most favourite stu-
lations of domestic life his conduct was highly worthy of
imitation. The distresses in which his poor neighbours
were at any time involved gave him unfeigned uneasiness,
and he endeavoured to relieve them by every means in his
power. He was possessed of candour, and free from com-
dies, and became acquainted with some of the most cele- mon prejudices, a truth fully evinced in all his publications,
brated literary characters which that period produced. The people of Scotland were proud to confess that he was
When he returned home he married, and had two chil- the first English traveller who had fairly represented their
dren ; but he was thirty-seven years of age before he gain- country, in its favourable as well as in its less pleasing ap¬
ed possession of the family estate, after which he took up pearances. His style is lively, and fitted, to convey the
his residence at Downing. ideas which he intended to express, but it is not always
On the death of his wfle he again set out for the Con- correct. In zoology his arrangement is judicious, and his
tinent, where he became acquainted with Voltaire, Buf- descriptions characteristic. If we discover several traces
fon, Pallas, and other eminent characters. Being an au- of vanity in those works which he published near the close
thor as early as the year 1750, when only twenty-four of life, it ought to be remembered that it is the vanity ot
years of age, he had acquired a considerable degree of re- an old man, which is seldom disagreeable, especially when
putation in that capacity by the time he became acquaint- united with amiable manners anu a benevolent disposition
ed with the above-mentioned philosophers. His reputation
as a naturalist was established by his British Zoology, in
four volumes 4to; and still further increased by his epis¬
tolary correspondence with no less a personage than Lin¬
naeus. He undertook a tour to Cornwall at an early period
of life, and also felt an irresistible propensity to survey
the works of nature in the northern parts of the kingdom.
For this purpose he set out for Scotland in 1771, and pub¬
lished an amusing account of his tour, in three volumes
4to, which was destined to receive such a share of pub¬
lic favour as to pass through several editions. His Welsh
tour was published in 1778, and his journey from Chester
to London in 1782, in one volume 4to. About the year
1784 appeared his Arctic Zoology, a work which was very
much esteemed, both in his own and in many other coun¬
tries. He also gave the world a natural history of the
parishes of Holywell and Downing, within the latter of
which he had resided during more than fifty years. Not
long before his death appeared his View of Hindustan,
in two volumes 4to, to undertake which, it seems, he had
PENNAR, a river of Hindustan, which has its source
not far from Nundydroog. It flows at first in a northerly
direction until it approaches Gooty, and then takes a south¬
east course by Gandicotta and Cuddapah; after which it
reaches the sea at Gungapatnam by an easterly course,
after passing the fortress of Nelloor.
PENNATORE, a town on the sea-coast of Travancore,
where the rajah of Travancore constructed a harbour for
European and Chinese ships, which anchored in order to
load with pepper. Long. 76. 55. E. Lat. 8. 25. N.
PENNE, a city of France, in the department of the Lot
and Garonne, and the arrondissementof Villeneuve d’Agen.
It stands on an elevation on the left bank of the river Lot,
and contains, with its parish, 6230 inhabitants.
PENNY, in commerce, an ancient English coin, which
had formerly considerable currency, but is now generally
dwindled into an imaginary money or money of account.
Camden derives the word from the Latin 'pecunia, money.
The ancient English penny, penig, or pening, was the first
silver coin struck in England; nay, the only one current
PEN
PEN
221
p v. amongst our Saxon ancestors, as is agreed by Camden,
J lit Spelman, Hickes, and others. The penny was equal in
weight to our threepence; five of them made one shil-
epy!- ling, or scilling Saxon, and thirty a mark or mancuse, equal
v' to 7s. fid. Till the time of King Edward I. the penny was
struck with a cross, so deeply indented in it that it might
be easily broken and parted, on occasion, into two parts,
which were thence called half-pennies ; or into four, which
were called fourthings or farthings. But that prince coin¬
ed it without indenture, instead of which, he first struck
round halfpence and farthings. He also reduced the weight
of the penny to a standard, ordering that it should weigh
thirty-two grains of wheat, taken out of the middle of the
ear. This penny was called the penny sterling ; and as
twenty of these pence were to weigh an ounce, the penny
thus became a weight as well as a coin. The penny ster¬
ling was long disused as a coin, and was scarcely known,
except as a money of account, containing the twelfth part
of a shilling; but latterly it has been introduced into the
British current coin.
PENNYWEIGHT, a Troy weight, containing twenty-
four grains, each grain weighing a grain of wheat, gather¬
ed out of the middle of the ear, and well dried. The name
took its rise from the circumstance that this was anciently
the weight of one of our silver pennies.
PENORCON, an old musical instrument of the guitar
kind, with nine strings and a broad finger-board.
PENRITH, a market-town and parish in the ward of
Leath, in the county of Cumberland, 284 miles from Lon¬
don, and seventeen from Carlisle. It is an ancient town,
which in the wars between England and Scotland frequent¬
ly changed masters ; and near to the town, on the bank of
the river Emont, are now shown two curious caverns, said
to have been occupied by the peaceable inhabitants du¬
ring the frontier excursions of the two nations. The parish
church is a handsome structure, of old date, but modern¬
ized. There are markets, which are held on Tuesday and
Saturday; and there are some manufactories for woollen and
cotton goods. The population amounted in 1801 to 3801,
in 1811 to 4328, in 1821 to 5385, and in 1831 to 6059;
but in it is included that of the whole parish, comprehend¬
ing the townships of Burrogate, Dockray, Middlegate,
Sandgate, Carelton, Nether-end-bridge, and Plymton.
PENRYN, a borough-town of Cornwall, in the hundred
of Kerrier and parish of St Gulvian, 266 miles from Lon¬
don and three from Falmouth, with the harbour of which
it has a water communication. It has a corporation, with
twelve aldermen, twelve common-council men, and a re¬
corder; and it continues to return two members to the
House of Commons. It has considerable trade in the pil¬
chard and Newfoundland fisheries, and in Cornish granite,
which is found in abundance around it. There are markets,
which are held on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.
The population amounted in 1801 to 2324, in 1811 to
2713, in 1821 to 2933, and in 1831 to 3521.
PENNSYLVANIA, one of the United States of North
America, and, in point of manufactures, the most import¬
ant in the Union. As now limited, it extends from 39.43. to
42. 16. of north latitude, and from 74.35. to 80. 31. of lon¬
gitude west from Greenwich. It is bounded on the north by
NewYork; on the east and north-east by the river Delaware,
which separates it from New Jersey; on the south-east by
the state of Delaware; on the south by Maryland and part
of Virginia; and on the west by the latter state and part
of that of Ohio. Darby, in his Geographical View, makes
its greatest length to be 315 American statute miles, and
its greatest breadth 176 miles, thus comprehending an area
of about 47,000 square miles, or 30,080,000 statute acres.
The most prominent natural features which strike the eye
at the first glance of a map of Pennsylvania are the moun¬
tains. Scarcely any part of it is entitled to be called level;
and it may be doubted whether a more widely-diversified
region exists upon the face of the earth, or one of similar
area in which the vegetable and mineral productions are
more numerous. The Appalachian range in the United
States generally extends in a direction deviating not very
essentially from the south-west to the north-east; but in
Pennsylvania the whole chain is deflected from that course,
and traverses the state in a serpentine direction. Towards
the southern boundary, the mountains run nearly north-
north-east, but gradually incline more eastwTardly as they
penetrate northward ; and in the central counties many
of the chains run nearly east and west. But as they ap¬
proach the northern limits of the state they again gra¬
dually incline to the north-east, and enter New York and
New Jersey nearly in that direction. The principal ridges
are the Blue Mountains, behind which, and nearly parallel
with them, are other smaller ridges. On the west side of
the Susquehannah are the Kittatinny ridges, which are
succeeded by the great Alleghany ridge, the largest of all,
and which gives name to the whole system. ^West of these
mountains, Pennsylvania consists of hill, dale, and plains,
having a surface not unlike to that of New England. In
respect to surface, this state is divisible into three na¬
tural sections, viz. first, a small but important hilly tract
between the marine alluvium and the lower ridges of the
Appalachian system, which is called the eastern section,
and comprises 7869 square miles; secondly, the moun¬
tainous or middle section, comprising 25,189 square miles ;
and, thirdly, the western or hilly section, comprising 13,942
square miles. The highest peaks of the Alleghanies are
elevated from 2000 to 3000 feet above the level of the sea.
This middle region, chiefly occupied by Germans, presents
all varieties of scenery, the grand, rugged, and romantic,
blending with the sheltered, the beautiful, and the cultivat¬
ed. Some of the mountains admit of cultivation almost to
their summits, and the valleys between them are in general
rich and fertile.
The principal rivers are the Delaware, the Susquehan¬
nah, Schuylkill, Lehigh, Alleghany, Monongahela, Ohio,
Juniatta, Youghiogeny, and Clarion, formerly called Toby’s
Creek. The Susquehannah is the largest Atlantic river
of the United States. It rises in the state of New York,
near the sources of the Mohawk, and, flowing in a south¬
westerly direction, enters Pennsylvania, but afterwards
bends its course back into New York. Still seeking an
outlet to the west, it returns into Pennsylvania, and re¬
ceives the Tioga River, the West Branch, and the Juniat¬
ta. These accumulated waters swell it to a broad stream,
which, passing Harrisburgh, enters Maryland, and finds
its estuary in Chesapeake Bay, at Havre-de-Grace, after
a course, measuring its curves, of more than five hundred
miles. It has a number of tributaries, the largest of which
is the Juniatta. This stream has its origin in the Alle¬
ghanies, from two large branches which rise a little above
Huntingdon. The united river divides again, and by two
mouths enters the Susquehannah fourteen miles above
Harrisburgh. Lehigh is an important branch of the Dela¬
ware. It finds its way through several hills, and, amongst
others, through the Blue Ridge. After passing the Mo¬
ravian towns and a beautiful country, it falls into the De¬
laware at Easton. The canals have enabled the great
cities to avail themselves of the rich and exhaustless coal¬
beds near its banks. Schuylkill rises amongst the moun¬
tains of Schuylkill county, and, winding through a rich coun¬
try, and the towns of Reading and Pottstown, supplying
Philadelphia with water in its course, it falls into the De¬
laware about seven miles below the commercial metropolis
of Pennsylvania. It has a long course ; and the locks and
canals have rendered it navigable, so that the immense
beds of anthracite coal at its head sources are rendered
available to Philadelphia and the country on the coast.
222
PENNSYLVANIA.
Pennsyl- Besides these main streams, Pennsylvania is watered by
vania. numerous large creeks and rivulets to as great a degree
as any equal extent of country in the United States. Many
of these, besides irrigating and fertilizing the rich interior
of the state, likewise furnish admirable water power.
The soil of Pennsylvania is much diversified. In some
parts it is barren, but a great proportion of it is fertile, and
not a little very excellent. West of the mountains the
soil of the first quality is a deep black mould, equal in fer¬
tility to that of any part of the United States. Pennsyl¬
vania is emphatically a grain country, wheat being the most
important article of produce. Indian corn, rye, buck-wheat,
barley, oats, flax, hemp, beans, peas, and potatoes, are also
extensively cultivated ; thus, with the exception of rice,
embracing all the cerealia raised in the United States.
From the difference of level in the state, it admits a great
diversity of other vegetable productions. Amongst fruits,
apples, cherries, pears, peaches, and plums are abundant.
Of indigenous forest-trees there is equal variety, including
hemlock, pine, hickory, walnut, wild cherry, locust, maple,
chestnut, mulberry, oak, gum, sassafras, elm, and poplar.
Grapes are common, and the wild plum and crab-apple
abound. In some counties foreign grapes have been ad¬
vantageously cultivated, and wine and brandy of good qua¬
lity have been made from them, but not to any extent. The
sugar maple in the western and northern parts of the state
is abundant, and sugar is made from it in sufficient quan¬
tity to supply the home consumption. Many parts of the
state produce fine meadow-grass, and in these the products
of the dairy are abundant. Pennsylvania is famous for its
breed of draught horses; and nature has abundantly sup¬
plied the forests with game. Deer, turkeys, pheasants,
and partridges, are numerous ; and wild ducks are found in
almost every stream. Wild geese, swans, and pigeons are
migratory, and frequently found in large flocks. Bears,
panthers, wild cats, wolves, and other original tenants ,of
the forests, are more and more disappearing as settlement
and cultivation extend. In the low grounds are found minks,
musk-rats, and opossums ; and snakes form a numerous
tribe ; but the bite of the rattlesnake and copperhead alone
is deadly. In the eastern rivers are found rock-perch, bass,
shad, and herring, which latter come from the sea in large
shoals. In the western waters there is a species of cat-fish,
weighing from fifty to a hundred pounds ; and pike like¬
wise of an enormous weight and size are found. Sturgeon
are common to both these sections of the state. In the
smaller streams trout, chub, sun-perch, mullet, white sal¬
mon, and other species of fish, are found in their several
seasons.
Pennsylvania is very rich in minerals and metals. Iron
ore is distributed throughout many parts of it, and the ma¬
nufactures of iron are carried on to a greater extent than
in any other state in the Union. Copper, lead, and alum
appear in some parts; and limestone and marble, of the
finest quality for the purposes of architecture and statuary,
are abundant. In the middle counties anthracite, and in
the western bituminous coal, are found in inexhaustible
quantities. The bituminous coal-lands in Pennsylvania are
estimated by a committee of the legislature of the state to
comprehend an extent of 21,000 square miles, and the an¬
thracite of 975 square miles. Since the opening of the an¬
thracite coal trade in 1820, its average annual increase has
been thirty-three per cent.; and the committee believe
that it will continue to increase in the same ratio for some
years to come.
During later years Pennsylvania has engaged very ex¬
tensively in works of internal improvement, more so than
any other state in the Union. The Pennsylvania Canal
and Railroad, extending from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh,
forming a connected line of communication nearly 400
miles in length, claims particular attention as a most mag¬
nificent work. Railroads have been laid out on a very ex¬
tensive scale, and numerous turnpike roads and bridges
have been constructed in a superior style of excellence
and durability. The first turnpike road in the United States
was made in Pennsylvania. At the end of 1836 the state
canals in operation extended 600 miles, and the state rail¬
ways 120 miles. The canals constructed by incorporated
companies extended 286 miles, and the railways 106 miles.
Besides these, a great number of others were in course of
construction, and many of them were far advanced towards
completion.
The manufactures of Pennsylvania comprehend those of
cotton, woollen, iron, leather, paper, glass, ropes, and va¬
rious others which supply the demand for the luxuries as
well as the necessaries of life. Flour and meal also con¬
stitute important articles in the trade of this state. In the
year 1831 there were in the state 67 cotton-mills, having
120,810 spindles ; and there were manufactured 21,332,467
yards of cloth, with 7,111,174 lbs. of cotton used. In con¬
nection with the iron manufactures there are a vast num¬
ber of blast-furnaces, air-furnaces, forges, trip-hammers,
rolling and slitting mills, and naileries. In the year 1831
there were one hundred steam-engines in Pittsburgh alone.
In its iron manufactures Pennsylvania far excels every
other state in the Union ; and, after cotton, the next in
importance are those of paper and leather. 4 he coal trade
of Pennsylvania promises to be of great importance to the
state, and even to the whole Union. There are three an¬
thracite coal-mines, those of Schuylkill, Lackawana, and
Lehigh. The quantity of coal taken from the first-named
mine in 1834 was 224,242 tons, from the second 106,500,
and from the last-named 42,700. The Lehigh mines were
first wrought in 1820, the Schuylkill in 1825, and the
Lackawana so late as 1829. The whole quantity shipped
from the three mines, from the time when they were first
opened for the market, up to the 1st of January 1836, was
2,498,024 tons. The value of the exports and imports of
Pennsylvania for the year ending 30th of September 1836
was as under: Value of imports in American vessels,
14,172,453 ; in foreign vessels, 895,780; total, 15,068,233
dollars. Value of exports of domestic produce, 2,627,651;
of foreign produce, 1,343,904; total, 3,971,555 dollars.
The number of vessels which entered Philadelphia during
the preceding year was, Amei’ican 348, their tonnage being
68,177; and foreign sixty-eight, their tonnage being 10,816;
total, 416 vessels, of 78,993 tons burden. Ship-building is
carried on to a considerable extent in Pennsylvania. lor
the year ending 1836 there wrere seventy-four vessels built,
their tonnage being 10,214.
The financial concerns of the state stand thus :
Receipts for the year 1836 4,000,437*64 dollars.
Payments ditto 3,675,638*11
Penrj
van:
Balance in the treasury.. 324,799*53
The public debt, relating chiefly to public improvements,
was 24,970,762; and the public property, consisting prin¬
cipally of public works and of bank stock, was 29,106,801
dollars. From this statement it appears that the value of
the property belonging to the state exceeds the amount of
debt by 4,136,039 dollars. On the 1st of December 1836,
the number of banks in Pennsylvania was fifty; and the
capital authorized, 59,658,482 dollars; a return which, how¬
ever, was not believed to be complete, though it may be
considered as nearly correct. In November 1835 there
were only forty-four banks, the condition of which is thus
stated : Specie 3,876,868, circulation 10,932,023, deposits
13,347,977, capital 18,858,482 dollars. The amount re¬
ceived for postage in 1834 was 343,406 dollars, which is
about 87,000 lower than that of New York, but double the
sum for postage received in any other state.
The ecclesiastical statistics of Pennsylvania for the year
PENNSYLVANIA.
223
syl- 1834 were as follows : Presbyterians, 475 churches ; Me-
a. thodist Episcopal church, 252 ministers ; Evangelical Lu*
'“'^'theran church, 312 places of public worship ; German Re-
hn formed church, 150 ditto; Baptists, 157 ditto; Friends,
uca" 150ditto ; Roman Catholics, fifty-six ditto; Church of the
United Brethren, eleven ditto; Associate Presbyterian
church, twelve ditto; Reformed Dutch church,eight ditto;
New Jerusalem church, seven ditto ; Unitarians, five ditto ;
and the Universalists, one convention. The Lutherans,
theGerman Reformed, the Friends, and the United Breth¬
ren, are more numerous in this state than in any other.
With the exception of the Friends, whose spiritual teachers
are not allowed any salary if they are at all able to support
themselves without it, the ministers of religion, in general,
are supported by voluntary subscriptions, contributions,
and rents of pews. The facilities of receiving education in
Pennsylvania are very great. The state has made grants
of money and land at different times to colleges and aca¬
demies, the gross amount of which is estimated at 485,000
dollars. In the year 1837, there were no less than ten col¬
leges in Pennsylvania, besides law, medical, theological, and
other schools. The university of Pennsylvania, founded in
Philadelphia in the year 1755, is a highly respectable insti ¬
tution, embracing the departments of arts, medicine, natu¬
ral science, and law. In the medical department there are
seven professors, attended by above four hundred students.
According to an official document published in 1837, eight
of the academies which have received aid from the state
report their having eight hundred and forty-one students,
and a hundred and sixteen graduates, in 1836. The funds
were estimated at 333,000 dollars, of which sum the pro¬
perty of the university of Pennsylvania alone amounts to
186,000. In three of the libraries there were 11,200 vo¬
lumes. The university of Pennsylvania itself, however, pos¬
sesses 44,000 volumes. There are a great number of aca¬
demies and common schools, both these kinds of institu¬
tions having received considerable aid from the state funds.
By the new school-laws of the state, which were passed in
1835, each county is left to determine by its votes whether
it will entitle itself to the aid of the public fund, by assum¬
ing a certain proportion of the expense. The whole num¬
ber of districts, according to the report already mentioned,
is 987, and the number of common schools 3349. The city
and county of Philadelphia constitute a school district, and
are not included in the above statements. By the last
annual report it appears that above 11,000 children are
taught at the expense of the country. The whole num¬
ber of children in the state between the ages of five and
fifteen is about 320,000 ; but the number of scholars in the
common schools is only 150,838, so that education in Penn¬
sylvania is still somewhat limited. But when the new laws
relative to this important object shall have taken full effect,
1 a decided improvement will no doubt take place. The
principal literary seminaries in this state, besides the uni¬
versity at Philadelphia, are, Dickinson College at Carlisle;
Jefferson College at Canonsburgh ; Washington College at
Washington; Western University at Pittsburgh; Alleghany
College at Meadville ; Madison College at Union Town ;
Mount Airy College at German Town; the Theological
seminaries at Gettysburgh, York, and Alleghany Town ;
and the Moravian schools at Bethlehem, Nazareth, and
Litiz. By the will of a wealthy citizen of Philadelphia, who
died in 1831, a fund of two millions of dollars (to be aug¬
mented, if necessary, by rents of real property, and residu¬
ary personal estate) has been appropriated tor the estab¬
lishment of a college for the education of orphan children.
There are other benevolent institutions in the cities and
towns of Pennsylvania, such as the necessities of a popu¬
lous manufacturing country require ; but being similar to Pennsyl-
those of New York and other large cities, they need not vania.
be particularly specified. Philadelphia is celebrated foL
the extent of its establishments in connection with the dif¬
fusion of knowledge. Paper-making, printing, and publish¬
ing, are carried on with great enterprise; and a vast num¬
ber of gazettes, periodicals, monthlies, and quarterlies, are
issued. “ This city, besides, vies with Boston,” says Mr
klint, “ in the number and extent of its school and classi¬
cal books. If Boston publishes, as regards material and exe¬
cution, more substantially, Philadelphia publishes cheaper,
a circumstance often as important in the extension of its
books. ’ Boston had the honour of publishing the first news¬
paper in the British colonies in America, which appeared
in 1704. Philadelphia followed in 1719; and since that
time they have multiplied in Pennsylvania more rapidly
than in any other state, with the exception of New York.
In the year 1834, there were published two hundred and
twenty newspapers, of which thirteen were daily papers;
and the number of periodical journals, of various kinds,
amounted to thirty-two.
I he population of the counties and county towns of
Pennsylvania in 1830 was as follows :
Counties. Population.
Adams 21,379
Berks 53,357
Bucks 45,740
Chester 50,908
Cumberland 29,218
Delaware 17,361
Dauphin 25,303
Franklin 35,103
Lehigh 22,266
Lancaster 76,558
Lebanon 20,546
Montgomery 39,404
Northampton 39,267
Perry 14,257
Philadelph ia1 108,503
Pike 4,843
Schuylkill 20,783
Wayne 7,663
York 42,658
County Towns. Population.
Gettysburgh 1,473
Reading 5,859
Doyleston 1,262
West Chester ....1,258
Carlisle 2,523
Chester 848
Harrisburgh 4,311
Chambersburgh 2,794
Allentown.
Lancaster.
Lebanon 7,704
Norristown 1,826
Easton 1,089
New Bloomfield 3,529
Philadelphia 167,811
Milford.
Orwigsburgh 773
Bethany 327
York 4,216
Western District.
Alleghany 37,964
Armstrong 17,625
Beaver 24,206
Bedford.. 24,536
Bradford 19,669
Butler 14,683
Cambria 7,079
Centre 18,765
Clearfield 4,803
Columbia 20,049
Crawford 16,005
Erie 16,906
Fayette 29,237
Greene 18,028
Huntingdon 27,159
Indiana 14,251
Jefferson 2,225
Luzerne 27,304
Lycoming 17,637
M‘Kean 1,439
Mercer 19,731
Pittsburgh.. 12,542
Kittaning 1,620
Beaver 914
Bedford 870
Towanda.
Butler 580
Ebensburgh  270
Bellefonte 699
Clearfield.
Danville.
Meadville 1,970
Erie 1,329
Uniontown 1,341
Waynesburgh.
Huntingdon.
Indiana   433
Brookville.
Wilkesbarre ,.2,233
Williamsport.
Smithport.
Mercer 656
1 Without the city of Philadelphia.
224
PENNSYLVANIA.
Pennsyl¬
vania.
Counties. Population.
Mifflin 21,529
Northumberland 18,168
Potter 1,265
Somerset 17,441
Susquehannah 16,777
Tioga 9,062
Union 20,749
Venango 4,706
Warren 42,860
Washington 9,128
Westmoreland 38,400
County Towns. Population.
Lewistown 1,479
Sunbury 1,057
Cowdersport.
Somerset..... 649
Montrose 4* 15
Wellsborough.
New Berlin.
Warren.
Washington 1,816
Franklin 409
Greensburgh .....810
was estimated at about 9000. Lat. 3. 40. N. and long. 76. Penn
10. west from Greenwich
The total population of Pennsylvania amounted in 1830
to 1,347,672, of whom 403 were slaves. The inhabitants
are principally descended from the English, Welsh, Irish,
Scotch, and Germans; besides Swedes, French, and a few
Dutch. The language, in general, is English, but in many
of the counties the German prevails to a considerable ex¬
tent. The character of the Pennsylvanians is somewhat
diversified by difference of extraction and variety of the
modes of education, but this is chiefly in minor points.
The law regarding aliens provides that their friends may
purchase lands, tenements, and hereditaments within this
commonwealth, not exceeding five thousand acres, and
may have and hold the same as fully as any natural-born
citizen. Such persons may also acquire, take, hold, and
dispose of real estate by descent or devise, in as full and
ample a manner as the citizens of the state.
The commercial capital of Pennsylvania is Philadelphia;
but the political metropolis is Harrisburgh, pleasantly situ¬
ated on the eastern bank of the river Susquehannah, nearly
one hundred miles west from Philadelphia. At this place
there is erected a covered bridge of twelve arches over
the river, the construction of which cost nearly two hun¬
dred thousand dollars. The Pennsylvania Canal passes
along the eastern side of the town, and forms a large ba¬
sin for a harbour. Harrisburgh is regularly laid out and
well built, consisting chiefly of brick. The capitol is a
spacious and elegant edifice, situated on a considerable
elevation on the outside of the town. Hie other public
buildings are, a county court-house, a jail, two or , thiee
banks, a large Lancasterian school-house, about twelve
places of public worship, and a number of printing offices,
from six of which newspapers are issued, two of them in the
German language. It has also a steam-mill, with a variety
of manufacturing establishments, and is a place of consi¬
derable trade. Fifty or sixty years ago Harrisburgh was
a wilderness inhabited by savages. It is now the capital
of the second state in importance in the North American
Union, with a population which in 1838 may be estimated
at between six and seven thousand souls.
Lancaster, the capital of the richest and most fertile
county in the state, is delightfully situated near Cones¬
toga Creek, which falls into the Susquehannah sixty-two
miles west from Philadelphia. It is a very healthy and
flourishing city, and carries on an extensive trade with the
surrounding country. The houses are well built; and
amongst the numerous public edifices may be mentioned
Franklin College, which was founded in 1787. There are
churches, banks, schools, literary and charitable societies,
sufficient for the wants of the inhabitants; and eight or
nine newspapers are published in the English, and four or
five in the German language. The inhabitants are mostly
of German descent, and many speak the language of the
land from which they sprung; but the English predomi¬
nates. There are in Lancaster seventeen distilleries, and
several tan-yards, breweries, and potteries. Ihis town
was laid out in the year 1730, and became early celebrated
for the excellency of its stockings, saddles, and guns ; it
is still famous for its rifles, and the number and excellence
of the stage-coaches built there. The population in 1838
Reading, also in the centre of a fine agricultural country,
is situated on the east bank of the Schuylkill, and contains
a number of public buildings. Being connected with Phi¬
ladelphia by the line of the Pennsylvania Canal, its trade
is rapidly advancing, and manufactures are also increasing.
Many fine mills have been established in the vicinity, there
being an ample command of water-power. The population
of Reading in 1838 was reckoned at about 7500. Carlisle
is an interior post-town, sixteen miles west from Harris¬
burgh, and 116 west from Philadelphia. It is pleasantly
situated, and regularly laid out, being built chiefly of stone
and brick, and it enjoys considerable trade. Dickinson
College, founded here in 1783, is a flourishing institution.
This town has rapidly increased, and the population in 1838
was about six thousand. Chambersburgh is situated nine¬
ty miles west from Philadelphia. The stream on which
it stands furnishes water-power for many manufactories, of
which the town already contains a considerable number.
Blue-stone, free-stone, and marble, abound in the vicinity;
and it has turnpike communications with Philadelphia,
Baltimore, and Pittsburgh. The population in 1838 was
estimated at above 4000. York is situated on Codoru’s
Creek, eighty-five miles west from Philadelphia. It is
in the centre of a fertile and beautiful country, and is a
handsome town, containing a number of public buildings,
and a population in 1838 of above 6000. Bethlehem, Eas¬
ton, Lebanon, and New Bloomfield, are all towns more or
less in a flourishing state, and containing from 4000 to
8000 inhabitants.
Pittsburgh, the capital of the western district of Penn¬
sylvania, is situated in a beautiful plain on a point of land
where the Alleghany and Monongahela unite to form the
river Ohio. The site of the town was early regarded as very
important, and was selected by the French for Port da
Quesne, one of the principal fortified places in the great
chain of posts which was to connect Canada with Loui¬
siana. It was the scene of more than one battle, and be¬
fore this place Washington gained his first laurels. The
name was afterwards changed to Fort Pitt, and finally to
Pittsburgh. A considerable town soon rose around the
fort; but the Indian wars, and the troubles of the western
country, prevented its rapid growth until 1793, although
the present Pittsburgh was commenced in 1765. It is now,
in the extent of its manufactures, the only rival of Cincin¬
nati in the west; and in population, wealth, and import¬
ance, it is next to that city, and the third in the valley of
the Mississippi. In general the town is well built, some
of the streets being handsome, and the public buildings
spacious; but the whole has a gloomy or dingy aspect,
from the dust and smoke of the pit-coal used in the manu¬
factories and houses. The coal is found in the neighbour¬
hood in inexhaustible quantities, and is easily obtained.
Pittsburgh is well provided with houses of public worship
for various sects, and has a public library, several banks,
and a theatre. The manufacturing establishments are
probably more numerous and extensive than in any other
town in America in proportion to its population. In its
manufactures it resembles Birmingham in England, those
carried on upon a great scale being ironmongery of every
description, steam-engines, and iron work in general; cut¬
lery of all descriptions; glass and paper, cotton and wool¬
lens, pottery, chemical preparations, tin and copper ware,
all which are produced to the value of 3,000,000 of dol¬
lars annually. Boat and steam-boat building have been
pursued here on a greater scale than in any other town in
the western country. The market is abundantly supplied,
but the cost of articles is much higher than in the towns
farther west on the Ohio. At low stages of the water
flat and keel-boats cannot always descend the river from
van;;
’£| ’.V
P E N
U Pittsburgh, which circumstance diverts to Wheeling a part
of the travel to the western country; still a great part of
it centres at Pittsburgh, and, in high stages of the wa¬
ter, steam-boats are continually arriving and departing.
Pittsburgh has immense advantages in point of artificial
as well as natural water communications. The great Penn¬
sylvania Canal terminates here, and others connect it with
various parts of the country. The inhabitants are a mix¬
ed race of Germans, Irish, English, Scotch, French, Swiss,
and many other nations, and are distinguished for indus¬
try and economy. The Western University, founded here
in the year 1820, is a thriving institution ; and there are, be¬
sides, a number of seminaries of education, and benevolent
societies. The suburbs of Pittsburgh are Alleghany Town,
Northern Liberties, Birmingham, and Lawrenceville. Pitts- .
burgh is the seat of justice for the county of Alleghany,
and is situated in latitude 40. 32. north, and longitude 88.
0. west from Greenwich. The population of Pittsburgh,
including the suburbs, may be estimated at nearly 30,000.
The following observations by Mr Flint will serve to con¬
vey an idea of the importance of this state, and the rapid
advances which it has made, and is still making.
“ A single fact from the census of 1830 will illustrate
the vigorous advance of this great state in population and
importance. The aggregate increase of twenty-eight towns
is sixty per cent. In 1829, 297,206 barrels of wheat flour,
39,523 of rye flour, and 1609 hogsheads and 6433 bar¬
rels of corn meal, were inspected in Philadelphia.” In
fact, “ it spreads a wide surface in the Ohio valley, rapidly
advancing in wealth and population. New towns are spring¬
ing up in every direction. It abounds in all the elements
of wealth and power. Public opinion has given it a strong
impulse towards manufactures, and a gigantic system of
internal improvements. Its inhabitants, though composed
of all nations, are distinguished for their orderly habits,
industry, and sober progress of thrift, and a sturdy spirit
of political independence. The passing stranger, as he
traverses the state, is struck with the noble roads and pub¬
lic works, with the beautiful German farms, and their mag¬
nificent and imperishable stone houses, and often still more
magnificent stone barns. An agricultural country, alike
charming and rich, spreads under his eye. He not only
passes many handsome towns, but is surprised with the
frequent recurrence of neat and populous villages, the
names of which he had met in no itinerary or gazetteer.
He sees a country of immense agricultural resources.”
Pennsylvania was originally settled by a Swedish colony,
which went over in the year 1638, under the government
and protection of Sweden. The Dutch and Finns had like¬
wise settled on the river Delaware, previously to the British
conquest of the New Netherlands in the year 1664. In
1682, the celebrated William Penn founded a colony here,
having obtained a charter from Charles II. which put him
in possession of the soil and the government of the coun¬
try. In the following year emigration to Pennsylvania from
Wales commenced, the colonists purchasing a large extent
of land, and calling the several settlements after favourite
places in their native country. The Indian right was re¬
spected by William Penn, whose sense of justice induced
bim to make an equitable purchase from the aborigines, not¬
withstanding his charter; and the same policy was pursued
by the constituted government after the American revolu¬
tion, when the state of Pennsylvania made new purchases
from the native proprietors at a fair price, and in open
treaty, in the year 1784. Although the state of Pennsyl¬
vania might have considered the proprietary claims as a
royalty to which the independent government could law¬
fully succeed, yet, as a peculiar acknowledgment of the
merits and claims of William Penn and his family, the le¬
gislature offered to confirm the heirs of Penn in the title
to the manor lands, which were ten per cent, of all the sur-
VOL. XVII.
P K N
225
veyed lands in the province, and to grant them a sum of Pension-
L. 130,000, which offer was accepted. This was a liberal arJ-
compensation for revolutionary losses, considering that, in s,—’-
the year 1712, William Penn had offered to the queen of
England the government and soil of the province for the
sum of L.12,000; and the transference would have taken
place had not an apoplectic attack rendered him incapable
of completing the legal claim. A litigated question with the
neighbouring state of Connecticut, touching the right of ter¬
ritory in the northern part of Pennsylvania, was in depend¬
ence, from the year 1750, for more than seventy years,
when the public and private rights to the soil were settled
in favour of this state, under conciliations and restrictions,
determined by special acts of the Pennsjdvania legisla¬
ture, and the decisions of the supreme court of the United
States. The seat of the state government was transferred
from Philadelphia to Lancaster in the year 1799; and the
progress of improvement and population caused it in 1812
to be removed to Harrisburgh, where handsome buildings
are erected for the accommodation of the legislature and
the officers of the government.
From the beginning of the eighteenth century until the
commencement of the American revolution, the govern¬
ment was generally administered by deputies appointed
by the proprietors, who were mostly resident in England.
The first constitution of Pennsylvania was adopted in 1776,
and the piesent constitution in 1790. The legislative power
is vested in a general assembly, consisting of a senate and
house of representatives. The representatives are elected
annually on the second Tuesday in October, being appor¬
tioned according to the number of taxable inhabitants.
The number^ cannot be less than sixty, nor more than
a hundred. The senators are chosen for four years, one
fourth being elected annually at the time of the election
of the representatives. Their number cannot be greater
than one third, nor less than one fourth, of the number
of the representatives. The executive power is vested
in a governor, who is elected by the people on the se¬
cond Tuesday in October, and wffio holds his office du¬
ring three years from the* third Tuesday in December
next following his election; and he cannot hold the office
more than nine years in any term of twelve years. The
general assembly meets annqally at Harrisburgh on the
first Tuesday in December, unless sooner convened by the
governor. The judicial power is vested in the supreme
court, courts of common pleas, an orphan’s court, a register’s
court, a court of quarter sessions of the peace for each
county, and in such other courts as the legislature may
from time to time establish. I he judges of the supreme
court, and the several courts of common pleas, are ap¬
pointed by the governor, and hold their offices during good
behaviour. The right of suffrage is possessed by every
freeman of twenty-one years of age who has resided in the
state‘two years immediately preceding an election, and
within that time paid a state or county tax, assessed at
least six months before the election. It may be mention¬
ed, in conclusion, that on the 2d of May 1837, a conven¬
tion met at Flarrisburgh, for the purpose of amending the
constitution. What alterations were then made does not
appear, but it is not probable that the essential features of
the constitution have been materially changed, (r. r. r.)
PENSIONARY, or Pensioner, a person who has an
appointment or yearly sum, payable during life, by way of
acknowledgment, and charged on the estate of a prince,
company, or particular person.
Grand Pensionary, an appellation formerly applied to
the first minister of the states of Holland. The grand
pensionary was chairman in the assemblies of the states of
that province; he proposed the matters to be consulted
collected the votes, formed and pronounced the reso¬
lutions of the states, opened letters, conferred with foreign
2 F
226
PEN
PEN
Penta¬
teuch.
Pensionary ministers, and performed various other functions. His
business was also to inspect the finances, to maintain the
authority of the states, and to see that the laws were ob¬
served ; and he was perpetual deputy of the states-gene-
' ral of the United Provinces. His commission was, how¬
ever, only given him for five years, after which it was de¬
liberated whether or not it should be renewed ; but there
is no instance of its being revoked, and theiefore deat i
only put an end to the functions of this important minister.
Pensionary was also the first minister of the regency
of each city in Holland. His office was to give his advice
in affairs relating to the government, either of the state in
general, or of the city in particular ; and in assemblies of
the states of the province he.officiated as speaker in behalf
of his city. . , . . cc
PENTACHORD, a musical scale consisting ot five con¬
junct diatonic degrees. Also an instrument ot five strings,
according to Martianus Cappella, and other writers. Julius
Pollux ascribes its invention to the Scythians.
PENTACROSTIC, in Poetry, a set of verses so dispos¬
ed that there are always five acrostics of the same name,
in five divisions of each verse.
PENTAMETER, in ancient poetry, a kind of verse,
consisting of five feet or metres; and hence the name. The
first and second feet may be either dactyls or spondees;
the third is always a spondee ; and the two last anapests.
A pentameter line subjoined to an hexameter constitutes
what is called elegiac verse.
PENTAPOLIS, a name given to the five cities, So¬
dom, Gomorrah, Adamah, Zeboim, and Zoar. They were
all five condemned to utter destruction ; but Lot interced¬
ed for the preservation of Zoar, otherwise called Bela. So¬
dom, Gomorrah, Adamah, and Zeboim, were consumed by
fire from heaven ; and in the place where they stood was
formed the Lake Asphaltites, or the Dead Sea.
PENTATEUCH, a word derived from the Greek IIsi/-
rarwyog, from wsm, five, and rsvyjtg, an instrument or vo¬
lume, and signifying the collection of the five instruments
or books of Moses, which are Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus,
Numbers, and Deuteronomy.
Some modern critics have disputed Moses’s right to the
authorship of the Pentateuch. They observe that he al¬
ways speaks in the third person. “ Now the man Moses
was very meek above all the men which were upon the face
of the earth.” “ The Lord spake unto Moses, saying,” &c.
“ Moses said to Pharaoh,” &c. They think that he would
never have thus spoken of himself, but would at least some¬
times have mentioned himself in the first person. Besides,
according to these critics, the author of the Pentateuch
sometimes abridges his narration like a writer who collected
from some ancient memoirs, and sometimes he interrupts
the thread of his discourse, as, for example, when he makes
Lamech the bigamist say, “ Hear my voice, ye wives ot
Lamech, hearken unto my speech; for I have slain a man
to my wounding, and a young man to my hurt,” without
informing us before-hand to whom this is related. Again,
when he says, “ And the Canaanite was then in the land,”
these observations cannot be reconciled to the age of Moses,
since the Canaanites continued to be the masters of Pa¬
lestine during the lifetime of the Jewish legislator. The
passage from the book of the wars of the Lord, quoted in
the book of Numbers (xxi. 14), is supposed to have been
inserted afterwards, as also the opening verses of Deute¬
ronomy. The account of the death of Moses, which is at
the end of the same book, cannot possibly belongs to this
legislator; and the same judgment may be formed of other
passages, in which it is said that the places mentioned lay
beyond Jordan, that the bed of Og was at Ramah to this
day, and that the havoth of Jair, or the cities of Jair, were
known to the author, though probably they did not receive
that name till after Moses’s time.
It is also observed, that in the text of the Pentateuch Penta:
there are some places which are defective; for example, |
in Exodus (xii. 8) we find Moses speaking to Pharaoh, PeJ
but the author has omitted the beginning of his discourse.
The Samaritan inserts in the same place what is wanting in
the Hebrew. In other places the same Samaritan text
adds what is deficient in the Hebrew ; and what it contains
more than the Hebrew seems to be so well connected with
the rest of the discourse, that it would be difficult to sepa¬
rate them. Lastly, the same critics believe that they ob¬
serve certain strokes in the Pentateuch which can hardly
have proceeded from Moses, who was born and bred in
Egypt; as, for example, what he says of the earthly para¬
dise, of the rivers which watered it and ran through it, of
the cities of Babylon, Erech, Resen, and Calneh, of the
gold of Pison, of the bdellium, and of the stone of Sohem,
or onyx-stone, which was to be found in that country. !
These particulars, observed minutely, are supposed to prove
that the author of the Pentateuch lived beyond the Eu¬
phrates ; and the same conclusion may be deduced from
what he says concerning the ark of Noah, of its construc¬
tion, of the place where it rested, of the wood with which
it was built, of the bitumen of Babylon, and other matters.
But in answer to all these objections, we may observe in
general, that these books are by the most ancient writers
ascribed to Moses ; and it is confirmed by the authority
of heathen writers themselves, that they are of his writ¬
ing. Besides, we have the unanimous testimony of the
whole Jewish nation, ever since Moses’s time, to the same
effect. Direct texts of the Pentateuch imply that it was
written by Moses; the book of Joshua, and other parts ot
Scripture, import the same thing; and though some passages
have been thought to imply the contrary, yet this is but a
modern opinion, and has been sufficiently confuted by se¬
veral learned men. The Samaritans receive no other Scrip¬
tures but the Pentateuch, rejecting all the other books
which are still contained in the Jewish canon.
PENTATHLON, in Antiquity, was a general name for
the five exercises performed at the Grecian games, viz.
wrestling, boxing, leaping, running, and playing at the
discus.
PENTECONTACHORDON, an old musical instru¬
ment of the harpsichord kind, invented by Colonna, a Nea¬
politan, in the beginning of the sixteenth century. In it,
each tone was divided into four parts, and each of these
had its own peculiar wire and corresponding finger-key.
The distinct wires were 500. This instrument was evi¬
dently one of the same hopeless kind that we have men¬
tioned in the article Organ.
PENTECOST, a solemn festival of the Jews, so called
because it was celebrated on the fiftieth day after the 16th
of Nisan, which was the second day of the passover. I he
Hebrews called it the “feast of weeks,” because it was
kept seven weeks after the passover. They then offered
the first fruits of the wheat harvest; besides which, they
presented at the temple seven lambs of that year, one calf
and two rams, for a burnt-offering, two lambs for a peace¬
offering, and a goat for a sin-offering. The feast of Pen¬
tecost was instituted amongst the Israelites, first, to oblige
them to repair to the temple of the Lord, in order to acknow¬
ledge his absolute dominion over the whole country, and
to offer him the first-fruits of their harvest; and, secondly,
that they might call to mind, and give thanks to God, for
the law which he had given them from Mount Sinai, on
the fiftieth day after their coming out of Egypt.
PENTECOSTE, or Whitsunday Island, a small
island in the Southern Pacific Ocean, and one of the great
archipelago of the New Hebrides, discovered by Bougain¬
ville in 1768.
PENTHESILEA, queen of the Amazons, succeeded
Orythia, and gave conspicuous proofs of her courage at the
IP
PEP
5i» mid siege of Troy, where she was killed by Achilles. Pliny
fUi says that she invented the battle-axe.
PENTLAND or Pictland Frith s a narrow strait
0f six miles in breadth, between the mainland of Scot-
iand and the Orkney Isles.
PENULA, amongst the ancient Romans, was a coarse
garment or cloak worn in cold or in rainy weather. It was
shorter than the lacerna, and therefore more proper for
travellers. It was generally brown, and succeeded the
toga after the state became monarchical. Augustus abo¬
lished the custom of wearing the penula over the toga,
considering it as too effeminate for Romans; and the aediles
had orders to suffer none to appear in the circus or forum
with the lacerna or penula. Writers are not agreed as to
the precise difference between these two articles of dress ;
but we are told that they were chiefly worn by the lower
orders of the people.
PENULTIMA, or Penultimate Syllable, in Gram¬
mar, denotes the last syllable but one of a word ; and hence
the antepenultimate syllable is the last but two, or that
immediately before the penultimate.
PENUMBRA, in Astronomy, a partial shade observed
between the perfect shadow and the full light in an eclipse.
It arises from the magnitude of the sun’s body. For were
he only a luminous point, the shadow would be all perfect;
but, by reason of the diameter of the sun, it happens that
a place which is not illuminated by the whole of the sun
does yet receive rays from a part of that body.
PENZANCE, a seaport and market-town of Cornwall,
in the parish of Madron and hundred of Penwith, 289
miles from London, and a few from the Land’s End. It has
a tolerable harbour, which, however, is dry at low water. It
is in a district which abounds in minerals, chiefly lead, tin,
and copper, with some silver. Mining operations form the
chief occupation of the inhabitants. It has a market on
Saturday, which is well and cheaply supplied. In virtue of
the municipal corporation reform law, passed in 1835, the
town annually elects the corporation, consisting of a mayor,
six aldermen, and eighteen councillors; and for this pur¬
pose it is divided into two wards. The population amount¬
ed in 1801 to 3382, in 1811 to 4022, in 1821 to 5224, and
in 1831 to 6563.
PEOR, a famous mountain beyond Jordan, which Eu¬
sebius places between Heshbon and Livias. The moun¬
tains Nebo, Pisgah, and Peor, were near one another, and
probably formed parts of the same chain or ridge. It is
very likely that Peor took its name from some deity of the
same name, which was worshipped there; for Peor, Phe-
gor, or Baal-peor, was known in this country.
PEPLUS was a long robe worn by the women in an¬
cient times. It had no sleeves, reached down to the feet,
and was so very fine, that the shape of the body might be
seen through it. The Athenians used much ceremony in
making the peplus, and in dressing with it the statue of Mi¬
nerva. Homer makes frequent mention of the peplus of
that goddess.
PEPONG, two small islands in the Eastern Seas, near
the coast of China. Long. 107. E. Lat. 23. 22. N.
PEPPER, Piper, in Natural History, an aromatic berry
of a hot quality, and chiefly used in seasoning. We have
three kinds of pepper which are at present used in the
shops; the black, the white, and the long pepper. Black
pepper is the fruit of the piper, and is brought from the
Dutch settlements in the East Indies. The common white
pepper is factitious, being prepared from the black in the
following manner. The latter is steeped in sea-water, and
then exposed to the heat of the sun for several days, till the
rind or outer bark loosens; it is then taken out, and, when
it is half dry, rubbed till the rind fall off; the white fruit is
next dried, and, lastly, the remains of the rind are blown
away like chaff. A great deal of the heat of the pepper
PER 227
is taken off by this process, so that the white kind is fitter Pepper
for many purposes than the black. However, there is a
sort of native white pepper produced upon a species of the pe]leas
same plant, which is much better than the factitious, and jawjS*
indeed little inferior to the black. The long pepper is a v ^ ^ .
dried fruit, of an inch or an inch and a half in length, and
about the thickness of a large goose-quill. It is of a brown¬
ish-gray colour, and cylindrical in figure, and is said to be
produced on a plant of the same genus.
PEPPER Bay, on the west coast of the island of Java,
is situated thirty miles south-south-west of Bantam. Long.
105. 40. E. Lat. 6. 24. S.
PEPPERBERG, a town of the island of Java, on the
southern coast, seventy-five miles south of Batavia.
PERA, or Pulo Pera, a small island in the Eastern
Seas, situated at the entrance of the Straits of Malacca.
Long. 98. 36. E. Lat. 5. 54. N.
PERAMBAUCAM, a town of the south of India, in
the province of the Carnatic, memorable for the defeat and
destruction of Colonel Baillie’s force, in September 1780,
by Hyder Ali. It is fourteen miles north-east of Conje-
veram.
PERAMBULATOR, in surveying, an instrument for
measuring distances, and called also odometer, pedometer,
way-wiser, and surveying-wheel.
PERCEPTION is a w'ord so well understood that it is
difficult for the lexicographer to define it. It has been call¬
ed the first and most simple act of the mind, by which it
becomes conscious of its own ideas. This definition, how¬
ever, is improper, as it confounds perception with con¬
sciousness ; although the objects of the former faculty are
things without us, and those of the latter the energies of
our own minds. Perception is that power or faculty by
which, through the medium of the senses, we become cog¬
nizant of objects distinct and separate from ourselves, and
learn that we are but a small part in the system of nature.
See Metaphysics.
PERCH, in land-measuring, a rod or pole of sixteen feet
and a half in length. Of these rods, forty in length and
four in breadth make an acre of ground. But, by the cus¬
toms of several counties, there is a difference in this mea¬
sure. In Staffordshire the perch is twenty-four feet; in the
forest of Sherwood it is twenty-five feet, the foot being there
eighteen inches long; and in Herefordshire the perch of
ditching is twenty-one feet, the perch of walling sixteen and
a half feet, and a pole of denshiered ground is twelve feet.
PERCH, a fish. See the article Ichthyology.
PERCOLATION, a chemical operation, which is other¬
wise denominated filtration.
PERCUSSION, in Mechanics, is the impression a body
makes in falling or striking upon another, or the shock of
two bodies in motion. See Dynamics and Mechanics.
PERCY Isles, a chain of islands in the South Paci¬
fic Ocean, distant about thirty miles from the north-east
coast of New Holland, and extending from about 21. 32. to
21.45. S. lat. The name of Percy Islands was given them
in 1802 by Captain Flinders, who laid down their respec¬
tive situations and bearings. The largest island is about
thirteen miles in circumference. Turtle abound in these
islands, which are visited by the Indians for the purpose of
catching them. The large vampyre bat is frequently found
here, hanging by the claws with its head downwards.
PEREASLAWL, a city of Russia, in the government
of Poltawa, the capital of the circle of the same name. It
is at the junction of the rivers Alta and Tracbesh, and was
at one period the seat of the ancient Russian princes, and
afterwards the see of a bishop, with an extensive diocese.
It is still surrounded with earthen walls, and has a cathe¬
dral, nine other churches, 1000 houses, and 8000 inhabi¬
tants. It is 902 miles from St Petersburg. Long. 31. 27.
E. Lat. 50. 4. N.
228 PER
Perekop PEREKOP, a Russian town and fortress at the entrance
II of the Crimea, to which it is the only practicable approach
Perfume. by land> The town consists of two rows of houses, which
 ' line the sides of the great road. Next to its importance
as a defensive station, it is ol consequence as being the
residence of a commission charged with the administration
of the salt lakes of the Crimea. It is a great thorough¬
fare during the summer, more than 20,000 loaded carts of
salt passing through it for the supply of the south of Russia.
The vast ditches, ramparts, and walls of this place have been
recently put in good order. The population consists of
Russians, Greeks, Armenians, and Tartars, and, many of
the latter being migratory, is very fluctuating.
PERENNIALS, or Perennial Flowers, in Botany,
a term applied to those plants the roots of which abide
many years, whether they retain their leaves in winter or
not. Those which retain their leaves are called evergreens;
but such as cast their leaves are named deciduous or per-
difols.
PERESLAW, a city of Russia, in the government of
Vladimir, and the capital of a circle of its own name, is
situated on the river Trubesch. It is an ancient place,
the see of a bishop, whose diocese is very extensive. It
contains 780 houses and seventy wooden booths, with 4380
inhabitants, who are manufacturers of cloth, of silk, and
of linen, and have considerable trade with the Ukraine. It
is 504 miles from St Petersburg. Long. 37. 32. 25. E.
Lat. 55. 15. 30. N.
PERFECT, something to which nothing is wanting, or
which has all the requisites of its nature and kind.
PERFECTION, the state or quality of a thing that is
perfect. Perfection is divided, according to Chauvinus, into
physical, moral, and metaphysical. Physical or natural
perfection is that by which a thing has all its powers and
faculties, and those too in full vigour ; and all its parts, both
principal and secondary, and those in their due proportion,
constitution, and adjustment. In this sense man is common¬
ly said to be perfect when he has a sound mind in a sound
body. Physical perfection is by the schools frequently term¬
ed mgy rinxri, because a thing is enabled thereby to perform
all its operations. Moral perfection is an eminent degree of
virtue or moral goodness, to which men arrive by repeated
acts of piety, beneficence, and self-restraint. This is usu¬
ally subdivided into absolute or inherent, which is actual¬
ly in him to whom we attribute it; and imputative, which
exists in some other, and not in him to whom it is attri¬
buted. Metaphysical, transcendental, or essential perfec¬
tion, is the possession of all the essential attributes, or of
all the parts necessary to the integrity of a substance; or
it is that by which a thing has or is provided with every
thing belonging to its nature. This is either absolute,
where all imperfection is excluded, as in the Deity, or se¬
cundum quid, that is, in its own kind, or relative.
PERFUME denotes either the volatile effluvia from
any body affecting the organ of smell, or the substance
emitting those effluvia; in which last sense the word is
most commonly used. The use of perfumes was frequent
amongst the Hebrews, and the orientals in general, be¬
fore it was known to the Greeks and the Romans. In the
time of Moses perfumes must have been known in Egypt,
since he speaks of the art of the perfumer, and gives the
composition of two kinds of perfumes, one of which was to
be offered to the Lord upon the golden altar in the holy
place, and the other was appointed for the anointing of the
high priest and his sons, as also of the tabernacle, and all
the vessels that were used in divine service. The Hebrews
had likewise perfumes which they employed in the process
of embalming their dead. The composition is not known,
but it is certain that they generally made use of myrrh,
aloes, and other strong astringent drugs, that served to
prevent putrefaction (John, xix. 49). Besides the per-
P E R
fumes for these purposes, the Scripture mentions others Perga;
which the Hebrews used on various occasions. The spouse || 1
in the Canticles commends the scent of the perfumes of*>erga«'
her lover; and her lover in return says, that the scent of''”'^'
the perfumes of his spouse surpasses the most excellent
odours. He names particularly the spikenard, the cala¬
mus, the cinnamon, the myrrh, and the aloes, as forming
part of those perfumes. The voluptuous woman described
by Solomon says that she had perfumed her bed with myrrh,
aloes, and cinnamon. The epicures mentioned in the book
of Wisdom encourage one another to the luxuriant use of
odours and costly perfumes. Isaiah reproaches Judaea,
which he describes as a spouse faithless to God, with be¬
ing painted and perfumed to please strangers : “ Thou
wentest to the king with ointment, and didst increase thy
perfumes.’’ Ezekiel seems to accuse the Jews of having
profaned the odours and perfumes, the use of which was
reserved to sacred things, by applying them to their own
use. Perfumes came afterwards to be very common
amongst the Greeks and the Romans, especially those
composed of musk, ambergris, and civet. The nardus and
malohathrum, which were held in much estimation, were
imported from Syria. The unguentum nardinum was va¬
riously prepared, and contained many ingredients. Malo¬
hathrum was an Indian plant. Perfumes were also used at
sacrifices to regale the gods, .at feasts to increase the plea¬
sures of sensation, at funerals to overpower cadaverous
smells and please the manes of the dead, and in the the¬
atres to prevent the offensive effluvia or odour of a crowd
from being perceived.
PERGAMO, a town of Asiatic Turkey, once a large ca¬
pital, but now a place of very little importance. It is situat¬
ed about fifteen miles from the mouth of the Gramalki.
The inhabitants are chiefly Turks, though it has a church
belonging to the Christians. Long. 27. E. Lat. 39. 1I.N.
PERGAMUS, an ancient kingdom of Asia, formed out
of the ruins of the empire of Alexander the Great. It
commenced about the year 283 before our era. The first
sovereign was one Philetserus, an eunuch, by birth a Paph-
lagonian, a man of mean descent, and in his youth a menial
servant to Antigonus, one of Alexander’s captains. He
afterwards served Lysimachus, king of Macedonia and
Thrace, who appointed him keeper of his treasures lodged
in Pergamus. Whilst he held this employment, having
fallen under the displeasure of Arsinoe, wife of Lysima¬
chus, she found means to excite a quarrel between him
and his master; upon which Philetserus seized on the castle
of Pergamus, together with the treasures intrusted to his
care, amounting to ninety thousand talents. At first he
offered his service, together with his treasure, to Seleucus,
the king of Syria ; but both Seleucus and Lysimachus dying
soon afterwards, he kept possession of the town and trea¬
sure until his death, which happened twenty years after his
revolt from Lysimachus.
Philetaerus left the city of Pergamus to his brother, or,
according to some, to his brother’s son, Eumenes the First,
who, laying hold of the opportunity offered by the dissen¬
sions amongst the Seleucidse, possessed himself ^of many
strongholds in the province of Asia; and, having hired a
body of Galatians, defeated Antiochus as he was returning
from a victory gained over his brother Seleucus Callinicus.
By this victory he obtained possession of the greater part
of Asia. But lie did not long enjoy his acquisitions; for he
died next year of immoderate drinking, a vice to which he
was greatly addicted.
Eumenes was succeeded by Attalus the First, nephew
of Philetaerus, who, on his accession, assumed the title ot
king of Pergamus. He defeated the Gauls, who seemed
desirous of settling in his territory ; and, according to Livy,
he was the first of the Asiatic princes who refused to pay
a contribution to these barbarians. When Seleucus Cera-
x
PERGAMUS.
nus. nus was engaged in other wars, he invaded his territories,
-—''and conquered all the provinces on the Anatolian side of
the Taurus; but was soon driven out of his new acquisi¬
tions by Seleucus and his grandfather Achaeus, who, en¬
tering into an alliance against him, deprived him of all his
newly-acquired territories, and even besieged him in his
capital. Upon this Attains invited to his assistance the
Gauls who had settled in Thrace; and with their help he
not only obliged the enemy to raise the siege of Pergamus,
but quickly recovered all the provinces he had lost. After
this he invaded Ionia and the neighbouring provinces, where
several cities voluntarily submitted to his sway. The Teians,
Colophonians, and the inhabitants of iEgea and Lemnos,
sent deputies declaring themselves ready to acknowledge
him as their sovereign; and the Carsenes, on the other side
of the river Lycus, opened their gates to him, having first
expelled the governor placed over them by Achaeus. Thence
he advanced to Apia, and encamping on the banks of the
river Megithus, received homage from the neighbouring
nations. But here the Gauls, being frightened by an
eclipse of the moon, refused to proceed farther; a circum¬
stance which obliged Attalus to return to the Hellespont,
where he allowed his allies to settle, giving them a large
and fruitful territory, and promising that he would always
assist and protect them to the utmost of his power.
Attalus having thus settled his affairs with equal honour
and advantage to himself, entered into an alliance with the
Romans, and afterwards joined them in their w-ar against
Philip, king of Macedonia. Here he had the command of
the Rhodian fleet, with which he not only drove the Ma¬
cedonians quite out of the Greek seas, but having landed his
men, he, in conjunction with the Athenians, invaded Ma¬
cedonia, and obliged Philip to raise the siege of Athens,
which he had greatly distressed. For these services the
Athenians not only heaped on him all the favours they
could bestow, but called one of their tribes by his name ;
an honour which they had never before bestowed upon any
foreigner.
Attalus now attempted to organise a general confede¬
racy of the Greeks against Philip. But whilst he was ha¬
ranguing the Boeotians with a view to this object, and ex¬
horting them with great vehemence to enter into an al¬
liance with the Romans against their common enemy, he
fell down speechless. However, having somewhat reco¬
vered, he desired to be carried by sea from Thebes to Per¬
gamus, where he died soon after his arrival, in the seventy-
second year of his age and forty-third of his reign.
Attalus was succeeded by his eldest son Eumenes the
Second. The latter was exceedingly attached to the Ro¬
mans, insomuch that he refused the daughter of Antiochus
the Great in marriage, lest he should thus be led into a
quarrel with that people. He also gave intimation to the
Roman senate of the transactions of Ariarathes, king of
Cappadocia, who was making great preparations both by
sea and land. Nor did Eumenes stop here ; for when he
saw the war about to break out between Antiochus and
the Romans, he sent his brother Attalus to Rome in order
to give information ot the proceedings of Antiochus. The
senate heaped honours both on Eumenes and his brother;
and in the war which followed, they gave the command of
their fleet to the king of Pergamus, in conjunction with C.
Livius Salinator. The victory gained on this occasion was
in a great measure owing to Eumenes, who boarded some
ot tne enemy’s ships in person, and during the whole ac¬
tion behaved with uncommon bravery. Some time after¬
wards, Eumenes, having entered the territories of Antiochus
with a body of five thousand men, ravaged all the coun¬
try about ihyatira, and returned with an immense booty.
But in the mean time Antiochus invaded Pergamus in
his turn, ravaged the whole country, and even laid siege
to the capital. Attalus, the king’s brother, held out with
229
a handful of men, until the Achaeans, who were in alliance Pergamus.
with Eumenes, sent a thousand foot and a hundred horse '
to his assistance. As this small body of auxiliaries were
all chosen men, and commanded by an experienced officer,
they behaved with such bravery that the Syrians were
obliged to raise the siege. At the battle of Magnesia, too,
Eumenes behaved with the greatest bravery, not only sus¬
taining the first attack of the enemy’s elephants, but driv¬
ing them back again upon their own troops; which threw
the ranks in disorder, and gave the Romans an opportuni¬
ty of giving them a total defeat, by attacking them oppor¬
tunely with their horse. In consequence of this defeat,
Antiochus was obliged to conclude a peace with the Ro¬
mans on such terms as they pleased to prescribe; one of
which was, that he should pay Eumenes four hundred ta¬
lents, and a quantity of corn, in recompense for the da¬
mage he had done to that prince.
Boon after this Eumenes was engaged in a contest with
Prusias, king ot Bithynia, who made war upon him by the
advice ot Hannibal, the celebrated Carthaginian general.
But Eumenes, being assisted by the Romans, defeated Pru¬
sias in an engagement by sea, and another by land; disas¬
ters which so disheartened him, that he was ready to accept
of peace on any terms. However, before the treaty was
concluded, Hannibal found means to draw into the con¬
federacy Philip of Macedonia, who sent Philocles, an old
and experienced officer, with a considerable body of troops,
to join Prusias. Eumenes then sent his brother Attalus
to Rome with a golden crown, worth fifteen thousand ta¬
lents, to complain of Prusias for making war on the allies
of the Roman people without any provocation. The senate
accepted the present, and promised to adjust every thing
to the satisfaction ot their friend Eumenes, whom they
looked upon as the most steady ally they could boast of in
Asia. But in the mean time, Prusias, having ventured
another sea-fight, gained a complete victory by a contriv¬
ance of Hannibal. The greatest part of the ships of Eu¬
menes were burned, several were taken, and the others were
so much shattered that they became quite unserviceable.
The same year Prusias gained over Eumenes two remark¬
able victories by land, both of which were entirely owin^-
to stratagems of Hannibal. But, whilst matters were thus
going on to the disadvantage of Eumenes, the Romans in¬
terfered, and by their deputies not only put an end to the
differences between the two kings, but prevailed on Prusias
to betray Hannibal; upon which the illustrious fugitive poi¬
soned himself.
Eumenes being thus freed from such a dangerous ene¬
my, engaged in a new war with the kings of Cappadocia
and Pontus, in which also he proved victorious. His friend¬
ship for the Romans he carried to such a degree of enthu¬
siasm, that he went in person to Rome to inform them of
the machinations of Perses king of Macedonia. He had
before quarrelled with the Rhodians, who sent ambassa¬
dors to Rome to complain of him. But as the ambassa¬
dors happened to arrive whilst the king himself was pre¬
sent in the city, the Rhodian ambassadors could not ob¬
tain any hearing, and Eumenes was dismissed with new
marks of favour. This journey, however, had almost prov¬
ed fatal to him; for, on his return, as he was going to per¬
form a sacrifice at Delphi, two assassins, sent by Perses,
rolled down two great stones upon him as he entered the
straits of the mountains. By one of these he was danger¬
ously wounded on the head, and by the other he received
a contusion on the shoulder. In consequence of the blows,
he fell from a steep place, and thus received so many other
bruises, that when he was carried on board his ship it could
not well be known whether he was dead or alive. His
people, however, finding that he was still alive, conveyed
him to Corinth, and from Corinth to Jigina, having caused
their vessels to be carried over the isthmus.
230
P E R G A M U S.
Penramus
ed with so much zeal, and that to such a degree that he
admitted ambassadors from Perses, and offered to remain
neutral if the latter would pay him a thousand talents,
and, for fifteen hundred, to influence the Romans to grant
him a safe and honourable peace. But these negociations
were broken off, by reason of the distrust which these two
kings had of each other. Eumenes would not trust Perses
unless he paid him the money beforehand ; whilst, on the
other hand, Perses did not care to part with the money
other hand, Perses did not careJ° vj ised • nei- the son of Eumenes; for the late king, considering that he
th'°“*h only hdd.the cro^ “ *trust WJ&Z*.K!d b/.h.B
1   nr* 1 4. _ • K -fnr n IIP
tner coma no uc ™ ^ r ^ 17^
the kine of Pergamus offered to give hostages for the due
performance of his promise. These negociations were as
long as possible concealed from the Romans ; but they at
length came to be known, after which the republic began
to entertain no little jealousy of their old friend, and there¬
fore heaped favours upon his brother Attains. Eumenes
had sent him to Rome to congratulate the senate on the
happy issue of the war with Perses, not thinking that his
own practices had been discovered. However, the senate,
without taking any notice of their disaffection towards
Eumenes, entertained Attalus with the greatest magm
cence ; then several of the senators who visited him pro¬
ceeded to acquaint him with their suspicions of the king,
and desired Attalus to treat with them in his own name,
assuring him that the kingdom of Pergamus would be
granted him by the senate it he demanded it. Eumenes,
alarmed at these proceedings, resolved to proceed in per¬
son to Rome, in order to justify himself. But the senate
having already condemned him in their own minds, ie-
solved not to hear his vindication, and made an act that
no king should be permitted to enter the gates of Rome.
Eumenes, who knew nothing of this, set forward on Ins
journey, and landed at Brundusmm ; but no sooner did
the Roman senate receive intelligence of his arrival, than
own children in order to give it to him, though he appears
to have been by no means worthy of it. He is said to have
been deprived of his senses through the violence of his
grief for his mother’s death ; and, indeed, throughout his
w'hole reign, he behaved more like a madman than a person
of sane mind. On the death of this tyrant, a will was found,
by which he left the Roman people heirs of all his goods;
upon which they seized on the kingdom, and reduced it
to a province of their empire by the name of Asia Proper.
But Aristonicus, a son of Eumenes by an Ephesian courte-
san, reckoning himself the lawful heir to the crown, and be¬
ing by no means satisfied with this usurpation of the Ro¬
mans, assembled a considerable army in order to maintain
his pretensions. The people in general, having been ac¬
customed to a monarchy, dreaded a republican form of go¬
vernment ; and having, in consequence, assisted Aristoni¬
cus, they soon put him in a condition to reduce the whole
kingdom to obedience. The news, however, were speedily
carried to Rome 5 and Licinius C-rassus, the pontifex maxi-
mus, was sent into the East, with orders to enfoice submis¬
sion to the king’s will. Historians take no notice of any
forces which were sent along with this commander; from
which it is supposed, that he depended on assistance from
the Asiatics, who were in alliance with Rome, or from the
the itoman senate w‘ith‘die decree 0f Egyptians. But when he went thither, he found both the
supplied with troops by the kings of Pontus, Bi.hynia
. .i   f Tn this TuimpnfiS
the king must leave Italy without delay. To this Eumenes
replied* that he had no business of any consequence to
transact, and that he did not stand in need of any of their
assistance ; and, without saying a word more, went on board
his ship, and returned to Pergamus. On his return, the
Gauls, encouraged by the cold reception which he had met
with at Rome, invaded his territories, but were repulsed
with great loss. This produced new complaints at Rome,
and Eumenes was accused of keeping up a secret corre¬
spondence with the king of Macedonia ; and the senators
having conceived the most implacable hatred against him,
seemed absolutely bent on his destruction, when he died,
in the thirty-ninth year of his reign, leaving his kingdom
and his wife to his brother Attalus.
Cappadocia, and Paphlagonia ; but he managed matters so
ill that he was entirely defeated and taken prisoner. Those
who took him designed to carry him to Aristonicus; but
Crassus, not being able to endure the disgrace, would have
laid violent hands on himself if he had not been disarmed.
Aristonicus did not long enjoy the fruits o-f his victory.
Indeed he behaved very improperly after it; for, instead
of preparing to oppose the next army, which he might
have been assured the Romans would send against him,
he spent his time in feasting and revelling. But he was
soon roused out of his lethargy by Perpenna, the new
consul, who having assembled with incredible expedition
the troops of the allies, came unexpectedly upon him, ob¬
liged him to venture an engagement at a disadvantage, and
of his reign, found him- entirely defeated him. Aristonicu, fled to a city called
- Ml 1 • wprp cured self greatly distressed by Prusias king of Bithynia, who Perga;
Eumenes remained at ^Egina till his wou ^ ^ no(. ogn] overthrew him in a pitched battle, but advanced'—v
which was done with so great secrecy, tha p t0 the very wa]is Gf Pergamus, ravaging the country as he
death was spread all oyer Asia, and even b d^ ^ marched along, and at last reduced the royal city itself,
nay, his brother Attalus was so convince ^ however, saved himself by a timely flight, and
this report, that he not only assumed ^16 govern ’. despatched ambassadors to Rome, complaining of the con-
even married Stratonice the wife of Eumenes. Butj a ^ P ^ The klter endeavoured to defend him-
short time Eumenes conymced both pa ^ self; and t0 throW the blame on Attalus. But, after a proper
alive, by returning to his kingdom. ^ ^ inquiry was made into the matter, Prusias was found to be
telligence, Attalus resigned the sovei eig J S entirely in the wrong, and was at last obliged to conclude
and went to meet bis brother, queen a peace with his adversary upon the following terms, viz.
of his guards. Eumenes reeled bo hj ed]n hig that he should immediately deliver up to Attalus twenty
with great tenderness; only it is smd p decks; that he should pay five hundred talents
brother’s ear when he first saw him, “ Be i" no haste ^ ^ ^ of twenty years. that he should
marry my wife again till you are sur® 1 ‘ t per. pav a hundred talents to some of the other Asiatic nations,
The king joined the Romans in the^war agamst Pe^ P v ofreparatLon for the damages they had sustained
ses ; but during the course of it he sudde y ^ fr^m him . and that both parties should be content with
affection towards those allies whom he c ^   ^ what they possessed before the beginning of the war.
The last enterprise in which we find Attalus engaged was
against Andriseus, the pretended son of Perses, king of
Macedonia, in which he assisted the Romans. After this
he gave himself up to ease and luxury, committing state
affairs entirely to his ministers ; and thus continued till his
death, which happened in the eighty-second year of his
age, and about 138 years before our era.
Attalus the Second was succeeded by Attalus the Third,
PER
ne Stratonice, but was so closely pursued by the conqueror,
that the garrison, having no means of supplying them-
thi* selves with provisions, delivered up their leader, as well
as a philosopher named Blosius, who had been the com-
panion and counsellor of Aristonicus. The philosopher
behaved with great resolution after being taken, and open¬
ly defended his siding with Aristonicus, because he thought
his cause just. He exhorted the latter to prevent the dis-
<>race and misery of captivity by a voluntary death ; but
Aristonicus, looking upon death as a greater misery than
any captivity, suffered himself to be treated as his con¬
querors pleased.
In the mean time, a new consul, named Manius Aqui-
lius, having arrived from Rome, sent a haughty message to
Perpenna, requiring him immediately to deliver up Aris¬
tonicus as a captive belonging to his triumph when the
war should be ended. With this demand Perpenna refus¬
ed to comply, and his refusal had almost produced a civil
war; but this was prevented by the death of Perpenna,
which happened soon after the dispute commenced. The
Pergamenians, notwithstanding the defeat and captivity of
their leader, still held out with such obstinacy, that Aqui-
lius was obliged to besiege, and take by force, almost
every city in the kingdom. At last, however, the whole
country being reduced, Aquiiius triumphed, and the un¬
happy Aristonicus, being led in chains before his chariot,
probably ended his miserable life in a dungeon.
PERGINE, a large but scattered market-town in the
Austrian province of Tyrol, and the circle of Trent. It has
some cloth manufactures; and near to it there are iron¬
works. The inhabitants amount to from 7000 to 8000.
PERI AGOG E, in Rhetoric, is used where many things
are accumulated into one period, which might have been
divided into several.
PERIANDER, one of those generally known as the
seven wise men of Greece, was the son of Cypselus, tyrant
of Corinth. He was born b. c. 665, and died at the age
of eighty, b. c. 585. He succeeded his father in the go¬
vernment of Corinth, b. c. 625, and was distinguished at
first for the mildness of his disposition ; but yielding to the
advice given him by Thrasybulus, prince of Miletus, he is
said to have become a cruel tyrant. He married Lyside,
whom he called Melissa, daughter of Procles, tyrant of
Epidaurus, and of Eristheneia, daughter of Aristocrates,
the celebrated king of the Arcadians. By her he had two
sons, Cypselus and Locophron, the former of whom was
an idiot. He struck his wife in a passion, and killed her,
at the same time banishing Lycophron to the island of
Corcyra, because he dared to bewail the fate of his mother
(Herodot. v. 92, iii. 50). In the war between the Athe¬
nians and Mytilenaeans, b. c. 606, he is said, according to
one statement (v. 94, 95), to have been a mediator be¬
tween the contending parties; but Strabo represents him
as having assisted Pittacus. When he began to feel old
age advancing, he sent for his son Lycophron; but the in¬
habitants of Corcyra put him to death, and when Peri-
ander failed in inflicting punishment on the authors of this
calamity to him, he died of grief. Periander was the author
of maxims for the guidance of human life, extending to
two thousand hexameter verses. Laertius quotes two let¬
ters under the name of Periander, but there seems no
good reason for believing that they are genuine. The
cruel conduct of Periander made many of the ancients
doubt whether the tyrant of Corinth ought to be consider¬
ed as one of the wise men. It is to be observed, however,
that there was a Periander of Ambracia, to whom some
give this title. (Diogenes Laertius, Life of Periander.)
PERIANTHIUM, from ?rsg/, round, and avtiog, a Jiower,
the flower-cup properly so called, or the most common spe¬
cies of calyx, placed immediately under the flower, which
is contained iu it as in a cup.
PER 231
PERIAPATAM, a town of the south of India, in the Periapa-
province of Mysore, and towards the borders of the Coorg tam
country. It is the city and domain of an ancient Polygar p l| .
chief, who was conquered nearly two centuries ago by one. _ enc e*
of the rajahs of Mysore. The town and fort, and the sur¬
rounding country, were laid waste by orders of Tippoo Sul¬
tan, when the British army was approaching to it in 1790.
In 1799 a battle was fought near this place, between Ge¬
neral Stuart’s forces and those of Tippoo, in which the
latter were totally defeated, and the road to Seringapatam
laid open to the victorious army. This district produces
about 2000 weight annually of sandal wood, which is con¬
veyed in great quantities to Tellicherry, and thence to
China and Nubia. Under the mild government of its pre¬
sent rajah it is recovering from the desolation to which it
was exposed. Long. 76. 25. E. Lat. 12. 20. N.
PERICARDIUM, in Anatomy, is a membranous bag
filled with water, which contains the heart in man and in
many other animals. (See Anatomy.)
PERICARPIUM, from round, and xagjrof, fruit,
the seed-vessel, or that organ of a plant which contains
the seeds it discharges when ripe. The seed-vessel is in
fact the developed seed-bud, and may very properly be
compared to the fecundated ovary in animals ; for it does
not exist till after the fertilizing of the seeds by the male
dust, and the consequent fall of the flower. All plants,
however, are not furnished with a seed-vessel; and in such
as are deprived of it, the receptacle or calyx performs its
functions by enclosing the seeds as in a matrix, and accom¬
panying them to perfect maturity.
PERICHORUS, in Antiquity, a name applied by the
Greeks to their profane games or combats, that is, to such
as were not consecrated to any of the gods.
PERICLES, one of the most celebrated of the Greek
statesmen, was a native of Athens, and descended, both by
the father and mother’s side, from the most distinguished
families of that city. His father Zanthippus had been
concerned in the prosecution of the great Miltiades, and
commanded the fleet which defeated the Persians at My-
cale, b. c. 479. He married Agariste, the niece of Cleis-
thenes, the chief of the noble family of the Alcmaionidm,
and the leader of the party which had expelled the Pisis-
tratidae. It is not known in what year Pericles was born;
but as he began to take part in public affairs about b. c.
469, it could scarcely be later than b. c. 490. He died in
the autumn of b. c. 431, in the third year of the Pelopon¬
nesian war. He studied under the ablest masters that
Athens could then furnish. Anaxagoras of Clazomense,
whose force of understanding and extent of knowledge
had acquired him the appellation of Intellect (mg), was
the philosopher to whom he was chiefly indebted for the
cultivation of his mental powers ; but he also derived in¬
struction from Zeno, the founder of the Eleatic school of
philosophy, and from Damon, who, professing only music,
was considered as the ablest speculative politician that
Athens then produced. It is said that the young Pericles
resembled much, both in person and voice, the tyrant Pi-
sistratus, and this prevented him for some time from tak¬
ing any part in public business. But when Aristides was
dead, Themistocles banished, and Cimon employed in dis¬
tant military expeditions, Pericles ventured to make his
appearance before the people about b. c. 469; and his elo¬
quence soon enabled him to acquire great influence over
them. Although his inclination and feelings might have
led him to unite himself to the aristocratical party, his
interest and his peculiar talents made him solicit the fa¬
vour of the people, and he became in course of time the
leader of the popular faction. He concurred in the policy
of his party in procuring, b. £. 461, the banishment of Ci¬
mon ; and he also exerted himself to reduce the dignity of
the Axeiopagus, one of those measures which proved in
232
P E R
P E R
Pericles.
the end fatal to the Athenian constitution, as it tended to
'leave the power of the democracy without control.
The increased expensesof the government rendei ed it ne¬
cessary that some means should be adopted to improve t le
income of the state. Pericles proposed that the common
treasury of the confederacy, at the head of which Athens
stood, should be removed from Delos to Athens. This
fund was intended to provide the means of defence against
any attack on Greece by a foreign enemy, more particu¬
larly by the Persians; and a small yearly assessment was
made on each of the confederate states for this purpose.
By the will of the Athenians this assessment was increased ;
and it was determined that the tribunals of Athens should
decide all disputes which might arise respecting it. These
measures were by no means fair, but the supremacy ot
Athens by sea made any opposition to its demands at pre¬
sent hopeless. Pericles took part in all the proceedings
of his party, although he had not yet acquired the chief
control in the state. He was present at the battle of la-
nagra, b. c. 457, and distinguished himself the more as he
had insisted that Cimon„whohad offered his services, should
not be allowed to be present on the occasion. The Atheni¬
ans, however, were defeated, and obliged to retire. In then-
distress they began to turn their eyes towards Cimon, and
it seems to have been thought advisable by the popular
party that he should be recalled. Pericles himself moved
the decree, b. c. 456, and Cimon returned to Athens, after
the expiration of only five years of the term of his banish¬
ment. On the death of Cimon in Cyprus, b. c. 44J, Pe¬
ricles was left nearly without a rival; and the nobility
thought it necessary that they should bring forward some
one to oppose his monopoly of power. Thucydides, son
of Melesias, brother-in-law of Cimon, was the person to
whom they looked; and, by his abilities, his rank, and his
conduct through life, he was certainly entitled to high con¬
sideration. The two parties now gradually separated; and
they never afterwards coalesced, as they had done under
Cimon. A war of words was carried on ; but we have
little account of it, except the anecdote in which Thucy¬
dides candidly acknowledges the superiority of his rival;
“ When I wrestle with Pericles,” he said, “ if I throw him
ever so decidedly, he can persuade the spectators that he
threw me.”
It was about this time that some Boeotians, who had
been driven from their country in consequence of the
Athenian conquest, contrived to get possession of Orcho-
menos, Chaeroneia, and some other towns in that neigh¬
bourhood. The Athenian army under Tolmides easily dis¬
possessed them, but on its return it was attacked by an¬
other party of exiles at Coronea, b. c. 447, and entirely
defeated, with the death of the general. The revolt of
Euboea was the immediate consequence of this defeat; and
an army under Pericles had scarcely landed upon the island,
when intelligence reached him that the adverse party in
Megarahad risen, and, with the assistance of Corinth, had
overpowered the Athenian garrison, and driven it out of
the city. Rumours of an intended invasion of Attica by
the Spartans were likewise brought to him. Pericles led
back his army from Euboea, defeated the Megareans, and
compelled them to confine themselves within the walls of
their city. The attack of the Spartans did not take place
till the following spring, and Pericles was believed to have
succeeded in bribing the Spartan general Cleandrides to
withdraw his troops, as he retreated without striking a
blow. Pericles then returned to Euboea, and the whole
island was quickly reduced. The insecure tenure of the
Athenian power induced the leading men to seek an ac¬
commodation with Sparta, even on conditions that were
highly disadvantageous. I hey had already lost Bceotia,
and they now agreed to give up all pretensions to Mega-
ra and its territory, to withdraw their garrisons from Irce-
zen in Argolis, and to afford no assistance whatever to the
democratical party in Achaia. On these conditions, a truce
for thirty years was concluded, b. c. 445, between the two
states. The two parties in Athens were now left at liber¬
ty to contend with each other; and as neither was willing
to concede any thing to its rival, matters soon came to a
crisis, and Pericles succeeded in procuring the banish¬
ment, b. c. 444, of Thucydides, by ostracism. From that
moment Pericles became* the master of Athens and all her
dependencies.
The administration of Pericles lasted for fifteen years;
and though the seeds of future evils were then plentifully
sown, it was a period during which arts, science, and taste
reached a perfection which no country has ever surpass¬
ed. The policy, not less than the inclination, of Pericles,
led him to encourage them, as he found it easier to direct
the will and caprices of the sovereign people whilst he ex¬
cited their admiration by the magnificence of his under¬
takings. Nothing seems more wonderful than the expedi¬
tion with which works of stupendous magnitude, and of ini¬
mitable beauty, were completed. Many edifices, each of
which might have required the labour of many successive
ages, were finished during the administration of one pros¬
perous man. The celebrated Phidias was the superin¬
tendent to whose taste and skill the whole management
was intrusted; and the perfection of design, and even of
workmanship, can still be appreciated from the reliques,
after a lapse of more than two thousand years. The Par¬
thenon was erected under his eye; and it is by no means
unlikely that we may still possess many of his designs in
the bas-reliefs which have been transferred from that tem¬
ple, and now form the most valuable part of the British
Museum. Whilst Phidias was employed in executing
works of sculpture, Zeuxis and Parrhasius were not less
eminent in painting; and /Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euri¬
pides were calling forth the plaudits ot the Athenians by
those tragedies which still equally excite our admiration.
To this love of the fine arts Pericles added eloquence,
such as was fitted to control the passions of a multitude,
and an assiduity in public business which never flagged.
His integrity, too, was never once called in question ; and
though he had unlimited control over the public revenues
for so long a period, at his death it was found that his pri¬
vate property was even less than when he had received it
from his father. Although he was the constant object of
satire to the comic poets, and both his person and adminis¬
tration were daily attacked with the severest invectives, he
stood firm in the affections of the people, who appear to have
never for a moment wavered. It was the chief object of
his policy to keep the people either amused or employed;
and for this purpose he sent out during peace a squadron
of sixty galleys, to exercise for eight months every year.
He got rid of the more restless citizens by sending them
to various colonies ; and it was under his direction that the
colony of Thurium, in the south of Italy, was settled,
b. c. 443, whither went Herodotus and the orator Lysias.
The first interruption of the peace arose from a dispute
between two Asiatic states of the Athenian confederacy,
Samos and Miletus, who each claimed the sovereignty
over Priene, and it was found impossible to settle the dis¬
pute without having recourse to arms. Miletus finding it¬
self worsted, applied to the Athenians for assistance, which
Pericles thought proper to grant. His enemies asserted
that he was induced to come to this decision by a wish to
gratify his mistress Aspasia, a native of Miletus, and one
of the most celebrated women of ancient times. (See As¬
pasia.) There are sufficient reasons assigned, however,
why the Athenians should have interfered, without suppos¬
ing that Pericles was swayed by any thing but a regard
for the interests of his country. He led a considerable
fleet, b. c. 440, against the Samians; and, after a nine
ferie;
PER
. months’ siege, they were compelled to capitulate. Pericles
"'returned with increased popularity, and gained much ap¬
plause from the eloquence with which he pronounced the
funeral oration over those who had fallen in battle. The
historian Thucydides does not mention what part Pericles
took in those measures which eventually led to the Pelo¬
ponnesian war; but Plutarch asserts that he was the sole
author of that contest. It is said that the people were
beginning to show some symptoms of dissatisfaction with
his sway, and were listening readily to all accusations
against his friends. Phidias had been thrown into prison,
and had there died, not without suspicion of poison. As-
pasia had been accused and acquitted only through the
great exertions of Pericles ; and he hgd found it necessary
to recommend to his friend Anaxagoras to retire from
Athens for a time, as he was not certain that he could
protect him from the malice of his enemies. He knew
that upon any critical emergency they must have recourse
to him ; and, to withdraw the attention of the people from
himself and friends, it is said he used every means to fan
the flame of war, and to prevent all possibility of an ar¬
rangement between the Spartans and Athenians. When
war at last was determined on, b. c. 431, Pericles took
the whole direction of it on himself, and, thinking it hazar¬
dous to venture a battle against the united forces of the
Peloponnesians, kept the Athenians within the fortifica¬
tions of the city. The crowded state of the city, from the
peasants who had fled before the enemy, and an insuffi¬
ciency of food, were the main causes probably of that pes¬
tilential disease which broke out with such violence in
Athens during the second year of the war, and which is
so graphically described by the historian Thucydides (ii.).
The Athenians now lost all patience, and wreaked their
vengeance upon Pericles, by imposing a fine of fifteen ta¬
lents on him. At the same time that his influence with
the people was thus diminished, he was suffering much from
the calamities which had befallen many of his relations, and
from a misunderstanding which had for some time pre¬
vailed in his own family. He had originally married one
of his own relations, but as their dispositions were by no
means suited to each other, they had separated, after hav¬
ing two sons, Xanthippus and Paralus. Pericles then lived
with Aspasia, towards whom he bore the tenderest regard.
Xanthippus was naturally extravagant, and had married a
young and expensive wife, who was unwilling to brook the
frugality of her father-in-law. They lived therefore in a
constant state of irritation with Pericles, and took every op¬
portunity of annoying him. Xanthippus was carried off by
the plague, as rvell as many other of his relations. Pericles ‘
bore up against all his misfortunes until the death of Para¬
lus, his last surviving legitimate son, which completely
subdued his unbending spirit, and he gave up all attention
to public business. It was soon found, however, that no
one was capable of filling his place, and the people again
solicited Pericles to re-assume the reins of government.
Io this he acceded; and one of the first favours that he
asked was, that they would allow him to enrol a natural
son in his tribe, and thereby make him legitimate. In
compassion for his misfortunes this was granted, and his
son, Pericles, was afterwards one of the ten commanders
in the naval engagement of Arginusae. Pericles was soon
alter this seized with the plague, and died in the year 428
b.c. to the great regret of the Athenians. He is said to
Je^. nothing in writing, except some public decrees,
nc/es) ^ PeloPonnesian War i Plutarch, Life of Pe-
PEMGEE, in Astronomy, that point of the sun or the
moons orbit in which they are at the least distance from
VppTno AouS^SenSe k is °PP0Sed to apogee.
KUjKAPHL, a w ord usually understood to express
a careless or inaccurate delineation of any thing; but in
VOL, XVII. J C
PER
233
Period.
Vesalius it is used to express the white lines or impres- Perigeux
sions that appear on the musculus rectus of the abdomen.
PERIGUEUX, an arrondissement of the department of,
the Dordogne, in France, 775 square miles in extent. It
comprehends nine cantons, divided into 126 communes, and
contains 91,000 inhabitants. The capital is the city of the
same name, which is also the seat of the civil, military,
and judicial governments of the department. It stands on
the right bank of the river Isle, and is fortified. The streets
are narrow and crooked, and the houses old and lofty, so
that its appearance is gloomy. It is the see of a bishop,
contains 1150 houses, w ith 8600 inhabitants, and has a pub¬
lic library of 14,000 volumes, a fine old cathedral, and the
ruins of a Roman amphitheatre, with some other ancient
remains. Long. 0. 37. 56. E. Lat. 45. 11. 10. N.
PERIHELIUM, in Astronomy, that part of the orbit of
a planet or comet in which it is at its least distance from
the sun. In this sense it is in opposition to aphelium.
PE RIM, a small island in the Straits of Babelmandeb,
destitute of fresh water. It has a good harbour, and is about
four miles distant from the coast of Africa. Long. 43. 50
E. Lat. 12. 36. N.
PERIMEIER, in Geometry, the bounds or limits of any
figure or body. The perimeters of surfaces or figures are
lines, and those of bodies are surfaces. In circular figures,
instead of perimeter, we say circumference or periphery.
PERINDA, a considerable town of Hindustan, in the
province of Dowletabad. It is the capital of a district of
the same name, has a strong citadel or fort, and belongs to
the Mahrattas. Long. 76. 50. E. Lat. 18. 33. N.
PERINGARY, a town of Hindustan, in the Southern
Carnatic, and district of Marawas, thirty-two miles east-
south-east from Madura. Long. 73. 40. E. Lat. 9. 38. N.
PERINRAPAX, one of the Laccadive Islands, in the
Indian Sea. Long. 71. 18. E. Lat. 11. 10. N.
PERIOD, \n Astronomy, the time occupied by a star or
planet in making a revolution round the sun, or the dura¬
tion of its course till it return to the samet part of its or¬
bit. See Astronomy.
Period, in Music. See the article Music.
Period, in Chronology, denotes a revolution of a cer¬
tain number of years, or a series of years, by which, in dif¬
ferent nations, and on different occasions, time is mea¬
sured. See Chronology.
Period, in Grammar, denotes a small compass of dis¬
course, containing a perfect sentence, and distinguished at
the end by a point or full stop. Father Buffier observes that
there are two difficulties in the use of the period or point;
first, in distinguishing it from the colon or double point; and,
secondly, in determining justly the end of a period or per¬
fect sentence. It may be remarked, that the supernume¬
rary members of a period, separated from the rest by co¬
lons and semicolons, usually commence with a conjunction ;
yet it is true that sometimes these conjunctions rather be¬
gin new periods than supernumerary members of a preced¬
ing one. It is the sense of things, and the author’s own
discretion, that must make the proper distinction in such
cases. No rules will be of any service unless this be ad¬
mitted as one, that when that w'hich follows the conjunc¬
tion is of as great extent as that which precedes it, it is
usually a new period, but otherwise not. The second dif¬
ficulty arises from this, that the sense appears to be per¬
fect in several short detached phrases, in which it does not
seem there should be periods. This is frequent in free dis¬
course, as, We are all in suspense, make your proposals im¬
mediately, you will be to blame for detaining us longer. Here
it is evident that simple phrases have each a perfect sense
like periods, and ought to be marked accordingly ; but that
the shortness of the discourse making them easily compre¬
hended, the pointing is neglected. De Colonia defines a
period a short but perfect sentence, consisting of certain
2 G
234
PER
P E R
Period parts or members depending one upon anot >
I! nected together by some common vinculum. Accor g
Perirphan- h celebrated definition of Aristotle, a period is a discou
which has a beginning, a middle, and an end, all of them
visible at one view. Rhetoricians, in treating of the struc
ture of sentences, consider a period as one « he °m P .
of composition. The periods allowed in oratoi y ai e three .
a period of two members, called by the Greeks «^o/os, and
b/the Latins Umembris ; a period of three members, caned
trkolos and trimembris ; and a period of four, called quad
rimembris and tetracolos. • . nr
Period, in numbers, is a distinction made by a point or
comma after every sixth place or figure, and used in nu¬
meration for the more readily distinguishing and naming ot
^Period!^Medicine, is applied to certain diseases which
have intervals and returns, to denote an entire course or
cycle of such disease, or its progress from any state throug
all the rest, till it return to the same again. .
PERIODIC, or Periodical, something that terminates
or comprehends a period; as a periodic month, or the space
of time in which the moon completes her period.^
PERIOECI (vspioim), in Geography, such inhabitants ot
the earth as have the same latitudes, but opposite ongi-
tudes, or live under the same parallel and the same men-
dian, but in different semicircles of that meridian, or in
opposite points of the parallel. These have the same com¬
mon seasons throughout the year, and the same pheno¬
mena of the heavenly bodies; but when it is noon-day
with the one, it is midnight with the other, there being
twenty-four hours in an east or west direction. Ihese aie
found on the globe by the hour-index, or by turning the
globe half round, that is, 180 degrees either way.
PERIPATETICS, philosophers, followers ot Aristotle,
and supporters of the peripatetic philosophy, called a so
Aristotelians. Cicero says that Plato left two excellent
disciples, Xenocrates and Aristotle, who founded two sects,
which only differed in name ; the former took the appella¬
tion of Academics, being those who continued to hold then
conferences in the Academy, as Plato had done befoie , t e
latter, who followed Aristotle, were caWed Peripatetics from
/ walk, because they disputed walking in the Ly¬
ceum. (See Aristotle and Aristotelian Philosophy.)
PERIPATON, in Atitiquity, the name of that walk in
the Lyceum where Aristotle taught, and whence the name
of Peripatetics was applied to his followers.
PERIPETEIA, in the drama, is that part of a trage“>
in which the action is turned, the plot unravelled, and the
whole concludes. , c
PERIPHERY, in Geometry, the circumference ot a cir¬
cle, ellipsis, or any other regular curvilinear figure.
PERIPHRASIS, or circumlocution (formed from tfsg/,
about, and speah), in Rhetoric, a circuitous form ot
words, mucb affected by orators, to avoid common and tide
modes of expression. The periphrasis is of great use on
some occasions ; and it is often necessary, to make things be
conceived which it is not proper to name. It is sometimes
polite to suppress the names, and only to intimate or allude
to them. These turns of expression are also particularly
serviceable in oratory ; for the sublime admitting of no di¬
rect citations, there must be a compass taken to insinuate
the authors whose authority is borrowed. A periphrasis,
bv turning round a proper name in order to make it under¬
stood, amplifies and raises the discourse ; but care must
be taken that it be not too much swelled, nor extended
mal a propos, in which case it becomes flat and languid.
PERIPNEUMONY, (formed from ergg/,
about, and lungs), in Medicine,™ inflammation of
some part of the thorax, properly of the lungs, attended
with an acute fever, and a difficulty of breathing.
PERIRPHANTERIUM, a vessel of stone or brass fill¬
ed with holy water, with which all those were sprinkled Perisci
who were admitted by the ancients to their sacrifices. Be- ||
vond this vessel no profane person was allowed to pass.y J
We are told by some that it was placed in the adytum, or
inmost recess of the temple ; but others say that it was
placed at the door, which indeed seems to be the most pro¬
bable opinion. It was used both by Greeks and Romans,
and has been evidently borrowed, like many other Pagan
ceremonies, by the Church of Rome. The Hebrews had
also a vessel for purification. r f . .,
PERISCII, in Geography, the inhabitants of either frigid
zone, between the polar circles and the poles, where the sun,
when in the summer signs, moves only round about them,
without setting; and consequently their shadows in the
same day turn to all the points of the horizon.
PERISTALTIC, a vermicular spontaneous motion ot
the intestines, performed by the contraction of the circular
and longitudinal fibres of which the fleshy coats of the in¬
testines are composed; by means of which the chyle is
driven into the orifices of the lacteal veins, and the fmces
are protruded towards the anus. .....
PERISTYLE, in Ancient Architecture, a building en¬
compassed with a row of columns on the inside.
PERITROCHIUM,-in Mechanics, denotes a wheel or
circle, concentric with the base of a cylinder, and move-
able together with it round its axis. , ^ ,
PERJURY is defined by Sir Edward Coke to be a
crime committed when a lawful oath is administered, in
some judicial proceeding, to a person who swears wilfully,
absolutely, and falsely, in a matter which is material to the
issue or point in question. In ancient times it was in some
places punished with death ; at other periods it made the
false swearer liable to the punishment due to the crime
which he had charged the innocent person withal; and at
others, again, it subjected him to a pecuniary fine. But
though it escaped human, yet it was thought, amongst the
ancients in general, that the divine vengeance would most
certainly overtake it; and there are upon record many se¬
vere inflictions from the hand of God, as monuments of
the abhorrence in which this atrocious crime is held by
the Deity. The souls of the deceased were supposed to be
employed in punishing perjured persons. Even the ina¬
nimate creation was thought to take vengeance on this
crime. The Greeks supposed that no person could swear
falselv bv Styx without some remarkable punishment; and
that any'one guilty of perjury could not enter the cave of
Palmmon at Corinth without being made a memorable ex¬
ample of divine justice. In Sicily, at the temple of the
Palici, there were fountains called Delh, from which issu¬
ed boiling water, with flames and balls of fire ; and we are
told that if any person swore falsely near them, he was in¬
stantly struck dumb, blind, lame, or dead, or was swallow¬
ed up by the waters. But although perjury was thus held
in general abhorrence, yet in spite ot the credit given to
such accounts of divine inflictions, it was so much practised
by the Greeks, that Grcecafides became a proverb. Lovei s
neriuries, however, were supposed to pass unnoticed, or to
be but very slightly punished with blackness of the nails, a
decayed tooth, or some similar diminution of beauty. I he
ancient philosophers were so afraid of perjury, that even
an oath before a judge was never admitted excepting f
want of other proof. Plato’s precept was, nott0
an oath wantonly, but upon deep grounds, and with he
strictest caution. Ulpian gives his opinion thus • .
are forward to take oaths from a contempt of reli^on ,
others, from an extraordinary awe of the Divine Maje
carry their fear to an unreasonable superstition, so as
make an equitable decision of a judge necessary-
man will perjure himself,” says Aristotle, “ who apprehends
vengeance from Heaven and disgrace amongst men. Ui-
nias was so very scrupulous, that rather than take e\
PER PER 235
izo- lawful oath, he suffered the loss of three talents. Perjury, work full of curious and interesting remarks on the chro- Perizzites
us' in the time of Philo Judaeus, was abominated and capitally nology of Egypt, in opposition to Marsham, Usher, Capell, II
punished amongst the Jews ; but since that time they have Pezron, and some other chronologists ; 6. Opuscula Minora, ^ermeal^e*
much degenerated, being poisoned by the Talmud, which Orationes atque Dissertationes varii et praestantioris argu- ^ v~~'
fstates, that he who breaks his promissory oath, or any menti, Leyden, 1740, in two vols. 8vo, preceded by a Life
vows he enters into during the year, if he have a mind of Perizonius, and a catalogue of the manuscripts which he
that they should be ineffectual and invalid, may rise the bequeathed to the library of Leyden. Amongst the works
last day of the year, and say, Whatever promises, oaths, edited by this able scholar may be mentioned the History
and vows, I may think fit to make in the year following, of ASlian, 1701, in two vols. 8vo, and the Minerva of Sanc-
let them be null, void, and of no effect.1 The modern tius, 1714, in 8vo. (a.'
Jews employ the same artifice, thinking that they may thus
lawfully deceive the Christians.
PERIZONIUS, James, one of the most learned philo¬
logists and most judicious critics whom Holland has pro¬
duced, was born at Dam, in the province of Groningen, in
the year 1651. His father, who was both pastor and rec¬
tor of the school of that place, having, in 1664, been ap¬
pointed professor oftheology at Deventer, young Perizonius
there began his studies under Gisbert Cuper, and after¬
wards went to pursue them at Leyden under George Grae-
vius. Under these two able masters, his progress w'as ex¬
tremely rapid; and the death of his father, who intended
him as his successor in the chair of theology, leaving him
at liberty to follow the bent of his inclinations, he applied
himself with fresh ardour to the study of the ancient lan¬
guages and of history. In the year 1674, he resumed his
academical courses, which the war had interrupted, and,
when he had completed them, he was appointed rector of
the gymnasium at Delft. In 1681, he removed to the aca¬
demy of Franeker, as professor of eloquence and history,
which he taught with such distinction and success, that
the curators of the academy, desirous to attach him to the
school the reputation of which he had so ably supported,
made several additions to his salary. Nevertheless, in 1693,
Perizonius accepted the chair of history, eloquence, and
the Greek language, in the university of Leyden; and to
these subjects he, in 1702, added prelections on the his¬
tory of the united provinces of the Low Countries. The
lustre of his talents shone daily brighter and brighter ; and
although he discharged with exemplary diligence and fide¬
lity his duty towards his pupils, he every year published
some new production calculated to extend his reputation
as a philologist. But his assiduous and uninterrupted la¬
bours at length undermined his health, which was naturally
delicate, and, after languishing for some time in a hopeless
condition, he died at Leyden on the 6th of April 1715.
Perizonius, though a man of an amiable and obliging dis¬
position, was nevertheless sensitive, and fond of disputa¬
tion. He engaged in several keen controversies, particu¬
larly with Ulric Huber, professor of law at Franeker, on
the sense of a passage in the Epistle of St Paul to the Phi-
lippians ; with Francius, professor of eloquence at Amster¬
dam ; with James Gronovius, on the death of Judas Iscariot;
with John Leclerc, on the subject of Quintus Curtius ; and
with Kuster on the as grave of the ancients. The works
of Perizonius all display erudition, but are deficient in or¬
der and method. Besides good editions of various authors,
he wrote, 1. Animadversiones Historicae, in quibus quam
plurima in priscis Romanarum rerum sed utriusque linguae
autoribus notantur, multa etiam illustrantur atque emen-
dantur, Amsterdam, 1685, in 8vo; 2. Q. Curtius Rufus in
integrum restitutus, vindicatus, Leyden, 1703, in 8vo ; 3.
De Doctrinae Studiis, nuper post depulsam barbariem di-
ligentissime denuo cultis et desideratis, nunc vero rursus
neglectis fere et contemptis, Leyden, 1708, in 8vo ; 4. Re¬
rum per Europam saeculo XY1. maxime gestarum Com-
mentarii Historici, ibid. 1710, in 8vo; 5. Origines Baby-
lonicae et Aigyptiacae, Leyden, 1711, in two vols. 8vo, a
PERIZZITES, the ancient inhabitants of Palestine, who
were mingled with the Canaanites. There is some proba¬
bility that they themselves were Canaanites ; but having no
fixed habitations, being sometimes dispersed in one coun¬
try and sometimes in another, they were for that reason
called Perizzites, which signifies “ scattered” or “ dispers¬
ed.” The Perizzites did not inhabit any certain portion of
the land of Canaan ; there were some of them on both sides
of the river Jordan, in the mountains, and on the plains.
In several places of Scripture the Canaanites and Periz¬
zites are mentioned as the two principal tribes of the coun¬
try.
PERM, a town and very extensive government of Rus¬
sia. The province is situated chiefly in European, but
partly also in Asiatic Russia, and is bounded by the go¬
vernment of Yiatka on the west, and that of Tobolsk on
the east. It has an area of 116,000 square miles, with a
population of not more than 1,100,000. It is of a very di¬
versified surface, being intersected from north to south by
branches of the great Ural chain. The hills are covered
with [sand and impenetrable forests, which afford abun¬
dant shelter to wild animals, such as the bear, the wild
boar, the wolf, foxes, and hares, and the sable and the
marten, which are hunted over their farms. It is not a
productive country; the summer is warm ; but towards
autumn, the chill air from the mountains often blights the
produce of the harvest, and renders it necessary to import
corn for the sustenance of the inhabitants. It has mines
of copper, iron, and salt, which it exports to the annual
amount of 2000 tons of copper and 10,000 tons of iron ;
cattle are also exported. The inhabitants are a mixed race,
partly Russian and partly of Finnish and Tartar descent.
They are principally occupied as shepherds; about 50,000
are employed in the mines. Perm is an inland province.
Tl)e rivers by which it is intersected are far from the sea ;
those on the west side of the Ural Mountains flowing into
the Kama, which joins the Wolga, and those on the east side
falling mostly into the Oby, the outlet of which is the frozen
ocean. The inhabitants are partly Christians, partly Ma-
hommedans and Pagans. The town of Perm is situated
on the river Kama. It has some neat public buildings, such
as two churches, the government-offices, a public school,
and an hospital; and carries on an extensive trade in the
metals wrought in the surrounding country. The popula¬
tion is 3800. It is 910 miles south by east of St Peters¬
burg, and 720 east-north-east of Moscow. Long. 56. 26.
30. E. Lat. 58.1. 13. N.
PERMACOIL, a small town and fortress of the south of
India, in the province of the Carnatic, situated on a rock
from two to three hundred feet in height, but at its base
not more than five hundred yards broad. It is exceedingly
steep and difficult of access, but was taken by the British,
in 1760, under Colonel Coote, who was wounded in the
attack. It is seventy-two miles south-south-west from
Madras, and twenty miles north-west from Pondicherry.
Long. 79. 52. E. Lat. 12. 13. N.
PERMEABLE, a term applied to bodies of so loose a
texture as to let something pass through them.
Tract, iii. part 3, of the Talmud, in the treatise Nedharim, chap 4.
236
Pernara-
buco.
PERNAMBUCO.
PERNAMBUCO, a large and important province of
Brazil, in South America. It is separated on the south
from the provinces of Seregipe and Bahia by the uver S
Francisco, and from Minas Geraes by the river Carmhenha;
on the west it touches on Goyaz; and Paraiba, Seara, and
Piauhy bound it on the north. This province is reckoned
one of the most flourishing and important in Brazil, and
contains more ports than any other, Recife, the capital,
being only inferior to Rio and San Salvador in commercial
enterprise and industry. Pernambuco extends about six
hundred miles in length, but its breadth is much less, being
only about fifty miles in the middle, though it widens to
about two hundred towards each extremity. Its surface
is very unequal, being in some parts mountainous, dry, and
barren. In the interior, behind the capital, are immense
plains, stretching to a great distance in all directions, al¬
though traversed in part by the great middle chain of
mountains called the Serra of Borborema, which is described
as the most majestic in Brazil. It commences near the
with luxuriant grass, upon which vast herds of cattle are Pernat;
fed ; but these will be described afterwards. The pro- buca,
vince is divided into two parts by the river Pajehu, a tri-
butary of the St Francisco, namely, the eastern and west¬
ern districts or cantons. The eastern canton or ouvidoria
is subdivided into three comarcas, the northern, central, and
southern, the respective head towns of which are Olinda,
Recife, and Alagoas. The western, however, has latterly
been regarded as a separate province; but if so, it is a very
small and unimportant one. The ouvidoria, as containing
the capital, demands our first attention. Recife, or, as it
is commonly called, Pernambuco, is not to be confounded
with Olinda, although some geographers have considered
them as forming but one city. It stands upon a flat, and
is divided into three parts, a peninsula, an island, and the
continent. Recife, or Pernambuco properly so called, is
built upon a peninsula, which extends to the southward of
Olinda. This is the most mercantile part of the three¬
fold city. St Antonio stands upon an island or sand-bank
sL inreVovirceofRioGmndedoNorte, and traverses formed by the arms of the Capibaribe being connected
that of Paraiba from north-east to south-west; it then with Rectfe by a large bridge almost ent.rely construe ed
bends to the west separating that province from Pernam- of stone. The third division of the city is situated on the
buco and Seara; and,lastly, inclines to the northward, di- main land, to the southward of the other two, and isjoin-
vidimr Pernambuco from Piauhy, its name changing as fre- ed to them by a wooden bridge, considered as the largest
auentlv as its altitude varies. In some [.arts it is rocky in Brazil, fins portion of Pernambuco is called Boa Vu-
and barren but the greater portion of it is covered with ta, where the richer inhabitants reside. I he appearance
beautiful forests. The whok of this maritime district or of the country, when Pernambuco ,s approached by sea,
canton was deluded, up to 1810, in the jurisdiction of the is described as charming. Ihe hills are clothed with wood,
on" dor of Jacobina but it now goes by the name of the gradually rising towards the interior but none of them is
ouvidor or jacom a, p ° The most im_ 0f any considerable height. A singular reef of rocks runs
portanfriver of this state, o^ of any other in Brazil, be- parallel with the coast, and forms the harbour of Pernam.
P • i it, fiio St- Franrispn. the. buco, vessels being moored between it and the town, safe
from every storm. This remarkable reef at the top is
scarcely sixteen feet in breadth. To a great depth on the
outside it slopes off more rapidly than the Plymouth break¬
water, but it is perpendicular within, thus forming a mag¬
nificent natural bulwark or breakwater, within which the
ocean is as still as a mill-pond. The reef extends beyond
the northern boundary of the province to Maranham on the
south. In some parts it sinks under water, and there are
numberless breaks, by which a communication with the
sea is laid open. In breadth it varies from a few fathoms
to three quarters of a mile; but everywhere the water is
of sufficient depth to admit the vessels mooring close to
the rock. There is a bar at the entrance of the harbour,
over which, in ordinary tides, there are sixteen feet of water,
so that ships of considerable burden may lie there. The
entrance into the harbour is very narrow, and close by a
fort built on the reef. The hill of Olinda, studded with
houses and convents, rises on the right hand, and an island
thickly planted with cocoa-nut trees adds considerably to
the scene on the left. The principal street of Boa Vista,
the last portion of Pernambuco which remains to be de¬
scribed, is broad and handsome, although the ground on
which it stands used formerly to be overflowed at high
water. A long embankment connects the sand-bank and
town of St Antonio with the mainland at Affogados, to the
south and west of Boa Vista. The river Capibaribe, so
famous in Pernambucan history, discharges its waters into
the channel between St Antonio and Boa Vista, after run¬
ning for some distance in a course nearly from east to west.
The city of Pernambuco, which, Mr Southey remarks, “has
not inaptly been called the Tripoli of the New World,’
has continued to be a place of the first consequence from
the period of the Dutch conquest; and no other place has
derived so great and unequivocal advantages from the
growth of the cotton trade. Recife was built by the Dutch
- under Maurice of Nassau, and by them called Maurice
Town or Mauritius. It is situated in latitude 8.14. south,
and longitude 35.15. west, containing a population of above
GO,000 souls. Of these, in 1821 not above a third were
longing wholly to the country, is the St Francisco, the
largest stream which flows into the Atlantic between the
Amazons and the Plata. It rises in the serra of Canastra,
in the province of Minas Geraes, in latitude 20. south.
After traversing that province from south to north, it bends
to the north-east on touching Pernambuco, and flowing
along the borders of that state, keeps the same general bear¬
ing till within two hundred miles of the sea, when it bends
to the south-west, entering the Atlantic in south latitude
11° nearly, after a course of more than one thousand miles.
It receives several large streams during the first part of its
course, the principal being the Carinhenha, which joins it
on the borders of the comarca of Paracatu; the Rio das
Velhas, and the Rio Verde, which enter from the right ; and
the Paracatu, Correntes, and Rio Grande, which flow into it
from the left. But no stream of any importance joins the
St Francisco after the confluence of the Rio Grande; and
so few streams of any description flow from the arid re¬
gions of Bahia and Pernambuco,, that it may be doubted
whether it does not lose more water by evaporation than
is supplied by all the paltry affluents which join it during
the latter part of its course. After the confluence of the
Rio Grande, it bends first to the east, then to the east-south¬
east, to the aldeia of Vargem Redonda, where the naviga¬
tion from above terminates. Below Villa Nova the river
begins to separate into two large portions, forming a great
number of low wooded islands, which are covered by the
inundations. This great river, so deep in the interior dur¬
ing the middle part of its course, at length discharges it¬
self by two shallow mouths. The principal one, which is
the most northerly, although nearly two miles in width,
lias not depth enough to allow of the entrance of sumacas,
except at high water. In fact, it is navigated by larger
boats in the upper than in the lower part of its course.
The climate of Pernambuco is hot and moist in the in¬
terior, but more agreeable in the maritime district. Ge¬
nerally speaking, the soil is in many parts rich and fertile,
producing cotton, sugar, cocoa, maize, mandioc, and a va¬
riety of fruits, medicinal herbs, and vegetables. In the
interior, the vast plains already mentioned are covered
PERNAMBUCO.
237
n- whites, and they must now be greatly diminished. The
rest consisted of mulattoes and negroes. The former are,
' generally speaking, more active, more industrious, and much
more lively, than the others. Pernambuco long constitut¬
ed, and still does, we suspect, one of the principal slave-
markets in the country; and the callousness and cruelty
with which this inhuman traffic has always been carried
on, have powerfully contributed to debase the minds and
corrupt the morals of the inhabitants. Although within a
few degrees of the equator, the climate of Pernambuco is
remarkably salubrious, and rendered almost temperate by
the refreshing sea-breezes. The comarca of Recife con¬
tains only three small towms, besides the capital, and these
are too unimportant to require any particular description.
Olinda is situated upon a rocky hill, which, although not
very high, is nevertheless the highest in the neighbour¬
hood. Its appearance from the sea is beautiful and pre¬
possessing ; but this presage of elegance and grandeur is not
realized on a narrow inspection. It is now in a state of great
decay, having been deserted for the lower town of Recife.
The elevations on which it stands are embosomed in dark
woods, which seem coeval with the land itself; and being
rent and broken in various directions, they present the
most abrupt and picturesque scenery. The population of
Olinda may amount to about seven thousand. When it
was burned by the Dutch in 1631, it is said to have con¬
tained 2500 houses, and about 25,000 inhabitants. It was
founded by Duarte Coelho Pereira about the year 1535,
but it has continued to decline as Recife has advanced in
prosperity. In the comarca of Olinda there are, besides
the capital, four other towns, amongst which Goiana and
Iguarassu are reckoned considerable places. The latter,
distant from Recife seven leagues to the northward, and
two from the sea, is one of the most ancient towns of the
province. It contains but a scanty population. Goiana,
distant about fifteen leagues from Recife, and four from
the sea, is a much larger and more flourishing place than
the other. It is situated on the banks of a river of the
same name, which here bends so considerably as almost
to surround the town. Besides sugar, a great quantity
of cotton is exported, and there is a large cattle-fair held
every Thursday. The planters have the advantage of wa¬
ter-carriage to Recife, as the river for many leagues both
to the north and south is one of the largest, and is influen¬
ced by the tide even above Goiana. This town, with the
surrounding district, is supposed to contain upwards of
20,000 inhabitants. There are several other towns or vil¬
lages which carry on a considerable trade, and being chiefly
situated upon the river Capibaribe, they enjoy ample facili¬
ties for communication with the capital.
One of the most important places in Pernambuco is the
Island of Itamarca, one of the oldest settlements in Bra¬
zil, and formerly a distinct captaincy. It is situated eight
leagues to the northward of Recife, at a short distance
from the mainland. The Dutch took it in 1633, built a
fort on it, and of such importance did it appear to them,
that for some time they contemplated removing the seat
of government to the island ; a plan which was overruled,
although Itamarca appears to possess decided advantages
as compared with the capital. In the year 1645 Joam Fer¬
nandes Vieira, the principal hero of the Pernambucan war,
attacked the island, but did not succeed in obtaining pos¬
session of it. Subsequent attempts were made, with only
partial success, and the Dutch did not surrender the fort
until their expulsion in 1654. Itamarca is three leagues
in length by about two leagues in breadth ; it contains a
considerable quantity of excellent land, and, with the ex¬
ception of the immediate vicinity of Recife, is the most po¬
pulous part of the province of Pernambuco, As the island
produces excellent cane, there are here several sugar-
works; and vines were formerly cultivated with great suc¬
cess. The shores are planted with cocoa-trees, amongst Pernam-
which are thickly scattered the cottages of fishermen. One buco-
chief source of the wealth to Itamarca is the salt-works,
formed upon the sands which are overflowed by the tide
at high water. Conception is the oldest town on the island;
but the long village of Pillar, situated on its eastern side,
is the principal settlement. The ants, the pest of Pernam¬
buco, and indeed of all Brazil, are so numerous here, that
whole plantations of mandioc and maize are sometimes
destroyed by them. At the northern entrance to the chan¬
nel of Itamarca is the port of Catuama, the second in im¬
portance in the province. Next to it, in the opinion of the
inhabitants, is that of Tamandare, ten leagues south-west
of Cape St Augustin ; but Mr Henderson thinks this port
the best of the whole. It is in the form of a bay7, with a
depth of water sufficient for large vessels, capacious enough
to receive a fleet, and securely defended by a strong fort.
Cape St Augustin is the only promontory on this part of
the coast, and the most eastern land of South America. It
has two forts, each of which defends a small port, and stands
in latitude 8. 26. south. The comarca or province of Ala-
gos is of comparatively little consideration. The capital,
however, which bears the same name, is a place of consider¬
able commerce, and has a population of 14,000 souls. The
other towns belonging to Alagos are Maceyo, Porto de Pe-
dras, and Penedo. 'Ihe latter, the port of the great river St
Francisco, is situated about seven leagues from its mouth.
It is a flourishing place, and, with the district, contains about
12,000 inhabitants. The river, which is here a mile in
breadth, rises only three feet in spring tides ; but the town
is exposed to injury when the freshes come down.
The western part of the province, or the sertaro, is
much more extensive than the maritime district; but it is
very thinly inhabited, owing to the natural sterility of the
soil, and the want of rain, which only falls during thunder
showers. It contains several towns, the largest of which,
called Barra do Rio Grande, is situated at the confluence
of the Rio Grande with the St FYancisco. One hundred
miles below this town is that of Pilao Arcado, the second
place in importance in the sertam. The population of the
district has been stated at 5000 souls. Maize, mandioc,
and melons are cultivated on the margins of the river, but
all the country beyond its immediate vicinity is wild and
sterile. There are a great many salt lakes at various dis¬
tances from the river, and on the margins of these, salt
collects, and forms a considerable article of trade. The
great, indeed the only business of importance carried on
in the sertam is the rearing of cattle, great herds of which
range over the immense plains situated on either side of
the mountain-chain already mentioned. The Sertanejos,
as the inhabitants are called, occupy fazendas or cattle
farms of such vast extent, that few know their bounds, al¬
though they attempt to calculate them by the hundreds
of cattle pastured upon them. Their leagues, as in all
other thinly-inhabited tracts, are of deceptive length, some¬
times four miles. Their dress consists of jacket, hat, and
long pantaloons or leggins, all of brown untanned leather,
a tanned goat-skin over the breast, and a pair of coarse cot¬
ton drawers or trousers. When on horseback and on a
journey, which is often the case, the Sertanejo takes his
hammockand portions of his wardrobe along with him, and
also carries his farinha, dried meat, and other necessaries.
The usual colour of a Sertanejo is dark brown; and the
complexion even of those who are born white soon becomes
as completely tanned as the dress which they wear. The
dress of the women is homely enough, and they are kept in
a state of considerable restriction, seldom appearing abroad,
or, if they do so, they are never allowed to take any part in
conversation. There are no wild cattle in these sertams ;
but kine are exceedingly plentiful. The religion of the Ser¬
tanejos is confined to the observance of certain forms and
238
PER
Pernicious ceremonies, and to the frequent repetition of a few prayers ;
Islands they have great faith in charms, relics, and other things
11 of the same kind. The traffic of the sertam is conducted
Perpignan.
by pedlars, who give them, in exchange for their live stock,
hides, and cheese, various trinkets, articles of luxury, and
English cottons, which are now superseding the coarse fa¬
brics of the country. The population of the whole province
amounted in the year 1830 to 602,000 souls.
The following is a statement of the quantities of the
principal articles of merchandise exported from Pernam¬
buco during the year ending January 1836 : Cotton, 52,142
bags; sugar, 17,520 cases, 2846 half cases, 56,996 barrels,
and 9180 bags ; hides, 91,492 ; coffee, 300 bags ; rum, fif¬
ty-eight puncheons ; Brazil wood, 1200 quintals; and man-
dioc 1217 bags; the estimated value of the whole being
nearly one million sterling. The number of vessels which
entered during the same period was 247, and their total
tonnage 47,696. Of these, 179 cleared with cargoes, the
rest in ballast. The trade of Pernambuco with Great
Britain is more extensive than that with any other country.
The goods chiefly sent thither are cotton manufactures,
hosiery, lace, and small wares, with earthenware, leather
wrought and unwrought, hardwares and cutlery, iron and
steel, beaver and felt hats, brass and copper manufactures,
apparel, slops and haberdashery, beer, ale, butter and
cheese, glass, arms, and ammunition. It appears by the
parliamentary papers, from which this statement of the
exports is taken, that the trade of Pernambuco is on the
increase. (R* R; R*)
PERNICIOUS Islands, a group of islands in the
Southern Pacific Ocean, about fifteen miles in circumfer¬
ence, and which were so called by Raggemein, one of
whose vessels was wrecked there in 1712. They are sup¬
posed to be the Palliser Islands of Captain Cook. Long.
140. 45. W. Lat. 16. S.
PERONNE, an arrondissement of the department of
the Somme, in France. It is 465 square miles in extent, and
is divided into eight cantons, which are subdivided into
184 communes, containing 98,500 inhabitants. T. he ca¬
pital is the city of the same name, situated on the river
Somme, in a position marshy and almost inaccessible to
an attacking force. It contains a fine market-place, five
churches, and 946’houses, with 3760 inhabitants, who ma¬
nufacture linen goods and tan leather. Long. 2. 50. 35. E.
Lat. 49. 55.30. N.
PERONES, a sort of high shoes, which were worn not
only by country people, but also by men of ordinary rank
at Rome. In the early times of the commonwealth, they
were worn even by senators; but at last they were dis¬
used by persons of note, and confined to ploughmen and
labourers. They were very rudely formed, consisting of
hides undressed, and reached only to the middle of the leg.
Virgil mentions the perones as worn by a company of rus¬
tic soldiers on one foot only.
PERORATION, in Rhetoric, the concluding portion of
an oration, in which all that the orator had insisted on
throughout his discourse is urged afresh with greater ve¬
hemence and passion. The peroration consists of two parts ;
recapitulation, in which the substance of what was dif¬
fused throughout the speech is briefly collected, and sum¬
med up with new force and weight; and the appeal to the
passions, which is so peculiar to the peroration, that the
masters of the art call this portion sedes affectuum.
PERPENDICULAR, in Geometry, is a line falling di¬
rectly upon another line, so as to make equal angles on each
side.
PERPIGNAN, an arrondissement of the department
of the Eastern Pyrenees, in France, extending over 557
square miles. It comprehends seven cantons, divided
into eighty-five communes, and containing 57,800 inhabit¬
ants. The capital is the city of the same name, the see
P E R
of a bishop, and the seat of the departmental courts of law
and boards of government. It stands on the left bank of,^J
the river Tet, about ten miles from the Mediterranean Sea. ]
As a frontier place towards Spain, it is strongly fortified,
and defended by a citadel. The cathedral is a fine build¬
ing, but the city generally is not clean or elegant. It con¬
tains 2000 houses and 13,200 inhabitants. It has some
trade in leather, woollen cloth, wine, corn, and cattle, and
considerable contraband intercourse with Spain. Long.
2. 48. 30. E. Lat. 42. 41. 59. N.
PERRAULT, Claude, a celebrated architect, was born
at Paris in the year 1613. His father, an advocate of
the parliament, caused him to study medicine, anatomy,
and the mathematics ; and he even took the degree of
doctor of physic in the faculty of Paris. But Colbert, the
celebrated French minister, having advised him to under¬
take a translation of Vitruvius, the studies in which he
found it necessary to engage in order to understand that
writer inspired him with a decided taste for architecture,
and gave a new direction to his pursuits. W hen the Aca¬
demy of Sciences was established, in 1666, Perrauit was
admitted a member of this body, and was employed to fur¬
nish designs and building-plans for the Observatory. But
this edifice, which, with all its merits, is in a heavy style,
was far from giving any indication of the talents which
Perrauit afterwards displayed. His grand work is the pa¬
lace of the Louvre, the facade of which was designed by
him, and is certainly one of the noblest monuments of ar¬
chitecture in the world. The building had been com¬
menced, and even part of the facade raised according to
the designs of Lavau. But Colbert, dissatisfied with these,
which he justly considered as deficient in grandeur, and
unsuitable to the nature of the subject, appealed to the
genius of other architects; and Perrauit produced a de¬
sign so superior to those of his competitors, that it imme¬
diately obtained a decided preference. Nevertheless, be¬
fore commencing the work, the king wished to have the
ideas of the best artists of Italy; and with this view,
Bernini, who then enjoyed a great reputation, both as a
sculptor and an architect, was sent lor from Rome, and
received in France with the greatest distinction. But the
pre-eminent merit of Perrauit was, notwithstanding, fully
recognised ; his plans were adopted by the court, although
objections had been strenuously urged as to the practicabi¬
lity of their execution ; and a model constructed by the art¬
ist himself at length removed every doubt on the subject,
by proving that the difficulties raised were altogether ima¬
ginary, and that the solidity of the fabric might be render¬
ed commensurate with the beauty of the design. Sue
were the preliminaries of the erection of this monument,
which may justly be regarded as the masterpiece of rrenc
architecture, and the finest edifice that exists in Pans.
Perrauit furnished designs for other works, particularly
the triumphal arch erected at the extremity of the Rue
Saint-Antoine, the foundation-stone of which was laid on
the 6th of August 1670 ; and, in all his works, he display¬
ed that superiority of genius, which was first exhibited in
his translation of Vitruvius, particularly in the plates with
which it was enriched, and which have ever been consi¬
dered as masterpieces of their kind. The first edition of
this work appeared in 1673, and the second 111 | in
one volume folio; after which the translator published an
abridgement in one volume 12mo. To the same author we
are likewise indebted for another work, entitled Ordoman-
ces des Cinq Especes de Colonnes selon la Methode des An-
ciens, in one volume folio, forming a kind of supplement to
the translation of Vitruvius, and containing explanations
of several points which had not been touched upon m the
notes to that work. Of his other productions the principa
are, 1. Essais de Physique, 1680-1688, in twv° .°’
and four vols. 12mo; 2. Memoires pour servir a 1 Histone
PER
P E R
239
i it Naturelle des Animaux, Paris, 1671-1676, in folio; 3.
|j Recueil d’un grand Nombre des Machines de son Invention,
ri for raising and transporting the heaviest weights, Paris,
1700, in one vol. 4to. Claude Perrault assisted his brother
Charles in preparing the memoirs relating to the establish¬
ment of the Academy of Sciences, and that of Painting and
Sculpture, and took a warm interest in the success of that
institution. He died at Paris, on the 9th of October 1688,
in consequence, it is believed, of having wounded himself
whilst dissecting, in the Jardin du Roi, a camel which had
died of some contagious disease; and the faculty of medi¬
cine caused his portrait to be placed amongst those of their
most distinguished members. (a.)
Perrault, Charles, the brother of Claude, was born at
Paris on the 12th of January 1628, and at the age of eight
was placed in the college of Beauvais, where he'distinguished
himself in scholastic disputation, and in making verses with
extreme facility, “ indice trompeur d’un talent qui ne murit
presque jamais.” On leaving school, he found that bur¬
lesque was in vogue; and a friend having suggested to him
the idea of translating the sixth book of the iEneid in the
manner of Scarron, he executed the travesty in a manner
which attracted the commendation both of Voltaire and of
Marmontel. But when his ideas were matured by reflec¬
tion, he ceased to attach any value to such effusions ; and,
having completed his studies, he was admitted as advocate,
in which capacity he pleaded two causes with success. Col¬
bert, however, soon deprived the law of his services, and, in
the year 1664, appointed him first commissary for the su¬
perintendence of royal buildings, an office the duties of
which he discharged with equal zeal and ability, nobly jus¬
tifying the confidence of the minister, and regarding him¬
self as the representative of men of letters and of artists at
the court. The Academy of Painting, Sculpture, and Ar¬
chitecture, and that of Sciences.'‘were founded on memoirs
drawn up by Charles Perrault, who had now become comp¬
troller-general of buildings; and he was admitted into the
French Academy in 1671, in the room of the bishop of
Leon. But the impracticable character of Colbert having
at length wearied out his patience, he retired from his pub¬
lic situation, and, devoting himself to literature, produced
his poem entitled Sieclede Louis XIV., which appeared in
1687, and involved him in a war with the learned, by rea¬
son of his exalting the modern in comparison with the
ancient authors. He defended himself, however, in the
Parallele des Anciens et Modernes, which appeared at Paris
in 1688, afterwards attracted the notice of Bayle, and ex¬
cited very considerable attention. One of his principal an-
| tagonists was Boileau, who attacked him with great aspe¬
rity, and, as usual, had all the scoffers on his side; but at
length they were, in some measure, reconciled, although,
i on the part of Boileau, the amende was made in a tone
which savoured more of contempt than of conciliation. His
i poem on Painting was, however, generally admired ; but
his Tales in verse, entitled Griselides, Peau d'Ane, and
Souhaits Ridicules, are prolix and heavy. Perrault died
at Paris on the 16th of May 1703. Besides the works al-
leady indicated, he wrote, 1. Recueil des divers Ouvrages
en prose et en vers, Paris, 1675, in 4to; 2. Courses de
fetes et de Bagues, faites par le Roi et par les Princes et
les Seigneurs de sa Cour, en 1662, Paris,-1669, in folio; 3.
Cabinet des Beaux-Arts, ibid. 1690, in folio; 4. A Trans¬
lation of the Fables of Faerne; 5. Memoirs of his Life, for
the use of his children ; 6. L Oublieux and Les Fontanges,
manuscript comedies, which, in 1822, passed into the rich
and valuable collection of M. de Soleinne. D’Alembert
included the eloge ofCharles Perrault amongst those of the
members of the French Academy (tom. ii. p. 165.) (a.)
I PERRON, Jaques Davy du, a cardinal, distinguished
y his abilities and learning, was born in the canton of
Berne in the year 1556. He was educated by Julian Davy,
his father, a learned Calvinist, who taught him Latin and Perruke
the mathematics; after which, by his own exertions, he be- II
came acquainted with the Greek and Hebrew, philosophy, Berry,
and the poets. Philip Desportes, abbot of Tyron, made
him known to Henry III. king of France, who conceived
a great esteem for him. Some time afterwards Duperron
abjured Calvinism, and embraced the ecclesiastical func¬
tion in the Catholic Church ; and having given great proofs
of his wit and learning, he was chosen to pronounce the
funeral oration of Mary Queen of Scots. After the murder
of Henry III. he retired to the house of Cardinal de Bour¬
bon, and took great pains in bringing back the Protestants
to the Church of Rome. Amongst others he gained over
Spondanus, who was afterwards bishop of Pamiers. He
also contributed to engage Henry IV. to change his religion;
and that prince sent him to negociate his reconciliation
with the holy see, in which he succeeded. Duperron was
consecrated bishop of Evreux whilst he resided at Rome.
On his return to France, he wrote, preached, and disputed
against the reformed, particularly against Duplessis-Mor-
nay, with whom he had a public conference in the pre¬
sence of the king at Fontainebleau. In 1604, he was made
cardinal by Pope Clement VIII. at the solicitation of
Henry IV. who afterwards nominated him to the archbi¬
shopric of Sens. The king at length sent him to Rome
with Cardinal Joyeuse, in order to terminate the disputes
which had arisen between Paul V. and the Venetians. It
is said that the sovereign pontiff had such a high opinion
of the address of the Cardinal Duperron, that he used to
say, “ Let us pray to God to inspire the Cardinal Duper¬
ron, for he will persuade us to do whatever he pleases.”
After the death of Henry IV. he retired into the country,
where he put the last hand to his work; and, having set
up a printing-house, corrected every sheet himself. He
died at Paris in 1618; and, after his death, his works were
collected and published at Paris in three volumes folio.
PERRUKE, Peruke, or Periwig, was anciently a name
for a long head of natural hair, particularly such as great
care had been taken in adjusting and trimming. Menage
derives the word rather fancifully from the Roman word
pilus, hair. The Latins called it coma, and hence part of
Gaul took the denomination of Gallia Comata, from the
long hair which the inhabitants wore as a sign of freedom.
An ancient author says, that Absalom’s perruke weighed
two hundred shekels. The word is now used for a set of
false hair, curled, buckled, and sewed together upon a
frame or cawl, anciently called capillamcntum, or false per¬
ruke. It is doubted whether or not the use of perrukes of
this kind was known amongst the ancients. It is certain,
however, that they used false hair. Martial and Juvenal ri¬
dicule the’women of their time, for making themselves look
young by means of borrowed hair; they scoff at the men who
changed their colours according to the seasons, and the
dotards, who hoped to deceive the destinies by their white
hair. But these oddities do not seem to have had any thing
in common with our perrukes, and were at best only com¬
posed of hair painted and glued together. Nothing can
be more ridiculous than the description which Lampridius
gives of the Emperor Commodus’s perruke; it was powder¬
ed with scrapings of gold, and oiled, if we may use the ex¬
pression, with glutinous perfumes, to make the powder ad¬
here. The year 1629 is reckoned the epoch of long per¬
rukes ; at this time they began to appear in Paris, whence
they spread by degrees throughout the rest of Europe.
PERRY, Captain John, a repectable engineer, who
resided long in Russia, having been recommended to the
Czar Peter whilst in England, as a person capable of serv¬
ing him on a variety of occasions relating to his new de¬
sign of establishing a fleet and improving inland naviga¬
tion. His salary in this service was L.300 per annum, be¬
sides travelling expenses and subsistence money on what-
240
PER
1’errv
lion.
ever service he might be employed, together with a fur-
.. ther reward to his satisfaction at the conclusion P* a^y
Persecu- work he should finish. After some conversation with the
, czar himself, particularly respecting a communication be¬
tween the rivers Volga and Don, he was employ e on la
work for three summers successively ; but not being we
supplied with men, partly on account of the 11 success o
the czar’s arms against the Swedes at the battle o ar^a’
and partly by the discouragement of the governor ot As-
tracan, he was ordered, at the end of 1707, to discontinue
his operations, and next year was employed in rehtting the
ships at Veronise, and in making the river of that name na¬
vigable ; but after repeated disappointments, and a variety
of fruitless applications for his salary, he at last quitted
the kingdom under the protection of Mr Whitworth, the
English ambassador, in 1712. In 1721 he was employed m
stopping with success the breach at Dagenham, in which
several other undertakers had failed ; and the same year
he was occupied about the harbour at Dublin, to the ob-
iections against which he then published an Answer He
Vas the author of a work on the State of Russia, 1716, 8vo,
and an account of the stopping of Dagenham breach, 1721,
8vo ; and he died on the 11th of February 1733. These
scanty particulars are all that is known of Captain Perry,
who seems to have been a man of considerable ability and
Perry, the name of a very pleasant and wholesome li¬
quor, extracted from pears in the same manner as cider
is from apples.
PERSAIM, or Bassein, a town of the Birman empire,
and province of Pegu, situated on the river Irrawaddy,
which is here called Persaim, and is navigable for ships up
to the town. Owing to the inundation of the river, the
town is built on piles of wood eight feet from the ground,
which admit the tide under them to wash the place, which
is the receptacle of every thing that is filthy. The houses
are built of wood and mats. During the wars between the
Peguans and Birmans this town was burned down, and has
never recovered its former splendour. The British ob¬
tained, in 1757, a grant of land for the establishment of a
factory, but this grant was never ratified by the king. Long.
95. 0. E. Lat. 16. 50. N. ...
PERSAUMAH, a town of Hindustan, in the province
of Bahar, and district of Tirhoot, ninety miles north east
by east of Patna. Long. 86. 32. E. Lat. 26. 1. N.
PERSECUTION means any pain or affliction which one
person designedly inflicts upon another ; and, in a more re¬
stricted sense, it includes the sufferings which the Chris¬
tians underwent on account of their religion.
Historians usually reckon ten general persecutions; the
first of which took place under the Emperor Nero, thirty-
one years after our Lord’s ascension, when that emperor
having set fire to the city of Rome, threw the odium of this
execrable act on the Christians, who were consequently
wrapped up in the skins of wild beasts, and worried and
devoured by dogs, whilst some were crucified, and others
burned alive. The second took place under Domitian, in
the year ninety-five. In this persecution St John the apostle
was sent to the Isle of Patmos, being condemned to work
in the mines. The third began in the third year of Tra¬
jan, in the year 100 of our era, and was carried on with
great violence for several years. The fourth took place un¬
der Antoninus the philosopher, when the Christians were
banished from their houses, forbidden to show their heads,
reproached, beaten, hurried from place to place, plundel¬
ed, imprisoned, and stoned. I he fifth began in the year
of our Lord 197, under the Emperor Severus. The sixth
began with the reign of the Emperor Maximinus in 235.
PER
The seventh, which was the most dreadful persecution that Pers«
had ever been known in the church, commenced in the II
year 250, in the reign of the Emperor Decius, when the^^
Christians w ere in all places driven from their habitations,
stripped of their estates, tormented with the rack, and
subjected to every species of suffering. The eighth began
in the year 257, in the fourth year of the reign of the Em¬
peror Valerian. The ninth took place under the Emperor
Aurehan, in the year 284?; but this proved very inconsi¬
derable. The tenth began in the nineteenth year of Dio-
clesian, and in the 303d year of our era. In this dreadful
persecution, which lasted ten years, houses filled with Chris¬
tians were set on fire, and numbers of them were tied to-
<rether with ropes and thrown into the sea.
But these reiterated and cruel efforts to put down the
Christian religion, or at least to check its advancement,
proved utterly abortive; perhaps, humanly speaking, they
served, in no inconsiderable degree, to accelerate its pro-
oress towards the complete triumph which it at length ob¬
tained in the reign of Constantine. It has often been le-
marked, that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the
church, and, in one sense, this is true. Of all the aggres¬
sions on freedom of thought and belief committed under
the influence of bigotry, fanaticism, or, worst of all, a haid*
hearted and unfeeling policy, persecution is the most boot¬
less, short-sighted, and foolish. In every case, it is certain
to defeat its own object. It may give even to error a tem¬
porary eclat of popularity which it could never otherwise
obtain *, w hilst truth, not only unskathed, but purified, by
the fire, issues from the furnace, like gold seven times re¬
fined, and presents herself to the eyes of mankind in re¬
novated beauty and glory. Infidel philosophers have told
us, that polytheism was naturally tolerant. But the his-
torv of the Christian church says No, and proves that Pa¬
ganism, like every other system ot established error, was
prone to employ force against evidence, and to persecute
w here it despaired of convincing.
PERSEES, or Parsees, the descendants of a colony ot
ancient Persians, who took refuge in Bombay, Surat, and
the vicinity of those cities, when their own country was
conquered by the Mahommedan Arabs. They are a gentle,
quiet, and industrious people, beloved by the Hindus, and
livino- in great harmony amongst themselves. The Per-
sees were for a long time but little known. The ancients
seldom speak of them, and what they say seems to be die-
tcited by prejudice* On this account* about the end of the
seventeenth century, Dr Hyde, who thought the subject
both curious and interesting, attempted a deeper investi¬
gation of a subject which till then had been but very little
attended to. He applied to the works of Arabian and
Persian authors, from which, and the relations of travellers,
together with a variety of letters received from persons in
India, he compiled his celebrated work on the religion of
the Persees. Other accounts have been given by differ¬
ent persons, as accident threw information in their way;
but the most distinguished is that by M. Anquetil-Duper-
ron, who undertook a voyage to discover and translate the
wmrks attributed to Zoroaster.
PERSHORE, a market-town of Worcestershire, in the
hundred of the same name, 103 miles from London, on the
great road to Worcester. It stands on the river Avon,
near its junction with the Bow, by which some interna
navigation contributes to the extension of its trade. It is
well°built, and has a good market, which is on Tuesday,
with two fine parish churches; and in the parish there
are three chapelries. The population in 1801 amounted to
1573, in 1811 to 1815, in 1821 to 1963, and in 1831 to
2080.
241
PERSIA.
e !•
pet if
‘C( 1-
From the remotest period of antiquity Persia has been
' celebrated as one of the most powerful empires of the East,
the seat of wealth and luxury when Europe was in a state
of barbarism. The conquest of Babylon was the com¬
mencement of her future greatness ; and her warlike mo-
narchs continued their victorious course until they had es¬
tablished a kingdom which extended from the shores of
the Mediterranean eastward to the Indus. Their progress
westward was resisted by the bravery of the Greeks, by
whose united force, under Alexander of Macedonia, Persia
was finally subdued, and remained for several centuries un¬
der the sway of Greek sovereigns. Her independence was
finally re-established under a race of native monarchs about
200 years before the Christian era; and though again sub¬
dued by the Moslemin armies, by the Tartar hordes of
Genghis Khan and Tamerlane, and by the Afghans, Persia
emerged into independence under a native dynasty in 1506,
under whose rule the country has ever since remained.
The most fallacious ideas have generally been entertained
in Europe respecting the remote countries of the East.
These have been famed in all ages for wealth, for boundless
magnificence, and for the richest products both of nature
and art; and it is remarkable that Persia should have been
the peculiar subject of these hyperbolical descriptions, a
country of rugged mountains and arid deserts being the
least likely to realize them. Nor has the illusion been ful¬
ly dispelled by modern travellers, several of whom, though
they no longer represent Persia as a fairy-land, have yet
failed to convey a true impression of its decay and misery.
The following account of its geography, its population, com¬
merce, resources, manners, and institutions, is founded on
the well-authenticated accounts of those who have recently
visited that country, and who have had access to the best
sources of information.
The boundaries of Persia have been variously stated,
and they have fluctuated with the vicissitudes of war and
revolution. The Euphrates and the Tigris, with the moun¬
tains of Armenia and Koordistan on the west, the Persian
Gulf on the south, the arid and saline deserts on the east,
which extend as far as the Indus, and rise into the mountain
deserts of Hindu Coosh and Parapamisus, and the Caspian
Sea and the mountains of Caucasus on the north, may be
considered as the present boundaries of this empire. Geo¬
graphers have sometimes assigned the Indus as its eastern
limit; but the intervening countries of Caubul and Canda-
har cannot with any propriety be included in the dominions
of Persia, having been long independent of her authority ;
and still less can the southern deserts of Mekran and Beloo-
chistan, which would make the Indian Ocean the southern
boundary; since we know, from the most recent accounts of
travellers, that they are inhabited by fierce and independ¬
ent tribes, who have long thrown off their allegiance to the
Persian monarchs, and live in wandering communities un¬
der their own sheiks.1
With the exception of the provinces of Mazanderan and
Gheelan, and other parts of less extent, the general aspect
of Persia is that of poverty and barrenness. It has been
termed a country of mountains; and a large portion of its
surface is certainly mountainous, diversified with extensive
tracts of desert plains, in which salt is the chief production,
and, in a small proportion, chiefly along the banks of the
rivers, with beautiful valleys and rich pasture-lands. The Persia,
valleys are not generally broad, but some are of great length,'
being often more than a hundred miles. The greater part of
the country may be described as a table-land, supported on
every side by high mountains. This table-land stretches
on a level along a great part of the Persian Gulf and the
river Tigris on the south, and, under various appellations,
along the Caspian Sea, forming a strip of country which ex¬
tends about sixty miles to the foot of the Elburz Mountains,
and there meets with the plains of Tartary on the north.
The height of this plateau, though it was not accurately
measured, is estimated by Frazer at 3000 feet; and from its
elevated surface the mountainous ranges rise to various
heights, sometimes enclosing valleys, or apparently insu¬
lating the plain, which often surpasses them in extent. A
level country also extends from the mouth of the Indus,
along the shore of the Indian Ocean, to the river Euphrates;
which is an arid desert, that for a distance of more than
twenty degrees does not boast of a single river which is navi¬
gable above a few miles from the ocean, and presents to the
eye one continued and cheerless succession of sandy plains.2
The aspect of the Persian mountains is peculiarly bare
and forbidding, rising abruptly from the plain, and present¬
ing nothing to the eye but huge masses of gray rock piled
upon each other; and even when they are covered with
a little mouldering rock, they are still without either wood
or shrubs. If for about two months in spring a scanty ver¬
dure clothe their sides, it is scorched by the heat of sum¬
mer, and the country soon resumes its former barren aspect.
Nor is the appearance of the plains more inviting, consisting
for the most part of gravel washed down from the moun¬
tains, or of other equally unproductive matter, in deep and
extensive beds, or of a hard clay, which, where water is
wanting, as in most parts of Persia, is bare and barren.
“ The livery of the whole land,” says Frazer, “ is constantly
brown or gray, except during the two months of April and
May.” Amongst other disadvantages, Persia labours under
a general scarcity of water. The rivers are few and small,
and rivulets by no means common, so that irrigation can
only be applied to a small portion of the land. “ In the
best districts,” says the above-mentioned traveller, “ the
small proportion of cultivated land resembles an oasis in the
desert, serving by contrast to make all around it more
dreary. Plains and mountains are equally destitute of wood:
the only trees to be seen are in the gardens of villages, or on
the banks of streams, where they are planted for the pur¬
pose of affording the little timber that is used in building:
they chiefly consist of fruit-trees, the noble chinar or orien¬
tal plane, the tall poplar, and the cypress; and the effect
which a garden of these trees produces, spotting with its
dark green the gray and dusky plain, is rather melancholy
than cheering. In picturing, therefore, to the imagination
the aspect of a Persian landscape, or indeed the landscape
in any of the contiguous countries to the north and east of
it, the mind must endeavour to divest itself of every idea
that gives interest or beauty to a European scene. There
are no beautiful or majestic woods, no verdant plains or
grassy mountains, no winding rivers or babbling streams,
no parks or enclosures, no castles or gentlemen’s seats, no
sweet retired cottages, with their white walls glimmering
through foliage.”3
1 Morier’s Journey through Persia, Armenia, and Asia Minor, p. 49.
2 History of Persia, by Sir J. Malcolm, voh i. chap. i.; Morier’s Journey, &c. p. 393 ;
ssnn 1 fiQ
rassan, p. 162.
3 Frazer’s Narrative, p. 163.
VOL. XVII.
Frazer’s Narrative of a Journey into Kho-
2 H
242
PERSIA.
Persia.
As already mentioned, the provinces of Mazanderan and
Gheelan adjoining the Caspian S®3’^ P^deldption. from the provinces of Ispahan and Pars as far as Tubbus,
and Armenia, form exceptions to this gen d Pt ^ ^ isomewhat mor^ frequent interruptions to Toor-
These provinces are divided from each othe y £, . qnfi nn tiie east it is encroached on by projections
range of the Elburz Mountains, ^^^^XTcaucasus from the more cultivated districts of Furrah, Subsawur, and
the mountains of Armenia, and with tl e g y Th appeai.ance 0f these deserts is not altogether
Cldain’ 7iTZZ\bJornT™^ unSm/tasPoPme Places the surface is dry and produces
ridge of the Hindu ^oosn. j thrive in a salt soil ; in others the saline etno-
along the shore of ^^^P’^f^^ted'riXes'spring from rescence is seen on a crackling crust of dry earth ; marshes
cations southward; whilst other elevate g P S occunv a considerable portion of this country ; and there
the Caucasian Mountains, and penetrate t y accumulated in the winter months water, which is eva-
pksThe space betwe“jhe ; and waTCS ^via!
but “S “ce iXlia, and who hav| been lent north-west winds which prev^n —mer, and proves
„„wbrouglhtchieflyunderthemorerigorouSswayofRus,a. ^al^1I'^S^^1^^ju^^ng^rgyg^v,ef0thratVcanbe termed navi-HiveR,
barrier against the pi ogress o ’ an(l which Persia through the independent territory of Afghanistan.
nominated by the ancients the Gaspia G , ’ nature of the soil in Persia may be inferred from Soil an
for twenty-eight miles is a narrow ^^0" lug rocks \s0 of the'aspect of the coun-P*
through which a single chariot could scarcely pass, and ‘ |"e Jina 1)<)lv v lation thrives in the
W”ere ar!;:LddSLlrarb^ZrvSdivtihe< with wooad Snt^^r^h ^rnadeys, cultivation, whenever there
Je^ostvariedtaa^dpresen, ^
“ r„7rs:“or.at theTovincesof Mazanderan and from the Persian Gulf, which all travellers agree in calling a
ri Inn and the district of Astrabad, are equally fruitful barren land, and which has no other moisture than the ew ,
sis^is£zz&&st&z
lea ihey lie between a succession of eminences; and Kur- journey from Teheran to Tabriz, several spots where, by the
dfst’an to the north, is almost one immense cluster of small aid of water, the country was one carpe of verdure. Water
mountains intersected occasionally by loftier ranges, on in Persia is so essential to vegetation, that almost the 0 y
£e1£esc^ “hsl^ r^a^-
o c;or„0 This qnnparance. extendins over an immense ing valued at Is. 4-£d.) to L.5 to , and anotner canai, op
plain varied by a black rock here and there protruding from by the governor of Kauzeroon, and employed in irnga ing
SrK contorted into a thousand wild and a fruit-garden, was rented at five or six tniies that sun,. ^
varvinc shanes bv the effect of the mirage, which produ- products of Persia are, wheat of the finest quality, ba y,
cesrthe^most5curious optical filusions on tlfose wide extend- ‘and other grains. Rice might easily be produced in he
ed level tracts, is a sure indication of the total desolation southern provinces, were it not for the deficiency of wal^r
which reigns around. The most remarkable of these salt of which this gram requires so large a supply, ^he vine
deserts isfthat which extends northward from Helmund, flourishes in several provinces; and the wine of bhiraz
the Elymander of the ancients, a river which takes its rise has often been highly celebrated, as well as ^e'vi P
to the north of Cabul, in the range of hills that divide the duced from grapes raised upon the side of the Caucasia
country of Beloochistan from Lower Mekran, a distance of Mountains Ihe vines at Shiraz are trained as standard
about 400 miles. In breadth, from Nooksy north-west to bushes, without any support, andaie set, with some a
Jalk, it is nearly 200 miles. There are also extensive salt to regularity, from eight to ten feet asunder. 1 he m ?
deserts in the provinces of Ears and Kerman, so that a large is produced in great abundance in the northern pi
portion in thevery heart of the country is desolate; and of Mazanderan and Gheelan, of which silk is one of t
another irreat salt desert extends north-east from the west- great staples, and also in other parts; and the rich and
ern limit of Khorassan along the provinces of Kashan and watered plains of Gheelan and Mazanderan yield in a un
Ispahan1 and continuous witli thedeserts of Ears, Kerman, dance the sugar-cane, though the art of refining is not un-
and Seistan; several mountainous projections, however, and derstood in thisrude and semi-barbarous countiy. Amon0.
Sir J. Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. i. p. 5.
2 Frazer’s Narrative, &c. chap. xi.
PERSIA.
243
p ta.
the other products of Persia which, being useful, are arti-
-'cles of trade, are gum tragacanth, assafcetida, the plant of
which grows in abundance on the plains and hills all around
the city of Herat, yellow berries, saffron, henna, but not so
fine as that of Egypt; madder roots, which grow wild upon
the mountains, and are brought down for sale by the Ee-
lauts and other wandering tribes. Indigo is cultivated near
to Kherat and on the Laristan, but is not so fine as the indi¬
go of India, which is largely imported into Persia. The leaf
is used for dyeing the beard, a curious fashion in Persia, as
in other parts of the East. Cotton is produced to supply the
internal consumption; and also hemp and hops. Fruits are
produced in the garden-grounds in great abundance and
perfection. The date is one of the most important products,
being used here, where the climate is extremely hot, as an
article of food, in the same manner as in other parts of the
East. Those produced at Dalakee, in the province of Ears,
are celebrated over the country for richness and flavour.
The other fruits are pomegrantes, a luscious fruit here, and
much superior to those which are produced in Turkey, some
that Morier saw being twelve inches in circumference ;
sweet and water melons, the shaddock, limes, oranges, for
which the climate of the high table-lands is too cold, al¬
though they grow to perfection on the plains and on the
banks of the Caspian Sea; apples, pears, apricots, pista¬
chio-nuts, walnuts, and some others. Timber is scarce on
the arid plains, but in more favourable situations the soil
seems well adapted for the growth of wood, and indeed
of trees of every description. The mountains of Gheelan,
Mazanderan, and Azerbijan are clothed with the finest
woods, amongst which are the oak, the beech, the elm,
the alder, boxwood, with thickets of wild cherry and
thorns, and luxuriant vines climbing up the trunks of the
trees, and hanging in wild festoons from the one to the
other. These form a striking contrast to the long ranges
of naked and barren mountains in the central and southern
provinces. In several provinces grows the poppy, from
which is made opium of a very fine quality. The liquor¬
ice-plant covers the plains of Merdusht, and the neighbour¬
hood of Shiraz. The tamarind, which flourished near the
water-courses, and several of the thorny plants that sprink¬
led the same districts, had been superseded, when Frazer
visited these parts, by various aromatic herbs, amongst
which a species of fragrant rice was abundant. The most
interesting of all the plants is that which yields the gum
ammoniac. It resembles hemlock, and rises to the height
of from three to six feet. It is remarkable in its season
for its rich dark-green verdure ; and it is then so full of
juice, that on the least scratch it flows in streams to the
ground, and congeals on the stalk. It is thus gathered for
sale. Such vegetables as carrots, turnips, cabbages, spinach,
beet-root, and the like, are common. In the more fertile
parts of Persia flowers grow to great perfection and luxu¬
riance ; the rose, and every variety of the crocus species,
primroses, violets, lilies, hyacinths, and others no less lovely
than unknown.1 Aromatic and thorny plants, and beautiful
mountain shrubs, also abound, and clothe the ground in all
the rich attire of luxuriant vegetation.
Notwithstanding the numerous ranges of mountains which
intersect the country of Persia, its mineral products are of
little value, partly from ignorance of the art of mining, and
partly from the general indolence of the inhabitants, owing
to the discouragement of tyrannical and rapacious rulers.
Morier supposes that coal of a very fine quality must exist
in the northern provinces of Mazanderan, by the account he
received from the prime minister of a stone which is burn¬
ed in that province instead of wood orfurze, the common fuel
in other parts of Persia, and very scarce. He did not learn,
however, that any mines were worked. There are, never¬
theless, copper mines in the mountains, from which the me- Persia,
tal is extracted in such quantities as to render it an article
of exportation ; and there is little doubt that iron and silver
would be obtained if proper means were applied. The mi¬
neral production most common in Persia is salt, which, as
has been already mentioned, covers vast tracts, and occurs
everywhere in great abundance. All the lakes are salt,
and every considerable collection of water is impregnat¬
ed with this mineral. Salt mines are also found in differ¬
ent parts. At Nishapore, in the north, there is a salt-mine
consisting of three excavations, in each of which a vein of
salt is found from six to eighteen inches in thickness. The
salt is beautifully white, and the crystals so clear that Mr
Frazer could see distinctly through a mass two inches in
thickness, as through a pane of glass. This mine pays a
small rent, and the salt is highly esteemed throughout the
country. One of the most remarkable productions of Persia
is naphtha or bitumen, which is burned by the natives in
lamps instead of oil, and also answers all the purposes of
pitch, being used in covering the bottoms of the vessels
which navigate the Euphrates. It is found in pits three
feet in diameter and from ten to twelve feet in depth,
which are gradually filled from springs. There is also
another species of white naphtha, different from the other,
which is found floating like a crust on the surface of the
water, and affords a more agreeable light than the black
naphtha. A black and liquid petroleum of an agreeable
odour flows in small quantity from a mountain in Kerman ;
it is reserved for the use of the king, and is given away
in presents. The mines are carefully sealed and guarded.
The northern mountains of Persia contain considerable va¬
rieties of valuable marble; and the turquoise stone, which is
peculiar to the country, is found in the mountains of Kho-
rassan. The mines which produce this stone were visited
by Frazer, who gives a detailed account of their produce,
as well as of the very rude manner in which they are work¬
ed. The hills in which these stones are found consist of
a very red and brown rock. The whole range is deeply
tinged with iron. The substances of which the rock is
composed are a dead gray earth, heavy hard brown rock,
soft yellow stone, and a rock which is pervaded with specu¬
lar iron-ore. There are five principal mines or pits from
which the gem is taken. The mode of management in these
mines, which from time immemorial have furnished these
highly valued gems, is the most wretched that can be con¬
ceived. There is no system whatever, neither skill nor in¬
genuity, in the mining process ; nor any sort of contrivance
to economize either labour, or time, or materials. They are
not even at the pains to remove the refuse, which soon en¬
cumbers and finally puts a stop to their operations; and they
break down, quite at random, with picks and hammers, the
rock which forms the walls and roofs of the mine, without
any attention to preserve the veins in which the gem ap¬
pears. No shafts or chambers are formed on any regular
plan ; and if water collects in the mine,They have no means
of drawing it off; and, finally, they have no plan for freeing
the precious material from the rock in which it is embo¬
died, with the least possible injury.
The climate of Persia, in which, according to its latitude, Climate,
heat should predominate, is considerably modified by the
height of the ground; so that, according to Kinneir, the tra¬
veller may pass in a few hours from the air of Montpellier to
the cold of Siberia/- It is intensely cold during the winter;
indeed the highest ranges of mountains are covered with
snow during a part of the year, and some of the highest peaks
throughout the whole year. Demawend, in the Elburz
Mountains, which rises to the height of about 10,000 feet,
was seen by Morierburied in deep snow in May; and in 1810,
Kinneir mentions that the mountains were covered with
1 Frazer, chap, xxiii.
Geographical Memoir of the Persian Empire, p. 21.
244
PERSIA.
Persia.
snow in July. Severe storms also prevail. 1 o the north of
' Shiraz, especially, cold predominates, insomuch that in the
vicinity of Teheran and Tabriz all communication is fre-
quentlv cut off for several weeks between these cities and
the adjoining villages. The cold commences in October,
and the winter is ushered in with severe storms of snow.
Frazer, after leaving Shiraz, suffered severely from cold in
this month. The thermometer fell to twenty-eight degrees,
and on the next morning, the 27th of October, to twenty
degrees; and in the following month he arrived at Teheran,
after encountering so severe a storm of snow that a tra¬
veller was carried to a caravanserai frozen to death on his
horse. In January, when Frazer was at Nishapore, which
is in the north of Persia, in about lat. 36. 23. the thei mo-
meter fell during the night to sixteen, nineteen, and twenty
degrees, and rose during the day to forty in the shade ; and
in many parts the temperature varies between the night
and the day from sixty-four to twenty-five and twenty-
The cold, especially to the north of Shiraz, continues,
with short intervals of warmer weather, till March or April.
At Teheran, which is in the north of Persia, near the El¬
burz Mountains, Morier describes the progress of the sea¬
son and the vicissitudes of the temperature. On the 10th of
March there was a fall of snow, followed by an intense frost.
On the 23d, the mildness of spring was experienced. On
the 19th of April the thermometer rose to 82° in the shade.
At Shiraz, Morier mentions, that after the middle of J une
the thermometer was scarcely ever under 100°. It then
rose to 105°, 108°, and 110°. “When spring commences,”
says Sir J. Malcolm, “ there is perhaps no spot in the world
where nature assumes a more lovely garb than at Ispa¬
han ; the clearness of its streams, the shade of its lofty
avenues, the fragrant luxuriance of gardens, and the ver¬
dant beauty of wide-spreading fields, combine with the
finest climate to render it delightful.”1 The regularity
of the seasons in this part of Persia is extraordinary, and
affords a remarkable contrast to the sudden changes which
take place in the northern provinces. In Bushire, to the
south of Shiraz, Frazer states the range of the thermometer
in July to be from 103° to 109° ; but during the night it re¬
mained at 90°. About the end of August the weather be¬
came cooler, and the thermometer fell to 86° and 87°, and
gradually during the day to 75° and 70°. In these southern
regions, which include the provinces of Kerman, Laristan,
Fars, and Kusistan, situated between the mountains and
the shores of the Persian Gulf, the heat is increased by the
barren and sandy plains with which this tract abounds. The
hot winds known under the name of the simoom or sirocco
prevail occasionally, but are not attended with danger, ow¬
ing to the narrowness of the space between the sea and the
mountains. In winter and spring the climate is delightful.
It is never very cold; and snow seldom falls on the south¬
ern face of the mountains by which these provinces are di¬
vided from the north of Persia.2 Upon the whole, however,
the climate of this country, notwithstanding the sudden
transitions from heat to cold in some of the provinces, is
very healthy; the air is dry, and the atmosphere always
clear, so that the brightest polished metal may be exposed
to it without being rusted. Nor are the dews insalubrious ;
whilst at night the planets shine with a lustre unknown in
the cloudy skies of the north. It seldom rains, and there are
consequently none of those damp and pestiferous exhala¬
tions so common in the woody parts of Hindustan. The
fertile provinces of Gheelan and Mazanderan, and the dis¬
trict of Astrabad, which are subjected to the periodical visi¬
tation of disease, form the only exceptions to this general
character. The heavy rains which fall in these mountainous
regions, stagnating in the deep forests, turn them into im¬
passable marshes, which becoming putrid from the quantity
of vegetable matter that they receive, exhale, during the I’ers,.
heats of summer and autumn, a most pestilential vapour,'s—y
so that the wandering tribes of these countries fly from its
influence, and prefer living on the verge of the burning
sand, and carrying their water from the distant river, to
the least exposure to these noxious effluvia. Those who
are forced to remain suffer severely from fevers, putrid as
well as intermittent, from dropsies arising from cold, rheu¬
matic affections, palsies, and other maladies. The appear¬
ance of the people, however, Frazer remarked, did not in¬
dicate either weakness or disease, being remarkably stout
and athletic in their persons.
The domestic animals of Persia are the camel, the horse, Anini,;
the mule, the ass, the goat, sheep, cow, &c. The Persians
are expert and fearless horsemen ; and they have different
breeds of horses peculiar to the country. The native horse
of Persia has been improved, both in strength and bottom,
by an admixture of Arabian blood. But the original breed,
which is now restored, is a tall, lank, ill-formed, and gene¬
rally vicious animal, which often vents its rage upon its
neighbours or its riders, by kicking or biting them. It is
useful, indeed, for hard work; but is not to be compared,
for the purposes of riding, with the action and docility of the
Arab. There is another race of horses, reared by the I ur-
coman hordes, not somuch distinguished by grace or beauty,
as by its hardiness and patience ot fatigue, for which it is
celebrated all over Asia. It is said to have been crossed
with an Arabian breed imported by Nadir Shah. 'Ihe na¬
tive horses are noted for size and bone, which appear to be
indigenous; but figure and blood they owe to their Arab
progenitors. “They have,” saysFrazer, “largeand powerful
quarters, resembling those of the English horse; the shoul¬
ders are often fine; their legs clean and strong; though ge¬
nerally spare of flesh, what they have is firm and good; and
not being burdened with a load of fat, they support the
weight of the rider for an astonishing length of time. Their
powers of endurance are almost incredible. 1 hey will carry
their riders for seven or eight days together at the rate of
eighty or a hundred miles a-day. There is also a breed of
ponies, fully as remarkable, if not superior to the large
horses in their powers of enduring fatigue. Such horses cost
a sum of money equal in value to from L.150 to L.200 ster¬
ling, and those ot the best quality from L.350 to L.400.
These horses are used in plundering expeditions; and they
are chiefly prized on this account for their hardy qualities.
In the parched and sandy tracts of Persia exposed to great
heats, camels are preferred, for carrying burdens, to other
animals, and they constitute the chief wealth of the in¬
habitants; but in almost all the other parts of the kingdom
mules are more generally used, for which they are well
fitted, by their extraordinary strength and activity, and their
power of enduring fatigue. Sheep are very abundant in Per¬
sia, and constitute the wealth of the wandering tribes; but
the latter pay no attention to improve the breed. The dog,
though esteemed an unclean animal by the Mahommedans,
is yet found so useful that every prejudice has given way;
and a very fierce breed is maintained by the wandering
tribes, for guarding their flocks and tents, and aiding in their
field-sports. The desolate parts of Persia abound in wild ani¬
mals, amongst which may be numbered the lion, which is
seen along the woody banks of the rivers; the tiger, which
is more rare ; the wolf, the jackall, the hyena, the fox, foun
in great numbers of a white colour, the porcupine, the man-
gaush, the wild sheep, the mountain goat, the wild ass, the
wild boar, the antelope, and deer in great variety. Tigers
are seldom seen, but it is certain that they are to be found,
as it is mentioned that the skin of a royal tiger, which was
killed in the neighbourhood of Tabriz, was exhibited, and
was in possession of Mr Campbell. A tiger was also seen
History of Persia, vol. ii. chap. xxiv.
2 Ibid.
PERSIA.
245
ijt by the shepherds at the time that he was at Tabriz; and one
- of the Persian princes had gone out to hunt, with a large re¬
tinue, in the hope of meeting it. The wild ass is common in
Persia, but is extremely shy, and not easily caught. Morier
mentions, that one morning in the desert they gave chase to
two wild asses; but they distanced the horses at such a rate
that they stood still and looked behind at them, “snorting
with their noses in the air, as if in contempt of our endea¬
vours to catch them.” The hunters sometimes succeed in
killing them, but it requires great dexterity and knowledge
of their haunts ; and then it is only by relays of horses and
dogs upon the track which they are known to pursue. The
same traveller also observed large herds of antelopes, to
which he gave chase, but could never come up except
with one big with young; so great is the speed of this beau¬
tiful animal. The wild hog abounds in Persia, and is ex¬
ceedingly fierce. Frazer, along with a party of well-mount¬
ed Turcomans, joined in chasing a herd of them ; and one
being singled out, was assailed wuth swords and spears,
which made no impression on his tough hide ; and though
wounded by a pistol shot, he continued his flight, until an
old man, mounted on a powerful Turcoman horse, rode up
and wheeled rapidly round, when the steed, trained to the
work, struck the hog on the head with its heels, and tum¬
bled it over dead on the spot. The wild sheep is a very
fine animal, bold, portly, and very strong ; thick like a lion
about the neck and shoulders, and small in the loins; co¬
vered with short reddish hair curled loosely about the neck
and fore-quarters, and bearing an immense pair of crooked
and twisted horns.
, icj If the face of the country in Persia disappoint the Eu-
na ropean traveller, his expectations will be still less gratified
by the aspect of the towns, which present to him one mass
of misery, filth, and ruins; for which, forming his ideas of
the eastern towns from what he has read of Ispahan, Bag¬
dad, Shiraz, Bassora, and other cities famed in story, he
can scarcely be prepared. He looks in vain for the hum
of a crowded population and the bustle of business which
animate the cities of Europe. Instead of the road crowd¬
ed with passengers, vehicles, and an active traffic, border¬
ed with hedgerows and green enclosures, and with gay habi¬
tations, he has to thread his way through the narrow and
dirty lanes, amidst the ruins of mud walls and old buildings,
amongst heights and hollows, and clay pits that produce
bricks, and high inclosures that conceal the only verdure
the place can boast; till at last he reaches the dilapidated
walls of the city, and, entering the gateway, watched by a
few squalid guards, he finds himself in a mean bazaar, or
more probably in a confusion of mere rubbish. There are
no streets, and scarcely a house; for it is only the dwellings
of the poor which are seen, the houses of the rich being
carefully shrouded from the view by high walls of mud
or of raw bricks, very unseemly in their appearance ; and
outside of these are clustered, with the utmost contempt
of order, the houses of the poor. There is scarcely room
for a loaded ass to pass between the narrow passages that
give access to these dwellings ; and as no attempt is made
to level the paths, the passenger has to make his way over
all impediments, diving into hollows, scrambling amongst
ruins, stumbling over grave-stones, or falling into holes, espe¬
cially at night, as no town is lighted in any of these countries.
I he bazaars are the only thoroughfares which deserve the
name of streets ; and these have received merited praise
from many travellers, namely, those of Shiraz, the conti-
t nuous bazaars of Ispahan, which extend for miles, some of
those at Teheran, Tabriz, &c., all of which are comparatively
spacious, lofty, and built of materials more or less solid ;
though the majority of Persian bazaars are as wretched as
the towns. These bazaars are generally arched over with
well-constructed brick-work or clay, or, as in the inferior
constructions, with branches of trees. Here, as in India, are
collected all the different trades, the smiths, the braziers, Persia,
the shoemakers, the saddlers, the cloth and chintz sellers,
in their own quarter ; but confectioners’, cooks’, apotheca¬
ries’, bakers’, and fruiterers’ shops are dispersed in various
quarters. Few houses in a Persian town exceed one story ;
and the general coup dceil presents a succession of flat roofs
and long walls of mud, diversified however by gardens, with
which the towns and villages are often surrounded and inter¬
mingled, and in which are seen the poplar, the cypress, and
the oriental plane. Almost all the towns of Persia have
some defence, consisting generally of a high mud wall,
which is flanked by turrets, and sometimes protected by a
deep dry ditch or a rude glacis. Caravanserais are built
in every town, for the accommodation of travellers, and are
also found at every stage on the principal roads of the king¬
dom. These edifices are generally constructed of stone or
brick, of a square form, and divided in the interior into se¬
parate apartments. They are surrounded with high walls
and towers, as a defence against the attacks of robbers.
The houses are generally built of mud, with terraced roofs;
and their inner apartments are usually better than might be
expected from their outward appearance. The villages are
in general very rudely constructed. The common huts have
often, instead of a terrace, a dome roof, in order to avoid
the necessity of using wood, which is a very scarce article
all over Persia, there being few trees on the arid plains.
Persia, though it has made no great or general progress Trades and
in the mechanical arts, has nevertheless been distinguished manufae-
for those finer manufactures which minister to the luxury turcs.
of an eastern court. Raw silk is one of the most impor¬
tant staples of Persia, and it is produced more or less all
over the country, but chiefly in the provinces of Gheelan
and Mazanderan. In the former alone the annual produce
amounts to about 900,000 lbs. Silk goods of a very fine
quality are manufactured at Yezd; and those of Ispahan,
Cashan, and Tabriz are held in great estimation. Silk stuffs
are also manufactured in Resht, Lahajan, Fomen, Enzellee,
cities of Gheelan, and marts of commerce; and velvets of
very great beauty are made at Mushed, and in various other
places, namely, Ispahan, Cashan, and Tabriz. Satins also
are manufactured, but, as Frazer thinks, not of so fine a qua¬
lity, and those which are imported from China are prefer¬
red. The silk is manufactured into handkerchiefs and other
pieces of different lengths and breadths, called aleejahs, de-
reis, cussabs, peerahums, and taffetas. The city of Shiraz is
celebrated for its gold embroideries, though these are now
surpassed in other places. Its damasked steel knives and
daggers are still esteemed; and it manufactures a good deal
of coarse glass ware. All its manufactures have, however,
declined since it ceased to be the capital of the country.
It has likewise manufactures of arms, cutlery, coarse glass
ware, tobacco-pipes, cotton cloths, cotton and woollen stock¬
ings, and wine. The cotton goods chiefly manufactured are
chintzes or printed cottons, culumcars, peerahur shakees,
resembling English long cloths, which have entirely super¬
seded them ; kudduks, narrow cloths of a fabric resembling
nankeen, and of all colours, manufactured of a fine quality
at Ispahan ; kherboz, a coarse white cloth of a loose fabric,
varying in quality, used chiefly by the poorer classes; and Is¬
pahan stripes, another coarse cloth striped blue, purple, or
gray, with other intermediate varieties. The chintzes and
prints which are manufactured in many places are coarse
both in texture and pattern, and are only used for inferior
purposes. They are nearly superseded by the printed cottons
of India and Europe, particularly the latter ; and it was even
said that the home manufacturer had petitioned for protect¬
ing duties. But it is not likely that any such measure will
be resorted to ; and even in this case it would, under the re¬
laxed police of Persia, be easily eluded. Culumcons are dis¬
tinguished by a pattern of wreathed flowers in gay colours,
sparsely strewn upon a white, blue, red, or fawn-colour
246
PERSIA.
Persia.
Trade.
ground; they are used for inner waistcoats, linings of robes,
&c., and are often of very high price. W ool is produced
in great abundance all over Persia and the neighbouring
countries in which pastoral habits prevail, i he best wool is
that of the province of Kerman, the mountains of which, hot
and arid in summer, and intensely cold in winter, sustain
large flocks of sheep and goats, which yield the finest wool.
The wool of the sheep is of an excellent quality ; and the
goats produce a down which grows in wintei at the i oots
of the hair, in the same manner as that of the Thibet or
shawl goats, and nearly of as good a quality. This is spun
into various fabrics, which almost vie with the celebiatcd
shawls of Cashmere in warmth and softness, as well as in
fineness and beauty of manufacture. This fine wool is
found not only in Kerman, but more or less over all Khoras-
san and the countries to the eastward, the mountains of
which are favourable to the animals which produce it. The
other woollen goods of Persia consist chiefly of carpets, nu-
muds, felted goods, and a variety of fabrics of smaller im¬
portance used by the inhabitants as clothing. Many of
the chief towns are celebrated for the manufacture of car¬
pets. Those of Kerman, of Yezd, of Boorojird, of the lur-
comans, of Khorassan, of Ispahan, and of /\zerbijan,^are all
beautiful, though of different fabrics and patteins. Numuds
or fine felt carpets are sometimes of great beauty ; but they
are dear, and apt to be .moth-eaten. Other felted and
woollen articles of a coarser quality are manufactured for
internal consumption. Swords, fire-arms, and cutleiy are
manufactured in many of the principal tow ns. Black
handkerchiefs, rather less than l^- yard square, coarse, and
tweelled like Barcelona handkerchiefs, are manufactured
everywhere, and serve for the head-dresses of the women.
Persia carries on a trade with Turkey, Bagdad, Arabia,
and the countries situated on the Persian Gull. Of the raw
silk of Gheelan, amounting, as already stated, to 900,000
lbs., about one fifth part is exported to Constantinople, Alep¬
po, and the other cities of Asia Minor; about one fifth is
manufactured in the cities of Ispahan, \ ezd, Gashan, and
other towns of Persia celebrated for their silk manufac¬
tures ; and the remainder is partly purchased by the Rus¬
sians and Carried to Astracan, and partly sent to Bagdad
and its vicinity. Persia exports to India specie, dried fruits,
dates, tobacco, wine, drugs, assafoetida, sulphur, raw silk,
carpets, Kerman shawls, swords, combs, copper, saffron, &c.
Horses form a considerable article of export to India. They
are sent by sea from Bushire, where they are collected from
the breeding districts in the southern provinces of Persia,
and from Khorassan and the north-eastern districts by land
through Afghanistan and the Punjab; and they serve for
mounting the Indian cavalry, and supplying the great pri¬
vate demand for riding horses by the British in India. The
imports from India are cotton goods, chintzes, and muslins,
from Masulipatam, Moultan, Lucknow, Futtighur, Delhi,
and other places; though these have now been in a great
measure superseded by the English, French, and German
stuffs, introduced from the ports of the Levant, from India,
and by w ay of Russia. Persia receives from India indigo,
which comes chiefly by sea, by the w'ay of Bushire, on the
Persian Gulf, or by land through the country of Afghanis¬
tan, or Balkh, to Bukharia, and thence by Herat to Persia.
Spices are also amongst the Indian imports, as well as
sugar and sugar-candy, the import of which forms one of
the most important branches of trade between the two
countries. The province of Mazanderan yields a coarse
sugar; and there are many parts of leisia fitted for the
growth of this article, yet the country depends chiefly on
India for its supply. Gold and silver stuffs from Benares,
precious stones, Cashmere shawls, iron, lead, and copper,
make up the remaining list of imports. Persia exports to
Turkey grain, raw silk, tobacco, paper, cotton, lamb and
foxes’ skins, carpets, silk and cotton manufactures, Kerman
shawls, and salt; and receives in return specie, and Eu- pen.
ropean manufactures, brought from the ports on the Le-'s~y
vant. From Europe, woollen,cotton, and silk goods are im¬
ported, imitation shawls, gold-lace, metal buttons, cutlery,
watches, spectacles, spying-glasses, leather, earthen-ware,
iron, copper, tin, quicksilver, and other articles. Iron is
made in several parts of Persia ; but the foreign iron is pre¬
ferred, and it is imported from Russia, though it is but little
used in these.countries. Copper in sheets is much used*
and is partly imported from Europe through Russia, and
partly from India. There is a considerable demand for
European silk goods, which are chiefly supplied by the
French. Brocades and embroidery are also supplied from
France, and Frazer mentions that of these he saw some mag¬
nificent samples at Teflis. In chintzes and printed cottons
the French and German manufacturers have been tmore
successful than the English in suiting the Persian taste;
and every bazaar had, according to the well-informed travel¬
ler so often mentioned, a full display of their rich and gla¬
ring chintzes, whilst the more sober English goods lay ne¬
glected and unseen on the inner shelves. I he European
trade w ith Persia, as it is conducted at present, lies under
the great disadvantage of an expensive land-carriage. I here
are various channels through which goods may reach the
Persian market. First, they may be sent through Russia,
and thence be transported down the river Volga to Astra¬
can, and across the Caspian to the Persian towns of Resht
or Astrabad. Accordingly, the countries around Astra¬
can are supplied with the produce and manufactures of Eu¬
rope by means of this great stream, which affords such
facilities for the transport of heavy articles ; and it is be¬
cause Russia cannot herself furnish the necessary supply
of goods which are imported from Europe, that the trade
is not more considerable. I he Russian trade across the
Caspian Sea is carried on by twelve vessels, not exceeding
a hundred tons, which bring to Astracan the sturgeon
cured on the coasts of Gheelan and Mazanderan, besides
returns of other Persian produce, and convey Russian or
European goods to Resht, Lahajan, Balfroosh, and Astrabad.
Secondly, goods may be sent by the Mediterranean to the
ports of Trebizond and Redoubt Kaleh, situated at the
western extremity of the Black Sea, or to Constantinople;
and a considerable quantity of European goods reach
Persia by this channel; but in the course of a long route
of 1200 miles to Erivan, 200 more to Tabriz, and other
360 to Teheran, in all 1760 miles, they are subjected to an
expensive land-carriage, to heavy and arbitrary imposts
in their transit through the territories of rapacious chiefs,
and to occasional attacks from the predatory banditti of
those wild regions, and are consequently brought to lehe-
ran at an expense of sixty-five per cent. The distance/rom
Trebizond to Erivan is only about 140 miles, the road lying
across very rugged mountains, though not worse than the
roads over wdiich much of the Persian traffic is carried on.
The route from Redoubt Kaleh to 1 eflis, the capital of
Georgia, is but 230 miles, and is through a safe countiy, free
from imposts. Teflis, under the protecting government of
Russia, has already, like Odessa, risen to be a mart of trade;
and caravans regularly travel to Tabriz in eighteen or
twenty days. European goods are now sent to this place
in considerable quantities, namely, woollen cloths, cotton,
printed and plain goods, some hardware articles, some re¬
fined sugar from Great Britain, silk and cotton manufac¬
tures from Lyons, and embroideries, cloths, &c. from other
parts of France. There is another more direct channe
through which a supply of European goods may be sent
into Persia, namely, by way of Bushire; and, in point of fact,
British manufactures to a considerable amount, especial y
cottons, are imported into this place, and thence conveyed
to all the southern cities of Persia, namely, Shiraz, V ezd,
Kerman, and Ispahan, whence they find their way still
<115
<
PER
1.. farther inland to Irak, Khorassan, and even to the farther
j..-/reo.ions of Tartary. These goods are, however, previously
sent from Europe to Bombay, and thence to Bushire, be¬
ing thus burdened with the useless expenses of this double
voyage, which would be saved if they were sent directly
to the Persian markets. After being loaded at Bushire,
the goods must be carried over lofty mountains, by danger¬
ous and wretched roads, before they can reach the mar¬
ket ; and they are liable to heavy transit duties at all the
towns through which they pass. Goods which are brought
to India, and carried into the interior up its navigable
rivers, are brought by the overland route through Caubul,
Candahar, and Herat, or by Balkh or Bukharia. Certain it
is that British goods carried on the backs of mules over
dreary mountains find their way to these distant markets ;
the disadvantage of an expensive land-carriage, and other
hazards, being counterbalanced by the great progress which
Europe has made in manufacturing industry, and by the ex¬
tended use of all sorts of ingenious machinery for saving la¬
bour, by means of which goods are manufactured and sold
cheaper in the most distant markets than they can be fur¬
nished by the native workman.
3I The government of Persia is a pure despotism, which
t id is subject to no control from the influence of laws or man¬
ners, and under which every man’s life and liberty are at
the mercy of the sovereign. He may exalt the lowest
subject to the highest rank, or he may degrade, fine, im¬
prison, maim, or put him to death, according to his will or
caprice. Nor is this power allowed to remain dormant. The
great Shah Abbas put to death an innocent traveller whilst
asleep, because his horse startled at him; Aga Mahommed
Khan put out the eyes of those who happened to look on
his hideous countenance; and the modern history of Persia
abounds with examples of horrid tyranny, of nobles and
great men about the court being degraded from their rank,
cruelly tortured and put to death, and their whole families,
slaves and all, involved in their ruin. “ The greatest noble
in Persia,” says Frazer, “ is never for a moment secure
either in his person or property; if a fit of rage, jealousy,
or avarice, of which he is the object, happens to seize his
sovereign, a word, a look from the despot subjects him to
the most cruel insults ; he may be beat, maimed, disgraced
like the lowest groom ; his person violated in a way de¬
grading to humanity; his wives and daughters delivered
to the lust of muleteers (the lowest class in Persia) ; and
the little family honour a Persian can possess may be scat¬
tered to the winds, without the unhappy sufferer having
the least hope of remedy, without even the event creat¬
ing the least sensation; it is the shah’s pleasure; and if
he be firm in his seat, the lives and properties of his sub¬
jects are less than the dust beneath his feet.” The evils
of despotism in Persia are generally aggravated rather than
abated by the personal character of the sovereign, which
is for the most part cruel and despotic ; his early training
fostering in him every evil propensity. He is taught from
his infancy to consider his subjects as created for his plea¬
sure; he is initiated in the grossest sensuality; and, as if
to train him to habits of cruelty, his preceptors are in the
practice of taking him to witness executions, which in Per¬
sia are conducted with extreme cruelty, as if to steel his
mind against humane feelings, and to habituate him to
scenes at which other men would shudder. In general
the kings of Persia profit by these early lessons; few of
them are considerate or merciful; whilst with many, ac¬
cording to Sir J. Malcolm, “ the habit of shedding blood
becomes a passion, by a brutal indulgence in which, human
beings appear to lose that rank and character which be¬
long to their species.”1 It is remarked by Frazer, that all
the servants of the king take their tone from him ; and that
S I A. 247
when he is “ cruel or merciful, peaceful or warlike, liberal Persia‘
or grasping, his disposition is reflected and multiplied'
throughout the whole land, down to the lowest ranks of
society.” Accordingly, throughout the different provinces
of the Persian empire, chiefs and governors are every¬
where seen improving upon the example of the sovereign ;
beating, maiming, and rending their property from the
unfortunate cultivators who are placed at their mercy.
I here is no such thing as any protection for life and pro¬
perty in any part of this country ; and the officers of govern¬
ment everywhere rob the people, and farther insult and
maltreat them if they dare to complain. When the Eng¬
lish embassy were travelling through Persia, they were
compelled to witness numerous examples of tyranny and
cruelty revolting to their feelings. The poor people were
compelled to entertain the embassy; and, accordingly, the
horses were turned without scruple into the barley fields
of the impoverished peasantry. At one place, where one
man complained that the produce of the field they were
consuming was his sole subsistence, he was taken and
severely beaten, and compelled, as Morier observes, to
hold their horses as they were eating up his own pro¬
perty before his face. At another village, where the em¬
bassy was ordered not to stop, as it had been previously
laid under contribution, and could not afford to entertain
the embassy for a single day, the officer in charge (the
mehmandar) insisted on a contribution in cash; and when
they could not raise the money, he forcibly carried awray
the little furniture that was left in the houses, amidst the
lamentations of the women, who were beating their heads,
and lifting up their hands to the skies, but who were beat¬
en with sticks and dispersed, by wretches who heeded not
their cries.' Frazer relates the most shameful instances
of the present king’s extortion and cruelty. Whilst he
was at Teheran, the traveller mentions that one of the
couitieis fell under the displeasure of the Shah, who, know¬
ing him to be rich, ordered him to be dragged before him,
on a charge of embezzling the public-money. During his
examination he used some expressions which offended the
king, upon which he ordered his officers to bind and to beat
him; and in the mean time he began to revile him, and in
his iage ordeied him to be strangled. When the cord was
lound his neck, and he was on the ground, the king asked
if he would give 100,000 tomauns for his life, to which he
replied that he wTould give all he had; but the answer was
considered as equivocal, the cord was tightened, and the
blows rained thick upon him, until he acceded to the de¬
mand, and, being released, was allowed to return home.
His prime minister, also, Hadjee Ibrahim, to whom he
owed his elevation to the throne, was on some pretence,
for the sake of his wealth it was supposed, degraded, and
condemned to lose his eyes. Some expressions escaping
him about ingratitude, the tyrant immediately ordered his
tongue to be cut out; and under these tortures and per¬
secutions this old and faithful servant of an ungrateful
master at length expired. A monarch of Persia acknow¬
ledges no obligations but the ritual observances of his re¬
ligion ; and a blind superstition is thus substituted for the
moial qualities of mercy, generosity, and justice. Every
look being watched by parasites and flatterers, he becomes
as impatient of the least opposition as he is insensible to the
most devoted service. Distrust and terror reign amongst
his courtiers, amongst whom falsehood, dissimulation, and
specious show, supply the place of truth and loyalty. They
have no means of preserving the royal favour but by flat¬
tery and fawning; and hence their whole object is to de¬
ceive and pillage, and, if they can with safety and advantage
to themselves, to betray their tyrant. The effects of this
system may be traced through all ranks about the court,
History of Persia, vol. ii. chap. xxvi.
8 Morier, Second Journey through Persia, p. 2t>7.
248
Persia.
PERSIA.
even to the lowest menial. They are, with few exceptions,
' arrogant,''overbearing, unprincipled, treacherous, an a an
doned, in the greatest degree. “ They stand .continually,
says Frazer, “ on the brink of a dangerous pi ecipice, and
would be to be pitied, were it not that the bare-faced and
hardened character of their vice” excites a feeling ot co
tempt and detestation. Such is the character given ot
those who are attached to the various courts, and live in
service with great men, including the military and other
functionaries. The other two classes into winch the po¬
pulation of Persia is divided are, those who live in towns,
namely, merchants, shopkeepers, mechanics, and others ,
those who are engaged in agriculture ; and, lastly, the wan¬
dering tribes of Eels. The inhabitants of towns are less
exposed than others to the tyranny of their superiors, and
they are more industrious; and, though far from strict in
their morals, they are not so actively vicious. They are,
however, cunning, deceitful, false, eager after gain, an
cautious and penurious. Being constantly exposed to the
most cruel extortion, and to torture, in order to force a
disclosure of their wealth, they are forced to resort to the
most disingenuous practices in self-defence. I he Eels aie
a wandering race, rude and wild, and subjected on y to
patriarchal authority. They are, accordingly, impatient
of restraint; and being at constant variance with all the
neighbouring tribes, they are always engaged m depre¬
dations, and consider plunder and robbery as no crimes.
There is no class in Persia subjected to such tyranny
and oppression as the farmers and cultivators of the soil.
They are exposed to almost continual extortion and injus¬
tice ; there is no definite limit to the amount of the demands
made upon them. When the king demands money from
his ministers, they have recourse to the heads of districts,
who in their turn apply to the heads of villages, and these
last wring it from the cultivators and farmers. Every tax,
present, fine, or bribe, from whomsoever demanded in the
first instance, ultimately falls upon them ; so that the only
measure of these demands is the ability to pay on the one
hand, and the power to extort on the other. Yet there
are exceptions to this uniform system of oppression ; and
when travellers have been admitted to view the Persian
farmers in their houses and with their families, a degree o
comfort and comparative plenty have been discovered, not
quite compatible with the general tale ot misery that was
told. The explanation of this, however, is, that the pea¬
santry and farmers sometimes contrive to baffle the vigilance
of their oppressors, and to place beyond their reach a por¬
tion of their produce sufficient to insure to them a comfort¬
able subsistence. They are described, however, as a race
degraded by tyranny; as being devoid of truth, frankness, or
honesty; treacherous, deceitful, deficient in gratitude and
every other amiable disposition. 1 he cruel acts of their
rulers have familiarized them to deeds of blood; they set
little value upon human life, and are apt to draw the knife
in all their quarrels. They are easily inflamed into passion,
and when under its influence they are careless of the re¬
sult, the meanest inhabitant often venting imprecations
against his superiors, and even against the king himself,
which pass without any further notice than a few blows.
They are active and intelligent, and these seem to be the
only valuable qualities which they possess. They are also
light-hearted, better humoured, and less grave and austere,
than most of the other Asiatics ; but their falsehood is pro¬
verbial ; indeed habits of lying are so inveterate, that un¬
truths flow as it were spontaneously from their tongue, even
when no apparent motive exists. All travellers agree in
this as one general characteristic of the Asiatics ; the sure
mark of the low state of civilization in that great conti¬
nent. The politeness of the Persians, for which they have
been so much famed, seems to consist more in the observ¬
ance of a troublesome routine of ceremonies, and the use
of complimentary language in all the forms of eastern hy- pCE
perbole, than in any real courtesy. A Persian will say to'—
a stranger that he is his slave, that his house and all that it
contains, his horses, equipage, &c. all are at his service;
but no one understands this in any other sense than an un¬
meaning form, which encumbers the intercourse of society,
without refining it. In their persons the Persians are de¬
scribed as being handsome, active, and robust; lively in
their imaginations, and of quick apprehension, but with¬
out any moral quality to attract esteem. The effects of
the cruel despotism under which Persia groans, in thus
degrading the character of the people, and also in check¬
in^ the progress of science and of every useful art, are truly
melancholy. The insecurity of life and property is the
dead-weight which oppresses the country. It represses the
efforts of industry; it paralyses the powers of invention, and
every ingenious improvement; for no wiH sovv where
he is not sure of reaping, or will task his ingenuity to pro¬
duce what he may be deprived of the next hour. Frazer
mentions the case of an ingenious manufacturer of poice-
lain, whose fame quickly spread till it reached the court,
whence a message was despatched for him, that he might
make china for the Shah. He well knew that he would
receive nothing for his labour, and that he would, more¬
over, be forced to make china for all the nobles belonging
to the court. He accordingly went to court, and muster¬
ing all the money he was worth, offered it as a bribe to
the minister if he would report to the king that he was
not the person that made the china, and that he had run
away, nobody knew whither. Ihe ruse succeeded. The
minister sent his discharge to the man, who vowed that he
would never make a bit of china, or attempt any other
improvement, as long as he lived. It is a common practice
to kidnap the best workmen in all trades for the use of tne
court and great men of the provinces, who never pay the
workmen they employ. Hence every one avoids the repu¬
tation of excellence, except in the commonest trades; and
thus, under the benumbing influence of this frightful des¬
potism, improvement is nipt in the bud, and every useful
invention is discouraged. There is no outlay ot labour or of
capital in expectation of any profitable return. No spe¬
culation is hazarded which promises any future advantage.
No provision is made of any article, not even food, be¬
yond the immediate demand. The people are reckless
and indifferent to all but the passing hour, living from day
to day uncertain whether they may have life or property
on the morrow. No trees are planted; no extensive im¬
provement takes place on the face of the ground; no pub¬
lic buildings of any solid materials are erected; no one
thinks of posterity, but only how he can accommodate him¬
self. All classes, however, are eager to accumulate money,
as the means of support, or of purchasing safety in any
emergency; and this desire is matured at last into an in¬
satiable avarice, which is nowise scrupulous about the means
of its gratification.
The king of Persia has a great variety of personal duties
to perform. He gives audience at an early hour of the
morning to his principal ministers and secretaries, who
make reports of all state transactions, and receive hm com¬
mands. He holds a public levee, which is attended by the
princes, ministers, and officers of his court, at wine i re
wards are distributed and punishments awarded, we
then gives one or two hours to his personal favourites, or
to his ministers. After the morning is past he retires to
his inner apartments, where he is shrouded from observa¬
tion. In the evening he holds a levee, and transacts busi¬
ness with his ministers and principal officers of state. 1 ms,
however, is rather a sketch of what his employments ougn
to be, than of what they are. They may be interrupted by
indolence or the love of pleasure; and the labour of busine
may be devolved, if such be his will, upon his favour! e
PERSIA.
a. The business of the prime minister depends greatly on the
‘—''personal favour of the king, which if he enjoys, he exer¬
cises great influence over all the branches of the govern¬
ment. Besides the chief ministers, the secretaries of state
preside over the different offices or chambers of accounts ;
and regular accounts are kept of the receipts and disburse¬
ments of the whole kingdom.
: n(j The law of Persia, as in all other Mahommedan coun-
L tries, is founded upon religion as contained in the Koran,
of and also upon tradition. Its rules are accordingly extremely
vague and imperfect, and are administered by the priest¬
hood, who often pronounce the most corrupt decisions, al¬
though the law, deriving its sanctions from religion, forms
the only defence, feeble as it is, which the people possess
against the violence and rapacity of power. Many cases
are also decided by the law of custom or tradition, which,
having reference to local as well as to common usages,
varies in different parts of the empire, and is if possible a
still more vague and imperfect code than the written law
of the Koran. The ecclesiastical order in Persia, as in all
other countries, eagerly grasping after power, insist that the
law which they administer, being divine, should take cog¬
nizance of all cases. But the ordinary courts of common
law, supported by the state, have succeeded in limiting
their jurisdiction to cases of religious ceremonies, cases of
inheritance, marriage, divorce, contracts, sales, and all civil
matters; reserving to the ordinary courts the decision of
criminal cases, such as murder, theft, fraud, breaches of
the peace, and other offences. The order of priests have
great influence in Persia. Before the reign of Nadir Shah,
the whole power centred in the chief pontiff, who was deem¬
ed the vicar of Imaum, and engrossed vast wealth and in¬
fluence. At the death of this high priest, no successor was
appointed by Nadir Shah, who, besides, seized the treasures
of the priesthood, in order to pay his troops. His grandson
and successor appointed two persons to this high dignity,
with a view of diminishing, by dividing, their power and
influence. These priests are called Mooshtaheds; and there
are now seldom more than three or four of this high dignity
in Persia. They fill no office, receive no appointment,
and have no specific duties, but are called by the voice of
the public, from their superior learning, piety, and virtue,
to be their guides in religion, and their protectors against
oppression ; and Sir John Malcolm observes, that they re¬
ceive from the people a degree of respect and reverence to
which the proudest kings would in vain lay claim. Their
conduct generally agrees with the sacred character to which
they owe all their importance; as they know, that in de¬
viating from the strictest purity, they would lose all their
influence, and could no longer expect to see the monarch
courting popularity by walking to their humble dwellings,
and placing them in the seat of honour when they pav a
visit to his court. This order of priests exercise an im¬
portant influence on the administration of the written law.
Cases are constantly submitted to their superior knowledge;
and there is no appeal from their sentence, except to a
priest acknowledged to be superior in sanctity and in learn¬
ing. The sacred character of these priests gives an autho¬
rity to the decrees of the tribunals over which they preside,
which the monarch is forced to respect. They are often
effectual intercessors for mercy to the guilty; their habi¬
tations are considered as the sanctuaries of the oppressed ;
and «the hand of despotic power,” says Sir John Malcolm,
“ is sometimes taken off a city, because the monarch will
not offend a mooshtahed, who has chosen it for his resi¬
dence, but who refuses to dwell amidst violence and in-
Jifice.” Next in rank to these high priests, there is the
&baik-ul-Islam, literally the “ elder or chief of the faith,”
who acts as a supreme judge in the court of written law.
ne of this class resides in all the principal cities; and
under him is the cauzee, who has a council of moolahs or
VOL. XVII.
249
learned men as his assessors. In the lesser towns there is Persia,
only a cauzee, from whom there lies an appeal, in cases of
intricacy, to the cauzee of the larger towns, and finally to
the supreme judge of the provincial capital. But, as in all
countries, such as Persia, where there is no enlightened
morality, and no control of public opinion, justice is venal
and corrupt; the administration of the written law by the
priests is extremely imperfect, and inadequate to its ends,
insomuch that the suitor is deprived of every hope of jus¬
tice ; and it is only the administration of the customary
law that offers any security, however imperfect, for justice
between man and man. Even here, however, the admini¬
stration of justice varies with the character of the reign¬
ing despot; and the judges in all their various gradations,
from the king’s lieutenants, the rulers of provinces, gover¬
nors of cities, lay managers of towns, managers and col¬
lectors of districts, and heads of villages, aided by the offi¬
cers under their authority, are active and just, or corrupt
and cruel, as the monarch happens to be vigilant or virtuous,
avaricious or tyrannical. Moral principle and the power of
public opinion afford the only security for the pure adminis¬
tration of justice; and among public men trained in this
school, the corruption of a judge is never so much as heard
of. But such wholesome restraints do not exist in Persia.
The European ideas of honour are scarcely known amongst
any class. They are all venal and corrupt; and the iniquities
which they themselves practise they but feebly condemn in
others. Justice is often interrupted by the clashing autho¬
rities of the different courts ; an evil which neither the so¬
vereign nor his ministers are anxious to remedy, seeing that
it adds both to their power and profit. A suit is very soon
brought to a termination, and not at great cost; but con¬
siderable sums are often paid for a favourable decision.
The most barbarous rules are still followed in the admini¬
stration of the criminal law. In cases of murder the heir
at law demands vengeance for blood ; and when the guilt of
the criminal is established, he is delivered into the hands of
the injured person or his relations, to deal with him as they
think fit. The revolting spectacle of private vengeance
was witnessed by the English resident at Abushehr, as in¬
flicted on the murderers by the relations of the deceased,
who ledj their victims bound to the burial-ground, and
there put them to death ; the infant children of the person
murdered being made to stab the murderers with knives,
and thus to avenge their father’s blood. The assassins of
Aga Mahommed Khan, when they were executed, were
stabbed by such of the younger children as could hold a
dagger ; and the successor of Nadir Shah sent one of his
murderers to the females of his harem, who were delighted
to welcome his executioners. The punishment of crimes
in Persia is fixed by the written law, or, when the king in¬
terferes, by his arbitrary will. Fines, flogging, and the basti¬
nado, are the common punishments of lesser offences. The
disclosure of hidden treasures is enforced by tortures ; and
the inhuman punishment of putting out the eyes has long
been practised in Persia, as in other countries of the East,
on the relations of the reigning family who may aspire to
the throne, or on the chiefs of tribes whom it is desirable
to deprive of power, though not of life, and sometimes on
the male inhabitants of a rebellious town. Criminals are
put to death by strangling, decapitation, or stabbing; but
in aggravated cases the most inventive cruelty is practised
in devising modes of torture. In some cases, life is for a
time preserved in protracted pain; in others persons are
empaled, or their limbs torn asunder by the elastic bound
of trees which have been bent for the purpose, or they
are cast headlong from a high tower; and the history of
Persia abounds with examples of tyrants glutting their
vengeance on their victims by the most shameless insults
and horrid injuries. In Persia women are seldom pub¬
licly executed, but they suffer dreadful violence in the
250
Persia.
lie venue.
PERSIA.
recesses of domestic tyranny. When they are of high
rank, the comprehensive injustice ot the Last often in¬
cludes them in the punishment of their husbands or fa¬
thers; and they are given away as slaves to the lowest
and most infamous classes of the community, such as mu e-
drivers. They are also sometimes tortured, tn order to force
from them a disclosure of wealth which they know to be
concealed. . . . t ,
The collection of the revenue is intimately connected
with the administration of justice, the same officer piesi
ing over both ; and this union is unfavourable to the inha¬
bitants, as it enables the collector to prostitute the judicial
power for the gratification of his avarice. Sir John Mal¬
colm estimates, though not on any sure data, the revenue of
Persia at three millions. According to Frazer, the amount
varies with each successive sovereign, with the extent of
his dominions, and with the fluctuations which have taken
place from rebellions in the different provinces. The pub¬
lic income of Persia arises from the produce of crown or
government lands, from a tax on land, varying, as is stated
by Sir John Malcolm, from twenty to five per cent, accord¬
ing to the fertility of the land, and according to its vicinity
to water, which is the great source of fertility in Persia.
Frazer states that the land-tax amounts to from ten to
five per cent, on the gross produce. Landed property in
Persia may be comprised under the following heads :
the crown-lands ; 2d, those that are the property of indivi¬
duals ; 2d, those belonging to charitable or religious foun¬
dations; and, Uh, those granted by the king for military ser¬
vice. The uncultivated tracts, which form so large a portion
of Persia, are not claimed as property ; but every individual
who constructs one of the subterraneous canals called can-
nauts, or who contrives to bring water to the surface, ob¬
tains a title to the land which he cultivates. I he other
titles are, inheritance, purchase, or a gift from the crown ;
and these rights are held sacred under all ciicumstances.
There is, however, this peculiarity in the state of landed
property in Persia, as in other eastern countries, that the
ryot or cultivator shares with the proprietor in a common
right to a certain portion of the soil, ot which he cannot
be deprived as long as he pays the customary lent. I he
proprietor has a title to one tenth of the produce, ascei-
tained by measurement, either of the surface before sow¬
ing, or of the standing crop. When the proprietor obtains
an” artificial supply of water, he has, besides, a right to
all that he can procure by its sale. In cases where the
proprietor furnishes seed, labour, or cattle to the cultiva¬
tor, he receives, in addition to his tenth share, a portion
of the farmer’s profits. The government-tax amounted at
one time to one tenth of the produce, but' with the increas¬
ing expenses of the state other irregular taxes were im-
' posed, till they were at last converted into an additional
tenth; the less fertile lands being, however, subjected to
a smaller impost. But other irregular imposts still continu¬
ed to be heaped upon the additional tenth, by the bad faith
of the government, which imposts w ere altogether capricious
and arbitrary, and now form one of the ryot’s heaviest griev¬
ances. The other taxes are those on cattle, capitation taxes,
transit and town duties on merchandize, and various other
impositions which are quite uncertain and irregular. Lands
held in fief, or in lieu of military or other service, pay no
tax to government; the assignee being entitled to three
tenths, which includes both the proprietor’s rights and the
government dues. When the assignment is given on the
estate of another, it is merely the government-dues which
are granted. Gardens near villages pay one fifth of their
produce in kind, whilst melon-grounds, tobacco, cotton, and
such like fields, pay in money according to a valuation of
their produce. Horses, asses, cows, sheep, and goats, are
all taxed, at the rate of one real, or Is. 4d. for each horse, Peu
four fifths for asses and cows, one third for sheep and goats,^ z
and one sixth on the hire of bees. There is a capitation-tax,
which sometimes presses heavily upon Armenians, Jews,
and Guebres, the ancient fire-worshippers. The rate was in
some cases four reals, or 5s. 4d., for a family, and sometimes
eight reals. Shops and bazaars pay a duty of from two to
twenty reals a year ; and the tenant also pays in the propor¬
tion of from ten to fifty tomauns a year, the value of the to-
maun being I Is. All merchandise is subject to a duty of five
per cent, on entering the first Persian town, whether by land
or sea, and to a variety of inland duties, which are levied
at the different custom-houses without any rule or sys¬
tem, every governor endeavouring to extort all that he can.
Smuggling is very commonly practised. No estimate can
be formed of the saaduraut, or the irregular duties, which
include every extraordinary expense of the government,
the expenses of all travellers and strangers, those of all
members of the royal family, or messengers on government
business, the expense of transporting baggage, roya equi¬
page, or presents, of repairing the roads and budges, of
furnishing troops for service, and the like ; for all which it is
understood, though the practice is often different, that the
village or province shall obtain credit on the annual set¬
tlement of their accounts; so that these heavy exactions,
resembling those of the king’s purveyors in ancient Lurope
for the maintenance of his court and retinue when they were
travelling, fall without redress on the poor ryots. ihe
Persian king’s order is, in like manner, grievously abused
to the oppression and vexation ot his subjects. Presents,
fines, and confiscations, form a considerable item of Persian
revenue. At stated times, such as the new year, the
courtiers are expected to accompany their respects to the
king whth a large present of money, which amounts in some
cases to 50,000, 60,000, and even 100,000 tomauns. Every
one in any degree dependent upon the court endeavours to
make up a purse on this occasion ; and in lieu of money,
goods, such as shawls, horses, jewels, and merchandise,
are brought. The produce of this new-year impost is esti¬
mated at 1,200,000 tomauns. But there are various other
lesser occasions for making presents, no suitor for favour
or pardon being expected to approach the throne empty-
handed ; so that about 500,000 tomauns may be received
in addition to the presents of the new year. 1 he produce
of the crown-lands Frazer estimates, though, he admits, on
uncertain data, at 989,000 tomauns. Every mode of tyranny
and extortion is practised on the one hand by the collect¬
ors of the revenue, which is met by shifts and pretexts
without number on the part of the tax-payei ; so t at,
says Frazer, “ there is a continual struggle between the go¬
vernor of a province and his myrmidons on the one side,
and the villagers with their zabuts and ketkhodas (head of¬
ficers) on the other; the former endeavouring to squeeze
as much more as possible than their right from the latter,
who strive, by every trick and^ invention, to avoid paying
even that acknowledged right.’1
The expenditure for which this revenue has to proviae
cannot be estimated from any authentic document.
chief expenses are the maintenance of the royal family, an^
the royal harem, which contains 300 wives, with a propor¬
tional number of slaves and servants, amounting to not
less than about 1500 persons. The expense of the royal
stud, including the baggage, camels, and mules, the re inu
attending the royal march, the value of presents, naniei),
the khilauts or robes of honour, which are regularty give
away, and which are seldom worth less than from •>
600 tomauns; the Cashmere shawls, swords, daggers fug i y
ornamented, and horses with gold or silver harness, °|"™
serious drain on the royal treasury; and to this may be at
i Narrative of a Journey into Khorassan, chap. x.
PERSIA.
251
a. the maintenance of the household troops. All these expen-
■“''ses are heavy, and in general swallow up a large portion
of the revenues, however ample. The superior officers of
government are paid with the utmost parsimony, which
proves in the end far more expensive than the most liberal
salary, their scanty allowances being made up by pecula¬
tion and extortion. The salary of a prime minister does
not exceed a few hundred tomauns in the year, but it is
made up to an indefinite amount by bribes, presents, fees,
and speculations of various kinds. Sometimes an assign¬
ment on the revenue of a village is given in lieu of salary ;
the inhabitants being thus placed at the mercy of the as¬
signee, who fleeces them without mercy, often to more than
three times the regulated amount. All these unjust prac¬
tices are well known to the king and his court, who wink
at what they would find it impossible to prevent, and who
also know that all the hoards of individuals are carefully
watched by the spies and underlings of the court, so that
these ill-gotten treasures may be made forthcoming at
any time for the behoof of the monarch. The nobles, and
especially the officers of government, are wretchedly poor,
as well, indeed, as all the rest of the people ; they are
mostly all ruinously in debt. The mehmandar or officer
of government, who escorted Frazer from Bushire to Shi¬
raz, in describing his own situation, spoke openly of the
“ miserable system of extortion and parsimony practised by
the king and rulers of the land and he was far from being
the only one who uttered such sentiments, which, accord¬
ing to the traveller above mentioned, were in every mouth,
and a common topic of conversation.
j There is no regular body of trained soldiers in Persia,
but merely irregular levies, fitted for the species of warfare
in which they are generally engaged. Every province ought
to maintain a certain number of men, armed and mounted,
and ready to take the field. This is the national force of
Persia ; the militia collected from the wandering tribes,
and from the inhabitants of cities and villages, who are lia¬
ble to be called out on any emergency, and, when on ser¬
vice with the army, or in distant garrisons, receive pay
from government. They provide their own clothing, which
is the common dress of the country, and their arms, con¬
sisting of a matchlock, sabre, and dagger. The number of
this registered militia is estimated at 150,000 men. But re¬
cently all military duties have been neglected, and it would
now be scarcely possible to muster the smallest appearance
of an army. The inhabitants ot Pars obtained an abatement
of revenue, on the ground of their obligation to maintain a
force to watch the movements of the British in the gulf;
but not a single soldier could ever be seen by the British
embassy in passing through that province ; and any military
display that was made was evidently by men suddenly call¬
ed together from their regular occupations. No attempt
was ever made to maintain a regular army, excepting by
Abbas Mirza, governor of Azerbijan, and heir apparent to
the throne; and whilst these troops were commanded and
disciplined by English officers, they had every appearance
of an efficient force, amounting to 20,000 men. But after
the conclusion of peace with Russia, they were, from par¬
simony or improvidence, disbanded ; it being considered as
useless to give regular pay where no service was required.
On the commencement of the Turkish war, the English
officers, who could no longer be permitted to serve, were
almost all dismissed; and a few sergeants only remain,
who command and maintain the horse-artillery in a toler¬
ably efficient state; but this corps, with seven or eight
hundred Russian deserters, is the only serviceable part of
the establishment. The prince has, besides these corps,
wall-pieces, mounted on camels, which could only be effi¬
cient against Asiatic troops. His arsenal is, however, mi¬
serably furnished; and, unlike the arsenals of Europe, which Persia,
contain such vast stores of ammunition, it is on a scale more
suited to the shooting-closet of a private gentleman, than
a magazine of state. When the army took the field against
the Russians, only twenty-five rounds of ammunition were
provided for each gun, and scarcely any supply w as left be¬
hind, whilst the manufacture was proceeding on a scale the
most pitiful. The levies furnished by the chiefs of tribes
at the call of their sovereign form the most efficient por¬
tion of the militia, consisting entirely of cavalry, which,
though somewhat degenerated, are still hardy and active,
having preserved the habits and mode of fighting of their
fathers. Their horses are active and strong, and in all re¬
spects suited to predatory warfare, to which indeed they are
inclined by the prospect of plunder, the chief motive of their
services; for if they are not engaged in active hostilities,
they always return home during the winter.1 The Per¬
sians assert that the king can command the services of
80,000 of these irregular troops ; an assertion w hich is
scarcely borne out by facts. Some provinces famed for their
irregular troops serve as nurseries of the army. The land-
tax of Mazanderan is chiefly paid in military service, and this
province, including Astrabad, maintains nominally 12,000
foot and 4000 horsemen, ready at a call. But the fact is,
that these troops are greatly dispersed amongst their own
villages, and many of them have not a horse to show. The
only permanently-embodied corps is the body-guard of the
king, or the gholauns ; but they have no regular organi¬
zation, any more than the others, nor do they assemble and
parade together. Their number amounts to from three to
four thousand men ; and they are chiefly distributed near
the residence of his majesty in town, and attend him in
camp, a certain number being always on duty. They are all
mounted, their horses being found by government, and
they are armed, as usual, with a matchlock or sword.
Their pay varies from twenty to thirty tomauns in the year ;
though those of long standing, and of tried valour in the
service, receive much more. These are frequently employ¬
ed in affairs of great importance; often in the collection
of the revenue, when they neglect no opportunity of ex¬
torting large sums. They consider themselves as gentle¬
men, though in the rank of soldiers. They are, some of them,
the younger sons of nobility; and are for the most part
bold and insolent debauchees, great swaggerers, with but
little courage, tyrannizing over the weak, but respectful and
fawning to those in power. Their name is a terror to the
country, and their arrival in any quarter is deprecated as a
serious misfortune, the people in some instances flying from
the village at their approach. Frazer considered the un¬
warlike character of the Persian monarch as a great discou¬
ragement to the military service. He was cowardly, and
remarkably avaricious ; parsimonious in rewarding service,
and jealous of any of his subjects acquiring military re¬
nown ; so that a chief, when they were proposing an expedi¬
tion against the Turcomans, declared his own feelings in
very plain terms: “ To what end,” said he, “should I destroy
these people? What thanks should I receive from Futteh
Alice Shah ? Perhaps to have my eyes put out.”
Persia, from this view of her internal sources, must rank
very low in the scale of nations, and would be quite un¬
able to withstand any European power. During the war
which so long raged between Great Britain and France,
her alliance was eagerly courted by both these powers ;
by the former, in order to baffle the supposed schemes
of Napoleon for the invasion of India, although it is ex¬
tremely doubtful if any such were seriously entertained.
France was equally eager for the friendship of this weak
state. Great Britain lavished her gold on the Persian king,
for which he gave his empty promises of friendship ; and
1 Sir John Malcolm’s History of Persia, vol. ii. chap, xxiii.
252
Persia.
PERSIA.
Ileligion.
when France entered the lists with Britain for his covet¬
ed alliance, the king made the most of both; nor, as Frazer
justly observes, was it his part to tell how valueless was
the prize for which they each offered so high. The British
statesmen, perpetually haunted with the terror of Bona¬
parte, were in dread lest a French and Russian army should
make its way through Persia to India. But neither the
caiolery of Great Britain, nor her bribes, would have enabled
Persia to oppose so powerful an invasion of her territories,
if it had been attempted. Fler whole power would have
been exerted in the defence of her dominions, even if Bri¬
tain had not interfered; more she could not do though the
whole wealth of the country had been poured forth before
her king and his nobles. Most uselessly, therefore, on this,
as on numberless other occasions, were the treasures of
Britain squandered away to bribe this barbarous power to
pursue a course prescribed to her, and which she would of
herself inevitably have followed in her own defence ; whilst
the character of the country was lowered, by the humble,
and even fawning, tone of the British in their official com¬
munications. Persian arrogance has been thus fostered;
and the Shah has been encouraged to despise and depre¬
cate the power and alliance of Britain, notwithstanding her
profuse liberality.
The ancient idolatrous religion of Persia was supplanted
by that of Mahommed, which at an early period was pro¬
pagated in Persia by the victorious Moslemins ; and it has
ever since continued the popular superstition of the country.
But the Persians are of the Sheah sect, who consider Ah,
the uncle and father-in-law of Mahommed, as his lawful
successor in the caliphate, to which he was appointed by
the Prophet; and Abubekr, Omar, and Othman, his ac¬
tual successors, and reverenced as the caliphs by the Soo-
nies, as nothing better than usurpers. It was this disputed
succession which gave rise to these two hostile sects of Ma-
hommedans. The doctrines of the former, namely, the
Sheahs, have been for more than three centuries warmly
espoused by the Persians, wrho vowed eternal hatred and
war against all who profess the Soonie creed. The reli¬
gion of Mahommed, amongst its other evils, is hostile to
all improvement. It enjoins the destruction of infidels
as an act of piety ; intolerance thus becomes a duty; and
hence the blind zeal and persecuting spirit which prevails
in all Mahommedan states, and which breaks out into re¬
proach, outrage, and often into extreme violence, against
their Christian visitors. All knowledge is, according to this
system, rejected, beyond what is found in the Koran ; and
the debasing influence of polygamy on the morals and
manners of both sexes is calculated completely to poi¬
son all the remaining sources of social happiness. Ihe
baneful consequences of this superstition have been as
deeply felt in Persia as in any of the surrounding states.
The Persians have been thought by travellers to be less
bigoted than their Turkish or Arabian neighbours. But
though, from their lighter dispositions, they may not be so
austerely rigorous in their religious observances, and may
even converse with more freedom on religious subjects,
from their intercourse with European Christians, who
cannot be used with the same outrage as their own coun¬
trymen, yet, according to the testimony of Frazer, they
are even more deeply prejudiced than either the Arabs or
the Turks, who will not scruple, if they invite a Christian
to their house, to eat with him from the same dish; whilst
a Persian will provide a separate tray for him, and avoid,
as much as he can, all contact. Europeans attached to the
suites of ambassadors are admitted into the public baths ;
but a European travelling without a mehmandar or a go¬
vernment functionary would not be allowed any such pri¬
vilege ; and though European gentlemen, for a large bribe,
are admitted in disguise, or in secret, into the mosques or pers
holy places of pilgrimage, a poor Armenian or a Jew would''—y
as surely be put to death if found within the sepulchre of
Imaun Reza or Fatima, or the great mosque at Shiraz, as
within the mosques of Constantinople or Damascus. The
fanatical influence of the Mahommedan religion has of late
years, however, been modified in Persia, by the progress of
a free-thinking and irreligious spirit, chiefly amongst the
nobility, the merchants, and those who have resided much
in foreign countries, and even- amongst the priesthood,
who frequently and openly, before their particular friends,
deride the superstitious observances of the Mahommedan
creed. The zeal of the early Mahommedans has also been
cooled by many causes. The work of conquest, and the
extinction or conversion of infidel nations by the sword, is
at an end. The enthusiasm of the modern followers of
the Prophet is no longer influenced by the practice of
persecution; and the whole system has declined into a
set of useless forms and ceremonies, which, mingling with
all the common affairs of life, have degenerated into a
customary routine, without any appearance of reverence,
and being in reality a mere mockery of religion. “ I he name
of God,” says Frazer, “ in various forms, is called upon on
the most trivial as well as the most important occasions.
However men may be occupied when the set hour of prayer
arrives, those who choose to observe it merely turn aside
from the rest, still laughing, perhaps, at the last ribald jest,
and commence their invocation of God. During the inter¬
vals they continue their conversation, scold or give orders to
their servants, comb their beards, and adjust their persons,
frequently interrupting their expressions of praise or of devo¬
tion, to give vent to the most trifling, or perhaps the most
obscene remarks.”* Ihe observance of these empty forms
is nowise connected with morality, except to degrade it,
the most zealous Mahommedans, even those who have
made the pilgrimage to Mecca, being frequently noted for
the impurity of their lives, trom this and other causes,
the Mahommedan religion, which once kindled so vast a
commotion in the world, is now on the decline, and the
followers of the Christian faith have made such progress
in all useful knowledge, that Mahommedans are fain to be¬
come the imitators of their fashions, as, by a gradual tran¬
sition, they may also yet be of their purer faith.
In a state of society such as that which prevails in Persia, Liter;
we can scarcely look for any great progress in literature, sciera
science, or the arts. With the Mahommedan religion was
introduced all the Arabian learning of the seventh century.
But the Persians have not improved this original stock;
on the contrary, it has gone to waste in their hands; the
light of science is nearly extinct, and their literature con¬
sists chiefly in their poetry and tales. They delight in
tales, fables, and apophthegms, which bir John Malcolm
considers as the consequence of their despotic government,
where knowledge must be veiled in order to be useful, as
the direct truth would wound a despot’s ear. It is in poetry
that they are said chiefly to delight and to excel; though
the hyperbolical style and the wild tales of the East would
scarcely suit the fastidious taste of European critics. The
merits of Persian poetry have been very differently esti¬
mated. Sir John Malcolm, admitting its extravagance and
hyperbole, still praises its tenderness and beauty; and many
passages are said to breathe all the sweetness of pastoral
poetry. Ferdousi is one of their greatest epic poets, whose
poem (the Shah-nameh) is historical, in which, according
to Sir John Malcolm, “ the most fastidious reader will meet
with numerous passages of exquisite beauty. The nar¬
rative,” he adds, “ of this great work is generally very
perspicuous; and some of the finest scenes m it are de¬
scribed with simplicity and elegance of diction.” In the opr~
Narrative of a Journey into Khorassan, chap. ix.
PER
nion of Persians, this poet excels in his descriptions of the
.^combats and battles of his heroes ; but to those whose taste
is offended with hyperbole, the tender parts of his work
will have most beauty, as they are freest from this cha¬
racteristic defect of eastern writers. Nizamee, who cele¬
brates the exploits of Alexander the Great, is considered
as ranking next to Ferdousi; and the subject affords ample
scope to his genius and his powerful imagination. Amongst
the didactic poets Sir John Malcolm assigns the next rank
to Sadi, who is a moralist as well as a poet, his works
abounding in the most useful lessons of prudence and
morality,"and exhibiting a rare union of fancy, learning,
urbanity, and virtue. The Musnavel of Jellal-u-Deen, the
poems of Jami, and the odes of Hafiz, are amongst the most
popular effusions of the Persian muse; but the names of
Rudiki, Anveri, and several others, are nearly of equal
rank ; and some modern writers also have attained to great
eminence. “ Many of these poems,” says Sir John Malcolm,
in his excellent History of Persia, “ are remarkable for
harmony of numbers and luxuriance of imagination, but
they all abound with the most extravagant and hyperbo¬
lical passages; and the enraptured dreams of their visionary
authors can only be esteemed beauties by men whose ima¬
ginations keep pace with that of the poet, whom they deem
inspired, and whose most obscene lay is often considered by
their enthusiastic admirers as the gleaming of a sublime
knowledge, which is far beyond the comprehension of the
profane and unenlightened. Many discussions have arisen
regarding the real and mystical meaning of the writers of
this class, and particularly of Hafiz, whose odes are chant¬
ed as songs, to excite the young and dissipated to pleasure,
and recited as hymns, to remind the old and devout of the
rapture of divine love.” The Persian poets excel in songs
and odes, which are chiefly composed on local subjects,
and are tender and passionate. Satirical effusions are not
so common ; though the verses of Ferdousi on Mahmood of
Ghizni are remarkable for the bitter feelings which they
express. There is a satirical poem, by an unknown author,
on the passion of avarice, which is extremely humorous
and satirical. The Persians are enthusiastic in their taste
for poetry ; and the meanest artisans can read or repeat the
finest passages of their most admired writers. Sir John Mal¬
colm mentions that his servants w'ere familiar with Persian
poetry; and when at Ispahan, he was surprised to hear a
common tailor, who was repairing one of his tents, enter¬
taining his companions with some of the finest mystical
odes of the poet Hafiz. Even the rude and unlettered
soldier will leave his tent to listen to songs of love or to a
tale of war. The art of printing is unknown in Persia;
and beautiful writing, which is carefully taught in the
schools, is considered as a high accomplishment; those who
excel in it ranking with the literary class. They are em¬
ployed in copying the works of authors; and a few lines
written by a celebrated penman are often sold for a con¬
siderable sum. By the invention of printing a great moral
revolution has been brought about in the state of society;
and a want of inclination to profit by this great improve¬
ment indicates extreme apathy and ignorance on the part
of any nation. Yet almost all the tradesmen and many
of the mechanics in Persia have received some education.
Schools are established in every town and city, at which
the poorest children are instructed, at fees sufficiently rea¬
sonable, in the rudiments of the Persian and Arabic lan¬
guages. The pupil, after he has learned the alphabet,
reads, as a religious duty, the Koran in Arabic, next some
fables in the Persian language, and, lastly, he is taught to
write a legible hand, which completes his education. Unless
amongst those who follow a studious life, and thus put in
practice what they have learned, these lessons are in many
cases forgotten. Yet this course of study, superficial as
it appears, improves the habits, and introduces a refinement
S I A. 253
of manners amongst the scholars, which is unknown to their Persia,
ruder countrymen. No proper encouragement, however, y'—
is given to schools; nor can it be expected that a grasping,
despotic, and rapacious government, like that of Persia,
should be any way anxious for the education of its sub¬
jects. The literary men are numerous. They pursue their
studies till they are entitled to the name of Moollah, and
to all the honours of a Persian college, though they are
not classed with the priesthood. They follow various occu¬
pations. To the studious and literary classes a very high
rank is assigned. An eminent historian, astronomer, or
poet, is highly honoured, and has a place of distinction
assigned him in every company which he honours with
his presence; and this as much for his social qualities as
for his supposed talents as an author. The conversation
of these persons, replete with anecdotes and information,
amuses and instructs ; and even the pretenders of this
class, who are numerous, possess agreeable manners and
a ready wit. Living by their wits, they are generally noted
flatterers, dwelling especially on the wonderful deeds and
character of the king or his principal nobles, for which
they are well paid. Others write panegyrics on all who
pay them for it, either in money or in hospitality. They
also make epigrams to amuse their patrons, or recite the
finest passages of the national poetry. But the great ma¬
jority are poor, seeing that their numbers have outgrown
their employment. Every person with a moderate educa¬
tion may assume the name of a poet, and the merest rhymer
receives some additional respect upon this account. A
swarm of students is thus produced, who pass their use¬
less lives in indolence and poverty. Ispahan in particular
abounds with these literary mendicants; and from its col¬
leges, and those of Shiraz, issueacrowdof vagrantpoets,who
lie in wait for men of rank and wealth, or for any stranger
from whom they expect a reward. Sir John Malcolm, in his
first visit to Persia in 1800, was addressed by one of these
poets ; and though he was repeatedly told that the stranger
could neither comprehend his lines nor relish such com¬
positions, he persevered in his purpose, telling some appro¬
priate story, until he extorted his due meed, not of praise,
but of money.
In music and painting the Persians have made no pro¬
gress. They consider music as a science, but they have
nevertheless made no further advances in it than the In¬
dians, to whom they are supposed to owe all the know¬
ledge which they possess. They have a gamut and notes,
and a melody that is adapted to various strains; and they
sing to the accompaniment of warlike instruments, of which
they have a number. Their strains are often pleasing, but
they are always monotonous. They are equally backward
in the art of painting, in which they have advanced but
little within the last three centuries. They use the most
brilliant colours, and in portrait-painting they usually
succeed in taking likenesses ; and in some of their lesser
drawings, which are highly glazed, and painted on wood,
they also display industry and taste. But they are entirely
unacquainted with the rules of perspective or of just propor¬
tions. The despotic and unsettled government arrests all
improvement; and in the fine arts the existing race have
not advanced one step beyond their forefathers, as ap¬
pears from the figures in the palaces at Ispahan, executed
in the reign of Shah Abbas, and equal to any of their mo¬
dern productions.
In science the Persians have advanced no farther than in Mathema-
the arts. Their knowledge of mathematics or astronomy tics, astro-
is very limited ; and the latter science is chiefly studied fornomy, and
the sake of judicial astrology, in which the whole nation, Seography*
from the king to the peasant, evince the greatest faith.
Their notions of the forms and motions of the heavenly
bodies, and the shape and surface of the earth, are borrow¬
ed from Ptolemy; and though some efforts have been made
254
Persia.
PER
to instruct them in the Copernican system and Newton’s de¬
monstrations, prejudices are too firmly rooted to be dispel¬
led, except by time. Of geography they do not understand
the first principles; for, independently of their error regard¬
ing the figure of the earth, they know little of its surface,
even of that which lies within their view ; nor could their
knowledge of surveying enable them to lay down any por¬
tion of it with exactness. There cannot be a stronger
proof of the ignorance which prevails than the eagerness
with which all classes seek the aid of astrology. Any one
who can take an altitude with an astrolabe, or knows the
names of the planets, with a few technical phrases, and
understands the astrological almanacs, considers himself as
quite adequate to offer his services to all who consult him ;
and nothing of consequence is transacted, especially by
the great, without consulting the stars. A new dress must
be p*ut on, or a journey must be commenced, at the lucky
or unlucky moment. The prime minister of Persia seeing
Sir John Malcolm smile at the idea of his seeking the pro¬
pitious moment for putting on a new dress, observed, Do
not think, Captain Malcolm, I am such a fool as to put faith
in all this nonsense; but I must not make my family unhap¬
py by refusing to comply with forms which some of them
deem of consequence.” Some years ago a Persian ambassa¬
dor was about to proceed to India, wdien he was infoi med b^
his astrologer of a most fortunate conjunction of stars, not
likely to occur again for some months. He accordingly
set out, though the ship was not ready to sail; and because
it was discovered by the astrologer that he could not go
out of his door, on account of an unfavourable constellation
exactly opposite, he broke through the wall of his house, and
four or five other walls, before he and his men could reach
the street. Many of the astrologers who practise this art
are with reason thought to be more knaves than fools, and
flatterers of those who consult them, in order to fleece them
of their money.
As the science of astronomy is thus rendered subservient
to astrology, so chemistry is followed for the sake of alche¬
my, a favourite pursuit of the learned, whose avarice is sti¬
mulated by the hope of discovering the philosopher’s stone;
that absurd chimera of a barbarous age, long ago exploded
amongst the sciences of Europe. The alchemists make their
experiments in the profoundest secrecy, that they may
themselves engross the whole benefits of the wonderf ul dis¬
covery which they expect to make ; and whether they may
be themselves deceived, certain it is they deceive others, and
practise the most serious frauds on the credulous and the
wealthy. Of medicine and surgery the Persians are tho¬
roughly ignorant, and, when they are ill, become the prey of
quacks, who rob them of their money, and often of their
health. They are entirely ignorant of anatomy and the
circulation of the blood. They have an arbitrary theory,
by which they classify all diseases under four heads, viz. hot,
cold, moist, or dry; and the great principle on which they
proceed is, that the remedy must be of an opposite quality
to the disease ; dry remedies being applied to an illness
occasioned by moisture, and cooling medicines to hot dis¬
eases. To this practice they are so bigoted, that, with
all their respect for European physicians, they dislike any
prescriptions that contradict this paradox. Inoculation
for the small-pox, though it is known, is seldom practised,
though whole towns are often threatened with depopula¬
tion by the ravages of that dreadful disease. Mr Jukes,
who accompanied Mr Frazer into Persia, was remarkably
anxious to introduce the practice of vaccination : for seve¬
ral years his efforts were unremitted ; but they were defeat¬
ed, fully as much from the cruel indifference of the govern¬
ment to the good of their subjects, as from their prejudi¬
ces. This great and important discovery appeared to give
the most lively satisfaction to the great men of the country ;
but that interest in the happiness of the people, and those
S I A. ,
feelings of humanity, which are seen in Europe, are entirely
wanting in Persia ; and hence all attempts to introduce
vaccination amongst the people were finally abandoned. The
practice of physic in Persia is mere quackery, for which all
the knowledge necessary is that of the qualities and effects
of a few simples; and hence a grave air, and a few lucky
cures, often brought about by the temperate habits of the
patient, complete the fame of a physician. The gains of
the physician are, however, trifling. The priests and astro¬
logers succeed better ; their art is more suited to the taste
of the inhabitants; and it is only in cities and towns that
there are regular physicians. Ihose who dwell in tents are
generally attended by an old man or woman, and rely more
on superstitious charms than on medical remedies. One of
these charms consists in laying a few pieces of bread cover¬
ed with oil upon a rock, as an offering to a saint. There are
many quacks in Persia, as in other countries, who pretend to
cure all diseases, and who boast a hereditary right to certain
nostrums. The chiefs of a mountain tribe pretend to cuie
the ague by tying the patient up by the heels, and scold¬
ing and beating him severely, to prevent the access of the
cold fit. . . .
The Persians are remarkably ceremonious in their inter-Maria
course. They receive the visit of a superior by rising has-™1'
tily and meeting him at the door of the apartment; of an
equal, by rising and standing erect; of an inferior, by only
making the motion of rising. The apartments are not so
luxuriously furnished as in Turkey. I he sofas and easy
pillows of the latter country are not known in Persia, where
the seat is on a carpet or mat, without any soft support on
either side, or any thing except the hands, or the acciden¬
tal support of a wall, to relieve the galling posture of the
legs. The fashion in presence of a superior is to sit upon
your heels, as they are tucked up under your hams, after
the manner of a camel. I he misery of this postuie in
its politest form can scarcely be described, according to
Morier, who thought he had attained to great perfection in
the Persian fashions when he could sit cross-legged like a
tailor ; and Sir R. K. Porter mentions, that after a Persian
entertainment at which he was present, he was so tired with
the awkwardness of the posture, that he could scarcely rise
when the meal was finished. The length of time during
which a Persian sits untired upon his hepls is to an Eng¬
lishman quite extraordinary. He will remain half a day, and
sometimes he wall even sleep, in this posture. I hey never
think of changing their positions; and are as much surpris¬
ed by the locomotive dispositions of the Europeans as we
are by their habits of rest. They impute their walking to
and fro, their sitting down, getting up, and moving in every
direction, to the influence of some evil spirit; and some¬
times they think it is the European mode of saying prayers.
Morier gives a curious account ot a visit of ceremony to
the governor of Bushire, and also of a dinner at which he
was entertained. They made their visit on horseback, ac¬
cording to the custom of the country, though his tent was
not a stone’s throw from theirs. They were met by one
of the officers, with an escort of ten men, who made their
obeisance; and when they arrived at the door of the
khan, where they were most graciously received, having
pulled off their boots and shoes, a necessary part of the ce¬
remonial, they were finally accommodated with chairs pre¬
pared for them. The tent was extremely neat; and in the
interior there was a clean little recess, closely covered with
carpets, and lined with the finest chintz, adorned with a
broad fringe. They were then entertained with kaleoons or
water-pipes, and with coftee and sherbets; and the whole
entertainment concluded with a course of sweetmeats, con¬
sisting of almonds, pistachio-nuts, with a paste of sugar,
and other sweetmeats, of which the Persians are immo¬
derately fond. The fastidiousness of the English visitors
was, however, sorely tried by the ill-timed complaisance o
PERSIA.
255
tr
two lusty attendants, who broke the sweetmeats with their
■-^fingers, and blew off the dust of the fragments with their
mouths. At dinner they sat on the ground in the position
already mentioned, which was rendered more difficult than
can be conceived, by the inflexibility of their knees, con¬
tracted from long habit; and the khan, in pity to their evi¬
dent distress, begged them to extend their legs at full length,
which they, however, declined, in compliance with the Per¬
sian fashion. After being treated to pipes and coffee, dinner
was called for. On the ground was spread a fine chintz
cloth, which completely covered their legs, and had been so
long unchanged, that it was dirty from the fragments of for¬
mer meals, and emitted no very savory smell. But the Per¬
sians never change it, from an idea that it brings ill luck.
Sherbets were first served up upon fine china bowls to each
guest, two made of sweet liquors, and another of an ex¬
quisite species of lemonade. There were, besides fruits ready
cut, plates with sweetmeats and confectionery, and smaller
cups of sweet sherbet. The pillaus succeeded, one of plane
rice, another made of mutton with raisins and almonds,
and a third of fowl with rich spices and plums; also vari¬
ous dishes with rich sauces, and over each a tincture of
sweet sauce, which is a great article in Persian cookery.
The Persians eat comfortably in their fashion, advancing
their chins close to the dishes, and commodiously scooping
the rice or other victuals into their mouths with three fingers
and the thumb of their right hand. But when the Eng¬
lish guests attempted to approach the dish, they w^ere im¬
peded by their tight-kneed breeches, and all the ligaments
and buttons of their dress; and in the course of their eating,
fragments of meat and rice fell through their fingers all
around. The dinner was carried off in the same state in
which it was brought; the servant who officiated dropping
gracefully on one knee as he carried away the trays, and
passed them over his head with both his hands to another
lacquey, who was ready behind him to carry them off.
„St It is a singular trait of Asiatic manners that so great a
proportion of the people still retain the vagrant habits of
the pastoral life. For this purpose the wide wastes of
Khorassan, varied with spots of fertility, are well adapted;
and the pastoral tribes are accordingly found chiefly to bor¬
der on this district, which has long been the debateable
ground between several great monarchies, where their
rival chiefs contended for victory in fierce and bloody
wars; and on these occasions the wandering tribes are en¬
listed on one side or the other. Thus they are inured to
blood and to pillage, and contract habits which have been
strengthened by time, and have at last become interwoven
with their whole pursuits and character. They often at¬
tack surrounding states, carry off the people, and sell them
for slaves; and most of the wandering tribes of Turcomans
being Soonies, who have sworn eternal hatred to the Per¬
sians, who are Sheahs, thus add religious hatred to all their
other incentives to murder and pillage; so that their cha¬
racter is described as ferocious and blood-thirsty in the ex¬
treme. To the north of Khorassan there are various tribes
ot Turcomans, who, occupying the country behind the El¬
burz and the steppe of Kaurezm, pour from their deserts
upon the surrounding and cultivated districts, plundering
villages and caravans, with every circumstance of atroci¬
ous outrage. The old, the feeble, and the helpless, are
murdered on the spot; those who are fit for labour are
carried into slavery ; and whole districts of country are left
desolate. From the east other tribes equally barbarous
make inroads into Persia, and carry away their captives to
the slave-markets of Khy vah and Buckharia; and on the
south and east are found the wild Ballooches, who for¬
merly plundered and murdered, but now, preferring their
avarice to their cruelty, carry their prisoners to the slave-mer¬
chants who frequent the great northern markets. The Af- Persia,
ghan, also, though not naturally cruel, “assumes,” says Fra-'^’’^'-^'
zer, “ in this ominous neighbourhood a fierce character, and
adds to robbery and plunder the crime of murder.” By
these dreadful inroads a considerable portion of the coun¬
try to the north and east is laid waste; the terror of these
tribes is spread far and wide; and their depredations have
become more formidable in proportion to the corruption and
increasing weakness of the Persian monarchy. These tribes
vary considerably in their physiognomy. The Tuckehs, who
occupy the country behind the Elburz Mountains, bordering
on the Caspian Sea, are tall, stout, and well made, and have
all the Tartar features, namely, the scanty beard, the small
eye drawn up at the corners, the high cheek-bones, and
the small flat nose. Some, on the other hand, have hand¬
some features, rather resembling those of the Asiatics than
of the Europeans. The arms used by these tribes are chiefly
the sword and the spear. They are dexterous in the use of
the sword, which is curved in the Persian fashion, and
very sharp. Several of the tribes use bows and arrows.
They have very few fire-arms; only such as they have taken
from travellers whom they have plundered.
Persia, the seat of learning, of wealth, and of improvement, Antiqui-
whilst the greater part of the world had scarcely emergedties-
from barbarism, might naturally be expected to abound in
the precious relics of ancient art; and although many such
memorials have perished amidst the ruthless devastations of
war, to which this and other Asiatic countries have been ex¬
posed, yet numerous monuments of taste still remain. Of
these, the ruins of Persepolis belong to the earliest era of
Persian history. It was in this city, which they took a de¬
light in improving and embellishing, as the great metro¬
polis of the East, that Cyrus and his immediate successors
resided. It has for centuries presented only a scene of
decay and ruin. The most remarkable remains in Perse¬
polis, or, as it is called by the natives, Tackt-i-Jemsheed
(the throne of Jemsheed), are the Chehelminar or the forty
columns, which are situated at a small distance to the north
ot Shiraz. Sir R. K. Porter recognised in these ruins, en
masse as well as in detail, a strong resemblance to the archi¬
tectural taste of Egypt; and he conjectures that some of
the architectural ornaments may have been partly brought
from that country by the Persian monarchs, as trophies of
their victories. These magnificent remains appear to be part
of the great castellated palace of Darius, which wras set on
fire by Alexander whilst he was under the influence of in¬
temperance. They are placed as if in an amphitheatre,
on a fine plain, enclosed by semicircular mountains. The
terrace on which the ruins of this immense royal citadel or
palace is placed, is of a very irregular shape, and it faces
the four cardinal points. The extent of the southern face, ac¬
cording to the measurement of Sir R. K. Porter, is 802 feet;
of the northern 926, and of the western 1425. “ The strength
and beauty of its construction,” says the same traveller,
“ cannot be exceeded. The steep faces of the rocky terrace
are,” he continues, “ formed of dark-gray marble, cut into
gigantic square blocks exquisitely polished, and, without
the aid of mortar, fitted to each other with such closeness
and precision, that when first completed the perfected plat¬
form must have appeared as part of the solid mountain it¬
self.’1 The level on which the buildings had been erect¬
ed has become exceedingly uneven, from the accumula¬
tion of fallen ruins ; and the height of the wall appears to
have varied from twenty-five to fifty feet, according to the
inequalities of the ground. The exterior wall is built of
black stones much harder than marble, finely polished, and of
such a prodigious size, that it is difficult to conceive how the
workmen, without the aid of machinery, were able to move
them. The only access to the summit of the platform is
Travels in Persia, Georgia, &c. vol. i. p. 583.
256
Persia.
PERSIA.
by a double flight of stairs of a very gentle ascent, on its
'western side. There are fifty-five steps, each step being
three and a half inches in height, formed of blocks ot
marble so large that each of them is cut into ten or four¬
teen steps. The first flight of steps leads to an irregular
landing-place of thirty-seven feet by forty-four, from wh c
springs a second double flight of forty-eight steps, which
terminate on the ground level of the platform m a second
landing-place, occupying sixty-four feet. 1 he beauty and
ease of the ascent,” says Sir R. K. Poi ter, wi e rea i y
understood when I mention, that I invariably rode my
horse up and down them, during my visits to their inte¬
resting summit.” On reaching the platform, the first ob-
iects that arrest the attention of the traveller are the lofty
walls of an enormous portal, the interior faces ol which
are sculptured into the colossal forms of two immense
quadrupeds, resembling bulls, which are elevated on a pe¬
destal five feet in height. The heads of the animals are
entirely mutilated, so that Frazer says it is impossible to
determine what species they were intended to represent.
Round their necks collars of roses are executed with cri¬
tical nicety ; and over the chest, back, and ribs, short cur¬
ling hair, cut with that peculiar correctness and delicacy
of chiselling which Sir R. K. Porter states to be a dis¬
tinguishing characteristic of the ancient Persian sculpture.
The wall that forms one side of this magnificent portal is
five feet in breadth, twenty-one feet in length, and thirty
feet in height. The one wall is distant from the other
about twelve feet, and the space between is flagged with
beautifully-polished slabs from the neighbouring rock.
Eastward, at the distance of twenty-four feet in a direct
line from the portal, once stood four magnificent columns,
of which only two now remain. Their capitals are singu¬
larly beautiful. At the distance of twenty-four feet is a
second portal, exactly resembling the former, only that it
is eighteen feet instead of twenty-one in length. Its inner
sides are adorned with similar sculptures. But the animals
here represented are of a gigantic size, and of a monstrous for¬
mation ; the body and legs of a bull, with similar trappings
to those already described, and enormous wings, the fea¬
thers of which are exquisitely cut. The heads of the ani¬
mals, though greatly defaced, show the faces of men ; the
countenance has a cast of deep gravity; and a long and
carefully curled beard adds to the general majesty. Ihe
head is adorned with a diadem, on both sides of which
horns are represented winding from the brow upwards to¬
wards the front of the crown ; the whole being surmount¬
ed by a sort of coronet, formed of a range of leaves like the
lotus, and bound with a fillet beautifully carved in roses.
This symbolical representation has long been a subject of
speculation amongst antiquaries, and its meaning still re¬
mains a mystery, notwithstanding the many ingenious con¬
jectures to which it has given rise.
Between the right of this portal and the magnificent ter¬
race that supports the range of columns from which it
takes its name, there is an area of 162 feet, in which is a
cistern hewn out of the solid rock, in dimensions eighteen
feet by sixteen. The approach to the terrace is superb,
consisting of a double staircase, covered with the most
beautiful decorations, and projecting considerably before
the northern face of the terrace, which is 212 feet in length.
At each extremity, east and west, rises another range of
steps; and about the middle, projecting from it eighteen
feet, appear two smaller flights, rising from the same points.
The extent of the whole range, including a landing-place
of twenty feet, amounts to eighty-six feet. The ascent is
extremely gradual, each flight consisting of some thirty low
steps, four inches in height, fourteen in breadth, and six-
teen in length. The whole front is covered with sculptures
so thickly that the eye is bewildered amid the various
groups. They consist chiefly of figures and emblemati¬
cal devices. The figures seem generally to be habited like Per,*
royal guards or other attendants, clothed in long robes,
with fluted flat-topped caps, carrying shields on their left
arms, and wearing a sort of buskins, between the sole of
which and the foot a small substance is introduced, to
raise the height of the wearer. Others appear as if they
were taking their part in solemn processions, bearing vo¬
tive offerings, and leading animals of different sorts. Cha¬
riots are also seen drawn by different animals. These
sculptures are executed with a nicety of detail which gives
them a historical interest, as they mark with accuracy the
costume of the time and the people, and the form and va¬
riety of the armour used at different periods. On these
sculptures is also represented a fight between a lion and a
bull or unicorn; Sir R. K. Porter greatly commends the
fire, beauty, and truth, as well as the natural proportions,
with which these figures are drawn. A particular account
of the other sculptures will be found in the work of the
above-mentioned traveller; and his descriptions are accom-
panied by drawings, which are extremely curious and inte¬
resting. . . . .
But the most splendid division of the ruins is the mag¬
nificent colonnade, which occupies the terrace, and which,
having survived the devastations of war and the wreck of
empires, remains on the desolate plain a most impressive
imao-e of departed grandeur. The terrace upon which these
pillars stand stretches north and south 350 feet, and from
east to west 380 feet; the greater part of the intervening
space being covered with broken capitals, shafts of pillars,
and numerous fragments exquisitely sculptuied. dhere
were formerly four divisions of columns, namely, a central
group of thirty-six pillars, with two rows of six each on
either side, as well as in front, in all seventy-two columns.
Of the division in advance only one is now standing.
About thirty-eight feet from the western edge of the ter¬
race appears the second double range of columns, of which
only five rows remain. The distance is 268 feet to the cor¬
responding eastern rows, of which only four now remain.
At a distance of sixty feet from the eastern and western
colonnades stood the central range of columns, to the num¬
ber of thirty-six; but of these no more than five remain
entire. The three exterior double rows of columns are of
uniform architecture, and described by Sir R. K. I orteras
being perfectly beautiful. “I gazed on them,” says he,
“ with wonder and delight. Besides the admiration which
the general elegance of their form and the exquisite work¬
manship of their parts excited, I never was made so sen¬
sible of the impression of perfect symmetry, comprising
that of perfect beauty also. The total height of each co¬
lumn is sixty feet, the circumference of the shaft sixteen
feet, and its length from the capital to the top forty-four
feet. The shaft is finely fluted in fifty-two divisions: at
its lower extremity begins a cincture and a torus; the for¬
mer two inches, the latter one foot, in depth. From thence
devolves a pedestal, in form of the cup and leaves of a pen¬
dant lotus. It rests upon a plinth of eight inches, and
measures in circumference twenty-four feet six inches; the
whole, from the cincture to the plinth, comprising a height
of five feet ten inches. The capitals which remain, though
much injured, suffice to show that they were also sur¬
mounted with a double demi-bull. The heads of the bull
forming the capitals take the directions of the faces of the
respective fronts of the terrace; and I think there can be
no doubt that the wide hollow between the necks received
a beam, meant to support and connect an entablature, over
which has been placed the roof.” The dimensions of the cen¬
tral pillars are the same as those of the others, only that they
are fifty-five feet in height, whilst the others are sixty feet.
“ Their shafts,” says Sir R. K. Porter, “ which are fluted
like the others, are about thirty-five feet in length; bu
the capitals which surmount them are of quite a difteren
PERSIA.
257
character, being of the same description with that I noticed
'in the great portal where the crowned and winged bull is
so conspicuous an object. The two lower divisions of the
capital (it being of a triad form) are evidently construct¬
ed of the hollowed lotus. The upper compartment has only
two volutes. The middle compartment, which is one divi¬
sion of lotus, appears to have had some extraneous body
introduced into the opening between it and the lower com¬
partment of the flower; and the angular and unfinished
state of that side of the capital seems to testify the same.
Here then the connecting line must have been whence the
roof could spring.”
The nearest building to the palace of the forty pillars
occupies a space of a hundred and seventy feet by ninety-
five, and it is approached by a double flight of stairs, which
are almost in complete ruin ; but from the fragments it ap¬
pears to have been adorned with sculptures, resembling
the royal guards and other figures. The side to the east
is so choked up with ruins that no corresponding trace of
stairs can be found. To the south the whole face of the
terrace which supports this building is occupied with an¬
other superb flight of steps, which terminates in a landing-
place forty-eight feet by ten. Its front is divided by a
tablet bearing an arrow-headed inscription, on each side of
which are seen spearmen of a gigantic stature. There ap¬
pear to have been also other apartments with lofty en¬
trances, composed of four solid upright blocks of marble of
a colour nearly black, within the portals of which are bas-
relief figures of two guards sculptured on the sides of the
walls, besides various other figures, one of a monarch clad
in royal robes ; whilst in other parts there are represen¬
tations of single combats between a man and a lion, a
griffin, or some other imaginary creature. In another di¬
vision of the same building may be seen a variety of in¬
scriptions, cuneiform, Cuphic, Arabic, and Persian. Still
farther to the southward appear other elevations or ter¬
races, covered with vast masses of ruin, under which scarce¬
ly any traces of the original structure can be discovered ;
but here may be seen the remains of colonnades of elabo¬
rate sculpture. From the extremity of the eastern co¬
lonnade on the terrace of Chehel Minar is an expanse of
315 feet, the plain of which is interrupted by an immense
pile of ruins, which has the appearance of having been
heaped up for centuries, and which Sir R. K. Porter con¬
jectures to cover a division of the palace answ-erable to
that immediately to the south, and containing, as he sup¬
poses, the banqueting chambers and other apartments ;
and this conjecture he supports by many special reasons
and learned authorities. South of this is another terrace,
on which he supposes that there stood those portions of the
palace in which the monarch resided. Here are the bases
and plinths of pillars, and fragments of beautiful sculpture,
scattered about. The ponderousdoor-wa}^ and huge marble
frames are yet in their places ; they are of the finest work¬
manship, and are adorned with sculptures and figures such
as those which have been already noticed^ and of which our
units do not admit of a more detailed description. A con-
stderable way north from the columns stands a structure
w ich is next in extent to the Chehel Minar, or the palace
ot the forty pillars. It is a perfect square of 210 feet on
eac side, and is entered by two door-ways on each side,
and by a grand portal thirteen feet in width, whilst the
ot ers are only seven. Ihese are all richly adorned with
sculptures, representing scenes of state or of royal parade,
or emblematical figures of lions and imaginary animals.
Among other remarkable antiquities of Persia, the tombs,
supposed to be those of her ancient kings, namely, Cyrus
nf US Posterity’ have attracted the particular attention
rave eis. Ihese excavations or tombs are generally
H?. nUtii° r !rf so^ rock- About 500 yards eastward from
0 a o Columns, in the face of the mountain, is found a
VOL. XVII.
niche seventy-two feet in breadth by a hundred and thirty
feet in height, divided into two compartments, and covered,
as usual, with sculptures of non-descript animals, royal per¬
sonages, and symbolical figures. Three quarters of a mile
southward from Tackt-e-Jumsheed, a tomb was discovered
by Niebuhr, and visited by Morier, which seemed to have
no entrance, from which he supposes that those receptacles
for the dead were entered by subterranean passages. The
sepulchres of Naksh-e-Roostum, which have been visited by
various European travellers, are also very curious. There
are four excavations cut out of the perpendicular cliff, at
the height, according to Sir R. K. Porter, of sixty feet from
the ground. The one he examined, and to which he was
drawn up by ropes, consists of an excavation in the solid
rock of about fourteen feet, in the form of something like
a Greek cross. The length of the cave, which forms the
whole tomb, is thirty-four feet, and the height nine. It is
adorned, like all the other ancient monuments, with a va¬
riety of richly-sculptured figures of men and animals, and
emblematical devices. Ihere are likewise numerous re¬
mains of antiquity in the plains of Mourghab, forty-nine
miles north-north-east of the ruins of Persepolis, and pro¬
bably belonging to the same era, which are fully describ¬
ed by Morier and Porter. The most remarkable of these
is the supposed tomb of Cyrus ; an interesting monument,
of which the latter writer gives an account with his usual
accuracy. It is surrounded by other ruins, which bear
traces of the same antiquity, as they contain numerous in¬
scriptions in the ancient arrow-headed character.
I he sculptures on the mountain called Be-Sitoon are very
curious, and have attracted the particular attention of tra¬
vellers. I his mountain, or rather abrupt precipice, is the
termination of the rugged ridge that bounds the plain
of Kermanshah on the north. It is 1500 feet in height,
and the lower part has been smoothed to the height of
100 feet, and to the breadth of 150, leaving a projection
both above and below, the latter sloping gradually in a
rocky terrace to the level of the ground. No relics of
any column have ever been found here; and hence the
name Be-Sitoon, “ without pillars,” Just over the fountain¬
head of a beautifully clear stream, which bursts from the
mountain about fifty yards from this rocky platform, are
seen the remains of an immense piece of sculpture, so
greatly defaced that no continued outline can now be made
out; but by close examination the rude forms of several
colossal figures may be traced. The principal cause of the
mutilation seems to be that additions have been made to
the original. In one place a Greek inscription has been intro¬
duced, and has, in its turn, been erased to make way for one
in Arabic. Those rude sculptures are generally supposed
to be of high antiquity, some referring them to the age of
Semiramis. Above these appears an interesting piece of
sculpture, containing fourteen figures, one of a king tramp¬
ling on a prostrate body, probably of some of his captives.
He has a diadem and all the other badges of sovereign¬
ty; and a row of nine persons having their hands bound be¬
hind them, and being themselves bound together by a cord
round their necks, are seen approaching him in a suppliant
posture, and with a dejected expression. Sir R. K. Por¬
ter supposes, apparently not without reason, that these ten
persons, including the one under the feet of the monarch,
represent the ten tribes which were carried into captivity;
and that the design of the sculpture, which is executed in
a style not inferior to any at Persepolis, is to commemo¬
rate the final conquest of Israel by Salmanaser, king of As¬
syria and the Medes. Above the head of each individual
is a compartment with an inscription in the arrow-headed
writing, probably descriptive of the design of this sculp¬
ture, and the personages contained in it. Plitherto, how¬
ever, the learned in Europe have not been able to decipher
this ancient writing; and hence the meaning of these and
2 K
Persia.
258
Persia.
PERSIA.
many other ancient monuments must still remain conceal¬
ed under the mysterious veil of these unknown characters
There are other antiquities in Persia tha belong to the
later period of the Sassanian dynasty, of which it may be
proper to give here a brief notice. The most remarkable of
these monuments are the sculptures at lackt-i-Bostan,
the throne or arch of the garden, fhe mountain in which
these are seen forms part of the chain of the Be-bitoon,
and, like it, is craggy, barren, and of the most riJgged as-
nect. A remarkably clear stream bursts forth from the
base of this mountain, and just over its source a bas-re¬
lief presents itself; and a little onward a flight of several
hundred steps is found cut in the nearly precipitous chtt,
finishing abruptly in an extensive ledge or platform. Be¬
neath this platform are situated two arches, the largest ot
which is twenty-four feet in width, and twenty-one in depth.
Above the sweep of the arch the face of the rock has been
smoothed for a great distance, and also on each side ; and
on this surface there are two upright entablatures, contain¬
ing an exquisitely-finished ornament of foliage, in the Gre¬
cian taste. Round the bow of the arch runs a double bor¬
der, terminating in the Sassanian royal streamers. Over
the key-stone of the arch is a crescent, supported on each
side by the same regal insignia. Two gigantic female figm es
with wings appear hovering over the curves ot the arch,
and both extend their hands towards the crescent, each
holding a diadem with a rich clasp, and waving ribbons,
the usual emblems of the Sassanian dynasty. The inner face
of the excavation is divided into two compartments, the
upper containing three figures, on the left a female with a
royal mantle and collar, and crowned with the peculiar dia¬
dem of the Sassanian princes. The gorgeous habit ot the
central figure, and the pointed diadem on his brow, with
wings on each side that twist round the crescent surmount¬
ing the diadem, within which rises a globe, and the double
waving streamers, proclaim him to be of royal dignity. He
wears a short robe embroidered with pearls, a breast-plate
of the same costly materials, and loose trousers over his
ankles; and his left hand rests upon a sword, which, along
with the belt that binds it, is covered with pearls. The
figure to the right also wears a crown, but without the
wings, the crescent, and the globe of the central figuie.
To this figure he is in the act of presenting a diadem, which
the open hand of the monarch appears ready to grasp.
These figures are all elevated upon rich pedestals. The
lower compartment contains a colossal equestrian figure in
alto-relievo, clad in a shirt of mail beautifully carved, and
falling nearly as low as the knees. There are here traces
of a Greek and of a Pehlavi inscription, both illegible. On
the other sides are delineated a boar and a stag hunt, in
the minutest detail.
The second arch is nine feet in width and twrelve in depth.
It contains, in the back of the recess, only two figures, si¬
milarly habited with the others, having the balloon-shaped
cap, curled hair, and rich robes. On each side of the figures
are found two inscriptions in the ancient Pehlavi character
and language, which have been deciphered by the singu¬
lar ingenuity and learning of the French academician De
Sacy, and are as follow. The first inscription runs thus :
“ This is the figure of the adorer of Ormuzd, the excellent
Shapoor, king of kings, of Iran and An-Iran, celestial germ
of the race of gods, son of the servant of Ormuzd, the ex¬
cellent Hoormuz, king of kings, of Iran and An-Iran, ce¬
lestial germ of the race of gods, grandson of the excellent
Narses, king of kings.” The second inscription is as fol¬
lows : “ He of whom this is the figure is the adorer of Or¬
muzd, the excellent Vaharam, king of kings, of Iran and
An-Iran, celestial germ of the race of gods, son of the
servant of Ormuzd, the excellent Shapoor, king of kings,
of Iran and An-Iran, celestial germ of the race of gods,
grandson of the excellent Hoormuz, king of kings.”
There are other monuments of antiquity both at Shapoor Pent
and at Persepolis, which belong to the era of the Sassanian
kings, and which afford important and curious illustrations
of these times. Fifteen miles north of Kauzeroon are the
ruins of Shapoor, once the capital of Persia. At the en¬
trance of the valley where it is situated stands an insulated
hill, which exhibits portions of its ancient walls and towers;
and the precipitous cliffs are carved with sculptures. On
the southern side of the river which waters the plains, a
much mutilated bas-relief is carved on the surface of the
rock, consisting of two colossal equestrian figures. Their
height appears to be about fifteen feet. A tablet, divided
into three compartments, contains the second sculpture.
In the central compartment is an equestrian figure, with
the usual badges of Sassanian sovereignty. A suppliant is
on his knees before the horse’s head, his hands extended,
and his face expressive of entreaty; whilst another figure
with Egyptian features stands, likewise in the attitude of a
suppliant, to the right of this compartment. The right-
hand section contains three figures in attitudes of supplica¬
tion. A greater number of tablets are still to be seen on
the opposite side of the river. They contain various figures
and designs, one of which is an elaborate representation of
the triumph of a Persian over a Roman army. Colossal
horsemen are pictured on others, with the royal emblems of
Persia. In the Shapoor valley is a mountain, which is crown¬
ed by a perpendicular precipice of limestone 700 feet in
height. Here is a cavern of enormous extent, its commu¬
nication intricate and endless, with every form and variety
of stalactites diversifying the different chambers, some of
which are wonderfully lofty and spacious, and, when enter¬
ed by torch-light, present the most brilliant reflection of
all sorts of fantastic shapes. The entrance to the cave is
about 140 feet above the base of the precipice ; and here,
in a spacious archway a hundred and fifty feet broad, and
nearly forty feet in height, within which is a sort of natural
anti-chamber, stands the pedestal of a statue, which lies
mutilated and prostrate with the head downwards. Both
have been cut out of the solid rock. The figure, which,
when erect, must have been from fifteen to twenty feet in
height, represents some one of the Sassanian kings, Shapoor
as is supposed. There are various other Sassanian relics
in the vicinity of Persepolis, namely, the tombs of the
kings, where the sculptures, by the natives called Naksh-
e-Roostum, are to be found; also the sculptures named
Naksh-e-Rejib. The sculptures of Naksh-e-Roostum are
contained in six tablets cut on the perpendicular rock, and
containing many bas-reliefs of the triumphs or victories ot
the Persian arms under the Sassanian kings, with figures
of the sovereign in various attitudes, and of horsemen en¬
gaged in hostile collision. The sculptures at Naksh-e-
Rejib consist of three tablets, containing seven colossal and
two diminutive figures. One of the sovereigns is on horse¬
back in his greatest pomp, and underneath is a Greek in¬
scription, which has been restored and translated by M. ae
Sacy. It runs thus: “ This is the resemblance of the ser¬
vant of Ormuzd, the divine Shapoor, king of kings, ot Iran
and An-Iran, of the race of the gods, son of the servant ot
Ormuzd, the divine Artaxares, king of kings, of Iran ana
An-Iran, of the race of gods, grandson of the divine BaDec
the king." The remaining tablet contains but a repetition
of the two horsemen holding a ring.
There are other ancient monuments in different pari
of Persia, consisting of sculptured rocks and other remains
resembling druidical erections. For a particular account
of these and the other relics of antiquity, which we h
here briefly described, the reader is referred to Niebun >
Chardin, Morier, Sir W. Ouseley, Sir R. K. porter’
others. The sketch that we have given will suffice to
lustrate generally the nature, as well as the beauty a
art, which appear in these antiquarian remains.
PERSIA.
The early history of Persia is lost in remote antiquity,
•—'and for authentic accounts the most extravagant fables
■ have been substituted. These are chiefly the uncertain
gleanings of oral tradition, or the fictions of poets. The
vvorkof Ferdousi, celebrated as the Homer of Persia, which,
from the rudest materials, is amplified into a history of the
Persian kings, comprises all the information possessed by
the Asiatic writers prior to the Mahommedan conquest;
nor are the prose chronicles of a later date one whit more
authentic than the reveries of the poets. From these au¬
thorities Sir John Malcolm has compiled the early annals
of Persia, to which we refer our readers for some account
of that barbarous era. Arbaces is generally considered as
having been the first sovereign of Media. He flourished
in the year 747 before Christ, and conspired with Balesis,
governor of Babylon, and other nobles, against Sardanapa-
lus, with whose death terminated the Assyrian monarchy.
Dejoces is by other writers held to have been the first so¬
vereign of Persia. He was succeeded by his son Phraortes,
who swayed the Persian sceptre twenty-two years. Learn¬
ed writers have exercised their ingenuity to reconcile the
names and dates of this obscure portion of Persian history.
But amidst such manifold obscurities speculation seems to
be useless, the truth being lost beyond the hope of recovery.
The conquest of the country by Cyrus is the first era of Per¬
sian history which has the appearance of authenticity. Cy¬
rus was the chief of a pastoral horde, who, quitting their own
comparatively barren and unproductive country, subdued
the territories of their wealthyandluxuriousneighbours. He
was the conqueror of Babylon; and on the ruins of that great
kingdom he founded that of Persia, which was gradually ex¬
tended by conquest from the Mediterranean to the Indus
and the Oxus. Historians differ concerning the fate of this
monarch. According to some, he was taken prisoner and
put to death by the queen of the Massagetae; whilst Xe¬
nophon affirms that he died in Persia, and was buried at Pa-
sargada, in the year 529 before Christ. Cyrus was succeed¬
ed by Cambyses, the Ahasuerus of the Scriptures, who gave
himself up to sensuality and cruelty. Still he extended his
empire, having reduced Egypt to the state of a colony, and
also conquered a great part of Northern Africa. Pseudo
Smerdis, feigning himself to be the brother of Cambyses,
who had been murdered, was by a faction of the Magi rais¬
ed to the throne. Otanes, a Persian nobleman, finding out
the deceit, conspired with six other chiefs, who agreed to
assassinate him, which they effected, after he had reigned
eight months. Along with him they put to death a num¬
ber of the wise men; and, having decided on a monarchical
form of government, they resolved to assemble next morn¬
ing at sun-rise, without the city, on horseback; and it was
agreed that he whose horse should neigh first should be
chosen king. The well-known trick of iLbores, the groom
of Darius Hystaspes, secured the throne to his master. He
brought his master’s horse the evening before, with a mare,
to the appointed spot; and the horse, as soon as he arrived
next morning, recollecting the mare, neighed, and he was
immediately saluted king. It was during the reign of this
monarch, who, according to Sir John Malcolm, is the king
named Gushtah by the Persian historians, that the worship
of fire was introduced into Persia by Zoroaster. The foun¬
der of this new religion is generally supposed to have lived
during the reign of this prince, who was converted by his
arts to the new faith, and who not only built temples for
the worship of fire in every part of his dominions, but com¬
pelled his subjects to worship in them. The new faith, ac¬
cordingly, spread rapidly, and its precepts were ordered
to be written on 12,000 cow-hides, tanned fine for the pur¬
pose, which were deposited in a vault under the guardian¬
ship of holy men. Darius Hystaspes reigned over Persia
sixty years, and was distinguished as a legislator as well as
a conqueror. He divided the country into nineteen satra¬
259
pies or provinces, each liable for the payment of a fixed tri- Persia,
bute. Over these provinces satraps were sent to preside,
with the delegated authority of the king. Their duties
were to collect the revenue, to improve agriculture, and to
perform all the royal commands. They were afterwards in¬
vested with military commands ; and securities were devis¬
ed against their usurpation of independent authority. An
establishment of couriers was at the same time instituted,
for expediting orders through every part of the empire. A
regular and efficient military force was also organized by
this monarch, and maintained at the expense of the differ¬
ent provinces. In process of time, Grecian mercenaries
were taken into pay; and, when the country was engaged
in war, the army was recruited from the people.
The reign of Darius was distinguished by several im¬
portant warlike expeditions. Crossing the Thracian Bos¬
phorus, he invaded Europe with 70,000 troops. But the
Scythian tribes between the Danube and the Don suc¬
cessfully resisted his attack, and forced him to retreat
with loss. He then overran the territories of Thrace and
Macedonia, and thus began those attempts on the inde¬
pendence of Greece which were fraught with such dis¬
grace to the Persian arms. He invaded the countries to
the east of Persia with a powerful army, and added seve¬
ral extensive and rich provinces to his already overgrown
empire ; and his vast armies were also sent to overwhelm
the rising communities of Greece. But his troops, though
they far outnumbered their enemies, were here opposed by'
a firm and disciplined band of devoted patriots; and they
were completely overthrown on the plains of Marathon by
the forces of the Greeks, as inferior in number as they were
superior in valour, in patriotism, and in every heroic qua¬
lity. Amidst these disasters the reign of this monarch ter¬
minated, and he was succeeded by his son Xerxes.
The latter carried on a successful war against the Egyp¬
tians, whom he gave over to the vengeance of his brother
Achaemenes; and he resolved to avenge himself on the
Greeks, who had hitherto bravely defended their country
against the numerous armies of Persia. With this view he
fitted out a mighty armament, in which he embarked an
army amounting to three millions of troops, or, with all the
camp followers, to above 5,000,000; and with this vast
force he resolved to annihilate the independence and li¬
berties of Greece at a single blow. But he was met by
the devoted bands of Grecian patriots, and experienced a
severe check at the celebrated pass of Thermopylae, which
was defended by 300 Spartans against his whole army, and
which he only carried by an immense sacrifice of men ; and
his fleet and army were finally overthrown at Salamis, Pla-
taea, and Mycale, he himself escaping from the scene of
action in a miserable fishing-boat. He was assassinated,
after a reign, as some say, of twentyr-one, or, according to
others, of sixty years. But Sir John Malcolm is of opinion
that this period includes also the two former reigns.
He was succeeded by his grandson Artaxerxes Longi-
manus, the Ardisheer Dirazdust or Long-shanks of the
Persian historians. He is celebrated for the internal re¬
gulation of his empire, and for the intelligence which he
acquired relative to all the concerns of the kingdom, by
means of the agents whom he employed. He is repre¬
sented by some as the Ahasuerus of the Scriptures, because
he is said to have treated the Jews with lenity and kind¬
ness, and to have married one of that nation. But this is
doubted by many, and does not well agree with other his¬
torical facts. This period of the Persian history is pecu¬
liarly obscure; and Sir John Malcolm observes, that the
authors whom he follows become more fabulous as the his¬
tory advances. The two succeeding sovereigns were Xer¬
xes II. and Darius II., whose reigns were short. The lat¬
ter was succeeded by Artaxerxes Memnon, his eldest son,
who had to contend for the crown with his younger bro-
260
PERSIA.
Persia.
ther Cyrus. It was in his reign that the famous retreat
of the ten thousand took place under Xenophon who has
given a narrative of the expedition. His reign, which con¬
tinued twenty years, was a scene of intrigue, in which a-
vourites bore the chief sway, and during which those symp¬
toms of decay became visible which terminated at last in
the overthrow of the kingdom. He was succeeded by
Darius or Dorab I., who reigned only twelve years In the
year 336 n. c., Darius Codomanus, or Dorab II. of the rer-
sian historians, assumed the sceptre; but he was tota y
unlike his father, being deformed in body, and not less so
in mind. It was in his reign that Alexander of Macedonia,
having subdued the different principalities of Greece, and
consolidated their power into one, invaded Persia. He
crossed the Hellespont in the year 334 b. c., with a well-
disciplined and veteran force of 35,000 men, and encoun¬
tered and defeated the Persian host on the banks of the
Granicus. The hasty levies of Persia were again routed
in the fatal battle of Issus, in which 100,000 were slain;
and the family of Darius fell into the victor s hands. I he
battle of Arbela, which succeeded, completed the triumph
of Alexander. The Persian armies were routed and dis¬
persed, and the unfortunate Darius, flying from the held
of battle, was seized by his nobles, at the head of whom
wms Bessus, who bound him in golden chains, and were
carrying him to Bactriana in a car covered with skins ; but
being overtaken by the conqueror, they stabbed their vic¬
tim to the heart, and left him in the chariot, weltering in
his blood. He was found in the agonies of death by Po-
lystrates, a Macedonian. The unhappy king asked for wa¬
ter, and with his last breath implored blessings on the head
of Alexander, for his kindness to his wife, his mother, and
his children. “ Present,” said he to Polystrates, “ your
hand to Alexander, as I do mine to you, the only pledge I
have to give of gratitude and affection.” Ihe Greek and
Persian accounts of the death of Darius do not materially
differ, only that the latter are embellished by many circum¬
stances, and also by fables, not related by the Greek or
Roman historians. The body of the deceased king was em¬
balmed with musk and amber, wrapt in a cloth of gold, and
placed in a rich coffin adorned with jewels, and was in that
state carried to the sepulchral vault, and interred with ex¬
traordinary honours. Exemplary justice was then execut¬
ed on Bessus, the murderer of Darius, who, according to
some, was hanged, but, according to others, torn in pieces
by means of trees, which, being bent in a particular man¬
ner, were allowed to spring back to their natural position,
and in this manner tore his body, which was fastened to
them, in pieces. With Darius terminated the dynasty of
Cyrus, which had subsisted 206 years under the following
series of kings, as given by the Greek writers, with the
periods of their several reigns. There is, however, no cor¬
responding series given by the Persian historians, nor in¬
deed any agreement between the narratives of the histo¬
rians of the respective nations.
Greek Names of the Persian Kings.
Names. Reigns-
Dejoces 53
Phraortes 22
Cyaxares 40
Astyages 35
Cyrus 30
Cambyses 25
7. Smerdis the Magian... 7
8. Darius Hystaspes 36
9. Xerxes 21
49
Names. Reigns.
10. Artaxerxes Longi- 1
manus  J
11. Darius Nothus 19
12. Artaxerxes Mem- 1 46
13. Ochus 21
14. Arses  2
15. Darius Codomanus.... 5
387
After the death of Alexander, Asia continued for a long
period a scene of war and commotion, owing to the con¬
tests which arose amongst his successors for the dominion Persj!;
of the country. But about the year 307 b. c., SeleucusV'
by his success had acquired the dominion of all the coun¬
tries which lie between the Euphrates, the Indus, and the
Oxus, and he had even carried his victorious arms to the
Ganges, and established a friendly alliance with Sandro-
cottus, one of the sovereigns of these eastern countries.
The Seleucidae continued to sway the sceptre of this king¬
dom till the year 250 before the Christian era, when they
were expelled from the throne by a successful revolt of
the Parthians, who succeeded in establishing a new dy-
nasty of kings. This revolution was effected by Arsaces,
a noble of that country, who had been enraged by an af¬
front offered to his brother Tiridates. Having assembled
his friends, he put the tyrant to death ; and, encouraged by
his success, and by his increasing popularity, he openly
aspired to the throne. He was mortally wounded, how¬
ever, in a successful battle, in the moment of victory.
His crown was inherited by his brother liridates, who
laid the foundation of the Parthian dynasty. The Arsa-
cidae, as they are termed, from their founder, continued to
rule in Persia for 430 years, namely, till the 230th year of
the Christian era. The Persian annals during the whole of
this period are very imperfect, and, according to Sir John
Malcolm, that remarkable era of five centuries, from the
death of Alexander till the reign of Artaxerxes, may be
termed a blank in eastern history. The Parthian line of
kings were illustrious, however, by their deeds, recorded
in the authentic pages of the Greek and Roman historians.
The Parthian empire extended, under its sixth monarch,
Mithridates I., from the Euphrates to the Indus, and its
monarchs were the only potentates who maintained a suc¬
cessful conflict with the Roman power. Pacorus, the ninth
of the Arsacidse, was the first Parthian king who had any
intercourse with Rome. In the ninetieth year before the
Christian era, he despatched an embassy to Sylla, at that
time the Roman commander in Cappadocia; and it was
thirty-seven years afterwards that the Roman troops un¬
der Crassus were destroyed by the Parthians. The Ro¬
mans were not aware, until they were instructed by fatal
experience, of the advantages possessed by the Partbians
for defensive war, first, in the nature of their frontier,
which from the Caspian Sea to the Persian Gulf presents
a barrier of lofty mountains, rapid and broad streams,
or wide-spreading deserts; and, secondly, in their peculiar
tactics, by which the Parthian warrior took an unerring
aim whilst he was retreating from his enemy. The Roman
legions, surrounded, amidst those barren wastes, by clouds
of cavalry, perished by the arrows of an enemy whom they
could never reach. “ The system,’ says Sir John Malcolm,
“ was suited to the soil, to the man, and to the fleet and ro¬
bust animal on which he was mounted ; and its success was
so certain, that the bravest veterans of Rome murmured
when their leaders talked of a Parthian war.” The Par¬
thians were so much elated with their victory, that they
invaded and overran Syria and Asia Minor, and were at
last overthrown by the Roman legions under Ventidms,
the general of Antony. The latter, however, in an ex¬
pedition undertaken against the Parthians in revenge for
the defeat and death of Crassus, narrowly escaped the
same fate ; he succeeded, however, after a long and pain¬
ful retreat, in placing the deep and rapid river of Aras or
Araxes between him and the pursuing enemy, and thus
effected his escape. Augustus, after he was seated on the
imperial throne, threatened an invasion of Parthia. To avert
this attack, Phraates, the fifteenth of the Arsacidae, restored
the standards which had been taken from Crassus. Dur¬
ing the whole remaining period of this dynasty, which
amounted to 200 years, the Romans were often at war with
the Parthians; but they made no serious impression on their
territories. Macrinus was involved, by the perfidy of U-
PERSIA.
261
racalla, whose successor he was, in a long and bloody war
the Parthian monarch Artabanes, who, after the war
had terminated, as usual, by a treaty, was so weakened by
his losses, that Artaxerxes, a Persian nobleman of great
courage and influence with his countrymen, availed him¬
self of the hereditary animosity of the Persians to stir up
a rebellion against him. Arsaces took the field in defence
of his crown, but was defeated in three battles, taken
prisoner, and put to death, after which his rival ascended
the throne, a. d. 226 ; and thus terminated the dynasty of
the Arsacidae, of whose line of kings a list is subjoined.
Dynasty of the Arsacidce.
1. Arsaces I.
2. Tirides his bro¬
ther.
3. Arsaces II.
4. Preapatins.
5. Phraates I.
6. Mithridates I.
7. Phraates II.
8. Artabanes I.
9. Pacorus I. who
sent ambassa¬
dors to Sylla.
10. Phraates III.
11. Orodes I.
12. Mithridates
II.
13. Phraates IV.
14. Phraatices.
15. Orodes II.
16. jVenones I.
17. Artabanes II.
18. Tiridates.
19. Bardanes.
20. Gotarzes.
21. Miherdates.
22. Venones II.
23. Volgeses I.
24. Artabanes III.
25. Pacorus II.
26. Chosroes.
27. Parthanaspa-
tes.
28. Volgeses II.
29. Volgeses III.
30. Artabanes IV.
The Sassanian dynasty of kings forms a new era in the
history of Persia. These monarchs were engaged in long
and bloody wars with the Roman emperors ; and hence we
are enabled to correct the imperfect records of the East
by the authentic narrative of the Roman historians. The
new monarch Artaxerxes, or Ardisheer as he is called by
the Persian historians, having pacified the province of Ears,
made himself master of Irak ; and having defeated and slain
Aravan or Artabanes, who ruled over the mountainous coun¬
try about Hamadan and Kermanshah, he was hailed in the
field with the high title of Shah an Shah, or king of kings ;
a name which has ever since been assumed by the sove¬
reigns of Persia. In the course of his reign, which lasted
fourteen years, he extended and consolidated his newly-ac¬
quired dominions, and waged, with various success, a war
with the Roman emperor Alexander. He laboured to re¬
store the religion of Zoroaster, and the authority of the
Magi, which he enforced against all who opposed it, by the
most sanguinary decrees. He was succeeded by his son
Shapoor or Sapores, a. d. 242, who carried on a successful
war against the Romans, whose emperor, Valerian, in an at¬
tempt to relieve Edessa, was defeated and taken prisoner.
He gained many victories over the armies of that nation ;
but towards the latter part of his reign he suffered revers¬
es ; his army was attacked by Odenathus, prince of Pal¬
myra, and his country was afterwards invaded by Aurelian,
the warlike emperor of Rome. Hoormuz his son, the Hor-
misdas ot Greek authors, reigned only one year, and was
succeeded by Baharam or Varanes, who evinced his zeal for
the ancient religion of Persia by the execution of Mani,
the founder of the sect of Manicheans. He reigned three
years and three months, and was succeeded by Baharam
II., who was a weak prince. During his reign of seventeen
years, he engaged in a war with the Roman emperor Carus,
who conquered Mesopotamia, carried his arms across the
ligris, and made himself master of Ctesiphon. Baharam
HI. reigned only three months. His brother Narsi (the
INarses of the Greeks) reigned nine years, and abdicated
the throne in favour of his son Hoormuz. He subdued Ar¬
menia, and signally defeated the Emperor Galerius on the
same fatal field on which Crassushad been slain. The Ro¬
mans invaded Persia next year, and defeated, with great
s aughter, Narses, who fled, leaving his tents and family in
possession of the conquerors. An inglorious peace follow-
’ i ^ nr. C.^ ^esoP0*:am*a and five districts to the eastward
o t ie Tigris were ceded to the Romans. No events of any
consequence occurred during the succeeding reign of Hoor- Persia,
muz II. the Misdates of the Greeks. He was succeeded by*~y'—
Shahpoor II. or Sapores, who was crowned king from his
birth, and during a reign of seventy years maintained the
integrity of his kingdom. His first operations were direct¬
ed against the Arab tribes, on whom he took a severe ven¬
geance for having invaded his territories. He was involv¬
ed in bloody wars with the Romans, in the course of which
he experienced serious reverses. Constantine advanced
into Persia with a formidable army, and was joined by the
Arab forces. A dreadful conflict took place, in which the
Persian army was routed with great slaughter, and the king
himself narrowly escaped, with a few followers, from the fa¬
tal field. But haying recruited his army, he again took the
field, and, in a night attack, he recovered some of the ad¬
vantages which he had lost. He was also successful in re¬
pelling the invasion of Julian, who was killed by an arrow,
and his successor Jovian was fain to purchase a peace by
the loss of all the provinces east of the Tigris, which had
been ceded in the former reign. Shahpoor reigned during
his whole life, which was seventy-one years. Ardisheer II.,
or Artaxerxes, succeeded, and was deposed by Shahpoor, the
son of the late monarch, after a reign of four years. He
reigned only five years, when he was killed by the fall of
a tent, which was blown down by one of those whirlwinds
which sometimes occur in Persia. Baharam IV. or Vara¬
nes, who succeeded, reigned eleven years, and was at length
killed by an arrow, in endeavouring to quell a tumult in his
army. The throne of Persia was next filled by Yezdijird,
the Greek Isdigertes. He is very differently represented by
the Persians and Greeks ; by the former as cruel and aban¬
doned to luxury, and by the latter as wise and virtuous.
He was killed by a kick of his horse, after a reign of six¬
teen years. Baharam Gour, or Varanes V. succeeded. He
is celebrated for his munificence and generosity. His do¬
minions were invaded, and partly overrun, by the Tartars,
who, being flushed with their conquest, gave themselves
over to a false security, and were one night surprised and
defeated with great slaughter by Varanes. The only fruit
which he sought from this victory was peace with all his
neighbours, after which he returned to his capital. He
was engaged in wars with the Romans under Theodosius,
in which neither party had any cause to boast. His ruling
passion was the chase, and he was fond of hunting the wild
ass; and it was in pursuit ot one of these animals that he
lost his life, in a deep pool, where neither he nor his horse
were ever again seen. He was succeeded by his son Yez¬
dijird II., or Varanes VI., who followed his father’s footsteps,
and, during his reign of eighteen years, was only once en¬
gaged in war with the Romans. The succession to the
throne was now disputed between Hoormuz (Peroses)
the younger son of Yezdijird, who was appointed heir by
his father, and Ferose (Varens IV.) the elder, who, being
supported by an army of Tartars, to whose king he fled for
support, and by the chief nobles, succeeded in wresting the
sceptre from his brother’s hand, and in putting him to death,
after reigning a year. He lost his life in an expedition which
he undertook against the Tartar prince, by whom he had
been treated with so much generosity. Pallas, the son of
Ferose (Cavades), now ascended the throne, and was suc¬
ceeded by Kobad, who, though he was dethroned by his
discontented subjects, reconquered his lost dignity. He
carried on a successful war with Anastasius the Roman em¬
peror, and died after a long and diversified reign of forty-
three years.
His son and successor Khosroo Nooshirvan is celebrated
by the Persian historians as a model of justice, generosity,
and sound policy. He ascended the throne a. d. 531. He
is said to have been the fruit of a casual amour of Kobad,
who, flying from his brother Ferose, then established on
the throne, halted for a night with a beautiful girl at Nisha-
‘262
PERSIA.
Persia.
pore. Four years afterwards, on his return to that city,
' his fair mistress presented him with a boy, whowas one ay
to reien so gloriously on the Persian throne. His first care
after his accession to the sovereignty was to extirpate the
pernicious sect of Mazdak, encouraged by his father, one ot
whose leading tenets was a community of property and of
He had recourse to severe measures. I he toun-
women, nu nau — —
der of the sect and many of his followers were put to dea h ;
and the women and property which they had appropriated
were restored to .those to whom they belonged. He was
indefatigable in promoting the prosperity of his dominions,
in building and repairing bridges, in restoring and re-
oeopling decayed towns and villages, in founding schools
and colleges, and in giving every degree of encouragement
to learned men, and even to the Greek philosophers who
resorted to his court. His empire was divided into four
great governments, namely, 1st, Khorassan, Seistan, and
Kerman; 2d, the lands dependent on the cities of Ispahan
and Koom, the provinces of Gheelan, Azerbijan, and Ar¬
menia ; 3d, the provinces of Pars and Ahwaz ; and wn,
Irak, which extended to the frontier of the Roman empire.
A well-digested system of provincial government was in¬
troduced into those provinces, and every check adopted
that could prevent the abuse of power. He imposed a
fixed and moderate land-tax over all his dominions, and a
capitation-tax on the Jews and Christians; and the strict¬
est regulations were adopted for preserving the discipline
of his army. The reign of Nooshirvan was illustrated as
well by his conquests abroad as by his wise policy at home.
He compelled Justinian to conclude a disgraceful peace at
the price of 30,000 pieces of gold; and the reduction of
Syria, the capture of Antioch, and the advance of the Per¬
sian armies to the shores of the Mediterranean, attest his
triumphant reign. Though he was checked in his career
of conquest towards the west, yet his sway was finally ex¬
tended over the countries beyond the Oxus, oyer those to
the south of the Indus, some provinces of India, and the
finest districts of Arabia. He reached the advanced age
of more than eighty years. , . ,
Hoormuz III. the Chosroes of the Greeks, was declared
the successor of Nooshirvan his father. His administration
was wise and prosperous for a time, whilst he acted under
the advice of his preceptor; but on the death of the latter,
he fell into every excess, and, after a short and disastrous
reign, was dethroned and put to death by one of his gene¬
rals, Baharam Choubeen, who usurped the supreme autho¬
rity. But Khosroo Purveez (Hormisdas), the son of the
late king, flying to the Roman emperor Maurice, his adopt¬
ed father, was, by his assistance, reinstated in the throne,
and Baharam was forced to seek refuge amongst the lar-
tars, whose armies he had formerly defeated, and amongst
whom he died. The new monarch showed his gratitude
to the Roman emperor by scrupulously fulfilling all the en¬
gagements he had contracted with him. He surrendered
Dara and several other strong places on the frontier, and,
besides, sent him costly presents. But no sooner did he
hear of the death of Maurice, than he invaded the Roman
territories with a large army; pillaged and destroyed Da¬
ra, Mardin, Edessa, and Amida; laid waste Syria ; took the
holy city of Jerusalem; and set on fire the magnificent
churches of St Helena and Constantine. The true cross,
which had been enclosed in a golden case, and buried
deep in the earth, was discovered and borne in triumph to
Persia; and a crowd of captive priests and bishops swelled
the train of the conqueror. Egypt was added to his other
conquests ; his troops entered Alexandria in triumph ; and,
after carrying his victorious arms westward to Carthage
and Tripoli, and finally extirpating the Greek colonies of
Cyrene, he returned in triumph through the sands of the
Libyan desert. In the same campaign another army ad¬
vanced from the Euphrates to the Ihracian Bosphorus;
and, after taking Chalcedon, his victorious troops remain- Per;
ed encamped for twelve years in the vicinity of Constant!. ^
nople. But, whilst his general and his armies were thus
gaining laurels in the field, Khosroo was indulging at home
in the most unheard-of luxury. Every season a splendid pa¬
lace was raised; and his thrones were made of the most ex¬
quisite materials, one being formed to represent the twelve
signs of the zodiac and the hours of the day. His treasures;
his wives, amounting to 12,000, besides the incomparable
Shereen, of whom he was passionately fond; his horses,
amounting to 50,000; his Arabian charger of surpassing
fleetness; and his musician Barbud ; furnish inexhaustible
topics for the pen of the historian, and for the hyperbolical
praises of his countrymen. But his reign, hitherto glori-
ous, was, towards its termination, closed with misfortunes.
Herodius, the Roman emperor, alike remarkable for luxury
and indulgence in the palace and for valour and military
skill in the field, was roused to a sense of the public dan¬
ger by the victories of Khosroo, and with a powerful army
suddenly invaded Persia. In the course of six years, he
succeeded in stripping the Persian king of all his foreign
conquests; he defeated his armies in every encounter;
marched without opposition into the heart of his country;
destroyed his splendid palaces, and plundered his hoarded
treasures. His subjects, headed by his own son, at last re¬
belled against him, and put him to death, after a. reign of
thirty-eight years. Persia, after the death of this prince
until the accession of Yezdijird III. (the Isdigertes III. of
western writers), was a scene of confusion and misery, from
the combined evils of famine, the contentions of the nobles,
a succession of weak sovereigns, or rather, as Sir John Mal¬
colm terms them, pageants of power, and from the threat¬
ened attack of the Arabian tribes, who, under the standard
of the Mahommedan faith, had now become very formi¬
dable to all surrounding states. In their first attacks on the
Persians, the Moslemin armies were repulsed, and their
leader Abu Obeid was slain. The Arabs, reinforced, were
again defeated by Mehran the Persian general. But in
another action the Persians were defeated, and their ge¬
neral slain. Yezdijird, who was now elevated to the throne,
was the last hope of the sinking state. An ambassador
was sent to him from the Arabian tribes, proffering peace
on condition that he should accept of their religion, and
pay the taxes which all believers are bound to pay. these
terms were rejected with disdain. Great armies were now
assembled on both sides ; they met on the plains of IN aha-
vund, a. d. 641, where the Mahommedans gained a remark-
able victory, that for ever decided the fate of Persia. Ot
the Persians 30,000 perished on the field, and 80,000
more were drowned in a deep trench which surrounded the
camp. Persia, from this date, fell under the dominion ot
the Arabian caliphs. Yezdijird, the last monarch of the bas-
sanian line,.fled from the field of battle to Seistan, to Klio-
rassan, and lastly to Merv, from which being also forced to
fly, he concealed himself in a mill eight miles distant. But
the miller, tempted by his rich robes and armour, murder¬
ed him whilst he slept, and thus ended, a. d. 65|>.tlie “P
nasty of the Sassanides, and the idolatrous worship ot the
Magi, which had existed in Persia for 1200 years.
After the flight of Yezdijird, the armies of Persia, scat¬
tered and discouraged, were able to oppose only a teeDie
resistance to the hardy children of the desert, skilfully com¬
manded, and, besides, inflamed by a fanatic enthusiasm,
and in a short time, accordingly, they very soon omrh
and laid waste the whole country, with a bigoted fury
had no parallel, sparing neither sex nor age, and subven¬
ing in one common ruin the laws, manners, and most sa
cred institutions of the country. Many were contented to
purchase life by embracing the new faith; and others n
to the mountains and fastnesses of the country, or to a
tant land. “ The progress of the conquerors, says bir Joi
rT
PERSIA.
263
!. Malcolm, “was'rapid and wonderful; colonies from the
J—' burning deserts of Arabia were extended over the cold coun¬
tries of Khorassan and Balkh; and they flourished on the
soil to which they were transplanted.1” The conquest of
the country being completed, it was divided into different
provinces, over which lieutenants were appointed; and it
was thus held for more than two centuries under the do¬
minion of the caliphs. But this system of provincial au¬
thority terminated, as usual, with the declining energy of the
supreme power, in destruction and anarchy in its subordi¬
nate parts. The caliph at Bagdad, from the head of a power¬
ful and warlike tribe, had degenerated into a mere pageant;
and as the bonds of authority were relaxed, the different
rulers and chiefs of provinces began to throw off their alle¬
giance, and to aspire to independent power. The caliph
was merely reverenced as the supreme pontiff; his gover¬
nors used his name in their public prayers; they were no¬
minally his vassals; but they held the substance, and he had
only the shadow, of political power. The sceptre, which
was feebly held by the successors of Omar and Ali, pre¬
sented a tempting prize to aspiring ambition; nor, in the
distracted state of the country, was it long before it was
claimed and won by an adventurer from the lowest ranks
of life. Yacoob-ben-Leis was the son of a pevvterer of the
name of Leis, in Seistan. He worked, when young, at his
father’s trade; but he was prodigal of his money; and,
tempted by his necessities, he became the leader of a bold
and desperate band, which gradually increased with the
success of his enterprises. He soon attained power and con¬
sideration ; and his aid was solicited by Salah-ebn-Naser,
the ruler of Seistan, against his fellow-ruler of Khorassan.
He was afterwards raised to be commander of Salah’s army;
and the first use he made of his power was to seize on the
chief who had conferred it on him, and to send him to
Bagdad; a service for which he claimed and received the
government of his native province, as the servant and lieu¬
tenant of the faithful. He afterwards took the important
fortress of Herat, reduced the province of Kerman, march¬
ed thence to Shiraz, and finally made himself master of
the greater part of Persia. The caliph, secretly dreading
his power, sent him a formal investiture of certain territo¬
ries as governor, which he rejected with disdain. “ Tell
your master,” said he to the envoy, “ I am already indebt¬
ed to my sword for what he so generously bestows upon
me. Let him keep the investiture for some person who
will own the obligation, and who is disposed to question
my title.” He was afterwards engaged in open war with
the caliph, when he was overtaken by disease, and died, in
877, leaving almost the whole kingdom of Persia to his
brother Amer, who reigned twenty-three years, but was
defeated and taken prisoner by Ismail, a Tartar chief with
whom he was at war, and, being sent to Bagdad, was there
executed. With Amer fell the fortunes of his family ; and
though two more princes maintained a precarious authority,
the empire of Persia was divided between two families, the
Samanee and Dilemee. The power of the first extended
over Khorassan, Seistan, Balkh, and the countries of Trans-
oxiana, including the cities of Bukharia and Samarcand.
I he Dilemee princes exercised sovereign power over the
greater part of Irak, Pars, Kerman, Kusistan, and Laris-
tan. Of the first-named dynasty Osmael was the most
celebrated. His grandfather was a Tartar chief of the
name of Saman, who claimed descent from Baharam Chou-
cen, the Sassanian. He extended his conquests both east¬
ward and westward, and died in 907, at the age of sixty,
i s’^was st this time the scene of great political revolutions,
m tie course of which adventurers arose from the lowest
ran s, and, having gradually increased their followers, at
as acquired sovereign power. It was one of these fortu¬
nate chiefs, Abustakeen, that laid the foundation of the
great empire of Mahmood of Ghizni. He was one of the
chiefs of Bukharia, who having renounced his allegiance
to that court, retired to Ghizni with such followers, amount¬
ing originally to seven or eight hundred, as he could col¬
lect, and there laid the foundation of a petty principadity.
His son Isaak succeeded him ; but he reigning only a short
time, the supreme power by unanimous consent was given
to Sabactageen, a man of Turkish descent, who, according
to some, had been purchased as a slave by Abustakeen, whilst
others state, and with more probability, that he was one of
the royal guards. He extended his empire by conquest;
and when he died, his kingdom extended from Khorassan
to the Punjab. Ismail, his younger son, succeeded ; but his
ambitious brother soon wrested the sceptre from his feeble
hand. Ameer Noah, the fifth monarch from Ismail, being
haid pressed by his nobles, applied for aid to Sabactageen,
who sent his son Mahmoud with an army that overthrew the
rebels, and the young prince obtained as a reward the go¬
vernment of Khorassan. Such was the commencement of
that great empire of Mahmoud of Ghizni in Persia, which
in a few years stretched from Bagdad to Kashgar, and from
Georgia to Bengal, and which rose on the ruins of many
other subverted empires. He was an enterprising and active
prince; and was distinguished by his fanatical zeal, which
impelled him to the invasion of India, from which he brought
back an immense spoil, valued at twenty millions of dirhems
(L.458,333 sterling), 53,000 captives, and 350 elephants,
besides jewels to a vast amount. This conquest of India
was marked by the wildest rapine and devastation ; and his
zeal was especially signalized by breaking down and de¬
stroying all the idols and splendid temples which were de¬
dicated to idolatry. He died in the year 1208, in a mag¬
nificent edifice, to which he had vainly given the title of
the “ palace of felicity.” He was succeeded by Musaood,
who was defeated by the Seljuk Turcomans in Khorassan;
and in the succeeding reign of Madood, the house of
Ghizni lost the whole of their Persian dominions. These
Partar tribes were numerous and powerful; they were a
nation of shepherds, inured to fatigue, to long marches, and
to every kind of hardy exercise, and trained from their in¬
fancy to the use of arms. Their numbers and discipline
enabled them easily to overpower the civilized inhabitants
of more fertile countries. Accordingly, in the year 1042,
the Tartar tribes subdued Khorassan; and their sovereign
Togrul Beg, chief of the tribe of Seljuk, assumed in 1389
the state of a sovereign at Nishapoor. In the succeeding
twenty years he overran all Persia, made himself master
of Bagdad, and took prisoner the sovereign pontiff, the
commander of the faithful. He approached him, however,
with every outward mark of reverence, and was consti¬
tuted the temporal lieutenant of the eastern and western
divisions of the empire. This alliance was farther cement¬
ed by a marriage with the daughter of the caliph. But Tog¬
rul Beg, who had by this time attained to his seventieth
year, died a few months after the marriage. He was suc¬
ceeded by his nephew Alp Arselan, the Valiant Lion, who
has been praised by all historians for his justice, valour,
and generosity. He successfully defended his dominions
against an invasion by the Romans; defeated their armies;
and having made their emperor prisoner, generously set
him at liberty for a fair ransom. He was killed by a rebel¬
lious chieftain whom he had ordered to be put to death, but
who, having shaken off his guards, assailed him on the
throne with all the fury of despair. Alp Arselan, an unerr¬
ing archer, seized his bow, and commanded his guards to
stand aloof; but for the first time his arrow missed its mark,
and he fell under the assassin’s stroke.
The celebrated Malik Shah, his son, succeeded to the
Persia.
1 History of Persia, voL L chap. viii.
264
Persia.
PER
throne ; and his reign rivalled, and even surpassed, in glory
that of his father. Syria and Egypt were subdued by his
victorious generals; Bukharia, Samarcand, and Khauresm
yielded to his sway; and he received homage and tribute
from the tribes beyond the Jaxartes, and from the distant
country of Kashgar. Including the territories of al those
princes whom he had conquered, and obliged to do h.m
homage and to pay tribute, his dominion extended from
the Mediterranean to the wall of China, and prayers or
his prosperity were offered up at the same time in the
cities of Jerusalem, Mecca, Medina, Bagdad, Ispahan, Rhe,
Bukharia, Samarcand, Ourganjee, and Kashgar. Malik
Shah was celebrated as a great and a good prince; the
only exception to which is his treatment of Nizam-ul-Mulk,
the old and veteran minister of Ins father and himself.
Giving ear to the calumnies of his enemies, he disgraced
this faithful councillor, who was soon afterwards stabbed
by an assassin hired for this purpose by his successor in
office, from a fear of any favourable change taking place in
his master’s sentiments. Malik Shah survived his minis¬
ter only a few months, being seized with a violent illness,
which terminated his life, in his thirty-eighth year. The
country of Persia,” says Sir John Malcolm, “ was greatly
improved during his reign; many colleges and mosques
were built; and agriculture was promoted by the construc¬
tion of canals and water-courses. Learning was also encou¬
raged ; and an assembly of astronomers from every part of
Malik Shah’s wide dominions were employed for several
years in reforming the calendar; and their labours, which
established the Jellalean or glorious era, is a proof of the
attention which was given at this period to the noblest or
all sciences.” For thirty years after the death of Malik Shah,
Persia was distracted by the wars of his four sons, who con*
tended for the supreme power; but Sanjar, having at length
triumphed over his competitors, was elevated to the throne.
His reign was for a time successful and prospeious. He
resided in Khorassan ; and from this spot, as from a centre,
his dominion extended in one direction beyond the Indus,
and in another to the Jaxartes. lowards the latter end
of his reign he experienced the most signal reverses of for¬
tune. Advancing into Tartary, he was completely defeated
by the monarch of Kara Khatug, his family were made pii-
soners, and all his baggage was plundered. He afterwards
marched against the Turcoman tribe of Ghuz, who had
refused their royal tribute, and in a decisive action which
ensued he was defeated and taken prisoner. After being
long detained, and cruelly treated, he made his escape,
and returned to his own country, where the spectacle of
his wasted dominions, ravaged and destroyed by barbarous
invaders, so preyed upon his spirits, that he died of melan¬
choly in 1175, at the age of seventy-three. After his
death Persia continued during forty years distracted by
the wars between different branches of the Seljookian
dynasty. The last who exercised sovereign power was
Togrul III., who was slain by the monarch of Khauresm,
as he went into battle flushed with wine.
With this prince terminated the race of the Seljookian
monarchs in Persia, who from the commencement of the
reign of Togrul I. had ruled 15S years. From the decline
of This dynasty to the conquest of Persia by Hulakoo Khan,
the son of the great conqueror Genghis, the country was
distracted by the contests of these rival chiefs, who are
known under the name of Atta-begs. They were petty
princes, who taking advantage of the weakness and anarchy
which prevailed, extended their authority over some of the
finest provinces of the country. A detailed account of the
progress and decay of these various dynasties would exceed
our limits; nor would it contain either amusement or in¬
struction. But there is one chief who requires to be no¬
ticed, who may be said to have been the head of a band
of assassins devoted to his purposes, and by means of whom
S I A.
he caused the most powerful sovereigns to tremble, and Persii.i
spread far and wide the terror of his mysterious power. s'-“vv
His followers were reckoned at 50,000 ; they were called
mysterious and devoted ; and each was bound, under the
most dreadful sanctions, to sacrifice, at the command of
their chief, either his own life or that of another. Hussun
Subah was the first of these chiefs. He had been mace-
bearer of Alp Arselan; but being displeased with his mi¬
nister Nizam-ul-Mulk, he retired to llhe, and afterwards
to Syria, where he entered into the service of a chief of
the family of Ismail, and adopted their views concerning
the right of the descendants of Ismail to the holy dig¬
nity of Imaum, instead of the younger brother of Ismail.
He afterwards returned to Rhe, his native place, where,
leaguing himself with other mal-contents, he succeeded
in gaining possession of the mountain fort of Allahamaut,
whence he commenced a series of depredations on the
surrounding country. Malik Shah Seljookee sent a force
against him, which was repulsed. He was soon afterwards
exposed to a more serious attack from the Sultan Sanjar,
who resolved to extirpate a race whose murders and depre¬
dations spread terror over his kingdom. But he was warn¬
ed to desist from his fatal project, by secret threats of as¬
sassination. He had made some marches in the direction
of Allahamaut, when one morning as he awoke he dis¬
covered a poniard stuck in the ground close to his bed-side,
and read with surprise, written on the handle, “ Sultan San¬
jar, beware. Had not thy character been respected, the
hand that stuck this dagger into the hard ground could
with more ease have plunged it into thy soft bosom. I he
warrior who had often faced death in the field of battle
trembled at this mysterious threat; and it is certain that
he desisted from his meditated attack. Hussun Subah
brought several other hill-forts under his sway; and was
styled “ chief of the mountains,” or, as his Arabic title has
been erroneously translated, “ the old man of the moun¬
tain,” the name by which he and his descendants are dis¬
tinguished in the European histories. Caliphs, princes,
and nobles, fell under the blows of these assassins ; and the
power and dominions of Hussun Subah were handed down
through a series of sovereigns who ruled for 170 years, the
terror and disgrace of Asia, and who in 1256 were finally
extirpated by the overwhelming and victorious armies of
Hulakoo Khan, who rivalled his sire in the rapidity of his
conquests. His first design was to turn his arms against
the declining empire of the Greeks; but he was diverted
from this object by an astrologer, who directed his hosti¬
lity against Bagdad, the seat of the caliph’s authority. Ibis
place was speedily stormed by the lartar armies, and its in¬
habitants were put to the sword; the Caliph Mustasim, with
his only surviving son, were slain; and thus was for ever
extinguished the celebrated empire of the Arabian caliphs.
The conquest of Persia, Mesopotamia, and all Syria, was
achieved by Hulakoo in the same year, who meditated
other ambitious schemes of conquest in the East. But
the defeat of his army in Syria by the prince of the Mame¬
lukes in Egypt compelled him to abandon his design; and
having restored his affairs in Syria, he fixed his residence
at Maragha, a beautiful town of Azerbijan, where he spent
his declining years in the cultivation of letters and philo¬
sophy. He built an observatory on the summit of a moun¬
tain, the foundation of which still remains, “ and where,
says Sir John Malcolm, “ his favourite, Nasser-u-Deen,
formed those astronomical tables which have become so
celebrated under the name of the tables of Eel-Khannee,
and are still referred to for the latitude and longitude of
such places as are not fixed by European observations. He
was succeeded by Abaku-Khan in the year 1264, who was
anxious, by cultivating the arts of peace, to repair the ra¬
vages of war, and to heal the still bleeding wounds of ms
wasted empire. He was assailed from the east by
PERSIA.
a. powerful armies of Tartar chiefs; but he succeeded in re-
polling all their attacks, and in maintaining the integrity
of his empire. He died, it is supposed, by poison, in the
year 1281. The Mogul lords having held a council, raised
to the throne his brother Neckandar, who, though he was
baptized in his youth, afterwards renounced the Christian
faith, which he persecuted with all the violence of a re¬
negade, and assumed the name of Ahmed Khan. But his
persecution of the Christians was so obnoxious to his own
subjects, that they conspired against him, and deprived
him both of his crown and of his life. Arghoun, his ne¬
phew, whom he had thrown into prison, was raised to the
throne by the Mogul nobles, but did not assume the name
until he received the investiture from the emperor of Tar¬
tary, by whom he was hailed as sovereign of Persia, Arabia,
and Syria. His reign was marked by no event of any con¬
sequence ; and on his death, which occurred in 1291, his
brother Key Khaton was raised to the throne by the ma¬
jority of the Ameers. The latter was indolent, sensual,
and extravagant; and his short and inglorious reign would
hardly merit notice, were it not for an attempt by an officer
of the revenue department, of known talent, to introduce
a paper-currency, in order to supply the means of royal ex¬
travagance. But credit, the foundation of paper-currency,
cannot exist under a despotism which affords no security
either for life or for property. The scheme was there¬
fore altogether vain, and appears to have been the device
of a tyrant for cheating or plundering his defenceless sub¬
jects. From this period until the conquest of the country
by Timour or Tamerlane, the history of Persia presents
one continued scene of intestine commotion ; subordinate
chieftains contending for dominion, distraction and violence
everywhere prevailing, and the country sinking under the
ruthless devastations of war. It is in scenes of trouble and
revolution such as these that ambition finds scope for its
daring schemes, and that genius, emerging from obscurity,
rises, in spite of every obstacle, to its high destiny. Timour
the Tartar, or Tamerlane, a corruption of Timour-lung, or
Timour the Lame, an appellation derived from an obvious
bodily defect, was descended from Korachar Nevian, who
had been vizier to Chaghtai the son of Genghis, and also
claimed kindred with that great conqueror. The early years
of Timour were passed amidst danger and difficulty ; and
it was in that school that he acquired those qualities which
raised him to the sovereignty of the world. He was coun¬
sellor and general to the Tartar prince, Ouleaus Khajah, who
ruled over the territories between the Oxus and the Jax-
artes. But having soon thrown off his allegiance to this
prince, he led a wandering life, with only a few faithful fol¬
lowers, enduring hardships and peril, yet never yielding to
despair. He had formed a close alliance with Ameer Hus¬
sein, one of the most powerful nobles of Transoxiana. Their
joint object was to expel the enemies of their country; and
Ouleaus, though he had conquered in the field, having been
forced to retire with disgrace from the siege of Samarcand,
the countries between the Jaxartes and the Oxus were
freed from the foreign enemy. A war for the possession of
Transoxiana now ensued between Timour and Hussein, and
was only interrupted by a short and hollow peace, which
terminated in the overthrow of Hussein, who was taken pri¬
soner, and, as is generally believed, put to death, with the
secret sanction or by the orders of his rival. Eleven years
elapsed before Timour had fully reduced to tranquillity his
newly-acquired dominions, and had extended his power
over Kashgar and Khaurezm; after which his whole reign
was one unvaried course of the most triumphant success.
Victory everywhere attended his arms; he subdued cities
and kingdoms ; strongholds hitherto deemed impregnable
yielded to his power ; and the devoted countries through
which he passed were given up to slaughter and devasta¬
tion, their towns being sacked, the defenceless people sa¬
vor,. XVII.
265
vagely massacred, and vast pyramids of heads raised up as Persia,
the trophies of his victories. He subdued Khorassan, Can- y'-0*''
dahar, and Caubul, and laid the two latter cities under heavy
contributions. He invaded Persia, which, being now ruled
by the degenerate descendants of Hulakoo, was entirely
barren and wasted. He extended the limits of his empire
to the farthest bounds of Tartary; and whilst one body of
his troops spread dismay to the wall of China, another army
penetrated to the banks of the Irtysch, and a third to the
Volga. Timour next marched against Bagdad, which he
stormed, and also took the remarkably strong fortress of
Takreet; after which his vast armies were dispersed over
Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, Kurdistan, and Georgia. He
afterwards invaded Russia, and advancing to Moscow, took
and plundered that city. Returning to his own country, he
prepared for the invasion of India, a particular account of
which would be a mere detail of burning and massacre.
His war with Bajazet, and his defeat and capture of that
warlike chief, were amongst the latest exploits of his active
reign; and he had embarked on the arduous enterprise of
the conquest of China, when he was arrested by an enemy
which he could not conquer. He was seized with a violent
illness at the city of Otrar, where he expired in 1405, de¬
claring Peer Mahommed Jehangheer his successor. The
latter, however, had a competitor for the crown in Khuleel
Sultan, his cousin, by whom he was deposed and murdered ;
and, in his turn, Khuleel, infatuated by his attachment to
the beautiful Shad-ul-Mulk, on whom he squandered the
vast treasures of Timour, was deposed by the nobles.
He was attached to the arts of peace, a philosopher, a
man of science, and a poet; and his whole care was to heal
the wounds inflicted on his country by the wars of the for¬
mer reign. He rebuilt Herat and Merv, and drew around a.d. 1446.
him from all quarters men of literature and science. Sul¬
tan Shah Rokh, uncle of Khuleel Sultan, hearing of the
misfortunes of his nephew, marched from Khorassan, and his
authority was acknowledged over all Transoxiana. Khuleel
Sultan was succeeded by Ulugh Beg, who also followed
the arts of peace, and neglected those of war. He was
deposed and put to death in the year 1449, by his son
Abdul Lateef, who was slain by his own soldiers within
the short period of six months. The Mogul dynasty in
Persia was now fast verging to decay, and its final extinc¬
tion was preceded, as usual, by scenes of confusion and civil
war. The kingdom was at length divided amongst three
sovereigns, viz. Sultan Hassein Mirza, a descendant of Ti¬
mour, who kept a splendid court at Herat, and governed
Khorassan; Kora Yussuf, the Turcoman chief of the Black
Sheep (the tribes of the Black and White Sheep being so
called from their carrying the figures of those animals on
their respective standards),ruled over Azerbijan, Irak, Pars,
and Kerman ; and Uzun Hussoun, chief of the Turcomans
of the White Sheep, who finally acquired possession of all
western Persia, and attacked the Emperor Mohammed II.,
from whom he sustained a severe defeat. After his death a.d. 14G8.
the country was distracted by the contentions of his sons,
grandsons, and nephews, for the supreme authority; and
their dissensions, whilst they accelerated their own ruin,
prepared the way for a native dynasty, which was gladly a.d. H7
hailed by the people as the auspicious omen of domestic
peace.
Shah Ismail was the first monarch of the Suffavean line.
He traced his descent from Moosa Kauzim, the seventh
imaum. The first of the family who attained to any ce¬
lebrity was Sheik Suffice-ul-Deen, who resided in the town
of Ardebil, and from whom the dynasty takes its name of
Suffavean, or Suffyean. His son Sudder-ul-Deen inherited
all the sanctity of his sire. The great conqueror Timour
even condescended to visit him in his cell, that he might
receive his blessing; and on his asking whether he, Ti¬
mour, could do aught for his comfort, “ Give up,” replied
2 L
266
PERSIA.
Persia, the saint, “ those Turks whom thou hast carried off as cap-
 v'—tives.” The disinterested request was granted, the saint
was dismissed with presents, and the descen ants o ese
captives ever afterwards acknowledged their gratjtude by
their ardent support of the Suftavean dynast}. ie im¬
mediate descendants of Sudder-ul-Deen, Khaujah Ah, Ju-
neyd, and Hyder, acquired also a great reputation for sanc¬
tity- The first, after making the pilgrimage to Mecca,
visited Jerusalem, where he died. His grandson Juneyd
assumed the sacred mantle or patched garment worn by
the Suffee teachers, after his father s death; and so nu¬
merous were his disciples, that Kara Koinlu, who at that
time ruled in Azerbijan, took the alarm, and banished
him from Ardebil. He returned to Shirwan, where he
was killed by an arrow in a conflict with the troops ot
that province. He was married to a sister of Uzun Hus-
soun, chief of the Turcomans of the White Sheep; and
this lady was the mother of Sultan Hyder, who succeed¬
ed him, and became a warrior as well as a saint. His
uncle Uzun Hussoun gave him his daughter in marriage,
by whom he had three sons, Sultan Ali, Ibrahim Meer-
za, and Sultan Shah Ismail. Hyder was defeated and
slain in an attack which he made on the province of Shu-
wan in order to revenge his father’s death. Sultan A i
succeeded; but he and his brothers were seized at Ar¬
debil, by Yakub, one of the descendants of their grandta-
ther Uzun Hussoun, who had become jealous of their in¬
fluence, and confined in a fort, where they remained pri¬
soners for four years. They afterwards made their escape,
and were soon joined by numerous adherents. But in the
mean time they were attacked, Sultan Ali was slain, and
his brothers fled in disgrace to Gheelan, where Ibrahim
Meerza died. These events occurred during the infancy
of Ismail, the third son of Hyder, of whom we know little
til) he attained the age of fourteen, when he collected his
adherents, and marched against the great enemy of his
family, the ruler of Shirwan, whom he defeated. Al-
wund-Beg, a prince of the dynasty of the White Sheep,
hastening with his troops to crush the young warrior, shared
the same fate; and the triumphant prince having made
himself master of the province of Azerbijan, fixed his re¬
sidence at Tabriz. Next year he vanquished Sultan Mou-
rad, one of the military competitors for supreme dominion
in Persia; and in less than four years from his leaving
Gheelan he was acknowledged the sovereign of Persia.
>.». 1502. Shah Ismail, not being born the chief of a tribe, had
no hereditary feuds to avenge; his family were objects of
hostility to no one; and he united in his person the reve-
rence and affection of all his subjects. He was a firm ad-
herent of the Sheahs, and of the title of Ali to the caliph¬
ate after his uncle Mahommed’s death, pitying his mis¬
fortunes, and hating with pious zeal, as usurpers of the
caliphate, Abubekr, Omar, and Osman, the three first suc¬
cessors of the Prophet, and all their Soonee followers. The
Turkish tribes to whom he owed his elevation were highly
honoured. They were distinguished by a red cap, from
which they received the name of Kuzzilbash, or golden
heads, which has descended to their posterity. Persia,
Khorassan, Bagdad, and Balkh, submitted to his arms. His
territories were afterwards invaded by Sultan Selim about
the year 1514, with a numerous and well-disciplined army.
In the action which took place, the Persian monarch, after
performing prodigies of valour, was entirely defeated, which
affected him so deeply that he was never afterwards seen
to smile. After the death of Selim he crossed the Araxes,
wrested Georgia from the possession of lurkey, and died at
Ardebil in the year 1523. He was succeeded by his son Ta-
masp, who ascended the throne when he was only ten years
of age. His reign, which continued fifty-three years, proved
prosperous. He repelled the invasions of the Uzbecks on the
east, and of the Ottomans on the west. It was from him that
Humaiun, emperor of India, when he fled from his rebellious Persi:;
subjects, received the aid which enabled him to regain his
throne. It was to him also that Elizabeth sent her envoy,
Anthony Jenkinson. But the intolerance of the Mahom-
medan monarch could not brook the presence of a Christian.
His family was numerous; and after several years of dis¬
puted succession, and of brief and troubled reigns, Abbas
his grandson was proclaimed king in 1582, when a minor.
During the earlier years of this monarch s reign, the country
was alternately alarmed by internal disturbance and foreign
aggression, each party in their turn using the name of the
sovereign. But as he advanced to manhood he vindicated
his rights, and in the course of three years he reigned the a. d. is
undisputed sovereign of the country. His reign, which
lasted forty-three years, was highly successful and glorious.
He was engaged in wars with the I urks and with the Uz¬
becks, whose armies he defeated in several actions; and
it was during his time that an amicable intercourse com¬
menced between Persia and Europe.
Sir Anthony Shirley, a gentleman of family, was per¬
suaded by the Earl of Essex to repair to the court of Per¬
sia ; and, with twenty-six followers, gallantly mounted and
richly attired, he presented himself to the king, who re¬
ceived him with every mark of distinction. The military
skill of these foreigners enabled him to discipline his army
and to improve his artillery, so that with an army of 60,000
warriors he obtained a decisive victory over 100,000 Turks.
In this battle, which was fought on the 24th of August
1605, Sir Anthony Shirley was thrice wounded. After the
battle, as Shah Abbas was resting on the field, a man ot
uncommon stature and of a soldier-like appearance was led
past by a youth, who had just made him prisoner. I he
kin<>- having asked who the captive was, the Utter replied,
“ I°belong to the Kourd family of Mookree.” An officer
of the house of Mookree in the service ot the king had a
bloody feud with the family of the prisoner, and the king
commanded the captive to be delivered to him. The offi¬
cer, however, refused to receive him. “ My honour, he
said, “ calls for blood ; but I have made a vow never to
take advantage of an enemy who is bound and in distress.
The king, irritated by this noble speech, which was a re¬
proof to himself, called to the captain of the guaids to
strike off the head of the prisoner. The gigantic Kourd
immediately broke the cords by which he was bound, drew
his dagger, and rushed upon the king. A fierce strug¬
gle ensued, in which all the lights were extinguished, and
in the darkness no one dared to strike. At last the king
exclaimed, “ I have seized his hand; I have seized his
hand.” Order was restored, and lights being brought, the
unfortunate captive was pierced by a hundred swords.
This victory gave a decided check to the T urks, who were
driven from Azerbijan, Georgia, Koordistan, Bagdad, Mos-
sul, and Diarbekir, all of which were re-annexed to the
Persian empire. This monarch also entered into an alli¬
ance with the English for the destruction of the flourishing
Portuguese settlement of Ormuz, which unhappily proved
but too successful; and this place, long renowned as the
seat of wealth and a great commercial emporium, was plun¬
dered and left to decay. Extravagant hopes were enter¬
tained in England of the great wealth which was to be de¬
rived from a commerce with Persia, and other embassies
were fitted out and despatched to the Shah. But tiese
hopes were not realized; nor did they rest on any better
foundation than the fanciful descriptions given ot these
eastern countries by European travellers.
Abbas, considered as an eastern king, may be termed
enlightened, and anxious for the good ot his subjects. e
expended his revenues in the improvement of his domi¬
nions, and erecting caravanserais, bridges, aqueducts, ba¬
zaars, mosques, and colleges ; he embellished Ispahan ns
capital, and Amshed ; and he built splendid palaces, tne
PERSIA.
Pi a. ruins of which still attest his taste and magnificence. He
r->‘—■" was also distinguished by his toleration, especially to Chris¬
tians; and he was liberal in his foreign policy, though his
treatment of the inhabitants of Georgia, who were violent¬
ly transplanted from one district to another, without any
regard to their convenience or feelings, was tyrannical in
the extreme. He indulged freely in the use of wine, yet
he affected extreme piety, every year making a pilgrimage
to some particular shrine. To his family he proved a san¬
guinary tyrant. He had four sons, whom he caressed,
whilst in infancy, with parental fondness, but who, as they
arrived at manhood, were viewed with jealousy and hat¬
red. The oldest son was assassinated, and the eyes of
his other children were put out, by his orders. One of
these, Khodahbundah, shut out from the light of day, wan¬
dered about gloomy and desperate, brooding over schemes
of vengeance against his most unnatural father. He had
a daughter, Fatima, innocent and lovely, and the delight
of her grandfather, who could not endure that she should
be out of his sight. The prince, learning the fondness of
his father for this his child, seized her one day with all the
fury of a maniac, and deprived her of life. He next di¬
rected his frantic fury against his son, who was carried
away by the distracted mother. The rage and despair
into which Abbas was thrown by the death of his grand¬
daughter gave a momentary joy to the son, who concluded
this bloody tragedy by swallowing poison. Abbas died
soon afterwards, in 1628, at the age of seventy, worn out
with affliction of mind.
By the desire of the expiring prince, Sam Mirzam, one
of the sons of Suffee, who had been murdered, was placed
on the throne, which he occupied fourteen years. His son
Abbas II. succeeded him at the age of ten, and reigned
prosperously twenty-five years, though his habits were li¬
centious and intemperate. He was succeeded by his eldest
son Abbas in the year 1641, who, under the title of Shah
Solyman, reigned twenty-nine years. He was, like his fa¬
ther, the slave of dissolute habits; and his drunken orgies
were often stained with blood. He was succeeded by
Hussein Mirza, a weak prince, who was ruled by eunuchs
and priests, and whose measures tended to destroy the lit¬
tle spirit which yet lingered amongst the nobles and chiefs.
The first twenty years of his reign passed over in tranquil¬
lity, but it was only the prelude to a political storm. The
Afghan tribes who inhabit the mountainous tract between
Khorassan and the Indus had long been subject to Persia,
and having often suffered great oppression, at length broke
out into rebellion, irritated by the tyranny of Gurgeen Khan.
The insurgents were headed by Meer Vais, an Afghan chief.
They invited the obnoxious governor Gurgeen Khan to a
feast, where he was suddenly attacked and put to death ;
and Meer Vais, collecting his followers, surprised and storm¬
ed the fortress of Candahar. He then proceeded to strength¬
en himself in his newly usurped power. Whilst the weak
monarch endeavoured by negotiation to pacify this formi¬
dable insurgent, Meer Vais imprisoned his ambassador, and
set his power at defiance ; and a second ambassador met
with no better treatment. The court of Persia now assem¬
bled an army under the command of Khusru Khan, who
advanced against Meer Vais, defeated his army, and laid
D* 9. siege to Candahar. The insurgent chief having assembled
another army, compelled the Persian general to raise the
siege of that place, and afterwards defeated him in a deci¬
sive action, in which he was slain. In the midst of his suc¬
cesses Meer Vais died, and was succeeded by his brother
eer Abdallah, who was assassinated by Mahmoud, son of
eer Vais. The troubles which now afflicted Persia on
every side gave ample leisure to Mahmoud to mature his
267
plans, and to consolidate his power. The Uzbecks were Persia.
ravaging Khorassan ; the tribes of Kurdistan were almostv v—
at the gates of Ispahan; the Abdallee Afghans had taken
Herat, and afterwards Mushed; the islands in the Persian
Gulf had been subdued by the Arabian governor of Mas-
cat; and the rude tribes of Georgia had attacked Shirwan,
and plundered Shamachie. A prediction by an astrologer,
of the total destruction of the capital by an earthquake,
completed the public dismay, when intelligence was re¬
ceived that Mahmoud Ghiljee had entered the country at
the bead of 25,000 Afghans. He was met by the royal ar¬
my of 50,000 troops; and an action took place, which ended
entirely in favour of the Afghans. The consequence was
the siege or blockade of Ispahan, which, after enduring all
the miseries of famine, surrendered on the 21st of October,
after a siege of seven months. The following day the
fallen monarch of Persia, Hussein, took a solemn leave of
his subjects, and signed a capitulation, by which he re¬
signed the crown to Mahmoud. He proceeded, attended
by a train of nobles, and by 300 troops, towards the Afghan
camp ; and being permitted, after some delay, to proceed
to the palace of Ferrahabad, he was introduced into a great
hall or saloon, where he found the conqueror seated. He
addressed him in the following words. “ Son, since the
great sovereign of the universe does not will that I should
reign any longer, and the moment has come which be has
appointed for thy ascending the throne of Persia, I resign
the empire to thee. May thy reign be prosperous.” He
then presented the royal plume of feathers, which he took
from his turban, to the vizier of Mahmoud ; but that prince
refusing to accept it from any other than the monarch to
whom it belonged, the humbled prince now took it from
the minister, and placed the emblem of royalty in the tur¬
ban of his enemy, who all the while retained his seat, and
exclaimed, “ Heign in peace.” After the usual refresh¬
ments of tea and coffee, Mahmoud addressed his captive.
“ Such,” said he, “ is the instability of human grandeur.
God disposes of empires as he pleases; he takes them
from one to give to another; but I promise ever to con¬
sider you as my father, and to undertake nothing without
your advice.”1 Hussein, with his nobles, after doing ho¬
mage to the Afghan sovereign, was confined for seven years
in a small palace, when his enemies, threatened with a re¬
verse of fortune, caused him to be assassinated; and in
his person may be said to have terminated the Suffavean
dynasty, as his son Tamasp, though he assumed the title
of king, never possessed any real power, and only strug¬
gled a few years against his inevitable fate.
Mahmoud having thus succeeded in acquiring the sove¬
reignty of Persia, now endeavoured to conciliate the people
whom he had subdued. But the Persians hated the Af¬
ghan yoke; and, as they recovered from their first dismay,
they began to attack and to cut off scattered parties of the
invaders. At the same time Persia was invaded both by
Russian and Turkish armies. The Russian army advanced
into the country and took possession of Derbend, and the
Turkish army was already on its march to Hamadan, when
the inhabitants of Kazreen rose in insurrection, and ex¬
pelled the Afghan garrison from the place. Mahmoud was
now seriously alarmed. The probable revolt of the ca¬
pital seemed to be the most immediate danger; and his
gloomy mind, alarmed and enraged by these signs of ven¬
geance, conceived the horrible design of exterminating the
conquered people. He commenced with the massacre of
three hundred nobles and their children, who were trea¬
cherously invited to a feast. He afterwards put to death
three thousand of the late king’s guards, whom he had
taken into his pay ; and at length every person who had
1 Sir John Malcolm’s History of Persia, chap. xv. p. 343.
268
PERSIA.
Persia, been in the service of Shall Hussein was included in one
 v-—''bloody proscription, and put to death without ^rcy. ror
fifteen days the city of Ispahan was one scene of blood, and
the spirit of the people was so broken under this unheard
of tyranny, that one Afghan might often be seen leading
three or four Persians to execution.
After this, Mahmoud, being aided by the Kurdish tribes,
succeeded in making himself master of some of the princi¬
pal cities of Irak and Pars. But his affairs appeared to be
on the decline; his kingdom was threatened from various
points, and his mind proved at last unequal to the difficul¬
ties with which he w^as assailed. In this extremity he re¬
sorted for relief to the most abject and degrading supersti¬
tions ; he shut himself up in a vault for fourteen days and
nights, fasting and enduring the severest penances; and,
under the influence of this gloomy fanaticism, he lost his
reason, and fell into the most furious paroxysms of mad¬
ness. In this melancholy situation his mother, out of com¬
passion to him, directed him to be smothered. But this
event did not take place till, under his fatal orders, thirty-
nine princes of the Suffavean blood had suffered an untime¬
ly death. He vras succeeded by Ashruff, the son of Meer
Abdallah, and nephew of Meer Vais. The first period of
\shruff’s reign was successful. He gained repeated vic¬
tories over the Turkish armies, who were compelled to re¬
tire ; and he concluded the war by compelling the Turkish
court to acknowledge his title to the throne. But he was
now assailed from another quarter by more serious dangers.
Tamasp, the son of Shah Hussein, and the representative
of the Suffavean princes, was in Mazanderan, where he was
joined by a distinguished chief, Nadir Kouli, a well-known
warrior, who now declared his resolution to expel every^
Afghan from the soil of Persia, lamasp, from the day of
his^father’s abdication, had assumed royal state, and, now
that he was supported by Nadir and the nobles of Khoras-
san and Mazanderan, he found himself in a condition to
exercise the authority of a sovereign. Nadir being invest¬
ed with the sole command, soon succeeded in reducing
Mushed and Herat, and at length all Khorassan, under the
authority of Tamasp. Ashruff now prepared for the defence
of his sovereign authority; and having raised an army, he
advanced into Khorassan against his enemy, whose fol-
a n 1729 lowers, he knew, were daily increasing. The Afghans
” were defeated in a series of sanguinary actions, and pur¬
sued, first to Teheran, and finally to the gates of Ispahan.
It wras at first proclaimed in the city that the Afghans had
obtained the victory ; but the loud wailings of the women
from the citadel soon disclosed the result of the battle. The
night was passed in preparations for flight. The old men,
women, and children, were mounted on mules and camels,
and having packed up all the treasure and spoil w'hich they
could carry away, they took the route to Shiraz by break
of day ; the tyrant Ashruff having in the mean time cruelly
murdered Shah Hussein, who was still detained a prisoner,
and the pressure of circumstances only preventing a gene¬
ral massacre, which w’as fully intended. Nadir lost no time
jn pursuing the discouraged and flying Afghans. They
were overtaken at Persepolis, and immediately fled towards
Shiraz, where, though they were still 20,000 strong, they
were deserted by their leader, who fled homewards with only
two hundred followers. The army was dispersed in wan¬
dering bands, which were closely pursued and cut down by
their exasperated foes; and Ashruff himself, whilst wander¬
ing in Seistan, was recognised and slain by Abdallah Khan,
a soldier of Beloochistan, who sent his head, with a large
diamond which he found on his person, to Shah Tamasp.
The Afghan invasion was one of the most cruel calamities
which ever befell the Persians. Within the short period of
seven years they had massacred nearly a million of the
inhabitants, laid waste the finest provinces of the country,
and levelled the proudest edifices with the dust; yet they
had neither the power nor the policy to maintain their Persij
conquest. From the first to the last day of their rule they yr
appeared only a small body of foreigners in the midst of
a great nation ; and they accordingly fell before the first
aspiring adventurer who could combine and direct the na¬
tional resources against the ill-constructed fabric of their
power.
Nadir Shah was born in the province of Khorassan, on
the 11th of November 1688. His father was in a low con¬
dition, earning a livelihood by making coats and caps of
sheep-skins. He was taken prisoner by the Uzbecks at
the age of seventeen, but made his escape from them after
a captivity of four years. He was for a considerable pe¬
riod the chief of a band of robbers, the high way in those
countries to distinction and power. He experienced many
vicissitudes of fortune; and being a plunderer of known
valour and resolution, he had collected 3000 followers, by
whose aid he laid under contribution the extensive pro¬
vince of Khorassan. His friendship was now courted by ad. i;
his uncle, who was in possession of the fort of Kelat. Nadir
pretended to listen to his overtures ; but deeming him an
obstacle to his further rise, he treacherously slew him with
his own hands, and proceeded to employ the power which
he had thus acquired against the Afghans, the enemies of
his country. And so well did he succeed in this popular and
patriotic enterprise, that the Afghans were entirely expelled
from the country; whilst, for his eminent services, he receiv¬
ed a gift from his sovereign, Tamasp, of the four provinces
of Khorassan, Mazanderan, Seistan, and Kerman. He then
proceeded to attack the Turks, who still occupied the west¬
ern provinces of Irak and Azerbijan, and having defeated
them in various actions, took possession of Tabriz, Ardebil,
and all the principal cities. He returned to quell an alarming
insurrection of the Afghans, who were unable to withstand
his victorious armies ; and in the mean time the imbecije
Tamasp commenced a war with the Turks, which ended in
a disgraceful peace. He had for some time been a mere
pageant in the hands of Nadir; and this unfortunate war,
with other complaints against him, furnished a plausible
pretence for his dethronement, which took place on the
16th of August 1732. He retired to Khorassan, where he
was afterwards put to death by Reza Kouli, the son of Na¬
dir, and with the knowledge, if not by the secret orders, of
the father. His son, an infant eight months old, was seated
on the throne ; but Nadir was now in substance, as he was
soon to be in form, the real sovereign. In 1736 the death
of this infant removed the only obstacle to his ambition;
and, in a vast assembly of his nobles and troops, he was,
after much pretended reluctance, prevailed on to accept
of the crown. This high dignity served only to give a
fresh stimulus to his active and enterprising habits. In
the course of a new war with the Turks, having regained
the provinces which had been wrested from the imbecile
Tamasp, and concluded a peace, he turned his arms east¬
ward. Candahar and Balkh were besieged and taken by
his son Ileza Kouli, who passed the Oxus, and defeated the
ruler of Bukharia and the Uzbecks. Afghanistan was after¬
wards subdued ; and Nadir finally completed his military
glory by the conquest of Delhi. A single battle was suffi¬
cient to disperse the Mogul host; and Nadir, with his tri¬
umphant legions, entered the capital, which made no resist-
ance. Its treasures were plundered ; and its inhabitants,
who rose on the Persian soldiery, were, in revenge, given
over to an indiscriminate massacre, in which neither age
nor sex was spared. Nadir returned in triumph, loaded •
with the spoils of one of the richest capitals of the East.
He continued to prosecute his conquests on every side, anc
restored the ancient glory of the Persian empire, ^hen it
extended from the chain of the Caucasus eastward to the
Indus. . . j
But. the glory of foreign conquest was tarnished by go-
PERSIA.
269
mestic tyranny. In an expedition against the Lesghees,
■-'a mountain tribe upon the western frontier, Nadir was
wounded by an assassin, who fired on him from a wood.
His suspicion fell on his son Reza Kouli, or had been in¬
stilled into his mind by artful intriguers. Under this im¬
pression he commanded his son into his presence, and im¬
mediately caused him to be deprived of his eyesight. But
so struck was he with remorse after the deed had been
done, that he vented his fury upon all around him ; and
fifty noblemen were put to death by his orders, because
they had not come forward to sacrifice their lives for the
young prince, the hope of his country. “ It is not my
eyes,” says the prince, “ that you have put out, but those
of Persia.” The mind of Nadir was deeply affected ; he
became gloomy and ferocious ; all his future actions were
deeds of horror ; and he exceeded in barbarity all that has
ever been recorded of the most bloody tyrants. The coun¬
try languished under his extortions; and when he at last
raised the people to insurrection, his fury knew no bounds,
and he not only murdered individuals, but gave up whole
cities to the destroying sword. Several of die principal of¬
ficers of his court, learning that their names were in a pro¬
scribed list, resolved to anticipate the vengeance of the ty¬
rant. The execution of the plot was committed to four
chiefs who were employed about the palace, and who, on
the pretext of business, rushed past the guards in the inner
tents, and found the tyrant asleep. He was awakened by
the noise, and had slain two of the conspirators, when he
was deprived of life by a blow from Salah Beg, the captain
of the guards.
The sudden death of Nadir Shah involved the country
in the greatest distraction. He was succeeded by his ne¬
phew Ali, who took the name of Adil Shah. But his reign
was short and inglorious. He was taken prisoner by his
brother Ibrahim Khan, and put to death at Mushed, as
his captor himself also was, being slain by the officer who
guarded him. Shah Rokh, the grandson of Nadir, suc¬
ceeded ; but the throne was ere long usurped by Meerza
Syud Mahommed, by whom Shah Rokh was taken pri¬
soner and deprived of sight. The usurper being defeated
and taken prisoner by Yusuf Ali, the principal general
of Shah Rokh’s army, was immediately put to death. The
blind Shah Rokh was again raised to the throne; but the
measures of his general, Yusuf Ali, were opposed by two
chiefs, the respective heads of a Kurdish and an Arabian
tribe, and by their joint efforts the faithful general of Shah
Rokh was defeated and slain, and he himself again sent
from a throne to a prison. The two chiefs, however, soon
quarrelled ; and Meer Aulum, the Arabian, triumphed, but
only to fall before the rising power of the Afghans un¬
der Ahmed Khan Abdallee. This leader might at the
time have easily accomplished the reduction of Persia.
Butjudging more wisely, he assembled the principal chiefs,
and proposed to them that the province which gave birth
to Nadir should be given as a principality to his grandson,
fo this all the chiefs agreed, and Shah Rokh was again
established in the undisturbed possession of Khorassan.
At this period Persia was in a complete state of distrac¬
tion, from the contentions of rival chiefs. Mahommed
Hussein Khan, chief of the tribe of Kujurs, had established
himself at Astrabad, and had brought under his autho¬
rity the whole province of Mazanderan. The province of
Azerbijan was under the rule of Azad Khan, an Afghan
leader, who had been one of the generals of Nadir Shah.
Bheelan was independent, under one of its own chiefs, Hi-
dayet Khan. At this time Ali Murdan Khan, a chief of
t e tribe Bukteearee, took possession of Ispahan, and, re¬
volving to elevate a prince of the house of Suffee to the
throne, he invited the nobles to join his standard. The Persia,
principal of those chiefs was Kurreen Khan, of the tribe of‘v'-’*
Zund, a man distinguished by his sagacity and courage,
and between whom and Ali Murdan Khan a rivalship for
power soon took place. Kurreen Khan, dreading the en¬
mity of Ali Murdan, took the field against him. But his
assassination soon afterwards left Kurreen undisputed mas¬
ter of the south of Persia. He wras joined by most of the
tribes from that country, and being at war with Azad Khan,
he was entirely defeated by him in a general action, and
so discouraged by the unpromising state of his affairs, that
he meditated a retreat into India. But he was dissuaded
from so unworthy a course by the remonstrances of his
general Roostum Sultan, the chief of Khisht, who attack¬
ed the enemy in a narrow pass, and obtaining a complete
victory, re-established the power of Kurreen Khan, who
again occupied the city of Shiraz, where he employed his
utmost efforts to recruit his army. Azad Khan, throwing
himself on the clemency of his conqueror, was received
into his service, and became one of his most attached fol¬
lowers. The most powerful enemy of Kurreen Khan was
Mahommed Hussein Khan, the chief of the Kujurs, who
ruled in Mazanderan. He advanced against Shiraz with a
powerful force; but the city being bravely defended, he
was compelled to raise the siege, and to retreat to Ispa¬
han. He afterwards engaged Kurreen in a general action,
in which, being deserted by part of his troops, he was de¬
feated and slain. The whole province of Mazanderan then
submitted to the conqueror, and this was followed by the
submission of Gheelan and the greater part of Azerbijan.
Khorassan was the only province which he did not sub¬
due ; and his forbearance is ascribed to compassion for the
blind Shah Rokh, who still retained this remnant of his ex¬
tensive dominions.
Kurreen Khan was distinguished by a love of justice
and a moderation not usual amongst eastern princes. He
died in the year 1779, in the eightieth year of his age, after
a reign of twenty-six years. His administration was ge¬
nerally just and beneficent. He encouraged agriculture
and commerce, which greatly revived during the latter
years of his reign ; and he protected, by his justice, Chris¬
tians as well as Mahommedans. He never refused mercy to
a fallen foe, though he sometimes punished severely, that
he might strike terror into his enemies. Many stories are
recorded of him, which display the kindness of his heart.
He often repeated an anecdote of his early life. “ When
I was a poor soldier,” said Kurreen, “ in Nadir Shah’s
camp, my necessity led me to steal from a saddler a gold-
embossed saddle, which had been sent by an Afghan chief
to be repaired. I soon afterwards learned, that the man
from whose shop it had been taken was lying in prison
under sentence of death. My conscience smote me, and
I replaced the saddle exactly on the place whence I took
it. I watched till it was discovered by the saddler’s wife,
who on seeing it gave a scream of joy, fell down upon her
knees, and prayed aloud that the person who had brought
it back might live to have a hundred gold-embossed sad¬
dles. 1 am quite certain,” he added, smiling, “ that the ho¬
nest prayer of the old woman has aided my fortune in the
attainment of that splendour which she desired I should
enjoy.”1 The humane disposition of this prince prompted
him to acts of mercy; and the generous confidence with
which he treated those whom he forgave, never failed to
attach them to his person. It is the practice of the Per¬
sian kings to devote a portion of their time to hear the
complaints of their subjects ; and the following anecdote
related of Kurreen Khan illustrates the temper and consi¬
deration with which he performed this important duty.
* Sir John Malcolm’s History of Persia, chap, xviii.
270
PERSIA.
Persia.
He was one day on the point of retiring from the ju g-
' ment-seat, harassed and fatigued with a long aUendance,
when a suitor rushed forward in the Sreatef, ^®trai upp ’
and, calling aloud for justice, complained that he had been
robbed and plundered by thieves of all he possessed. \\ hat
was you about,” said the prince, “ when you was robbed .
“ I was asleep,” answered the man. “ And why did you
sleep?” exclaimed Kurreen, in an impatient tone. Be¬
cause,” said the suitor, “ I made a mistake, and thought
you was awake.” The royal judge, pleased with this manly
boldness, turned to his vizier, and desired him to pay the
merchant’s losses from the treasury. “ We must, he add¬
ed “ try to recover the property from the robbers.
After the death of Kurreen Khan, the succession to the
crown was, as usual, disputed, and in the course of these
contests his four sons either perished under the daggers
of assassins, or were sacrificed in the intrigues of ambi¬
tious chiefs contending for the crown. Zuckee Khan, the
moment his father died, assumed the reins of government;
whilst Saaduck Khan at the same time evacuated Bassorah,
and advanced towards Shiraz. But he was unable to con¬
tend against Zuckee Khan, and was soon forced to retire.
In the mean time, Aga Mahommed Khan Kujur, who had
been detained prisoner at Shiraz, and who was duly ap¬
prized by his sister, an inmate of the royal harem, of the
progress of Kurreen Khan’s illness, and at last of his death,
contrived to escape to Mazanderan, where he proclaimed
himself a competitor for the throne. The cruelties of Zuc¬
kee, who had treacherously murdered a number of his re¬
bellious nobles, after pledging his faith for their safety,
soon provoked revenge, and he was himself put to death
at Yezdikhanst. Aboul Futteh Khan was proclaimed king
of Persia the moment Zuckee Khan was put to death.
Saaduck Khan hastened from Kerman to Shiraz when he
heard of the assassination of Zuckee Khan, and proclaim¬
ed himself king, arresting the person of Aboul tutted
Khan, and causing his eyes to be put out. He was be¬
sieged in his capital by his nephew Ah Mourad Khan, his
most formidable enemy, and, being obliged to surrender,
he was put to death, with most of his sons. Ah Mourad
was, in his turn, put down by another rival; and Jafher
Khan, nephew of Kurreen, and Aga Mahommed, were at
length the only rivals left to contend for the crown. The
former having disgusted one of his chief supporters, Ha-
jee Ali Kouli, he engaged in a conspiracy against him ;
and having put poison in his victuals, he and otheis rush¬
ed into his chamber when he was writhing under its ef¬
fects, and put a period to his existence. He was succeed¬
ed by Lootf Ali Khan, who was one of the most remark¬
able characters recorded in the Persian annals. His ap¬
pearance was greatly in his favour ; his fine countenance,
full of animated expression ; his form tall and graceful,
and, though slender, active and strong. He was at Ker¬
man when he heard of his father’s murder, which took
place in the year 1789 ; and though Syud Mourad Khan
was at first proclaimed king by the conspirators, yet, by
the aid of Hajee Ibrahim, appointed by his father the first
magistrate of the province of Pars, he was soon enabled
to assert his claim to the crown. He was bold in coun¬
sel and fearless in action, and maintained a long and well-
sustained struggle for the sovereignty, in the course of
which he performed prodigies of valour. But he wanted
prudence and temper, and had no control over his passions.
Unbending in his pride, and harsh and unconciliating in
his manners, he employed terror as the chief source of
his influence. His great error was in quarrelling with and
disgusting his faithful minister Hajee Ibrahim, a states- P@||
man of consummate prudence and talents, who abandoned»
his service for that of his rival and enemy, Aga Mahommed
Khan, and was ever afterwards his most formidable ene¬
my.1 Lootf Ali maintained the contest for six years; the
“ slightest spark,” according to a Persian author, “ always
rekindling the flame of hope in the breast of the warrior.”
But he was at length overwhelmed by the superior forces of
his enemy ; and, flying from Persia, he was treacherously
seized, after a brave resistance, in which he was seriously
wounded, and being delivered into the hands of Aga
Mahommed Khan, was treated with a brutality of insult
which is too shocking to be described, and which, Sir John
Malcolm adds, disgraced human nature. His eyes were
torn out, and he was sent to languish out a miserable ex¬
istence in Teheran, where an order was soon afterwards
sent for his execution. Lootf Ali terminated his extraor¬
dinary career in 1795, in the twenty-fifth year of his age.
Nor was Aga Mahommed’s cruel treatment of the inhabi¬
tants of Kerman less shocking. Ihis place was the last
stronghold of Lootf Ali. It was defended by him with his
usual bravery, and being at length taken by treachery, be¬
came the scene of the most dreadful atrocities. The place
was almost depopulated. Many women and children, to
the number of 20,000, were carried into slavery. The men
were murdered, and numbers were deprived of sight, many
of whom were afterwards seen by Sir John Malcolm beg¬
ging their bread. Lootf Ali was the last of the Zund la-
mily of princes, who had ruled over Persia for nearly half
a century.
Aga Mahommed Khan having now firmly established
himself upon the throne of Persia, his first care was to re¬
store order throughout his dominions, and to repel foreign
aggression. Having tranquillized the southern and cen¬
tral provinces, he invaded Armenia and Karabang, and
marching straight to Teflis, he defeated Heraclius, prince of
Georgia ; and having taken the city, he sacked it, and made
a dreadful slaughter of the inhabitants, carrying into sla¬
very 20,000 women and children. He then turned his arms
eastward, subdued Khorassan, and repressed the incursions
of the pillaging Turcomans in the vicinity of Astrabad, as
well as of the Uzbecks in Bukharia. But however rigorous
his administration, and however active in the field, all his
exploits were stained with cruelties. His avarice was un¬
bounded ; and he scrupled at no atrocity to gratify it. He
had long thirsted after the jewels of which Nadir Shah had
despoiled India, and these he wrested without remorse from
their unfortunate possessors. From the aged and blind
Shah Rokh he extorted, by the severest tortures, several of
those which were the most precious, particularly a ruby,
which had belonged to Aurungzebe, and which was of ex¬
traordinary size and value. This precious jewel was retain¬
ed to the last, until boiling lead had been poured upon the
head of the unhappy prince, w hen, in his intolerable agony,
he declared where it was hidden. Fie was afterwards con¬
veyed to Damghan in Khorassan, where he died in a fevr
days, in the sixty-third year of his age, in consequence ot
the tortures to which he had been subjected.
Aga Mahommed Khan succeeded in tranquillizing the
country, partly by policy, and still more by terror. He
often spared his enemies, and conciliated them, not how¬
ever from any feeling of humanity, but from a sense of ms
own interest; for his disposition was stern, cruel, and vin¬
dictive, and his reign presents a series of atrocities scarce¬
ly equalled in the bloody annals of the East. Sir John Mal¬
colm palliates his atrocities, and observes, that though his
See, in Sir John Malcolm’s excellent History of Persia, a full account of all the transactions of Lootf All’s reign. Sir Jo
personally acquainted with Hajee Ibrahim, who informed him that his principal reason for taking part with Mahommed lima ’
to save his country from the continual petty wars with which it had been long afflicted. (Vol. ii. chap. xix. p. 183.)
PERSIA.
271
i. executions are murders, we must not assume that justice
' is always violated, because the form of administering it is
repugnant to our feelings ; and, further, he adds, that “ the
punishment of bodies of men to deter others of similar
condition from equal guilt, is perhaps the only mode by
which uncivilized nations can be preserved in peace.”1 But
according to Sir John Malcolm’s own account, not only
the forms, but every principle of justice, were violated by
the executions, or murders, as he justly calls them, of the
Persian despot. Ali Khan, a chief of the AfFshar tribe, had
opposed Aga Mahommed Khan in the field. He was de¬
coyed into his power by the deepest treachery, and being
arrested amidst fawning and caresses, his eyes were put
out. The brave and generous Jaffier Kouli, his own bro¬
ther, was in like manner seduced, by the kindest assur¬
ances, to visit the court at Teheran, where he was w7el-
comed with every appearance of cordiality, and the night
passed in peace. Next day Aga Mahommed observed,
“ You have not, I believe, looked at the new palace ; walk
there with Baba Khan (his son), and after you have seen
it, return to me.” But the moment he entered the portico,
some assassins who had been stationed there fell upon him
and slew him. This act, unequalled in atrocity, stamps upon
Aga Mahommed the character of a cold-blooded villain,
whose portrait may be truly drawn in the words of the im¬
mortal poet, “ I can smile, and smile, and murder when I
smile.” And were not justice and humanity alike violated
in the cruel torture of the blind Shah Rokh ? The pu¬
nishment of bodies of men, that is, the indiscriminate mas¬
sacre of thousands, including infants and old men, and the
carrying off of women by violence, Sir John Malcolm pal¬
liates on the tyrant’s plea, necessity ; as if cruelty, and not
justice and humanity, were the only mode of maintaining
peace amongst uncivilized nations, or as if it were quite al¬
lowable in political morality to kill one half of a nation in
order to compel the other to abandon their barbarous mode
of living. The truth is, that Aga Mahommed appears to
have been a prodigy of cruelty, swayed alternately by ava¬
rice and revenge, and his own absolute will, the only war¬
rant of his evil deeds; so that it is idle to try his conduct
by any moral test. Many stories are related of his implac¬
able cruelty and revenge. He not only murdered or de¬
prived of sight all the relations of Lootf Ali, but he dug
up the bones of the virtuous Kurreen Khan and those of
Nadir Shah, which he caused to be burned at the entrance
of his palace, that he might indulge in the savage pleasure
of trampling on their remains. The following is a trait
of his vindictive disposition. “ I could not,” he has been
known to say, “ express openly the hatred and revenge
I harboured against the murderers of my father, and the
despoilers of my inheritance ; but whilst sitting with Kur¬
reen Khan in his hall of audience, I often used to cut his
fine carpets with a pen-knife concealed under my cloak,
and felt some relief in doing him this secret injury. It
was foolish, and betrayed a want of forecast; for these car¬
pets are mine, and I might have even then calculated on
their being so.”
Aga Mahommed Khan being apprised of the invasion
of Persia by Russia, sent his army to defend the frontier.
But the death of the Empress Catharine relieved Persia
from the serious danger with which it w'as threatened. Aga
Mahommed then determined to move towards Georgia;
and having received a friendly deputation from the inha¬
bitants of Sheshah, he proceeded with some light troops,
and took possession of tins important fortress. Three days
afterwards, a dispute having occurred betw een a Georgian
slave, a personal attendant on the monarch, and another
servant, respecting some money that was missing, the
king, enraged at the noise which they made, directed that
they should both be put to death. Saaduck Khan She-
kakee, a nobleman of the highest rank, solicited their par¬
don, which was refused ; but as it was the night of Friday,
sacred to prayer, their lives were spared till next morning,
and, with a singular infatuation, the despot permitted them
to perform their usual services about his person. Despair
gave them courage; and whilst the monarch was asleep,
they entered his tent, accompanied by an associate, and
stabbed with their poniards one of the ablest monarchs (ac¬
cording to Sir John Malcolm) who ever sat on the throne
of Persia. He was then in the sixty-third year of his
age, and had ruled for upwards of twenty years, though
he had enjoyed the undisputed sovereignty of the coun¬
try tor only a small portion of that time.
Aga Mahommed Khan was in person so slender, that
he appeared like a youth of fourteen or fifteen. His face
was beardless and shrivelled, resembling that of an aged
and wrinkled woman ; it was at no time pleasant or agree¬
able, and when clouded with indignation, as it often was, its
expression was horrible. He was so sensible of this, that
he could not bear any one to look at him. “ The first
passion of his mind,” says Sir John Malcolm, “ was the love
of power, the second avarice, and the third revenge. In
all these he indulged to excess. He was harsh and ab¬
rupt, and often cruel to his ministers and to his domes¬
tics, who trembled at the sound of his shrill and dissonant
voice, which was generally raised to utter some term of
gross abuse, or issue an order for punishment. The minister
Hajee Ibrahim was, however, an exception. He was uni¬
formly treated with unbounded confidence.” “ The pe¬
netration of the monarch,” says the historian of Persia so
often quoted, “ discovered at once the talents of that ex¬
traordinary man, whose plainness of manner, blunt speech,
manly fortitude, and astonishing knowledge of public af¬
fairs, led Aga Mahommed to give him his entire confi¬
dence, and no confidence was ever better rewarded. The
minister, though he contrived to gratify the avarice of his
master, and to promote his ambition, often obtained fa¬
vour for others through the kindness of his disposition,
whenever he could interfere without danger to himself.
He was generally dressed in the plainest manner, and he
greatly disliked the hyperbolical complimentary style of
the East, insomuch that, when the secretaries of the
court, in reading papers to him, commenced their flowery
introductions, he desired them to 4 pass over the nonsense,
and^ proceed to the subject of the letter at once.’ ”
By the influence and wise management of Hajee Ibra¬
him, the crown wTas secured to the nephew of the deceas¬
ed monarch, who assumed the sovereignty under the title
of I’ utteli Ali Khan. Saaduck Khan made a feeble effort
to oppose him, but was attacked and defeated. Two
other attempts to usurp the crown, the one made by the
king’s brother Hussein Kooli Khan, and the other by Ma¬
hommed Khan, a prince of the Zund family, were subdued;
and since this period the internal tranquillity of the country
has not been disturbed. The most important events in
the reign of hutteh Ali were connected with the wars
which he entered into with Russia, and which generally
proved unfavourable to Persia. In 1800 Georgia finally
submitted to the dominion of Russia; and in 1803 Min-
grelia was subdued. Gonjah was taken ; and although the
invaders were forced to raise the siege of Erivan, they
overran Daghistan and Shirwan, and, in 1805, Karabang
yielded to their victorious arms. The interference of
Great Britain arrested the progress of Russian conquest;
and Persia was saved from further inroads by the treaty
of Goolistan, concluded in October 1813, which fixed the
Persia.
1 History of Persia, vol. ii. p. 272.
272 .PER
Peraieus
Sinus
Persiua
Flaccus.
relative boundaries so indefinitely, as, after much te ious
negotiation, to give rise to a new war. In this war, w ic
commenced in the month of July 1826, the prince roya
of Persia took the field, with forty thousand men, twelve
thousand of whom were regulars ; and at the outset he
gained several important advantages. But the superior
discipline of the Russian armies, trained in the wars ot
Europe, triumphed in the end ; and in 1828, seeing no pros¬
pect of maintaining the war with success, peace was again
sought for through the mediation of Great Britain, it
was concluded on the 21st of February, at Turkomanshee.
Besides large cessions of territory, namely, the khanat ot
Erivan and that of Nakshivan, and the greater part of ia-
lish, including all the islands which fall within its direc¬
tion, Persia agreed to pay ten crores, of 500,000 each,
of tomauns, as an indemnification for the expenses of the
war. Since this treaty, the peace of the two countries has
not been disturbed ; and the prince royal, turning his at¬
tention to the internal concerns of his kingdom, has suc¬
ceeded in reducing the rebellious chiefs of Khorassan.
By the aid of a Polish refugee, equally skilful and brave,
PER
he acquired possession of Yeza, took Toorshish and Kha- Feu
booshan by storm, and reduced to obedience all the other ^
chiefs in that quarter. eiJ;
Still it is manifest, from the accounts of all travellers,
that the present dynasty of the Kujurs stands upon a preca¬
rious foundation. The misrule which pervades every dis¬
trict of the country, the tyranny and extortions which op¬
press all classes, and the insecurity of life and property,
have excited throughout the kingdom a thorough detesta¬
tion of the present rulers. The people sigh for that se¬
curity, that religious liberty, and that protection, which
they know to be enjoyed under the British government in
India; and it is well known that petitions have been ad¬
dressed to influential quarters from a great proportion of
the chiefs and nobles, and from other classes, craving per¬
mission to throw themselves on the protection of Britain,
and declaring that if they are disappointed, they will so¬
licit the aid of Russia. Any government, even that of fo¬
reigners, which would give them security for their lives
and properties, they consider as preferable to the hated
yoke of the Kujur tyrant. (F0
PERSICUS Sinus, in Ancient Geography, a part of the
sea which the Romans called Mare Rubrum, and the Greeks
Mare Erythrceum. On the east it is bounded by Arabia
Felix, between Avhich and Caramania it runs into the land,
and washes Persia on the south.
PERSIUS Flaccus (Aulus), a celebrated Roman sa¬
tirist, was a native of Volaterra in Etruria, and descended ot
an equestrian family of considerable eminence in the state.
The little that we know respecting his personal history is
chiefly derived from a slight sketch commonly ascribed to
the pen of Suetonius. He was born a. d. 34, in the twentieth
year of the reign of Tiberius, and died a. d. 62, in the twen*
ty-eighth year of his age, and in the eighth of the reign ot
Nero. He lost his father at an early age ; and his mother,
Fulvia Sisennia, removed to Rome, that her son might en¬
joy the best education which the imperial city could furnish.
He studied first under the grammarian Rhemmius Palaemon,
and the rhetorician Virginius Flavus; and when he reached
his sixteenth year, he was placed under the Stoic philoso¬
pher Annaeus Cornutus, to whom he became passionately
attached, and from whom he imbibed those tenets by which
his writings are characterized. In his younger days he
was much in the company of Paetus Thrasea, whose noble
character must no doubt have tended to form the mind of
Persius to virtuous habits. He was also intimately acquaint¬
ed with Lucan, who had been his fellow-pupil under Cor¬
nutus. His admiration of the Satires of Lucilius is said
to have first turned his attention to the study of poetry.
His character was austere, his mode of life pure and
blameless, and his affection for his friends strong and un¬
bending. He left a considerable property to his mother
and sisters; and his books, which are said to have consisted
of seven hundred volumes, he bequeathed to his friend
Cornutus. The philosopher recommended to his mother
that she should commit to the flames all his manuscripts
except his Satires. These were accordingly preserved, and
consist of one book, divided, according to some, into five
satires, and according to others, into six.
If we consider the nature and general scope of the writ¬
ings of Persius, we shall find the severe tenets of the Stoics
everywhere pervading them, and that the poet, unable to
conceal the virtuous indignation which naturally rises in his
breast, in contemplating the ignoble and vicious lives of
those by whom he was surrounded, pours forth in strong and
unmeasured language the feelings which occupy his soul.
He disdains, like Horace, to laugh at those vices which he
regards with such deep-felt abhorrence. He has none
of the lively and playful humour of Horace; and there is a
sternness and an austerity in his remarks, which leave a
painful impression on the mind. He shows that he is entirely
occupied with his subject, and that his sentiments flow from
a mind deeply convinced of their truth. His language,
however, is at times so obscure and enigmatical, that it is
difficult to attach a meaning to it, even with the assistance
of the ancient scholia. This circumstance has tended to
detract much from the merits of Persius; but Quintilian and
Martial, amongst the ancients, have both expressed a high
admiration of his talents and writings.
The best edition of his Satires is that of Ruperti, pub¬
lished along with the Satires of Juvenal, Leipzig, 1819. The
best separate edition is that of Franz Passpw, with a metri¬
cal translation and introduction to the life and writings of
Persius, Leipzig, 1809.
PERSON, an individual of a rational and intelligent na¬
ture. Thus we say, an ambassador represents the person
of his prince; and that, in law, the father and son are re¬
puted the same person.
Person, in Grammar, a term applied to such nouns or
pronouns as, being either prefixed or understood, are the
nominatives in all inflections of a verb. See Grammar.
PERSONAL, any thing that concerns, or is restricted
to, the person.
Personal Action, in Law, is an action levied directly and
solely against the person, in opposition to a real or a mixed
action. . ..
Personal Verb, in Grammar, a verb conjugated in all
the three persons, and so called in opposition to an imper¬
sonal verb, or that which has the third person only.
PERSONALITY, in the schools, is that which consti¬
tutes an individual a distinct person.
PERSONIFYING, the assigning to an inanimate object
the sentiments and language of a living being.
273
PERSPECTIVE.
pec- Perspective is the art of drawing upon a plane surface
e. true resemblances or pictures of objects, as the objects them-
■ ^“''selves appear to the eye from any distance and situation,
real or imaginary.
It was in the sixteenth century that perspective was re¬
vived, or rather re-invented. It owes its birth to painting,
and particularly to that branch of it which was employed in
the decorations of the theatre, where landscapes were pro¬
perly introduced, and which would have looked unnatural
and horrid if the size of the objects had not been pretty
nearly proportioned to their distance from the eye. We
learn from Vitruvius, that Agatharchus, instructed by iEs-
chylus, was the first who wrote upon this subject; and that
afterwards the principles of the art were more distinctly
taught by Democritus and Anaxagoras, the disciples of Aga¬
tharchus. Of the theory of this art, as described by them,
we know nothing, since none of their writings have escaped
the general wreck that was made of ancient literature in
the dark ages of Europe. However, the revival of painting
in Italy was accompanied with a revival of this art.
The first person who attempted to lay down the rules of
perspective was Pietro del Borgo, an Italian. He supposed
objects to be placed beyond a transparent tablet, and en¬
deavoured to trace the images which rays of light emitted
from them would make upon it. But we do not know what
success he had in this attempt, because the book which he
wrote upon the subject is not now extant. It was, however,
very much commended by the famous Egnazio Dante ; and,
upon the principles of Borgo, Albert Durer constructed a
machine, by which he could trace the perspective appear¬
ance of objects.
Balthazar Perussi studied the writings of Borgo, and en¬
deavoured to render them more intelligible. To him we owe
the discovery of points of distance, to which all lines that
make an angle of forty-five degrees with the ground line
are drawn. A little time after, Guido Ubaldi, another Ita¬
lian, found that all the lines that are parallel to one another,
if they be inclined to the ground line, converge to some
point in the horizontal line; and that through this point
also, a line drawn from the eye, parallel to them, will pass.
These principles, put together, enabled him to make out a
pretty complete theory of perspective.
Great improvements were made in the rules of perspec¬
tive by subsequent geometricians ; particularly by Professor
Gravesande, and still more by Dr Brooke Taylor, whose
principles are in a great measure new, and far more general
than any that had been made before his time.
In order to understand the principles of perspective, it
will be proper to consider the plane on which the represen¬
tation is to be made as transparent, and interposed between
the eye of the spectator and the object to be represented.
Thus, suppose a person at a window looks through an up¬
right pane of glass at any object beyond it, and, keeping his
head steady, draws the figure of the object upon the glass
with a black-lead pencil, as if the point of the pencil
touched the object itself; he would then have a true re¬
presentation of the object in perspective, as it appears to
his eye.
I In order to this, two things are necessary; first, that the
glass be laid over with strong gum-water, which, when dry,
will be fit for drawing upon, and will retain the traces of the
pencil; and, secondly, that he look through a small hole
in a thin plate of metal, fixed about a foot from the glass,
between it and his eye, and that he keep his eye close to
the hole, otherwise he might shift the position of his head,
and consequently make a false delineation of the object.
VOL. XVII.
Having traced the figure or outline of the object, he may Perspec-
go over it again with pen and ink, and when the ink is dry, tive.
put a sheet of paper upon it, and trace it thereon with a
pencil; then taking away the paper and laying it upon a
table, he may finish the picture by giving it the colours,
lights, and shades, as he sees them in the object itself. By
these means he will have a true resemblance of the object.
To every person who has a general knowledge of the
principles of optics, this must be self-evident. For, as vision
is occasioned by pencils of rays coming in straight lines to
the eye from every point of the visible object, it is plain
that, by joining the points in the transparent plane, through
which all those pencils respectively pass, an exact repre¬
sentation must be formed of the object, as it appears to the
eye in that particular position, and at that determined dis¬
tance ; and were pictures of things to be always first drawn
on transparent planes, this simple operation, with the prin¬
ciple upon which it is founded, would comprehend the whole
theory and practice of perspective. As this, however, is
far from being the case, rules must be deduced from the
sciences of optics and geometry, for drawing representations
of visible objects upon opaque planes; and the application of
these rules constitutes what is properly called the art of per¬
spective.
Previously to our laying down the fundamental principles
of this art, it may not be improper to observe, that when a
person stands right against the middle of one end of a long
avenue or wralk, which is straight and equally broad through¬
out, the sides thereof appear to approach nearer and nearer
to each other as they are further and further from his eye;
or the angles under which their different parts are seen
become less and less according as the distance from his eye
increases ; and if the avenue be very long, the sides of it at
the farthest end will seem to meet, and there an object
that would cover the whole breadth of the avenue, and be
of a height equal to that breadth, would appear to be only
a mere point.
Having made these preliminary observations, we shall now
proceed to the practice of perspective, which is built upon
the following
THEOREM I.
Let abed (fig. 1) represent the ground plan of the figure
to be thrown into perspective, and efgh the transparent plane
Fig. 1.
through which it is viewed by the eye at E. Let these
planes intersect in the straight line KL. Let B be any
2 M
274
PERSPECTIVE.
Perspec¬
tive.
point in the ground-plan, and BE a straight hne, the pat
of a ray of light from that point to the eye. d will pa^s
'through the plane efgh in some point b; or B will be seen
through that point, and b will be the picture, image, or re-
P11? BA be drawn in the ground-plan, making any angle
BAK with the common intersection, and EY be drawn pa¬
rallel to it, meeting the picture-plane or perspective plane
in V and VA be drawn, the point b is in the line VA so
situated that BA is to EV as />A to iV.
For since EV and BA are parallel, the figure BAoVE&B
is in one plane, cutting the perspective plane m the straight
line VA ; the triangles BA6, EV6, are similar, and BA . LV
= bA : bV. . . ...
Cor 1 If B be beyond the picture, its picture b is above
the intersection KL ; but if B be between the eye and the
picture, as at B', its picture b’ is below KL.
2. If two other parallel lines BA', ES, be drawn, and A,
S, be joined, the picture of B is in the intersection of the
lines AV and A'S. z . . .,. .
3. The line BA is represented by bX, or bX is the pic¬
ture" of BA; and if AB be infinitely extended, it will be
represented by AV. V is therefore called the vanishing
'point of the line AB. v
^ 4. All lines parallel to AB are represented by lines con-
verging to V from the points where these lines intersect the
perspective-plane ; and therefore V is the vanishing point of
all such parallel lines, ,, , ,
5. The pictures of all lines parallel to the perspective-
plane are parallel to the lines themselves (fig. 8).
1 If through V (fig. 1) be drawn HVO parallel to KL,
the angle EVH is equal to BAK. .
Remark. The proposition now demonstrated is not li¬
mited to any inclination of the picture-plane to the ground-
plane ; but it is usual to consider them as perpendicular to
each other, and the ground-plane as horizontal. Hence the
line KL is called the ground-line, and OH the horizon-line;
and OK, perpendicular to both, is called the height oj the
^ If ES be drawn perpendicular to the picture-plane, it
will cut it in a point S of the horizon-line directly opposite
to the eye. This is called the point of sight, or principal
^T^ The pictures of all vertical lines are vertical, and the
pictures of horizontal lines are horizontal, because these
lines are parallel to the perspective plane. .
8. The point of sight S is the vanishing point of all lines
perpendicular to the perspective plane.
The above proposition is a sufficient foundation for the
whole practice of perspective, whether on direct or inclined
pictures, and serves to suggest all the various practical con¬
structions, each of which has advantages which suit parti¬
cular purposes. Writers on the subject have either confined
themselves to one construction, from an affectation of sim¬
plicity or fondness for system ; or have multiplied precepts,
by giving every construction for every example, in order to
make a great book, and give the subject an appearance of
importance and difficulty. An ingenious practitioner will
avoid both extremes, and avail himself of the advantage of
each construction as it happens to suit his purpose. We
shall now proceed to the practical rules, which require no
consideration of intersecting planes, and are all performed
on the perspective plane by means ot certain substitutions
for the place of the eye and the original figure. The ge¬
neral substitution is as follows :
Let the plane of the paper be first supposed to be the
ground-plan, and the spectator to stand at F (fig. 2). Let
it be supposed that the ground-plan is to be represented on
a plane surface, standing perpendicularly on the line GKL
of the plan, and that the point K is immediately opposite
to the spectator, or that FK is perpendicular to GL : then
FK is equal to the distance of the spectator’s eye from the Pew
til
picture.
Fig 2.
Now suppose a piece of paper laid on the plan with its
straight edge lying on the line GL ; draw on this paper KS
perpendicular to GL, and make it equal to the height of the
eye above the ground-plan. This may be much greater than
the height of a man, because the spectator may be standing
on a place much raised above the ground-plan. Observe
also that KS must be measured on the same scale on which
the ground-plan and the distance F K were measured. Then
draw HSO parallel to GL. This will be a horizontal line,
and (when the picture is set upright on GL) will be on a
level with the spectator’s eye, and the point S will be di¬
rectly opposite to his eye. It is therefore called the prin¬
cipal point, or point of sight. The distance of his eye from
this point will be equal to FK. Therefore make SP (in the
line SK) equal to FK, and P is the projecting point or sub¬
stitute for the place of the eye. It is sometimes convenient
to place P above S, sometimes to one side of it on the ho¬
rizontal line, and in various other situations; and Avriters
ignorant of, or inattentive to, the principles of the theory,
have given it different denominations, such as point of dis¬
tance, point of view, &c. It is merely a substitute for the
point F in fig. 1, and its most natural situation is below, as
in this figure. T ,
The art of perspective is conveniently divided into ich-
noo-raphy, which teaches how to make a perspective draught
of figures on a plane, commonly called the ground-plan; and
Scenography, which teaches how to draw solid figures, or
such figures as are raised above this plan.
Pros. 1. To put into perspective any given point of the
‘ ground-plan.
First general construction.
From B and P (fig. 2) draw any two parallel lines BA,
PV, cutting the ground-line and horizon-line in A and V,
and draw BP, AV, cutting each other in 6; b is the picture
of* 13
° For it is evident that BA, PV of this figure are analo¬
gous to BA and EV of fig. 1, and that BA : PV = fA : 6 V-
If BA' be drawn perpendicular to GL, I V will fall o
PS, and need not be drawn. A'V will be A'S. I his is
the most easy construction, and nearly the same with Fer¬
guson’s.
Second general construction.
Draw two lines BA, BA", and two lines PV, PD, paral¬
lel to them, and draw AV, A"D, cutting each other m b,
b is the picture of B by Cor. 2. This construction is t e
foundation of all the rules of perspective that are to o
found in the books on this subject. They appear in a
riety of forms, owing to the ignorance or inattention oi
PERSPECTIVE.
; spec- authors to the principles. The rule most generally adher-
a*. ed to is as follows :
Draw BA perpendicular to the ground-line, and AS to
the point of sight, and set off A/3 equal to BA. Set oft' SD
equal to the distance
of the eye in the op- Fig. 3.
posite direction from
S that 8 is from A,
where B and E of fig.
1 are on opposite
sides of the picture;
otherwise set them
the same way. D is
called the point of distance. Draw /3D, cutting AS in b.
This is evidently equivalent to drawing BA' and PS per¬
pendicular to the ground-line and horizon-line, and BA" and
PD (fig. 2) making an angle of 45° with these lines, with
the additional puzzle about the way of setting off A'A" and
SD, which is avoided in the construction here given.
This usual construction, however, by a perpendicular and
the point of distance, is extremely simple and convenient;
and two points of distance, one on each side of S, serve for
all points of the ground-plan. But the first general con¬
struction requires still fewer lines, if BA be drawn perpen¬
dicular to GL, because PV will then coincide with PS.
Third general construction.
Draw BA (fig. 3) from the given point B perpendicular
to the ground-line, and AS to the point of sight. From the
point of distance D set off Dd equal to BA, on the same or
the contrary sides as S, according as B is on the same or
the contrary side of the picture as the eve. Join d A, and
draw D6 parallel to dA. b is the picture of B. For SD,
Dd are equal to the distances of the eye and given point
from the picture, and SD : Dd — 6 S : bA.
This construction does not naturally arise from the ori¬
ginal lines, but is a geometrical consequence from their po¬
sition and magnitude ; and it is of all others the most ge¬
nerally convenient, as the perpendicular distances of any
number of points may be arranged along SD without con¬
fusion, and their direct situations transferred to the ground¬
line by perpendiculars such as BA ; and nothing is easier
than drawing parallels, either by a parallel ruler or a bevel
square, used by all who practise drawing.
Pros. 2. To put any straight line BC of the ground-plan
in perspective.
Find the pictures b, c, of its extreme points by any of
the foregoing constructions, and join
them by the straight line be.
Perhaps the following construc¬
tion will be found very generally
convenient.
Produce CB till it meet the
ground-line in A, and draw PV pa¬
rallel to it; join AV, and draw PB,
PC, cutting AV in b, c. V is its
vanishing point, by Cor. 3 of the
■fundamental theorem.
It must be left; to the experience
and sagacity of the drawer to select
such circumstances as are most suitable to the multiplicity
ot the figures to be drawn. '
and it would fill a volume to give them all. The most ge¬
nerally convenient is to find the vanishing points of the
bounding lines, and connect these with the points of their'
intersection with the ground line. For example, to put the
square ABCD (fig. 5) into perspective.
Fig. 5.
275
Fig. 4.
Pros. 3. To put any rectilineal figure of the ground -plan
in perspective.
is solved16 b°UndinS lines in PersPective, and the problem
Draw from the projecting point PV, PW, parallel to AB,
BC, and let AB, BC, CD, DA, meet the ground line in «,
x, d, (3, and draw aV, 6V, xW, /3W, cutting each other in
abed, the picture of the square ABCD. The demonstra¬
tion is evident.
This construction, however, runs the figure to great dis¬
tances on each side of the middle line, when any of the lines
of the original figure are nearly parallel to the ground-line.
The following construction avoids this inconvenience.
Fig. 6.
Let D be the point of distance. Draw the perpendicu-
lars Aa, B/3, Gx, D3, and the lines Ae? BJl Cff, DA, parallel
to PD. Draw Sa, S/3, Sx, Sd, and De, Df, Dg, Dh, cutting
the former in a, b, c, d, the angles of the picture.
It is not necessary that D be the point of distance ; only
the lines Ae, Bf, &c. must be parallel to PD.
Remark. In all the foregoing constructions the neces¬
sary lines (and even the finished picture) are frequently
confounded with the original figure. To avoid this great
inconvenience, the writers on perspective direct us to trans¬
pose the figure ; that is, to transfer it to the other side of
the ground-line, by producing the perpendiculars Aa, B/3,
Cx, D<3, till aA' f3B', &c. are respectively equal to Aa, B/3,
&c.; or, instead of the original figure, to
use only its transposed substitute A'B'C'D'.
This is an extremely proper method. But
in this case the point P must also be trans¬
posed to P' above S, in order to retain the
first or most natural and simple construc¬
tion, as in fig. 7, where it is evident, that
when BA = AB', and SP = SP', and B'F
is drawn, cutting AS in b, we have bA:
bS = B'A: P'S = BA: PS, and b is the pic¬
ture of B ; whence follows the truth of all
The variptvnf™™*^, c r.i - i, . the subsequent constructions with the trans
*ne variety of constructions of thi* problem ig very great, rpoged figure.
Perspec¬
tive.
276
PERSPECTIVE.
Perspec¬
tive.
Prob. 4. To put any curvilineal figure on the ground-plan
into perspective.
Put a sufficient number of its points in perspective by
the foregoing rules, and draw a curve line through them.
It is well known that the conic sections and some other
curves, when viewed obliquely, are conic sections or curves
of the same kind with the originals, with different positions
and a compendious method of solving it would be peculiarly Per
convenient. For this purpose, draw a vertical line XZ at ^
the margin of the picture, or on a separate paper, and
through any point V of the horizon-line draw YX. Set
off XY, the height of the vertical line, and draw VY.
Then from any points b, r, on which it is required to have
the pictures of lines equal to XY, draw bs, rt, parallel to the
horizon-line, and draw the verticals sw, tv: these have the
of the same kind witn tne originals, wilh norizon-ime, ^ ~ ~
and nronortions of their principal lines ; and rules may be iengths required, which may be transferred to b and r. i his,
fo. describing their pictures founded on this property. with the third general construction for the base points, will
But these rules are very various, unconnected with the ge- " ’ —- frnrT1 r'nT'‘
neral theory of perspective, and more tedious m the execu¬
tion, without being more accurate, than the general rule now
Willi Uie Hill U. ^CIICICXI —. , . L r
save all the confusion of lines which would arise from con¬
structing each line apart.
given. It would be a useless affectation to insert them in
this elementary treatise. • ,
We come, in the next place, to the delineation ot figures
not in a horizontal plane, and of solid figures. F or this pur¬
pose it is necessary to demonstrate the following
THEOREM II.
The length of any vertical line standing on the ground
plane is to that of its picture as the height of the eye to the
distance of the horizon-line from the picture of its foot.
Let BC (fig. 8) be the vertical line standing on B, and
let EF be a vertical line through the eye. Make BD equal
Prob. 6. To put any sloping line in perspective.
From the extremities of this line, suppose perpendiculars
meeting the ground-plane in two points, which we shall call
the base points of the sloping line. Put these base points
in perspective, and draw, by last problem, the perpendicu¬
lars from the extremities. Join these by a straight line.
It will be the picture required.
Prob. 7. To put a square in perspective, as seen by a person
not standing right against the mid-
die of either of its sides, but rather *
nearly even with one of its corners.
In fig. 10, let ABCD be a true
square, viewed by an observer, not
standing at o, directly against the
middle of its sides AD, but at O
almost even with its corner D, and
viewing the side AD under the angle
ADD ; the angle AoD (under which
he would have seen AD from o) being 60 degrees.
Make AD in fig. 11 equal to AD in fig. 10, and draw
Fig. 11.
to EF, and draw DE, CE, BE. It is evident that DE will
cut the horizon-line in some point d, CE will cut the pic¬
ture-plane in c, and BE will cut it in b, and that be wi e
the picture of BC, and is vertical, and that BC is to be as
BD to bd, or as EF to bd.
Cor. The picture of a vertical line is divided in the same
ratio as the line itself. For BC : BM — be : bm.
Prob. 5. To put a vertical line of a given length in per¬
spective standing on a given point of the picture.
Through the given point b (fig. 9) of the picture draw
S&A from the point of sight, and
draw the vertical line AD, and
make AE equal to the length or
height of the given line. Join
ES, and draw be parallel to AD,
producing be, when necessary, till
it cut the horizontal line in d, and
we have be‘.bd— AE : AD, that
is, as the length of the given line
to the height of the* eye, and id
is the distance of the horizon-line from the point b, which
is the picture of the foot of the line. Therefore (Theor.
2) be is the required picture of the vertical line.
This problem occurs frequently in views of architecture ;
/
/
Fig. 9.
SP and Oo parallel to AD. Then, in fig. 11, let O be the
place of the observer’s eye, and SO be perpendicular
SP ; then S shall be the point of sight in the horizon hE
Take SO in your compasses, and set that extent from b
to P ; then P shall be the true point of distance, taken ac¬
cording to the foregoing rules. , .
From A and D draw the straight lines AS and E>b,
draw also the straight line AP, intersecting DS m C.
Lastly, through the point of intersection C draw BL pa¬
rallel to AD ; and ABCD in fig. 11 will be a true perspec¬
tive representation of the square ABCD
in fig. 10. The point M is the centre
of each square, and AMC and BMD are
the diagonals.
Prob. 8. To put a reticulated square in
perspective, as seen by a person stand¬
ing opposite to the middle of one of its
sides.
A reticulated square is one that is di-
PERSPECTIVE.
277
nec_ vided into several little squares, like net-work, as fig. 12,
i. each side of which is divided into four equal parts, and the
/ whole surface into four times four (or sixteen) equal squares.
Having divided this square into the given number of lesser
squares, draw the two diagonals Aa;C and Ba’D.
Make AD in fig. 13 equal to AD in fig. 12, and divide it
into four equal parts,
as Ae, eg, gi, and iD. Fig. 13.
Draw SP for the
horizon, parallel to
AD, and, through the
middle point g of AD,
draw OS perpendicu¬
lar to AD and SP.
Make S the point of
sight, and O the place
of the observer’s eye.
Take SP equal to
SO, and P shall be
the true point of dis¬
tance. Draw AS and
DS to the point of
sight, and AP to the point of distance, intersecting DS in
C: then draw BC parallel to AD, and the outlines of the
reticulated square ABCD will be finished.
From the division points e, g, i, draw the straight lines
ef, gh, ik, tending towards the point of sight S ; and draw
BD for one of the diagonals of the square, the other dia¬
gonal AC being already drawn.
Through the points r and s, where these diagonals cut
cf and ik, draw Im parallel to AD. Through the centre
point x, where the diagonals cut gh, draw n o parallel to AD.
Lastly, through the points v and w, where the diagonals cut
e/’and ik, draw pq parallel to AD ; and the reticulated per¬
spective square will be finished.
This square is truly represented, as if seen by an observer
standing at O, and having his eye above the horizontal plane
ABCD on which it is drawn, as if OS was the height of
his eye above that plane; and the lines which form the
small squares within it have the same letters of reference
with those in fig. 12, which is drawn, as it would appear, to
an eye placed perpendicularly above its centre x.
Pros. 9. To put a circle in perspective.
If a circle be viewed by an eye placed directly over its
centre, it appears perfectly round; but if it be obliquely
viewed, it appears of an elliptical shape. This is plain by
looking at a common wine-glass set upright on a table.
Make a true reticulated square, as fig. 12, of the same dia¬
meter as you would have the circle ; and setting one foot
of your compasses in the centre x, describe as large a circle
as the sides of the square will contain. Then, having put
this reticulated square
into perspective, as in Fig. 14.
fig. 13, observe through,
what points of the cross
lines and diagonals of fig.
12 the circle passes; and
through the like points
in fig. 13 draw the ellip¬
sis, which will be as true —
a perspective represen¬
tation of the circle ac
the square in fig. 13 is
of the square in fig. 12.
This is Mr Ferguson’s
rule for putting a circle
in perspective; but the following rules by Wolf are per¬
haps more universal.
L the circle to be put in perspective be small, describe a
square about it. Draw first the diagonals of the square, and Perspec-
then the diameters ha and de (fig. 14), cutting one another tive-
at right angles ; draw the straight lines /?/ and he parallel to
the diameter de. Through b andf and likewise c and g, draw
straight lines meeting DE, the ground line of the picture, in
the points 3 and 4. To the principal point V draw the
straight lines IV, 3V, 4V, 2V, and to the points of distance
L and K, 2L and IK. Lastly, join the points of inter¬
section a, b, d, f, h, g, e, c, by the arcs ab, bd, df, and
abdfhgeca will be the circle in perspective.
If the circle be large, so as to make the foregoing prac¬
tice inconvenient, bisect the ground line AB, describing,
from the point of bisection as a centre, the semicircle A GB
(fig. 15), and from any v
number of points in the Fig. 15.
circumference C, F, G, ic v x,
H, I, &c. draw to the
ground line the perpen- ,4jJ
diculars Cl, F2, G3,
H4, 15, &c. From the
points A, 1,2,3,4,5, B, //h
draw straight lines to~E_-/-':-;/'—
the principal point or
point of sight V, like¬
wise straight lines from
B and A to the points
of distance L and K.
Through the common
intersections draw straight lines as in the preceding case ;
and you will have the points a, c,f, g, h, i, b, representatives
of A, C, F, G, H, I, B. Then join the points a, c,f &c.
as formerly directed, and you have the perspective circle
acfghibihgfca.
Hence it is apparent how we may put not only a circle,
but also a pavement laid with stones of any form, in perspec¬
tive. It is likewise apparent how useful the square is in
perspective; for, as in the second case a true square was
described round the circle to be put in perspective, and di¬
vided into several smaller squares, so in this third case, we
make use of the semicircle only for the sake of brevity, in¬
stead of that square and circle.
Pros. 10. To put a reticulated square in perspective, as
seen by a person not standing right against the middle of
either of its sides, but rather nearly even with one of its
corners.
In fig. 16, let O be the place of an observer, viewing the
Fig. 16.
square ABCD almost even with its corner D. Draw at
pleasure SP for the horizon, parallel to AD,‘and make SO
perpendicular to SP; then S shall be the point of sight,
and P the true point of distance, if SP be made equal to SO.
Draw AS and DS to the point of sight, and AP to the
278
PERSPECTIVE.
Perspec- point of distance, intersecting DS in the point C; then any i»mt V in the horiMnalline HR the straighUines VI P«
tive- draw BC parallel to AD, and the outlines of the perspec¬
tive square will be finished. This done, draw the lines
which form the lesser squares, as taught in Prob. 8, and
the work will be completed. You may put a perspective
circle in this square by the same rule as it was done in fig. 1 .
Pros. 11. To put a cube in perspective, as if viewed by a
person standing almost even with one of its edges, and
seeing three of its sides.
In fig. 17, let AB be the breadth of either of the six equal
square sides of the cube AG ; O
the place of the observer, almost fiig. 1 '•
even with the edge CD of the  
and VH. From the angles d, b, and c, draw the dotted lines ^ C
d2 and cl parallel to the ground line DE. Perpendicular '
to those dotted lines, and from the points 1 and 2, draw
the straight lines LI and M2. Lastly, since HI is the
altitude of the intended cube in a, LI in c and b, M2
in d, draw from the point a the straight line fa perpendi¬
cular to oE, and from the points b and c, bg and ce, per¬
pendicular to bc\, and abdc being according to rule, make
a/= HI, bg — ec — LI, and hd = M2. Then, if the
points g, h, e,f be joined, the whole cube will be in per¬
spective.
cube, S the point of sight, SP
the horizon parallel to AD, and
P the point of distance taken as
before.
Make ABCD a true square;
draw BS and CS to the point
of sight, and BP to the point of distance, intersecting CS
in G. :Then draw FG parallel to BC, and the upper¬
most perspective square side BF GC of the cube will be
finished. . c
Draw DS to the point of sight, and AP to the point ot
distance, intersecting DS in the point I: then draw GI pa¬
rallel to CD ; and, if the cube be an opaque one, as of wood
or metal, all the outlines of it will be finished; and then it
may be shaded as in the figure.
But if you want a perspective view of a transparent glass
cube, all the sides of which will be seen, draw AH toward
the point of sight, FH parallel to BA, and HI parallel to
AD: then AHID will be the square base of the cube, per-
spectively parallel to the top BFGC ; ABFH will be the
square side of the cube parallel to CGID, and F GIH wu*
be the square side parallel to ABCD.
As to the shading part of the work, it is such mere ebb
dren’s play, in comparison of drawing the lines which form
the shape of any object, that no rules need be given for
it. Let a person sit with his left side toward a window,
and he knows full well that if any solid body be placed on
a table before him, the light will fall on the left-hand side
Prob. 14. To put a square pyramid in perspective, as
standing upright on its base, and viewed obliquely.
In fig. 19, let AD be the breadth of either of the four
sides of the pyramid ATCD
at its base ABCD; and MT
its perpendicular height. Let
O be the place of the ob¬
server, S his point of sight,
SE his horizon, parallel to
AD and perpendicular to
OS ; and let the proper point
of distance be taken in SE
produced toward the left
hand, as far from S as O is
from S.
Draw AS and DS to the
point of sight, and DL to
the point of distance, inter¬
secting AS in the point B.
Then from B draw BC pa¬
rallel to AD ; and ABCD
Fig. 19.
of the body, and the right-hand side will be in the shade.
Prob. 12. To put any solid in perspective.
Put the base of the solid, whatever it be, in perspective
by the preceding rules. From each bounding point ot the
base, raise lines representing in perspective the altitude of
the object; by joining these lines and shading the figure
according to the directions in the preceding problem, you
will have a scenographic representation of the object. I his
rule is general; but as its application to particular cases
may not be apparent, it will be proper to give the following
example of it.
\ /
   ^ .-S-'rT-Trrr-rrr^^n-,--,
shall be the perspective square base of the pyramid.
Draw the diagonal AC, intersecting the other diagonal
BD at M, and this point of intersection shall be the centre
of the square base.
Draw MT perpendicular to AD, and of a length equal
to the intended height of the pyramid: then draw the straight
outlines AT, CT, and DT ; and the outlines of the pyra¬
mid (as viewed from O) will be finished ; which being done,
the whole may be so shaded as to give it the appearance of
a solid body.
If the observer had stood at o, he could have only seen
the side ATD of the pyramid; and two is the greatest
number of sides that he could see from any other place of
the ground. But if he were at any height
above the pyramid, and had his eye directly
over its top, it would then appear as in fig.
20, and he w ould see all its four sides, E, F,
G, H, with its top t just over the centre of its
square base ABCD ; which would be a true
geometrical, and not a perspective square.
Fig. 20.
Prob. 13. To put a cube in perspective as seen from one of
its angles.
Since the base of a cube standing on a geometrical plane,
and seen from one of its
Prob. 15. To put two equal squares in perspective, one of
which shall be directly over the other, at any given dis¬
tance from it, and both of them parallel to the plane of the
horizon.
angles, is a square seen
from one of its angles, k.
draw first such a per¬
spective square : then
raise from any point of
the ground-line DE (fig.
18) the perpendicular
HI equal to the side of
the square, and draw to
In fig. 15, Plate CCCCVIH., let ABCD be a perspec¬
tive square on a horizontal plane, draw n according to the
foregoing rules, S being the point of sight, SP the horizon
(parallel to AD), and P the point of distance.
Suppose AD, the breadth of this square, to be three
feet; and that it is required to place just such another
square, EFGH, directly above it, parallel to it, and two feet
*om it* , .u-
Make AE and DFI perpendicular to AD, and two thiros
of its length: draw EH, which will b,e equal and parallel
PERSPECTIVE.
279
pec- to AD ; then draw ES and HS to the point of sight S,
re. and EP to the point of distance P, intersecting IIS in the
' point G: this done, draw EG parallel to EH ; and you will
have two perspective squares, ABCD and EFGH, equal and
parallel to one another, the latter directly above the former,
and two feet distant from it, as was required.
By this method shelves may be drawn parallel to one
another, at any distance from each other in proportion to
their length.
Prob. 16. To put a truncated pyramid in perspective.
Let the pyramid to be put in perspective be quinquan-
gular. If from each angle of the surface whence the top
is cut off, a perpendicular be supposed to fall upon the
base, these perpendiculars will mark the bounding points of
a pentagon, of which the sides will be parallel to the sides
of the base of the pyramid within which it is inscribed.
Join these points, and the interior pentagon will be formed
with its longest side parallel to the longest side of the base
of the pyramid. From
the ground line EH (fig. Fig. 21.
21) raise the perpendicu¬
lar III, and make it equal
to the altitude of the in¬
tended pyramid. To any
point V draw the straight
lines IV and HV, and by
a process similar to that
in Prob. 16, determine the
scenographical altitudes a,
b, c, d, e. Connect the upper points f g, h, i, k by straight
lines: and draw gn, and the perspective of the trun¬
cated pyramid will be completed.
Cor. If in a geometrical plane two concentric circles be
described, a truncated cone may be put in perspective in
the same manner as a truncated pyramid.
their proper places, the scenograph of the prism is com- Perspee-
plete. live.
Prob. 18. To put a square table in perspective standing
on four upright square legs, of any given length with re¬
spect to the breadth of the table.
In fig. 1, Plate CCCCVIIL, let ABCD be the square
part of the floor on which the table is to stand, and EFGH
the surface of the square table, parallel to the floor.
Suppose the table to be three feet in breadth, and its
height from the floor to be two feet; then two thirds of AD
Or EH will be the length of the legs i and k ; the other
two (l and m) being of the same length in perspective.
Having drawn the two equal and parallel squares ABCD
and EFGH, as shown in Prob. 15, let the legs be square
in form, and fixed into the table at a distance from its edges
equal to their thickness. Take Aa and Y)d equal to the
intended thickness of the legs, and ab and dc also equal
thereto. Draw the diagonals AC and BD, and draw straight
lines from the points a, b, c, d, towards the point of sight
S, and terminating at the side BC. Then, through the
points where these lines cut the diagonals, draw the straight
lines n and o, p and q, parallel to AD ; and you will have
formed four perspective squares (like ABCD in fig. 19) for
the bases of the four legs of the table : and then it is easy
to draw the four upright legs by parallel lines, all perpendi¬
cular to AD, and to shade them as in the figure.
To represent the intended thickness of the table-board,
draw eh parallel to EH, and HG toward the point of sight
S : then shade the spaces betw een these lines, and the per¬
spective figure of the table will be finished.
Prob. 19. To put Jive square pyramids in perspective, stand¬
ing upright on a square pavement composed of the sur¬
faces of eighty-one cubes.
Prob. 17. To put in perspective a hollow prism lying on
one of its sides.
Let ABDEC (fig. 22) be a section of such a prism. Draw
HI parallel to AB, and distant from it
the breadth of the side on which the Fig. 22.
prism rests; and from each angle inter¬
nal and external of the prism let fall per¬
pendiculars to HI. The parallelogram
will be thus divided by the ichnographi-
cal process below the ground-line, so as
that the side AB of the real prism will
be parallel to the corresponding side of
the scenographic view of it. To deter-
niine the altitude of the internal and external angles : fx*om
H (fig. 23) raise
HI perpendicular Fig. 23.
to the ground-line,
and on it mark off
the true altitudes
HI, H2, H3, m,
and H5. Then, if
from any point Y
in the horizon be
drawn the straight
lines VH, VI, V2,
V3,V4, V5, or VI;
by a process simi¬
lar to that of the
preceding prob¬
lem, will be determined the height of the internal angles,
viz. l=aa, 2=bb, \~dd; and of the external angles, 3—cc
fcnd 5 = ee ; and when these angles are formed and put in
In fig. 1, Plate CCCCVL, let ABCD be a perspective
square drawn according to the foregoing rules, S the point
of sight, P the point of distance in the horizon PS, and
AC and BD the twTo diagonals of the square.
Divide the side AD into nine equal parts (because 9 times
9 is 81) as Aa, ab, be, &c. and from these points of division
a, b, c, d, &c. draw lines toward the point of sight S, ter¬
minating at the furthermost side BC of the square. Then,
through the points wdiere these lines cut the diagonals,
draw straight lines parallel to AD, and the perspective
square ABCD will be subdivided into eighty-one lesser
squares, representing the upper surfaces of eighty-one
cubes, laid close to one another’s sides in a square form.
Draw AK and DL, each equal to Aa, and perpendicular
to AD; and draw LN towrard the point of sight S: then
draw KL parallel to AD, and its distance from AD wall be
equal to Aa. This done, draw al, bm, cn, do, ep, fq, gr,
and hs, all parallel to AK; and the space ADKL will be
subdivided into nine equal squares, which are the outer
upright surfaces of the nine cubes in the side AD of the
square ABCD.
From the points where the lines v/hich are parallel to
AD in this square meet the side CD thereof, draw short
lines to LN, all parallel to DL, and they will divide that side
into the outer upright surfaces of the nine cubes which com¬
pose it; and then the outsides of all the cubes that can
be visible to an observer, placed at a proper distance from
the corner D of the square, will be finished.
As taught in Prob. 14, place the pyramid AE upright on
its square base Atva, making it as high as you please;
and the pyramid DH on its square base huwD, of equal
height with AE.
Draw EH from the top of one of these pyramids to the
top of the other ; and EH will be parallel to AD.
280
perspective.
Perspec¬
tive.
Draw ES and HS to the point of sight S, and HP to
the point of distance P, intersecting ES in h.
From the point F draw FG parallel to EH; then c
EG, and you will have a perspective square Eh GH (paral¬
lel to ABCD) with its two diagonals EG and 1 H inter¬
secting one another in the centre of the square at I. I he
four corners of this square, E, F, f‘
tive heights of the four pyramids AE, BF, GG, and DH ,
and the intersection I of the diagonals gives the height of
the pyramid MI, the centre of whose base is the centre ol
th LastW^pkce the three pyramids BIs CG, MI, upright
on their perspective bases at B, C, and M ; and the requir¬
ed perspective representation will be finished as in the
figure.
Prob. 20. To put upright pyramids in perspective, on the
sides of an oblong square or parallelogram, so that their
distances from one another shall be equal to the breadth oj
the parallelogram.
In most of the foregoing operations we have considered
the observer to be so placed as to have an oblique view of
the perspective objects: in this we shall suppose him to
have a direct view of fig. 2, Plate CCCCVL, that is, stand¬
ing right against the middle of the end AD which 18 ^e‘*r“
est to his eye, and viewing AD under an angle of 60 de¬
grees.
tiyJ
Having cut AD in the middle, by the perpendicular line
Ss, take S therein at pleasure for the point of sight, and
draw ES for the horizon, parallel to AD. Here Ss must be
supposed to be produced downward, below the limits of the
plate, to the place of the observer ; and SE to be produced
towards the left hand beyond E, far enough to take a pro¬
per point of distance therein, according to the foregoing
Take Ac? at pleasure, and T)g equal to Ad, for the
breadths of the square bases of the two pyramids AE and
DF next the eye : then draw AS and dS, and likewise DS
and c/S, to the point of sight S ; and DG on to the point of
distance, intersecting AS in G : then from G draw GI pa¬
rallel to AD; you will have the first perspective square
AGID of the parallelogram ABCD.
From I draw IH to (or toward) the point of distance^ in-
tersecting AS in H: then, from H draw HK parallel to
AD, and you will have the second perspective square
GHKI of the parallelogram. Go on in this manner till
you have drawn as many perspective squares up toward S
as you please. , ,
Through the point e, where DG intersects gh, draw oj
parallel to AD ; and you will have formed the two per¬
spective square bases Abed and efDg of the two pyramids
at A and D. , c sn \
From the point / (the upper outward corner of ejUg)
draw/4 toward the point of distance, till it meets AS in h;
then from this point of meeting draw hm parallel to GI,
and you will have formed the two perspective squares Ghik
and Imln, for the square bases of the two pyramids at G
and I.
Proceed in the same manner to find the bases of all the
other pyramids, at the corners of the rest of the perspective
squares in the parallelogram ABCD, as shown by the
figure. Then,
Having placed the first two pyramids at A and l) up¬
right on their square bases, as shown in Prob. 9, and made
them of any equal heights at pleasure, draw ES and FS
from the tops of these pyramids to the point of sight S:
place all the rest of the pyramids upright on their respec¬
tive bases, making their tops touch the straight lines ES
and FS ; and all the work, except the shading part, will be
finished.
Prob. 21. To put a square pyramid of equal-sized cubes in
perspective. ^
Fig. 3, Plate CCCCVL, represents a pyramid of this kind,
consisting, as it were, of square tables of cubes, one table
above another; SI in the lowest, 49 in the next, 25 in the
third, 9 in the fourth, and 1 in the fifth or uppermost.
These are the square numbers of 9, 7, 5, 3, and 1.
If the artist is already master of all the preceding opera¬
tions, he will find less difficulty in this than in attending
to the following description of it; for it cannot be describ¬
ed in a few words, but may be executed in a very short
fig. 4, Plate CCCCVL, having drawn PS for the hori¬
zon, and taken S for the point of sight therein (the observ¬
er being at O), draw AD parallel to PS for the side (next
the eye) of the first or lowermost table of cubes. Draw AS
and DS to the point of sight S, and DP to the point of
distance P, intersecting AS in the point B. Then, from
B draw BC parallel to AD, and you will have the surface
ABCD of the first table.
Divide AD into nine equal parts, as Aa, ab, be, cd, &c.
then make AK and DL equal to Aa, and perpendicular to
AD. Draw KL parallel to AD, and from the points of
equal division at a, b, c, &c. draw lines to KL, all parallel
to AK. Then draw AS to the point of sight S, and from
the division points a, b, c, he. draw lines with a black-lead
pencil, all tending towards the point of sight, till they meet
the diagonal BD of the square.
From these points of meeting draw black-lead lines to
DC, all parallel to AD ; then draw the parts of these lines
with black ink which are marked 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. between
4E and DC. . . ,
Having drawn the first of these lines $q with black ink,
draw the parts ai, bk, cl, he. (of the former lines which met
the diagonal BD) with black ink also ; and rub out the rest
of the black-lead lines, which would otherwise confuse the
following part of the work. Then draw LI toward the
point of sight S ; and from the points where the lines 1, 2,
3, 4, &c. meet the line DC, draw lines down to LF, all pa¬
rallel to DL ; and all the visible lines between the cubes
in the first table will be finished.
Make iG equal and perpendicular to (3/, and qU equal
and parallel to iG; then draw GM, which will be equal
and parallel to iq. From the points k, l, m, n, he. draw
kn, lo, mp, he. all parallel to iG, and the outsides of the
seven cubes in the side G^ of the second table will be
finished. , „ , Tv^n .
Draw GS and MS to the point of sight S, and Ml to
the point of distance P, intersecting GS in H ; then, from
the point of intersection H, draw HI parallel to AD; an
you will have the surface GHIM of the second table of
tUFrom the points n, o, p, q, &c. draw black-lead lines to¬
ward the point of sight S, till they meet the diagonal MH
of the perspective square surface GHIM; and draw SM,
with black ink, toward the point of sight.
From those points where the lines drawn from n, o, p,q,
&c. meet the diagonal MH, draw black-lead lines to Ml,
all parallel to AD ; only draw the whole first line 71 with
black ink, and the parts 2, 3, 4, &c. and nt, ou, Pv>&c\°}
the other lines between yN and MI, and GM and 7I, wit
the same; and rub out all the rest of the black-lead lines,
to avoid further confusion. Then from the points where
the short lines 1, 2, 3, &c. meet the line MI, draw line
down to qE, all parallel to Mq, and the outer surfaces 0
the seven cubes in the side ME will be finished; and all
these last lines will meet the former parallels 2, 3, 4, he. m
the line qE. „ 1
Make tO equal and perpendicular to yt, and y\ equ
and parallel to tO ; then draw OP, which will be equal ana
PERSPECTIVE.
281
»ec- parallel to ty. This done, draw OS and PS to the point of
*• sight S, and PP to the point of distance P in the horizon.
Lastly, from the point Q, where PP intersects OS, draw
QR parallel to OP ; and you will have the outlines OQRP
of the surface of the third perspective table of cubes.
From the points u, v, w, x, draw upright lines to OP, all
parallel to tO, and you will have the outer surfaces of the
five cubes in the sides Oy of this third table.
From the points where these upright lines meet OP, draw
lines toward the point of sight S, till they meet the diago¬
nal PQ; and from these points of meeting draw lines to PR,
all parallel to OP, making the parts 2, 3, 4, 5, of these lines
with black ink which lie between ZY and PR. Then, from
the points where these lines meet PR, draw lines down to
t/N, which will bound the outer surfaces of the five cubes
in the side PN of the third table.
Draw the line 31 with black ink; and, at a fourth part
of its length between 3 and Z, draw an upright line to S,
equal in length to that fourth part, and another equal and
parallel thereto from Z to V: then draw SV parallel to 3Z,
and draw the two upright and equidistant lines between 3Z
and SV, and you will have the outer surfaces of the three
cubes in the side SZ of the fourth table.
Draw SS and VS to the point of sight S in the horizon,
and VP to the point of distance therein, intersecting SS in
T; then draw TU parallel to SV, and you have STUV,
the surface of the fourth table, which being reticulated or
divided into nine perspective small squares, and the upper¬
most cube W placed on the middlemost of the squares, all
the outlines will be finished ; and when the whole is pro¬
perly shaded, as in Plate CCCCVI. fig. 3, the work will be
done.
Prob. 22. To represent a double cross in perspective.
In fig. 5, Plate CCCCVI., let ABCD and EFGH be the
two perspective squares, equal and parallel to one another,
the uppermost directly above the lowermost, drawn by the
rules already laid down, and as far asunder as is equal to the
given height of the upright part of the cross ; S being the
point of sight, and P the point of distance, in the horizon
PS taken parallel to AD.
Draw AE, DH, and CG; then AEHD and DHGC shall
be the two visible sides of the upright part of the cross ; of
which the length AE is here made equal to three times the
breadth EH.
Divide DH into three equal parts, HI, IK, and KD.
Through these points of division, at I and K, draw MO
and PR parallel to AD ; and make the parts MN, 10, PQ,
KR, each equal to HI; then draw MP and OR parallel to
DH.
From M and O draw MS and OS to the point of sight
S ; and from the point of distance P draw PN, cutting MS
in T: from T draw TU parallel to MO, and meeting OS
m U ; and you will have the uppermost surface MTUO of
one of the cross pieces of the figure. From R draw RS to
the point of sight S ; and from U draw UV parallel to OR ;
and OUVR shall be the perspective square end next the
eye of that cross part.
Draw PMX (as long as you please) from the point of dis¬
tance P, through the corner M ; lay a ruler to N and S,
and draw XN from the line PX : then lay the ruler to I and
b, and draw YZS. Draw XY parallel to MO, and make
A W and YB equal and perpendicular to XY: then draw
parallel to XY, and WXYB shall be the square visible
end of the other cross part of the figure.
Draw BK toward the point of sight S ; and from U draw
rU1 t0.the Pomt of distance P, intersecting YS in Z: then,
rrom the intersection Z draw Za parallel to MO, and Zb
parallel to HD, and the whole delineation will be finished.
inis done, shade the whole, as in fig 6, Plate CCCCVI.,
YOI._ yvtt °
and you will have a true perspective representation of a Perspec-
double cross. five>
Prob. 23. To put three rows of upright square objects in
perspective^ equal in size, and at equal distances from each
other, on an oblong square plane, the breadth of which
shall be of any assigned proportion to the length thereof
Fig. 7, Plate CCCCVI., is a perspective representation
of an oblong square plane, three times as long as it is broad,
having a row of nine upright square objects on each side,
and one of the same number in the middle ; all equally high,
and at equal distances from one another, both longwise and
crosswise, on the same plane.
In fig. 8, Plate CCCCVI., PS is the horizon, S the point
of sight, P the point of distance, and AD (parallel to PS)
the breadth of the plane.
Draw AS, NS, and DS, to the point of sight S ; the point
N being in the middle of the line AD: and draw DP to
the point of distance P, intersecting at AS in the point B:
then, from B draw BC parallel to AD, and you have the
perspective square ABCD.
Through the point i, where DB intersects NS, draw ae
parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the perspec¬
tive square ABCD into four lesser squares, as aiN, NieD,
oi'dthi, and iACe.
rrom the point C (at the top of the perspective square
ABCD) draw CP to the point of distance P, intersecting
AS in E ; then from the point E draw EF parallel to AD ;
and you will have the second perspective square BEFC.
Through the point l, where CE intersects NS, draw bf
parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the square
BEFC into the four squares B/;//q hlfQ,, V&ml, and ImTf
From the point F (at the top of the perspective square
BEFC) draw FP to the point of distance P, intersecting
AS in I; then from the point I draw IK parallel to AD ;
and you will have the third perspective square EIKF.
Through the point n, where FI intersects NS, draw eg
parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the square
EIKF into four lesser squares, Ecwm, mngY, cion, and noKg.
From the point K (at the top of the third perspective
square EIKF) draw KP to the point of distance P, inter¬
secting AS in L; then from the point L draw LM paral¬
lel to AD ; and you will have the fourth perspective square
ILMK.
Through the point p, where KL intersects NS, draw dh
parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the square
ILMK into the four lesser squares Idpo, ophK, dluqp, and
pqM.h.
Thus we have formed an oblong square ALMD, whose
perspective length is equal to four times its breadth, and it
contains sixteen equal perspective squares. If greater length
was still wanted, we might proceed farther on toward S.
Take A3, equal to the intended breadth of the side of
the upright square object AQ (all the other sides being of
the same breadth), and AO for the intended height. Draw
O 18 parallel to AD, and make D 8 and 4 7 equal to A 3;
then draw 3 S, 4 S, 7 S, and 8 S to the point of sight S ;
and among them we shall have the perspective square bases
of all the twenty-seven upright objects on the plane.
Through the point 9, where DB intersects 8 S, draw 110
parallel to AD, and you have the three perspective square
bases A12 3, 4567, 8910D, of the three upright square
objects at A, N, and D.
Through the point 21, where eb intersects 8 S, draw 14,
11 parallel to AD ; and you will have the three perspective
squares a 14 15 16171819 20, and 21 11 e 22, for the bases
ot the second cross row of objects; namely, the next be¬
yond the first three at A, N, and D.
Through the point w, where CE intersects 8 S, draw a
line parallel to BC; and you will have three perspective
2 N
282
PERSPECTIVE.
o „ , i r, „ -t , nf the third row of sight, and drawn a reticulated pavement AB with black
P(jspec- squares, at B, k, atld C, for the bases ot le^d ]ineSj which may be rubbed out again ; at any dis
obiects; one of which is set up at B. 0 c j r
Through the point x, where/c intersects 8 S, draw a line
parallel to bf; and you will have three perspective squares,
it Z>, /, and 'x, for the bases of the fourth cross row of objects.
Go on in this manner, as you see m the figure, to find the
rest of the square bases, up to LM ; and you will have 27
upon the whole oblong square plane, on which you are to
place the like number of objects, as in fig. 7, Plate CCCC .
1 Having assumed AO for the perspective height of the
three objects at A, N, and D (Plate CCGGVI. hg. 8) next
the observer’s eye, and drawn O 18 parallel to AD, m order
to make the objects at N and D of the same height as that
at O ; and having drawn the upright lines 4 15, 7 W, « A,
and D 22, for the heights at N and D ; draw Ob and Kb,
15 S and WS, XS and 22 S, all to the point of sight S ; and
these lines will determine the perspectively equal heights
of all the rest of the upright objects, as shown by the two
placed at a and B.
To draw the square tops of these objects, equal and pa¬
rallel to their bases, we need only give one example, which
will serve for all. .
Draw 3 R and 2 Q parallel to AO, and up to the line
RS ; then draw PQ. parallel to OR, and OPQR shall be
the top of the object at A, equal and parallel to its square
base A 1 2 3. In the same easy way the tops of all the other
Objects are formed. , , .
When all the rest of the objects are delineated, shade
them properly, and the whole perspective scheme will have
the appearance of fig. 7, Plate CCCCVI.
Pros. 24. To put a square box in perspective, containing
a given number of lesser square boxes of a depth equal to
their width.
biyill/5 dUGl V4.1Cl»Tll
lead lines, which may be rubbed out again ; at any dis- ^
tance from the side AB of the pavement which is nearest
to the eye, and at any point where you choose to begin the
stair at that distance, as a, draw Gcs parallel to BA, and
take ah at pleasure for the height of each step.
Take ab in your compasses, and set that extent as many
times upward from F to E as is equal to the first required
number of steps O, N, M, L, K; and from these points of
division in EF draw lb, 2d, 3f U, and Ek, all equidistant
from one another, and parallel to Fa ; then draw the equi¬
distant upright lines ab, td, if, vh, wk, and \m, all perpen¬
dicular to Fa ; then draw mb, touching the outer corners
of these steps at m, h, h,f, d, and b; and draw parallel to
mb, as far from it as you want the length of the steps ix, L,
M, N, O to be. j n 1 s
Towards the point of sight S draw mn, 15, ko, t6,hp,fq,
dr, and bs. Then (parallel to the bottom-hne B A) through
the points n, o, p, q, r, s, draw w8; 5, 14 ; 6, lo ; 7 lb;
1,17; and 2s; which done, draw n5 and 06 parallel to
lm, and the outlines of the steps K, L, M, N, O will be
finished. , , ,
At equal distances with that between the lines marked
8 and 14, draw the parallel lines above, marked "5 lb, 11,
12, and 13; and draw perpendicular lines upwards horn
the points n, 0, p, q, r, s, as in the figure. „ , ,
Make Hm equal to the intended breadth of the flat above
the square opening at the left hand, and draw HW toward
the point of sight S, equal to the intended length of the
flat; then draw WP parallel to Hw, and the outlines ot
the flat will be finished. „ „ t
Take the width of the opening at pleasure, as from h to
C, and draw CD equal and parallel to FE. P^aw GHPa;
rallel to CD, and the short lines marked 33, 34, &c. just
even with the parallel lines 1, 2, &c. from the points
where these short lines meet CD, draw lines toward the
Pen,
t;
Let the given number of little square boxes °r cells be whereJ lese s s° tp/they meet DE ; then from the points
sixteen ; then four of them make the length ofeachside i P J ^ 39^ &c. of the pavement meet fy,
the four outer sides ab, be, cd, da, as in Plate CCCCYII. fig.
9, and the depth af is equal to the width ae. Whoever
can draw the reticulated square by the rules laid down to¬
wards the beginning of this article, will be at no loss about
putting this perspective scheme in practice.
Prob. 25. To put stairs with equal and parallel steps in
perspective.
In fig. 10, Plate CCCCVIL, let ab be the given breadth
of each step, and ai the height thereof. Make be, cd, de,
&c. each equal to ab, and draw all the upright lines ai, bl,
■w J* 1 a  -**rVk 1 j-tVt nrwir/rm
where the&lines 38, 39, 40, &c. of the pavement meet fy,
draw upright lines parallel to CD; and the lines which
form the opening will be finished. ,
The steps P, Q, R, S, T, and the flat U above the
arch V, are done in the same manner with those m hg.iu,
as taught in Prob. 25, and the equidistant parallel lines
marked 18, 19, &c. are directly even with those on the left-
hand side of the arch V, and the upright lines on the right-
hand side are equidistant with those on the left.
From the points where the lines 18, 19, 20, &c. meet
the right-hand side of the arch, draw lines toward the
point of sights; and *^pto?^here the pavemen
&c. each equal to ab, and draw all the upright lines at, bl, Poliat£ ^ k. ’c9 t th lne drawn from A towards
parallel) ; and from the points \ l, n, p, r, &c. draw the
equidistant lines iB, /C, nD, &c. parallel to ah ; these dis¬
tances being equal to that of iB from ah.
Draw xi touching all the corner-points l, n, p, r, t, v ; and
draw 2 16 parallel to xi, as far from it as you want the
length of the steps to be.
Toward the point of sight S draw the lines al, i2, k3,
/4, &c. and draw 16 15, 14 13, 12 11, 10 9, 8 7, 6 5, 4 3,
and 2 1, all parallel to Ah, and meeting the lines w 15,
u 13, s 11, &c. in the points 15, 13, 11, 9, 7, 5, 3, and 1:
then from these points draw 15 14, 13 12, 11 10, 9 8, 7 6,
5 4, and 3 2, all parallel to ha; and the outlines of the
steps will be finished. From the point 16 draw 16 A pa¬
rallel to ha, and Ax 16 will be the part of the flat at the
top of the uppermost step. This done, shade the work as
in fig. 11, Plate CCCCVII., and the whole will be finished.
Jmes 00, 01, o.£, Hied, mv, —
the point of sight, draw upright lines toward the top of the
^ Having done the top of the arch, as in the figure, and
the few steps to the right hand thereof, shade the vho e,
as in fig. 13, Plate CCCC VII., and the work will be finished.
Prob 27. To put upright conical objects in perspective,
as if standing on the sides of an oblong square, at dis¬
tances from one another equal to the breadth oj t
long.
In fig. 14, Plate CCCC VII., the bases of the upright cones
are perspective circles inscribed in squares of the saine df-
meter ; and the cones are set upright on their bases by th
same rules as are given for pyramids, which we need not
Pe In most of the foregoing operations we have considered
the observer’s eye to be above the level of the tops
Prob. 26. To put stairs with flats and opening in per- ^ ag if he viewed them when standing on mg»
spective, standing on a horizontal pavement of squares. o-rtmnd. In this figure, and in fig. 17 and fig. 18, F
In fig. 12, Plate CCCCVII, having made S the point of CCCCVIII, we shall suppose him to be standing on »
PERSPECTIVE.
283
■ ground, and the tops of the objects to be above the level of
his eye.
^ In fig. 14*, Plate CCCCVIL, let AD be the perspective
breadth of the oblong square ABCD ; and let Aa and Dc?
(equal to Aa) be taken for the diameters of the circular
bases of the two cones next the eye, whose intended equal
heights shall be AE and DF.
Having made S the point of sight in the horizon parallel
to AD, and found the proper point of distance therein,
draw AS and aS to contain the bases of the cones on the
left-hand side, and DS and dS for those on the right.
Having made the two first cones at A and D of equal
height at pleasure, draw ES and FS from their tops to the
point of sight, for limiting the perspective heights of all the
rest of the cones. Then divide the parallelogram ABCD
into as many equal perspective squares as you please ; find
the bases of the cones at the corners of these squares, and
make the cones thereon, as in the figure.
If you would represent a ceiling equal and parallel to
ABCD, supported on the tops of these cones, draw EF,
then EFGH shall be the ceiling; and by drawing ef pa¬
rallel to EF, you will have the thickness of the floor-boards
and beams, which may be what you please.
This shows how any number of equidistant pillars may
be drawn of equal heights to support the ceiling of a long
room, and how the walls of such a room may be repre¬
sented in perspective at the backs of these pillars. It
also shows how a street of houses may be drawn in perspec¬
tive.
Prob. 28. To put a square hollow in perspective, the depth
of which shall hear any assigned proportion to its width.
Fig. 17, Plate CCCC VIII., is the representation of a square
hollow, of which the depth AG is equal to three times its
width AD ; and S is the point of sight over which the ob¬
server’s eye is supposed to be placed, looking perpendicu¬
larly down into it, but not directly over the middle.
Draw AS and DS to the point of sight S ; make ST the
horizon parallel to AD, and produce it to such a length
beyond T that you may find a point of distance therein not
nearer S than if AD w ere seen under an angle of sixty de¬
grees.
Draw DU to the point of distance, intersecting AS in
B; then from the point B draw BC parallel to AD; and
you will have the first perspective square ABCD, equal to
a third part of the intended depth.
Draw CV to the point of distance, intersecting AS in
E; then from the point E drawr EF parallel to AD; and
you will have the second perspective square BEFC, which,
added to the former one, makes two thirds of the intended
depth.
Draw FW to the point of distance, intersecting AS in
G; then from the point G draw GH parallel to AD ; and
you will have the third perspective square EGHF, which,
with the former two, makes the whole depth AGHD three
times as great as the width AD, in a perspective view.
Divide AD into any number of equal parts, as suppose
8; and from the division points a, b, c, d, &c. draw lines
toward the point of sight S, and ending at GH; then
through the points where the diagonals BD, EC, GF, cut
these lines, draw lines parallel to AD ; and you will have
the parallelogram AGHD reticulated, or divided into 192
small and equal perspective squares.
Make AI and DM equal and perpendicular to AD ; then
draw IM, which will be equal and parallel to AD ; and
draw IS and MS to the point of sight S.
Divide AI, IM, and MD into the same number of equal
parts as AD is divided; and from these points of division
diaw lines toward the point of sight S, ending respectively
at GK, KL, and LH.
From those points where the lines parallel to AD meet Perspec-
AG and DH, draw upright lines parallel to AI and DM ; tlve-
and from the points where these lines meet IK and LM
draw lines parallel to IM ; then shade the work, as in the
figure.
Prob. 29. 7b represent a semicircular arch in perspective,
as if it were standing on tivo upright walls, equal in
height to the height of the observer s eye.
After having gone through the preceding operation, this
will be more easy byabare view of fig. 18, Plate CCCCVIIL,
than it could be made by any description ; the method be¬
ing so much like that of drawing and shading the square
hollow. We need only mention, that aTbEA and DFcta?
are the upright walls on which the semicircular arch is
built; that S is the point of sight in the horizon Tt, taken
in the centre of the arch; and d in fig. 17 is the point of
distance; and that the two perspective squares ABCD
and BEFC make the parallelogram AEFD of a length
equal to twice its breadth AD.
Prob. 30. To represent a square in perspective, as viewed
by an observer standing directly even with one of its cor¬
ners.
In fig. 19, Plate CCCCVIII., let A9BC be a true square,
viewed by an observer standing at some distance from the
corner C, and just even with the diagonal C9.
Let /)SP be the horizon, parallel to the diagonal AB ;
and S the point of sight, even with the diagonal C9. Here
it will be proper to have two points of distance, p and P,
equidistant from the point of sight S.
Draw the straight line 1 17 parallel to AB, and draw
A8 and BIO parallel to CS. Take the distance between
8 and 9 in your compasses, and set it off all the way in
equal parts from 8 to 1, and from 10 to 17. The line 1 17
should be produced a good way farther both to right and
left hand from 9, and divided all the way in the same
manner.
From these points of equal division, 8, 9, 10, &c. draw
lines to the point of sight S, and also to the two points of
distance p and P, as in the figure.
Now it is plain that ac£9 is the perspective representa¬
tion of A9BC, viewed by an observer even with the cor¬
ner C and diagonal C9. But if there are other such squares
lying even with this, and having the same position with re¬
spect to the line 1 17, it is evident that the observer, who
stands directly even with the corner C of the first square,
will not be even with the like corners G and K of the
others; but will have an oblique view of them, over the
sides FG and IK, which are nearest his eye: and their
perspective representations will be egfQ and hhiS, drawn
among the lines in the figure; of which the spaces taken
up by each side lie between three of the lines drawn toward
the point of distance p, and three drawn to the other point
of distance P.
Prob. 31. To represent a common chair, in an oblique per¬
spective view.
The original lines to the point of sight S, and points of
distance p and P (Plate CCCCVIII. fig. 19), being drawn
as in the preceding operation, choose any part of the plane,
as /am 13, on which you would have the chair L to stand.
There are just as many lines (namely two) between l and
m or 13 and n, drawn toward the point of distance p, at the
left hand, as between l and 13, or m and n, drawn to the
point of distance P on the right: so that Im, mn, »13, and
13/, form a perspective square.
From the four corners /, m, n, 13, of this square raise
284
PER.SP]
Perspec- the four legs of the chair to the perspective perpendicular
tivc. height you would have them : then make the seat of the
•i— v - c^ajr a SqUare equal and parallel to Zmral3, as taught in
Prob. 15, which will make the two sides of the seat in the
direction of the lines drawn toward the point of distance p,
and the fore and back part of the seat in direction of the
lines drawn to the other point of distance P. This done,
draw the back of the chair leaning a little backward, and
the cross bars therein tending toward the point of distance
P. Then shade the work as in the figure, and the per¬
spective chair will be finished.
Pros. 32. To present an oblong square table in an oblique
perspective view.
In fig. 19, Plate CCCCVIIL, M is an oblong square
table, as seen by an observer standing directly even with
C9 (see Prob. 30), the side next the eye being perspective-
ly parallel to the side ac of the square abc9. The foremen-
tioned lines drawn from the line 1 17 to the two points of
distance p and P, form equal perspective squares on the
ground plane.
Choose any part of this plane of squares for the feet of
the table to stand upon; as at p, q, r, and s, in direction of
the lines op and rs for the two long sides, and ts and qr for
the two ends ; and you will have the oblong square or pa¬
rallelogram qrst for the part of the floor or ground-plane
whereon the table is to stand: and the breadth of this
plane is here taken in proportion to the length as 6 to 10;
so that, if the length of the table be ten feet, its breadth
will be six.
On the four little perspective squares at q, r, s, and t,
place the four upright legs of the table, of what height you
please, so that the height of the two next the eye, at o and
p, shall be terminated by a straight line uv drawn to the
point of distance P. This done, make the leaf M of the
table an oblong square, perspectively equal and parallel to
the oblong square qrst on which the feet of the table stands.
Then shade the whole, as in the figure, and the work will
be finished.
If the line 1 17 were prolonged to the right and left
hand, and equally divided throughout (as it is from 1 to
17), and if the lines which are drawn from p and P to the
right and left hand sides of the plate were prolonged till
they came to the extended line 1 17, they would meet it
in the equal points of division. In forming large plans of
this sort, the ends of slips of paper may be pasted to the
right and left edges of the sheet on which the plan is to be
formed.
Of the Anamorphosis, or reformation of distorted images.
By this means, pictures that are so mishapen as to exhi¬
bit no regular appearance of any thing to the naked eye,
shall, when viewed by reflection, present a regular and
beautiful image. The inventor of this ingenious device is
not known. Simon Stevinus, who was the first that wrote
upon it, does not inform us from whom he learned it. The
principles of it are laid down by S. Vauzelard, in his Per¬
spective Conique et Cylindrique ; and Gaspar Schott pro¬
fesses to copy Marius Bettinus in his description of this piece
of artificial magic.
It will be sufficient for our purpose to copy one of the
simplest figures of this writer, as by this means the mystery
of this art will be sufficiently unfolded. Upon the cylinder
of paper, or pasteboard, ABCD, fig. 16, Plate CCCCVIIL,
• draw whatever is intended to be exhibited, as the letters
IHS. Then with a needle make perforations along the
whole outline; and placing a candle G behind this cylin¬
der, mark upon the ground-plane the shadow of them,
which will be distorted more or less, according to the po¬
sition of the candle or the plane, &c. This being done,
! c TI v E.
let the picture be an exact copy of this distorted image, Per;,
let a metallic speculum be substituted in the place of the tic
cylinder, and let the eye of the spectator have the same *■
position before the cylinder that the candle had behind it.
Then looking upon the speculum, he will see the distorted
image restored to its proper shape. The reformation of the
image, he says, will not easily be made exact in this method,
but it will be sufficiently so to answer the purpose.
Other methods, more exact and geometrical than this,
were found out afterwards: so that these pictures could be
drawn by certain rules, without the use of a candle. Schott
quotes one of these methods from Bettinus, another from
Herigonius, and another from Kircher, which may be seen
in his Magia, vol. i. p. 162, &c. He also gives an account
of the methods of reforming pictures by speculums of coni¬
cal and other figures.
Instead of copying any of these methods from Schott or
Bettinus, we shall present our readers with that which Dr
Smith hath given us in his Optics, vol. i. p. 250, as, no
doubt, the best, and from which any person may easily
make a drawing of this kind. The same description an¬
swers to two mirrors, one of which, fig. 24, is convex, and
the other, fig. 25, is concave.
Fig. 24.
In order to paint upon a plane a deformed copy,
ABCDEKIHGF, of an original picture, which shall appear
regular when seen from a given point O, elevated above
the plane, by rays reflected from a polished cylinder, placed
upon the circle Inp, equal to its given base; from the point
R, which must be supposed to lie perpendicularly under
O, the place of the eye, draw two lines R«, Re, which
shall either touch the base of the cylinder, or else cut off
two small equal segments from the sides of it, according as
the copy is intended to be more or less deformed. Then,
PERSPECTIVE.
pec- taking the eye, raised above R, to the .given height RO,
c- somewhat greater than that of the cylinder, for a lumi-
"■‘"'nous point, describe the shadow aekf (of a square, fig. 24,
or parallelogram standing upright upon ae as a base, and
containing the picture required) anywhere behind the arch
hip. Let the lines drawn from R to the extremities and
divisions of the base a, b, c, d, e, cut the remotest part of
the shadow in the points f, g, h, i, k, and the arch of the
base in l, m, n, o, p ; from which points draw the lines /AF,
r/zBG, nCll, oDI, />EK, as if they were rays of light that
came from the focus R, and were reflected from the base
lap; so that each couple, IA, ZR, produced, may cut off
equal segments from the circle. Lastly, transfer the lines
laf, mbg, &c. and all their parts in the same order, upon
the respective lines ZAF, wBG, &c. and having drawn regu¬
lar curves, by estimation, through the points A, B, C, D, E,
through F, G, H, I, K, and through every intermediate
order of points ; the figure ACEKHF, so divided, will be
the deformed copy of the square, drawn and divided upon
the original picture, and will appear similar to it, when seen
in the polished cylinder, placed upon the base Inp, by the
eye in its given place O.
The practical methods of drawing these images seem to
have been carried to the greatest perfection by J. Leo¬
pold, who, in the Acta Lipsiensia for the year 1712, has
described two machines, one for the images to be viewed
with a cylindrical and the other with a conical mirror.
The person possessed of this instrument has nothing to do
but to take any print he pleases, and while he goes over
the outlines of it with one pen, another traces the anamor¬
phosis.
By methods of this kind, groves of trees may be cut, so
as to represent the appearance of men, horses, and other
objects, from some one point of view, which are not at all
discernible in any other. This might easily be effected by
one person placing himself in any particular situation, and
giving directions to other persons what trees to lop, and in
what manner. In the same method it has been contrived,
that buildings of circular and other forms, and also whole
groups of buildings consisting of walls at different dis¬
tances, and with different positions to one another, should
be painted so as to exhibit the exact representation of par¬
ticular objects, which could only be perceived in one situa¬
tion. Bettinus has illustrated this method by drawings in
his Apiaria.
It may appear a bold assertion to say, that the very short
sketch now given of the art of perspective is a sufficient
foundation for the whole practice, and includes all the ex¬
peditious rules peculiar to the problems which most gene¬
rally occur. It is, however, true ; and the intelligent reader
will perceive, that the two theorems on which the whole rests
include every possible case, and apply with equal facility to
pictures and originals in any position, although the ex¬
amples are selected of perpendicular pictures, and of ori¬
ginals referred to horizontal planes, as being the most fre¬
quent. The scientific foundation being so simple, the
structure need not be complex, nor swell into such volumes
as have been published on the subject; which by their size
deter from the perusal, and give the simple art the ap¬
pearance of intricate mystery, whilst, by their prices, they
defeat the design of their authors to promote the dissemina¬
tion of knowledge amongst practitioners. The treatises on
perspective acquire their bulk by long and tedious discour¬
ses, minute explanations of common things, or by great
numbers of examples ; which indeed render some of these
books valuable from the variety of curious cuts, but do not
!&t all instruct the reader by any improvements made in the
art itself. For it is evident that most of those who have
created this subject have been more conversant in the prac¬
tice of designing than in the principles of geometry; and
285
therefore when, in their practice, the cases which have oc- Perspec-
curred put them upon trying particular expedients, they tive-
have thought them worth communicating to the public as^^^*1^
improvements in the art; and each author, fond of his own
little expedient, which by a scientific person would have
been known as an easy corollary from the general theorem,
has made it the principle of a practical system, thus narrow¬
ing instead of enlarging the knowledge of the art; and the
practitioner, tired of the bulk of the volume, in which a
single maxim is tediously spread out, and the principle on
which it is founded kept out of his sight, contents himself
with a remembrance of a maxim perhaps not understood,
and keeps it slightly in his eye to avoid gross errors. We
can appeal to the whole body of painters and draughtsmen
for the truth of this assertion; and it must not be con¬
sidered as an imputation of remissness or negligence on their
part, but as a necessary consequence of the ignorance of the
authors from whom they have taken their information. This
is a strong statement, but it is not the less just. Several
mathematicians of eminence have written on perspective,
treating it as the subject of pure geometry, as it really is ;
and the performances of Dr Brooke Taylor, Gravesande,
Wolf, De la Caille, and Emerson, are truly valuable, by pre¬
senting the art in all its perspicuous simplicity and univer¬
sality. The works of Taylor and Emerson are more valu¬
able, on account of the very ingenious and expeditious con¬
structions which they have given, suited to every possible
case. The merit of the former has been universally ac¬
knowledged by all the British writers on the subject, who
never fail to declare that their own works are composed on
the principle of Dr Brooke Taylor ; but any man of science
w ill see that these authors have either not understood them,
or aimed at pleasing the public by fine cuts and uncom¬
mon cases; for, without exception, they have omitted his fa¬
vourite constructions, which had gained his predilection by
their universality, and attached themselves to inferior me¬
thods, or perhaps to inventions which they were pleased
to regard as their own. What has been laid down in this
article is not professed to be according to the principles of
Dr Brooke Taylor, because the principles are not peculiar
to him, but the necessary results of the theory itself, and in¬
culcated by every mathematician who has taken the trouble
to consider the subject. They are sufficient not only for
directing the ordinary practice, but likewise for suggesting
modes of construction in every case out of the common track.
A person of ingenuity will have a laudable enjoyment in in¬
venting rules for himself, and will be better pleased with
such fruits of his own ingenuity, than in reading the tedious
explanation of examples devised by another ; and with this
view we would, with Dr Taylor, “ advise all our readers
not to be contented with the scheme they find here ; but,
on every occasion, to draw new ones of their own, in all
the variety of circumstances they can think of. This will
take up more time at first, but they will find the vast bene¬
fit and pleasure of it by the extensive notions it will give
them of the nature of the principles.”
The art of perspective is necessary to those arts where there
is any occasion for designing, as architecture, fortification,
carving, and generally to all the mechanical arts ; but it is
more particularly necessary to the art of painting, in which
nothing can be done without it. A figure in a picture, which
is not drawn according to the rules of perspective, does not
represent what is intended, but something else. Indeed,
we hesitate not to say, that a picture which is faulty in this
particular is as blameable as any composition in writing
which is defective in point of orthography or grammar. It
is generally thought very ridiculous to pretend to write a
heroic poem, or a fine discourse, upon any subject, without
understanding the propriety of the language in which we
write ; and to us it seems no less ridiculous for one to pre¬
tend to paint a good picture without understanding per-
286
PER
Aerial.
Persnec- spective. Yet how many pictures are there to be seen,
five, which are highly valuable in other respects, and yet are en¬
tirely faulty in this point? Indeed, this fault is so very
’ general, that we cannot remember ever having seen a pic¬
ture which is entirely free from it; and, what is more to be
regretted, the greatest masters have been the most guilty
of it. Such examples cause it to be overlooked; but the
fault is not the less, but the more to be lamented, and de¬
serves the greater care in avoiding it for the future. Ihe
great occasion of this fault is certainly the bad method
which is generally used in educating persons in this art;
for the young people are generally put immediately to draw¬
ing and when they have acquired a facility in that, they
are put to colouring. And these things they learn by rote,
or by practice only, and are not at all instructed in any
rules of art; by which means, when they come to make
anv designs of their own, though they are very expert at
drawing and colouring every thing which offers itself to
their fancy, yet for want of being instructed in the strict
rules of art, they do not know how to govern their inven¬
tions with judgment, and become guilty of many gross mis¬
takes, which prevent themselves, as well as others, from
finding the satisfaction which they otherwise would do in
their performances. To correct this defect, we would re¬
commend it to masters of the art of painting to consider
whether it would not be necessary to establish a better
method for the education of their scholars, and to begin
their instructions with the technical parts of painting, befoi e
they let them loose to follow the inventions of their own
uncultivated imaginations. .
The art of painting, taken in its full extent, consists of
two parts; the inventive and the executive. The inven¬
tive part is common to poetry, and belongs more properly
and immediately to the original design (which it conceives
and disposes in the most proper and agreeable manner)
than to the picture, which is only a copy of that design al¬
ready formed in the imagination of the aitist. The perfec¬
tion of this art depends upon the thorough knowledge the
artist has of all the parts of his subject; and the beauty of it
PER
consists in the happy choice and disposition which he makes
of it. It is in this that the genius of the artist discovers^
and shows itself, whilst he indulges and humours his fancy,
which here is not confined. But the executive part of paint¬
ing is wholly confined and restricted to the rules of art,
which cannot upon any account be dispensed with; and
therefore in this the artist ought to govern himself entirely
by these rules, and not to take any liberties whatsoever.
For any thing that is not truly drawn according to the
rules of perspective, or not truly coloured or truly shaded,
does not appear to be what the artist intended, but some¬
thing else. Wherefore, if at any time the artist happen to
imagine that his picture would look better if he swerved
a little from these rules, he may assure himself, that the
fault belongs to his original design, and not to the strictness
of the rules ; for what is perfectly agreeable and just in the
real original objects themselves, can never appear defective
in a picture where these objects are accurately copied.
Therefore, to offer a short hint of the thoughts we have
some time had as to the method which ought to be followed
in instructing a scholar in the executive part of painting, we
would first have him to learn the most common principles
of practical geometry, and the elements of plain geometry
and of common arithmetic. When he is sufficiently perfect
in these, we would next have him to learn perspective ; and
when he has made considerable progress in the latter, so
as to prepare his judgment with right notions of the altera¬
tions which figures must undergo, when they come to be
drawn upon a flat surface, he may then be put to drawing
by view, and be exercised in this alone with perspective, till
he comes to be sufficiently perfect in both. Nothing should
be more familiar to a painter than perspective; for it is the
only thing which can make the judgment correct, and help
the fancy to invent with ten times the ease that it could do
without it.
We earnestly recommend to our readers the careful per¬
usal of Dr Taylor’s Treatise, as published by Colson in
1749, and Emerson’s, published along with his Optics, as still
the best scientific works on the subject. (b. b. b.)
Per
PERSPECTIVE, Aerial,is sometimes employed asa ge¬
neral denomination for that which in a more restricted sense
is called aerial perspective, or the art of giving a due dimi¬
nution or degradation to the strength of light, shade, and co¬
lour, according to the different distances of objects, the quan¬
tity of light which falls upon them, and the medium through
which they are seen; the chiaro oscuro, which consists in
expressing the different degrees of light, shade, and colour
of bodies, arising from their own shape, and the position
of their parts with respect to the eye and neighbouring
objects, by which their light or colours are affected; and
keeping, which is the observance of a due proportion in the
general light and colouring of the whole picture, so that no
light or colour in one part may be too bright or too strong
for another. A painter who would succeed in aerial per¬
spective ought carefully to study the effects which distance,
or different degrees or colours of light, have on each par¬
ticular original colour, to know how its hue or strength, is
changed in the several circumstances which occur, and to
represent it accordingly. As all objects in a picture take
their measures in proportion to those which are placed in
the front, so, in aerial perspective, the strength of light, and
the brightness of the colours of objects close to the picture,
must serve as a measure, with respect to which all the same
colours at several distances must have a proportional de¬
gradation in like circumstances.
Bird’s eye view in Perspective, is that which supposes
the eye to be placed above any building, or other object, as
in the air at a considerable distance from it. This is applied
in drawing the representations of fortifications, wrhen it is
necessary not only to exhibit one view as seen from the
ground, but also so much of the several buildings as the
eye can possibly take in at one time from any situation. In
order to this, we must suppose the eye to be removed to a
considerable height above the ground, and to be placed, as
it were, in the air, so as to look down into the building like
a bird when flying. In representations of this kind, the
higher the horizontal line is placed, the more of the fortifi¬
cation will be seen, and vice versa.
PERTH, the principal town of Perthshire, and the most
central in Scotland, is situated on the banks of the river
Tay, about twenty-five miles above its confluence with the
German Ocean, in latitude 56. 23.40. north, and longitude
3. 26. 20. west. The situation of Perth is one of the finest
that can be imagined. Two beautiful and extensive mea¬
dows, called the North Inch and South Inch, bound it upon
two sides. On the east it is washed by the waters of the
Tay, whilst on the west and the south-west it is surrounded
by a screen of hills, of moderate elevation, but richly wooded,
and sloping gently dowm towards the town and the river.
Of these hills, or rather eminences, the highest is that of
Moncrieff, which is 756 feet above the level of the sea; but
the landscape that opens to the eye from its summit is one
of the finest in Scotland, comprehending in the northern
distance a noble sweep of the Grampian Mountains, and
presenting to the westward a splendid view of Strathearn,
intersected by the numerous windings of its river; whilst
to the east appear the Carse of Gowrie, rich in all the beau-
PERTH.
2S7
th. ties of fertility, and the majestic Tay rolling onwards to the
sea. The site of Perth is remarkably low, being only a few
feet above the level of the sea; but notwithstanding this
circumstance, and the vicinity of hills, the climate is not
particularly moist, and is considered as healthy. The low¬
ness of the situation, however, exposes the town to frequent
inundations from the river, several of which make rather a
formidable appearance in its annals. The greatest of these
upon record appears to have happened in the reign of Wil¬
liam the Lion, who is said to have narrowly escaped with
his family and court, from the sudden rising of the waters.
The years 1621, 1773, and 1814 are also memorable in the
burgh records for similar and equally extensive casualties.
The deepening of the Tay below the town, which has been
in progress for some years, will, however, ultimately lessen
the dangers to be apprehended from these sudden inunda¬
tions, by affording a deeper and freer channel for the waters
of the river.
Perth is one of the most ancient towns in Scotland, and
its civil history, up to the sixteenth century, is deeply inter¬
woven with the national annals. Its origin is buried in the
obscurity of the past, and the very etymology of its name is
uncertain.1 For many centuries it was called St Johnston,
which appears indeed to have been its most ancient designa¬
tion. This name was, it seems, given to it from the circum¬
stance of the first church erected in it, after the conversion
of the inhabitants to Christianity, being dedicated to St
John the Baptist; a circumstance which is in some degree
confirmed by the ancient seal of the burgh, on which is re¬
presented the martyrdom of the saint. The city records are
very ancient, but are not legible farther back than the year
1512. From that period they are very complete, and con¬
tain matter equally curious and interesting to the historian
and the antiquary. Indeed, some of our early historians are
of opinion that the town was founded by the Roman gene¬
ral Agricola, who erected a citadel to maintain his conquests,
and check the wild spirit of the savage natives. In corro¬
boration of this opinion, it may be stated, that there are no
less than four great military roads, leading to the city from
different points, which are all evidently of Roman origin. Its
central situation, as well as the fertility of the soil, and the
beauty of the surrounding country, must naturally have sug¬
gested to those discriminating invaders its occupation as a
military station. But not to dwell on apocryphal events and
circumstances, faintly looming on the verge of authentic his¬
tory, the first fact of any importance which emerges from its
early annals is the charter granted by William the Lion, in
1210, and which raised it to the dignity of a royal burgh.
It has been said, however, that Perth must have been a
royal burgh in 1106, from the terms of a charter granted
in that year by Edgar, in favour of one John Mercer, who in
it is designated as a burgess of the city. In the charter of
confirmation by James VI. allusion is also made to a pre¬
vious one, granted by David I., who died in the year 1153.
Perth enjoys the dignity of having been the ancient metro¬
polis of Scotland. James II. was the first Scottish monarch
crowned in Edinburgh, an event which happened in the year
144/; and soon afterwards the parliament and courts of jus¬
tice were removed thither; but it was not until 1482, in the
reign of James III., that Edinburgh was declared to be the
capital of Scotland, and the Scottish court finally removed
from the city of St John.
Perth appears to have been early fortified. From its im¬
portance as the seat of government, its central situation, and Ptrth.
its vicinity to the Highlands, some defence was absolutely
necessary. In these rude ages it was surrounded by the
feudal castles of several powerful barons, with some of whom
the inhabitants appear to have been frequently at feud, whilst
with others, as Chartres of Kinfauns, the Earl of Gowrie,
the Earl of Atholl, Lord Scone, and Threipland of Fingask,
they were on such friendly terms as to have had one of
their number for chief magistrate. Amusing evidence is
to be found in the records of the burgh, of these alternate
feuds and fraternizations. The worthy burgesses seem to
have been men of mettle in those days, and on various oc¬
casions sallying forth from behind their walls, set fire to the
castles of their haughty neighbours, when the latter, pro¬
bably in reprisal for some offence, had forbidden their vas¬
sals to carry provisions to the city. In the year 1311, Ro¬
bert Bruce laid siege to the town, but was obliged to with¬
draw his troops, after various unsuccessful attempts to take
it. Not discouraged, however, the Scottish hero, having
selected a band of determined men, and chosen a dark night,
led them on in person, scaled the walls, and carried the town,
sword in hand, the king himself being the second man who
entered the place. About the beginning of the fourteenth
century, the famous combat between the Clan Chattan and
the Clan Quhele or Clan Kay, took place on the North Inch,
and was decided in favour of the former, partly by the bra¬
very of a citizen or burgess called Harry Wynd, whom the
chief of the Clan Chattan had engaged on the spot to supply
the place of one of his men who had failed to appear. The
particulars of this singular conflict have been described by
Sir Walter Scott in the first series of his Tales of a Grand¬
father ; and in his romance of the Fair Maid of Perth, he
has, with equal skill and effect, availed himself of the tradi¬
tional story, which he has embellished w ith the felicity pecu¬
liar to his rich and inventive genius. This city has also been
the scene of several of those social tragedies, in w hich the
history of Scotland, in those rude times, was so prolific. In
the year 1336, King Edward III. of England stabbed his
brother the Duke of Cornwall, before the high altar of the
church of St John; and in 1437, James I. was murdered
in the monastery of the Blackfriars, w ith circumstances of
the most savage barbarity. The murderers were executed
in Perth, and the details of their punishment are of the most
revolting character, reflecting but little honour on the good
feeling and humanity of our forefathers. Perth appears to
have been several times visited by the plague, particularly
in 1512, 1585, 1608, and 1645. Its ravages during the last
of these visitations were severe, three thousand persons hav¬
ing become its victims. In 1617, James VI. honoured the
ancient capital of Scotland with a visit, the details of which,
as found in the burgh records, are not a little graphic and en¬
tertaining. And in 1623, one of those exhibitions, of which
James was so fond, and which leave a stain upon the national
annals, took place in Perth ; we mean, the burning of three
poor women for witchcraft. In 1633, Charles I., in his tour
through Scotland, visited Perth ; and in 1651, Oliver Crom¬
well took military possession of the city, and erected a cita¬
del on the South Inch. In 1559 John Knox appeared in
Perth, and the excitement produced by his preaching, w ith
the imprudent conduct of the Catholic clergy, caused the
destruction of the finest ecclesiastical buildings in the city.
Previously to the Reformation, Perth was crowded with reli¬
gious houses, the cowled inmates of w hich swarmed in the
Lord Hailes informs us, in his Annals, that he had been favoured with various etymologies of the name, hut not knowing which to
c loose, he had omitted them all. We learn from Fordun, however, that the town was formerly called Bertha, which is probably the Cel-
Mr-tatha, signifying the height of Tay, or Kinnoull Hill, immediately contiguous to the town; and this conjecture is strengthened by
e eneumstance that the word Tatha in Celtic is pronounced as Ta or Tay in English; so that Bertha is very nearly the exact sound of
ar-tatha. But as the mutes B and P are interchangeable in Celtic, the one being used indiscriminately for the other, Bertha was short-
nei mto Berth or Perth, in the ordinary course of human speech. It may be added, that the names of many places in the neighbourhood,
s we as all over Scotland, are of Celtic origin, and that the vernacular language of the people not many miles from Perth still continues
to be a dialect of that .original language.
V
288
PERTH.
Perth.
city like bees. Many of these houses were buildings distin¬
guished for elegance and taste, and the destruction of them
is therefore much to be regretted. But the fury of the in-
habitants was, in a great measure, confined to the edifices,
which they were taught by their new instructors to regard
as the abodes of iniquity; and hence, whilst they pulled down
“ the nests that the rooks might be scattered, they offered
little personal insult to any one, and not a single Roman
Catholic was put to death. I he men of Perth, however,
were zealously devoted to the cause of the Reformation.
Three hundred of their number, bedecked with “ St John¬
ston ribands,” set out from the city, determined to prose¬
cute the work of reformation, or to perish in the attempt.
Before they reached Stirling, their numbers had increased
to five thousand; and by the appearance of this faithful
band, the struggle between the queen and the reformers
was speedily brought to an end without the effusion of blood.
The year 1600 was rendered memorable by the occurrence
of the famous Cowrie conspiracy, as it is called; one of
those events on which ingenuity and research have exhaust¬
ed themselves in vain, and which, in its origin and circum¬
stances, still remains enveloped in impenetrable mystery.
The present level of the city has been ascertained to be
higher than it was at one period, and the level of the river
appears also to have risen along with it, to the great injury
of the navigation ; vessels of considerable burden formerly
discharging their cargoes farther up than they can do at
present. The burgh of Perth is invested with an ample ju¬
risdiction over the river, but does not appear to have paid
much attention to the improvement of the navigation-. Of
late years, however, the subject has excited considerable
interest; and, in 1834, the town-council obtained an act
for deepening the river, and constructing a tide harbour
and wet-dock. A powerful steam dredging-vessel has for
some time been in operation on the river, and such have
been its effects, that vessels of 200 tons, it is expected, wdll
be soon able to discharge their cargoes at Perth. The city
has also lately obtained the privilege of bonded warehouses,
which will materially assist its foreign trade. The exports of
the city, however, are comparatively but trifling; the accessi¬
ble and thriving port of Dundee absorbing a great part of the
foreign as well as coasting trade, which Perth formerly pos¬
sessed. Potatoes constitute a considerable article of export to
the London market, and the external commerce of the city
may now be expected to improve, as the facilities of its
river navigation increase. The imports are chiefly from
the Baltic, and consist of flax, hemp, timber, seeds, cheese,
and foreign spirits ; coals, lime, salt, and manure, form the
general coasting freights. In 1836, 736 vessels entered the'
harbour of Perth, the tonnage of which amounted to 40,000
tons. The capital vested in shipping is, however, but trif¬
ling. Between five and six thousand tons, in about eighty
vessels of every description, comprise the shipping of the
port of Perth. The salmon caught in the river form an
item of some importance in its commerce, and are exported
to London. The revenue of the burgh from its fisheries
alone amounts to L.830 per annum.
A considerable quantity of cotton goods is manufactured
in Perth, chiefly for Glasgow houses. The principal articles
are ginghams, pullicates, umbrella-cloths, harness-muslins,
and linen-lawns, employing about 1600 weavers. Calico
printing and bleaching are carried on in the neighbourhood,
to a very considerable extent. A large mill has lately been
erected for spinning flax; and an establishment of this de¬
scription has long been known as one of the best managed
and most extensive in Scotland. 1 here are, besides, three
large founderies in operation, in which the manufacture of
machinery and iron goods is considerable. But Perth ap
pears to have rather retrograded as a seat of trade and com¬
merce, as the early records of the burgh show that it for¬
merly carried on an extensive traffic with the Baltic, the
Mediterranean, and the Netherlands ; the decay of which Pen!
arose most probably from the increasing obstructions to the ''-"'v
navigation of the river, by the gradual elevation of its bed
from the accumulation of alluvial deposit, and from other
incidental causes. The tanning of leather and the manu¬
facture of gloves were at one time extensively carried on in
Perth, but these trades hav6 now greatly fallen off. About
forty years ago, the printing of books was also a trade of
some importance, but it is now of little consequence. Of
late years ship-building has also been carried on to some
extent. From the eligibility of its situation, the cheapness
of living, and the low price of education of the best deslfe-
tion, many respectable families in easy circumstances nWe
Perth their residence.
The government of the city is vested in a lord provost,
who is also sheriff and coroner, four bailies, a treasurer, the
dean of guild, who is ex officio a member of the council,
and nineteen councillors. There are two city clerks, a pro¬
curator fiscal, and a chamberlain. The city sends a mem¬
ber to parliament; and, in 1837, the constituency amounted
to 1073. The burgh has a very large property and reve¬
nue, the former derived chiefly from the favour and muni¬
ficence of several of the Scottish sovereigns. The property
is estimated at L.67,510. 11s. lOd. and the revenue for
1836-1837 was L.6334. 8s. The debt of the city amounts
to L.33,723, and the expenditure to L.5926. 1 Is. 7d. After
Edinburgh was constituted the capital of the kingdom, Perth
stood second on the roll of burghs of the Scottish parliament,
and is still entitled to hold that rank. Its chief magistrate
has for centuries enjoyed the title of lord provost; and by
a judgment of the Court of Session (12th March 1836), he
is still entitled to that distinction. The Circuit Court of Jus-
ticiary is held here twice a year, when the criminal offences
committed in the counties of Perth, Fife, and Forfar are
tried. At the spring court of 1838 the cases brought to
trial were upwards of fifty in number, and although few of
them were of great turpitude, the court were occupied du¬
ring five days in disposing of them.
In the year 1831 the population of Perth amounted to
20,016 persons, but by a census recently taken, it is at pre¬
sent only 19,601, being 415 less than it was in 1831. The
causes of this decrease are not easily ascertainable. Of the
population, 11,683 have been stated as connected with the
established church, and the rest are dissenters. In 1831
there were 2049 inhabited houses, containing 4956 families.
Of public buildings, the principal are the bridge over th
Tay, the barracks, the depot built for the reception of Frepci
prisoners during the war, St Paul’s Church, the building
erected to the memory of Provost Marshall, which contains
a public librarv and the museum of the Literary and An¬
tiquarian Society, the Perth Academy, the water-works, and
the county buildings, a large and tasteful structure, situated
close to the bank of the river. The lunatic asylum, an ele¬
gant building, is situated on the hill of Kinnoull; and an
infirmary is almost finished. Besides these public buildings,
several handsome streets have of late years been erected,
which, combined with the natural beauty of the situation,
render Perth one of the most desirable places of residence
in this country. The town is well supplied with water, fil¬
tered from the river by a very ingenious method; and it is
also well lighted with gas, by a company established for the
purpose. The assessment for water cannot exceed five per
cent, on the rental. The revenue of the post-office is about
L.4000.
The Perth Academy, instituted in the year 1760, enjoys
a high reputation as a seminary of classical and scientific
learning. There are thirty-five schools in Perth, including
the Academy. In the year 1834 the town-council applied to
government for a grant, which, assisted by private subscrip¬
tions, has provided accommodation for 400 additional scho¬
lars. In 1697 a proposal was made to remove the Univer-
PER
hire, sity of St Andrews to Perth. The inhabitants have esta-
—■''blished several religious and charitable societies ; and also a
literary and antiquarian society of some note, which has a
museum and library attached to it. A savings-bank was like¬
wise established in 1815, the accumulated deposits of which,
from that time till 1836, amounted to L.3188. 13s. 10d.,
whilst the sum lodged during 1836 exceeded L.381. In 1836
the assessment for the poor was L.2128. 13s. 3d. which was
raised by a five per cent, tax upon rental, and L.723. 5s.
2|d. wrere collected at the church doors ; besides which, the
incorporated trades expend annually above L.2000 for the
relief of their poor members. The poor’s-funds obtained
from the hospital of King James average yearly about L.435;
and there are two other mortifications for their behoof, w hich
realise annually L.312.10s.; so that, not to mention various
charitable societies, the interests of the poor are apparently
well attended to in this ancient city.
PERTHSHIRE, one of the most extensive and beauti¬
ful counties in Scotland, being very compact and almost cir¬
cular in form, is situated nearly in the centre of the kingdom.
Its extreme length from east to west is about seventy-seven
miles, and its greatest breadth from north to south is about
sixty-eight miles. Its area has been variously estimated ;
but the nearest approximation to accuracy gives 2588 square
miles of land and more than fifty of water. Of the 1,656,320
acres forming its superficial contents, from 500,000 to 600,000
are, according to the most recent statements, under cultiva¬
tion ; as many more are still uncultivated, though capable in
part of tillage ; and the remainder is almost wholly barren
and unproductive. On the east Perthshire is bounded by the
counties of Forfar, Fife, and Kinross ; on the north, by In¬
verness and Aberdeen ; on the south, by Stirling and Clack¬
mannan ; and on the west, by the shires of Argyle and Dum¬
barton. Its ancient and still popularly known divisions are
Monteith, Athole, Strathearn, Breadalbane, Rannoch, Stor¬
mont, Perth proper, and Gowrie, to which some add Bal-
quhidder and Glenorehy. It is under the jurisdiction of a
sheriff and two substitutes, one of whom resides at Perth,
and the'other at Dumblane. There are within its boundaries
seventy-eight parishes, or portions of parishes, some of them
running into other adjacent counties.
Perthshire is distinguished amongst the counties of Scot¬
land for the rich, varied, and picturesque beauty of its sur¬
face. From the commanding range of the Grampians, and
numerous other secondary elevations, the country slopes
gently down into extensive tracts of rich and fertile land,
•beautifully diversified, and adorned with wood and water,
hill and dale, in every possible combination. Where the
elevated ranges gradually disappear in the champaign coun¬
try, nothing can exceed the rich and undulating character
of the scenery, broken into noble and irregular valleys, or
spreading out into extensive alluvial tracts, watered by
streams of almost every size and character. The county of
Perth is now generally divided into the highland and low¬
land divisions, the surface of the former being far more ex¬
tensive than that of the latter. The fertile or lowland dis¬
tricts are chiefly, but by no means entirely, situated towards
the eastern and the southern boundaries of the county. The
fine valley of Strathearn, having the Grampian range on the
north-west, with the Ochils and Sidlaw hills on the east,
traverses it from north-east to south-west, and, including
certain portions of the contiguous valleys of the Tay and
t ie Almond, forms one of the richest and most extensive
tracts in the kingdom. Besides the extensive valley of
trathearn, there are others of considerable dimensions, stud-
ed with lakes, and enlivened with streams of every variety
o character. Such are those of the Tay, the Isla, and the
mond, and the valley of the Tummel, with its clear, soft,
an beautiful lake, richly fringed on the margin with wood
o various kinds, rising boldly up on the south, into the steep
n ges of Schehallion and Faragon. Glenly^n and the val-
vol. xvn. J
PER 289
ley of the Brann are not less rich and beautiful; and there Perthshire,
are many others scarcely inferior to these in size and pictu-
resque variety of scenery.
Perthshire is distinguished for its noble ranges of moun¬
tains, as well as for the great elevation to which some of
them attain. The highest is Benlawers, 4015 feet: Benmore
is 3903 ; Cairn Gower, 3690 ; and Schehallion, 3564. This
last mountain is distinguished by its fine conoidal outline,
as well as for being the spot selected by Dr Maskelyne ^>r
making his experiments to determine the density of the
earth. Benledi rises to the height of 3550 feet; Ben Ard-
lanach to that of 3500 ; and Ben Venu to that of 3000 ; be¬
sides many others of considerable though inferior altitude.
The principal lake is Loch Tay, fifteen miles in length, and
about two at its greatest breadth. The outline of this fine
lake is somewhat deficient in beauty, from the nearly straight
and rigid character of its shores, particularly on the north side.
At Killin and Taymouth, however, the scenery is varied and
noble, presenting ample materials to the pencil of the artist.
Loch Ericht is about sixteen miles in length, but half of it
is included in the county of Inverness. The country around
it is bare, wild, and devoid of interest. Loch Rannoch,
wrhich is nearly twelve miles in length from east to west, ex¬
hibits greater variety of outline, and its banks are agree¬
ably diversified with old birches, the remnants of the once
extensive forest of Rannoch. The finest view of Schehal¬
lion is obtained from the northern bank of this lake, at a
point about four miles above Kinloch Rannoch. Viewed
from the spot in question, the mountain presents a figure
nearly conical, appearing to rise out of the lower extremity
of the loch, and showing, in contrast with the water, one
of the most magnificent natural objects to be seen in this
or in any other country. Loch Earn, about six or seven
miles in length, is a beautiful lake, with a richly-wooded,
and in many places a highly-cultivated, but narrow strip
of margin, from which the hills ascend rapidly and steeply.
On the south-west there is the noble chain of lakes, Loch
Ketterin, Loch Achray, and Loch Vennachar, which dis¬
charge their waters into the Forth. The scenery of these
lakes is so well known as the locality of Sir Walter Scott’s
poetical romance, the Lady of the Lake, that it is unneces¬
sary to describe its peculiar features. They are of the most
varied and striking kind, such indeed as require to be seen
in order to be fully appreciated ; and the pencil rather than
the pen must be employed to convey to those who have not
beheld them a just conception of their mingled beauty, wild¬
ness, and magnificence. Divided from these by a ridge of
elevated hills, we find Loch Ard, Upper and Lower, and
Loch Con, from which the Forth takes his rise. The well-
known lake of Monteith is in the vicinity of the latter. There
are many other lakes, such as Loch Tummel, Loch Garry,
Loch Voil, and Loch Lubnaig, all of some extent, and some
of them rich in picturesque beauty of situation and outline.
In the eastern quarter of the county is to be found another
chain of lakes extending from near Dunkeld towards Blair¬
gowrie, which are less known than they deserve to be. These
are the three lochs of the Lowes, Marly, and Clunie. An old
mansion on the loch of Clunie is said to have been the birth¬
place of the admirable Crichton.
The rivers of Perthshire are, the Tay, the largest stream
in Scotland, with a course about ninety miles in length ; the
Isla, with its tributary the Ericht; and the Earn. The Tay
and the Earn belong exclusively to this county, their entire
course being confined to it; the Isla in the early part of its
course sweeps through the western part of Forfarshire. The
Tay is considered to discharge more water into the sea than
any other river in Great Britain ; the basin which it drains not
only being very extensive in itself, and the seat of elevated
mountain ranges, but abounding in streams of considerable
magnitude, the principal of which it absorbs in its progress
towards the German Ocean. Of those minor streams, which
2 o
290
PERTHSHIRE.
Perthshire, augment the volume of the Tay, the chief are the hyon> ^ie
Almond, the Isla, the Brann, the Garry, and the lummel.
Throughout a considerable part of its course the scenery on
the banks of the Tay is of the grandest and most impressive
character; particularly in the upper part of its course, from
Loch Tay, through the strath which takes its name from the
river, to the pass of Birnam, where its banks become more
level, and the country around assumes a softer character.
But what is lost in boldness and grandeur is fully compen¬
sated by the rich and varied beauties of a wooded and cul¬
tivated soil, enriched with noble seats and stately mansions.
The Earn passes through a rich and picturesque country;
in some places bold and alpine in its character, and in others
abounding in the mellow beauties of cultivation. On its
banks, not far from its confluence with the Frith of Tay,
stands the village of Pitcaithley, celebrated for its mineral
waters, and now a favourite resort of fashionable valetudi¬
narians. The Tummel is one of the finest rivers in Scotland,
and is especially rich in wild and romantic scenery, from its
source in Loch Rannoch, to its confluence with the Tay,
immediately below the village of Logierait. The Earn and
the Lyon, the Almond, the Brann, and the Airdle, besides
other smaller streams, we can only afford to notice generally.
They all partake more or less of the character of the fine
districts which they traverse; imparting life and animation
to many a mountain solitude, besides draining and watering
extensive tracts of country.
Of the temperature of a region differing so much in ex¬
posure and elevation, nothing certain can safely be affirmed.
In the upper and more elevated districts, where the mountain
ranges slope down into the level country, and amongst the
numerous glens which penetrate these in all directions, the
climate is charged with moisture in a higher degree, the
winters are longer and more severe, the snow frequently lies
longer on the ground, and the spring is generally later than
in the lower districts of the county. The highest summer
temperature rarely exceeds sixty-five degrees, and the mean
temperature, in three different situations in the county (none
of them, however, more than 150 feet above the sea), has
been found to be forty-seven degrees. The cloudy cha¬
racter of the atmosphere in the mountainous districts, by
excluding the light of the sun, retards the ripening of the
crops, and accumulates moisture, which tends to lower the
average temperature. The district of Perth proper is said
to be the least humid, the average water being only twenty-
three inches; but in the Carse of Gowrie, on the shores of
the Frith of Tay, the mean quantity of rain for twelve years
was twenty-four inches and a half; at Perth, for a period
of sixteen years, it was 26*95 inches; and at Belmont, in
Strathmore, for thirty years, it was as high as 30*40 inches.
The extensive drainage, executed of late years by various
proprietors, has no doubt tended considerably to ameliorate
the climate.
As far as is yet known, the minerals of Perthshire, in a
commercial or economical point of view, are of no great
public importance. Abundance of coal is to be found at Cul-
ross on the Forth, where it has long been wrought; but the
situation renders it of no use to the inland and higher dis¬
tricts. Limestone is plentiful, and is wrought in consider¬
able quantities ; but for want of proper fuel it is not so ge¬
nerally used as it would be, peat, the only fuel in the upper
districts, not being strong enough for the purpose of cal¬
cination. Lord Willoughby d’Eresby and Sir Niel Menzies
have, however, lately devoted their attention to the com¬
pression of peat; and the results which they have obtained
encourage the hope that that species of fuel may yet be ren¬
dered available to the improvement of the barren districts
in which it abounds. Marble of a pretty good quality is
found in Glentilt, and is now becoming an article of some
importance in commerce. Slate is wrought in various places,
particularly in the neighbourhood of Dunkeld; ironstone is
found on the Devon, where it supplies the extensile iion-Pert, fg
works established there ; and copper and lead mines are said ^
to have been at one time in operation, but have long since
been abandoned. On the east side of the county shell-marl
is plentiful, and is freely used as a manure. In the higher
districts the general basis is granite, but in the lower sand¬
stone prevails. The sandstone, which is of the primitive
kind, stretches from the valley of Strathmore to the neigh¬
bourhood of Callander, with a dip varying from 15° to 25°
towards the north-west. It seems to have received this
position from the action of the central force which elevated
the range of trap hills traversing the island from Montrose
to Dumbarton.
In a county of so great extent, and possessing such a variety
of surface, considerable diversity must exist in the character
of the soil. The carse or alluvial lands on the shores of the
Frith of Tay have long been celebrated for their fertility.
They are considered as the joint produce of river and sea de¬
position for a series of ages. The general character of the
soil is that of a rich clay, very deep, in some places alterna¬
ting with layers of peat, and having sand and marine de¬
posits at the bottom. This soil is not wholly alluvial, being
sometimes mixed with the debris of trap-rocks, and also of the
sandstone, which, as already mentioned, forms a geological
characteristic of the lowland districts of Perthshire. Consi¬
derable tracts of this inferior description of alluvial soil are
found accompanying the courses of the principal rivers, and
extend into the upper portions of Strath- Fay, Strath-Airdle,
and Strath-Tummel. A soil composed of clay and sand,
and called by agriculturists a till, extends along a vast tract
of this county from east to west, and is supposed to be form¬
ed from the red sandstone prevalent in that district. Peat
is to be met with almost everywhere in Perthshire; that
known by the name of Moss Flundcvs is said to extend ovei
ten thousand acres, and is amongst the largest continuous
tracts of this description in the united kingdom.
In the arable districts of this county, such as the Carse
of Gowrie, and the fertile lands skirting part of the course
of its principal rivers, the modes of agriculture and manage¬
ment of farms are much the same as in the other agi icultural
counties of Scotland. But of late years a spirit of improve¬
ment has been introduced, which has been much felt in this
county, chiefly in the upper districts, where the old “ runrig’
system long kept its ground tenaciously,-under the modi¬
fied form of joint farms. The arable farms vary in extent
from fifty to five hundred acres, and upwards; and in the
Carse of Gowrie the rents are as high as in any part of the
kingdom. Wheat is raised on the best soils, and has been
attempted, not unsuccessfully, as high up in the county as
Dunkeld. In the wheat-growing soils this crop usually al¬
ternates with beans and peas, barley, hay, and oats. Flax
is more extensively raised in Perthshire than in any other
part of Scotland, arising most probably from its being the
raw material of the indigenous manufacture of the county.
Potatoes and turnips are extensively cultivated, and of late
years on the most improved methods. The pasture-farms
in the higher parts of the county are large, and raise great
numbers of sheep, chiefly of the black-faced kind. Other
descriptions of live stock are not so much cultivated. Dairy
farming does not form a prominent feature in the rural eco¬
nomy of this county. In some favoured spots orchards suc¬
ceed well, many of them are very large, and their produce
is highly celebrated. Perthshire is remarkable for the great
extent and beauty of its woods. Of these, many are of na¬
tural wood, chiefly oak. But extensive plantations of va¬
rious kinds of trees have been made during the last titty
years by several proprietors, especially by the late Duke o
Atholl, whose planting operations have been carried on upon
the most extensive scale, at once beautifying and enrich¬
ing one of the finest parts of the county. To him Perthsinre
is indebted for the introduction of the larch, which has been
PER
P E
shire, found singularly adapted to the climate and soil. The plan-
tations of this tree have thriven amazingly, and are of great
extent and value. Larch has been used in ship-building,
instead of oak ; but their relative value for such a purpose
is not yet fully ascertained. In 1674 the valued rental of
Perthshire was L.339,892 Scots; and in 1815 the annual va¬
lue of assessed property amounted to L.555,552 sterling.
This county is particularly rich in splendid seats and man¬
sions belonging to the great proprietors. Of these, the most
remarkable are Dunira, Taymouth Castle, Dunkeld House,
the Palace of Scone, Kinfauns Castle, Murthly House, Dup-
plin Castle, and Blair Castle. Castle Huntly and Blair Cas¬
tle are fine specimens of the old baronial and castellated ha¬
bitations of the ancient lords of the soil; and Doune Castle
is considered as one of the finest ruins of its kind in Scot¬
land. Perthshire is not remarkable for antiquities, secular
or ecclesiastical. Druidical circles and Roman remains are
found in various places. Of the former, one circle almost
entire, called by the country people Standing Stanes, for¬
merly existed at Craigmakerran, the property, we believe,
of the guildry of Perth ; but about twenty-five years ago
it was barbarously destroyed, and the stones blasted for the
purpose of being employed in the erection of a farm-stead¬
ing. Before this act of Vandalism was committed, the circle
in question, which stood on a projecting crag, about six miles
from Perth, on the Isla road, was perhaps one of the most
perfect of the kind in the kingdom. Of the latter, the camp
or station at Ardoch, and that at Comrie, are well known, as
well as the Roman road, which seems to have connected
them. There is another at Delvin, which is scarcely less
remarkable. The ruins of the cathedrals of Dunblane and
Dunkeld are also in excellent preservation, though the ar¬
chitecture is by no means of the highest order. The tower
of Abernethy, which has long puzzled the heads of antiqua¬
ries, is unfortunately decaying rapidly, as is also the fine old
abbey of Culross.
Red deer are still numerous in Perthshire, and impart a
feature of peculiar interest to its forest scenery. The deer-
forest of Athole is said to contain 80,000 acres; and the
number of the deer in the whole county is estimated at 6000,
of which about 100 are annually killed. Harts are destroy¬
ed in the months of August and September, and hinds in
January, the last month of the season. From several of the
large proprietors having combined to preserve the deer, it
is considered that their number must be greatly upon the
increase. Feathered game of every description abounds in
the upland district of Perthshire, and affords a rich treat to
the sportsman. Many of the moors are let to sportsmen,
and bring large sums annually. Salmon is amazingly plen¬
tiful, especially in the Tay, and is also found in the tribu¬
taries of that river. The fisheries on the Tay alone are un¬
derstood to bring a rental of L. 10,000 a year, and those on
the Earn are likewise said to be productive. The export of
salmon forms a considerable article of commerce, as is men¬
tioned in the account of Perth.
The principal towns are Perth and Culross, which are
royal burghs; Crieff, Callander, Kincardine, Doune, Comrie,
Dunblane, Auchterarder, Dunkeld, and Blairgowrie. Of
the latter class, the largest is Crieff, the population of which
in 1831 amounted to nearly 5000. It is a chief seat of the
linen manufacture, which is also the principal occupation
of Blairgowrie and Auchterarder, with a population of about
SOOO each. None of the other towns is very remarkable,
if we except Comrie, which is celebrated for the frequency
of earthquakes in its neighbourhood ; Dunblane, for its mi¬
neral waters ; and Doune, once a great Highland mart, for
its manufactory of pistols. The villages are numerous, and
many of them populous and thriving; but it is unnecessary
to particularize them. The greater part of Coupar Angus
is included in the county of Perth.
u The manufacture of linen, as already mentioned, is the
R 291
staple manufacture of Perthshire; but cotton goods are also Pertinax.
produced to a considerable extent. Mills for spinning flax,—v—
bleachfields, and calico-printfields, are numerous; and there
are some large establishments for spinning cotton-yarn at
Stanley near Perth, and at Danston. Paper is likewise ma¬
nufactured to a considerable extent; and oil-mills are to be
found in various places. A great many shoes are made in
Perth, and the tanning of leather is carried on to a consi¬
derable extent at Crieff and at Thornhill. Of agricultural
produce, large quantities of sheep and black cattle from the
upper districts are brought to the country markets and sold
there. Wool is likewise an article of considerable sale. From
the more fertile districts large quantities of grain are an¬
nually brought to market. Bark and timber, principally
larch and oak, also form commercial articles of no small im¬
portance. The produce of its fisheries has already been no¬
ticed as being amongst the list of exports. Limestone, slate,
freestone, marl, and marble, from the fine quarries of Glen-
tilt, are also brought to market, although, from the difficulty
of transport, to a much less extent than they would other¬
wise be done.
In a word, the leading characteristics of this noble county
are the variety and diversity of its scenery and productions,
and the picturesque manner in which these are frequently
grouped together. Fertility and barrenness, the wildest
alpine magnificence, and the most delicious scenes upon
which the eye of the lover of natural beauty could desire
to rest; the rugged mountain towering in rude majesty, and
the sweet glen enlivened with sunshine or curtained with
mist; the rich alluvial plains of England contrasting with
the glories of Switzerland in a more softened and subdued
form ; these are the general and prominent features by
which it is distinguished. To the tourist it presents attrac¬
tions of almost every kind. It is a sort of shifting diorama,
in which new scenes remarkable for new beauties continual¬
ly present themselves to his view, leaving upon his mind
the impression that the last is, in some respects, the finest
he has yet beheld. To the sportsman it opens a bound¬
less field of amusement in its beautiful streams and its ex¬
tensive moors, where the grouse, undeterred by the deadly
hostility of man, renew their race but only to invite renewed
destruction. In this county the naturalist has still much
to explore; and after all the labours of Lord Webb Sey¬
mour, Professor Playfair, and some others, Glentilt alone
would occupy a generation of mineralogists and geologists.
In a word, this county, rich in every kind of natural beauty,
and possessing many localities which have a deep historical
interest attached to them, is not undeserving of the pre¬
eminence which has, by universal consent, been assigned to
it, and merits a far larger share of attention than in the pre¬
sent article we have been able to bestow upon it.
The population of the county of Perth, in 1831, amount¬
ed to 142,894 persons, being an increase since 1821 of only
3844. The number of families was 31,749, and that of in¬
habited houses 23,809. Of the relative numbers employed
in trade and agriculture we have no recent returns. The
county sends a member to parliament, as does also Perth,
the principal city. Culross, Queensferry, Dunfermline, In-
verkeithing, and Stirling, unite in returning a third. The
only change affecting this county made by the reform act,
was enfranchising the city of Perth, which previously had
only a fraction of a representative.
PERTINAX, an illustrious Roman emperor, who succeed¬
ed the detested Commodus. He was descended of a mean
family, and, like his father, who was either a slave or the son
of a manumitted slave, he for some time followed the humble
employment of drying wood and making charcoal. His po¬
verty did not, however, prevent him from receiving a libe¬
ral education. For some time he was employed in teaching
a number of pupils the Greek and the Roman languages in
Etruria. But having left this laborious profession, he became
292
P E R
P E R
a soldier, and by his valour and intrepidity gradually rose to
offices of the highest trust in the army, and for his services
was made consul by M. Aurelius. He was afterwards en¬
trusted with the government of Mcesia, and at length pre¬
sided over the city of Rome as governor. When Commo-
dus was murdered, Pertinax was universally chosen to suc¬
ceed him in the imperial dignity ; and his refusal, on the plea
of old age and increasing infirmities, did not prevent his be¬
ing saluted emperor and Augustus. He complied with re¬
luctance ; but his mildness, his economy, and his popularity,
convinced the senate and the people of the prudence and
the justice of their choice. He forbade his name to be in¬
scribed on such places or estates as formed part of the impe¬
rial domains, and asserted that they belonged not to him
but to the public. He melted all the silver statues which
had been raised to his predecessor, and exposed to sale his
concubines, horses, arms, and all the instruments of his plea¬
sure and extravagance. With the money raised from these
sources he enriched the empire, and was enabled to abolish
all the taxes which Commodus had laid on the rivers, ports,
and highways, throughout the empire. These patriotic actions
gained him the affection of the worthiest and most discern¬
ing of his subjects; but the extravagant, luxurious, and vi¬
cious, raised a loud clamour against him; and when the em¬
peror attempted to introduce amongst the praetorian guards
such discipline as was absolutely necessary to preserve the
peace and tranquillity of Rome, the flames of rebellion were
kindled, and the minds of the soldiers completely alienated.
Pertinax was apprized of their mutiny, but refused to fly at
the hour of danger. Disregarding the advice of such of his
friends as wished him to withdraw from the impending
storm, he unexpectedly appeared before the seditious troops,
and, without fear or concern, boldly asked them whether
they who were bound by duty to defend the person of their
prince and emperor, were come to betray him and to shed
his blood ? His undaunted covirage and intrepidity would
have had the desired effect, and the soldiers had begun to
retire, when one of the most seditious of them advanced,
and darted his javelin at the emperor’s breast, exclaiming,
“ The soldiers send you this.” The rest instantly followed
the example; and Pertinax, muffling up his head, and call¬
ing upon Jupiter to avenge his death, remained unmoved,
and was immediately despatched. His head was cut oft and
carried in triumph to the camp upon the point of a spear. Pt
This abominable murder happened in the 103d year of the ^
Christian era. sJ
It was no sooner known that Pertinax had been murder¬
ed, than the enraged populace flocked from all quarters of
the city, and, uttering dreadful menaces against the authors
of his death, ran up and down the streets in quest of them.
The senators were no less concerned for his death than the
people, probably because they were now convinced that
the soldiers would suffer none but tyrants to reign. How¬
ever, as they had more to lose than the common people,
they did not offer to revenge his death, but either shut
themselves up in their own houses, or in those of the sol¬
diers of their acquaintance. Such was the unfortunate and
lamented end of Publius Helvius Pertinax, after he had
lived sixty-six years, seven months, and twenty-six or twen¬
ty-eight days; and reigned, according to Dio Cassius, eighty-
seven days, that is, from the 1st of January to the 28th of
March. His body, together with his head, was interred
with great pomp by Didius Julianus, his successor, in the
burying-place of his wife’s family. Septimius Severus, with
the title of emperor, assumed the name of Pertinax, which
he knew would, above any thing else, recommend him to the
army in Illyricum, and to the Roman people. He punished
with great severity all those who had been accessory to his
death ; disbanded the praetorian guards ; honoured his me¬
mory with a most magnificent funeral, at which was car¬
ried the effigies of the deceased prince; pronounced his
panegyric, and caused him to be ranked in the number of
the gods, appointing the son chief priest to his father. The
day of his accession to the empire was yearly celebrated
with the Circensian games, and his birth-day, for many years
afterwards, with other sports. He performed great things,
says Herodian, during his short administration, and would
have restored the empire to its former lustre, had he been
indulged with a longer reign.
PERTUIS, a city of France, in the department of Vau-
cluse, and arrondissement of Apt. It is situated on the
river Air, about three miles from its junction with the Du¬
rance, and contains about 540 houses, with 4280 inhabi¬
tants, who are chiefly employed in spinning and weaving silk,
and in the distillation of brandy. Long. 5. 30. E. Lat. 43.
44. N.
PER U.
Peru is the name of one of the republics of South Ame¬
rica, but it likewise designates a large empire long since dis¬
membered, yet still renowned for its wealth and ancient
civilization. The limits of the present state do not com¬
prehend much more than one third of the country over
which the incas held dominion, from its having been re¬
peatedly partitioned by the Spaniards, and always unwisely
even for themselves. Ancient Peru extended from about
2. 0. of north to the twenty-sixth parallel of south latitude,
thus including what is now called the Republic of the Equa¬
tor, or Quito ; and from 57. 0. to 81. 0. of west longitude,
thus comprehending the whole of Bolivia or Upper Peru.
Previously, however, to defining the boundaries of the re¬
public, and describing its present condition, we shall briefly
glance at the early annals of the country, and then take a
rapid historical survey of the political revolutions which it
has undergone, from the period when the Spaniards first
drew their swords upon the “ Children of the Sun.”
The native annals of Peru ascend no higher than the era
of the first inca, who flourished in the twelfth century. The
individual who first established monarchical authority in the
country was called Manco Capac, supposed by the natives
to have been commissioned by divine Providence to deliver
the world from an evil genius, to whose diabolical sway it had
been abandoned. From this superstition, and also from tra¬
dition, it appears that previously to the period in question,
the inhabitants of Peru ranked amongst the most barbarous
of the American savages, roaming the primeval forests with
w hich their country was then covered, more like wild beasts
than men, strangers to agriculture and to all the useful arts,
and having no fixed place of abode. Manco Capac, however,
along with the beautiful Mama Oello or Ocollo, at once his
wife and sister, reclaimed the Peruvians from this degraded
condition. He showed them how to till and irrigate the soil,
to construct residences, and to fix the division of lands. He
overthrew their altars which were stained with blood, and
taught them the more harmless idolatry of worshipping the
sun. Assisted by Oello, he instructed the people in the mo¬
ralities of life and the obligations of nature; he enjoined
every man to bestow a portion of his time and industry for
the benefit of his neighbour, and inculcated brotherly love
not only amongst members of the same, but of different fa¬
milies. He framed laws for the happiness of the community,
and commanded obedience to them more by humanity than
by force. At the same time he compelled his subjects to
submit implicitly to the will of the incas, and retarded the
ru. progress of the human mind by making it unlawful for a son
v-—■'to follow any profession except that of his father. The em¬
pire which this remarkable person founded comprised only
a small territory around the city of Cuzco ; and the Peru¬
vian traditions assign no earlier date than that of his reign
to the dawn of civilization. It is the opinion of Humboldt,
however, that the architectural monuments which are found
on the elevated table-land of Tiahuanaco, had an origin prior
to the twelfth century, and that they served as models for
the edifices which the incas erected at Cuzco; thus proving,
that remarkable advancement had been made in the useful
arts before the time of Manco. Who the architects of these
original structures really w'ere, it is nearly impossible to con¬
jecture, far less to assert with confidence. The Spaniards,
on their arrival in the country, were informed by the natives
that they were constructed by “ a race of white and beard¬
ed men,” who inhabited the ridge of the Cordilleras long
before the foundation of the empire of the incas.
But to whatever race they may have belonged, it seems
perfectly certain that they had found their way to Peru along
the ridges of the Cordilleras, and that the civilization of South
America, as well as that of Mexico, emanated from the north.
The following observations of Humboldt, in reference to the
appearance of Manco Capac, are characterized by his usual
sagacity. “ Though no traditions point out any direct con¬
nection between the nations of North and South America,
their history is not the less fraught with analogies in the
political and religious revolutions from which dates the ci¬
vilization of the Aztecs, the Muyscas, and the Peruvians.
Men with beards, and of fairer complexions than the na¬
tives of Anahuac, Cundinamara, and the elevated plain of
Cuzco, make their appearance without any indication of the
place of their birth, bearing the titles of high priests, legis¬
lators, the friends of peace and the arts, and operate a sud¬
den change in the policy of the nations, who hail their ar¬
rival with veneration. Quetzalcoatl, Bochica, and Manco
Capac, are the sacred names of these mysterious beings.”
Still this only refers to a second migration. Those to whom
the natives attributed the construction of the more ancient
works had arrived in the country long before the first inca
came amongst them, no one knew from whence. But over
the erection of these earliest architectural monuments there
hangs a veil of impenetrable mystery.1
Under the swray of Manco and his successors the im¬
provement of the barbarians of Peru advanced with amaz¬
ing celerity ; but it soon reached as high a point as the state
of knowledge and the political circumstances of the coun¬
try would admit. In Peru agriculture was carried on with
greater skill than in any other part of America; and the
monarchs themselves set an example of industry, by cul¬
tivating a field near Cuzco with their own hands; an ho¬
nour which is still conferred upon agriculture in the “ celes¬
tial empire.” They showed much ingenuity in the build¬
ing and navigation of their floats ; but it was in the erec¬
tion and ornamenting of their temples and palaces that the
Peruvians displayed the utmost extent of their constructive
skill. The ruins of these magnificent edifices, which are
found in every province, attest at once the great power pos¬
sessed by the early monarchs, and the high degree of know¬
ledge in the arts to which the people had attained; whilst they
also show that during two centuries at least the nation must
nave subsisted in a state of considerable improvement. The
gieat temple of the sun at Pachacamac, with the palace of
the inca, and the fortress, were so connected together as to
form one great building half a league in circuit. But per¬
haps the noblest works of the incas were the two great roads
mm Cuzco to Quito, a distance of not less than i 500 miles.
One of these was carried through the mountainous country,
and the other wound along" the maritime plains. At proper
intervals storehouses were erected for the accommodation
of the inca and his attendants in his progress through his
dominions; and flying bridges of ropes were stretched across
the torrents v/hich intersected the road in their course from
the Andes to the western ocean. Although these roads were
only fifteen feet in breadth, and not fit for carriages, yet they
must be considered very wonderful works, from the natural
obstacles which had been overcome in constructing them.
Mounds of earth and other works rendered the ascent of
hills comparatively easy. Granaries were built at certain
distances; and charitable houses, ever open to the wanderer,
were founded by the incas. Canals, fortresses, and other
buildings of a public nature, varied and improved the as¬
pect of the country.
In many of the provinces, the sides of lofty hills, or ra¬
ther mountains, are cased round with terraces or hanging gar¬
dens, which rise one above another to a surprising elevation.
Each terrace is faced with stone, and although of inconsi¬
derable width, they cover the sides of such high and exten¬
sive mountains, that they alone must have produced sub¬
sistence for a large population. These terraced strips of
land were by the Peruvians called Andenes, which proba¬
bly induced the conquerors to give the name of Andes to
the whole of the gigantic mountain chain which stretches
from the Straits of Magelhaens to the Isthmus of Panama.
The Andenes are often to be seen in districts where rain
never falls, and how they could have been irrigated is now
unknown.2 Amongst the remarkable works of the ancient
Peruvians were the azequias or aqueducts, by which large
tracts of country now condemned to perpetual sterility w ere
made fertile by water conveyed from an immense distance.
The subterraneous azequias of Nasca were of great extent;
and although many of them are choked up, a sufficient num¬
ber remain to give amazing fertility to the valley of Nasco.
It is not known how far they penetrated, but it is supposed
that the Peruvians drove an adit horizontally until they met
with a perennial spring.
The skill of the ancient Peruvians in mining, metallurgy,
and the working of the precious metals, was considerable,
and beyond that of the other American nations. Not only
were the sacred temples and the royal residences profusely
adorned with ornaments of gold and silver, but even trees
and shrubs fantastically formed of these metals were placed in
the imperial gardens at Cuzco. The most ordinary domes¬
tic utensils were made of them ; and several of their vessels
and trinkets are said to have exhibited considerable skill in
the workmanship. Mirrors of highly polished stone have
been discovered in their sepulchral mounds ; but that which
gave the Peruvians a decided superiority, in various arts,
over the other tribes of the west, was such a know ledge of
metallurgy as enabled them to mix copper and tin in such
proportions as to form a compound metal hard enough to sup¬
ply the place of iron. But notwithstanding this advantage,
they were lamentably deficient in all the jmplements neces¬
sary for the mechanical arts, and none of their attainments are
entitled to be considered as greater than those of a people in
the first stage of incipient civilization. The painting, statu-
ary, and carving which adorned their temples and palaces
appear to have been very indifferent. Humboldt remarks,
that the Peruvians were not unacquainted with symbolical
paintings, but that they had nothing at all equivalent to the
picture-writing and hieroglyphics of the Mexicans. They
made use of knots and threads of various colours, w hich
they called quippos ; and these strings were used to record
events, as well as for purposes of calculation. Their knowr-
i ^le F°rcign Quarterly Review, No. 35 ; the article Mexico in this work ; and Humboldt’s Researches, vols. i. and ii.
Memoirs of General Millar, vol. ii. p. 188-8.
294:
PERU.
Peru- ledge of astronomy, although exceedingly imperfect, was
yet far from being contemptible. The mcas, who had dis¬
covered the annual revolution of the sun, marked out the
summer and winter solstices by high towers, which they
erected on the east and west of the city of Cuzco. By the
position in which the sun rose and set on the east and west
of these, the summer and winter solstices were determined.
They also observed the equinoxes, and celebrated the event
of the vertical position of the luminary in heaven, by hold-
in2 a great festival in the temple which they had dedicated
to it on earth. They distinguished the months by the moon,
and their weeks were called quarters of the moon. Like
other ignorant races of men, they were alarmed by eclipses
of the sun or moon; but they do not appear to have pre¬
dicted events by the aspect of the stars, though dreams, and
the entrails of beasts, which they offered in sacrifice, were
considered as instructive objects of divination.
The government of the incas was a species of theocracy,
the sovereign uniting in his own person the functions of
priest and king, with both temporal and spiritual domination.
The sun was the object of supreme adoration, and the incas
were considered as his children, descended from him through
Manco Capac, who was believed to be the offspring of their
god. They also adored a twofold being named Con Pachaca-
mac, who they believed was the creator of the Peruvians. But
although the Peruvian form of government was the most ab¬
solute despotism, it was much more mild in its nature, and less
oppressive in its operation, than that of the Mexicans. T e
people were taught, and they yielded, the most slavish sub¬
mission to their sovereigns; for, after their deity the sun,
the incas were regarded with the greatest veneration.. Al¬
most every crime was punishable with death ; and the incas
seldom forgave an injury. It was customary for them to
mutilate the faces and limbs of all the individuals taken in
a revolted district. As an illustration of the nature of their
government, one law may be sufficient. If it were discover¬
ed that a priestess of the sun had violated her oath of chas-
tity, she was buried alive, whilst her seducer was tortured to
death in the most cruel manner. Even the families of the
offending parties were consigned to the flames ; and a line
being drawn around the birthplace of the two lovers, like
the doomed cities of Scripture, it was marked out as a desert
for ever. The number of offenders against any of the laws
is said to have been extremely few. Their religion, how¬
ever, was unpolluted by the bloody rites of that of Mexico.
The “ terrible god,” the Moloch of the west, held no sway
in Peru. Lambs and other animals were offered in sacri¬
fices, but human victims never bled on the altars of the sun.
The national character of the Peruvians harmonized with the
genius of their religion, being more gentle and pacific than
that of any other people in America. Even their wars are
said to have been prosecuted with singular humanity. But
the funeral rites of their monarchs accorded ill with this
mildness in religion and general manners. At the death of
the incas and of other eminent persons, a number ot their
vassals were buried in the tumuli, along with the dead bo¬
dies. The number was sometimes very great. On the death
of Huana Capac, the greatest of their incas, above a thou¬
sand victims were doomed to accompany him to the tomb.
In another particular the manners of the Peruvians were
singularly barbarous. Although very well acquainted with
the uses of fire in culinary operations, they astonished the
Spaniards by devouring both flesh and fish perfectly raw.
Gold and silver were used for ornamental purposes alone,
and were never employed as a circulating medium. The
produce of the earth was enjoyed in common. The whole
being divided by proper officers into four portions, the first
was destined for the indigent; the second was set apart for
the maintenance of the priests and virgins of the sun, and
for other religious purposes; the third was appropriated to
the community; and the fourth and last to the inca and
his family. The incas spoke a language which was not per- Pc
mitted to be taught even to the nobles, far less to the people;'—
and messages were transmitted to members of his family,
from one end of the kingdom to the other, without the bear¬
ers of them, who were stationed at regular intervals, under¬
standing the import of the communication which they con¬
veyed. This language was lost a generation or two after
the conquest. ,
That Cuzco was the only city which ancient Peru possess¬
ed, as asserted by Dr Robertson, is completely at variance
with the accounts of recent travellers, who have found exten¬
sive remains in various parts of the country. It was, however,
the capital of the empire, and the centre of its wealth and
civilization. Throughout the rest of Peru the people appear
to have lived chiefly in detached habitations or small villages,
with the exception, it may be hazarded, of a few large towns,
situated widely apart and in particular positions; for it ap¬
pears that the Peruvians never built a town or suffered a
single house to occupy a spot that was susceptible of culti¬
vation. Little intercourse was maintained amongst the dif¬
ferent provinces, for there were no stated markets, as. in
Mexico, and the inland trade was insignificant. Distinction
of ranks was recognised, for not a small proportion of the
inhabitants were scarcely above the condition of slaves; but
there was no separation of crafts, every Peruvian practising
all the arts indiscriminately. That this people could have ad¬
vanced far in improvement under such a system was impos¬
sible ; and we are only surprised that they should have attain¬
ed to such a degree of refinement as they actually reached.
The natural character of the Peruvians was also such as to
preclude anything like a rapid progress of manners and re¬
finement of life. They were tame and abject; their mild¬
ness degenerated into sloth, and their submission into a slav¬
ish fear of danger. When all these circumstances are taken
into consideration; the vast extent of country over which the
inhabitants were scattered, chiefly in hamlets and huts, and
having little intercourse with the imperial city ; the physi¬
cal weakness of the Indian race in general, and the natural
timidity of the Peruvian character in particular, increased
as it must have been by the system of government under
which they lived; and the political debility which neces¬
sarily attached to a social structure so slenderly constituted
as that of Peru; when these things are duly weighed, we
shall experience less surprise that the conquest of the coun¬
try should have been eftected, almost without a struggle, by
a handful of daring and desperate adventurers.
The first intelligence of the great Southern Ocean, and
the country washed by its waters, was obtained by Nunez
de Balboa, Spanish governor of Darien, in 1512, and pure¬
ly by accident. In one of their numerous inroads into the
country adjacent to that in which they gained a permanent
footing, a violent dispute arose amongst the Spaniards about
the division of some gold. A young cacique or petty
prince, who was present, astonished at their contention
about a thing which was to him of little value, acquainted
them with the existence of a country six suns to the south,
where even the utensils in common use were made of the
same metal as that about which they seemed ready to shed
each other’s blood. The eager cupidity of the Spaniards was
roused by this welcome information, and no time was lost
in preparing for the invasion of this land of gold. Balboa,
accompanied by a hundred and ninety of his countrymen,
and about a thousand Indians, commenced his journey across
the isthmus, which, although only sixty miles in breadth, was
so encumbered with natural obstacles, that five and twen y
days were spent before he obtained a sight of the Southern
Ocean, which he did from a mountain near Panama, me
view of this vast expanse repaid the adventurers for ei
past toils and sufferings. They advanced to the shore vi
the utmost alacrity; and their leader, rushing up to tne
middle in the waves, with his sword and buckler, tooK po
PERU.
295
session of it in the name of the king his master. The part
'' which he discovered is still designated the Gulf of St Mi¬
chael, the name which he bestowed upon it. Balboa, how¬
ever, did not reap the reward which he merited for this
important discovery. By an ungrateful government he was
superseded in his command; and although afterwards re¬
stored to high authority, he fell a victim to the jealousy of
the individual with whom he was associated in the govern¬
ment.
For a short time after the death of Balboa, the thoughts
of conquering Peru were laid aside ; but a new expedition
was at length set on foot, at the head of which appeared the
famous, or rather infamous, Francisco Pizarro, a soldier of
fortune, and formerly in the service of Balboa. Associated
with him were Diego de Almagro, a man of as humble ex¬
traction as himself, and likewise a soldier of fortune, and
Hernando de Luque, who combined the functions of priest
and schoolmaster at Panama. Towards the close of 1524,
Pizarro sailed from the port of Panama in a small vessel,
with only a hundred and twelve followers, to undertake the
subjugation of half the western world. We may smile at
the disparity between the extent of the enterprise and the
paucity of the means by which it was to be achieved, and
feel astonished that it should ever have been attempted un¬
der such circumstances. But the Spaniards, naturally brave,
courted danger, and were enamoured with the excitement
of conquest. Exposure to peril had rendered them fear¬
less, and a succession of triumphs had made them arrogant.
The season at which Pizarro embarked was the most im¬
proper that could have been chosen ; for the periodical
winds which then began to blow were directly adverse to the
course which he wished to steer. But after a series of dis¬
asters and disappointments, which he bore with a patience
and fortitude worthy of any undertaking, and in defiance of
a recall from the governor of Panama, he succeeded, in 1526,
in reaching the coast of Peru. After touching at several
villages, he landed at Tumbez, a place of some note, about
three degrees south of the line, and remarkable for its state¬
ly temple and a palace of the incas. Here the golden dreams
of the Spaniards were, if possible, more than realized. But
for the present they could only feast their eyes on the vision
of riches before them; for the force of Pizarro was far too
limited to attempt the conquest of the opulent empire thus
discovered ; and towards the close of the third year from his
departure this adventurer regained the port whence he had
sailed.
Pizarro immediately repaired to the court of Spain, for
the purpose of turning his discovery to advantage. The
powers which he solicited were granted him. He was in¬
vested with supreme civil and military authority over the
country to be conquered, his jurisdiction being declared to
extend prospectively two hundred leagues to the southward
of the river St Jago. The means of executing this com¬
mission he was left to provide entirely from his own resour¬
ces, which were slender ; but they proved sufficient. He
returned to his confederates at Panama, and after exerting
his utmost efforts, the whole armament which he was able
to ht out amounted only to three small vessels, carrying a
himered and eighty soldiers, of whom thirty-six were mount¬
ed. His first descent was on the shores of St Matthew’s
Uay, whence he pursued his march southward along the
coast, meeting with little or no resistance, and suffering no
ca amities except such as were inflicted by the insalubrity
ot the climate and the sterility of the soil. From first to
as, the New World was conquered as much by the terror
tl ‘l1 asPec^ a_n^ Planners of the invaders inspired in
e breasts of uncivilized men, as by force of arms ; and
. e general impression made on the timid Peruvians proved
irresisti le and paralysing. But another cause contributed
ie rapid success of Pizarro. At this very time the coun-
} was embroiled in a civil war. When the Spaniards first
visited the coast of Peru, Huana Capac, the twelfth monarch
from the founder of the state, was seated on the throne of
the incas. By his victorious arms he had subjugated the
kingdom of Quito ; a conquest of such extent and import¬
ance as almost to double the power of the Peruvian empire.
This prince is represented as alike conspicuous for his pa¬
cific virtues and for his abilities in war. He was, at all
events, a bold innovator; for, in defiance of the fundamen¬
tal law against polluting the blood of the children of the sun
with any foreign alliance, he espoused the daughter of the
conquered monarch ; and by this princess he had a son
named Atahualpa, commonly written Atabalipa, to whom
he left the kingdom of Quito at his death, in the year 1529.
To Huascar, his eldest son by a mother of the royal line,
was bequeathed the rest of his dominions. This arrange¬
ment was productive of a civil war, in which the sovereign
of Quito proved victorious; and, to place himself more
firmly on the throne, he put to death all the descendants
of Manco Capac whom he could seize either by force or
stratagem. Huascar himself was a prisoner in his hands,
but from political motives his life was spared. This unhappy
' contest completely diverted the attention of the Peruvians
fiom the cii cumstance of a foreign invader having violated
* their soil. It was some time, however, before Pizarro rain¬
ed information of the events which so opportunely conspir¬
ed to forward his enterprise; indeed the first intelligence
he received was the appearance in his camp of messengers
from the rival sovereigns, each soliciting the fatal aid of
their common enemy.
Pizarro, as sagacious as he was daring and unprincipled,
perceived at once the importance of the intelligence, and
the foitunate position in which the affairs of the country
were placed for him and his cause. At the head of an ill-
accoutred train of a hundred and two foot soldiers, of whom
tvyenty-two were armed with cross-bows, and only three
with muskets, and sixty-two mounted followers, he pushed
forward from St Michael’s, where, in May 1532, he had es¬
tablished the first Spanish colony in Peru. He directed
his course towards Caxamarca, a town of the interior, dis¬
tant twelve days march, where Atabalipa was encamped
with a considerable body of troops. Appearing in the guise
of an ambassador, or rather pacificator, his professions were
received with inconsiderate credulity; and the inca became
the victim of the perfidy of the Spaniard. Relying with un¬
suspicious simplicity on the honour of the man whom he
considered as his guest, Atabalipa consented to give him
an audience in that part of the city where he and his fol¬
lowers had established themselves. In the mean time Pi¬
zarro had made every preparation for receiving the inca
in a manner w’hich he little expected. He arranged his
troops in as advantageous a situation as possible, within a
square wholly surrounded by a strong rampart or wall of
earth ; and there he awaited the emperor, who slowly ap¬
proached with all the pomp of barbaric splendour. ' The
latter was borne on the shoulders of his principal attend¬
ants, seated on a throne or couch, resplendent with plates
of gold and silver, enriched with precious stones, and adorn¬
ed with waving plumes of the most gorgeous hues. Be¬
hind him came the chief officers of his court, and bands of
singers and dancers attended the cavalcade, whilst the Pe¬
ruvian army, to the number of 30,000 men, swarmed all
over the surrounding plain. With matchless perfidy Pizarro
instructed a priest to inform Atabalipa, that the vicegerent
on earth of the God whom they worshipped had made a do¬
nation of all the nations of the New World to the king of
Gastille, their master, and that he must accordingly surren¬
der Peru. At the same time he was required to renounce
the service of the sun, and become a convert to the reli¬
gion of the Spaniards. Astonished at this extraordinary
proposal, he asked the priest for a sight of his credentials;
and a breviary being handed to him, he lifted it to his ear.
Peru.
296
p e u u:
Peru. « This,” said he, “ is silent; it tells me nothmg; and he
-^—dashed it to the ground with disdam The wdy monk
who appears to have been exactly the tool which Piza
wanted, ran towards his countrymen, calung out that the
word of God had been insulted, and that they ought to take
immediate vengeance on the impious dogs who were gud y
oTTuch a profanation. At once the signal for assaul ^
o-iven, and an indiscriminate massacre of the unresist mg
Peruvians took place. In vain did the wretc e ugmv
seek shelter from the avenging steel of the bpama •
They were pursued even within the sanctuaries of their re-
ilta, and cut down around their altars with unrelentmg
barbarity. Atabalipa himself was taken pnsone , ]
ITcloJe confinement. A proposal of the mca to ransom
himself by paying an. enormous quantity of gold was
Sy caught at 1>y Pisarro ; and the devoted subjec of
the captive king, with eager alacrity, obeyed his call to
bring him their treasures in order to procure his hhe y.
Meanwhile, Almagro arrived with a reinforcement of Spa¬
niards equal to that already in the country. i The rapacmu
bravoes who composed it, being as yet unglutte wi,
spoil of the richest country in the world, urged Piza ro
to put the inca to death, and thus clear the wayfora tho¬
rough plunder of the whole empire. The chief of this ban¬
ditti had himself previously determined on taking this step,
and* probably on,yP waited for the proposal comtng front the
troops in order to carry it into execution. After perform
ing a ceremony preparatory to execution (it would be an
abuse of language to call it a trial), the Spaniards condem
ed the incaof Peru to be burned alive, which merciless
sentence was, as a great favour, mitigated to strangling,
and the unhappy victim suffered accordingly. Amongst a
list of imaginary crimes which were laid to his charge, there
was one of which he had really been guilty, namely, put¬
ting to death his brother Huascar. Phis cruel and un¬
necessary deed of blood he was induced to commit from
fear lest, in his own helpless situation, his rival to the
throne might join the invaders against him. But Spaniards
were not competent to try him for such an act; he was
only amenable to his own country ; and the allegation was
as irrelevant as the other parts of the charge in this solemn
^Themmler of Atabalipa was soon followed by a revo¬
lution in the affairs of the Spaniards, whose barbarous in¬
humanity now rendered them odious to the Peruvians. Even
amongst themselves were found a few persons not altoge¬
ther divested of pity and a sense of justice ; and the dread
of impending danger from the Indians now uniting agains
Pizarro, alone restrained these soldiers within the bounds of
discipline. At Cuzco, the partisans of Huascar elevated
his brother Manco Capac to the throne of the mcas, whilst
Pizarro set up Taparpa, the son of Atabahpa, as emperor.
But this prince was relieved by death from the degradation
of being innocently accessary to the humiliation of his
country. No other person having been invested by the
Spaniards with the insignia of mock royalty, the title of
Manco Capac was universally acknowledged. The attempts
of the Indians, however, to arrest the progress of the inva¬
ders proved unavailing; but the latter quarrelled amongst
themselves about the division of the spoil. I erdmand Pi¬
zarro, the brother of the general, had been sent to the court
of Spain to report the progress of spoliation, and to deposit
a part of the booty. Honours were conferred upon him,
and his brother obtained an additional grant of land, whilst
he himself was invested with the jurisdiction of a very large
tract of country lying still further to the southward. No
sooner did Almagro hear this than he attempted to seize
Cuzco, alleging that it lay within the limits ot his govern¬
ment; and a civil war between his partisans and the Pizarro
faction was only prevented by an accommodation, on the
singular footing that Almagro should indemnify himself by
attempting the conquest of Chili. This reconciliation left Pe,
the general at liberty to settle the internal policy of his' •
province. He divided the country into districts, over which
magistrates were appointed to preside ; and he removed
the seat of government from Cuzco to Lima, which he nam¬
ed Ciudad des los Reyes. He likewise despatched some
of his most distinguished officers to inspect those provinces
of the empire hitherto unvisited by the Spaniards ; but this
imprudent feeling of security nearly proved fatal to him.
The Peruvians, with Manco Capac at their head, seeing
the Spaniards weakening themselves by dividing their force,
seized the opportunity of making a desperate effort to avenge
their wrongs and to rid themselves for ever of their oppres¬
sors. This insurrection took place m the year 153o-1536.
The Spanish historians, probably to exalt the prowess ot
their countrymen, assert that an army of more than two
hundred thousand men was collected, part of which in¬
vested Lima, where the governor was closely shut up,
whilst a still larger body of men laid siege to Cuzco.
Half of the city had already fallen into the hands ot the
Peruvians, and' the besieged were reduced to the most
desperate condition, when Almagro suddenly made his ap¬
pearance in the neighbourhood. Upon his arrival, his
assistance was solicited by both parties; but the mca, de¬
spairing of success in his negotiations with Spaniards, at¬
tacked Almagro during the night. Spanish valour and dis¬
cipline, however, prevailed over the greatly superior num¬
bers of the Indians, who were repulsed with terrible slaugh¬
ter and the governor of Chili advanced unopposed to the
gates of Cuzco. Over the capital of the incas his authority
was now fully recognised, though not without an affray, m
which several Spaniards were killed. But very soon after¬
wards matters began to assume a serious aspect; m short, it
now came to the issue of arms, whether Pizarro or Almagro
should remain master of Peru. The latter was at first
completely successful against the brothers of the general;
but in an engagement with Pizarro himself he was defeat¬
ed and taken prisoner. The conquerors behaved with a
cruelty which struck horror into the minds ot the barba¬
rians, who had assembled out of curiosity to see the battle.
Almagro, after languishing some months in prison, was at
length formally tried and condemned to death ; which sen¬
tence he underwent by being first strangled in private, and
afterwards beheaded in public. , , , .
In the meanwhile intelligence having reached the court
of Spain of the dissension which had taken place in Peru,
the king appointed a new governor, who, on his arrival, was
to assume the supreme command, provided Piza™ had
fallen, which proved to be the case. Almagro left a son by
an Indian woman, and this youth he appointed h,s succet-
sor, by virtue of a power granted him by the emperor. Hie
partial division of the spoil which had been made by Pizar-
!-o and his brothers tended to alienate many of the Spaniards
from their cause. Great numbers of thedisaffectecl iqa
ed to Lima, where the house of young Almagro was alway
open to receive them; and here a conspiracy was formed
against the life of Pizarro, at the head of which was Juan
de Herrada, an officer of distinguished abilities, and who h
had the superintendence of Almagro s education. J h^a-
tural intrepidity and fearless disposition of the gener‘ll )r? ,
ed liis ruin ; for, utterly disregarding the warning whmh
were given him of approaching evil, he took no measur
either to discover the plot or to protect his own person f
violence. In this state of fancied security access to h f>
lace was easily gained by the conspirators. On the -6 h
June 1540, Herrara, with eighteen of the most determi
of his followers, sallied from the house of Almagro, an _
vancing through the streets, shoutedl ‘ Long live
but let the tyrant die.” He entered the palace of Pizarro
without opposition, and gained the apnrtment where i
tim was conversing with some of his friends, havi g J
I
PERU.
:ru. risen from table. His resolute mind no form of danger could
appal: he hastily snatched a sword and buckler, with which
he maintained the unequal contest, in a manner worthy of
his past exploits. But friend after friend was cut down at
his side; and, no longer able to turn aside the numerous
weapons so furiously aimed at his life, he received a deadly
thrust in his throat, sunk to the ground, and expired. Thus
perished by the swords of assassins Francisco Pizarro, the
conqueror of Peru, a man who in mere valour was probably
never surpassed ; but whose injustice, rapacity, and cruelty
rendered him unworthy of a better fate.
After the death of Pizarro, young Almagro was placed at
the head of the government; but his career was short and
troubled. The new viceroy having arrived from Spain, he
refused to relinquish his pretensions, and a struggle ensued,
which proved fatal to himself and all his followers. Ano¬
ther insurrection, however, broke out under Gonzales Pi¬
zarro, who had just returned from a most disastrous expedi¬
tion into the country to the east of the Andes, and was thus
prevented from taking any part in the revolutions w hich had
so rapidly succeeded each other in Peru. To oppose this
new aspirant to viceregal power, Nunez Vela, governor of
Lima, assembled a motley army of Indians and Spaniards ;
and, after various successes on both sides, a decisive battle
was fought under the walls of Quito, in which Nunez pe¬
rished, along with the greater number of his followers. But
another viceroy arrived from Europe in the person of the
licentiate Pedro de la Gasca, and against him it was neces¬
sary for Gonzales to take the field. But many deserted his
standard to rally round that of a person who was invested
with a lawful authority to govern them ; and those whom
the tyranny of the usurper had driven to forests and ca¬
verns now quitted their hiding-places and joined the royalists.
On the 9th of June 1548, an engagement took place near
Cuzco, in which the last of the Pizarros, deserted by his
followers, wras taken prisoner, and afterwards beheaded.
Such is the last event of any importance connected with a
history, every line of which is written in blood. During
these ferocious contentions, in which the rancour of enmity
was rendered more intense by avarice, honour, the prover¬
bial virtue of the Spaniard, was utterly disregarded. There
was hardly one of them who did not abandon the party which
he had originally espoused, and betray or desert his former
associates. This is not to be wondered at when we reflect
that most of the followers of Pizarro were needy adventurers,
soldiers of fortune, exactly similar to those who had for cen¬
turies swarmed in various countries of Europe, and who sold
their services to the best paymaster. The same mercenary
principle appears to have been acted upon by the Spaniards
in Peru; they attached themselves most tenaciously to the
leader who held out the richest bribe. Petty insurrections
continued to disturb the country for several years ; and
most of the first invaders, as well as a large proportion of
the licentious soldiery whom the fame of their success had
drawn thither, perished in their contests one with another.
Ultimately the devoted land was thus cleared of those tur¬
bulent and desperate spirits which had been let loose upon
it, and the royal authority was finally as completely estab¬
lished in Peru as in the other Spanish provinces.
The whole of the dominions of Spain in the New World
were at first divided into two immense governments ; one
subject to the viceroy of Mexico, and the other to the vice¬
roy of Peru. But the latter was, at two subsequent periods,
reduced in order to give such extension to other provinces
as should entitle them to the rank of viceroyalties. In the
year 1718, the province, or, as it was sometimes called, the
kingdom, of Quito, was detached from Peru, and added to
the government of New Grenada. In the year 1778 the
provinces of the Rio de la Plata, Potosi, Charcas, Chiqui-
tos, and some others, were detached from the jurisdiction
of the Peruvian viceroy, and erected into a separate go¬
vernment, of which Buenos Ayres was made the capital.
To these four governments alone was attached the dignity
of a viceroyalty. Guatemala, the provinces of Venezuela,
Caraccas, Cumana, and Chili, were severally formed into dis¬
tinct jurisdictions under a captain-general. Having already
given a view of the colonial system of administration under
which the Spanish territories in the New World groaned
for nearly three centuries (see the article Mexico), we shall
only here advert to two distinct features of the tyranny
which was exercised over the aborigines of Peru. These
were the mita and the repartimiento. The former was a civil
conscription, by which the population of every district was
compelled to furnish annually a certain number of labourers
for the service of the proprietors of the lands or mines. It
is true that under the incas a great body of the natives were
held in a state of degrading vassalage, so that a change of
masters did not involve a change of condition in as far as
mere labour was concerned ; but the effects of being con¬
demned to work in the mines for a fixed period proved
most fatal to them. By the regulation, every Indian from
the age of eighteen to fifty was pressed into the mining
service for six months once in every three years and a
half. On these occasions they were under the necessity of
quitting their homes and families, relinquishing their pro¬
fessions, and repairing, it might be, many hundred miles to
some inhospitable spot, where, it is said, scarcely one In¬
dian in five survived the first year of his labours. More
than twelve thousand Indians were annually subject to the
mita conscription of the single province of Potosi; and it
is computed that upwards of eight millions of human beings
perished in the mines of Peru alone.1 The Indians were
also pressed into the employment of the governors of pro¬
vinces and others; a species of servitude which was perfect
liberty compared with that of the mines.
The repartimiento was a privilege originally granted to
the corregidors or governors of districts, empowering them
to furnish to the Indians, at a fair price, articles of neces¬
sary consumption. In course of time this privilege dege¬
nerated into a compulsory and oppressive exaction. Not
only were the most worthless commodities forced upon the
Indians, who were compelled to pay for them doubly or even
triply, but also articles for which they had no earthly use ;
for instance, razors for men who had no beards, spectacles
for those who had “ the eye of the hawk” even in old age,
and silk stockings for Indians who go barefoot. Even luxu¬
ries, the very use of which was unknown to them, formed
part of the supplies which they were compelled to purchase.
J he collection of the royal tribute afforded the corregidor
another pretence for exactions ; whilst the priests to whose
spiritual guidance the Indians were assigned plundered
them without mercy, of all that escaped the rapacity of the
governors. “ I he atrocities committed by these wolves in
sheep’s clothing,” says Miller, “ would almost surpass belief,
iJ °f G!nner.al Miller> vo1: }■ P- 5‘ There is probably great exaggeration in this estimate; for, besides the difficulty of account-
tion ‘f!r a n?°rta lty 111 ?un®s wln.ch subsequently have not proved at all so mortal, we learn from Ulloa that a considerable propor-
ino- iWro 6 'U i1110,11 se*v , voluntarily. Certain it is, however, that wherever mines were wrought in a compulsory manner, an alarm-
srrts tw - t0°k p f:C! H(thr Tindian population. In a memorial presented to Philip III. in 1609, Captain Juan Gonzales de Azevedo as-
anrt in J,,.,11'' *]VCly fbstnct ot Peru m which Indians were compelled to labour in the mines, their numbers had been reduced to one third,
exnpHiUn., 6 ral'eSo°0I!e , b °f the population in 1581. Amongst other causes of this decrease may be mentioned, the civil wars: the
rate use of s°' ®PiH11!Uos»in which vast numbers of the Indians perished; the small-pox, peculiarly fatal to Indians ; and the immode-
VOL. XVII.
2 p
298
PER U.
Pem.
were they not given on the authority of such men as the
' Ulloas, and had we not before us recent facts which con¬
firm their statement.” But the bow, however elastic, may
be bent until it recoils. An insurrection broke out m the
year 1780, and threatened the most disastrous consequences
to the Spaniards; but it ultimately proved fatal to lapac
Amaru and the other Peruvians engaged m it
advantage of naval superiority, and could draw supplies
from the coast, though, till Callao was taken, the difficulty''
of landing rendered the arrival of such supplies very preca-
rious. .
As a measure of the last importance, ban Martin sought
to implant the feeling of independence, by some act which
should bind the inhabitants of the capital to that cause.
Pe
tnaru and the other Peruvians engaget “V ' f q th 28th of July 1821, therefore, the ceremony of de-
11 ^ , a • a.    Porn
sessions in South America two years afterwards, Peru was
the last to join ; and it was there that the royalists made
their final stand in behalf of the mother country.1 They
were powerful enough to restrain the spirit of revolt until
the year 1821, and probably would have done so for a much
longer period, had a foreign force not come to the aid of the
patriots. It soon became evident to those who had establish¬
ed the independence of Chili, that the conquest of Peru was
necessary to its security; and the project for achieving it
attracted to their cause many military adventurers from Eu¬
rope, now restored to profound peace by the fall of Napo¬
leon. Amongst others, Lord Cochrane, and several ng
took place. The troops were drawn up in the great square,
in the centre of which was erected a lofty stage, where the
independent flag of Peru was for the first time unfurled;
General San Martin, who displayed it, exclaiming, Prom
this moment Peru is free and independent, by the general
wish of the people, and by the justice of her cause, which
God defend.” Oaths of fidelity to the new government
were afterwards taken, and, on the 3d of August, San Mar¬
tin declared himself protector of Peru, and assumed the su¬
preme civil and military command. He at the same time
stipulated, that as soon as the country should be free from a
foreign enemy, he would resign the command to the indi-
vidual whom the people should be pleased to place a, the
lish officers who had aistinguisnea ti e ^ ti,p o-nvprnmpnt The offices of government were
service, found employment in the eet, w 1C , jqm anci General de las Heras was appointed
equipped, and off SpLn as commJ-der-in-chief of the army. Amongst the first legis-
attained so decided a superiority oyer t e y ] protectorate was a decree declaring that
to give it ifwt eSv t ty te chSn of LS born in Peru subsequently to the 2»
Being to windward of the Spamsl i , wa; of July preceding should be free. This was followed by
time to choose the pomt of attock. U d S JjV* of anotheyrPaboiishing the tribute, and forbidding the name of
formed an army of 5600, which, wR'it e , & Indians to be annlied to the aborigines, who were thence-
°nd “ISofthirtv5^ h-ansportsl forth to be denominated Peruvians, like the Creoles Others
an-l rTfrom Valnaraiso in the latter end of 1820, and reached of less importance were added to the list of benefits con-
sailed from V alparaiso, m t e laxrer e ’ fcrred bv the new government; but m the mean time a dis-
Lima in "y tLe ^ cp^nued without ’at Callao, where Lord Coch-
Lima being much straitened, an armistice was concluded
Pezuela, then the viceroy of Lima, was opposed by the
audiencia and the municipality, who censured him for not
adopting measures sufficiently energetic to repel the in¬
vaders. The same disposition prevailed amongst the officers
of the army, who at length resolved to depose Pezuela. He
endeavouring to gain possession of the fortress by negotia¬
tion, intending, should he be successful, to hoist the Chileno
flag, in opposition to the views and policy of San Mai tin.
The true cause of the misunderstanding it is not very easy
to ascertain, nor is it of much importance. On the 21st of
September the fortress of Callao surrendered to Lie pro-
de la Serna on the 29th of January 1821. The troops of Lord Cochrane to ^urt the co^t of Peru, general Can
La Serna were not much superior in number to the inva¬
ders; but some of them having gone over to San Martin,
turned the scale in favour of the latter. Lima continued to
be straitened by the general, and Callao to be blockaded
by Lord Cochrane, who performed one of those acts of des¬
perate valour which struck astonishment into the Spaniards.
With the boats of his little squadron he entered the port
of Callao, and, under the guns of its tremendous batteries,
boarded, captured, and carried off one of their largest ships
of w ar, with more men on board than were in all the boats
that attacked her.
After some months had elapsed, a convention was agreed
on, when La Serna with his army marched out of Lima,
and San Martin with his forces entered it several days
afterwards. A garrison was, however, left by the royalists
in Callao. The protracted operations had given time to
remove the most valuable property, which, with the fe-
terac, who had meditated an attack on the patriots, for the
purpose of relieving the castle of Callao, retreated to the
Cordillera; so that, with no one near to create any alarm,
San Martin was at liberty to take steps for the consolidation
of his government and the termination of hostilities.
Unfortunately, however, recent events would appear to
have thrown the inhabitants into a fever of excitement, pro¬
ductive of cabals which cast fatal embarrassments in the way
of any energetic measures being taken. The protector, m
endeavouring, with the very best intentions, to piomote
those who had declared for the patriot cause, gave grea
umbrage to certain persons by his appointments, and t ey
unfortunately led to a disastrous prolongation of the contest.
General Tristan, who had received the command of a body
of troops at lea, allowed himself to be surprised and his re¬
treat cut off by Canterac, who took one thousand prisoners,
besides some pieces of artillery, and other spoil. This re¬
remove the most valuable property, wmcn, witn me re- uesiues sume who wl
males of the best families, and the non-combatants, reach- verse threw a damp over the minds of the people,
“idles b . .. . . « nt .... •    —u. w* „t,oorfu1 md tn the cause: but any se
ed the mountainous districts. San Martin, in the posses
sion of Lima, was in the same condition as La Serna had
been for some months before, with many mouths besides
those of his army to fill, and his intercourse with the coun¬
try that furnished provisions intercepted; but he had the
previously lent their cheerful aid to the cause; but any se¬
riously bad effects were prevented by the victory which tbe
patriots gained over the royalists at Pinchincha on the 1
of May 1822. Passing over a short visit which the protec¬
tor of Peru paid to the liberator of Colombia at Guayaquil,
1 The events connected with the early part of the revolutionary struggle will all be found recorded under the heads of Bonivn., C
iombia, Chili, and Bolivar.
P E
and the result of which was not so satisfactory as had been
anticipated, we find the protector resuming the supreme com¬
mand on the 21st of August. Secure of the support of the
army, he would have experienced little opposition in quell¬
ing the spirit of insubordination manifested both by the civil
authorities and the people, had he resorted to compulsory
measures; but this would have been in opposition to his
usual policy, and might have justified the clamours of his
enemies. One alternative alone seemed left to him. Agree¬
ably to a decree issued by the council of state, deputies
had already been summoned ; and on the 20th of Septem¬
ber the congress was installed in due form. The protector
repaired in state to the hall of the deputies, where, divest¬
ing himself of the insignia of supreme power, he resigned
his authority into the hands of the representatives of the
people. He then withdrew, and immediately set out for his
country-seat near Callao, leaving behind him a proclamation
as his farewell address. This document embodied his rea¬
sons for retiring, and contained some wholesome advice to
the new republic. Congress lost no time in appointing a new
executive, under the title of the Junta Gubernativa; and
Xavier de Luna Pizarro was chosen president of the con¬
gress. One of the first acts of that assembly was to decree
that San Martin should bear the title of Founder of the Li¬
berty of Peru, and enjoy a considerable pension ; whilst the
thanks of the Peruvian nation were likewise awarded to Lord
Cochrane for his achievements in the cause of Peruvian in¬
dependence.
The proceedings of the new government wrere marked by
feebleness and discord. An unsuccessful effort to reduce
the royalists increased popular clamour against the govern¬
ment junta, which was at last expelled from power, and Co¬
lonel Don Jose de la Riva Aguero was made president of
the republic. Santa Cruz, a Peruvian, who in the sequel
greatly distinguished himself, assumed the chief command
of the army; and it was determined in a council of war to
make another effort in the Puertos Intermedios. Whilst
they were employed in this enterprise, General Sucre ar¬
rived at Lima with 3000 Colombian troops ; but this force,
with 2000 Peruvians, partly militia and partly the wreck of
a former army, was found insufficient for the protection of
the capital, against which Canterac advanced at the head of
9000 well-disciplined men. Lima was accordingly aban¬
doned by the patriots, and immediately taken possession of
by the royalists, who, however, soon afterwards evacuated it,
after having exacted heavy contributions from the remain¬
ing inhabitants, and destroyed the mint. Both Generals
Santa Cruz and Sucre, who with a united army might have
I accomplished something of moment, proved unsuccessful;
and the former allowed himself to be out-generalled by Can¬
terac. The cause of independence in Peru seemed hang-
j *ng by a thread, which it required little exertion to break,
when the celebrated Bolivar made his appearance in Lima
j on the 1st of September 1823. He was received with the
greatest enthusiasm, and was immediately invested with
supreme authority, military and political. Great activity was
now infused into the measures of government; and, acting
in the capacity of dictator, Bolivar dissolved congress, and
evied an army, writh which he sallied from the capital on
t e second week of November. Riva Aguero, who refused
to join him, was imprisoned by his own troops, who imme-
lately submitted to the dictator. But a fresh misfortune
awaited the patriots in the mutiny of the soldiers at Callao,
the consequence was, that this town, along with the city
1 o lma5 once more fell into the hands of the royalists. The
cause of independence in Peru now seemed desperate ; but
e conduct of Bolivar at this critical moment is deserving
<.,.I highest praise. By his firmness, activity, and sea-
sona e severities, he checked farther defections, and ob-
aine the respect and entire confidence of every true pa-
'-not. ]\or did he disappoint public confidence; for in less
R U.
than a year from that time South American independence
was finally established.
In the month of July 1824 the liberating army com¬
menced its march towards Pasco in three divisions, two of
which were Colombians, headed by Generals Lara and Cor¬
dova ; and one was Peruvian, under Lamar. General Sucre
was chief of the staff of the whole army. In his preparatory
measures for facilitating the passage of the troops to Pasco,
a distance of two hundred leagues, through the most moun¬
tainous region in the world, this officer displayed great skill;
and the army, 9000 strong, reached its destination in safety,
and unmolested by the royalists. Various manoeuvres now
took place ; and in an action of cavalry the patriots inflicted
a severe blow on their adversaries. A series of marches and
countermarches occupied the months of August, Septem¬
ber, October, and November ; and on the 6th of December
the patriots reached the village of Quinua; whilst the royal¬
ists, by entering Guamangilla, cut off their retreat, and
placed them in an extremely critical situation. On the 8th
the viceroy, La Serna, moved from this position, and occu¬
pied with his whole force the heights of Condorkanki, with¬
in gun-shot of the encampment of the patriots. Between
the opposing armies lay the plain of Ayacucho; and as a
battle on the following day had become inevitable, on this
plain were to be decided the destinies of South America. It
is in shape nearly square, about a league in circumference,
and flanked right and left by deep and rugged ravines. The
eastern boundary is formed by the abrupt and savage ridge
of Condorkanki, whilst its western extremity is the Indian
village Quinua, a little distance in front of which lay the
patriot army, not 6000 strong, that of the royalists being
fully one third more numerous. Next morning, the 9th of
December 1824, the expected conflict took place, and con¬
tinued for about an hour, when the royalists were defeated
with great loss. Indeed their army may be said to have
been almost annihilated ; for 3200 rank and file, amongst
whom was the viceroy, were made prisoners of war, the
remainder dispersing in a state of total disorganization in all
directions. I he battle of Ayacucho is pronounced by Mr
Miller “ the most brilliant ever fought in South America
and it may be considered as the last regular engagement,
although not the last struggle, in which Spain was engaged
for the recovery of her revolted colonies. Rodil still held
out at Callao for the mother country, with the most despe¬
rate tenacity. It was a gallant, but at the same time an
unnecessary and hopeless defence, when nearly the whole
of the vast continent had declared for the cause of inde¬
pendence. Many families of the highest rank, who had shut
themselves up with this determined individual, were ex¬
terminated by disease or famine. For thirteen months he
sustained, unaided, bombardments both by sea and land,
rendered still more terrible by the accumulated miseries
of pestilence and nearly utter want of food. He capitulated
upon honourable terms on the 19th of January 1826, and
thus the last link of the chain which had bound seventeen
millions of Americans to the tottering monarchy of Spain
was finally broken.
But although thus happily relieved of the presence of a fo¬
reign enemy, these infant republics could not agree amongst
themselves; and, from the period of their establishment
down to the present time (1838), their history is disfigured
by a series of altercations, intrigues, plots, and counterplots,
which have materially retarded their proper consolidation,
and the advancement of the arts of peace. Bolivar was ex¬
ceedingly desirous that the constitution which he had fram¬
ed for Upper Peru, now named alter him Bolivia, should
be adopted by Peru proper ; but public opinion was strongly
opposed to his wishes. The Peruvians, also, apparently the
most fickle of the fickle, began to feel their Colombian al¬
lies a burden to them. In short, whilst the national man¬
ners and habits of the Colombian troops were the opposite
299
Peru.
300
Peru.
PERU.
of congenial to them, the dislike with which the latter were
'regarded, from this dissimilarity of tastes, increased the
hatred of the Peruvians for the Bolivian code. This spirit
soon led to the formation of a strong party, which in its
turn gave birth to a conspiracy, having, it was said, tor its
object the assassination of Bolivar himself, a,nd the expul¬
sion of the Colombians. It was fortunately discovered and
crushed before any evil was effected ; but it served to throw
the affairs of Peru into greater disorder than ever, and this
was increased by the announcement of Bolivar’s determi¬
nation to quit the country. The public mind became fear¬
fully excited by this intelligence, and every argument and
remonstrance was employed to induce him to remain
amongst them, lest his departure should reduce their go
vice-presidency. General Gamarra was subsequently ap¬
pointed president, but soon afterwards relinquished the office v
in favour of Orbegoso. During the early part of the year
1834 the ex-president Gamarra, along with Generals Ber¬
mudez, Frias, and Vargas, took arms against the president,
and seized Junin, Cuzco, Puno, Ayacucho, and several other
districts, avowing their intention of erecting the southern
provinces into a separate state, of which Cuzco was to be the
capital. At first the revolt was crowned with some success;
but in the month of April, Bermudez’s army, consisting of
about 1200 men, suddenly deserted him, and went over to the
president; and shortly afterwards Gamarra was totally de¬
feated by General Miller. On the 24th of February 1835,
General Salavery, who commanded the garrison at Callao,
a state of perfect anarchy. On the 17th of instigated the troops to declare against the government at
August the electoral coUege of the province, and that of Lima, and on the following day took possession of the city,
the^citv of Lima, resolved^ that the Bolivian constitution declaring himself supreme chief of the republic. The pre¬
should be adapted Tn Peru, and that Bolivar should be sident Orbegoso, with about 200 troops, retired to Pasco
named Presidente Vitalicio. Their example was followed Salavery having swelled his force by^ tr_00Ps J jc ^ ad
by the other provincial colleges, with the exception of that
of Tarapaca. Matters of importance, however, soon pe¬
remptorily required the presence of the liberator in Co¬
lombia, and Santa Cruz was left at the head of the govern¬
ment
in the previous year revolted under Gamarra, extended his
authority over nearly the whole of Peru. Orbegoso, unable
of himself to recover his lost power, retired within the li¬
mits of Bolivia, and applied for assistance to Santa Cruz, the
president of that republic. Santa Cruz joined them at Are-
No sooner was Bolivar gone, than the popular spirit of quipa with a Bolivian army, and the united forces entered
resistance to the Bolivian code manifested itself, and the Peru, advancing as far as Cuzco. Here the »™y <>f Sak-
Peruvians began to devise measures for getting rid of that very was stationed under the command of Gamarra, for the
fystem^nd of tL Colombians together. S This dissatisfac-‘ usurper himself found it necessary to remain at Lima to
tion naturally terminated in a revolt, at the head of which maintain his authonty against the odium excited by v ^-
was Colonel Bustamente, a young Colombian. The chief
officers of the Colombian army were arrested and sent home,
and not long afterwards they were followed by their troops.
The people now unanimously denied the right of electoral
colleges to decide upon the adoption of a form of govern¬
ment ; and when the new congress assembled at Lima on
the 4th of June 1827, the Bolivian constitution was dis¬
dainfully thrown aside, the Peruvian constitution of 1823
being declared to be in force. General Lamar was chosen
president of the republic, a nomination which at first gave
bitrary exactions. The two armies delivered battle at Itaiia-
cocha on the 13th of August, when Gamarra was totally
defeated, the greater part of his troops having gone over in
a body to the enemy. Salavery lost no time in making pre¬
parations to defend himself to the last extremity within the
walls of the capital. He called out a levy en masse of the
province, including all freemen of colour between the ages
of fifteen and forty-five, without exception, and declared,
that if his orders were not obeyed, and a stout defence cor¬
dially prepared for, he would set fire to Lima as soon as
„ , J 1 1 i r, , /-l   1,1 PoCnvo it Hp
The reason of this augmentation of the army soon became the heights of Chaftapampo, to t e nor^o fo^qup
anoarent in a furious and ill-judged proclamation of war wards the end of January _ > . ,, , , f
against Colombia. The menaces of this state might furnish goso and Santa Cruz, amou^1"ft°k hehad for!
a plausible plea for taking a step which might be pronounced those of Salavery, ^^
as rash considering the wavering condition of all these infant tified himself m such a manner that it became necess y
"pubfaTbut Peru appears «o°have been the original ag- construct works tvhich,
gressor. There were various motives for this declaration of order to cut off his retreat, and also intercept his commum
war on the part of Peru, one of which was the desire of tak- cation with somevesselswhich had been preparedto hesen
ing possession of Guayaquil, and of rendering it a Peruvian
port; and on the part of Colombia the principal motive was
the non-payment of the debt due by Peru, and amounting
to about 3,595,000 dollars. But the foundations of the dis¬
pute were deeply laid in personal animosities and national
jealousy. War being therefore determined on, Lamar en¬
tered the Colombian territory at the head of a consider¬
able army; and at Tarqui, near Jiron, in Quito, a sangui¬
nary conflict took place on the 27th of February 1829.
The battle was obstinately contested, but terminated at last
in favour of the Colombians. On the following day, pre
against Bolivia, General Miller was despatched with a suffi¬
cient force, and on entering Isla he made prisoners a general
and some other officers destined for the Bolivian expedition.
In the mean time, Santa Cruz, finding it impossible to at¬
tack Salavery in his fortified position, adopted a stratagem
which proved completely successful. Having ordered his
army to make such a retrograde movement as made it ap¬
pear that he was in full retreat, the rebel army, believing t is
to be the case, began to debouche from the pass of lingo
on the morning of the 7th of February. Santa Cruz, seiz¬
ins the favourable moment for attacking the enemy, fellup-
.,i    Thp combat
m lavour ui me v^uiumuiuns. v^n me lunuvnng      ,   TVio combat
liminaries of peace were agreed to, the mild terms of which on them with great promptitude and vi^ou . ,
were highly creditable to the moderation and equity of was obstinate, but the issue was not at any peiio
the conquerors. The chief stipulations were, that neither ful. Salavery was completely defeated ; anc so
republic should interfere in the affairs of the other, and that certed had been the plans of Santa Cruz, n )
Peru should discharge the debt which it owed to the Co- escaped, excepting such as dispersed themse ves g y
lombian army. The imbecility which Lamar manifested on the country. Amongst the prisoners were
this occasion gave rise to a conspiracy against him, and he eluding Salavery himself, who, along with seven
was formally deposed on the 29th of June by General La cers, two of whom w^ere generals, were tried by a fCO’™rv
Fuente, who became vice-president. A plot was, however, tial, condemned to death, and shot on the lot i
formed against La Fuente, and he was expelled from the 1836. The port of Callao, Lima, the squadron
PERU. 301
Bolivia, and all the provinces of Peru, immediately submit-
' ted to the restored government.
It now appeared doubtful, fhowever, whether the presi¬
dent of Bolivia had been altogether the disinterested ally
which he had at first appeared, and whether Orbegoso had
not purchased his assistance by secret engagements. At all
events, it was now discovered that Peru was of too great
extent to be governed as one state. An assembly of de¬
puties from the southern departments was held at Sicuani
on the 17th of March, under the protection and guaran¬
tee of Bolivia, when the independence of these departments
was solemnly declared, and a new state formed, called South
Peru, composed of the departments of Arequipa, Ayacucho,
Cuzco, and Puno. The chief power was intrusted to Ge¬
neral Santa Cruz, as supreme protector of South Peru. In
the month of July of the same year, a similar assembly of
deputies from the northern departments of Junin, Lima, Li-
bertad, and Amazonas, convoked by Orbegoso, followed the
example of the southern provinces, and formed themselves
into an independent state, under the name of North Peru,
Orbegoso being appointed president.
During the year 1837, these republics continued in an
unsettled state, and the old differences with Chili led to a
declaration of war on the 17th of May, the united provinces
of Rio de la Plata having joined Chili against the Peruvio-
Bolivian confederation. Fortunately,however, after menacing
each other for a few months, a treaty of peace was conclud¬
ed between Chili and Peru, on the 17th of November 1837;
The constitution established by a congress of the three
confederated states of North and South Peru, and Boli¬
via, is modelled upon that of the United States of North
America. The government consists of three powers, name¬
ly, the legislative, the executive, and the judiciary. Each
of the three republics has its own distinct congress; and,
collectively, they may be said to form a federal republic,
united to one another for mutual support and protection.
Every second year a general congress is assembled, and is
composed of a senate and chamber of representatives. The
members of the senate are elected for life, thirty candidates
being sent from the different departments of the confede¬
ration, from which number the president chooses fifteen.
To become eligible for a senator or representative, the can¬
didate must possess landed property, or an income arising
from some branch of industry, of 2000 dollars for a senator,
and of 1000 dollars for a representative. The head of the
confederation is chosen by the general congress, out of six
candidates proposed by the three republics. This head of
the government is elected for ten years. He may be ac¬
cused and condemned by the general congress for the
crime of high treason, or if he attempt to hold the reins of
government beyond the lawful period fixed by the consti¬
tution. The ministers of state, consuls, diplomatic agents,
magistrates, and so forth, are responsible to the general
congress, but can only be accused by the chamber of re¬
presentatives. The congress by which the form of govern¬
ment was agreed to, appointed General Don Andre Santa
Cruz protector of the Peruvio-Bolivian confederation for the
first period of ten years. Santa Cruz is thus virtually at the
head of three independent states. Although, nominally, Or¬
begoso has been president of North Peru since the 30th of
December 1833, he cannot be viewed in any other light than
in that of a vice-president, who governs the internal affairs
of one of the states of a federal union, the supreme head of
which is the fortunate soldier above named. With regard
to the constitution of the individual states, little else has yet
been agreed to, excepting that the government of the coun¬
tries shall be intrusted to a senate and house of represen¬
tatives.
By the division of Peru which took place, the depart¬
ments of Lima, Libertad or Truxillo, Junin, and the Pam¬
pas, form one republic, under the name of North Peru; and
the departments of Arequipa, Ayacucho, Cuzco, and Puno, Peru,
another republic, under the name of South Peru. But as
the limits of each are yet imperfectly defined, and as they
are still to a certain extent united, we shall now proceed to
give a general description of them as forming one country.
The territory of Peru is separated from the republic of the Territorial
Equator on the north by the river Tumbez, in latitude 3. 34. divisions,
south, but for about three geographical degrees this part
of Peru is a comparatively narrow peninsula, projecting from
the main body of the country. In about latitude 6. 30.
south, an imaginary and very irregular line separates it on
the north, first from the republic already mentioned, and
afterwards from Brazil. On the east and south-east it is
separated from the latter country partly by the river Itenez,
partly by the river Madera, the great tributary of the Ama¬
zons, and partly by a line drawn through barbarous regions,
which may be said to belong to either country or to neither.
Throughout its whole extent on the west and south-west
it is washed by the Pacific Ocean ; and on the south it is
bounded by Bolivia, the limits of which are not yet settled ;
but the most southerly land of Peru does not extend be¬
yond the twenty-second parallel of south latitude. From
this point, as far towards the equator as fifteen degrees south
nearly, the country is only a long and narrow strip of land,
forming the province of Arequipa, but beyond this meri¬
dian it enlarges prodigiously. In longitude it extends from
about 62. to 82. west from Greenwich.
The entire length of Peru from north to south, including
the long and narrow peninsula of Arequipa, is estimated at
fifteen hundred miles; but its coast-line, which is winding,
and has an oblique general bearing from north-west to south¬
east, cannot be less than 2100 miles. The breadth of Peru
is also very great towards its northern boundary, but 700
miles may be taken as its average extension from west to
east. According to the careful estimate made by Hum¬
boldt, Peru comprises an area of 41,500 square leagues.
The surface of this immense territory is of the boldest and Western
most varied description. By far the most striking physicalPeru-
feature of all the countries of South America bordering on
the Pacific is the colossal mountain-ridge of the Andes, which
traverses them from south-east to north-west, in a line nearly
parallel with the coast, the bendings and windings of which
it follows with remarkable fidelity. Humboldt, who has care¬
fully traced the course of these mountains, describes them
as separating in the vicinity of the celebrated city of Po-
tosi, in 19. 35. of south latitude, into two parallel chains.
These, however, reunite at the northern extremity of the
great basin of Lake Titicaca, between latitude 14. and 15.,
and so form again an undivided ridge, which runs parallel
with the coast line to the northern extremity of Peru, and
beyond it. There are, however, other chains, apparently
branches of the grand ridge, which have a general bearing
from south to north, and in some parts enclose elevated
tracts of table-land. In the western or Pacific ridge, im¬
mense summits are seen from the cities on the coast, tower¬
ing in lofty succession above the region of perpetual snow ;
but the mightiest part of the range is situated in Bolivia.
Between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean extends the plain
or western part of Peru, and few countries of the globe pre¬
sent a more singular physical character. It is a belt or zone
of sand nearly two thousand miles in length, and the average
breadth of which is not more than thirty miles. In some
parts it is as little as seven, and in others it exceeds fifty
miles in width ; and in this enormous stretch of country, the
general character of which is aridity, there are intervals of
many leagues between the different towns and cities, in
which neither inhabitants nor any traces of vegetation are
visible. No rain falls throughout the whole of this deso¬
late Sahara of the west, and thunder and lightning are un¬
known. In explanation of these singular circumstances, it
has been conjectured, that the chain of the Andes, which
302
PERU.
Peru.
runs along its eastern boundary like an immense rampart, to
'repel the encroachments of the deep, intercepts the elou s
which come laden with moisture from the Atlantic, and that
the constant winds from the south drive the vapours that
collect in the antarctic circle beyond the limits ot Peru be¬
fore they discharge their humidity. But, as a compensation
for the want of rain, there is uniformly a very heavy fall o
dew during the night; and the country is also intersected oy
rivers, streams, and torrents, by which, at intervals, strips
of the long and dreary waste are redeemed from natural
sterility. The insulated valleys thus formed constitute the
whole habitable parts of Western or Lower Peru, as it is
sometimes called; but they are situated fiom twenty to
ninety miles apart. The banks of the water-courses are the
parts which, by being laboriously irrigated, are rendered
fruitful, and peopled in proportion to the supply of water.
During the season when the snows of the Andes melt, the
rivers swell to a prodigious extent, and can only be crossed
by means of a balsa, which is a raft or frame-work fastened
upon four bulls’ hides sewed up, made air-tight, and filled
with wind. A few of the large rivers reach the sea, but
the smaller ones are exhausted in irrigating the cultivated
patches, or are absorbed by the encompassing desert. “ No
stranger can travel from valley to valley,” says Miller, as
the inhabited strips are inappropriately called, without a
guide ; for the only indication that the desert has been trod¬
den before, is an occasional cluster of bones, the remains of
beasts of burden that have perished. The sand is frequent¬
ly raised into immense clouds by the wind, to the great an¬
noyance of the traveller, who generally rides with his face
muffled up.” The habitable parts of.Western Peru, there¬
fore, are merely a series of oases in a great desert of sand,
similar to those of Africa. It presents great inequalities of
surface, and some of the sand-hills attain the elevation of
mountains. But size is a relative term; and in the pre¬
sence of the stupendous back-ground of the Andes, w hich
lessens all neighbouring objects, they shrink into mere hills
of diminutive size. The constant evaporation which is con¬
tinually going on, as is evinced by the great nocturnal fall
of dew, produces a haziness in the atmosphere, and the sun
seldom appears with that brilliancy which it displays in the
higher levels. Indeed, for six months of the year, a fog,
which is considered as very beneficial, hangs over the coun¬
try ; and although, at the most, it attaches itself as a fine
mist to woollen clothing, the Limanese call it aquaceros, a
torrent. The heat is seldom so intense as to prevent the la¬
bourers from working in the open air, and the thermometer
rarely rises to above seventy-five degrees. The medium
height throughout the year, in which there is little varia¬
tion, is about sixty-four degrees. In this district are pro¬
duced most of the tropical plants. The plantain, banana,
pine-apple, sugar-cane, vine, cocoa, olive, coffee, and cotton,
as well as the most delicious fruits, some peculiar to the
country, arrive at great perfection.
Peru of the As we advance from the coast towards the Andes, vege-
Andes. tation becomes more luxuriant, for as the growth of plants
depends upon the supply of water, that supply is greatest
the nearer we approach to the sources of the streams. I he
range of the Andes nearest to the Pacific Ocean com¬
mences generally with hills of moderate elevation, but in
some parts with bold, projecting, and abrupt precipices.
The sides of these hills are covered with forests, render¬
ed almost impenetrable by the numerous parasitical plants
which twine around the lofty trees, and, whilst by their
verdure they give beauty to the scenery, prevent the access
of visitants until a path be cut out by severe labour. These
forests, hundreds of leagues in extent, afford acacias, mangle
trees, arborescent brooms, and ferns ; aloes and other suc¬
culent plants; cedars, cotton or Cuba trees of gigantic mag¬
nitude, many kinds of ebony, and other useful woods, many Per;
species of palms, and the maria, a tree of enormous size, usecP'—Y 1
in ship-building. The valleys between the hills afford most
of the trees which are natives of the tropics; but few of
them are well fitted for the purposes of building.
The district called Higher Peru, commencing at the
termination of the sands on the shore, continues increas¬
ing gradually in height towards the east, until the ridge of
the Andes or the Cordilleras is attained. The line of per¬
petual snow is about 14,000 feet above the level of the sea,
and from that line upwards vegetation necessarily ceases;
below it, the plants, by regular gradations, display the na¬
ture of the climate, and its adaptation to the various fami¬
lies of vegetables ; and, in different parts, exhibit every
species of production which can be found, from the dwarf
plants of Lapland, to the odoriferous spices of Sumatra.
This portion of Peru contains the sources of those vast
rivers which traverse the whole continent of South Ame¬
rica, and are the greatest on the face of the earth. Here
the Maranon commences its unrivalled course; and here
rise its magnificent tributaries, the Ucayale, Huallaga, and
others, which themselves are swelled by an innumerable
multitude of streams, descending from the eastern ridges
of the Andes, all being finally absorbed by the monarch
of the waters. This mountainous region of Peru possesses
large tracts of soil of great fertility, and a climate admirably
adapted for raising food for man. The air is much purer and
more salubrious here than on the coast, where its heat and
humidity generate fevers. There is a great variety of climate
in the Andes, as may easily be inferred from the character
of the country, rising as it does from nearly the level of the
sea to a height far above the line of perpetual refrigeration,
and thus presenting on one and the same parallel of latitude
the different climates of all the regions of the globe. The
valleys and plateaus embosomed in these mountains, in spite
of their vicinity to the region of eternal snow, enjoy a mo¬
derate climate, and are very fertile. These are eagerly sought
as an abode, especially by the Indians ; and by the produc¬
tions here cultivated the inhabitants of the coast are al¬
most entirely supported. The number of articles of cul¬
ture might be still further increased, for many useful plants
hitherto unknown might be naturalized, if care were taken
to ascertain the locality, and the relative proportions of at¬
mospheric heat which they require, previously to their be¬
ing transplanted. In this mountainous district are situated
the famous gold and silver mines of Peru, the source of its
unrivalled wealth, and the cause of all the misery w hich it
endured for three centuries of slavery and degradation.
They are seated deep in the recesses of the Andes, and at
great elevations, so that the climate is very cold, and alike
unfavourable to vegetation and to the health ot man. The
celebrated mines of Pasco and Huancavelica are between
13,000 and 14,000 feet above the level of the sea.
But by far the largest, most beautiful, and most valuable Easter
part of the Peruvian territory lies to the east of the Andes, eru
commencing on the eastern declivity of the second chain,
and stretching to the confines of Brazil. In this vast re¬
gion a thousand sources of wealth still lie buried, for the
greater part of it may be said to be yet unknown, and the
riches which it contains are immense. “ Here are plains
traversed by lower hills,” says Dr Poeppig, “ covered with
an ocean of foliage, vying in beauty with the climate of
Chili, and far surpassing it in the abundance and luxuriance
of its productions. To these join, within the extensive fron¬
tiers, those boundless plains, where gigantic rivers, which roll
their broad waves through solitary forests, are the only means
of communication between the widely-scattered dwellings
of a very scanty population.”1 In a word, as far as we are
acquainted with this region, it appears to rival the finest parts
' Poeppig’s Travels in Chili, Peru,"and on the river Amazons, in the years 1827-32; a valuable German work on South America.
PERU.
1 i. of Brazil in fertility, luxuriance, and variety of vegetation ;
—■ "■'''and the world does not present us with any higher standard
of comparison. The vast plains in which the declivities of
the Andes terminate are called sometimes Pampas del Sa-»
cramento, or more usually Collona, or the Land of the Mis¬
sions. This name they owe to the Jesuits, whose zeal for
the conversion of the natives induced them to penetrate
these trackless solitudes, and to gladden them' with the tid¬
ings of great joy. They planted a number of settlements
throughout this vast unviolated wilderness, and, by collect¬
ing in villages the rude inhabitants, attempted to civilize
them, not only by instilling into their minds the doctrines
of religion, but by teaching them such arts as their limited
natural talents enabled them to acquire. Many of these mis¬
sions still exist, and, by the good which they have done and
are still doing, they in some degree atone for the injuries
inflicted on Peru by its subjugators. The Indian tribes who
inhabit the Pampas are too numerous to be specified indi¬
vidually. They are small and scattered, with as many va¬
rious languages as there are tribes or divisions, and differing
much from each other in the degree of civilization to which
they have attained. Some of them are docile and cheerful;
others are savage and warlike, and continually in a state of
hostility with one another. The banks of the Huallaga, the
Ucayale, and other great rivers, are the parts most thickly
peopled by the Indian tribes. The Pampas are represented
as Being covered with trees and verdure, and yielding bal¬
sams, oils, gums, resins, and many valuable drugs, spices,
and other rare productions. The trees are lofty, and form
impenetrable forests, in which wander all the animals pecu¬
liar to the torrid climate of America.
Pan del The following excellent account of a very interesting
Sacrsen- portion of this vast territory is by a recent explorer of these
regions. “ The Pampa del Sacramento was so called from
its having been discovered by some of the newly converted
Indians in 1726, on the day of the festival of Corpo de
Dios. It comprises the greatest part of the land lying be¬
tween the Huallaga, the Ucayale, the Maranon, and the
Pachitea (an upper tributary of the Ucayale, which rises
near Pasco); and it is remarked with apparent justice in
the Viagero Universal, that the two continents of Ameri¬
ca do not contain another country so favourably situated or
so fertile. It is about three hundred miles long from north
to south, and from forty to about a hundred in breadth.
Two of its boundary rivers, the Maranon and Ucayale, are
at all times navigable for vessels of large burden, and the
other two for boats and small craft. There are a great
many streams which rise in the centre of the district, some
of which fall into the Ucayale, and others into the Hualla¬
ga, most of which are navigable for canoes and flat-bottom¬
ed boats at all seasons; those which fall into the former of
these rivers are the most considerable, viz. the Pachitea,
, the Aguaytia, the Cuxhiabatay, and the Santa Catalina.
The northern part is much intersected by channels from
the Huallaga to the Maranon, which afford great facilities
for communication. This part of the Pampa appeared to
be quite flat and thickly covered with trees, some of which
were large, and the soil a red clay. The level extends as
far south as Sarayacu, in the neighbourhood of which, and
across the Huallaga, it rises into gentle hills. Farther
southward we had no opportunity of seeing the country,
except upon the banks of the Huallaga, which were gene¬
rally level, but occasionally intersected by hills, which, in¬
deed, near the Pongo, and from the Caracol, where we
embarked on the river, to Juana del Rio, are entitled to
the designation of mountains. The hills which are mark¬
ed in Mr Arrowsmith’s map of Peru and Bolivia, published
m IBS*!, as the east branch of the Andes, are not deserving
303
of the name of mountains. The productions of the Pam- Peru,
pa, as we learned from Padre Plaza (the present mission- ^
ary priest) are all indigenous, and in general spontaneous¬
ly produced. The earth supplies vegetables sufficient for
the consumption of the inhabitants; and the rivers furnish
an inexhaustible store of delicious fish of various kinds.
The beasts in the forest are the same as are to be found
in all parts from the Huallaga to Para. By the Padre’s
account, however, they are not numerous, from the great
destruction of them by the Indians, which is sometimes
wanton. There is an almost endless variety of beautiful
birds, many of which are excellent food. The vegetable
kingdom, which has hitherto been unexplored by botanists,
rivals in beauty and fragrance that of any other part of
the world. The climate seems very much like that of the
island of Madeira. During our stay at Sarayacu, we re¬
gistered the thermometer three times a day, and its mini¬
mum and maximum were 75° and 85° of Fahrenheit, and
the sun at this time passed over our zenith. Padre Pla¬
za told us, that in the dry season, that is, in June, July, and
August, the temperature is extremely even, and the heat
by no means oppressive, as it is allayed by refreshing
breezes, which generally blow in the contrary direction to
the current of the river. In December, January, and Feb¬
ruary, fevers and agues sometimes make their appearance,
but are rarely attended with fatal consequences, when the
parties affected take proper care, which these people, how¬
ever, are not apt to do.”1 This fine and fertile garden of
nature is inhabited by ten distinct tribes of Indians, differ¬
ing considerably from one another in their manners and ha¬
bits.
The Spaniards, and even the Peruvians before them,
made little progress to the east of the stupendous barrier of
the Andes, which indeed must for ever prove a great natu¬
ral disadvantage to the eastern provinces, in shutting them
out, as it were, from communication with the western por¬
tion of Peru. And when to these obstacles we add the
precipitous height of the eastern declivity of the mountain
chain, the impracticable forests, the dangers to be apprehend¬
ed from the barbarians which people them, the almost insuf¬
ferable heats, the annoyance of the innumerable venomous
insects and reptiles, and the many deep and impassable ri¬
vers ; when these circumstances are considered, we may cease
to wonder that the conquerors of Peru should have made
small advances beyond the range of the Cordillera. The
Gran-Chaco, or Great Desert; the countries betw een Pa¬
raguay and Chiquitos; those reaching from Moxos and
Apolobamba to the rivers Amazons and Huallaga, and from
the Apurus to the Ucayale, are regions almost wholly un¬
known to us. Wherever the interior has been penetrated,
it has been by means of some of those mighty rivers which,
descending from the Cordilleras, have forced, as it were, a
natural outlet through the otherwise impassable and almost
boundless forests below. It was not, however, from the
coasts of Peru, and by proceeding in an easterly direction,
that the Spaniards reached them. They were originally
made known by adventurers from the south, w ho discover¬
ed them, after toiling up the long and arduous passage of
the river Paraguay. The difficulties with which the nations
to the eastward of the Andes have to contend in the trans¬
port of their productions across the Cordillera, of course add
very greatly to the expense of these articles. Those of Chi¬
quitos and Moxos are transported more than two hundred
leagues to Lima, over a double range of the Andes ; and if
they are taken to Buenos Ayres the distance is tripled. No¬
thing but gold, silver, and precious stones can repay the en¬
ormous expense of transport on beasts of burden over such
extensive tracts of country, beset with all but insurmount-
Journey from Lima to Para across the Andes, by Lieutenant Smyth and Mr F. Lowe, p. 200 et seq. 1836.
Produc¬
tions.
P E
able natural obstacles. It is not surprising, therefore, that
with such impediments before them, the natives should re¬
linquish the idea of cultivating the soil for the purpose of
exportation, and remain content with raising what is barely
sufficient for the supply of their own daily wants. But an
entirely new road to Peruvian commerce might be opened
by means of the vast rivers which traverse the country.
Amidst the various circumstances which distinguish Pe¬
ru there are some of the most calamitous and terrific de¬
scription. The whole country is subject to the most vio¬
lent convulsions of nature. Earthquakes are frequently felt
in almost every part, and are sometimes accompanied with
most extensive and fatal effects. The lofty chain of the
Andes is a collection of volcanoes, some in constant activity,
others occasionally ejecting inflammable substances ; whilst
there are many whose fires in the lapse of ages seem to have
burned out. Electrical phenomena are frequent in the An¬
des of Peru, some of which are regarded with superstitious
veneration by the Peruvian of the lower class. W hen he
sees a silvery lustre glistening through the clouds at niid-
night from the summit of a lofty mountain, or a phospho¬
rescent light shining in the wooded clefts of the lower An¬
des. he is immediately persuaded that there are eithei rich
veins of gold or silver running along the surface, or that the
buried treasures of the incas invite the bold adventurer to
search for them, which he frequently does. Appalling vi¬
sitations of thunder and lightning are not uncommon in all
parts of Peru excepting the western coast.
In enumerating the productions of this country, we shall
commence with those of the Pampas, where by far the most
valuable of them are to be found. We pass over the flora,
which is unusually rich and extensive, and also plants of a
humbler character ; for, although interesting to the man of
science, they would form but a dry catalogue of botanical
names to the general reader. The vegetables which at
present form articles of use or commerce are, coffee, sugar,
rice, maize, capaiva, sarsaparilla, Peruvian bark, cotton,
resin, cocoa, and gums, including copal and laurel wax,
bees’ wax, and a variety of oils. Of dye-stuffs there are,
anatto, amarillo, cani, mahogany-bark, indigo, shambo,
morado, ensena which resembles logwood, and others. In
describing the qualities of some of these, and the quan¬
tities in which they are produced, Thadeus Haenke ob¬
serves, “ The cocoa of Apolobamba, of Moxos, of Yu-
racarees, and of all the woods which extend from thence
to the shores of the Maranon, is infinitely superior to that
of Guayaquil. The finest quality of carscarilla is only
found on the eastern side of the Andes. Of the indigo
there is no end; I can say the same of the cotton and the
rice. The precious balsam of capaiva, the sarsaparilla, the
gum-elastic, and the most fragrant species of vanilla, are
all produced in extraordinary abundance in these regions.
The mighty forests which line the shores of the rivers
abound in the finest timber for all uses, especially for ship¬
building, and in trees distilling the most aromatic and me¬
dicinal gums. Amongst others there is a species of cinna¬
mon, called by the natives the canela de clova, which only
differs in the greater thickness of the bark and its darker co¬
lour, according to its age, from that found in the East In¬
dies, and which is as fragrant as the spice from which it
takes its name.”1 Lieutenant Smyth describes the woods
as consisting of mahogany, cedar, asarquiro, nogal, almen-
dra, huito, arabisa, chonta, spindo, and others. The fruits
are the pine-apple, which attains an incredible size, the
orange, chirimolla, lucuman, ciruellas, patillos, guayabas,
figs, limes, citrons, papayas, melons, water-melons, lemons,
granadas, granaddlas, apples, avocater pears, olives, pome¬
granates, cherries, peaches, quinces, grapes in abundance,
R U.
bananas, pepinos, plantains, guavas, peras, duraznos, straw- P( |
berries, mulberries, and a number of others. There are av"' ^
great variety of vegetables, including yucas, potatoes, sweet
potatoes, onions, mountain-cabbage, beans, and so forth.
The grains usually cultivated are wheat, barley, and maize.
In some parts excellent tobacco is raised ; and in others
large Quantities of sweetmeats, both dry and in syrup, are
made from peaches, quinces, and grapes, the latter being
much esteemed. Gourds attain an enormous size in some
districts, and are converted into all kinds of household uten¬
sils required by the Indians, even into wTash-tubs, from which
circumstance some idea of the magnitude of the vegetable
may be formed. Huanuco, a place situated at 6300 feet
above the level of the sea, in a beautiful valley upon the
eastern side of the Andes, and seventy-four miles from
Lima, is celebrated for the productiveness of its soil. Here
grow all sorts of vegetables, and grains and fruits, the latter
being produced in greater perfection than in any other part
of Peru. There is a fruit called chonta, from which the
Indians prepare an intoxicating liquor ; but the staple ar¬
ticle made use of for producing the effects of wine, spirits,
or opium, is coca; and as this remarkable plant is ver\ exten¬
sively cultivated, and has now become an indispensable ne¬
cessary of life amongst the Indians of the Andes, it merits
some attention.
The coca (Erythroxylon coca, Lam.) is a bush from six Con.
to eight feet in height, somewhat resembling a black thorn
in its numerous small white blossoms and the lively bright
green of its leaves. The latter, which are gathered and
carefully dried, form an article of brisk trade, and the use of
them seems as old as the first knowledge of the history of
Peru. It is a stimulant, which acts upon the nervous
system in the same manner as opium, and unhappily the
use or abuse of it has degenerated into a vice, or rather
a disease, which appears to be incurable. “ 1 he Indians
of America,” says an able writer on this subject,2 “ espe¬
cially those of the Peruvian Andes, notwithstanding the
civilization which surrounds them, have a vague sense o
their own incurable deficiency, and hence they are eager
to relieve themselves, by violent excitements, from such
melancholy feelings. This accounts not only for the use of
coca, but also for the boundless love of spirituous liquors,
which possesses scarcely any other people in the world in
an equal degree. To the Peruvian the coca is the source
of the highest gratification; for under its influence his
usual melancholy leaves him, and his dull imagination pre¬
sents him with images which he never enjoys in his usual
state.” Dr Poeppig draws a melancholy picture of the dread¬
ful effects of this insinuating drug, which gives rise to many
diseases apparently in some degree peculiar to those who
use it. A person abandoned to the use of coca is under
the dominion of a spell so malignant that no earthly power
can dissolve it, and so fascinating that no prospect of dan¬
ger will deter him from gratifying his propensity. As soon
as the longing for this intoxication becomes irresistible, the
coquero sculks for concealment into solitary darkness, or
flies from the face of man into the depths of the wilderness,
where he makes choice of a tree, beneath the shade o
which he flings himself down to enjoy his coca. Unheed¬
ed he observes night closing upon him, doubly awful m the
gloomy forest; and tempests of wind and rain, the fury o
the hurricane which uproots the oldest trees, the terrible
roll of the thunder, augmented a thousandfold by the mu-
tiplied reverberations of the Andes, or the presence o e
ounce, abroad for his nightly prey, and growling at his leet,
all are insufficient to appal the debauchee, or rouse him
from his lethargy. In two days he generally returns, paie,
trembling, his eyes sunk, the most fearful picture of unna-
1 Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, vol. v. p. 97-8, 1835.
« Foreign Quarterly Review for April 1836.
PERU.
. tural indulgence which humanity ever presented. He who
"""'has once been seized with this passion, and is placed in a
situation that favours its development, is considered as a lost
man. Dr Poeppig informs us that there are many in¬
stances of young men of good families amongst the whites
and Creoles, who, having obtained a relish for coca, were
from that moment lost to the civilized world. Shunning
society, they retreated into the most unfrequented parts of
the wilderness, and there, degraded, and sunk into half sa¬
vages, they fell victims to premature death, through the im¬
moderate use of this intoxicating herb.
The grapes are so abundant in some parts that large
quantities of wine might be made for exportation ; but no
more is produced than is needed, and a little is even im¬
ported. Strong liquors, such as brandy and rum, are dis¬
tilled ; and oil is made from the olive. The various kinds
of capsicums are cultivated with more attention and skill
than almost any other plants, and, when dressed in various
ways with garlic, form a most important article of food to
the greater portion of the inhabitants. The celebrated Pa¬
raguay tea is likewise a very common beverage. Another
liquor in universal use is chica, which, from having been
found in the tombs of the aborigines, is proved to have
been used by them prior to the conquest. The chica of
the present day is of the consistence of milk, of a yellow¬
ish colour, and, when poured from one vessel into another,
froths like beer. Its taste is generally acid, but when very
good the acidity is scarcely perceptible. It is made by
steeping Indian corn in water till it swells, after which it
is dried and ground. The flour and bran are boiled in
water, strained, and left to ferment four and twenty hours,
when it is fit for use. Sugar is occasionally added ; and with
eggs it is sometimes made into flip.
The zoology of Peru has not received that attention
which has been bestowed upon the vegetable kingdom by
the distinguished travellers Humboldt and Bonpland. The
three most celebrated animals of the Peruvian Andes are
the lama, the vicugna, and the condor, an account of which
is given in the article Bolivia. The demand for animal
food is but small, and hence little attention has been paid
to the breeding, and none to the fattening, of cattle. Nei¬
ther cows nor sheep are numerous; those found in the coun¬
try are the progeny of the breed brought originally from
Europe. In the mountainous districts, between Huamanga
and Cuzco, both butter and cheese are made ; but in the
lower country, oil is the universal substitute for the former.
Pigs are bred in great numbers in the more elevated dis¬
tricts. 1 he whole coast is well stored with fish of every
kind. The natives of the Indian villages on the shore are
very dexterous in catching them ; and, with the addition of
capsicum and garlic, they form the chief part of their sub¬
sistence.
ft Peru is proverbial for its richness in mines of gold and
silver, especially the latter, although the former is propor¬
tionally plentiful. “ Gold,” says Thadeus Haenke, “ and
it is the finest in the world, is found there in such abun¬
dance, that I have no hesitation in saying there is scarcely
a pass in the mountains where it is not to be discovered,
although in some parts it may be of easier access than in
0 p > and better known.” The quantity of gold produced
in v eru arises partly from some mines in the province of
larma, and partly from washings established on the rapid
mountain torrents. The latter, however, have in many in-
s ances been abandoned. The principal silver mines are
situated in the Cerro de Pasco (see the article Pasco).
iere are also mines of quicksilver, which, however, are
now exhausted, or nearly so.1 Cobalt, antimony, and espe-
305
daily rock-salt, abound in Peru; but as these are, except- Peru,
ing the latter, found chiefly in the mountainous districts, the
distance, and the want of roads, render their conveyance too
expensive to enable them to be advantageously carried to any
market of consumption. There are a few mines of copper
and of lead, which, from the same causes, are worked on a
very contracted scale. In the northern territory there are
said to be mines of sulphur which remain unworked, and
bituminous pitch is found in the same quarter. Dr Meyen2
mentions that Tarapaca, in the department of Arequipa,
has received from nature a peculiar present in its wood-
mines, which the inhabitants use as fuel in their saltpetre
works, although probably there is not a single tree in all
the surrounding country. This substance is not coal, but
is stated to be dry timber, easily cleft, immense forests of
which are buried under the sand of that plain. The trees
all lie prostrate, with their tops towards the coast, and the
timber is found exceedingly useful, burning with a flame
as bright as that of common wood.
Amongst the antiquities of Peru may be numbered Cuz-Antiqui-
co itself, and the ruins of other cities or towns, which ties,
have been much more recently discovered, and to which
we have already alluded. There are also extensive re¬
mains of fortifications; and a great number of tumuli or se¬
pulchral mounds are found widely scattered over the coun¬
try. In these, relics of various kinds have been discovered,
such as gold and silver ornaments, warlike weapons, and
household utensils, comprising jars of earthenware, with
figures upon them, which proves that the Indians were ac¬
quainted with pottery. Dr Poeppig informs us, that the
mania of digging for treasures annually destroys in Peru
many ancient and remarkable remains. Wherever the Pe¬
ruvian beholds tumuli evidently raised by the hand of man,
or an ancient building indicates the former abode of an
exterminated people, he immediately suspects the existence
of the guacas or caverns, which were filled by the incas at
the time of the conquest with gold and precious stones, and
forgotten at the premature death of these chieftains, who had
buried their treasures from a sense of duty, and not chosen
any persons as the depositaries of their secret. The work
of demolition immediately commences ; the abodes of the
dead are rudely violated, and in their eagerness to find
what alone to them is valuable, the Peruvians, and the
Spaniards likewise, pay little attention to the preservation
of the other interesting relics, but carelessly break them to
pieces, and scatter them about. There will soon not be a
tumulus left in the country. The most absurd fables have
been invented and set afloat in connection with the favour¬
ite hypothesis of vast treasures remaining yet undiscovered.
According to a tradition coeval with the conquest of the
city of Cuzco, there is in a mountain lake in its vicinity a
gold chain which went twice round the market-place, and
of such large proportions that an Indian could with difficul¬
ty carry a single link of it.
The manufactures of Peru are inconsiderable, and con-]\janufac_
sist chiefly of those homely articles which are required bytures.
the poorer classes of the community. On the high land,
where warm clothing is necessary, the want is chiefly sup¬
plied by a species of long-woolled baize, made from the
fleeces of the aboriginal sheep, and in some instances from
the wool of sheep of the European breed. In the valleys,
and on the coast, where the heat forbids the use of wool¬
lens, cotton cloths are made, but of a very inferior texture.
The Indians manufacture a variety of cotton fabrics, which
are consumed in the country, such as counterpanes with
raised figures. Straw-hats of a variety of colours, petates
or mats, and segarreros, also form part of their manufac-
Mines. partlcular “count of the mines of Peru, the quantities which they have produced, and their actual condition, see the article
‘ Mo  Tr_ _ . ..  
2 Q
Meyen, Voyage round the World, Berlin, 1835.
'OL. XVII.
306
PERU.
Peru, tures; and they likewise execute a very fine filligree work
' v   of gold and silver. Goat-skins are made into good cordo¬
van. Tanning, soap-making, distilling, saltpetre, and other
manufactures, are also amongst the items ot productive in¬
dustry ; but Peru looks to Europe for a great part of the
necessaries as well as the luxuries of life. In dyeing the
cloths, whether of woollen or cotton, the natives make use
of plants which are scarcely known in Europe, or at least have
not been applied to the same purpose. The dress of the
Peruvians is very simple, consisting of a square cloth, with
a hole in the centre, through which the head is thrust, and
which falls before and behind so as to defend the whole
body. The head is generally covered with a hat made ot
the straw of the maize, which is as large as, and serves the
purpose of, an umbrella. . . ,
Commerce. The foreign trade of Peru is principally carried on with
the united kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, into which
the following articles were imported during the year ending
January 1836.1 . „ ,
Goods exported from Peru to Great Britain. Pot and
pearl ashes, 9 cwts.; Peruvian bark, 160,152 lbs.; untan-
ned hides, 3526 cwts.; saltpetre and cubic nitre, 41,354
cwts.; undressed seal-skins, 2222; unrefined sugar, 57S2
cwts.; cotton-wool, 105,661 lbs.; sheeps’ wool, 908,626 lbs.;
about four cwts. of molasses; and some other articles, in¬
cluding a considerable quantity of gold and silver specie.
Goods imported into Peru from Great Britain.—Cotton
manufactures entered at value, L.403; wheat, meal, and
flour, 833 cwts.; plain linens and diaper, 1282 pieces;
quicksilver, 12,025 lbs.; foreign thrown silk, 1370 lbs.;
silk manufactures of Europe, 4098 lbs., and of India, 415
pieces; spirits, viz. rum, gin, and brandy, in nearly equal
quantities, 11,794 proof gallons ; wines of all sorts, 16,o2J
gallons; ale and beer, nine tuns; tea, 134 lbs.; apparel, slops,
and haberdashery, L.3312 of declared value ; arms and am¬
munition, L.332 do.; brass and copper manufactures, L.806
do.; cotton manufactures, 9,886,075 yards, the declared
value of which was L.283,007 ; hosiery, lace, and small
wares, L.9873 ; cotton twist and yarn, L.380; earthenware
of all sorts, L.4193 ; glass, L.5317 ; hardwares and cutlery,
L.15,039; beaver and felt hats, L.475; iron and steel,
wrought and unwrought, L.4174; leather, wrought and un¬
wrought, 2481; saddlery and harness, L.145 ; linen manu¬
factures, 685,250 yards, declared value, L.29,736 ; machi¬
nery and mill-work, L.808 ; painters’ colours, L.569 ; plate,
iewellery, &c. L.215 ; salt, 2000 bushels; silk manufactures,
L.8758; soap and candles, 40,224 lbs.; stationery of all
sorts, L.755; tin and pewter wares and tin plate, L.1946 ;
woollen manufactures, L.63,559 ; woollen hosiery and small
wares, L.1117 ; cinnamon, 918 lbs.; gum-arabic, 13 cwts.;
and there were, besides, small quantities of cocoa-nuts, nut-
megs, pepper, refined sugar, rhubarb, coffee, tin, butter and
cheese, coals, culm and cinders, cordage, and so on. The
total declared value of British and Irish produce and ma¬
nufactures imported into Peru during the year 1835 was
L.441,324. By comparison with former years this shows
a decided increase of our trade with Peru. In 1827 it was
L.228,466; in 1830, L.368,469 ; in 1832, L.275,610; in
1833, L.387,524 ; and in 1834, L.299,235. This shows re¬
markable fluctuations ; but these must for the most part be
attributed to the political agitations of the country.
The trade of the United States with Peru is next in im¬
portance to that of Great Britain, and it displays the same
fluctuations, and likewise the same increase on a number of
years. The exports from Peru into the United States du¬
ring the year 1835 amounted to 1,118,278 dollars. During
the previous year the amount was only 618,412 dollars. A Pei
considerable quantity of gold and silver specie is imported*
into the United States from Peru. The imports into Peru
from the United States consist of flour in very considerable
quantities, raw cotton, beef and pork, butter and lard, can¬
dles, soap, chairs, cider, gunpowder, turpentine, linseed oil,
tobacco, wax, quicksilver, German linen, Russian sheetings,
and steel. It will be seen that these articles are for the
most part different from those imported into the country by
Great Britain.
The trade of Peru with France is likewise considerable.
The gold and silver specie, the bark, tin, skins, hides, and
other productions of the former, being exchanged for the
silks, brandy, wine, and other commodities of the former.
With Spain likewise a trade of much the same nature is car¬
ried on. Quantities of specie and a few other articles are
sent to Genoa, Canton, and other ports. From Paraguay
large quantities of the Paraguay tea are introduced. It must
be observed with regard to the trade of Peru, that a consi¬
derable quantity of the produce of the country is imported
into Great Britain and other places at second-hand from
Buenos Ayres and Valparaiso. Indeed, much of the foreign
trade of Peru is carried on through the medium of Buenos
Ayres. ’
Peru carries on some trade with Chili, and also with the
states to the north of its own territory. Timber for the
construction of ships and houses is brought from Guaya¬
quil, and indigo from Mexico. Large quantities of wheat
are imported from Chili; for although Peru might easily
raise a sufficiency of all kinds of cerealia to supply its own
consumption, it has never been able to do so. A few years
ago a heavy duty was imposed on the wheat imported from
Chili, with the view of encouraging its cultivation at home.
But the Chilians became indignant, and reciprocated by
imposing a duty of twelve dollars per quintal on the impor¬
tation of Peruvian sugars. The Peruvian congress then
proposed to admit into their ports all foreign vessels at re¬
duced duties, on condition of not touching previously at any
Chilian port. The two states thus view each other with a
jealous eye in their commercial affairs, and also in other re¬
spects. The moneys, weights, and measures are the same
as those of Spain.
The following is an abstract of the commercial treaty
lately concluded between Great Britain and the Peruvio-
Bolivian Confederation.2 It is agreed that there shall be
perpetual amity and freedom of commerce between Great
Britain and these countries, complete protection and secu¬
rity to person and property being afforded; but that the
coasting trade shall be confined to national vessels.. That
Peruvio-Bolivian vessels, in trading with Great Britain, shall
enjoy the same privileges as the traders of the most favour¬
ed nation, duties and "other charges being the same; and
this stipulation is reciprocal. After the expiration of fifteen
years, it is agreed that there shall be no distinction between
Peruvio-Bolivian and British vessels in entering each other’s
ports. To avoid future misunderstanding, it is also agreed
that, for fifteen years, any ship, the property of a citizen of
the Peruvio-Bolivian Confederation, and of which the master
and three fourths of the crew are such, shall be placed on the
same footing as a national vessel, that is, a vessel built in
the country ; but after the period specified expires, the so¬
vereign of Great Britain is to possess the right of restricting
the privileges enjoyed by a ship of either country to such
as are actually built in that country, taken in war, or con¬
demned for trading in slaves. That the citizens and sub¬
jects of the contracting parties, in the territories of each
1 Extracted from the parliamentary papers for the year 1836. The quantities are given in round numbers. Lima.
* Treaty of amity, commerce, and navigation between his Majesty William IY. and the Peruvio-Bohvian Confederation, .gn
5th June 1837. Parliamentary Papers for 1838.
PERU.
307
il.
other, shall be placed upon the same footing as the natives,
''with the privilege of exemption from all compulsory mili¬
tary services, exactions, or requisitions, and from forced
loans. That liberty of conscience and freedom of religious
exercises be enjoyed; and that the Peruvio-Bolivian Confe¬
deration shall co-operate with Great Britain for the total
extinction of the slave-trade. There are some other stipu¬
lations in the treaty, but these, being of minor importance,
do not require particular mention.
Peru labours under disadvantages exceedingly unfavour¬
able to its commerce. On the whole Pacific coast, for about
two thousand miles, there are only three or four ports ca¬
pable of admitting vessels of any size, viz. Callao, the port
of Lima ; Arica, a port of Arequipa, and a miserable place,
although resorted to by trading vessels, for want of a better,
it is presumed ; and Islay, the new port or harbour of the city
of Arequipa. It is supposed that the commerce will increase
when the port of Arica is closed, w hich has been contem¬
plated by government. Farther north is the port of Pisco,
a small place, but enjoying some share of maritime com¬
merce, although not a port of entry. From Callao to the con¬
fines of Colombia there does not appear to be one port w orthy
of the name, if we except Pacasmayo, the port of Truxillo,
which is a wretched place, and Paita, the port of Piura. Add
to this disadvantage that of the barrier of the Andes, which
cuts oft all communication, except at a great expense, be¬
tween the richest part of the country and the coast w here its
native wealth might be readily exported. These are heavy
drawbacks on all commercial industry; and, as the latter is
an insurmountable difficulty, the Peruvian government must
look to another quarter for an outlet for the produce of the
country. This is to be found in the numerous large and
navigable rivers w hich traverse the regions situated between
the Andes and the Amazons, the great natural drain of all
these territories. The advantages which Peru would de¬
rive from commercial intercourse with civilized nations are
too great and too obvious to be overlooked by the govern¬
ment, if tranquillity were only permanently restored. But
as long as these republics continue to tear each other to
pieces, and exhaust their resources in fruitless warfare, little
improvement in commerce or amelioration of their social con¬
dition is to be anticipated. In reference to the navigation of
the Amazons and its affluents, it has been well observed by
an able writer—“ The time appears to be now arrived, w hen
the solution of the question touching the course of the great
rivers that empty themselves into the Amazons between the
Huallaga and the Madeira may be expected. And we an¬
ticipate with confidence, that a question of so great import¬
ance in a commercial point of view, will not escape the
notice of the patriotic government of Bolivia, and of its
highly gifted president Santa Cruz; and that, ere long, the
productions of the rich provinces of Apolobamba, Moxos, Peru.
and of the other countries situated on the eastern declivity"   
of the Andes, will find their way to European markets by the
less circuitous route of the Amazon and its confluents.”1
It is nearly impossible to obtain precise information as to Revenue,
the amount of the present revenues of Peru. Under thefillances,
colonial government of Spain, the revenues of the crown a.nd war-
amounted, communibus annis, to about 6,000,000 of dollars,like force‘
and the expenditure to about 3,200,000 ; the balance being
annually remitted to the parent state. The present revenue
has been estimated at L. 1,250,000, the expenditure at a
little less than that sum, and the national debt at about
L.6,000,000. In the year 1832, it was agreed to between
the states of Peru and Bolivia, that for the future the for¬
mer should be obliged to maintain a military force of 3000,
and the latter of 2000 men, and that neither power should
be at liberty to augment its army without the consent of the
other. I he naval force is very small, consisting of one fri¬
gate, two corvettes, and two galliots; but this must be con¬
sidered as the peace establishment. When the country is at
war, it will be necessary to increase the military force con¬
siderably.
According to the constitution of 1828, the religion of the Religion,
republic is the Roman Catholic and apostolic. “ The na-education,
tion permits it by all the means that conform to the spirit ofand morals,
the evangelist, and will not permit the exercise of any other.”
It may be mentioned, that a similar article is found in the
Chilian constitution of May 1833. The question of religi¬
ous toleration gave rise to very animated discussions in both
countries, and called forth all the powers of the author of
Cartas Peruanas, in support of the exclusive exercise of the
Catholic religion, and the supremacy of the pope. The work
here mentioned was an examination of the evidences of
Christianity, and was published to neutralize the bad effects
of the infidel and irreligious books which some interested
persons had disseminated throughout the country during the
revolutionary agitations. Education is said to be at a low
ebb. There is a university at Lima, which in 1831 had
fifty-five students. This institution is the most ancient and
the most celebrated in all South America. There are a
number ot colleges, and a national library, which is one of
the richest in the New World. Ten or twelve journals are
published in Lima; indeed, if this city wrere to be taken as
a fair criterion by which to judge of the state of literature
and learning in Peru, we might be led to form a very high
estimate of it, for it concentrates nearly the whole in itself.
But, since the revolution, extensive arrangements have been
made for the general diffusion of knowledge amongst the
people.
South Peru is divided into the departments and provinces
specified in the following table.
Departments, with their
Population in 1795.
Arequipa, 136,812.-[
Ayacucho.
3,159,608. |
Cuzco, 216,382. J
I (
[Puno, 156,000. |
Provinces.
Arica, Callyoma, Camana, Cercado, Condesuyos, Mo-1
quegua, and Tarapaca. J
Andahuaylas, Cangallo, Castrovireyna, Huamanga, Hu-1
ancavelica, Huanta, Lucanas, Parinacochas, and Taya- >
caja. i
Abancay, Ayamaraes, Calca, Cercado, Cotabambas, 1
Chumbivilcas, Paruro, Paucartambo, Quispicanchi, >
Tinta, and Urubamba. \
Azangaro, Carabaya, Chucuito, Huancane, and Lampa. j
Chief Towns.
Arequipa, Arica, Camana, Huanta-
gaya, Moquegua, and Tackna.
Huamanga, Ayacucho, Jauja, Hu-
ancavelica, Lucanas, and Ocopa.
Cuzco, Albancay, Tinta, and Uru¬
bamba.
Puno, Chiquito, Caillomas, and
Lampa.
North Peru is divided in the same manner. The new de- sions have not yet been described in any work on Peru, we
partment called the Pampas has been formed out of the ter- are under the necessity of giving the local geography of this
ntones of Jumn and Truxillo; but as its extent and divi- republic as it stood in 1835-1836.
1 Journal of the Geographical Society, vol. vi. p. 186, 1836.
PER
P E S
Departments, with their
Population in 1795.
Lima, 149,112. -J
Libertad or Trux- \
illo, 230,970. j
Junin, 200,839. -j
Provinces.
Canta, Caiiete, Chancay, Huarochiri, Ica,|
Santa, and Yauyos. I
Cajamarca, Chachapoyas, Chota, Iluama-1
chuco, Jaen, Lambayeque, Maynas, Pa- r
tas, Piura, and Truxillo. )
Cajatambo, Conchucos, Huaylas, ^Huama- j
  / J '
lies, Huanuco, Hauri, Jauja, and Pasco.
Chief Towns.
Lima, Callao, Canete, Chancay, Huaco, Huauro,
lea, Pisco, and Patibilca.
Truxillo, Caxamarca, Casabamba, San Juan de
la Frontera, Eten, Lambayeque, Moyobamba,
Micuipampa, Payta, Piura, and Sechura.
Huanuco, Banos, Huaras, Junin, and Pasco.
Pen..
Pe?:
The total population, as stated above, is 1,249,723 ‘ but
it is now (1838) estimated at 1,700,000. The inhabitants
of Peru consist of three original castes ; Spaniards, Indians,
and negroes. The secondary species arising from these
three are, the mulatto, from the Spaniard and negro ; the
quarteroon, from the mulatto and Spaniard; and the mes¬
tizo, from the Spaniard and Indian. The other subdivisions
are as numerous as the possible combinations of the piimi-
tive castes. The Indians or native Peruvians are still the
most numerous class throughout the country. They pre¬
sent nothing of the fierce and untamed character of the
Caribbs or Canadian Indians, but are timid, reserved, and
of a melancholy temperament. Much of their apathy and
insensibility is unquestionably natural to them, but it has
been deepened and rendered more inveterate and habitual
by ages of oppression. They are sunk in gross ignorance;
but that they are incapable of being roused from their lethar¬
gy, and taught the arts of peace and civilization, is a gratui¬
tous absurdity, which several of them have triumphantly re¬
futed by making a distinguished appearance in the pulpit and
at the bar. The manufacture of beautiful fabrics is quite
common amongst them, and many of the tribes are indus¬
trious agriculturists. They have been converted to Chris¬
tianity and they have wiped off the reproach of cowardice
by their achievements during the war of independence, in
which they generally took the part of the royalists. Yet
they cherish a deep and mournful impression of the days
of the incas; and in all the remote districts of the country
the death of the last of the race is annually celebrated by a
sort of rude tragedy, accompanied by plaintive and melting
strains of music. The mixed races are more numerous than
the pure Spaniards, although less so than the native Peru¬
vians. According to Mr Stevenson, the mestizo is strong
and swarthy, with very little beard, laborious, and well dis¬
posed • the mulatto is less robust, but acute, talkative, ima¬
ginative, and fond of dress and parade. In a public dispu¬
tation at the university, a mulatto in the gallery will often
help the embarrassed student out with his syllogism. The
zambo, or mulatto and negro, is violent, morose, and stub¬
born, prone to many vices, and guilty of more robberies and
murders than any of the other classes, excepting only the
Chinos or negro-Indians, who are said to be the very worst
mixed breed in existence; they are ugly, lazy, stupid, and
cruel. <E-E-E->
PERUGIA, a delegation or province of the States of the
Church, in Italy, and a part of the ancient Umbria. It is
1793 square miles in extent, and contains seven cities, nine¬
teen market-towns, with numerous villages, and 181,540 in¬
habitants. It includes a large portion of the Apennines, and
is therefore very hilly ; but that part through which the Ti¬
ber passes is a succession of beautiful and fertile valleys,
producing abundance of corn, pulse, fruit, cattle, silk, oil,
and wine, besides much honey and wax. The capital is a
city of the same name, situated in a rich valley between the
Tiber and Lago Perugia, and surrounded by walls and
ditches, but not deemed capable of being defended. It is
the see of an archbishop, and, besides the cathedral, adorned
with the pencil of Peter Perugiano and of Raffaele, contains
forty-five parish churches, twenty-four monasteries, twenty-
five nunneries, and several charitable institutions; besides
a university, which has of late years greatly declined. There
are several learned societies, a fine theatre, and some pleas¬
ing promenades. In Perugia, though an ancient city, few
remains of antiquity are to be seen. The most remarkable
of those that remain are the gate of the Grimana Palace,
called the arch of Augustus, and the temple of Mars, at the
o-ate of St Angelo. The population is doubtful, some au¬
thors stating it at 68,000, whilst Balbi, the latest authority,
estimates it only at 30,000. A considerable trade in the raw
productions of the fertile soil which surrounds the city centres
here ; and there are manufactures of silks and velvets, of
woollen goods, hats, leather, tartaric acid, brandy, and li-.
queurs. Many of the private houses are adorned with va¬
luable paintings of the ancient masters. Long. 12. 16. 53.
E. Lat. 43. 6. 46. N.
PERUVIANA, a general name sometimes applied to
the vast peninsula of South America, extending from the
Isthmus of Panama to Cape Horn.
PERUWELS, a market-town of Belgium, in the pro¬
vince of West Flanders, and circle of Tournay. It is situated
on the frontier towards France, and contains 5650 inhabi¬
tants, employed in making linen, in breweries, and distil-
leries.
PERWUTTUN, a village on the southern shore of the
river Krishna, in a wild tract of almost uninhabited coun¬
try. Here is a remarkable pagoda, wherein there is an idol,
which is shown by the reflected light of a brass speculum,
and can only be seen as the flashes fall on it. The pagodas,
chouttries, and courts, are enclosed by a wall which is covered
with a great variety of sculpture. It is 118 miles south from
Hyderabad. Long. 78. 40. E. Lat. 15. 57. N.. ...
PESANO, a city of the province of Saluzzo, m the king¬
dom of Sardinia, in Italy. It is situated on the river Po, and
contains 720 houses, with 4600 inhabitants.
PESARO, a city of the pontifical dominions, in Italy, m
the delegation of Urbino cum Pesaro. It stands on the river
Foglia, at its embouchure, and is surrounded with walls. It
is the see of a bishop, and has a cathedral and seven pa¬
rish churches, with eight monasteries and four nunneries,
which have also churches, some of them decorated with paint¬
ings from the hands of the best masters. The houses are
good, the streets broad; and there is a remarkably hne
market-place, with a marble fountain, and a statue ol Urban
VIII. It contains 13,580 inhabitants, who are occupied in
various branches of the silk trade, and in commerce in t e
raw productions of the vicinity, which are shipped from it
small but secure harbour. Long. 12.48.16. E. Lat. 45.
1. N. • i i,
* PESCIA, a city of the duchy of Tuscany, in Italy, the
capital of a district, in the province of Florence, of its own
name. It is situated on the river Pescia, is the see o
bishop, and has a cathedral and two other churches, w
P E S
p( na 4200 inhabitants, who subsist chiefly by spinning and weav¬
ing silk, and making paper and pottery wares.
II ■ PESCINA, a city of Italy, in the province of Principato
Ulteriore II. of the kingdom of Naples. It stands on the
north-eastern side of the Lake of Cellano, is the see of a
bishop, has a cathedral, with several other churches and
monasteries, and contains 4500 inhabitants.
PESHA WUR, or Peishare, a district and very ancient
city of Afghanistan, in the province of Caubul, intersect¬
ed by the Caubul River, and surrounded on all sides by a
mountainous range, by which it is sheltered from the cold
winds, and rendered very hot during summer. It is well
watered by innumerable streams flowing down the moun¬
tains, which are always covered with verdure, produces all
sorts of garden-fruits, especially melons, and, with the ex¬
ception of Cashmere, is considered as the finest province
within Afghanistan. It is extremely populous, containing,
within a circumference of thirty-five miles, 300,000 inha¬
bitants. The city of Peshawur is large, being upwards of
five miles in circumference. The houses are generally
built of unburnt bricks in wooden frames, and are mostly
three stories in height. The town is intersected by two
or three brooks, which run into the Caubul River, and are
crossed by bridges. The streets are narrow, but paved, and
have a kennel in the middle. The Caubul passes to the north
of the city; and the town is adorned with numerous mosques
and other edifices, which scarcely merit any particular notice,
if we except a caravanserai, and the citadel, which stands on
a hill north of the town. This citadel, which is not a place
of strength, contains some fine halls, and commands an ex¬
tensive prospect of the surrounding country, and is adorned
with spacious gardens. Few of the houses of the nobility
are of any note, but there are some splendid palaces be¬
longing to the king. The inhabitants of this city consist
of tribes from all quarters of the East; but the common
languages are the Pashtoo and the Hindustanee. The Ha-
zarees, descended from a tribe of Tartars, are the most con¬
spicuous tribe in this city, and still exhibit in their broad
faces all the marks of the Tartar physiognomy. Peshawur
is an ancient city, and is often mentioned in the histories
of the tenth century. In the sixteenth century the city
was much improved by Akbar, who, seeing the aversion of
the Afghans to commerce and industry, encouraged a num¬
ber of settlers from the Punjab ; and it became a great com¬
mercial mart for the trade carried on between Persia, Tar¬
tary, and India. It is the residence of many wealthy
merchants, especially shawl-dealers; and the markets are
abundantly supplied with provisions. This city was visited
in 1809 by the Honourable Mountstuart Elphinstone, who
was sent as ambassador by the East India Company, and
had an audience of Shah S"ujah, the Afghan king, who was
shortly afterwards defeated by his brother Shah Mahmoud,
and obliged to fly. The country has ever since continued
the scene of civil war. Long. 70. 37. E. Lat. 33. 32. N.
PEST, or Pesth, a city of the Austrian kingdom of
Hungary, the capital of a circle, extending over 4202 square
miles, and which comprehends two cities, twenty market-
towns, and 319 villages, with 380,000 inhabitants. The
city is situated on the left bank of the Danube, opposite to
Buda, with which it is connected by a bridge of boats. The
town has no walls nor gates, and is defended by a citadel.
It is the trading portion of the Hungarian metropolis, and
abounds in manufactures of various kinds, though mostly on
a small scale. It has a university and several other institu¬
tions for education. It contains 3400 houses, and about 60,000
inhabitants. The vicinity is fertile, and produces much
good wine. In the early part of 1838, Pest suffered severe-
y from an inundation of the Danube, by which many houses
were destroyed, and a great number of individuals lost their
.!v.es' Judging from the accounts which have been pub-
ished, the desolation occasioned by this sudden and resist-
pet 309
less outburst of the river must have been truly terrific, and Petalism
many years will probably elapse before the injury done by tl
the flood can be fully repaired. Long. 25. 57. 12. E. Lat.
47. 31.40. N. . ,
PETALISM, a mode of deciding on the guilt of citizens,
similar to the Athenian ostracism. It was introduced into
Syracuse about the year before Christ 460, to restrain the
tyranny of the richer citizens, who about that time aimed
at the supreme power. To prevent the evils daily arising
from this source, and to bring down the aspiring minds of
the wealthy citizens, the Syracusans passed a law not un¬
like that of the Athenian ostracism ; for as at Athens every
citizen was required to write on a shell the name of the
person whom he conceived to be the most likely, on ac¬
count of his wealth and adherents, to aspire to the crown,
so at Syracuse the people were entitled to write on a leaf
the names of such as they apprehended powerful enough to
usurp the sovereignty. When the leaves were counted, he
who had the most suffrages against him was, without any
further inquiry, banished for five years. This new method
of impairing the consequence and weakening the interest
of the overgrown citizens was called ‘petalism, from the
Greek word vtrukov, which signifies a leaf. But the law in
question wras attended with many evils ; for those who wrere
most capable of governing the commonwealth were banish¬
ed, and the administration of public affairs was committed
to the meanest of the people. Nay, many of the chief ci¬
tizens, who were able to render their country great service,
apprehensive of falling under the penalties of this law, with¬
drew from the city, and lived privately in the country, not
concerning themselves with public affairs; so that all the
employments being filled by men of no merit or experience,
the republic was reduced to the brink of ruin, and ready to
fall into a state of anarchy and confusion. The law of pe¬
talism was therefore, on more mature deliberation, repealed
soon after it had been first enacted; and the reins of go¬
vernment were again committed to the hands of men who
knew how to manage them.
PETALNAIG, a town of Southern Hindustan, in the
province of Tinnevelly, a hundred miles north-east from
Cape Comorin. Long. 78. 15. E. Lat. 9. 13. N.
PETAREE, a large village of Hindustan, in the pro¬
vince of Malwah, forty-eight miles north-east from Bilsah.
PETAU, Denis, or Dionysius Petavius, a French Je¬
suit of great erudition, was born at Orleans in the year 1583.
His father, who was a man of learning, observing in his son
strong parts and an excellent genius for letters, took every
means in his power to improve them. He used to tell his
son, that he ought to qualify himself so as to be able to
attack and confound the giant of the Allophylee ; meaning
Joseph Scaliger, whose abilities and learning were allowed
to have done much service to the Reformed. Young Pe¬
tavius seems to have entered readily into his father’s views;
for he studied most intensely, and afterwards levelled much
of his erudition against Scaliger. To the study of the belles
lettres he joined that of the mathematics; and afterwards
applied himself to a course of philosophy, which he com¬
menced in the college of Orleans, and finished at Paris.
He subsequently maintained theses in Greek, which was as
familiar to him as Latin; and the Latin, it is said, he under¬
stood better than he did his vernacular language. When
he was pretty well advanced in his studies, he had free ac¬
cess to the king’s library, which he often visited on account
of the Latin and Greek manuscripts. Amongst other ad¬
vantages which attended his literary pursuits, may be reck¬
oned the friendship of Isaac Casaubon, whom Henry IV.
called to Paris in 1600. It was at Casaubon’s instigation
that Petavius, though then very young, undertook an edi¬
tion of the works of Synesius, in which he corrected the
Greek from the manuscripts, translated what yet remained
to be translated into Latin, and wrote notes upon the whole.
310
PET
Petchelee He was only nineteen years of age when lie was made pro-
11 fessor of philosophy in the university of Bourges; and he
St Peter. t the two following years in studying the ancient phi-
^ fosophers and mathematicians. In 1604, when Mmrel, pro¬
fessor of Greek at Paris, published the works of St Chry¬
sostom, some part of Petavius’s labours on Synesms were
added to them ; and from the title we learn, that he then
took the name of Pcetus, which he afterwards changed into
Petavius. His own edition of the works of Synesms did
not appear till the year 1612.
He entered into the society of the Jesuits in 1605, and
did great credit to it by his extensive and profound erudi¬
tion. He became a zealous advocate of the Church of
Rome ; and there was no way of serving it more agreeable
to him than that of criticising and assailing its adversaries.
He was very bitter against Scaliger ; nor did he even spare
his friend Casaubon whenever the latter came in his way.
Petavius excelled particularly in chronology; the learned
world in general being indebted to him for some exact and
nice disquisitions on this subject. His principal work, which
is entitled Rationarium Temporum, is an abridgment of
universal history, from the earliest times till the year 1632,
arranged in chronological order, with references to proper
authorities ; and it was improved by Perizonius and others,
who made several additions to it after his death. This emi¬
nent father, after a very laborious life, died at Paris about
the close of the year 1652, aged sixty-nine.
PETCHELEE, a considerable and extensive province
of China, in which Peking, the capital, is situated. Being
one of the northerly provinces of China, its climate is cold,
and the winter is severe, all the rivers being frozen during
four months in the year, irom November to March. It is
in general of a sandy soil; a great part of it is a dead flat,
and the sea-coast is bordered with extensive marshes. To
the north the country is elevated, and rises into that range
of lofty mountains along which the great wall is conducted.
The country is not favourable for the production of rice;
but it is well fitted for wheat, barley, and the other grains of
' the temperate climates. The principal river is the Peiho,
which rises within the Tartar frontier, and, after passing
Peking, discharges itself into the Yellow Sea, or Gulf of
Petchelee. By means of this sea a considerable trade is
carried on with Corea and Japan. But this province is
chiefly indebted for its prosperity to the communications
established between its rivers and the Imperial Canal, which
affords a navigable communication across the whole empire.
The population is estimated at 38,000,000.
PETER (originally Simeon or Simon, pynir, called also,
by a rendering of the Greek Ilsrgoc into the correspond¬
ing word in the Aramaic dialect spoken in Palestine in
the days of our Lord, Cephas, xso, John, i. 42), one of the
twelve apostles, and author of two epistles in the inspired
canon. He was a native of Bethsaida in Galilee, and was
the son of a certain Jonas, or John, whence he is named on
one occasion in the gospel history Simon Barjona, that is, son
of Jona (Matt. xvi. 17). Along with his brother Andrew,
he followed the occupation of a fisherman on the Sea of Ga¬
lilee. It is probable that before they became known to Christ
they were both disciples of John the Baptist. That Andrew
was so, we are expressly informed by the evangelist John;
and as his brother seems to have been much of the same
mind with him on religious matters, it is extremely likely
that he was so likewise. Their becoming known to Christ
was owing to John’s pointing him out on the day after his
baptism to Andrew and another disciple (probably the evan¬
gelist John), as “ the Lamb of God,” on which they imme¬
diately followed Christ, and spent some time in receiving his
instructions. Shortly after this, Andrew finding Simon, car¬
ried him to Christ, who, on receiving him as his disciple, be¬
stowed upon him that surname by which he has since that
time been most commonly designated: “ When Jesus beheld
PET
him he said, thou art Simon the son of Jona; thou shalt be St Pu
called Cephas, which is by interpretation a stone (r£rgo;)”^-%
After this interview the two brothers seem to have returned
to their usual occupation for a season, as we have an ac¬
count in Matthew (iv. 18-20), of their being summoned from
that occupation by Christ on a subsequent occasion, poste¬
rior to his temptation in the wilderness, and to the com¬
mencement of his public ministry as a religious teacher.
From this time forward they were his devoted and admir¬
ing followers. In the course of the evangelical history se¬
veral anecdotes of Peter are incidentally recorded, for the
purpose, doubtless, principally of illustrating the character
and teaching of our Lord, but which tend also to throw
light upon the history and character of his attached disciple.
Such are the accounts furnished by the evangelists of his
walking upon the agitated waters of the Sea of Galilee to
meet his master (Matthew, xiv. 22, IF.; Mark, vi. 45, IF.) ; of
his bold and intelligent avowals of the undoubted Messiah-
ship of Jesus, notwithstanding the difficulties which he, along
with the rest of the disciples, felt in reconciling what they
saw in him with what they had fondly expected the Christ
to be (Matthew, xvi. 13-20); of his rash but affectionate
rebuke of his Lord for speaking of suffering and death as
in prospect for him, and as forming a necessary part of his
mediatorial work (Matthew, xvi. 21—23); of his conduct in
first rejecting, with an earnestness bordering on horror, the
offer of Christ to wash his feet, and then, when the symbo¬
lical nature of that act had been explained to him, his
over-ardent zeal that not his feet only, but also his hands
and his head, might be washed (John, xiii. 4, IF.); of his
bold and somewhat vaunting avowal of attachment to his
Master, and his determination never to forsake him, follow¬
ed by his disgraceful denial of Jesus in the hour of trial
(John, xiii. 36, 37 ; Mark, xiv. 29, &c.) ; of his deep and
poignant contrition for this sin (Matthew, xiv. 72) ; and of
his Lord’s ample forgiveness of his offence, after he had re¬
ceived from him a profession of attachment as strong and
as frequently repeated as his former denial of him (John,
xxi. 15-18). From these notices it is easy to gather a to¬
lerably correct conception of the predominating features of
the apostle’s character up to this period. He seems to have
been a man of undoubted piety, of ardent attachment to
his Master, and of great zeal for what he deemed his Mas¬
ter’s honour, but at the same time with a mind rather
quick than accurate in its apprehensions, and with feelings
rather hasty in their impulse than determined and con¬
tinuous in their exercise. Hence his readiness in avowing
his opinions, and his rashness in forming them; and hence
also the tendency which beset his honest openness to de¬
generate into bravado, and his determinations of valour to
evaporate into cowardice at appalling forms of danger. His
fall, however, and his subsequent restoration, connected as
these were with the mysterious events of his Master’s cru¬
cifixion and resurrection, and with the new light which had
by them been cast around his character and work, produ¬
ced a powerful change for the better upon the apostle’s
mind. From this time forward he comes before us under
a new aspect. A sober dignity and firmness of purpose
have displaced his former hasty zeal; sagacity and pru¬
dence characterize his conduct; and whilst his love to his
Master shows no symptom of abatement, it displays itseji
rather in active labour and much-enduring patience in his
service, than in loud protestations or extravagant exhibi¬
tions of attachment. In the subsequent Scripture history
he is presented to us as the courageous herald of the king¬
dom of Christ, by whose mouth the first public declaration
of salvation through the crucified Jesus was made to the
people; by whose advice and counsel the early churches
were planted and governed; and by whom the prejudices
of Judaism were first fairly surmounted, and the gospel
preached in all its universal freeness to the Gentile world.
PET
gt er. The Acts of the Apostles contain recitals of many interest-
JX—'ing incidents which befell him whilst engaged in those ef¬
forts. Of these, the chief are his imprisonment and trial
before the Sanhedrim, for preaching Christ, and his bold
avowal of his determination to persist in that work (Acts, iv.
1-22); his miraculously inflicting the punishment of death
on the infatuated couple who had dared to try an experi¬
ment upon the omniscience of the Holy Ghost (v. 1-11);
his visit to Samaria, and rebuke of Simon Magus, who deem¬
ed that the miracles of the apostle were the work of some
deep magic spell of which he had not yet become possessed,
and which consequently he was desirous of purchasing from
Peter (viii. 14-24) ; the vision by which he was taught that
the ancient ritual distinctions between clean and unclean
had been abolished, and thereby prepared to attend on the
summons of Cornelius, to whom he preached the gospel
(x. 1-48) ; his apprehension by Herod Agrippa, and his de¬
liverance by the interposition of an angel, who opened for
him the doors of his prison, and set him free (xii. 3-19) ;
and his address to the council at Jerusalem, on the occa¬
sion of a request for advice and direction being sent to the
church there by the church in Antioch, in which he ad¬
vocated the exemption of Gentile converts from the ce¬
remonial institutes of the law of Moses (xv. 6-11). In
all these incidents we trace the evidences of his mind hav¬
ing undergone an entire change, both as to its views of
truth tand impressions of duty, from what is displayed by
the earlier events of his history. On one occasion only
do we detect something of his former weakness, and that
strangely enough in regard to a matter in which he had
been the first of the apostles to perceive, and the first to
recommend and follow, a correct course of procedure. The
occasion referred to was his withdrawing, through dread of
the censures of his Jewish brethren, from the Gentiles at
Antioch, after having lived in free and friendly intercourse
with them, and his timidly dissembling his convictions as to
the religious equality of Jew and Gentile. For this Paul
withstood him to the face, and rebuked him sharply, because
of the injury which his conduct was calculated to produce
to the cause of Christianity. With this single exception,
however, his conduct seems to have been in full accordance
with the name which his Master had prophetically bestowed
on him when he called him Simon the Kock, and with the
position which Paul himself assigns to him, at the very time
that he recounts his temporary dereliction, as one of the
“ Pillars of the Church.”1
Thus far we are enabled, from the inspired documents,
to trace the history of this apostle ; but for what remains we
must be indebted to evidence of a less explicit and certain
character. The testimony of several of the ecclesiastical
writers, corroborated by the phraseology employed by the
apostle himself in the salutation of his first epistle, makes
it highly probable that at some period of his official life he
performed an extensive missionary tour throughout those dis¬
tricts, to the converts in which his epistles were addressed.
“ It appears,” says Origen, “ that Peter preached to the
Jews in the dispersion, in Pontus, Galatia, Bithynia, Cappa¬
docia, and Asia.”2 A less certain tradition reports the
apostle as having towards the close of his life visited Rome,
become bishop of the church in that city, and suffered mar¬
tyrdom in the persecution raised against the Christians by
Nero. The importance of these points in connection with
PET 311
the claims urged by the Catholics on behalf of the supre- St Peter,
macy of the pope, has led to a careful and sifting examina- 'y'-—-''
tion of the accuracy of this tradition; the result of which
seems to be, that whilst it is admitted as certain that Peter
suffered martyrdom, in all probability by crucifixion,3 and as
probable that this took place at Rome, it has, nevertheless,
been made pretty clear that he never was for any length of
time resident in that city, and morally certain that he never
was bishop of the church there.4 By some an attempt has
been made to obtain the support of the apostle’s own testi¬
mony in favour of his having at one period resided at Rome,
by interpreting the words, “ the church that is at Babylon?
the salutations of which he sends to those to whom he wrote
his first epistle, as applying to the church at Home ; an at¬
tempt which Dr Campbell justly stigmatizes as “ poor, not
to call it ridiculous.” Even if we admit that at the time
when this epistle was written it was understood amongst the
Christians that Babylon was the prophetical name for Rome,
an admission, however, which is entirely unsupported by evi¬
dence, it would remain unexplained why the apostle, in such
a mere matter-of-fact affair as the communication of the
friendly salutations of one church to another, should have
employed the obscure and symbolical language of prophecy,
when his meaning could have been so much more distinctly
conveyed by a simple statement. This would be the more
inexplicable, that the style of Peter is remarkably plain and
perspicuous throughout the entire epistle. It seems much
more consistent, therefore, with rational principles of inter¬
pretation, to understand the statement literally of Babylon in
Egypt, in which city, as we learn from Josephus, there was
a great multitude of Jews (htlcc y.cu jjv lovduiuv, Ant.
Jud. l.xv. c. ii. sect. 2 ; see also c. iii. sect. 1), and to which,
consequently, it is almost certain, that at some period of his
life, “ the apostle of the circumcision” (Gal. ii. 8) must have
paid a visit.
The assertion that St Peter was bishop of Rome is con¬
nected with another by which the claims of the papacy are
sought to be established, namely, that to him was conceded
a right of supremacy over the other apostles. In support of
this, an appeal is made to those passages in the gospels,
where declarations supposed to imply the bestowal of pecu¬
liar honour and distinction on Peter are recorded as hav¬
ing been addressed to him by our Lord. The most im¬
portant of these are, “ Thou art Peter, and on this rock
will I build my church” (Matt. xvi. 18); and, “ Unto thee
will I give the keys of the kingdom of heaven,” &c. (Matt,
xvi. 19). At first sight these passages would seem to bear
out the assumption founded on them; but upon a more care¬
ful investigation it will be seen that this is rather in ap¬
pearance than in reality. The force of both is greatly im¬
paired for the purpose for which Catholics produce them, by
the circumstance, that whatever of power or authority they
may be supposed to confer upon Peter, must be regarded as
shared by him with the other apostles, inasmuch as to them
also are ascribed in other passages the same qualities and
powers which are promised to Peter in those under consider¬
ation. If by the former of these passages we are to un¬
derstand that the church is built upon Peter, the Apostle
Paul informs us that it is not in him alone that it is built,
but upon all the apostles (Ephes. ii. 20) ; and in the book of
Revelation we are told, that on the twelve foundations of
the New Jerusalem (the Christian church), are inscribed
Gal. ii. 9-14. The circumstance of Peter’s having submitted to a rebuke from Paul is so fatal to the pretensions which have been
urged in tavour of his supremacy over the other apostles, that from a very early age attempts have been made to set aside its force, by the
nypothesis that it is not of Peter the apostle, but of another person of the same name, that Paul speaks in the passage referred to; Conf.
tuseb. H. E. 1.13. This hypothesis, however, is so plainly contradicted by the words of Paul, who explicitly ascribes apostleship to the
i eter of whom he writes, that it is astonishing how it could have been admitted even by the most blinded zealot. See ver. 8, 9.
i s fib- iii. ap.; Euseb. H. E. iii. 1. See also Euseb. iii. 4.
4 c b>l;trus-passioni Dominicae adaequatur. (Tertull. De Prcescrip. 38.) See also Lactant. Dc Mortibus Persec. c. ii.
See Barrow s 1 realise on the Pope's Supremacy; Works by Hughes, vol. vii. p. 207, ff.; Campbell’s Lectures on Eccl. Hist. lect. xii.,
-wander s Geschicfite der PJlamung und Leitung dcr Christ. Kirche, bd. ii. s. 311-15; Winer’s Biblisches Jiealworterbuch in Petrus, &c.
312
St Peter.
PET
“ the names of the twelve apostles of the L,amh (ch. xxi. 14).
' As for the declaration in the latter of these passages, it was
in all its essential parts repeated by our Lord to the other
disciples immediately before his passion, as announcing a
privilege which, as his apostles, they were to possess in com¬
mon (Matt, xviii. 18; John, xx. 23). It is, moreover, un¬
certain in what sense our Lord used the language in ques¬
tion. In both cases his words are metaphorical; and no¬
thing can be more unsafe than to build a theological dog¬
ma upon language of which the meaning is not clear, and
to which, from the earliest ages, different interpretations
have been affixed. And, finally, even granting the correct¬
ness of that interpretation which Catholics put upon these
verses, it wall not bear out the conclusion they would de¬
duce from them, inasmuch as the judicial supremacy of Peter
over the other apostles does not necessarily follow from his
possessing authority over the church. On the other side it
is certain, that there is no instance on record of the apostle’s
having ever claimed or exercised this supposed power; but,
on the contrary, he is oftener than once represented as
submitting to an exercise of power upon the part of others,
as when, for instance, he went forth as a messenger from
the apostles assembled in Jerusalem to the Christians in Sa¬
maria (Acts, viii. 14), and when he received a rebuke from
St Paul, as already noticed. Whilst, however, it is pretty
well established that Peter enjoyed no judicial supremacy
over the other apostles, it would, perhaps, be going too far
to affirm that no dignity or primacy whatsoever was conced¬
ed to him on the part of his brethren. His superiority
in point of age, his distinguished personal excellence, his
reputation and success as a teacher of Christianity, and
the prominent part which he had ever taken in his Mas¬
ter’s affairs, both before his death and after his ascension,
furnished sufficient grounds for his being raised to a posi¬
tion of respect and of moral influence in the church and
amongst his brother apostles. To this some countenance is
given by the circumstances that he is called “ the first, 'Tgai-
roi, by Matthew (ch. x. 2), and that apparently not merely as
a numerical, but as an honorary distinction ; that when the
apostles are mentioned as a body, it is frequently by the
phrase, “ Peter and the eleven,” or, “ Peter and the rest
of the apostles,” or something similar; and that when
Paul wrent up to Jerusalem by divine revelation, it was to
Peter particularly that the visit was paid. These cir¬
cumstances, taken in connection with the prevalent voice
of Christian antiquity, would seem to authorize the opi¬
nion that Peter occupied some such position as that of frgosir-
rwf, or president in the apostolical college, but without
any power or authority of a personal kind over his brother
apostles.1
The extant writings of the apostle Peter are confined
to twro brief epistles, of which the former has been univer¬
sally admitted as genuine, whilst the latter has by many
been rejected as spurious. The grounds of this rejection,
however, are extremely insecure, as they depend chiefly
upon nice distinctions and analogies of style between the
two epistles, which are seldom drawn with such unerring ac¬
curacy as to induce us to attach very much weight to them.2
The persons to whom these epistles were addressed were con¬
verted Jews scattered over the districts enumerated by the
apostle in the commencement of the first of them. The epis¬
tles themselves are characterized by great vigour of concep¬
tion, warmth of feeling, and force of eloquence. The style
is glowing and rapid, approaching at times to vehemence;
and the sentiments are of the most elevated description.
The exhortation to holiness with which the second chap¬
ter of the first epistle concludes, is perhaps unequalled in
PET
the New Testament for the appropriateness of its senti- Pe«
ments, the beauty of its appeals, and the concentred ener-'s—>
gy and rapid flow of the style ; nor would it be easy to
find any passage, either in sacred or profane literature, that
should surpass in vividness of description and power of ex¬
pression the prophetic view of the end of the world with
which, towards the conclusion of the second epistle, he en¬
forces his exhortation to holy conversation and godliness.
In both epistles we trace the characteristic ardour and the
elevated piety of their author, and of both we may justly say,
in the language of the excellent Leighton, that they are emi¬
nently adapted “ to establish Christians in believing, to di¬
rect them in doing, and to comfort them in suffering, often
setting before them the matchless example of the Lord
Jesus, and the greatness of their engagement to follow
him.” (n.n.n.n.)
Peter of Blois, a learned man of the twelfth century,
was born about the year 1120, at the city of Blois, in France,
from which he derived his name. His parents being opu¬
lent, gave him a learned education. In his youth, when
he studied in the university of Paris, he was excessively
fond of poetry ; and when he had advanced a little further
in life, he became no less fond of rhetoric, to the study of
w'hich he applied with the greatest ardour. From Paris he
removed to Bologna in Italy, to study the civil and the ca¬
non law, in the knowledge of which he very much excelled.
From his writings it appears that he cultivated medicine,
and several branches of the mathematics, with no little care
and success. But the study of theology formed the chief
delight and business of his life, and in it he not only spent
the greatest part of his time, but made the greatest progress.
Unfortunately, however, the theology he studied was of that
scholastic kind, which consisted in vain attempts to explain
and prove the many absurd opinions which then prevailed,
by the subtilties of the Aristotelian logic. In attempting to
explain the doctrine of the real presence, as held by the
Latin church, he was the first who employed the famous
term transubstantiation, which was soon afterwards adopt¬
ed by the church, and has ever since been retained. Being
appointed preceptor to William II. king of Sicily, in 1167,
he obtained the custody of the privy seal; and, next to the
Archbishop of Palermo, who was the prime minister, he had
the greatest influence in all affairs. His power, however,
was not of long duration; for the archbishop being banished
in 1168, Peter soon afterwards left the court of Sicily, and
returned into France. But in a short time he found an¬
other royal patron, having been invited into England by
Henry II. who employed him as his private secretary, made
him Archdeacon of Bath, and gave him some other benefices.
Having spent a few years at court, however, he conceived
a disgust at that way of life, of which in one of his letters
he has drawn a very unpleasing picture, and retired into
the family of Richard, archbishop of Canterbury, who had
made him his chancellor about the year 1176. In this
station he continued until the death of the archbishop in
1183, enjoying the highest degree of favour with that pre¬
late, though he used much freedom in reproving him for
his remissness in the government of the church. He con¬
tinued in the same station in the family of Archbishop
Baldwin, who succeeded Richard, acting both as his secre¬
tary and as his chancellor. In 1187, he was also sent by
the latter prelate upon an embassy to Rome, to plead his
cause before Urban III. in the famous controversy between
him and the monks of Canterbury respecting the church of
Hackington. After the departure of his friend and patron
Baldwin for the Holy Land in the year 1190, our author
was in his old age involved in various troubles, the causes
1 Campbell’s Ecel. Hist. lect. v. and xii. Barrow’s Treatise, ut sup. Works, vol. yn-P- ^c'
3 Horne’s Introduction, vol. iv. p. 434, ff.; Sherlock’s Dissertation on the Second Epistle of Peter.
PET
ter. of which are not distinctly known ; and he died about the
V—'end of the twelfth century. He appears from his works,
which may be justly reckoned amongst the most valuable
monuments of the age in which he flourished, to have been
a man of great integrity and sincere piety, as well as of a
lively, inventive genius, and uncommon erudition. His
printed works consist of a hundred and thirty-four letters,
which he collected together at the desire of Henry II.;
of sixty-five sermons, delivered on various occasions; and
of seventeen tracts on different subjects.
Peter I, czar or tsar, and afterwards emperor, of Rus¬
sia, was the founder of the Russian empire. That country
was indeed well known, and of great antiquity; but it had no
extent of power, of political influence, or of general com¬
merce in Europe, until the time of Peter. He was born in
1672, and proclaimed czar when only ten years of age, in
exclusion of John his eldest brother, who, being of a sickly
constitution, was at the same time equally deficient in un¬
derstanding. The Princess Sophia, his sister by the half-
blood, raised an insurrection in favour of John ; but, to put
an end to the civil war, it was at last agreed that the two
brothers should jointly share the imperial dignity. Peter
had been very ill brought up, not only through the general
defects of education in Russia, but likewise through the
arts of the Princess Sophia, who surrounded him with every
thing calculated to stifle his natural desire of knowledge
and to deprave his mind. But notwithstanding this, his
inclination for military exercises discovered itself in his
tenderest years. He formed a company of fifty men,
commanded by foreign officers, and clothed and exercised
after the German manner. He himself entered into the
lowest post, that of a drummer, and never rose otherwise
than as a soldier of fortune. His design in this was to
teach his nobility, that merit, and not birth, formed the
only solid title to military employments. He reinforced
his company with several others, until at last he had got
together a considerable body of soldiers. As he had then
no war on his hands, he exercised them in all sorts of
mock engagements, and by this means secured to himself
a body of well-disciplined troops. The sight of a Dutch
vessel, which he had met with upon a lake belonging to one
of his pleasure-houses, made such an impression on his
mind, that he conceived the almost impracticable design
of forming a navy. His first care wtis to get some Hol¬
landers to build small vessels at Moscow; and he passed
two successive summers on board of English or Dutch
ships, which sailed out from Archangel, that he might in¬
struct himself in every branch of nautical affairs. In the
year 1696, the Czar John died, and Peter now became
sole master of the empire. In 1698 he sent an embassy
to Holland, and having gone incognito in the retinue, he
visited England as well as Holland, to inform himself fully
respecting the art of ship-building. At Amsterdam he
worked in the yard as a private ship-carpenter, under the
name of Peter Michaelof; but he has been often heard to
say, that if he had never gone to England, he would still
have remained ignorant of the art of ship-building. In 1700
he had got together a body of regular troops, amounting
to thirty thousand infantry ; and now the vast project he
had formed displayed itself in all its parts. He opened
his dominions, which till then had been closed, having first
sent the principal nobility of his empire into foreign coun¬
tries to improve themselves in knowledge and in learn¬
ing. He invited to Russia all the foreigners he could
meet with, who were capable of instructing his subjects in
any respect, and offered them great encouragement to
settle in his dominions. This raised many discontents ;
and the despotical authority which he exerted on all such
occasions was scarcely sufficient to suppress them. In
1/00, being strengthened by the alliance of Augustus king
of Poland, he made war on Charles XII. king of Sweden.
VOL. xvxi.
PET 313
His ill success at first did not discourage him ; for he used Beter.
to say, “ I know that my armies must be overcome for a
great while; but even this will at last teach them to con¬
quer.” He afterwards gained considerable advantages,
and founded St Petersburg in 1703. In 1709 he gained
a complete victory over the Swedes at Pultowa. In 1712
he was surrounded by the Turks on the banks of the Pruth,
and seemed inevitably lost, had not the Czarina Catherine
bribed the grand vizier, and the czar’s prudence complet¬
ed his deliverance. In 1716 he made a tour through Ger¬
many and Holland, and visited the Royal Academy of
Sciences at Paris. It would be endless to enumerate all
the various establishments for which the Russians are in¬
debted to him. He formed an army according to the tac¬
tics of the most experienced nations; he fitted out fleets
in all the four seas which border upon Russia; he caused
many strong fortresses to be raised according to the best
plans, and made convenient harbours; he introduced arts
and sciences into his dominions, and freed religion from
many superstitious abuses; he made laws, built cities, cut
canals, and executed many other wmrks ; he was generous
in rewarding, and impartial in punishing; faithful, labo¬
rious, and humble, yet not free from a certain roughness of
temper natural to his countrymen. He had indeed cured
himself of excess in drinking; but he has been branded
with several other vices, particularly cruelty. He pub¬
lished the unfortunate history of his son Prince Alexis, to¬
wards whom some blame his severity, whilst others think
it no greater than was absolutely necessary. He perlect-
ly knew the respect due to persons of merit; and not only-
heaped honours upon them during their life, but paid to
their memory marks of esteem after their death. He
died of the strangury in 1725, and is said to have left the
world with the magnanimity of a hero and the piety of a
Christian.
Peter the Wild Boy. This extraordinary creature at
one time occasioned a great deal of speculation amongst
the learned ; but we do not know that any satisfactory
causes have been assigned for the striking difference ob¬
served between him and other human beings.
The following account of him is extracted from the
parish register of North Church, in the county of Hert¬
ford. “ Peter, commonly known by the name of Peter
the Wild Boy, lies buried in this church-yard, opposite to
the porch. In the year 1725 he was found in the woods
near Hamelen, a fortified town in the electorate of Ha¬
nover, when his majesty George I. with his attendants,
was hunting in the forest of Hertswold. He was sup¬
posed to be then about twelve years of age, and had sub¬
sisted in those woods upon the bark of trees, leaves, berries,
&c. for some considerable length of time. How long he
had continued in that wild state is altogether uncertain;
but that he had formerly been under the care of some
person, was evident from the remains of a shirt collar
about his neck at the time when he was found. As Ha¬
melen was a town where criminals were confined to work
upon the fortifications, it was then conjectured at Hanover
that Peter might be the issue of one of those criminals,
who had either wandered into the woods and could not
find his way back again, or, being discovered to be an idiot,
was inhumanly turned out by his parents, and left to perish,
or shift for himself. In the following year, 1726, he was
brought over to England, by the order of Queen Caroline,
then Princess of Wales, and put under the care of Dr Ar-
buthnot, with proper masters to attend him. But notwith¬
standing there appeared to be no natural defect in his
organs of speech, after all the pains that had been taken
with him he could never be brought distinctly to articu¬
late a single syllable, and proved totally incapable of re¬
ceiving any instruction. He was afterwards intrusted to
the care of Mrs Titchbourn, one of the queen’s bedchamber
2 R
314
Peter’s
Pence
Peter¬
borough.
PET
women, with a handsome pension annexed to the charge.
Mrs Titchbourn usually spending a few weeks every sum¬
mer at the house of Mr James Fenn, a yeoman farmer at
Axter’s End, in this parish, Peter was left to the care of
the said Mr Fenn, who was allowed thirty-five pounds a
year for his support and maintenance. After the death o
James Fenn he was transferred to the care of his bro¬
ther Thomas Fenn, at another farm-house in this parish,
called Broadway, where he lived with the several successive
tenants of that farm, and with the same provision allowed
by government, to the time of his death, 22d of February
1785, when he was supposed to be about seventy-two
years of age.’’
Peters Pence, the name applied to an annual tribute
of one penny, paid at Rome by every family at the fes¬
tival of St Peter. Ina the Saxon king, when he vyent in
pilgrimage to Rome about the year 740, paid this con¬
tribution to the pope, partly as alms and partly in recom¬
pense of a house erected in Rome for English pilgrims ;
and the same continued to be paid generally until the time
of Henry VIII., when it was enacted, that henceforth no
person should pay any pensions, Peter’s pence, or other
impositions, for the use of the bishop or see of Rome.
PETERBOROUGH, one of the smallest English cities,
situated in a corner of the county of Northampton, on the
confines of Huntingdonshire, seventy-nine miles from Lon¬
don. The city is by the new municipal law governed by
a mayor, with four aldermen and twelve councillors, and
returns to parliament two members, who are chosen by
householders, most of whose dwellings are the property of
the Earl Fitzwilliam, who consequently has a preponderat¬
ing influence in the elections. The buildings are mode¬
rately handsome. There is a well-supplied market, which
is held on each Saturday ; but though provisions are cheap,
it is not populous, and, from the vicinity to the fens, is
generally deemed unhealthy. The population amounted
in 1801 to 3449, in 1811 to 3674, in 1821 to 4598, and
in 1831 to 5553.
The most interesting object in the city is the ancient
abbey, converted into a cathedral at the time when this
place was created the see of a bishop by King Henry VIII.
This ancient edifice was spared at the general destruction
of the religious buildings, because, as is commonly believ¬
ed, it had been the place of interment of Catherine of
Aragon. It was at the time of the suppression a very rich
establishment, and only a small portion of the revenues
was applied to form the chapter, which, besides the bishop,
consisted of a dean, six prebendaries, a divinity reader,
eight minor canons, and the same number of lay clerks
and singing men. The present edifice was begun in the
year 1117, but not finished till the year 1143. It had
some additions made to it in the year 1177. Between the
years 1200 and 1222 it was improved by the addition of
glass windows. After the Reformation, it suffered much
from the democratic party ; but, in its present state, it ex¬
hibits some fine specimens of the architecture of remote
ages. This church has one advantage over most of the
other cathedrals, that it is less encumbered with surround¬
ing buildings. The precincts are entered from the town
under a Gothic archway, when the most imposing part of
the building is at once displayed to the view; we mean
the west front, to which there is nothing in Gothic archi¬
tecture in England that will bear a comparison, except
the west front of Wells Cathedral, and that of Rheims in
France, both of which, though equal in extent, are far in¬
ferior to it in form, proportions, and general effect. There
is a solemnity in the effect which it produces, observable
in no other cathedral, and which is not unmixed with awe.
There are other parts of this edifice much admired, such
as the beautiful building which surrounds the choir, the
central tower or lanthorn, the ceiling of the nave, the
PET
organ-screen, and the cloisters. The whole of this edi- Pet
fice has been beautified, improved, and ornamented, by het
the liberality of Dr Monk, now bishop of Gloucester. H
The dimensions of the cathedral are as follow: The
breadth of the western facade is a hundred and fifty-six
feet; the length of the nave from the western wall to the
entrance of the choir is two hundred and six feet, the
breadth of it being thirty-five feet; the length of the tran¬
sept is a hundred and eighty-four feet; and the length
of the choir, from the entrance to the eastern extremity,
is a hundred and twenty-eight feet. The total external
length of the cathedral is four hundred and seventy-nine
feet; the general height, from the pavement to the ceil¬
ing, is eighty-one feet, and to the top of the lanthorn a
hundred and thirty-five feet.
The income of the bishopric is not large. In the kings
books it is charged at L.4141. 7s. 8d. per annum ; but the
gross value, according to the parliamentary leturn made
by the bishop, is no more than L.3518. By the recent
law it is to be augmented by the application of a portion
of the revenue of the see of Ely ; and, by the same law, the
archdeaconry of Leicester is placed under the episcopal
jurisdiction of the bishop of Peterborough.
PETERHEAD, a parish of Scotland, situated on the
east coast, in latitude 57. 34. N. and longitude 1. 35. W. in
the district of Buchan, and county of Aberdeen. It ex¬
tends along the coast in a straight line about four miles,
bending along the sea-shore about five miles; and from east
to west it extends from three to four miles. The surface
is nearly level along the coast. The Stirlinghill and Black-
hill, containing extensive quarries of granite, are on the
southern and western boundaries. T.he surface of the pa¬
rish extends to upwards of 9000 imperial acres, of which
about 8300 are under cultivation, 72 are planted, 500 are
capable of cultivation, and the remainder is chiefly rocky.
Extensive improvements in the cultivation of the soil have
been made within the last thirty years. The rental of the
landward part of the parish is about L.10,000. I he po¬
pulation amounts to 7867.
Peterhead, a burgh in the parish of the same name, in
the county of Aberdeen, is situated upon the most easterly
point of the mainland of Scotland. Previously to 1593 it
was a small fishing village. In that year it was erected
into a burgh of barony by George, earl marischal. It was
forfeited in 1715, and purchased by the York Building
Company, from whom the present proprietors, the governors
of the Maiden Hospital founded by the company of mer-
chants of the city of Edinburgh, and Mary Erskine, acquired
it by purchase in 1728. The superiors had the nomination
of the magistrates until the passing of the burgh reform act
in 1832, by which the municipal government has been vest¬
ed in twelve councillors, who from their own number choose
a provost, three bailies, and a treasurer. The town con¬
tains about 1000 inhabited houses, besides warehouses, and
the rental is about L.7500. The boundaries of the town
have been considerably enlarged under the burgh reform
act, and now embrace the village of i3uchanhaven, and part
of the lands of Invernettie. .
The harbours of Peterhead are extensive; and, from their
peculiar position at the termination of the most easterly
promontory of land in Scotland, having an entrance both
from the south and north, and being about equally distant
from the Friths of Forth and Moray, much resorted to by
vessels frequenting the east coast of Scotland, and afford¬
ing, as they do, shelter and protection, not only to the trade
of the port, but also to shipping in general frequenting the
east coast of Scotland, they deserve attention in a national
point of view. About L.47,(X)0 have been expended m
building these harbours. They are managed by commis¬
sioners incorporated by act of parliament, and yield an an¬
nual revenue of about L.2800. 1 he south harbour em-
PET
PET
315
er. braces an area of 6*16 imperial acres, having from twelve
d- to fourteen feet water at medium springs, and from eight to
ten feet at neap-tides. The north harbour, which has an
area of ICfSd imperial acres, has at spring-tides eighteen
feet water, and never under fourteen feet on any tide. The
quays extend to about 3350 feet in length. Connected
with the harbours there is an excellent graving-dock. The
shipping belonging to the port amount to about 13,000
tons. The number of vessels which annually take shelter
in the harbours may be stated on an average at 240. The
leading articles of export are grain, meal, eggs, butter, cat¬
tle, fish, and the produce of the fisheries. The imports are
groceries, clothiery, flour, salt, iron, timber, coal, lime, bone
manure, &c. An extensive trade to Greenland and Davis’
Straits has been carried on from Peterhead with various
success since the year 1788. During that time 3020
whales have been caught, which have yielded 30,296 tons
of oil. The herring fishery has of late been carried on
with great success. In 1837, 262 boats were employed in
this fishery, and upwards of 40,000 barrels of herrings were
caught. It is supposed that Peterhead, being situated far¬
ther east than any other land in Scotland, must at all times
be one of the best stations for carrying on the herring
fishery, as, if the herrings pass along the coast, they must
pass near to this headland, and as the tides are strong,
only the best fish can make head against them ; and, in
fact, it has been found that those caught at Peterhead are
of superior quality. The lighthouse, which stands on the
Buchan-ness, at the extremity of the south bay, is of the
utmost importance, both as regards the interests of the
general trade of the port, and the prosecution of the her¬
ring-fishery. A considerable trade is occasionally carried
on in granite from the quarries in the neighbourhood.
The stone, which is generally of the red granite, and of ex¬
cellent quality, may be raised in large blocks. The pillars
in the British Museum, the docks at Sheerness, the pillar
erected in London to the memory of the late Duke of
York, and many other public works, have been built of
granite from Peterhead.
In former times Peterhead was much resorted to as a
watering-place ; and as it certainly possesses many advan¬
tages to the invalid who requires sea-bathing and the tonic
effects of the mineral waters, it held a high rank amongst
the places of summer retreat for upwards of two centuries.
Perhaps no place in the island is more suitable for those
whose cases require the bracing effects of sea-bathing or
sea-air; the former, from the rapidity of the tides and the
absence of rivers, being to be enjoyed in the greatest pos¬
sible perfection; and the latter, from the almost insular situ¬
ation of the place, and the total absence of all muddy or
marshy exhalations, or other sources of contamination, af¬
fording all the advantages without the inconvenience of a
sea-voyage. In many cases much benefit may also be de¬
rived from the use of the chalybeate waters with which the
neighbourhood abounds. But perhaps the renovated health
and spirits which are in most cases the result of a season
at Peterhead are mainly to be attributed to the air and bath-
ing, together with the regular hours and habits which such
a residence naturally inculcates.
The town is plentifully supplied with excellent spring-
water, which within the last few years has been brought at
a great expense for the use of the inhabitants and the ship¬
ping; and it is now lighted with gas. There are no manu¬
factures of woollen or cotton goods in Peterhead, although,
from its situation, there is every reason to believe that such
manufactures might be carried on with advantage.
The places of worship are, the original parish church? the
East parish church or chapel of ease, the Episcopal chapel,
and the United Session, Congregational, and Methodist
meeting-houses. In the town there is a news-room, and
also a reading society, who have a large and valuable lib¬
rary ; and there have lately been established an associa¬
tion for the promotion of science, literature, &c. and a me¬
chanics’ institution. There is a weekly market, which is
held on Friday; and there are two annual fairs, viz. on the
third Tuesday in May and the second Tuesday in Novem¬
ber, both old style.
Of late years the town has very much increased, both in
inhabitants and in trade and shipping. The inhabitants
are intelligent and industrious, and therefore there is rea¬
son to anticipate the future extension and prosperity of the
burgh. The population of the town in 1838 amounted to
6200. The number of qualified electors was 211.
PETERSBURG, St, a city, in the most northern situa¬
tion of any large place in the globe, its observatory being in
latitude 59. 56. 13. N., and in longitude 30. 17. 33. E. It
was almost from its origin the second, and has of late become
the first city of the Russian empire; its population having
in the course of the last few years exceeded that of Moscow
by more than 100,000 inhabitants, being at the close of
1836, including the military, 499,000.
The origin of most of the other European capitals dates
from a period so remote that the date of their foundation is
a matter of doubt and a subject of controversy ; but St Pe¬
tersburg is a comparatively modern city, having been raised
to consideration almost instantaneously, and in little more
than a century having attained its present extent. It is si¬
tuated in what formed a part of the Swedish province of
Ingria, or Ingemannland, till, in consequence of the victory
of Embach in January 1702, gained by the Russians over
the Swedes, and the peace which followed it, the territory
was obtained by the former, then under the sway of the
Czar, afterwards the Emperor Peter, better known by the
distinguishing title of Peter the Great.
Peter, soon after his accession to power, had felt the im¬
portance of communication with foreign lands as the means
of introducing civilization amongst the rude and barbarous
people over whom he ruled, and consequently began to
direct his attention to maritime affairs. As early as 1693,
Archangel wras his chief northern port; but he soon after¬
wards looked towards the southern part of his dominions,
and constructed an arsenal on the river Don, at Woronesh,
where he built a sufficient number of armed vessels to se-
Peters-
burg.
cure to himself a superiority on that river, and the safe ac¬
cess to the Sea of Asof, which was accomplished by the year
1696. He had become so attached to affairs of a maritime
nature, that the year after, in order to qualify himself to
conduct them properly, he resolved to visit the western
shores of Europe, and, as a real workman, to become fa¬
miliar with the whole process of building, equipping, arm¬
ing, and fighting a fleet of ships of war.
He spent much time in Holland working in the ship-yards,
and some time in the dock-yard at Deptford, whence he
frequently, in his working dress, visited King William at
Windsor, and once went to Oxford, where a doctor’s degree
was conferred upon him. During his residence in Eng¬
land and Holland he engaged to repair with him to Russia
more than five hundred persons, consisting of military and
naval officers, engineers, surgeons, and artificers of various
kinds. He was recalled home by an insurrection, which
was soon suppressed, and the participators in which were
dreadfully punished. A war then broke out with Sweden,
in which he was at first unsuccessful, until his army had
learned of their enemies to conquer them. The result of
that war was the possession of that spot of Finland where
the river Neva runs from the Lake of Ladoga into the Bal¬
tic Sea.
When Peter had thus gained the district, his first inten¬
tion was merely to erect a strong fortress, the foundation of
which was laid on the 27th of May 1703, and more than
20,000 men were collected at the spot to execute the work.
Whilst this work was proceeding, a thought struck Peter that
316
PETERSBURG.
Peters¬
burg.
this would be the most appropriate spot for the erection of a
northern capital, from which a maritime intercourse might
be maintained with the other European powers. With the
rapidity of action that usually followed his resolves, this mea¬
sure was commenced. Artificers were collected from all
parts; and abundance of working men were furnished by
the events of war, from Sweden, Livonia, and Finland. The
ground for houses was given to those who built them ; and
many of the nobility were induced, if not compelled, to erect
mansions, by which employment was given to those who
possessed nothing but their labour. Within two years from
the commencement of the city, those parts of the city now
called the Admiralty quarter and the Peter’s Island quarter
were covered with splendid dwellings, where, before, there
had stood only two fishermen’s huts. The trade was slow
in reaching the new city. In the year 1714, it had been
visited by sixteen foreign ships. In 1730 the number was
180; and since that time the increase has been gradual up
to the present day, when they are more than 1500 annually.
After the year 1714 the city was declared to be the seat of
government, the emperor also making it his residence, upon
which splendid buildings were erected for the various public
offices. Since that period there has been an increase both
of inhabitants and edifices; but the most rapid advance has
been from the year 1816 to the year 1836.
Had Peter been in possession of Livonia at that time, it is
probable he would have selected Riga for his northern capi¬
tal, rather than the spot on which St Petersburg now stands,
as it enjoys a climate in some degree more temperate, and has
an easier access to its harbour, as well as a more secure and
capacious bay without it. St Petersburg, in fact, has no har¬
bour ; but its sea-port is the city of Cronstadt, which is the
chief station of the imperial navy and of the merchant-ships.
It is built on the Kotlen Island, which is about six miles in
length, and is composed almost entirely of sand, except a
ridge of granite, which runs through the centre of it. Cron¬
stadt city, on the south-eastern part of the island, has about
50,000 inhabitants. It is fortified both towards the land and
towards the sea, and has two havens for ships of war and one
for trading vessels. The principal men-of-war’s port has
sufficient space for thirty sail of the line, but not sufficient
depth of water for such a number, and some are obliged to
remain in the middle port. The merchant’s haven is closed
by a boom, and defended by a battery on each jetty-head. A
canal, twenty-five feet in depth and fifty-two feet in width,
begun by Peter the Great, and completed by the Empress
Elizabeth in 1752, leads to the dry docks, which are 150
fathoms in length. When the docks are filled, as there is
no flux and reflux of the tide, they can only be emptied by
pumps worked by steam-engines; an operation which it re¬
quires eight or nine days to perform. It is about twenty miles
from Cronstadt to St Petersburg by water. The channel is
contracted by shoals in the narrowest part to about half a
mile. In some parts the water is only from six to seven feet
in depth, except when strong westerly winds raise it a foot
more. The goods from and to the merchant-ships, as well
as the warlike stores for the arsenal, are conveyed by light¬
ers ; and of late steam-tugs have been introduced, to facili¬
tate the passages of these lighters. The whole banks are
powerfully protected by batteries and by Cronstadt Castle.
The city of St Petersburg was originally founded on portions
of land either pure sand-banks or marshes, through which
the river Neva, from the Lake of Ladoga, forces its way
with a most tortuous course, forming islands in the way to
its several mouths. These islands are now component parts
of the city, being for the most part covered with buildings,
connected by bridges over the branches of the stream that
divide the city and the numerous canals, which in various
directions intersect almost the whole surface. The most
extensive part of the city, that in which the admiralty stands,
is nearly a peninsula, enclosed in a bend of the stream called
the Great Neva. The abundance of internal water com¬
munication is to St Petersburg, as to the other aquatic cities,
Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Hamburg, and Venice, a great be¬
nefit to commercial operations, as the lighters can be loaded
or discharged directly from or into the storehouses of the
merchants.
The bridges across the streams and the canals, with the
exception of one of iron over the Moika, are constructed
of barges built on purpose, moored with cables and anchors
at each end, and covered over with planks, to enable car¬
riages to pass. At the commencement of winter, when the
Neva begins to freeze, lumps of ice are first seen floating;
and when these appear the bridges are immediately taken
to pieces. During one or two days the pieces of ice drift
with the stream, and the river is crossed in boats; but
the increase of the ice is so rapid, that it is not unusual to
see, within the space of two hours, the river covered with
boats, and people walking on the ice. In the spring, the
breaking up of the ice generally occurs suddenly, and it
floats in large masses down the stream. When the river is
clear, the circumstance is made known by the firing of cannon
and by other public demonstrations, and is usually accom¬
panied with joyous festivals. A traveller who visited this city
in 1806 relates, that on the 8th of November the river was
covered with floating ice. On the same day the bridges of
boats, their anchors being drawn up, were swung round to the
two opposite shores, and remained there till the thaw took
place, on the 11th of May. In two days the river was com¬
pletely thawed, although, just before, men, women, horses,
and carriages, had been passing over it upon ice five feet in
thickness, and a week before they had held a fair, and raced
in sledges. The sudden breaking up of the frost is one of
those physical evils from which St Petersburg is peculiarly
liable to suffer, and has suffered at various periods, but
most severely in the year 1824. When the water from the
Lake of Ladoga is impeded by the masses of ice in the Ne¬
va, an inundation of a most extensive nature is occasioned,
and visits the inhabitants of St Petersburg, especially those
of the lower classes, with most terrible sufferings.
The means of maintaining intercourse by sea with the
rest of the world having been noticed, it becomes natural
to turn our attention to the foreign trade actually carried
on at St Petersburg. Its position, in spite of the severity
of the climate, and the long duration of the winter, is fa¬
vourable for the transmission thither of the native products
from the greater portion of the surface of that vast empire.
Rivers of great length empty themselves into the lake of
Ladoga, an inland sea more than one hundred miles in
length and sixty in breadth. These rivers are at great
distances from the metropolis, connected, by means ol arti¬
ficial canals, with other streams running in different direc¬
tions. Thus, the products of the southern provinces may
be exported either from the Baltic or the Black Sea ports,
as the markets may be more beneficial, or the means of in¬
ternal conveyance may be more or less costly. On the
rivers and canals here alluded to, the heavy goods are con¬
veyed by water while these continue open; whilst, on the
other hand, during the long frosts, when the whole surface
is buried in deep snow, they become, when once settled or
beaten down, excellent roads, on which the heaviest com¬
modities can be conveyed by sledges at a less cost than
by water. In fact, the frozen roads, rivers, and canals,
have an effect on Russian interchange of products similar
to what may be experienced in this country when the nu¬
merous railroads now projected shall be carried into exe¬
cution.
It is from these facilities of internal intercourse that a
city so large as St Petersburg, in a district of little fertility,
and in a climate which closes its port during nearly half the
year, is not only abundantly and cheaply supplied with all
the necessaries of life for its own consumption, but has be-
Pei
bis
PETERSBURG.
l| rs- come the emporium of the foreign commerce of the empire,
?• as regards both its exports and its imports.
'w It appears by the returns from the Russian custom-house,
that the commerce of St Petersburg, with its-dependent
port of Cronstadt, in the two years 1830 and 1831, employed
rather more than double the number of vessels required for
all the other commerce of the empire; but the amount of
duty collected there was about four times as great as that at
all the other ports.
As our limits do not allow of inserting the tables neces¬
sary to show the rate of increase of the foreign trade of St
Petersburg, we must confine ourselves to the exhibition of
it at the latest period for which accurate documents are ac¬
cessible.
Statement of the Trade of St Petersburg for 1834.
Articles Imported.
Gold and silver..,
Cotton twist 
Raw cotton 
Coffee 
Raw sugar 
Spices 
Silk goods 
Woollen ditto 
Cotton ditto 
Linen ditto 
Wine in casks....
Ditto in bottles...
Spirits 
Drugs 
Sundries 
Quantities.
Poods.' lbs.
462,970
104,431
98,592
1,373,712
18,872
2,190
9,933
9,586
679
96,021
446,262
8,130
2
24
37
3
2
16
14
24
15
0
0
0
Value.
Roubles* Copecks
7,107,405 30
39,242,522
3,147,978
4,755,487
31,051,498
650,620
5,780,682
6,040,239
3,601,232
584,452
5,441,931
2,584,859
994,939
1,258,863
58,875,191
58
68
62
76
80
50
35
0
75
0
15
0
11
49
171,117,904 92
Exports of St Petersburg in 1834.
Description of Goods.
Quantity,
Hemp  
Flax 
Potash 
Tallow 
Tallow candles.
Raw hides 
Dressed hides...
Iron. 
Copper 
Bristles 
Cordage 
Linen (pieces)..
Corn (chests)...
Sundries 
Poods.
1,894,767
263,451
367,771
3,721,238
19,138
224,753
42,610
505,302
293,128
43,357
199,598
187,312
1,117
Value,
Roubles.
14,945,942
2,445,008
2,267,657
43,843,095
238,708
4,785,547
1,786,291
3,120,299
11,623,925
4,300,969
1,227,124
7,427,050
3,969
21,434,225
119,449,808
Or, in sterling money, L.4,777,992.
Although by these accounts the excess of imports much
exceeds that of exports, yet, as the reverse is the case at
t ie neighbouring port of Riga, the balance is nearly equa¬
lized in the whole trade of the Baltic.
The following is a summary of a report made by the
Russian minister of finance, on the exports of St Peters-
Countries to which
belonging.
Russian 
British 
Swedish 
Prussian 
Danish 
Dutch 
Hanseatic. 
German  
French 
Spanish 
Portuguese....
Italian 
Austrian 
Ionian Islands,
Indian 
Egyptian 
African 
Brazilian... 
American 
Canary Islands
1829.
Ships. Tonnage.
16
773
78
60
63
103
132
31
129
11
7
31
3
1
41
1
1
19
10
0
2,760
16f>,348
6,632
6,220
7,058
13,160
17,330
2,358
18,520
1,520
900
5,054
580
128
11,454
166
204
438
2,824
0
Ships. Tonnage. Ships. Tonnage.
16
701
79
61
55
122
132
25
129
6
9
21
2
0
39
0
3
11
12
0
2,742
144,320
6,346
6,746
6,804
13,184
17,446
1,858
18,964
716
992
3,404
318
0
10,612
0
484
2,396
3,256
0
1,510 267,054 1,423 240,588 1,598 290,990
22
946
64
52
73
122
128
28
63
11
10
25
2
0
34
0
2
0
13
4
3,496
197,674
6,172
7,044
9,326
14,356
20,460
2,552
9,124
2,002
1,260
3,748
284
0
9,082
0
346
0
3,570
490
It thus appears, that of the trade of St Petersburg in
the three years here exhibited, whilst the whole tonnage
amounted to 798,632 tons, that of Great Britain alone was
507,34)2 tons, or somewhat more than five eighths of the
whole.
In connection with trade, it may be proper to notice the
singular and semi-barbarous regulations under which the
mercantile community are placed. They are divided into
three classes, which are called guilds. The merchants of
the first guild have very extensive privileges. They may
import or export any quantity or quality of goods permitted
in the tariff, and sell or buy bills of exchange ; in fact, they
have the same privileges as the most favoured mercantile
community in any part of Europe ; and, in common with the
nobility, they may have four horses to their carriage, and
may possess country-seats and houses in town. Those of
the second guild may transact all kinds of wholesale inland
business, but they have no right to export or import on their
own account, neither are they allowed to sell any bills of
exchange, although they are not debarred the privilege of
purchasing them. They can only use two horses in their
317
burg during the year 1837. Copper, 6,078,060 lbs.; iron,
26,448,960 lbs.; raw hemp, 79,579,440 lbs.; spun hemp,
2,205,120 lbs.; cordage, 13,624,080 lbs.; oil of hemp-
seed, 10,268,600 lbs.; bacon, 153,662,200 lbs.; tallow
candles, 500,760 lbs.; soap, 60,799 lbs.; caviare, 76,080
lbs.; wool for mattresses, 1,211,360 lbs.; hogs’ bristles,
1,945,680 lbs.; horse-hair, 572,720 lbs.; feathers, 896,200
lbs.; down, 51,480 lbs.; eider-down, 128,040 lbs.; ani¬
seed, 75,160 lbs.; antimony, 341,040 lbs.; dressed skins,
14,374 pieces ; undressed skins, 56,492 pieces; mattresses,
183,368 ; sail-cloth, 49,634 pieces ; sack-cloth, 183,314
pieces ; military cloth, 58,275 pieces; Flemish cloth, 68,172
pieces; cloth for towels, 7,540,394 ells; woollen cloth,
called kalamaika, 1,582,024 ells ; cotton cloth, called hra-
catscha, 13,491,260 ells; linseed, 3,632,212 bushels; rye
and oats, 962,598 bushels; timber and planks, 2,786,104
pieces. This merchandize has been exported in 1248 ves¬
sels, the greater number of which belong to Russia, Eng¬
land, and the United States of America.
An Account of the Number and Tonnage of Vessels which
entered the Port of Cronstadt in three years, ending with
1831, distinguishing the Countries to which they belonged.
1 The pood is a Russian weight of thirty-six pounds avoirdupois.
Or L.6,634,748, the rouble being valued at the twenty-fifth part of a pound sterling.
318
PETERSBURG.
Peters¬
burg.
carriages; and although they may possess houses in town,
they must not be owners of country-seats. I he third guild
^ is composed of all descriptions of shopkeepers and retail-
dealers, who are obliged to purchase their supply of stock
from merchants of the two other guilds. All craftsmen be¬
long to this class. There are instances in which craftsmen
carrying on business on an extensive scale have been al¬
lowed to set up their carriage, and purchase property where¬
in to transact their business ; but the mercantile members
of the third guild are entirely excluded from this privilege,
it being considered that they never lay in so large a stock
as to require so extensive premises. They may only keep a
horse and cart or sledge. Foreigners who wish to trans¬
act business may reside here as strangers, but they are ob¬
liged to take a license as merchants of the first guild, in
which case they have the same privileges as the most fa¬
voured of that class, excepting only the right of holding real
estates. There are some of the shopkeepers, and amongst
them men of very large fortunes, who are not freemen, but
pay a yearly tax to their masters for the liberty of residing
out of his estates. The possession of their fortunes is very
precarious, it being at the option of their lords to cancel the
permission of absence.
As St Petersburg is the great conduit through which the
supply of the wants of almost the whole of Russia, with its
population of more than fifty millions of inhabitants, is trans¬
mitted, we must take notice of the internal means of col¬
lection and distribution which the city enjoys. It appears
that in a series of years there arrive annually about 12,000
vessels from the interior, loaded with goods. These are de¬
nominated barges, galliots, or boats; besides which there
are about 5000'floats or rafts of wood for fuel, for building
ships, or for constructing houses. The value of the goods
thus brought has been estimated at about 125,000,000 of
roubles, or L.5,000,000 sterling. The number of this craft
that is despatched with cargoes does not much exceed one
tenth of those that arrive ; but as they are of the best de¬
scription, the value of the goods they convey back is cal¬
culated to amount to near L. 1,000,000 sterling.
It may be seen by the former accounts of exports, that the
whole annual amount nearly equals that which is here shown
to arrive from the interior, and that these exports are chiefly
composed of raw materials. It is obvious, then, that the ma¬
nufactures which the city furnishes to foreign commerce must
be of very inconsiderable amount. In fact, it will be seen,
by the short notices given in the sequel, that they are chiefly
calculated for home consumption, or to be presented to in¬
dividuals, as marks of the emperor’s esteem. The manufac¬
tories of china, and especially of glass, are the most distin¬
guished. Of these there are six or eight large establishments
in the city and within a few miles of it.
In the imperial glass manufactory mirrors are cast of
larger dimensions than any which have issued from the fa¬
brics of the same kind at St Ildefonso, Paris, or London.
The largest was presented to Prince Potemkin, and mea¬
sured sixteen feet two inches in height, and eight feet four
inches in breadth. Another of the same dimensions was
made for the Duke of Wellington ; and some of less size
have been presented to other distinguished personages at
home and abroad. The cut glass made here is remarkable
for elegant designs, and the peculiar purposes for which these
are contrived. The crystal bed designed as a present to
the shall of Persia may be mentioned as an instance.
The porcelain manufactory employs more than a thou¬
sand persons. The paintings on the china are chiefly exe¬
cuted by foundlings trained to the employment. The gild-
ino- is said to be superior to that executed at Sevre or Dres-
den. The fabric is chiefly devoted to making objects of
taste and luxury, and yields but little advantage in a com¬
mercial view.
The iron-founderies are upon a large scale; and there are,
A Statement of the Population of St Petersburg, distinguish¬
ing the Classes and Sexes, in September 1832.
Classes.
Males.
Females.
Clergy 
Nobles 
Merchants.
Burghers..
Foreigners.
Military....
Artisans...
Servants...
Peasants...
Various....
1,034
24,342
7,121
25,914
9,160
45,324
7,020
68,480
116,974
33,877
339,246
740
18,426
4,319
14,789
5,502
9,883
4,065
34,457
24,752
23,814
140,747
Total.
1,774
42,768
11,440
40,703
14,662
55,207
11,085
102,937
141,726
57,691
479,993
besides, under the patronage of the government, some es- W
tablishments for making steam-engines, such as the various ' I
descriptions of machinery applicable to the spinning and^' ~
weaving of cotton, linen, and silk goods, and the manufactory
for making playing-cards, which gives employment to more
than a thousand foundlings of both sexes. One of the most
considerable establishments is about twenty miles from the
city, and serves to supply every kind of store for the fleet,
whether in the Baltic, the White Sea, or the Black Sea. Its
management is praised by Captain Jones of the royal navy,
who, speaking of it, says, “ They must watch us closely, and
have the best intelligence; for almost every nautical inven¬
tion that is considered as an improvement in our service is
made and to be seen at Kolpina.”
The facilities afforded to commerce are in St Petersburg
quite equal, as regards banks, to that of the other trading
cities of Europe. The Commercial Bank has a capital of
30,000,000 roubles, or L.1,400,000; but it also takes in mo¬
ney on interest, and lends it at a trifle higher, on good se¬
curity. The Loan Bank is of nearly the same power, and
performs similar operations. Besides, there is the Lombard
or Mont de Piete, an establishment for lending money on
jewels, plate, or goods of any kind. It has a capital of
50,000,000 of roubles, or L.2,000,000 sterling, the interest
arising from which is appropriated to the support of the great
foundling hospitals of Moscow and St Petersburg, and to
some other charitable institutions.
The following classification of the inhabitants of St Peters¬
burg in September 1832, according to a consular return,
seems properly to precede any view which can be taken of
the edifices of that city. By this authority the progressive
growth of the population is shown as ascertained at tour dif¬
ferent periods. In 1810 it amounted to 250,000, in 1820
to 350,000, in 1830 to 448,649, and in 1832, as stated be¬
low, to 479,993. The numbers given for 1810 and 1820
are deduced from calculation, but they cannot be far from
the truth ; those for the last two years were obtained by ac¬
tual numerations. The increase is not supposed to have
been at the same rapid rate between 1832 and 1837.
The great disproportion between males and females is a
peculiarity in this city. Whilst in London the females ex¬
ceed the males nearly in the proportion of seven to six, ana
in most of the other capitals the numbers of the sexes ap¬
proach to equality7, the above table shows that in St Peters¬
burg the males exceed the females almost in the proportion
of three to one. On looking to the increase before stated,
it appears the more extraordinary that it should have taken
place with so few females; and hence it may be concluded,
that the drain on the general population of the empire to
supply the mortality of this northern capital must be much
greater than in the other European countries.
The view of St Petersburg first strikes a beholder wit i
PETERSBURG.
319
more surprise than is experienced on entering any other of
the great cities. This is more impressive from the contrast
^ of the wretched-looking country which is passed through on
approaching it by land. The streets are wide, straight, and
well paved for both foot-passengers and carriages ; and some
of them long, especially two, which run diagonally from the
Admiralty to the extent of more than a mile. These streets
on both sides are filled w ith public buildings of a bold style
of architecture, many of them belonging to the several
branches of the government, or to public institutions ; num¬
bers are also occupied by the nobles and other distinguished
individuals, and thus on the whole give to St Petersburg-
some title to the appellation of “ the northern city of pa¬
laces.” It is, moreover, to a stranger, who is not aware of the
peculiar structure of society here, not a little surprising to
remark the total absence of those dark and wretched courts
and lanes, the abodes of the lowest classes, which in other
cities obtrude themselves on the notice of the traveller in
the midst of grandeur and stateliness of exterior. The
greater streets run parallel or nearly so to each other, and
are intersected at right angles by others called lines, which
have no names given to them, but a number to each. Every
house is numbered ; and, besides, the name of the occupier
must be exhibited on the outside, and is most commonly
painted on a board affixed to the wall. As the soil on which
St Petersburg is founded may be said to be marshy, most
of the houses are built on piles, as at Amsterdam, Rotter¬
dam, and Venice, the ground not being sufficiently firm to
afford a good foundation of stone without them ; but no in¬
convenience is found to arise from this circumstance, either
with regard to health or to comfort.
One of the most remarkable features of this great metro¬
polis is undoubtedly the Neva, a river which, whether we
consider its origin, its great rapidity, its depth, and the beau¬
tiful transparent-blue colour of its water, impresses the be¬
holder with delight very different from what is experienced
in looking at the Thames, the Seine, the Po, the Tiber,
the Vistula, or the Elbe. It may best be compared with
the Rhone as it rushes out of the Lake of Geneva. As be¬
fore remarked, this stream is crossed by various temporary
bridges, resting on pontoons, as are also some smaller streams
that fall into it, and contribute to form the several islands
upon which the city is built. The quays on the Neva form
objects worthy of much admiration. Most of them are built
of granite, and one of them, more than two miles in length,
is raised upon piles ten feet above the common level of
the water. Between the water and the buildings there is
a carriage-way from thirty to forty feet in breadth ; and at
certain distances are placed handsome flights of stairs, for
loading and for embarking, and for procuring water, with
seats for the accommodation of passengers. The canals are
in the summer season favourable for conveyance from one
part of the city to another; and abundance of boats are pro¬
vided, conveniently fitted up for passengers. In the winter,
these canals, as well as the streams, being frozen, make very
good roads for travelling on by means of sledges, which
move with almost incredible celerity. Carriages of various
kinds, both for winter and summer, are abundant in many
parts of the city, at cheap rates ; but they are represented
as neither elegant nor easy to the traveller.
In a city like St Petersburg, the seat of the central go¬
vernment of a country containing more than 50,000,000 of
people, and where the public offices are of a number and
extent commensurate with such a population, it would oc¬
cupy too large a space to describe each public edifice; but
e peculiar magnificence which distinguishes many of them
will not allow of their being passed over.
Before mentioning the palaces belonging to the emperor
an the imperial family, the magnificent gate at the entrance
to the city deserves to be noticed. It is built of granite, and
consists of one bold arch of a noble but simple style of ar¬
chitecture, supporting an entablature, on which are raised
vases of white marble. It was built to commemorate the
victories obtained over the French on the return of the army
which had achieved the capture of Paris. Through this arch
is seen the winter palace of the imperial family. It is a grand
and imposing structure, in a square form, three sides of which
are unencumbered with any other building. The north front,
looking on the Neva, is 720 feet in extent, one fourth of which
line, at each extremity, projects twenty-four feet from the
centre. It is composed of a basement story of the Ionic
order, surmounted by a principal and a second story of the
Corinthian order. The roof is surmounted by a light ba¬
lustrade, adorned with vases and with statues. The Corin¬
thian columns and pilasters, placed between the windows of
the principal and the second story, twenty-six of which are
single and six double, are about thirty-five feet in height.
This is considered as the finest elevation of the building.
Some critics have maintained that the style of the build¬
ing is heavy; whilst others justify it, on the ground that so
great a mass of front requires less of that airiness which
is appropriate to buildings of smaller dimensions. As a
whole, however, it is allowed to be more striking in its ap¬
pearance than any of the royal palaces in Europe, except¬
ing, perhaps, that at Madrid, which, though smaller, has a
more imposing front. In dimensions it exceeds them all, and
yields to none of them in internal decorations. The quay
between the palace and the Neva is much wider than any
other in the city. The south side of this palace looks into
a square, and the view is terminated by the Admiralty, a
structure to be noticed hereafter. The ordinary entrance is
by a large door in the centre of the west front, in which are
the apartments occupied by the reigning empress and the
imperial children. The principal entrance is on the south
side, in the centre, and is covered with a lofty portico, un¬
der which carriages drive and are sheltered from the wea¬
ther. This leads to the grand or parade staircase, a flight
of marble steps remarkable for the grandeur and magnifi¬
cence of its architecture, and for the gilding, the paintings,
and the various other decorations.
It would be an endless task to attempt a description of
the different apartments of this palace, which occupies an
area of 400,000 square feet. There are from ninety to a
hundred apartments in the first story. The most striking of
them is the great banqueting-hall, a noble apartment, 190
feet in length and 110 in height. It is incrusted with the
finest marbles, with a row of columns at each end, and the
sides are decorated with marble columns, enriched by gilding
and by mirrors of the largest size. The other grand apart¬
ments in this edifice are St George’s hall, 140 by 60 feet,
the richest and most expensively furnished of any room on
the Continent. It is used for the reception of ambassadors,
and for holding the chapter of the military order of St
George. The Salle Blanch, or Whitehall, is a similar room,
equal in dimensions, but more chastely and less expensively
decorated ; and so is the military gallery, which is 180 feet in
length. It is lighted from the top ; and, besides circles re¬
presenting wreaths of laurels descending from the ceiling,
has numerous rich and splendid candelabras, for the purpose
of illuminating the gallery. The walls are wdiolly covered with
half-length portraits of military and naval men who have
distinguished themselves. The greater part of these por¬
traits are said to be admirable likenesses, and most of them
were executed by an eminent English artist, particularly
that of the Emperor Alexander, twice as large as life, on
his white horse, which is placed in a recess, the light being
so managed as to throw on the painting additional beauty
and animation. Adjoining to this, called the Winter Pa¬
lace, are two other edifices, called the Great and Little Her¬
mitage. These parts are a continuation of the Winter Pa¬
lace on its eastern side, connected by covered galleries upon
arches which cross two streets. Beyond these there is a third
Peters-
burg.
320
PETERSBURG.
Peters¬
burg.
building, containing the theatre, joined to them by means of
another great arch over a canal which connects the river
Moika with the Neva. These three buildings present a
frontage towards the Neva of 776 feet, making, with the
continuation of the Winter Palace, a line of imperial palaces
of more than a third of an English mile in length.
The interior of these palaces is most gorgeously deco¬
rated, and contains apartments enriched with collections of
the fine arts. The rooms of painting are filled with the works
of the most celebrated artists, which are arranged conform¬
ably to the various schools, viz. the Flemish; the Italian of
the several stages, in six apartments ; the Rembrandt, with
the most valued of that master ; and the French school. In
the same apartment may be seen a collection of the best
pieces of the Dutch masters, Teniers, Gerard Dow, Vande-
velt, Vandemeer, and others. Other apartments contain pic¬
tures of the Spanish artists, amongst which are some of the
most valued pieces of Murillo, and also a great number of
Raffaelle, and the collection from Houghton in Norfolk.
Cabinets of mineralogical specimens are formed in these
parts of the buildings, besides vases of the best porcelain,
and a vast variety of engravings. It would be tiresome to
enumerate the most striking objects contained in this repo¬
sitory' of antiques, cameos, statues, bronzes, and other ar¬
ticles of vertii which adorn these hermitages, designed by
the Empress Catherine as a retreat from the parade of a
court and the bustle of public affairs. In the library col¬
lected by her in this spot there are 110,000 volumes of all
languages, amongst which only 10,000 are in Russian. The
theatre of the Hermitage is not large, and has no boxes;
the seats for the audience rise like an amphitheatre ; and
in front there are several richly decorated arm-chairs for
the members of the imperial family. The interior of this
theatre is superbly decorated; whilst its exterior, as seen
from the quay, is considered as one of the happiest efforts
of architecture. .
Few objects present more of novelty, and excite more of
surprise, than the gardens attached to these buildings. The
winter garden is a large quadrangular conservatory, planted
with laurels and orange trees, in which linnets and canary
birds are allowed to fly about at perfect liberty. The
summer garden is in the form of a parallelogram, 392 feet
in length, and entirely composed of artificial soil, raised
forty-two feet above the surrounding ground. Here, sus¬
pended as it were in the air, the visitor, to his amazement,
treads upon gravel walks, sees the green turf around him,
and finds shrubs, and even trees, growing in luxuriance.
The novelty of the whole scene, and the recollection
where it is situated, not on the ground, but on or near the
top of a palace, produces an overpowering effect, and gives
the feeling excited by other parts of the Hermitage, and
confirmed by this concluding scene, that the sight of it
alone is worth a journey to St Petersburg.
The other palaces cannot be wholly passed over, though
it may only be necessary here to notice them very shortly.
The Marble Palace, once belonging to Orlof, but now to
the crown, is remarkable for its richly gilded ornaments,
and the number of its marble columns. The Taurida Pa¬
lace, in which Potemkin gave his splendid entertainment
to the empress, and which has devolved to the crown, is
remarkable for the furniture of its splendid apartments, but
especially for its theatre, in which the front parapet of the
boxes is made of solid cut crystal, with a contrivance to ad¬
mit lights behind them, so as at night to throw a dazzling
splendour around the audience. The Palace of Nevskoi
Prospekt, on the quay called Fontanka, is remarkable for its
handsome exterior, as well as for the imperial cabinets ap¬
pertaining to it, in which the private treasure of the empe¬
ror, his state robes, and his armoury, are kept.
The Imperial Mews is remarkable for the splendour of
its architecture. The principal front and superb elevation
face a spacious square, on the opposite side of which there P< g.
is a range of buildings for the accommodation of those be- h ■.
longing to the establishment. The centre of the principal ‘ "■
front is occupied by a church for the Mews, in a Grecian
style of architecture, and on a scale commensurate with the
imposing attitude of the entire edifice. This edifice is the
work of Trombara, an Italian artist, and the exterior is in
most excellent preservation, great care being taken to keep
the whole of these stuccoed buildings in an unsoiled and de¬
licate white tint.
The triumph of modern architecture in St Petersburg
is eminently visible in the recently-erected palace, called,
from the prince who occupies it, the Palace Michaeli. It has
been constructed by an Italian architect named Rossi. It
was begun in the year 1819, and completed in 1825, at an
expense of seventeen millions of roubles, or L.680,000, in¬
cluding the furniture, which is almost wholly the work of na-
tive Russians. This magnificent structure presents a front
364 feet in length, and consists of a main body and two
projecting wings. In its interior it combines every thing
that decoration, rich and beautiful workmanship, and costly
material, conducted by consummate skill and pure taste, can
accomplish. It is especially remarkable for the suitableness
of the plan, which was designed as well for comfort as for
magnificent display ; and it would be difficult to find in St
Petersburg, or in any other capital, an instance of a resi¬
dence, every subdivision of which is equally well calculated
for its individual purpose, and yet neither interferes with
nor injures the usefulness and effect of the rest, or of any
part of the structure.
After the splendid palaces of the imperial family, the
buildings in which the affairs of the several branches of the
government of the vast country are conducted require to
be noticed. The senate-house, though not in its exterior j
very remarkable, is so from its vast extent, the prodigious
quantity of business carried on, and the corresponding num¬
ber of official persons employed in it. It is a quadrangle,
covering an area of about 14,000 square feet, or somewhat
more than one third of an acre. In one of the halls, which
serves as a conference-room, within a kind of temple made
of solid silver, the original manuscripts of the code of laws
given by the Empress Catherine are preserved, all of which .
are said to be in her own handwriting. The front of this
building faces the statue of Peter the Great, and, from its
situation, forms the north-west angle of the Square of Isaac.
Close to the senate-house, and forming the opposite side ot ^
Isaac Square, is the western wing of the Admiralty, an edi¬
fice which, in its present state, may with truth be repre¬
sented as without a parallel in any part of Europe. Its
principal front upon the land side measures more than one i
third of an English mile in length, and its depth extends,
to the edge of the water, six hundred and seventy-tw o feet,
or one eighth of a mile. The centre of the principal fa- |
qade is occupied by a large gate seventy-five feet in heig t,
being a kind of triumphal arch, surmounted by a rich Do¬
ric entablature. The principal entrance is between two |
colossal groups placed upon granite pedestals, and bearing j
celestial and terrestrial globes of huge dimensions. Over
it is a cupola, surmounted by a lantern, from which a spire
rises to the height of eighty-four feet. This spire is co¬
vered with the finest ducat gold, and, from its great eleva¬
tion, catching and reflecting the first and last rays o t e
sun, exhibits a most brilliant appearance, being visible from
every quarter of the metropolis. On either side of this gran
entrance the building projects two hundred and fifty feet,
with a rusticated basement, surmounted by a running frieze,
which contains naval trophies in bas-relief.
The interior plan of this vast building presents many por¬
tions of vast interest, which our limits compel us to pass over
slightly, or omit noticing. Amongst the most extraordinary
in the inner area of 62,300 square feet, are four slips tor
PETERSBURG.
ers- building men-of-war, in which several of from seventy-four
■■g- y to 110 guns have been constructed. This spot is surround-
' ed by most capacious warehouses, in which are deposited
every species of article necessary for the equipment of an
extensive and powerful naval armament. Besides the apart¬
ment required for officers, and for the residence of the chief
officers of the establishment, there are museums, with col¬
lections of whatever can be rendered subservient to the naval
service, and such curiosities as have been collected in distant
countries by Russian navigators. Arms of various kinds both
for sea and land service, nautical instruments and models
of machinery, models of ships and of boats, maps, charts,
and plans of fortified ports, presses for printing, rolling cop¬
per-plates, and lithography, and a most copious library of
professional books and manuscripts, are amongst the inte¬
resting exhibitions of this vast and magnificent building.
Near to the Admiralty there is another edifice of a simi¬
lar nature, but inferior in extent and splendour of architec¬
ture, called the Etat Major, or the general staff of the army.
In this building all the affairs of the military establishment
centre; and the number of clerks, both civil and military, is
prodigious. The grand saloon is a splendid apartment, with
a cupola, from the centre of which is suspended a magnifi¬
cent lustre, with thirty gas-burners, which, with four co¬
lossal candelabras of bronze, surmounted by the imperial
eagle grasping the thunder-bolts, serve to illuminate the
apartment. The library, the incombustible hall in which
the documents and records of the army are preserved, and
the model-rooms and museum, are striking objects in this
building.
The castle of St Michael, in which the Emperor Paul
was assassinated, and which has never since been occupied
by any of the imperial family, is now converted into a mili¬
tary seminary for the education of officers of artillery and
engineers. This is a vast building, once strongly fortified,
and with an interior so ornamented, that Kotzebue, who
saw it in its splendour, compares it with ancient descrip¬
tions of the gorgeous palace of Nineveh. The fortifica¬
tions have, however, now disappeared, and the interior is
filled with students in five classes, engaged in pursuits con-
nected with the higher branches of the military art.
^ The two arsenals, and the foundery upon the banks of the
Neva, present the appearance of a vast mass of building of
considerable grandeur, and in the style of the Grecian ar¬
chitecture. Amongst every thing that can be useful in the
art of war there are preserved some warlike remains of an¬
cient times; amongst which are the rich arms of the Teu¬
tonic knights, removed from the arsenal of Riga to St Pe-
I tersburg after the capture of that city.
The different departments of the executive civil govern-
i ^le ernpire, called the Colleges, are appropriate
buildings, and one or two of them fine specimens of archi-
i trCtnre' u-The college of foreign affairs, with the residence
ot the chief, is an elegant structure, as is also that of the
co lege of the interior. The colleges of war, of marine, of
justice, and of commerce, have each handsome buildings,
and attached to them beautiful residences for their several
chiefs.
The post-office is a fine and large building, where not
only the conveyance of letters is arranged, but the convey-
ance of money from one part of the empire to another;
and it has the superintendence of the post-horses for the
use of travellers at the several stations. The mint is in a
oitress situated on a small island on the Neva. This cita-
ei was tlie first of the erections of Peter the Great. It is
lurnisned with five regular bastions, which range round the
siand; it is, however, no longer of any use for defence,
i e C01ning of money, as so much copper circulates, em-
p ovs many hands, in spite of the admirable machinery sup-
lied from England to diminish the labour; and the chief
nanager 0f the coining at present is a native of our island.
V0L. XVII.
It has certainly been the object of the government of Rus- Peters-
sia under all its sovereigns to promote the civilization of its burg-
subjects by the diffusion of knowledge. Whether that ob- -
ject has been pursued in the right way; whether it has been
too much confined to the few in immediate contact with
the court, and not sufficiently communicated to the larger
class ; are questions which need not be discussed here. The
means of spreading taste and information have been abun¬
dantly furnished to this capital at least. The Imperial Aca¬
demy of Sciences was founded by Peter, who also established
the rudiments of the extensive museums in the elegant
building now occupied by that society. Some of the ablest
mathematicians of Europe have been professors in it (for in¬
stance, Euler and the two Bernoullis), or members of it;
and amongst the natives much progress has been made in
astronomy, geography, and the other branches of science ;
whilst great advances have been making in each of the de¬
partments of natural history.
In the Academy, also, much has been done by individual
members to propagate a knowledge of the national history
and philology, of numismatics and Russian antiquities, of
statistics and political economy, and in translating, from the
Fiench, German, English, and Italian languages, a great
number of the most popular works into the Russian lan¬
guage. The astronomical observatory near the Academy,
and connected w ith that institution, is sedulously at work,
and publishes its observations. The several museums are
all accessible to the public. They are, the zoological mu¬
seum, the cabinet of mineralogy, the collection of dried plants,
the Asiatic museum, the collection of ancient medals and’
coins, the three cabinets of Asiatic, Russian, and modern
medals, and the cabinet of curiosities. To these may be
added an extensive and well-selected library.
The Imperial Academy of Arts is one of those estab¬
lishments to which the government has devoted consider¬
able sums of money. The beauty and extent of the build¬
ing, and the collections it contains, would entitle it to a
fuller description than can be allotted to it in this place.
The paintings, casts, and sculptures, are numerous, and many
of the first merit. 1 here are more than two hundred students
receiving instruction in the different branches of the fine
arts in this establishment; and a few at their own expense,
amounting to thirty or forty pounds a year, which covers
the expense of lodging and subsistence. ”
The Ecole des Mines attracts attention from its grandeur
and its extent, as well as from the arrangement of the dif¬
ferent rooms and galleries, and from the various collections
illustrative of the mineralogy of all countries.. The estab¬
lishment, as well as the whole mining department, is under
the minister of finance ; and the students, about three hun¬
dred in number, are chiefly educated at the expense of the
government, and are called cadets of the mining corps.
I he pupils, when properly qualified, are distributed amongst
the vast mining districts of the empire, where their services
are found to be of incalculable value.
But however expensive may have been the means applied
to promote knowledge in the higher branches of science,
there does not appear to be any appropriation, even in a
small degree commensurate, devoted to the elementary kinds
of instruction. The university of St Petersburg has but a
limited operation, and, indeed, must be considered as im-
perfect. It has schools connected with it, which a/e bad
specimens of the institutions from which they have been
copied, called in Prance Ecoles Normales, or in Germany,
Lyceums. It is said preparations have been made for im¬
proving the state of general education; and, in the mean
time, there are abundance of private tutors, mostly Germans
or Swiss, who give lessons by the hour to those youths who
need instruction. Amongst the other institutions of St Pe¬
tersburg connected with instruction, may be noticed those
of a benevolent kind, such as a school for the deaf and dumb,
2 s
322
Peters¬
burg.
PETERSBURG.
schools for the children of soldiers, for the suba terns f the
army, for the orphans of the military, and schools for the
' engineers, artillery, and the marine. Several schools of va-
rious descriptionjaccording to the rank of those who are
taught, have been established by the females of the impe-
riaHamily. Some of these are for the daughters of nob es,
^ Thfonly^ubliJ Hbrary in the city is in a fine but scarcely
finished building. The books that first formed it were ob^
tained at Warsaw, on the partition of Poland. It is far from
being a valuable collection, and is not much resorted to.
One of the apartments contains a copy of every book printed
^ .   „• ^^ nP txrnncrmnhv lias b66n
order, with a fine dome, surmounted with twenty-four ele¬
gant pillars. It was made the burial-place of the celebrated
General Moreau, who died of the wounds he received near
Dresden in the year 1813. A plain white tablet, edged
with black marble, marks the last resting-place of the con¬
queror of Hohenlinden. There are two German churches
for the Lutheran worship, which, though deemed excellent
specimens of architecture, have few decorations, and no-
thing in the interior to attract much attention. An Eng-
lish church presents a noble front to the river. The in-
terior is neat and simple, but the altar-piece is a fine paint-
urn of the descent from the cross. There is no gallery;
Pete;
bun:
One ofthe apartments contains a copy of every DooK primeu ^ ^ capacious, it is not sufficiently large to ac
S“S8ofre3‘fromtaxes’a,ldfrom “
Libraries. i r„_ Tfip hosnitals, especially those for the civil inhabitants,
The churches of the city are very numerous, and are for 1 . ^ ■’  t„
me ciiuiuiico ■ — j . r *-u
the most part appropriated to the religious services of ie
established or orthodox Greek communion, which compre¬
hends about two thirds of the population. The most re-
are numerous, and some of them are on a gigantic scale. In
one of them, Smolnoi, more than 1400 patients are collect¬
ed. At the Foundling Hospital more than 4000 children are
hends about two thirds of the population. /reli‘ received annually ; and there are seldom less than 500 at
markable of the edifices appertaining _ . , breast Independently of the in-patients, the great
gionists is called the Church of our Lady of Kazan. It ^ th* ™ of which exceeds
^ large and splendid t ^Soo yeariy TlJempre’ss has the superintendence of
it is a Liking edifice. The interinr is deccrated wtehtm^es ra“ ™“sab ' is abundantly supplied with objects for
of saints, and some pictures of no great ment. It has many ^ theatres f(i mgic, and for the repre-
military trophies in honour of the memory o io sentation of comic and tragic scenes in human life and man-
heroes who have been interred within walls, or of such senUtion^ ^ and French houses in which
of them as have been buried where they c ,< ,, , , nlavs are performed in those languages, and both a German
deemed worthy of a cenotaph Another remarkable church P*a/S “7 Pf™™ house. Tge ^ „f amusement are
is that of Isaac, built on the foundation f a “Lme me^mLupported at the expense of the govem-
temple, and only completed within the last few ye . an(J thus thofigh the price of admission is low, the
in a commanding situation, a"['“Pp® JT'ft'RomV The native Russians, excepting a very few who have travelled,
architecture somewhat resem^ 3M seldom take of them. They have, however, national mu-
^fle“^r8r w°|L including thebate^ por ^ ofa^^^^^^
Sell, ing. The icelmountins and sledges.are purely Ru,ian
measures 105 feet. Thetotal elevation of the edifice, from
the level of the square on which it stands, to the Dali bear¬
ing the cross, is equal to 309 English feet. The interior is
ornamented with 188 cohimns ancl p°shafts are of that there'a're few great cities in which the police is conduct-
the Corinthian order. The capitals and the sh fi wHV. mnrp strictness than there. The public is very well
bronze, richly gilt The arched roofi ^orated with various ^ seld'om heard of, and
compartments, and embellished with every g P thoughts of danger on these heads are wholly banished,
ing, sculpture, and gilding can effect render the whole not all though sotaanero unfrequented
unworthy to rival many of the most distinguished churches ^““ler without annoyance anil with-
0t Of the other churches, which are numerous, we can only out apprehension of danger. In each quarter of the city
notice one more. It is dedicated to St Paul, and has been
the burial-place of the several emperors since that title was
assumed. It stands within the citadel, and it has only a
sinele cupola and tower, two hundred and six feet in height.
of the metropolis, and by it he knows the centre of the ci y. stations who has an office, with several persons un-
o“ctl^ ^Um; he watches over the conduct and behaviour of
standards, batons, staffs, and keys of fortresses, taken from
their enemies by the armies of Russia. The churches not
named here are numerous, and most of them have domes,
which, being of burnished copper, or richly gilded with gold,
give an astonishing magnificence to the city as a whole,
when viewed from any elevated spot. Besides the esta-
ing. ine ice-inuuiiLciiiin r-
amusements, and some peculiar athletic exercises, one ot
which is boxing, but with gloves on the hands, so as to draw
no blood, and scarcely to inflict much pain.
All foreigners who have resided at St Petersburg agree
out apprenension 01 uangei. ~ '
there is a station of the police, with a tower on which a
watchman is constantly kept, to give an alarm in case ot
fire, by flags during day and by lamps at night; and tire-en¬
gines, with strong horses, are always ready, with some tire-
men, in case of need, and repair from_ every station to tne
der him; he watches over the conduct ana oenavium -
the inhabitants of the district, preserves order and tranqui -
litv in his quarter or section, and can decide in cases
petty quarrels, if the parties agree to such a course,
is sometimes done at the police-offices m Lon on. ,
is a lock-up-house, and in some cases an hospital, atta ^
when viewed fronTany'elevated spot. Besides the esta- 70 *%ef LertLXrs^ ^LLmLXxUL the
blished churches, there are many belonging to professors of corps called s e ( f which one always stands
the Greek religion, not adhering to the orthodox faith. The various streets, at the rnnsist chiefly of old but
Roman Catholics have a beautiful church of the Corinthian armed with a battle-axe. They consist chiefly
PET
;field hale soldiers; and their duty is to prevent all obstructions
by carriages, which are vastly numerous, vo check the first
PET
P« 'rton> symptoms of riot or disturbance, and to precept begging in
^ the street. In this last work they have been eminently
successful, as no place in Europe is less distressed by the
importunity of mendicants than this city. One of the du¬
ties of the street-walkers also is to go round with any new
ukase of the emperor from house to house, to make the
master of each acquainted with it, and to obtain an ac¬
knowledgment of his having read and taken cognizance of
its import. It is thus that new laws are quietly promulgated
throughout the capital.
One object in this city which has not yet been noticed
is the colossal equestrian statue to the memory of Peter the
Great. He is represented on a horse at full gallop up a
rock, the top of which is a perpendicular precipice, on ar¬
riving at which the horse suddenly stops. The action is
the moment of the sudden halt at perceiving the danger.
It is admirably executed, and, being of prodigious size, ex¬
cites the highest degree of admiration. (g.)
PETERSFIELD, a borough and market-town of the
county of Hants, in the parish of Buriton, and hundred of
Finchdean. It was erected into a borough by Queen
Elizabeth, and is governed by a mayor and common coun¬
cil. It returned twp members to parliament before 1832,
but since that year it has elected but one. The market is
held on Saturday. It is a place of little trade, except what it
derives from being on the road to Portsmouth. The popu¬
lation amounted in 1801 to 1406, in 1811 to 1525, in 1821
to 1752, and in 1831 to 1803.
PETERS le Port, a market-town of England, in the
island of Guernsey. It is situated on the south-eastern part
of the island, and consists of one long, narrow street. It is
defended by two ports, one of which, called Castle Cornet,
stands on a rock, separated by an arm of the sea from the
land, and which commands both the town and the harbour.
A pier of vast stones affords protection to the harbour’
where there is good anchorage, and whence ships may
depart in all states of the weather ; and it also forms a plea¬
sant and extended walk. There is some trade with New¬
foundland ; and formerly there was much smuggling car¬
ried on, but that has been stopped by the introduction
of a custom-house. The population has much increased of
iate years, and in 1831 amounted to 5966 males and 7924
females.
PETERSWALDAU, a city of the Prussian govern¬
ment of Reichenbach, in Silesia. It is finely situated,
and has a large establishment of the United Brethren.
It belongs to the family of Stolberg Wernigerode, and
contains 510 houses, with 3080 inhabitants, who carry on
extensive cloth manufactories.
PETERWARDEIN, a city of the Hungarian province
of the Sclavonic military frontier. It is the capital of the
limits of that regiment or circle, extending over 1244
square miles, comprehending four cities and towns, and
sixty-one villages, with 91,618 inhabitants. The city is
situated on the river Danube, is strongly fortified, and
is the head-quarters of the military staff of the district.
!naC5Sn-ST1^ludin§ its suburb Bucovetz, 680 houses
SON ° lnhabltants‘ LonS- 19- 47- il- E- Eat. 45. 15.
PETHERTON, North, a town of the county of So-
T ^ m tJhe1 hundred of the same name, 137 miles from
Inn!! T anC* tbree [rom Bridgewater. It consists of one
g street, tolerably built; but the parish is very exten-
nZ’ C/Tehfnding seventeen villages. The population
amounted in 1801 to 2346, in 1811 to 2615, in 1821 to
^91, and in 1831 to 3566.
m^H-ERTi0N?'Sb^’ a market-town of the county of So-
Lnm! ’ in handred of the same name, 137 miles from
London. It is situated on the river Parret, which is na¬
vigable for barges nearly to the town. There is a small
market on Thursday; and there are manufactories of linen.
Ihe population amounted in 1801 to 1674, in 1811 to 1867*
in 1821 to 2090, and in 1831 to 2294. ’
PETII, John, a doctor of the Sorbonne, who very
early gained to himself a name by his knowdedge, and the
eloquent orations which he pronounced before the uni¬
versity of Paris. He was employed in the famous em¬
bassy which was sent from France to Rome for the purpose
of healing the schism in 1407; but he soon forfeited all
the honour which he had acquired. John Sans Peur,
duke of Burgundy, having treacherously contrived to as¬
sassinate Louis of France, duke of Orleans, only brother
to Charles VI., John Petit, entirely devoted to the view's
of the murderer, maintained in a public disputation, at
Pans, on the 8th of March 1408, that the murder was lawful.
He had the effrontery to assert, that “ it is allowed to em¬
ploy fraud, treason, and every other method, however base
in order to get nd of a tyrant; and that no faith ought to
be kept with him. And he had even the audacity to add,
that “ the man who should commit such an action, not only '
deserved to be exempted from punishment, but to receive a
reward. This sanguinary doctrine was loudly exclaimed
against; but the Duke of Bureundv’s nnwppfhl
323
against; but the Duke of Burgundy’s powerful influence
sheltered Petit for some time. Some eminent writers of
that period, however, with Gerson at their head, denounced
the doctrine to John de Montaigu, bishop of Paris, who con¬
demned it as heretical, on the 23d of November 1414. It
was likewise condemned by the council of Constance the
year following, at the instigation of Gerson ; but no notice
was taken either of Petit’s name or of his writings. In fine
the king, on the 16th of September 1416, ordered the parlia¬
ment of Paris to pronounce a severe decree against this
dangerous performance ; and it was also censured by the
university. But the Duke of Burgundy, in 1418, had in¬
terest enough to compel the grand vicars of the bishop of
1 aris, who then lay sick at St Omer, to retract the sen¬
tence which that prelate had passed in 1414. Petit had
died three years before this, or in 1411, at Hesdin ; and
his apology in favour of the Duke of Burgundy, with all the
particulars of that infamous transaction, may be seen in
the fifth volume of the last edition of Gerson’s works.
Father Pinchinat, of the order of St Francis, and author
of the Dictionary of Heresies, has endeavoured to vindi¬
cate his order from a charge brought by some writers, who
have called Petit a Cordelier or Franciscan friar. “ He
proves very clearly,” says the Abbe Prevot, “ that he was a
secular priest;” and adds, that “ upon the same evidence,
Father Mercier, a Cordelier, had a warm dispute in 1717
with M. Dupin, who had given this title to Petit in his
Collection of Censures. He represented to him,” says he
“ before a meeting of the faculty, the falsity of such a
claim, and the injury which he offered to the order of St
Francis. Dupin, convinced of his error, candidly owned
that he was led into it by following some infidel writers ;
and promised to retract it in the new edition of the Cen¬
sures, which was published in 1720. M. Fleury, who had
committed the same mistake, promised also to make amends
for it by a solemn recantation ; but dying before he had
an opportunity of doing that piece of justice to the Corde¬
liers, the continuator of his Ecclesiastical History, who had
not such opportunities of information, fell into the same
fault.” (Pour et Contre, tom. x. p. 23.) If we follow
L Avocat’s Dictionary, it would appear that no fault was
committed ; for it gives a list of the pensioners of the
dukes of Burgundy, in order to prove that John Petit
was a Cordelier. Indeed it is highly probable, that if
Dupin, Fleury, and Father Fabre, did not alter their opi¬
nion, it was owing to a firm persuasion that they had com¬
mitted no error.
PE IIIIO Principii, in Logic, is the assuming a thing
Petit
Petitio
Principii.
324
Petiver
li
Petrarch.
PET
as true, and drawing conclusions from it on this assump¬
tion, when it is either really false, or at least requires to be
proved before any inference can be drawn from it.
PETIVER, James, a celebrated English botanist, con¬
temporary with Plukenet. Of the precise time of his birth
no notice has been preserved. He was by profession an
apothecary, having served an apprenticeship under Mr
Feltham, apothecary to St Bartholomew’s Hospital. He
settled in Aldersgate Street, where he commenced business
on his own account, which he continued during the who e
of his life. His business was extensive, and he afterwards
became apothecary to the Charter-house. Excepting Sir
Hans Sloane and Mr Courten, he was the only person
after the Tradescants who made any important collections
in natural history, previously to those of the present ay
He employed the captains and surgeons of different ships
to bring him home specimens; and by means of printe
directions he enabled them to select proper objects. In
this manner his collection soon became so valuable, that,
some time previously to his decease, he was offered L.4000
for it by Sir Hans Sloane, by whom it was purchased some
time after Petiver’s death. Both at home and abroadns
fame was extended by his valuable museum. He was
chosen a fellow of the Royal Society; and having become
acquainted with Ray, he assisted him in arranging the se¬
cond volume of his History of Plants. He died onthe
90th of April 1718 ; and his funeral was honoured by the
attendance of Sir Hans Sloane, and other eminent men, as
* afle published several works on different subjects of na¬
tural history, particularly, 1. Musci Petiveriam Centunm
decern, 1692-1703, 8vo ; 2. Gazophylacn Naturae et Artis,
Decades decern, 1702, folio, with a hundred plates; 3. A
Catalogue of Mr Ray’s English Herbal, illustrated with n
guret 013. and continued"in 1715, folio; 4 Many small
publications, which may be found enumerated in Dr Pult-
ney’s book; 5. Many papers in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions, and a valuable article in the third volume of Ray s
work, entitled Plantse Rariores Chinenses, Madras-patanae
et Africans, a Jacobo Petivero ad opus consummandum
collatae. Many of his small tracts having become scarce,
his works were collected and published, exclusively of his
papers in the Transactions, 1764, in two vols. folio.
PETLAD, a town of Hindustan, in the province of Gu-
ierat, and district of Broach. It is sixteen miles north-east
from Cambay. The inhabitants are here subjected to the
servitude of acting as guides to travellers, from which only
a certain caste, the Dhers, are exempted. Long. it.
Lat. 22.27. N. , , • , *i
FETLAHWAD, a town of Hindustan, belonging to the
Mahrattas, in the province of Malwah. It is seventJ 1111
west by north from Oojain. Long. 74. 50. E. Lat.
22 N.
~ PETRARCH, Francis, one of the greatest poets and
most celebrated men of whom Italy can boast, was born
at Arezzo on the 20th of July 1304. He saw the light
amidst the rage of contending factions. _ His father, the
friend of Dante, and, like him, of the Ghibehn party, had
been banished from Florence, where he filled a respectable
situation confided to him by the republic; and having
taken refuge in Pisa, he committed the primary tuition of
his son, then in his seventh year, to an old grammarian of
that city named Convennole da Prato. Two years after-
wards, when the death of the Emperor Henry VII. had
destroyed the hopes of the Ghibehns, the father of Pe¬
trarch removed his family to Avignon, whither Clement V.
had transferred the pontifical court, and his son resumed
his studies at Carpentras, under his former master. It was
•then that the youthful pupil of Convennole visited for the
first time the fountain of Vaucluse ; and the rural beauties
• of this celebrated spot left an indelible impression upon
PET
his mind. In that age, the study of law was almost the Petr*
only pursuit that led to fortune. Petrarch accordingly
passed four years at the university of Montpellier, where,
instead of immersing himself in the hazy erudition of the
schools, he devoted his days and his nights to Cicero and
to Virgil. At the same time he made himself familiar with
the compositions of the troubadours, and, if w-e may cre¬
dit Gariel, in his Idea of Montpellier, retouched the ro¬
mance of Pierre de Provence et la belle Maguelone, written
in 1178 by the canon Bernard de Trivies. But whilst en¬
caged in these seducing pursuits, he was disturbed by the
arrival of his father, who, greatly incensed at what he con¬
ceived to be a gross misapplication of time, consigned to the
flames the little library of his son, and was with difficulty
induced to restore to him Cicero and Virgil, after they had
been half consumed. Being now sent to the university of
Bologna, to receive the instructions of John d Andrea, the
most learned canonist of that age, Petrarch soon formed
a connection there with Cino de Pistoia, a Florentine, like
himself, whom Bartolo cites as his master in die science
of law, and who deserved to become that of Petrarch and
Boccacio in poetry. If the young legist did not long re¬
tain the lessons of the jurisconsult, he at least remember¬
ed those of the poet; and at a later period he did not dis¬
dain to consecrate to the memory of Laura several verses
borrowed from the bard of Selvagia. At the age of twen¬
ty-two he lost his father, and being ruined by faithless tu¬
tors, he returned to Avignon, where he took PP ms resi¬
dence, appeared with distinction in the most brilliant so¬
ciety, and found himself at liberty to apply to his favourite
pursuits. The mathematics, which were then in their in¬
fancy, history and antiquities, philosophy with its innu¬
merable systems, especially those which related to the
science of ethics, occupied, each in its turn, a mind thirst¬
ing for knowledge. The first poetical attempts of Petrarch,
like those of Dante, were made in the Latin language;
but, happily, his muse soon ventured to confide her inspira¬
tions to the vulgar tongue, the only one, besides, which the
women understood. # . . ,
About this time, he renewed his acquaintance with one
of his school companions, James Colonna, the youngest son
of Stephen Colonna, the head of the illustrious family of
that name. By the elevation of his mind, and his passion
for letters, this young Roman was every way worthy to
become the friend of Petrarch, and he continued to be so
until the period of his death. Cardinal John Colonna, the
eldest brother of James, desired also to share the friend¬
ship of Petrarch; and, in the society of these eminent in¬
dividuals, the poet became known to the most illustrious
strangers who visited the pontifical city; whilst the noble
frankness of his manner, his mild yet sprightly physiogno¬
my, the graces of his mind, and his unaffected anxiety to
please, secured him a remarkable ascendency in this se e
circle. Colonna, the father, took a particular pleasure in
recounting to him the events of his life, as well as m de¬
veloping his projects; and it was in these conversation
that PeU-arch imbibed a new love of Italy, and a stronge
aversion for every thing calculated to prolong its mis tor-
tunes or to obscure its glory. When James Colonna ^
called to the bishopric of Lombez, his friend accomp
him to his diocese, and in their way they stopped at io -
louse, where, a few years before (in 1324), ArnauM V.da
had been honoured with the poetical eglantine. Ihe se
Maintainers of the gay Science were then beginning to an
fuse a taste for the vulgar poetry, and to brin»1" ?
tice those little effusions of song unknown to the ancient,
and some of which have still remained peculiar to tn
literature of the troubadours. A submissive an
tunate lover, Petrarch, like them, sought to console h,^
self bv singing at once the charms and the cruelty of
Sved On the 6th of April 1327, on holy Monday, at
PETR
pe ith. six o’clock in the morning, he had seen, in a church of
_ •—✓ Avignon, the daughter of Audibert de Novis ; and the pas¬
sion he conceived for this lady occupied the remainder of
his life, over which it diffused an air of poetry and romance.
Laura was united to Hugues de Sade, a young patrician,
and a native of Avignon ; but, faithful to her duties as a
wife and a mother, she forbade Petrarch to indulge the
slightest hope. Incessantly haunted with this beautiful
vision, the poet visited in succession the south of France,
Paris, and the Low Countries ; the forest of the Ardennes
re-echoed in turn his verses and his lamentations; he tra¬
versed Burgundy, the Lyonnais, Dauphine, and, after an
exile of eight months, returned to bury himself in the de¬
lightful solitude of Vaucluse.
Pope John XXII. was then meditating a new crusade,
and, to further his object, he led the Romans to hope that
he would re-establish the chair of St Peter in Italy. This
double project excited the imagination of Petrarch, and
inspired his beautiful ode to the Bishop of Lombez, O as-
pettota in del, &c. The following year, 1335, we find him
expressing, in beautiful Latin verses addressed to Benedict
XII. his earnest desire to see the Holy See re-established
in the eternal city; and to this patriotic aspiration the
pope replied by appointing him canon of Lombez, with the
hopes of a prebend. The same year was marked by an
event unique in the life of Petrarch. A recent and close
connection attached him to the interests of Azon de Corre-
gio, one of the principal lords of Italy, who was then pro¬
secuted before the papal courts at the instance of the fa¬
mily of the Rossi. In the hope of serving his friend, the
poet resolved to plead his cause at the bar; and this he
did with so eminent success, that it proved to both a day
of triumph. Since he had first beheld Laura, he sought
occupation everywhere, without being able to fix himself
anywhere. A vague disquietude of mind led him to visit
Rome, where, however, the friendship of the Colonnas could
not detain him ; and he returned to Avignon, from which,
although he had no desire to establish himself in that city,
he could not for any length of time stay away. Finding
himself in this unsettled state of mind, he now shut himself
up in his retreat at Vaucluse, without friends and without
domestics, as if solitude could have extinguished a passion
which increased in spite of all his efforts to subdue it. The
country-house of the Bishop of Cavaillon adjoined that
which he occupied. This prelate was Philip de Cabassole,
whom the poet himself calls a little bishop and a great man.
Petrarch could not refuse his consolations, and soon reck¬
oned the good bishop amongst his friends.
About this time the lover of Laura seems to have been
occupied with a great literary conception. He had com¬
menced writing in Latin the history of Rome from the
foundation of the city to the reign of Titus. But in col¬
lecting materials for this work, he was much struck with
the grandeur of the events which had marked the termina¬
tion of the second Punic war ; and suddenly conceived the
design of giving to his age a regular epic, of which Scipio
should be the hero. His plan was hastily traced; some
portions of the projected poem were written under the
first access of inspiration; and, before the end of the year,
the poet was in a condition to submit to his friends the
greater part of his work, which they received with the
most flattering encomiums, and, having exhausted the lan¬
guage of eulogy, styled the author sublime and divine. But
a more grateful distinction awaited him. His sonnets and
his Canzoni had filled France and Italy with the name of
Laura and that of her lover ; in fact, these pieces were uni¬
versally read and admired. Of the impression produced
by his poetical genius he had soon the most convincing
evidence. On the 23d of August 1340, he received at Vau¬
cluse two letters, one from the Roman senate, which in¬
vited him to accept the poetical laurel, and be crowned in
A R C II. 325
the capitol, and the other from the chancellor of the Uni- Petrarch,
versity of Paris, which offered him the same triumph. Itv——v—
is a mistake, however, to give the credit of this proceed¬
ing to the learned corporation here mentioned. The most
careful researches made in the registers have not detected
a single trace of the deliberation which must necessarily
have preceded the transmission of such a letter as that
written by the chancellor; and every thing inclines us to
believe that Robert de Barde, who then held that office, a
Florentine, and the personal friend of Petrarch, had writ¬
ten him without consulting his colleagues, trusting to in¬
spire them with his own admiration, w henever the poet
should appear in Paris. The choice of Petrarch, however,
was already made. He had long coveted the poetic lau¬
rel, and even made known his wishes to Robert of Anjou,
king of Naples, whose influence had stimulated the admi¬
ration, and hastened the decision, of the Roman senators.
This prince cultivated letters with enthusiasm, and pro¬
tected them in a manner worthy of a king. Wishing to
appear indebted to him for the crown which had been of¬
fered to him, Petrarch embarked for Naples, carrying with
him his epic poem, which he had entitled Africa. The
king and the poet had repeated conferences upon the sub¬
jects of poetry and history; but not thinking these suffi¬
cient, the latter demanded a more rigorous trial of his
qualifications and acquirements, and offered to reply, dur¬
ing three days, to all the questions that might be proposed
to him upon history, literature, and philosophy. In this
public examination he acquitted himself to the admiration
of all. Robert solemnly declared him worthy of the pro¬
mised triumph ; and at his audience of leave, the king, di¬
vesting himself of his robe, put it on Petrarch, at the same
time requesting him to wear it on the day when he was to
receive the laurel crown.
He then repaired to Rome, and, on Easter-day (the 8th
of April 1341), ascended the capitol, in the midst of the
principal citizens, preceded by twelve youths selected from
the most illustrious families, who declaimed his verses.
After a short harangue he received the crown from the
hands of the senator Orso, count de TAnguillara, and then
recited a sonnet upon the heroes of ancient Rome, whose
place he then appeared to occupy. Descending from the
capitol, he was conducted, by the same cortege, amidst
the acclamations of a crowd eager to witness so novel a
spectacle, to the church of St Peter, where he deposited
on the altar the laurel which encircled his brow; after
which he set out for Avignon by land, as if to enjoy more
leisurely his renown. He carried with him the title of al¬
moner to the king of Naples, and letters-patent giving
him, as well by the authority of King Robert as by that of
the senate and people of Rome, full and free permission to
read, vindicate, and explain the ancient books, to make
new ones, compose poems, and on every occasion to wear
the crown of laurel, ivy, or myrtle, at his pleasure.
Azon de Corregio having just usurped the sovereignty
of Parma, on the pretext of freeing it from thraldom, ur¬
gently pressed Petrarch to spend some time with him;
and, captivated by the attentions paid to him, the poet
soon accepted the situation of archdeacon of the church
of Parma, caused a house to be built there, and then em¬
ployed himself in completing his poem of Africa. Glory
had now begun to console him for his labour and anxiety,
when envy, awakened by unexampled success, attempted
to disturb his repose; and at the same time the hand of
death had stricken the Bishop of Lombez, his best friend
and warmest admirer. The accession of Clement VI. to
the triple crown, in 1342, revived in the mind of Petrarch
hopes which had already been twice disappointed. At the
request of the Romans, he accompanied to Avignon the
deputation they had sent for the purpose of soliciting the
new pope to fulfil the promises made by John XXII., and,
326
PETRARCH.
Petrarch, in this matter, he acted as the organ of the deputation.
s——^ The pontiff received him with marked distinction, appoint¬
ed him prior of Migliorino, in the diocese of Parma, and
treated him with the greatest familiarity, but made no an¬
swer to the petition ot the deputation, beseeching him to
remove to Italy. At the same time, however, his holiness,
anxious to testify the confidence he reposed in Petrarch,
intrusted him with a delicate mission, namely, that of ob¬
taining from the regency of Naples a recognition of the
rights of the Holy See, during the minority of Jane, grand¬
daughter of King Robert. The young queen conversed
several times with Petrarch, who, besides, received public
testimony of the esteem she entertained for letters; but
the candour of the poetical negotiator rendered him the
most unfit person in the world to control the selfish policy
of the councillors by whom that princess was governed.
He fled with horror from a barbarous and corrupt court,
which sought relaxation from its debaucheries, in the de¬
praving spectacle of gladiatorial combats. He crossed the
Apennines, made no stay at Parma, and, eager to escape
from Italy, then a prey to all the fury of contending fac¬
tions, he returned to his beloved retreat at Vaucluse, where
he remained several months. But a circumstance occur¬
red which soon recalled him to Italy. Rienzi, having made
himself master of Rome, cited kings to appear before him,
and loudly proclaimed that his fellow-citizens were about
to resume, in the fourteenth century, their ancient domi¬
nion over the wmrld. All the illusions of Petrarch imme¬
diately brightened into realities. An ardent defender of
the tribune even in the midst of the pontifical court, he
now felicitated the popular leader on his success, exhorted
him to persevere, and, impatient to counsel him on the
spot, set out immediately for Italy. The news of the mas¬
sacre of the Colonnas reached him at Genoa, and struck
him with consternation ; but still he felt disposed to par-
habits became more grave, his manners more austere; and Petra
from this time his thoughts assumed a character of seve-s'—y,
rity, the impress of which is visible in his later composi¬
tions. At the same time he everywhere received honours
which had never before been bestowed on any private in¬
dividual. The principal citizens of Arezzo conducted him
with pride to the house where he was born, assuring him
that nothing had been changed in it; and, in fact, the town
had obliged the proprietors, into whose hands this house
had passed, to pay the most religious respect to the place
consecrated by his birth.
The friendship of the Carraras having induced Petrarch
to visit Padua, he had scarcely arrived when Boccacio came
to announce to him, in the name of the senate of Florence,
that he had been re-established in his rights as a citizen,
as well as in the patrimony of his family, and also to offer
him the directorship of the university recently founded in
the first city of Tuscany. This honourable appointment,
however, had no attraction for Petrarch. His books await¬
ed him in his transalpine Parnassus, as he called Yaucluse;
and his cisalpine Parnassus was his house at Parma. He ac¬
cordingly declined accepting the proffered appointment, and
hastened to bury himself in his favourite retreat. At this
time Rome, filled wi th robberies and assassinations, occupied
all the pontifical solicitude, with a view to repress these dis¬
orders ; and Clement YI. invoked the counsels of Petrarch
respecting the measures most proper to be adopted. Pe¬
trarch, however, replied like a poet rather than a counsel¬
lor. He spoke of the ancient rights of the Roman people,
of excluding strangers from public offices, of restoring to
the senate its dignity, and declared that he saw no safety
except in the establishment of the republic upon the prin¬
ciples of equality and justice. About the same time, Ri¬
enzi, having fallen into the hands of the emperor, was de¬
livered up to the pope, and brought before a judicial com-
don Rienzi, provided Rome had become republican. The mission, against the legality of which he vehemently pro
sway of the tribune, however, was short-lived, and with his tested. It is said that Petrarch wrote to the Roman people,
fall disappeared that wild phantom of liberty which had warmly exhorting them to interpose in favour of his old
deceived Petrarch
Scarcely a year had elapsed when the poet had to be¬
wail a loss still more painful. Laura was no more. The
pestilence of 1348, which Boccacio has described with
such terrible truth, and which desolated all Europe, had
carried her off on the 6th of April that year, on the same
day, in the same month, and at the same hour, in which
friend ; and, in fact, this exhortation is found in his works.
But there is nothing to show that it was sent according to
its address; on the contrary, almost every circumstance
leads us to believe that his imagination alone had prompt¬
ed him to write this letter, rather to console than to save
Rienzi. Nevertheless, from a superstition indicative at
once of the ignorance and the knowledge of a semi-barba-
her lover had seen her for the first time. The last half of rous age, those judges, so impatient to punish a factious
the Canzoniere is an immortal monument of the long re¬
gret of Petrarch. But although his verses had not made
us aware of the sincerity of his grief for his mistress, the
touching note which he inscribed upon his copy of Virgil
would still attest the profane homage which he paid to her
memory.1 Yielding to the repeated instances of Luigi
Conrado, lord of Mantua, Petrarch now repaired to his
princely residence, in the hope of finding consolation in
chief whom they believed unworthy of the ordinary benefit
of the law, hesitated as soon as they learned that he was
a poet, and feared to condemn a man belonging to an order
which Cicero had pronounced “ sacred.” But the peril of
the modern Gracchus was not the only vexation which Pe¬
trarch experienced. The physicians by whom the pope
was surrounded, and whose ridiculous ignorance he had
denounced to the holy father, combined against him. To
the native country of the most sensitive and affecting of suppose himself wounded by arrows which fell short of
their mark, was no doubt an error on the part of the poet,
and, under its influence, he humbled himself so far as to
borrow the arms of his adversaries, in order to repel their
attacks.
On his return to Yaucluse, that tranquil retreat inspired
him with an answer more worthy of himself. This was his
all poets ; and it was during his stay there that he address
ed to the Emperor Charles IV. an eloquent letter, in which
he exhorted him to restore peace to Italy. The publica¬
tion of the jubilee in 1350 drew almost all Christian Europe
to Rome. Petrarch, participating in this pious impulse, set
out for Rome, and in passing through Florence, visited Boc¬
cacio, one of those whom he had particularly noticed at the Epistle to Posterity, in which he gives an account of the
court of Naples, and who now became his friend. At Rome principal events of his life, until his departure from Italy,
he found the jubilee commenced, and this grand and con- about the middle of the year 1351.2 Some months after-
soling solemnity made a deep impression on his mind. His wards, Innocent VI. was called to the government of the
1 The authenticity of this note is still disputed by those who wish to overturn the whole history of Laura. Mr Whyte, a learn¬
ed Englishman, who discovered at Florence an inedited life of Petrarch, written soon after his death, by Luigi Peruzzi, who had
known him, also rejects the evidence of this note. But it is written in a tone which ought to silence incredulity, because feigned
emotions never bear the stamp of nature and reality. The Virgil of Petrarch has long been in the royal collection at Paris.
2 Ginguene' (Histuire Litteraire d'Jtalie, tom. ii. p. 582) shows, contrary to the opinion of Badelli, that the Epistle to Posterity was
written in 1352, and not in 1372.
PETRARCH.
rch. church ; a man of an irreproachable life, but of little know-
ledge, and the only pontiff' from whom Petrarch did not re¬
ceive some mark of favour. The poet, after having twice,
under Clement IV. refused the office of apostolical secre¬
tary, was now suspected of magic by his successor, and he
took no pains to dispel the prejudices of the new pontiff.
His regret for Italy was only increased ; and he repassed
the Alps, uncertain where to fix his abode, although pre¬
pared to adopt as his country any place where he might
live in tranquillity and independence. He had long wished
to visit Milan, and, on this occasion, he proceeded no far¬
ther. Charmed with the reception he met with from a man
of power, who knew well how to exhibit himself to the
poet in an amiable light, and admitted to the counsels of
John Visconti, Petrarch accepted a mission having for its
object to bring about a reconciliation between the republic
of Genoa, which had just given itself up to Visconti, and
that of Venice, elated by recent and apparently decisive
successes. Three years before, Petrarch had endeavoured
to prevent a war which presaged long and bloody divisions
in Italy. Connected with the Doge Andrea Dandolo, one
of the greatest men of this age, in politics, in war, and in
letters, the poet appealed to the patriotism of his friend,
and the latter replied by praising the eloquence of Petrarch,
but without deferring to his counsels. Hence this new at¬
tempt proved not more fortunate than the previous one;
but events soon showed on which side lay the want of fore¬
sight. Venice was reduced to the necessity of purchasing
peace; Dandolo died of grief, and Visconti survived him
little more than a month. Nevertheless, after a silence of
three years, the emperor replied to the letter in which Pe¬
trarch had called upon him to restore peace to his coun¬
try, an appeal which he had several times renewed. But
the avarice of Charles IV. furnished a more powerful mo¬
tive to appear in Lombardy than the patriotic addresses
of Petrarch. By his orders, the poet proceeded to meet him
at Mantua, full of confidence in his wisdom, and hoping
that, as the friend of the Holy See, he would for ever ba¬
nish from Italy the names of Guelf and Ghibelin, which
had caused the effusion of so much blood, and fomented
such fierce animosities. But in this monarch he discovered
only a weak and avaricious prince, who mistook treachery
for talent, and exhibited the strange spectacle of an empe¬
ror of Germany in the pay of the Venetians. The poet
presented him with some rare and valuable medals of Au¬
gustus, of Trajan, and the Antonines. “ These,” said he,
“ are the great men whose place you occupy, and who
ought to be your models.” During eight days which he
spent in familiar intercourse with the emperor, Petrarch dis¬
covered the mean, narrow, and grovelling character of his
mind, and refused to enter Rome in his train, or to be a
witness of his coronation. He then attached himself more
than ever to the nephews of John Visconti, whom the em¬
peror had loudly menaced, with the view of enhancing
the price to be afterwards exacted for confirming them in
the usurpations of their uncle. At this period, the public
hatred had accused them of fratricide. Petrarch, afflicted
with a rumour which he could not believe, repaired to
Pavia, where he was employed by Galeas, a friend of let¬
ters, to dissuade Charles IV. from undertaking a new ex¬
pedition beyond the Alps. This embassy proved more
successful than the former, apparently because the pro-
327
ceedings of the malcontents in Germany had produced a Petrarch,
change in the versatile policy of the emperor. On his
return to Milan, the ambassador received from him the
diploma of Count Palatine, in a gold box of considerable
value. Petrarch accepted this new honour, but returned
the box to the chancellor of the empire.
Fatigued with the agitation of courts, the poet now fixed
upon a new retreat on the banks of the river Adda, in a
pretty country-house, which he called Linterno, in ho¬
nour of his hero Scipio. Literary projects and research¬
es, religious exercises, and frequent visits to the charter-
house of Milan, now occupied his leisure. All the great
lords of Italy had disputed with pontiffs and kings the ho¬
nour of his presence and conversation. But a goldsmith
of Bergamo, named Capra, solicited and obtained a sort of
preference. At the approach of Petrarch all Bergamo went
out to meet him, whilst Capra received him with a magni¬
ficence almost royal, and proved by his enthusiasm, not less
than by the number and quality of his books, that he was
worthy of his guest. In 1360 a new diplomatic mission led
Petrarch to France, whither he went to compliment King
John on the recovery of his liberty; and this prince, who
had formerly made vain attempts to prevent his return to
Italy, now renewed his efforts to retain him. But the en¬
voy of Galeas returned to Milan, without suffering him¬
self to be moved either by the presents of the monarch or
by the entreaties of the dauphin; and those of the em¬
peror, backed by the transmission of a gold cup of curi¬
ous workmanship, found him equally inflexible. But never
had a residence in Italy presented fewer attractions. The
foreign companies who infested that land of discord, for¬
ced him to seek an asylum at Padua, whence he was soon
afterwards expelled by the pestilence. He proceeded to
Venice, accompanied with his books, which he always
carried along with him, and, on his arrival, he presented
his library to that hospitable republic, by a writing dated
in 1362, on condition that so rare a collection should nei¬
ther be divided nor sold. By a decree of the senate, a
palace was assigned for the reception of Petrarch and his
books ; and it is, doubtless, this circumstance which has
made him be regarded as the original founder of the cele¬
brated library of St Mark.1 The Abbe de Sade is there¬
fore mistaken in supposing that all these manuscripts had
perished. Tomasini, who made a search for them in the
year 1635, discovered them in a small dark chamber, situ¬
ated near the four bronze horses; and there they remained
until the year 1739, when permission was at length given to
the public to consult them.2
This residence at Venice, indeed, is doubly memorable in
the life of Petrarch. It was here that, when driven by the
plague from Florence, Boccacio came to share his asylum,
and presented to him Leontius Pilatus of Thessalonica,
who was then teaching him Greek. The lover of Laura
had formerly studied that language under Barlaam, a
monk, the ambassador of the Emperor Andronicus to Be¬
nedict XII., but he had studied it only in the dialogues of
Plato ; and, from the short stay of the monk at the court of
Avignon, there is some reason to believe that, under Bar¬
laam, he learned more Platonism than Greek. But how¬
ever this may have been, he availed himself of the oppor¬
tunity thus afforded him to resume the study of that lan¬
guage ; and though now past sixty, he found, even in the
* Morelli, Della Publica Libreria di S. Marco, p. 4 et seq. Venice, 1774, in 4to.
Several of these books, which had lain forgotten for nearly three centuries, fell to dust when touched, and others were found, as it
were, petrified. Tomasini, in his Petrarcha Redivivus (p. 65), gives a list of those which, in 1635, were found in good condition.
Amongst these he remarked a Polyglot Vocabulary in Latin, Persian, and Turkish (Comanicum), written in the year 1303, of which
he transcribed a small specimen.
More*, in the work already referred to, gives a detail of several of these manuscripts, which are still to be seen in the library of
i ark, and accounts for the oblivion into which they had been allowed to fall during so long a period, from the enthusiasm which the
cquisition of the Greek manuscripts of Cardinal Bessarion excited in the fifteenth century.
328
PETRARCH.
Petrarch, difficulties which opposed his progress, sufficient enjoy-
' , 'ment to mitigate the affliction caused by the loss of many
valued friends. It was the fortune of Petrarch to survive
all those whom he loved. In the course of fifteen years,
death had deprived him of Cardinal John Colonna, James
of Carrara, lord of Padua, and several other friends who
the Euganean hills, so celebrated by the Romans for the Petrs,
salubrity of the air, the richness of the pasturages, and the '
beauty of the orchards. There the poet resumed, with his
labours, all the imprudence of his usual course of life. Em¬
ploying at once as many as five secretaries, he exhausted
himself with austerities, restricted himself to a single re-
oi v/miaia, - ““—7 —   i ^ . nr,crrnmDosedoffruitsorpulse,abstainedfromwine,tast-
were not less dear to him, but who are no , ’ and on days of abstinence, allowed himself only
and this second pestilence bereft him of almost all hose ^ often^and^on clay^ ^ gerved tQ re.
who remained, particularly ot Azon de Corregi , convalescence. Urban V., preferring the peace-
other gentlemen who had shared with nm n p 0f Avignon to the tumultuous agitations of R.ome,
of the Bishop of Lombez and who are so often men- J"1 ,ab0^tef^ die in France. He was succeeded by
tinned in his letters under the names of aa . G XIf wi10> equally well affected towards Petrarch,
pio. His grief was profound, and, under the deP , s Y h}g’l t ^ Italy Philip de Cabassole, now car-
on his Latin eclogues,“and on some parts of his Africa. It
was then that the poet wept over his laurels, and, in the
bitterness of a wounded spirit, confessed that his crown
had been to him a crown of thorns.
The homage which was paid to him at Venice might,
however, have afforded him some consolation, had not a
new revolt in the island of Candia created serious alarm in
the mother country. The senate, confiding in the military
reputation and experience of Luchino del Verme, a Milan-
i ,i _ r‘ A „ £* a rmnintpri him to tllG
soon after reaching Perugia, and Petrarch never more be¬
held the beloved friend of his youth. The poet, however,
appeared to revive on receiving a libel published by a
French monk against his letter of congratulation to 1 ope
Urban, and he once more humbled himself so far as to re¬
ply to an invective by abuse.
Francesco de Carrara, abandoned by his allies, had just
concluded a humiliating peace with Venice. Being oblig¬
ed to send his son to ask pardon and swear fidelity to the
reputation and experience of Luchino del V erme, a x - he entreated Petrarch to accompany the youth,
ese general, the friend of Petrarch, appoin e nm ond address the senate in his behalf. Though sick and old,
COlU a i ' . 1 r.v^l i .“n f i nn made the DottTnWcollected his ancient friendship for the lords
commanu ui  — - o .. ,
and the poet consented to support the application made
by the doge to that officer. Luchino put down the insur¬
rection ; and Petrarch had a place assigned him, on the
right hand of the doge, at the equestrian games which were
celebrated, in the manner of the ancients, in honour ot this
victory. Urban V., a virtuous and enlightened pontiff,
now attempted to recall the poet to his court, by confer¬
ring upon him a canonship at Carpentras ; a favour which
he repaid by urging the holy father, in a long and vehement
letter, to put an end to celibacy in the Roman Catholic
church. Meanwhile, the cry of hatred raised everywhere
against the Visconti had armed against them the new
pontiff, and with him the half of Italy, now menaced by
their ambition. Much less alarmed at this danger, how¬
ever, than apprehensive of a w'ar which would expose his
country to the ravages of a foreign soldiery, Petrarch was
employed by Galeas Visconti to endeavour to avert the
storm ; and this, which proved the last, was also the most
fruitless of all his missions. But the warmth with which
he defended the Visconti family in no degree diminished
the favour he enjoyed at Rome. Urban wished to see
him; and Petrarch was preparing to respond to an invita¬
tion conceived in terms the most urgent and flattering,
when he was seized with a terrible malady at Ferrara. But
though saved by the care of the Este family, who govern¬
ed that country, he did not recover sufficient strength to
continue his journey; and having returned to Padua, re¬
clining upon a couch in a boat, he established himself tour
leagues from that city, at the village of Arqua, situated in
the poet only recollected his ancient friendship for the lords
of Padua, and repaired with young Carrara to Venice.
The day after their arrival they had an audience; but the
old man, overcome with fatigue, and perhaps awed by the
majesty of the assembly, could not utter a word, ihe
following day, however, he took courage, and his harangue
was warmly applauded. But this effort proved his last;
it was the song of the swan when dying. He returned to
Arqua, feeble, exhausted, and as indocile to the counsels of
physicians as ever. Boccacio, who now seemed to supp y
the place of all the friends he had lost, having sent him
the Decameron, which had just been completed, Petrarch
read it with enthusiasm ; got by heart the novel of Gri-
seldis, which he translated into Latin; and transmitted to
Boccacio this version, accompanied with a letter, which ap¬
pears to have been the last he ever wrote. On the l»th
of July 1374, he was found dead in his library, with his
head resting upon an open book, an attack of apoplexy
having seized him in that attitude. All Padua came to
assist at his obsequies. Francesco de Carrara conducte
the funeral ceremonies, attended by the nubility and the
people ; and the family of the poet caused a mausoleum of
marble to be erected to his memory before the gate of the
church of Arqua.1 . . ,
The illustrious subject of this notice was connected
with all the celebrated men of the fourteenth century; he
took part in almost every event by which that memorab e
age was distinguished ; and in a life so full ot troub e an
agitation, the only reproach which he incurred constitutes
1 This simple narrative will
canto of Childe Harold :
There is a tomb in Arqua; rear’d in air.
Pillar’d in their sarcophagus, repose
The bones of Laura’s lover : here repair
Many familiar with his well sung woes,
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose
To raise a language, and his land reclaim
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes:
Watering the tree which bears his lady’s name
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame.
of the following exquisite stanzas in the fourth
They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died;
The mountain village where his latter days
Went down the vale of years ; and ’tis their pride—
An honest pride—and let it be their praise,
To offer to the passing stranger’s gaze _
His mansion and his sepulchre, both plain
And venerably simple, such as raise
A feeling more accordant with his strain
Than if a pyramid form’d his monumental fane.
shadowy, that her existence has been
curious information m tnos
On the subiect of Petrarch's love, which Gibbon calls “ a metaphysical passion for a nymph so
and also in regard to the last circumstance, in the life of the poet, the reader w,ll find some
' the notes to this canto which refer to the stanzas above quoted.
enable the reader to appreciate the truth and beauty
PETRARCH.
329
irch. the finest eulogiurn on his character. He was born a poet,
.'—''and always continued so, in his studies, his political mis¬
sions, his love, his conversation, and his letters. The love
of his country was no doubt in him little more than a
poetical dream, but it was the dream of his whole life.
In the intoxication of glory, as well as in the midst of the
most cruel afflictions, ancient Italy was ever present to his
thoughts. In the glorious recollections of the past he
sought to console himself for the disorders of his own age,
and from his worship of antiquity he derived generous in¬
spirations and innocent illusions. That these illusions some¬
times misled him in the choice of his friends, cannot rea¬
sonably be questioned. His candour exposed him without
defence to the calculations of an astute policy, which, mask¬
ing its real designs under the captivating name of Italy,
completed the deception by the interested benefits which
it conferred upon letters ; but he passed through the courts
of the petty Italian tyrants without any one having im¬
peached his character, or cast a shade of suspicion on his
memory. His morals were not entirely pure, but they were
never corrupt. In his youth he had a natural daughter,
near whom he diechsoon after her marriage ; and his son,
whom he survived, was cherished with an affection and
bewailed with a sorrow that long served to keep alive the
regret which the remembrance of his weaknesses had left
in his mind. The lover of Laura was impressed with a
deep sense of religion ; and, amongst the habits of a simple
and studious life, it is related that he rose regularly at
midnight for prayer. Superior to the pedantry which then
and long afterwards clung to learning, this great poet was
also an amiable man. His conversation was confiding and
animated ; his manners were frank and polished. His soul,
ardent, but open to all the gentler affections, had a natu¬
ral craving for friendship, which was to him a necessary of
life ; and he had many friends, all of whom appear to have
been faithful to him, and equally swayed by the double
authority of his counsel and his example. Boccacio, whose
benefactor he had been, and who had previously been little
else than a man of pleasure, became irreproachable, if not
austere, in his morals, after his acquaintance with Pe¬
trarch. Acciaiuoli, grand seneschal of Naples, having be¬
come embroiled with another friend of Petrarch, the lat¬
ter wrote to both a letter which was only to be opened and
read in common, and the consequence was, that they part¬
ed mutually reconciled. It was by means of his friends
that Petrarch exercised a kind of literary dictatorship in
France, in Spain, and in England; it was through his friends
that he was enabled to carry on that European correspond¬
ence which everywhere rekindled the study and admiration
of the ancients. This long supremacy, scarcely disturbed
by some clamours wfflich envy had excited, and the honours
paid to his memory throughout all Italy, gave a general im¬
pulse to the minds of men. He represented in his own per¬
son the republic of letters, and his life forms a grand epoch
in their history. The elevation of his character made them
be respected by the great; whilst his writings contributed
powerfully to purify them from that strange alloy with which
ignorance had debased them.
He studied with diligence alchemy, astrology, scholastic
theology, and Aristotle, with his interpreter Averroes, who
had then even more authority than the great master be¬
fore whom philosophy is said to have stood dumb. Even
at the time when, by his advice, Galeas Visconti founded
the university of Pavia, he himself directed the course of
study, and formed the mind of Malpighino, who afterwards
became so famous amongst the restorers of letters by the
name of John of Ravenna. His letters De Scriptis Vete-
Tim Indagandis and De Libris Ciceronis attest the extent
of the researches he made to recover manuscripts of the
j ancient authors, w hich he then copied with his own hand,
not venturing to intrust them to the ignorance of vulgar
vol. xvn.
scribes. It was thus that he restored to the literary world Petrarch,
the Oratorical Institutions of Quinctilian, though incom¬
plete and mutilated, and the letters of Cicero, the manu¬
script of which is preserved in the Laurentian Library at
Florence, with the copy which he had made from it. He
equally recovered some of Cicero’s orations which had
been lost; and it is further known that he had preserved
the famous treatise De Gloria; but having lent it to his
master Convennole, this old man sold it for subsistence,
and Petrarch afterwards attempted in vain to trace it out,
as well as the Antiquities of Varro, which he had seen in his
youth, and a book of letters and epigrams ascribed to Au¬
gustus. It was he also who first made Sophocles known
in Italy; and his avidity for manuscripts had become so
generally understood, that he received from Constanti¬
nople a complete copy of the poems of Homer, without
having even asked for it. After the gift which he made
to Venice, as already mentioned, he lost no time in form¬
ing another library. In an age when chronology and geo¬
graphy were still unknown, he had made a chronological
collection of imperial medals, and got together a very con¬
siderable number of geographical charts. He himself was
the author of a map of Italy, which continued to be con¬
sulted a century after his death ; and all his biographers
have mentioned his researches respecting the island of
Thule. In a word, his name, which is inseparable from
those of Dante and Boccacio, w'ould alone be sufficient to
refute the assertion, too often repeated, that the revival
of letters was a consequence of the capture of Constanti¬
nople by the Turks in the year 1453.
It is no doubt true, that the rest of Europe did not then
possess men who had attained the same splendour and uni¬
versality of fame. France, which had received from her
troubadours the oldest modern literature, could only boast
of a few learned men; such as Nicolas Oresme, who en¬
joyed the esteem of Petrarch, but is better known by his
translations, and by a discourse in which he denounced to
the pope himself the scandals of the pontifical court; and
Pierre Berchoire, author of a kind of encyclopedia, com¬
piled in the spirit and style of the schools, and which he
appears to have composed at Avignon. King John, and
after him Charles V. collected the first volumes of the
Royal Library; and Froissart, who by his simple and art¬
less history does so much honour to the literature of France,
commenced, under the latter prince, that series of French
poets which has never since been interrupted. The praises
of Laura diffused amongst the women a taste for Italian
poetry; and one lady, whose name still survives in literary
history, Justina de Levis, addressed a sonnet to Petrarch,
which elicited from his gallantry or judgment warm com¬
mendation. Chaucer, who was preparing to found a litera¬
ture in England, saw him in Italy, and was perhaps in¬
debted to him for the acquaintance of Boccacio, whom he
has so frequently imitated in his works. Another English¬
man, Richard de Bury, one of the correspondents of Pe¬
trarch, founded a library at Oxford, and diffused through¬
out his country a taste for books. As yet Spain had only
her early historical romances, and some theologians; but
two centuries later, the poetical admirer of Laura found in
Boscan an imitator at the court of Castille, whilst Bembo,
Tarsia, Molsa, and many others, opened in Italy the dan¬
gerous school of the Petrarchists.
The Letters of Petrarch, which were printed for the first
time in 1484, though without the name of the place, are
now regarded as the most curious portion of his Latin works.
These letters, which were not written exclusively for his
friends, contain valuable details in regard to his life, as well
as the manners and the history, literary and political, of
the fourteenth ceptury. The court of Avignon is by no
means spared; and the author was too good an Italian not
in some instances to overcharge a little his portraits. His
2 x
330
PETRARCH.
. » * iv*. 4. natural and his was on his Latin works that Petrarch founded his claims Petrsi,
Petrarch, expression is animated, but always natu, ah ^ d[stinct[on as an author. and, what is not a little re-^w
prose often betrays the poet. laces which were markable, this was also the error of Boccacio. These mis-
phy somewhat resemble those com P .,Th t ;udgments of genius, of which we have examples both in
treated by the Greek rhetorician so kinds of For- Homer and in Milton, as well as in the two illustrious men
which he has entitled ^mediesagamst we have just named, would form a curious subject of literary
^ ^ the place in wl,ich u cou,d w,th pro-
The treatise De Olio Rehgwsamm ''as.[a 11. anl0n„st P But Petrarch’s best title to distinction rests upon his
plaisance to the Carthusian ffTe order “ and cZtzonSe. It is there that he shows himself truly in.
»ho” a!8the0^ent^ntreaw of Francesco de Carrar’a that spired, and displays in profusion all the riches of his ori-
it was at the urgent entreaty o Cicero on ginal genius. The ancient erotic poets, strangers to any
he collected the principal max R admini- ennobling sentiment, had celebrated pleasure rather than
politics, under the title of Do Republic* opume a ^ ^ ^ women which had s0 ]ong existe(1
stranda, which might have suite . tion and amongst the nations of the North ; that worship of beauty,
extended composition ^ennobled by the still recent recollections of chivalry; thoJe
his treatise Be Officw et Vi tutibu j « t’hoUgh these feats of valour which were days of triumph to the ladies;
ed separately at Berne’^^ ^ * ^^nv other su- all this was wanting to pagan society. Petrarch, there-
httle works have since been eirace y y .. stands alone, because his passion resembled nothing
perior productions, yet they are the offspring of a judicious kenownP. The early songs of thl
mind, which neither flattered aut oi y ^ troubadours had embodied the natural expression of the
nor disregarded the rights of mankind »*eor-.ic^ “"“ners of chivalry. The examples which they had pre-
his retreat f a'sf0^°‘ ti u„derPthis piquant sented, the traditions which they had left, as well as the
work against the disciples of A , ? q Hi unfortunate refinements of the Italians, their imitators, and
denomination, Be Ignorcmtia sm ipsms et multorum. n su5tleties of the courts of love, a sad parody of
Historical Essays, ot which some b'agme"ts.hf^b'^ ^ forms and often of the obscurities, of the schools, had
served, entitled ^^^^p^^p^gding^ritersl created amongst the moderns a language to which rhyme
to the facts which he has browed from precedmg^wr^ ; a language which was n0 longer the
contain some particulars belong g p { f vuigar language, but yet was not that of poetry. To this
tory, which are nowhere else to be found Ihe perusal o^ ^ i4arted all that the superiority of his
the Confessions of St1Au^fUaii1 * * * *his?omnositions namely, the genius had taught him. We have seen that he had studied
to him the most singular of all his compositions, nameiy, t g ^ although his mind had, unaided, divined the
three dialogues, Be . un h ow 1 Th di d le of Socrates, yet that union of souls which the phi-
ed so much importance as to call hem fs secret A had someti^es dreamed of was as remote from
author communes with St Augustin on h s own c a , which inspired Petrarch as the domestic
tastes, and weaknesses; he confesses is It t j manners of the Greeks differed from those of the fourteenth
phcity of childhood, and on the otber ia"a’ & d^Uf band centu . It was not Platonic love which had animated the
lectures him with an authority temp { ’ poet. it was love such as Christianity and chivalry had made
a xth^VSh r^tTways ex^pt from ft. This love, which the corruption of our age has pronoun-
awriS5Kgss-3«rt,ra
a    n!—srs-..™
hon His Vc ovues hke those of Boccacio, are almost al- the misfortunes of his Francesca ; and, after the pubhta-
way's satirical allegories, having reference to contemporane- tion of the the Itehan tdtom ceas^
ous events. The tenth is consecrated to the memory of it any thing barbarous. When we read the verses 0
Laura. In his three books of Epistles, versified with more trarch, we can almost fancy that we heai sound
facility than might have been expected in that iron age, lyre, from which, on every occasion, ^
there are some interesting and instructive details. In fact, an ineffable sweetness. In the first part, where he celeb a
the Lafln foction of Petfarch, though generally superior the P-fections of Laura his expression be^^^^
to the bald and rude style of his contemporaries, is never- or ecstatic ; in the second, where he laments his mistress,
theless far below that of his models. His composition is his song has a solemn and penetiating acce t.
vigorous without being harsh, and on some occasions he is he lends his lute to chant the lessons o P 1 0®°P ^le-
deficient neither in elegance nor in energy; but he more other times it is the Hebrew harp resoundmg the male
frequently reminds us of St Augustin than of Cicero, whom dictions of the prophets, or a ItomaiiniiisebLV^ S,^^^
he professed not only to admire, but to imitate. Still, it debasement and misfortunes of her count y.
1 In the Archives Littiraires (tom. ii. pp. 259-286), M. de Gerando has translated some fragments of this very common-place dialogue
under the title of the Philosophy of Petrarch (De la Philosophie^ de Petrarque). , , T) „ vtt Thk fable which has
* Several biographers have given Petrarch a sister, who, they say, was beloved by Pope Benedict XII. ’ , fact)
been received wfthout question by Protestants, and thoughtlessly repeated by Villaret, and even by Henry, is dispro .v
which Ginguene has clearly established, namely, that Petrarch never had a sister.
PET PET 331
irch. love comparisons and coincidences have remarked, that the
^ sonnets, from their form, remind us of some of the smaller
odes of Horace, and, for grace as well as simplicity of de¬
tails, recall the manner of the poet of Teos. For this kind
of poetry Petrarch was indebted to his predecessors ; but
it was he who rendered these little poems more perfect
and more difficult; and the laws which his example pre¬
scribed have not yet been abrogated.
The Canzoni of Petrarch, which have been improperly
rendered Chansons by Voltaire, are odes the form of which
he borrowed from the troubadours, whilst to the substance
he imparted the elevation and dignity of epic composition.
The Italians have exhausted all the prescriptive terms of
admiration upon those which Petrarch appears to have
preferred, and which he called the Three Sisters, odes
which his commentators have since named the Three
Graces. The eyes of Laura form the subject of these three
odes, which are the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth
of the collection. But whatever may be the perfection of
style for which they are distinguished, a reader of the pre¬
sent day will always find difficulty in comprehending the
long literary superstition of which they have been the ob¬
ject. Graver readers will no doubt prefer the Canzone on
the crusade, which is the fifth in the collection, and that
magnificent ode, so truly national, in which the poet re¬
traces, en traits defeu, the oppression of his beloved Italy,
and shows her bleeding and mutilated, yet still full of
glory, and capable of recovering from her wounds ; compo¬
sitions so little known to those superficial litterateurs who
have mistaken a man of the greatesfigenius, who formed a
language and created a literature, for a mere grinder of
madrigals. All those who know the language of Petrarch
have cited, amongst the monuments of his love, the cele¬
brated sonnets,
Solo e pensoso i piii deserti campi
Vo misurando a passi tardi e lenti;
E gli occhi porto, per fuggire, intenti
Dove vestigio uman la rena stampi,
being the twenty-eighth of the first part; and
Levommi il mio pensier in parte ov’era
Quella ch’ io cerco e non ritrovo in terra:
Ivi fra lor che ’1 terzo cerchio serra,
La rividi piii bella, e meno altera,
which is the thirty-fourth of the second part; besides
many other Canzoni not less admired, amongst which it
would be difficult to make a selection. We shall only re¬
fer our readers to the twenty-seventh, the first strophe of
which has been so happily imitated by Voltaire. The lat¬
ter, however, has not been equally fortunate in his judg¬
ment of Petrarch ; and Sismondi, without indulging in the
same levity, has shown himself almost equally severe. But
the monotony with which Petrarch has been reproached
is perhaps rather a defect inherent in the particular spe¬
cies than one peculiar to the poet. The lover of Laura
bewails himself, since complain he must, and this eternal
lamentation is without doubt sometimes fatiguing; but
love rejoices in such repetitions ; and Petrarch has varied
as much as possible this uniformity, by pictures of rustic life
full of natural grace and simplicity, or by high and enno¬
bling religious contemplations. We do not say, however,
that his poems, and especially his sonnets, have escaped all
tincture of the prevailing taste of his age. On the con-
trary, he is often more ingenious than natural, and more
elaborate than correct; but a re-perusal of the second half
of the Caneoniere, which is very generally preferred to the
first, must satisfy any reader that nothing short of extreme
injustice or inveterate prejudice can construe into a mere
p ay of wmrds or sport of ingenuity a grief which is stamp-
e with all the characteristics of truth, deep feeling, and
sincerity. 1 &
The most complete edition of the works of Petrarch is Petrel
that of Basel, 1581, in folio, which wants only a certain Island
number of Letters, comprised in that of Geneva, 1601. p IL
The most ancient edition of his Latin works also bears the tion^
name of Basel, where it appeared in 1496, in folio. But it i L.
is in the libraries of Italy that his Letters and his Auto¬
graph Manuscripts must be sought for. The treatise De
Kemediis utriusque Fortunae was printed at Cologne, 1471,
in 4to, and has been thrice translated into French ; and
the historical work entitled Vite de’ Pontefici et Impera-
dori Romani, which has now become exceedingly scarce,
appeared at Florence, 1478, in folio, and is still much sought
after, as one of the most ancient monuments of Italian prose.
In later times, his Italian poems alone have been reprint¬
ed. The first edition, containing the Sonetti and the Tri-
onfi, is that of Venice, 1470, in large 4to. Amongst the
subsequent editions, the most esteemed are, 1. Le Cose
Volgari, by Aldus Manutius, Venice, 1501, in 8vo; 2. II
Petrarca, Lyons, 1574, in 16to; 3. Le Rime di Petrar-
ca, Padua, 1722, in 8vo ; 4. A reprint of the same, with
notes by Muratori, Venice, 1727, in 4to; 5. The editions
of Bodoni, 1799, in two vols. folio and 8vo; 6. That of
Morelli, the librarian, with Remarks by Beccadelli, Vero¬
na, 1799, in two small vols. 8vo ; 7. That which forms
part of the Biblioteca Poetica Italiana, published by But-
tura, and printed by Didot the elder, Paris, in three small
vols.; and, 8. The edition, with Commentaries, published
by Biagioli in 1822, in 8vo. Petrarch is said to have been
the subject of twenty-five distinct biographies, exclusive of
the sketches of his life given in collections. Of these lives,
the most copious, though by no means the most accurate, is
that of the Abbe de Sade; and as to Lord Woodhouse-
lee’s Historical and Critical Essay on the Life and Cha¬
racter of Petrarch, published in 1810, Lord Byron has dry¬
ly remarked, “ Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotch¬
man, we know as little of Laura as ever.” (a.)
PETREL Island, a small island in Dusky Bay, near
the coast of New Zealand, a little to the north of the har¬
bour in Anchor Island. It is also the name of a bay on the
south coast of New Holland. Long. 133. 15. 30. E. Lat.
32. 33. 30. S.
PE 1RIFACTION, in Natural History, denotes the con¬
version of wood, bones, and some other substances, whether
animal or vegetable, into stone. These bodies are more
or less altered from their original state, according to the
different substances amongst which they have lain buried
in the earth; some of them having suffered very little
change, and others being so highly impregnated with crys¬
talline, sparry, pyritical, or other extraneous matter, as to
appear mere masses of stone or lumps of the matter of the
common pyrites. But they are generally of the same ex¬
ternal dimensions, and retain more or less of the same in¬
ternal figure, as the bodies into the pores of which this
matter has made its way. The animal substances thus
found petrified are chiefly sea-shells, the teeth, bony palates,
and bones of fishes, the bones of land-animals, and some
others. These are found variously altered, by the insinu¬
ation of stony and mineral matter into their pores; and
the substance of some of them is found to be wholly gone,
leaving only stony, sparry, or other mineral matter remain¬
ing in the original shape and form.
Respecting the manner in which petrifaction is accom¬
plished, we know but little. It has been thought by many
philosophers, that this is one of the occult processes of na¬
ture ; and accordingly such places as afford a view of it
have been looked upon as great curiosities. However, it
is now discovered that petrifaction is exceedingly common,
and that every kind of water carries in it some earthy par¬
ticles, which being precipitated, become stone of a greater
or less degree of hardness; and this quality is most re¬
markable in those waters which are much impregnated
332 PET
PET
Petrifac¬
tion.
with selenitic matter. It has been found by observation,
that iron contributes greatly to the process; and this it
may do by its precipitation of any aluminous earth which
happens to be dissolved in the water by means of an acid,
iron having the property of precipitating this earth. . Cal¬
careous earth, however, by being soluble in water without
any acid, must contribute greatly to the process of petri¬
faction, as its particles are capable of acquiring a great de¬
gree of hardness by means only of being joined with fixed
air, on which depends the solidity of our common cement
or mortar used in building houses.
The name of petrifaction, as we have seen, belongs only
to bodies of vegetable or animal origin; and in order to
determine their class and genus, or even species, it is ne¬
cessary that their texture, their primitive form, and in
some measure also their organization, should be still dis¬
cernible. Thus, we ought not to place the stony kernels,
moulded in the cavity of some shell, or other organized
body, in the rank of petrifactions properly so called.
Petrifactions of the vegetable kingdom are almost all
either gravelly or siliceous ; and they are found in gullies,
trenches, and other situations. Those which strike fire
with steel are principally found in sandy fissures; those
which effervesce in acids are generally of animal origin,
and are found in the horizontal beds of calcareous earth,
and sometimes in beds of clay or gravel, in which last case
the nature of the petrifaction is different. As to the sub¬
stances which are found in gypsum, they seldom undergo
any alteration, either with respect to figure or composition,
and they are of very rare occurrence.
Organized bodies, in a state of petrifaction, generally
acquire a degree of solidity of which they were not pos¬
sessed when they were buried in the earth, and some of
them are often fully as hard as the stones or matrices in
which they are enveloped. When the stones are broken,
the fragments of petrifactions are readily found, and easily
distinguished. There are some organized bodies, however,
so changed by petrifaction, as to render it impossible to
discover their origin. That there is a matter more or less
agitated, and adapted for penetrating bodies, which crum¬
bles and separates their parts, and disperses them here and
there in the fluid which surrounds them, is a fact of which
nobody seems to entertain any doubt. Indeed we see al¬
most every substance, whether solid or liquid, insensibly
consume, diminish in bulk, and at last, in the lapse of time,
vanish and disappear.
A petrified substance, strictly speaking, is nothing more
than the skeleton, or perhaps the form, of a body which has
once had life, either animal or vegetable, combined with
some mineral. Thus, petrified wood is not, in that state,
wood alone. One part of the compound or mass of wood,
having been destroyed by local causes, has been compen¬
sated by earthy and sandy substances, diluted and extreme¬
ly minute, which the waters surrounding them had deposit¬
ed, whilst they themselves evaporated. These earthy sub¬
stances, being then moulded in the skeleton, will be more
or less indurated, and will appear to have its figure, struc¬
ture, and size, in a word, the same general characters, the
same specific attributes, and the same individual differen¬
ces. Further, in petrified wood, no trace or vestige of lig¬
neous matter appears to exist. We know that common wood
is a body in which the volume of solid parts is greatly ex¬
ceeded by that of the pores. When wood is buried in
certain places, lapidific fluids, extremely divided and some¬
times coloured, insinuate themselves into its pores and fill
them up. These fluids are afterwards moulded and con¬
densed. The solid part of the wood is decomposed and
reduced into powder, which is expelled from the mass by
aqueous filtrations; and thus the places which were for¬
merly occupied by the wood are now left empty in the form
of pores. This operation of nature produces no apparent
difference either of the size or of the shape ; but it occa- Petrol
sions, both at the surface and in the interior, a change of sid
substance, and the ligneous texture is inverted, or, in other I
words, that which was pore in the natural wood becomes
solid in the petrified, and that which was solid or full ins J
the first state becomes porous in the second. In this way,
says Musard, petrified wood is much less extended in pores
than solid parts, and at the same time forms a body much
denser and heavier than the first. As the pores commu¬
nicate from the circumference to the centre, the petrifac¬
tion ought to begin at the centre, and end with the circum¬
ference of the organic body subjected to the action ot the
lapidific fluids. Such is the origin ot petrifactions. They
are organized bodies which have undergone changes at the
bottom of the sea or the surface ot the earth, and which
have been buried by various accidents at differ ent depths
under the ground. See Mineralogv and (jEology.
PETROBRUSSIANS, a religious sect, which took its
rise in France and the Netherlands about the year 1110.
The name is derived from Peter Bruys, a Provencal, who
made a most laudable attempt to reform the abuses and
remove the superstition which disgraced the beautiful sim¬
plicity of the gospel. His followers were numerous, and
for twenty years his labour in the ministry was exemplary
and unremitted. He was, however, burned in the year
1130, by an enraged populace, said to have been set on by
the clergy.
The most noted of Bruys’s followers was a monk named
Henry, from whom the Petrobrussians were also called
Henricians. Peter the Venerable, abbot of Clugny, wrote
a treatise expressly against the Petrobrussians, in the pie-
face to which he reduces their opinions to five heads.
They denied that children before the age of reason can
be justified by baptism, as it is our own faith that saves
by baptism. They held that no churches should be built,
an inn being as proper for prayers as a temple, and a stable
as an altar; that the cross ought to be pulled down and
burned, because we ought to abhor the instrument ot our
Saviour’s passion; that the real body and blood of Christ
are not exhibited in the eucharist, but merely represented
by figures and symbols ; and that sacrifices, alms, prayers,
and the like, do'not avail the dead. Langlois accuses the
Petrobrussians of Manicheism, and says, they maintained
two gods, the one good, the other evil; but this is rather
an effect of his zeal for the Catholic cause, which led him
to blacken its adversaries, than any real sentiment of the
Petrobrussians.
PETROJOANNITES were followers of Peter John, or
Peter Joannis, that is, Peter the son of John, who flourish¬
ed in the twelfth century. His doctrine was not known
until after his death, when his body was taken out of his
grave and burned. His opinions were, that he alone had the
knowledge of the true sense in which the apostles preached
the gospel; that the reasonable soul is not the form o
man ; that there is no grace infused by baptism; and that
Jesus Christ was pierced with a lance on the cross before
he expired. , t
PETROLEUM, or Rock Oil, a thick oily substance
exuding from the earth, and collected on the surface ot
wells, in many parts of the world. r
PETRONIUS Arbiter, C. the author of a kind ot ro¬
mance, the earliest with which we are acquainted, was born
at Massilia, and is supposed to be the same of whom some
account is given by Tacitus {Ann. xvi. 18). As procon¬
sul, he administered the province of Bithyma with consi¬
derable ability, and on his return to Rome he became tn
favourite of Nero, and the director as well as participate
of all his pleasures. His influence with the emperor e •
cited the envy and jealousy of Tigellinus, and that mm -
ster soon found an opportunity of putting an end o
connection with Nero. Petronius chose Ins own mode
PET
PET
333
etr
lost
ett
i- closing his life, a. d. 67, that he might escape a severer
punishment. There is no certainty, however, that this in¬
dividual, of whom Tacitus gives an account, is the same
e‘ with the author of the work of which fragments have
"^come down to us; but even if he be not, still there is no
doubt that he must have flourished about this period, from
the classical purity of his language, and the general ar¬
rangement of his subject. The work is entitled Satyricon ;
and of it we have only some fragments, which seem to have
formed part of a selection from his work. It contains the
adventures of a certain freedman, Encolpius, sometimes
of a tragical, sometimes of a comical nature, which gives
an opportunity to the author of narrating fully the follies
and vices of his age. There has been preserved a beauti¬
ful episode, the Matron of Ephesus and the Supper of
Trimalchio, which admits us to the domestic circles of the
noble Romans, and makes us acquainted with their volup¬
tuous mode of life. The characters are well drawn ; the
whole idea of the scene is got up with much spirit as well
as art; and there are some beautiful descriptions, which
make us regret that he should have wasted his talents on
common and obscene subjects. The obscenity of much
that is preserved is of the most gross and licentious na¬
ture ; but the beauty of his style, and the purity of his ex¬
pressions, remind us of the classical period of Roman lite¬
rature. The best edition is that of Burmann (Traj. ad
Rhen. 1709).
PETROPAULOSKAIA, a fortress of Asiatic Russia,
in the government of Irkoutsk, sixteen miles south-south¬
west of Selenginsk. Another fortress in the government of
Oufa, 52 miles east-north-east of Verchouralsk. Also a
town of Asiatic Russia, in the government of Tobolsk, on
the Ischim, forty miles east of Ischira.
PETROSOWODSK, a city of Russia, in the govern¬
ment of Olonez, and the capital of a circle of its own name.
It is situated on a bay of the Lake of Onega, and by means
of the Salma is connected with the Lake of Lagmosero. It
is poorly built, but contains 390 houses, mostly of wood, and
3280 inhabitants, who trade in pitch, tar, and ship-timber;
and near it there are some large iron-works. It is 303 miles
from St Petersburg. Long. 34. 18. 25. E. Lat. 61. 47. 4. N.
PETSCHANOI, a fortress of Asiatic Russia, in the go¬
vernment of Kolivan, 188 miles west-south-west of Koli-
van. Also a cape on the northern coast of Asiatic Russia,
in the Frozen Sea. Long. 165. 14. E. Lat. 75. 25. N.
PETTEIA, in the ancient music, a term to which we
have no one corresponding in our language. The melo-
pceia, or the art of arranging sounds in succession so as to
produce melody, is divided into three parts, which the Greeks
call lepsis, mixis, and chresis ; the Latins, sumptio, mixio,
and msms; and the Italians, preset, mescolumenio, and uso.
The last of these is called by the Greeks irsrre/a, and by
the Italians pettia ; which therefore means the art of mak¬
ing a just discernment of all the manners of ranging or
combining sounds amongst themselves, so that they may
produce their effect, or express the several passions intend¬
ed to be raised. Thus it shows what sounds are to be
used, and what not; how often they are severally to be
repeated; with which to begin and with which to end;
whether with a grave sound to rise, or an acute one to fall,
&c. The petteia constitutes the manners of the music;
chooses out this or that passion, this or that motion of the
soul, to be awakened; and determines whether it be pro¬
per to excite it on this or on that occasion. The petteia,
therefore, is in music much what the manners are in poetry.
It is not easy to discover whence the denomination should
have been taken by the Greeks, unless from ‘rsrrs/a, their
game of chess, the musical petteia being a sort of combi¬
nation and arrangement of sounds, as chess is of pieces
called wsrr/o, calculi, or chess-men.
PETTIPORE, or P-ettapoue, a town of Hindustan, in
the Northern Circars, and district of Rajamundry, thirty- Petty,
three miles east-north-east from the town of Rajamundry.''——v'"-
Long. 82. 25. E. Lat. 27. 5. N.
PETTY, Sir William, a man eminently distinguished
for his learning, mechanical ingenuity, and political writ¬
ings, was the eldest son of Antony Petty, a clothier at
Rumsey, in Hampshire, where he was born on the 16th of
May 1623. Petty, when a boy, was noted for the pleasure
he took in observing mechanics at work, and the facility with
which he comprehended the nature of their employments
and the use of their tools. He received the rudiments of his
education at the grammar-school of Rumsey, where, before
the age of fifteen, he had acquired a competent knowledge
of the Latin, Greek, and French languages, and made him¬
self master of the common rules of arithmetic, as well as
of the elements of geometry, dialling, and navigation. He
then removed to the University of Caen, in Normandy,
taking with him a small stock of merchandise, which he
disposed of to so much advantage, that he maintained him¬
self out of the profits of his traffic, and at the same time
perfected himself in Latin and French, acquired enough
of Greek “ to serve his turn,” studied the arts, and ex¬
tended his knowledge of the mathematics. Even at this
early period the prevailing bias of his mind displayed it¬
self ; and in the student of Caen we discover the father of
the man who, holding that there are few ways in which a
person may be more harmlessly employed than in getting
money, afterwards realized a very great fortune. On his
return from France, he was appointed to the navy, though
in what capacity is not known. In this situation he re¬
mained for some time, and having saved about L.60, he
determined to bid adieu to the navy, and travel for further
improvement. Flaving made choice of physic as a profes¬
sion, he, in 1643, visited Leyden, Utrecht, and Paris, where
he studied anatomy, and read Yesalius with Hobbes, whom
he in turn assisted by drawing diagrams for the philoso¬
pher, who was then writing on optics. Whilst at Paris he
appears to have been reduced to great straits from want of
money ; but his ingenuity and industry extricated him
from all his difficulties; and, in 1646, he returned home
a richer man than when he had set out, although he had
maintained his brother Antony as well as himself.
Petty was not a man to remain inactive or slothful. It
appears indeed that, on the 6th of March 1647, a patent
was granted him by parliament for an invention which
would now be termed a copying-machine, but which he
calls an instrument for double writing. In an advertise¬
ment prefixed to his Advice to Mr Samuel Hartlib, he de¬
scribes it as an instrument of small bulk and price, easily
made, and very durable, by means of which “ any man,
even at the first sight and handling, may write two resem¬
bling copies of the same thing at once, as serviceably and
as fast as by the ordinary way;” and Rushworth informs
us that it might be learned in an hour’s practice, and was
calculated to be of great advantage to lawyers, scriveners,
merchants, scholars, registrars, clerks, and others, by saving
the labour of examination, and discovering or preventing
falsification. But this machine having been found not to
promote expedition in writing, the principal advantage pro¬
posed to be attained by it, Petty did not reap much profit
by his invention ; but, although it failed of its object in this
respect, it served to make him acquainted with the lead¬
ing men of the times. His next production was a pam¬
phlet entitled Advice to Mr Fiartlib for the Advancement
of Learning, containing some sensible remarks on national
education, particularly in as far as regards the more useful
branches of knowledge, which he justly conceived were
too much neglected. In 1648 he went to Oxford, where
he gave instructions in anatomy as a private teacher; be¬
came assistant to Dr Clayton, the professor of anatomy,
who had an insurmountable aversion to the sight of a
334
PET
PET
mangled corpse; and also practised physic with consider¬
able success. Here he acquired such reputation, that the
philosophical meetings which led to the institution of the
Royal Society were for the most part held at his lodgings ,
and, by a parliamentary recommendation, he obtained a
fellowship in Brazen-nose College, and was created doctor
of physic on the 7th of March 1649. In June 1650, he
was admitted a member of the College of Physicians; and
the same year he was concerned in the recovery of a wo¬
man, named Anne Green, who had been hanged at Ox¬
ford for the supposed murder of her bastard child. In the
beginning of 1651, he was appointed professor of anatomy,
and soon afterwards professor of music, at Gresham Col¬
lege ; and in 1652, he went to Ireland as physician to the
army in that country, where he served under three suc¬
cessive lords-lieutenant, namely, Lambert, Fleetwood, and
Henry Cromwell.
Some time after his settlement in Ireland, Dr Petty ob¬
serving that the forfeited lands adjudged to the soldiers,
after the suppression of the rebellion of 1641, were very
inaccurately measured, represented the matter to the per¬
sons then in power; and a contract, dated the 11th of De¬
cember 1654, was in consequence granted him, by which
he was authorized to make the admeasurements anew, a
duty which he appears to have discharged with exactness
and fidelity. By this contract he gained a very consider¬
able sum of money ; for, besides the twenty shillings a day
which he received during its performance, he had also, by
agreement with the soldiers, a penny an acre for the lands
measured by him; and by an order of government, dated
the 19th of March 1655, it appears that he had then sur¬
veyed 2,008,000 acres, which, at the rate stipulated, must
have yielded him about L.8400 sterling. He was likewise
one of the commissioners for allocating the lands to the
soldiers after they had been surveyed. In 1655, Henry
Cromwell assumed the lord-lieutenancy of Ireland, and
soon afterwards appointed Dr Petty his secretary ; in 1657,
the viceroy further appointed him clerk of the council, and
got him elected to serve as burgess for West Love, in
Cornwall, in Richard Cromwell’s parliament, which as¬
sembled on the 27th of January 1658. But this last ho¬
nour speedily involved him in trouble. On the 28th of
March following he was impeached of high crimes and
misdemeanours in the execution of his office, and obliged
to proceed to England. On the 19th of April he appear¬
ed in the House of Commons, and answered to the charge
on the 21st; the prosecutors then replied, after which the
matter was adjourned, and never came to an issue, as the
parliament was suddenly dissolved the next day. He soon
afterwards returned to Ireland, where, some further at¬
tempts being made to bring on a prosecution, he published
two pamphlets ; the one giving an account of the proceed¬
ings in the impeachment, and the other containing reflec¬
tions on some persons and things in Ireland. Finding the
latter country getting too hot for him, he crossed over to
England, provided with a warm application in his favour by
the lord-lieutenant; but, notwithstanding this intercession,
he was in June removed from all his employments.
The charges brought against him were six in number.
He was accused of having received or taken great bribes;
of having made a trade of buying debentures, contrary to
the statute ; of having obtained by fraud large sums of
money and extensive tracts of land; of having employed
many foul practices, as surveying and setting out lands;
of having, along with his fellow-commissioners, placed
some debentures in better situations than they could claim,
and denied right to others ; and, lastly, he and his fellow-
commissioners were accused of having totally disposed of
the army’s security for payment, whilst the debt still re¬
mained chargeable on the state. Petty’s answer to these
charges is abundantly curious. Instead of trying to refute
them in detail, he labours to show that, without ever in- 11
termeddling with the surveys of the Irish lands, he might'**
have acquired as large a fortune by other means; and,
certainly, whatever may be thought of such a defence to
specific charges of malversation and fraud, the statement
itself must be allowed the praise of ingenuity.
In 1659, the republican spirit not being yet extinct in
Petty, he became a member of the Rota Club, which met
at Miles’s coffee-house, in New Palace-yard, Westminster.
This club received its name from the strange practice it was
intended to support, namely, that all officers of state should
be chosen by ballot, that the time for holding their places
should be limited, and that a certain number of members
of parliament should be annually changed by rotation. But
the star of the commonwealth wasjiow waxing dim, and,
not long after Christmas, Petty went to Ireland. At the
Restoration, however, he came back to England, where he
was graciously received by Charles II., and, having resigned
his professorship at Gresham College, was appointed one of
the commissioners of the Court of Claims. In April 1661,
he received the honour of knighthood, with the grant of a
new patent constituting him surveyor-general of Ireland;
and he was at the same time chosen a member of the
Irish parliament. Being one of the founders of the Royal
Society, he was elected a member of the first council; and
although he had left off the practice of physic, his name
appears in the list of fellows of the College of Physicians
in 1663. About this time he invented a double-bottomed
ship, which was to sail against both wind and tide, though
we are not told by what means ; and, in 1665, he commu¬
nicated to the Royal Society, along with a model of his in¬
vention, a Discourse about the Building of Ships, which
being supposed to contain matter too important to be di¬
vulged, was taken away by the president, Lord Brounker,
who kept it in his possession till 1682, and probably till his
death, which happened not long afterwards.
In 1666, Sir William Petty drew up his treatise entitled
Verbum Sapienti, containing an account of the wealth and
expenditure of England, showing the method of raising
taxes in the most equal manner, and endeavouring to prove,
that England could bear a charge of four millions per an¬
num, when the exigencies of the government required it.
The same year he suffered a considerable loss by the fire
of London, the greater part of his house and gardens hav¬
ing been destroyed by that terrible conflagration. In 1667,
he married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Hardresse Waller,
and widow of Sir Maurice Fenton. This matrimonial con¬
nection, however, did not for a moment distract his atten¬
tion from his favourite pursuit of making money ; for im¬
mediately afterwards he established iron-works and a pil¬
chard-fishery, opened lead mines, and commenced a trade
in timber at Kerry, all of which turned to good account.
To vary his pursuits, he also composed a piece of Latin
poetry, which he subsequently published under the title of
Colloquium Davidis cum Anirna sua. In 1680, he gave
to the world his Politician Discovered, intended to expose
the sinister practices of the French ; and afterwards wrote
several essays on Political Arithmetic, in which, from con¬
sidering the natural resources of England and Ireland, he
shows how both may be strengthened, improved, and ren¬
dered superior to all their rivals or enemies. He assisted
at the formation of the Dublin Philosophical Society, and
in November 1684 was chosen president of that association.
On this occasion he drew up a Catalogue of Cheap and
Simple Experiments, which was soon afterwards followed
by his Suppellex Philosophica, containing a description ot
forty instruments which he deemed necessary to carry for¬
ward the design of the institution. But the ultimate term
of all his projects and pursuits was now approaching. A
gangrene in his foot, occasioned by the swelling of the
gout, having resisted every mode of treatment, at length
PET
PET
335
j>e put a period to his life, on the 16th of December 1687, in
the sixty-fifth year of his age. He died at his house in
Piccadilly, and his remains were interred at Rumsey, near
those of his parents. His will is perhaps the most curious
and characteristic composition of the kind in our language,
illustrating at once the habits of thinking and feeling pe¬
culiar to the man, and the mode in which he realized the
enormous fortune which he left to his descendants.1
A few particulars of the personal history of Sir William
Petty may be gleaned from Aubrey, who appears to have
lived with him op terms of intimacy. He possessed strong,
shrewd, natural good sense, flavoured with a tincture of
humour, and had a most convenient way of shaking him¬
self rid of the trammels of party when it suited his interest
to do so, changing sides with a facility that is altogether
edifying. His qualifications were indeed various and pe¬
culiar. He was an excellent droll, as he showed by pro¬
posing to Sir Jerome Sankey, who had challenged him, to
fight in a dark cellar with carpenters’ axes; a proposal
in which the knight, though he had^been a soldier, did not
deem it prudent to acquiesce. He would also preach ex¬
tempore, which Aubrey says he did “ incomparably,” and
that too in almost any style, “ either in the presbyterian
way, independent, capucin friar, or Jesuit.” He had “ an
admirable inventive head, and practical parts,” which he
turned to good account as far as his own interest was con¬
cerned ; and, like his friend Hobbes, he boasted that he
had read but little since he was twenty-five, declaring,
that “ had he read as much as some men have, he had not
known so much as he does, nor should have made such
discoveries and improvements.” He told Aubrey that he
had “ hewed out his fortune for himself,” and he even ma¬
naged to obtain a patent of nobility as Earl of Kilmore,
which, however, he suppressed to avoid envy. The variety
of pursuits in which he was engaged shows that he had ta¬
lents capable of achieving any thing to which he chose to
apply them ; and it is certainly not a little remarkable,
that a man of such an active and enterprising disposition
should have found time to write so much as he did in the
course of his busy life.
The following is a list of the works which appeared in
his lifetime: 1. Advice to Mr Samuel Hartlib, 1648, in
4to; 2. A Brief of Proceedings between Sir Jerome Sankey
and the Author, 1659, in folio ; 3. Reflections on some Per¬
sons and Things in Ireland, 1660, in 8vo ; 4. A Treatise of
Taxes and Contributions, 1662, in 4to, republished in 1690,
with two other pieces; 5. Apparatus to the History of the
| Common Practice of Dyeing, 1667; 6. A Discourse con¬
cerning Duplicate Proportion, 1674, in 12mo ; 7. Collo¬
quium Davidis cum Anima sua, 1679, in folio ; 8. The Po¬
litician Discovered, 1681, in 4to; 9. An Essay on Political
Arithmetic, 1682, in 8vo; 10. Observations upon the Dub¬
lin Bills of Mortality in 1681, 1683, in 8vo ; 11. Some Ex¬
periments relating to Land-carriage, Phil. Trans. No. 161;
12. Queries on Mineral Waters, ibid. No. 166; 13. A Ca¬
talogue of Experiments, ibid. No. 167; 14. Maps of Ire1-
land, being an actual Survey of the whole Kingdom, 1685,
in folio; 15. An Essay concerning the Multiplication ofPettycotta
Mankind, 1686, in 8vo; 16. A further Assertion concern- _ II
ing the Magnitude of London, Phil. Trans. No. 185; 17.v e^te^ ^
Two Essays in Political Arithmetic, 1687, in 8vo; 18. Five
Essays in Political Arithmetic, English and French, 1687,
in 8vo; 19. Observations upon London and Rome, 1687,
in 8vo.
His posthumous productions are, 1. Political Arithmetic,
1690, in 8vo, and 1755, with a Life prefixed, and a Letter
never before printed ; 2. The Political Anatomy of Ireland,
to which is added, Verbum Sapienti, 1691, 1719; 3. A
Treatise of Naval Philosophy, in three parts, printed at the
end of an Account of Several New Inventions, 1691, in
12mo ; 4. What a Complete Treatise of Navigation should
contain, Phil. Trans. No. 198, drawn up in 1685. In Birch’s
History of the Royal Society are contained, 1. A Discourse
of making Cloth and Sheep’s Wool, containing the History
ofthe Clothing Trade, and also that of Dyeing; and, 2.Sup-
pellex Philosophica, already mentioned. There are many
of Sir William Petty’s manuscripts in the British Museum,
amongst which is a sort of confession of his faith, corre¬
sponding with the concluding passage of his will, in which
he says, “ I die in the profession of that faith, and in the
practice of such worship, as I find established by the law
of my country,” a very honest and candid declaration on
his part. (a.)
PETTYCOTTA, a town of Hindustan, in the Southern
Carnatic, and the province of Tanjore, thirty-two miles
south by east from the town of Tanjore. Long. 79. 22.
E. Lat. 16. 21. N.
PETWORTH, a market-town of the county of Sussex,
in the rape of Arundel, and hundred of Rotherbridge. It
is situated on the river Arun, fifty miles from London, and
has a market which is held on Saturday. The streets are
irregular, but the whole appearance is clean. The church
is a fine object, and has a very lofty spire. The chief ob¬
ject of attraction is the magnificent mansion and park of the
Earl of Egremont, the descendant of the celebrated Sir Wil¬
liam Wyndham, to whom it, with other large estates, de¬
scended from the Percys, Earls of Northumberland, by a
female branch. The population in 1801 amounted to 2264,
in 1811 to 2459, in 1821 to 2781, and in 1831 to 3114.
PEWSEY, a town of the county of Wilts, in the hun¬
dred of Kinwardstone, seventy-six miles from London.
The population in 1801 amounted to 1179, in 1811 to
1209, in 1821 to 1337, and in 1831 to 1588.
PEWSUM, a town of the kingdom of Hanover, in the
province of East Friesland, the capital of a bailiwick of the
same name, which extends over fifty-four square miles,
and contains, besides the town, fourteen parishes, with 6320
inhabitants.
PEWTER, a factitious metal, used in the making of do¬
mestic utensils. The basis of this metal is tin, united to
small portions of lead, zinc, bismuth, and antimony. There
are three sorts of pewter in common use, distinguished by
the names ofplate, trifle, and ley. The plate-pewter is used
for plates and dishes; the trifle, chiefly for pints and quarts;
1 As a specimen of this extraordinary composition, we shall take leave to introduce here the following extract, which appears to us
to be eminently characteristic : “ As for legacies for the poor, I am at a stand ; as for beggars by trade and election, I give them
nothing; as for impotents by the hand of God, the public ought to maintain them; as for those who have been bred to no calling or
estate, they should be put upon their kindred; as for those who can get no work, the magistrate should cause them to be employed,
which may be well done in Ireland, where is (are) fifteen acres of improvable land for every head ; prisoners for crime, by the king;
for debts, by their prosecutors ; as for those who compassionate the sufferings of any object, let them relieve them, and relieve them¬
selves by relieving such sufferings, that is, give them alms pro re nata, and for God’s sake relieve those several species above men¬
tioned, where the above-mentioned obligers fail in their duties : Wherefore I am contented that I have assisted all my poor relations,
and put many in a way of getting their own bread, and have laboured in public works, and by inventions have sought out real objects
of charity; and do hereby conjure all who partake of my estate, from time to time to do the same at their peril. Nevertheless, to
answer custom, and to take the surer side, I give L.20 to the most wanting ofthe parish wherein I die.” Here we have the domain of
charity laid out by a political economist; and after the exclusion of the various classes above specified, it must be confessed that
enough will scarcely remain to render it discernible on the map of the moral duties ; though, “ to answer custom and to take the surer
side,’ a prudent Dives may, out of his enormous wealth, leave some L.20 to the most destitute of the parish wherein death separates
him from all his earthly possessions.
336
P E Y
P E Z
Peyaung and the ley-metal for wine measures, and the like. Our
II very best pewter is said to consist of a hundred parts o tin
Peyrouse. and seventeen of antimony, though others allow only ten
V ^ ~ parts of the latter metal. Besides this composition, there are
other kinds, compounded of tin, antimony, bismuth, an
copper, in several proportions. .
PEYAUNG, a town of Hindustan, in the nabob of (Jude s
territories, seventy miles north-north-west from Lucknow.
Long. 80. 15. E. Lat. 27. 40. N. , , i r
PEYRERE, Isaac la, an individual remarkable for
versatility in his religious opinions, was born at Bordeaux
in 1594, being the son of Protestant parents. He entered
the service of the Prince of Conde, who was much pleased
with the singularity of his genius, from the peiusal of
St Paul’s writings, he took it into his head to maintain,,that
Adam was not the first of the human race; and, to prove
this heterodox opinion, he published a book, which was
printed in Holland, and entitled Prceadamitaz, sive Exerci-
tatio super versibus, 12, 13, 14, cap. xv. Epistolce Pauli ad
Romanos, 1655, in 4to and 8vo. This work was burned
at Paris, and the author imprisoned at Brussels, through
the influence of the Archbishop of Malines’s grand vicar.
The Prince of Conde having obtained his liberty, he tra¬
velled to Rome in 1656, and there made to Pope Alexan¬
der VII. a solemn renunciation both of Calvinism and Prea-
datnism. But his conversion was not thought to be sincere,
at least with regard to this last heresy. His desire to be
the head of a new sect is evident; and his book discovers
bis ambition, for he there pays many compliments to the
Jews, and invites them to attend his lectures. Upon his
return to Paris, notwithstanding the earnest solicitations
of his holiness that he would remain at Rome, he went again
into the service of the Prince of Conde, in quality of libra¬
rian. Some time afterwards he retired to the seminary
des Vertus, where he died on the 30th of January 1676, at
the age of eighty-two, after the sacraments of the church
had been administered to him. Father Simon says, that
when he was importuned in his last moments to retract
the opinion which he had formed respecting the Preada-
mites, his answer was, Hi qucecunque ignorant blasphemant.
His having no fixed opinions in religion is supposed to have
proceeded more from a peculiar turn of mind than from
corruption of heart; for good nature, simplicity of manners,
and humanity, were the leading attributes of his charac¬
ter. “ He was,” according to Niceron, “ a man of a very
equal temper, and most agreeable conversation. He was
a little too fond, however, of indulging his wit, which some¬
times bordered on raillery ; but he took care never to hurt
or wound the feelings of his neighbour. His learning was
extremely limited. He knew nothing either of Greek or
of Hebrew, and yet he even ventured to give a new inter¬
pretation of several passages in the sacred volume. He
prided himself upon his knowledge of the Latin; but, ex¬
cepting a few poets which he had read, he was by no means
an adept in that language. His style is very unequal; some¬
times swelling and pompous, at other times low and gro¬
velling.” Besides the work already mentioned, he has left
behind him, 1. a treatise entitled Du Rappel de Juifs,
1643, in 8vo; 2. an Account of Greenland, 1647, in 8vo;
3. an Account of Iceland, 1663, in 8vo ; 4. a Letter to
Philotimus, 1658, in 8vo, in which he explains the reasons
of his recantation.
PEYROUSE, or Perouse, John Francis Galoup de
la, the celebrated but unfortunate French navigator, was
born at Albi in the year 1741. His father intended to
train him up to a maritime life, for which purpose he sent
him, when very young, to the marine school, where he be¬
came enthusiastically attached to his profession, and ambi¬
tious to emulate the fame of the most celebrated naviga¬
tors. He was appointed midshipman on the 19th of No¬
vember 1756, and behaved with great bravery in that sta¬
tion, having been severely wounded in the engagement Pei
between Hawke and Conflans on the 20th of November
1759. The Formidable, in which he served, was taken, ^ .
after a vigorous resistance ; and it is probable that Perouse w
reaped some advantage from his acquaintance with British
officers. He was promoted, on the 1st of October 1764, to
the rank of lieutenant; and as he abhorred a life of ease and
idleness, he contrived to be employed in six different ships
of war during the peace between Great Britain and France.
In 1776 he was promoted to the rank of master and com¬
mander. In 1779 he commanded the Amazone, belonging
to the squadron of Vice-admiral Count d’Estaing; and when
that officer engaged Admiral Byron, the duty assigned to La
Perouse was to carry the orders of the admiral to the whole
of the line. He afterwards took the sloop Ariel, and con-
tributed to the capture of the Experiment. In the year
1782, La Perouse was sent with the Sceptre of seventy-
four guns, and two frigates of thirty-six guns each, having
some troops and field-pieces on board, to destioy the Eng¬
lish settlements in Hudson’s Bay ; a task which he easily ac¬
complished, as there was nothing on shore to oppose the
smallest force. When he had destroyed the settlements,
having learned that some of the English had fled at his
approach into the woods, he generously left them provisions,
and arms to defend themselves against the savages. In the
year 1785, he was appointed to the command of some ships
commissioned for a voyage round the world, which unfor¬
tunately proved his last. Of this voyage, as far as it was
accomplished, full accounts have already been published,
from which it is manifest that Perouse was admirably qua¬
lified to discharge such a trust. He was an experienced
and skilful seaman; skilled in mathematical and physical
science; uncorrupted by that false philosophy which dis¬
graced many of his attendants ; and capable of the utmost
perseverance in every commendable pursuit, lo these
valuable qualities he added caution and courage, with a
disposition truly benevolent towards the savages whom he
visited. Most of the calamities attendant on the voyage,
with the exception of the last, wrere occasioned by the dis¬
obedience of his officers, or their neglecting to follow his
advice. The last despatches received from this excellent
man were dated from Botany Bay, the 7th of February 1788;
but since that period no authentic account of him has ever
been obtained.
PEYRUSSE, a city of France, in the department of
Aveiron and arrondissement of Villefranche. It stands on
an elevation, at the base of which flows the river Diege. It
has a hospital, and 910 houses, with 6350 inhabitants. Long.
1. 55. E. Lat. 44. 36. N. _
PEYTAHN, a district of Northern Hindustan, with a
mountainous irregular surface, much covered vvith jungle.
It is tributary to the rajah of Nepaul, and is situated about
the twenty-ninth degree of north latitude. Also a town
in the Nepaul territories, the capital of a district of the
same name. Long. 82. 15. E. Lat. 29. 4. N.
FEZ AY, N. Masson, Marquis de, born at Paris, where
he early applied himself to the study of letters, and after¬
wards went into the army. Lie was made a captain ot
dragoons, and had the honour of giving some instructions
in tactics to the ill-fated Louis XVI. Being appointed in¬
spector-general of some coasting vessels, he repaired to
the maritime towns, and executed his commission with
more care and attention than was to be expected from a
votary of the muses. But as he had at the same time dis¬
played too much haughtiness, a complaint w^asmade against
him to the court, and he was banished to his country-seat,
where he died soon afterwards, in the beginning of
He was the intimate friend and companion of Dorat, whom
he had studied, and successfully imitated; but his poems
have more delicacy, and are less disfigured with trifling con¬
versations of gallantry. He left behind him, 1. a Hans a
P H jE
as tion ofCatullus, which is not much esteemed ; 2.Les Soirees
Helvetiennes, Alsaciennes, et Franc-Comtoises, 1770, in
a> 8vo; 3. Les Soirees Proven^ales, in manuscript; 4. La Ro-
'“■^siere de Salency, a pastoral in three acts, which was per¬
formed with success in the Italian theatres; 5. Les Cam-
pagnes de Mailebois, in three vols. 4to, and a volume of
maps.
PEZENAS, a city of France, in the department of He-
rault and arrondissement of Beziers. It is situated in a
fine district on the river Peine, near to its junction with
the Herault. It contains 1600 houses, with 8640 inhabi¬
tants, who are employed in silk-mills, in tanneries, and in
making brandy, soap, and other commodities. Long. 3. 21.
E. Lat. 43. 28. N.
PFKOW, or Pleskow, a government or stadtholderate
of the empire of Russia. It is formed out of a part of what
was formerly Great Russia, or rather of the grand princi¬
pality of Novogorod. It extends in north latitude from 55.
55. to 58. 4., and in east longitude from 27. 15. to 32. 1.,
having a superficies of 22,990 square miles. It is divided
into eight circles, and comprehends ten cities or towns,
and four hundred and thirty-five parishes. The population
amounts to about 800,000 persons. The climate is severely
cold, and the soil not fertile. The surface is covered with
gentle elevations, woods, rivers, lakes, morasses, and heaths.
The chief products, beyond what domestic consumption re¬
quires, consist of pitch, tar, flax, hemp, planks, masts, and
flax-seed, which are conveyed to St Petersburg. The capi¬
tal is the city of the same name situated on the Welikaja,
is the see of an archbishop, with a cathedral, and fifty-nine
other churches. It contains 1480 houses, constructed for
the most part of wood, and about 10,000 inhabitants, whose
chief trade is making sail-cloth and linen, and dealing in
the raw products of their district. Long. 29. 5. E. Lat.
57. 40. N.
PHiEDO, a native of Elis, was the founder of the Eliac
sect of philosophy, and the person whose name Plato in¬
scribed in one of his most celebrated dialogues. The exact
date of his birth and death is unknown, but he flourished
B. c. 399. By the fortune of war he was taken prisoner,
and reduced to a state of slavery. He was brought to
Athens, where he became known to Socrates, who ad¬
mired his talents so much that he caused Alcibiades or
Crito to release him from servitude. He then became
one of the most devoted attendants on his benefactor. It
appears that he was not at all satisfied with the manner in
which he was introduced by Plato into his dialogue ; and
he used to declare publicly that he had never spoken in
that way, and that he had never heard Socrates use the
language which Plato put into his mouth. Plato was so
much offended with this proceeding, that, in revenge, he
threatened to bring a lawsuit against Phaedo, to prove
that he had never received his freedom. (Athenaeus, xi.
505, e; 507, c.) He composed several dialogues, the titles
of which were, Zopyrus, Simon, and several which it was
doubtful if they belonged to him; Nicias, Antimachus, Me-
dus, ascribed by some to iEschines, by others to Polyaenus;
bythici Sermones, ascribed also to iEschines; and three
others quoted by Suidas. He was succeeded in his school
y Pleistanus ot Elis, Pleistanus by Stilpo, Stilpo by Mene-
demus of Eretria and Asclepiades of Phlius. (Diogenes
Laertius’s Life of Phcedo.)
PHiEDR A, in fabulous history, was a daughter of Minos
an Pasiphae, who married Theseus, by whom she became
e mother of Acamas and Demophoon. They had already
ive or some time in conjugal felicity, when Venus, who
a ed all the descendants of Apollo, because he had dis-
overed her amours with Mars, inspired Phaedra with the
tt|r°ni’eS* Pass^?n P°r Hippolytus, the son of Theseus by
in ^f*PP°tyte- Phis passion she long attempted
8 1 e, but in vain; and therefore, in the absence of
VOL. XVII.
E H iE
Theseus, she addressed Hippolytus with all the impatience
of desponding love. He rejected her with horror and dis¬
dain. Incensed at the reception which she had met, she
resolved to punish his coldness and refusal; and on the re¬
turn of Theseus she accused Hippolytus of attempts upon
her virtue. He listened to her accusation, and, without
hearing Hippolytus’s defence, banished him from his king¬
dom, and implored Neptune, who had promised to grant
three of his requests, to punish him in an exemplary man¬
ner. As Hippolytus fled from Athens, his horses were sud¬
denly terrified by a sea monster, which Neptune had sent
on the shore ; and he was thus dragged through precipices
and over rocks, trampled under the feet of his horses, and
crushed under the wheels of his chariot. When his tra¬
gical end became known at Athens, Phaedra confessed her
crime, and hung herself in despair, unable to survive one
whose death had been occasioned by her licentiousness
and falsehood. The death of Hippolytus, and the infa¬
mous passion of Phaedra, form the subject of a tragedy of
Euripides, and also ot one by Seneca. She was buried at
Trcezene, where her tomb was still to be seen in the time
of the geographer Pausanias, near to the temple of Venus,
which she had built to render the goddess favourable to
her passion. Close by her tomb was a myrtle, the leaves
ot which were full ot small holes, which, it was reported,
Phaedra had done with a hair pin, when the vehemence of
her passion had rendered her melancholy and almost des¬
perate. She was represented in a painting in the temple
of Apollo at Delphi, as suspended in the air, whilst her
sister Ariadne stood close by, with her eyes fixed upon
Phaedra.
PHiEDRUS, the author of five books of fables, in Latin
iambic measure, was a native of Thrace or Macedonia, and-
brought at a very early age to Rome, where he became
the slave of Augustus, and from whom he subsequently
received his freedom. The few facts that we know re¬
specting his personal history are to be collected from his
fables, as he is noticed by no earlier writer than Avianus,
unless, perhaps, Martial may allude to him in one of his
epigrams (iii. 20). If he really existed at this early period,
it is strange that he should have been unknown to Seneca
( Cons, adPolyb. 27). By his long residence at Rome, Phae-
drus acquired a complete acquaintance with the language,
and wrote it with as much ease as he could have done
that of his own country. In the reign of Tiberius, he
excited the wrath of Sejanus, and was banished by him,
though for what cause we are nowhere distinctly informed.
Under Caligula we find him in hopes of being reinstated
in his position at court, through the influence of Eutychus.
Part at least of these fables must have been written in
the latter years of the poet, and not published till after the
death ot Sejanus. Schwabe, who has examined this point
with great diligence, thinks that the first two books were
written after the departure of Tiberius to Caprea, the third
under Caligula, and the fourth and fifth under Claudius-
One part of these fables consists of very happy transla¬
tions of the Greek fables of iEsop into the Latin language,
or imitations of them in verse, similar to that employed in
the translations. The other part seems to have been ori¬
ginal, or at least we have no longer the writers from whom
he borrowed his subjects. The style is pure, the language
remarkably correct, and the whole is written with simpli¬
city and ease. Yet many have doubted whether these tables
can be considered as the genuine productions of Phaedrus,
the freedman of Augustus, as we have so few manuscripts
of the work, and as Seneca was evidently unacquainted with
it. Some ascribe them to the pen of Nicolaus Perotti, arch¬
bishop of Manfredonia, who lived about the middle of the
fifteenth century; but, in later times, the discovery of some
manuscripts, one of which is considered as of the tenth
century, has proved the incorrectness of such a supposi-
2 u
337
Phaedrus.
338
Phaeno-
menon
II
Phalaris.
P H A
tion. The best edition of the works of Phsedrus is that by
Schwabe, two vols. Brunswick, 1806, 8vo.
PHENOMENON, in philosophy, denotes any remark¬
able appearance, whether in the heavens or in the earth
and whether discovered by observation or by experiment.
PHAETON, in fabulous history, was the son ot i hce-
bus, and Clymene, one of the Oceamdes. According to
Hesiod and Pausanias, he was son of Cephalus and Aurora,
or according to Apollodorus, of lithonus and Aurora. He
is,’however, more generally acknowledged to have bee» the
son of Phoebus and Clymene. He was naturally of a lively
disposition, and of a handsome figure. Venus became en¬
amoured of him, and intrusted him with the care of one
of her temples. But this distinguishing favour of the god¬
dess rendered him vain and aspiring ; and when Epaphus,
the son of lo, had told him, to check his pride, that he was
not the son of Phoebus, Phaeton resolved to know his true
origin, and at the instigation of his mother he visited the
palace of the Sun. He begged Phoebus, that, if really his
father, he would give him incontestable proofs of his pa¬
ternal tenderness, and convince the world of his legitimacy.
Phoebus received him with great tenderness, and swore by
Styx to grant whatever he requested, as a proof of his ac¬
knowledging him as his son. The youth boldly asked t le
direction of the chariot of the sun for one day. His father,
grieved and surprised at this demand, used every argument
to dissuade him from the rash attempt; but all was in vain ;
and being by his oath reduced to submit to the obstinacy
of Phaeton, he intrusted him with the reins, after he had
directed him how to use them. The young adventurer was,
however, soon made sensible of his madness. Unable to
guide the fiery steeds, he slackened the reins, upon which
Jupiter, to prevent his consuming the heavens and the eai th,
struck him with a thunderbolt, and hurled him from his seat
into the river Eridanus or Po. His sisters Phaethusa, Lam-
betia, and Phoebe, lamenting his loss upon its banks, were
changed by the gods into black poplar trees; and Cygnus,
king°of Liguria, also grieving at his fate, was transformed
into a swan. The poets say, that whilst Phaeton was driving
the chariot of his father, the blood of the Ethiopians was
dried up, and their skin became black; a colour which is still
preserved amongst the greater part of the inhabitants ot
the torrid zone. The territories of Libya were also, they
tell us, parched up, on account of their too great vicinity
to the sun ; and ever since, Africa, unable to recover her
original verdure and fruitfulness, has exhibited a sandy
country and uncultivated waste. According to those wlio
explain this poetical fable, Phaeton was a Ligurian prince,
who studied astronomy, and in whose age the country si¬
tuated on the Po was visited with uncommon heats.
PH AK, a district of Afghanistan, in the province of Lash-
mere. It is a romantic country, containing a beautiful lake,
on which are some artificial islands. It is bounded on the
west by the river Jhylum, and is situated in the thirty-fifth
degree of north latitude. „
PHALANX, in Grecian antiquity, a dense military for¬
mation, originally invented by the Greeks, but finally per¬
fected by the Macedonians, under whom it became an in¬
vincible order of battle. See the article Army, in which the
leading characteristics of this remarkable formation are fully
explained. . „ , ,
PHALARIS, the tyrant of Agrigentum, of whom only a
few facts have been transmitted to us, upon which any de¬
pendence can be placed. Ancient writers are not agreed
as to the precise period when he began to reign, but Eu¬
sebius fixes the commencement of it b. c. 570, and his
death b. c. 555. His father’s name was Leodamas, a na¬
tive of Astypalaea, an island in the TEgean Sea, where
Phalaris was born. A dream of his mother is said to have
prognosticated the cruelty of her unborn son. (Lie. Div.
i. 23.) When he was grown to manhood, he made an at-
P H A
tempt to seize upon the government of his native country, Pha;; >
but was obliged to fly. Hp took refuge at Agrigentum,
where he contrived to ingratiate himself with the people,
and by a stratagem (Polysen. v. 1) got possession of the ^
supreme authority, which he exercised at fiist with much
moderation. The Agrigentines, however, refused to sub¬
mit quietly to his sway, and Phalaris found himself obliged
to maintain by severity that power which he had so un-
iustly acquired. It is not unlikely that the ancients gave
an exaggerated account of his cruelties, with the view of
inspiring a hatred of tyranny. Athenseus speaks of his
roasting children alive, and Aristotle states that he ac¬
tually ate them; but such accounts can scarcely he cre¬
dited. Perillus, an Athenian artist, is said to have con¬
structed a brazen bull, in which the victims of Phalaris
might be roasted ; and when he expected to have been
highly rewarded, the tyrant ordered him to be shut up in
his own horrible machine. This story was doubted by
Timseus (Schol Find. Pyth. i. 185), but Diodorus Siculus
asserts its truth (xiii. 90, xix. 108). When Agrigentum
was taken by the Carthaginians, they carried the bull to
Carthage, and when that city was destroyed by Scipio Afn-
canus, b. c. 146, it was presented by him to the Agrigen¬
tines. (Cic. Verr. iv. 33.) Authors are not agreed as to
the mode of his death, but the most probable opinion is
that the Agrigentines, tired of his cruelties, stoned him
to death. ( Off. ii. 7.) We possess a collection of letters
under the name of Phalaris, which Boyle, who has edited
them, tries to prove the genuine productions of the tyrant;
but there can be no doubt that they were written by some
of the later sophists. They were published for the first
time by Justinopolitanus, at Venice, 1498, in 4to. The
best editions are those of Oxford, 1695, 1718, m 8vo, with
a Latin translation, notes, and a dissertation of Boyle on
the life of Phalaris; and that of Groningen, 1777, in 4to,
which was begun by Lennep and finished by Walkenaer.
(See the Dissertation of Dodwell, -De /Plate Phalandis;
and the Answer of Bentley.)
PHALERE, amongst the ancient Romans, were mili¬
tary rewards bestowed for signal acts of bravery. Authors
are not agreed whether the phalera were a suit of rich
trappings for a horse, or golden chains something like the
torques, but so formed as to hang down to the breast, and
display a greater profusion of ornament. The latter opi¬
nion appears to be the more prevalent one, but both are
perhaps true. . i • j
PHALEUCIAN Verse, in ancient poetry, a kind ot
verse consisting of five feet; the first of which is a spon¬
dee, the second a dactyl, and the three last trochees.
PHANTASIA was the daughter of Nicarchus of Mem¬
phis in Egypt. It has been supposed that she wrote a poem
on the Trojan war, and another on the return of Ulysses
to Ithaca, compositions from which Homer is supposed to
have copied the greater part of his Iliad and (Jdyssey when
he visited Memphis, where they were deposited.
PHANTASM, a term sometimes used as synonymous
with the idea or notion retained in the mind, of an externa
object. See Metaphysics.
PHANTASY, or Fancy, the imagination, one of tne
powers of the mind, by which the species of objects re¬
ceived through the external organs ot sense are retained,
recalled, further examined, and either compounded or a
vided. See Metaphysics. ,
PHANUEL, of the tribe of Asher, the father of a ho y
widow and prophetess called Anna, who was in the temp
when our Saviour was presented there by his parents (L >
PHAON, a young man of Mitylene, in the island o
Lesbos, who received from Venus, as fable a" 3 0'f
baster vase filled with an essence which had the v
conferring beauty. He had no sooner anointed fiis Douy
P H A
P H A
339
pi
i
h.
with it than he became the most beautiful of men. The
ladies of Mitylene fell desperately in love with him ; and
the celebrated Sappho threw herself from the crest of a
, precipice because he refused to encourage her passion.
PHARAMOND is the name given by the generality of
historians to the first king of France. He is said to have
reigned at Treves, and over a part of France, about the
year 420, and to have been succeeded by his son Clodion;
but the account which is given of these two princes is very
uncertain. It is probable that Pharamond was no more
than a general of an army, or the head of a military so¬
ciety of Franks, who were masters of their persons and
their fortunes. Gregory of Tours, the author of a curious
history of the Franks, appears to have entertained this
opinion.
PHARAOH, a generic name of the kings of Egypt, be¬
longing to the ancient native dynasties. Josephus says,
that all the kings of Egypt, from Menes the founder of
Memphis, who lived several ages before Abraham, always
bore the name of Pharaoh, down to the time of Solomon,
that is, for more than three thousand years. He adds, that
in the Egyptian language the word Pharaoh signifies king ;
and that those princes only assumed this name when they
ascended the throne, at which time they also relinquished
their former names. Hence it comes to pass, says Jose¬
phus, that Herodotus names none of the kings of Egypt
after Menes the builder of Memphis, although he had three
hundred and thirty successors, because they had all the
name of Pharaoh; but because it did not pass to women,
he names an Egyptian queen, Nicaule, who succeeded them.
Lastly, Josephus concludes, from the ancient records of his
nation, that after the age of Solomon no king of Egypt bore
any longer the name of Pharaoh.
But Josephus is not accurate in this passage. It is true,
Herodotus says that Menes was the first king of Egypt, and
the founder of Memphis; that there were three hundred
and thirty kings after him in that country; and that after
them there was a queen called Nicotris, and not Nicaule,
as Josephus writes it. But it is not true that these kings
had no other name but that of Pharaoh. Herodotus says
expressly, that in the books of the Egyptian priests were
inserted the names and the catalogue of three hundred and
thirty kings; that in this number of three hundred and
thirty there were eighteen Ethiopians, and a woman, who
was a foreigner, called Nicotris ; and that all the others
were Egyptians. These princes therefore had every one
his proper name mentioned in the catalogue of the Egyp¬
tian kings. Thus, in the fragments of Manetho, we find
that every king of Egypt had a name peculiar to himself;
whilst the name of Pharaoh occurs only in Scripture. What
Josephus adds concerning Queen Nicaule, or Nicotris, whom
he pretends to be the same as the queen of Sheba, of
whom mention is made in Scripture, is entirely fabulous ;
and as to his statement, that since the time of Solomon
the kings of Egypt have no longer borne the name of Pha¬
raoh, it is manifestly false, since we still find his name in
the second book of Kings, under Hezekiah ;x under Josiah,2
where this name is joined to that of Nechoh, which was the
proper name of the prince; under Jehoiakim ;3 and likewise
in the writings of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, who were
much later than Solomon. It is probable, indeed, that the
Egyptians gave the name of Pharaoh to their kings as long
as the Egyptian language was in common use, and as long
as their kings were of their own nation ; but after the con¬
quest of Egypt by Alexander the Great, when the Greeks
mtioduced their language and their government, the name
° haraoh was no longer known amongst them. Indeed it
ta ceased to be so from the date of the Persian invasion
mi er Cambyses. The first prince known to us by the
name of Pharaoh was he in whose time Abraham went Pharaoh,
down to Egypt, when Sarah, who passed only for Abraham’s ■v'—-''
sister, was by the command of Pharaoh brought to his pa¬
lace in order to become his wife. But the Lord smote
Pharaoh and his family with great infirmities, and gave him
to know that she was Abraham’s wife ; upon which Pharaoh
sent for Abraham, restored him his wife, and at the same
time gave orders that he should be conducted out of Egypt,
with every thing that belonged to him.
The second Pharaoh spoken of in the Scripture is he
who reigned when Joseph arrived there. This prince or
his successor had the mysterious dream of the fat and the
lean kine, and the seven full and barren ears of corn, which
Joseph explained so much to his satisfaction that he made
him governor of his house and of all Egypt, reserving only
to himself the name of king. This is the same Pharaoh
who sent for and entertained the patriarch Jacob and his
family in Egypt, and gave them the land of Goshen for
their habitation.
The third Pharaoh mentioned in Holy Writ is he who
persecuted the Israelites. Moses tells us that he was a
new king, and had no knowledge of Joseph. This prince,
observing that the Israelites had become numerous and
powerful, resolved to depress them by hardship and labour,
and set cruel and pitiless taskmasters over them. But the
more he oppressed them the faster they multiplied ; in¬
somuch that he gave orders to the Egyptian midwives,
who assisted the Hebrew women in their labour, to put all
the male children to death, and to save alive the females
only. But this command was not strictly executed. The
midwives feared the Lord, and preserved alive not only
the female children, but also the males. Pharaoh, finding
this project did not succeed to his wishes, published a de¬
cree that all the male children born of Hebrew women
should be thrown into the Nile, and that only the females
should be spared. This order was rigorously executed ;
yet, by the providence of God, Moses was preserved, and
even brought up in Pharaoh’s court, by his own daughter,
who by chance had found the child, as he was exposed
amongst the rushes of the Nile.
Moses being grown up, and having killed an Egyptian who
had abused an Hebrew, was obliged to fly from Egypt in
order to avoid that death which Pharaoh had threatened him
withal. But several years afterwards, being about eighty
years old, he returned by order from God, and performed
mighty miracles before Pharaoh. There is a good deal of
probability that this Pharaoh before whom Moses appear¬
ed, and in whose sight he smote Egypt with so many
plagues, was a different person from him who would have
laid hands on the Jewish chief after he had slain the Egyp¬
tian. This Pharaoh having been at last compelled to send
away the Hebrews, and to suffer them to quit Egypt, soon
repented of the leave he had given, and pursued them at
the head of his army with his chariots. But he was drown¬
ed in the Red Sea, in which he had rashly entered in the
eagerness of pursuit. Several historians pretend to give
the name of this Pharaoh ; some, as Apion, calling him
Amosis or Amasis ; Eusebius, Chenchris ; and Usher, Ame-
nophis; but we may be assured that there is nothing cer¬
tain in all this.
The fifth Pharaoh known to us is he who afforded pro¬
tection to Hadad, son of the king of Edom, and who gave
him to wife the sister of his own queen, enriched him with
lands, and brought up his son Genubah in his own court.
Hadad returned to Idumaea after the death of David.
The sixth Pharaoh is he who gave his daughter in mar¬
riage to Solomon, king of the Hebrews (1 Kings, iii. 1),
and who, having taken Gezer, set it on fire, drove out the
Canaanites, and gave it as a present to Solomon, in lieu of
1 2 Kings, xviii. 21.
2 Ibid, xxiii. 29, 33.
3 Ibid, xxiii. 34, 35.
340
P H A
Pharaort. a dowry to his daughter, whom he had married to this
''prince (1 Kings, ix. 16). . , , u
The seventh is Shishak, who entertained Jeroboam in
his dominions, a rebellious subject of Solomon, and ottered
him a refuge in opposition to the king his master. 1 ie
same Shishak declared war against Rehoboam the son and
successor of Solomon, besieged and took Jerusalem, and
carried away all the king’s treasures, and those o the
house of God, particularly the golden bucklers which So-
lomon had made. .. , r ,
The eighth is that Pharaoh with whom Hezekiah rormed
a league against Sennacherib, king of Assyria, in the year
of the world 3290. This Pharaoh is probably the same
whom Herodotus names Sethon, priest of Phtha, who came
to meet Sennacherib before Pelusium, and to whose as¬
sistance Phtha sent an army of rats, which gnawed the
bowstrings and the thongs of the bucklers ol Sennacherib s
soldiers. _ _ , . c
The ninth is Pharaoh Nechoh, or Nechos, the son ot
Psammeticus, who made war on Josiah, and conquered
him. Herodotus also mentions this prince.
The tenth of this name is Pharaoh Hophrah, who en¬
tered into an alliance with Zedekiah, king of Judah, and
attempted to march to his assistance against Nebuchad¬
nezzar, king of Chaldaea. It was against this Pharaoh that
Ezekiel pronounced several of his prophecies. He is called
Apries in Herodotus,1 2 and is also mentioned in Habakkuk.
PHARAON, or Pharo, is the name of a game of chance.
The principal rules of pharo are as follow: The banker hol ds
a pack consisting of fifty-two cards; he draws all the cards,
one after the other, and lays them down alternately at his
right hand and his left; then the ponte may at his pleasure
set one or more stakes upon one or more cards, either be¬
fore the banker has begun to draw the cards, or after he has
drawn any number of couples. The banker wins the stake
of the ponte when the card of the ponte comes out in an
odd place on his right hand, but loses as much to the
ponte when it comes out in an even place on his left hand.
The banker wins half the ponte’s stake when it happens to
be twice in one couple. When the card of the ponte being
but once in the stock happens to be the last, the ponte
neither wins nor loses; and the card of the ponte being
but twice in the stock, and the last couple containing his
card twice, he then loses his whole stake. Demoivre has
shown how to find the gain of the banker in any circum¬
stance of cards remaining in the stock, and of the numbei
of times that the ponte’s card is contained in it. Of this
problem he enumerates four cases, viz. when the pontes
card is once, twice, three, or four times in the stock. In
the first case, the gain of the banker is —, n being the num¬
ber of cards in the stock. In the second case, his gain is
‘2 X y
4. —, or r,
^ x w X » — I n X 1
. • 3^
In the third case, his gain is
1 w -j- 1
supposing y—\
2 x w — 1 ’ °r n x n —
supposing y In the fourth case, the gain of the
banker, or the loss of the ponte, is w __ t x n_^ V' or
2n--5 , supposing ?/ = i* Demoivre has cal-
2 x «— 1 X n — 3 ...... .•
culated a table, exhibiting the gain or loss in any parti¬
cular circumstance of the play ; and he observes, that at
this play the least disadvantage of the ponte, under the
same circumstances of cards remaining in the stock, is
when the card of the ponte is but twice in it, the next
P H A
greater when three times, the next when once, and the Phaj
greatest when four times. He has also demonstrated, that''—'
the whole gain per cent, of the banker, upon all the money
that is adventured at this game, is L.2. 19s. lOd. (See De-
moivre’s Doctrine of Chancesf
PHARISEES, a famous sect amongst the Jews, who
distinguished themselves by their zeal for the traditions of
the elders, which they derived from the same fountain with
the written word itself; pretending that both were de¬
livered to Moses from Mount Sinai, and were therefore of
equal authority. From their rigorous observance of these
traditions, they looked upon themselves as more holy than
other men ; and therefore separated themselves from those
whom they thought sinners or profane, so as not to eat or
to drink with them. Hence, from the Hebrew word pharic,
which signifies to separate, they received the name of Pha¬
risees or Separatists.
This sect was one of the most ancient and considerable
amongst the Jews ; but its origin is not very well known.
However, it was in great repute in the time of our Saviour,
and must have had its origin at the same time with the
traditions ; in fact, they grew together, until at length they
had so far gained ground that the traditional law swallowed
up the written, and those who were the propagators of it
included the bulk of the Jewish nation.
The extraordinary pretences of the Pharisees to right¬
eousness drew after them the common people, who held
them in the highest esteem and veneration. Our Saviour,
however, frequently charges them with hypocrisy, and with
making the law of God of no effect through their traditions.*
Several of these traditions are particularly mentioned in
the gospel; but they had a vast number more, which may
be seen in the Talmud, the grand object of which is to
explain and enforce those which this sect required to be
believed and observed.
The Pharisees, contrary to the opinion of the Saddu-
cees, held a resurrection of the dead, and the existence ot
angels and spirits. But, according to Josephus, this re¬
surrection of theirs was no more than a Pythagorean re¬
surrection, that is, of the soul only, by its transmigration
into another body, and being born anew with it; and from
this they excluded all who were notoriously wicked, being
of opinion that the souls of such persons were consigned
to a state of everlasting wo. As to lesser crimes, they
held that these were punished in the bodies which the souls
of those who committed them were next sent into.
Josephus, however, either mistook the faith of his coun¬
trymen, or, which is equally probable, wilfully misrepre¬
sented it, in order to render their opinions more respected
by the Roman philosophers, whom he appears on every oc¬
casion to have been desirous to please. The Pharisees had
many pagan notions respecting the soul; but Bishop Bull,
in his Harmonia Apostolica, has clearly proved that they
held a resurrection of the body, and supposed a certain bone
to remain uncorrupted in order to furnish the matter out ot
which the resurrection of the body was to be effected. They
did not, however, believe that all mankind were to be raised
from the dead. A resurrection was the privilege ot the
children of Abraham alone, who were all to rise on Mount
Zion; their incorruptible bones, wherever they might be
buried, being carried to that mountain below the surface
of the earth. The state of future felicity, in which the
Pharisees believed, was in fact exceedingly gross, iney
imagined, that men in the next world, as well as in t e
present, were to eat and drink, and enjoy the P]fasuresh°
love, each being reunited to his former wife. Hence me
Sadducee, who believed in no resurrection, and suppose
that our Saviour taught it as a Pharisee, shrewdly urge
1 Ezekiel, xxix. xxx. xxxi. xxxii. 2 Herodotus, hb. a. c. 161.
4 Matth. ix. 2, xv. 1-6, xxiii. 13-23 ; and Luke, xi. 39-52.
3 Habakkuk, ii. 15, 16.
P H A
P H A
341
Pll3
Ph
ici the difficulty of disposing of the woman who had in this
world been the wife of seven husbands. Had the resur-
,3- rection of Christianity been of the Pharisaical kind, this
difficulty would have been insurmountable; and accord¬
ingly we find the people, and even some of the Pharisees
themselves, struck with the manner in which our Saviour
removed it.
This sect appears to have had some confused notions,
derived probably from the Chaldaeans and Persians, re¬
specting the pre-existence of souls ; and hence it was that
Christ’s disciples asked him, concerning the blind man,
« Who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born
blind ?” And when the disciples told Christ, that some
said he was Elias, Jeremias, or one of the prophets, the
meaning of this can only be, that they thought he had
come into the world with the soul of Elias, Jeremias, or
some other of the old prophets, transmigrated into him.
Like the Essenes, the Pharisees held absolute predestina¬
tion, and like the Sadducees, free-will; but how they re¬
conciled these incompatible doctrines is nowhere sufficient¬
ly explained. The sect of the Pharisees was not extin¬
guished by the ruin of the Jewish commonwealth. The
greater part of the modern Jews are still of this sect, and
as much devoted to traditions or the oral law as their an¬
cestors ever were.
PHARMACI were two persons employed in the lus¬
tration or purification of cities. Some say that they were
both men; but others maintain, that a man to represent the
males, and a woman to represent the females, performed
this office. They offered sacrifice, and wore figs about
their necks ; those of the men being blackish, and those of
the women white. Figs were an emblem of fertility, which
they doubtless prayed for on these solemn occasions.
PHARMACEUTICAL, any thing connected with phar¬
macy, or the processes employed in the preparation of me¬
dicines.
PHARMACOCHEMIA, an obsolete term, denoting that
part of the chemical art which treats of the preparation of
medicines, and used in contradistinction to that of che¬
mistry, which was wholly employed about the transmuta¬
tion of metals by means of the philosopher’s stone, and
hence called spagirico-chemia.
PHARMACOPOEIA (from pag^axov, remedy, and noniv,
to make), means a dispensatory, or a treatise describing the
preparations of the several kinds of medicines, with their
uses, modes of application, and so forth.
PHARMACOPOLA, or Pharmacopeius, an apothe¬
cary, or a person who prepares and sells medicines. This
word, which is rarely used except in the way of ridicule,
is composed of (pugyuxov, medicine, and v^Kum, to sell.
PH ARM AC UM, (pugfiuxov, a medicine or medicament,
either of a salutary or deleterious quality.
PHARMACY, the art of preparing, preserving, and com¬
pounding medicines. See Materia Medic a, and Thera¬
peutics.
PHAROS, a small oblong island, adjoining the conti¬
nent of Egypt, and over-against Alexandria. On this island
stood a lighthouse of the same name, having four sides,
each a stadium in length, and a tower so elevated as to be
seen nearly a hundred miles off. Some affirm that each of
its four corners rested on a large sea-crab of hard transpa¬
rent stone brought from Ethiopia or Memphis; but others
unagine that the crabs were only added externally to the
base by way of ornament, or as emblematical of its situation
and use. The architect was Sostrates the Cnidian, as ap¬
pears by an inscription engraved upon the tower, under
Ptolemy Philadelphus, who expended upon it eight hun¬
dred talents. On account of the port of Alexandria, the en¬
trance to which was difficult and dangerous, the Pharos was
called “ the key of the Egyptian Sea,” and even of Egypt
dself; and Pharos, from being originally a proper name, at
length became an appellative to denote all kinds of light- Pharos
houses. II
Pharos, a lighthouse or pile of building, raised near a Ph^ccra-
port, where fire is kept burning in the night, to guide and. ^s‘ ^
direct vessels near at hand. The pharos of Alexandria,
built on the island of Pharos, was anciently so famous that
it communicated its name to all the rest. This magnifi¬
cent tower consisted of several stories and galleries, with
a lantern at the top, in which a light being kept continu¬
ally burning, might be seen many leagues at sea, and along
the coast. It was accounted one of the seven wonders of
the world. It was built by the celebrated architect Sos¬
trates, a native of Cnidus, or, according to some, by Dei-
phanes, the father of Sostrates, and cost Ptolemy Philadel¬
phus eight hundred talents. See Sea-Lights.
PHARSALIA, in Ancient Geography, a town of the
Phthiotes, a district of Thessaly, near Pherae and Larissa.
To this last place Pompey fled from the plains of Phar-
salus ; it is watered by the river Enipeus, which falls into
the Apidamus, and both together unite with the Peneus.
Between Pharsalia and Enipeus Pompey drew up his men
at the decisive battle of Pharsalia. See Rome.
PHASES, in Astronomy, a word formed from the Greek
verb (pcuvu, to appear, are the several appearances or quan¬
tities of illumination of the moon, Venus, Mercury, and the
other planets. See Astronomy.
PHEBE, a deaconess of the port of Corinth, called Cen-
chrea. St Paul had a particular esteem for this holy wo¬
man ; and Theodoret thinks the apostle lodged for some
time at her house, whilst he continued at or near Corinth.
It is thought that she brought to Rome the epistle he ad¬
dressed to the Romans, in which she is recommended in
so advantageous a manner. The apostle says (Rom. xvi.
1, 2), “ I commend unto you Phebe our sister, who is a
servant of the church which is at Cenchrea, that ye receive
her in the Lord, as becometh saints, and that ye assist her
in whatsoever business she hath need of you ; for she hath
been a succourer of many, and of myself also.” Some mo¬
derns have advanced a notion that Phebe was the wife of
St Paul; but none of the ancients has said any thing to
justify such an opinion. It is generally supposed that, in
quality of deaconess, she was employed by the church in
some ministrations suitable to her sex and condition; as to
visit and instruct the Christian women, to attend them in
their sickness, and to distribute alms amongst them.
PHEGOR, or Peor, a deity worshipped at a very early
period by the Midianites and Moabites, and probably by all
the other tribes who then inhabited Syria. Much has been
said concerning the functions of this god, and the rank
which he held amongst the Pagan divinities ; and many
conjectures have been formed concerning the origin of his
name. But most of these appear to have no better foun¬
dation than the senseless dreams of the Jewish rabbin.
Phegor, or Peor, is undoubtedly the same with the He¬
brew word pechor, which signifies “ aperuit,” and probably
refers to the prophetic influence always attributed to the
solar deity, by which he opened or discovered things to
come. Accordingly we find Phegor or Peor generally
joined to Baal or Bel, which was the Syrian and Chal-
daean name of the sun after he became an object of wor¬
ship ; and hence Bel-phegor must have been the sun wor¬
shipped by some particular rites, or under some particular
character.
PHENGITES, amongst the ancients, the name of a
beautiful species of alabaster. It is a rude irregular mass,
very brittle and friable, but of a brightness superior to that
of most other marbles, and excelling them all in transpa¬
rency.
PHEONS, in Heraldry, the barbed heads of darts, ar¬
rows, or other weapons.
PHERECRATES, a writer of the ancient comedy, was
342
PHI
P H I
Phidias.
Pherecydesa native of Athens, and contemporary of Plato, Aristopha-
" nes, Phrynichus, and Eupolis. According to Suidas, he
, was a soldier in his youth, but afterwards attached himself
to the stage, and became one of the most successf ul drama¬
tic writers. We know that he exhibited a play entitled
Savages ( Ayg/o/), b. c. 420 (Plato, Protag. 327, d ; Athen.
v. 218, d). He invented a species of verse, called from his
name Pherecratian, consisting of a spondee, and the two
last feet of an hexameter line. Suidas attributes seven¬
teen plays to him, referring probably to those only which he
considered as genuine, since the titles of twenty are found
in Athenaeus. The fragments of Pherecrates have been
collected by Hertel in Vetustissimorum Comicorum Senten-
tice, p. 340-57. Of all the fragments of Pherecrates, the
most remarkable is that entitled Cheiron, in which he intro¬
duces music, clad in rags, to which state she says she has
been reduced by Melanippides, Phryoris, and Timotheus,
the authors of some innovations on that art. (See Mem. de
I’Acad. des Inscript, xv. 330.)
PHERECYDES, a Greek philosopher of the island of
Syros, one of the Cyclades, was the son of Badys, and the
pupil of the celebrated Pittacus of Mitylene. The exact
date of his birth and death is unknown, but he flourished
b. c. 544, being a contemporary of Thales, Anaximenes,
Anacreon, and Hipponax. There is some doubt whether
he is not the astronomer Pherecydes who constructed a
sun-dial at Syros; but as this person is said to have been
the master of Thales, it is more likely that there was an¬
other of an earlier date. The philosopher was the instruc¬
tor of Pythagoras, and is said to have foretold earthquakes
by observing the movement of water in wells (Cic. Tus. i.
16; Div. i. 50). There were various accounts respecting
his death, but most are agreed that he was devoured by
worms and insects like Sylla; and the reason assigned was,
that he had offended Apollo, because he said that he lived
very happily though he had never sacrificed to the gods.
(iElian. V. H. iv. 28.) Pherecydes was the author of a
work on Nature and on the Gods, being the first of the
Greeks who wrote on this subject. (Diogenes Laertius,
Life of Pherecydes.) The fragments of Pherecydes have
been collected by Auguste Wolf, in the first part of his
Litterarische Analecten, Berlin, 1817.
Phekecydes, an historian of the island of Leros, in the
JEgean Sea, is satisfactorily proved by Vossius {De Hist.
Greeds, p. 444) to be the same who is called an Athenian
by some. He flourished b. c. 480, in the reign of Darius
Hystaspes, and preceded Herodotus by a few years. He
is said to have made a collection of the poems of Orpheus,
to have written on the genealogy of the gods ( Theogoneid)
in ten books, on the mythological part of the history of
Athens {*Avri^Qovag) in ten books, and moral maxims in
hexameter verse. The fragments of Pherecydes, along
with those of Acusilaiis, have been published by Sturz,
Gera, 1789,1798, with a learned dissertation.
PHIDIAS, a celebrated Greek statuary, was the son of
Charmidas, a native of Athens, and flourished b. c. 444, in
the age of Pericles, being the contemporary of Alcamenes,
Critias, Hegias, and Nestocles. In his representations of
the gods he was so successful that it was said he must
either have visited heaven, or the gods must have descend¬
ed to him. (Analect. Brunck. vol. ii. p. 225.) One of the
finest of his works was his statue of Jupiter Olympius, in
the temple of Olympia. It was made of ivory and gold,
and was of such colossal size, that being seated, it appear¬
ed, that if it rose up, it could carry away the roof. Being
asked by his brother Panaenus what model he had follow¬
ed in his representation of the god, Phidias referred him
to the portrait of Jupiter given by Homer {Iliad, i. 528-
530). His statue of Minerva at Athens was also very
much admired, and the shield of the goddess presented a
fine specimen of bas-relief. Along the edge was sculptured
the battle of the Amazons, and in the hollow part the battle
of the gods and giants. (Strab. viii. 353; Plin. xxxvi. 4,
7 ; Paus. v. 10, 2; Quint, xii. 10, 1; Val. Max. iii. 7, 4.
In the time of Pliny, there was a Venus by him, in the^
portico of Octavia; and at present there is a magnificent
colossal statue of a man curbing a fiery steed, placed be¬
fore the palace of the Vatican at Rome, which is inscribed
with the name of Phidias, but the group has no right to
be considered as his production. Phidias was the teacher
of Alcamenes, Agoracritus, and Colotes. (Plin. xxxiv. 19,
1-5, xxxv. 34, 1.)
PHID1TIA, in Grecian antiquity, feasts celebrated with
great frugality at Sparta. They were held in the public
places and in the open air. Rich and poor assisted at them
equally, and upon the same footing ; their design being to
keep up peace, friendship, good understanding, and equality
amongst the citizens, great and small. It is said that those
who attended this feast brought each a bushel of flour,
eight measures of wine, five pounds of cheese, and two
pounds and a half of figs, with some money.
PHILA, in Mythology, one of the attributes of Venus,
which distinguished her as the mother of love ; from tpikuv,
to love.
PHILADELPHIA, in Antiqinty, were games instituted
at Sardis to celebrate tbe union of Caracalla and Geta, the
sons of Septimius Severus.
Philadelphia, the second city in size and importance
in the United States of North America, and the commer¬
cial metropolis of Pennsylvania. It is situated on the west
bank of the Delaware, five miles from its junction with the
Schuylkill, and extending from the one river to the other.
From the city to the estuary of the Delaware, the distance
is a hundred and twenty-six miles, including the bendings
of the river; but the stream is so broad and deep at Phila¬
delphia as to afford sufficient water for vessels of any siae
except those of the first class. Originally it formed a pa¬
rallelogram, extending west about two miles from the De¬
laware, beyond the Schyulkill, and north and south a little
more than a mile. As commerce increased, Philadelphia of
course was enlarged, the buildings naturally extending along
the Delaware, and now forms an oblong square reaching
from the lower part of Southwark to the upper part of Ken¬
sington, nearly four miles, and, as we have said, from the one
river to the other. It is noted for the regularity with which
it is laid out. The main streets, twenty-five in number, and
running from north to south, are intersected at right angles
by others stretching east and west. There is an immense
number of squares, it is supposed above three hundred and
fifty. Some of the streets are a hundred feet and upwards
in breadth ; they are all well paved, and kept remarkably
clean, being mostly furnished with common sewers. The
houses altogether exhibit an appearance of neatness, uni¬
formity, and commodiousness, and most of them are orna¬
mented with white marble steps and window-sills. The
most conspicuous buildings are some of the churches, the
state-house, the United States and Pennsylvania banks,
the institution for the deaf and dumb, and the Pennsyl¬
vania hospital. There are above a hundred places of pub¬
lic worship, but, with the exception of the first Presbyte¬
rian church, and two or three Episcopalian chapels, which
are noble edifices, they are neither remarkable for their
architecture nor their size. The front of Pennsylvania
hospital is two hundred and seventy-three feet in breadth;
and in connection with it there is a building sufficiently large
to contain above fifty patients. There are a number of other
institutions for the sick and the destitute, the buildings of
which, together with the former, occupy an entire square, in
the centre of which is a leaden statue of the founder of the
city. The building for the reception of the deaf and dumb
was erected in 1824, and is constructed of granite. It is
of considerable size, and, having received handsome dona-
Phiij ,|
ifl
Phil,,,
P H I
Phi ; :!• tions from various quarters, the managers of the institution
pi are enabled to receive pupils from other states besides that
'"^in which it is situated. The object of this school is to give
a common education to the deaf and dumb, and to train
them to industrious habits, the course of instruction varying
from four to six years.
The bank of the United States was established in the
year 1816, with a capital of thirty-five millions of dollars.
The banking-house is a splendid structure, built on the plan
of the Parthenon at Athens, and is considered as the most
finished specimen of pure Grecian architecture in Ame¬
rica. It is constructed of white marble, having in front
eight fluted Doric columns, four feet and a half in diame¬
ter. On each of the fronts is a portico projecting ten feet
and a half. The whole length of the edifice, including the
portico, is a hundred and sixty-one feet; its breadth being
eighty-seven feet. The banking-room, which occupies the
centre of the building, is eighty-one feet in length by forty-
eight feet in breadth. The whole immense structure is
arched, and rendered bomb-proof from the cellar to the
roof, which is covered with copper. The bank of Pennsyl¬
vania is likewise a fine specimen of classical architecture,
and built of the same material as the former. The state-
house is a large brick building, comprising a centre and
two wings, and presenting altogether a venerable appear¬
ance, never having been altered since its first erection. In
the eyes of the Americans it will remain a feature of great
interest as long as it lasts ; for it was here the continental
congress held its meetings, and from it the declaration of
independence was first promulgated. There are several
theatres, which are esteemed highly respectable buildings.
The masonic hall, built in the Gothic style, is a large edi¬
fice, but more remarkable for its size than for its architec¬
tural beauty. The arcade is an imposing stone structure,
containing the best museum in America; and the academy
of arts is likewise a respectable edifice, enriched internally
with a large number of paintings and some very fine statues.
The university of Pennsylvania is distinguished by the ce¬
lebrity of the medical school attached to it. The new halls,
which were erected in the year 1830, are spacious, and
built in a handsome style of architecture. The number
of medical students who attend it vary from 400 to 500 an¬
nually. The hall of the Jefferson medical college is also
a spacious building. There are three prisons in Philadel¬
phia, one of which is built in the style of the castles of the
middle ages, and is considered as a great ornament to the
city. It is called the New Penitentiary, and occupies ten
acres of ground, being designed to carry the principle of
solitary confinement completely into effect.
The United States mint was established in Philadelphia
in the year 1791, and by several successive acts of congress
has been continued in the same place ever since. The old
buildings, however, have been supplanted by a spacious new
edifice, which was commenced in 1829. This splendid
structure is faced with marble, and presents a front of a
hundred and twenty-two feet, divided into a portico sixty-
two feet long, and two wings each of thirty feet in length.
The building is of the Ionic order, taken from the cele¬
brated Grecian temple on the river Illisus, near Athens.
The total value of the gold, silver, and copper coinage
struck at this mint during the year ending January 1837
was 7,764,900 dollars. The report for that year states that
great and important improvements had been introduced
into every department of the mint. Changes have been
made in the arrangements for assaying, which place this
part of the establishment upon a footing with the most per¬
fect in Europe. The marine asylum stands on the eastern
bank of the Schuylkill, a short distance south of the city
line. It is three hundred and eighty-six feet in length,
consisting of a portico of ninety feet, supported by eight
Ionic columns, and two wings, each a hundred and forty-
PHI 343
eight feet in extent. But of all the public works of Phila- Philadel-
delphia there are none of which its inhabitants are so justly Phia*
proud as those at Fair Mount, by which the city is sup-' 
plied with water of the best quality, and in the "greatest
abundance. Nothing of the kind has been executed on
the American side of the Atlantic that will bear any com¬
parison with the arduous and expensive operation of in¬
troducing the Schuylkill water. At two different times
plans were adopted for the purpose of supplying Phila¬
delphia with water; but both having proved inefficient, the
present magnificent undertaking was commenced in 1819,
and completed at an expense of about one million and a
half of dollars. Fair Mount is in the rear of the city, upon
the bank of the Schuylkill, the neighbourhood of which pre¬
sents some remarkably beautiful and romantic scenery.
The reservoirs are situated on the top of a hill rising from
the river, a part of it perpendicular rock, to the height of
a hundred feet. They are calculated to contain thirty
millions of gallons of water, which is sufficient to supply
the city for ten days. It was formerly forced into the re¬
servoirs by means of steam, which is no longer used; it is
now raised by machinery propelled by the river. There
are five large water-wheels turned, one of which, made of
iron, weighs twenty-four tons. If all are put in motion at
once, they will raise seven millions of gallons in twenty-
four hours, which is more than double the quantity requir¬
ed even in summer. To turn them, the Schuylkill has been
dammed in its whole breadth, by which the water is thrown
back into a reservoir lock, whence it is admitted as requir¬
ed to operate upon the wheels, and is discharged into the
river below the dam. The iron pipes through which the
water is conveyed to the city and districts are about sixty
miles in extent. The water thus circulated so abundantly
through the city is of immense service in cases of fire, as
it is only necessary to screw the hose to hydrauts, which
are placed at convenient distances, to secure a constant
stream of sufficient force to reach any ordinary height.
There are sixteen hose companies, and about thirty en¬
gine companies; in short, the arrangements made in Phi¬
ladelphia for the speedy extinction of conflagrations are
of the first order.
^ The city library is indebted for its origin to Benjamin
Franklin. It was commenced as early as 1731, and incorpo¬
rated eleven years afterwards. In 1790 the present neat and
ornamental edifice was erected opposite to the state-house
square; and over the front door is placed a fine marble
statue of its founder. In 1837 it containedt44,000 volumes.
There are other institutions of the kind, which contain up¬
wards of ten thousand volumes. Opposite the Philadelphia
library is the Athenaeum, a valuable institution, established
in 1814. Attached to it is a library, and a spacious read¬
ing-room, well supplied with newspapers from Europe and
other quarters of the world, besides nearly a hundred from
various parts of the United States. The university of Phi¬
ladelphia was founded in the year 1755, and is one of the
most respectable and flourishing institutions of the kind in
the union. Academies and other seminaries of education
are numerous, and efficiently conducted. The city and
county of Philadelphia constitute a school district, under
special regulations. By the report for the year 1837, it ap¬
pears that the schools in it were attended by above eleven
thousand children ; and from the same document we learn
that the arrangements for the general diffusion of instruc¬
tion are very extensive and highly efficient. There are in
this city a number of benevolent societies, various institu¬
tions which have for their object the relief of the sick, the
helpless, the destitute, and other objects of compassion. In
this respect it is upon a level with any city of the same size
in Europe.
The harbour of Philadelphia, from the peculiar nature
of the Delaware River, is more liable to be impeded by ice
344
P H I
Philadel- than those of New York and Baltimore; but otherwise it
phia. possesses perhaps as many natural advantages as either ot
^ them. Its trade is very great, as will be seen in the article
Pennsylvania. The navy-yard situated on the De a-
ware is of great extent, and fitted up with first-rate appur¬
tenances for building frigates and ships of the line, bmp-
building is briskly carried on ; and this city has also a high
reputation for the extent and excellence of its breweries.
It is, besides, famous for its manufactures, paper-making,
printing, and publishing establishments, and its periodicals
and journals of every description. .
Philadelphia was founded by William Penn m the year
1682. On the 5th of September 1774 the members of the
first congress assembled here, and adopted that celebrat¬
ed declaration of rights, the preface to the declaration of
independence which was promulgated from the state-house
about two years afterwards. Congress continued to sit in
this city until the approach of the royalists in September
1777, when it fell into their hands, and was retained by
them until June following. During the remainder of the
war it happily escaped the ravages of hostile operations.
It was also the seat of the state government until the year
1800. For municipal purposes the legislature has from
time to time established corporate governments in differ-
ent parts of the suburbs, so that Philadelphia is now di¬
vided into several districts. The municipal government ot
the city proper is vested in a mayor, a recorder, fifteen
aldermen, and a select and common council, besides sub¬
ordinate executive officers. Ihe recorder and aldermen
are appointed by the governor of the state ; and the mayor
is chosen by the councils, from the body of the citizens.
The members of the select and common council are annu¬
ally elected by the people. They receive no compensa¬
tion, sit in separate chambers, and each body has a nega¬
tive on the legislative acts of the other. The city proper
sends seven representatives and two senators to the state
legislature. The population of Philadelphia, according to
the census of 1810, was 96,664, in 1820 it was 119,325,
in 1830 it was 167,811, and at present (1838) it is esti¬
mated at about 200,000 souls.
Philadelphia, the name of an ancient town ot iurkey,
in Asia Minor, or Natolia, founded by Attains Philadelphus,
brother of Eumenes. In the year 1097 it was taken by
John Ducas, the Greek general; and, in the year 1196,
it was, without difficulty, reduced by the same individual.
The Turks marched from the East with a design to plun¬
der this and the maritime towns; and, in 1175, the Em¬
peror Manuel retired thither for protection against these
invaders. In 1300, it fell by lot to Karaman. In 1306, it
was besieged by Alifaras, and considerably haiassed, but
not taken. In 1391, Philadelphia alone refused to admit
Bajazet; but it was at length forced to capitulate, from
want of provisions. It has been matter of surprise that
this town was not totally abandoned; and yet it has sur¬
vived many cities less liable to inconveniences, and is still
an extensive place, though in its appearance it is poor and
mean. Some remnants of its walls are still standing.
Philadelphian Society, in Ecclesiastical History, was an
obscure and inconsiderable society of mystics. They were
formed about the end of the seventeenth century by an
English female fanatic, whose name was Jane Leadley. This
woman seduced, by her visions, predictions, and doctrines,
several disciples, amongst whom were some persons of
learning. She believed that all dissensions amongst Chris¬
tians would cease, and that the kingdom of the Redeemer
would become a scene of charity and felicity, if Christians,
disregarding the forms of doctrine or discipline in their se¬
veral communions, would all join in committing their souls
to the care of the internal guide, to be instructed, govern¬
ed, and formed by his divine impulse and suggestions. She
even went farther than this, pretending a divine commission
P H I
to proclaim the approach of the communion of saints; and Phij
declaring that the society established by herself was the pi:
true kingdom of Christ. One of her leading doctrines was
that of the final restoration of all intelligent beings to per-
fection and happiness.
PHILADELPHUS, \n Antiquity, was a title or surname
borne by several ancient kings, being formed from the
Greek tfu'koc,, friend, and aSsX^oj, brother ; that is, one who
loves his brother or brethren.
PHIL^ENI, were two brothers, citizens of Carthage, who
sacrificed their lives for the benefit of their country. At
the time when the Carthaginians ruled over the greater
part of Africa, the Cyrenians were also a great and wealthy
people. The intervening country being all sandy, and of
an uniform appearance, there was neither river nor moun¬
tain to distinguish their limits ; a circumstance which in¬
volved them in frequent disputes and contentions. After
their armies and fleets had often been routed and put to
flight on both sides, and they had weakened one another
greatly, fearing lest, by and by, some third people should
fall upon the conquered and the conquerors, both parties
agreed to a cessation of arms, which was followed by an en¬
gagement, “ that upon a day appointed deputies should set
out from their respective homes, and the place where they
met one another should be accounted the common boun¬
dary of both nations.” Accordingly, the two brothers call¬
ed Philaeni, when sent from Carthage, made all despatch
to perform their journey. The Cyrenians, who proceeded
more slowly, found themselves somewhat late ; and becom¬
ing apprehensive of punishment for mismanaging the affair,
charged the Carthaginians with setting out before the ap¬
pointed time, and made a mighty bustle about it, being
resolved not to be overreached. But as the Carthaginians
declared their willingness to accept any other terms, pro¬
vided only these were fair, the Cyrenians made this pro¬
posal to the Carthaginians, viz. either to be buried alive
in the place which they claimed as the boundary to their
nation, or to advance forward to whatever place they in¬
clined upon the same condition. The Philaeni accepted
the offer, and, sacrificing themselves to their country, were
actually buried alive. In the spot where they were in¬
terred the Carthaginians dedicated to the memory ot the
two brothers altars, which, being called Arce Philcenorum,
served as a boundary to the empire of the Carthaginians,
which now extended from this monument to the Pillars
of Hercules, or, according to the observations of the mo¬
derns, about 1420 geographical miles. Sallust, in his his¬
tory of the Jugurthan war, records the singular circum¬
stance here related. • ' *
PHILANTHROPY is compounded of two Greek words
signifying the love of mankind. It is therefore of nearly
the same import with benevolence, and differs from friend¬
ship, as the latter affection subsists only between a few
individuals, whereas philanthropy comprehends the whole
human race.
Whether man has an instinctive propensity to love his
species, which makes him incapable of happiness except in
the midst of society, and impels him to do all the good
that he can to others, feeling their felicity an addition to
his own, is a question which has been warmly debated
amongst philosophers ever since metaphysics was studied
as a science. See Metaphysics and Moral Philosophy.
PHILEMON, a writer of the new comedy, was born at
Soli, in Cilicia, but the precise date of his birth and death
is unknown. He began to exhibit his plays at Athens in
the reign of Alexander, b. c. 336-323, and died in the reign
of the second Antigonus, son of Demetrius, probably about
b. c. 280, at the age of ninety-six. He was the contempo¬
rary of Menander, and frequently carried off the prize froni
him, by the attention he paid to humour the prejudices ot
the people. He was the author of ninety comedies, the
P H I
P H I
345
as names of fifty-one of which are given by Fabricius in his
Bibliotheca Grceca, having been collected from Athenaeus,
). Pollux, and other ancient authors. Plautus imitated Phi-
lemon in his comedy of the Merchant, and in that of the
Bacchides. The fragments of Philemon have been collect¬
ed by Hertel and Gronovius. They have also been pub¬
lished along with the fragments of Menander, Amsterdam,
1709, 8vo. (See Menandek.)
PHILETAS, a Greek poet and grammarian, belonging
to the island of Cos, flourished under Philip and Alexan¬
der the Great, and was preceptor of Ptolemy Philadel-
phus. He was the author of some Elegies, Epigrams, and
other works, which have not come down to us, and is cele¬
brated in the poems of Ovid and Propertius as one of the
best poets of his age. iElian informs us, we presume in
jest, that his body was so slender and feeble, that he was
obliged to have some lead in his pockets, to prevent his
being carried away by the wind.
PHILIBEG, called also a kilt, is a sort of short petti¬
coat reaching nearly to the knees, which is worn by the
Scotch Highlanders. It is a modern substitute for the
lower part of the plaid, being found to be less cumbersome,
especially in time of action, when the Highlanders used
to tuck the brechtan into their girdle.
PHILIP, one of the apostles, was a native of Bethsaida
in Galilee. Jesus Christ having seen him, said to him,
“ Follow me.” Philip obeyed, and soon afterwards finding
Nathaniel, said to him, “We have found the Messiah, of
whom Moses and the prophets have spoken, Jesus of Na¬
zareth, the son of Joseph.” Nathaniel, however, true to
the prejudices of his time, asked him, “ Can any thing
good come out of Nazareth ?” To this Philip replied,
“ Come and see.” He then brought Nathaniel to Jesus,
and they went with him to the marriage at Cana in Galilee.
Philip was called at the very beginning of our Saviour’s
mission ; and when Jesus Christ was about to feed the five
thousand who followed him to the wilder less, he asked
Philip, in order to prove him, whence bread might be bought
for such a multitude of people? Philip answered, that
two hundred pennyworth of bread would not be sufficient
for every one to taste a little. Some Gentiles, having a
curiosity to see Jesus Christ, a little before his passion,
addressed themselves to Philip, who mentioned it to An¬
drew, and both of them to Christ. At the last supper, Phi¬
lip besought our Saviour that he would be pleased to show
them the Father, being all that they desired. But Jesus
told them, that, seeing the Son, they saw the Father also.
This is all we learn in the gospel concerning Philip.
Upper Asia fell to the lot of this apostle, who took great
pains in planting the gospel there, and by his preaching
and miracles made many converts. In the latter part of
his life he went to Hierapolis in Phrygia, a city much ad¬
dicted to idolatry, and particularly to the worship of a
serpent of a prodigious size. Philip, by his prayers, pro¬
cured the death, or at least the disappearance, of this mon¬
ster, and convinced its worshippers of the absurdity of
paying divine honours to such odious creatures. But the
magistrates, enraged at his success, imprisoned him, and
ordered him to be severely scourged, and then put to
death, which some say was done by crucifixion, and others
by hanging him up against a pillar. Philip is generally
reckoned amongst the married apostles; and it is said he
had three daughters, two of whom preserved their virgi¬
nity, and died at Hierapolis, whilst the third, having led a
very spiritual life, died at Ephesus. He left no writings
behind him, the gospel under his name having been forged
by the Gnostics, to countenance their evil principles and
worse practices. The Christian church observes the fes¬
tival of this saint, together with that of St James, on the
first day of May.
Philip, the name of several kings of Macedonia, the most
1 VOL. XVII.
celebrated of w hom was Philip II., father of Alexander the
Great. See Greece and Macedonia.
Philip. Both France and Spain have likewise had seve¬
ral sovereigns distinguished by this name. See France and
Spain.
Philip II. son of the Emperor Charles V. and of Isa¬
bella of Portugal, was born at Valladolid on the 21st of May
1527, and became king of Naples and Sicily on his father’s
abdication in 1554>. The reign of this prince touches the
contemporary history of Europe at so many important points,
that a brief notice of it will not perhaps be thought super¬
fluous. He ascended the throne of Spain on the 17th of
January 1556. Charles had made a truce with the French,
but his son broke it, and having formed an alliance with
England, poured into Picardy an army of forty thousand
men. The French were cut to pieces at the battle of St
Quintin, which was fought on the 20th of August 1557;
that town was taken by assault, and the day on which the
breach was stormed, Philip appeared armed cap-a-pied, in
order to animate the soldiers. It was the first and last time
that he was observed to wear the military dress. It is well
known, indeed, that during the heat of the action his terror
was so great that he made two vows; one, that he should
never again be present in a battle; and the other, that he
would build a magnificent monastery, dedicated to St Law¬
rence, to whom he attributed the success of his arms. After
the engagement, the Duke of Savoy, who commanded, at¬
tempted to kiss his hand; but Philip prevented him, say¬
ing, “ It is rather my duty to kiss yours, who have the merit
of so glorious a victoryand immediately presented him
with the colours taken during the action. The taking of Ca-
telet, Ham, and Noyon, were the only advantages derived
from a victory which might have proved the ruin of France.
When Charles V. was informed of this success, it is said
he asked the person who brought him the intelligence,
if his son was at Paris; and being answered in the ne¬
gative, he went away without uttering a single word. The
Duke of Guise having had time to assemble an army, re¬
paired the disgrace of his country by the taking of Calais
and Thionville. But whilst the duke was animating the
French, Philip defeated Marshal de Thermes in a combat
near Gravelines. His army was, on this occasion, com¬
manded by Count Egmont, whom he afterwards caused to
be beheaded. The conqueror made no better use of the
victory of Gravelines than he had done of that of St Quin-
tin ; but he reaped considerable advantage from the glorious
peace of Chateau-Cambresis, the masterpiece of his politics.
By that treaty, which w'as concluded on the 13th of April
1559, he gained possession of the strong places of Thion¬
ville, Marienbourg, Montmedi, Hesdin, and the county of
Charollois. This war, so terrible in itself, and attended with
so much cruelty, was, like many others,* terminated by a
marriage. Philip took for his third wife Elizabeth, daughter
of Henry II. who had been promised to his son Don Carlos.
After these glorious achievements, Philip returned in
triumph to Spain without having drawn a sword. His
first care, upon his arrival at Valladolid, was to demand of
the grand inquisitor the spectacle of an auto-da-fe. This
was immediately granted him, and forty wretches, some
of them priests and monks, were strangled and burned.
Don Carlos de Seza, one of these unfortunate victims, ven¬
tured to draw near to the king, and said to him, “ How,
Sir, can you suffer so many wretches to be committed to
the flames ? Can you be witness of such barbarity with¬
out weeping?’’ To this Philip coolly replied, “If my own
son were suspected of heresy, I would myself give him up
to the severity of the Inquisition. Such is the horror
which I feel when I think of you and your companions,
that if an executioner were wanting, I would myself sup¬
ply his place.” On other occasions he conducted himself
agreeably to the spirit wdiich had dictated this answer.
346
Philip.
P H I
In a valley of Piedmont, bordering on the country of the
Milanese, there were some heretics, the followers of 1 eter
Valdo; and these the governor of Milan was command¬
ed to put to death by the gibbet. The new opinions hav¬
ing found their way into some of the districts of Calabria*
Philip gave orders that the innovators should be put to
the sword. , ,
This spirit of cruelty, and shameful abuse of power, had
the effect of weakening that power itself. The Flemings,
no longer able to endure so hard a yoke, revolted. The
revolution began in the fine and large provinces of the Con¬
tinent ; but the maritime provinces alone obtained their
liberty. In 1579 they formed themselves into a republic,
under the title of the United Provinces. Philip sent the
Duke of Alva to reduce them ; but the cruelty of that ge¬
neral only served to exasperate the spirit of the rebels.
Never did men fight with more courage or greater fury.
The Spaniards, at the siege of Haerlem, having thrown
into the town the head of a Dutch officer who had been
killed in a skirmish, the inhabitants threw back to them the
heads of eleven Spaniards, with this inscription : “ Ten
heads for the payment of the tenth penny, and the eleventh
for interest.” Haerlem having surrendered at discretion,
the conquerors caused all the magistrates, pastors, and
above 1500 citizens, to be hanged.
The Duke of Alva being at length recalled, the grand
Commander of the Requesnes was. sent in his place, and
after his death Don John of Austria; but neither of these
generals could restore tranquillity in the Low Countries.
To the latter succeeded a grandson of Charles V., Alexan¬
der Farnese, duke of Parma, the greatest commander of his
time; but he could neither prevent the independence of the
United Provinces, nor check the advancement of that re¬
public which arose under his very.eye. It was then that
Philip, always at his ease in Spain, instead of coming to re¬
duce the rebels in Flanders, proscribed the Prince of Orange,
and set 25,000 crowns upon his head. But William, supe¬
rior to Philip, disdained having recourse to any similar pro¬
ceeding, and trusted to his sword for his preservation. In
the mean time the king of Spain succeeded to the crown
of Portugal, to which he had a right by his mother Isabella.
This kingdom had been subdued by the Duke of Alva in
the space of three weeks, during the year 1580. Antony,
prior of Crato, having been proclaimed king by the popu¬
lace of Lisbon, had the resolution to come to an engage¬
ment ; but he was vanquished, pursued, and obliged to fly
for his life.
A cowardly assassin, Balthazar Gerard, killed the Prince
of Orange by a pistol-shot, and thereby delivered Philip
from his most implacable enemy. Philip was charged
with this crime, but it is believed without reason ; although,
when the tidings were communicated to him, he was im¬
prudent enough to exclaim, “ If this blow had been given
two years ago, the Catholic religion and I would have gain¬
ed a great deal by it.” This murder had not the effect of
restoring to Philip the Seven United Provinces; and that
republic, already powerful by sea, assisted England against
him. In the year 1588, Philip, having resolved to distress
Elizabeth, fitted out a fleet called the Invincible Armada.
It consisted of 150 large ships, on board of which were
mounted 2650 pieces of cannon, 8000 seamen, 20,000 sol¬
diers, and the flower of the Spanish nobility. This fleet,
commanded by the Duke of Medina Sidonia, sailed from
Lisbon when the season was too far advanced ; and, being
overtaken by a violent storm, a great part of it was dispers¬
ed. Twelve ships, driven upon the coast of England, were
captured by the English fleet, which consisted of 100 sail;
fifty were wrecked upon the coasts of France, Scotland,
Ireland, Holland, and Denmark. Such was the disastrous
fate of an expedition, from which nothing less than the
subjugation of England had been anticipated.
P H I
This enterprise, which cost Spain forty millions of du- Phil,
cats, 20,000 men, and 100 ships, was productive only of dis-s—y,
grace. But Philip supported his misfortune with heroic
resolution. When one of his courtiers told him, with an
air of consternation, what had happened, he coolly replied,
« I sent to fight the English, and not the winds. God’s
will be done.” The day after, Philip ordered the bishops
to return thanks to God for having preserved some remains
of his fleet; and he wrote thus to the pope : “ Holy father,
as long as I remain master of the fountain-head, I shall
not much regard the loss of a rivulet. I will thank the
Supreme Disposer of empires, who has given me the power
of easily repairing a disaster which my enemies must attri¬
bute solely to the elements, that have fought for them.
At the same time that Philip openly attacked England,
he was secretly encouraging the league in IH ranee., the ob¬
ject of which was to overturn the throne and divide the
state. The leaguers conferred upon him the title of pro¬
tector of their association, which he eagerly accepted, from
a persuasion that their exertions would soon conduct him,
or one of his family, to the throne of France. So sure did
he think himself of his prey, that when speaking of the prin¬
cipal cities in France, he used to say, “ my fine city of Paris,
my fine city of Orleans,” in the same manner as he would
have spoken of Madrid or Seville. What was the result of
all these intrigues ? Henry IV. embraced the Catholic re¬
ligion, and by his abjuration of Protestantism annihilated
the hopes of his rival.
At length Philip, worn out by the debaucheries of his
youth, and by the toils of government, drew near to his
last hour. But a slow fever, the most painful gout, and a
complication of other disorders, could not disengage him
from business, or draw from him the least complaint.
“ What,” said he to the physician, who hesitated about let¬
ting blood of him, “are you afraid of drawing a few drops
of blood from the veins of a king who has made whole rivers
of it flow from heretics ?” At last, exhausted by a com¬
plication of disorders, which he bore with heroic patience,
he expired on the 13th of September 1589, aged seventy-
two years, after a reign of forty-three years and eight
months. During the last fifty days of his illness he show¬
ed a deep sense of religion, and had his eyes almost con¬
stantly turned towards heaven.
No character was ever drawn by different historians in
more opposite colours than that of Philip ; and yet, con¬
sidering the length and activity of his reign, there is none
which it should seem more easy to ascertain. From the
facts recorded in history, we cannot doubt that he pos¬
sessed, in an eminent degree, penetration, vigilance, and
a capacity for government. His attention was continually
directed towards every part of his extensive dominions.
He entered into every branch of administration ; watcher,
over the conduct of his ministers with unwearied atten¬
tion ; and in his choice both of them and of his generals
discovered a considerable share of sagacity. He had at
all times a composed and settled countenance, and never
appeared to be either elated or depressed. His temper
was the most imperious, and his looks and demeanour were
haughty and severe; yet amongst his Spanish subjects he
was of easy access, listened patiently to their representa¬
tions and complaints, and, where his ambition and bigo iy
did not interfere, was generally willing to redress their
grievances. But when we have said this much in his praise,
we have said all that truth requires or truth permits. 1
is indeed impossible to suppose that he was insincere m
his zeal for religion. But as his religion was of the mos
corrupt kind, it served to increase the natural depravi y
of his disposition; and not only allowed, but even promp -
ed him to commit the most odious and shocking
Although a prince in the bigoted age of Philip rmg1
persuaded that the interest of religion would be advanc
PHI
by falsehood and persecution, yet it might have been ex-
—'peeled that, in a virtuous prince, the sentiments of honour
and humanity would on some occasions triumph over the
dictates of superstition. But of this triumph there occurs
not a single instance in the reign of Philip, who, without
hesitation, violated his most sacred obligations as often as
religion afforded him a pretence for doing so; and, under
that cloak, he exercised for many years the most unrelent¬
ing cruelty without reluctance or remorse. His ambition
which was exorbitant, his resentment which was implacable,
his arbitrary temper which would submit to no control, con¬
curred with his bigoted zeal for the Catholic religion, and
carried the sanguinary spirit which that religion was sup¬
posed to inspire, to a greater height in Philip than it had
ever attained in any other prince of that or of any previous
or succeeding age.
Although of diminutive size, he had an agreeable person.
His countenance was grave, his air tranquil, and one could
not discover from his looks either joy in prosperity or
chagrin in adversity. The wars against Holland, France,
and England, cost Philip 564 millions of ducats; but Ame¬
rica furnished him with more than the half of that sum.
His revenues, after the junction of Portugal, are said to
have amounted to twenty-five millions of ducats, of which
he only laid out 100,000 for the support of his own house¬
hold. Philip was very jealous of outw'ard respect; and he
was unwilling that any person should speak to him except
kneeling. The Duke of Alva having one day entered his
cabinet without being introduced, the king, with a stormy
countenance, exclaimed, “ An impudence like this of yours
would deserve the hatchet.” If he thought only how to
make himself be feared, he succeeded in doing so ; for few
princes have been more dreaded, more abhorred, or have
caused more blood to flow, than Philip II. of Spain. He
had successively, if not all at once, to maintain war against
Turkey, France, England, Holland, and almost all the Pro¬
testant states of the empire, without having a single ally,
not even the branch of his own house in Germany. But,
notwithstanding so many millions employed against the
enemies of Spain, Philip found in his economy resources
wherewith to build thirty citadels, sixty-four fortified places,
nine seaports, twenty-five arsenals, and as many palaces,
without including that of the Escorial. His debts amounted
to 140 millions of ducats, of which, after having paid seven
millions of interest, the greater part wTas due to the Genoese.
Moreover, he had sold or alienated a capital stock of 100
millions of ducats in Italy. He made a law, fixing the ma¬
jority of the kings of Spain at fourteen years of age. He
affected to be more than commonly devout; he ate often
at the refectory with the monks; he never entered the
churches without kissing all the relics they contained ; he
caused his bread to be kneaded with the water of a foun¬
tain which was thought to possess a miraculous virtue; he
boasted of never having danced, and of never wearing
breeches after the Grecian fashion. Grave and solemn in
all his actions, he drove from his presence a lady who had
incautiously smiled whilst he was blowing his nose. One
great event of his domestic life is the death of his son Don
Carlos. The manner of this prince’s death is not certainly
known. His body, which is interred in the Escorial, built
by Philip in execution of his vow on the field of battle, is
there separated from his head; but it is pretended that
the head is separated only because the leaden coffin which
contains the body proved too small. The particulars of his
crime are as little known as the manner in which it was
committed. There is no evidence, nor is there any proba¬
bility, that Philip had caused him to be condemned by the
Inquisition. All that we know of the matter is, that in
1568 his father, having discovered that he had some cor¬
respondence with the Hollanders, arrested him in his own
room, and had him placed in confinement. At the same
PHI 347
time he wrote to Pope Pius V. giving him an account of Philip
his son’s imprisonment; and in his letter to the sovereign Is,an(l
pontiff, dated the 20th of January 1568, he says, “ that p. L
from his earliest years the strength of a wicked nature has pjne|_*
stifled in Don Carlos every paternal instruction.” It was
Philip II. who caused to be printed at Antwerp, between
1569 and 1572, in eight vols. folio, the fine Polyglot Bible
which bears his name ; and it was also he who subjected
the islands afterwards called the Philippines.
Philip Island is an uncultivated but fruitful island,
abounding in herbage, in the South Pacific Ocean, situ¬
ated about six miles to the south of Norfolk Island. That
it might be rendered as useful as possible to the British
settlements on the shores of New Holland, the governor
turned loose some hogs on it, in the hopes that they would
multiply; and also sent some cows, with several settlers to
take care of them. Owing, however, to the difficulty of
approaching this island, from the tempestuous seas which
constantly rage around its shores, it was at length wholly
abandoned. This is also the name of a small island on
the east coast of New Holland, which shelters Western
Port. Long. 145. 25. E. Lat. 38. 33. S.
Philip Islands, two islands in the South Pacific Ocean,
discovered in 1791, by Captain Hunter. They are joined to¬
gether by a long sandy isthmus above water ; and a sand¬
bank extends from the largest island above half a mile into
the sea. They are very dangerous to ships in the night.
Long. 140. 3. E. Lat. 8. 6. S. This is also the name of an
island in the South Pacific Ocean, discovered by Captain
Turnbull. Long. 143. 57. W. Lat. 16. 24. S.
Philip Port, an inlet on the southern coast of New
Holland, which extends about thirty miles into the land
in a northerly direction. Long, of Point Nepean, the
eastern point of the entrance, 144. 38. E. Lat. 38. 18. S.
PHILIPPI, a town of European Turkey, in Macedonia,
at the foot of Mount Pangaeus, eight miles from the sea¬
shore, and twenty-six leagues to the eastward of Salonica.
On the plain near it was decided the fate of Rome in
the battle fought by Augustus and Marc Antony on the
one side, against Brutus and Cassius on the other. The
place still exhibits the remains of an amphitheatre, and se¬
veral other monuments of its antiquity and prosperity, al¬
though at present it has an inconsiderable population.
PHILIPPICS, •bi’kinirixoi Xoyoi, in literature, is a name
applied to the orations of Demosthenes against Philip king
of Macedonia. The Philippics are reckoned the master¬
pieces of that great orator. This name is likewise applied
to the fourteen orations of Cicero against Marc Antony.
PHILIPPINES. This archipelago, in the Eastern Seas,
extends from the fifth to the twentieth degree of north la¬
titude, and consists of a great number of islands of various
sizes, and many of which are but little known. The largest
of the group is Luzon or Luconia; and to the south lie the
other principal islands, namely, Mindoro, Panay, Marin-
dique, Negros, Masbate, Zebu, Bohol, Leyte, Samar, and
Magindanao. There are, besides, several smaller ones, and
they are all, nominally at least, subordinate to the Spanish
government at Manilla ; but its power does not extend
over all parts of the islands. There are many remote pla¬
ces to which the Spaniards have never been able to pene¬
trate. Amongst their fastnesses and mountains, the na¬
tives roam in a state of barbarous independence, and wage
an inveterate war against their Spanish oppressors. These
islands, which are partially colonized, pay tribute, which is
collected by the Spanish magistrates in the provinces or
districts into which the country is subdivided. The appel¬
lation of Philippines was given to them in compliment to
Philip II. of Spain, who at the time of their subjugation
was prince of the Asturias.
The Philippines, from their situation, possess a tropical
climate, and are subject to the periodical rains, though the
348
P H I
P H I
Philip¬
pines.
heats are moderated by the breeze from the sea. The rains
generally commence in May, and last till September, u
sometimes they are protracted to the beginning of Decem¬
ber; from which latter period till the succeeding May the
weather is delightful, being a perpetual spring. 1 he vege¬
tation is luxuriant, owing to the copious rains ; the trees
are constantly covered with leaves, and the soil with ver¬
dure, so that it is difficult to keep the land clear of weeds
and insects. The winds which most commonly prevail
are the north, the east, and the south-west, each of which
continues for four months; the change of wind being at¬
tended with violent storms of thunder and lightning, and
at times by whirlwinds. These storms rage occasionally
with frightful violence, and blow from every point of the
compass in the course of twenty-four hours, ravaging and
destroying the country, and tearing up trees by the roots.
These islands, from their extent, their climate, and the
fertility of their soil, would produce all sorts of colonial
products, if there were adequate industry on the part of
the inhabitants. Their chief production, however, is rice,
which is the principal subsistence of the natives. I hey cul¬
tivate, besides the bread-fruit, beans, the cacavata, &c.;
and the palm-tree is much attended to, as it yields a spirit
and an oil, besides a sweetmeat named chanaca. The pith
of the palm, the young shoots of the sugar-cane, green
withes, and other succulents, serve as substitutes for rice
to those who cannot procure anything better. The other
products are different sorts of pulse, such as mangos, pa-
tani, kidney beans, and millet. They have not many fruit-
trees, and they are, besides, of an indifferent quality, ex¬
cepting the plantain, to which may be added the orange
and the mango. The areca or betel-nut is also cultivated,
and used in great quantities, both by Spaniards and by na¬
tives. The domestic animals are buffaloes, goats, pigs,
ducks, and fowls. Horses and horned cattle, having been
imported in great numbers by the Spaniards, have multi¬
plied to such a degree that they now run wild in the moun¬
tains, without being claimed by any owner. Deer abound
in the mountains, and all sorts of pigeons swarm in the
fields, with other small birds, such as quails, a species of
partridge, woodcocks, &c. The swallow which builds the
edible bird-nests so much esteemed by the Chinese is
found here. The surrounding seas yield abundant sup¬
plies of fish, which afford a wholesome nourishment to the
inhabitants. The natives take a great delight in fishing,
as it flatters their natural indolence, and gives them a sup¬
ply of fish, which they prefer to flesh. Shells in great va¬
riety are found upon the shores; amongst these are the cow¬
ries, and the enormous kima cockle, so large as to hold a
gallon, and used in the churches as vessels for containing
holy water. They have also introduced sheep, as well as
geese; and amongst vegetables, grapes, figs, wheat, pepper,
cocoa, coffee, sugar, tobacco, and various sorts of plants,
which have thriven remarkably well.
These islands contain many valuable mineral productions.
In the interior there are mines of gold and of iron, but they
are not worked, either from a deficiency of produce, or
from the want of skill and industry amongst the inhabit¬
ants. Gold is also procured by washing the sand which
is found in the mountain streams. At one place the gold
mines are so indolently worked as scarcely to defray the
expense. The mountains abound in excellent timber, both
for ship and house building; and the bamboos are large
and long. Some of them are of the thickness of a man’s
thigh ; and of these the native houses are constructed, af¬
ter which they are covered with palm-leaves. The inha¬
bitants also raise a little cotton for clothing, which is dyed
with indigo, logwood, &c. The other productions of the
Philippines which are articles of export, consist of wax,
wild honey, amber, marble, tar, brimstone, and other lesser
articles.
These islands, notwithstanding their natural fertility,con- Philjf
tinue in a very desolate state, which is owing partly to phy- pin#
sical disadvantages, namely, the hurricanes, which sweep Vwv f
across the country with wide-wasting desolation, and to the
destruction caused by rats, insects, and other vermin, which
swarm in all parts, and are a great annoyance; partly also
to the indolence of the natives, and to the intolerant and il¬
liberal policy of the Spaniards. If the Chinese were en¬
couraged by an enlightened government, they would set¬
tle in great numbers in these islands, and by their enter¬
prise and industry would soon change the face of the coun¬
try. These islands import a variety of piece-goods, espe¬
cially ordinary long cloth, white, blue, and red ; handker¬
chiefs of all kinds ; chintz, principally dark grounds; Su¬
rat goods of most sorts, and all kinds of European cutlery
and iron. The exports are the edible bird-nests, cassia,
gold-dust, pepper, rattans, sago, tortoise-shell, wax, wild
honey, amber, marble, tar, brimstone, and other articles of
inferior note. The native Indians trade with each other
for the different productions of their country, and employ
gold as the medium of exchange. They likewise carry oa
a trade, though inconsiderable, with the Chinese and the
Malays of Borneo, for flag-stones, copper, and articles of
furniture. They are rude in their manners, and go about
almost naked. These islands are visited by junks which
come from several parts of the Chinese empire, bringing
various articles for the consumption of the numerous resi¬
dent Chinese, and silk-goods, lackered>are, china-ware,
and teas, for the Acapulco ships. Cochineal, black wood,
and dollars, constitute the returns. A trade is also carried
on with the British settlements, though not to any great
extent.
The Spaniards who first visited these islands spread the
most extraordinary and incredible tales of their inhabitants,
whom they described as divided into three classes, satyrs,
men with tails, and sea-monsters. There were only in these
islands two races, the Bisayan Indians, and that strange
race of oriental negroes who still occupy the Papuan Isles.
The latter roamed the mountains almost in a state of na¬
ture, merely covering the fore-part of the body with the
bark of a tree, and living on roots, or on such animals as
they could kill with their bows and arrow's, and the flesh
of which they devoured raw. In short, they were nearly
on a level in their habits and manners with the beasts of
the forest. The Spaniards have succeeded in domesticating
them, and introducing amongst them an imperfect civili¬
zation. But their barbarous aversion to labour they have
never been able to conquer. They are of opinion that the
negroes were the indigenous inhabitants of the islands,
and that the Bisayans were intruders. At present the Pa¬
puans are few in number, and consequently feeble; yet they
retain all their original hatred to the Bisayans, w'hom they
lie in wait for and murder without remorse. There are, be¬
sides, several other races who inhabit the Philippines, and
differ in features, language, and manners. The Pampangos
reside to the north of Manilla, as also the painted races
termed by the Spaniards Pintados, from whom these islands
were originally named Islas de Pintados. I he Indians
found by the Spaniards in these islands were of regular sta¬
ture, and an olive complexion, with flat noses, large eyes,
and long hair. They were all governed by their chiefs, and
their different villages waged an everlasting war with each
other. The prisoners on each side were condemned to sla¬
very. In some places a race of Indians was discovered
whiter than the others, the descendants, as is supposed, ot
Chinese who had been wrecked on the coasts, and who had
intermarried with Indians. The tribes oflgorrates or Ilocas,
in particular, have eyes resembling the Chinese. I heir
customs and usages mark a barbarous people. They have
no fixed laws. Certain traditions are the only rules which
they have for deciding civil suits; and criminal cases are
P H I
PHI 349
• generally compounded for a sum of money, unless in cases
of murder, where one tribe retaliates upon another, and
"“'’a scene of bloody contention ensues. They are permitted
to have only one wife. But the principal persons have
several concubines, who are slaves. No great reformation
of manners has been effected by the Spaniards, nor have
they made any great progress in the conversion of the
natives. The Tagala or Gala language is in general use
throughout the Philippine Islands. The dialects are so
many and various, that the inhabitants of one province are
not intelligible in those of another ; yet their language is all
derived from one common stock. Their religion is a rude
species of idolatry, and consists in frantic ceremonies and
sacrifices to idols, of which the details would be of little
interest.
These islands were discovered in 1521, by Magelhaens,
who named them the Archipelago of St Lazarus. In 1565
they were taken possession of by a fleet which was despatch¬
ed from Mexico, in consequence of orders from Philip II.
of Spain, and first stopped at the island of Zebu, which
was soon wholly subdued. In 1570 a fleet sailed from the
island of Panay for Luzon, and, after several engagements
with the princes of the country, effected a settlement at the
mouth of the Manilla River. In 1571 the Spanish admiral
took possession of the town of Manilla, which he constitut¬
ed the capital of the Spanish possessions in the Philippines,
and proceeded in his reduction of the island under the
Spanish authority. In 1574 the existence of the Spanish
settlement was threatened by a Chinese pirate, who ar¬
rived with sixty-two junks; but, after many bloody engage¬
ments, he was expelled, and great part of his army destroy¬
ed. Towai’ds the conclusion of the sixteenth century a con¬
siderable trade was openly carried on with Japan; and many
rich cargoes were brought from that country to Manilla,
which had now become an emporium of the trade with China,
Java, the coast of Coromandel, and Mexico. In 1590 the
island of Sooloo was attacked by the Spaniards, but they
were repulsed with great slaughter by the natives; nor could
the Spanish maritime force make any impression on the Soo¬
loo pirates, who have continued for nearly three centuries
the scourge of these seas. The number of industrious Chi¬
nese had been daily increasing in the Philippines, and about
the year 1639 they amounted to 30,000, most of whom were
settled as cultivators. The Spaniards were always jealous
of them, though they enriched the country by their indus¬
try; and that year, in consequence of suspected disaffection,
they commenced a war against them, and made so dread¬
ful a havoc amongst them, that in a short time their num¬
bers were diminished to 7000, who surrendered at discre¬
tion. In 1757, the Chinese, who had again increased in
the island, were all banished to their own country ; and,
to prevent their future establishment in the archipelago,
the quarter of St Fernando was appropriated for the recep¬
tion of such Chinese as should come to the island for the
purposes of commerce, and regulations were made for their
re-embarkation in good time, unless they should be in the
mean time converted to the Christian religion, in which
case they were permitted to settle as cultivators. In 1762,
Manilla was attacked by a British fleet under Admiral Cor¬
nish and General Draper, and the place was stormed on
the 5th of October. A capitulation was agreed upon next
day, when, in order to redeem the city from general plun¬
der, a ransom was agreed upon of four millions of dollars.
Manilla was restored to the Spaniards at the peace of 1763,
and has ever since remained in their possession. Besides
Manilla and the larger establishments in Luzon, the Span¬
iards have many smaller settlements scattered over the
islands to the southward; but such is the weakness of
tieir government, that they have never been able to pro¬
tect them against the attacks of the pirates who infest
t ese seas. And so jealous of the natives are the Spanish
rulers of these islands, that, though unable to defend them, Philip-
they do not allow the natives^to possess arms, or any sort Pists
of iron, which is a royal monopoly. In the year 1809 they Jl
published a declaration of their adherence to Ferdinand v ’
VII. and opened their ports to the British ; and since that
period a free trade has been carried on to a considerable
extent. ^
PHILIPPISTS, a sect or party amongst the Luthe¬
rans, who f ollowed Philip Melancthon. He had strenuous¬
ly opposed the Ubiquists, who arose in his time; and the
dispute growing still hotter after his death, the members of
the university of Wirtemberg, who espoused Melancthon’s
opinion, w ere called by the Flacians, who attacked it, Phi-
lippists.
PHILIPPOPEL, a city of Turkey in Europe, in the go¬
vernment of Rumelia, and in the department of Sofia, the
Turkish name of which is Tilibe. It stands upon a plain,
watered by the river Maritza, which is to a certain extent
navigable, in a beautiful situation, on the great road from
theTrontiers to Constantinople. It is a well-built place, and
has twenty mosques, two caravanserais, several Greek and
Armenian churches, and many public and private baths. It
is the seat of a Greek archbishop, and also a manufacturing
city, in which woollen, silk, and cotton goods are made; and
there are some very extensive tanneries. The commodities
thus produced form a portion of the exports, to which are
added raw materials, such as wool and silk. A great quan¬
tity of rice is grown on the banks of the river, and much
tobacco, as well as abundance of grapes, on the more ele¬
vated parts. The inhabitants are stated to be about 30,000.
PHILIPS, h abian, the author of several books relating
to ancient customs and privileges in England, was born at
Prestbury in Gloucestershire, on the 28th of September
1601. When very young, he spent some time in one of the
Inns of Chancery, and went from thence to the Middle Tem¬
ple, where he became learned in the law. In the civil wars,
he was a bold assertor of the king’s prerogative, and so
strongly attached to Charles I. that, two days before that
monarch was beheaded, he wrote a protestation against the
intended murder, and caused it to be printed, and affixed to
posts in all the public places. He likewise published, in
1649, a quarto pamphlet entitled Veritas Inconcussa, or
King Charles I. no Man of Blood, but a Martyr for his
People, which was reprinted in 1660, 8vo. In 1663, when
the courts of justice at Westminster, especially the chan¬
cery, were dissolved by Cromwell’s parliament, he publish¬
ed Considerations against the dissolving and taking them
away, for which he received the thanks of parliament. He
was for some time filazer for London, Middlesex, Cam¬
bridgeshire, and Huntingdonshire ; and spent much money
in searching records, and writing in favour of the royal
prerogative. The only advantage he received for this at¬
tachment to the royal cause was the place of commissioner
for regulating the law, worth L.200 per annum, but which
only lasted two years. After the restoration of Charles II.
when the bill for taking away the tenures was depending
in parliament, Philips wrote and published a book to show
the necessity of preserving them, entitled Tenenda non
Tollenda, or, the Necessity of preserving Tenures in capite,
and by Knight’s Service, which, according to their first in¬
stitution, were, and are yet, a great part of the salus populi,
1660, in 4to. In 1663 he published the Antiquity, Lega¬
lity, Reason, Duty, and Necessity of Pre-emption and Pur¬
veyance for the King, in 4to ; and afterwards many other
pieces upon subjects of a similar kind. He assisted Dr Bates
in his Elenchus Motuum, especially in searching the records
and offices for that work, and died on the 17th of November
1690, in his eighty-ninth year. He was a man well ac¬
quainted with records and antiquities; but his manner of
writing is neither close nor well digested. He published a
political pamphlet in 1681, entitled Ursa Major et Minor>
350 PHI
Philips. “ showing that there is no such fear, as is fictitiously pre-
tended, of popery and arbitrary power.
Philips, AmbTOSBy an English poet of some note, was
descended from an ancient and considerable family of that
name in Leicestershire. He received his education at St
John’s College, Cambridge, and during his stay there wrote
his pastorals, which at that time acquired lum a high repu¬
tation. His next performance was the Life of Archbishop
Williams, written, according to Mr Cibber, to mate known
his political principles, which in the course of it he ad an
PHI
In the latter part of Queen Anne’s reign, he was secre- Phi:;
tary to the Hanover Club, a set of noblemen and gentle- ||
men who had formed an association in honour of that suc-^J
cession, and for the support of its interests, and who used
particularly to distinguish in their toasts such of the fair
sex as were most zealously attached to the illustrious house
of Brunswick. Philips’ station in this club, together with the
zeal shown in his writings, recommended him to the notice
and favour of the new government. Soon after the ac¬
cession of George I., he was put into the commission of the
his political principles, which m V*1.® courseh . , , f ce anj appointed one of the commissioners of the lot-
opportunity of doing, as the archbishop, *ho « the hero of peace and appo e ^ ^ rf
his work, was a strong opponent of the high-church party tery,^ ^ ^ pre)ate St Georgc.s
and their measures. ^r1nri pi ■ rhannel where considerable preferments were bestowed on
When he quitted the university and went to London, Phi- Channel, "e^econs^ & of the Wsh House rf
S&^in^hr.v^lo^^r, —
wLtTptl XtdP ftl C^Xen, and addressed to an advanced age, he died soon afterwards, at his lodgings
the Earl of Dorse;, f ^s^lXe"™mXS "Xu” XXan ingenious lady, the daughter of
author, whilst he affected to despise ns o. it ’ Tames Philips of the priory of Cardigan; and went with the
always to except this from his censure and contempt D^gPan„on into Ireland, where she trans-
The first dislike Pope conceived against I hilips pro- tra„edY 0f Pompey, which was
ceeded from that jealousy of fame w icl^sh^dC^”™' several timesb acted there with great applause. She also
ous in his character ; for Sir Rmhard Stceie formed translated the first four acts of the Horace, another tragedy
strong a liking to the pastorals of Philips, that he formed translatedmCj^ ^ bein xecuted by Sir John Denham.
a design of instituting a critical comparison ^ ; This remarkable person died of the small-pox in London on
those of Pope, in ^®,®®f die 22d of June 1664, much and justly regretted; ‘‘having,
was to be given to Philips. This design, no , 8 _r,f)nr,i:np. t0 Tanebaine, “ not left any of her sex her equal
come to the knowledge of Pope, the la er, w o DOetrv” Dr Jeremy Taylor addressed to her his Mea-
hear a rival near the throne, determined to ward oil this m poetry. _ ur oeremy x y ^  ,
stroke by a stratagem of the most artful kind ; which was
no other than taking the same task on himself. Accord¬
ingly, in a paper in the Guardian, he drew a similar com¬
parison, and gave a like preference, but on prineip es of cri-
ticism so evidently fallacious, as to pomt o»t to fd ‘he “b-
m poetry. ui   . „ ,. ,
sures and Offices of Friendship, the second edition of which
appeared in the year 1657, in 12mo. Her assumed poetical
name was Orinda.
Philips, John, an English poet of considerable eminence,
was born in 1676. He was educated at Winchester and Ox-
surdity of the decision. ZX =Sg the^
SXSrw^X^anLtagoni^ “S^d sX!wS
allowed that in some parts of his pastoraLt ere are in the Tatler is styled the “ finest burlesque poem m the
touches of nature, and a degree of sunphci y, w J Enchsh language.” His next was entitled Blenheim, which
much better suited to the purposes of pastoral than tfoe ^ 0f the Earl of Oxford, and Mr Henry
more correctly-turned periods of Pope’s versification Phi- he wrote Bolingbroke, on the victory ob-
lips and Pope being of different political pnncip es, P ^ tained b’ the Duke 0f Marlborough in the year 1704. It
another cause of enmity between them, w ‘ | oublished in 1705; and the year after, he finished an-
rose to so great a height, that the foimer, nc1 g , b . em n ck|er) the first book of which had been
tagonist too hard for him at the weapon 0 w , ^ . A_.j' ,i t*. +Lo mnrlpl of Viruil’s Georgies,
termined upon making use of a rougher kind of argument;
and for this purpose he even went so far as to hang up a
rod at Button’s for the chastisement of his adversary when¬
ever he should come thither. Pope, however, declining
to brave his antagonist, avoided the argumentum baculi-
num, in which he would, no doubt, have found himself on
LvlUl9 IxllC '
written at Oxford. It is on the model of Virgil’s Georgies,
and is thought a very excellent piece. Wehave no more
of Philips’ except a Latin ode to Mr Henry St John, which
is esteemed a masterpiece. He was contriving greater fhings,
when he was seized with the illness of which he died, at
Hereford, on the 15th of February 1708, before he had a -
the weaker side of the question. Our author also wrote tai^edd be remarked, that there were other two
several dramatic pieces, as the Briton, Distressed Mo icr, . g h flourished in his time. One of
and Humphrey Duke of Gloucester all of which met with poets ®f f ® ^ ^ hew who wrote several things, parti-
sucress and one of them still continues to be a standard these was Milton s nepnew w io w yjX Tra-
entertainment at the theatres, being generally repeated se- cularly ^ menioirs of hi U p political farces,
veral times in every season. Philips’s circumstances were vestied. The other was me autnor oi i ^ ^ Marr
throughout his life not only easy, but rather affluent in con- which were both ^Highlander ; and
sequence of his being c0^nect®d’^J !t! J fh^Proiender’s Flight, or a Mock Coronation, with the Hu-
persons of great rank and consequence.
with Dr Hindi Boulter, afterwards archbishop of Armagh,
the Right Honourable Richard West, lord chancellor of
Ireland, the Rev. Gilbert Burnet, and the Rev Henry
Stevens, in writing a series of papers under the Mle of the
Freethinker, which were all published together by Philips,
in three volumes 12mo.
mours of the facetious Harry St John.
PHILISTINES were the ancient inhabitants oi ran^
tine, well known in sacred history. These people are some¬
times called in Scripture Cherethites and Caphtonim
earlier part of their history is, like that of most ot
tions, very obscure and uncertain. The authors of the
P H I
! es. versal History inform us that they were descended partly
f-'' from the Casluhim, and partly from the Caphtorim, both
being of the progeny of Mizraim, the son of Ham, the son
of Noah. Moses tells us that they drove out the Avim or
Avites even to Azzah or Gazah, where they settled; but
when this happened cannot be determined. Upon the whole,
however, our learned authors are clearly of opinion, that the
Casluhim and Caphtorim, from whom the Philistines were
descended, came originally from Egypt, and called the coun¬
try which they had conquered by their own name. Many
interpreters, however, think that Caphtor was but another
name for Cappadocia, which they imagine to have been the
original country of the Philistines. But Calmet, in a par¬
ticular dissertation prefixed to the first book of Samuel, en¬
deavours to show that they were originally from the island
of Crete. The reasons which led him to think that Caph¬
tor is the island of Crete may be shortly stated. The Phi¬
listines were strangers in Palestine, as appears from vari¬
ous parts of Scripture; and hence the Septuagint always
translate this name strangers. Their proper name was Che-
rethim; for Ezekiel, speaking against the Philistines, says,
“ I will stretch out mine hand upon the Philistines, and I
will cut off the Cherethim, and destroy the remnant of the
sea-coast.” Zephaniah, inveighing against the same people,
says, “ Woe unto the inhabitants of the sea-coasts, the na¬
tion of the Cherethites.” And Samuel says, that the Ama-
lekites made an irruption into the country of the Chere¬
thites, that is, of the Philistines, as the sequel of the dis¬
course plainly proves. The kings of Judah had afterwards
foreign guards called the Cherethites and Pelethites, who
appear to have been Philistines. The Septuagint, under
the name of Cherethites, understood the Cretans ; and by
Cherith they understood Crete. Besides, the Scripture says
that the Philistines came from the isle of Caphtor. Now
we know of no island in the Mediterranean in which the
marks whereby the Scripture describes Caphtor and Che¬
rethim agree better than in the island of Crete. The name
Cretim or Cherethim is the same with that of Cretenses;
and the Cretans are a most ancient and celebrated people,
who inhabited the islands of the Mediterranean, pretending
to have been originally produced out of their own soil. This
island was well peopled in the time of the Trojan war.
Homer calls it the island of the hundred cities. The city
of Gaza in Palestine went by the name of Minoa, because
Minos, king of Crete, coming into that country, called this
ancient city by his own name.
Herodotus acknowledges that the Cretans were originally
barbarians, and did not come from Greece. Homer says,
that a different language was spoken in the island of Crete ;
that there were Greeks there, but also true or ancient Cre¬
tans, and Pelasgians. The ancient Cretans are the same
as the Cherethites, and the Pelasgians as the Philistines or
Pelethites of the Scripture. Their language was the same
with that of the Canaanites or Phoenicians, that is, Hebrew ;
and they were descended, as well as Canaan, from Ham, by
Mizraim. The manners, arms, religion, and gods of the Cre¬
tans and Philistines were the same. Both used only bows
and arrows; and Dagon the god of the Philistines was the
same as the Dictymna of the Cretans.
Whether these arguments are convincing, it is not for us
to determine. Wells does not think they are, being of the
same opinion with the authors of the Universal History, who
say that Coptus, the name of an old city of Egypt, is a cor¬
ruption of the ancient Caphtor. It is not, however, of great
P H I 351
importance to determine whether they came from Crete, Philistines,
from Cappadocia, or from Egypt. They had certainly been
a considerable time in the land of Canaan when Abraham
arrived there in the [year of the world 2083. They were
then a very powerful people, governed by kings, and in pos¬
session of several considerable cities. The race of kings
then in power were honoured with the title of Abimelech.
This race, however, was of short duration; for their mo¬
narchy became an aristocracy of five lords, who, as far as we
can discover,iwere partly independent of one another, though
they acted in concert for the common cause. This form of
government was again succeeded by another race of kings,
distinguished by the title of Achish, though they also bore
that of Abimelech. The kings were always subjected to great
limitations. The Philistines appear to have been a very war¬
like people, industrious, and lovers of freedom ; they did not
circumcise, and in the early periods of their history held
adultery in the greatest abhorrence. “ Their character,”
say the authors of the Universal History, “ must be consi¬
dered at different periods; for we may say they were not
always the same people. In the days of Abraham and Isaac,
they were without all doubt a righteous and hospitable na¬
tion ; but afterwards a revolution in government, religion,
and morals, may have ensued. From thenceforward they be¬
came like the other idolatrous nations; the same enormities
crept in and prevailed amongst them. They are constantly
mentioned in Scripture as strangers; and though possessed
of a very considerable part of the Land of Promise, yet God
would never suffer them to be driven out, they being Egyp¬
tians by descent, and not original natives, whose land only
was promised to Abraham and his seed. Their arrogance
and ambition were great; and so irreconcileable was their
enmity to the Israelites,1 that one would be almost tempted
to think they were created on purpose to be a thorn in their
sides; for though the hand of God was evidently against
them several times, and particularly when they detained the
ark, yet they hardened their hearts and closed their eyes
against conviction. They seem to have entertained a very
great veneration for their deities, in which they persisted,
though they were eye-witnesses of the shame and ignominy
which befell them in the presence of the captive ark; nay,
they were so biassed in their favour, as to imagine that their
gods might prevail against Him who had in so glaring a
manner put them to shame and disgrace. They were much
engaged in trade, which, considering their situation, they
may have exercised from the beginning; but, by the ac¬
cession of the fugitive Edomites in David’s time, they rose
to so great a reputation as merchants, that the Greeks, it
seems, preferred them to all other nations in that respect,
and from them called all the country bordering upon theirs
Palestine. Their language was not so different from that
spoken by the Hebrews as to cause any difficulty for them
to converse together, as will be perceived by their inter¬
course with Abraham and Isaac ; so that, in all this region,
the several nations spoke one and the same tongue, perhaps
with some variation of dialect. They had doubtless the arts
and sciences in common with the most learned and ingeni¬
ous amongst their contemporaries, and perhaps some of them
in greater perfection. They had giants amongst them; but
whether these were originally of the breed of the Anakim,
who retired hither when they were expelled from Hebron,
or were sprung from accidental births, is not easily deter¬
mined. We must not forget, that the invention of the bow
and arrow is ascribed to this people.
1 “ From a passage in Chronicles, where it is said, that ‘ the men of Gath slew the children of Ephraim, who would have taken their
cattle from them,’ it is guessed to have been of very ancient date. This incident is nowhere else to be found; and there are various
notions concerning the sense in which we must take this passage. As to the time of the transaction, most people allow it to have been
while the children of Israel were sojourners in Egypt. It plainly appears, by the next verse, that Ephraim himself was living at that pe¬
riod. The Targum supposes his children miscomputed the time they were to serve in Egypt, and began too early an attempt upon their
promised land.”
352
P H I
P H I
Philistines.
“ Their religion was difFerent at different times ; under
their first race of kings, they used the same rites with the
Hebrews. Abimelech, in the sin he had like to have com¬
mitted with Sarah, through Abraham s timidity, was favoured
with a divine admonition from (jod ; and, by his speech and
behaviour at that time, it seems as if he had been used to
converse with the Deity. In after times, they fell into end¬
less superstitions, and different kinds of idolatry ; nay, each
of the principal or five cities seemed to have an idol of its
own. Marna, Marnas, or Marnash, was worshipped at Gaza,
ig said to have migrated into Crete, and to have become
the Cretan Jupiter. Dagon was worshipped at Azotus ; he
seems to have been the greatest, the most ancient, and most
favourite god they had; to which may be added, that he
perhaps subsisted the longest of any that did not straggle
out of the country. To him they ascribed the invention of
bread-corn, or of agriculture, as his name imports. We can¬
not enter into the common notion of his being represented
as a monster, half man, half fish ; nor consequently into an¬
other, almost as common, that he is the same with the Sy¬
rian goddess Derceto, who, we are told, was represented
under some such mixed form. Our opinion is, that this idol
was in shape wholly like a man ; for we read of his head,
his hands, and his feet. He stood in a temple at Azotus,
and had priests of his own, who paid him a very constant at¬
tendance. Next to Dagon was Baalzebub, the god of Ek-
ron. In the text of the New Testament he is called Beelze¬
bub, and the ‘ prince of devils.’ His name is rendered lord
of flies, which by some is held to be a mock appellation
bestowed on him by the Jews ; but others think him so
styled by his worshippers, as Hercules Apomyios and others
were, from his driving those insects away; and urge, that
Ahaziah, in his sickness, would scarcely have applied to him,
if his name had carried in it any reproach. But it must be
remembered, it is the sacred historian that makes use of that
contemptuous term in derision ; whereas the idolatrous mo¬
narch, who was one of his votaries, might call him by his
common name, supposed to have been Bctal-zeboath, ‘ the
lord of armies,’ or Baal-shamin, 1 lord of heaven,’ or some
other bordering on Baal-zebub. How or under what form
he was represented is uncertain. Some place him on a throne,
and attire him like a king; others paint him as a fly. Not
to dwell on this obscurity, it appears that he became an
oracle of the highest repute for omniscience and veracity ;
that he had priests of his own ; and that he, in the middle
times at least, was much sought after by those who were
anxious about futurity. Derceto we take certainly to have
been the goddess of Ascalon ; but we are supported by pro¬
fane authority, without the least countenance from Scrip¬
ture. Gath is seemingly the only city of all the five unpro¬
vided with a deity; wherefore, as the Scripture declares,
that Ashtaroth, or Astarte, was worshipped by this people,
we are ready to place her at Gath, and the rather, as this
of all their cities may have had most communication with
Sidon. To speak in general concerning their religious rites
and ceremonies, which is all we can do, they seem to have
erected very large and spacious temples, or very wide halls,
for the celebration of their solemn seasons and festivals (for
such they surely had) ; their religious offices were attended
with much pomp, and a great concourse from all parts ; and
they presented their gods with the chief part of their spoil,
and carried them about with them when they went to war.
We do not find in Scripture that they sacrificed their chil¬
dren ; and yet the Curetes are said to be their descendants.”
With respect to the history of this extraordinary people,
we find from the above extract, that they were not compre¬
hended in the number of nations devoted to extermination,
and whose territory the Lord had abandoned to the He¬
brews ; nor were they of the cursed seed of Canaan. How¬
ever, Joshua did not forbear to give their lands to the He¬
brews, and to set upon them by command of the Lord, be¬
cause they possessed a country which was promised to the Phil}
people of God. But these conquests of Joshua must have |
been ill maintained, since under the Judges, under Saul, ^
and at the beginning of the reign of David, the Philistines^'’
oppressed the Israelites. It is true that Shamgar, Samson,
Samuel, and Saul, made head against them, but did not re¬
duce their power; and they continued independent down
to the reign of David, who subjected them to his govern¬
ment.
They remained in subjection to the kings of Judah down
to the reign of Jehoram, the son of Jehoshaphat, that is,
for about 246 years. However, Jehoram made war against
them, and probably reduced them to obedience ; because it
is observed in Scripture that they revolted again under Uz-
ziah, and that this prince kept them to their duty during
the remainder of his reign. During the unfortunate reign
of Ahaz, the Philistines made great havoc in the territories
of Judah; but his son and successor Hezekiah subdued
them. Lastly, they regained their full liberty under the
latter kings of Judah; and, by the menaces denounced against
them by the prophets Isaiah, Amos, Zephaniah, Jeremiah,
and Ezekiel, we find that they had brought a thousand hard¬
ships and calamities upon the children of Israel, for which
cruelties God threatened to punish them. Esarhaddon be¬
sieged Ashdod or Azoth, and took it; and, according to
Herodotus, Psammeticus king of Egypt took the same city,
after a siege of twenty-nine years. There is great proba¬
bility that Nebuchadnezzar, when he subdued the Ammon¬
ites, Moabites, Egyptians, and other nations bordering upon
the Jews, also reduced the Philistines. After this, they fell
under the dominion of the Persians, and then under that
of Alexander the Great, who destroyed the city of Gaza,
the only city of Phoenicia which ventured to oppose him.
After the persecution of Antiochus Epiphanes, the Asmo-
nseans subjected to their sway several cities of the Philis¬
tines ; and Tryphon gave to Jonathan Maccabaeus the go¬
vernment of the whole coast of the Mediterranean, from
Tyre as far as Egypt, thus including all the country of the
Philistines.
PHILISTUS, a celebrated historian of Syracuse, who
was an active partisan of Dionysius the elder, and was by
him made governor of the citadel, b. c. 406. Having dared
to marry a relation of the tyrant without his knowledge, he
was compelled to fly, and took refuge in the city Adria, in
the north of Italy, where he employed himself in writing
the history of his native island. Philistus tried to procure
his recall, by representing the government of Dionysius in
a very favourable light; but the prince refused to listen to
his entreaties; and it was not till the accession of Dionysius
the younger that he returned to his native country. It is
said that the political party in Syracuse which supported
despotic principles were afraid of the influence that Plato
might have over the mind of Dionysius; and as Philistus
had always been a strenuous assertor of arbitrary power, and
was, besides, possessed of considerable talents, it was thought
that he might have been made use of to counteract the
effects of\Plato’s eloquence. Philistus was killed, B.c.
356, by the Syracusans. He wrote a history of Sicily, the
first part of which^was contained in seven books, and ex¬
tended over a period of eight hundred years, terminating
with the siege of Agrigentum, b. c. 406. The second part
contained the history of the elder Dionysius to B. c. 368,
and he gave, in two books, the reign of Dionysius the younger
till b. c. 363.
PHILO, an ancient Greek writer, descended of a noble
family amongst the Jews, flourished at Alexandria during
the reign of Caligula. He was the chief of an embassy sent
to Rome about the year forty-two, to plead the cause of t e
Jews against Apion, who had been sent by the Alexandrians
to charge them with neglecting the honours due to Cse*ar’
Caligula, however, would not allow him to speak, and e
I
P H I
Philo, haved to him in such a manner that Philo was in consider-
able danger of losing his life. Others, again, tell us that he
was heard, but that his demands were refused. He after¬
wards went to Rome in the reign of Claudius, and both Euse¬
bius and Jerome inform us that he became acquainted with
St Peter, with w7hom he lived on terms of friendship. Pho-
tius adds, that he became a Christian, but afterwards, from
some motive of resentment, recanted. All this, however, is
uncertain, because the precise period at which St Peter
visited Rome has not been ascertained.
Philo was educated at Alexandria, and made very great
progress in eloquence and in philosophy. After the fashion
of the time, he cultivated, like many of his nation and faith,
the philosophy of Plato, whose principles he so thoroughly
imbibed, and whose manner he so well imitated, that it
became a common saying, Aut Plato philonizat, aut Philo
platonizat. Josephus describes him as a man “ eminent on
all accountsand Eusebius represents him as “ copious in
speech, rich in sentiments, and sublime in the knowledge
of Holy Writ.” He was, however, so much immersed in
philosophy, particularly the Platonic, that he neglected the
Hebrew language, and also the rites and customs of his own
people. Scaliger alleges, that Philo knew no more of He¬
brew and Syriac than a Gaul or a Scythian. Grotius is of
opinion that he is not fully to be depended on in what re¬
lates to the manners of the Hebrews; and Cudworth de¬
clares that, though a Jew by nation, he was yet very igno¬
rant of Jewish customs. But Fabricius thinks differently ;
for although he admits the inadvertencies and errors of Philo
in regard to these matters, he does not discover sufficient
reason to justify charging so illustrious a doctor of the law
with ignorance. He allows, however, that Philo’s passion
for philosophy had made him more than half a Pagan. It led
him to interpret the whole of the law and the prophets upon
Platonic ideas, and to admit nothing as truly interpreted
which was not agreeable to the principles of the Academy.
Besides, he turned every thing into allegory, and deduced
the darkest meanings from the plainest words. This per¬
nicious practice Origen is known to have imitated, and thus
exposed himself to the scoffs of Celsus and of Porphyry.
Philo’s writings abound with high and mystical, as well as
subtile, far-fetched, and abstracted notions; and indeed
the doctrines of Plato and Moses are so promiscuously
blended, that it is not easy to assign to each his peculiar
prerogatives. In his works, however, there are certainly
many excellent things. Though he is continually plato-
nizing and allegorizing the Scriptures, he abounds with fine
sentiments and lessons of morality ; and his morals are ra¬
ther the morals of a Christian than those of a Jew. His¬
tory, as well as his own writings, give us every reason to
believe that he was a man of great prudence, constancy,
and virtue.
His works were first published in Greek by Turnebus,
at Paris, 1552; and to these a Latin translation, executed by
Gelenius, was afterwards added. The Paris edition of 1640,
in folio, is the best that was published for a century ; a cir¬
cumstance which led Cotelerius to observe, that Philo was
an author who deserved to have a better text and a better
version. This, however, was accomplished, in 1742, when
a handsome edition of his works was published at London,
p h i 353
by Dr Mangey, in two vols. folio. In 1797, Jacob Bryant Philo
published the Sentiments of Philo Judaeus concerning the II
Logos or Word, in order to prove that Philo borrowed his ^hilokus.^
sentiments and expressions relative to the second person of ^ v"—^
the adorable Trinity from the apostles. But it is to be
observed here, that Philo’s authority had repeatedly before
been founded on by various writers in favour of the funda¬
mental principle of the existence of a Divine Unity in a
Trinity of Persons; particularly by Dr Allix in his Judg¬
ment of the Jewish Church, 1699, and also by Mr Whita¬
ker in his Origin of Arianism Disclosed, 1791.
Philo, a native of Byblos, in Syria, is believed by Vos-
sius to have been born in the tenth year of the reign of
Tiberius, a. d. 24, and to have lived to the times of the
Emperor Hadrian, who succeeded to the empire A. d. 117.
He gained considerable reputation as a writer both of his¬
tory and grammar; but his name has come down to us
chiefly as the translator of a history which Sanchoniathon
had written in the Phoenician language. Eusebius has pre¬
served several fragments of the preface of Philo, and also
of this history. This fragment has called forth the inge¬
nuity of many modern writers, but more particularly of Mr
Dodwell, who has written a very learned dissertation on the
subject. Fourmont also makes it the text of a work which
he entitled Reflexions Critiques sur les Histoires des anciens
Peuples, two vols. 4to.
Philo, a celebrated writer on mechanics, was a native
of Byzantium, and flourished in the year 160, being the con¬
temporary of Ctesibius and Hero. He was the author of
a work entitled Poliorcetica,on the method of attacking and
defending towns, of which the fourth and fifth books have
been preserved. The first treats of the manner of pre¬
paring arrows, balistae, catapultae, and other warlike engines.
Amongst other inventions, he mentions a machine of Ctesi¬
bius which discharged weapons by means of compressed
air, upon the same principle, no doubt, as our air-gun. In
the second book he treats of the manner of fortifying and
provisioning cities, and, amongst other things, recommends
that the provisions and water be poisoned if there be dan¬
ger of the place falling into the hands of an enemy. This
work has been published, with a Latin translation, m a col¬
lection entitled Veterum Mathematicorum Opera, Par. 1693.
The invention of the air-gun has been treated of by Alb.-
Louis Meister, De Catapulta polybola Commentatio qua
locus Philonis Mechanici, in libro iv. de telorum construe-
tione certans illustratur, Gottingen, 1768. There is another
little work attributed to Philo, entitled De septem Orbis
Spectaculis, part of the sixth chapter of which, and the
whole of the seventh, are lost. It has been published, with
a Latin translation, and many learned notes, by J. C. Orelii,
Leipzig, 1816, 8vo.
PHlLOLAUS, of Crotona, was a celebrated philosopher
of antiquity, of the school of Pythagoras, to whom that phi¬
losopher’s Golden Verses have been ascribed. As he made
the heavens the principal object of contemplation, it has
been idly supposed that he was the author of the true sys¬
tem of the world, which Copernicus afterwards revived.
Ihis notion led Bullialdus to place the name of Philolaus
at the head of two works written expressly to illustrate and
defend that system.
VOL. XVII.
354
PHILOLOGY.
History of Philology is compounded of the two Greek words
  and \oyos and imports the desire of investigating the pro-
Definition. pgrties^and affections of wards. The sages ot Greece were,
in the most ancient times, denominated ™0ot, that is, wise
men Pythagoras renounced this pompous appellation,
and assumed the more humble title of that is, a
lover of wise men. The learned Greeks were afterwards
called philosophers; and in process of time, in imitation ot
this epithet, the word philohger was adopted, to import a
man deeply versed in languages, etymology, and antiqui¬
ties Hence the term philology, which denotes the science
that we propose briefly to discuss in the following article.
Objects Although philology, in its original import, denoted only
and uses of the study of words and language, it gradually acquired a
philology. much more extensive, and at the same time a much more
useful, as well as more exalted, signification. It compre¬
hended the study of grammar, criticism, etymology, the
interpretation of ancient authors, antiquities; and, in a
word, every thing relating to ancient manners, laws, reli¬
gion, government, and language. In this enlarged sense
of the word, philologv becomes a science of the greatest
utility ; it opens a wide field of intellectual investigation,
and indeed calls for a more intense exertion of industry,
and multifarious erudition, than most of those departments
of literature which custom has dignified with more high-
sounding names. It is indeed apparent, that, without the
aid of philological studies, it is impossible upon many oc¬
casions, to develope the origin of nations ; to trace then
primary frame and constitution ; to discover their manners,
customs, laws, religion, government, language, progress in
arts and arms; or to learn by what men and what mea¬
sures the most celebrated states of antiquity rose into gran¬
deur and consideration. The study of history, so eminent¬
ly useful to the legislator, the divine, the military man, the
lawyer, the philosopher, and the private gentleman who
wishes to employ his learned leisure in a manner honoura¬
ble and improving to himself, and useful to his country,
will contribute very little towards enlightening the mind
without the aid of philological researches. For these rea¬
sons we shall endeavour to explain the various branches ot
that useful science as full^ and intelligibly as the nature
of the present undertaking will permit.
Object of Most of the branches of philology have already been
this article, treated of under the heads of Grammar and Language.
But there still remains One part, which has either been slight¬
ly touched upon, or totally omitted, under the foregoing
topics; we mean, the nature and complexion of most of
the oriental tongues, as also some of the radical dialects
of the languages of the west. As we would willingly
gratify our readers of every description to the utmost of
our power, we shall endeavour in this place to communi¬
cate to them as much information upon that subject as the
extent of our reading, and the limits prescribed for a single
article, will permit.
Before entering upon this subject, however, we must ob¬
serve, that it is not our intention to fill our pages with a te¬
dious, uninteresting, catalogue ofbarbarous languages, spoken
by savage and inconsiderable tribes, of which little, or perhaps
I      i—4-v.a« Kfirp.lv tbpir names. Such an
'nothing, more is known than barely their names. Such an
1 Nat. Hist. lib. vii. cap. 56.
2 From
«»«• T“'"- p‘ ris’1M2 )
enumeration would swell the article without communicat- Language,
ing one single new idea to the reader’s antecedent stock. Wy-w
We shall therefore confine our inquiries to such languages
as have been used by considerable states and societies, and
which of consequence have acquired a high degree of cele¬
brity in the regions of the east.
What was the antediluvian language, or whether it was Variety of
divided into a variety of dialects as at this day, can only be dialects be-
determined by the rules of analogy ; and these will lead uS tore the
to believe, that whatever might have been the primitive
language of mankind, if human nature was then constitut¬
ed as it is at present, a great variety of dialects must of
necessity have sprung up in the space of nearly two thou¬
sand years. If we adopt the Mosaic account of the ante¬
diluvian events, we must' admit that for several ages the
descendants of Cain lived separated from those of Seth.
Their manner of life, their religious ceremonies, their laws,
their form of government, were probably different, and
these circumstances would of course produce a variety in
their language. The posterity of Cain were an inventive
race. They found out thb arts of metallurgy, music, and
some think of weaving ; and in all probability many other
thin°'S conducive to the ease and the accommodation of life
were the produce of their ingenuity. A people ot tins
character must have paid no small regard to their words
and modes of expression. Wherever music is cultivated,
language will naturally be improved and refined. When
new inventions are introduced, a new race of words and
phrases of necessity spring up, corresponding to the recent
stock of ideas to be intimated. Besides, amongst an inven¬
tive race of people,new words would be continually fabricated,
in order to supply the deficiencies of the primitive language,
which was probably scanty in its vocabulary, and its phra¬
seology unpolished. The Cainites, then, amongst their
other” improvements, cannot well be supposed to have ne¬
glected the cultivation of language. . . , , „
Many conjectures have been hazarded both by ancient Origin of
and modern authors respecting the origin of writing ; an art writing,
which is nearly connected with that of speaking. According
to Pliny,1 “ the Assyrian letters had always existed ; some
imagined that letters had been invented by the Egyptian
Mercury ; others ascribed the honour ot the invention to
the Syrians.” The truth seems to be, that letters were an
antediluvian invention, preserved amongst the Chaldeans or
Assyrians, who were the immediate descendants ol JNo1atl>
and inhabited those very regions in the neighbourhood of
which the ark rested, and where that patriarch afterwards
fixed his residence. The circumstance, we think, aitoras
a strong presumption tliat the use of letters was known
before the deluge, and transmitted to the Assyrians and
Chaldeans by Noah their progenitor, or at least by their
immediate ancestors of his family. If, then, the art oj
writing was an antediluvian invention, we think that in al
probability it originated amongst the posterity of Fain.
1 The descendants of Seth, according to the oriental tradi
tion, were chiefly addicted to agriculture and the tending or
cattle. They devoted a great part of their time to the exe -
cises of piety and devotion. From this circumstance they
came to be distinguished by the title of the sons oj bod.
Hist. lib. vii. cap. 56. . . ^ ponnection between angels and mortal women.
pht CW lib. i.) The Fathers of the chore!,, almost without eaceptiou. adopt.
PHILOLOGY.
355
istory of According to this description, the Sethites were a simple,1
unimproved race of people till they mingled with the race
of Cain ; after which period they at once adopted the im¬
provements and the vices of that wicked family.
It is not, probable, however, that all the descendants of
Seth, without exception, mingled with the Cainites. That
family of which Noah was descended had not incorporated
with the race of Cain. According to the sacred historian,
it was lineally descended from Seth, and had preserved
the worship of the true God, when, it is probable, the great¬
est part of mankind had apostatised and become idolaters.2
Along with the true religion, the progenitors of Noah had
preserved that simplicity of manners and equability of cha¬
racter which had distinguished their remote ancestors.
Agriculture and the rearingof cattle had been their favourite
occupations. Accordingly we learn, that the patriarch
Noah, immediately after the -deluge, became a husband¬
man, and “ planted a vineyard.” The chosen patriarchs,
who doubtless imitated their pious ancestors, were shep¬
herds, and employed in the rearing and tending of cattle.
Indeed there are strong presumptions that the Chaldeans,
Assyrians, Syrians, Canaanites, and Arabians, in the earli¬
est ages followed the same profession.
From this deduction, we imagine, it is at least probable,
that the ancestors of Noah persisted in the observance of
the same simplicity of manners which had been handed
down from Adam to Seth, and from him to Enoch, Methuse¬
lah, Lamech, and from this last to Noah himself. According
both to scripture and tradition, innovations were the pro¬
vince of the Cainites, whilst the descendants of Seth ad¬
hered to the primitive and truly patriarchal institutions.
If these premises are allowed the merit of probability,
we may justly infer that the language of Noah, whatever
age pre- it waS) differed very little from that of Adam ;3 and that if
e'fimi'l ^ 18 Possible to ascertain the language of the former, that
y of the latter will of course be discovered. We shall then
proceed to throw together a few observations relating to
the language of Noah, and leave our readers to judge for
themselves. We believe it will be superfluous to suggest,
that our intention in the course of this deduction is, if pos¬
sible, to trace the origin and antiquity of the Hebrew
tongue ; and to try to discover whether that language, or
any of its sister dialects, may claim the honour of being the
original language of mankind.
Whatever may have been the dialect of Noah and his
family, that same dialect, according to the Mosaic account,
must have obtained, without any alteration, until the era of
the building of the tower of Babel. Upon this occasion a
dreadful convulsion took place ; the language of mankind
was confounded, and men were scattered abroad upon the
face of all the earth.
How far this catastrophe4 extended, it is not the business
of the present inquiry to determine. But one thing is certain
beyond jrll controversy, namely, that the languages of all
the nations which settled near the centre of population
were but slightly affected by its influence. A very judicious
writer has observed,s that three thousand years afterwards,
the inhabitants of those countries exhibited a very strong
resemblance of cognation, “ in their language, manner of
he origi-
.1 lan-
1aence
i oah
rung.
infusion
the
ver of
•bel.
living, and the lineaments of their bodies.” At the same Language,
time he observes, that “ the resemblance in all those parti-
culars was most remarkable amongst the inhabitants of Me¬
sopotamia.” This observation, with respect to language, will,
we doubt not, be vouched by every one of our readers who
has acquired even a superficial knowledge of the languages
current in those countries at a very early period.
It appears, then, that the languages of the Armenians,
Syrians, Assyrians, Arabians, and probably of the Chanaanim,
did not suffer materially by the confusion of tongues. This
observation may, we imagine, be extended to many of the
dialects spoken by the people who settled in those coun¬
tries not far distant from the region where the sacred his¬
torian has fixed the original seat of mankind after the de¬
luge.6 The inference then is, that if Noah and his family
snoke the original language of Adam, as they most probably
did, the judgment which effected the confusion of tongues
did not produce any considerable alteration in the language
of such of the descendants of Noah as settled near the re¬
gion where that patriarch had fixed his residence after he
quitted the 'ark.
But supposing the changes of language produced by the A part only
catastrophe at the building of the tower as considerable as of mankind
has ever been imagined, it does not, after all, appear cer- engaged in
tain, that all mankind, without exception, were engaged in building the
this impious project. If this assertion should be well-found- towe^•
ed, the consequence would be, that there was a chosen race
who did not engage in that enterprise. If there was such
a family, society, or body of men, it must follow, that this
family, society, or body of men, retained the language of its
great ancestor without change or variation. That such a family
did actually exist, is highly probable, for the following reasons.
1-. We think there is reason to believe that Ham, upon
the heavy curse denounced upon him by his father,7 retired
from his brethren, and fixed his residence elsewhere. Ac¬
cordingly we find his descendants scattered far and wide,
at a very great distance from the Gordyaean mountains,
where the ark is generally supposed to have rested imme¬
diately after the Flood. Some of them we find in Chaldaea,
others in Arabia Felix, others in Ethiopia,8 others in Ca¬
naan, and others in Egypt; and, finally, multitudes were scat¬
tered over all the coast of Africa. Between these countries
were planted many colonies of Shemites, in Elam, Assyria,
Syria, Arabia, &c. We find, at the same time, the descend¬
ants of Shem and Japhet settled, in a great degree, conti¬
guous to each other. This dispersion of the Hamites, irre¬
gular as it is, can scarcely, we think, have been accidental;
it must have been owing to some uncommon cause, and
none seems more probable than that assigned above. If,
then, the descendants of Ham separated early, and took
different routes, as from their posterior situations it appears
they did, they could not all be present at the building of the
tower.
2. It is not probable that the descendants of Shem were The de-
engaged in this undertaking, since we find that they werescendantsof
not scattered abroad upon the face of all the earth. The Shem not
children of Shem were Elam, Ashur, Arphaxad, Lud, and
Aram.9 Elam settled near the mouth of the river Tigris, in s ^10“
the country which, by the Gentile writers, was called Ely-
1 The orientals, however, affirm, that Seth, whom they call Edris, was the inventor of astronomy.
3 We think it highly probable that idolatry was established before the deluge, because it prevailed almost immediately after that catas*
trophe. See Polytheism.
3 For some conjectures respecting the language first communicated to Adam, see the article on Language, and also Schuckford's Con-
met. vol. i. lib. ii. p. Ill, et seq.
4 Josephus and the Fathers of the church tell us, that the number of languages produced by the confusion of tongues was seventy-two ;
but this is a mere rabbinical legend.
* Strabo.
6 The language of the Medes, Persians, Phoenicians, and Egyptians, very much resembled each other in their original complexion; and
all had a strong affinity to the Hebrew, Chaidaic, Syriac, &c. (See. Walton’s Prolegomena, Gale’s Court of the Gentiles, vol. i. lib. i. ch.
11, p. 70, et seq. ,• Bochart, Phaleg and Chanaan, pass.) To these we may add the Greek language, as will appear more fully below.
7 Gen. ix. 25.
* Josephus informs us, that all the nations of Asia called the Ethiopians Ctishim, (lib. i. cap. 7.)
9 Gen. x. 22. r > v r
356
PHILOLOGY.
History of mats. Above him, on the same river, lay the demesne of
y ✓ Ashur, on the western side. In like manner, upon the same
river, above him, was situated Aram, who possessed the
country of Aramea; and opposite to him was Arphaxad, or
Arbaces, or Arbaches, whose country was denominated
Arpkachites. Lud, as some think, settled in Lydia, amongst
the sons of Japhet; but this opinion seems to be without
foundation.1 Here, then, there is a dispersion, but such as
must have originated from the nature of the thing. I he
four, or rather the five brothers, all settled contiguously, with¬
out being scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.
Besides, there was no confusion of language amongst these
tribes, who continued to use one and the same tongue through
many succeeding generations.
From these circumstances it appears, that the posterity
of Shem were not involved in the guilt of the builders of
the tower, and consequently did not undergo their punish¬
ment. If then the language of the Shemites was not con¬
founded upon the erection of the tower, the presumption is,
that they retained the language of Noah, w'hich, in all pro¬
bability, was that of Adam. Some dialectical differences
would in process of time creep in? but tlie radiccil feibiic of
the language would remain unaltered.
3. The posterity of Shem appear in general to have fol¬
lowed the pastoral life. T hey imitated the style of living
adopted by the antediluvian posterity of Seth. No sooner
d4°'vn.t0 had Noah descended from the ark, than he became Ish ha
Abrabam. Adama]h « a man 0f the earth,” that is, a husbandman, and
planted a vineyard. We find that some ages afterwards, Laban
the Syrian had flocks and herds ; and that the chief wealth
of the patriarch Abraham and his children consisted in their
flocks and herds. Even his Gentile descendants, the Ish-
maelites and Midianites, seem to have followed the same oc¬
cupation. But people of this profession are seldom given
to changes. Their wants are few, and consequently they
are under few or no temptations to deviate from the beaten
track. This circumstance renders it probable that the lan¬
guage of Noah, the same with that of Adam, was preserv¬
ed wath little variation amongst the descendants of Arphaxad
down to Abraham.
We have observed above, that Ham, upon the curse de¬
nounced against him by his father, very probably left the
society of his other brothers, and emigrated elsewhere, as
Cain had done in the antediluvian world. There is a tra¬
dition still current in the east, and which was adopted by
many of the Christian fathers,2 that Noah, in the nine hun¬
dredth and thirtieth year of his life, by divine appointment,
did, in the most formal manner, divide the whole terraque¬
ous globe amongst his three sons, obliging them that they
would take an oath to stand by the decision. Upon this
happened a migration at the birth of Peleg, that is, about
three centuries after the Flood. It is affirmed that Nimrod
Language
of Adam
preserved
down to
the arch rebel disregarded this partition, and encroached Language,
upon the territory of Ashur, which occasioned the first war
after the deluge.
The Greeks had acquired some idea of this partition,
which they supposed to have been between Jupiter, Nep¬
tune, and Pluto.3 Plato seems to have heard of it ;4 “ for,”
says he, “ the gods of old obtained the dominion of the
whole earth, according to their different allotments; and this
was effected without any contention, for they took posses¬
sion of their several provinces in a fair and amicable way,
by lot.” Josephus,5 in, his account of the dispersion of man¬
kind, plainly insinuates a divine destination ; andPhilo-Ju-
daeus6 was of the same opinion before him.
In consequence of this arrangement, the sons of Shem
possessed themselves of the countries mentioned in the pre-
ceding pages 5 the posterity of Japhet had spread themselves
towards the north and west; but the Hamites, who had se¬
parated from their brethren in consequence of the curse,
not choosing to retire to their quarters, which were indeed
very distant from the place where the ark rested,7 seized up¬
on the land of Canaan. Perhaps, too, it might be suggest¬
ed by some malicious spirits, that the aged patriarch was
dealing partially when he assigned to Ham and his posterity
a quarter of the world to inhabit, not only remote from the
centre of population, but likewise sequestered from the rest
of mankind.8
But be this as it may, the children of Ham removed east¬
ward, and at length descending from the Carduchean or
Gordyaean mountains, directed their course westward, and
arrived at the plains of Shinar, which had been possessed
by the Ashurim ever since the era of the first migration at
the birth of Peleg. The sacred historian informs us, that
the whole earth was of one language and of one speech ; that
in journeying from the east, they lighted upon the plain ot
Shinar, and dwelt there. In this passage we find no par¬
ticular people specified; but as we find Nimrod, one of the
descendants of Ham, settled in that country, we may be sure
that they were the offspring of that patriarch. It would
not, we think, be easy to assign a reason how one branch
of the family of Ham came to plant itself in the midst of the
sons of Shem by any other means but by violence.
It is indeed generally supposed, that Nimrod, at the head The tower
of a body of the children of Ham, made war upon Ashur, of Babel
_ - J .1 , _ c 01 •  A DUlll DV
or a oouy oi uie cimuicu ^ \ .Jhuiltbv
and drove him out of the country ot Shinar, and there laid ^ ^
the foundation of that kingdom, the beginning of which was dren of
Babel; that this chief, supported by all the Cushites, and Hamt
a great number of apostates from the families of Shem and
Japhet who had joined him, refused to submit to the divine
ordinance by the mouth of Noah, with respect to the par¬
tition of the earth ; and that he and his adherents were the
people who erected the celebrated tower, in consequence of
a resolution which they had formed to keep together, with-
1 The ancient name of Lydia was Mceonia. (See Strabo Casaub. lib. xiii. p. 586, chap. 7. Rhod. 577.) Lydians were cele^
brated for inventing games ; on which account they were nicknamed by the iEolian Greeks Aujoi, Lydt or Ludi, from the H b
lire illudere,deridere. We find (Ezek. xxvii. 10.) the men of Elam and the men of Lud joined m the defence of Tyre ; which
seems to intimate, that the Elamites and Ludim were neighbours. If this was actually the case, then Lud settled in the same quarter vv
h‘" Epiphan- (voj. i. p. 5. ibid. p. 709.) where our learned readers will observe some palpable errors about Rhinocorura, &c. (Eusebius,
Chron. p. 10. Syncellus, p. 89. Cedrenus Chron. Pasch. &c.)
* Critias^vol. ifi. p. 109. Sen’. Apollodorus mentions a time when the gods respectively selected particular cities and regions, "hick
they were to take under their peculiar protection.
« dih 'i iTrafi1 Tain5 Paris, 1552. We have a plain allusion to this distribution in Deuteronomy (xxiii. 7.) " When the Most High di¬
vided o ttmdons their inheritance, when he separated ,he sons ot Adam, he set the bounds of the people, according to he number of th
children of IsS° for the Lord's portion is his people , Jacob is the lot of his inheritance." From this passage It appears, that the vtale
was arranged bv the appointment of God, and that the land of Canaan was expressly reserved for the children ot k'2®1- St' “ < , ,
xv^. l™)TplakVof thKyine arrangemmt, “ God made of one blood all nations of men. that dwell on the face of the earth; andde
termined the bounds of their habitation.” , ,T a a-
^ The ark, according to the most probable accounts, rested upon Mount Ararat m Armenia pe their inclination
* We think it by no means improbable that Noah, well knowing the wickedness of the family of Ham, and especial y t
to the idolatry of the antediluvians, might actually intend to separate them from the rest ot mankind.
PHILOLOGY.
ilistory of out repairing to the quarters assigned them by the deter-
,-^v^^'rnination of Heaven. This was the crime which brought
down the judgment of the Almighty upon them, by which
they were scattered abroad upon the face of all the earth.
The main body of the children of Shem and Japhet were
not engaged in this impious undertaking ; their language,
therefore, was not confounded, nor were they themselves
scattered abroad. Their habitations were contiguous, those
of the Shemites towards the centre of Asia ; the dwellings
of Japhet were extended towards the north and north-west;
and the languages of both these families continued for many
ages without the least variation, except what time, climate,
laws, religion, new inventions, arts, sciences, and commerce,
will produce in every tongue in a succession of years.
) The general opinion then was, that none but the pro¬
geny of Ham and their associates were present at the build ¬
ing of the tower, and that they only suffered by the judg¬
ment consequent upon that attempt.1 There are even amongst
the pagans some allusions to the division of the world amongst
the three sons of Noah. Many of the learned have ima¬
gined that this patriarch was Saturn, and that his three
sons were Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, as has been observ¬
ed above.
Berosus, in his history of the Babylonians, informs us,
that Noah, at the foot of Mount Baris or Luban, where the
ark rested, gave his children their last instructions, and then
vanished out of sight.2 It is now generally believed that
the Xisuthrus of Berosus was Noah. Eupolemus, another
heathen writer, tells us, “ that the city Babel was first found¬
ed, and afterwards the celebrated tower ; both which were
built by some of those people who escaped the deluge.
They were the same with those who in after times were ex¬
hibited under the name of giants. The tower was at length
ruined by the hand of the Almighty, and those giants were
scattered over the whole earth.”3 This quotation plainly
intimates, that according to the opinion of the author, only
the rascally mob of the Hamites, and their apostate associ¬
ates, were engaged in this daring enterprise.
Indeed, it can never be supposed that Shem, if he was
alive at that period, as he certainly was, would co-operate
in such an absurd and impious undertaking. That devout
patriarch, we think, would rather employ his influence and
authority to divert his descendants from an attempt which
he knew was undertaken in contradiction to an express
ordinance of Heaven ; and it is surely very improbable
that Elam, Ashur, Arphaxad, and Aram, would join th^t im¬
pious confederacy, in opposition to the remonstrances of
their father.
The building of the tower, according to the most proba¬
ble chronology, was undertaken at a period so late, that all
mankind could not possibly have concurred in the enter¬
prise.
Many of the fathers were of opinion, that Noah settled
in Armenia, the country where the ark rested ; and that his
descendants did not leave that region for five generations,4
or during the space of659 years. By this period the human
race must have been so amazingly multiplied, that the plains
of Shinar could not have contained them. According to the
Samaritan Pentateuch, and the Septuagint version, Peleg
was born in the 134th year of his father Eber. Even ad¬
mitting the vulgar opinion, that the tower had begun to be
357
built, and the dispersion consequent upon that event must have Language,
taken place at this era, the human race would have been by s —
much too numerous to have universally concurred in one
common design.
From these circumstances, we hope it appears that the
whole mass of mankind was not engaged in building the
tower of Babel; that the language of all the human race was
not confounded upon that occasion ; and that the dispersion
reached only to a combination of Hamites, and of the most
profligate part of the two other families, who had joined
their wicked confederacy. *
We have pursued this argument to considerable length, The origi-
because some have inferred, from the difference in languages nal lan-
existing at this day, that mankind cannot have sprung 8uaSe F?-
from two individuals; because from the connection still ex-s£rve(l’n
isting amongst languages, some have been bold enough to^0^?-
question the fact, though plainly recorded in sacred history ; j;es<
and lastly, because we imagine that some of our readers,
who do not pretend to peruse the writings of the learned,
may be gratified by seeing the various opinions respecting
the confusion of tongues, and the dispersion of mankind,
collected into one mass, equally brief, we hope, and intelli¬
gible. And this view of these opinions, with the foundations
on which they respectively rest, we think may suffice to
prove, that the language of Noah was for some ages pre¬
served, unmixed, amongst the descendants of both Shem
and Japhet.
To gratify still further such of our curious readers as may
not have access to more ample information, we shall in this
place exhibit a brief detail of the circumstances which at¬
tended this fatal attempt. The people engaged in it have
been held up as a profligate race. The Almighty himself
denominates them “ the children of men? which is the very
appellation by which the antediluvian sinners were charac¬
terised ; the sons of God saw the daughters of men, &c.
Their design in raising this edifice was, “ to make them a
name, and to prevent their being scattered abroad upon the
face of the whole earth?5
Whatever resolution the rest of mankind might take, they
had determined to maintain themselves on that spot. The
tower was intended as a centre of union, and perhaps as a for¬
tress of defence. Such a stupendous fabric, they imagined,
would immortalize their memory, and transmit the name of
their confederacy with distinction to future ages.6 The design
plainly intimates, that there was only a party concerned in the
undertaking, since, had all mankind been engaged in it, the
purpose would have been foolish and futile. Again, they
intended, by making themselves a name, to prevent their
being scattered abroad upon the face of the earth. This
was an act of rebellion in direct contradiction to the divine
appointment, which constituted their crime, and brought
down the judgment of Heaven upon their guilty heads. But
the consequence of the confusion of languages was, that the
projectors left off building, and were actually scattered
abroad, contrary to their intention.
Abydenus, in his Assyrian Annals, records, that the Pagan
tower was carried up to heaven; but that the gods ruined tradition
it by storms and whirlwinds, and overthrew it upon the'concern'nS
heads of those who were employed in the work, and that
the ruins of it were called Babylon.1 Before this there was
but one language subsisting amongst men; but now there
Some learned men have imagined that this confusion of language, was only a temporary failure of pronunciation, which was afterwards
removed. This they are led to conclude, from the agreement of the languages of these people in after times.
e ivr1186^' ^l?on‘ ° Euseb. Prcpp. Evangel, lib. ix. 4 Epiph. Hceres. lib. i. 5 Gen. chap. xi.
Many foolish and absurd notions have been entertained concerning this structure. Some have imagined that they meant to take shel¬
ter there in case of a second deluge ; others, that it was intended for idolatrous purposes; others, that it was to be employed as an observ¬
atory. Its dimensions have likewise been most extravagantly magnified. Indeed Strabo, lib. 16, mentions a tower of immense size re¬
maining at Babylon in his time, the dimensions of which were a stadium every way. This, however, seems to have been the remains of
the temple of Bel or Belus.
7 See the Greek original of this quotation, Euseb. Chron. lib. i. p. 73.
358
PHILOLOGY.
History of arose Tvo\v6pr](^<jDvr], a manifold speech,; and he adds, that a
war soon after broke out between Titan1 and Kronos. 2
The Sybilline oracles give much the same account of this
early and important transaction. _
Justin3 informs us, that the Phoenicians who budt Tyre,
were driven from Assyria by an earthquake. These Phoe¬
nicians were the descendants of Mizraim the youngest son
of Ham ; they were, we think, confederates in building the
tower, and were driven away by the catastrophe that en¬
sued. Many other allusions to the dispersion of this branch
of the family occur in pagan authors, but the limits to be
observed in an inquiry of this nature oblige us to omit them,
on the whole, we think it probable that the country of Shi-
nar lay desolate for some time after this revolution ; for the
dread of the judgment inflicted upon the original inhabit¬
ants would deter men from settling in that inauspicious re¬
gion. At last, however, a new colony arrived, and Babel,
or Babylon, became the capital of a flourishing kingdom.
Our readers, we believe, will expect that we should say
something of Nimrod the mighty hunter, who is generally
thought to have been deeply concerned in the transactions
of this period. According to most authors, both ancient
and modern, this patriarch was the leader of the confede¬
rates who erected the tower, and the chief instigator to that
enterprise. But if the tower was built at the biith of Phe-
leg, according to the Hebrew computation, that chief was
either a child,4 or rather not born at that period.5 The Se¬
venty have pronounced him a giant, as well as a huntsman.
They have translated the Hebrew word Gebur, which ge¬
nerally signifies strong, mighty, by the word yiyas, giant;
an idea which we imagine those translators borrowed irom
the Greeks. The antediluvian giants are called Nephelim
and Rephaim, but never Geburim. The Rabbinical writ-
ers, who justly hated the Babylonians, readily adopted this
idea;6 and the Fathers of the church, and the Byzantine
historians, have universally followed them. He has been
called Nimrod, Nebrod, Nymbroth, Nebroth, and Nebns.
Not a few have made him the first Bacchus, and compound-
ed his name of Bar, a son, and Cush, that is the son of
Cush. Some have imagined that he was the Orion of the
pagans, whose shade is so nobly described by Homer.7 But
the etymology of this last name implies something hon¬
ourable, and very unsuitable to the idea of the tyrant Nim¬
rod.8 It must be observed, however, that we find nothing
in Scripture to warrant the supposition of his having been
a tyrant; so far from it, that some have deemed him a
benefactor to mankind.9 i i v
The beginning of this prince’s kingdom was Babel. Fu-
sebius gives us first19 a catalogue of six kings of the Chal¬
deans, and then another of five kings of Arabian extraction, Language,
who reigned in Chaldaea after them. This might naturally
enough happen, since it appears that the inhabitants of those
parts of Arabia which are adjacent to Chaldaea were actu¬
ally Cushites, of the same family with the Babylonians.11
The Cushites, however, were at last subdued, perhaps
partly expelled Chaldaea by the Chasiaim, who probably
claimed that territory as the patrimony of their progenitors.
That the Chasidim were neither Cushites, nor indeed Ha-
mites, is obvious from the name. The Hebrews, and indeed
all the Orientals,12 denominated both the people who inha¬
bited Arabia, Cushim, and also the Ethiopians who sprung
from the last-mentioned people. Had the later inhabitants
of Chaldaea been the descendants of Cush, the Jewish writ¬
ers would have called them Cushim. We find they called
the Phoenicians Chanaanim, the Syrians Aramim, the
Egyptians Mizraim, the Greeks Jonim, and so on. The
Chasidim, therefore, or modern inhabitants of Chaldaea, were
positively descended of one Chesed or Chased; but who
this family-chief was, it is not easy to determine. The only
person of that name whom we meet with in early times, is
the fourth son of Nahor,13 the brother of Abraham ; and
some have been of opinion that the Chaldeans were the
progeny of this same Chesed. This appears to us highly
probable, because both Abram and Nahor were14 natives o*
Ur of the Chasidim. The former, we know, in conse¬
quence of the divine command, removed to Haran, after¬
wards Charrce; but the latter remained in Ur, where his
family multiplied, and, in process of time, became masters
of the country which they called the land of the Chasidim,
from Chesed or Chased, the name of their ancestor. This
account is the more probable, as we find the other branches
of Nahor’s family settled in the same neighbourhood.15
How the Greeks came to denominate these people XaX- of
fiatot, Chaldcei, is a question rather difficult to be resolved ;thenair,e
but we know that they always affected to distinguish people chaldai.
and places by names derived from their own language.
They knew a rugged, erratic nation16 on the banks of the
Thermodoon, in the territory of Pontus, bordering on Ar¬
menia the Less. These, in ancient times, were called
Alybes or Calybes, because they were much employed in
forging and polishing iron. Their neighbours, at length,
gave them the name of Chald or Caled, which imports, in
the Armenian dialect, fierce, hardy, robust. This title the
Greeks adopted, and out of it formed the word XaASatoi,
or Chaldeans.
The Mosaic history informs us,17 that Ashur went out of
the land of Shinar, and built Nineveh and several other
considerable cities. One of the successors of Ashur was
1 This war was probably carried on between the leaders of the Karaites and Ashur upon their invasion.
2 Theoph. ad ybito/. lib. ii. page 107, ed. Paris, 1636. , ^ ln
3 p*,7,„ lih yviii can. 3 Bochart, Phaleg. lib. 1. cap. 10.
6 Gera x. 8, 9. “ This man began to be a giant upon the earth; he was the giant hunter before the Lord God—As Nymbrod the
mant hunter before the Lord.” , _ , ... .
6 See Mr. Bryant’s Analysis, vol. Hi. p. 38, et seq. 7 Odys, lib, l. verse ov l, riQmoo
* Orion is compounded of the Hebrew Or, “ light,” and ion, “ one of the names of the sun; and Orion was probably one of the names
of that luminary. , , n , rr • tt- . i :
o See Shuckford’s Connect, vol. i. lib- 3. p. 179, 180. Also the authors of the Umver. Hist. vol. i 14 Ppn • 2o
10 Chron- lib i. p. 14* 11 Gen. x. Ezek. xxvii. 12 Joseph. Ant. lib. i. cap. 6. Gen. xxn. 2— ‘ 1 ,
15 Huz gave name to the country of Job; Elihu, one of Job’s friends, was a Buzite of the kindred of Ram or Aram, another of the
sons of Nahor. Aram, whose posterity planted Syria Cava, was the grandson of Nabor by Kemuel. Hence it appears probable that Jqb
p. 543. Casaub. As the Cbalybes were famous for manufacturing iron »
were they celebrated for making Ue choicest pieces of armour. They excelled in making or coats of mail, or brigandines, u.e
bv the bravest of the Persian horsemen. Bochart {Phaleg. lib. iii. cap. 12 and 13) has proved that the word C/te/i&a signifies “ ®
brass or steel.” From the word Cheliba, the Greeks formed their XaXu&f, Chalybes. Xenophon (G/rop. lib. ni- p. 43, SteP-)rePe
the Chaldeans, who inhabited a mountainous country bordering upon Armenia, as a very fierce and warlike people. In 107, we
an example of their rapacious character; and in lib. iv. p. 192, Hen. Steph. we have an account of their bravery and of their arms.
othi; r1-o"* that tad wet. forth Ashur, „ud builM Nineveh." Some
prove mir translation, which we think is just; others, considering that the inspired writer had been speaking of Nimrod and lhe ^J|’“ 8
of his kingdom, are of opinion that it should be translated, “ And out of this land He. (that is Nimrod,) went into Ashur and budded Ni
Veh.” This they make a military expeditionj and a violent irruption into the territory of Ashur.
PHILOLOGY
359
story of the celebrated Ninus, who first broke the peace of the
world,1 made war upon his neighbours, and obliged them
by force of arms to become his subjects, and pay tribute.
Some authors make him the immediate successor of Ashur,
and the builder of Nineveh. This we think is not proba¬
ble; and Eusebius, as we have observed above, gives a list of
six Arabian princes who reigned in Babylon. These we
take to have been the immediate successors of Nimrod,
called Arabians, because these people were Cushites.
Ninus might be reputed the first king of the Assyrians, be¬
cause he figured beyond his predecessors; and he might
pass for the builder of Nineveh, because he greatly enlarg¬
ed and beautified that city. We therefore imagine, that
Ninus was the fifth or sixth in succession after Ashur.
Ninus, according to Diodorus Siculus,2 made an alliance
with Ariaeus king of the Arabians, and conquered the Ba¬
bylonians. This event, in our opinion, put an end to the
empire of the Hamites or Cushim in Shinar or Babylonia.
The author observes, that the Babylon which figured after¬
wards did not then exist. This fact is confirmed by the
prophet Isaiah :3 “ Behold the land of the Chasidim ; this
people was not till Ashur founded it for them that dwell in
the wilderness. They set up the towers thereof,” &c. Af¬
ter Babylonia was subdued by the Assyrians under Ninus,
the capital was either destroyed by that conqueror or de¬
serted by the inhabitants. At length it was re-built by
some one or other of the Assyrian monarchs, who collected
the roving Chasidim, and obliged them to settle in the new
city. These were subject to the Assyrian empire till the
reign of Sardanapalus, when both the Medes and Babylo¬
nians rebelled against that effeminate prince.
The Chasidim were celebrated by all antiquity for their
proficiency in astronomy, astrology, magic, and curious
sciences. Ur or ‘Orchoe was a kind of university for those
branches of learning.4 Such was their reputation in those
studies, that over a great part of Asia and Europe a Chal¬
dean and an astrologer were synonymous terms. These
sciences, according to the tradition of the Orientals, had
been invented by Seth, whom they called Edris ; and had
been cultivated by his descendants downwards to Noah, by
whom they were transmitted to Shem, who conveyed them
to Arphaxad and his posterity. To us it appears probable,
that the religious sentiments transmitted from Noah through
the line of Shem, were kept alive in the family of Arphaxad,
and so handed down to the families of Serug, Nahor, Terah,
Abraham, Nahor II. and Haran, &c. The Jewish rabbin,
and all the Persian and Mahommedan writers, make Abra¬
ham contemporary with Nimrod; who, say they, persecuted
him most cruelly for adhering to the true religion. That
these two patriarchs were contemporary is very improbable,
since Nimrod was the third generation after Noah, and Abra¬
ham the tenth. Abraham has been invested by the rabbi¬
nical writers with every department of learning. Accord¬
ing to them, he transported from Charrae into Chanaan, as¬
tronomy, astrology, mathematics, geography, magic, alphabe¬
tical writing, &e.
gendary After the Babylonish captivity, when the Jews were dis¬
cs con- persed over all the east, and began to make 'proselytes of
m,jg the gate amongst the Pagans, wonderful things were report-
,rd ‘‘ro1 ed of Abraham with respect to his acquirements in human
erudition, as well as his supereminence in virtue and piety.
These legendary tales were believed by the proselytes, and
by them retailed to their connections and acquaintances.
But certainly the holy man was either not deeply versed in Language,
human sciences, or he did not deem them of importance
enough to be communicated to his posterity; since the
Jews are, on all hands, acknowledged to have made little
progress in these improvements. To think of raising the
fame of Abraham, by classing him with the philosophers, be¬
trays an extreme defect in judgment. He is entitled to
praise of a higher kind ; for he excelled in piety, was the
father of the faithful, the root of the Messiah, and the friend
of God. Before these, all other titles vanish away. Such
of our readers, however, as have leisure enough, and at the
same time learning enough to enable them to consult the
rabbinical legends, will be furnished with a full and ample
detail of his imaginary exploits and adventures. Others,
who are either not willing or not qualified to peruse the
writings of the rabbin, may consult Dr. Hyde5 and the au-
thorsof the Universal History,6 where they will find materials
sufficient to gratify their curiosity. We shall only observe,
in addition to what we have already said, that the Persians,
Chaldeans, and Arabians, pretended that their religion was
that of Abraham ; that honourable mention is made of him
in the Koran ; and that the name of Abraham or Ibrahim
was celebrated all over the east.
In the progress of this disquisition, we have seen that the
language of Noah was, in all probability, the same or near¬
ly the same with that of Adam. Additions and improve¬
ments might be introduced, but still the radical stamina of
the language remained unchanged. It has likewise, we
hope, appeared, that the confusion of language at the build¬
ing of the tower of Babel was only partial, and affected none
but the rebellious crew of the race of Ham, and the apos¬
tate part of the families of Shem and Japhet. We have
concluded, that the main body of the race of Shem, at
least, were not dispersed nor was their language confound¬
ed ; and that consequently the descendants of that patriarch
continued to speak their paternal dialect or the uncorrupt¬
ed language of Noah. To these arguments we may take
the liberty to add another, which is, that in all probability
the worship of the true God was preserved in the line of
Arphaxad, after the generality of the other sects had lap¬
sed into idolatry. Out of this family was taken Abraham,
in whose line the true religion was to be preserved. Whe¬
ther Abraham was an idolater when he dwelt in Chaldaea,
the Scripture does not inform us, though it seems to be evi¬
dent that his father was. One thing, however, is certain,
namely, that Jehovah appeared to him, and pronounced a
blessing upon him before he left Ur of the Chaldees.7 This
circumstance no doubt indicates, that the patriarch had
made uncommon advances in piety and virtue, even prior
to his emigration. The progenitors of his family had been
distinguished by adhering to the true religion.. About this
time, however, they began to degenerate, and to adopt the
Zabaism of their apostate neighbours. It was then that
Abraham was commanded by Heaven to “ leave his kin¬
dred and his father’s house, and to travel into a land which
was to be shown him.” The Almighty intended that the
true religion should be preserved in his line, and therefore
removed him from a country and kindred, by the influence
of whose bad example his religious principles might be en¬
dangered. His family had only of late apostatized ; until
that period they had preserved both the language and the
religion of their venerable ancestors.
But however much Abraham might differ from the other
Justin, lib. i. cap. i. 2 Lib. ii. 3 Chap, xxiii. 13.
Ur or Orcboe was situated between Nisibis and Corduena. (See Ammianus Marcellinus, Expeditio Juliana, lib. xv.) It lay not far
tIi0npt°e-nVer- (lib. xvi. p. 739.) tells us that the Chaldean philosophers were divided into different sects; the Orcheni,
e orsipemn, and several others. Diodorus Siculus likewise, (lib. ii. p. 82. Steph.) gives an exact detail of the functions, profession,
and establishment of the Chaldeans, to which we must refer our curious readers.
De Religions Ve.terum Persarum, chap. ii. 6 Vol. i.
7 Compare Gen. xii. 2 with Acts vii. 4,
SCO
Hebrew
Language.
The He¬
brew and
Chaldaic
originally
the same.
PHILOLOGY.
branches of his family in his religious sentiments, his lan¬
guage was certainly in unison with theirs. The conse-
^quence of this unquestionable position is, that the language
which he carried with him into Chanaan was exactly t le
same with that of his family which he relinquished when
he began his peregrinations. But if this be true, it wi
follow, that the language afterwards denominated Hebrew,
and that of the Chasidim or Chaldeans, were originally one
and the same. This position, we think, will not be con¬
troverted. There is then an end ot the dispute concern¬
ing the original language of mankind. W e have advan¬
ced some presumptive proofs in the preceding pages, that
the language of Adam was transmitted to Aoah, and that
the dialect of the latter was preserved in the line of Ar-
phaxad downwards to the family of Abraham ; and it now
appears that the Hebrew and Chaldaic were originally spo¬
ken by the same family, and of course essentially indenti-
cal, and were actually the first language upon earth, accord¬
ing to the Mosaic history. Numberless additions, alteia-
tions, improvements, we acknowledge, were introduced in the
course of two thousand years ; but still the original stamina
of the language were unchanged. Our readers will please to
observe that the Orientals are not a people given to change;
and that this character, in the earliest ages, was still moie
prevalent than at present. This assertion, we presume,
needs no proof.
In confirmation of these presumptive arguments, we may
add the popular one which is commonly urged upon this
occasion, namely, that the names of antediluvian persons and
places mentioned by the sacred historian, are generally ot
Hebrew original, and significant in that language, borne
of them, we acknowledge, are not so; but in this case it
ouo-ht to be remembered, that a very small part ot that lan¬
guage now exists, and that probably the radicals from which
these words are descended are amongst the number of those
which have long been lost.
SECT. 1. THE HEBREW LANGUAGE.
Character- Having thus proved the priority of the Hebrew to every
isties of the otper language that has been spoken by men, we shall now
Hebrew procee(i t0 consider its nature and genius ; from which it
language. 1  cU/lontlv tn Lp an nrip-inal laneruasre.
be paid to taste, or any other subject of philosophical inves- Hebrew
tigation. Every unimproved language abounds in figura- Languagi
tive expressions borrowed from sensible objects. This is's^V^
in a peculiar manner the characteristic of the language in
question ; of which it would be superfluous to produce in¬
stances, as the fact must be obvious even to the attentive
reader of the English Bible.
In the course of this argument, we think it ought to be
observed, and we deem it an observation of the greatest
importance, that if we compare the other languages which
have claimed the prize of originality from the Hebrew with
that dialect, we shall quickly be convinced that the latter
has a just title to the preference. The writers who have
treated this subject, generally bring into competition the
Hebrew, Chaldean, Syrian, and Arabian; and some one or
other of these has commonly been thought the original
language of mankind. The arguments for the Syrian and
Arabian are altogether futile. The numerous improve¬
ments superinduced upon these languages, evidently prove
that they could not have been the original language. In
all cognate dialects, etymologists hold it as a maxim, that
the least improved is likely to be the most ancient.
We have observed above, that the language of Abraham How it
and that of the Chesedim or Chaldeans were originally the^ eba:;
same ; and we are persuaded, that if an able critic should^™
take the pains to examine strictly these two languages, andca]le(i td|
to take from each what may reasonably be supposed to have Chaldaii I
been improvements or additions since the age of Abraham,
he would find intrinsic evidence sufficient to convince him of
the truth of this position. There appear still in the Chal¬
dean tongue great numbers of words the same with the
Hebrew,1 perhaps as many as mankind had occasion for in
the most early ages ; and much greater numbers would
probably be found if both languages had come down to us
entire. The construction of the two languages is indeed
somewhat different; but this difference arises chiefly fiom
the superior improvement of the Chaldean. M hilst the
Hebrew'language was in a manner stationary, the Chaldean
underwent progressive improvements; was mellowed by anti¬
theses, rendered sonorous by the disposition of vocal sounds,
and acquired a copiousness by compounds, and a majesty
by affixes and prefixes. In process of time, however, the
difference became so great, that the Israelites did not un¬
derstand the Chaldean language at the era of-the Babylon-
ish captivity• This much the prophet intimates5 when he
promises the pious Jews protection “ from a fierce people;
a people of a deeper speech than they could perceive ; of a
stammering tongue, that they could not understand.
The priority of the Chaldean tongue is indeed contended
for by very learned w'riters. Camden calls it the mother
of all languages ;3 and most of the Fathers were of the same
opinion. Amira4 has made a collection of arguments, not
inconsiderable in favour of it; and Myriceus’ after him,
did the same. Erpenius,* in his Oration on the Hebrew
tono-ue, thought the argument for it and the Chaldean so
equal, that he did not choose to take upon him to determine
the question
will appear still more evidently to be an original language,
neither improved nor debased by foreign idioms. The
words of which it is composed are short, and admit of very
little flexion. The names of places are descriptive of their
nature, situation, accidental circumstances, &c. Its com¬
pounds are few, and inartificially joined together. In it w e
find few of those artificial affixes which distinguish the
other cognate dialects ; such as the Chaldean, Syrian, Aia-
bian, and Phoenician. We find in it no traces of improve¬
ment from the age of Moses to the era of the Babylonian
captivity. The age of David and Solomon was the golden
period of the Hebrew tongue; and yet, in our opinion, it
would puzzle a critic of the nicest acumen to discover much
improvement even during that happy era. In fact, the
Jews were by no means an inventive people. We hear
nothing of their progress in literary pursuits; nor do they
appear to have been industrious in borrowing from their
neighbours. The laws and statutes communicated by Mo-
ses^w'ere the principal objects of their studies. . These they
wTere commanded to contemplate day and night ; and in
these they were to place their chief delight. The conse¬
quence of this command was, that little or no regard could
1 Most of the Chaldean names mentioned in Scripture are pure Hebrew words compounded;
Rabshakeh, Rabmag, Belshazzar, Rabsaris, Nahar Malahtha, Phrat or Pharad f ^rCd“’ ^ fhelr original is di’scernible at first
words, and a multitude of others which we could mention, approach so near the Hebrew d alect) , • b
sight. Most of these are compounds, which the limits prescribed us will not allow us to analyse and exp! • xii.
2 isaiah xxxiii. l9. 3 Brit. 4 Praf- ad Gram. Syr. 5 Prcef. ad Gram. Chald. Uratio de lingua n
i The futility of these points will be proved in the following part of this section.
2 question. . tjpaeons I
Many circumstances, however, concur to make us assign*^ ,
the priority to the Hebrew, or rather to make us believe
that it has suffered fewest of those changes to which every priority,
living tongue is more or less liable. If we strip this lan-the He-
o-uage of every thing obviously adventitious, we shall find brew,
ft extremely simple and primitive. 1. Every thing maso-
retical, supposing the vowels and points essential, was cer-
PHILOLOGY.
[ebrew
nguage
lan-
res in
east
inally
same.
tainly unknown in its original character. 2. All the pre¬
fixed and affixed letters were added time after time, to give
more compass and precision to the language. 3. The vari¬
ous voices, moods, tenses, numbers, and persons of verbs,
were posterior improvements; for in that tongue, nothing
at first appeared but the indeclinable radix. 4. In the
same manner, the few adjectives which occur in the language,
and the numbers and regimen of nouns, were not from the
beginning. 5. Most of the Hebrew nouns are derived from
verbs, indeed many of them are written with the very same
letters. This rule, however, is not general; for verbs are
ofteh derived from nouns, and even some from prepositions.
6. All the verbs of that language, at least all that originally
belonged to it, uniformly consist of three letters, and seem
to have been at first pronounced as monosyllables. If we
anatomize the Hebrew language in this manner, we shall
reduce it to very great simplicity; we shall confine it to a
few names of things, persons, and actions ; we shall make
all its words monosyllables, and give it the true characters
of an original language. If at the same time we reflect on
the small number of radical words in that dialect,1 we shall
be more and more convinced of its originality.
It will not be expected that we should enter into a mi¬
nute discussion of the grammatical peculiarities of this an¬
cient language. For these we must refer our readers to
the numerous and elaborate grammars of that tongue, which
are everywhere easily to be found. We shall only make a
few strictures, which naturally present themselves, before
we dismiss the subject.
The generality of writers who have maintained the su¬
perior antiquity' of the Hebrew language, have at the same
time contended that all other languages of Asia, and most
of those of Europe, have been derived from that tongue as
their source and matrix. For our own part we are of opin¬
ion, that perhaps all the languages in the eastern part of the
globe were coeval with it, and were originally one and the
same; and that the differences which afterwards distin¬
guished them sprung from climate, caprice, inventions, re¬
ligions, commerce, conquests, and other accidental causes,
which will occur to our intelligent readers. We have en¬
deavoured to prove, in the preceding pages, that all man¬
kind were not concerned in the building of the fatal tower,
nor affected by the punishment consequent upon that at¬
tempt ; and we now add, that even that punishment was
only temporary, since we find, that those very Hamites or
Cushim, who are allowed to have been affected by it, did
certainly afterwards recover the former organization of their
tongue, and differed not more from the original standard
than the descendants of Japhet and Shem.
The Jewish rabbin have pretended to ascertain the num¬
ber of languages generated by the vengeance of Heaven at
t e building of Babel. They tell us that mankind was di¬
vided into seventy nations and seventy languages, and that
each of these nations had its tutelar or guardian angel.
J his fabulous legend is founded on the number of the pro¬
geny of Jacob at the time when that patriarch and his
tamily went down into Egypt. Others attribute its origin
o the number of the sons and grandsons of Noah, who are
enumerated in Genesis.
The Fathers2 of the church make the languages at the
contusion amount to seventy-two; which number they
complete by adding Cainan and Elishah, according to the
oeptuagint, who are not mentioned in the Hebrew text.
us opinion, they conceive, is supported by the words of
Moses, where he says,3 that “ when the Most High divid-
361
ed to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the Hebrew
sons of Adam, he set the bounds of the people according to language,
the number of the tribes of Israel.” That is, say they, hes-^“Y‘^
divided them into seventy-two nations, which was the num¬
ber of the children of Israel when they came into Egypt.
The Targum of Ben-Uzziel plainly favours this interpreta¬
tion ; but the Jerusalem Targum intimates that the num¬
ber of nations was only twelve, according to the number of
the tribes of Israel. This passage, however, seems to re¬
fer to the tribes of the Chanaanim, and imports, that the
Almighty assigned to the different septs of that family such
a tract of land as he knew would make a sufficient inheri¬
tance for the children of Israel.4 Other’s have increased
the different languages of the dispersion to a hundred and
twenty; but the general opinion has fixed them at seventy
or seventy-two. Our readers need scarcely be put in mind
that these opinions are futile and absurd, being founded nei¬
ther in Scripture, profane history, nor common sense. At the
same time, it must not be omitted, that according to Horus
Apollo,® the Egyptians held, that the world was divided into
seventy-two habitable regions; and that, in consequence of
this tradition, they made the cynocephalus the emblem of
the world, because that in the space of seventy-two days
that animal pines away and dies.
It has been made a question, whether the Hebrew lan- Origin of
guage was denominated from Heber the progenitor of Abra- the name
ham, or from a word which in that tongue imports over, Hebrew,
beyond. Most of the Christian fathers, prior to St. Origen,
believed that both the Gentile name Hebrew, and the name
of the language, were derived from the name of the patri¬
arch ; but that learned man imagined, that Abraham was
called the Hebrew, not because he was a descendant of
Heber, but because he was a transjiuvianus, or from be¬
yond the river Euphrates. The learned Bochart* has
strained hard to prove the former position ; but to us his
arguments do not appear decisive. We are rather inclined
to believe, that Abraham was called Chibri, or Hebrew,
from the situation of the country whence he emigrated when
he came to the country of Chanaan ; and that in process of
time that word became a Gentile appellation, and was after¬
wards applied to his posterity often by way of reproach,r
much in the same manner as we say a Northlander, a Nor¬
man, a Tramontane, and the like.
Here we may be indulged an observation, namely, that
Abraham, a Hebrew, lived amongst the Chaldeans, travelled
amongst the Chanaanites, sojourned amongst the Philistines,
lived some time in Egypt, and in all appearance conversed
with all those nations without any apparent difficulty. This
circumstance plainly proves, that all these nations at that
time spoke nearly the same language. The nations had
not yet begun to improve their respective dialects, nor to
deviate in any great measure from the monosyllablic idiom
of the Hebrews. With respect to the language of Cha¬
naan, afterwards the Phoenician, its similarity to the He¬
brew is obvious from the names of gods, men, cities, moun¬
tains, rivers, and the like, which are the very same in both
tongues, as might be shown in numberless cases, were this
a proper place for etymological researches.
Before we dismiss this part of our subject, we would wish
to gratify our unlearned readers with a brief account of the
the Hebrew letters, and of the Masoretical points which
have in a manner been ingrafted on these letters. In the
course of this deduction, we shall endeavour to follow such
authors as are allowed to have handled that matter with
the greatest acuteness, learning, and perspicuity. If upon
2 flpmprl fi J8 ,nothe Hebrew language, as it now stands, are about five hundred.
4 Parmini V ?xandr’ Eusebius, Chron. lib. i. Epiphan. Hares. Aw/ust. &c.
7 Tim v Episcop. Bercun. apud Hie.ron. in Catalogo Epist. 22. * 14 page, 25 Hoesch.
passim) alwivs^m t "rf eaJl !)rea<i wlth tbe Hebrews, for that is an abomination to the Egyptians.
p always call the Israelites Hebrews by \tay of reproach.
VOL. xvn. J t
3 Deut. xxxii. 8.
6 Phaleg. lib. i. c. 15.
The Philistines (Samuel i.
2 z
362
PHILOLOGY.
,, , 1,1 i,,. to hazard a coniecture rian letters had existed at a period prior to all the records Hebr,
jis s., i—i, -i™™*»•'“j ““ts ciit—sa
sat ^ffKSsssr'sasrs
writing. S’ To give even an abridged account of all these, ratmg the people who had learned circumc.s.on from the
wouldSfill ntanv volumes. The most plausible, in ouropin- Egypfans, mentions tlieSvnansofPalestme; andelsewhere
Z is that which supposes that the primary characters em- he tells us, that Necho beat the Syrians, and took Cadyfs,
nWed ht men were the figures of material objects, analo- a large and populous city belonging to that people.' Hence
Sous to tho” of the Mexicans, so often mentioned by the it is evident that the Syrian alphabet or he Syrian letters,
authors who have written the history of that people at the were the same with the Hebrew. That the Assyrian or
rlf hlr in.nish invasion of their country. As this plan Chaldaic and Hebrew languages were the same, has, we
was too much circumscribed to be generally useful, hiero- conceive been fully proved already; that their letters were the
o-lyphical figures were in process of time invented as sub- same m the original structure, can scarcely be controverted,
sidiaries to this contracted orthography. In this scheme,
we imagine, the process was somewhat more extensive. A
lion might be sketched, to import fierceness or valour; an
ox, to denote strength ; a stag, to signify swiftness ; a hare,
to intimate timorousness, &c.
The next step in this process would naturally extend to
the inventing and appropriating of a few arbitrary charac
lie 111 l 11C OCA ~     
These letters were, we think, antediluvian; whether, to use Anted!
the expression of Plato, they were dictated by some god, or vian.
fabricated by some man divinely inspired. As this opinion
may admit some dispute, we shall take the liberty to subjoin
our reasons for entertaining it.
1„ It appears that the era of this invention is involved in
impenetrable obscurity. Had an invention of such capital
tevs foT rep^ntTg aWS “dean; and other ’relations, importance to mankind been made in the postdiluvian ages,
which coukfnot be well ascertained by the methods above we imagine the author would have been commemorated in
mentioned These arbitrary signs might readily acquire a the historical annals of the country where he live .
currency by compact ai monefand mldals do over a great 2. The art of writing in alphabetical characters, accord-
mrt of the world Upon this plan we imagine the ancient ing to the sacred records, was practised at so eariy a period
K-aoI. thpir lano-uao-e that there was not a long enough interval between that and
But neither the picture^nor the hieroglyphic, nor the me- the deluge to give birth to this noble invention. Hwe con-
thod of denoting ideas by arbitrary characters appropriated sider the state of the world during some ages after that dis-
bv compact could eve/have arrived at such perfection as astrous event, we shall quickly be convinced that little re-
toySrlilTe purposes of ideal communication. The spite could be found from the labour and industry .n*s-
grand desideratum tlmn would be to fabricate characters to pensably requisite to proydethe necjsanes, and oriy afew
represent simple sounds, and to reduce these characters to of the conveniences of life. Such a state of things was cer
soPsmall a number as to be easily learned and preserved in tainly most unfavourable to the invention of those arts and
the memory. In this attempt the Chinese have notoriously improvements which contribute nothing towards procuring
failed • their letters, or rather their characters, are so nume- the accommodations of life. The consequence is obvious,
rous that few, if any, of their most learned and industrious Moses has recorded the history of the creation, and a few
authors have been able to learn and retain the whole cata- of the capital transactions of the antediluvian world, the
loytie. ’ Indeed those people are not able to conceive how birth, the age, the death, of the lineal descendants of Se .
anv combinations of twenty or thirty characters should be He has preserved the dimensions of the ark, the dmati
competent to answer all the purpose! of written language, of the universal deluge, its effefc^"P®" ^ “heroSS
Many different nations have claimed the honour of this tnal animals, the population of the world by ‘bepostt V
invention. The Greeks ascribed it to the Phoenicians, of Noah, the age, &c. of the patriarchs of the line otbhem
and used the word iJ.ou.raf™-,1 to act the Phamician, in from which his own ancestors had sprung. To this he has
the same sense with avayivao-Keiv, to read; and conse¬
quently the poet2 ascribes the invention to the same inge¬
nious people. The Greeks borrowed their letters from the
Phoenicians, and of course looked up to them as the inven-
tors. , rn •
Others have attributed the invention to the Egyptians.
subjoined the petty occurrences which diversified the lives
of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and their descendants.
Whence did the historian derive his information? .We be¬
lieve few of our readers will be so enthusiastic as to ima¬
gine that the author received it from divine inspiration.
Tradition is a fallible guide; and in many cases the accounts
Others have attributed tne invention to uie ~» V ,, nf that SDecies
That people ascribed every useful and ingenious invention are so minutely precise, ^.t0 "y'I'e power otdmt spec e
to their Thoth or Mercury Trismegistus. Plato seems to of conveyance. The inspired author must certain y
have believed ’this tradition^ and pretends to record a dis- extracted his abridgment from wntten
nute between the king of Egypt who then reigned and this of the transactions of his ancestors regularly transmitte
personagefwith 'resp/ct to tf/influence whicf.he art of al- the most early period. These annals he probaWyabnd^
phabetic writing might possibly have upon the improvements ed, as Ezra did afterwards the history of the kin;,
of mankind'in science and theVal art, Diodorus the Si- Supposing this to be the case, as it most certainly w^the
cilian4 gives a similar history of the same invention, but car- art ot writing in alphabetical letters mu
it wk to the reinn of Osiris. and practised many ages before Moses. It has indeeu oeei
Pliny informs us/' that Gellius attributed letters to the pretended, that the Jewish decalogue, inscribed upon w
same Egyptian Mercury, and others to the Syrians ; but that tables of stone, was the very first sP“'mcnj!ofSf„e0ti0„
for “ his part, he thought that the Assyrian letters were eter- writing. But the arguments produced in p gome
jial.” That learned Roman, then, imagined, that the Assy- are lame and inconclusive. Had that been t ^ ,
1 Hesych. 2 Lucan. 3 See Phcedrus, p. 1240; and also Phil p. 374. 10, Steph’
s Itfs tmet the EgypLans’ attribute the invention to their Thoth, and the Phoenicians to their Hercules, or Mehcertaor Baal, but these
We9reThe mosUngenious and^lausible of those arguments which have fallen under our observation, is gl VAI1Jh0Ce1liTOI£1 des^Ie to be more
brook, a writer of great learning and piety, wbo flourished in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and whose nractised before
generally known than we have reason to Ihink they are. After endeavouring to prove that alphabetica writing was £
the era of Moses, and expatiating upon the difficulty of the invention, this excellent scholar attempts to show, t g
PHILOLOGY.
363
ebrew notice must have been taken of so palpable a circumstance,
nguage. Moses wrote out his history, his laws, and his memoirs; and
"V^it appears plainly from the text, that all the learned amongst
his countrymen could read them. Writing was then no
novel invention in the age of the Jewish legislator, but cur¬
rent and generally known at that era.
The patriarch Job lived at an earlier period. In the book of
the same name we find many allusions to the art of writing, and
some passages which plainly prove its existence. This shews
that alphabetical characters were not confined to the chosen
seed, since Job was in all probability a descendant of Huz,
the eldest son of Nahor,1 the brother of Abraham. From
this circumstance, we think we may fairly conclude, that
the art of writing was known and practised in the family of
Terah the father of Abraham.
udition **• There was certainly a tradition amongst the Jews in the
I [peeling a&e Josephus, that writing was an antediluvian inven¬
ting. tion.2 That historian pretends, that the descendants of
Seth erected two pillars, the one of stone and the other of
brick, and inscribed upon them their astronomical observa¬
tions and other improvements. This legend shows that
there did exist such an opinion in regard to the antiquity of
the art of writing.
\ 4. There must have been a tradition to the same purpose
amongst the Chaldeans, since the writers who have copied
from Berosus, the celebrated Chaldean historian,3 speak of
phabetical writing as an art well known amongst the antedi¬
luvians. According to them, Cannes the Chaldean legis¬
lator gave his disciples an insight into letters and science.
This person also wrote concerning the generation of man¬
kind, of their different pursuits, of civil polity, and other mat¬
ters. Immediately before the deluge, say they, the god Kronos Hebrew
appeared to Sisuthrus or Xisuthrus, and commanded him Language,
to commit to writing the beginning, improvement, and con-
elusion of all things down to the present time, and to bury
these accounts securely in the temple of the Sun at Sep-
para. All these traditions may be deemed fabulous in the
main ; but still they evince that such an opinion was cur¬
rent, and that although the use of letters was not indeed
eternal,1 it was, however, prior to all the records of his¬
tory ; and of course, we think, an antediluvian discovery.
This original alphabet, whatever it wras, and however con- The origi-
structed, wras, we think, preserved in the family of Noah, nal alphabet
and from it conveyed down to succeeding generations. Ifpreserved in
we can then discover the original Hebrewr alphabet, we t*ie |amhy
shall be able to investigate the primary species of letters0*
expressive of those articulate sounds by which man is in a
great measure distinguished from the brute creation. What¬
ever might be the nature of that alphabet, we may be con¬
vinced that the ancient Jews deemed it sacred, and there¬
fore preserved it pure and unmixed until the Babylonian
captivity. If, then, any monuments are still extant inscri¬
bed with letters prior to that event, we may rest assured
that these are the remains of the original alphabet.
There have, from time to time, been dug up at Jerusa- The same
lem, and other parts of Judea, coins and medals, and me- with the
dallions, inscribed with letters of a form very different from Samaritan,
those square letters in which the Hebrew Scriptures are
now written. When the Samaritan Pentateuch was dis¬
covered,5 it evidently appeared that the inscriptions on
those medals and coins were drawn in genuine Samaritan
characters. The learned Abbe Barthelemi, in his disser-
alphabet was actually commumcated to the Jewish legislator at the same time with the two tables of the law. “ I know not,” says he,
,W1 Vihe aW,s)hould be by God, or by an any el at his command, except it were for want of a man that could well
^ , Pa 118 °?u ^ gi^e no addition of authority to the law, especially after it had been published in that astonishing and mira¬
culous manner at Mount Sinai. The true writing of the original was indeed perfectly adjusted, and precisely ascertained to all future ages,
vvnrrl V,^ 11 un(ler bls own band.; but this, I conceive, had been done altogether as effectually by God’s dictating every
o loses, had he been capable of performing the office of an amanuensis.” The learned writer goes on to suppose, that it was for
n*chl"g the,alPhabet’ that God detained him forty days in the Mount; and thence he concludes, that the Decalogue
t e st writing in alphabetical characters, and that these characters were a divine, and not a human invention.
thosVmpn whnmt’ ‘ . not worse to conceive reasons not assigned by God himself, for any particular transaction of his with
ha PnH Z " A’ T Tf u ™p,red Wlth heavenl>r wisdom- Tbat jt was not fbr tbe purpose Of teaching Moses the alphabet
man Akv'f whprA‘ T ^ the ,Moont> '''hen be Save bim the two tables of the law, seems evident from his detaining him fust as
ffi the arfof readit TI Z A fcond tab es after the first were broken. If the legislator of the Jews had not been sufficiently instructed
of Dions nassion^A gfh f5rSt MoUnt’ he wou,cl have been detained longer ; and it is not conceivable, that though in a fit
trvmen il to S<? A hr°VVn A A g,Uard as t0 break the two tables> bis mind was so totally unhinged by the idolatry of his coun-
could at his firstglp nTP f eI ,y suPPosltlon- the Supreme Being had spent forty days in teaching him. “ But if Moses
’ J ‘s first ascent into the Mount, perform the office of an amanuensis, why are the original tables said to have been written by the
thffik theSfs’ sAffi A A" Wh°WT th° sec0nd ?” We Pretend ri0t to say why they were written by God rather than man ; but we
alnhalipt- widn Vlden,Ce’ that by- whonasoever they were written, the characters employed were of human invention. The Hebrew
noPt under the P°intS’ \S confessedly defective ; and every man who is in any degree acquainted with the language, and is
suddosp an arc in • Ah 1”Vftorate Prejudice, will readily admit that those points are no improvement. But we cannot, without impiety,
manbv Tod In A A "''A"1’ f A* short °f the ut,nost Perfection of which it is capable. An alphabet communicated to
simnAsonnd Jnd h undoubtedly have been free both from defects and from redundancies ; it would have had a distinct character for every
simple sound, and been at least as perfect as the Greek or the Roman. y
wrotAlAhTArl1 A1°UrTPagel VAh reasoninf of tbis kind against the hypothesis maintained by Mr. Johnson. We know that “ Moses
into the Mnnnf t S ■ e ^0ld’ tbat Is> the substance of all that had been delivered, in Exod. xx, xxi, xxii, xxiii, before he was called up
count of the'victorv^ihfaf ^ ^ of18t,°n^ "T that he had long before baerl commanded by God himself, to « write in a book” an ac-
his hypothesis he frame 116 hA ma^* (Lxod. xvn. 14.) All this, indeed, the learned writer was aware of; and to reconcile it with
KS that rndAdameS.an0ier> rn0vr,e lniProbable tban even that which it is meant to support. “ It is not unreasonable,” says he, “ to
edto MoA and i'rA611 f G n f ° St0nf’ and pUt them in Mount Horeb> from the that by his angel he had there first appear-
used them aVdisAertn ^erefere;alj. the tune after, whilst he kept Jethro’s sheep thereabouts, he had free access to those tables, and per-
deAee unreasm.ahL. f ti,But ^ be lef 8.h°V dJest .upon evidence, we beg leave to reply, that to believe all this would be in the highest
an occasion as GikPs fiA . ^ 'S n0t t S1TiAe bmt V tbe ^cripture the tables having been written at so'early a period, or upon such
which he was tlmn arm ^ aPPearail<re.to ^doses In the burning bush. We know how reluctant Moses was to go upon the embassy to
means made use nf W A A ’ 311 A8 *!range’iwe think passing strange, that when he records so faithfully his own backwardness, and the
period he had knnwAm reoonci!e bim t0 tbe arduous undertaking, he should make no mention of these important tables, if at that
as our author simnncpc lrifn° ■ e'r cxi®teace. Besides all this, is it not wonderful, that, if Moses had been practising the art of writing,
in" from God to erviM i<'ln !16 ° A6 bu™lng busb t0 tbe g*v'rlS °fi the law, he should then have stood in need of forty days teach-
mean view of the natural 'A tt63^6 tb^ A8* tab^es’ aild °fi other forty, to enable him to write the second ? This gives such a
tion of Discourses in two AAA A A Hebrf'v legislator, as renders the hypothesis which implies it wholly incredible. (See a Codec-
i 10 two vols’ by tbe -Kev. John Johnson, vicar of Cranbrook in Kent.)
uen. xxn. 2U, tkc. 2 a r / tk •
1 pfiANarHkt^lih1'16" Polybi8tor> AbydenUS- ^See Syncellus’ caP. 39, et seq. Busch"Chron. lib. i. p.3.)'
s Lim. .Nat Hist. hb. vn. p. 413. Ex quo apparet ceternus literarum usus. 1 J
pellus « hracknowlelAthaAthAframmnt ^ An A°Ught 'A Samaritan Pentateuch into Europe. In a letter to Ludovicus Ca-
Procured five or six copies if it from Sstffie iT Syria"” 86611 “ " ° U by S°me aUth0^S, W°Uld 1101 Suffer him t0 be at rest tiU he had
PHILOLOGY.
364
Hebrew tation1 “ on the two medals of Antigonus, king of Judea,
Language. one 0f t]ie iater Asmonean princes, proves that all the in-
~scriptions on the coins and medals of Jonathan and Simon
Maccabeus, and also on his, were invariably in the Samari¬
tan character down to the fortieth year before the Christian
era.”
This after- It were very easy to prove, from the Misna and Jerusalem
wards gave Talmud, that the Scriptures publicly read in the synagogues
place to the to t]ie en(j 0p the second century were written in the Sa-
Chaldaic marit;an character, we mean in the same character with the
Pentateuch in question. As the ancient Hebrew, however,
ceased to be the vulgar language of the Jew's after the re¬
turn from the Babylonian captivity, the copies of the Bible,
especially in private hands, were accompanied with a Chal-
daic paraphrase ; and at length the original Hebrew charac-
racter fell into disuse, and the Chaldaic was universally ad¬
opted.
It now' appears that the letters inscribed upon the ancient
coins and medals of the Jews, were written in the Samari¬
tan form, and that the Scriptures were written in the very
same characters. We shall therefore leave it to our readers
to judge whether, considering the implacable hatred which
subsisted between these two nations, it be likely that the
one copied from the other; or at least that the Jews pre¬
ferred to the beautiful letters used by their ancestors, the
rude and inelegant characters of their most detested rivals.
If, then, the inscriptions on the coins and medals were ac¬
tually in the characters of the Samaritan Pentateuch (and
it is absurd to suppose that the Jews borrowed them from
the Samaritans,) the consequence plainly is, that the letters
of the inscriptions were those of the original Hebrew alpha¬
bet, coeval with that language, which we venture to maintain
was the first upon earth.
It may, perhaps, be thought rather superfluous to men¬
tion, that the Samaritan colonists, whom the kings of As¬
syria planted in the cities of Samaria,2 3 were natives of coun¬
tries where the Chaldaic letters were current, and who were
probably ignorant of the Hebrew language and characters.
When those colonists embraced the Jewish religion, they
procured a copy of the Hebrew Pentateuch written in its
native character, which, from superstition, they preserved
inviolate as they received it; and from it were successive¬
ly copied the others which were current in Syria and Pa¬
lestine when Archbishop Usher procured his.
From the reasons above explained, then, we hope it will be
obvious, that if the Hebrew alphabet, as it appears in the Sa¬
maritan Pentateuch, was not the primitive one, it was at
least that in which the Holy Scriptures were first commit¬
ted to writing.
The Chal- Scaliger has inferred, from a passage in Eusebius,5 and
daic intro-another in St. Jerome,4 that Ezra, when he reformed the
duced by jewish church, transcribed the Scriptures from the ancient
Ezra> characters of the Hebrews into the square letters of the
Chaldeans. This, he thinks, was done for the use of those
Jews who, being born during the captivity, knew no other
alphabetthan thatofthe people amongst whom they had been
educated. This account of the matter, though probable in
itself, and supported by passages from both Talmuds, has Hebi
been attacked by Buxtorf with great learning and no less bangut
acrimony. Scaliger, however, has been followed by a crowd J
of learned men,5 whose opinion is now pretty generally es¬
poused by the sacred critics.
Having said so much concerning the Hebrew alphabet
in the preceding pages, we find ourselves laid under a kind
of necessity of hazarding a few strictures on the vowels and
Masoretic points ; the first essential to, and the last an ap¬
pendage of, that ancient language. The number of the
one, and the nature, antiquity, and necessity of the other,
in order to read the language with propriety and with dis¬
crimination, have been the subject of much and often illi¬
beral controversy amongst philological writers. To enter
into a minute detail of the arguments on either side, would
require a complete volume. We shall, therefore, briefly ex¬
hibit the state of the controversy, and then venture a few
observations, which, in our opinion, ought to determine the
question.
The controversy then is, whether the Hebrews used any The B
vowels, or whether the points, which are now called by brew v.
that name, were substituted instead of them ? or if they els.
were, whether they be as old as the time of Moses, or were in¬
vented by Ezra, or by the Masorites ?6 This controversy has ex¬
ercised the ingenuity of the most learned critics of the two last
centuries, and is still far enough from being determined in
the present. The Jews maintain, that these vowel points7
were delivered to Moses along with the tables of the law,
and consequently hold them as sacred as they do the let¬
ters themselves. Many Christian authors who have handled
this subject, although they do not affirm their divine original,
nor the extravagant antiquity of these points, pretend, how¬
ever, that they are the only proper vowels in the language, and
regulate and ascertain its true pronunciation. Though they
differ from the Jews with respect to the origin of these
points, they yet allow to them a pretty high antiquity, gene¬
rally ascribing them to Ezra and the members of the great
synagogue.
At length, however, about the middle of the sixteenth The M;
century, Elias Levita, a learned German Jew, who theriret'c Pc
flourished at Rome, discovered the delusion, and made it!*m0^ei
appear that these appendages had never been in use tillinven
after the writing of the Talmuds, about five hundred years
after Christ. This innovation raised Elias a multitude of
adversaries, both of his own countrymen and Christians.
Amongst the latter appeared the two Buxtorfs, the father
and the son, who produced some cabbalistical books of great
antiquity,8 at least in the opinion of the Jews, in which
mention was expressly made of the points. The Buxtorfs
were answered by Capellus and other critics,9 till Father
Morinus,10 having examined all that had been urged on both
sides, produced his learned dissertation on that subject;
against which there has been nothing replied of any con¬
sequence, whilst his work has been universally admired,
and his opinion confirmed by those that have beaten the
same field after him.
According to this learned father, it plainly appears that
1 Memoires de lAcademic des Inscript.
2 2 Kings xvii. 24. “ And the king of Assyria brought men from Babylon, and from Cuthah, and from Avah, and from Hamath, and
from Sepharvaim, and placed them in the cities of Samaria.” Babylon and Cuthah, and Avah, were neighbouring cities, and undoubt¬
edly both spoke and wrote in the Chaldaic style. The natives of Hamath spoke the Syriac, which at that time differed very little from the
Chaldaic.
3' Chron. in anno, 740. 4 Prof. i. Reg.
5 Casaubon, Grotius, Vossius, Bochart, Morin, Brerewood, Walton, Prideaux, Huet, and Lewis Capel, always a sworn enemy to Bux¬
torf. All these have maintained the same ground with Scaliger; how truly, appears above.
6 The term masorah or massoreth signifies “ tradition,” and imports the unwritten canon by which the reading and writing of the sacred
books was fixed.
7 These points are fourteen in number, and their figures, names, and effects, may be seen in most Hebrew Grammars.
8 These books are the Bahir, Zahar, and the Kizri. As for the Kizri, the Jews make it about nineteen hundred years old; and the
other about a century later. But the fidelity of the Jews in such matters cannot be relied upon.
9 Walton, Dupin, and Yossius. 10 Dissertation sur la Bible.
PHILOLOGY.
Hebrew neither Origen, nor St. Jerome, nor even the compilers of
. language, the Talmuds, knew any thing of what has been called the
vowel points ; and yet these books, according to the same
author, were not finished till the seventh century. Even
the Jewish rabbin who wrote during the eighth and ninth
centuries, were not, according to him, in the least ac¬
quainted with these points. He adds, that the first vesti¬
ges he could trace of them were in the writings of Rabbi
Ben Aber chief of the western, and of Rabbi Ben Naphtali,
chief of die eastern school, that is, about the middle of the
tenth century; so that they can hardly be said to be older
than the beginning of that period.
Some learned men1 have ascribed the invention of the
vowel points in question to the rabbin of the school of Ti¬
berias; which, according to them, flourished about the
middle of the second century. This opinion is by no means
probable, because it appears plain from history, that be¬
fore that period all the Jewish seminaries in that province
were destroyed, and their heads forced into exile. Some
of these had retired into Babylonia, and settled at Sora, Na-
herds, and Pombeditha, where they established famous
universities. After this era, there remained no more any
rabbinical schools in Judea, headed by professors capable
of undertaking this difficult operation, nor indeed of suffi¬
cient authority to recommend it to general practice, had
they been ever so thoroughly qualified for executing it.
The matres Capellus and Father Morin, who contend for the late in-
.ctims. troduction of the vowel-points, acknowledge that there can
certainly be no language without vocal sounds, which are
indeed the soul and essence of speech ; but they affirm that
the Hebrew alphabet actually contains vowel characters,
as well as the Greek and the Latin, and the alphabets of mo¬
dern Europe. Jhese are aleph, he, vau, jod, which they
call the matres lectionis, or, if you please, the parents of
reading, and to which some, we think very properly, add ain
or oin, ajin. These, they conclude, perform exactly the
same office in Hebrew that their descendants do in Greek.
It is indeed agreed, upon all hands, that the Greek alpha¬
bet is derived from the Phoenician, which is known to be
the same with the Samaritan or Hebrew. This position we
shall prove more fully when we come to trace the origin of
the Greek tongue. Hitherto the analogy is not only plausible,
but the resemblance is precise. The Hebrews and Samari¬
tans employed these vowels exactly in the same manner
with the Greeks ; and so all was easy and natural.
Objections But the assertors of the Masoretic system maintain that
iswered. the letters mentioned above are not vowels but consonants
or aspirations, or any thing you please except vocal letters.
This they endeavour to prove from their use amongst the
Arabians, Persians, and other oriental nations. But to us
it appears abundantly strange to suppose that the Greeks
pronounced beta, gamma, delta, &c. exactly as the He¬
brews and the Phoenicians did, and yet at the same time
did not adopt their mode of pronunciation with respect to
the five letters under consideration. To this argument we
think every objection must undoubtedly yield. The Greeks
borrowed their letters from the Phoenicians; and these letters
were the Hebrew or Samaritan. The Greeks wrote and
pronounced all the other letters of their alphabet, except
the five in question, in the same manner with their origi¬
nals of the east ;2 and if they did so, it obviously follows that
the Greek and oriental office of these letters was the same.
^nP^er Ejection made to readingtheHebrewwithoutthe
aid of the Masoretic vowel points, arises from the consi¬
deration, that without these there will be a great number of
radical Hebrew words, both nouns and verbs, without any
365
vowel intervening amongst the consonants, which is cer- Hebrew
tainly absurd. But notwithstanding this supposed absurdity, Language,
it is a well known fact, that all the copies of the Hebrew
Scriptures, used in the Jewish synagogues throughout the
world, are written or printed without points. These co¬
pies are deemed sacred, and kept in a coffer with the great¬
est care, in allusion to the ark of the testimony in the ta¬
bernacle and temple. The prefect, however, reads the
portions of the law and hagiography without any difficulty.
The same is done by the remains of the Samaritans at this
day. Every oriental scholar knows that the people of these
countries look upon consonants as the stamina of words.
Accordingly, in writing letters, in dispatches upon busi¬
ness, and all affairs of small moment, the vowels are gene¬
rally omitted. It is obvious, that in every original lan¬
guage the sound of the vowels is variable and of little im¬
portance. Such w^as the case with the Hebrew tongue.
Nor do we think that the natives of the country would find
it a matter of much difficulty to learn to read without the
help of the vowels. They knew the words before hand,
and so might readily enough learn by practice what vowels
were to be inserted.
When the Hebrew became a dead language, as it cer- Proof that
tainly was in a great measure to the vulgar, after the return the Maso-
from the Babylonian captivity, such subsidiaries might we retic points
think, have been useful, and of course might possibly haveare m0'
been adopted for the use of the vulgar ; but the scribe, the dern‘
lawyer, and the learned rabbi, probably disdained such beg¬
garly elements. We shall in this place hazard a conjec¬
ture, which, to us at least, is altogether new. We imagine
that the Phoenicians, who were an inventive and ingenious
people, had, prior to the age of Cadmus, who first brought
their letters into Greece, adopted the more commodious
method of inserting the vowels in their proper places; where¬
as the Jews, zealously attached to the customs of their an¬
cestors, continued to write and read without them. In this
manner the Gephuraei,3 who were the followers of Cadmus,
communicated them to the lones, their neighbours. We
are convinced that the materials of the Greek tongue are
to be gleaned up in the east; and upon that ground we have
often endeavoured to trace the origin of Greek words in
the Hebrew, Phoenician, Chaldean, and Arabian languages.
Reading without the vowel points we have seldom failed in
our search ; but when we followed the method of reading
by the Masoretic points, we seldom succeeded; and this,
we believe, every man of tolerable erudition who will make
the trial, will find by experience to be true. This argument
appears to us superior to every objection. Upon this
basis, the learned Bochart has erected his etymological fa¬
bric, which will be admired by the learned and ingenious
as long as philology shall be cultivated by men.
It has been urged by the zealots for the Masoretic system,
that the Arabians and Persians employ the vowel points.
That they do so at present is readily granted; but whe¬
ther they did so from the beginning is the question to be re¬
solved. That Arabia was overspread with Jewish exiles at a
very early period, is abundantly certain. It was natural
for them to retire to a land where they would not hear of
war, nor the sound of the trumpet. Accordingly we find
that, prior to the age of the Arabian impostor, Arabia
swarmed with Jewish settlements. From these Jews, it is
highly probable that their neighbours learned the use of the
points in question ; which in the course of their conquests
the Saracens communicated to the Persians.
It has been alleged with great show of reason, that without
the vowel points, it is often impossible to develope the genu-
2 ™e. Buxtorf the ,father’ in Tiber, cap. 5, 6, 7. Buxtorf the son, de Antiq. Punct. p. ii. 11.
s HenxT 5GaCC°rding t0 Hesychius and Suidas> to act the Phoenician, signified “ to read.
366
PHILOLOGY.
Hebrew ine signification of many words which occur frequently in the
Language, language, and that many words of difierent and sometimes op-
v “ posite significations are written with exactly the same con¬
sonants." Without the points, then, how are we to know
the distinction ? In answer to this objection, we beg leave
to observe, that, during the first period of a language, it is
impossible that there should not occur a number of similar
sounds of different significations. This is surely to be at¬
tributed to the poverty of the language. When a few
terms have been once fabricated, men will rather annex
new significations to old terms, than be at the expense o
time or thought to invent new ones. This must have been
the case with the Hebrew in particular; and indeed no
language on earth is without instances of this inconvemency,
which, however, in a living tongue, is easily overcome by
a difference of accent, tone, gesture, pronunciation; all
which, we think, might obviate the difficulty.
From the preceding arguments, we think ourselves au¬
thorised to infer that the Masora is a novel system, utterly
unknown to the most ancient Jews, and never admitted in¬
to those copies of the Scriptures which were deemed most
sacred and most authentic by that people.
With respect to the original introduction of the points,
we agree with the learned and judicious Dr. Prideaux,1 * 3 vvho
imagines that they were gradually introduced after Lie He¬
brew became a dead language, with a view to facilitate the
learning to read that language, more especially amongst the
vulgar. By whom they were introduced, cannot, we think,
be easily determined ; nor is it probable that they weie all
introduced at once, or by one and the same person. I hey
have been ascribed to Ezra by many, for no other reason
that we can discover, but to enhance their authenticity, and
because the sentiment is analogous to the other articles of
reformation established by that holy priest. If the curious
reader should not be satisfied with the preceding detail, we
must remit him to Copellus and Morinus, on the one side,
and the two Buxtorfs, Schultens, and Dr. James Bobertson,
formerly professor of oriental languages in the university of
Edinburgh, on the other. This learned orientalist, in his
dissertation prefixed to his Clavis Pentateuchi, has collect¬
ed and arranged, with the true spirit of criticism, every thing
that has been advanced in favour of the Masoretical system.
Si Pergama dextra defendi possent, etiam hac defensaju-
ZSS67lt»
St. Origen, who flourished about the beginning of the
third century, was a profound Hebrew scholar. He pub¬
lished a most laborious and learned work, which is generally
called the Hexapla, because it consisted of six columns,
the first of which contained the Hebrew text; the second,
the same text, but written in Greek characters; the third
column exhibited the version of Aquila ; the fourth that of
Symmachus ; the fifth, the Septuagint; and the sixth, the
version of Theodotan. In some fragments of that great work
which are still extant, we have a specimen of the manner in
which the Hebrew was pronounced in the third century, by
which it appears that it was very different from that which
results from observing the Masoretical points. The follow¬
ing is an instance copied from the beginning of Genesis.
According to Origen.
nam : Y“wn rmi awn m k-q
rsms dv6n nrn mnn rai ^nn nrrn
NTi ; Tiiom “hf$ vp D'rnK = □'Dn
l\3i -liNn V3 Dirfra uter's tiarrTO
' 2 :^nn
Origen’s
Hexapla.
According to the Masorites. Languagi
pNrn: pi.^n nsy. dv6n ana nnypn
jisrnp nrn Dinn rs ~L>v_ tqi vh n/rn
>nn : -ntf-vn niK vr “mn •• □•'.an v.pby
yQ!) -nan pA D'rib^ bnnn nia-v ni^n-n^
3 :Pfnn
Upon the whole, we presume to give it as our opinion, Practice <
that in the most early periods, the vowels, aleph, he,jod or the ance
yod, raw or waw, and perhaps oin or ajin, were regularly Greeks,
written wherever they were sounded. Ibis appears to us
plain from the practice of the ancient Greeks. It is agieed
upon all hands that the Samaritan and Phoenician alphabets
were the same ; and that the former was originally the same
with that of the Jews. The Phoenicians certainly wrote the
vowels exactly, for so did the Greeks who copied their al¬
phabet. If the Phoenicians wrote their vowels, so then did
the Jews of the age of Cadmus ; but as Cadmus was con¬
temporary with some of the earliest judges of Israel, the
consequence is evident, namely, that the Jews wrote their
vowels as late as the arrival of that stranger in Greece. We
ought naturally to judge of the Hebrew by the Chaldaic,
Syriac, and Arabic, its sister dialects. But in ancient times
all these languages had their vowels regularly inserted; and
why not the Hebrew in the same manner with the rest ?
As these first vowels which were coeval with the other
letters, often varied in their sound and application, the points,
in all appearance, were first invented and employed to as¬
certain their different sounds in different connections. Other
marks might be invented to point out the various tones of
voice, like the tovoi, or accents, with which the vowels were
to be enounced, as was done amongst the later Greeks. In
process of time, in order to promote celerity of writing, the
vowels were omitted, and the points substituted in their
Before we conclude our observations on the Hebrew lan¬
guage, we ought perhaps to make an apology for omitting
to interlard our details with quotations from the two ial-
muds, the Mislma, the Gemara, the Cabbalas, and a multi¬
tude of Rabbinical writers who are commonly cited upon
such an occasion. We believe we could have quoted a-
most numberless passages from the two Buxtorfs, rather
Morin, Capelins, and other Hebrew critics, with no great
trouble to ourselves, and little advantage to the far greater
part of our readers. But our opinion is that such a pedan¬
tic display of philological erudition would probably have ex¬
cited the mirth of our learned, and roused the indignation
of our unlearned, readers. Our wish is, to gratify reapers
of both descriptions, by contributing to the edification of one
class without disgusting the other. We cannot, however,
take leave of the sacred language, without giving a brief de¬
tail of those excellencies, which, in our opinion, give it a just
claim to superiority over those other tongues which have
sometimes contended with it for the prize of antiquity , an
of these the following in our apprehension deserve particular
If this language may claim any advantage over lt® ^ta*^ ofth
gonists, with respect to its being rather a mother than aHebrew
daughter of any of them, it is undoubtedly in consequence la[)guage.
of its simplicity, its purity, its energy, its fecundity ot ex¬
pressions and significations. In all these, notwithstanding
i S'CeiS eth asamaim oueth aar.s. Oua.res aielta Mm oaLoou outelh al pbM the^omoue^ e'Wm mm**
al phne amaim. Ouiomer eloeim iei or ouiei or Ouiar eloeitn eth aor khi to) ouia - e 0 , g theom verouakh elohira
3 Bereshith bara Elohun eth askarnajim veeth aaretz. Veaaretz ajetha thoou v.f °°u> elohun bein aor oubein
merakhepheth gnal pene hatninaim. Vaiomer elohim jehi or, vajehi or. Vajare e o J
hakhoshek.
PHILOLOGY.
Hebrew
.anguage,
its paucity of words, it excels the vast variety of other lan¬
guages which are its cognate dialects. To these we may
add the significancy of the names, both of men and brutes ;
the nature and properties of the latter of which are more
clearly and more fully exhibited by their names in this than
in any other tongue hitherto known. Besides, its well au¬
thenticated antiquity, and the venerable tone of its writings,
surpass any thing left upon record in any other dialect now
extant in the world. These extraordinary qualities must ex¬
cite our admiration under every disadvantage ; and from the
same circumstance we may infer its incomparable beauty in
the age of the Jewish legislator, and what effects it would
naturally produce, could we know it now as it was spoken
and written in the days of David and Solomon.
As far, however, as we understand it in its present muti¬
lated condition, and are able to judge of its character from
the few books which have come down to our time, we plain¬
ly perceive that its genius is simple, primitive, natural, and
exactly conformable to the character of those uncultivated
patriarchs who used it them themselves, and transmitted it
to their descendants in its native purity and simplicity. Its
words are comparatively few, yet concise and expressive ;
being derived from a very small number of radicals, without
the artificial composition of modern languages. No tongue,
ancient or modern, can rival it in the happy and rich fecun¬
dity of its verbs, resulting from the variety and significancy
of its conjugations; which are so admirably arranged and
diversified, that by changing a letter or two of the primi¬
tive, they express the various modes of acting, suffering,
motion, rest, &c., in so precise and significant a manner,
that frequently in one word they convey an idea which, in
any other language, would require a tedious paraphrase.
These positions might easily be illustrated by numerous
examples; but to the Hebrew scholar they would be su¬
perfluous, and to the illiterate neither interesting nor enter¬
taining.
To these we may add the monosyllabic tone of the lan¬
guage, which, by a few prefixes and affixes without affecting
the radix or root, varies the signification almost at pleasure,
whilst the method of affixing the person to the verb exhibits
the gender of the object introduced. In the nouns of this
language there is no flexion excepting what is necessary to
point out the difference of gender and number. Its cases
are distinguished by articles, which are merely single letters
placed at the beginning of the word. The pronouns are only
single letters affixed ; and the prepositions are of the same
character prefixed to words. Its words follow one another in
an easy and natural arrangement, without intricacy or trans¬
position, without suspending the attention or involving the
sense by intricate and artificial periods. All these striking
and peculiar excellencies combined, plainly demonstrate the
beauty, the stability, and the antiquity of this most interest¬
ing and remarkable language.
We would not, however, be thought to insinuate that
this tongue continued altogether without changes and im¬
perfections. We admit that many of its radical words were
lost in a course of ages, and that foreign ones were substi¬
tuted in their place. The long sojourning of the Israelites
in Egypt, and their close connection with that people, even
quoad sacra, must have introduced, into the vulgar dialect at
least, a multitude of Egyptian vocables and phrases which
have gradually been incorporated with the written language,
and in process of time have become part of its essence. In
the Israelites imbibed those principles of idolatry
which nothing less than the final extirpation of their polity
could eradicate. If that people, then, were so obstinately
attached to the Egyptian idolatry, it is not very probable
567
that they would be averse to adopt the Egyptian language. Arabic
Besides, the Scripture informs us, that there departed out of Language.
Egypt a mixed multitude ; a circumstance which must have
infected the Hebrew language with the dialect of Egypt.
Hence, as none of the genuine Hebrew radicals exceed
three letters, whatever words exceed that number in their
radical state may justly be deemed of foreign extraction.
Some Hebrew critics have thought that verbs constitute
the radicals of the whole language. But this opinion ap¬
pears to us to be ill-founded ; for although many Hebrew
nouns are undoubtedly derived from verbs, we at the same
time find numbers of the latter deduced from the former.
Before we conclude what we have to say of the Hebrew Hutckin
tongue, our readers may possibly imagine that we ought to sonknism.
give some accoxint of the Hutchinsonian system, which was
at one time so highly in vogue. But as this allegorical scheme
of interpretation is now in a great measure exploded, we
shall beg leave to refer the curious Hebraist to Mr. Hollo¬
way’s Originals, a small book in two volumes octavo, but
replete with multifarious erudition, especially in the Hutch¬
insonian style and character. Fides sit penes autorem.
SECT. II. THE ARABIC LANGUAGE.
We shall now proceed to give some account of the Arabian Arabic lan-
language, which is evidently one of the sister dialects of the guage ori-
Hebrew. Both, we imagine, were originally the same ;g'naNy He-
the former highly improved and enlarged; the latter, inbrevv-
appearance, retaining its original simplicity and rude as¬
pect, spoken by a people of a genius by no means inventive.
In this inquiry, too, as in the former, we shall spare our¬
selves the trouble of descending to the grammatical minutiae
of the tongue ; a method which, we are persuaded, would
neither gratify our learned nor edify our unlearned readers.
To those who are inclined to acquire the first elements of
that various, copious, and highly improved tongue, we be°- to
recommend Erpenii Budimenta Linguce Arabicce; Gobi
Grammatica Arabica ; the Dissertations of Hariri, trans¬
lated by the elder Schultens ; and Mr, Richardson’s Persic
and Arabic Grammar.
We have said that the Hebrew and the Arabic are sister
dialects, a relation which, as far as we know, has been sel¬
dom controverted; but we think there is authentic histori¬
cal evidence that they were positively one and the same, at
a period when the one as well as the other appeared in its
infant unadorned simplicity. The following detail will, we
hope, fully authenticate the truth of our position.
“Unto Eber,” says the Scripture,1 “were born two sons.
The name of one was Peleg, because in his days the earth
was divided; and his brother’s name was Joktan,” or rather
Yoktan. This last, says the sacred historian, “ had thir¬
teen sons ; and their dwelling reached from Mesha (Mocha)
to Sephar,”2 a mount of the east. According to this ac¬
count, the descendants of Yoktan possessed all the maritime
coasts of Arabia from Mesha (Mocha) to Mount Sephar to¬
wards the east of that peninsula. Moses, describing the rivers
of paradise, tells us, that one of the branches of that river3
“ encompassed the whole land of Havilah, where there was
great store of gold.” Havilah was the twelfth son of Yoktan,
whom the Arabians call Kobtan ; and consequently his terri¬
tory was situated towards the eastern limit of the possessions
of the posterity of the youngest son of Eber. Yoktan or
Kobtan was too young to be concerned in the building of
the tower at Babel; and consequently he retained the lan¬
guage of his family, which was undoubtedly the Hebrew.
His descendants must have carried the same language into
their respective settlements, where it would be regularly
transmitted to succeeding generations. The original lan-
Gen. x. 25.
- Sephar, in the Septuagint and in some editions 'Xativipa,-, hence probably ILutiuc. Orig. in Job. xxii. 14. r.vs/ rwEsa*..*,
mi Anpinw ttvoct. 3 Gen. jj. 11.
368
PHILOLOGY.
Arabic guage of all the tribes of the Arabians who inhabit a vast
Language, tract of country along the southern shore was, according
~ 4 to this deduction, that of their father Kobtan, in other words,
the Hebrew. Indeed, the most learned Arabians of modern
times unanimously acknowledged this patriarch as the founder
of their language as well as of their nation.
The other districts of Arabia were peopled by the off¬
spring of Abraham. The Ishmaelites, the posterity of that
patriarch by Hagar, penetrated into the very centre of the
peninsula, where they incorporated, and in process of time
became one people with the Kobtanites. Another region
was possessed by the children of the same holy man by Che-
turah his second wife. The Moabites, Ammonites, Edom¬
ites, Amalekites, and others, who settled in the various re¬
gions of Arabia Petraea, were all branches of Abraham’s fa¬
mily, and used the same language with their great progenitor.
The Scripture indeed speaks of people who inhabited the
country last mentioned prior to the branches of Abraham’s
family ; but these, according to the same history, were ex¬
tirpated by the former. The conclusion then is, if we credit
the Mosaic account, that all the inhabitants of the three di¬
visions of Arabia did, in the earliest periods, universally use
the Hebrew tongue.
We are sensible that there was a region of Arabia inhabit¬
ed by the Cushim, or descendants of Cush. This district was
situated on the confines of Babylonia. Our translators have
confounded this country with the modern Ethiopia, and con¬
sequently ascribed the exploits performed by the Arabian
Cushim to the Ethiopians. The Arabian kings of Babylon
were of those Cushim ; but they were conquered and ex¬
pelled Babylonia by the Chasidim. The latter spoke the
Chaldean dialect, as will appear when we come to speak of
that of the Abyssinians. Here the reader is desired to re¬
flect that the Hebrew and Chaldaic are cognate dialects.
The foregoing proofs, deduced from the Mosaic history,
will be corroborated by a mass of internal evidence brought
forward in succeeding parts of our inquiry.
The Arabic tongue, originally pure Hebrew, was in pro¬
cess of time greatly transformed and altered from its simple
unsophisticated state. The Arabians were divided into
many different tribes, a circumstance which naturally pro¬
duced many different dialects. These, however, were by no
means of foreign growth. No foreign enemy ever conquered
these independent hordes. The Persians, Greeks, and Ro¬
mans, sometimes attempted to invade their territories ; but
the roughness of the ground and the scarcity of forage, the
penury of water and their natural bravery, always protect¬
ed them. They were indeed once invaded by the Abys¬
sinians or Ethiopians with some show of success ; but these
invaders were in a short time expelled the country. Their
language, of consequence, was never adulterated with for¬
eign words or exotic phrases and idioms. Whatever aug¬
mentations or improvements it received were derived from
the genius and industry of the natives, and not from adven¬
titious or imported acquisitions. From this circumstance
we may justly infer, that the Arabian tongue was a long
time stationary, and of course differed in no considerable
degree from its Hebrew archetype. The learned Schul-
tens, in his Commentary on Job, has shown, to the con¬
viction of every candid inquirer, that it is impossible to un¬
derstand that sublime composition without having recourse
to the Arabic idioms. That patriarch was a Chuzite, and
his country might be reckoned a part of Arabia. His three
friends were actually Arabians, being the descendants of
Ishmael and Esau. His country bordered on that of the
predatory Chaldeans, who were an Arabian banditti. Hence,
when we consider all these circumstances in cumulo, we are
strongly inclined to believe that the book of Job was ac¬
tually written in Arabic, as the language stood at that
period ; which, according to the most probable opinion,
Could not have been later than the age of Moses. The
Gradual
deviation
from sim¬
plicity.
learned are generally agreed that this whole book, the Arabic
three first chapters excepted, is a poetical composition, Language
replete with the most brilliant and magnificent imagery,
the boldest, the justest, and most gorgeous tropes and allu¬
sions, and a grandeur of sentiment wholly divine. Who¬
ever has read with any degree of taste, the poetical compo¬
sitions of the modern Arabians, on divine subjects, will, we
flatter ourselves, discover a striking similarity both of dic¬
tion and sentiment. Be this as it may, we think there is no
reason to conclude that the Arabic dialect deviated much
from the Hebrew standard prior to the Christian era.
Of those different dialects which prevailed amongst the Principal |
various tribes amongst which the peninsula of Arabia wasdElects ol! |
divided, the principal were the Hemyaret and the Koreish.Arabia'
Though some of these were tributary to the Tobbas, or
Hemyaret sovereign of Arabia Felix, yet they took no great
pains to cultivate the language of that province, and of
course these people did not thoroughly understand it. As
for the independent tribes, they had no temptation to culti¬
vate any other language than their own.
The Koreish tribe was the noblest and the most learned Dialect
of all the western Arabs ; and the kaaba, or square temple^t!ie
of Mecca, was prior to the era of Mohammed solely under Koreisl1'
their protection. This temple drew annually a great con¬
course of pilgrims from every Arabian tribe, and indeed
from every other country where the Sabian religion pre¬
vailed. The language of the Koreish was studied with em¬
ulation by almost all the neighbouring tribes. Numbers of
the pilgrims were people of the first rank, and possessed all
the science peculiar to their country and their age. Great
fairs were held during their residence at Mecca, and a vari¬
ety of gay amusements filled up the intervals of their re¬
ligious duties. In these entertainments literary composi¬
tions bore the highest and most distinguished rank ; every
man of genius considering not his own reputation alone,
but even that of his nation or his tribe, as interested in his
success. Poetry and rhetoric were chiefly esteemed and
admired ; the former being looked upon as highly ornament¬
al, and the latter as a necessary accomplishment in the edu¬
cation of every leading man. An assembly at a place
called Ocadh, had been in consequence established about
the end of the sixth century, where all were admitted to a
rivalship of genius. The merits of their respective pro¬
ductions were impartially determined by the assembly at
large, and the most improved of their poems, written on
silk, in characters of gold, were with much solemnity sus¬
pended in the temple, as the highest mark of honour which
could be conferred on literary merit. These poems were
called the Moallabat, suspended, or Modhabebat, golden.
Seven of these are still preserved in European libraries.
From this uncommon attention to promote emulation
and refine their language, the dialect of the Koreish became
the purest, the richest, and the most polite, of all the Ara¬
bian idioms. It was studied with a kind of predilection;
and about the beginning of the seventh century it was the
general language of Arabia, the other dialects being either
incorporated with it, or sliding gradually into disuse. By
this singular idiomatic union, the Arabic has acquired a pro¬
digious fecundity ; whilst the luxuriance of synonymes, and
the equivocal or opposite senses of the same or similar
words, have furnished their writers with a wonderful power
of indulging, in the fullest range, their favourite passion for
antithesis and quaint allusion. One instance of this we
have in the word veli, which signifies a prince, a friend, and
also a slave. This same word, with the change of one let¬
ter only, becomes vali, which, without equivocation, im¬
ports a sovereign. Examples of this kind occur in almost
every page of every Arabic dictionary. Superiori.
But all these advantages of this incomparable language^ 0f this
are merely modern, and do not reach higher than the be-dialect
ginning of the sixth century. Prior to that era, as we havemodeir,.
PHILOLOGY.
369
ibic observed above, a variety of dialects obtained ; and as the
Lj nag6- Arabs were bv their situation in a manner sequestered from
w^all the rest of mankind, it may not perhaps be superfluous
to inquire briefly into the cause and origin of this instan¬
taneous and universal change.
Duringa course of more than twenty centuries, the Arabi¬
ans had been shut up within the narrow limits of their own
peninsula, and in a great measure secluded from the rest of
the world. Their commerce with India was purely mer¬
cantile, and little calculated to excite or promote intellec¬
tual improvements. They traded with the Egyptians from
time immemorial; but since the invasion and usurpation of
the pastor kings, every shepherd, that is, every Arabian,
was an abomination to the Egyptians. From that quarter,
therefore, they could not derive much intellectual improve¬
ment. Besides, when an extensive territory is parcelled
out amongst a number of petty septs or clans, the feuds and
contests which originate from interfering interests and ter¬
ritorial disputes, leave but little time, and less inclination,
for the culture of the mind. In these circumstances, the
military art alone will be cultivated, and the profession of
arms alone will be deemed honourable. Of consequence,
we find that, in the general opinion, poetry, rhetoric, and
the profession of arms, were the only pursuits cultivated by
the people in question. As for the science of war, we are
convinced that it was both studied and practised at a very
early period ; but with regard to the two former, we imagine
they were very late acquisitions, and sprung from some cir¬
cumstance external and adventitious.
The tribe of the Koreish were much engaged in com¬
merce. They exported frankincense, myrrh, cassia, gal-
banum, and other drugs and spices, to Damascus, Tripoli,
Palmyra, and other commercial cities of Syria and its neigh¬
bourhood. Upon these occasions the Arabian traders must
have become acquainted with the Greek language, and per¬
haps with the more amusing and affecting parts of the Gre¬
cian literature. They might hear of the high renown of
Homer and Demosthenes; and it is not impossible that some
of them might be able to read their compositions. Every
body knows with what unremitting ardour the learned Arabs
under the first caliphs, perused and translated the philoso¬
phical works of the Grecian sages. The very same spirit
might animate their predecessors, although they wanted
learning, and perhaps public encouragement, to arouse their
exertions. From this quarter, we think, the Arabs may
have learned to admire, and then to imitate, the Grecian
worthies.
ution The Ptolemies of Egypt were the professed patrons of
■cca commerce as well as of learning. Under these princes all
rto nations were invited to trade with that happy country.
ym_ The Arabs, now no longer fettered by Egyptian jealousy,
carried their precious commodities to Alexandria, where the
Grecian literature, though no longer in its meridian splen¬
dour, shone however with a clear unfaded lustre. The court
of the first Ptolemies was the retreat of all the most cele¬
brated geniuses of Greece and of the age; in a word, Alex¬
andria was the native land of learning and ingenuity. Here
the ingenious Arab must have heard the praises of learning
incessantly proclaimed, and must have often been present at
the public exhibitions of the poets and orators ; and even
although he did not exactly understand them, he might be
charmed with the melody of the diction, and struck with
surprise at their effects on the audience. The reader will
please to reflect, that the Arabian traders were the first men
of the nation, with respect to birth, learning, and fortune.
These wise men, to use the language of Scripture, inspired
with the natural curiosity of their race, might hear of the
celebrated Olympic games, the public recitations before the
people there assembled, and the glorious prize bestowed upon
the conquerors. Such information might animate them to Arabic
institute something parallel at Mecca, with a view to im- Language,
prove their language, and at the same time to derive hon-
our and emolument to themselves. The Koreishim might
promise themselves the like advantages from the establish¬
ment of the fair and assembly at Ocadh, as the natives of
Elis derived from the institution of the Olympic games. For
these reasons, we conjecture, the literary competitions at
the place just mentioned were instituted at so late a period,
although the nation had existed more than two thousand
years before the establishment of this anniversary. Upon
the whole, we are inclined to believe, that the Arabs, not¬
withstanding all the fine things recorded of them by their
own poetical historians, and believed perhaps too easily by
those of other countries, were in the days of ignorance like
the earliest Romans, latrones et semibarbari. For our part,
we think it by no means probable, that a people of that cha¬
racter should, after so long a course of years, have stumbled
upon so laudable and so beneficial an institution, without
taking the hint from some foreign one of a similar kind.
This we acknowledge is only a conjecture, and as such it is
submitted to the judgment of the reader.
There were, as has been observed above, two principal
dialects of the original Arabic: the Hamyarite, spoken by
the genuine Arabs; and the Koreishite/ or pure Arabic,
which at last became the general language of that people.
The former of these inclined' towards the Syriac or Chal-
daic; the latter being, according to them, the language of
Ishmael, was deeply tinctured with the Hebrew idiom. The
oriental writers tell us that Terah, the grandfather of Ham-
yar, was the first whose language deviated from the Syriac
to the Arabic. Hence, say they, the Hamyaritic dialect
must have approached near to the purity of the Syriac, and
consequently must have been more remote from the true
genius of the Arabic than that of any of the other tribes.
The fact seems to stand thus : The Flamyarites were neigh¬
bours to the Chaldeans and Syrians, and consequently were
connected with those people by commerce, wars, alliances,
and other kinds of intercourse. This circumstance intro¬
duced into their language many phrases and idioms from both
these nations. That Terah was concerned in adulterating the
dialect of the Hamyarites, is a mere oriental legend, fabricat¬
ed by the Arabs, after they began to peruse the Hebrew
Scriptures. The Koreish being situated in the centre of Ara¬
bia, were less exposed to intercourse with foreigners, and
therefore preserved their language more pure and untainted.
The learned well know, that the Koran was written in The Koran
the dialect of the Koreish, a circumstance which communi-written in
cated additional splendour to that branch of the Arabian ft6 Koreish
tongue. It has been proved, that the language of the ori- ffialect*
ginal inhabitants of Arabia was genuine Hebrew. But upon
this supposition a question will arise, namely, whether the
Arabians actually preserved their original tongue pure and
unsophisticated during a space of about three thousand years,
which elapsed between the deluge and birth of Mohammed;
or whether, during that period, according to the ordinary
course of human affairs, it underwent many changes and de¬
viations from the original standard.
The admirers of that language strenuously maintain the
former position; others, who are more moderate in their
attachment, are disposed to admit the latter. Chardin ob¬
serves of the oriental languages in general, that they do not
vary and fluctuate with time like the European tongues.1
“ Ce qu’il y a de plus admirable, dit il, et de plus remarqu-
able, dans ces langues, c’est, qu’elles ne changent point, et
n’ont point change du tout, soit a I’egard de termes, soit a
1’egard du tour: rien n’y est, ni nouveau ni vieux, nulle
bonne fa^on de parler n’a cesse d’etre en credit. L’Alcoran,
par exemple, est aujourdhui, comme il y a mille annees, le
3 A
VOL. XVII.
1 Voyages, vol. iii. p. 43.
370
PHILOLOGY.
guage.
obsolete.
Arabic modele de la plus pure, plus courte, et plus eloquente diction.”
Language. js no^ our purpose to transcribe the remaining part ot
'-^/^'the author’s reflection upon this subject. From the above
it plainly appears that he concludes, that the Arabian tongue
has suffered no change since the publication of the Koran;
and at the same time insinuates, that it had continued in¬
variable in its original purity through all ages, from the days
of Kobtan to the appearance of that book. Whether both
or either of these sentiments be properly authenticated will
appear in the sequel.
Means a- The learned Dr. Robertson, professor of oriental lan-
dopted by o-uao-es in the university of Edinburgh, informs us that the
the Arabs ^rabians? in order to preserve the purity of their language,
t0 pres®rve strictly prohibited their merchants, who were obliged to go
of thPeh lan-abroad for the sake of commerce, all intercourse with strange
women. We know not where this injunction is recorded,
but certainly it was a most terrible interdict to an amorous
son of the desert. If such a prohibition actually existed,
we suspect it originated from some other source than the
fear of corrupting their language. Be this as it may, how¬
ever, the Doctor, as well as the great Schultens, is clearly
of opinion that the language in question, although divided in¬
to a great number of streams and canals, still flowed pure
and limpid in its course.
The style Our readers who are acquainted with the history of the
of the Ko- orientals, are already apprised of the steady attachment of
ran now those people to ancient customs and institutions. We rea¬
dily allow, that in the article of language this same predi¬
lection is abundantly obvious; but every oriental scholar
must confess, that the style of the Koran is at the present
day in a manner obsolete, and has become almost a dead lan¬
guage. This fact, we believe, will not be questioned. If the
Arabian has deviated so very considerably from the standard
of the Koran in little more than one thousand years, and
that too after an archetype is ascertained, we may by a pa¬
rity of reason infer, that much greater deviations must have
affected the language in the space of three thousand years.
It is universally allowed by such as maintain the unsullied
purity of the Arabian tongue, that it was originally the
same with the Hebrew, or, in other words, with the an¬
cient Syriac and Chaldaic. Let any one now compare the
words, idioms, and phraseology of the Koran with the re¬
mains of those three languages, and we think we may ven¬
ture to affirm that the difference will be palpable. This
circumstance, we think, indicates in the strongest terms a
remarkable alteration.
The Arabs themselves are agreed, that notwithstanding
the amazing fecundity of their language, vast numbers of
its radical terms have been irrecoverably lost. But this
loss could not be supplied without either fabricating new
words, or borrowing them from foreign languages. To
the latter method we have seen their aversion, and must
therefore conclude that they adopted the former. The
Chaldeans, Syrians, and Phoenicians, had made innovations
on their language at a very early period, even before con¬
quests were undertaken; and we see no reason to suppose
that the Arabs did not innovate as well as their nearest
neighbours.
There are, we think, very strong reasons to believe, that
Job was an Arabian, and flourished prior to Moses, perhaps
med’s Koran, w'e shall scarcely find any resemblance of words Arab
or phraseology, but a wonderful similarity of figures, en- LanguaJ
thusiasm, and elevation of sentiments. We are then led tov'^V'
conclude, that the Arabic did actually lose and gain a mul¬
titude of vocables between the era of its first establishment
amongst the descendants of Joktan and Ishmael, and the
birth of the impostor.
The art of writing was introduced amongst the Arabs at
a very late period. Without the assistance of this art, one
would think it altogether impossible to preserve any lan¬
guage in its primaeval purity and simplicity. As the curious
reader may here expect some account of the Arabic cha¬
racters : the following detail is the most probable one we
have been able to collect on the subject.
It is generally agreed, that the art of writing was known ^rt 0f
amongst the Hamyarites or Homerites at a very early pe-writings
' 1 1 These people were sovereigns of Arabia during amongst
It resem¬
bles the
Hebrew in
its
ology.
;brew in ag earjy ag jacob. The style, the genius, and the figurative
phrase* -^mnnsitinn : the amazinsr sublimity of the sen-
tone of the composition ; the amazing sublimity of the sen¬
timents, the allusions, the pathos, the boldness, the variety
and irregularity, and the poetical enthusiasm which pervade
the whole poem, strongly breathe the Arabian spirit; indeed
the very diction is peculiar to that single book, and differs
widely from that of the Psalms and every poetical part of
the sacred canon. If we compare this book with Moham-
riod.1  r—r~  0 ^ -
course of many years. The character of their graphic sys- Hamya
tern was somewhat perplexed and confused. It was called allies'
Mosnad, from the mutual connection of the letters. The al¬
phabet of these people resembled that of the Hebrews both
in the number and order of the letters, and was called abgad
heviz,2 from the first ten letters of the Hebrew alphabet, ar¬
tificially thrown together. “ And this word,” says the learned
Chardin3 “a, b, g, d, is formed of the four letters which were
heretofore the first in the Arabian language, as they are
still in that of the Hebrews.” The same traveller is posi¬
tive that these were the ancient characters of the Arabs;
that they differed from the Cuphic letters, which were after¬
wards introduced ; and that they were also furnished with
vowel points. These, we imagine, were the first sketches
of the Chaldaic characters, which probably the Hamyarites
retained in their pristine unpolished form, after they had
been polished and reduced to a more elegant size by the
original inventors.
Monuments bearing inscriptions in these characters are,
they tell us, still to be seen in several places of Arabia.
Some were engraved upon rocks ; and to these we think it
probable that the patriarch Job alludes in those passages
where he seems to intimate an inclination to have his suf¬
ferings recorded in a book, and graven in the rock forever.
All the Arabians agree, that the dialect of the Hamyarites
inclined towards the Syriac or Chaldaic. This we have
imputed to the connection of that people with the Chal¬
deans, who lived in their neighbourhood. If the Hamya-
ritic dialect was infected with the Syriac or Chaldaic, there
can be no doubt that they derived their letters from the same
quarter.
We conclude, then, that the Hamyarites knew the art
of writing from the earliest antiquity, and that the letters
they employed were the rude Chaldaic in their unimproved
state.4 Some of the Arabians do indeed hold, that Ishmael
was the first author of letters, but that his characters were
rude and indistinct, without any interval between letters or
words, and that these were adopted by Kedar and his other
children. This tradition, however, has met with little credit.
With respect to the highly polished Koreishites, it is Art of
agreed on all hands, that they were unacquainted with the writing
use of letters until a few years before the birth of Mahom-mong^
med. But two difficulties here present themselves. The first
is, how the Koreishite dialect, without the art of writing,
happened to excel all the other dialects of the Arabic
tongue, assisted by that art, which is apparently so necessary
for preserving a language in its original purity. The second
is, we think, still greater, namely, how the Koreish came to
learn that most useful art at so late a period as the sixth
century. It is a well known fact, that ever after the Baby¬
lonian captivity Arabia swarmed with Jewish villages, in
l Pococke’s Specim. Hist. Arab.
2 Id. ibid.
3 Vol. iii. p. 153.
4 Pococke, Orat. de Ling. Arab.
PHIL
Arabic which the art of writing w-as generally known ; and almost
nguage. at the beginning of the Christian era, multitudes of Chris-
''V^tians retired to the same country, in order to avoid the per¬
secutions which they suffered in the Roman empire. In
these circumstances, we think it rather strange, that the
Koreishites, highly polished and acute as they were, never
thought of embracing the opportunity of learning an art so
useful. These two problems we leave to be solved by our
more learned readers.
But however they be solved, it is universally acknow¬
ledged, that the Koreish were ignorant of letters till a few
years before the birth of their prophet. Ebn Chalican,1 one
of their most celebrated historians, informs us, that Mora-
mer the son of Morra, an Anbarian, or native of Anbaris, a
city of Irak,2 first invented alphabetical characters, and
taught his countrymen to use them, and that from the latter
this noble invention was derived by the Koreishites. These
letters, though neither beautiful nor convenient, were long
used by the Arabs. They were denominated Cuphic, from
Cupha, acity of Irak. In these characters the original copy
of the Koran was written. They were probably the original
clumsy characters which were retained by the vulgar, after
the beautiful square Chaldaic letters had been invented, and
probably used by priests, philosophers, and the learned in
general. These letters are often at this day used by the
Arabs for the titles of books and public inscriptions.
] iroved Abauli the son of Mocla,3 about three hundred years after
a ut three the death of Mohammed, found out a more elegant and
1 dred more expeditious character. This invention of Abauli was
] bsa^_er afterwards carried to perfection by Ebn Bowla, who died
r ' in the year of the Hegira 413, when Kader was caliph of
Bagdad. This character, with little variation, obtains at
the present day. As we think this article of some impor¬
tance, we shall, for the sake of our unlearned readers, tran¬
scribe an excellent account of the whole matter from the very
learned Schultens.
The Cuphic character, says he, which had been brought
from the region of the Chaldeans to the province of Hejaz,
and to Mecca its capital, in the age of Mohammed, was em¬
ployed by the Koreishites, and in it the Koran was first
written. But as this character was rude and clumsy, in
consequence of its size, and ill calculated for expedition,
Abauli Ebn Mocla devised a more elegant and expeditious
one. This person was visir to Arradius, the forty-first ca¬
liph, who began to reign in the year of the Hegira 322.
Accordingly, in the tenth century, under this emperor of
the Saracens, the form of the Arabian alphabet underwent
a change ; and the former clumsy embarrassed character
was made to give way to the polished, easy, and expeditious
type. Regarding this expedition alone, the author of the
invention left very few vowel characters; and as the Hebrew
manner of writing admits five long ones and five short in
different shapes, he taught how to express all the vowels,
both long and short, suitably to the genius of the language,
by three, or rather by two, small points, without any dan¬
ger of a mistake, an abbreviation truly deserving applause
and admiration; for by placing a very small line above ^
he expressed a, and e; and by placing the same below
Y he meant to intimate i only. To the other short ones, o
and u, he assigned a small waiv above. In order to repre¬
sent the long ones, he called in the matres lectionis, the
“ quiescent letters s, 1, 'so that phata with elif inti¬
mated a and o long, that is, kametz and cliolem; jod placed
after kefram became tzeri and chirek long. Waiv annexed
to damma made schurek.
In this passage, the great orientalist acknowledges that
the visir above mentioned, who carried the Arabian alpha-
O L O G Y.
371
bet to the pinnacle of perfection, invented and annexed the Arabic
vowel points for the sake of ease and expedition in writing ; Language,
from which we may infer, that prior to the tenth century'
the Arabians had no vowel points, and consequently either
read without vowels, or contented themselves with the
matres lectionis above mentioned.
The design of the author of the invention, in fabricating
these points, was confessedly ease and expedition in writ¬
ing ; a circumstance which furnishes a strong presumption
that the Hebrew vowel-points were devised and annexed
at some late period for the very same purposes. Some, in¬
deed, have gone so far as to affirm that the Arabians were
the original fabricators of the vowel-points. “ The Ara¬
bians,”4 says the learned Dr. Gregory Sharp, “ were the
original authors of the vowel-points. They invented three,
calledand damma, and kefra ; but these were not
in use till several years after Mohammed; for it is certain
that the first copies of the Koran were without them. The
rabbis stole them from the Arabs.” This, however, is car¬
rying the matter too far, since it is certain that the Jews
were acquainted with the points in question long before the
period above mentioned.
Though it is not our intention to enter into a minute de- Extent of
tail of the peculiarities of this noble language, we cannot ft6 Arabic
omit observing one thing, which indeed belongs to gram- language.
mar, but is not generally taken notice ofby the Arabic gram¬
marians. The roots of verbs in this dialect are universally
triliteral; so that the composition of the twenty-eight Ara¬
bian letters would give near twenty-two thousand elements
of the language. This circumstance demonstrates the sur¬
prising extent of it. For although great numbers of its roots
are irrecoverably lost, and some perhaps were never in use ;
yet if, without reckoning quadriliterals, we suppose ten
thousand of them to exist, and each of them to admit only
five variations, one with another, in forming derivative nouns,
the whole language would then consist of fifty thousand
words, each of which may receive a multitude of changes
by the rules of grammar.
Again, the Arabic idiom seems to abhor the composi¬
tion of words, and invariably expresses very complex ideas
by circumlocution ; so that if a compound word be found
in any dialect of that language, we may at once pronounce
it of foreign extraction. This is indeed a distinguishing
feature in the structure ofthe Arabic, as well as in that of some
of its sister dialects, and has, in our opinion, contributed not
a little to the amazing fecundity of that language; for since
every ingredient in the composition of a complex idea re¬
quires a word to express it, as many words became neces¬
sary to complete the language as there were simple ideas to
be intimated by discourse. Were all the compounds of the
Greek language to be dissolved, as probably once they were,
the vocables of that tongue would infinitely exceed their
present number.
The Arabic authors boast most unconscionably of the
richness and variety of their language. No human under¬
standing, say they, is capacious enough to comprehend all
its treasures. Inspiration alone can qualify one for exhaust¬
ing its sources.5 Ebn Chalawalb, a most renowned gram¬
marian of theirs, has spent a whole volume upon the various
names of the lion, which amount to five hundred; and another
on the names of the serpent, which make up two hundred.
Mohammed al Firancabodius affirms that he wrote a book
on the usefulness and different denominations of honey, in
which he enumerates eighty of them ; and after all, he as¬
sures us that he was still far from having exhausted his sub¬
ject. To excel in a language so amazingly copious, was
certainly a proof of uncommon capacity, and considered as
^ See this whole detail in Dr. Pocoeke’s Specim. Hist Arab. p. 250. et seq.
rak, Babylonia, from Erech one of the cities built by Nimrod. The Arabians have generally restored the ancient names of places.
Thus with them Tyre is Tzur, Sidon Seyd, Egypt Mezri, &c. 1
obertson. Clavis Pentateuch, pp. 35, 36. 4 Dissertation on the Origin of Languages* 5 Pococke’s Specim*
372
PHILOLOGY.
Arabic no mean talent even amongst the Koreishites. Hence Mo-
Language. hammed, when some people were expressing their admira-
‘ ^^tion of the eloquence of the Koran, told them that he had
been taught by the angel Gabriel the language of Ishmael,
which had fallen into desuetude. ,
Oratory In a language so richly replenished with the choicest and
and poetry most energetic terms, both oratory and poetpr were culti-
of the vated with ease. All the difficulty consisted in making a
Arabs. choice amongst words and phrases equally elegant. We may
compare one of those poets or orators to a young gent e-
man, of a taste highly refined, walking into a repository where
a profusion of the richest and most elegant dresses are piled
up in wild confusion. The beau is here distressed with va¬
riety ; but to be able to choose the most handsome and most
becoming, he must have received from nature a superior
o-ood taste, and must likewise have cultivated it by assidu¬
ous industry, and by associating with the most genteel com-
rphe orations of the Arabians were of two kinds, metrical
and prosaic. The former they compared to pearls set in
<rold, and the latter to loose ones. They were ambitious of
excelling in both ; and whoever did so, was highly distm-
oviished. His success in either of those departments was
thought to confer honour, not only on his family, but even
on his tribe. In their poems were preserved the genealo¬
gies of their families, the privileges of their tribes, the me¬
mory of their heroes, the exploits of their ancestors, the pro¬
priety of their language, the magnificence of banquets, the
generosity of their wealthy chiefs and great men, &c. Af¬
ter all, we cannot avoid being of the unpopular opinion, that
this mighty parade of eloquence and poetry did not reach
backwards above two centuries before the birth of Moham¬
med, as it certainly vanished at the era of the propagation
of his religious institutions. The two succeeding centuries
were the reigns of superstition and bloodshed. T. he voice
of the muses is seldom heard amidst the din of arms.
The ancient Arabs, at whatever time poetry began to be
in request amongst them, did not at first write poems of con¬
siderable length. They only expressed themselves in metre
occasionally, in acute rather than harmonious strains. The
Proverbs of Solomon, and the book of Ecclesiastes, seem to
have been composed in this species of versification. The pro¬
sody of the Arabs was never digestedinto rules till sometime
after the death of Mohammed ; and this is said to have been
done by A1 Khalti al Farabidi, who lived in the reign of the
caliph Haroun al Raschid.
After so many encomiums on the copiousness of the Ara¬
bic tongue, one class of our readers may possibly expect
that we should subjoin a brief detail of its genius and cha¬
racter ; and this we shall do with all possible brevity.
Genius and All the primary or radical words of the language are copi-
character of posed of different combinations of consonants by triads ; so
Afabic
Language
the lan- that the various combinations and conjunctions of radicals
guage. make more than ten thousand, even without including those
which may arise from the meeting of gutteral letters. From
this quality of the language has flowed that stability of the
dialect which has preserved it pure and entire for so many
thousand years, and secured it from those changes and that
fluctuation to which most other tongues are subject.
Perhaps notwithstanding its copiousness and variety, no
other language can vie with the one in question in point of
perspicuity and precision. It is possessed of a brevity and
rotundity which, amidst the greatest variety, enables it to
express with clearness and energy what could not be ex¬
pressed in any other tongue without tedious circumlocu¬
tions. To this purpose we shall beg leave to transcribe a
passage from Bishop Pococke’s oration on the Arabic lan¬
guage. As we imagine that few of those readers who will have
the curiosity to peruse this article can be unacquainted
with the Latin tongue, we shall give it as it stands in the
original without a translation :—
a Neque in nulla certe laudis parte, mira ilia qua, non
solum verborum in significando, perspicuitate, sed in prola-^
tione, elegantiae et dulcedini caverunt, sedulitas ; quoque,' - y ^i
non solum accurata, inter literas ex significata proportione,
sensus vel intensione, vel remissione, prout res postulaverit,
literarum appositione, subductione, yel juxta organorum, ra-
tionem prospexerunt; sed et ne quid delicatulis auribus in-
gratum, ne quid horridum, aut da-v^covav, reperiatur, effece-
runt. Hoc in genere est, quod nuspiam in verbo aliquo, ge-
nuinaj apud Arabes originis, concurrunt, non intercedente
vocalis alicujus motione consonantes, cum vel tres, vel plures,
aliis in Unguis frequenter collidantur. Immo neque, si ad-
sint, quae asperitati remedio sint, vocales, quas libet temere
tamen committunt consonantes ; sed ita rei natura postulat,
ut concurrere debeant ilia, quae se invicem, sine asperitatis
inductione consequi, et inter se connecti non possint ; illi
vel situs, vel literarum mutatione, eas abjiciendo, inserendo,
emolliendo, aliisve quibus possent modis, remedia quaerunt;
adeo ab omni, quod vel absonum, vel dissonum est, abhor¬
rent. Quod si nobis secus videntur, et asperius sonare ab
Arabibus prolata, illud auribus nostris, et usui, non linguae
imputandum, nec mollius illis sonare nostra, quam eorum
nobis censendum. Quin et gutturalium, quae nobis maxi¬
ma asperitatis causa videntur, absentiam, ut magnum in lin¬
gua Grseca defectum, arguunt Arabes.”
The learned Dr. Hunt, professor of the Hebrew and Ara¬
bic languages at Oxford, was of the same opinion with the
very learned prelate, part of whose oration we have tran¬
scribed above, with respect to the delicacy and elegance of
the Arabian language : “ Nusquam, mihi credite, inquit ille,
auribus magis parcitur quam in Arabia; nulla lingua a tea-
Ko<pa>via, alienior quam Arabica. Quamquam enim nonnullae
ejus literae minus fortasse suaviter, immo durius etiam so-
nuerint, ita tamen Arabestemperarunt cum lenibus, du-
ras cum mollibus,<fwP* emfyacutis miscendo, voces inde
non minus auribus jucundee, quam pronunciatu faciles con-
fecerint, totique sermoni miram sonorum tarn dulcedinem
quam varietatem addiderint. Quod quidem orationis modu*
landse studium in Corano adeo manifestum est, ut piimi Is-
lamismi oppugnatores eum librum magica ideo arte scrip-
turn dixerint. Non auribus t^itum gratus est Arabismus,
sedet animi conceptibus exprlfnendis aptus, sonos suos sen-
tentiis semper accommodans, et telici verborum junctura
eorum naturam depingens.” . ,
To these we might add quotations from Erpenius s ora¬
tion on the same subject, from Golius, Schultens, Hottin-
ger, Bochart, and Sir William Jones ; besides a whole cloud
of oriental witnesses, whose extravagant encomiums would
astonish rather than edify the greater part of our readers.
These panegyrics may perhaps be in some measure hyper¬
bolical ; but in general we believe them to be pretty well
founded, At the same time we are convinced thatthe Ara’
bic, however melodious in the ears of a native, sounds harsh
and unharmonious in that of an European.
When we consider the richness and variety of the Arabic Difficulty
tongue we are led to conclude, that to acquire a tolerable ofacqu ,
tongue -we are ieu u"*  know-
degree of skill in its idioms, is a more difficult task than is ^
generally imagined ; at least some people who have witn
facility enough acquired a knowledge of the Greek and
Latin, and likewise of the more fashionable modern lan¬
guages have found it so. Be this as it may, however, there
are two classes of men who, in our opinion, cannot handsome¬
ly dispense with the knowledge of a tongue almost universal;
the gentleman, who is to be employed in the political trans¬
actions of the most respectable mercantile company upon
earth, in the eastern parts of the world ; and the divine, who
applies himself to investigate the true import of the sacred
oracles. Without this, the former will often find himself em¬
barrassed in both his civil and mercantile negotiations; andt
latter will often grope in the dark, when a moderate acquam-
ance with that tongue would make all sunshine around nn.
PHILOLOGY.
laldaic Bochart, Hottinger, Schultens, Pococke, Hunt, Robert^
I^uage, son, and others, have taken wonderful pains, and lavished apro-
fhsion oflearning, in proving the affinity and dialectical cog-
nation between the Hebrew and Arabic. Much of this la¬
bour, we think, might have been spared. We presume to
affirm, that no person tolerably versed in both languages can
read a single paragraph of the Arabic version of the New
Testament, or indeed of the Koran itself, without being con¬
vinced of the truth of this position. It is but stripping the
latter of its adventitious frippery, and the kindred features
will immediately appear.
The learned professors of the university of Leyden were
the first who entered upon the career of Arabian learning.
To them the European students are principally indebted for
what knowledge of that language they have hitherto been
able to attain. Though several Italians have contributed
their endeavours, yet the fruit of their labours has been ren¬
dered almost useless by more commodious and more accu¬
rate works printed in Holland.
The palm of glory, in this branch of literature, is due to
Golius, whose works are equally profound and elegant; so
perspicuous in method, that they may always be consulted
without fatigue, and read without languor. Erpenius^ ex¬
cellent grammar, and his memorable dictionary, will enable
the student to explain the history of Timur by Ibn Arab-
shah. If he has once mastered that sublime work, he will
understand the learned Arabic better than most of the Kha-
tabs of Constantinople or of Mecca.
The Arabian language, however, notwithstanding all its
boasted perfections, has undoubtedly shared the fate of other
living languages ; it has gradually undergone such consider¬
able alterations, that the Arabic spoken and written in the
age of Mohammed may be now regarded as a dead lan¬
guage. It is indeed so widely different from the modern
language of Arabia, that it is taught and studied in the col¬
lege of Mecca just as the Latin is at Rome.
The dialect of the Highlands of Yemen is said to have
the nearest analogy to the language of the Koran, because
these Highlanders have little intercourse with strangers.
The old Arabic is throughout all the east, like the Latin in
Europe, a learned tongue, taught in colleges, and only to
be acquired by the perusal of the best authors.
373
SECT. III.
OF THE CHALDAIC, PHOENICIAN, AND EGYPTIAN
LANGUAGES.
nexioi) As there is a very strict connection and dialectical ana-
1656 logy amongst these languages, we have arranged them all un-
ages. der one section ; especially since what is observed relating
to one of them may, without the least straining, be extend¬
ed to them all. We shall begin with the Chaldaic.
The Chaldeans, or Chasidim, as they are always called in
Scripture, were the descendants of Chesed the son of Nahor,
the brother of Abraham. The descendants of this patriarch
drove the Cushim or Arabians out of Babylonia, and pos¬
sessed themselves of that country at a very early period.
As these Chasidim or Chaldeans were the posterity of Na¬
hor, the descendant of Heber, they undoubtedly spoke the
original Hebrew tongue as well as the other branches of
that family. But being an ingenious and inventive people,
they seem to have polished their language with much care
and delicacy of taste.
The only genuine remains of the ancient Chaldaic lan¬
guage are to be found in the Hebrew Scriptures; and these
are contained in two hundred and sixty-eight verses, of
w ich we have two hundred in Daniel, reaching from verse
th, chapter 2d, to chapter 8 th exclusive; in Ezra sixty-seven,
viz. in chapter 4th, seventeen verses, in chapter 5th, the
same number, in chapter 6th, eighteen verses, and in chap¬
ter 7th, fifteen ; in Jeremiah, chapter 10th, there is extant
only one verse. From these fragments, compared with the Chaldaic
Hebrew, it plainly appears, that the difference between that Language,
language and the Chaldaic is scarcely equal to that between &c-
the Doric and Ionic dialects of the Greek.
Whatever might have been the form of the most ancient
Chaldaic letters, it is generally known that the beautiful
square characters, in which the Hebrew Scriptures began
to be written after the age of Ezra, were current amongst
them at an era prior to the Babylonian captivity. Those
elegant characters were probably the invention of the Chal-
dean academies, which were established in various parts of
that extensive and fertile country.
dmldean declensions and conjugations differ so little Chaldaic
from the Hebrew modifications, that it would be almost su- differs little
perfluous to dwell upon them in this section. The mostfrom the
effectual way to acquire an idea of the ancient Chaldaic, is Hebrew-
to decompose the names confessedly of that dialect, which
occur in many places of Scripture. By this method of pro¬
ceeding, its beautiful structure and expressive energy will
be readily comprehended even by the most illiterate class
of readers. At the same time, we must observe, that the
Chaldaic and the ancient Syriac bore so near a resemblance
to each other, that they have generally been classed under
one head.
The first Chaldaic word which occurs in the Old Testa¬
ment is bara, creavit. 1 his word has all along been as¬
signed to the language under consideration ; for what rea¬
son, we confess we are not able to discover. The greater
part of the Hebrew tongue is now lost. The words bar, a
son, and bara, creavit, or ratherfiliavit, may probably be
of that number. Another Scriptural word which is often
quoted, and always ascribed either to the Syriac or Chal¬
daic, is igar ox jegar sahadutha, which signifies a mountain
of witnesses. Every body knows, that when Jacob and La-
ban made their compact, the latter denominated the heap
of stones reared upon that occasion in this manner ; whilst
the former called it Galeed, as we now write and pronounce
it. I his pronunciation, however, does not appear to us al¬
together genuine. The word is probably compounded of
gctl, cumulus, a heap, and ly, chad, eeternitas, seculum, eter¬
nity, an age; so that Tybi, galchad, or galaad as it came
to be wi itten afterwards, signified an everlasting heap. La¬
ban then had respect to the end for which the monument
was erected ; but Jacob alluded to its duration. It appears,
however, upon this and every other occasion, when Chal¬
daic words are mentioned, that n, a, was a favourite letter
both with the Syrians and Chaldeans. We may likewise
observe, that the same people always changed the Hebrew
VJ, s/un, into n, thau, in order to avoid the serpentine sound
of that consonant.
I he Chaldaic names of gods, men, places, &c. which oc-Its proper
cm m bciipture, appear to be no other than Hebrew po- names pure
fished and improved. Bel, JBelus in Latin, is evidently Hebrew,
brn, Baal, or we think rather Bechel The Phoe¬
nicians, and sometimes the Hebrews, used it to signify the
Most High. 1 he Chaldeans used their word Bel for the
same puipose; and because this word originally imported
the High One, they dignified their first monarch with that
name. They denominated their capital chjBa-Bel, which
imports the Temple of Bel, and afterwards Babylon, which
intimates the abode or dwelling of our lord the sun. Nebo
was a name of the moon amongst the Babylonians, being de¬
rived from the Hebrew ana, nabah, vaticinari, to prophecy.
Azer was the planet Mars, from *i2N, Azer or Ezur, accin-
xit, to gird, alluding to the girding on of arms. Ahad was
an Assyrian name of the sun,1 being a word deduced from
the Hebrew "ti?x ahad, unus, one. Netzur was the name
of an Arabian idol,2 which often occurs in the composition
of Babylonian names. In Arabic it signifies an eagle. We
1 Merob. lib. i. c, 23.
2 Pococke, Specim. Hist. Arab.
374
Chaldaie
Language,
&c.
PHILOLOGY.
Phoenician
language
derived
from the
Hebrew.
think, however, that the word is the Hebrew na zn ,
custodivit, servavit, to keep, to preserve. o t esc names
of deities many more might be added, which the nature o
our design will not allow us to mention. ,
Almost all the Chaldean proper names which occur either
in sacred or profane history are evidently of Hebrew origi¬
nal, or cognate with that language. We shall subjoin a few
examples; Nabonassar is evidently compounded of Nabo
and nazur, both Hebrew words. Nabopollazar is made
up of Nabo-Pub the same with Bel, and Azer or Azov,
above explained. Belesis is made of Bel tm<\xVX, Esha,
sisrnifyin" fire. Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar, Belteshazzar,
Neriarlissar, Nebuzaradan, Rabmag, Rabsaris, Nergal Share-
zer Rabshakeh, Ezarhaddon, Merodach, Evil-Merodach, and
numberless others, are so manifestly reducible to Hebrew
vocables, when decomposed, that any oriental scholar will
readily distinguish them. . , •
Names of places in the Chaldaic are likewise so nearly akm
to Hebrew, that nothing but the dialectical tone separates
them. Thus Ur of the Chaldeans is actually ‘i'iN, light,
that city being sacred to the sun; Sippora is plainly the
Hebrew word Zipporah ; Carchemish, a city on the Eu¬
phrates, is evidently compounded of Kir or Kar, a city,
and Chemosh, a name of the sun. In short, every Chal¬
daic or old Syriac word now extant, betray their Hebrew
original without any difficulty. As for their dialectical dif¬
ferences, these may be discovered by consulting the Chal¬
daic grammars and lexicons. „ ,
We now proceed to the consideration of the Phoenician
language, which is known to have been that of the ancient
Canaanites. That this was one of the original dialects, and
consequently a cognate of the Hebrew, is universally ac¬
knowledged. Instead therefore of endeavouring to prove
this position, we may refer our readers to the works of the
learned Bochart, where that author has in a manner demon¬
strated this point, by deriving almost all the names of the
Phoenician colonies from the Hebrew, upon the supposition
that the dialect of those people was closely connected with
that tongue. St. Augustin, in his treatise de Civitate Dei,
has observed, that even in his time many of the vulgar in
the neighbourhood of Carthage and Hippo spoke a dialect
of the old Punic which nearly resembled the Hebrew. 1 ro-
copius, (de Bello Gothico) informs us, that even in his days
there existed in Africa a pillar with this inscription in He¬
brew : “ We flee from the face of Joshua the robber, the
son of Nun.” The names of all the ancient cities built by
the Carthagenians upon the coast of Africa are easily redu¬
cible to a Hebrew original. The Carthagenian names of
persons mentioned in the Greek and Latin history, such as
Himilco, Hamilcar, Asdrubal, Hannibal, Hanno, Dido, An¬
no or Hanno, Sophonisba, Gisgo, Maherbal, Adherbal, and
others, all indicate a Hebrew extraction.
The Greeks borrowed a great part of their religious wor¬
ship from the people of whose language we are treating;
and consequently, the names of most of their gods are Phoe¬
nician. Almost every one of these is actually Hebrew, as
might easily be shown. The names of persons and places
mentioned in the fragments of Sanchoniathon, preserved by
Eusebius, are all of Hebrew complexion. The names men¬
tioned in the Hebrew Scriptures of places which belonged
to the Canaanites prior to the invasion of the Israelites un¬
der Joshua, are as much Hebrew as those which were after¬
wards substituted in their stead. The Punic scene in Plan"
tushas been analysed by Bochart and several other learned
men, by whom the language has been cleaily proved to
be deduced from the Hebrew, with some dialectical varia-
tions. . i , • j ,
The island of Melita, now Malta, was inhabited by a
colony of Phoenicians many ages before the Moors took pos¬
session of it. Amongst the vulgar of that island many Puiiic Chaldaic
vocables are current to this day, all which may be readily Language,
traced up to the Hebrew source. To these we may add many &c-
inscriptions on stones, coins, medals, and the like, which are
certainly Phoenician, and as certainly of Hebrew extraction.
We have thrown together these few hints without pursuing
them to any great length, as we deemed it unnecessary to
dwell long on a point so hackneyed and so generally acknow¬
ledged.
Before we proceed to treat of the ancient language of Origin of
the Ethiopians, we find ourselves obliged to hazard a few the lithio.
strictures touching the origin of that ancient nation. If we can phns.
once settle that single point, the discovery will open an ave¬
nue to their primitive dialect, the point about which we
are chiefly concerned in the present discussion.
In the section concerning the Hebrew language, we were
led often to mention the patriarch Cush the eldest son of
Ham. The posterity of this family chief, under his son
Nimrod, possessed themselves of Shinar, which was after¬
wards denominated Chald&a. These were probably the
Arabians whose kings, according to Eusebius, Africanus,
and other ancient chronologers, reigned in Babylon during
several successive generations. They were the Cushim or
Cushites, whom the learned Mr. Bryant has conducted over
a great part of the world, and to whose industry and inge¬
nuity he has ascribed almost all the inventions, arts, scien¬
ces, laws, policy, religions, and governments, which distin¬
guished mankind in the earliest ages. .
In process of time, the posterity of Chasid or Chesed, cal¬
led Chasdim or Chasidim, in the east, and Chaldeans in
the west, drove out the Cushim, and seized upon their coun¬
try. The Cushim retired westward, and spread themselves
over that part of Arabia situated towards the south-east.
They probably extended themselves over all the eastern
part of that peninsula, from the sea to the wilderness be¬
tween Arabia and Syria, and they were the Ethiopians men¬
tioned in Scripture, by a very unpardonable inadvertency of
our translators. Such, then, in our opinion, were the pri¬
mitive Cushim. ... n j u
Josephus informs us, that all the Asiatics called the
Ethiopians of Africa by the name of Cushim.1 This deno¬
mination was not given them without good reason ; it im¬
ports at least, that they were deemed the descendants of
Cush, because itwas the constant practice of the orientals in
the early ages to denominate nations and tribes from the name
of their great patriarch or founder. The name Cushim must
then have been given to the Ethiopians, from a persuasion
that they were the progeny of the son of Ham who bore
that name. By what route, however, the Cushim penetrat¬
ed into that region of Africa which was called by that name,
it may be taken for granted that they were the descendants
of Cush above mentioned. „ n ,
It has been observed above, that the posterity of Cush
possessed the country of Shinar or Chaldsea at a very early
period, but were expelled by the Chasidim or Chaldeans.
Upon this catastrophe, or perhaps somewhat later, a colony
from the fugitive Cushim transported themselves from ttie
south and south-east coast of Arabia over the sea whicti
lies between that country and Ethiopia. However imper¬
fect the art of navigation might be in that age, the distance
was so small that they might easily enough make a voyage
across that narrow sea in open boats, or perhaps m canoes.
But however that may have been, it cannot be doubteo
that the tribes on both sides of that branch of the sea were
kindred nations. ~ Their lan-
If, then, both the northern and southern Cushim sprung ori.
from the same stock, there can be no doubt that both spoke gjnally
the same language. The language of the Babylonian Cush* cha,daic.
im was Chaldaic, and consequently that of the Ethiopian
Antiq- Judaic- lib. i. c 7*
PHILOLOGY.
375
ildaic Cushim was the same. We may therefore rest assured, ire pi to>v iv Mepoy iepaiu ypafifiaTuiv, concerning the sacred let- Cbaldaic
liguage, that whatever changes the Ethiopian dialect may have un- ters in the island of Meroe ;4 and another concerning the Language,
1'c‘— jdergone in the course of three thousand years, it was ori- sacred letters in Babylon. Had these books survived the &c>-
ginally either Chaldaic, or at least a branch of that language, ravages of time, they would, in this age of research and
Scaliger informs us, that the Ethiopians call themselves curiosity, have determined not only the point under our
Chaldeans; and this, says he, not without reason, because consideration, but likewise the affinity of sacred rites amongst
of the many sacred and profane books which are extant the Chaldeans, Ethiopians, and Egyptians.
amongst them, the most elegant and most beautiful are writ- We have now shown that the Ethiopians were a colony Modem
ten in a style resembling that of the Chaldean or Assyrian, of Cushites ; that the Cushites were originally sovereigns ofEthiopic
MarianusYictorius, who was the first that reduced the Ethiopic Shinar or Chaldea, and consequently spoke either Chaldaic, ton&l,ts-
tongue to the rules of grammar, tells us, in his Procemium, or a dialect of that tongue ; that their colonists must have
that the Ethiopians call their tongue Chaldaic; that it used the same language; and that the ancient Ethiopians were
springs from the Babylonian, and is very like the Hebrew, a people highly polished, and celebrated in the most early
Syriac, and Arabic; and at the same time, he concludes, that ages on account of their virtue and piety. It has likewise
this language may be easily learned by those who are mas- appeared that the common letters of that people were the
ters of the Hebrew. The learned Bochart, and Bishop sacred characters of the Egyptians. These letters, we im-
Walton in his Prolegomena, are clearly of the same opinion, agine, were the Cuphic ; for some account of which see the
The vulgar letters of the Ethiopians, according to Dio- section on the Arabic. When they were discarded, and the
dorus Siculus, were the same with the sacred characters1 of modern letters substituted in their room, cannot be deter-
the Egyptians.2 From this account, if the Sicilian may be mined; nor is it, we apprehend, a matter of much import-
trusted, the sacred letters of these people, concerning which ance. We shall therefore drop that part of the subject, and
so many vague conjectures have been formed, were actually refer our curious and inquisitive readers to the very learned
Chaldaic, To carry on this investigation a little farther, Job Ludolfs excellent grammar and dictionary of the Abys-
we may observe, that Sir William Jones seems to have pro- sinian or Geez tongue,5 where they will find every thing
ved, by very plausible arguments, that the Sanscrit charac- worth knowing on that subject. We shall endeavour to gra¬
ters were deduced from the Chaldaic. This circumstance tify our readers with a very brief account of the modern Ethi-
affords a presumption that the Ethiopian Cushim were like- opic or Abyssinian tongue ; for which we are principally in-
wise concerned with the Egyptians; who, as is remarked in debted to that learned, indefatigable, and adventurous tra¬
ffic section concerning the Sanscrit, probably introduced veller, Bruce; who, by his observations on that country,
the religion of the Brahmans into Hindostan. This is ad- which he made in person, often at the hazard of his life, has
vanced as a conjecture only ; and yet when we consider the discovered, as it were, a new world both to Europe and Asia,
affinity between the Egyptian and the Gentoo religions, we The most ancient language of Ethiopia, which we shall
are strongly inclined to believe that this surmise may one now call by its modern name of Abyssinia, was, according
day be verified by undeniable facts. to that gentleman, the Geez, which was spoken by the an-
k entin- The original Ethiopians were a highly civilized people ; cient Cushite shepherds. This, we should think, approaches
tei iirsc andtheir laws, their institutions, and especially their religion, nearest to the old Chaldaic. Upon a revolution in Ha-
JEo. were celebrated far and wide. Homer talks in raptures of besh, the court resided many years in the province of
pi! and" the Piety of the Ethiopians, and sends his gods every now Amhara, where the people spoke a different language, or at
E; tians. and then to revel twelve days with that devout people. The least a very different dialect of the same language. "During
Sicilian produces a number of very specious arguments to this interval, the Geez, or language of the shepherds, was
prove that these two nations originally sprung from the same dropped, and retained only in writing, as a dead language ;
stock. He mentions a similarity of features, of manners, the sacred Scriptures being in that tongue only saved it from
of customs, of laws, of letters, of the fabrication of statues, going into disuse. This dialect is exceedingly harsh and
and of religion, as evidences of the relation between these two unharmonious. It is full of the letters, D and T, on which
neighbouring nations. There was, as every body knows, a com- an accent is put that nearly resembles stammering. Con-
munion, in regard to sacred rites, between the two countries, sidering the small extent of sea which divides this coun-
The Egyptians sent annually a deputation of their priests, try from Arabia, we need not wonder that it has great af-
ffirnished with the portable statues of their gods, to visit the finity with the Arabic. It is not difficult to be acquired by
fanes of the devout Ethiopians. Upon this occasion, a so- those who understand any other of the oriental languages ;
lemn religious banquet was prepared, which lasted twelve and as the roots of many Hebrew words are only to be
days, and of which the priests of both nations were parta- found here, it seems to be absolutely necessary to all those
kers. It was a kind of sacramental institution, we ima- who wish to obtain a critical skill in that language,
gine, by which both parties publicly avouched their agree- The Ethiopic alphabet consists of twenty-six letters, each Ethiopic
ment in the ceremonies of their religion respectively. These of which, by a virgula or point annexed, varies its sound alphabet,
observations plainly show, that the most ancient Ethiopians in such a manner as that those twenty-six form as it were
were a people highly civilized ; indeed so much, that the sixty-two distinct letters. At first they had only twenty-
Egyptians were at one time contented to be their scholars, five of these original letters, the Latin P being wanting ;
The tone of their language was certainly the same with that so that they were obliged to substitute another letter in its
of the Chaldeans or Arabian Cushim, from whom they are place. Paulus, for example, they call Taulus, Aulus, or
descended. We know not whether there are any books in the Caulus, and Petros they pronounced Ketros. At last they
ancient Ethiopic now extant; so that it is not easy to pro- substituted T, and added this to the end of their alphabet;
duce instances of its coincidence with the Chaldaic. But giving it the force of P, though it was really a repetition of
Diogenes Laertius3 4 5 informs us, that Thrasyllus, in his cata- an old character, rather than the invention of a new one. Be-
ogue of the books composed by Democritus, mentions one, sides these, there are twenty others of the nature of diph-
1 Lib. iii. p. 101, Steph.
lt We had the same observation confirmed by Heliodorus (Ethiopica, lib. x. p. 476.) “ The royal letters of the Ethiopians,” says he,
were the sacred characters of the Egyptians.” Cassiodorus likewise assures us, “that the letters inscribed upon the Egyptian obelisks
were Chaldean.” But recent discoveries have refuted these and other similar statements.
3 Lib. ix. p. 461. Causaubon.
4 Where the capital of Ethiopia was situated,
5 A very learned German, who published a grammar and dictionary of the Geez in folio.
376
Chaldaic
Language,
&c.
PHILOLOGY.
Ancient
language
of Egypt a
sister dia¬
lect of He¬
brew.
thongs ; though some of them are probably not of the same
antiquity with the letters of the alphabet, but have been
invented by the scribes in later times for the sake of con-
venience*
The Amharic, during the long banishment of the royal
family in Shoa, became the language of the court, and seven
new characters were of necessity added to answer the pro¬
nunciation of this new language ; but no book was ever
written in any other language than Geez. There is an old
law in the country, handed down by tradition, that whoever
shall attempt to translate the Holy Scripture into Amharic,
or any other language, his throat shall be cut after the man¬
ner in which they kill sheep, his family sold to slavery, and
his house razed to the ground.
Before we leave this subject, we may further observe, that
all the ancients, both poets and historians, talk of a double
race of Ethiopians; one in India, and another in Africa.
What can have given rise to this opinion, it is not easy to
discover. Perhaps the swarthy complexion of both people
may have led them to entertain this opinion. Eusebius in¬
deed informs us,1 that “ a numerous colony of people emi¬
grated from the banks of the Indus, and, crossing the ocean,
fixed their residence in the country now called Ethiopia.”
For our part, we are rather inclined to believe, that the ori¬
ginal Ethiopians transported themselves into India, and there
perhaps co-operated with the Egyptians in digging the ex¬
cavations, and framing the statues, some of which are still
to be seen in that country, and which we have mentioned in
another section of this article. The Greeks called those
people hldioTTfs, yEthiopes, we believe from their sun-bumed
countenances ; but indeed they were very little acquainted
either with the country or its inhabitants.
The most ancient name of Egypt was Mizraim, and con-
sequently the Arabians still call it Mcsri- It was likewise
distinguished by other names, such as Oceana, Aeria, &c.
It appears from the sacred historian, that it was inhabited
by the descendants of Mizraim, the second son of Ham.
Mizraim had several sons, who, according to the Sciiptmal
account, settled respectively in that country. If we trust
to the sacred records, there will be little difficulty in ascer¬
taining the language of the Mizraim. It will appear to have
been one of the sister dialects of the Hebrew, Phoenician,
Arabic, and Chaldaic. But the origin of the Egyptian peo¬
ple, their language, religion, laws, and institutions, have
been so warped and confounded, both by their own histori¬
ans and by those of other countries, that one is scarcely
able to determine what to believe or what to reject. He¬
rodotus, Diodorus Siculus, Strabo, Ptolemy, and most other
ancient geographers and historians, are universally agreed,
that Egypt, at least that part of it called the Delta, was over¬
flown by the sea, and consequently uninhabitable for many
centuries after the dispersion of mankind. When we con¬
sider the low situation of the Delta, and the violent current
of the tide from the coast of Phoenicia and Palestine towards
that shore, we would be almost tempted to adopt this hy¬
pothesis ; but the sacred records avouch the contrary. Ac¬
cording to them, Egypt was a populous, rich, and flourish¬
ing kingdom, as early as the age of Abraham. But if
Lower Egypt had been a stagnant marsh at any time after
the general deluge, it could scarcely have been drained,
cleared, cultivated, and stocked with inhabitants, as early Chaldaii:
as the days of Abraham. Eanguag;
Diodorus Siculus, however, is positive that the Egypti- &c-
ans were a colony of Ethiopians ;‘2 and this he endeavours''-
to prove by the similarity of features, customs, laws, and re¬
ligious ceremonies, between the two nations. That there
was a constant intercourse of good offices between these
two branches of the Karaites, cannot be questioned ; and
that they nearly resembled each other in many respects, is
too evident to admit of contradiction. The excavations,
originally dug out of the solid rocks of porphyry and mar¬
ble, in which the natives resided before the plains were
drained, have been observed by many judicious travellers,5
who, having visited that region in modern times, are gene¬
rally of opinion that the land has gained nothing on the sea
since the period when Herodotus wrote his description of
that country; and from this circumstance we may conclude,
that the idea of the inundation of the Delta is not founded
in fact.4
But even admitting that the Egyptian Delta has acquired
nothing from the sea since the age of Herodotus to the pre¬
sent, it certainly does not follow that the region in question
was never overflowed ; since there are in many parts of the
globe, large tracts of land, certainly once covered with sea,
which have continued to this day in the very same situa¬
tion in which they were two thousand years ago. The de¬
cision of this point, however, we leave to the judgment of
our readers.
We have already hinted our opinion of the nature of the
Egyptian language; but because Egypt is generally thought
to have been the native land of hieroglyphics, and because
many are of opinion that hieroglyphical characters were
prior to alphabetical, we shall hazard a few conjectures re¬
specting that species of writing.
The end of speech, in general, is to enable men to com-
municate their thoughts and conceptions to one another hjerogiy.
when present; and the use of writing is to perform the samephics.
office when people are at so great a distance that vocal sounds
cannot mutually reach them. Hieroglyphics are said to
have been invented to supply this defect.6 The most an¬
cient languages were everywhere full of tropes and. figures
borrowed from sensible objects. As in that stage of society
men have not learned to abstract and generalize, all their
ideas are borrowed from such objects as most forcibly strike
their senses. This circumstance would naturally suggest
to savages the idea of conveying their sentiments to each
other, when absent, by delineations of corporeal objects.
Thus, if a savage asked a loan of his friend’s horse, he might
find means to have conveyed to him the figure of that animal;
and so of other things. This was the very lowest species of
graphic communication, and has been styled picture-writing.
But necessity would soon impel our savage correspondents
to fabricate a method more extensively useful, which would
likewise be suggested by the constant use of the metapho¬
rical mode of speech. Some savage leader, more sagacious
than the vulgar herd, would observe that certain sensible
objects were fitted, according to the rules of analogy, to re¬
present certain human passions, and even some abstract
ideas ; and this notion would readily enough be adopted by
the many as a new improvement. In this case a horn might
quire important moaincauons. Having ucci. lw ... —  , . ° „ . „ . “ f f„r thp most re¬
plays, we have not conceived it necessary to expunge this defective portion of it; deeming it sufficient to refer the fe^er f o. ^
cent information to the article Hieroglyphics, and believing that it would even be interesting to compare the opinions ert • ^
most learned men of the last generation, with the results which have been obtained from more auspicious and fortunate i v g
in our own day.
PHILOLOGY. 377
ihaldaic be the emblem of 'power, a .word of bravery, a lion of fury, a
ngmge, f0x of cunning, a serpent of malice, and so on. By and by
&c- artificial signs might be contrived to express such ideas as
could not readily be denoted by bodily objects; and thismight
be called symbolical writing. Such was the foundation of the
Chinese characters; and hence the prodigious number ofcha¬
racters of which the written language of that people is com¬
posed. Farther they could not proceed, notwithstanding
their boasted inventive powers ; and farther, we believe, no
nation ever did proceed, who had once upon a time no other
characters but hieroglyphics. The Mexicans had arrived
at the very lowest stage of hieroglyphical writing, but had
not taken one step towards alphabetical. The Hurons em¬
ployed hieroglyphical symbols, but never entertained a single
» idea of alphabetical. Hieroglyphical characters are the im¬
ages of objects conveyed to the mind by the organs of vi¬
sion ; alphabetical are arbitrary artificial marks of sound, ac¬
commodated by compact to convey to the mind the ideas of
objects by the organs of hearing. In a word, we think that
there is not the least analogy between these two species to
conductusfrom the one to the other; and we are therefore of
opinion, that hieroglyphical characters were never the vul¬
gar channels of conveyance amongst civilized people.
We know that in this point we differ from many learned,
judicious, and ingenious writers, some of whom have taken
much pains to investigate the intermediate stages through
which the fabricators of characters must have passed in their
progress from hieroglyphical to alphabetical writing. These
authors have adopted a plan analogous to Bishop Wilkins’
project of an artificial language. In this theory, we own,
we were led to suspect that they supposed all mankind were
once upon a time savages, and were left to hammer out
words, as well as characters, by necessity, ingenuity, expe¬
rience, or accident. For our part, we have endeavoured
to prove, in the section on the Hebrew language, that al¬
phabetical writing was an antediluvian invention ; and we
have now to state it as our opinion, that amongst all those na¬
tions which settled near the centre of civilization, hierogly¬
phics were comparatively a modern fabrication.
The Orientals are, at this day, extravagantly devoted to
allegory and fiction. Plain unadorned truth has to them
no charms. Hence that extravagant medley of fables and
romance with which all antiquity is replete, and by which
all ancient history is disfigured and corrupted. Every doc¬
trine of religion, every precept of morality, was tendered to
mankind in parables and proverbs. Hence Scripture speaks
of understanding a proverb, the words of the wise, and their
dark sayings. The eastern sages involved their maxims in
this enigmatical dress for several reasons. They wished to
fix the attention of their disciples, to assist their memory, to
gratify their allegorical taste, to sharpen their wit and exer¬
cise their judgment, and sometimes perhaps to display their
own acuteness, ingenuity, and invention. It was amongst
the ancients an universal opinion, that the most sacred arcana
of religion, morality, and the sublime sciences, were not to
be communicated to the uninitiated rabble. For this rea¬
son every thing sacred was involved in allegorical mystery.
Here, then, we ought to look for the origin of hierogly¬
phical or picture-writing amongst the civilized nations of the
East. They did not employ that species of writing because
they were ignorant of alphabetical characters, but because
they thought fit to conceal the most important heads of their
doctrines under hieroglyphical figures. The Egyptian priests
were most celebrated for their skill in devising those emble¬
matical representations; but other nations likewise employ¬
ed them. We learn from the fragments of Berosus the Chaldaic
Chaldean historian, preserved by Syncellus and Alexander Language
Polyhistor, that the walls of the temple of Belus at Babylon t _ c~
were covered all over with such emblematical paintings.
These characters were called lepoi, because they were chiefly
employed to represent sacred objects ; and yXvQaca, because
they were originally carved or engraved. Their name points
to their original use.1
From the above deduction we would conclude, that this
species of w riting was an adventitious mode in Egypt, pecu¬
liar to the priests, and employed chiefly to exhibit things sa¬
cred ; and that amongst all civilized people it did not super¬
sede the use of alphabetical characters, nor did the use of the
latter originate from the former. When alphabetical letters
were invented, if indeed they were a human invention, they
were antecedent to the other in use and in extent. The
Egyptian priests alone knew the true import of those sacred
symbols; and communicated that knowledge first to their own
children from generation to generation, then to the initiated,
and last of all to the grandees of the nation, all of whom
were indeed initiated. The hieroglyphics of Egypt were
not then the symbols of any sacred occult language, but
signs invented by the priests, and prophets or wise men, in
order to represent their deities, the attributes and perfec¬
tions of their gods, the mysteries of their religion, and many
other circumstances relating to objects of importance, which
were deemed either too sacred or too important to be im¬
parted to the vulgar.
The Egyptians ascribed the invention of letters to a per¬
son whom they called Thoth, Theuth or Thyoth? the Greeks
'Epprjs, and the Romans Mercurius. Plato calls him a god,
or a godlike man ;3 Diodorus makes him privy counsellor to
Osiris ;4 Sanchoniathon connects him with the Phoenician
Kronos or Saturn.5 To this Mercury the Egyptians ascribe
the invention of all the arts and sciences. He was probably
some very eminent inventive genius, who flourished during
the first ages of the Egyptian monarchy, and who perhaps
taught the rude savages the art of writing.
According to Diodorus Siculus, the Egyptians had two Two kinds
kinds of letters ;6 the one sacred, the other common. The 0.^ a/P^a^e"
former the priests taught their own children, the latter all hi
learned promiscuously. In the sacred characters the rites Egypt,
and ceremonies of their religion were couched; the other sort
of writing was accommodated to the ordinary business of life.
Clemens Alexandrinus mentions three different styles of writ-
ingemployedby the Egyptians.7 “ The pupils, who were in¬
structed by the Egyptians, firstlearned the order and arrange¬
ment of the Egyptian letters, which is called epistolographic,
that is, the manner of writing letters; next, tbe hieratic cha¬
racter, which the sacred scribes employed; lastly, the hiero¬
glyphic character, one part of which is expressed by the first
elements, and is called cyriologicox capital, and the other sym¬
bolic. Of the symbolic kind, one part explains properly by
imitation; and the other is written tropically, that is, in
tropes and figures ; and a thix-d by certain enigmatical ex¬
pressions. Accordingly, when we intend to write the word
sun, we describe a circle ; and when the moon, the figure
of the planet appearing horned, conformably to the appear¬
ance of that luminary after the change.” In this passage we
have an excellent descxfiption of the three different modes
of writing used by the Egyptians ; the common, the sacred, ^,j]e sacre^
and the hieroglyphic. The last Clemens describes accord-jetterg and
ing to its three divisions, in exact conformity to our preced- language of
ing observations. Egypt
By the description above translated, it plainly appears, Chaldaic.
* Instead of pursuing these observations, which the nature of our design will not permit, we must refer our readers to Herodotus, lib. ii.
Diodorus Sic. lib. i. Strabo, lib. xvii. Plut. Isis et Osiris; and amongst the Christian fathers to Clemens Alexandrinus Stromata, and
Eusebius Praparatio Evangelii, but chiefly to Horus Apollo’s Hieroglypldca-
Eusebius, Frcep. Evang. 3 Pluedrus. 4 Lib. i. 5 Prap Evang. Lib. i. 7 Stromata, lib. v.
VOL. XVII. 3 B
378
PHILOLOGY.
Chaldaic that the sacred characters of the Egyptians were entirely dif-
Language, ferent from the hieroglyphic ; and by this consideration we
^£C* are in a great measure justified, in supposing, as we have
'all along done, that the sacred letters of the Egyptians were
actually the Chaldaic. The inscriptions on the obelisks
mentioned by Cassiodorus, so often quoted, were certainly
engraved in the sacred characters ; but it the sacred cha¬
racters were Chaldaic, the sacred language was probably the
same.
The Egyptians pretended that the Babylonians derived
from them the knowledge of the arts and sciences ; whilst,
on the other hand, the Babylonians maintained, that the
Egyptians had been tutored by them. The fact is, they both
spoke the same language, used the same religious rites, and
had applied with equal success to astrology, astronomy, geo¬
metry, arithmetic, and the other sciences ; hence there had
arisen between the two nations a rivalship, which laid the foun¬
dation of these opposite pretensions. The most faithful spe¬
cimen of the vulgar language of the Egyptians, is, we believe,
still preserved in the Coptic, which, however, is so replete
with Grecisms, that it must be difficult to trace it out.
Under the Ptolemies, the Greek was the language of the
court, and consequently must have diffused itself oyer a great
part of the country. Hence, much of the Coptic consists
of Greek words, diversified only by their terminations, de¬
clensions, and conjugations. To be convinced of the truth
of this, the learned and curious reader need only consult
Christian Scholtz’s Egyptian and Coptic grammar and dic¬
tionary, corrected and published by Godfred Woide, Ox¬
ford, 1788.
The Evyp- The Egyptians and Phoenicians were in a manner cousins-
tians and german, and consequently must have spoken the same lan-
Phoenician guage; that is, one of the sister dialects of the Hebrew, Chal-
languages dean, Arabian, Cushite, and others. This is not a mere con-
the same. jectUre ; it may be realized by almost numberless examples.
It is true, that when Joseph’s brethren went down to Egypt,
and that ruler deigned to converse with them, they could
not understand the Egyptian idiom which he spoke; nor
would he, had he been actually an Egyptian, have under¬
stood them without an interpreter. The only conclusion from
this circumstance is, that by the time in question the Egyp¬
tian had deviated considerably from the original language
of mankind. The Irish and Welch, every body knows, are
only different dialects of the Celtic tongue; and yet expe¬
rience proves, that a native of Ireland and another of \\ ales,
cannot well comprehend each other’s language, nor converse
intelligibly without an interpreter. The Gaelic spoken in the
Highlands of Scotland, and the Irish, are known to be both
branches of the old Celtic; yet a Scotch Highlander and an
Irishman can scarcely understand each other’s speech. By
a parity of reason, a Hebrew and an Egyptian might, in the
age of Joseph, speak only different dialects of the same ori¬
ginal tongue, and yet find it difficult to understand each
other. The fact seems to be, the Hebrew dialect had been
in a manner stationary, from the migration of Abraham to
that period ; whereas the Egyptian, being spoken by a pow¬
erful, civilized, and highly cultivated people, must have re¬
ceived many improvements, perhaps additions, in the course
of nearly two centuries.
The vulgar The descendants of Canaan and of Mizraim were strictly
letters of connected in their religious ceremonies. They worshipped
Egypt- the same objects, namely, the host of Heaven ; they mourn¬
ed for Osiris and Adonis in concert; they carried on a joint
commerce, and, as we think, spoke the same language. We
may therefore conclude, that their vtdgar letters were nearly Chaldaic
the same, both in form, in disposition, and in number. Their Language;
original number was probably sixteen, viz. five vowels, six^&c> j
mutes, simple and middle, four liquids, and the solitary <t.
With these, it is likely, was joined a mark of aspiration, or
an A, such as we have in the Roman alphabet, and find on
some Greek monuments. Cadmus wras originally an Egyp¬
tian; and that leader brought a new set of letters into Greece.
These are generally deemed Phoenician. But they were
nearly the same with the ancient Pelasgic, as will be shown
in the section on the Greek language. T he latter, we think,
were from Egypt, and consequently the former must have
been from the same region. Danaus, Perseus, Lelex, and
others were of Egyptian extraction; and they too adopted
the Cadmean characters, without substituting any of their
own.
The Jonim or lonians, emigrated from Gaza, an Egyp¬
tian colony; and their letters are known to have differed
very little from those of Cadmus and the Pelasgians. The
conclusion therefore is, that the vulgar Egyptian letters
were the same with the Phoenician.
We are abundantly sensible that there are found upon Egyp¬
tian monuments characters altogether different from those
which we have here been describing. At what time, by what
people, and to what language these letters belonged, we will
not pretend to determine. The Ethiopians, the Chaldeans,
the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans, and the Saracens, have
at different times been sovereigns of that unhappy country;
and other nations, whose memory is now buried in oblivion,
may have erected monuments, and covered them with inscrip¬
tions composed of words taken from different languages, and
whimsically devised, with a view to perplex the curious anti¬
quaries of future ages. Some of these are composed of hiero¬
glyphics intermingled with alphabetical characters, artifici¬
ally disarranged, in order to render them unintelligible; but
we do not pretend to develope such texts, because the most
inquisitive and sagacious antiquaries are not yet agreed as to
their purport and signification.1 2
We shall now proceed to show, that most part of the names Egyptian
of persons and places which have been conveyed down to names of
us, may, in general, be reduced to a Hebrew, Phoenician, 6
Syrian, or Chaldean original. As the first of these languages gj8
is most generally known, we shall therefore employ it as our
arch-type or standard, and begin with those terms which
occur in Scripture.
The word Pharaoh, the title of the melech or king of
Egypt, is, we think, compounded of two terms, which plain¬
ly0 discover a Hebrew original. According to an oriental
tradition, the first who assumed this title was the sovereign
of the Hycshos or Royal Shepherds, a race of people from
Arabia and Phoenicia. At an early period they conquered
Egypt, and kept possession of that country for several cen¬
turies. They gloried in the title of Wot or inovo-oi, which ac¬
cording to Josephus, (contra Apion.) signifies royal shep¬
herds. The word Pharaoh, seems to be compounded of IS
Phar, a bullock, and nm, Rachah, to feed ; hence we think
it ought to be written ny“iS, Pharachah? The name given
to Joseph is evidently of kin with the Hebrew ; for zaphnath
differs very little from the Hebrew verb tzaphan, which sig¬
nifies to hide, to keep secret, and paneah ox phaneah, signi¬
fies much the same with the Hebrew phanah, aspexit; so
that the name actually intimates one who sees hidden things,
which was certainly the very idea the prince intended to be
conveyed by giving him that name.3
1 This, though no longer applicable, was strictly true at the time when the above article was written. nnrTinoepH of pa sjgni-
2 This, we think, is a mistake. The word written Pharaoh in Hebrew, was written Phra in Egyptian, and is composed o , ^
tying the sun, and the ordinary prefix Ph, signifying of or from; so that Phra, or, by the insertion of a v^vel’.PAa^’7^ f { tbe time
descended of the sun. Hence the word Pharaoh is not a proper name, but a generic term applicable to all the kings of Egypt,
of Rhameses to the extinction of the last dynasty of native sovereigns. ,. , . * rnniie language.
3 For the true explanation of this name, Zaphnathpaneah, see the section of the article Hieroglyphics, which treats of the Coptic g g
PHILOLOGY.
Persian Potiphar or Potipherah, the name of Joseph’s father-in-
inguage- Jaw, has likewise a dialectical affinity with the Hebrew idiom,
fr- that language patah signifies to open, to explain, which
was one part of the sacerdotal office, and phar imports a
bullock.1 Potiphar was then priest of the bullock, that is,
the ox, apis, sacred to the sun? This person was priest or
prince of On, which, according to Cyrillus on Hosea, wras
an Egyptian name of that luminary. The Hebrew word
hon or chon, signifies power, wealth, sufficiency ; a very pro¬
per epithet for the Sun, who was thought to bestow those
blessings. The name of Joseph’s wife was Asenath, or As-
nath, compounded of ishah, a woman, and Naith or Neith,
an Egyptian name of Minerva, a votary of Minerva.
Almost all the names of cities belonging to Egypt which
are mentioned in Scripture are evidently Hebrew. To be
satisfied as to this position, the curious reader may consult
Jamieson’s Spicilegia, an excellent book, though very little
known. The names of most of the Egyptian deities are signi¬
ficant in the Hebrew tongue ; and in that dialect these names
appear to have been imposed with great judgment and pro¬
priety, all of them plainly indicating some office assigned
them, or pointing to some peculiar attribute. We shall pro¬
duce a few instances.
Osiris was the great divinity of Egypt, and he was cer¬
tainly the Sun. The Egyptians gave their deities a variety
of names in allusion to their various offices and attributes.
Jablonski has in a manner wearied himself with tracing the
signification of this name. In Hebrew we have oshir, to
grow rich, to be enriched. The sun may be called the great
enricher of nature, and therefore might properly be called
by a name alluding to that quality. Isis was both the moon
and the earth. Ishah is the Hebrew word for woman, and
Homs Apollo assigns this very derivation. Anubis was one of
the names of Mercury amongst the Egyptians, and he was al¬
ways represented with the head of a dog. He accompanied Isis
in her peregrinations in quest of Osiris, and frightened away
the wild beasts from attacking the princess. In Hebrew,
nubah signifies to bark. Here then the analogy is, we think,
evident. Many Egyptian names begin with Can, such as
Canobus, Canopus, &c. The Hebrew word cahen or co-
hen, in Syriac con or chon, intimates both a prince and a
priest. Ob or aub, in Hebrew, imports a bottle, a flaggon,
any thing round and prominent like the human belly. In
the language of Egypt it was often applied to the sun, in
allusion to his rotundity. In the temple of Jupiter Ammon
or Amon, in the desert of Libya, there was a statue of the
god representing the navel of the human body, which was
probably framed in allusion to this fancy. Hence the Py¬
thoness, or people who, according to the Scripture, had fa¬
miliar spirits, were said to prophecy by the inspiration of Ob,
as the Delphic priestess did by that of Apollo. Again, many
Egyptian names end with siris, as Busiris, Calasiris, Termosi-
ris. This termination is no doubt a cognate ofthe Hebrew and
Chaldean sar or zar, signifying a prince, or grandee. The
river Nile in the Ethiopian dialect is denominated Siris; that
is, we believe, the king of rivers. The same stream seems
to derive the name by which it is generally known, from the
Hebrew nehel, a valley, or a torrent running down a valley.
The same river was often called oceanus, a word composed
of og, oc, or och, which signifies a king, a leader, and the He¬
brew oin, a fountain ; so that the word imports the king of
fountains. The Hebrews always denominated the land of
the land of Mizraim ; and the Egyptians themselves,
in later times, appear to have called it 'ALyvn-ros, AEgyptus,
which some think is compoundedof af, signifying in Hebrew
379
an island, a country, a province, and Copt or Cupt, a famous Persian
city in that country.3 Language.
From these specimens, we hope it will appear that the Egyp-
tian language in the more early ages was one of those dia¬
lects into which that of the descendants of the postdiluvian
patriarchs was divided, and perhaps subdivided, a few cen¬
turies after the deluge. Amongst all these, we believe, such
an affinity will be found, as plainly demonstrates that they
originally sprung from one common stock. Besides, we might
easily follow the Egyptian language into Greece, and there
trace a great number of Egyptian terms transplanted into
Greek ; a task, however, which the nature of this inquiry
will not permit. If our learned readers should incline to
know more of the affinity of the Egyptian tongue with the
others so often mentioned, they may consult Bochart’s Cha-
naan, Walton’s Prolegomena, Gebelin’s Monde Primitif,
Jamieson’s Spicilegia, and other works.
SECT. IV. OP THE PERSIAN LANGUAGE.
The Persian language is divided into the ancient and mo¬
dern. The former of these is now very imperfectly known ;
the latter is one of the most expressive, and at the same
time one of the most highly polished, in the world. In treat¬
ing of this language, we shall, in compliance with the plan
we have all along followed, begin with the ancient.
When Mohammed was born, and Anushiravan, whom he At the birth
calls the just king, sat on the throne of Persia, two languages of Moham-
were generally prevalent in that empire.3 The one called med two
Deree, was the dialect of the court, being only a refined and
elegant branch of the Parsec, so called from the province off^p^.^
which Shiraz is now the capital; and the other, being that of
thelearned, in whichmostbooks were composed, had received
the name of Pahlavi, either from the heroes who spoke it
in former times, or from pahlu, a tract of land which includ¬
ed some considerable cities of Iran. The ruder dialects of
both were spoken by the rustics of several provinces ; and
many of these distinct idioms were vernacular, as happens
in every kingdom of considerable extent. Besides the Parsee
and Pahlavi, a very ancient and abstruse tongue was known
to the priests and philosophers, called the language of the
Zend, because a book on religious and moral duties which
they held sacred, and which bore that name, had been writ¬
ten in it; whilst the Pazend or commentary on that work
was composed in Pahlavi, as a more popular dialect. The
letters of this book were called zend, and the language
avesta.
The Zend and the old Pahlavi are now almost extinct in
Iran, and very few even of the Guebres can read it; whilst
the Parsee remaining almost pure in the Shah-nameh, has, by
the intermixture of Arabic words, and many imperceptible
changes, now become a new language, exquisitely polished
by a series of fine writers both in prose and verse, analogous
to the different idioms gradually formed in Europe after the
subversion of the Roman empire.
The learned and indefatigable Sir William Jones is con- Parsee lan-
fident that the Parsee abounds with Sanscrit words, which guage.
have undergone no other change than such as may be ob¬
served in the numerous dialects of India; that many Per¬
sian imperatives are the roots of Sanscrit verbs ; and that
even the moods and tenses of the Persian verb substantive,
which is the model of all the rest, are deducible from the Sans¬
crit by an easy and obvious analogy. From all this he infers
that the Parsee, like the various idiomatic dialects, is derived
from the language of the Brahmins. But the conclusion is,
in<*o/: ^Ct ^>ot^ar’m Egyptian Puti-phre, means priest of the sun, from puti, priest, and ra or re, the sun, with the prefix ph, signi-
* The Septuagint, (Gen. xli. 45, 50,) translate On by 'HX/oTaX/f.
« Eor the true mythology of ’Aiyuvros, JEgyptus, seethe article Egypt, sub initio.
f he moderns call the empire of Persia Iran, a name unknown to the ancients.
380
i-’ersian
Language.
PHILOLOGY.
The Pah.
lahvi.
we imagine, not altogether just, since by the same train of
reasoning we may infer that the Sanscrit is derived from ic
* Parsee. The same learned gentleman adds, that the multitude
of compounds in the Persian language proves that it is not
of Arabian but Indian origin. This is undoubtedly true; but
though the Parsee is not of Arabian, it does not necessari¬
ly follow that it is of Sanscrit origin. It might with the
same propriety, and with an equal show of reason be con¬
cluded, that the Greek language is descended of the Sans¬
crit, because it too abounds with compounds. We may then
rest assured, that neither the one nor the other argument ad¬
duced by the ingenious president prov es that the Parsee is
a descendant of the Sanscrit. _ ,
The same illustrious scholar assures us, that the Zend
bears a strong resemblance to the Sanscrit; which, how¬
ever, it might do without being actually derived from it,
since we believe every oriental scholar will find that all the
languages from the Mediterranean to the utmost coast of
Hindustan exhibit very strong indications of a common on-
The Parsee, however, not being the original dialect
Pahlavi
derived
from Chat
daic and
Sanscrit.
of Iran or Persia, we shall not pursue it farther at present,
but proceed to give some account of the Pahlayi, which was
probably the primitive language of the country. We have
observed, above, that the Pazend or commentary on the Zend
was composed for the use of the vulgar in the Pahlavi, which,
according to Sir William Jones, was a dialect of the Ghaldaic;
an assertion of which he exhibits the following pi oof.
From the nature of the Chaldean tongue, most w ords ended
in thn first long vowel, like shemaia, heaven ; and that very
word, unaltered in a single letter, we find in the Pazend, to¬
gether with lailia, night, meya, water, mra, fire, mafm, ram,
and a multitude of others, all Arabic or Hebrew, with a Chal¬
dean termination. In like manner, zamar, by a beautiful
metaphor from pruning trees, means in Hebrew to compose
verses, and thence, by an easy transition, to sing them ; but
in Pahlavi we find the verb zamaruniten, to sing, with its
forms zamaraunemi, I sing, and zamzunid, he sang, the
verbal terminations of the Persian being added to the Ghal¬
daic root. All these words are integral parts of the language,
and not adventitious like the Arabic nouns and verbals en¬
grafted on the modern Persian.
From this reasoning it plainly appears, firstly, thatPahlavi
was the ancient language of Persia; and, secondly, that the
ancient Persian was a cognate dialect of the Chaldean, He-
brew, Arabic, Phoenician, &c. M. Anquetil has annexed to
his translation of the Zendavesta two vocabularies in Zend
and Pahlavi, which he found in an approved collection of Ra-
wayat or traditional pieces in modern Persian. His vocabu¬
lary of the Pahlavi strongly confirms this opinion concerning
the Chaldaic origin of that language. But with respect to
the Zend, it abounded with numbers of pure Sanscrit words,
to such a degree, indeed, that six or shven words in ten be¬
longed to that language.
From this deduction it would appear, that the oldest lan¬
guages of Persia were Chaldaic and Sanscrit, and that when
they had ceased to be vernacular, the Pahlavi and Zend were
deduced from them respectively, and the Parsee either from
the Zend, or immediately from the dialect of the Brahmins ;
but all had perhaps a mixture of the Tartarian, for the best
lexicographers assert, that numberless words in ancient Per¬
sian are taken from the Cimmerians. With respect to the
last of these, we cannot help being of opinion, that colonies
of people from the neighbourhood of Persia had transported
themselves into Crim Fartary, and perhaps into Purope, and
that these colonists brought along with them those terms
which still occur in their dialect. Emigrants from the same
region must have found their way into Scandinavia, since
numberless Persian words are still current in those regions.
Perhaps Odin and his followers emigrated from the neigh¬
bourhood of Media and Persia, and brought with them the Persian
dialect of the nations from whose country they had taken Language,
their departure. j
With respect to the Zend, it might well be considered as a The Zend:
dialect of the Sanscrit; it was probably a sacred language, and from the
if so, concealed from the vulgar, and reserved for the officessame
of religion. If Zoroastres, or Zaratusht as the Orientals callsource-
him, travelled into Egypt, and was initiated in the myste¬
ries of the Egyptian religion, as some pretend that he was, he
might have been instructed in the sacred dialect of that peo¬
ple by the priests under whom he studied ; and when he re¬
turned into Persia, and became the apostle of a new religion,
he might have composed the volume of his laws and religious
institutions in the sacred language of his Egyptian tutors.
This language then became that of the Magi, who concealed
it carefully from the knowledge of the uninitiated, as the
priests did in Egypt and the Brahmins in Hindustan.
In the section on the Sanscrit language, we shall give a
detail of a number of particulars, which to us seem to fur¬
nish a presumption that the language in question was import¬
ed from Egypt into Hindustan. We confess there are not
sufficient data to improve these presumptions into absolute
certainty ; but we hope the time is not very distantwhen the
members of the Asiatic Society will discover abundant ma¬
terials to ascertain the truth of this position. We are the
rather inclined to adopt this hypothesis, when we consider
the character of Zoroastres in connection with that of the
Egyptian Cohens and of the Indian Brahmins. *.
If this opinion should one day prove to be well-founded, we
believe that the coincidence between the language of the
Zend and the Sanscrit will be easily accounted for, without
making the Hindus masters of Iran or Persia, and then driv¬
ing them back to the shores of the Ganges. T. hat the na¬
tions of Turan or Scythia did actually overrun that country,
and make themselves masters of a considerable part of it at
different times, is vouched by the records and traditions of
the Persians themselves ; and upon those occasions a number
of Tartarian words might be introduced into the country,
and acquire a currency amongst the inhabitants. Butas the
annals of ancient Persia have long since been destroyed, it
is impossible to ascertain either the extent or duration of
these irruptions ; indeed the nature of our design does not
call for or admit such investigation.
In order to corroborate the cognation between the dial- pr00fs
daic and the Pahlavi languages, we shall subjoin a few argu-from Scrip
ments derived from the Mosaic history, and the other writ-tureofti,
ings of the Old Testament. These, we believe, will be a(J' or‘g'n J,
mitted as irrefragable proofs of the position above advanced,^
by such as admit the authenticity of the sacred records.
Elam is generally allowed to have been the progenitor of
the Persians. This patriarch was the eldest son of Shem who
was the son of Noah ; and according to the Mosaic account,
his posterity settled in the neighbourhood of the descendants
of Ashur, Arphaxad, Lud, and Aram, the other sons of Shem.
The country where they settled was denominated Elymais,
as late as the beginning of the Christian era ; and this name
was retained until the Saracens conquered and took posses¬
sion of that country. If such was the case, then the Elam¬
ites or Persians must have spoken a dialect of the primary
language, which, in the first section of this article, we prov¬
ed to have been the Hebrew.
When the four eastern monarchs invaded the five cities
of the plain in Canaan,2 Chedorlaomer king of Elam was at
the head of the confederacy ; Amraphel king of Shinar, that
is, of Babylon or Chaldea, was one of the allies ; Arioch king
of Elasar was another ; and Tidal, king of some scattered
nations in the same neighbourhood, was the fourth. ia
Chedorlaomer was the principal in this expedition, is obvious
from the historian’s detail of the second, where that prince
1 Strabo, lib- ii.
2 Gen. xiv.
PHILOLOGY. 381
PersiHn is placed first, and the rest are named “the kings that were sianscall Turan, often invaded and overran Persia at a very Persian
language, with him.” This passage likewise demonstrates, that Elam, early period. The consequence was, an infusion of Scythian Language.
Shinar, and Elasar, lay contiguous, and were engaged in or Tartarian terms, with which that language was early im-'^^^V-^'
the same cause. Wherever the country in question is men- pregnated. This in all probability occasioned the first de-
tioned in Scripture prior to the era of Daniel and Ezra, it viation from the original standard. The conquest of Alex¬
is always under the name of Elam. To go about to prove ander, and the dominion of his successors, must, one would
this would be superfluous. imagine, have introduced an inundation of Greek words. That
According to Xenophon,1 the Persians knew nothing of event, however, seems to have affected the language in no
horsemanship before the age of Cyrus; but the same historian considerable degree, at least very few Grecian terms occur
informs us, that after that monarch had introduced the prac- in the modern Persian.
tice of fighting on horseback, they became so fond of it, The empire of the Arsacidce or Parthians, we apprehend,
that no man of rank would deign to fight on foot. Here it produced a very important alteration in the ancient Per-
ought to be considered, that this historian was now writing sian. They were a demi-Scythian tribe ; and as they con-
a moral, military, and political romance, and therefore in- quered the "Persians, retained the dominion of Persia dur-
tioduced this anecdote, in order to exalt the character of his ing several centuries, and actually incorporated with the na-
heio , so that we are not to suppose that the people in tives, their language must necessarily have given a deep
question were unacquainted with the art of equitation until tincture to the original dialect of the Persians. Sir William
that peiiod. . Jones has observed, that the letters of the inscriptions at
The very name Phars or Pharas is certainly of Hebrew Istakhar or Persepolis bear some resemblance to the old Ru-
origin, and alludes to the skill that people professed in horse- nic letters of the Scandinavians. Those inscriptions we con-
manship. The original seems to be pharsah, ungula, a ceive to have been Parthian ; and, as the Parthians were a
hoof; and in the Arabic pharas intimates a horse, and pha- Tartarian clan, we think this conjecture maybe admitted till
ris a horseman. Consequently the people were denominat- another more plausible is discovered. The Persians, it is true,
ed Parsai, and the country Para, because they were trained did once more recover the empire, and under them be "an
from their infancy to ride the great horse, which indeed the reign of the Deree and Parsee tongues ; the former con-
they deemed their greatest honour. This name was perhaps sisting of the old Persian and Parthian highly polished ; the
at first imposed upon them by the neighbouring nations, and latter of the same languages in their uncultivated vernacu-
in process of time became their common gentile appellation, lar dress. In this situation the Persian language remained
Mithras is generally known to have been the chief divinity till the invasion of the Saracens in 636, when these barba-
of the Persians ; a name which is plainly derived from mi- rians overran and settled in that fine country; demolished
ther, great. We find in Strabo the Persian god Amanus, every monument of antiquity, records, temple's, palaces, and
which is plainly a cognate of hamah, the sun or fire. Hence every remain of ancient superstition ; massacred or expell-
we believe comes hamarim, the hearths or chapels, where ed the ministers of the Magian idolatry ; and introduced a
the fire sacred to the sun was always kept burning, and which language, which though not entirely new, yet differed widely
the Greeks called Uvpa8fia, or fire temples. Herodotus2 from the old exemplar.
mentions a custom amongst the Persians, according to Rut before we proceed to give some brief account of the
which, w hen they came to engage an enemy, they cast a modern Persian, we must take the liberty of hazarding one
rope with a kind of gin at the end of it on their enemy, and conjecture, wEich perhaps the adepts in the modern Persian
by this means endeavoured to entangle and draw him into may not be very well disposed to admit. In the modern
their power. The people of Persia who employed this net language we find the ancient Persian names wonderfully dis-
or gin were called Sargates, from sarags, sherag, or serig, torted and deflected from that form under which they ap-
a woid w hich in Hebrew, Arabic, and Chaldaic, signifies pear in Scripture, as well as in Ctesias, Megasthenes, and the
to hamper or entangle ; and hence perhaps the Greek word Greek authors. From this it has been inferred, that not
lapyavt], a basket or net. Sar or zar in Hebrew, Phcenici- only the Greeks, but even the sacred historians of the Jews,
an, and Syriac, signifies a lord, a prince ; and hence we have have changed and metamorphosed, them most unmercifully,
the initial syllable of the far-famed Zartusht or Zoroaster, in order to accommodate them to the standard of their own
In a word, most of the Persian names that occur in the language. As to the Greeks, we know that this was their
Grecian histories, notwithstanding the scandalous manner constant practice, but we cannot believe as much of the
in which they have been disguised and metamorphosed by Hebrews,who, we make no doubt, wrote and pronounced the
the Greeks, may still with a little skill and industry be traced names of the Persian monarchs and governors of that na-
back to a Hebrew, Chaldaic, Syriac, or Phoenician origin, tion nearly in the same manner with the native Persians.
In the books of Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther, we It is manifest, beyond all possibility of contradiction, that ‘
find a number of Persian names which are all of a Hebrew they altered neither the Tyrian and Phoenician names of
or a Chaldaic complexion. But to investigate these at much persons and places when they had occasion to mention them,
greater length would be foreign to the design of the present nor those of the Egyptians when any such occurred in their
article; though, ifthe curious reader should incline to be more writings. The Babylonian and Chaldean names which are
fully satisfied respecting this point, he may consult Bochart’s mentioned in the Old Testament vary in nothing from the
Uianaan, lyiltrhAo^aBibliothequeOrientale, and Walton’s Chaldean original. But no reason can be assigned why they
Prolegomena. should have transformed the Persian names more than the
It thus appears, that the Pahlavi is a remnant of the old others. On the contrary, in Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther,
Persian, and that the latter is a cognate branch of the He- we find the Persian names faithfully preserved throughout!
brew, Chaldaic, Syriac, and Phoenician. We have likewise The fact, we imagine, is this. Our modern admirers of Nothing
produced some presumptive proofs that the Zend was copied the Persian have borrowed their names of the ancient kings now exists
from the sacred language of the Egyptians ; and shall now and heroes of that country from romances and fabulous le-in Pei'sic»
endeavour to explain by what changes and revolutions the gends of more modern date and composition. The archives yXcej5t t^e.
language first mentioned arrived at its present summit of of Persia were destroyed by the Saracens ; and nothing of^er thaT*
>gressof Pf fe^tl0n' importance was written in that country till two centuries after the^aracen
Persian i, p .ve aireacly observed, that the Scythians, whom the the era ofMohammed. What succeeded was all pure fiction conquest.
’ juage. o c* Bersians called 2axat, Sacce, and whom the modern Per- and romance. The authors of those entertaining composi-
1 Cyropeedia, lib. i.
* Lib. ix. cap. 8a.
382
Persian
Language.
PHILOLOGY.
The most
flourishing
period of
Persian li¬
terature.
tions either forged names of heroes to answer their purpose,
or laid hold of such as were celebrated in the ballads of
their country, or preserved by vulgar tradition. The names
were no doubt very different from those of the ancient kings
and heroes of Persia ; and probably many of them had un¬
dergone considerable changes during the continuance o
the Parthian empire. Upon this foundation has the learn¬
ed Mr. Richardson erected a very irregular fabric, which, to
use his own expression, seems to be built upon pillars o
ice. He has taken much pains to invalidate the credit ot
the Grecian histories of the Persian empire, by drawing up
in battle array against their records legions of romantic
writers, who were not born till near a thousand years after
the events had taken place ; and, to complete the improbabi¬
lity, who lived two hundred years after all the chronicles of
the Medes and Persians had been finally destroyed by the
iiiry of the Saracens.
After the decisive victory obtained over the Persians at
Kadessa, their ancient government was overturned, their
religion proscribed, their laws trampled under foot, and
their civil transactions disturbed by the forcible inti educ¬
tion of the lunar for the solar kalendar; whilst, at the same
time, their language became almost overwhelmed by an in¬
undation of Arabic words, which, from that period, reli¬
gion, authority, and fashion, incorporated with their idiom.
From the seventh till the tenth century the Persian tongue,
now impregnated with Arabic words, appears to have la¬
boured under much discouragement and neglect. Bagdad,
built by Almansor, became, soon after the year 162, the
chief residence of the caliphs, and the general resort of the
learned and ambitious from every quarter of the empire. At
length the accession of the Buyah princes to the Persian
throne marked in the tenth century the memorable epoch of
the revival of Persian learning. About the year 9 < 7 the
throne of Persia was filled by the great Azaduddawla, who first
assumed the title of Sultan, afterwards generally adopted
by eastern princes. He was born in Ispahan, and had a
strong attachment to his native kingdom. His court, whe¬
ther at Bagdad or in the capital of Persia, was the standard
of taste and the favourite residence of genius. The native
dialect of the prince was particularly distinguished, and
soon became the general language of composition in almost
every branch of polite learning. From the end of the tenth
till the beginning of the fifteenth century may be considered
as the most flourishing period of Persian literature. The
epic poet Firdousi, in his romantic history of the Persian
kings and heroes, displays an imagination and smoothness of
numbers hardly inferior to Homer. The whole fanciful range
ofPersianenchantmenthehasinterwoven in his poems, which
abound with the noblest efforts of genius. I his bard has
stamped a dignity on the monsters and fictions of the East,
equal to that which the prince of epic poetry has given to
the mythology of ancient Greece. His language may at
the same time be considered as the most refined dialect of
the ancient Persian, the Arabic being introduced with a
very sparing hand; whilst Sadi, Jami, Hafiz, and other suc¬
ceeding writers, in prose as well as verse, have blend¬
ed in their works the Arabic without reserve, gaining per¬
haps in the nervous luxuriance of the one language what
may seem to have been lost in the softer delicacy of the
other. Hence Ebn Fekreddin Anju, in the preface to the
dictionary called Farhang Jehanguiri, says, that the Deree
and the Arabic idioms were the languages of heaven ; God
communicating to the angels his milder mandates in the
delicate accents of the first, whilst his stern commands were
delivered in the rapid accents of the last.
For nearly three hundred years the literary fire of the Per¬
sians seems indeed to have been almost extinguished, since,
during that time, hardly any thing of that people which de¬
serves attention has appeared in Europe. Enough, however,
has already been produced, to inspire us with a very high
opinion of the genius of the East. In taste, the orientals Persian
are undoubtedly inferior to the best writers of modern Eu- Language,
rope; but in invention and sublimity, they are excelled,
perhaps equalled, by none. The Persians affect a rhetori¬
cal luxuriance, which to a European wears the air of un¬
necessary redundance. If to these leading distinctions we
add a peculiar tone of imagery, of metaphor, and of allu¬
sion, derived from the difference of government, manners,
temperament, and such natural objects as characterise Asia
from Europe, we shall see, at one view, the great points of vari¬
ation between the writers of the east and the west. Amongst
the oriental historians, philosophers, rhetoricians, and poets,
many will be found who would do honour to any age or peo¬
ple ; whilst their romances, their tales, and their fables,
stand upon a ground which Europeans have not yet been
able to reach.
We shall now annex a few observations on the genius of The geniu !S
that noble language ; though it is our opinion that the pro-of the mo-
vince of the philologist is to investigate the origin, progress, e™Persit
and final improvement of a language, without descending
to its grammatical minutiae or peculiar idiomatic distinc¬
tions. We have already observed, that the language under
consideration is partly Arabic and partly Persian, though
the latter generally has the ascendant. The former is ner¬
vous, impetuous, and masculine ; the latter is flowing, soft,
and luxuriant. Wherever the Arabic letters do not readily
incorporate with the Persian, they are either changed into
others or thrown away. Their letters are the Arabic with
little variation, these being found more commodious and
expeditious than the old letters of the Deree andParsee.
Their alphabet consists of thirty-two letters, which, like the
Arabic, are read from right to left (their form and order
will be learned from any grammar of that language). The
letters are divided as usual into vowels and consonants. The
Arabic characters, like those of the Europeans, are written
in a variety of different hands ; but the Persians write their
poetical works in the Talick, which answers to the most ele¬
gant of our Italic hands.
There is a great resemblance between the Persian and Resem-
English languages in the facility and simplicity of their formblance be-
and construction; the former, as well as the latter, has no^e" ,er
difference of terminations to mark the gender either in sub-*1311 aild
stantives or adjectives ; all inanimate things are neuter;
and animals of different sexes have either different names,
or are distinguished by the words ner, male, and made, fe¬
male. Sometimes indeed a word is made feminine, after
the manner of the Arabians, by having an affix annexed
to it. . . „
The Persian substantives have but one variation of case,
which is formed by adding a syllable to the nominative in
both numbers, and answers often to the dative, but gene¬
rally to the accusative case in other languages. The other
cases are expressed for the most part by particles placed be¬
fore the nominative. The Persians have two numbers, sin¬
gular and plural, the latter being formed by adding a syllable
to the former. The Persian adjectives admit of no varia¬
tion except in the degrees of comparison. The comparative
is formed by adding ter, and the superlative by adding term
to the positive. The Persians have active and neuter verbs
like other nations; but many of their verbs have both an ac¬
tive and neuter sense, which can be determined only by the
construction. Those verbs have properly but one conjuga¬
tion, and but three changes of tense, the imperative, the ao-
rist, and the preterite ; all the other tenses being formed by
the help of particles or of auxiliary verbs. The passive voice
is formed by adding the tenses of the substantive verb to the
participle of the active.
In the ancient language of Persia there were few or no
irregularities. The imperative, which is often irregular in
the modern Persian, was anciently formed from the infini¬
tive, by rejecting the termination eeden. Originally an
English.
PHILOLOGY.
Persian infinitives ended in den, till the Arabs introduced their
language, harsh consonants before that syllable, which obliged the Per-
sians, who always affected a sweetness of pronunciation, to
change the old termination of some verbs into ten, and by
degrees the original infinitive grew quite obsolete ; yet they
still retain the ancient imperative, and the aorists which were
formed from it. This little irregularity is the. only anoma¬
lous part of the Persian language, which, nevertheless, far
surpasses in simplicity all other languages ancient or mo¬
dern.1 * * *
tility of In conclusion, we shall only take the liberty to remind our
e Ara- readers of the vast utility of the Arabian and Persian lan-
ana“? guagres. Numberless events are preserved in the writings
“ of the orientals which were never heard of in Europe, and
must have for ever lain concealed from the knowledge of
its inhabitants, had not these two tongues been studied and
understood by the natives of this quarter of the globe. Many
of those events have been transmitted to posterity in poems
and legendary tales like the Runic fragments of Scandina¬
via, the romances of Spain, or the heroic ballads of our own
country. Such materials as these, we imagine, may have
suggested to Firdausi, the celebrated heroic poet of Persia,
many of the adventures of his Shahnameh ; which, likePIo-
mer when stript of the machinery of supernatural beings, is
supposed to contain a great deal of true history, and a most
undoubted picture of the superstition and manners of the
times. The knowledge of these two languages has laid open
to Europe all the treasures of oriental learning, and has en¬
riched the minds of Britons with Indian science as much as
the produce of the regions has increased their wealth and
enervated their constitution.
ersian Before we conclude this section, we shall, in order to ren-
;)etrP der our inquiry the more complete, subjoin a few remarks
on the nature of Persian poetry. The modern Persians
borrowed from the Arabs their poetical measures, which are
exceedingly various and complicated, consisting of nineteen
different kinds ; but the most common of them are the iam¬
bic or trochaic measures, and a metre that chiefly consists
of those compounded feet which the ancients called ’Etti-
rpiTovs, being composed of iambics and spondees alternately.
In lyric poetry their verses generally consist of twelve or
sixteen syllables ; they sometimes, but seldom, consist of
fourteen. Some of their lyric verses contain thirteen sylla¬
bles ; but the most common Persian verse is composed of
eleven ; and in this measure are written all their great poems,
whether upon heroic or moral subjects, as the works of Fir¬
dausi and Jami, the Bostar of Sadi, and the Mesnavi of
Gelaleddin. This species of verse answers to our common
heroic rhyme, which was brought to so high a degree of
perfection by Pope. The study of the Persian poetry is so
much the more necessary, as there are few books or even
letters written in that language, which are not interspersed
with fragments of poetry. As to their prosody, nothing can
be more easy or simple ; and hence when the student can
read prose easily, he will with a little attention read poetry
with equal facility.
SECT. V. SANSCRIT AND BENGALESE LANGUAGES,
i lie San- The Sanscrit, although one of the most ancient languages
^heT 'n ^le world> was little known even in Asia until about the
cie1)tIn0st Middle of the preceding century. Since that period, by
iguages. the indefatigable industry of the learned and ingenious Sir
William Jones, and the other worthy members of that so¬
383
ciety of which he had the honour to be president, this noble Sanscrit
and ancient language was at length brought to light; and an^ Benga-
from it vast treasures of oriental knowledge have been com- *ese ^an'
municated both to Europe and Asia; knowledge which, guages‘
without the exertions of the establishment in question, must v
have lain concealed from the researches of mankind to the
end of the world. In this section we propose to give to our
readers such an account of that language as the limits of
the present article, and the helps we have been able to pro¬
cure, shall permit.
The Sanscrit language has for many centuries lain con¬
cealed in the hands of the Brahmins of Hindustan. It is by
them deemed sacred, and is consequently confined solely
to the offices of religion. Its name imports the perfect lan¬
guage, or, according to the eastern style, the language of
perfection ; and we believe no language ever spoken by man
is more justly entitled to that high character.
The grand source of Indian literature, and the parent of Traces of
almost every dialect from the Persian gulf to the China seas, Sanscrit in
is the Sanscrit; a language of the most venerable and most every di¬
remote antiquity, which, though latterly shut up in the li-slrict °f
braries of the Brahmins, and appropriated solely to the re- eisS(!^.||[!re
cords of their religion, appears to have been current over
most of the oriental world. Accordingly, traces of its ori¬
ginal extent may be discovered in almost every district of
Asia. Those who are acquainted with that language have
often found the similitude of Sanscrit words to those of Per¬
sian and Arabic, and even of Latin and Greek; and that
not in technical and metaphorical terms, which refined arts
and improved manners might have occasionally introduced,
but in the main ground-work of language, in monosyllables,
the names of numbers, and appellations of such things as
would be first discriminated on the immediate dawn of civi¬
lization.
The ancient coins of many different and distant kingdoms
of Asia are stamped with Sanscrit characters, and mostly
contain allusions to the old Sanscrit mythology. Besides,
in the names of persons and places, of titles and dignities,
which are open to general notice, even to the farthest limits
of Asia, may be found manifest traces of the Sanscrit. The
scanty remains of Coptic antiquities afford but little scope for
comparison between that idiom and this primitive tongue ;
yet there still exists sufficient ground to conjecture, that,
at a very early period, a correspondence did subsist between
these two nations. The Hindus pretend, that the Egyp¬
tians frequented their country as disciples, not as instruc¬
tors ; that they came to seek that liberal education and those
sciences in Hindustan, which none of their own countrymen
had sufficient knowledge to impart. The validity of this
claim we may perhaps examine hereafter.
But although numberless changes and revolutions have Number of
from time to time convulsed Hindustan, that part of it which hooks in
lies between the Indus and the Ganges still preserves thistliat lan'
language whole and inviolate. Here they still offer a thou- ° °
sand books to the perusal of the curious ; many of which
have been religiously handed down from the earliest periods
of human society.
The fundamental part of the Sanscrit language is divided Its_ charac-
into three classes : Dhaat, or roots of verbs, which some calltenstlcs-
primitive elements ; Shubd, or original nouns ; and Evya,
or particles. The latter are indeclinable, as in all other
languages ; but the words comprehended in the two former
classes must be prepared by certain additions and inflexions
1 With respect to the more minute and intricate parts of this language, as well as its derivations, compositions, and constructions, we
must refer our readers to Mininskie’s Institutiones Lingua Turcica, cum rudimentis parallelis Linguarum Arab, et Pers ; Sir William Jones’s
Persian Grammar; Mr. Richardson’s Arabian and Persian Dictionary; D’Herbelot’s JBibliutheque Orient.ale; and Dr- Hyde de Religione
veterum Persarum. Our readers, who would penetrate into the innermost recesses of the Persian history, colonies, antiquities, connec¬
tions, dialects, may consult the last mentioned author, especially chap, xxxv, entitled, De Persia et Persarum nominibus, et de moderna atque
veteri lingua Persica, ejusque dialectis. In the preceding inquiry we have followed other authors, whose accounts appeared to us more natural,
and much less embarrassing.
384
Sanscrit
and Benga¬
lese Lan¬
guages.
PHILOLOGY.
Sanscrit
copious &
nervous.
Sanscrit
alphabet.
to fit them For a place in composition. And here it is that
the art of the grammarian has found room to expand itself,
and to employ all the powers of refinement. Not a sylla¬
ble, not a letter, can be added or altered but by regimen ;
not the most trifling variation of the sense, in the minutest
subdivision of declension or conjugation, can be effected
without the application of several rules; all the different
forms for every change of gender, number, case, person,
tense, mood, or degree, are methodically arranged for the
assistance of the memory, according to an unerring scale.
The number of the radical or elementary parts is about se¬
ven hundred ; and to these, as to the verbs of other lan¬
guages, a very plentiful stock of verbal nouns owes its ori¬
gin t but the latter are not thought to exceed those of the
Greek either in quantity or variety.
To the triple source of words above mentioned, every
term of truly Indian origin may be traced by a laborious
and critical analysis. All such terms as are thoroughly
proved to bear no relation to any one of the Sanscrit roots,
are considered as the production of some remote and foreign
idiom, subsequently ingrafted upon the main stock; and it
is conjectured, that a judicious investigation of this principle
would throw a new light upon the first invention of many
arts and sciences, and open a fresh mine of philological disco¬
veries. We shall now proceed to give as exact an account
of the constituent parts of this language as the nature of
our design will permit.
The Sanscrit language is very copious and nervous. The
first of these qualities arises in a great measure from the vast
number of compound words with which it is almost over¬
stocked. “ The Sanscrit,” says Sir William Jones, “ like
the Greek, Persian, and German, delights in compounds ;
but to a much higher degree, and indeed to such excess,
that I could produce words of more than twenty syllables ;
not formed ludicrously like that by which the buffoon in Aris¬
tophanes describes a feast, but with perfect seriousness, on
the most solemn occasions, and in the most elegant works.
But the style of its best authors is wonderfully concise. In
the regularity of its etymology it far exceeds the Greek and
Arabic; and, like them, it has a pi'odigious number ot deriva¬
tives from each primary root. The grammatical rules are
also numerous and difficult, though there are not many ano¬
malies. As one instance of the truth of this assertion, it
may be observed, that there are seven declensions of nouns,
all used in the singular, the dual, and the plural numbers,
and all of them differently formed, according as they termi¬
nate with a consonant, with a*long or a short vowel ; and
again, different also as they are of different genders. Not a
nominative case can be formed to any one of these nouns
without the application of at least four rules, which vary like¬
wise with each particular difference of the nouns, as above
stated; and to this it may be added, that every word in the
language may be used through all the seven declensions, which
is a full proof of the difficulty of the idiom.
The Sanscrit grammars are called Beedkcrun, andofthese
there are many composed by different authors; some too ab¬
struse even for the comprehension of the Brahmins, and others
too prolix to be ever used as references. One of the short¬
est, named the Sdrdsootee, contains between two and three
hundred pages, and was compiled by Anoobhootee Seroope-
nam Acharige, with a conciseness that can scarcely be paral¬
leled in any other language.
The Sanscrit alphabet contains fifty letters ; and it is one
boast of the Brahmins, that it exceeds all other alphabets in
this respect. But it must be observed, that as of their thirty-
four consonants, nearly half carry combined sounds, and that
six of their vowels are merely the correspondent long ones
to as many which are short, the advantage seems to be little
more than fanciful. Besides these, they have a number of
characters which Mr. Halhed calls connected vowels, but Sanscrit
which have not been explained by the learned president ofand Benga.
A • t * n lespl.arv
leseLan.
guages
the Asiatic Society.
The Sanscrit character used in Upper Hindustan is said
to be the same original letter which was first delivered to the^’>v"v'
people by Brahma, and is now called Diewndgur, or the lan¬
guage of angels, which show's the high opinion that the Brah¬
mins have entertained of that character. Their consonants
and vowels are wonderfully, perhaps whimsically, modified
and diversified; but to enumerate them, in this place, would
contribute very little either to the entertainment or instruc¬
tion of our readers. All these distinctions are marked in the
Beids,1 and must be modulated accordingly, so that they
produce all the effect of a laboured recitative; but by an at¬
tention to the music of the chant, the sense of the passage
recited equally escapes the reader and the audience. It is
remarkable, that the Jews in their synagogues chant the Pen¬
tateuch in the same kind of melody; and it is supposed that
this usage has descended to them from the remotest ages.
The Sanscrit poetry comprehends a very great variety of dif- Poetry,
ferent metres, ofwhichthe most common are these,viz. 1. The
munnee hurreneh chhund, or line of twelve or nineteen syl¬
lables, which is scanned by three syllables in a foot; and the
most approved foot is the anapaest. 2. The cdbee chhund, or
line of eleven syllables. 3. The anushtofe chhund, or line
of eight syllables. Sanscrit poems are generally composed in
stanzas of four lines, called ashlogues, which are regular or
irregular. The most common ashlogue is that of the anush¬
tofe chhund, or regular stanza of eight syllables in the line.
In this measure the greatest part of the Mdhdbdrat is com¬
posed. The rhyme in this kind of stanza should be alternate;
but the poets do not seem to be very nice in the observance
of a strict correspondence in the sounds of the terminating
syllables, provided the feet of the verse are accurately dis¬
posed. This short anushtofe ashlogue is generally written
by two verses in one line, with a pause between; so that
the whole assumes the form of a long distich. The irregu¬
lar stanza is constantly called anydchhund, of whatever kind
of irregularity it may happen to consist. It is most com¬
monly compounded of the long line cdbee chhund and the
short anushtofe chhund alternately; in which form it bears
some resemblance to the most common lyric measure of
the English poetry.
Perhaps our readers may feel some curiosity to-be informed Origin of
as to the origin of this oriental tongue. If we believe the Brah-this lan-
mins themselves, it was coeval with the race of man, as v’e£ua8e-
have already observed towards the beginning of this section.
The Brahmins,however, are notthe onlypeople who ascribe a
kind of eternity to their own particular dialect. We find that
the Sanscrit in its primitive destination was appropriated to
the offices of religion. It is indeed pretended, that all the other
dialects spoken in Hindustan were emanations from thatfoun-
tain, to which they might be traced back by a skilful etymo¬
logist. But this, we think, is an argument of no great conse¬
quence, since we believe that all the languages of Europe
may, by the same process, be deduced from any one of those
current in that quarter of the globe. By a parity of reason,
all the different dialects of Hindustan may be referred to the
language in question. Indeed, if we admit the authority of
the Mosaic history, all languages whatsoever are derived from
that of the first man. It is allowed that the language under
consideration is impregnated with Persian, Chaldaic, Phoeni¬
cian, Greek, and even Latin idioms. This, we think, affords
a presumption that the Sanscrit was one of those original
dialects which were gradually produced amongst the descend¬
ants of Noah, in proportion as they gradually receded from
the centre of population. What branch or branches of that
family emigrated to Hindustan, it is not easy to determine.
That they were a party of the descendants of Shem is most
1 The books which contain the religion of the Brahmins.
PHILOLOGY. 385
inscrit probable, because the other septs of his posterity settled in examined the analogybetween the gods ofHindustan and those Sanscrit
Bengs- neighbourhood. The result then is, that the Hindus of Egypt, we think he would have performed a piece of ser- sort Benga-
e Lan* were a colony consisting of the descendants of the patriarch vice still more eminent.2 Having first demonstrated thesimi- lese Lan-
.'a r-w Shem. larity between the divinities of India and Egypt, he might, gua^L's'
Jt appears, however, by almost numberless monuments of then have proceeded to investigate the resemblance of the^^^
antiquity still extant, that at a very early period a different Egyptian and Phoenician with those of Greece and Rome,
race of men had obtained settlements in that country. It By this process a chain would have been formed which wovdd
is now generally admitted, that colonies of Egyptians had have enabled his readers to comprehend at one view the
peopled a considerable part of Hindustan. Numberless traces identity of the Zabian worship wherever it had been esta-
of their religion occur everywhere in those regions. The blished, in the different regions of the earth,
learned president himself is indeed positive, that vestiges of It will be objected to this hypothesis that all the dialects
these sacerdotal wanderers may be found in India, China, Ja- of Hindustan being clearly reducible to the Sanscrit, it is
pan, Tibet, and many parts of Tartary. Those colonists, it is altogether impossible that it could ever have been a foreign
well known, were zealous in propagating their religious cere- language. But to this we answer, that at the early period
monies wherever they resided, and wherever they travelled, when this event is supposed to have taken place, the lan-
There is at the same time even at this day a striking resem- guage of the posterity of the sons of Noah had not deviat-
blancebetweenthesacredritesofthe vulgar Hindus and those ed considerably from the primitive standard, and consequent-
of the ancient Egyptians. The prodigious statues of Salsette ly the language of the Egyptians and the Hindus was nearly
and Elephanta fabricated in the Egyptian style ; the vast ex- the same. The Sanscrit was gradually improved. The lan-
cavations hewn out of the rock in the former ; the woolly hair guage of the vulgar, as is always the case, became more and
of the statues, their distorted attitudes, their grotesque ap- more different from the original archetype ; but it still re-
pearances, their triple heads, and various other configura- tained such a near resemblance to the mother-tongue as prov-
tions; all plainly indicate a foreign origin. These phenomena ed its kindred extraction.
suit no other people upon earth so exactly as the sons ofMiz- To the preceding account of the Sanscrit language we shall Bengalese
raim. The Egyptian priests used a sacred character, which annex a few strictures on the language of Bengal; which we language,
none knew but themselves; none were allowed to learn ex- believe is derived from the other, and is in most common use
cept their children and the elite of the initiated. All these in the southern parts of Hindustan.
features mark an exact parallel with the Brahmins of the Hin- Though most of the ancient oriental tongues are read from
dus. Add to this, that the dress, diet, lustrations, and other right to left, like the Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Arabic, yet such
rites of both sects, bore an exact resemblance to each other, as properly belong to the whole continent of India proceed
Sir William Jones has justly observed, that the letters of the from left to right like those of Europe. The Arabic, Per-
Sanscrit, stripped ofall adventitious appendages, are really the sian, and others, are the grand sources whence the former
square Chaldaic characters. We learn from Cassiodorus the method has been derived; but with these, the numerous
following particulars : “ The height of the obelisks is equal original dialects of Hindustan have not the smallest con-
to that of the circus ; now the higher is dedicated to the sun, nection or resemblance. The great number of letters, the
and the lower to the moon, where the sacred rites of the an- complex mode of combination, and the difficulty of pronun-
cients are intimated by Chaldaic signatures by way of let- elation, are considerable impediments to the study of the
ters.”x Here then it is plain that the sacred letters of the Bengal language; and the carelessness and ignorance of the
Egyptians were Chaldaic, and it is allowed that those of the people, no less than the inaccuracy of their characters, aggra-
Brahmins were of the same complexion ; which affords ano- vate these inconveniences. Many of their characters are
ther presumption in favour of the identity of the Sanscrit spurious; and these, by long use and the hurry of business,
with those just mentioned. are now almost naturalized in the language.
That the Egyptians had at a very early period penetrated The Bengal alphabet, like that of the Sanscrit, from which
into Hindustan, is universally admitted. Osiris, their cele- it is derived, consists of fifty letters, the form, order, and
brated monarch and deity, according to their mythology, con- sound of which, may be learned from Mr. Hal bed’s grammar of
ducted an army into that country, and taught the natives the Bengal language. The vowels are divided into long and
agriculture, laws, religion, and the culture of the vine. He short, the latter of which are often omitted in writing. Most
is said to have at the same time left colonies of priests, as a of the oriental languages are constructed upon the same
kind of missionaries, to instruct the people in the ceremonies principle, with respect to the omission of the short vowel,
of religion. Sesostris, another Egyptian potentate, likewise The Hebrews had no sign to express it before the inven-
overran Hindustan wuth an army, and taught the natives many tion of the Masoretic points; in Arabic it is x'arely inserted
useful arts and sciences. When the Shepherd Kings invaded unless upon very solemn occasions, as in the Koran ; and in
and conquered Egypt, it is probablethat numbers of the priests, the modern Persian it is universally omitted. To all the
in order to avoid the fury of the merciless invaders, who de- consonants in the Sanscrit, however, the short vowrel is an
molished the temples and persecuted the ministers of reli- invariable appendage, and is never signified by any diacriti-
gion, left their native country, and transported themselves cal mark; but where the construction requires that the vowel
into India. These, we should think, were the authors both should be dropped, a particular stroke is set under the let-
of the language and religion of the Brahmins. This dialect, ter. It is in vain to pretend, in a sketch like this, to detail
as imported by the Egyptians, was probably of the same con- the sound and pronunciation of these letters ; this must be
texture with the sacred language of that people, as it appear- acquired by the ear and by practice.
ed many ages afterwards. The Indians, who have always In the Bengal language, there are three genders, as in
been an inventive and industrious race of men, in process of Greek, Arabic, &c. The authors of this threefold division
time cultivated, improved, diversified, and constructed that of genders, with respect to their precedence, appear to have
language with such care and assiduity, that it gradually ar- considered the neuter as a kind of residuum resulting from
rived at the high degree of perfection in which it at present the two others, and as less worthy or less comprehensive than
appears. either (see the section on the Greek.) The terminations
Had the learned president of the Asiatic Society, when usually applied upon this occasion are aa for the masculine,
he instituted a comparison betw een the deities of Hindustan and ee for the feminine. In Sanscrit, as in Greek and La-
on the one side, and those of Greece and Italy on the other, tin, the names of all things inanimate have different genders,
Lib. iii. epist. ii. et 51.
vOL- xvn.
2 See that gentleman’s discourse, Asiatic Researches, vol. i.
3 c
386
Sanscrit
and Benga¬
lese Lan¬
guages.
Sanscrit
and Ben¬
galese
nouns.
PHILOLOGY.
Bengalese
pronouns.
Middle
voice of
Sanscrit
verbs.
founded on vague and incomprehensible distinctions ; and
this is also the case with the Bengal.
A Sanscrit noun, on its first formation from the general
root, exists equally independent of case as of gender. It is
neither nominative, nor genitive, nor accusative; nor is it im¬
pressed with any of those modifications which maik the re¬
lation and connection between the several members of a
sentence. In this state it is called an imperfect or crude
noun. To make a nominative of a word, the termination
must be changed and a new form supplied. Thus we see,
that, in the Sanscrit at least, the nominative has an equal
right with any other inflection to be called a case. Every
Sanscrit noun has seven cases, exclusive of the vocative,
and therefore comprehends two more than even those of the
Latin. Mr. Halhed details all the varieties of these with
great accuracy, and to his grammar therefore we must re¬
fer our readers. The Bengal has only four cases besides
the vocative ; and in this respect it is much inferior to the
other.
It would be difficult to account for the variety of words
which have been allotted to the class of pronouns by Eu¬
ropean grammarians. The first and second person are chief¬
ly worthy of observation ; these two would seem to be con¬
fined to rational and conversable beings only. The third
supplies the place of every object in nature ; where it must
necessarily be endued with a capacity of shifting its gender
respectively as it shifts the subject; and hence it is in San¬
scrit frequently denominated an adjective. One of the de¬
monstratives hie or ills usually serves for this purpose ; and
generally the latter, which in Arabic has no other name
than dhemeer el ghaayb, “ the pronoun of the absentee,” for
whose name it is a substitute.
In most languages where the verb has a separate inflec¬
tion to each person, that inflection is sufficient to ascertain
the personality; but in Bengal compositions, though the
first and second persons occur very frequently, nothing is
more rare than the usage of the pronoun of the third ; and
names of persons are inserted with a constant and disgust¬
ing repetition, to avoid, as it should seem, the application
oAhe words he and she. The second person is always
ranked before the first, and the third before the second.
The personal pronouns have seven cases, which are varied
in a very irregular manner. Leaving these to the Benga-
lian grammar, we shall proceed to the verb.
The Sanscrit, the Arabic, the Greek, and the Latin verbs,
are furnished with a set of inflections and terminations so
comprehensive and complete, that by their form alone they
can express all the different distinctions both of persons and
time. Three separate qualities in them are perfectly blend¬
ed and united. Thus by their root they denote a particu¬
lar act, and by their inflection both point out the time when
it takes place and the number of the agents. In Persian,
as in English, the verb admits only of two forms, one for the
present tense and one for the aorist; and it is observable,
that whilst the past tense is provided for by a peculiar in¬
flection, the future is generally supplied by an additional
word conveying only the idea of time, without any other
influence on the act implied by the principal verb. It is
also frequently necessary that the different state of the ac¬
tion, as perfect or imperfect, be further ascertained in each
of the tenses, past, present, and future. This also, in the
learned languages, is performed by variations of inflections,
for which other verbs and other particles are applied in the
modern tongues of Europe and Persia.
Every Sanscrit verb has a form equivalent to the middle
voice of the Greek, used throughout all the tenses with a re¬
flective sense, and the former is even the most extensive of
the two in its use and office. For, in Greek, the reflective
can only be adopted intransitively when the action of the
verb descends to no extraneous subject; but in Sanscrit,
the verb is both reciprocal and transitive at the same time.
Neither the Sanscrit, nor the Bengalese, nor the Hindus- Sanser
tanee, have any word precisely answering to the sense of and Ben,
the verb I have, and consequently the idea is always expres- lese La
sed by est mihi ; and of course there is no auxiliary form
in the Bengal verb corresponding to / have written, but^*’^'
the sense is conveyed in another mode. The very sub¬
stantive, in all languages, is defective and irregular, and
therefore the Sanscrit calls it a semi-verb. It is curious to
observe that the present tense of this verb, both in Greek
and Latin, and also in the Persian, appears plainly to be
derived from the Sanscrit. In the Bengalese, this verb has
but two distinctions of time, the present and the past; the
terminations of the several persons of which serve as a model
for those of the same tense in all other verbs respectively.
Verbs of the Bengal language may be divided into three Charac
classes, which are distinguished by their penultimate letter, teristics
The simple and most common form has an open consonant BengakJ
immediately preceding the final letter of the infinitive. The verbs,
second is composed of those words the final letter of which
is preceded by another vowel or open consonant going be¬
fore it. The third consists entirely of causals derived from
verbs of the first and second conjugations. The reader will
easily conceive the impossibility of prosecuting this subject
to any greater length ; w'e shall therefore conclude with a
few remarks collected from the grammar so often mention¬
ed, which, we apprehend, may prove more amusing, if not
more instructing.
The Greek verbs in pi are formed exactly upon the same
principle with the Sanscrit conjugations, even in the minu¬
test particulars. Instances of this are produced in many
verbs, which from a root form a new verb by adding the
syllable mi, and doubling the first consonant. This mode
furnishes another presumption of the Egyptian origin of the
Sanscrit. Many Greeks travelled into Egypt; many Egyp¬
tian colonies settled in Greece; and by one or other of these
channels the foregoing innovation might have been intro¬
duced into the Greek language, lo form the past tense,
the Sanscrit applies a syllabic augment, as is done in the
Greek ; but the future has for its characteristic a letter ana¬
logous to that of the same tense in the Greek, and it omits
the reduplication of the first consonant. It may be added
that the reduplication of the first consonant, is not constant¬
ly applied to the present tense of the Sanscrit any more than
to that of the Greek verb.
The natural simplicity and elegance of many of the Asia¬
tic languages are greatly debased and corrupted by the con¬
tinual abuse of auxiliary verbs ; and this inconvenience has
evidently affected the Persian, the Hindu, and the Benga¬
lese idioms. The infinitives of verbs in the Sanscrit and
Bengalese are always used as substantive nouns. Every
body knows that the same mode of arrangement very often
occurs in the Greek. In the Sanscrit language, as in the
Greek, there are forms of infinitives and of participles com¬
prehensive of time; and there are also other branches o
the verb which seem to resemble the gerunds and supines
of the Latin. . ,
All the terms which serve to qualify, to distinguish, or
to augment, either substance or action, are classed by the
Sanscrit grammarians under one head ; and the word used
to express it literally signifies increase or addition. Accord¬
ing to their arrangement, a simple sentence consists of three
members; and the agent, the action, the subject, which, in a
grammatical sense, are reduced to two, the noun and the
verb. They have a particular word to specify such words
as amplify the noun which imports quality, and answers to
our adjectives or epithets. Such as are applied to denote
relation or connection, are intimated by another term wine i
may be translated preposition. _ Sanscri
The adjectives in Bengalese have no distinction of gen-and Be
der or number ; but in Sanscrit these words preserve thekse adj
distinction of gender, as in the Greek and Latin. Preposi* ne • f
PHILOLOGY.
hinese tions are substitutes for cases, which could not have been
nguage. extended to the number necessary for expressing all the se-
verai relations and predicaments in which a noun may be
found, without causing too much embarrassment in the form
of a declension. They are too few in the Greek language,
a circumstance which occasions much inconvenience. The
Latin is less polished than the Greek, and consequently bears
a much nearer resemblance to the Sanscrit, both in words,
inflections, and terminations.
The learned are now convinced that the use of numeri¬
cal figures was first derived from India. Indeed the anti¬
quity of their application in that country far exceeds the
powers of investigation. All the numerals in Sanscrit have
different forms for the different genders, as in Arabic. There
appears to be a strong probability that the European method
of computation was derived from India, as it is much the same
with the Sanscrit, although we think the Europeans learned
it from the Arabians. The Bengalese merchants compute
the largest sums by fours ; a custom evidently derived from
the original mode of computing by the fingers.
The Sanscrit language, amongst other advantages, has a
great variety in the mode of arrangement; and the words
are so knit and compacted together, that every sentence ap¬
pears like one complete word. When two or more w'ords
come together in regimine, the last of them only has the
termination of a case ; the others are known by their posi¬
tion ; and the wLole sentence, so connected, forms but one
compound word, which is called a foot.
SECT. VI. OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE.
tiquity The Chinese, according to the most authentic accounts,
the Chi- are a people of great antiquity. Their situation was such,
'e- as, even in the earliest ages of the world, in a great measure
secured them from hostile invasion. Their little commerce
with the rest of mankind excluded them from the knowledge
of those improvements which a mutual emulation had often
generated amongst other nations, who were situated in such
a manner, with relation to each other, as served to promote
a mutual intercourse and correspondence. As China is a
large and fertile country, producing all the necessaries, con-
veniencies, and even luxuries of life, its inhabitants wrere
not under the necessity of looking abroad for the two for¬
mer, nor exposed to the temptation of engaging in foreign
commerce, in order to procure the latter. Perfectly satis¬
fied with the articles which their own country produced,
they applied themselves entirely to the practice of agricul¬
ture and other arts connected with that profession; and their
frugality, which they retain even to this day, taught them
the lesson of being contented with little ; consequently
though their population was almost incredible, the produce
of their soil proved abundantly sufficient to yield them a sub¬
sistence. Their inventions w^ere their own; and as they
borrowed nothing from other people, they gradually began
to despise the rest of mankind, and, like the ancient Egyp¬
tians, branded them with the epithet of barbarians.
This people had at a very early period made amazing pro¬
ficiency in the mechanical arts. But their progress in the
liberal sciences, according to the latest and indeed the most
probable accounts, was by no means proportioned. In ma¬
thematics, geometry, and astronomy, their knowledge was
contemptible ; and in ethics, or moral philosophy, the com¬
plexion of their laws and customs proves their skill to have
been truly superficial. At present they value themselves
very highly upon their oratorial talents ; and yet of all lan¬
guages spoken by any civilized people, theirs is confessedly
the least improved. To what this untoward defect is owing,
ieir lan- ^le ^earnecl have not yet been able to determine.
iSe an The language of the Chinese is totally different from
ginal the idioms of all other nations, and bears very strong marks
gue. of an original tongue. All its words are monosyllabic, and
387
their compositions and derivations are altogether unknown. Chinese
Their nouns and verbs admit of no flexions ; in short, every Language,
thing relating to their idiom is peculiar, and incapable of'^,^Y^ata^
being compared with any other dialect that is spoken by any
civilized people. Most barbarous languages exhibit some¬
thing which resembles an attempt towards those diacritical
modifications of speech ; whereas the Chinese, after a space
of four thousand years, have not advanced one step beyond
the very first elements of ideal communication. This circum¬
stance, we think, is a plain demonstration that they did not
emigrate from that region where the primitive race of man¬
kind is thought to have fixed its residence. Some have ima¬
gined, we believe with good reason, that they are a Tartar¬
ian race, which, breaking off fromthemain body of that nume¬
rous and widely-extended people, directed their march to¬
wards the south-east, where, falling in with delightful and
fertile plains which their posterity now inhabit, they found
themselves accommodated so much to their liking, that they
dropped all desii’e of changing their habitations. The coun¬
try of China is, indeed, so environed with mountains, de¬
serts, and seas, that it would have been difficult for men in
the primitive state to have emigrated into any of the neigh¬
bouring regions. Thus secluded from the rest of makind,
the Chinese wrere, in all probability, left to the strength of
their own inventive powers to fabricate a language, as well
as the other arts and improvements necessary for the sup¬
port and convenience of life.
It is indeed obvious that their vocabulary, when they emi¬
grated from Tartary, was neither ample nor properly accom¬
modated to answer the purposes of the mutual conveyance
of ideas. With this slender stock, however, they seem to have
been satisfied ; for it does not appear that any additions
were afterwards made to that which had been originally
imported. Instead of framing a new class of terms by com¬
pounding the primitive ones ; instead of diversifying them
by inflections, or multiplying them by derivatives, as is done
in every other language ; they chose rather to retain their
primitive wwds, and, by a greatvariety of modifications intro¬
duced upon their orthography or pronunciation, to accommo¬
date them to a corresponding variety of significations. Were
it possible to scrutinize all the Tartarian dialects, and to re¬
duce them to their primitive monosyllabic character, perhaps
the original language of the Chinese might be investigated
and ascertained. We know that attempts have been made
to compare it with some of the other Asiatic languages, espe¬
cially the Hebrew ; but the task proved unsuccessful, and
no primeval identity has been discovered. Before this com¬
parison could be instituted with the most distant prospect
of success, the language last mentioned must be stripped of
all its adventitious qualities; and not only so, but it must
be reduced to the monosyllabic form, and then contrasted
with the Chinese monosyllables, an undertaking which we
are persuaded would not be readily executed. After all, we
are-convinced that no resemblance of any importance would
be discovered.
The Chinese language must then, in our opinion, have Process of
been a Tartarian dialect, as the people themselves were co- its fabrico¬
lonists from Tartary. We have observed above, that thistion-
people have not hitherto found out the art of composition
of words; a circumstance which is the more surprising, when
we consider that, in the characters which form their written
language, they employ many compositions. For example, the
character by which they represent misfortune, is composed of
one hieroglyphic which represents a house, and another which
denotes fire ; because the greatest misfortune that can be-
fal a man is to have his house burned. With respect to the
language which they use in speech, though they very often
employ many words to express one thing, yet they never
run them together into one word, making certain changes
upon them that they may incorporate them more conveni¬
ently, but always preserve them entire and unaltered.
PHILOLOGY.
388
Chinese The whole number of words in the Chinese language does
Language. not excee(l twelve hundred ; and the nouns are only three
hundred and twenty-six. It must certainly appear surprising,
Paucity of that a people whose manners are so highly polished and re-
words. fined^ ghoukl be abie to express so many things as must of
necessity be required in such a course of life by so small a
number of words, and these too monosyllables. 1 he difficul¬
ties which attend this singular mode must be felt at almost
every installt; circumstances which, according to the ordi¬
nary course of things, should have induced them to attempt
both an augmentation of the number of their words, and an
extension of those which they had by composition and de¬
rivation. We learn from Duhalde that the Chinese have
two different dialects : the one vulgar, which is spoken by
the common people, and varies according to the different pro¬
vinces ; the other, called the Mandarin language, which is
current only amongst the learned.1 The latter is properly
that which was formerly spoken at court in the province of
Kiang-nan, and gradually spread amongst the polite people
in the other provinces. Accordingly, this language is spo¬
ken with more elegance in the provinces adjoining to Kiang-
nan than in any other part of the kingdom. By slow degrees
it was introduced into all parts of the empire, and consequent¬
ly became the universal language.
It then appears that the modern language of China was
originally the court dialect, and utterly unknown to the bulk
of the people. From this circumstance we think it may
fairly be concluded that the dialect in question was deem¬
ed the royal tongue, and had been fabricated on purpose to
distinguish it from the vulgar dialects. We learn from Helio-
dorus, that the Ethiopians had a royal language which was
the same with the sacred idiom of the Egyptians.2 This Man¬
darin tongue was originally an artificial dialect fabricated with
a view to enhance the majesty of the court, and to raise its
very style and diction above that of the rest of mankind.
The Chinese, a wonderfully inventive people, might actu¬
ally contrive a language of that complexion, with an inten¬
tion to render it obscure and enigmatical.3 Such a plan
would excite their admiration, and would at the same time
greatly exceed their comprehension. In process of time,
when the Chinese empire was extended, the Mandarins who
had been brought up at court, and understood nothing of
the provincial dialects, found it convenient to have the most
eminent persons in every province taught the language em¬
ployed by themselves, in order to qualify them for transact¬
ing the affairs of government in a language which both par¬
ties understood. By this means the royal dialect descend¬
ed to the vulgar, and in process of time became universal.
The Tartar dialect formerly in use vanished; only a few
vestiges of it remained, which gradually incorporating with
the royal language, occasioned the variation of provincial
tongues above mentioned.
We are therefore clearly of opinion, that the modern lan¬
guage of the Chinese was deduced from the original Man¬
darin, or court dialect, and that this last was an artificial
speech fabricated by the skill and ingenuity of that most re¬
markable people. The learned have long held it as the
primary dialect, because, say they, it bears all the marks of
an original and unimproved language. In our opinion, no¬
thing appears more ingeniously artificial. It is universally
allowed that, in its structure, arrangement, idioms, and
phraseology, it resembles no other language. Is not every
learned man now convinced that all the Asiatic languages
yet known, discover unequivocal symptoms of their cogna¬
tion and family resemblance ? The Ethiopians, Chaldeans,
Arabians, Persians, Egyptians, Hebrews, Phoenicians, the Chinese
Brahmins, Bengalese, the Hindus bordering upon China, LariRuaJ
all speak only different dialects of one language, varying
from the original in dialect only, some in a greater, some in
a lesser degree. Why then should the Chinese alone stand
altogether insulated and unallied ?
The languages of the north all possess congenial features.
The Tartar or Tatar dialects of every clan, of every can¬
ton, of every denomination, exhibit the most palpable proofs
of a near affinity. The Gothic andSclavonian dialects, which
pervade a great part of Europe and some parts of Asia, are
obviously brethren, and may easily be traced up to an Asi¬
atic original. Even some of the American jargon dialects
contain words which clearly indicate an Asiatic or European
original. Our readers, we flatter ourselves, wall agree with
us, that had the language of the Chinese been the original
language, a resemblance must have still existed between it
and its descendants. If it had originated from any other
language, it would have retained some characteristic fea¬
tures of its parent archetype. But as neither of these is to be
found in the fabric of the language under consideration, the
conclusion must be, that it is a language entirely different
from all other tongues ; that it is constructed upon different
principles, descended from different parents, and framed by
different artists.
The Chinese themselves have a common and immemo¬
rial tradition, that their language was framed by Yao, their
first emperor, to whom they attribute the invention of every
thing curious, useful, and ornamental. Traditional history,
when it is ancient, uniform, and universal, is generally well
founded ; and, upon this occasion we think the tradition
above mentioned may be fairly admitted as a collateral evi¬
dence.
The paucity of vocables contained in this singular kin-. rocf0j
guage, we consider as another presumption of its artificial its artificial
contexture. The Chinese Onomathetce would find it an ar-structure,
duous task to devise a great number of new terms, and wmld
therefore rest satisfied with the smallest number possible.
In other languages we find the same economy was observed.
Rather than fabricate new words, men chose sometimes to
adapt old words to new, and, upon some occasions, even to
contrary significations. To spare themselves the trouble of
coining new terms, they contrived to join several old ones
into one; whence arose a numerous race of compounds.
Derivatives too w ere fabricated to answrer the same purpose.
By this process, instead of creating new vocables, old ones
were compounded, diversified, deflected, ramified, metamor¬
phosed, and tortured into a thousand different shapes.4
The Greek is deservedly esteemed a very rich and copi¬
ous language ; yet its radical words have been curiously
traced by learned men, who, after the most laborious and
exact scrutiny, have found that they do not amount to more
than three hundred. The Sanscrit language is highly com¬
pounded ; its radical terms, however, are very few in num¬
ber. Upon the w’hole, we think we may conclude, that the
more any language abounds in compounds and derivatives,
the smaller will be the number of its radical terms. The
Arabic admits of no composition, and consequently its words
have been multiplied almost in infinitum ; the Sanscrit,
the Persian, and the Greek, abound with compounds, and
we find their radicals are few in proportion.
There are, we think, three different methods wffiich may jjeti]0(ifo
be employed in order to enrich and extend the range of aenrjchingj
language. 1st, By fabricating a multitude of words ; the language,
plan which has been pursued by the Arabs. 2d, By fram-
1 History of China, vol. ii. ... 2 Ethiopian, lib. vi. f
3 An attempt of’this nature, amongst a people like the Chinese, is by no means improbable ; nor is its success less probable, ror a prooi
of this, we need only refer to Bishop Wilkins’s Artificial Language, and Psalmanazar’s Dictionary of the language of Formosa.
4 See Kennedy on the Origin and Formation of Languages ; Klaproth, Asia Polyglotta, and especially the very learned tract by the same
author on the Chinese language ; also the works of President de Guignes.
PHILOLOGY.
Chinese
language.
.at a-
fited by
: Chi-
ing a multitude of compounds and derivatives ; the artifice
■ employed by the Greeks, and the authors of the Sanscrit.
/3d, By varying the signification of words without enlarging
their number; the method practised by the Chinese and
their colonists. The Arabians, we conceive, have shown the
most fertile and inventive genius, since they have enriched
their language by actually creating a new and a most nu¬
merous race of words. The fabricators of the Sanscrit and
the collectors of the Greek have exhibited art, but compa¬
ratively little fertility of genius. Leaving, therefore, the
Arabians, as in justice we ought, masters of the field in the
contest relating to the formation of language, we may dispose
the Greek and Sanscrit on the one side, and the Chinese
on the other; and having made this arrangement, we may
attempt to discover on which side the larger proportion of
genius and invention seems to rest.
The Greek and Sanscrit (for we have selected them as being
the most highly compounded) exhibit a great deal of art in
modifying, arranging, and diversifying their compounds and
derivatives, in such a manner as to qualify them for inti¬
mating complex ideas ; but the Chinese have performed the
same office by the help of a race of monosyllabic notes, sim¬
ple, inflexible, invariable, and at the same time few in num¬
ber. The question then comes to be, whether more art is
displayed in new-modelling old words by means of declen¬
sions, compounds, and derivatives ; or in devising a plan
according to which monosyllabic radical terms, absolutely in¬
variable, should, by aparticular modification of sound, be made
to answer all the purposes performed by the other. The
latter appears to us much more ingeniously artificial. The
former resembles a complicated machine composed of a vast
number of parts, congenial indeed, but loosely connected ;
the latter may be compared to a simple, uniform engine, easi¬
ly managed, andhaving all its parts properly adjusted. Letus
now see in what manner the people in question managed
their monosyllabic notes, so as to qualify them for answer¬
ing all the purposes of speech.
Although the number of words in the Chinese language
does not amount to above twelve hundred, yet that small
number of vocables, by their artificial management, is suf¬
ficient to enable them to express themselves with ease and
perspicuity upon every subject. Without multiplying words,
the sense is varied almost in infinitum by the variety of the
accents, inflections, tones, aspirations, and other changes of
the voice and enunciation; circumstances which make those
who do not thoroughly understand the language frequently
mistake one word for another. This will appear obvious by
an example. The word teov pronounced slowly, drawing
out the v and raising the voice, signifies a lord or master.
If it be pronounced with an even tone, lengthening the v,
it signifies a hog. When it is pronounced quickly and light¬
ly, it imports a kitchen. If it be pronounced in a strong and
masculine tone, growing weaker towards the end, it signifies
a column.
By the same economy, the syllable po, according to the
various accents, and the different modes of pronounciation,
has eleven different significations. It signifies glass, to boil,
to winnoiu nee, wise or liberal, to prepare, an old woman,
to break or cleave, inclined, a very little, to water, a slave
or captive. From these examples, and from almost num¬
berless others which might be adduced, it is abundantly
evident that this language, which at first sight appears so
poor and confined, in consequence of the small number of
the monosyllables of which it is composed, is notwithstand¬
ing very copious, rich, and expressive. Again, the same
word joined to various others, imports a great many different
mgs, for example, mou, when alone, signifies a tree, ivood,
but when joined with another word, it has many other signifi¬
cations. Mou leoo, imports wood prepared for building; mou
cm signifies bars, or wooden grates; mou hia, a box ; mou
sung, a chest of drawers ; mou tsiang, a carpenter; mou eul,
S89
a mushroom ; mou nu, a sort of small orange ; mou sing, the Chinese
planet Jupiter; mou mien, cotton. This word may be join- Language,
ed to several others, and has as many different significations
as it has different combinations.
Thus the Chinese, by a different arrangement of their
monosyllables, can compose a regular and elegant discourse,
and communicate all their ideas with energy and precision ;
nay even with gracefulness and propriety. In these quali¬
ties they are not excelled either by the Europeans or Asi¬
atics, who use alphabetical letters. In fine, the Chinese so
naturally distinguish the tones of the same monosyllable,
that they comprehend the sense of it, without exercising the
least reflection on the various accents by which it is deter¬
mined.
\\ e must not, however, imagine, as some authors have Effects of
related, that this people cant in speaking, and make a sort this method
o music which is very disagreeable to the ear ; the various on pronun-
tones are pronounced so curiously, that strangers find itciation.
difficult to perceive their difference even in the province of
Kiang-nan, where the-accent is more perfect than in any
other. The nature of it may be conceived by the guttural
pronunciation in the Spanish language, and by the different
tones which are used in the French and Italian. These
tones are almost imperceptible; yet they have different
meanings, a circumstance which gave rise to the proverb,
that the tone is everything.
If the fineness and delicacy of their tones are such as to
be scarcely perceptible to a stranger, we must suppose that
they do not rise high, but only by small intervals; so that
the music of their language must somewhat resemble the
music of the birds, which is within a small compass, but
nevertheless of great variety of notes. Hence it follows,
that strangers will find it very difficult, if not impossible, to
learn this language ; more especially if they have not a de¬
licate ear and a flexible voice, and also much practice. The
great difference then between the Chinese and Greek ac¬
cents consists in this, that the Greeks had but two accents,
the grave and acute, distinguished by a large interval, and
that not very exactly marked; for the acute, although it
never rises above a fifth higher than the grave, did not al-
w a\ s rise so high, and was sometimes pitched lower accord¬
ing to the voice of the speaker. The Chinese must have
many more accents, and the intervals between them must
be much smaller, and much more carefully marked; for
otherwise it would be impossible to distinguish them. At
the same time, their language must be much more musical
than the Greek, and perhaps more so than any language
ought to be; though this has becomes necessary for the pur¬
poses above mentioned. Duhalde is positive that notwith¬
standing the perpetual variation of accents in the Chinese
tongue, and the almost imperceptible intervals l>etween these
tones, their enunciation does not resemble singing. Many
people, however, who have resided in China, are equally posi¬
tive that the tone in which they utter their words does actu¬
ally resemble canting ; and this, when we consider the al¬
most imperceptible intervals by which they are perpetually
raising and lowering the pitch of their voice, appears to us
highly probable.
As the people of whose language we are treating at pre¬
sent communicate a variety of different significations to
their monosyllabic terms by means of varied accentuation,
so they employ quantity for the very same purpose. By
lengthening or shortening the vowels of their words, they
employ them to signify very different things ; and they per¬
form the same thing by giving their words different aspira¬
tions, as likewise by sounding them with different degrees of
roughness and smoothness, and even sometimes by the differ¬
ent motion, posture, or attitude, writh which their enunciation
is accompanied. By these methods of diversifying their mo¬
nosyllables, says Duhalde, they make three hundred and
thirty of them serve all the purposes of language, and these
390
PHILOLOGY.
Chinese
Language.
Grammar
of the Chi
nese.
Chinese
letters or
characters
too not much varied in their termination; since all the words
in that language either terminate with a vowel or with the
consonant n, sometimes with the consonant g annexed.
From this account, we think it is evident that the Chi¬
nese, bv a wonderful exertion of ingenuity, do, by different
tones and prosodical modifications, by means of a very in¬
considerable number of invariable radicals, actually perform
all that the most polished nations have been able to achieve
by their compounds, derivatives, &c. diversified by declen¬
sions, conjugations, and flexions of every kind ; circumstan¬
ces which, in our opinion, reflect the greatest honour on their
inventive powers. . . . . .. i
With respect to the grammar of this language, a» it au-
- mits of no flexions, all their words being indeclinable, their
cases and tenses are, therefore, formed by particles, ihey
have no idea of genders ; and even the distinction of num¬
bers, which in almost all other languages, however unim¬
proved, is marked by a particular word, is in the Chinese
indicated only by a particle. They have no more than the
three simple tenses, namely, the past, present, future ; and
for want of different terminations, the same word stands ei¬
ther for the verb or the verbal substantive, the adjective or
the substantive derived from it, according to its position in
the sentence. The Chinese language being composed of
monosyllables, and these indeclinable, can scarcely be re¬
duced to grammatical rules. We shall, however, attempt to
lay before our readers as much of the texture of that singu¬
lar dialect as may enable them to form some vague idea of
its genius and constitution ; beginning with the letters, and
proceeding regularly to the remaining parts as they natu¬
rally succeed each other. .
The art of joining the Chinese monosyllables together is
extremly difficult, and requires a very long and laborious
course of study. As they have only figures by which they
can express their thoughts, and have no accents in writing
to vary the pronunciation, they are obliged to employ as
many different figures or characters as there are different
tones, which give an equal number of different significations
to the same word. Besides some single characters signi y
two or three words, and sometimes even a whole period.
For example, to write these words, good morrow, Sir, instead
of joining the characters which signify good and morrow with
that of Sir, a different character must be used, and this cha¬
racter alone expresses these three words; a circumstance
which greatly contributes to multiply the Chinese characters.
This method of joining the monosyllables is indeed suffi¬
cient for writing so as to be understood; but it is aeeme
trifling, and is used only by the vulgar. _ The style which is
employed, in order to shine in composition, is quite differ¬
ent from that which is used in conversation, though the
words are in reality the same. In writings of that species,
a man of letters must use more elegant phrases, and more lofty
expressions, and the whole must be dignified with tropes
and figures which are not in general use, but m a peculiar
manner adapted to the nature of the subject in question.
The characters of Cochin-china, of Tong-king, and of Japan,
are the same with those of the Chinese, and signify the
same things; though, in speaking, these nations do not ex¬
press themselves in the same manner. The language of
conversation is therefore very different, and they aie not
able to understand each other; whilst, at the same time,
they understand each other’s written language, and have all
their books in common.
The learned must not only be acquainted with the cha¬
racters which are employed in the common affairs of life,
but must also understand their various combinations, and
the numerous and multiform dispositions and arrangements
which of several simple strokes make the compound charac¬
ters. The number of their characters amounts to about eighty
thousand; and the man who knows the greatest number
of them is of course the most learned. From this chcum-
stance we may conclude, that many years must be employ- Chines
ed to acquire the knowledge of such a prodigious number hangup
of characters, to distinguish them when they are compound-
ed, and to remember their shape and import. After all, a
person who understands ten thousand characters may ex¬
press himself with tolerable propriety in this language, and
may be able to read and understand a great number of books.
The generality of their learned men do not understand above
fifteen or twenty thousand, and few of their doctors have
attained to the knowledge of above forty thousand. Ihis
prodigious number ot cliuracters is collected in tlieir grecit
vocabulary called Hcii-picn. Ihey have ladical letters,
which show the origin of words, and enable them to find out
those which are derived from them; for instance, the charac¬
ters of mountains, trees, man, the earth, a horse, under which
must be sought all that belongs to mountains, trees, man,
&c. In this search one must learn to distinguish in every
word those strokes or figures winch are above, beneath, on the
sides, or in the body of the radical figure.
Clemens Alexandrinus (see the section on the Chaldaic
language) informs us, that the Egyptians employed three
sorts of characters : The first was called the epistolographc
which was used in writing letters ; toe second was denomi¬
nated hieratic, and peculiar to the sacerdotal order ; the last
formed the hieroglyphical, which was appropriated to monu¬
mental inscriptions and other public memorials. This mode
of representation was twofold. One, and the most simple,
was performed by describing the picture of the object which
thev intended to represent, or at least one that xesembled
it pretty nearly ; as when they exhibited the sun by a circle
and the moon by a crescent. The other was properly sym¬
bolic ; as when they marked eternity by a serpent with the
emblem of life, and the air by a man clothed in an azure
robe studded with stars.
The Chinese, in all probability, had the same variety ot
characters. In the beginning of their monarchy, they com¬
municated their ideas by drawing on paper the images ot
the objects they intended to express ; that is, they drew the
figure of a bird, a mountain, a tree, waving lines, to indi¬
cate birds, mountains, forests, rivers, and so on. I here,
were, however, to be communicated an infinite number o
ideas, the objects ot which do not fall under the cognizance
of the senses; such as the soul, the thoughts, the passions,
beauty, deformity, virtues, vices, the actions of men and
other animals. This inconvenience obliged them to a ter
their original mode of writing, which was too confined to
answer that purpose, to introduce characters of a more sim¬
ple nature, and to invent others to express those things
which are the objects of our senses.
These modern characters are, however, truly hierogly- Chined
pineal, since they are composed of simple letters wh-ch re-h.l,H
tain the signification of the primitive characters. Theon-gJ!
ginal character for the sun was a circle thus©; and this they
called ga. They now represent that luminary by the fi¬
gure 1= , to which they still give the original name, tint
human institutions having annexed to these last-frame
characters the very same ideas indicated by the original
signs, the consequence is, that every Chinese letter is ac¬
tually significant, and that it still retains its significancy,
though connected with others. Accordingly the word tsai,
which imports misfortune, or calamity, is composed of the
ter mien, a house, and the letter ho, fire ; so that the sym¬
bolical character for misfortune is the figure of a h°lise
fire. The Chinese characters, then, are not simple letters
without any signification, like those of the Europeans^ando
other Asiatics ; but when they are joined together, they ar
so many ideographic signs, which represent or expres
th°Upon the whole, the original characters of the Chinese
i * i.    . nvf imrwrwpmpnt WHS tilG ini
were real pictures; the next improvement was the intro-
the symbolical character ; whilst the third
duction of the syi
P H I L O L O G Y.
mi
inese last Stage was the present mode, in which artificial signs have
juage. been fabricated, to represent such thoughts or ideas as could
v ^ not be represented by one or other of the methods above de¬
scribed. Duhalde (vol. ii. p. 400, et seq.) has furnished us
with rules for pronouncing the Chinese vowels and conso¬
nants ; a piece of information which, as it would be of little
consequence to our readers, we shall therefore pass over,
and proceed to give a brief account of the Chinese grammar.
As the whole language is composed of monosyllables, and
these indeclinable, its grammatical structure must be sim¬
ple and obvious ; we shall, therefore, only mention what to
us appears singular and important.
( ,.se In the Chinese language there is no diversity of gen-
pa of ders or cases, and consequently no declensions. Very often
swh. the noun is not distinguished from the verb ; and the same
word which in one situation is a substantive, may in another
become an adjective, and even a verb. The adjective al¬
ways goes before the substantive; but if it follow it, it be¬
comes a substantive. The cases and numbers are known
only by the composition. The plural number is distinguish¬
ed by the particle men, which is common to all nouns; but
when the noun is preceded by some word which signifies
number, the particle men is not annexed. The Chinese
genitive, both singular and plural, when it comes after nouns,
is often made by ti ; and there is no other case in that
language. The same particle is sometimes placed after pro¬
nouns, as if they were derivatives. The comparative degree
is formed by adding the particle keng, which is always plac¬
ed before the noun, and signifies much. The particle to is
sometimes used, and likewise imports much. The Chinese
have only three personal pronouns, nqo, I, ni, thou, and
ta, he ; and these become plural by adding the syllable men.
They are made possessive by adding the syllable ti, as nqo
ti, mine, ni ti, thine, ta ti, his. The patronymics are form¬
ed by putting the name of the city, country, or the like,
after the pronoun ; and chon is the relative pronoun who,
what, which. Chinese verbs have only three tenses ; the
preterperfect, the present, and the future. When there is
no particle added to the verb, it is the present; the preter¬
perfect is made by adding the particle leao ; and to distin¬
guish the future tense they use the particle tsiang or hoei;
these being all the varieties incident to their verbs. The Chi¬
nese language has no words which are properly adverbs ;
they only become so by custom, or by the place which they
occupy in discourse. They are often obliged to employ se¬
veral words to express the adverbs of other languages. They
have none which are demonstrative, or proper for calling or
exhorting; but in their stead they are obliged to use nouns
and verbs.
Th nu- Perhaps our readers may wish to know the Chinese nu-
me . merals, and imagine that they bear a resemblance to those
of the European or other Asiatic dialects. In this suppo¬
sition, however, they will find themselves disappointed. The
numerals are as follow:—y,one ; eut, two ; san, three; sace,
four ; ou, five ; lou, six ; tsi, seven ; po, eight; kieou, nine;
die, ten; che y, eleven ; eut die, twelve ; san che, thirteen ;
pe, one hundred ; eut pe, two hundred ; y tsien, one thou¬
sand ; y ouan, one thousand; che ouan, twenty thousand; eut
ouan, one hundred thousand ; che ouan, two hundred thou¬
sand; ypeouan one million. There are a great many particles
proper to numbers in the Chinese language, which are fre¬
quently used, and in a way peculiar to it; for every numeral
has a particle importing the object to which it is attached.
Thus co is used for man, and y co for a w oman ; hoei is used
for illustrious men ; tche or tchi is used for ships, dogs, hens ;
mey is used for pearls and precious things ; pen is used for
books'; teng is appropriated to oxen and cows ; too is used
for letters and little bundles of paper ; oo is employed for
corn and pulse. Those distinctions indicate a language
manufactured on purpose to be employed by people who
were too high and too haughty to converse with the vulgar.
The style of the Chinese, in their elaborate compositions, Chinese
is mysterious, concise, and allegorical, after the manner of Language,
the orientals. It is often obscure to those who do not under-
stand the language thoroughly ; and it requires a considera- Style of the
ble degree of skill to avoid mistakes in reading an author of
elegance and sublimity. Their writers express a great
deal in few wTords; and their expressions are lively, full of
spirit, intermingled with bold comparisons and lofty meta¬
phors. They affect to insert in their compositions many
sentences borrowed from their five canonical books; and as
they compare their books to pictures, so they liken these
quotations to thefive principal colours employed in painting;
and in this their eloquence chiefly consists. They prefer
a beautiful character to the most finished picture ; and no¬
thing is more common than to see a single page covered
with old characters (if they happen to be fair and elegant)
sold at a very high price. They honour their characters in
the most common books ; and when they happen to light by
chance upon a printed leaf, they gather it up with the great¬
est care and respect.
In China there are three varieties of language ; that of
the common people, that of the people of fashion, and that
employed in writing books. Though the first is not so ele¬
gant as either of the other tw o, it is not however inferior to
our European languages; notwithstanding those who are
but superficially acquainted with the Chinese may imagine
it uncouth and barbarous. This low and rude language is
pronounced and written many different ways, as is gene¬
rally the case in other countries. But a more polished, and
at the same time a much more energetic, language, is em¬
ployed in an almost infinite number of novels ; some perhaps
true, but many more the vehicles of fiction. These are re¬
plete with lively descriptions, characters highly finished, mo¬
rality, variety, wit, and vivacity, in such a degree as to equal
in purity and politeness the most celebrated authors of Eu¬
rope. This was the language of the Mandarins; but though
exquisitely beautiful in its kind, it was still inferior to the
language of books. This last might be styled the hyper¬
sublime ; and of it there are several degrees and intervals
before an author can arrive at what is called the language of
the king. This mode of w riting cannot be well understood
without looking upon the letters ; but when understood, it
appears easy and flowing. Each thought is generally ex¬
pressed in four or six characters; nothing occurs that can
offend the nicest ear; and the variety of the accents with
w hich it is pronounced produces a soft and harmonious sound.
The difference between the king and their other books
consists in the difference of the subjects upon which they
are written. Those of the former are always grand and sub¬
lime, and of course the style is noble and elevated. Those
of the latter approach nearer to the common affairs and
events of life, and are of consequence detailed in the Man¬
darin tongue. In writing on sublime subjects no punctua¬
tion is used. As these compositions are intended for the
learned only, the author leaves to the reader to determine
where the sense is complete; and those who are well skil¬
led in the language readily find it out.
The copiousness of the Chinese language is in a great
measure owing to the multitude of its characters. It is like¬
wise occasioned, in some degree, by the difference of their
signification, as also by the artificial method of conjunc¬
tion, which is performed most commonly by uniting the cha¬
racters two and two, frequently three and three, and some¬
times four and four.
Their books are very numerous and bulky, and of course Their
exceedingly cumbrous. A dictionary of their language was books im-
compiled in the eighteenth century. It consisted of nine- merous and
ty-five large volumes; and an appendix was annexed of twen- bu;ky.
ty-five volumes. Their other books are voluminous in pro¬
portion. The Chinese, one may say, are a nation of learn¬
ed men. Few people of rank neglect the belles lettres : for
392
P H I L O L O G
i..
Chinese ignorance in a man of any degree of eminence is deemed evidently of the same origin with those which occur in other Chines
Language. an indelible stain on his character.1 dialects, used by people, who, according to the natural course Lar.^,
'pjjg Chinese have ever looked upon themselves as great- of things, could never have been connected with that remote
Obstacles jy SUperior to the vest of mankind. In ancient times they country. As an appropriate conclusion to this section, we
to improve- entertajne^ such contemptible notions of foreigners, that shall produce here a few of these coincidencies.
science' andthey scorned to have any further commerce with them than 1. China, or, as the orientals write it, Sin, is perhaps the
literature, to receive their homage. They were indeed, at a very ear- Latin sinus, the bosom, the heart, the middle, bhe On¬
ly period, highly revered by the Indians, Persians, and Tar- nese actually imagine that their country is situated in the
tars; and in consequence of this veneration, they looked up- very middle of the earth, and consequently call it Cham,
on themselves as the favourites of Heaven. They imagined the middle, the heart, a denomination which exactly suits
that theywere situated in the middle ofthe earth, in a kind of their opinion. 2. Tu, in Chinese, intimates every thing
paradise, in order to give laws to the rest of mankind. Other that falls under the cognizance of the senses, every thing
men they looked upon with contempt and disdain, deeming that strikes the sight; in Latin, tueor. 3. Ta, a table, a
them deformed in body and defective in mind, cast out into a plank, a figure that renders every thing sensible ; second-
the remote corners of the world as the dross and refuse ly, to see, to look upon, to appear ; Greek rav rava, whence
of nature. They boasted that they themselves alone had reivco, tendo. 4. Tue, to examine attentively, to inspect
received from God rational souls and beautiful bodies, in or- carefully. 5. Tui, the most apparent, chief, principal, first;
der to qualify them for being sovereigns of the species. secondly, lightning, thunder. 6. Teu, a sign by which we
Such are the sentiments of the Chinese; and with such know one, letter of acknowledgment. All these ideas are
sentiments it is by no means surprising that their improve- contained in the Hebrew in, thu, signum, which we be-
ments in language, in writing, and other appendages of the lieve has produced the Egyptian theuth, the god or godlike
belles lettres, have not been proportioned to their progress man who invented letters, geometry, music, and astronomy,
in mechanics. When people are once fully persuaded that 7. Tai, a dye, a theatre ; Greek of old, 6eaw, then 6eaofuu,
they have already arrived at the summit of perfection, it is to see, to look. 8. Tam, Latin tantum, so much. 9. Tan,
natural for them to sit down contented, and to solace them- land, country, region, a syllable annexed to the end of a
selves with the idea of their own superior attainments. The great number of words, thus, Aqui tan, Aquitania, a land o.
Chinese had early entertained an exalted opinion of their water; Mauri tan, Mauritania, the land of the Moors,
own superiority to the rest of mankind ; and therefore ima- The orientals prefix s, and hence Farsi stan, Farsistan, the
gined that they had already carried their inventions to the land or country of the Persians ; Chusi stan, Chusistan,
ne plus ultra of perfection. The consequence was, that they the country of Chuz ; Turque stan, Turquestan, the land
could make no exertions to carry them higher. of the lurks. 10. Ti, a chief, an emperor, a title of dig-
The Chinese, for the space of three thousand years, had nity ; whence the Greek tub, to honour, and also tne word
almost no intercourse with the rest of mankind. This was di, bright, glorious; At?, Jupiter, Auw, divine, the Latin Dtus,
the consequence of their insulated situation. They of course now Deus, God, and Divus, with the digamma AEolicum in-
compared themselves with themselves; and finding that serted, the Celtic 7>Am,&c. It signified originally bright, glo-
they excelled all their barbarian neighbours, they readily rious, and was an epithet of the sun. 11. Turn, Latin tumeo,
entertained an opinion that they excelled all the rest of to swell. 12. Liven,\.o love; Hebrewib,leb,the heart; Latm
mankind in an equal proportion. This conceit at once stifled lihet. This word pervades all the dialects ofthe Gothic tongue,
the emotions of ambition, and deprived them of all oppor- still retaining either the same or a nearly analogous sigmflca-
tunities of learning what was going forward in other parts tion. 13. ZJ,letters; Latin, lino, to daub, as the Chinese ac-
of the world. They despised every other nation. People tually do in forming their letters. 14. Lo, to contain, that
are little disposed to imitate those whom they despise ; and which contains; Celtic, log; French, loge, logis,loger. 15.
this perhaps may be one reason why they are at this day so Lim, a rule ; hence the Latin, hnea, a line. lb. Su, with;
averse to adopt the inventions of Europeans. Greek, <tw, with ; Celtic, cyn, cym ; Latin, cum, con, &c.
A superstitious attachment to the customs ofthe ancients 17. Xim, very high, elevated, sacred, perfect; Latin, exi-
is the general character of the Asiatic nations. This is evi- mius. 18. Sin, the heart; Persian, Sin, the heart. 19. bien,
dentlya kind of diacritical feature amongst the Chinese. The chief, first; Celtic, can, cean, san, the head ; metaphorical-
institutions of Fold are looked up to amongst them with the ly, the chief, the first, the principal; Thibet, sen, or ken,
same veneration as those of Thoth were amongst the Egyp- great, elevated; Arabic, same, to be elevated or raised,
tians. Amongst the latter, there was a law which made it 20. Sim, or Sing, a constellation, a star, an element; He-
capital to introduce any innovation into the arts of music, brew, shem ; Greek, a^eiov, <rWa ; Latin, signum. 21. bie,
painting, or statuary, as instituted bv that legislator. We a man of learning ; Goth. Sax. Engl, see, to see, seer.
hear of no such law amongst the former ; but custom esta- Cem, a priest; Hebrew, cohen; Syriac, con; Egyptian, can,
blished, and that invariably, for a space of three thousand cun. 23. Qwm,aking; Celtic, ken, kend, head, chief ; Gothic,
years, might operate as forcibly amongst them as a positive koanig ; Germ. Flem. Engl, king, also queen. 24. Hu, a
iaw did amongst the people first mentioned. An attachment door; Goth. Germ. Engl, hus, hausen, house. 25. Min, a.
to ancient customs is often more powerful and more coercive river ; Welch, men, the water of a river ; Latin, memo, to
than any law which can be promulgated and enforced by mere flow, and perhaps amoenus, pleasant. 26. Hen, hatred;
human authority. These circumstances, we think, may be Greek, alvos, cruel, horrible, odious. 27. Riven, a og,
assigned as the impediments to the progress of the Chinese Greek, svav, the same. 28. Ven, beauty ; Latin, Venus, ve¬
in the belles lettres, and perhaps in the cultivation of the nustas ; Iceland. Swed. wen, pleasant; Scotch, winsome.
sciences. 29. Han, the soul, breath ; Greek, avegos; Latin, ammo,
Chinese Though the language of the Chinese is confessedly diffe- animus. ^ .
words rentfrom all other known languages in its character and con- To these instances of the analogy between the Cnines
other lan struction, it nevertheless contains a great number of words language and those of the other people of Asia and Europe
guages.         '
1 For their manner of writing, the implements with which they write, and the materials upon which they draw their character ,
refer our readers to the article Writing. It would, we believe, afford our readers considerable pleasure, could we discover and p
reasons which have hitherto prevented the Chinese from adopting the letters employed from time immemorial by the other natio
rope and Asia.
PHILOLOGY.
Greek many more might be added ; but the preceding, it is hoped,
Language. wiH serve as a specimen, which is all that can be expected
in an inquiry such as the present.1
SECT. VII. OF THE GREEK LANGUAGE.
rigin of Before we enter upon the consideration of the essential
| eGreeksand constituent parts of this noble language, we must beg
leave to settle a few preliminaries, which, we trust, will
serve to throw some light upon many points that will come
under our consideration in the course of the following dis¬
quisition.
The Greeks, according to the most authentic accounts,
were descended of Javan or Jon, the fourth son of Japhet,
the eldest son of the patriarch Noah. The Scriptures of
old, and all the orientals to this day, call the Greeks Jonim,
or Jaunam, or Javenoth. We have already observed, in
the beginning of the article concerning the Hebrew lan¬
guage, that only a few of the descendants of Ham, and the
most profligate of the posterity of Shem and Japhet, were
concerned in building the tower of Babel. We shall not
now resume the arguments then collected in support of that
position, but proceed to investigate the character of that
branch of the posterity of Javan which inhabited Greece
and the neighbouring regions.
At what period the colonists arrived in these parts cannot
be certainly determined ; nor is it of any great importance
in the question before us. That they carried along with
them into their new settlements the language of Noah and
his family, is, we think, a point which cannot be controvert¬
ed. We have endeavoured to prove that the Hebrew, or
at least one or other of its sister-dialects, was the primeval
language of mankind. The Hebrew, then, or one of its
cognate branches, was the original dialect of the Jonim or
Greeks.
But however this may be, before these people make their
appearance in profane history, their language appears to have
deviated very widely from this original archetype. By what
means, at what period, and in what length of time this change
was introduced, is, we believe, a matter not easy to be elu¬
cidated. That it was progressive, is abundantly certain from
the rules both of analogy and of reason.
iey were The colonies, which traversed a large tract of country be-
ig a bar- fore they arrived at their destined settlements, must have
oib peo- struggled with numberless difficulties in the course of their
peregrinations. The earth, during the period which imme¬
diately succeeded the universal deluge, must have been co¬
vered with forests, and intersected with swamps, lakes, rivers,
and numberless other impediments. As the necessaries, and
a few of the conveniencies of life, will always engross the
first cares of mankind, the procuring of these comforts will,
of necessity, exclude all concern about arts and sciences
which are unconnected with such primary pursuits. Hence
we think it probable, that most of those colonies that migrat¬
ed to a very great distance from the plains of Shinar, which
are believed to have been the original seat of mankind, in a
great measure neglected the practice of the polite but un¬
necessary modes of civilization, which their ancestors were
acquainted with and practised before the era of their mi¬
gration. Certain it is, that those nations which continued
to reside in the neighbourhood of that centre of civilization,
always appear in a cvdtivated state; whilst, at the same time,
the colonists who removed to a considerable distance ap¬
pear to have sunk into barbarism, at a period more early
than the annals of profane history can reach. This appears
to have been the situation of the primary inhabitants of
393
Greece. Their own historians, the most partial to their Greek
own countrymen that can well be imagined, exhibit a very language,
unpromising picture of their earliest progenitors. Diodo-
rus Siculus, in delineating the character of the original men,
sketches his outline, we believe, from the first inhabitants
of Greece.2 He represents them as absolute savages, go¬
ing out in small parties to make war upon the wild beasts
of the field, which, according to him, kept them in conti¬
nual alarm. “ Necessity obliged them to band together for
their mutual security ; they had not sagacity enough to dis¬
tinguish between the wholesome and poisonous vegetables ;
nor had they skill enough to lay up and preserve the fruits
of autumn for their subsistence during the winter.” The
scholiast on Pindar describes the situation of the inhabi¬
tants of Peloponnesus in the following manner:3 “ Now
some have affirmed that the nymphs, who officiated in per¬
forming the sacred writes, were called Melissa. Of these
Mnaseas of Patara gives the following account. They pre¬
vailed upon men to relinquish the abominable practice of
eating raw flesh torn from living animals, and persuaded
them to use the fruits of trees for food. Melissa, one of
them, having discovered bee-hives, ate of the honey-combs,
mingled the honey with wrater for drink, and taught theother
nymphs to use the same beverage. She called bees Me-
Xurcrcu, Melissa, from her owrn name, and bestowed much
care on the management of them. These things,” says he,
“ happened in Peloponnesus; nor is the temple of Ceres
honoured without nymphs, because they first pointed out
the mode of living on the fruits of the earth, and put an end
to the barbarous practice of feeding on human flesh. The
same ladies, too, from a sense of decency, invented garments
made of the bark of trees.”
Hecataeus the Milesian, treating of the Peloponnesians, Progress of
affirms,4 “ that before the arrival of the Hellenes, a race of their civili-
barbarians inhabited that region ; and that almost all Greece sation.
was, in ancient times, inhabited by barbarians.5 “ In the
earliest times,” says Pausanias, “barbarians inhabited most
part of the country called Hellas^ The original Greeks,
it we may believe an author of deep research and superior
ingenuity,7 were strangers to all the most useful inventions
of life. Even the use of fire was unknown till it was found
out and communicated by Prometheus, who is believed to
have been one of the first civilizers of mankind. Hence
JEschylus introduces Prometheus commemorating the be¬
nefits which he had conferred upon mankind by his inven¬
tions,8 in a strain that indicates the uncultivated state of the
world prior to the age in which he flourished.
“ Of the human race
Now hear the tale, how foolish erst they were :
I taught them thought and exercise of reason:
If aught they saw before, they saw in vain.
Hearing, they heard not; all was shapeless dreams
For a long space of time, at random mixt
In wild confusion : for they neither knew
Tile-cover’d houses standing in the sun,
Nor timber-work ; but, like the earth-bred ant,
They lodg’d in sunless caves dug under ground:
No certain sign had they of winter cold,
Nor of the tlow’ry spring, or summer store,
But blindly managed all; till I them taught
What time the stars appear, what time they set,
Hard to be scan’d : then arithmetic rare,
That queen of arts, by dint of patient thought
Descry’d, I taught them; and how vocal sounds
From letters join’d arose.”
This character, although applied to mankind in general,
was in reality that of the most ancient Greeks. These for-
See the article China in this work, particularly the portion of it which treats of the Chinese language.
Bib. i. 3 Python, ode 4. 4 Strabo, lib. vii.
The Greeks borrowed this contemptuous epithet from the Egyptians. See Herod, lib. ii.cap. 158.
Plin. Hist. Nat, 8 Prometh, verse 441.
VOL. XVII.
5 Id. lib. i.
3 D
394
PHILOLOGY.
Arrival of
a new co-
Greek bidding features had been transmitted to the poet by tra-
Language. dition as those of his ancestors; but he was a Greek, and eon-
' sequently imputes them to all mankind without distinction.
Phoroneus, the son and successor of Inachus, is said to
have civilized the Argives, and taught them the use of some
new inventions. This circumstance raised his character so
high among the savage aborigines of the country, that suc¬
ceeding ages deemed him the first of men. Pelasgus ob¬
tained a similar character, because he taught the Arcadians
to live upon the fruit of the fagus, to build sheds to shelter
them from the cold, and to make garments of the skins of
swine. , v i i i
But what most clearly demonstrates the unpolished cha¬
racter of the ancient Greeks is, the extravagant honours la¬
vished by them upon the inventors of useful and ingenious
arts. Most of these persons were advanced to divine hon¬
ours, and became the objects of religious worship to succeed¬
ing generations. The family of the Titans affords a most
striking instance of this species of adulation. Jupiter, Juno,
Mars, Apollo, Venus, Diana, and others, were sprung of this
family. By the useful inventions which these persons com¬
municated to the uncultivated nations of Greece, they ob¬
tained such lasting and extravagant honours, that they jos¬
tled out the sidereal divinities of the country, and possessed
their high rank as long as Paganism prevailed in those re¬
gions. To these clear testimonies of the savage character of
the original Greeks, others almost without number might be
added ; but those produced in the preceding part of this in¬
quiry will, we trust, satisfy every candid reader as to the
truth of the position advanced.
Whilst matters were in this situation with respect to the
* ...v, primitive Jonim or Greeks, a new colony arrived in those
lony called parts, which in a few years considerably changed the face
Pelasgi. Qp affairs. The people who composed this colony were call¬
ed Pelasgi ; concerning whose origin, country, character,
and adventures, much has been written, and many differ¬
ent opinions have been held by the learned. It is not our
province to enter into a detail of their arguments and sys-
terns; and we shall content ourselves with informing our
readers, that, according to one opinion, they were natives
either of Egypt or of Phoenicia, whilst according to another,
and that perhaps the most generally received, theywere of
Thracian, or, in other words, of Gothic origin. See the
article Pelasgians. _ .
In a very able dissertation upon this subject, it has been
proved by many plausible arguments, that this people could
not be descendants of the Egyptians nor Phoenicians. The
author maintains, that the Pelasgians were a great and nu¬
merous tribe ; that they overspread all the coast of Asia
Minor from Mount Mycale to 1 roas; that they were at one
time masters of nearly all the Asiatic and Grecian islands;
that they overran Greece andmany of the neighbouring coun-
tries; and that all this they effected in less than half a century.
These facts he appears to have proved from Homer, Herodo¬
tus, Diodorus Siculus, Pausanias, and other Greek authors of
approved authenticity. He shows, that they were a civilized
race of men, and that theywere well acquainted with military
affairs, legislation, agriculture, navigation, architecture, let¬
ters, &c. He insists, that Phoenicia could not at any
given period have furnished such a numerous body of emi¬
grants, even supposing that the whole nation had emigrated,
leaving their native country a desert. He believes that
this event took place before the invasion of Caanan by the
Israelites, and that consequently the Pelasgic migration was
not occasioned by that catastrophe. He has shown, we
think, bv very probable arguments, that the Egyptians in
the earliest ages were averse to foreign expeditions, especi¬
ally by sea; that in fact they hated navigation, and, besides, Greek
could'be under no temptation to emigrate ; and that, whilst Language,
they had accustomed themselves to live on small matters,
their country was exceedingly fertile and easily cultivat¬
ed^ It appears from Herodotus, that the Pelasgians were
not acquainted with the religion of the Zabians, which, he
conceives, could not have been the case had they emigrated
from either of these countries. He makes it appear, that
Herodotus is mistaken when he supposes that the deities of
Greece were derived from Egypt. He demonstrates, that
the names of the greater part of those divinities are of Phoe¬
nician extraction ; and this opinion he establishes by a very
plausible etymological deduction. He asserts, that if the
Pelasgians had been natives of either of the countries above
mentioned, it would be absurd to suppose them to have
been ignorant of the names and the religious rites of their
respective nations. He shows, that the Egyptian and Phoe¬
nician colonies, which afterwards settled in Greece, were
enemies of the Pelasgians, and either subdued or expelled
them the country; which, he imagines, would scarcely have
been the case had both parties sprung from the same ances¬
tors. And, having settled these points, he concludes, that the
people in question were the progeny of the Arabian shep¬
herds, who, at a very early period, invaded and subdued
both Lower and Upper Egypt, and after possessing that
country for about a century and a half, were conquered
by Amenophis king of Upper Egypt, who drove them
out of the country ; upon which the fugitives retired to
Palestine, where Manetho the Egyptian historian loses sight
of them, and either through malice or ignorance confounds
them with the Israelites. This writer supposes that these
fugitives gradually directed their course towards the western
and north-western coasts of Asia Minor, whence they passed
over to Greece. Such are the arguments by which the au¬
thor of the dissertation above referred to supports his hypo¬
thesis, and, as we think, proves a negative against the opinion
that the Pelasgians were natives of Egypt or Phoenicia.3
But be this as itmay, nothing seems more certain than that Introduc-
the Pelasgians were the first people who in some degree tion of let-
civilized the savages of ancient Greece. It is not our busi- ters.
ness at present to enumerate the many useful inventions
which they communicated to the Greeks, at that time worse
than barbarians. We deem it absolutely necessary, how¬
ever, as an introduction to our subject, to hazard a few con¬
jectures on the language and letters of those adventurers,
a point strictly connected with the subject which is about
to come under consideration.
Whether we suppose the Pelasgians to have been the off¬
spring of the Phoenicians, Egyptians, or Arabian shepherds, it
will make little difference as to their language; because every
man of learning and research is convinced that those three
nations, especially at the early period in question, spoke a dia¬
lect of the Hebrew. The Pelasgians, then, must have spoken
a dialect of that language when they arrived in Greece. Pcr¬
imps it might have undergone several changes, and acquir¬
ed some new modifications, during the many yearswhichhad
passed since they began to be a separate nation, and in the
course of numerous peregrinations. Some monuments still
extant prove this fact beyond all contradiction. As these
people incorporated with the aborigines of Greece, the re¬
mains of the original language of mankind, or at least as
much of it as had been retained by them, gradually coa¬
lesced with that of the new settlers. From this, we think,
it is obvious, that prior to the arrival of the new colonists from
the East, the language now current amongst the two united
tribes must have been a dialect of the Phoenician, Arabian>
or Hebrew. Butbe this as it may, Herodotus4 affirms that the
2 Pausanias, lib. viii. c. i . ^ ,
3 If our readers should wish to know more of this subject, they may co"sult o/TlSfSS
Lord Monboddo’s Inquiry into the Origin and Progress of Language, vol. i. towards the end, ^ j ^ ^ ^ ^
logy, passim. *
PHILOLOGY. 395
Greek Pelasgians in his time spoke a barbarous language, quite un-
anguage. intelligible to the modern Greeks.
The reason of this difference between the language of
the Hellenes or Greeks in the age of Herodotus, and that
of the remains of the Pelasgians at that period, may easily
be conjectured. Previously to the era of that historian, the
Greek language had, from time to time, undergone many
changes, and received vast improvements ; whereas, on the
contrary, that of the remnant of the Pelasgians, who were
now reduced to a very low state, had remained stationary,
and was then just in the same predicament in which it had
been a century after their arrival in the country.
Since the Pelasgians, as was above observed, were a people
highly civilized and well instructed in the various arts at that
time known in the eastern world, they must have been skilled
in agriculture, architecture, music, and other arts.1 The pre¬
sumption then is that they could not be unacquainted with
alphabetical writing. This most useful art was well known
in the countries from which they emigrated; and of course
it is impossible to imagine that they did not export it as well
as the others above mentioned. Diodorus Siculus imagines2
that the Pelasgians knew not the use of alphabetical letters,
but that they received them from Cadmus and his Phoeni¬
cian followers ; and that these letters were afterwards called
Pelasgic, because the Pelasgians were the first people of
Greece who adopted them. But this account must be placed
to the score of national vanity, since soon afterwards he ac¬
knowledges that Linus wrote the exploits of the first Bac¬
chus and several other romantic fables in Pelasgian charac¬
ters ;* and that Orpheus, and Pronapides the master of Ho¬
mer, employed the same kind of letters. Zenobius likewise
informs us that Cadmus slew Linus for teaching characters
different from his.4 These letters could be none other than
the Pelasgic.*
Pausanias, in his Attics, relates, that he himself saw an
inscription upon the tomb of Coraebus, who lived at the time
when Crotopus, who was contemporary with Deucalion, reign¬
ed as king of the Argives.® This inscription then was prior
to the arrival of Cadmus; and consequently letters were
known in Greece before they were introduced by that chief.
It likewise appears from Herodotus himself, that the lonians
were in possession of alphabetical characters before the land¬
ing of the Phoenicians. “For,” says he, “the lonians
having received letters from the Phoenicians, changing the
figure and sound of some of them, ranged them with their
own, and in this manner continued to use them afterwards.”?
If, then, the lonians ranged the Phoenician characters with
their own, it is obvious that they had alphabetical charac¬
ters of their own.8
Besides these historical proofs of the existence of Pelas¬
gian characters, monuments bearing inscriptions in the same
letters have been discovered in several parts of Greece and
Italy, which place this point beyond the reach of contro¬
versy. What these characters were may easily be deter¬
mined. As the Pelasgians emigrated from Arabia, the pre¬
sumption is that their letters were Phoenician. They are
said by Dr. Swinton to have been only thirteen in number,
whereas the Phoenician alphabet consists of sixteen. The
three additional letters were probably invented by the lat¬
ter people after the Pelasgians had left the countries of the
East. The Phoenician letters imported by the Pelasgians
were, no doubt, of a very coarse and clumsy contexture, unfa¬
vourable to expedition in writing, and unpleasant to the
sight. Besides, the Phoenician characters had not as yet re¬
ceived their names; and accordingly the Romans, who deriv- Greek
ed their letters from the Arcadian Pelasgians,8 had no names Language,
for theirs. The probability is, that prior to this era the Pe-
lasgian letters had not been distinguished by names. These
were of course no other than the original letters of the
Phoenicians in their first uncouth and irregular form ; and
for this reason they easily gave way to the Cadmean, which
were more beautiful, more regular, and better adapted for
expedition.
Hitherto we have seen the Pelasgians and thelonim incor- The Thra-
porated, living under the same laws, speaking the same lan- cians a
guage, and using the same letters. But another nation, and powerful
one too of great extent and populousness, had at an earlynat4on-
period taken possession of a considerable part of the coun¬
try afterwards distinguished by the name of Hellas ox Greece.
The Thracians, according to “the father of Grecian history,
were a great and mighty nation, indeed inferior to none
except the Indians.9 This people, at a very early period, had
extended their conquests over all the northern parts of that
country. They were, in ancient times, a learned and polished
nation. From them, in succeeding ages, the Greeks derived
many useful and ornamental sciences. Orpheus the musi¬
cian, the legislator, the poet, the philosopher, and the divine,
is known to have been of Thracian extraction.10 Thamyrisand
Linus w'ere his disciples, and were highly respected amongst
the Greeks for their learning and ingenuity. That this peo¬
ple spoke the same language with the Greeks, is abundantly
evident from the connection between the latter and these old
Thracian bards. The Thracian language, then, whatever
it was, contributed in a great proportion towards forming
that of the Greeks. From the remains of the Thracian dia¬
lect there appears to have been a very strong resemblance
between it and the Chaldaic. This position we could rea¬
dily support by the most plausible etymological deductions,
did the limits prescribed us in this article admit of such a dis¬
cussion. It appears, however, that the Thracians, the Geta?,
and the Daci or Davi, spoke nearly the same language.11 The
Goths, so much celebrated in the annals of the lower em¬
pire, were the descendants of the Getse and Daci, and con¬
sequently must have retained the dialect of their ancestors.
The reader, therefore, must not be surprised, if in tracing
the materials of which the Greek language is composed, we
should sometimes have recourse to the remains of the Gothic.
We have now discovered three branches of the Greek lan- Greek
guage ; that of the lonim or Aborigines, that of the Pelas- composed
gic tribes, and that of the Thracians. These three, we ima-of three dia-
gine, were only different dialects of the very same original ^ects-
tongue. This assertion might easily be proved by the com¬
parison of a great number of words taken from the two
last, were this a proper place for such a discussion.
Some centuries after the arrival of the Pelasgians, Cadmus, Cadmus,
an Egyptian by birth,12 and a sojourner in Phoenicia, arriv¬
ed in Boeotia with a multitude of followers ; and this chief
with his countrymen introduced letters and several other
useful improvements into the country in question. As these
immigrants were natives of Phoenicia and its environs, their
alphabet was that of their native country, consisting of six¬
teen letters. That the Phoenician alphabet was nearly the
same with the Samaritan and Hebrew, has so often and
so clearly been demonstrated by the learned that it would be
altogether superfluous to insist upon it in the present inquiry.
The Phoenicians, as is generally known, wrote from right
to left, and the old Grecian characters, inverted, exactly re¬
semble the Phoenician.
ru- Tho4rCadiarls’ w^° were a Pelasgian tribe, were highly celebrated for their skill in music, an art which they introduced into Italy. See
4 n HilCar' llb- 2 Lib. iii. 3 Ibid.
a mu' * ?°ry SharP’s Strictures on the Greek Language. * See Plate CCCCIX. 6 Lib. i. cap. 49. » Lib. i. c. 58.
Ibe Athemans were originally called lonians. s Livii, lib. i. c. 7. 3 Herod lib v. c. 3.
rpheus seems to be compounded of two oriental words, or, light, and phi, the mouth: though some deduce it from the Arabian arif.
a learned man.
11 Strabo, lib- i- and vii. 12 Joseph Scaliger’s account of the origin of the Ionic letters. Eusebius, Chronicon.
396
PHILOLOGY.
Greek The names of the Cadmean characters are Syrian,1 which the long sound of E, and substituted the present spiritus as- Greek
Language, shows the close resemblance between that language and the per ['] in its place. I, iota, is the Hebrew or Phoenician Language,
Phoenician. They stand thus, viz. alpha, beta, gamla, delta, jod or yod. It appears to have originally served the purpose
Cadmean
letters.
&c. The Syrians used to add a to the Hebrew words ;
hence alph becomes alpha, beth, bethaor beta, andsoon. In
the Cadmean alphabet we find the vowel letters, which is
an infallible proof that such was the practice of the Phoeni¬
cians in the age of Cadmus; and this cii cumstance also
furnishes a presumption that the Jews did the same at
the period in question. After all, it is evident that the oldest
Greek letters, which are written from right to left, differ
very little from those of the Pelasgians. fihe four double let¬
ters 6, 0, £, x, are said to have been added by Palamedes
about twenty years before the war of Troy. Simonides is
generally supposed to have added the letters (, rj, \js, though
it appears by ancient inscriptions that these letters were
used before the days of Palamedes and Simonides.
In the year 1456 seven brazen tables were discovered at
Ionic cha- Eugubium, now Gobbio, a city of Umbria in the Apen-
racter. nines, five of which were written in Pelasgian or Etruscan
characters, and two in Latin. The first of these tables is
believed to have been composed about one hundred and
sixty-eight years after the taking of T.roy, or twelve hun¬
dred and six years before Christ. By comparing the in¬
scription on these tables with the old Ionic characters, the
curious have been enabled to discover the lesemblance.
The old Ionic character written from right to left continued
The old
in general use for several centuries. It was composed of characters.
& _ i *,1     • j.:  .rAi
both of iota and ypsilon. It had two different sounds ; the
one broad and full, the other weak and slender. The latter
had the sound of the modern v\p-i\ov. That this was actu¬
ally the case, appears from several monumental'inscriptions;
and upon this depends the variation of some cases of the
demonstrative pronoun and of the second declension. 0,
omicroh, or small o, in the original Greek had three diffe¬
rent sounds. It sounded o short, as at present; and like¬
wise o long, now denoted by Q or large O. It likewise
marked the sound of the improper diphthong ov, sounded
like the English diphthong oo. The £2 was taken from the
Phoenician wau or V. Y, ypsilon, we have observed before,
was adopted to supply a mark for the sound of I slender.
Z,zeta,\s> compounded of S and s. Dionysius of Halicarnassus,
however, informs us, that this letter should be pronounced
o-S, according to the Doric plan, e, theta, was not known in
the old Greek. It is compounded of r and the spiritus as-
per, both which were of old written separately, thus TH. 3,
oci, is compounded of ys, ks, x^- These letters, too, were
originally written separately. <t>, phi. This letter is com¬
pounded of /3,77, and the spiritus asper ; thus, BH, PH. X,
chi, like the foregoing, is compounded of y, k, and the spi¬
ritus asper as above. 'P, psi, like some of the rest, is made
up of /3s, 7ts, which, too, were originally written in separate
the Cadmean and Pelasgian characters, with some variations
of form, position, and sound. I he Athenians continued to
use this character till the year of Rome 350. The old Ionic
was gradually improved into the new, and this quickly be¬
came the reigning mode. But after the old Ionic was laid
aside, the (Bov<TTpo<prj8ov) Bustrophedon, came into practice,
These observations are thrown together purely for the use
of students who may not choose to inquire into the minutice;
and we regret that the nature of the work does not permit
us to extend our researches to greater length. Every lan¬
guage, v^e believe, was originally composed of inflexible
words ; and the variations which now distinguish nouns and
What
which goes backwards and forwards as the ox does when verbs were the effects of progressive improvements. W1
plou^hin0* 2 They carried the line forward from the left, might have been the state ot the Greek language with
and then backward to the right. The words were all placed spect to these variations in its original form, it is not now
close together, and few small letters were used before the possible to discover. That it was rude and irregular, will
fourth century. Such of our readers as w ish to know more not, we imagine, be controverted. One of the first attempts
towards forming the variations, now denominated declen¬
sions and conjugations, would probably be made upon the
demonstrative article and the substantive verb. This ob¬
servation will be found to hold good in most polished lan¬
guages. In the Greek tongue, it was evidently the method
of letters and alphabets, may consult Chishul, Morton, Pos-
tellus, Montfaucon, Gebelin, Astle, and others. For our
own part we are chiefly concerned at present with the Phoeni¬
cian and Cadmean systems ; and on these perhaps we may
have dwelt too long.
The Greek Having now, we hope, sufficiently proved that the Greek employed. . . -p ,
alphabet alphabet was derived from the Phoenician, in order to con- The original Greek article was imported from the East. Origin am ’
derived vince our readers of the certainty of our position, as it were It was the Hebrew or Phoenician n ha. I his particle some-flexion of
from the ocular demonstration, wre shall annex a scheme of both times signifies one, and sometimes rt answers to our demon- e
Phoenician, alphabets, to which we shall at the same time subjoin some strative the; and both in its adverbial and demonstrative ca-
strictures’upon such letters of the Greek alphabet as admit pacity it imports demonstration. In the earliest stages of
of any ambiguity in their nature and application. the two oriental languages, however, it was probably written
A, alpha, had two sounds, the one broad like a in the apart, as ha-melech, the king; but in process of time it came
English word all; the other slender, as e in end, spend, de- to be joined with the following word, as, Hammelech. Prom
fend. The Hebrews certainly used it so, because they had this we think the Greek article was deduced ; and it is still
no other letter to express that sound ; the Arabs actually retained in the Doric dialect in its pristine character. I he
call the first of their alphabet elif; and they as well as the difference between ho and ha in the eastern language is no-
Phcenicians employ that letter to express both the sound of thing. Here then we have the articles 6 masculine, and a
A and E promiscuously. The Greeks call their letter E feminine. Upon these several changes were superinduced,
e-i^Aoi/, that is E slender, which seems to have been intro¬
duced to supply the place of A slender. H, eta, was origi¬
nally the mark of the spiritus asper, and no doubt answer¬
ed to the Hebrew n. It is still retained in that capacity in
the word llfsarov, and in other with the spiritus asper be¬
ginning books, chapters, sections, &c. E originally marked
both the sound of Es/siXov and Hra; that is, it was sometimes
sounded short, as at present, and sometimes long, where it
is now supplied by H. As it was found convenient to dis¬
tinguish these two different quantities of sound by different
letters, they adopted H, the former spiritus asper, to denote
to render them more useful for the purposes of language ; but
for such changes we know of no archetype.
The Greeks then having adopted the Hebrew, or Phoe¬
nician, or Chaldaic article ha, and changed it into ho for
the masculine, seem to have arranged its variations in the
following manner:—
Sing.
Nom. 6
Gen. 6v
Dat. 6i
Acc. 6u
Plu.
Scaliger
a Pausan. lib. viii. cap. 17.
philology.
Greetc In the earliest stages of the Greek language, t and v were
Language, sounded in the same manner, or nearly so, as was observed
above. The accusative was at first like the nominative ; but
tS T ion for distinction’s sake ^ was made to terminate in v, which
^noung0.11 letter was likewise adopted to characterise the genitive plu¬
ral ; and s was annexed to the dative plural, to distinguish it
from the dative singular. The radical word was still with¬
out inflexion. When the article was inflected in this manner,
the process stood as follows. We take Xoyoy as an example.
Sing. pin.
Nom. d Aoy speech. 61 Aoy speeches.
Gen. ov Xoy of speech. u>v Xoy of speeches.
Dat. dt Xoy to speech. 6is Xoy to speeches.
Acc. ov Xoy speech. 6vs Xoy speeches.
In this arrangement our readers will observe, that at the
time under consideration, a> was not yet introduced; and
therefore ofUKpov or little o was the same letter in the geni¬
tive plural as in the accusative singular; but in the latter
case it was sounded long by way of distinction.
The article ha, which is still retained in the Doric dia¬
lect, was varied as follows :—.
Sing.
Nom.
Gen.
Dat.
Acc.
397
pin.
as
at
ais
as
These variations differ somewhat from those of the masculine
type ; and they were no doubt made for the sake of distinc¬
tion, as is usual in such cases. XVe shall now give an ex¬
ample of the feminine as it must have stood before variations
■were introduced, and for this purpose shall employ ripr].
Plu.
cu rip. honours.
<ov rip of honours,
ais np to honours,
as np honours.
Sing.
Nom. a rip honour.
Gen. as Tip of honour.
Dat. dt Tip to honour.
Acc. av np honour.
Afterwards, when the Chaldean article da was adopted
for the neuter gender, the letter T or d was changed into t,
and prefixed to it; and then the Greeks, who, in their de¬
clension of adjectives, always followed the neuter gender,
began to prefix it to the oblique cases.
In this manner, we think, the Greek nouns stood origi¬
nally ; the only change made being that upon the article. At
length, instead of prefixing that word, and expressing it by
itself, they found it convenient to affix a fragment of it to
the noun, and so to pronounce both with more expedition.
Thus, ds-Aoy e. g. became \oy-6s, 6v Xoy became Xoy 6v, and
of course Xoyov and Aoyov, &c. The spiritus asper, or rough
breathing, was thrown away, in order to facilitate the coa¬
lition. Ivouns of the neuter gender were distinguished by
using v instead of s; and in oriental words the Greeks often
change s into v, and vice versa. In this case the Greeks
seem to have copied from an eastern archetype. In Hebrew
we find an arrangement exactly similar. To supply the
place of the pronouns possessive, fragments of the personals
were affixed. Thus, the Hebrews wrote ben-i, my son, in¬
stead ofben-ani, and debir-nu, our words, instead of debir-
anu. The persons of their verbs were formed in the same
manner. In this way, in our opinion, the variations of the
first and second declensions were produced,
mation After a very considerable number of their nouns were ar-
he third yaoged under these two classes, there remained an almost
tension indefinite number of others which could not conveniently be
Ox i s brought under these arrangements, because their termina¬
tions did not readily coalesce with the articles above men¬
tioned. 1 hese, like nouns of the neuter gender, were in a
manner secluded from the society of the two other classifi¬
cations ; and it is probable that they for a long time continu-
e indeclinable. At last, however, an effort was made to
reduce them into a class as well as the others. All these
excluded nouns originally terminated with sigma, as appears Greek
from the genitives as they stand at present. By observing Language,
this case, then, we will be readily conducted to the termina-
tionof the pristine word or root. The genitive always ends in
°s, which termination is formed by inserting o between the
radical word and s. By throwing out o we have the ancient
nominative. Hius, Ttrav, genitive Ttravoy; leaving out owe
have Titovs, the original inflexible termination. Agrat, geni¬
tive AgToos; throw out o and you have Agros. IlaAAay, geni¬
tive IlaXXaSos ; take away o and there remains naAAads. Op-
vis, genitive Opvidos; by throwing out o we have OpviOs.
Srag, genitive Avoktos, Avokts. Kparos, genitive Kpareos,
Kpargs; originally Kparos, because primarily e had the sound
of t;, as was observed above. MeXt, genitive MfAiroy, MeAirr.
EtSor,. genitive EtSeo?, EtSe?, the old noun. In short, the geni¬
tive is always formed by inserting o immediately before s,
which is always the termination of the nominative ; and by
this rule, we may easily discover the noun as it existed in its
original form.
The dative of this declension was closed with i ascriptum;
the same thing occurred in that of the second, namely, t sub-
scriptum. The accusative commonly terminate with a; but
was originally ended with v. The Romans imitated the /Eolic
dialect, and they commonly ended it with em or im. The
Greeks perhaps in this imitated their progenitors, for a was
their favourite vowel. The nominative plural ended in ts,
which nearly resembles the English plural, and was proba¬
bly borrowed from the Thracians. The genitive plural in
all the declensions ends in w, the dative ends in o-t, the a-
being inserted to distinguish it from the dative singular.
When a strong consonant, which would not easily coalesce
with s, comes immediately before it, that consonant is
thrown out to avoid a harsh or difficult sound. The result
then is ; the cases of nouns of the first and second declen¬
sions consist of the radical word with fragments of the arti¬
cles annexed, and these were the first classifications of
nouns. The other nouns were left out for some time, and
might be denominated neuters; but at length they too were
classified, and their variations formed as above. In this pro¬
cess the Greeks deviated from the oriental plan; for the
people of the East always declined their nouns by particles
prefixed. Whether the Greeks were gainers by this new
piocess, we will not pretend positively to determine. We
are inclined to imagine, however, that they lost as much in
perspicuity as they gained in variety.
It is generally believed that the Greeks have no ablative ; Grpep , v,
but to this opinion we cannot assent. It is true, that the lative."
dative, and what we would call the ablative, are always the
same; yet we think there is no more reason to believe that the
latter is wanting in Greek, than that the ablative plural is
wanting in Latin, because in that language both these cases
are always alike.
In the eastern languages there are only two genders, ana- Genders,
logous to the established order of nature, where all animals
are either male or female. But as the people of the East
are, to this day, strongly addicted to personification, they
langed all objects of which they had occasion to speak,
whether animate or inanimate, under one or other of these
two classes. Hence arose what is now called the masculine
and feminine genders. The orientals knew nothing what¬
ever of a neuter gender, because all objects were comprehend¬
ed under the two foregoing classes. The Phoenician feminine
was formed from the masculine, by adding pin, ah. In this the
Greeks in many cases imitated them. The Greeks and Latins
left avast number of substantives, like a kind of outcasts, with¬
out reducing them to any gender; and this proceeding gave rise
to the neuter gender, which imports, that such substantives
were of neither gender; a circumstance which has the ap¬
pearance of a defect, or rather a blemish, in both. Sometimes,
too, they made words neuter, which, according to the analogy
of grammar, ought to have been either masculine or femi-
398
PHILOLOGY.
on the arti
cle.
Greek nine ; and again, they ranged words under the masculine
Language. or feminine, which by the same rule ought to have been
neuter. In short, the doctrine of generical distribution
seems to have been very little regarded by the fabricators
of both tongues. The beauty which arises from variety
seems to have been their only object. _
Further ob- The use of the article in the Greek language is, we think,
servations rather indeterminate, being often prefixed to proper names,
where there is no need of demonstration or generical dis¬
tinction. On the contrary, it is often omitted in cases
where both the one and the other seem to require its assis¬
tance. In short, in some cases it seems to be a mere ex¬
pletive. Though both Lord Monboddo and Mr. Harris have
treated of this part of speech, neither the one nor the other
has ascertained its proper use.1 We know not any objec¬
tion to the early use ofarticles amongst the Greeks so plau¬
sible as the total neglect of them amongst the Romans. But
it ought to be considered, that after the flexions had been in¬
troduced, the use of the article was in a great measure ne¬
glected. Accordingly, Lord Monboddo observes that it is
very seldom used as such by Homer, but commonly instead
of the relative pronoun or, rj, 6. Thus it would appear, that
at the time when the Roman language was reduced to the
Grecian standard, the article was not commonly used by the
Greeks; and consequently the Latins never employed it.
There can be no doubt that the pronoun who, in the north¬
ern languages, is the same with the Greek 6, and the He¬
brew hua. This amongst the northern nations is always a re¬
lative, which affords a presumption that the Greeks origi¬
nally used the article in the same manner as we do at pre¬
sent. The fact is, that the articles having once got into
vogue, were often positively used as mere expletives to fill
up a gap; and, on the other hand, when there was no oc¬
casion for pointing out an object, fully determined by the
tenor of the discourse, it was often omitted.
In forming adjectives, they followed the same plan that
Adjectives.
Greek nu¬
merals.
they had done with substantives. Their great effort was to
make their adjectives agree with their substantives in gen¬
der, in number, and in case. This arrangement improved
the harmony of speech j and nothing could be more natural
than to make the word expressing the quality correspond
with the subject to which it belonged. As adjectives de¬
note qualities, and are thus susceptible of degrees, nature
taught them to invent marks for expressing the difference of
these degrees. The qualities may exceed or fall below each
other by almost numberless proportions; it was, however,
found convenient to restrict such increments and decre¬
ments to two denominations. The positive is, properly speak¬
ing, no degree of comparison at all; therefore we need only
point out the formation of the comparative and superlative.
The former is generally thought to have been fabricated, by
first adding the Hebrew word “in', excellent, to the positive,
and then affixing the Greek termination os; and the latter,
by affixing the Syrian word tath and the syllable os, in the
same manner.
Every nation, even the most uncivilized, must have early
acquired the notion of number. Numerical characters and
names are the same in many different languages. These
terms were discovered, and in use, long before grammar at¬
tained to any perfection ; and therefore they remain either
inflexible or irregular. The first way of computing amongst
the Greeks was by the letters of the alphabet; so that A
signified one, and Q, twenty-four ; in this manner the rhap¬
sodies of Homer are numbered; and so aie the divisions of
some of the Psalms, as is generally known. But a more ar¬
tificial plan of computation was obviously necessary. They
therefore divided the letters of the alphabet into decades or
tens, from A to I -= 10. To express the number 6, they
inserted r ; so that by this means the first decade amounted
to 10. In the next decade every letter increased by tens, Greek
and so P denoted 100. In this decade they inserted 4 nomra Language
= 90. In the third, every letter rose by 100; so that 3
(xavTVL — 900. By inserting these three Phoenician charac¬
ters they made their alphabet amount to 900. To^express
chiliads or thousands, they began with the letters of the al¬
phabet as before ; and to make the distinction, they placed
a dot under each character, as the units, tens, hundreds,
vrere distinguished by an acute accent over them.
But in monumental inscriptions, and also in public instru¬
ments, a larger and more lasting numerical character was
fabricated. They began with I, and repeated that letter till
they arrived at n = 5. This is the first letter of nevT^Jive.
They then proceeded, by repeating I till they came to 10
A, the first letter of Sexa, 10. Then they repeated A oyer
and over, so that four A =40. lo express 50, they in¬
closed A in a sort of open square |a| — 50, |h|= 500, |m|
= 50,000, &c. Often, however, Xsignifies 1000, and then we
have Sts XiAwi, 2000 ; rpis XtXiot, 3000 ; and so of the rest.
The term pronoun signifies a word employed instead of a prOi10unSi
noun or name ; and indeed the personal pronouns are really
such. This needs no explication. The pronoun of the first
person is one of those words which have continued invaria¬
ble in all languages; and the other personals are of the
same character. The relatives, possessives, demonstratives,
and gentiles, are generally derived from these, as may be
discerned by a very moderate adept in the language. Ourrea-
ders will therefore, we hope, easily dispense with our dwell¬
ing upon this part of speech.
In most ancient languages, verbs, according to the order Greek
of nature, have only three tenses or times, namely, the past, verbs,
the present, and the future. The intermediate tenses were
the invention of more refined ages. The Greek, in the most
early periods of their language, had no other tenses than
those above mentioned. The manner of forming these we
shall endeavour to point out, without touching upon the na¬
ture of the rest, since an idea of them may be acquired
from any common grammar.
It has already been observed, that the flexion of nouns of
the first and second declensions are formed by annexing
fragments of the articles to the radical words ; and that the
variation of the tenses was produced by joining the substan¬
tive verb, according to the same analogy. Every Greek
verb was originally an inflexible biliteral, triliteral, quadri-
literal or dissyllabic radix; and the variations were formed, a
long while afterwards, in the manner above intimated.
The Greeks derived their substantive or auxiliary verb, from
the Phoenician or Chaldean verb nvr, fuit, which verb,
taking away the gentle aspiration from both beginning and
end, actually became ei. This form the Greeks brought
along with them from the East, and manufactured after their
own manner, which appears to have been thus :
Pres, ccb, fts, ee, eofiev, fere, eoai,
Cont. to, ar, et, ovyev, fire, ovai,
Fut. eaco, ecreis, ecm, foofiev, &C.
We here place oat in the third person plural, because for many
centuries oyiKpov supplied the sound of the diphthong ov.
By these variations it will appear that the radical verb was
rendered capable of inflection. We have observed that
Greek verbs were a collection of biliteral, triliteral, or quad-
riliteral, radical words. The following may serve as exam¬
ples : rt, Aey, Map, tvtt, pav, rav, pair, Aap, Ar)\, Aeis. These
radicals are taken at random; and we believe that a student of
Greek, by adding the terminations, will readily find them to oe
all significant verbs. With these radicals, then, and the sub¬
stantive verb, the present and future tenses were formed. The second
But it is nowT generally admitted that the modern was not future.
See Origin and Progress of Language, vol. if p- 53. Hermes, p. 214, et seq.
PHILOLOGY.
Greek
language
the original present tense of the verb. The second, or At¬
tic future, appears evidently to have been the most ancient
present. When the language was improved, or rather in
the course of being improved, a new present was invented,
derived indeed from the former, but differing widely from
it in its appearance and complexion. Upon this occasion,
the old present was degraded, and instead of intimating
what was doing at present, was made to import what was
immediately to be done hereafter. By this means, ypafrco,
contracted in ypacpm, I am ivriting, came to intimate, / am
just going to ivrite. This change was probably made for the
sakeofenrichingthe language, and giving variety and enemy.
Ulus, TVTreay contracted tvtto, became rvirrco, tikco, TLKTO), &c.
According to this theory, we find, that such verbs as have now
no second future retain their original form, onlv the eirenm
flex has been removed in „rde°r to accommodate themto fshTtUF h ‘ 7- haTe ‘7 ItaIian /w’ the SPa"-
the general standard. Grammarians have chosen the three in all the (.ci-m m’aml’sir” 1™ °ne S TT °r 0thf .lt aPPears
characteristic letters of active verbs from the present first rh.V o e an S‘'a"dmav.ian clialects. It is the Go-
future, and perfect: but the true characteristi^of the oriei- the nerfee^^ G andf ^ ^eIieve’.lt: forms the termination of
Many verbs For'u^
n.YYt.-n'H'i fi'l'Yl It v* rl 4-1-* ^ u ^ i.  f* . ■*
399
brew word n^Pi; and we should be of the same opinion were it Greek
not that another auxiliary presents itself nearer home, and Language,
appears much more congruous to such a purpose. Perhaps,y—
indeed, the people from whom we suppose it to have been bor¬
rowed, derived it from the eastern nations. We have already
observed, that the Thracians were masters of a great part
of Greece in the most remote ages. At that time they
were a polite and learned people ; and from them a consider¬
able part of the Greek language was derived. If, therefore,
we should find a word in their language employed for the
same purpose, and accommodated to coalesce with the radi¬
cal verb, we would feel ourselves very much inclined to pre¬
fer such a word. 1
The word ha pervades many different languages as an The a„*ili
auxiliary verb. From it we have the Italian ho, die Span- ary verb
rmation
i rhe mo-
i :n pre-
it.
1 st fu-
are now destitute of this tense, because since the invention
of the new present, the former one has fallen into disuse.
Let us now take the verb Xevw. dico. in order to make a
■ trial; and let us write the radix and tne auxiliary, first se¬
parately, and then in conjunction. Thus, Xry-eo,, Xey-eey,
Xey-ee, Xey-eogev, Xey-eere, Xey-eocn. Then we shall have
contracted XeyS, Xeyetf, Xeyet, Xeyovfiev, Xe-yetre. Xeyovai. Here,
we believe, every thing is self-evident. The English of this
would be, “ Saying, I am, saying thou art, saying he is,” &c.
At first the radix and the auxiliary were pronounced separ¬
ately, as we do our auxiliary verbs in English, and would
have been written in the same manner if words had been then
distinguished in writing.
The present first future occupied the same place which it
now does, and concurred in its turn to complete the future
in conjunction with the radix or root. That the substantive
verb was inflected in the manner above explained, is obvious
from its future middle ea-ogai, and also from the future of the
Latin verb sum, which was of old eso, esis, &c. Verbs in
Xcb, pw, vco, pco, often take aw in the first future.1 Verbs in Xw
and pw assume a by analogy, as KeXXw, KeXaw, Eurip. ffecub.
V. 1057. KeXaai, Horn. Odgss. x. v. 511. reXXw, reXaw, unde
reXaov, II. x. v. 707. opw. opaopev, Pind.iVem. Od. 9-Duodec.2.
ite am-avi, amavi, and m the preterperfect am-hav-eram,
amaveram, compounded of am, hav, and eram, the imper¬
fect of the indicative of the substantive verb. This pro¬
cess, in the formation of the preterite of Latin verbs, will
scarcely be questioned, and forms certainly a presumptive
proof that the Greeks pursued the same course. From this
verb is likewise derived the Latin habeo, by changing v and
6, which are indeed the same letter. Our readers, after
this detail, will not be surprised if we should now hazard a
conjecture, and declare it to be our opinion, that this same
Gothic auxiliary ha is actually the additional part of the
preterite of Greek verbs, indeed that part upon which the
conjugation depends.
In forming this combination between the radix and the
auxiliary, the Greeks were obliged to employ several de¬
vices. As often as the last letter of the radix could not
unite with the aspirate in ha, they metamorphosed it into
one of the double letters, which are capable of coalescing
with it. In the verb Xeyw, y was changed into x ; thus Xey
ha became XeXa, tvtttw preterite tvtt ha, was combined into
™0a. In verbs having a radix which would not admit of
this conjunction, they hardened the h into k, as in nw, pre¬
terite Ti-Ka, aKov-Ka. Many other ways were contrived to
rapw,repaet, Theoc. Idgll. 22. v.63. Inline,the TEolic dialect Tlu- aK0V~Ka: other ways were contrived to
after the liquids often inserted a. acihtatethisre-umon; but these are detailed in every Greek
It must be observed, that the Greeks, in order to acceler- "0t be ™entioned- What has been
ate the pronunciation, always throw out the e and o excent ™ ^ resP^ct to this configuration, we offer as a pure
in verbs ending in where they generally’chanfe it uion oni refers. “ m0S' lntentlon of obtrudi”S
them into rj and «. When the last letter of the radix can —
coalesce with a after e is thrown out, they transform it, so as
to answer that purpose ; but if not, they sometimes throw it
out. We shall once more take Xeyw as an example :
Xey-eaw, Xey-eaeis, Xey-eaei, &C.
Throwing out «?, it would Stand as Xey-aw, Xey-tmv, Xey-aei,
and hv cLanmno- s-iu \ V C, T ' ’ : •LIU!5 ”1 ocess appears to us rational, elegant, and
coalesLwith^.^r^L'Tf^frA^^.^”01 X™***™- The pluperfect was not then inveSted, and
If it be admitted, that the auxiliary ha formed the conju¬
gating termination of the active verb amongst the Greeks, it
will likewise be admitted, that the radical verb and the other
formed originally two distinct words, and that, according
to this scheme, the preterite would proceed thus: Xey ha,
said I have ; Xey has, said thou hast; Xey he, said he hath,
and so on. This process appears to us rational, elegant, and
r\aw : avvrw
Thus, Afia),
avvaw,
nte
coalesce with a, therefore they are thrown out
first future aaw ; TrXrjdw, first future ttXti
and the like.
. Tfife are the general rules with respect to the forma¬
tion of the present and future of active verbs in the earliest
stages of the Greek language. The limits prescribed to us
will not allow us to pursue these conjectures; but the reader
may, if he thinks proper, carry them a great way. The
preterite tense falls next under consideration. If we may
trust to analogy, this, as well as the other two, must have owed
its confirmation to the radix of the verb, and some other
word fitted to eke out its terminations. It has been thought
y some critics, that this addition was taken from the He-
therefore it does not come under our consideration. The
other tenses were all deduced from those described; and
in forming these intermediate distinctive tenses, we believe
that both critics and grammarians, and perhaps philosophers
too, were employed. See the article Grammar.
The eastern nations have diversified their verbs, by affix¬
ing fragments of the personal pronouns to the radix, by
which means they gained only the advantage of exhibiting the
genders of the persons engaged in being, acting, and suf¬
fering ; but a perpetual repetition of these became unavoid¬
able. The Greeks, by their artificial combination of the radix
with the two auxiliaries, avoided the necessity of repeating
their personal pronouns, as we and the other modern in-
1 See Feed. Cret. ap. Marm. Oxon. lib. 87.
400
PHILOLOGY.
voice.
Greek habitants of Europe are now obliged to do ; and at the same
Language, time, by diversifying the terminations oi their nouns an
verbs, they wonderfully improved the beauty and harmony ot
their language. The arrangement above insisted on is so
very different from that of the orientals, and so entirely
Gothic, that we think there can be no doubt ot the Greeks
having borrowed this device from the Thracians. Every per¬
son who is moderately acquainted with tne Greek language
will, upon examination, discover a wonderful coincidence be¬
tween the structure, idioms, and phraseology, ot the English
and the Greek; and so many congenial features must en¬
gender a strong suspicion that there once subsisted a pretty
intimate relation between them. ,,
In the preceding deduction, we have found ourselves obliged
once more to differ from the very learned author of the Origin
and Progress of Language. As we took the liberty to ques¬
tion his originality of the Greek language, and at the same
time presumed to attack the goodly structure raised by phi¬
losophers, critics, and grammarians ; so we now totally dit-
fer from that learned writer respecting his theory of the crea¬
tion of verbs out of the inhabile matter of aa>, ea>, &c. 1 his
whole fabric, in our opinion, leans upon an insecure founda¬
tion. The apparatus of intermediate tenses, of augments,
derivation of tenses, with their formation, participles, idio-
matical constructions, and other essentials or appendages,
we omit, as not coming within the scope of this disquisition,
n • The derivation and formation of the middle and passive
airforma-voices, would certainly afford matter of curious speculation;
tion of the but the labour necessary to investigate this connection would
middle greatly overbalance any benefit to be expected from the expo¬
sition of it. However,in order to complete our plan,we shall sub¬
join a few strictures respecting the formation of tue middle
voice, which, in our opinion, was immediately formed fi om the
active. We have already seen, that the active voice, in its ori¬
ginal state, was formed by annexing fragments of the substan¬
tive or auxiliary verb to the radix. The same economy has
been observed in fabricating the flexible parts of the vero
of the»middle voice. To demonstrate this, we shall hist
conjugate the present tense of the auxiliary passive upon the
principles above laid down.
Present, Eopit, eeocu, eerai, eofieOa, eeade, eovrai. Suchwas
the passive present of the auxiliary. We shall now take
our example from the verb tvtttcq ; second future rvir-eogcu,
struck I am, rmr-eecrat, struck thou art, tvtt-^tcu, struck he
is, &cc. contracted rvirovgai, tvttt], rviveirai. . The conjunction
and formation here are obvious. Perhaps, in the second pei-
son, <r was inserted, which, however, is thrown out in the
process of the persons. The future middle is clearly form¬
ed, by affixing the future-passive of the verb ea>, only as 17
was introduced into the language for e long, it was generally
substituted instead of that vowel in verbs ending in aa> and
g>, and a) for o in verbs ending in oco ; the two vowels e and
o being originally long as well as short? till rj was adopted
to denote the long sound of the former, and a> that of the
latter. In many verbs, before the conjunction of the radix
pi CCCCIX< and auxiliary, e was thrown out. Thus, rw-eo-ogai, became
Tvyjiofiai, \ey-ecrofX(u, \e^ofxai, &C.
The preterite was deduced from that of the active by a
very slight variation, so trifling, indeed, that it need not be
mentioned; only we may observe, that the aspirate h is
never retained in this tense, which originally seems to have
been the only distinguishing character by which that tense
of the middle voice differed from the same tense of the active.
From the strict analogy between the mode of forming the
three primary tenses of the active and middle voice, we are
led to suspect that what is now the middle was originally
the passive voice. The immediate formation of the former,
by annexing the passive auxiliary, is obvious. The middle
voice still partakes of the passive signification, since it has
sometimes a passive, though more frequently an active sense. Greek
There are several parts of the present passive quite analogous Language
to the same tenses in the middle ; and, lastly, it is the com-'y^*Y'^'
mon progress, in the course of improvement, to pioceed step
by step, and by approximation. What is most simple and
easy is the first object, then succeeds what is only a little
more difficult, and so on until we arrive at the last stage,
when human ingenuity can proceed no farther. Now, it will
readily be admitted, that the passive voice is much more
embarrassed and intricate in its texture than the middle; and,
therefore, the former should have been posterior in the or¬
der of time to the latter.
We are very well aware, that the learned Kuster, and in¬
deed many other moderns, deeply skilled in the origin, pro¬
gress, and structure, of the Greek language, have thought
otherwise. The general opinion has been, that the Greek
middle voice answered exactly to the Hebrew conjugation
hithpahel, and in its pristine signification imported a recipro-
cality, or when the agent acts upon itself. But for our part,
we only intended a few hints upon the subject, which our
learned readers may pursue, approve, or reject, at pleasure.
Next, if we might pretend to investigate the formation of the Of the paJ
passive ’voice, we should imagine that the modern presentsive voice
was formed from the ancient one, by inserting such letters
as were found necessary for beauty, variety, and eneigy;
the first future from the second future middle of the verb
Tl6r)\u, once Sew. This future is e^uopai, and, joined to the
radix, always occupies that place, rt-dijo-o/xat, reiutV^as,
<b\ex0ri<roixcu, rv(t>dr,aogai, and so of the rest; but whether ^l,
aai, rat, which occur so frequently as the terminations oi
the middle and passive voices, are fragments of some obso¬
lete verb, we will not pretend to determine. From verbs in
aco, eco, oco, vco, are formed verbs in fu ; which in the present,
imperfect, and second aonst, as it is called, have only a 1 -
ferent form, by assuming /it with a long vowel preceding it,
in the present active, which vowel is preserved in each per¬
son singular. This collection of irregular verbs seems to be
formed from the verb ei/it, which in some dialects might be
rjfu. Indeed the imperfect rjv, rjs, y, seems to imply as much;
but in this we cannot venture to be positive.
In the whole of this analysis of the formation of verbs, we
have only laid down what appears to us most plausible. That
metaphvsical critics maydiscover inaccuracies in the preceding
detail we make no doubt; but our candid readers will doubt¬
less reflect, that no language was ever fabricated by philo¬
sophers, and that the elements of speech were hammered out
by peasants, perhaps even by savages. Critics have created
a philosophy of language, we admit, and have a thousand
times discovered wonderful acuteness and ingenuity in the
mechanism of words and sentences, where the original ono-
mathetse never apprehended any, and which possibly never
existed except in their own imagination. If our more en¬
lightened readers should find any thing in the preceding de¬
tail worthy their attention, so much the better ; but it the
contrary should happen, we presume they wi 1 adhere to the
hackneyed system. We have all along neglected the dual
number, because it regularly follows the type of the othe
numbers. , . _
Before we take leave of this subject, however, we must
use the freedom to subjoin an observation or two respecting
the consequences of the practice of new-modellmg the presen ,
and of course the imperfect, tenses of verbs. First, after t
arrangement had been made, the Greeks commonly retained
all the other tenses exactly as they had stood connected with
the primitive verb. This needs no example. Secondly, they
often collected the tenses of verbs, the present and imperfect
of which were now obsolete, in order to supply t^10 ^et •
Thus we have (pepco, 6una>, eveysa, rjVoXa. Thir y, y
formed the present and imperfect tenses without any ot! e
1 We say generally, because in verbs ending in w, the s is sometimes retained, as nkw-ro itu,
PHILOLOGY.
freek tenses annexed; and the poets in particular seem to have
iguage. fabricated these two tenses at pleasure.
"■r** But if this procedure was convenient for the poets, it was
certainly most incommodious with respect to the vulgar, as
well as to all foreigners who had an inclination to learn the
language. The vulgar, some ages after Homer and Hesiod,
must have found it as difficult to understand their poems as
our people do to comprehend those of Chaucer and Spenser.
By this disposition, too, the etymology of verbs was almost en¬
tirely confounded. The present second future being, as has
been observed, the ancient present, the attention of the curi¬
ous etymologist was naturally diverted to the modern pre¬
sent, where it was utterly impossible to discover the radical
word. A few examples will elucidate this point: reti/w, to
stretch, to extend, old present rava. Taz/ is the radix, which
at once appears to be a Persian word signifying a large tract
of country. Hence Mauritania, the land of the Mauri, Aqui-
tania, Britannia; and with the letters prefixed, Hindu-stan,
Chusi-stan, Turque-stan. The obsolete verb ottcb, whence
onroficH, is evidently derived from op, an Egyptian name of
the moon ; (paivco, second future favS, to shoiv, from the
Egyptian word phan or pan, a name of the sun ; tvtttw, fu¬
ture second rvira, tvtf being obviously the offspring of sn,
thaph, a drum or timbrel, from beating or striking. In
such etymological researches, the student must be careful
to turn the Ionic rj into the Doric a; because the Dorians
came latest from the coast of Palestine, and consequently
retained the largest share of the Phoenician dialect. Thus,
yrjdeco, to rejoice, turning rj into a becomes yadeco. This word,
throwing away the termination, becomes gatk, plainly sig¬
nifying a wine press.1 It is likewise to be observed, that the
Alolians often changed a into v, as a-vp^ instead of o-ap£, &c.
G k inn- It is notour intention to enter at length into the arrangement
as nms. an<^ Pecu^ar construction of the Greek language. There is
one point, however, which we cannot well pass over in silence.
As that tongue is destitute of those words which the Latins
call gerunds, to supply this defect they employ the infini¬
tive with the article prefixed : thus, Ets to that airovs cjuXovs,
in order to their being friends ; ano tov iXeadai airovs Ba-
o-tAea, from their having elected a king ; ’Ek tov arrocpevyeiv
avrovs fV tt]s noXeos, from their flying out of the city. In
these phrases the infinitive is said to assume the nature of
a substantive noun, agreeing with the article before it, ex¬
actly as if it were a noun of the neuter gender. Idioms of
this kind occur in our own tongue ; only with us the verb,
instead of being expressed in the infinitive, is turned into
the participle. According to this arrangement, the first of
the preceding phrases, which, according to the Greek, would
stand toivard to be friends, in English is, in order to their
being friends. This anomaly, then, if indeed it be such, is
of no manner of consequence. The French, if we are not
mistaken, would express it in the very same manner with
the Greek, that is, pour etre amis.
From treating of verbs, we should naturally proceed to
the consideration of adverbs, which are so denominated, be¬
cause they are generally the concomitants of verbs. Every
thing relating to that part of speech, in the Greek tongue,
may be seen in the Port Royal or any other Greek gram¬
mar. Instead, therefore, of dwelling upon this exhausted to¬
pic, we shall hazard a conjecture upon a point to which the
critics in the Greek language, as far as we know, have not
hitherto adverted.
The most elegant and most admired writers of Greece,
• ■y and especially Homer, and after him Hesiod, abound with
Ition. particles, which appear to us pure expletives, created
as it were to promote harmony, or fill up a blank without
sense or signification. How these expletive particles should
abound in that language beyond any other, is a matter
v. hich it does not seem easy to account for. It has been said
401
Gr
ticbof
or:
ext
par-
by the Zoiluses, that if you extract these nonentities from the Greek
poems of that bard, qui solus meruit did poeta, a magnum Language.
inane, a mighty blank would remain behind. We would
willingly do justice to that pigmy race of words, and at the
same time vindicate the prince of poets from such a ground¬
less imputation. Plato likewise, the prince of philosophers,
has often been accused of too frequently employing these
superfluous auxiliaries.
1 he particles in question were no doubt imported from the
East. It would be ridiculous to imagine that any description
of men, however enthusiastically fond they might be of har¬
monious numbers, would sit down on purpose to fabricate a
race of monosyllables purely to eke out their verses, mere
sounds without significance. In the first place, it may be
observed, that there is a very strict connection amongst the
particles of all cognate languages. To this we may add,
that the not understanding the nature, relations, significa¬
tions, and original import of those seemingly unimportant
terms, has occasioned not only great uncertainty, but num¬
berless errors in translating the ancient languages into the
modern. The Greek language in particular loses a consi¬
derable part of its beauty, elegance, variety, and energy,
when these adverbial particles with which it is replete are
not thoroughly comprehended. An exact translation of
these small woi’ds, in appearance insignificant, would throw
new light not only upon Homer and Hesiod, but even upon
poets of a much posterior date. Particles, which are generally
treated as mere expletives, would often be found energetically
significant. It is, however, altogether impossible to succeed
in this attempt without a competent skill in the Hebrew,
Chaldaic, Arabian, Persian, and ancient Gothic languages.
We shall here take the liberty to mention a few of those
particles which are most familiar to us, one or other of which
occur in almost every line of Homer, and which we be¬
lieve are either not understood at all, or misunderstood. Such
are Aa, hr], per, ijvrot, pav, yf, epi, apa, pa, yovv. Aa is nothing
else but the Chaldaic particle ha, the parent of the English
the. It likewise signifies by turns, or in your turn. Arj is the
same word in the Ionic dialect; ptv is a particle of the He¬
brew affirmative inn, amen,fides, veritas. Mav is a kind of
oath by the moon, called mana, almost over all the East, and
hence Dorice pava; ye, an oath by yea, that is, the earth ; apa,
another oath by the same element, probably from the orien¬
tal word of the same import; pa is a fragment of apa men¬
tioned before ; yovv, of yea, the earth ; ov or av, an Egyptian
name of the sun ; and as, as, a particle which pervades all
the dialects of the Gothic language. In this manner we
believe all these small words which occur so frequently in the
Greek tongue, and which have hitherto been held as inex¬
plicable, may easily be rendered in significant terms; and
were this done, we believe they would add both beauty and
energy to the clauses in which they stand. But this dis¬
cussion must be left to more accomplished hellenists.
We need not explain the nature of prepositions, because Preposi-
we are convinced that few people will take the trouble to dons,
peruse this disquisition who are not already acquainted with
their import in language. The Greek prepositions, which are
eighteen in number, need not be enumerated here. Most
of them might easily be shown to be particles, or fragments
deduced from oriental or Gothic words. The use of these
words is to connect together terms in discourse, and to show
the relation between them. In languages where, as in Eng¬
lish, all these relations are expressed without any change
on the termination of the nouns to which they are prefixed,
the process is natural and easy. The whole is performed
by juxtaposition. But in the Greek and Latin tongues, this
effect is produced, partly by prefixing prepositions and partly
by varying the terminations of nouns. Had the Greeks been
able to intimate all these relations by varying the termina-
vol. xvit
Hence it came to signify rejoicing, from the mirth and revelry attending the treading of the vine-press.
3 E
402
PHILOLOGY.
Greek tions, or had they multiplied their prepositions to sue i a
Language, number as would have enabled them to express these rela-
tions without the casual variations, as the northern languages
have done ; in either case their language would have been
less embarrassing than it is in its present state. According
to the present arrangement, both prepositions and the cas¬
ual variations are used promiscuously to answer that pur¬
pose, a method which appears to be not altogether uniform.
Though this plan might occasion little embarrassment to
natives, it must, in our opinion, have proved somewhat per-
plexing to foreigners. In the case of the latter, the difficulty
would be when to adoptthe one and when the other expedient.
Another inconvenience arises from the exceedingly sma
number of prepositions in that language, which indeed bear
no adequate proportion to the great variety of relations they
are appropriated to express. This deficiency obliged them
frequently to employ the same preposition to denote difie-
rent relations. For instance, em intimates, 1st, upon, as
cVt tov \160v, upon the stone ; and then it takes the genitive.
2d, It denotes near upon, as tm tw \i6co ; and then it go¬
verns the dative. 3d, The same preposition signifies wo-
tion towards, as <W* eVi rov \l6ov, he fell upon the stone.
In these instances the same preposition intimates three
different relations ; and, which is still more embarrassing,
each of these requires a different case. The difficulty in
this instance is so considerable, that even the most accurate
of the Greek writers themselves often either forget or neglect
the true application. Many examples of this might be produ¬
ced, did the limits assigned us admit of such illustrations.
Every man who has carefully perused the Grecian authors
will readily furnish himself with examples. _
Again, some prepositions indicating different relations,
are nevertheless prefixed to the same case. Thus, <=£ signi¬
fies from, as, ’Ek Ator ipXope6a, from Jupiter we begin ; air
iaovfrovjrom my life, or my course of’life ; uporccv 6vpjov,
before the doors ; upo vuojs iywpwv, an encomium before
the victory ; ovti ayadcov arrobibovai icaica, to ren er evi jor
pood; avTi aov, against you. In these examples, and in¬
deed every where, the propositions employed intimate dnter-
ent relations, and yet are prefixed to the same cases, home-
times the same preposition would seem to assume two op¬
posite significations, as appears from the preposition adjust
mentioned, which intimates both/or, instead of, and against
or opposite to.
What has been observed with respect to the prepositions
above mentioned, the reader will readily enough apply to
Kara, per a, hia, uepi. These incongruities certainly imply
something irregular, and appear to intimate that those ano¬
malies were so deeply incorporated with the constitution ot
the language, that the subsequent improvers found it im-
oossible to correct them. Indeed, to prefix a preposition
to a case already distinguished by the affixed termination,
appears to us a superfluity at least, if not an absurdity; for
certainly it would have been more natural to have said ck
Zevs apxopeOa, than A Atos upxopeOa. Some very learned
men, who have inquired into the origin of language, have
been of opinion that prepositions formed the last invented
species of words. If this opinion be well founded, we may
suppose (and we think that such a supposition is not altogether
improbable) that the casual terminations of the Greek lan¬
guage were first affixed to the radix, in the manner above
exhibited ; and that prepositions were afterwards fabricated
and prefixed to the cases already in use.
The svntax or construction of the Greek language does
not, according to our plan, come within the compass of our
present inquiry. This the curious Greek student will ea¬
sily acquire, by applying to the grammars composed for that
purpose. We have already hazarded a few conjectures
respecting the formation of the most important and most
distinguished classes of words into which it has been divided
by the most able grammarians, without, however, descend¬
ing to the minutiae of the language. But as prepositions are Greek
the chief materials with which its other words, especially hangup
verbs, are compounded, we shall briefly consider the order in's*^V'/
which they probably advanced in this process of composition.
Complex ideas are compounded of a certain number or
collection of simple ones. Of those complex notions, some
contain a greater and others a smaller number of simple con¬
ceptions. In language, then, there are two ways of expres¬
sing such complex ideas ; either by coining a word to ex¬
press every simple idea separately, according to the order
in which they stand in the mind; or by trying to combine
two or more simple terms into one, and by this method to
intimate one complex idea by one single word. The Ara¬
bians, notwithstanding all the boasted excellencies of their
language, have never arrived at the art of compounding their
words, in order to answer this noble purpose; and the sis¬
ter dialects are but slenderly provided with this species of
words. The Greeks, of all other nations, excepting perhaps
those who spake the Sanscrit language, are unrivalled in
the number, variety, propriety, elegance, energy, and ex¬
pression of their compound terms. I he Greeks, like the
Arabians, in the earliest stages of their language, had only
a collection of disjointed radical words, consisting of the jar¬
gons of the aboriginal Greeks, of the Pelasgi, Thracians, and
others. How these words were arranged and constructed, we
have no data remaining upon which we can found a critical
investigation. We must therefore remain satisfied with
such probable conjectures as the nature of the case, and the
analogy of the language, seem to suggest.
The prepositions were originally placed before the nouns,
the relations of which they pointed out. For example, let us
take the ^wairebvricriteTOTois dXXois, he died along with the rest,
or he died out of hand along with the others. These words
were arranged thus; drreOvqcnieTo aw rots aXkois, and ano-
GvrjaKov aw rots aWois. In this manner the parts of every
compound word were placed separately, at least as much as
other words which had no connection. j
The first compound words of the Greek language were The firs:
those of the radical nouns with the article, and the radical partcompoui;
of the substantive or auxiliary verb. The success of this ex-
periment encouraged them to attempt the same thing in other
words. By this noble invention they found themselves able
to express, in one word, with ease and significancy, what in
other languages, and formerly in their own, required a te¬
dious ambages or circumlocution. In process of time, as
their language was gradually mellowed, they increased
the number of their compounds, until, in this respect, the
Greek infinitely excelled all its parent dialects. In this pro¬
cess they were careful to unite such letters as not only pre
vented asperity and difficulty of pronunciation, but even pio-
moted harmony and elegance. But this was the labour o
posterior ages. .
The Greeks were entirely ignorant of the derivation or
etymology of their language. For proof of this y> e nee
only consult Plato’s Cratylus, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Deme¬
trius Phalereus, Longinus, and others. But in deducing
patronymics, abstracts, possessives, gentiles, diminutives,
verbals, and the like, from radicals of every kind, they have
shown the greatest art and dexterity. Examples of this
occur almost in every page of every Greek author. But this
extended no farther than their own language ; every toreign
language was an abomination to the Greeks.
The original materials of the Greek tongue ^ere.^;2rial
doubtedly rough and discordant, as we have above descri^“of the
them. They had been collected irom different quarters, they ^ ].
were the produce of different countries, and had been inl‘ guage.
ported at very distant periods. It would therefore be an
entertaining, if not an instructive, speculation, i i '
possible to discover by what men and by what means,
wonderful fabric was founded, erected, and carried to pe
fection. The writers of Greece afford us no light on tni
PHILOLOGY.
403
reek matter. Foreigners were unacquainted with that originally
juage. insignificant canton. Every thing beyond Homer is buried
v ^/Wjn eternal oblivion. Orpheus is indeed reported to have com¬
posed poems ; but these were soon obliterated by the hand
of time. The verses which have been ascribed to that phi¬
losophical hero are none of his.1 Linus wrote, in thePelas-
gic dialect, the achievements of the first Bacchus; Thamy-
ris the Thracian was also the author of verses; and Prona-
pides the master of Homer was a celebrated poet. But the
works of these bards did not long survive; and it is a certain
fact that the Greek tongue was highly polished even more
early than the age in which these worthies flourished. Ho¬
mer, no doubt, imitated their productions, and some are of
opinion that he borrowed liberally from them. The Greeks
knew no more of the original character of their language,
than of the original character and complexion of their pro¬
genitors. They allowed, indeed, that their language was
originally barbarous and uncouth ; but by what means or
by what persons it was polished, enriched, and finally ar¬
ranged, remained to them an impenetrable secret,
jar- We have already demonstrated that the lonim or aborigines
rn to its 0f Greece were a race of barbarians ; that consequently their
y st ^language, or rather their jargon, was of the same contexture.
■ early3 The Pelasgians found both the people and their speech in this
pj ^ ] uncultivated state. These people arrived in Greece about
the year before Christ 1760. It was then that the language of
Greece began to be cultivated. Before the age of Homer
the work seems to have been completed. Nothing of con¬
sequence was afterwards added to the original stock ; on the
contrary, not a few varieties were deducted from the Ho¬
meric treasure. The Pelasgians, as was said before, arrived
in Greece 1760 b.c. Homer is thought to have been born in
1041 b.c. ; consequently the cultivation of the Greek tongue
was completed in a period of about seven hundred years.
Butupon the supposition that Orpheus, Linus, Thamyris, and
others, wrote long before Homer, as they certainly did, that
language had arrived nearly at the standard of perfection
two centuries before ; and by this computation the period
of its progress towards its stationary point is reduced to
five hundred years. But as the Pelasgians were a colony
of foreigners, we ought to allow them one century at least
to settle and incorporate with the natives, and to communi¬
cate their language, laws, manners, and habits, to the ab¬
origines of the country. By this deduction we shall reduce
the term of cultivation to less than four centuries.
During this period Greece was furiously agitated by tu¬
mults and insurrections. That country was divided into a
number of independent states, which were perpetually en¬
gaged in quarrels and competitions. The profession of arms
was absolutely necessary for the protection and preservation
of the state ; and the man of conduct and prowess was not
only honoured as a demi-god, but his exploits were transmit¬
ted with eclat to posterity. The Greek tongue wras then
rough and unpolished ; because, like the ancient Romans,
the bravest men were more disposed to act than to speak.
Every language will take its colour from the temper and
character of those who employ it; and had it not been ow¬
ing to one class of men, the Greek tongue would have contin¬
ued to the era of Homer as rude as it had been a century
after the arrival of the Pelasgians.
There has appeared amongst barbarous or half civilized
people a description of men whose profession it has been to
frequent the houses or palaces of the great, in order to ce¬
lebrate their achievements, or those of their ancestors, in
the sublimest strains of heroic poetry. Accordingly, we
find that the Germans had their bards, the Gauls their fads,
the Scandinavians their scalds, and the Irish their fileas, all re¬
tained for chat very purpose. They lived with their chief¬
tains or patrons, attended them to battle, were witnesses
of their heroic deeds, animated them with martial strains, Greek
and celebrated their prowess, if they proved victorious ; or, Language,
if they fell, raised the song of woe, and chanted the mourn-
ful dirge over their sepulchres. These bards were always
both poets and musicians. Their persons were held sacred
and inviolable. They attended public entertainments, and
appeared in all national conventions. The chief of them
were employed in the temples of the gods ; and the less il¬
lustrious, like our minstrels of old, strolled about from place
to place, and exercised their functions wherever they found
encouragement.
Amongst the ancient Greeks there was a numerous tribe
of men of the very same description who were at once poets
and musicians, and whose office it was to celebrate the
praises of the great, and to transmit their exploits to pos¬
terity with the most exaggerated encomiums. These poeti¬
cal vagrants were styled AotSot, or songsters. Some of them
lived in the houses of great men ; whilst others, less skilful
or less fortunate, strolled about the country in the manner
above described. The more illustrious of these AoiSot, who
were retained in the temples of the gods, were certainly the
first improvers ofthe language of theGreeks. Amongst the He¬
brews we find that the first poetical compositions were hymns
in honour of Jehovah; and amongst the pagans the same prac¬
tice was established. In Greece, when all was confusion
and devastation, the temples of the gods were held sacred
and inviolable. There the AotSot improved their talents,
and formed religious anthems upon those very models which
their progenitors had chanted in the East.
The language of the Greeks being yet rugged and un- Distinction
mellowed, their first care was to render it softer and more between
flexible. They enriched it with terms suited to the of- the lan-
fices of religion ; and these, we imagine, were chiefly im- guaee °f
ported from the East. Homer every where mentions a dis- an(*
tinction between the language of gods and men. The lan- of men*
guage of gods imports the oriental terms retained in the
temples, and used in treating of the ceremonies of religion ;
the language of men intimates the ordinary civil dialect
which sprung from the mixed dialects of the country. The
priests no doubt concurred in promoting the noble and im¬
portant purpose. From this source the strolling AoiSot drew
the rudiments of their art; and from these songsters, again,
the vulgar deduced the elements of a polished style.
To the AoiSoi of the superior order we would venture to
ascribe those changes mentioned in the preceding part of
this inquiry, by which the Greek tongue acquired that va¬
riety and flexibility, from which it has in a great measure
derived that ease, beauty, and versatility, by which it now
surpasses most other languages. The diversity of its termi¬
nations furnishes a most charming variety, whilst at the same
time the sense is communicated to the reader or hearer by
the relation between them. By this economy the poet and
the orator are left at liberty to arrange their phrases in that
order which may be most soothing to the ear, and best adapt¬
ed to make a lasting impression on the mind.
Few colonies have emigrated from any civilized country
without a detachment of priests in their train. The supreme
powers, whoever they were, have always been worshipped
with music and dancing. The Hebrews, Phoenicians, and
Egyptians, delighted in these musical and jocund festivals.
The priests who attended the lonians, Dorians, rEolians, The¬
bans, Athenians, &c. from the East, introduced into Greece
that exquisite taste, and those delicate musical feelings, which
distinguish the Greeks from all the neighbouring nations.
Hence the numerous progeny of onomatapoeas, by which the
Greek language is invested wuth the power of expressing al¬
most every passion of the human soul, in such terms as ob¬
lige it to feel and actually to assimilate to the passion it
would excite. Numberless instances of this occur in every
1 Pausanias, lib. i. cap 22.
404
PHILOLOGY.
Earliest
poets of
Greece.
Greek page of Homer, Hesiod, Pindar, Sophocles, Euripides, and
Language. even 0f Aristophanes ; but to quote instances would be to
~ insult the student of Greek. . .. .
Every body knows that the practice of writing in verse
was antecedent to the epoch of prosaic composition. Here,
then, the AoiSot and the ministers of religion chiefly dis¬
played their skill and discernment. By a judicious mixture
of short and long syllables, by a junction of consonants
which naturally slide into each other, and by a careful atten¬
tion to the rhythm, or harmony resulting from the combi¬
nation of the syllables of the whole line, they completed the
metrical tone of the verse, guided by that delicacy of musi¬
cal feeling of which they were possessed before rules of pro¬
sody were known amongst men. . . .
Much liberty was certainly used in transposing letters, in
varying terminations, and also in annexing prefixes and affixes,
both to nouns and other kinds of words where such adjuncts
were possible ; and upon this occasion we think it proba¬
ble, that those particles of which we have already spoken
were inserted like filling stones thrust in to stop the gaps
or chinks of a building. Verses were then clumsy and ir¬
regular, as the quantity of vowels was not duly ascertained,
and the collision of heterogeneous consonants not always
avoided. Probably these primitive verses differed as wide¬
ly from the finished strains of Homer and his successors, as
those of Chaucer and Spencer do from the smooth and polish¬
ed lines of Dryden and Pope.
The poetical compositions of the earliest Greeks were
not, we think, in the hexameter style. As they were chief¬
ly calculated for religious services, we imagine they resem¬
bled the Hebrew iambics preserved in the song of Aaron
and Miriam, Deborah and Barak, Psalms, Proverbs, &c.
which were indeed calculated for the same purpose. Ar¬
chilochus perhaps imitated these, though the model upon
which he formed his iambics was not generally known. 1 he
later dramatic poets appear to have copied from the same
archetypes. Hexameters, it is probable, were invented by
Orpheus, Linus, Thamyris, Musaeus, and their contempora¬
ries. The first of these travelled into Egypt, where he might
learn the hexameter measure from the people of that coun¬
try, who used to bewail Maneros and Osiris in elegiac strains.
This species of metre was first consecrated to theology, and
the most profound sciences of moral and natural philosophy
but at length it was employed to celebrate the exploits of
kings and heroes.
Res gestas regumque, ducumque, et fortia bella,
Quo scribi possent numero monstravit Homerus.
Orpheus, We have hazarded a conjecture above, importing that the
&c. ’ earliest poetical compositions of the Greeks were consecrat¬
ed to the service of the gods. We shall now produce a few
facts, which will furnish at least a presumptive evidence of
the probability of this conjecture.
Orpheus commenceshis poem with ancient chaos, its trans¬
formations and changes, and pursues it through its various
revolutions. He then goes on to describe the offspring of
Saturn, that is time, the aether, love, and light. In short,
his whole poem is said to have been an oriental allegory,
calculated to inspire mankind with the fear of the gods, and
to deter them from murder, and rapine, and unnatural lusts.
Musseus was the favourite scholar of Orpheus, nay perhaps
his son. He composed prophecies and hymns, and wrote
sacred instructions, which he addressed to his own son. He
prescribed atonements and lustrations 5 but his great work
was a Theogony, or History of the Creation. Melampus
brought from Egypt into Greece the mysteries of Proser¬
pine. He wrote the whole history of the disasters of the
gods. This seer is mentioned by Homer himself. Olen
came from Lycia, and composed the first hymn which v> as
sung in Delos at their solemnities; he probably emigrated
from Patara a city of Lycia, where Apollo had a celebrated
temple and oracle. The Hyperborean damsels used to visit Greek
Delos, where they chaunted sacred hymns in honour of the Languag;
Delian god. To these we may add the great Homer himself,
if indeed the hymns commonly annexed to the Odyssey are
his composition. Hesiod’s Theogony is too well known to
require any description. From these instances it appears,
that the origin of the poetry of Greece is to be found in the
temples ; and that there, its measure, numbers, rhythm, and
other appendages, were originally fabricated.
The Grecian poets, however, enjoyed another advantage Different:
which that class of writers have seldom possessed, and which dialects,
arose from the different dialects into which their languageWIth ttei.
was divided. All these dialects were adopted indifferently on8ln>
by the prince of poets ; a circumstance which enabled him
to take advantage of any word from any dialect, provided it
suited his purpose. This, at the same time that it rendered
his versification easy, diffused an agreeable variety over his
composition. He even accommodated words from Mace¬
donia, Epirus, and Illyricum, to the purposes of his versifi¬
cation. Besides, the laws of quantity were not then clearly
ascertained; and this circumstance afforded him another
convenience. Succeeding poets did not enjoy these advan¬
tages, and consequently have been more circumscribed both
in their diction and their numbers.
The Greek language, as is generally known, was divid¬
ed into many different dialects. Every sept, or petty can¬
ton, had some peculiar forms of speech which distinguished
it from the others. There were, however, four different
dialetical variations which predominated over all the others;
namely, the Attic, Ionic, iEolic, and Doric. These four
dialetical distinctions originated from the different countries
in the East whence the tribes respectively emigrated.
The Attics consisted, first, of the barbarous aborigines; se¬
condly, of an adventitious colony of Egyptian Sa'ites; thirdly,
a branch of lonians from the coast of Palestine. These
last formed the old Ionian dialect, from which sprung the
Attic and the modern Ionic. The iEolians emigrated from a
different quarter of the same coast, the inhabitants of which
were a remnant of the old Canaanites, and consequently
different in dialect from the two first-mentioned colonies.
The Dorians sprang from an unpolished race of purple-fish¬
ers on the same coast, and consequently spoke a dialect
coarser and more rustic than any of the rest. These four
nations emigrated from different regions; a circumstance
which, in our opinion, laid the foundation of the different
dialects by which they were afterwards distinguished. .
It is impossible in this short sketch to exhibit an exact view
of the distinguishing features of each dialect. Such an ana¬
lysis would carry us far beyond the limits assigned to the
present article. For entire satisfaction on this head, we
must refer the Grecian student to Mattaire’s Greece Lingua
Dialecti, where he will find every thing necessary to quali¬
fy him for understanding that subject; and, in the^ mean¬
time, we shall content ourselves with the few following ob¬
servations. ,
The Athenians being an active, brisk, volatile race, de¬
lighted in contractions. Their style was most exquisitely
polished. The most celebrated authors who wrote in that
dialect were, Plato, Thucydides, Xenophon, Demosthenes,
and the other orators ; iEschylus, Euripides, bopliocies,
Aristophanes, Menander, Diphilus, with the other comic and
tragic poets. That dialect was either ancient or modern.
The ancient Attic was the same with the Ionic. _
The Ionic, as we have already said, was the ancient Attic;
but when that nation emigrated from Attica and settled on
the coast of Asia Minor, they mingled with the Canans and
Pelasgians, and of course adopted a number of their teim .
They were an indolent, luxurious, and dissolute people; an
hence their style was easy and flowing, but verbose, redun¬
dant, and without nerve or vigour. This however, is the
ing style in Homer ; and after him a prodigious number 0
PHILOLOGY.
reek writers on every subject employed the same dialect, such
guage. as Herodotus of Halicarnassus the celebrated historian ;
v y^Ctesias of Cnidus the historian of Persia and India; Heca-
taeus of Miletus ; Megasthenes the historian, who lived un¬
der Seleucus Nicator; Hippocrates the celebrated physi¬
cian of Coos; Hellanicus the historian often mentioned
with honour by Polybius ; Anacreon of Teia, Alcaeus, Sap¬
pho of Lesbos, excellent poets ; Pherecydes Syrus the phi¬
losopher, and a multitude of other persons of the same pro¬
fession, whom it would be superfluous to mention on the
present occasion.
The iEolic and the Doric were originally cognate dialects.
When the Dorians invaded Peloponnesus, and settled in
that peninsula, they incorporated with theAlolians, and their
two dialects, blended into one, produced the new Doric. The
original Dorians inhabited a rugged mountainous region about
Ossa and Pindus, and spoke a rough unpolished language
similar to the soil which they inhabited. Andreas Schot-
tus, in his Observations on Poetry (lib.ii. cap. 50) proves from
an old manuscript of Theocritus, that there were two dia¬
lects of the Doric tongue, the one ancient and the other
modern; that this poet employed Ionic and the modern
Doric ; that the old Doric dialect was rough and cumbrous ;
but that Theocritus adopted the new as being softer and
more mellow. A prodigious number of poets and philoso¬
phers wrote in this dialect, such as Epicharmus the poet;
Ibycus the poet of Rhegium ; Corinna the poetess of Thes¬
pis, or Thebes, or Corinth, who bore away the prize of poetry
from Pindar; Erynna a poetess of Lesbos; Moschus the
poet of Syracuse ; Sappho the poetess of Mitylene ; Pindar
of Thebes, the prince of all lyric poets; Archimedes of
Syracuse, the renowned mathematician, and almost all the
Pythagorean philosophers. Few historians wrote in that
dialect; or if they did, their works have not fallen into our
hands. Most of the hymns chanted in temples of the gods
were composed in Doric; a circumstance which evinces
the antiquity of that dialect, and which, at the same time,
proves its affinity to the oriental standard.
T parti- After the Greek tongue had been thoroughly polished by
a of the the steps which we have endeavoured to trace in the pre-
iks to ceding pages, conscious of the superior excellency of their
to r 0Wn. lanSuage’ the Greeks, in the pride of their hearts, stig¬
matised every nation which did not employ their language
with the contemptuous title of barbarians. Such was the
delicacy of their pampered ears, that they could not endure
the untutored voice of the people whom they called Papfiap-
ocbcavoi. This extreme delicacy produced three very per¬
nicious effects. First, it induced them to metamorphose
and sometimes even to mangle, foreign names, in order to
reduce their sound to the Grecian standard; and, secondly,
it prevented their learning the languages of the East, the
knowledge of which would have opened to them an avenue
to the records, annals, antiquities, laws, and customs, of the
people of those countries, in comparison of whom the Greeks
themselves were of yesterday, and knew nothing. By this
unlucky bias, not only they, but even we who derive all the
little knowledge of antiquity which we possess through the
channel of their writings, have suffered an irreparable in¬
jury. By their transformation of oriental names they have
m a manner stopped the channel of communication between
the histories ot Europe and Asia. This appears evident
trom the fragments of Ctesias’s Persian history, from Herodo¬
tus, Xenophon, and all the other Grecian writers who have oc¬
casion to mention the intercourse between the Greeks and
the Persians. The same absurd prejudice deprived them
o. all knowledge of the etymology of their own language,
without which it was impossible for them to understand tho¬
roughly its words, phraseology, and idioms. We have men-
loned above the Cratylus of Plato. In that dialogue, the
ivine philosopher endeavours to investigate the etymology
only a few Greek words; but his deductions are absolutely
405
childish, and little superior to the random conjectures of a Greek
school-boy. Varro, the most learned of all the Romans,has Language,
not been more successful. Both stumbled on the very thres-
hold of that useful science ; and a scholar of very moderate
proficiency in our days knows more of the origin of these two
noble languages, than the greatest adepts amongst the na¬
tives did in theirs. By prefixes, affixes, transpositions of let¬
ters, and new conjunctions of vowels and consonants for the
sake of the music and rhythm, they have so disguised their
words, that it is now almost impossible to develope their ori¬
ginal. As a proof of this, we remember to have seen in the
hands of a private person a manuscript, in which the first
twelve verses of the Iliad are carefully analysed; and it ap¬
pears to our satisfaction, that almost every word may be,
and actually is traced back to a Hebrew, Phoenician, Chal¬
dean, or ^Egyptian original. And we are convinced that the
same process will hold good in the like number of verses
taken from any of the most celebrated poets of Greece. This
investigation was chiefly conducted by reducing the words
to their original invariable state, which was done by strip¬
ping them of prefixes, affixes, and other adventitious elements.
These imperfections, however, are counterbalanced by Beauty of
numberless excellencies; and we are certainly much more the Greek
indebted to that incomparable people for the information language,
they have transmitted to us through the medium of their
writings, than injured by them in not conveying to them¬
selves and to us more authentic and more ample communica¬
tions of ancient events and occurrences. Without fatigu¬
ing our readers with superfluous ecomiums on a language
which has long ago been extolled perhaps to an extravagant
degree by the labours of men of the greatest capacity
and the most refined taste, we shall now proceed to make
a few observations on spirits and accents, which, being ra¬
ther appendages than essentials of the language, we have
on purpose reserved for the last place.
Every word in the Greek language beginning with a The spirits
vowel is marked with a spirit or breathing ; and this aspiration
is double, namely, lenis et asper, the gentle, and rough or
aspirated. The gentle accent, though always marked, is not
now pronounced, though in the earliest periods of the lan¬
guage it was undoubtedly enounced, although very softly.
Both these aspirations were imported from the East. They
were actually the Hebrew n he and rr heth. The former
denoted the spiritus lenis, the latter the spiritus asper. The
Hebrew prefixed ha or he to words beginning with a vowel,
and of course the Greeks followed their example. This
people appears to have delighted in aspirates ; and conse¬
quently the letter f is, some think, rather too often affixed
to the terminations of their words. Every word beginning
with p had the aspirate joined to p, probably with the design
of rendering the aspiration still rougher.
The Greek accents are three in number ; the acute, the The ao-
grave, and the circumflex. The acute raises and sharpens cents,
the voice; the grave depresses and flattens it; the circumflex
first raises and sharpens the voice, and then depresses and
flattens it. It is obviously composed of the other two. The
learned author of the Origin and Progress of Language
has taken much pains to prove that these accents were ac¬
tually musical notes, invented and accommodated to raise,
depress, and suspend the voice, according to a scale of musi¬
cal proportions. It is scarcely possible, we think, for a mo¬
dern Greek scholar to comprehend distinctly the ancient
theory of accents. These the native Greeks learned from
their infancy, and that with such accuracy, that even the
vulgar amongst the Athenians would have hissed an actor off
the stage or an orator off the pulpitum, on account of a
few mistakes in the enunciation of these notes.
The elevations, depressions, and suspensions of the voice
upon certain syllables, must have made their language sound
in the ears of foreigners somewhat like recitative, or some¬
thing nearly resembling cant. But the little variety of these
406
PHILOLOGY.
Greek syllabic tones, and the voice not resting upon them, but
Language. runnino; them on without interruption, sufficiently distin-
(Tuished them from music or cant. Be that as it may, we
think it highly probable, that the wonderful effects produced
bv the harangues of the orators of Greece on the enraptur¬
ed minds of their hearers, were in a great measure owing
to the artificial musical tones by which their syllables were
so happily diversified. To this purpose we shall take the
liberty to transcribe a passage from Dionysius of Halicar¬
nassus De Structura Orationis, which we find translated
bv the author of the Origin and Progress of Language,
(vol. ii- part ii. chap. 7, p. 381.) “ Rhetorical composition
is a kind of music, differing only from song or instrumental
music, in the degree, not in the kind; for in this composi¬
tion the words have melody, rythm, variety, or change, and
what is proper or becoming ; so that in it, as w ell as in mu¬
sic, the ear is delighted with the melody, moved by the
rythm, is fond of variety, and desires with all these what is
proper and suitable. The difference, therefore, is only one
of greater and less.” j ^ ^ i
With respect to accents, it may be observed that on y
one syllable of a word is capable of receiving the acute ac¬
cent, however many there be in the word. It was thought
that the raising the tone upon more than one syllable ot
the word, would have made the pronunciation too various
and complicated, and too like chanting. The grave accent
always takes place when the acute is wanting. It accords
with the level of the discourse ; whereas the acute raises
the voice above it. The circumflex accent being composed
of the other two is always placed over a long syllable, be¬
cause it is impossible first to elevate the voice and then to
depress it upon a short one. Indeed amongst the Gieeks a
long syllable was pronounced like two short ones ; and wTe
apprehend it was sometimes written so, especially in later
times. It is perfectly obvious from two learned Greek au¬
thors, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and Aristoxenus, that the
Greek accents were actually musical notes ; and that these
tones did not consist of loud and low, or simply elevating
and depressing the voice, but that they were uttered in such
a manner as to produce a melodious rythm in discourse.
In a w ord, the acute accent might be placed upon any syl¬
lable before the antepenult, and it rose to a fifth in the dia¬
tonic scale of music, whilst the grave fell to the third below
it. The circumflex was regulated according to the mea¬
sure of both, the acute always preceding. The grave ac¬
cent is never marked except over the last syllable. W hen
no accent is marked, there the grave always takes place.
Some words are called enclitics. These have no accent
expressed, but throw it back upon the preceding word. I he
circumflex, when the last syllable is short, is often found
over the penult, but never over any other syllable except
the last or the last but one.
The ancient Greeks had no accentual marks. Ihese
modifications of voice they learned by practice from their
infancy ; and we are assured by good authority, that in pro-
nunciation they observe them to this day. The accentual
marks are said to have been invented by a celebiated giam-
marian, Aristophanes of Byzantium, keeper of the Alexan¬
drian library under Ptolemy Philopater, and by Epiphanes,
who is also supposed to have invented punctuation. Ac- Greek
centual marks, however, were not in common use till about hangup
the seventh century ; at which time they are found in manu-'s^,^v
scripts.1
Such, in general, are the observations which we conceived
that the nature of our design obliged us to make on the ori¬
gin and progress of the Greek language. Some of our more
learned readers may perhaps blame us for not interspersing
the whole disquisition with quotations from the most cele¬
brated writers in the language which has been the object
of our researches; and we are well aware that this is the gene¬
ral practice in such cases. The books were before us, and
we might have transcribed from them more quotations than
the nature of an article of this kind would permit. In the
first part there were no books in that language to quote
from, because the Greeks knew nothing of their own ori¬
gin, nor of that of their language, and consequently have
recorded nothing but dreams and fictions in reference to that
subject. Even when we had made considerable progress
in our inquiry, the nature of the plan we had adopted ex¬
cluded in a great measure the use of quotations. When
we drew near the conclusion, we imagined that our learned
readers would naturally have recourse to the passages al¬
luded to without our information, and that the unlearned
would not trouble themselves about the matter. The Greek
student who intends to penetrate into the depths of this ex¬
cellent language, will endeavour to be thoroughly acquaint¬
ed with the books mentioned below.2
We shall now subjoin a brief account of the vast extent Vast ex-
of the Greek language even before the Macedonian empire1^ J
was erected ; at which period it became in a manner gene- 1
ral, much more so, indeed, than ever the Latin language
could accomplish notwithstanding the vast extent of the Ro¬
man empire.
Greece, originally Hellas, was a region of-but small ex¬
tent, and yet sent out numerous colonies into different parts
of the world. These colonies carried along with them their
native language, and industriously diffused it wherever they
formed a settlement. The lonians, /Eolians, and Dorians,
possessed themselves of all the west, and north-west coast
of the Lesser Asia and the adjacent islands; and there even
the barbarians learned the polished language of Greece.
The Greek colonies extended themselves along the southern
coast of the Euxine Sea as far as Sinope, now Trebizond,
and all the way from the western coast of Asia Minor; and
though many cities of barbarians lay between, the Gieek
tongue was understood and generally spoken by people of
rank and fashion. There were also Greek cities on the
northern coast of the Euxine Sea to the very eastern point,
and perhaps beyond even those limits; likewise in the
Taurica Chersonesus, or Grim Tartary; and even to the
mouth of the Danube, the straits of Caffa, &c. In the neigh¬
bourhood of all these colonies, the Greek language was care¬
fully propagated amongst the barbarians, who carried on
commerce with the Greeks. . ^ ,
A great part of the south of Italy was planted with GreeK
cities upon both coasts, so that the country was denominated
Magna Gracia ; and here the Greek tongue universally pre¬
vailed. In Sicily it was in a manner vernacular. Iheio-
. If ,he curious reader slould wish ,o enter more deeply into the theory of accents we oust refer hint to Oripm of Un„', vol. ii.
lib. 2. passim ; and to Mr. Foster’s Essay on the different Mature 9“a”Commentary. Ammonias was a native of
2 Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Poetics, and his book De Interpretations, esPeT > * H ]i D Structura Orationis, where, amidst
Alexandria, and by far the most acute of all the ancien grammarians. 'Greek letters. Demetrius Phalereus De
abundance of curious and interesting observations, will be found th® ^ ent 0f words and members in sentences. Lon-
Elocutione; a short essay indeed, but replete with instruction concerning t p g refugees from Constantinople, who
ginus, the prince of critics, whose remains are above commendation. Theodoms Gaza an^ lan„uage once more re-
dSniTchaslh FotiXTlttT GSribrrIJn, sSn As, 'and especial., the learned a„d industrious Lord Monboddo.
PHILOLOGY.
407
eek nians had sent a colony into Egypt in the reign of Psam-
j-uage. metichus ; and a Greek settlement had been formed in Cy-
/^"'renia many ages before. The Phocians had built Massilia
or Marseilles as early as the reign of Cyrus the Great, where
some remains of the Greek language are still to be discover¬
ed. Caesar tells us, that in the camp of Helvetii registers
were found in Greek letters. Perhaps no language ever had
so extensive a diffusion, where it was not propagated by the
law of conquest.
c spo- The Greek tongue, at this day, is confined within very
,t pre- narrow limits. It is spoken in Greece itself, except in Epi¬
rus or Albania, and the western parts of Macedonia. It is
likewise spoken in the Grecian and Asiatic islands, in Can-
dia or Crete, in some parts of the coast of Asia Minor, and
in Cyprus; but in all these regions, it is much corrupted
xoypfaara /ccrgiue/ xccfliXoytjs O/s’cAa, xal o/.ag rag figcpigag Greek
vrXiryag ottS epSatfav hg to xmahov ^uvtJMGtojg, aipsXsT ug ru language.
avrfcc 6tS TPi^om va 800 jj rPz7g zofJLnxg fyovv
saXay/MTiag flgsfMfi'mv zig duro, (Suvzrai sig rug ttXtj-
yu/jjsvug 8onox.oiXia.7g x-ai SsXovv 'argsuOlj. xai dxofii Sumfidvu
ru o86n/a osrS xivouv tui 8z ^zXo'jv vu ttbGouv fiorrfu xai drb rriv
TravxxXav.
H doGig sffarsgMug ug shut 8sku $ xal 8u>8exu xo/iwisg Big
6X/yov xpuai, rj xui vzpov, to kuOs rwyy %u) $pu.8o. ug to (isru-
Xs,&&Taii x-ui i'i'ja SavtAUffiov fj,sT7jv 8oKitj.rt'j /2sQaiU(/.zm.
’AXyOig fiuXGa'MV rS BuG/Xs/x.
Instead of giving a literal and bald translation of this ad¬
vertisement, which runs exactly in the style of other quack
and degenerated. As a specimen, we shall insert a modern- bills, it may be sufficient to observe, that the medicine re-
Greek song, and the advertisement of a quack medicine,
which, with other plunder, was brought by the Russians
from Chocsim or Chotzim in 1772.
MI 8vGr/Juig rroXe^ui fii (SaGuva ug to Xsfj/>
Ei'Mi xul xsmvzvu, xui vu yu6u xovrsuu
2rb TrsXayog ruv Gu/ipvguv (iz e7rix/v8um xaigbv
M’ uvsfjjxg oXddpixg oipoogisg xui zvuvnxg.
Ms ?.v/j,ura voXXuv x.ai /Jjuv rxpuvi umgzvuGfjjUV.
QuXuggu (pxoxofXsvri, mXXu dygio/j.svri,
"Ottx dtppi^t x.ui tpnGu ys Gayuvuxiu tspiGGu
2ui/e<pu GxoTiG/ihu kui xo.tuGoyyjG(j.zvu,
Kui vu tpuvfj (Mu Gurrip'iu, vu idSv ru uund fixgzptu.
TXlyjx vigd vu svpu, x.uGyu xui ozv qj'euou.
N’ dga^u xui 8zv rjfimgu yiun Xifj.hu ozv TSopu.
M’ urzXmGiuv otu U0/J.ZVU rrx syu.
IIS fjvz uuru xuv vu vrvvyu ij gsXu/j.bt/vu soyu,
Kul tutu uv (Sagu^xv, e.uvogxv vu yk pvXui'Xv.
With dire misfortunes, pains, and woes,
O’erwhelm’d, ingulph’d, I struggling fight;
O’er my frail bark proud billows close,
To plunge her deep in lasting night.
Rough seas of ills incessant roar,
Fierce winds adverse, with howling blast,
Heave surge on surge. Ah, far from shore
My found’ring skiff shall sink at last.
Involv’d in low’ring darksome clouds,
’Mid sultry fogs, I pant for breath;
Huge foaming billows rend my shrouds,
While yawning gulfs extend beneath.
From bursting clouds loud thunders rol,I
And deaf’ning peals terrific spread ;
Red lightnings dart from pole to pole.
And burst o’er my devoted head.
When shall the friendly dawning rays
Guide me to pleasures once possest;
And breezy gales, o’er peaceful seas,
Waft to some port of endless rest ?
In dark despair, with tempests tost,
I veer my sail from side to side.
Conduct me, Heav’n ! to yon fair coast,
Or plunge me in the ’whelming tide.
BAA2AMON TH2 TEPOT2AAHM, AHO TAI2,
KAI NOYPIAI2, KAI HAAEAI2
PETZETAI2.
TOXTO to fj.nuXGuu.ov uzpzXu ug rb u8uvutov go/j.uyj, xui
floridd T7\V ycMOGtv duvufj.uvu rriv xuohiuv. Guxuvu oXug rug kfi-
f^ug Trig xoiXiug cofzXii zig Trtv gsvuG/v xui (3rjyu nuXuibv.
commended is said, when taken inwardly, to raise the spi¬
rits, remove costiveness and inveterate coughs ; to cure pains
of the breast and stomach-aches; to assist respiration, and
remove certain female obstructions. When applied exter¬
nally, it cures wounds and sores, whether old or fresh, re¬
moves ringing of the ears, fastens the teeth when loose, and
strengthens the gums. All this, and much more, it is said
to do in a wonderful manner; and is declared to be the true
royal balsam of Jerusalem, and an universal specific.
It is indeed next to a miracle that so many monuments
of Grecian literature are still to be found amongst men.
Notwithstanding the burning of the famous library of Alex¬
andria, and the almost numberless wars, massacres, and de¬
vastations, which have from time to time in a manner deso¬
lated those countries where the Greek once flourished ; we
are told that there still remain about three thousand books
written in that language.
We shall now conclude this section with a brief detail of Stages of
the most distinguished stages and variations through whichthe Greek
this noble tongue passed from the age of Homer till thelanguage’
taking of Constantinople, in the year 1453, a period of more
than two thousand years.
Homer gave the Greek poetry its colour and consistency,
and enriched, as well as harmonized, the language. From
the coincidence of epithets and cadence in Homer and He¬
siod, it appears that the Greek heroic verse w as formed spon -
taneously, by the old AoiSot, a sort of improvisatori; and that
Homer and his early followers adopted their versification.
The Iliad and Odyssey have much of the air of extempore
compositions ; an epithet is never wanting to fill up a verse ;
and a set of expressions are mechanically annexed to such
ideas as were of frequent recurrence. Hence that copious¬
ness and profusion of words in the old Greek bard, which
forms such a contrast to the condensed and laboured com¬
position of Virgil.
The Greek prose was of a more difficult structure ; and
it may be distributed into different styles or degrees of pu¬
rity. Of the prose authors now extant, the first and best
style is that of Herodotus in the natural, and of Plato in the
florid or mixed kind, of Xenophon in the pure and simple, of
Thucydides and Demosthenes in the austere style. No¬
thing, perhaps, is so conducive to form a good taste in com¬
position as the study of these writers.
The style of Polybius forms a new epoch in the history
of the Greek language. It was the idiotic or popular man¬
ner of expression, especially amongst military men, in his time,
that is, about the 150th Olympiad. It became the model of
succeeding writers, by introducing a simple unstudied ex¬
pression, and by emancipating them from the anxious la-
Ia.TPzuei rnr „ ; - < » pression, and by emancipating them from the anxious la-
MTpvu rug zGurzyxug nXyyug m gqfag* xui rx mevuovog riyovv F 1.1 1 1 1 , , .
nXzi,«t/;u v,„c~ ~ ~ , ~ / , bour ot the old Greeks respecting the cadence and choice
IZZ of wards. The style of the New" Testament, being plain
7^ PayruifLz ro ^uv6o no gov ug nafsudg. Ooov an(j popular, frequently resembles that of Polybius, as has
a' s,mah xuoug sivui rj ovud/uig, xul fxuyayiuig^ xal uXXu been fully shown by Raphelius, and by Kirchmaier.1
1 De Parallclismo Novi Testamenti et Polybii, 1725.
408
PHILOLOGY.
Greek Before this historian, the Alexandrian Jews had formed satisfied with the canvass, when he may possess the real ob- Latir:
Language. ^ new or Hellenistic style, resulting from the expression of jcct ? who would prefer a piece of coloured glass to a dia- hangua;
J,,_ oriental ideas and idioms in Greek words, after that language mond ? It is not possible to preserve the beauties of thev
had lost of its purity, in proportion as it gained in general original in a translation. The powers of the Greek vastly
use, by the conquests of Alexander. The Hellenistic is the exceed those of any other tongue. Whatever the Greeks
language of the Septuagint, the Apocrypha, the New Testa- describe is always felt, and almost seen ; motion and music
ment, and partly of Philo and Josephus. This mixture in are in every tone, enthusiasm and enchantment possess the
the style of the evangelists and apostles, is one credential of mind,
the authenticity of the best of all books, a book which could
not have been written except by Jewish authors in the first
century.1 Critics lose their labour in attempting to adjust
the Scripture-Greek to the standard of Atticism.
The diction of the Greek historians, and geographers of
Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo,
Musa loqui.
SECT. VIII. OF THE EATIN LANGUAGE.
This language, like every other spoken by barbarians, was Origin (
the Augustan age, is formed on that of Polybius, but im- in its beginning rough and uncultivated. What people the the R0
  ’ ■*" ’ Romans were, is a point as to which antiquarians are not yetmans, a .
agreed. In their own opinion they were sprung from the theil
Trojans ;2 Dionysius of Halicarnassus derives them from the '
Greeks ;3 and Plutarch informs us4 that some people im¬
agined they were sprung from the Pelasgians. The fact is,
they were a mixture of people collected out of Latium and
the adjacent parts, whom a variety of accidents had induced
or compelled to establish themselves in that mountainous
proved and modernized, like the English of the present age,
as compared with that of Clarendon or Bacon. More per¬
spicuous than refined, it was well suited to such compila¬
tions as were then written by men of letters, such as Diony¬
sius, Diodorus, and Strabo, without much experience or any
eminent rank in public life.
The ecclesiastical style was cultivated in the Christian
schools of Alexandria, Antioch, and Constantinople ; it was
rank and luxuriant, full of oriental idioms, and formed in a region, in order to secure their own property, and plunder
great measure on the Septuagint version. Such for instance, that of their neighbours. They were in all probability com-
is thestyle of Eusebius. Afterhim, the best Christian writers posed of Arcadians, Sabines, Latins, Hetruscans, Umbrians,
polished their compositions in the schools of rhetoric under
the later sophists. Hence the popular and flowing purity
of St. Chrysostom, who has more good sense than Plato,
and perhaps as many good words.
On the Greek of the Byzantine empire, there is an ex¬
cellent dissertation by Ducange, de Causis corruptee Greeci-
tatis, prefixed to his glossary, together with Portius’s Gram¬
mar of the modern Greek. This last stage of the Greek lan-
Oscans, Pelasgians, and others; and if so, their language
must have been a mixture of the different dialects peculiar
to all these discordant tribes.
The Latin language ought then to be a commingled mass
of the Arcadian, that is, the iEolian Greek,5 the Pelasgic,
Hetruscan, and Celtic dialects. But these jarring elements,
like the people to whom they respectively belonged, gradu¬
ally incorporated, and produced what was afterwards called
guage presents a miserable picture of Turkish barbarism ; the Latin tongue,
and, what is most surprising, there is no city of Greece where The Arcadians were a Pelasgian tribe,6 and consequently
the language is more different from the ancient than at spoke a dialect of that ancient Greek produced by the coa-
Athens ; the reason of which seems to be, that that city has
long been inhabited by a mixed multitude of different nations.
In a word, the Greeks have left the most durable monu¬
ments of human wisdom, fortitude, magnificence, and in¬
genuity, in their improvement of every art and science, and
in the finest writings upon every subject necessary, profit¬
able, elegant, or entertaining. They have furnished the
brightest examples of every virtue and accomplishment, na¬
tural or acquired, political, moral, or military. They excell¬
ed in mathematics and philosophy ; in all the forms of go¬
vernment, in architecture, navigation, commerce, war; as
lition of this tribe with the savage aborigines of Greece.
This dialect was the ground-work of the Latin. Every scho¬
lar allows, that the vEolian Greek, which was strongly tinc¬
tured with the Pelasgic, constituted the model upon which the
Latin language was formed. From this deduction it ap¬
pears, that the Latin tongue is much more ancient than the
modern Greek; and of course we may add, that the Greek,
as it stood before it was thoroughly polished, bore a very
near resemblance to that language. Hence it may be con¬
cluded, that the knowledge of the Latin language is neces¬
sary in order to understand the Greek. Let us not then ex¬
orators, poets, and historians, they stand yet unrivalled, and pect to find the real ingredients of the Greek tongue in the
are likely to remain so for ever ; nor are they less to be ad¬
mired for the exercises and amusements they invented, and
brought to perfection, in the institution of their public games,
their theatres, and sports.
No perfect Let us further observe, that in vain will our readers look
translation for these admired excellencies in any of the best translations
of any from the Greek; they may indeed communicate some know-
Greek au- iec[ge 0fwhat the originals contain; they may present the
reader with propositions, characters, and events; but allowing
them to be more faithful and more accurate than they really
are, or can well be, still they are no better than copies, in
which the spirit and lustre of the originals are almost totally lost.
The mind may be instructed, but will not be enchanted ;
the picture may bear some faint resemblance, and if painted
by a masterly hand may give pleasure ; but who would be
thor.
academic groves of Athens, or in Smyrna, or in Rhodope,
or in Heemus ; but let us seek for them on the banks of the
Tiber, and on the fields of Laurentum.
A very considerable part of the Latin tongue was deriv¬
ed from the Hetruscan. That people were the masters of
the Romans in every thing sacred. From them they learn¬
ed the ceremonies of religion, the method of arranging
games and public festivals, the art of divination, the inter¬
pretation of omens, the method of lustrations, expiations,
&c. It would, we believe, be easy to prove, that the Pe¬
lasgians7 and Hetruscans 8 were the same race of people; and
if this was the case, their languages must have differed in
dialect only.
The Umbrian or the Celtic enters deeply into the compo¬
sition of the Latin tongue. In proof of this, we need only
1 See the fine remarks of Bishop Warburton, Doctrine of Grace, book i. ch. 8—10.
9 Titus Livius, lib. i. cap. 1, &c. 3 Antiq. Rom. lib. i. 4 Vita RomuL
5 Strabo, lib. v. Dionysius Halicarnasseus, Antiq. lib. i. 6 Strabo et Herodotus. 7 Thucydides, lib. vi. _
8 The Hetrusci were variously denominated by the Greeks and Romans. The former called them which was their true name,
for they actually emigrated from Tarshish, or the western coast of Asia Minor, and consequently Herodotus everywhere calls them T^-
crnvoi. The iEolians changed « into u; hence in that dialect they were called Ttpawo*, from Tarsus. The Romans styled them
probably from the Greek verb Sva, sacrifice, alluding to the skill which that people professed in the ceremonies of religion. They called
their country Hetruria, we think from the Chaldaic word heretum, a magician or sorcerer; a name deduced from their skill in divination. J
PHILOLOGY.
409
I Latin
aw far
2 Latin
■embles
2 Greek,
refer to Pelloutier, Bullet’s Memoires de la Langue Celtic
partie premiere, Abbe Pezron’s Origin of Ancient Nations,
and other works of a similar kind. Whether the old Celtic
difiered essentially from the Pelasgic and Hetruscan, would
be a matter of curious investigation, were this a proper sub¬
ject for the present article.
The Latin abounds with oriental words, especially He¬
brew, Chaldaic, and Persian. These are certainly remains
of the Pelasgian and Hetruscan tongues, spoken originally
by people who emigrated from regions where such words
formed parts of the vernacular language. The Greeks, in
polishing their language, gradually distorted and disfigured
vast numbers of the rough eastern terms, which formed a
very great part of it, as we have already shown in the pre¬
ceding section.
The Romans, of less delicate organs, left them in their
natural state, and their natural air readily betrays their ori¬
ginal. We had collected a large list of Latin words still
current in the East; but we find that Thomassin1 and Oge-
rius,2 and especially M. Gebelin, in his excellent Latin Dic¬
tionary, have rendered that labour superfluous.
In this language, too, there are not a few Gothic terms.
How these found their way into the Latin, it is not easy to
discover, unless, as Pelloutier supposes, the Celtic and Gothic
languages were originally the same ; or perhaps it may be
conjectured, that such words formed part of a primitive lan¬
guage, which was at one time universal.
There are, besides, in the Latin a great number of ob¬
solete Greek words, which were in process of time oblite¬
rated, and others substituted in their stead ; so that, upon
the whole, we are persuaded, that the most effectual method
for distinguishing the difference between the early and mo¬
dern Greek, would be to compare the ancient Latin with
the more recent, especially as there existed very little differ¬
ence between the ancient Greek and Latin in the earliest
periods. But however this may be, it is certain that the
Roman letters were the same with the ancient Greek.
Former Uteris Latinis quee veterrimis Grcecorum, says Taci¬
tus,3 whilst Pliny4 states the same thing, and for the truth
of his assertion appeals to a monument extant in his own
time. These old Greek letters were no other than the Pe¬
lasgian, which we have shown from Diodorus Siculus to have
been prior to the Cadmean.5
That the Latins borrowed the scheme of their declensions
from the Greeks, is evident from the exact resemblance of
the terminations of the cases throughout the three similar
declensions. In nouns of the first declension, the resem¬
blance is too palpable to stand in need of illustration. In
the second, the Greek genitive is ot; but in Latin the o is
thrown out, and the termination becomes i. In the section
on the Greek language, we have observed, that the sounds
of i and v differed very little ; therefore the Latins used i in¬
stead of v. The Latin dative ends in o, which is the Greek
dative, throwing away t subscriptum, which was but faintly
sounded in that language. No genuine Greek word ended
in ji or m. The Hellenes seem to have abhorred that bel¬
lowing liquid it is certain, however, that they imported it
from the East, as well as the other letters, and that they
employed it in every other capacity, except in that of closing
words. In the termination of flexions, they changed into v.
The Latins retained m, which had been imported to them
as a terminating letter at an era before the Greek language
had undergone its last refinement. Hence the Latin accu¬
sative in um, instead of the Greek in ov. The vocative case,
we imagine, was in this declension originally like the nomi¬
native. 1 he Latins have no dual number, because, in our
opinion, the iEolic dialect, from which they copied, had Latin
none. It would no doubt, be a violent stretch of etymolo- Language,
gical exertion, to derive either the Latin genitive plural of'^o^v'"'***''
the second declension from the same case of the Greek, or
that of the latter from the former; we therefore leave this
anomaly, without pretending to account for its original for¬
mation. The third declensions in both languages are so
exactly parallel, that it would be superfluous to compare
them. But even here the dative plural is another anomaly,
and we think a very disagreeable one, which we leave to the
conjectures of more profound etymologists. For the other
peculiarities of Latin nouns, as they are nearly similar to
those of the Greek, we must beg leave to refer our readers
to that section.
I he Latins have no articles, which is certainly a defect Deficiency
in their language. The Pelasgic, from which they copied, of articles,
had not adopted that word in the demonstrative sense. Ho¬
mer indeed seldom uses it; and the probability is, that the
more early Greeks used it less frequently, at least in the
sense above mentioned. Thus in Latin, when I say, video
hominem, it is impossible to find out by the bare words whe¬
ther the word hominem intimates a man, or the man, whereas
in Greek it would be /3Ae7rw dvdpoonov, I see a man, /SAen-co
rov avBpemov, / see the man. Hence the first expression is
indefinite, and the second definite.
The substantive verb sum in Latin seems to be formed Origin of
partly from the Greek and partly not. Some of the per-thesubstan-
sons of the present tense have a near resemblance to thet4ve an<^
Greek verb ia> or Upi, whilst others vary widely from thatotller verbs’
archetype. The imperfect praeterite and praeterperfect have
nothing in common with the Greek verb, and cannot, we think,
be forced into an alliance with it. The future ero, was of
old eso, and is indeed genuine Greek. Upon the whole, in
our apprehension, the Latin substantive verb more nearly
resembles the Persian verb hesten than that of any other
language with which we are acquainted.
from what exemplar the Latin verbs were derived, it is
by no means easy to ascertain. We know that attempts
have been made to deduce them all from the iEolic Greek,
and that the Romans themselves were extremely fond of
this chimera; but the almost numberless irregularities, both
in the formation and conjugation of their verbs, induce us
to believe that only a part of them were formed upon that
model. We are inclined to think that the terminations in
bam, bas, bat, bamus, &c. were produced by their union with
a fragment of some obsolete verb, which is now wholly lost.
In the verb amo, for instance we are sure that the radix am is
the Hebrew word mother ; but how am-abam, am-abo, am-
arem were fabricated, and connected with the radical am,
is not so easily determined. That Latin verbs, as well as the
Greek, are composed of an inflexible radix and another
flexible verb, cannot be doubted ; but what this flexible
auxiliary was, cannot now be clearly ascertained. It is not
altogether improbable that such parts of the verbs as devi¬
ate from the Greek archetype were supplied by fragments
of the verb ha, which pervades all the branches of the
Gothic language, and has, we conceive produced the Latin
verb habeo. When the Greeks began to etymologise, they
seldom overpassed the verge of their own language; and
the Latins pursued nearly the same course. If their own
language presented a plausible etymology, they embraced
it; if not, they immediately had recourse to the Greek ;
and this was the neplus ultrg, of their etymological research¬
es. Cicero, Onintillian, Festus, and even Varro, the most
learned of all the Romans, stop here; all beyond is either
doubt or impenetrable darkness. Their opinion above men-
1 Glossary.
^rcEca et fatina lingua Hebraizanles, Venice 1.763. If these books are not at hand, Dr. Littleton’s Dictionary will, in a great mea¬
sure, supply their place. 3 Tacitus, Anal, lib, i. 4 Nat. Hist. lib. vii. cap. 58.
oi t e ngure of these letters, see Astle, Postellus, Montfaucon, fPalcegraphia Grceca,! M. Gebelin, and others.
VOL. XVII. > » r j
3 F
410
Latin
Language.
Deficien¬
cies in La¬
tin verbs.
PHILOLOGY.
Irregulari¬
ties in the
conjuga¬
tions.
tioned we offer only as a conjecture; as to the decision we
leave it to more able critics.
The want of aorists or indefinite tenses seems to us to be a
palpable defect in the Latin language. The use of these
amongst the Greeks entitled the writer to expiess the speci¬
fic variations of time with more accuracy and precision than
the Latins, who never attempted to specify them by any
other tenses but the imperfect and pluperfect. Indeed we
should imagine, that both the Greeks and Latins were much
inferior to the English in this respect. The Latin word lego,
for example, may be translated into English tnree diffeient
ways ; as, 1 read, I do read, and I am reading.
The Latins, in reducing their verbs to four conjugations,
formed their inflexions in a very irregular manner. Num¬
bers of the first class inflect their praeterite and supine like
those of the second ; thus, domo, instead of giving avi and
atum, has id and itum, like monui and monitum. Again,
not a few verbs of the third conjugation have ivi and itum,
as if they belonged to the fourth ; e. g. peto, petivi, petitum.
Then, some verbs have io in the present, ivi in the praeter¬
ite, and itum in the supine, whilst, contrary to the rules of
analogy, they in reality belong to the third ; such are cupio,
cupivi, cupitum, cupere, and others. Some verbs of the se¬
cond conjugation have their praeterite and supine as if they
belonged to the third ; thnsjubeo, jussi, jm.mm,jubere, and
augeo, auxi, auctum, augere. Some verbs, which are actu¬
ally of the fourth conjugation, have their praeterite and supine
as if they were of the third ; thus, sentio, sensi, sensum, sen-
tire, and haurio, hausi, haustum, haurire. If these are not
manifest irregularities, we cannot say what deserves the name.
The fact seems to stand thus. The Romans were originally
a banditti of robbers, bankrupts, runaway slaves, shepherds,
husbandmen, and peasants of the most unpolished charac¬
ter. They were engaged in perpetual broils and quarrels at
home, and seldom enjoyed repose abroad. Their profession
was robbery and plunder. Like old Ishmael, their hands
were against every man, and every man’s hand was against
them. In such a state of society no time was left for cultivat¬
ing the sciences. Accordingly, the arts of war and govern¬
ment were their sole profession. This is so true, that their
own poet has characterized them in the following manner -
Excudent alii spirantia mollius aera,
Credo equidem : vivos ducent de marmore vultus;
Orabunt eausas melius ; coelique meatus
Describent radio, et surgentia sidera dicent:
Tu regere imperio populos* Romane, memento:
Hae tibi erunt artes : pacisque imponere morem,
Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.
The Latin Another blemish in the Latin language is occasioned by its
deficient in wanting a participle of the prseterite sense in the active voice,
participles, qqqg defect is perpetually felt, and is the cause of an awk¬
ward circumlocution wherever it happens to present itself.
Thus, Imperator, cum transiiset jlumen, aciem instruxit;
the general having crossed the river drew up his army.
Here cum transiiset Jlumen is a manifest circumlocution,
which is at once avoided in the Greek 6 riyegcov nepao-as tov
Trorapov, k. r. X. This must always prove an incumbrance in
the case of active intransitive verbs. But when active depo¬
nent verbs occur, it is easily avoided. Thus, Cmsar cohor-
tatusmilites,pr(diicommittendi signum dedit; Caesar having
encouraged the soldiers, gave the signal for joining battle.
Another palpable defect in this language arises from the
want of a participle of the present passive. This again must
be productive of inconvenience upon many occasions, as will
be obvious to every Latin student.
The two supines are universally allowed to be substan¬
tive nouns of the fourth declension. How these assum¬
ed the nature of verbs it is not easy to determine. When
they are placed after verbs or nouns, the matter is attended
with no difficulty; but how they should acquire an active
Supines
and ge¬
runds.
signification, and take the case of the verb with which they Latin
are connected, is not so easily accounted for, and certainly Languag:.
implies a stretch of prerogative. The Latin gerunds form
another unnatural anomaly. Every scholar knows that these
words are nothing but the neuters of the participles in dus
of the future passive. The fabricators of the Latin lan¬
guage, however, elevated them from their primary condition,
giving them upon many occasions an active signification. In
this case we must have recourse to the
Si volet usus,
Quern penes arbitrium est, etjus et norma loquendi.
Another inconvenience, which is perhaps more severely felt
than any of thepreceding,arises fromthewantoftheuse of the
present participle of the verb sum. Every body knows what
a convenience is derived from the frequent use of the par¬
ticiple wi/ in Greek; and indeed it appears to us somewhat
surprising that the Latins neglected to introduce the parti¬
ciple ens into their language. In this we believe they were
singular. Here again a circumlocution becomes necessary.
In such a case as the following, “ The senate being at Rome,
passed a decree,” instead of saying senatus ens Roma, le¬
gem tulit, we are obliged to say cum senatus Roma esset,
legem tulit. If the words ens or existens had been adopted,
as in the Greek, this odious circumlocution would have been
avoided. Many other defects of a similar kind will occur to
every person who shall choose to search for them, and these,
too, in the most approved classical authors.
If any one will take the trouble to compare the structure of Different
the Greek and the Latin languages, he may very soon be con- genius of
vinced that their characteristic features are extremely differ- ™
ent. The genius of the former appears easy and natural;^" ^
whereas that of the latter, notwithstanding the united efforts
of the poets, orators, and philosophers, who wrote in it, still
bears the marks of violence and restraint. Hence it appears
that the Latin language was pressed into the service, and com¬
pelled almost against its peculiar genius to bend to the laws
of the Grecian model. Take a sentence of Hebrew, Chal-
daic, Arabian, or Persian, and try to translate it into Greek
without regarding the arrangement of the words, and you will
find it no difficult task ; but make the same trial with respect
to the Latin, and you will probably discover that the attempt
is attended with considerable difficulty. To translate Greek
into English is not a laborious task ; the texture of the two
languages is so congenial, that the words and phrases, and
even the idiomatic expressions, naturally slide into each other.
But with the Latin the case is quite otherwise ; and before
elegant English can be produced, one must deviate consi¬
derably from the original. Should we attempt to translate
a piece of English into Greek, and at the same time into
Latin, the translation of the former would be attended with
much less difficulty than that of the latter, supposing the
translator to be equally skilled in both languages.^
This incongruity seems to spring from the following cause. Qaliseg o
Before any man of considerable abilities, either in the ca-tfog diffc
pacity of a poet, grammarian, or rhetorician, appeared atence.
Rome, the language had acquired a strong and inflexible
tone, too stubborn to be exactly moulded according to the
Grecian standard. After a language has continued several
centuries without receiving a new polish, it becomes like a
full grown tree, incapable of being bent to the purposes of
the mechanic. For this reason, it is highly probable, that
the language in question could not be forced into a complete
assimilation with the Greek. But notwithstanding all these
obstructions, in process of time it arrived at such an exalt¬
ed pitch of perfection, as to rival, perhaps to excel, all the
other European languages, Greek only excepted. Had men
possessing the taste, judgment, and industry of Ennius, Flau-
tus, Terence, Cicero, and the worthies of the Augustan age,
appeared in the early stages of the Roman common wealth,
their language would have been thoroughly reduced to
PHILOLOGY.
Latin Grecian archetype, and the two dialects might have improved
anguage. each other by a rivalship between the nations who employed
^V^them.
Without pretending to encumber our readers with a pom¬
pous and elaborate account of the beauties of that imperial
language, which have been detailed by writers almost with¬
out number, wTe shall endeavour to lay before them as briefly
as possible its pristine character, the steps by which it gra¬
dually rose to perfection, the period when it arrived at the
summit of its excellence, and the means by which it rapidly
degenerated until it was finally lost amongst the very peo¬
ple to whom it had owed its birth,
ije Latin We have observed already, that the Latin was originally a
:mposed colluvies of all the languages spoken by the vagrant people
I [iefly of w]10 composed the first elements of that republic. The
dasjf®. prevailing dialects were the Pelasgian or Etruscan, which
t C we conce^ve t0 have been the same ; and the Celtic, which
wasundoubtedly the aboriginal idiom of Italy. Hencethe pri¬
mary dialect of the Romans was composed of discordant mate¬
rials, which in our opinion never acquired a natural and con¬
genial union. The Pelasgian or Etruscan part of it retained
a strong tincture of the oriental style. But the Celtic por¬
tion appears to have been the prevalent one, since we
find that most of the names of places, especially in the
middle and northern parts of Italy, are actually of Celtic
origin.1 It is clear therefore that the dialect of the first Ro¬
mans was composed of the languages above mentioned. Who
those first Romans were, it is impossible to determine with
any degree of certainty; indeed the Roman historians afford
us as little information upon the subject, as their etymolo¬
gists do respecting the origin of their language. Their most
celebrated writers upon this point were /Elius Gallus, Quin¬
tus Cornificius, Nonius Marcellus, Festus, and some others
of less note. At the head of these we ought to place Te-
rentiusVarro, wrhom Cicero styles the most learned of all the
Romans. But from such writers we need expect no light.
Their etymologies are generally childish and futile. Of the
language of the most ancient Romans we can only reason
by analogy; and by that rule we can discover nothing more
than what has already been advanced.
We may rest assured that the dual number, the articles,
the participle above mentioned, the aorists, and the whole
middle voice, never appeared in the Latin language; and for
this reason that they were not current in those languages
from which it was derived, at least at the time when it was
first fabricated. Besides all this, many circumstances con¬
cur to make it highly probable that, in the earliest period
of the language, very few inflexions were introduced. First,
when the Pelasgians left Greece, the Greek language itself
was not fully polished. Secondly, the Arcadians were never
thoroughly civilized. They were a rustic pastoral people,
and minded little the refinements of a civilized state ; conse¬
quently the language which they brought into Italy at that era
must have been of a coarse and irregular contexture. Third¬
ly, when the Thessalian Pelasgians arrived in Italy about the
time of Deucalion, the Greek language itself was rude and
barbarous;2 and, which is of still more consequence, if we may
credit Herodotus quoted in the former section, the Greek
people had never adopted the Hellenic tongue. Hence it
appears, that the part of the Latin language derived from the
Pelasgian or Etruscan must have taken a deep tincture from
the oriental tongue. If we may judge of the Celtic of that
age by the Celtic of the present, the same character must
likewise have distinguished its structure,
ignmlly From these circumstances, we think it appears that the
:ted. -  
earliest language of the Romans was but very little diversified Latin
by means of inflections. It nearly resembled the oriental ex- Language,
emplar, and consequently differed w idely from the modern La- ''•**^Ym*'**>
tin. The effect of this wTas, that the modern Romans could
not understand the language of their early progenitors. Po¬
lybius,3 speaking of the earliest treaty between the Romans
and Carthaginians, makes the following observation : “ Be¬
lieve me,” says he, “ the Roman language has undergone
so many changes since that time to the present, that even
those who are most deeply skilled in the science of antiqui¬
ties cannot understand the words of that treaty except with
the greatest difficulty.”4 From this source, then, has flowed
that great number of oriental words with which the Latin
language is impregnated. Being originally inflexible, they
were not disguised as they now are with prefixes, affixes, me-
tatheses, syncopes, antitheses, and the like, but plain and un¬
adorned in their natural dress.
After the Romans had become acquainted with the dHolian Afterwards
Greeks, who gradually seized upon both coasts of Italy to-formed on
wards the south, which they called Magna Graecia, they be- t^ie Creek
gan to affect a Grecian air, and to torture their language into mo<le1'
a foreign contexture. It appears, however, that at first the
Grecian attire had rather an awkward appearance, and that
several marks of violence were easily discerned. The most
ancient specimen of this kind that we can recollect consists
of the remains of the Twelve Tables. Here every thing is
rude and of a clumsy cast; for although by this time consi¬
derable progress had been made in refinement, and the lan¬
guage of Rome had begun to appear in a Grecian uniform,
still those changes were not altogether natural. Soon after¬
wards appeared Marcus Fabius Pictor and Sisenna, histo¬
rians often quoted by Livy, but whose works have long since
been irrecoverably lost. The Fasti Capitolini are frequently
mentioned; but they too perished in the burning of the
Capitol during the civil wars between Marius and Sylla.
If those monuments had escaped the ravages of time, we
should have been able to mark the progress of the Latin
language from stage to stage, and to ascertain with the great¬
est accuracy its gradual configuration in the course of its
progress towards the Grecian standard. We must there¬
fore abandon the attempt to trace the Latin during those
rude and barbarous periods, and descend to others which are
better known and more characteristically marked. The lat¬
ter, commenced when
Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit, et artes
Intulit agresti Latio.
In this period flourished Ennius, who wrote in eighteen The au-
books, a Roman history in hexameter verse, which he called thors by
Annals, the greater part of which is now unhappily lost. He whom it
likewise translated Euhemerus de Origine Deorum, a work P0'
often mentioned by the Christian fathers in their disputes with118 e
the Pagans, and which is sometimes quoted by Cicero. Then
followed Caius Lucilius the famous satirist, and a number of
other writers, such as Accius, Valerius, fEdituus, Alpinus,
whose fragments were published by the Stephens, at Paris,
in 1564. All these imitated the writers of Greece or trans¬
lated from them. By their perseverance and active exer¬
tions, the spirit of the Greek authors was transfused into
the Latin language, and its structure accommodated to the
Grecian standard.
Plautus and Terence, by translating into their own lan¬
guage, the comedies of Menander and Diphilus taught the
Latin muses to breathe their inspirations in Attic Greek.
To speak that language was then the fashion of the times,
1 For proof of this our readers may consult Abbe Pezron, Pelloutier, Bullet’s Memoires, Gebelin, Prcef. Diet- Lat. and many others.
2 Dionysius Halicarnasseus, lib. i- 3 See his History, lib. iii. sub initio.
* This treaty, according to the same historian, was concluded in the consulship of Lucius Junius Brutus and Marcus Valerius, twenty-
eight years before Xerxes made his descent upon Greece.
412
PHILOLOGY.
Latin as it is now with us to chatter French. Greek tutors were
Language, retained in every reputable family ; and many Romans of
the first rank were equally qualified to speak or write both
in Greek and in Latin. The original jargon of Latium had
now become obsolete and unintelligible ; and even Cato t te
Ancient condescended to learn the Greek language at the age
of eighty. . ,,
Golden age To pretend to enumerate the various, and we may add
of Rome, inimitable, examples of the Augustan or golden age of the
Roman language, would be an insult to the understanding
of our readers. We shall only take the liberty to translate a
few lines from an able and excellent historian,1 who, had his
honesty been equal to his judgment, might have rivalled
the most celebrated writers of his country. Having ob¬
served that the Greek authors, who excelled in every pro¬
vince of literature, had all made their appearance nearly
about the same time, and within a very short space of one
another, he adds: “ Nor was this circumstance more conspi¬
cuous amongst the Greeks than amongst the Romans ; for
unless we go bcick to the rough and unpolished times? whic
deserve commendation only on account of their invention,
the Roman tragedy is confined to Accius and the period
when he flourished. The charming wit of Latin elegance
was brought to light by Cecilius, Terentius, and Aframus,
nearly in the same age. As for our historians if we except
Cato and some old obscure writers, they were all confined
to a period of about eighty years ; so neither has our stock
of poets extended to a great space either backwards, or for¬
wards. But the energy of the bar, and the finished beauty
of prose eloquence, setting aside the same Cato (by the
leave of Crassus, Scipio, Laelius, the Gracchi, Fannins, and
Ser. Galba, be it spoken), broke out all at once under Tully
the prince of his profession; so that one can now be de¬
lighted with none before him, and admire none except such
asT have either seen that orator or been seen by him.”
Causes of From this quotation it evidently appears, that the Romans
the degen- themselves were convinced of the short duration of the
eracy of the o-olden age of their language. According to the most judi-
Latin lan- »ious criticS; it commenced with the era of Cicero’s orato-
guage' rical productions, and terminated with the reign of Tiberius,
or rather, perhaps, it did not reach beyond the middle of
that prince’s reign. It is generally believed that eloquence,
and with it every thing liberal, elevated, and manly, was
banished from Rome by the despotism of the Caesars. But
we imagine that the transition was too instantaneous to have
been entirely produced by that cause. Despotism was firmly
established amongst the Romans aboutthe middle of the i eign
of Augustus ; and yet that period produced such a group
of learned men as never perhaps adorned any other nation
in so short a space of time. Despotism, we acknowledge,
might have affected the eloquence of the bar, the noble
and important objects which had animated the republican
orators being now no more 5 but this circumstance could
not affect poetry, history, philosophy, and jurisprudence.
The style employed upon these subjects did not feel the
fettersof despotism. The reign of Louis XIY. was the golden
age of the French language ; and we think that age produced
a°race of learned men, in every department superior in num¬
ber and equal in genius to the literati who flourished under
the noble and envied constitution of Britain during the same
period, although the latter is likewise said to have been the
golden age of this country. The British Islands, we conceive,
still enjoy as much liberty as ever ; yet we believe there are
few persons who will affirm, that the writers of the present day
are equal either in style or in genius to that noble group who
flourished from the middle of the reign of Charles I. to the
middle of the reign of George II.
In the East the same observation seems to hold true. The
Persians have long groaned under the Mohammedan yoke; Latin
and yet every oriental scholar will allow, that in that coun- Language
try, and under the most galling tyranny, the most amazing
productions of taste, genius, and industry, that ever digni¬
fied human nature, have been exhibited. Under the Ara¬
bian caliphs, the successors of Mohammed, appeared writers
of a most sublime genius, although despotism was never more
cruelly exercised than under those fanatics. The revival of
letters in Italy during the fourteenth century, was chiefly pro¬
moted and cherished by the petty despots of that country.
We cannot therefore be persuaded that the despotism of the
Cassars banished eloquence and learning from Rome. Longi¬
nus indeed has attributed this misfortune to the cause lust
stated, and tells us, that it is liberty which is formed to nurse
the sentiments of great geniuses, to push forward the pro¬
pensity of contest, to inspire them with the generous am¬
bition of being the first in the first rank. But when Lon¬
ginus wrote this, he did not reflect that he himself was a
striking instance of the unsoundness of his own observation.
As to science, the fact is undoubtedly on the other side. The wri-
That Seneca was superior to Cicero in philosophy, cannot ters of the!
be reasonably contradicted. The latter had read, and ac-81'61^
tually abridged, the whole mass of Grecian philosophy; but
this displayed his reading rather than his learning. The
former had addicted himself to the Stoic sect; and though
he does not write with the same flow of eloquence as Tully,
he thinks more deeply and reasons more closely. Pliny’s
Natural History is indeed a wonderful collection, and con¬
tains more useful knowledge than all the writings of the
Augustan age condensed into one mass. The historical an¬
nals of Tacitus, if inferior to Livy in elegance of style and
majesty of diction, are much superior in arrangement and in
vigour of composition. In short, we discover in these pro¬
ductions a deep insight into human nature, an extensive
knowledge of the true science of government, a penetration
which no dissimulation could escape, together with a sincere
attachment to truth respecting both events and characters;
nor is he inferior in the majesty, energy, and propriety of his
harangues, wherever an equal opportunity presents itself.
Quintilian, Pliny the younger, Suetonius, Petronius Arbi¬
ter, and Juvenal deserve high commendation, and are not
inferior to their immediate predecessors. We think there
is good reason to conclude, that the loss of liberty amongst
the Romans did not produce the extinction of eloquence,
science, elevation of sentiment, or refinement of taste. The
circumstances which chiefly contributed to produce that re¬
volution were of a different description.
Velleius Paterculus whom we have already quoted assigns
some very plausible and judicious reasons for the catastro¬
phe in question. “ Emulation,” says he “ is the nurse of
genius ; and one while envy, and another admiration fires
imitation. According to the laws of nature, that which is
pursued with the greatest ardour mounts to the top ; but to
be stationary in perfection is a difficult matter; and by the
same analogy, that which cannot move forward must go back¬
ward. As at the outset we are animated to overtake those
whom we deem before us, so when we despair of being able
to overtake or to pass by them, our ardour languishes to¬
gether with our hope ; what it cannot overtake it ceases
to pursue, and leaving the subject as already engrossed by
another, it looks out for some new one upon which to exert
itself. That by which we find that we are not able to ac¬
quire eminence we speedily relinquish, and try to discover
some object elsewhere upon which to employ our intellectual
powers. The consequence is, that frequent and variable
transitions from subject to subject prove a great obstacle
to the attainment of perfection in any profession.”
This was perhaps the case with the Romans. The be*
1 Velleius Paterculus, lib. i cap. ult.
PHILOLOGY. 413
atin roes of the Augustan age had borne away the prize of elo-
ruage. quence, history, poetry, and elegant literature; and their suc-
y'^'cessors despaired of being able to equal, much less to sur¬
pass them, in any of these pursuits. They were therefore
placed under the necessity of striking out a new path by
which they might hope to arrive at eminence. Conse¬
quently Seneca introduced the stile coupe, as the French call
it; that is, a short, sparkling, figurative diction, abounding
with antitheses, quaintnesses, witticisms, and embellished
with meretricious ornaments % whereas the style of the Au¬
gustan age was natural, simple, solid, unaffected, and pro¬
perly adapted to the nature of the subject as well as to the
sentiments of the author.
The historian Sallust laid the foundation of the unna¬
tural style here mentioned. Notwithstanding all the ex¬
cellencies of that celebrated author, he everywhere exhi¬
bits an affectation of antiquity, an antithetical cast, an air
of austerity, an accuracy, exactness, and regularity, the very
opposite of that air degage which nature displays in her most
finished efforts. His words and his clauses seem to be ad¬
justed exactly according to number, weight, and measure,
without either excess or defect. Valleius Paterculus imi¬
tated this writer ; and, as is generally the case with imita¬
tors, succeeded best in those points where his archetype
had failed most egregiously. Tacitus, however excellent
in other respects, deviated from the Augustan exemplars,
and is thought to have imitated Sallust; but affecting bre¬
vity to excess, he often falls into obscurity. The other
contemporary writers employ a cognate style; and because
they have deviated from the Augustan standard, their
works are held in less estimation, and are thought to bear
about them marks of degeneracy. This degeneracy, how¬
ever, did not spring from the despotic government under
which these authors lived, but from the affectation of singu-
larityintowhich they were betrayed by an eager though fruit¬
less desire of signalizing themselves in the new mode, as their
predecessors had done in the old.
But the mischiefs of this rage for innovation did not reach
their sentiments, as it had done their style ; for in that
point we think they were so far from falling below the mea¬
sure ofthe writers of the former age, that in many instances
they appear to have surpassed them. With respect to sen¬
timent and mental exertions, the authors in question pre¬
served their vigour, till luxury and effeminacy, the conse¬
quence of power and opulence, enervated both the bodies
and the minds of the Romans. The contagion soon became
universal; and a listlessness, or intellectual torpor, the usual
concomitant of luxury, spread an indolence over the men¬
tal faculties, which rendered them not only averse to, but
even incapable of, industry and perseverance. This lethar¬
gic disposition of mind seems to have commenced towards the
conclusion of the silver age ; that is, about the end of the
reign of Hadrian. It was then that the Roman eagle be¬
gan to stoop, and that, in arts as well as in arms, the genius
of Rome showed symptoms of decline.
As the Roman genius began, about this period, to decline,
so the style of the silver age became gradually vitiated with
barbarisms and exotic forms of speech. The multitudes of
barbarians who flocked to Rome from all parts of the em¬
pire ; the ambassadors of foreign princes, and often the princes
themselves, with their attendants ; the prodigious numbers
of slaves who were entertained in all the considerable families
of the capital, and throughout Italy ; the frequent commerce
which the Roman armies upon the frontiers carried on with
the barbarians ; all concurred to vitiate the Latin language,
and to interlard it with foreign words and idioms. In such
circumstances, it was impossible for that or any other form
of speech to continue pure and untainted. But this vitiated
character both of style and of sentiment became more and
more prevalent, in proportion as it descended from the reign
of Hadrian towards the era of the removal of the seat of em¬
pire from Rome to Constantinople. Then succeeded the Latin
iron age, when the Roman language became absolutely rude Language,
and barbarous.
Towards the close ofthe silver, however, and during the Writers
whole course of what is called the brazen age, there appeared mwmg the
many writers of no contemptible talents. The most remarka- ^ver and
ble was Seneca the stoic, the master ofNero, whose character b^azen
both as a man and a writer is discussed with great accuracy a°eS"
by the noble author of the Characteristics, a work to which
our readers are referred. About the same time lived Per-
sius the satirist, the friend and disciple of the stoic Cornutus,
to whose precepts he did honour by his virtuous life ; whilst
by his works, though few, he showed an early proficiency in
the science of morals.
Under the mild government of Hadrian and the Antoni-
nes lived Aulus Gellius, or, as some call him, Agellius; an
entertaining writer in the miscellaneous way, and well skilled
in criticism and antiquity. His works contain several valu¬
able fragments of philosophy, which are indeed the most cu¬
rious part of them. With Aulus Gellius we may rank Ma-
crobius ; not because he was a contemporary, for he is sup¬
posed to have lived under Honorius and Theodosius, but
from his close resemblance in the character of writer. His
works, like those of Gellius, are miscellaneous, being filled
with mythology and ancient literature, intermixed with some
philosophy. In the same age with Aulus Gellius flourished
Apuleius of Madaura in Africa ; a Platonic writer, whose
matter in general far exceeds in merit his perplexed and
affected style, which is but too conformable to the false rhe¬
toric of the age in which he lived.
Boethius w as descended from one of the noblest of the
Roman families, and was consul in the beginning of the sixth
century. He wrote many philosophical works ; but his ethical
wrork on the Consolation of Philosophy deserves great enco¬
miums, both for the matter and the style, in which last re¬
spect, he approaches the purity of a far better age than his
own. By command of Theodoric the king of the Goths
this great and good man suffered death ; and with him the
Latin language, and the last remains of Roman dignity, may
be said to have sunk in the western w orld. There were, be¬
sides, a goodly number both of poets and historians who
flourished during this period, such as Silius Italicus, Claudian,
Ausonius, and others, for a list of whom the reader may con¬
sult Fabricii Bibliotheca Latina. A number of ecclesiasti¬
cal writers, some of whom deserve great commendation, also
flourished about the same period. The chief of these is Lac-
tantius, who has been deservedly dignified with the proud
title of the Christian Cicero.
The Roman authors amount to a very small number in
comparison ofthe Greek. At the same time, when we con¬
sider the extent and duration of the Roman empire, we are
surprised to find so few writers of character and reputation
in so vast a field, and think we have good reason to agree
with the prince of Roman poets in the sentiment which has
been already quoted.
Upon the whole, the Latin language deserves our atten- Excellency
tion beyond any other ancient tongue now extant. The an(l usefuL
grandeur of the people by whom it was spoken ; the high ^athWar^6
genius of its writers; the empire which it still maintains gUa„e
amongst ourselves; the necessity we are under of learning
it in order to obtain access to almost all the sciences, nay
even to the knowledge of our own laws, judicial proceedings,
and charters ; all these circumstances, and many others too
numerous to be detailed, render the acquisition of that impe¬
rial and universal language in a peculiar manner at once im¬
proving and interesting. Spoken by the conquerors ofthe
ancient nations, it partakes of all their revolutions, and bears
continually their impression. Strong and nervous whilst they
were employed in nothing but battles and carnage, it thun¬
dered in the camps, and made the proudest people to trem¬
ble, and the most despotic monarchs to bend their stubborn
414 PHILC
Celtic necks to the yoke. Copious and majestic, it became the
Language, learned language of Europe, when the Romans, weary of
battles, inclined to vie with the Greeks in science and refine¬
ment ; and by its lustre it caused to disappear the jargon of
savages which disputed with it the possession of that quarter
of the globe. After having controlled by its eloquence, and
humanized by its laws, all those tribes, it became the language
of relimon ; and it will continue to be studied and esteemed
as long as good sense and classical taste remain in the world.
SECT. IX. CELTIC, GOTHIC, AND SCLAVONIAN LANGUAGES.
§ 1. Of the Celtic Language.
In treatingofthe origin of the Latin language, we observed
that a great part of it had been derived from the Celtic. We
shall now endeavour to give some account of the origin and
extent of that ancient language, leaving the minutiae to
grammars and dictionaries, as we have done with respect to
the other dialects which have fallen under our consideration.
The object of this treatise is to discuss questions in philo¬
logy alone, not to enter into grammatical details, or lexico¬
graphical explanations.
The Gauls The descendants of Japhet having peopled the western
or Celts, parts of Asia, at length entered Europe. Some broke into
that quarter of the globe by the north, and others found
means to cross the Danube near its mouth. Their posterity
gradually ascended towards the source of that river; but
afterwards they advanced to the banks of the Rhine, which
they passed and thence spread themselves as far as the Alps
and the Pyrenees.
These people, were, in all probability, composedof different
families; all ofthem, however, spoke the same language; their
manners and customs bore a near resemblance ; and there
was no variety amongst them except that difference which
climate always introduces. A ccordingly, they were all known,
in the more early times, by the general name of Celto-scythce.
In process of time, becoming exceedingly numerous, they
were divided into several nations, which were distinguished
by different names and territorial appellations. Those who
inhabited that large country which is bounded by the ocean,
the Mediterranean, the Rhine, the Alps, and the Pyrenees,
were denominated Gauls or Celts. This people multiplied
so prodigiously in the space of a few centuries, that the fertile
regions which they then occupied could not afford them the
means of subsistence. Some of them now passed over into
Britain ; others crossed the Pyrenees, and formed settlements
in the northern parts of Spain. Even the formidable bar¬
rier of the Alps could not impede the progress of the Gauls.
They made their way into Italy, and colonized those parts
which lie at the foot of these mountains, whence they extend¬
ed themselves towards the centre of that rich country.
By this time theGreekshadlandedon the south-eastern coast
of Italy, and founded numerous colonies in those parts. The
two nations having each apparently a redundant population,
and always planting colonies in the course of their progress,
at length "met about the middle of the country. This central
region was at that period called Latium ; and here the two
nations formed one society, which was called the Latin peo¬
ple. The languages of both nations were blended together;
and hence, according to some, the Latin is a mixture of Greek
and of Celtic.
Their lan- As the Gauls were a brave and numerous people, they
giiage. certainly maintained themselves in their pristine possessions,
uninvaded and unconquered, until their civil animosities and
domestic quarrels exposed them as a prey to those very
Romans whom they had so often defeated, and sometimes
driven to the brink of destruction. They were not a people
addicted to commerce ; and upon the whole, considering
their situation both in their primary seats and afterwards in
Italy, they had little temptation or opportunity to intermin¬
gle with foreigners. Their language, therefore, must have
remained unmixed with foreign idioms. Such as it was wrhen
^ L O G Y.
they settled in Gaul, such it must have continued until the CeltiV I
Roman conquests. If therefore there is one primitive lan- Lang^, f
guage now existing, it must be found in the remains of the'^Vyj
Gaulle or Celtic. It is not, then, surprising, that some very
learned men, upon discovering the coincidence of great num¬
bers of words in some of the Greek dialects with other words
in the Celtic, have been inclined to establish a strict affini¬
ty between these languages. The ancient Pelasgic and the
Celtic must at least have nearly resembled each other; ad¬
mitting only a dialectical difference, and that discrimination
which climate and a long period of time must always pro¬
duce.
Some writers have thought that the Gauls lost the use of
their native language soon after their country was conquered
by the Romans ; but M. Bullet, in his Memoires de la Lan*
gue Celtique, has proved almost to demonstration, that the
vulgar amongst this people continued to speak it several
centuries after that period. When a great and populous
nation has for many ages employed a vernacular idiom, no¬
thing can ever make them entirely relinquish the use of it,
and adopt unmixed that of their conquerors.
Many learned men, amongst whom is the lexicographer
above mentioned, have shown that all the local names in
the north of Italy are actually of Celtic extraction. These
names generally point out or describe some circumstances
relating to the physical character of the situation; such as ex¬
posure, eminence, lowness, moistness, dryness, coldness, heat,
and the like. This is a very character istic feature ofan original
language ; and in the Celtic it is so prominent, that the Erse
names of places all over Scotland, are, even to tne present
day, peculiarly distinguished by this quality. We have heard
a gentleman, who was well skilled in that dialect of the Cel¬
tic still spoken in the Highlands of Scotland, propose to lay
a bet atvery great odds, that if any one should pronounce the
name of any village, mountain, river, gentleman s seat, or
other place, in the old Scottish dialect, he would be able, by
its very name, to give a pretty exact description of its local
situation.
To discover the real sources from which the Celtic language Sources
was derived, we must have recourse to various expedients, whence t
In the first place, we must consult the Greek and. Latin
authors, who have preserved some Gaulic or Celtic terms e
in their writings. Secondly, we must have recourse to the
Welsh and Basse Bretagne dialects, in which, indeed, there
are many new words, though these are easily distinguishable
from the primitive stock. Thirdly, if we would trace ano¬
ther source of the Celtic, we must converse with the country
people and peasants, who live at a distance from cities, in
those countries where this was once the vernacular tongue.
We have been credibly informed, that a Highland gentle¬
man crossing the Alps on his way to Italy, accidentally met
with an old woman, a native of those parts, who spoke a lan¬
guage so nearly akin to his native Erse, that he could under¬
stand her with little difficulty ; and that she, on the other
hand, understood most of his words. That an event of this
nature should actually take place is by no means surprising,
when we consider that the dialect spoken in the Highlands
of Scotland is perhaps the most genuine remnant of the Cel¬
tic now existing, and at the same time reflect that there may
be remote cantons amongst those wild and inaccessible
mountains, the Alps, where some remains of that tongue
may still be preserved. Fourthly, we have said that the
most genuine remains of the Gaelic tongue are to be found
in the Highlands of Scotland. The reason of this is obvious.
The Scottish Highlanders are the unmixed unconquered
posterity of the ancient Britons, into whose barren domains
the Romans never penetrated; not, we imagine, because
they were not able, since they subdued both North and boutn
Wales, equally inaccessible, but because they found no in¬
ducement either to excite their ambition or provoke their ava¬
rice. Amidst all the revolutions which from time to time
shook and convulsed Albion, these mountainous region^ were
P H I L O L O G Y.
415
eltic left to their primitive lords, who, though like their southern
. guage* progenitors, hospitable in the extreme, did not sutler stran-
V^^gers to reside long amongst them. Their language, accord¬
ingly, remained unmixed, and in a great measure continues
so even unto this day, especially in the most remote parts and
unfrequented islands.
The Norwegians subdued the western islands of Scot¬
land, at a time when the Scottish monarchy was still in its
minority ; and the same people erected a kind of principali¬
ty over them, of which the Isle of Man was the capital. But
though they maintained the sovereignty of these islands for
some centuries, built many forts, which they strengthened
with garrisons, and were the lawgivers and administrators of
justice amongst the natives, yet we have been informedby the
most respectable authority, that there is not at this day a
single term of the Norse or Danish language to be found
in use amongst these islanders. This fact demonstrates the
superstitious attachment with which they adhered to their
vernacular dialect.
Welsh The Welsh dialect cannot, we should think, be pure and
diN1' unsophisticated. The Silures were conquered by the Ro¬
mans, to whom they were actually subject for the space of
three centuries. During this period a multitude of Italian ex¬
otics must have been transplanted into their language ; and
indeed many of them are discernible at this day. Their long
commerce with their English neighbours and conquerors
has also adulterated their language, so that a great part of it
is now of an English complexion. The Irish is still spoken
by a large portion of'the native population of Ireland. The
historians of that country have brought the Milesian race
from the confines of Asia, through a variety of adventures,
to people an island extra anni solisque vias. But however
much this genealogical fable may please the people for whom
it was fabricated, we may still suspect that the Irish are of
Celtic extraction, and that their forefathers emigrated from
the western coast of Britain at a period anterior to all histori¬
cal or even traditional annals. Ireland was once the native
land of saints; and the principal actors on this sacred stage
were Romanists, deeply tinctured with the superstition of the
times. They pretended to improve the language of the na¬
tives ; and whatever their success may have been, they im¬
proved it in such a manner as to make it deviate very con¬
siderably from the original Celtic; so that it is not in Ire¬
land that we are to look for the genuine characters of the
language which we are now considering.
1 hough, in our opinion, the Hibernian dialect differs con-
i the siderably ft'om the original Celtic, yet some very ingenious
cand essaysbavebeen publishedby the learnedandlaborious mem-
iician.bers °f the Antiquarian Society of Dublin, in which the co¬
incidence of that idiom with some of the oriental dialects, has
been supported by very plausible arguments. In a dissertation
published in the year 1772, the authors have exhibited a col¬
lection o tPunico-MaItese words compared with words of the
same import in Irish, and it must be allowed that in these the
resemblance is palpable. In the same dissertation they have
compared the celebrated Punic scene in Plautus with its
translation into the Irish, and shown that the words in the
two languages are surprisingly similar. If these criticisms
are well founded, they tend to prove that the Celtic is coe¬
val and congenial with the most ancient languages of the
East; a conclusion which we think highly probable. But
however this maybe, the Danes and Norwegians formed set¬
tlements in Ireland ; and the English have long been the so¬
vereigns of that island. These circumstances must have
affected the vernacular idiom of the natives, and not to men¬
tion the necessity which the people were under of adopting Celtic
the language of the conquerors in law, in sciences, and in the Language,
offices of religion, they must have contributed much to im-
pair its original purity.
The inhabitants of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland
are the descendants of those Britons who fled from the power
of the Romans, and sheltered themselves amongst the rocks
and fastnesses of those rugged mountains and sequestered
glens. They preferred the wastes and wilds of the north,
with liberty and independence, to the pleasant and fertile
valleys of the south, where plenty was embittered by slavery.
They no doubt carried their language along with them, and
that language was a branch of the Celtic. With them, pro-
bably, fled a number of the druidical priests,1 who unques¬
tionably knew their native dialect in all its beauties and va¬
rieties. In process of time these fugitives formed a regular
government, elected a king, and became a considerable state.
I hey were sequestered by their situation from the rest of
the world. Without commerce, without agriculture, with¬
out the mechanical arts, and without objects of ambition or
emulation, they addicted themselves wholly to the pastoral
life as their business, and to hunting and fishing as their di¬
version. This people were not distinguished by an inno¬
vating genius ; and consequently their language must have
remained in the same state in which they received it from
their ancestors. They received it genuine Celtic, and such
they preserved it.
W hen the Scots had become masters of the low country, and
their kings with a great part of the nobility embraced the
Saxon manners, and adopted the Saxon language, the genu-
ineCaledonians still tenaciously retained their native dialect,
dress, manners, clanships, and feudal customs, and never
cordially assimilated with their southern neighbours. Their
language, therefore, could not be polluted with words or idioms
borrowed from a people whom they hated and despised. In¬
deed, it is plain from the whole tenor of the Scottish history,
that neither Caledonian chiefs, nor their vassals were ever
steadily attached to the royal family after they fixed their re¬
sidence in the low country, and became Sasse?iach, as the
Highlanders called them by way of reproach. Indeed, the
commerce between them and those of the south, till about a
century and a half ago, was only transient and accidental ;
nor was their native dialect in any material degree affected
by this casual intercourse.
Their language, however, did not degenerate, because Causes of
there existed amongst them a description of men whose pro- the purity
fession obliged them to guard against that misfortune. Every0! this
chief retained in his family a bard or poet laureate, whose pro- d!a!e.ct of
vince it was to compose poems in honour of his lord, to n<"
commemorate the glorious exploits of his ancestors, and to
record the genealogy and connections of the family ; in a
word, to amuse and entertain the chief and his guests at all
public entertainments, and upon all solemn occasions. These
professors of the poetical art used to contend with each other;
and the chiefs of families often assembled their respective
bards, and encouraged them by considerable premiums to
exert their poetical talents. The victor was rewarded and
honoured ; and the chief deemed it an honour to himself to
entertain a bai-d who excelled his brethren in song. The an¬
cient Gauls, as we learn from Diodorus Siculus, Strabo, Ta¬
citus, Lucan, and others, entertained persons of that profes¬
sion ; and certainly the ancient Britons did the same. The
bards were highly revered ; their persons were deemed sa¬
cred ; and they were always rewarded with salaries in lands
or in cattle. The members of this tuneful fraternity must
The probability here assumed cannot very easily be admitted, because we have little else than conjecture to guide us, Mr. Malcolm
-Lning, in his Dissertation on Ossian, has shown that the opinion expressed in the text is altogether unsupported by any thing deserving the
name of evidence ; he even contends, that the probability is strongly the other way; and those ancient remains, which have so often been
appealed to, as favouring the opinion in question, are considered as of Runic, not Druidical origin. Besides, in the traditional superstitions of
I)6 there is nothing as far as we know, accords with the account given by Caesar of the religious rites practised by the British
416
PHILOLOGY.
Celtic have watched over their vernacular dialect with the greatest
Language, care and anxiety ; because in their compositions no word
was to be lost, and as many as possible gained.
The use of letters was not known amongst the ancient Ccl-
t(B ; indeed their druidical clergy forbade the use of them.
All their religious rites, their philosophical dogmas, their
moral precepts, and their political maxims, were composed
in verses which their pupils were obliged to commit to me-
morv. Accordingly letters were unknown to the Caledon¬
ian Scots, till they learned them either from their southern
neighbours, or from the Homans. The Irish, indeed, pre¬
tend to have letters of a very ancient date ; but the High¬
landers of the country in question make no claim to the use
of that invention. Their bards, therefore, committed every
thing to memory ; and consequently the words of their lan¬
guage must have been faithfully preserved.
In order to exhibit the genius of the Celtic in as striking
a light as the nature of our present design will permit, we
shall lay before our readers a very short sketch or outline of
the Gaelic or Caledonian dialect as it now stands ; which, we
trust, will go a great way to convince them that the latter
is the genuine offspring of the other. In doing this we shall
borrow many hints from the work of a gentleman1 whose
learning seems to have equalled his zeal for his native language,
which, in compliance with the modern practice, we shall for
the future distinguish by the name of Gaelic.
Structure The Gaelic, then, is not as far as we know derived from
of the any other language, being obviously reducible to its own
Gaelic. roots. Its combinations are formed of simple words of a
known signification ; and these words are resolvable into the
simplest combinations of vowels and consonants, and even
into simple sounds. In such a language we may expect that
some traces will be found of the ideas and notions of man-
kindlivingin astate of primitive simplicity; andifso,a monu¬
ment is still preserved of the original manners of the Celtic
race whilst as yet under the guidance of simple nature, with¬
out any artificial restraint or control.
The sudden sensations of heat and cold, and bodily pain,
are expressed by articulate sounds, which, however, are not
used in this language to denote heat, cold, or bodily pain. A
sudden sensation of heat is denoted by an articulate excla¬
mation hait; of cold, by id; of bodily pain, by ofcA. All these
sounds may be called interjections, being parts of speech
which discover that the mind is affected by some passion.
Few of the improved languages of Europe present so great
a variety of sounds which instantaneously convey notice of a
particular passion, of bodily pain or mental feeling.
The pronouns he and she are expressed by the simple
sounds e and i, and these again are the marks of the mascu¬
line and feminine genders ; for the neuter gender is quite un¬
known in the Gaelic. The compositions of rude and bar¬
barous ages are universally found to approach to the style and
numbers of poetry ; and this too is a distinguishing charac¬
ter of the Gaelic. The means of subsistence must always
be the principal concern of an uncultivated people. Ac¬
cordingly ed or eid is used upon the discovery of any ani¬
mal of prey or game, and is meant to give notice to the hunt¬
ing companion to be in readiness to seize the animal; and
hence edo to eat in Latin, ed in Irish, signifying cattle, and
edal in Scotch, literally signifying the offspring or genera¬
tion of cattle. Coed or cued, a share or portion of any sub¬
ject of property, is literally common food ; faced, hunting,
literally gathering of food ; edra, the time of the morning
when cattle are brought home from pasture to be milked,
literally meal-time. These are words importing the simpli¬
city of a primitive state, and are common in the Gaelic idiom.
Traces of imitative language may also be found in all countries.
The word used for cow in the Gaelic language is bo, plainly Celtic
in imitation of the lowing of that animal. T o"~
   0   SNi
In joining together original roots in the progress of im-'s^Vv
proving language and rendering it more copious, its combi-®xcf'ei1
nations discover an admirable justness and precision
thought, which one would scarcely have expected to find in p0UB
an uncultivated dialect. Upon examination, however, it will
be discovered that the Gaelic language, in its combinations
of words, specifies with accuracy the known qualities, and ex¬
presses with precision the nature and properties which were
attributed to the object denominated. An, for instance, ap¬
pears to have been a word of frequent use in this language,
and seems to have been originally a name applied indefin¬
itely to any object. According to Bullet, it was employed
to signify a planet; and hence the sun had the name oigrian,
which is a compound of gri, hot, and an a planet. lie sig¬
nifies originally and radically division. The changes of the
moon and the variety of her phases were early employed to
indicate the divisions of time. The present name for the
moon is geulach, a word derived from her whiteness of co¬
lour. To these we might add a vast number more, the sig¬
nification of which precisely indicates their shape, colour, ef¬
fects, or other accidents. Many of these would be found
exactly similar to Greek and Latin words of the same sound
and signification. In order to satisfy our curious readers, we
shall annex a few, though some of them may perhaps be
questionable.
The Venus of the Latins is supposed to be a compound of
ben and jus, which literally signify the first woman, the let¬
ter b in Gaelic being softened into v. E8ap and elftap sig¬
nify food. These words are compounded of the Gaelic words
ed or eid and ar, the former simply denoting food, and the
latter 'ploughed land ; and they are the roots of the Greek
and Latin words e’Sco, edo ; dpoa>, aro. Efipa, which signifies
a seat, has also an evident reference to food. It is compound¬
ed of two Gaelic words ed and ira, which literally signify meal¬
time. Ebva, which signifies the presents that a bridegroom
made to his bride, is a compound of two Gaelic words ed and
na or nuah, literally signifying raw food. From ar there are
many Greek derivatives. Apovpa signifies ploughed land, and
also a crop of corn ; and dpros means bread. In Gaelic a
crop of corn and bread are expressed by arbhar, which is com¬
monly pronounced arar and aran, both being equally deriv¬
atives of the root ar. So the Greek and Latin words dporos,
arabilis, arable; dporpov, aratrum, a plough; dpoTT]p, arator,
a ploughman ; and many others, are evidently derived from
the same source. From this coincidence, however, we are
not orepared to maintain that either the Greek or the Latin
languages were derived from the Gaelic; we are rather in¬
clined to think that these are remains of a primeval tongue,
which are still retained in all the three, and we produce them
upon the present occasion as presumptions that the Gaelic is
an original, underived language, and of course the most pure
and unadulterated relic of the Celtic now existing.2 ,
When the Celtic language was generally spoken through- Copwus-
out Europe, it seems to have been amazingly copious.
consulting Bullet’s Memoires, it wall be seen that its names ^ Celt;
for the common and various objects of nature were very nu¬
merous. The words denoting water, river, wood, forest,
mountain, lake, and other natural objects, were most precise¬
ly accommodated to specify each modification and variety,
with such peculiar exactness that even the Greek, with all its
boasted idiomatical precision and copiousness, has not been
able to equal it. The appearances which diversify the vi¬
sible face of animated nature, arrest the attention of men in
an uncultivated state. Unaccustomed to thought and ab¬
stract reasoning, their minds expand and exercise their powers
1 The writer here referred to is Mr. Grant, whose Essays contain much curious information on the subject of which t^ls se^t10"
2 If our readers should incline to know more of this subject, they may consult Pezron’s Origin of Ancient Nations, -Gullets
de la Langue Celtique, Parson’s Rem. ofJaphet, and Gebelin’s Monde Frimitif.
PHILOLOGY.
Celtic
language
Origin of
e words
| iWand
I isl.
upon sensible objects, and of course mark every minute and
almost imperceptible distinction with an accuracy which to
^us seems impossible. It therefore appears to us, that the
Celtic formed one of the dialects of the primitive language ;
thatancientlyitoverspread byfar thegreatest partofEurope;
and that the Gaelic now spoken in the northern parts of Scot¬
land and the adjacent islands is the purest and most unmix¬
ed relic of that language anywhere existing at the present
time.
We would willingly refer our readers to some well arranged
Gaelic grammar; but in point of fact we know of none which
deserves particular recommendation. That by Dr. Stewart,
however, is the best of its class, and considering the diffi¬
culty of the undertaking, it must be regarded as a creditable
performance, notwithstanding its deficiency in philosophical
precision, and simplicity of arrangement. The Dictionary of
the Highland Society, in two volumes quarto, and that by
Dr. Armstrong, in one volume of the same size, though nei¬
ther of them, perhaps, what could in all respects be desired,
must, nevertheless, afford great facilities to the student of
Gaelic.1 These works, together with the excellent transla¬
tion of both the Old and New Testaments into Gaelic, which
was long a great desideratum amongst the Highlanders, many
of whom are still unacquainted with English, will contribute
to preserve their ancient tongue, and to disseminate the
knowledge of the truth amongst the natives of the mountains.
Every assistance towards acquiring the knowledge of a
language which was once diffused over a great part of Eu¬
rope, is certainly an acceptable present to the public. The
antiquary, who is desirous of tracing the affinity of languages,
and who wishes to mark the migrations of different races,
ought to apply himself to the study of its remaining branches ;
and, if we are not mistaken, he will soon be convinced, that
they all breathe a sph-it congenial to the manners and senti¬
ments of people who are just entering upon the first stage of
improvement and civilization.
Perhaps it may be expected, that, before we conclude
this short sketch of the Celtic language, we should give some
account of the origin of the words Gaul and Gal, the two
names by which this people were distinguished by the Greeks
and Ptomans. Mr. Macpherson imagines, that the appella¬
tion of Celt is an adjective derived from Gael, the aborigi¬
nal name of the inhabitants of ancient Gaul. For our part,
we can see no connection whatever between Gael and Kelt,
nor do we think that the latter is an adjective. We believe
that this people called themselves Gael and not Gael; and
there is little room for doubt that Caledonia, that is, Cal-
don or Cal-dun, was an ancient name of the mountainous
parts of Scotland.
Though many different opinions have been advanced res¬
pecting the etymology of this word, we imagine that none is
so probable as that which supposes that it is compounded of
the two Celtic words, Cal or Kal, that is, Gal or Gaul, and
dun, which signifies a hill or mountain. Upon this ground,
the Caledones will import the Gauls of the mountains, or
which is the same, the Highland Gauls. The Irish and High¬
landers reciprocally denominate themselves Gael, Gael, or
Gauls. They also distinguish themselves, as the Welsh ori-
417
ginally did, and as the Welsh distinguish them both at pre- Celtic
sent, by the appellation of GuidhiU, Guethel, and Gathel. Language.
The intermediate th, they say, is left quiescent in the pro- '
nunciation, as it is in many words of the British language, so
that Gathelwo\Ad immediately be formed into Gael; and Ga¬
thel is actually sounded like Gaelboth bythe Irish and by the
Highlanders. The appellation of Gathel, therefore, say they,
was originally the same with Gael, and the parent of it. The
quiescent letters in the British are frequently transferred from
the middle to the conclusion of the word ; by which means
Gathel is changed into Galath, Galat, Galt, and Celt. It is
true, that the Gae/of the continent are universally denominat¬
ed Galatce and Celtee by the Grecians,and Gallt and Galltahy
the Irish. The appellations, therefore, of Gathel-i, Gall- i,
Gallat-ce, Calet-es, An-calit-es, and Celt-ce, are all one and
the same denomination, only varied by the astonishing duc¬
tility of the Celtic, and disguised by the alterations ever in¬
cident to a language which has for ages been merely oral.2
It may perhaps appear presumptuous in us to differ from
two such respectable authorities as Macpherson and Whit¬
aker ; but we must, nevertheless, acknowledge, that neither
the one nor the other appears to us to be well founded in
his views. Besides, they convey no idea of the signification
of the words, though in the Celtic language these must have
been significant. The name Gael, the same with Gal, was
probably given them in the East from the Greek koX, which
in many oriental languages denotes fair ; and yaXana may
be easily derived from ya\ or ya\a8, Gal or Galath ; a de¬
nomination which might be given them by their neighbours,
in allusion to their fair complexion.
§ 2.—Of the Gothic Language.
The Celtic and Gothic languages at one period divided Eu- Ancient
rope between them. Both were of equal antiquity, both ori- Gothic,
ginated in Asia, and both were dialects of the original lan¬
guage of mankind. The Celtic, however, was first imported
into Europe. The Gauls or Celts had penetrated farthest
towards the west, a circumstance which plainly intimates the
priority of their arrival. In the population of countries, it
may be held as a maxim, that the colonies who first emigrat¬
ed were generally impelled by succeeding emigrants ; and
that consequently the most early were pushed forward to the
parts most distant. The Celts, then, having overspread the
most western parts of Europe, must have been the first who
established themselves in those regions.
The Goths and Getae were the same race of people, ac- The same
cording to Procopius3; and Strabo informs us, that theywith the
spoke the same language with the Thracians, from whose lafng[uage
confines they had spread themselves northward as far as the Thracians
western banks of the Danube.1 Vopiscus, in the History S‘
of Probus, tells us, that thisemperor obliged “the Thracians,
and all the Getic tribes, either to surrender or accept of his
friendship,” an expression which indicates, that the Thra¬
cians and the Getic tribes were deemed the same race of
people.5 From this deduction then, it is clear, that the Getae
and Thracians were brethren, and spoke the same language;—
and that their laws, manners, customs, and religious tenets,
were the same, might easily be shewn, were this the proper
1 The Dictionary of the Highland Society is executed with great ability to the extent of between two-thirds and three-fourths of the
whole; but the subsequent portion betrays that it had fallen into inferior hands ; and some of the Latin definitions are such as can scarcely
ai to astonish the accurate scholars of the Continent. The death of Mr. Maclachlan, of Aberdeen, the original conductor, proved a great
ca amity to the work. Equally eminent as a classical, oriental, and Celtic scholar, and profoundly learned in philology, his place could not
he supplied ; and though occasional assistance was obtained from men equally conversant with Latin and with Celtic, such as the late Rev.
Mr. Macdonald of Crieff, the elegant author of the Phingaleis, yet the master mind was removed, and the work suffered in consequence.
Still, with all its acknowledged defects, it is a valuable present to the philologist as well as the scholar, and does honour to the liberal and
patriotic spirit of the National Association under whose auspices it was brought out.
. -j^e caution our readers, however, not to confound Gael with Gal or GalL which, in the Celtic, signifies a stranger.
; fe, Bdl° Gothico, lib i. C. 2. 4 Lib. ii. cap. 23.
• y.11, P- 295; ibid. p. 305, Casaubon. From this passage it appears, that the Greeks were of opinion that the Geta; were Thra¬
cians. rimy (Aat. Hist. lib. iv. cap. 11.) mentions a tribe of the Getae called Gaudce.
3 G
VOL. XVII.
418
PHILOLOGY.
Gothic place for such an inquiry. The Thracian language, as might pie. The remains of this translation furnish a genuine, and at Gothic
Language, be demonstrated from names of persons, offices, places, and the same time a venerable, monument of the ancient Gothic Language.
'^e#^V-^customs, amongst the people who spoke it, was nearly related dialect. Of that valuable translation no more is now ex-'^V^'
to the Chaldaic and other oriental languages. tant than the four Gospels, and another fragment containing
Origin of The Goths are thought to have been the descendants of part of the epistle to the Romans. The Gospels have been
the Goths. Tiras, one of the sons of Japhet, and consequently must have repeatedly published since the first edition by Junius which
preserved the speech of the Noachic family. The Gothic appeared in the year 1665. There have also been discover-
language abounds with Pahlavi, or old Persian words, which ed other fragments of the Gothic language which the curi-
are no doubt remains of the primitive dialect of mankind.
The Thracians peopled a considerable part of the northern
coast of Asia Minor ; and consequently we meet with many
names of cities, mountains, rivers, and other objects in those
ous reader may find in Lye’s notes to his edition of the Gothic
Gospels. The fragment of the Epistle to the Romans was
discovered in the library at Wolfenbuttle, and published by
Knitel arch-deacon of Wolfenbuttle, as has been fully ex¬
parts exactly corresponding with many names in Europe, plained in another article of this work (Palimpsests). Prior
. -11 . 1 * * l   HP1-    A. ^   T1 L- * 1 „ — 1-1. ^ .-.4.1-1 MTV-.-**/-. 4 4* ♦L 11 C/A f\Q
evidently imposed by our Gothic progenitors. These any
person tolerably acquainted with the remains of the Gothic
language, will be able to trace with little difficulty.
We learn from Herodotus,1 that Darius in his expedition
against the wandering Scythians who lived on the other side
of the Ister or Danube, subdued in his progress the Geta?;
and in the same passage the historian informs us, that this
to the age of Ulphilas, the Goths were ignorant of the use of
alphabetical characters. But that bishop fabricated for them
an alphabet, which consists of a medley of Greek and Roman
letters, though rather inclining to the former.
The Gothic alphabet is composed of twenty-five letters. Gothic al-
Junius has carefully analyzed these letters, and pointed out phabet.
their powers and sounds, in the alphabet prefixed to his Glos-
people held the immortality of the human soul, and were sarium Gothicum. They were long retained in all the Eu-
the bravest and justest of all the Thracians. After this pe- ropean languages which acknowledged the Gothic as the
riod, we find them mentioned familiarly by almost every source whence they had been derived, and which will be
Greek writer ; for, in the comedies of that nation, Geta is a enumerated in the sequel.
common name for a slave. The Getae then occupied all What kind of language the ancient Gothic really was, may Origin of
that large tract of country which extended from the confines be inferred from the fragments above mentioned; butin what the Gothic
of Thrace to the banks of the Danube ; they were a brave respects it agrees with the oriental tongues, or differs from language
and virtuous people, who spoke the same language as the them, is not easy to ascertain with precision. In the section
Thracians, with whom they are often confounded both by on the Greek, we have observed that a considerable part of that
the Greek and the Roman historians. But the name of language must have been derived from the Thracian, which,
Goths is not by any means so ancient. It was utterly un- according to Strabo, was the same with the Getic or Gothic;
known to the ancient Greeks and Romans. The first time and we are convinced that the Thracian language will, on com¬
parison, be found analogous to the Chaldaic or Syriac. The
that the name Goth is mentioned is in the reign of the emperor
Decius, about the year of Christ 250. About that period they
had burst out of Getia, and rushing like a torrent into the em¬
pire, laid waste every thing with fire and sword. The name
of their leader or king was Cneva; and Decius, in endeavour¬
ing to expel them from Thrace, was vanquished and slain.
After this irruption, we find them frequently mentioned
by the Latin authors under the name of Getce or Gothi, though
the Greeks generally denominate them Scythce. Torfseus tells
us, that get and got are in reality the same word, and accord¬
ing to him, anciently denoted a soldier.2 Got in Icelandic
signifies a horse or horseman, and gata a wanderer ; and this
was perhaps the import of the term Geta, because the Getee
were originally an unsettled and vagrant people. As na¬
tions generally assume to themselves some high and auspi¬
cious denomination, it may be presumed that the Goths did the
same. We may therefore be satisfied, that the Getae assumed
the Icelandic name above mentioned as their national one;
or perhaps, that, notwithstanding their Greek denomination,
they from the beginning called themselves Gots or Goths.
Primary The original seat of the Goths was the country now called
seat of the Little Tartary, into which they had extended themselves
Goths. from the frontiers of Thrace. This country was called Lit¬
tle Scythia by the Greek writers; and it was the station
whence those innumerable swarms advanced, which, in con¬
junction with the Alani and other barbarous tribes, at length
overran and subverted the western empire. One part of the
Gothic nation was allowed by Constantine to settle in Mcesia.
Remains
of genuine
Gothic.
German, which is a genuine descendant of the Gothic, is full
of Persian words ; and the old Persian or Pahlavi appears to
have been a dialect of the Chaldaic. Junius, in his treatise
on the Gothic alphabet, remarks that a very considerable
part of the Gothic language is borrowed from the most an¬
cient Greek; but, perhaps, it would have been nearer the
truth, if he had reversed this observation, and stated that
the ancient Greek was in a great measure derived from the
Gothic.
The learned Ihre in his Glossarium Suio-Gothicum, and
Wachter in his excellent German and Latin Dictionary, re¬
mark the coincidence of Gothic and German words with ori¬
ental nouns of a similar sound and the same signification. In
the old Saxon, which is another ramification from theGothic
stem, numberless terms of the very same complexion appear.
Hence it appears that the Gothic in its original and un¬
mixed state as spoken by the ancient Getae, was a dialect of
the primeval language, which the sons of Tiras had brought
with them from the plains of Shinar, Armenia, or some other
region, where “ the world’s grey fathers” had fixed their re¬
sidence.
The Thracian tribes, in all probability, first took posses¬
sion of those parts of Asia Minor which stretch towards the
east; and thence crossing the Hellespont, they spread them¬
selves northward. Strabo supposes that they first settled in
the regions to the north of this strait, and thence transported
   j   numerous colonies into Asia Minor. The reverse was pro-
Before the year 420 of our era, most of the Gothic nations bably the case; but be this as it may, it is universally agreed,
who had settled within the limits of the Roman empire had that both sides of the Hellespont were at one time peopled
been converted to the Christian faith ; but, unhappily, the with Thracians.
greater part of the apostles by whom they had been proselyt- In Asia Minor we meet with the city Perga, which, throw-
ized were Arians ; and this proved fatal to many of the or- ingaway the a, is Perg. But in every tongue descended from
thodox Christians, whom the Arian Goths persecuted with the Gothic, the word Berg signifies a rock, and metaphon-
unrelenting cruelty. cally a town or burgh, because towns were originally built
About the year 367, Ulphilas, bishop of the Mcesian Goths, upon rocks for the sake of defence. Hence likewise Perga-
translated the New Testament into the language of that peo- mus,\he fort or citadel of Troy. Beira, in Thracian, signified
1 Lib. iv. passim.
History of Norway, lib. i.
PHILOLOGY.
Gothic a city; whilst the Chaldaic and Hebrew word 7?£>/?r im 419
Language. a well, and is possibly the original of the GothicTordW Srnnil-n8 f'^ Danu1be 0n the south to ex- Sclavonian
^^ale. In ancient times, especially in the East, it was custo- KhinPlnfl p d ia m the 1northern oceanJ and from the language,
mary to build cities in the neighbourhood of fountSs. The Jr Niemen °f "p00 ^ ^ t0 the river Chron^ “
ancients called the Phrygians Bpvye,, Bryges^Bruqes a the^lS™ tlhe Bi!lt a!.11the nations included within
name which is obviously of Gothic origin/ Dyndumm the nrn!!v * P°ke oneior otherofthe Gothic dialects, some ap-
name of a city sacred to Cybele, is compounded of two Go- ent HnSe^1’’ and °therS deviatin^ farther from> the par-
thic words dun and dum, both signifying a height or an emi TL H b • i • i
nence, and hence a town or an inclosure. The word tros or ol Gp?"010 18 P ^ a dialect ofthe Teutonic, Tudesque,
seems to be the Gothic word trosh, signifying brave valiant sem ln T"/ a^d the GPsPels of Ulphilas bear such a re-
The words fader, mader, docJiter, bruder, are so obviously inThJeSvF116 fraSments of which are preserved
Persian, that almost every etymologist has assigned them tn T, ch historians, that some learned men have
that language. & as assigned them to pronouncedthese gospels part of an old Francic version ; but
Many futile etymologies have been given of the sacred from rfsPectabll% have refuted this opinion, both
name GW, which is in reality the Persian word Choda, com- o-iven us severaf a ™.mPanso? ()f ^ dialects. Schilter has
monly applied by them to their Hormuzd or Oromasdes. The fn the sevemL SPec,meiJs °[ the Tudesque or old German
Persian iad or iod signifies a city; and the same word in Sic of ulnUaa fslS'5'’ Wl,',Ch eViden"y Pro''e th“ the Go-
Goth,c imports a house, a mansion, an abode. Sand, in ed Jossarv She iifTl?"8"1186 ; and Wad>to’s learn-
Persian, is a strait place; in Gothic, it signifies to bend. Heim Schllter f. C?en.t G.erman confirms the position of
or ham, a house, is generally known to be of Persian origin nhihs hear 1 / after /Sltating whether the Gospels of Ul-
Much critical skill has been displayed in tracing the etymology di^ec^of tCr ^ TCG t0 the German or Scandinavian
of the Scotch and old English word Yule or Christmal Yuli, The An^lo C’ f T* &t laSt in faVOur of the former.
derived from tul was a festival in honour of the sun, which the TudSmm d -S a S° k.n0Wn,to be a venerable dialect of
was originally celebrated at the winter solstice. Wick or pels that Tnmp !18 m mtlTely connectcd with the gos-
meh is a Gothicterm still preserved in many names of towns- built nnnn fiT VaIuab e works on this subject are wholly
it slgmfies a narrow corner, or small strip of land juttingTnto Th?Z ^PP0/^011*
the sea, or into a lake or river; hence the Latin vicuf, and vian i f andlC 1S^he. most ancient relic of the Scandina-
Greek0oocof. In Spanish we have many old Gothic words, and and ;s ^nuS Frode in the eleventh century,
amongst the rest hijo, a son, the same with the Greek are morp mJ?1 °! ^ German, The remains we have of it
In some places ofScotland we call anything that is little or nmlTl rnodc;rnby four centuries than those ofthe German;
small, u>ee, originally spelled wi, which if we mistake not mlfr,als01more Pushed. The words are shortened,
is formed from the very same word. ' we mistake not> notonjy because they are more modern than the GermanTut
ThpfiP    - - - bcc^se the Icelandic was polished by a long succession of
These examples we have thrown together, without any re- poetTand hi^nr ^dlCi WaS poIlS^d by a long succession of
; persuaded that almost every word ofthe honour to Grepp^18 ^'r?081 equau°that whlch does so much
ruly Gothic, may with a little pains and TZZ.,He/ce the Icelandic, being
g o order, being L1JiU, a,ixnOSC every word ot the honour tn G™™,, j ‘ -a—- uues so mucn
language, which is truly Gothic, may with a little pains and a more nolkhpd T anC E'°Jne* Hence the Icelandic, being
judgment be traced to some oriental root or cognate term with thp anguagethan the German, has less affinity
We may observe in passing, that many Gothic nouns endTn iTtid . G?.thlC* The Swedish is more nearly re¬
ft, like the Chaldaic and Syriac ; that their substantive verb That th ^ u”dl? th,an eitber tbe Danish or Norwegian,
very much resembles that of the Persian, Greek, and Latin5 clear! wfpW^dau/ht/ of the Gothic, has been very
and that their active and auxiliary verb hasfurnished the com- There7 is thTrpf7 ^ m hlS Glofarium Suio-Gothicum.
mon preterperfect tense of Greek verbs in the active voice, of the GWW ^ n° ,°f doubt as to the ldentity
That verb is haban, but was originally ha, as the common mains th lh P^eserved m Ulphilas and other ancient re¬
people pronounce itatthis day, especially in the north of Scot J? ’Wlth the German and Scandinavian tongue. Themo-
and, and amongst the Swedes, Danes, Norwegians, aruHcc- G°thic GosPels more than the
landers- 8 ’ Present Danish’ Norwegian, or Swedish, and has certainly
dem Leavmg the inferior arrangements of this ancient language Its/esembknce to the Asiatic tongues,
Sfr.—'' ' — “
ifitxs- ra
that the Goths, formerly Getrn, were possessed of a vast ex- annem r.ol r peaKln,s 'T®e "° descendantsof the
tent of country, reaching from the frontiers of Thrace to the nth . re™allled ln their native country after the
banks of the Ister or Danube. We have also seenTat aco J bad cm,grated. It is therefore apparent from the
hiny of them settled in Mcesia under Constantine II.; iter of A18 ""'““gatio". that the Gothic was introduced
tvhich they spread themselves throughout Dacia and thence A 0pe rnm t ll: East, and that it is probably a dialect
passed into Germany All these countries were situatetHn s^etv ^ OT,ginany SI>°len by the ^^of human
s^riST’ 1 lat lbe progress of population was common- S°Uety-
theyeiende^tltemselves1^tn,^em^a^0,n' FromGermany § 3-Ofthe Sclavonian Language.
Denmark, and Norway. All tlianiemEddl Sams/nd narT'ofE ^ an°the; 'TTf! which Pervades a considerable Sclavonic
Chronicles, shew that the Goths arrived in Scandinaviabvthis rinai.rl'ln't'lTV’i'-'!''!llkethe Gothic, seems to have ori-language.
very which has rewarded the philological research of the nint-teenth cLu'ury^ ^ ^ ^ anticiPated the “ost important dis-
420
PHILOLOGY
Sclavonian vinces, by the Poles, Bohemians, and
Language. Mh that is, slave, whence the French "°™ in
^^s'^/our word stave, signifies noble, illustrious, f thi
the lower ages of the Roman empire, vast multitudes ot this
neonle were spread over all Europe in the quality ot slaves,
people wtie 6>pic<tv* ,Prvilp tribe bv wav of distmc-
that word came to denote the servile y7) r. a
tion, in the same manner as the words Geta\D^.^a
w did amongst the Greeks at a more early period.
01 . 'pup giavi dwelt originally upon the banks ot the Bor} st e
SlaV" nes nowidthe DrSepe/or Nieper They were one of *e
tribes of the European Sarmatians, who m ancient times
habited an immense tract of country, bounded on the west
bv the Vistula, and on the south-east by the Euxine or Blac
Sea the Bosphorus Cimmerius, the Palus Mseotis, and t
Tanais or Don, which divides Europe from Asia. In this vast
tract of country, there dwelt aboriginally many consider¬
able tribes. To enumerate these, however, would not much
"edify our readers; and we shall only inform them, that amongs
theSm’matian clans were the Roxolani, now the Russians, and
likewise the Slavi, who dwelt near the Borysthenes. _ I e
giavi gradually advanced towards the Danube; and m the
reign of Justinian having passed that river, they made hem-
Sfes masters ofthat portion ofinyricumwh,chhesbetween
the Drove and the Save, and rs to tins day caM
Bv degrees these barbarians overran Dalmatia, L burma, the
westeSpartsof Macedonia, andEpirus; and on the e^tthey
extended their conquests to the western bank of the Danube,
where that river falls into the Euxine. In »1 theM <iou"nes
the Sclavonian was deeply impregnated with the Dreek,
which indeed was a matter of course, as the bartatan -
vaders settled in these regions, and “b”1
P , ^"’SetoleT^dmTnrne tSndams ^tanciSai-
S' POl'S'mabans^XnUuentlyspeaka^ectofthe Wof
the Roman tongue. The Silesians and Bohemians have cor-
rupted their dialects in a similar manner. In these countries,
then, we are not to search for the genuine remains of the anci-
n • ns Cn Tim mide™ Russians, formerly called Rhoxani or Roxo-
' lard, are the posterity of the Sarmatee, and constitute a branch
of the Slavi. They inhabit a part of the country which that
pool possessed before they tell into the Roman provinces ;
they also speak the same language, and wear the very same
dr els. If then the Slavi are Sarmatae, the Russians must of
course be the descendants of the same people. They were
long a sequestered people, and consequently altogethe^-
connected with the other natl°"s of te.
unacquainted with commerce, inhospitable to strangers, te
nacious of ancient usages, averse to improvements ot every
kind, wonderfully proud of their imaginary importance, and,
in a word, a race of men just one degree above absolute ba
barism. A people of this character are, for the most part,
enemies to innovations ; and if we may believe the Russian
historians, no nation was ever more averse to changes tl a
their own. From the ninth century, at which era they em¬
braced Christianity, it does not appear that they moved one
step forward towards civilization, until Peter the Great, ht-
tlemore than a century ago, compelled them by ^despo¬
tic authority to adopt the manners and customs ot their mo e
Wmay'then conclude, that, during the period in ques¬
tion, the Russians made as little change in their language
as they appear to have done in their dress, habits, and manner
of living. Whatever language they spoke in the ninth cen¬
tury, the same they employed at the beginning of the eigh¬
teenth. They were, indeed, according to Appian, once co
nuered bv Diophantus, a general of Mithridates ; but that Sclavonian
conquest was for a moment only. They were likewise in- Language,
vaded, and their country was overrun, by the great limuror^T*-
Tamerlane ; but this invasion proved like a torrent from the
mountains, which spreads devastation far and wide whilst it
rages, but makes little alteration on the face of the country.
We find, likewise, that upon some occasions they made in¬
cursions upon the frontiers of the Roman empire ; but we .
hear of no permanent settlements formed by them m the
countries which they overran. Upon the whole, the Rus¬
sians, with respect to their language, were in nearly the same
predicament with the Highlanders and Islanders ot Scotland,
who, according to the general opinion, have preserved the
Celtic dialect pure and entire, solely from their never having
minsrled with foreigners.
From this deduction we may infer two things ; first, that The Rus
thp Russian language is the genuine Sclavoman; and, se-sian gemi- ,
“S “ev iS the same, or nearly the same. with... S*,. I
the ancient Sarmatian. In the Russian, there are foun a
great number of words resembling, both in sound and signi¬
fication, the old simple roots of the Greek ; its grammatical
genius is nearly the same ; and we are informed by the very
best authority, that there exists in this language a translation
of Epictetus, in which there are whole pages, both in the ori¬
ginal and the translation, without one single transposition .
M Leveque, who published a translation of a history of Rus¬
sia, was so entirely convinced of the strict analogy between
the ancient Greek and the modem Russian, that he be¬
came positive as to the former having been derived from the
latter/ M. Freret, a very learned French academician, also
adopted the same opinion. We are persuaded, however, that
this opinion is ill-founded, and rather conceive, that these
coincidences arise from the relics of the pnmit.ve language
of mankind, vestiges of which, we believe, are to be fou
almost in every tongue now extant. ,
It is, however, we admit, exceedingly difficult to render
a reason for the syntaxical analogy of the two ^guages,
Without admitting the truth of the one or other of the hypo¬
theses mentioned We have examined with some care a
goodly number of Russian words, and compared them with
Greek words of the same signification; but we have not found
such a resemblance as we consider necessary to support the
position above advanced. We have indeed discovered a
very strong resemblance between the former and man} 0
3 words, especially Hebrew, Chaldaic, -d old Pers,a
which we could produce several instances, did Ae M‘u e
of our present inquiry admit such a deviation. E > J
knows that the slmatlans were divided into twm great n -
tions, the Asiatic and the European. The former exttn
very far to the eastward, behind the mountain Caucus ‘he
northern shore of the Euxine Sea, and P^ly denved
their language from the original form of speech lonB beto
the Greek language existed. But this, in co-P^X
the Hebrew, Phoenician, Egyptian Arabian, and Chid >
was but of yesterday. The Greek, most learned men aie
now convinced, was a late composition ot muny diffe
dialects, incorporated with the jargon of the aboriginal lom
orGreeks. the Sarmatian, on the contrary, was the
guage of a great and populous nation, civilized, in ^aPPC
fnce, long before the Greeks began to emerge from a state
S barbarL. We arc, therefore, by no means di^osed
allow, either that the Greek is We Wie™
that the Russian is derived fiom the. Gree ,
there is just the same reason for this conclusion^
Abbe Pezron and M. Gebehn pretend to have disco^ ^
for supporting their position that the Greek * tthe
the Celtic. Certain it is, that the resemblance among ^
oriental languages, of which we conceive the Sarm  
tanners, their form ^
aristocratic splendour.
PHILOLOGY.
421
:Sclavonian
; Language.
Syntactical
coincidence
between
this lan¬
guage and
the Greek.
have been one, is so palpable, that any person of moderate
capacity who is perfectly master of one, will find but little
difficulty in acquiring any other. If, therefore, the coinci¬
dence between the Greek and Russian should actually ex¬
ist, we think this circumstance will not authenticate the
supposition, that either of the two is derived from the other.
In the course of this argument, our readers wall be pleas¬
ed to observe, that we all along suppose, that the Sclavo-
nian, of which we think the Russian is the most genuine
remain, is the same with the old Sarmatian. We shall now
take the liberty to hazard a conjecture with respect to the
syntaxical coincidence of that language with the Greek ;
for we acknowledge that we are not so profoundly versed
in the Russian dialect of the Sclavonian as to pretend to
pronounce a definitive sentence.
As the Russians were a generation of savages, there is
no probability that they were acquainted with the use of
letters and alphabetical writing until they acquired that art
by intercourse with their neighbours. It is certain that few
nations had made less proficiency in the fine arts ; and there
is little appearance of their having learned this art previous¬
ly to their conversion to Christianity. It appears, indeed,
that the Slavi, who settled in Dalmatia, Illyria, and Liburnia,
had no alphabetical characters till these were furnished with
them by St. Jerome. The Servian character, which very
nearly resembles the Greek, was invented by St. Cyril ; and
on this account the language written in that character is
denominated Chiurilizza. But these Sclavonic tribes knew
nothing of alphabetical writing prior to the era of their con¬
version ; and the Moesian Goths were in the same condition
till their bishop Ulphilas fabricated for them a set of letters.
If, then, the Slavi and Goths, who resided in the neighbour¬
hood of the Greeks and Romans, had not learned alphabe¬
tical writing prior to the era of their conversion to Chris¬
tianity, it follows, a fortiori, that the Russians, who lived at a
great distance from these nations, knew nothing of this useful
art antecedent to the period of their embracing the Chris¬
tian faith.
The Russians pretend that they were converted by St.
Andrew; but this is known to be a fable. Christianity was
first introduced amongst them in the reign of the grand duke
Woladimir, who having married the daughter of the Greek
emperor, Basilius, became her convert about the year 989.
About this period they were taught the knowledge of letters
by the Grecian missionaries, who were employed in teach¬
ing them the elements of the Christian doctrines. Their
alphabet consists of thirty-one letters, with a few obsolete
additional ones; and these characters resemble so exactly
those of the Greeks that there can be no doubt of their
being copied from them. It is true, the shape of several has
been somewhat altered, and a few barbarous characters have
been intermingled. The Russian liturgy, as every body
knows, was copied from that of the Greeks ; and the best
specimen of the old Russian is to be found in the church
offices for Easter, which are in the very words of Chrysostom,
who is called by his name Zlato ustii, or golden-mouthed.
The power of the clergy in Russia was excessive ; and their
influence was, no doubt, proportioned to their power. The
first race of clergy in that country were undoubtedly Greeks,
because we know how active and industrious that people
were in propagating their language as well as their religion.
The offices of religion might at first be written and pronounc¬
ed in the Greek language, but it would soon be found ex¬
pedient to have them translated into Russian ; and the per¬
sons employed in this work must have been Greeks, who
understood both languages.
As it is confessedly impossible that a people so dull and
inattentive as the Russians originally were, could ever have
fabricated a language so artificially constructed as their pre¬
sent dialect; and as it is obvious, that, until Christianity was
introduced amongst them by the Greeks, they could have no
correspondence with that people ; it must appear surprising Sclavonian
by what means their language came to be fashioned so ex- language,
actly according to the Greek model. We have observed
above, that the Russian letter’s must have been invented and
introduced into that country by the Greek missionaries; and
we think it probable, that these apostles, at the same time
that they taught them a new religion, likewise introduced
a change into the idiom of their language. The influence of
these ghostly teachers over a nation of savages must have
been almost boundless, the force of their precepts and exam¬
ple almostuncontrollable. But if the rude and savage converts
accepted a new religion from the hands of Grecian apostles,
they might with equal submission adopt improvements in
their language. Such of the natives as were admitted to
the sacerdotal function must have learned the Greek lan¬
guage, in order to qualify them for performing the offices of
their religion; and a predilection for that language would be
the immediate consequence. Hence the natives, who had
been admitted into holy orders, would co-operate with their
Grecian masters in improving the dialect of the country,
which, prior to the period above mentioned, must have
greatly deviated from the original standard of the Sarma¬
tian language.
Upon this occasion the Grecian apostles, in conjunction
with their Russian disciples, probably reduced the language
of the country to a resemblance with the idiom of the Greek.
They retained the radical terms as they found them, but
by a variety of flections, conjugations, derivations, compo¬
sitions, and other modifications, transformed them into the
Grecian air and apparel. They must have begun with the
offices of the church ; and amongst a nation of newly con¬
verted savages, the language of the religion they had been
induced to adopt, would quickly obtain a very extensive cir¬
culation. When the Grecian garniture was introduced in¬
to the church, the laity would in process of time assume a
similar dress. The fabric of the Greek declensions, conju¬
gations, and inflections, might be grafted upon Russian stocks
without affecting the radical parts of the language. If the
dialect in question, like most others of a very ancient date,
laboured under a penury of words, such a device would con¬
tribute exceedingly to supply that defect. By this expedi¬
ent the Greek language itself had been enlarged from about
three hundred radical terms to the prodigious number of
words of which it now consists.
The Latin language, in its original constitution, differed
widely from the Greek ; but notwithstanding this incongru¬
ity, the improvers of the former have pressed it into a very
strict agreement with the latter. This, we think, was a still
more difficult task, because the genius of the Latin differs
in a much greater degree than that of the Russian does from
the genius of the Greek. We know that the Gothic lan¬
guage and all its descendants are, in their essential character,
much more in unison with the Greek than they are with the
Latin. The Spanish, Italian, and French, have cudgelled
many of their Gothic, Teutonic, and Celtic verbs, into a kind
of conjugations, imitating or rather aping those of the Latin.
The Persians have also formed most elegant and energetic
declensions and conjugations, upon inflexible roots borrow¬
ed from the Pahlavi and Deree, and even from Tartarian
originals.
Upon the grounds above mentioned we now take the
liberty to hazard the following conjectures, which we cheer¬
fully submit to the cognizance of more enlightened phi¬
lologists, viz. 1. That the Sarmatian was a dialect of the ori¬
ginal language of mankind; 2. That the Sclavonian was a
dialect of the Sarmatian ; 3. That the Russian is the most
genuine and unsophisticated relict of the Sclavonian and Sar¬
matian; 4. That the Russians had no alphabetical characters
prior to the era of the introduction of Christianity, that is,
towards the end of the tenth century ; 5. That they were
converted by Grecian missionaries; 6. That these mis-
422 PHILOLOGY.
Sclavoman sionaries formed their present letters from those of Greece,
Language. jn conjunction with the more enlightened natives, re-
duced the original and unimproved Russian to its present re¬
semblance to the Grecian standard.
Russian The Russian language, like most others, contains eight
parts of parts of speech. Its nouns have three genders, masculine,
speech. feminine, and neuter; and it has also a common gender for
nouns, intimating both sexes. It has only two numbers, sin¬
gular and plural. Its cases are seven, nominative, genitive,
dative, accusative, vocative, instrumental, and prepositive.
These cases, however, are not formed by varying the ter¬
mination, as in Greek and Latin, but generally by placing a
vowel after the word, as, we imagine, was the original prac¬
tice of the Greeks. Thus in Russian, pvt, ruk, the hand ;
nominative, pvK-a, the hand ; genitive, pv/c-N' of the hand.1
Nouns substantive are reduced to four declensions, but ad¬
jectives constitute a fifth. The latter agree with their sub¬
stantives in case, gender, and number; and they have three
degrees of comparison, as is common in other languages, viz.
the positive, comparative, and superlative. The compara¬
tive is formed from the feminine of the nominative singular
of the positive, by changing a into te, that is, aie in English;
and the superlative is formed by prefixing npe, pre, before
the positive. These rules are general; with regard to the
exceptions, recourse must be had to a Russian grammar.
The numeral adjectives in Russian have like the rest three
genders, and they are declined accordingly. Their pronouns
have nothing peculiar, being divided and arranged in the
same manner as in other languages. Verbs in the Russian
language are comprehended under two conjugations. . The
moods are only three ; the indicative, the imperative, and
the infinitive. The subjunctive is formed by placing a par¬
ticle before the indicative, and its tenses are eightin number;
the present, the imperfect, the preterite simple, the prete¬
rite compound, the pluperfect, the future indeterminate, the
future simple, the future compound. The verbs have their
numbers and persons as in other languages. To enter into
a detail of the manner of conjugating Russian verbs would
neither be consistent with our plan, nor of much consequence
to our readers. The remaining parts of speech differ in nothing
from those of other languages. The syntax of Russian nearly
resembles that of the Greek and Latin. But all these accidents
must be learned from a grammar of the language. We could
have wished to be able to gratify our readers with a more au¬
thentic account of the origin of the Sclavonic language ; but
this we find impossible, owing to the want of materials re¬
lating to the state of the ancient Sarmatae. Towards the era
of the subversion of the western empire, the nations who in¬
habited the countries in question were so blended and con¬
founded with each other, and with Huns and other Scythian
or Tartar tribes, that the most acute antiquarian would find
it impossible to investigate their respective dialects, or even
to fix their original residence and extraction.
Phoenician We have selected the Russian as the most genuine branch
and Chal- of the old Sclavonic, and to this preference we were determin-
dean words ej py reasons above mentioned. We are not sufficient-
in ussian.jy aCqua;ntej withthe idiom of the Russian language to be
able to compare it with those of the East; but were such a
comparison made we are persuaded that the radical materials
of which it is composed would be found to have been of ori¬
ental origin. The word Tsar, for example, is probably the
Phoenician and Chaldean Sar, or Zar, a prince, or grandee.
Diodorus Siculus calls the queen of the Massagetse, who, ac¬
cording to Ctesias, cut off the head of Cyrus, Zarina; which
still continues to be the national title of the empress of all
the Russias. Herodotus calls the same princess Tomyris,
which is the very name of the celebrated Timur or Tamerlane
the conqueror of Asia. The former seems to have been the
title, and the latter the proper name, of the queen of the Mas-
sagetae. In the old Persian or Pahlavi, the word yard signi- Modern
fies a city. In Russian, gorod or grad intimates the very Language
same idea; and hence Constantinople in old Russian is called
Tsargrad or Tsargorod. These are only a few specimens;
but skilful etymologists might, we believe, discover a great
number more.
The Sclavonian language is spoken in Epirus, in the wes¬
tern part of Macedonia, in Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria, in part
of Thrace, in Dalmatia, and Croatia, in Poland, Bohemia, Rus¬
sia, and Mingrelia, and hence it is frequently used in the se¬
raglio at Constantinople. Many of the great men of Turkey
understand it, and frequently use it; and all the janizaries
who had been stationed in garrisons on the Turkish frontiers
in Europe, formerly used it in their ordinary intercourse. The
Hungarians, however, and the natives of Wallachia, speak a
different language, one which bears evident marks of Tartar¬
ian origin, in short a dialect of that language which was spo¬
ken by the original Huns. Upon the whole, the Sclavonic
is one of the most widely spread languages in Europe, and
even extends far into Asia.
SECT. X. MODERN LANGUAGES.
If the different dialects of the various nations which now p
inhabit the earth, be called languages, the number will bejgg™^
truly great; and vain would be the ambition of that man who Europe
should attempt to acquire them, however imperfectly. But
there are four, which may be considered as original or mother-
languages, and which seem to have given birth to all that are
now spoken in Europe. These are the Latin, the Celtic, the
Gothic, and the Sclavonic. Let it not, however, be imagined,
from the term original applied to these languages, that we
believe them to have come down to us, without any alteration.
We have repeatedly declared our opinion, that there is but
one truly original language, from which all others are deriv¬
atives variously modified. The four languages just mentioned
are original only as being the immediate parents of those
which are now spoken in Europe.
Thus, from the Latin came, the Portuguese, the Spanish,
the French, and the Italian. From the Celtic came, the Erse
or Gaelic of the Highlands of Scotland, the Welsh, the Irish,
and the Basse Bretagne. From the Gothic came, the Ger¬
man, the Low Saxon or Low German, the Dutch, the En¬
glish, in which almost all the noun-substantives are German,
and many of the verbs French or Latin, and which is enriched
with the spoils of all other languages, including the Danish,
the Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandic.
From the Sclavonian came, the Polish, the Lithuanian or
Lettish, the Bohemian, Transylvanian, Moravian, and the mo¬
dern Vandalian, as it is still spoken in Lusatia and other parts;
the Croatian, the Russian or Muscovite, which, as we have
seen, is the purest dialect of this language; the language
of the Calmucks and Cossacks ; with thirty-two different dia¬
lects of nationswho inhabit the north-eastern parts of Europe
and Asia, andwhoaredescendedfromtheTartarsand Hunno-
Scythians. There are polyglott tables containing not only
the alphabets, but also the principal or distinctive character¬
istics of all these languages.
The languages which are at present spoken generally in Asiatic
Asia are, the Turkish and Tartarian, with their different dia- Languages,
lects; the Persian, the Georgian or Iberian, the Albanian or
Circassian, the Armenian, the modern Indian, the Formosan,
the Hindustanee, the Malabarian, the Warugian, the Tamu-
licor Damulic, the modern Arabic, the Tongussian, the Mon¬
golian, the language of the Nigarian or Akar Nigarian, the
Grusinic or Grusinian, the Chinese, and the Japanese. Here,
however, we have only enumerated those Asiatic languages
of which we have some knowledge in Europe, and even alpha¬
bets, grammars, or other books capable of giving us some in¬
formation concerning them. But in those vast regions and the
1 See Charpentier, Elements de la Langue Russe.
PHILOLOGY.
Modern adjacent islands, there are doubtless other languages and dia-
.Languages. iects, of which no distinct account has yet been obtained.
The principal languages of Africa are, the modern Egyp-
^frican tian, the language of the kingdom of Fez, the Moroccan, and
Langimg -the jargons of those savage nations who inhabit the central
regions of that great continent. The people on the coast of
Barbary speak a corrupt dialect of the Arabic. To these may
be added the Chilhic language, otherwise called Tamazeght;
the Nigritian, and that of Guinea; the Abyssinian, and the
language of the Hottentots and Caffres.
(o. o. o. o.)
423
American The number of languages which distinguish the different
Languages, native tribes of America, appears to be still more considerable
in that continent than in Africa, where, according to the re¬
searches of Seetzen and Vater, there are above a hundred
and forty. In this respect, America resembles the Cauca¬
sus, Italy previous to the conquest of the Romans, and Asia
Minor, when that country contained the Cilicians of Semitic
origin, the Phrygians of Thracian or Gothic extraction, the
Lydians, and the Celts. Many circumstances contributed to
produce the amazing variety of American dialects, but the
principal undoubtedly was the absence of all communication
between the different native tribes, occasioned partly by their
own condition of life, and partly by the nature and configura¬
tion of the country they inhabited. But when it is asserted
that several hundreds of languages are found in a continent the
whole population of which is scarcely equal to that of France,
it should be kept in view that we regard as different all
those languages which bear the same affinity to each other,
not as the German and Dutch, or the Italian and Spanish,
but as the Danish and the German, the Chaldaic and the
Arabic, the Greek and the Latin. It is a great mistake to
suppose, as some have done, that these languages are all se¬
parate and independent, having no points of relation, ana¬
logy, or resemblance. In proportion as we penetrate into
the labyrinth of the American idioms, we discover that seve¬
ral are susceptible of being classed by families ; whilst a still
greater number remain insulated like the Basque amongst
the European, and the Japanese amongst Asiatic languages.
This separation, however, may be only apparent; for it may
be presumed that languages which appear to admit of no
ethnographical classification, have some affinity, either with
other languages which have for a long time been extinct,
or with the idioms of nations which have never yet been
visited by travellers. The greater number of the American
languages, even such as exhibit the same differences from
each other as the languages of Teutonic origin, the Celtic,
and the Sclavonian, bear a certain analogy in the whole of
their organization or structure ; particularly in the compli¬
cation of their grammatical forms, in the modification of the
verb according to the nature of its syntactical construction,
and in the number of particles employed additively either as
affixes or as suffixes. Such an uniform tendency of idioms
betrays, if not a community of origin, at least a great an-
a ogy in the intellectual dispositions of the American tribes
from the Arctic regions to the Straits of Magelhaens.1
. Investigations made with scrupulous exactness, by follow¬
ing a method which had not previously been employed in
etymological pursuits have proved that there are but few
words which are common in the vocabularies of the New Modern
and Old World. In eighty-three American languages, ex- Languages,
amined by Barton and Vater, one hundred and seventy
words have been found, the roots of which appear to be the
same ; and that this analogy is not accidental may be in¬
ferred from the circumstance that it does not rest merely on
imitative harmony, or that conformity in the organs which
produces almost a perfect identity in the first "sounds ar¬
ticulated by children. Of the hundred and seventy words
which are common to the two continents, three-fifths re¬
semble the Mantchoo, the Tongouss, the Mongul, and the
Samoyed ; and two-fifths resemble the Celtic and Finnish,
the Coptic and the Congo languages. These words have
been discovered by comparing the whole of the American
languages with the whole of those of the Old World ; for
-wt we are not acquainted with any American idiom,
which appears to have an exclusive correspondence with any
of the Asiatic, African, or European languages. Much has
been said by some learned writers, respecting the pretend¬
ed poverty of all the American languages, and the extreme
imperfection of their numerical system ; but, in the absence
of well-authenticated facts, all such statements should be re¬
ceived with caution, being rather deductions from a precon¬
ceived theory, than the result of actual investigation. Besides,
several idioms which now form the speech of barbarous na¬
tions, appear to be the wrecks of languages, once rich, flex¬
ible, and belonging to a far more cultivated state of society.
Whether the primitive condition of the human race was rude
and brutalised, or whether the savage hordes which still ex¬
ist are descended from nations, whose intellectual faculties,
and the languages which reflect them, were equally deve¬
loped, is a question into which we cannot at present enter.
We shall only observe, that the little we know of the his¬
tory of the Americans, tends to prove that the tribes, whose
migrations have been directed from the north to the south,
whilst yet dwelling in the arctic regions, employed various
idioms, which are now found under the torrid zone; and
from this we may by analogy conclude, that the multiplica¬
tion of languages is a very ancient phenomenon. Perhaps
those which we call American belong no more to America
than the Magyar or Hungarian, and the Tschoud or Finnish
belongs to Europe. It is doubtless true that the comparison
between the idioms of the two continents has hitherto led to
no important conclusion. But we may nevertheless indulge
the hope that this study will become more productive, when
a greater number of materials shall have been accumulated
to exercise the sagacity of the learned. At present many
languages exist in America, and in central and eastern Asia,
the mechanism of which is as much unknown to us as that
of the Tyrhenian, the Oscan, the Umbrian, and the Sabine.
It was our original intention to conclude this article with Conclusion
some general remarks on the modern languages of Europe,
particularly the French, the Italian, the Spanish, and the
Portuguese, on the one hand, and on the German and Eng¬
lish, on the other. But the length to which it has already
extended, and the facility of access to works containing
ample information respecting the genius and structure of
these languages, render it inexpedient to enter into details
which are more or less within the reach of almost every well-
informed reader.
Hudlonl Blveanffdri!wa-.m!y diyided in‘° two classes- . To the ,first belong the Esquimaux of Greenland, Labrador, and
family are muted K , n 3 1 a?l s.° Lebnngs Straits, Alaska, and Prince William’s Sound. The eastern and western branches of this
north-east of Asia erehei? of language, though separated by a distance of eight hundred leagues ; and the inhabitants of the
the northern narts tn tn C eVCi ° be tbe S3n^1 stock- The second race is dispersed over the various regions of the continent, from
northern ^18^ in tV,0 * soutl1®''n,exjr.emity- They are larger in size, more warlike, more taciturn, and also differ considerably from the
external circumstanc C° °Ur Sbln, vv^lc^’ accorclin& t0 Humboldt, has been but slightly affected, in either class, by climate or other
424
P II I
Philo- PHILOMATHES, a lover of learning or science,
mathes PHILOMELA, in fabulous history, was the daughter ot
II Pandion king of Athens, and the sister of Procne, who had
Philopce- . . Terbeus kin of Thrace. Procne separated from
men' Philomela, to whom she was much attached, and spent er
time in great melancholy, until she prevailed upon her hus¬
band to go to Athens and bring her sister to 1 11 Jce*
reus obeved; but he had no sooner obtained Pandion s
permission to conduct Philomela to Thrace, than he fell m
love with her, and resolved to gratify his passion. He dis¬
missed the guards whom the suspicions of Pandion had ap¬
pointed to watch him ; offered violence to Philomela ; and
afterwards cut out her tongue, that she might not disclose
the indignities she had suffered from his barbarity. He
confined her in a lonely castle; and having taken every
precaution to prevent a discovery, he returned to Thrace,
and told Procne that Philomela had died by the way, and
that he had paid the last offices to her remains. At this
sad intelligence Procne put on mourning for the oss ot
Philomela; but a year had scarcely elapsed before she was
secretly informed that her sister was not dead. Philomela,
in her captivity, described on a piece of tapestry her mis¬
fortunes and the brutality of Tereus, and privately convey¬
ed it to Procne. The latter was about to celebrate the or-
p-ies of Bacchus when she received it, but she disguised her
resentment; and as during these festivals she was permit¬
ted to rove about the country, she hastened to deliver her
sister Philomela from her confinement, and concerted with
the latter the best measures for punishing the cruelty of
Tereus. She murdered her son Itylus, then in the sixt i
year of his age, and served him up as food to her husband
during the festival. Tereus, in the midst of his repast, call¬
ed for Itylus ; but Procne immediately informed him that
he was then feasting on his flesh, when Philomela, by throw-
in- upon the table the head of Itylus, convinced the mo¬
narch of the cruelty of the scene. He drew his sword to
punish Procne and Philomela; but whilst about to stab
them to the heart, he was changed into a hoopoe, Philo¬
mela into a nightingale, Procne into a swallow, and Itylus
into a pheasant. This tragedy happened at Dauhs, m Pho-
cis • but Pausanias and Strabo, who mention the whole of
the’storv, are silent respecting the transformation ; and the
former observes, that Tereus, after this bloody repast, fled to
Megara, where he laid violent hands on himself. I he inha¬
bitants of the place raised a monument to his memory, where
they offered yearly sacrifices, and placed thereon small peb¬
bles instead of barley. It was on this monument that the
birds called hoopoes were first seen, and hence the fable ot
his metamorphosis. Procne and Philomela died of excessive
grief and melancholy ; and as the voice of the nightingale
and the swallow is peculiarly plaintive and mournful, the
poets have embellished the fable by supposing that the two
unfortunate sisters were changed into these birds.
PHILOPCEMEN, a celebrated general of the Achaean
league, was born in Megalopolis, a city of Arcadia, in Pe¬
loponnesus, and from his very infancy discovered a strong
inclination to the profession of arms. Having been nobly
educated by Cassander of Mantinea, a man of great probity
and uncommon abilities, he was no sooner able to bear
arms than he entered amongst the troops which the city of
Megalopolis sent to make incursions into Laconia, and in
these inroads never failed to give some remarkable instance
of his prudence and valour ; but when there were no troops
in the field, he used to employ his leisure in hunting and
other manly exercises. When Cleomenes, king of Sparta,
attacked Megalopolis, Philopcemen displayed equal courage
and greatness of soul. He also signalized himself some
time afterwards in the battle of Sellasia, where Antigonus
gained a complete victory over Cleomenes. Antigonus,
who had been an eye-witness of his prudent and intrepid
behaviour, endeavoured to gain him over to his interest;
P H I
but the patriotic Greek rejected all his offers, having an Pliilopoe-
utter aversion to a court life, which he compared to that of ^ ni*'n'
a slave, conceiving a courtier to be only a slave of a better
condition. As he could not live idle and inactive, he pro¬
ceeded to the island of Crete, which was then engaged in
war, and served as a volunteer, until he acquired a complete
knowledge of the military art; for the inhabitants of that
island were in those days accounted excellent -warriors, and
were scarcely ever at peace amongst themselves. Philo¬
pcemen, having served some years with the troops of the
island, returned home, and upon his arrival was appointed
general of the horse ; a command in which he behaved so
well, that the Achaean cavalry, heretofore of no reputation,
became in a short time famous all over Greece. He was
soon afterwards appointed general of the Achaean forces,
and applied himself to re-establish military discipline amongst
the troops of the republic, which he found in a very low
condition, and universally despised by their neighbours.
Aratus, indeed, was the first who raised the Achaean state
to that pitch of power and glory to which it attained ; but
the success of his enterprise was not so much owing to his
courage and intrepidity as to his prudence and politics. As
he depended on the friendship of foreign princes, and their
powerful succours, he neglected military discipline at home;
but the instant Philopoemen was appointed commander-in-
chief, he roused the courage of his countrymen, and labour¬
ed to put them into a condition to defend themselves with¬
out the assistance of foreign allies. With this view he made
great improvements in the Achaean discipline, changing t e
manner of their exercise, as well as their arms, which were
both very defective. For the space of eight months he
had exercised his troops every day, making them perform
every movement and evolution, and accustoming them to
manage with dexterity their arms, when news reached
him that Machanidas was advancing, at the head of a nu¬
merous army, to invade Achaia. He was glad of thlj.°P‘
portunity to try how the troops had profited by his disci¬
pline ; and accordingly, taking the field, he met the enemy
in the territories of Mantinea, where a decisive battle was
fought, in which the Achaeans were completely victorious.
On this occasion the Lacedaemonians lost above 8000 men,
of whom 4000 were killed on the spot, and as many taken
prisoners. The loss of the Achaeans was very inconsider¬
able, and those who fell were mostly mercenaries, ihis
happened about the year before Christ 204.
But what most contributed to raise the fame and the re¬
putation of Philopcemen, was his uniting the powerful city
of Lacedaemon to the Achaean commonwealth, by which
means the Achaeans were enabled to eclipse all the ot e
states of Greece. In this transaction, which happened in
the year 191, we cannot help noticing one circumstance,
which, in our opinion, reflects greater lustre on Philopcemen
than all his warlike exploits. The Lacedaemonians, over¬
joyed to find themselves delivered from the oppressions un¬
der which they had long groaned, ordered the palace and
furniture of Nabis to be sold, and the sum thence accrmng,
to the amount of 120 talents, to be presented to Philopm
men, as a token of their gratitude ; and deputies were ap¬
pointed to carry the money, and desire Phifopcemen, in the
name of the senate, to accept of the present. But so great
was the opinion which the Spartans entertained of Hs pm
bity and disinterestedness, that no one could be found who
would undertake to offer the present; and, stnick ^th ve^
neration and the fear of displeasing him, they all begged to
be excused. At last, by a public decree, they obhg^one
Timolaus, who had formerly been his guest, to P
Megalopolis, where Philopcemen then bved, jmd offer hi
this testimony of their regard. Timolaus, with great refo
tance, set out for Megalopolis, where he was kindly rece
and entertained by Philopcemen Here he had an op^orfo
nity of observing the strictness of his conduct, the gr
p II I
p II I
425
loso- of his mind, the frugality of his life, and the regularity of his
iei manners ; all which struck him with such awe, that he durst
1 not once mention the present he had come to offer, and, al-
lo^" leging some other pretence for his journey, he returned
one. home with the money. The Lacedaemonians sent him
, v—* again; but still he could not prevail on himself to mention
the true cause of his journey. At last, being sent a third
time, he ventured, with reluctance, to apprise Philopcemen of
the offer he had to make in the name of the Lacedaemonians.
Philopoemen heard him with great calmness; but the in¬
stant he had finished, the general set out with him for
Sparta, where, after acknowledging his obligation to the
Spartans, he advised them to lay out their money in re¬
forming or purchasing those miscreants who divided the
citizens, and set them at variance by means of their sedi¬
tious discourses, that, being paid for their silence, they
might not occasion so many distractions in the government.
“ It is much more advisable,” said he, “ to stop an enemy’s
mouth than a friend’s; as for me, I shall always be your
friend, and you shall reap the benefit of my friendship with¬
out expense.”
About two years afterwards, the city of Messene with¬
drew itself from the Achaean league. Philopoemen attacked
them, but was wounded, taken prisoner, and poisoned by
the magistrates; and thus died one of the greatest heroes
whom Greece or any other country had ever produced.
He was no way inferior in valour, military knowledge, and
virtue, to any of the boasted heroes of Rome. Had Achaia
been nearer to an equality with Rome, he would have pre¬
served his country from the yoke which the Roman repub¬
lic imposed upon it. Both the Greek and Roman writers
place him on a level with Hannibal and Scipio, who were
his contemporaries, and died the same year. They allow
him to have been not only one of the greatest commanders,
but also one of the greatest statesmen, of his age. To his
valour and prudence Achaia owed her glory, which upon his
death began to decline ; for after him there was none in that
republic capable of opposing her enemies with the same
steadiness and prudence. Philopcemen was therefore called
the last of the Greeks, as Brutus was afterwards styled the
last of the Romans. See the article Army.
PHILOSOPHER, a person versed in philosophy, or one
who makes profession of, and applies himself to, the study
of wisdom or real knowledge.
Philosopher’s Stone, the great object of alchemy, a
long-sought-for preparation, which, when found, was to
transmute all the true mercurial part of metal into pure gold,
better than any that is obtained from mines, or perfected
by the refiner’s art.
Some Greek writers belonging to the fourth and fifth cen¬
turies speak of this art as being then known ; and towards
the end of the thirteenth century, when the learning of the
East had been imported by the Arabians, the same preten¬
sions began to spread throughout Europe. It is supposed
that this art, called alchemy, was of Egyptian origin ; and
that when the ancient Greek philosophers travelled into
Egypt, they brought back some of the allegorical language
oi this Egyptian art, which, being ill understood, afterv/ards
passed into their mythology. Alchemy was the earliest
branch of chemistry, considered as a philosophical science.
In the other parts of chemical knowledge, facts preceded
reasoning or speculation; but in alchemy all was originally
speculative.
The alchemists supposed that the general principles of
metals consisted chiefly of two substances, which they call¬
ed mercury and sulphur. They apprehended, that the pure
mercurial, sulphureous, or other principles of which they
imagined gold to be composed, were contained separately
in other bodies; wherefore they endeavoured to collect Philoso-
these principles, and to concoct and incorporate them by pher’s
long digestions ; and by thus conjoining the principles of v stone-
gold, they expected that gold would be produced. But the
alchemists pretended to a product of a higher ox&ex, called the
elixir, the medicine for metals, the tincture, the philosopher’s
stone, which, by being projected on a large quantity of any
of the inferior metals in fusion, should change them into .
fine gold ; or which, being laid on a plate of silver, copper,
or iron, and moderately heated, should sink into the metal,
and change into gold all the parts to which it was applied;
or which, on being properly heated with pure gold, should
change the gold into a substance of the same nature and
virtue with itself, so as to be susceptible of perpetual mul¬
tiplication, and, by continued coction, to have its power more
and more exalted, so as to be able to transmute greater and
greater quantities of the inferior metals, according to its
different degrees of perfection.
The alchemists attempted to arrive at the making of gold
by three different methods. The first was by separation;
for every metal yet known was supposed to contain some
quantity of gold, though, in most, the quantity was believed
to be so little as not to defray the expense of disengaging it.
The second was by maturation. The alchemists consider¬
ed mercury as the basis and matter of all metals; they
thought that quicksilver purged from all heterogeneous bo¬
dies would be much heavier, denser, and simpler, than the
native quicksilver, and that by subtilizing, purifying, and
digesting it with much labour, and by long operations, it w as
possible to convert it into pure gold. This method was
only for mercury. With respect to the other metals, it was
ineffectual, because their matter was not pure mercury, but
had other heterogeneous bodies adhering to it; and because
the digestion, by which mercury is turned into gold, would
not succeed in other metals, from their not having been long
enough in the mines. Weight is the inimitable character of
gold. But mercury, according to them, has always some im¬
purities in it, which are lighter than mercury; and could these
be purged away, which they thought not impossible, mer¬
cury would be as heavy as gold, and what was as heavy as
gold was gold, or at least might very easily be made gold.
The third method was by transmutation, or by turning all
metals readily into pure gold, by melting them in the fire,
and casting a little quantity of a certain preparation into
the fused matter; upon which the faeces would be volati¬
lized and burned, or carried off, and the rest of the mass
would be turned into pure gold. That which was to work
this change in the metals received the denomination of the
philosopher’s stone.
The following historical notices on this curious subject
occur in Holt’s Characters of the Kings and Queens of Eng¬
land. “ The opinion,” says he, “ that one metallic or other
foreign substance might be changed into another, was, it
seems, at this time (in the reign of Henry VI. of England)
propagated by certain chemists, whose observations on the
surprising effects and alterations produced in certain sub¬
stances by the force of heat carried their imaginations be¬
yond what sound judgment might warrant; the first instance
of which on record is in Rymer’s Fcedera (vol. xi. p. 68),
wherein Henry VI. grants a license to John Cobbe, freely
to work in metals, he having, by philosophical art, found
out a method of transmuting imperfect metals into perfect
gold and silver. This pretended secret, known afterwards
by the name of the philosopher s stone or powder, was en¬
couraged by four licenses, granted to different projectors,
during this reign, and at sundry times after during this
century particularly, and in succeeding times all over Eu¬
rope.”
3 a
VOL. XVII.
426
PHILOSOPHY.1
History
Philosophy is a word derived from the Greek, and li-
_ _ , terally signifies the love of wisdom. In its usual accepta-
Definition. tion, however, it denotes a science, or collection of sciences,
of which the universe is the object; and of the term thus
employed many definitions have been given, differing from
one another according to the different views of their seve¬
ral authors. By Pythagoras, philosophy is defined
ruv ovruv, the knowledge of things existing; by Cicero, after
Plato, “ scientia rerum divinarum et humanarum cum cau-
sisand by the illustrious Bacon, interpretatio naturce.
Whether any of these definitions be sufficiently precise, and
at the same time sufficiently comprehensive, may perhaps be
questioned; but if philosophy in its utmost extent be ca¬
pable of being adequately defined, it is not here that the
definition should be given. “ Explanation,” says an acute
wTiter,2 “ is the first office of a teacher; definition, if it be
good, is the last of the inquirer after truth; but explana¬
tion is one thing, and definition quite another.” It may be
proper, however, to observe, that the definition given by
Cicero is better than that of Pythagoras, because the chief
object of the philosopher is to ascertain the causes of things;
and in this consists the difference between his studies and
those of the natural historian, who merely enumerates phe¬
nomena, and arranges them into separate classes.
Objects of The principal objects of philosophy are, God, nature, and
philosophy, man. That part of it which treats of God is called Theo¬
logy : that which treats of nature, Physics and Metaphysics;
and that which treats of man, Logic and Ethics. That
these are not separate and independent sciences, but, as
Bacon expresses it,3 branches from the same trunk, we
shall endeavour to show, after we have, agreeably to our
usual plan, given a short history of philosophy from the ear¬
liest ages to the present day.
To attempt to assign an origin to philosophy would be
ridiculous; for every man endeavours to ascertain the causes
of those changes which he observed in nature; and even
children themselves are inquisitive after that which pro¬
duces the sound of their drums and their rattles. Children,
therefore, and the most illiterate vulgar, have in all ages
been philosophers. But the first people amongst whom phi¬
losophy was cultivated as a profession was probably the
Chaldeans. We certainly read of none earlier; for although
we have more authentic accounts of the Hebrews than of
any other nation of remote antiquity, and have reason to
believe that no people wras civilized before them, yet the
peculiar circumstances in which they were placed rendered
all philosophical investigation to them useless, and even
tended to suppress the very spirit of inquiry. The Egyp¬
tians indeed pretended to be the first of nations, and to
have spread the blessings of religion and the light of science
amongst every other people ; but, from the earliest records
now extant, there is reason to believe that the Chaldeans Hjstor
were a civilized and powerful nation before the Egyptian ^^
monarchy was founded.
Of the Chaldean philosophy much has been said, but veryPhiiosot
little is known. Astronomy seems to have been their fa-oftheCl;
vourite study; and at the era of Alexander’s conquest of their deans'
country, they boasted that their ancestors had continued their
astronomical observations throughout a period of 470,000
years. Extravagant claims to antiquity have been common
in all nations.4 Calisthenes, who attended the Macedonian
conqueror, was requested by Aristotle to inform himself con¬
cerning the origin of science in Chaldea; and upon exa¬
mining into the grounds of this report, he found that their
observations reached no farther backwards than 1903, or
2234 years before the Christian era. Even this is a re¬
moter antiquity than Ptolemy allows to their science; for
he mentions no Chaldean observations prior to the era of
Nabonassar, or 747 years before Christ. That they culti¬
vated something which they called philosophy at a much
earlier period than this, cannot be questioned ; for Aristotle,5
on the credit of the most ancient records, speaks of the
Chaldean magi as prior to the Egyptian priests, who were
certainly men of learning before the time of Moses. For
any other science than that of the stars we do not read
that the Chaldeans were famous ; and this seems to have
been cultivated by them merely as the foundation of judi¬
cial astrology. Persuading the multitude that all human
affairs are influenced by the stars, and professing to be ac¬
quainted with the nature and laws of this influence, their
wise men pretended to calculate nativities, and to predict
good and bad fortune.6 This was the source of idolatry
and various superstitions ; and whilst the Chaldeans were
given up to such puerilities, true science could not be much
indebted to their labours. If any credit be due to Plutarch
and Vitruvius, who quote Berosus, it was the opinion of the
Chaldean wise men that an eclipse of the moon happens
when that part of its body which is destitute of fire is turn¬
ed towards the earth. Their cosmogony, as given by Be¬
rosus, and preserved by Syncellus, seems to be this, that all
things in the beginning consisted of darkness and water;
that a divine power, dividing this humid mass, formed the
world ; and that the human mind is an emanation from the
divine nature.7
The large tract of country which comprehended the em¬
pires of Assyria and Chaldea was the first peopled region
on earth. From that country, therefore, the rudiments of
science must have been propagated in every direction
throughout the rest of the w orld; but what particular people
made the earliest figure, after the Chaldeans, in the history
of philosophy, cannot be certainly known. The claim of
the Egyptians is probably best founded; but as their science
1 This article, which was written hy the late Professor Robison for the third edition of the present work, has, after some s ig a
tions, been retained, as well on account of the frequent references to it from the article Physics, contributed by the same dis ingms e
thor, as on account of the elaborate and somewhat peculiar view which it takes of Lord Bacon s philosophyOn tins a er su J ’
however, the reader will do well to turn to the invaluable commentary upon the Novum Organum, contained in the Second, insser
prefixed to the present edition.
* Tatham’s Chart and Scale of Truth, vol. i. p. 8. . . ^
3 Convenit igitur partiri philosophiam in doctrinas tres; doctrinam de numine, doctrinam de natura, doctrinam de homme. yuoma ,
partitiones tcientiarum non sunt lineis diversis similes, quoe coeunt ad unum angulum, sed potius ramis _ arhorum, T'j. ^^^Scknt.
in uno trunco, qui etiam truncus ad spatium nonnullum integer est et continuus, antequam se partiatur in ramos. yDe Aug.
4 This 'claim of the Babylonians is thus rejected with contempt hy Cicero: “ Contemnamus Babylonios, et eos, qui e
signa servantes, numeris, et motibus, stellarum cursus persequuntur; condemnemus, inquam, hos aut stultitus, aut vamtaits, au p
dentice, qui 470 millia annorum, ut ipsi dicunt, monumentis comprehensa continent, et mentiri judicemus, nec saculorum rchqitoru j
cium, quod de ipsis futurum sit, pertimescere.” (De Divinatione, lib. i. § 19.) ... . s ,
3 Apud Laertium, lib. i. § 8. 6 Sextus Emp. ad Math., fib. iv. § 2; Strabo, fib. c.; Cic. de Div. lib. u § u
7 Enfield’s Hut. Phil. voL i.
PHILOSOPHY.
tory.
In n phi
lopy-
was the immediate source of that of the Greeks, we shall
defer what we have to say of it, on account of the connec¬
tion between the parent and the offspring, and turn our at¬
tention from Chaldean to Indian philosophy, as it has been
cultivated from a very early period by the Brahmins and
Gymnosophists. We pass over Persia, because we know
not of any science peculiar to that kingdom except the doc¬
trines of the magi, which were religious rather than philo¬
sophical.
From whatever quarter India received its wisdom, we are
certain that its philosophers were held in high repute at a
period of very remote antiquity, since they were visited by
Pythagoras and other sages of ancient Greece, who travel¬
led in pursuit of knowledge. Yet they seem to have been
in that early age, as well as at present, more distinguished
for the severity of their manners than for the acquisition of
science; and, as Dr Enfield observes, they appear to have
more resembled modern monks than ancient philosophers.
The Brahmans or Brahmins, it is well knowm, are all of one
tribe ; and the most learned of them are in their own lan¬
guage called Pundits. The Greek writers, however, men¬
tion a society called SamaruBans, who, voluntarily devoting
themselves to the study of divine wisdom, gave up all pri¬
vate property, committing their children to the care of the
state, and their wives to the protection of their relations.
This society was supported at the public expense ; and its
members spent their time in contemplation, in conversation
on divine subjects, or in acts of religion.
The philosophy of the Indians has indeed from the be¬
ginning been engrafted upon their religious dogmas, and
seems to be a compound of fanatical metaphysics and extra¬
vagant superstition, without the smallest seasoning of ra¬
tional physics. Very unlike the philosophers of modern
Europe, of whom a great part labour to exclude the agency
of mind from the universe, the Pundits of Hindustan allow
no powers whatever to matter, but introduce the Supreme
Being as the immediate cause of every effect, however tri¬
vial. “ Brahm, the Spirit of God” says one of their most
revered Brahmins, “ is absorbed in self-contemplation. The
same is the mighty lord, who is present in every part of
space, whose omnipresence, as expressed in the Reig Beid
or Rigveda, I shall now explain. Brahm is one, and to him
there is no second ; such is truly Brahm. His omniscience
is self-inspired or self-intelligent, and its comprehension in¬
cludes every possible species. To illustrate this as far as I
am able, the most comprehensive of all comprehensive fa¬
culties is omniscience; and being self-inspired, it is sub¬
ject to none of the accidents of mortality, conception, birth,
growth, decay, or death; neither is it subject to passion or
vice. To it the three distinctions of time, past, present,
and ^future, are not. To it the three modes of being are
Hff' rpf .is seParated from the universe, and independent of
all. I his omniscience is named Brahm. By this omni¬
scient Spirit the operations of God are enlivened. By this
bpint also the twenty-four powers2 of nature are animated,
tiow is this ? As the eye by the sun, as the pot by the
nre, as iron by the magnet,3 as variety of imitations by the
mimic, as fire by the fuel, as the shadow by the man, as
oust by the wind, as the arrow by the spring of the bow,
and as the shade by the tree, so by this Spirit the world
endued with the powers of intellect, the powers of the
> an the powers of action. Hence, if it emanates from
421
the heart by the channel of the ear, it causes the percep- History,
tion of sounds ; if it emanates from the heart by the chan- ‘"“■“•v'—
nel of the skin, it causes the perception of touch ; if it ema¬
nates from the heart by the channel of the eye, it causes
the perception of visible objects ; if it emanates from the
heart by the channel of the tongue, it causes the percep¬
tion of taste ; if it emanates from the heart by the channel
of the nose, it causes the perception of smell. This also
invigorating the five members of action, and invigorating
the five members of perception, and invigorating the five
elements, and invigorating the five senses, and invigorating
the three dispositions of the mind, causes the creation or
the annihilation of the universe, whilst itself beholds every
thing as an indifferent spectator.”4
From this passage it is plain that all the motions in the
universe, and all the perceptions of man, are, according to
the Brahmins, caused by the immediate agency of the Spi¬
rit of God, which seems to be here considered as the soul
of the world. But it appears, from some papers in the Asia¬
tic Researches, that the most profound of these oriental phi¬
losophers, and even the authors of their sacred books, be¬
lieve not in the existence of matter as a separate substance,
but hold an opinion respecting it very similar to that of the
celebrated Berkeley. The Yedants, says Sir William
Jones, unable to form a distinct idea of brute matter in¬
dependent of mind, or to conceive that the work of Su¬
preme Goodness was left a moment to itself, imagine that
the Deity is ever present to his work, and constantly sup¬
ports a series of perceptions, which in one sense they call il¬
lusory, though they cannot but admit the reality of all creat¬
ed forms, as far as the happiness of creatures can be affect¬
ed by them. This is the very immaterialism of Berkeley;
and in proof that it is the genuine doctrine of the Brahmins,
the learned president quotes the Bhdgavat, which is believ¬
ed to have been pronounced by the Supreme Being, and in
which is the following sentence : “ Except the first cause,
whatever may appear, and may not appear, in the mind,
know that to be the mind’s Mdyd, or delusion, as light, as
darkness.”
We have shown elsewhere (see Metaphysics), that the
metaphysical doctrines of the Brahmins respecting the hu¬
man soul differ not from those of Pythagoras and Plato;
and that they believe it to be an emanation from the great
soul of the world, which, after many transmigrations, will
be finally absorbed in its parent substance. In proof of
their believing in the metempsychosis, Mr Halhed gives us
the following translation of what, he says, is a beautiful
stanza in the Geeta : “ As, throwing aside his old clothes,
a man puts on others that are new; so our lives, quitting
the old, go to other newer animals.”
From the Brahmins believing in the soul of the world not Physics
only as the sole agent, but as the immediate cause of every an(l astro-
motion in nature, we can hardly suppose them to have made"omy°.ftLe
any great progress in that science which in Europe is cul- Brahimns-
tivated under the name of Physics. They have no induce¬
ment to investigate the laws of nature, because, according
to the first principles of their philosophy, which, together
with their religion, they believe to have been revealed from
heaven, every phenomenon, however regular, or however
anomalous, is produced by the voluntary act of an intelli¬
gent mind. Yet if they were acquainted with the use of
fire-arms four thousand years ago, as Mr Halhed seems to
* 10 Sleep’ aiKlto be absorbed in a state of unconsciousness, that is, in a kind of trance,
subtile aether) /thTfirerembe^s o^action^Sl11! ^ ^ ,BJahmins> are tbe five elements, fire, air, earth, water, and akash (a kind of
the ear, eye, nose mouth and skin ■ +>, > f, ’ an^’ C0.0!’ ,anus\ ma^e organ of generation ; the five organs of perception,
mind, desire, passion and tranquillity • amUh!.611368’ WhfCh the-y dlstln§:ulsl1 from the organs of sensation ; the three dispositions of the
3 If the w k f ’ l!- rranquuuty; and the power of consciousness. ■
ed with the phenomena of mamiP+f tFaC+ *S <luote^ as groat antiquity as Mr Halhed supposes, the Brahmins must have been acquaint-
4 Preliminary Dissertation to Ilalhed’s G^ntoo Laws'". ^ ^ °ther philosoPhers whom history makes mention.
428
philosophy:
m « « v w>nef Vinrl t vptv pxtrtiVci^Q-nt* In tlic \ cd&s 3.tid I^urdTiRSj WTitings of Hist#
History, believe, he who made tha^ h1S^ J of nature • for though which no devout Hindu can dispute the divine authority/—v,
considerableknowledge of the power^of nature^ior^tliou„^ w ^ ^ ^ to bc b the intervention of the
gunpowder may lia\e be.®n , w ; ases afterwards, monster Baku, and the earth to be supported by a senes
uT/d^r^ suppose,”says MrHalhed, “ that,here
fn o the invention of a gun. In astronomy, geome- are fourteen spheres, seven below and six above the earth,
any man tbe ^tum a S to have ^ gome The seven inferior worlds are said to be altogether inha-
yV^nnev at a vS; early period. Their chronology and bited by an infinite variety of serpents, described m every
IC1 ynrP indeed full of those extravagant fictions which monstrous figure that the imagination can suggest. The
astronomy are indeed fuU tU S but the-r calcu. firgt here above the earth is the immediate vault of the
seem to be essential to altey, i heavens, in which the sun, moon, and stars are
lation of ecllPXi mtncX Placed- The seCOnd is the ^ P^96’ ^ F™™' F
ducted upon scientific pnr c p . £< Hin. 1 ^de of those who merit a removal from the lower earth.
« It is sufficiently known says Mr L- , &c< i§ the ^ third and fourth are inhabited by the souls of those
sameTours* Ihat thek astronomical year is sidereal, or men who, by the practice of virtue and dint of prayer have
imnintT that snacc of time in which the sun, departing acquired an extraordinary degree of sanctity. The fifth is
X a star Xms to the same ; that it commences on the the reward of those who have all their lives performed some
Horn a star, returns to rne sa e , wonderful act of penance and mortification, or who have
XXa iorST^rt died martyrs for tlLr religion. The highest sphere is the
constellation Mesna , tnai e ^ in regidence of Brahma and his particular favourites, such as
^ch sLXancTthat the civil differs from the astronomical those men who have never uttered a falsehood during their
each sign , ^ that toe cm and be_ who]e ^ and thpse women who have voluntarily burned
account of time only in rejecting tWCPlvpS with their husbands. All these are absorbed in
iSXg die'year and monTat Zn^lstezA of ihe inter'- themselvea’with their huabands. All these are absorbed in
mediate instant of the artificial day or night. Hence arise, the dmne essence      
uiviiic . .. .
mediate hisuuil ui -- — ^ ^ On the Hindus have nothing that can be called Ethic?
ent on the shnation ot the sun s p ^ n. of M-. ^ ,aid down in their Vedas and Shasters, and enjomed b,
the .ve™al «?“"0Xre - and by these mrans they avoid what they believe to be divine authority, which supersedes
s ia in le , . ,1,, ’ s fram a different method of all reasoning concerning their fitness or utility. The bo-
‘aXXXheir calendar by Intercalary days, have been snb-
o-pnpr/accoiintlifriie methiid which the Hindus ciled to principles established in his own practice of astro-
compute eclipse, and to show that thescienceot^sstronon^y have been so former-
“irSrSXrf t“ “arthlnd Z Sy XsTX^enaceBInXorXcatS and in contempt of
economy of the universe than those which are ascribed to death. M h of the Arabians and ChineseBil,
their countrymen in general. . . . . 1 , ’i —,i .v,,. limits nt such of the
icir countrymen in general. ran be said • and the narrow limits of suchof the
Tlie same writer likewise shows, that the prodigious du- nothing certain ca f mpntinnino-the con-ban81
£t5aR£fl»5S-as^ sSs»«a23Ssb*
whimsical principles. “ It has been common with as rono- earl riod observers of
mers to fix on some epoch, from which, as fiom a radix, to tl a Chinese had even a theory by which
compute the planetary motions; and the ancient Hindus he t0 b^lieve that
chose that point of time counted bacK, when, according o t ey ^ th^r peopie in their circumstances, were
their motions as they had determined them, they must have the Arabians, iudiSal astrologers, who possessed not
been in conjunction in the beginning of Mesha or Aries, 1 Pliny makes
and coeval with which circumstance they supposed the crea- the sma e p writers tell us that they
tion. This, as it concerned the planets only, would have
produced a moderate term of years compared with the enor- were famous fo^heir mge J^ of dfvinafion. But the
mous antiquity that will be hereafter stated ; but having dis- tl0"s’ an creece are silent concerning their philosophy;
covered a slow motion of the nodes and apsides also, an au s \rabian book of greater antiquity than
taken it into computation, they found it would require a and theie is not an Arabian Dook oi gre
length of time corresponding with ’^d’899d ^f,8’x eS before regions so barren of information, let Early •
exnired, when they were so situated, and 2,.3bf,li.>,IiO j .eaving uiereiuic ^ r„aTTirn„rr;ai celebrity hasence ri1
vears more before they would return to the same situation us pass to the 1 hcemcians, w dit forPM
again,'forming togeth/r the grand anomalistick period de- induced many learned men “ |^bSc> that™""
nominated a Calpa, and fancifully asstgned as the day of doubled thf thpe and almost
Strange no- ^ But'^tl though the mathematical part of the astronomy of encompassed *e pe^a had Sdc
tious of the the Pundits is undoubtedly respectable, their physical no- Solomon, we cannot doubt tna i„ the science
universe, the universe are in the highest degree ridiculous great proficiency in the art of navigation and
Asiatic Researches, vol. ii.
3 Davis’s Memoir, in the Asiatic Researches, vol. u.
PHILOSOPHY.
429
ory. of astronomy at a period of very' remote antiquity. Nor
“'were these the only sciences cultivated by that ancient
people. The learned Cudworth has, in our opinion, suffi¬
ciently proved that Moschus or Mochus, a Phoenician, who,
according to Strabo, flourished before the Trojan war, was
the author of the atomic philosophy afterwards adopted by
Leucippus, Democritus, and others, amongst the Greeks;
and that it was with some of the successors of this sage that,
as Jamblichus tells us, Pythagoras conversed at Sidon, and
from them received his doctrine of monads. Another proof
of the early progress of the Phoenicians in philosophy may
be found in the fragments of their historian Sanchoniathon,
which have been preserved by Eusebius.1 We are indeed
aware that men of great celebrity have called in question
the authenticity of those fragments, and even the very ex¬
istence of such a writer as Sanchoniathon; but for this scep¬
ticism we can discover no solid foundation. His history may
have been interpolated in some places by the translator
Philo-Byblius; but Porphyry,* Eusebius, and Theodoret,
speak of it as a work of undoubted credit, and affirm that
its author flourished before the Trojan war. Now this an¬
cient writer teaches, that, according to the wise men of his
country, all things arose at first from the necessary agency
of an active principle upon a passive chaotic mass, which
he calls mot. This chaos, Cudworth thinks, was the same
with the elementary water of Thales, who w as also of Phoe¬
nician extraction ; but Mosheim justly observes that it was
rather dark air, since Philo translates it diga ^o<puhr\. Be
this as it may, nothing can be more evident than that the
Phoenicians must have made some progress in what must
surely be considered as philosophy, however false, as early
as the era of Sanchoniathon; for speculations concerning
the origin of the world never occur to untaught barbarians.
Besides Mochus and Sanchoniathon, Cadmus, who intro¬
duced letters into Greece, may undoubtedly be reckoned
amongst the Phoenician philosophers ; for though it is not
pretended that the alphabet was of his invention, and though
it is by no means certain that the Greeks, at the time of his
arrival amongst them, were wdiolly destitute of alphabetic
characters; yet the man who could prevail with illiterate
savages to adopt the use of strange characters, must have
been a great master of the science of human nature. Se¬
veral other Phoenician philosophers are mentioned by Stra¬
bo ; but as they flourished at a later period, and philoso¬
phized after the systematic mode of the Greeks, they do
not fall properly under our notice. We pass on therefore
to the philosophy of Egypt.
i It has already been observed that the Egyptians boast-
|1 >ophy.e(j 0f being the first of nations, and the authors of all the
science which in separate rays illuminated the rest of the
world. But though this claim was undoubtedly ill founded,
their high antiquity and early progress in the arts of civil
life cannot be controverted. The Greeks with one voice
confess that all their learning and wisdom came from Egypt,
either imported immediately by their ow n philosophers, or
brought through Phoenicia by the sages of the East; and
we know, from higher authority than the histories of Greece,
that at a period so remote as the birth of Moses the wis¬
dom of the Egyptians was proverbially famous. Yet the
history of Egyptian learning and philosophy, although men
of the first eminence, both ancient and modern, have be¬
stowed much pains in attempts to elucidate it, still remains
involved in clouds of uncertainty. That they had some
knowledge of physiology, arithmetic, geometry, and astro¬
nomy, are facts which cannot be questioned ; but there is
reason to believe that even these sciences were in Egypt History,
pushed no farther than to the uses of life. That they be-
lieved in the existence of incorporeal substances is cer¬
tain ; because Herodotus assures us that they were the first
assertors of the immortality, pre-existence, and transmigra¬
tion of human souls, which they could not have been with¬
out holding those souls to be at least incorporeal, if not im¬
material.
The founder of Egyptian learning is generally acknow¬
ledged to have been Thoth, Theut, or Taaut, called by
the Greeks Hermes, and by the Romans Mercury ; but of
this personage very little is known. Diodorus Siculus says
that he was chief minister to Osiris, and that he improved
language, invented letters, instituted religious rites, and
taught astronomy, music, and other arts. The same thing
is affirmed by Sanchoniathon, whose antiquity has already
been mentioned ; by Manetho, an Egyptian priest, who
flourished during the reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus ; and
by Plato, whose authority, as he resided long in Egypt,
and was himself an eminent philosopher, is perhaps more
to be depended upon than that of the other two. In the
Philebus we are told that Thoth was the inventor of let¬
ters ; and lest we should suppose that by these letters no¬
thing more is meant than picture-writing or symbolical hie¬
roglyphics, it is added, that he distinguished between vowels
and consonants, determining the number of each. The
same philosopher, in his Phaedrus, attributes to Thbth the
invention of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and hiero-
glyphical learning ; and subjoins a disputation said to have
been held between him and Thamus, then king of Egypt,
concerning the advantage and disadvantage of his newly-
invented letters. Thoth boasted that the invention, by aid¬
ing memory, would greatly contribute to the progress of
science ; whilst the monarch contended that it would ener¬
vate men’s natural faculties, by making them trust to writ ¬
ten characters, without exerting the powers of their own
minds.
All this, if real, must have happened before the era of
Moses ; and since it is almost certain that alphabetical cha¬
racters were in use prior to the exod of the Israelites from
Egypt, we may as well allow the invention to Thoth, as
give it to an earlier author of unknown name. That arith¬
metic, geometry, and astronomy, were cultivated in Egypt
from the most remote antiquity, is affirmed by all the an¬
cients, and rendered in the highest degree probable by the
situation of the country. The first elements of astronomy
have certainly been discovered by various nations, whose
habits of life led them to the frequent observation of the
heavens; and it is observed byX'icero, that the Egyptians
and Babylonians, dwelling in open plains, where nothing in¬
tercepted the view of the heavenly bodies, naturally de¬
voted themselves to the study of that science. The annual
overflowing of the Nile, which broke up the boundaries of
their land, would lay the Egyptians under the necessity of
adopting some method of settling those boundaries anew ;
and necessity we know to be the parent of invention. Hence
their early acquaintance with practical geometry cannot well
be doubted. Their custom of embalming their dead, and
the perfection to which they carried that art,2 shows infal¬
libly their knowledge of the properties of natural sub¬
stances, and gives some reason to believe that they were
not altogether strangers to anatomy ; but if we allow them
to have been at this early period anatomists acquainted with
the power of drugs, we can hardly refuse them some skill in
the art of physic, which they themselves traced up to their
1 Praaparatio Evangclii.
It is true that the dissection of some mummies has lessened the high opinion long entertained of the skill of the ancient Egyptians in
ie art of embalming; yet it must be granted that their knowledge of antiseptic drugs was great, since it is now certainly known, even
rom these dissections, that by means of such drugs they contrived to preserve rags of cloth from corruption for upwards of three thou-
430
PHILOSOPHY.
History, gods and demigods, to Serapis, Isis, and her son Homs or
^ Apollo.
The art of alchemy has been said to have been known by
the ancient Egyptians ; and, from the author of the Egyp¬
tian philosophy, it has been called the Hermetic art. But
although this is unquestionably a fiction, there is evidence
that they were possessed of one art which is even yet a de¬
sideratum in the practice of chemistry. “ Moses, we are
told,1 “ took the golden calf which his brother had made
for idolatrous purposes, and burnt it in the fire, and ground
it to powder, and strewed it on the water, and made the
children of Israel drink of it.” Had this fact been related
by Herodotus or Diodorus Siculus, it would have been
deemed sufficient evidence that the Egyptians were even at
that early period no strangers to the art of chemistry ; and
surely the evidence should not be the worse for coming from
the pen of the Hebrew lawgiver, who was himself educated
in the court of Egypt.
Their But although it is thus evident that the rudiments of al-
knowledge most every useful science were known in Egypt from the
of the sokr remotest antiquity, it does not appear that any of them was
?ystem' carried to a great degree of perfection, unless perhaps che¬
mistry alone must be excepted. One would think that no
science could have been more indispensably requisite to
them than geometry ; and yet, though Pythagoras is said
to have spent twenty-two years in Egypt studying that
science and astronomy, he himself discovered2 the famous
forty-seventh proposition of Euclid’s first book after his re¬
turn to Samos. This, although a very useful, is yet a simple
theorem; and since it was not reached by the Egyptian
geometry, we cannot suppose that the people of Egypt had
then advanced far in such speculations. 1 he same conclu¬
sion must be drawn with respect to astronomy ; for Thales is
said to have been the first who calculated an eclipse of the
sun, and we nowhere read that the Egyptians pretended to
dispute that honour with him. To this it may be replied,
that Pythagoras was in Egypt undoubtedly taught the true
constitution of the solar system, and, what is more extraor¬
dinary, the doctrine of comets in particular, and of their re¬
volutions, like the other planets, round the sun.3 We grant
that he was taught all this; but it was not scientifically,
but dogmatically, as facts which the priests had received by
tradition from their early ancestors, and of which they had
never questioned the truth nor inquired into the reasons.
Of this we need no better proof than that the Pythagorean
system of the sun was totally neglected by the Greeks as
soon as they began to frame hypotheses and to speculate in
philosophy.4
But it may appear strange, and certainly is so, that the
Egyptian priests, in the days of Pythagoras, should have
preserved so great a discovery of their ancestors, and at
the same time have totally forgotten the principles and rea¬
soning which led to a conclusion apparently contrary to the
evidence of sense. This is a difficulty which we pretend HistJ
not to remove, although the fact which involves it seems to ''—y -
be beyond the reach of controversy. Perhaps the following
observations may throw upon it a feeble light. According
to Manetho, the written monuments of the first Thoth were
lost or neglected in certain civil revolutions or natural ca¬
lamities which befell the kingdom of Egypt. After many
ages great part of them were recovered by an ingenious
interpretation of the symbols which he had inscribed upon
ancient columns ; and the man who made this interpreta¬
tion was called the second Thoth, or Hermes Trismegistus.
But thrice illustrious as this personage was, it is at least
possible that he may have been much inferior to the for¬
mer Hermes, and have read his writings and transcribed
his conclusions without being able to comprehend the prin¬
ciples or reasoning which led to these conclusions. Any
man who understands Latin might translate into his own
tongue the conclusions of Newton ; but much more would
be requisite to make him comprehend the demonstrations
of his sublime geometry. By what mode of reasoning the
first Hermes was led to the true idea of the solar system, or
whether it was by reasoning at all, cannot now be known;
but it seems very evident, that when the intercourse be¬
tween the Egyptains and Greeks first commenced, the wis¬
dom of the former people consisted chiefly in the science
of legislation and civil policy, and that the philosopher, the
divine, the legislator, and the poet, were all united in the
same person. Their cosmogony (for all the ancients who
pretended to science framed cosmogonies) differed little from
that of the Phoenicians already mentioned. They held that
the world was produced from chaos by the energy of an in¬
telligent principle ; and they likewise conceived that there
is in nature a continual tendency towards dissolution. In
Plato’s Timceus, an Egyptian priest is introduced describing
the destruction of the world, and asserting that this will be
effected by means of water and fire. They conceived that
the universe undergoes a periodical conflagration; after
which all things are restored to their original form, to pass
again through a similar succession of changes.
“ Of preceptive doctrine the Egyptians had two kinds, Their:
the one sacred, the other vulgar. The former, which re-ralscie
spected the ceremonies of religion and the duties of the
priests, was doubtless written in the sacred books of Hermes,
but was too carefully concealed to pass down to posterity.
The latter consisted of maxims and rules of virtue, pru¬
dence, or policy. Diodorus Siculus relates many particu¬
lars concerning the laws, customs, and manners of the
Egyptians; whence it appears that superstition mingled with
and corrupted their notions of morals. It is in vain to look
for accurate principles of ethics among an ignorant and su¬
perstitious people. And that the ancient Egyptians merit¬
ed this character is sufficiently evident from this single cir¬
cumstance, that they suffered themselves to be deceived by
1 Exodus, xxii. 20. , , , , . , , • „ *n
1 This discovery he claimed ; and his claim was admitted by the Greek writers, without having been directly controver e( ■
excellent mathematician, however, has showm that the equality between the square of the hypothenuse of a right-angle Jian£> e’ .T .
sum of the squares on the other two sides, was known to the astronomers of India at a period long prior to that ot ry a§?ra ‘ ,
withstanding this, it is certainly possible that the sage of Samos may have made the discovery himself, though we fhm' e ■,
much more probable ; for we agree with the able writer already mentioned, that Pythagoras, who is generally believed to ave c
with Indian Brahmins as well as Egyptian priests, may have derived from them some of the solid as well as the visionary spe
with which he delighted to instruct or amuse his disciples. See Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. n. n1iqriim
3 This is recorded by Aristotle and Plutarch, and thus expressed by Ammianus Marcellinus : “ Stellas quasdam, ceteris stmi es, q
ortus orbitusque, quibus sint temporibus praestituti humanis mentibus ignorari (lib. xxy. cap. 10).
4 Fixas in supremis mundi partibus immotas persistere, et planetas his inferiores circa solem revolvi, terram pariter mover
nuo, diurno vero circa axem propriam, et solem ceu focum universi in omnium centra quiescere, antiquissima fuit phuosop an
tentia. Ab /Egyptiis autem astrorum antiquissimis observationibus propagatam esse hanc sententiam yensimile est. Et e ia . a_
et a gentibus conterminis ad Graecos, gentem magis philologicam quam philosophicam, philosophia omms antiquior juxta e . jn
nasse videtur. Subinde docuerunt Anaxagoras, Democritus, et alii nonnulli, terram in centro mundi immotam stare, et a®t . , jn.
occasum, aliqua celerius, alia tardius moveri, idque in spatiis liberrimis. Namque orbes solidi postea ab Eudoxo, Lalippo, . ’ ^
troducti sunt; declinante indies philosophia primitus introducta, et novis Graecorum commentis paulatim praevalentibus. /v^..
antiqui planetas in spatiis liberis retineri, deque cursu rectilineo perpetuo retractas in orbem regulanter agi docuere, non con
ton de Mundi Systematc.)
PHILOSOPHY.
431
irefl*
hi) M
impostors, particularly by the professors of the fanciful art
of astrology ; concerning whom Sextus Empiricus justly re¬
marks, that they have done much mischief in the world, by
enslaving men to superstition, which will not sulfer them to
follow the dictates of right reason.”
From Egypt and Phoenicia philosophy passed into Greece,
where it was long taught without system, as in the countries
from which it was derived. Phoroneus, Cecrops, Cadmus,
and Orpheus, were amongst the earliest instructors of the
Greeks; and they inculcated Egyptian and Phoenician
doctrines in detached maxims, and enforced them, not by
strength of argument, but by the authority of tradition.
Their cosmogonies were wholly Phoenician or Egyptian
disguised under Grecian names ; and they taught a future
state of rewards and punishments. The planets and the
moon Orpheus conceived to be habitable worlds, and the
stars to be fiery bodies like the sun; but he taught that
they are all animated by divinities, an opinion which pre¬
vailed both in Egypt and in the East. It does not ap¬
pear, however, that he gave any other proof of his doctrines
than a confident assertion that they were derived from some
god.
Hitherto we have seen philosophy in its state of infancy
and childhood, consisting only of a collection of sententious
maxims and traditionary opinions; but amongst the Greeks,
an ingenious and penetrating people, it soon assumed the
form of profound speculation and systematic reasoning.
Two eminent philosophers arose nearly at the same period,
who may be considered as the parents not only of Grecian
science, but of almost all the science which was cultivated
in Europe prior to the era of the great Lord Bacon. These
were Thales and Pythagoras, of whom the former founded
the Ionic school, and the latter the Italic; from which two
sprung the various sects into which the Greek philosophers
were afterwards divided. A bare enumeration of these
sects is all that our limits will admit of; and we shall give
it in the perspicuous language and just arrangement of Dr
Enfield, referring our readers for a fuller account than we
can give of their respective merits to his abridged transla¬
tion of Brucker’s history.
From the Ionic School sprung various others: 1. The
Ionic sect proper, whose founder Thales had as his succes¬
sors Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, Diogenes Apolloniates, and
Archelaus. 2. The Socratic school, founded by Socrates,
the principal of whose disciples were Xenophon, JDschines,
Simon, Cebes, Aristippus, Phaedo, Euclid, Plato, Antisthenes,
Critias, and Alcibiades. 3. The Cyrenaic sect, of which Ari¬
stippus was the author; his followers were, his daughter
Arete, Hegisias, Anicerris, Theodorus, and Bion. 4. The
Megaric or Eristic sect, formed by Euclid of Megara; to
whom succeeded Eubulides, Diodorus, and Stilpo, famous
for their logical subtilty. 5. The Eliac or Eretriac school,
raised by Phaedo of Elis, who, although he closely adhered
to the doctrine of Socrates, gave name to his school. His
successors were Plistanus and Menedemus; the latter of
whom, being a native of Eretria, transferred the school and
name to his own country. 6. The Academic sect, of which
Plato was the founder. After his death, many of his dis¬
ciples deviating from his doctrine, the school was divided
into the old, new, and middle academies. 7. The Peripa¬
tetic sect, founded by Aristotle, whose successors in the
Lyceum were Theophrastus, Strato, Lycon, Aristo, Crito-
laus, and Diodorus. Amongst the Peripatetics, besides
t ose who occupied the chair, were also Dicaearchus, Eude-
inus, and Demetrius Phalereus. 8. The Cynic sect, of which
t e author was Antisthenes, whom Diogenes, Onesicritus,
I j^etroc^es> Menippus, and Menedemus, succeeded,
n he list of Cynic philosophers must also be reckoned
Hipparchia, the wife of Crates. 9. The Stoic sect, of which History.
Zeno was the founder. His successors in the porch were'v—
Persaeus, Aristo of Chios, Herillus, Sphaerus, Cleanthus,
Chrysippus, Zeno of Tarsus, Diogenes the Babylonian, An¬
tipater, Panaetius, and Posidonius.
Of the Italic School were, 1. The Italic sect proper, The Italic
founded by Pythagoras, a disciple of Pherecydes. The fol- sch°ol.
lowers of Pythagoras were Aristaeus, Mnesarchus, Alcmaeon,
Ecphantus, Hippo, Empedocles, Epicharmus, Ocellus, Ti-
maeus, Archytas, Hippasus, Philolaus, and Eudoxus. 2. The
Eleatic sect, of which Xenophanes was the author. His
successors, Parmenides, Melissus, Zeno, belonged to the
metaphysical class of this sect; Leucippus, Democritus, Pro¬
tagoras, Diagoras, and Anaxarchus, to the physical. 3. The
Heraclitean sect, which was founded by Heraclitus, and
soon afterwards expired. Zeno and Hippocrates philoso¬
phized after the manner of Heraclitus, and other philoso¬
phers borrowed freely from his system. 4. The Epicurean
sect, a branch of the Eleatic, had Epicurus for its author ’
and amongst his followers were Metrodorus, Polyaenus, Her-
machus, Polystratus, Basilides, and Protarchus. 5. The
Pyrrhonic or Sceptical sect, the parent of which was Pyrrno.
His doctrine was taught by Timon the Phliasian ; and after
some interval was continued by Ptolemy, a Cyrenean. and
at Alexandria by HSnesidemus.
Of the peculiar doctrines of these sects, the reader will
in this work find a short account either in the lives of their
respective founders, or under the names of the sects them¬
selves. We shall only observe at present, that although
many of them were undoubtedly absurd, and many wicked,
it would yet perhaps be going too far to say with some, that
the philosophy of Greece became impious under Diagoras,
vicious under Epicurus, hypocritical under Zeno, impudent
under Diogenes, covetous under Demochares, voluptuous
under Metrodorus, fantastical under Crates, scurrilous un¬
der Menippus, licentious under Pyrrho, and quarrelsome
under Cleanthes. Of the truth of this heavy charge every
reader must judge for himself. We are strongly inclined
to think that there were virtues and vices peculiar to each
sect; “ and that the sects themselves had an affinity more
or less direct with the different temperaments of man;
whence the choice of sectators often depended on physical
influence, or a peculiar disposition of their organs. Nothing
appears more natural than that those men who were born
with great force of mind and strong nerves should discover
a predilection for stoicism; while mortals endowed by na¬
ture with more delicacy of fibres and keener sensibility fled
for refuge to the myrtles of Epicurus. People whose tem¬
peraments partook of no extremes, were always inclined
either for the Lyceum or the Academy. Such as possess¬
ed solidity of understanding ranged themselves with Aris¬
totle ; and those who had only genius, or even pretensions
to that endowment, went to augment the crowd of Pla-
tonists.”1
All the systematical philosophers, however, pursued their Grecian
inquiries into nature by nearly the same method. Of their mode of
philosophy, as well as of ours, the universe, with all that it pfidoso-
contains, was the vast object; but the individual things PhlzlI1tr'
which compose the universe are infinite in number and ever
changing; and therefore, according to an established maxim
of theirs, incapable of being the subjects of human science.2
To reduce this infinitude, and to fix those fleeting beings,
they established certain definite arrangements or classes, to
some of which every thing past, present, or to come, might
be referred; and having ascertained, as they thought, all
that could be affirmed or denied of these classes, they proved,
by a very short process of syllogistic reasoning, that what
is true of the class must be true of every individual com-
1 Pauvv s Philosophical Dissertation.
* Boethius in Preedict, et Aritt. Physic, lib. i.
432
.History.
PHILOSOPHY.
prehended under it. The most celebrated of these arrange¬
ments is that which is known by the name of categories,
which Mr Harris thinks at least as old as the era of Pytha¬
goras, and to the forming of which mankind would, in his
opinion, be necessarily led by the following considerations.
Every subject of human thought is either substance or at¬
tribute ; but substance and attribute may each of them be
modified under the different characters of universal or par¬
ticular. Hence there arises a quadruple arrangement of
things into substance universal and substance particular, in¬
to attribute universal and attribute particular; to some one
of which four not only our words and ideas, but every indi¬
vidual of that immense multitude of things which compose
the universe, may be reduced. This arrangement, how¬
ever, the learned author thinks too limited; and he is of
opinion, that, by attending to the substances with which
they were surrounded, the Grecian schools must soon have
distinguished between the attributes essential to all sub¬
stances, and those which are only circumstantial; between
the attributes proper to natural substances or bodies, and
those which are peculiar to intelligible substances or minds.
He likewise thinks, that the time and place of the existence
of substances not present must soon have attracted their
attention ; and that, in considering the place of this or that
substance, they could hardly avoid thinking of its position
or situation. He is of opinion that the superinduction of one
substance upon another would inevitably suggest the idea
of clothing or habit, and that the variety of co-existing sub¬
stances and attributes would discover to them another attri¬
bute, viz. that of relation. Instead, therefore, of confining
themselves to the simple division of substance and attribute,
they divided attribute itself into nine distinct sorts, some
essential and others circumstantial; and thus, by setting
substance at their head, made ten comprehensive universal
genera, called, with reference to their Greek name, cate¬
gories, and with reference to their Latin name, predicaments.
These categories are, Substance, Quality, Quantity, Relation,
Action, Passion, When, M here, Situation, and Clothing,
which, according to the systematic philosophy of the Greeks,
comprehend every human science and every subject of hu¬
man thought. History, natural and civil, springs, says Mr
Harris, out of Substance ; mathematics out of Quantity ;
optics out of Quality and Quantity; medicine out of the
same ; astronomy out of Quantity and Motion ; music and
mechanics out of the same; painting out of Quality and
Site ; ethics out of Relation ; chronology out of When;
geography out of Where ; electricity, magnetism, and at¬
traction, out of Action and Passion; and so in other in¬
stances.
To these categories, considered as a mere arrangement
of science, we are not inclined to make many objections.
The arrangement is certainly not complete ; but this is a
matter of comparatively small importance, for a complete
arrangement of science cannot, we believe, be formed. The
greatest objection to the categories arises from the use which
was made of them by almost every philosopher of the Gre¬
cian schools ; for those sages having reduced the objects of
all human science to ten general heads or general terms, in¬
stead of setting themselves to inquire, by a painful induc¬
tion, into the nature and properties of the real objects be¬
fore them, employed their time in conceiving what could
be predicated of substance in general, of this or that qua¬
lity, quantity, relation, &c. in the abstract; and they soon
found, that of such general conceptions as the categories
there are but five predicables or classes of predicates in na¬
ture. The first class is that in which the predicate is the
genus of the subject; the second, that in which it is the
species of the subject; the third is, when the predicate is
the specific difference of the subject; the fourth, when it
is a property of the subject; and the fifth, when it is some¬
thing accidental to the subject. Having proceeded thus
far in their system, they had nothing to do with individuals Hi* F
but to arrange them under their proper categories, which s—vi „
was commonly done in a very arbitrary manner; and then,
with the formality of a syllogism, to predicate of each the
predicable of the genus or species to which it belonged.
But by this method of proceeding, it is obvious that no pro¬
gress whatever could be made in physical, metaphysical, or
ethical science; for if the individual truly belongs to the
category under which it is arranged, we add nothing to our
stock of knowledge by affirming or denying of it what we
had before affirmed or denied of the whole genus; and if it
belong not to the category under which we arrange it, our
syllogising will only give the appearance of proof to what
must, from the nature of things, be an absolute falsehood.
It is only by experiments made on various substances ap¬
parently of the same kind that they can be certainly known
to belong to the same category ; and when this is done, all
syllogistic reasoning, from the genus to the species, and from
the species to the individual, is but solemn trifling, as every
proposition in this retrograde course takes for granted the
thing to be proved.
Yet this mode of philosophizing spread from Greece al-Thf ic
most over the whole world. It was carried by Alexander S0P;: -
into Asia, by his successors into Egypt, and it found its way*™1 J
to Rome after Greece became a province of the empire. It^, ]
was adopted by the Jews, by the fathers of the Christian
church, by the'Mahommedan Arabs during the caliphate,
and continued to be cultivated by the schoolmen throughout
all Europe till its futility was exposed by Lord Bacon. The
professors of this philosophy often displayed great acute¬
ness ; but their systems were built upon mere hypotheses, and
supported by syllogistic wrangling. Now and then indeed
a suoerior genius, such as Alhazen, and our countryman Ro¬
ger Bacon, broke through the trammels of the schools, and,
regardless of the authority of the Stagyrite and his catego¬
ries, made real discoveries in physical science by experi¬
ments judiciously conducted on individual substances; but
the science in repute still continued to be that of generals.
it was indeed a combination of absurd metaphysics with
more absurd theology ; and that which is properly called
physics had in Europe no place in a liberal education from
the end of the eighth century to the end of the fourteenth.
Towards the beginning of this period of darkness, the whole
circle of instruction, or the liberal arts as they were called,
consisted of two branches, the trivium and the quadiiviurn,
the former of which comprehended grammar, rhetoric, and
dialectics; the latter music, arithmetic, geometry, and astro¬
nomy, to which was added, about the end of the eleventh
century, the study of a number of metaphysical subtilties
equally useless and unintelligible. _ ,
Hitherto the works of the ancient Greek philosophers had
been read only in imperfect Latin translations; and before
the scholastic system was completely established, Plato am
Aristotle had been alternately looked up to as an oracle m
science. The rigid schoolmen, however, universally gave
the preference to the Stagyrite, because his analysis of body
into matter and form is peculiarly calculated to keep in coun¬
tenance the most incredible doctrine of the Roman Catholic
church ; and upon the revival of Greek learning this pre¬
ference was continued after the school philosophy ha.d begun
to fall into contempt, on account of much useful informa¬
tion contained in some of his writings on subjects of natural
history, and his supposed merit as a natural philosopher. ;
last the intrepid spirit of Luther and his associates set ie
minds of men free from the tyranny of ancient names, as
well in human science as in theology; and many philoso¬
phers sprung up in different countries of Europe, w 10 p
fessed either to be eclectics, or to study nature, re8ar“|^ .
of every authority except that of reason. Of these the
eminent beyond all comparison was Francis Bacon,
Verulam.
PHILO
w of This illustrious man having read with attention the writ-
con’s in;rs of the most celebrated ancients, and made himself mas-
iloso- f.er 0f the sciences which were then cultivated, soon disco-
vered the absurdity of pretending to account for the phe-
i I'Ui-' nomena of nature by syllogistic reasoning from hypothetical
c principles; and, with a boldness becoming a genius of the
first order, he undertook to give a new chart of human
knowledge. This he did in his two admirable works, entitled
/)e Dignitate et Augmentis Scientiarum ; and Novum Or-
ganum Scientiarum, sive Judicia vera de Interpretatione Na¬
ture. In the former of these works, he takes a very minute
survey of the whole circle of human science, which he di¬
vides into three great branches; history, poetry, and philo¬
sophy, corresponding to the three faculties of the mind, me¬
mory, imagination, and reason. Each of these general heads
is subdivided into minuter branches, and reflections are
made upon the whole, which, though we can neither copy
nor abridge them, will amply reward the perusal of the at¬
tentive reader. The purpose of the Novum Organum is to
point out the proper method of interpreting nature, which
the author shows could never be done by the logic which was
then in fashion, but only by a painful and fair induction.
“ Homo naturae minister,” says he, “ et interpres tantum
facit et intelligit, quantum de naturae ordine re, vel mente
observaverit; nec amplius scit aut potest. Syllogismus ad
principia scientiarum non adhibetur, ad media axiomata
frustra adhibetur, cum sit subtilitati naturae longe impar.
Assensum itaque constringit, non res. Syllogismus ex pro-
positionibus constat, propositiones ex verbis, verba notionum
tesserae sunt. Itaque si notiones ipsae (id quod basis rei est)
confusae sint et temere a rebus abstractae, nihil in iis quae
superstruuntur, est firmitudinis. Itaque spes est una in in-
ductione vera”
To hypotheses and preconceived opinions, wdiich he calls
idda theatri, this great man was not less inimical than to
syllogisms; and since his days almost every philosopher of
eminence, except Descartes and his followers, has professed
to study nature according to the method of induction so ac¬
curately laid down in the Novum Organum. On this me¬
thod a few improvements have perhaps been made; but
notwithstanding these, Lord Bacon must undoubtedly be
considered as the author of that philosophy which is now
cultivated in Europe, and which wall continue to be culti¬
vated as long as men shall have more regard for matters of
fact than for hypothetical opinions. Of this mode of philo¬
sophizing we shall now give a short, though we hope not in¬
accurate view, by stating its objects, comparing it with that
which it superseded, explaining its rules, and pointing out
its uses; and from this view it will appear that its author
shares with Aristotle the empire of science.
V jr of his The universe, that unbounded object of the contempla-
p: so' tion, the curiosity, and the researches of man, may be con¬
sidered in two different points of view. In the first place, it
may be considered merely as a collection of existences, re¬
lated to each other by means of resemblances and distinc¬
tion, situation, succession, and derivation, as making parts of
a whole. In this view it is the subject of pure description.
To acquire an acquaintance with, or a knowledge of, the
universe in this point of view, we must enumerate all the
beings in it, mention all their sensible qualities, and mark
all these relations for each. But this would be labour im¬
mense ; and when done, an undistinguishable chaos. A
book containing every word of a language would only give
us the materials, so to speak, of this language. To make
it comprehensible, it must be put into some form, which
will comprehend the whole in a small compass, and enable
the mind to pass easily from one word to another related to
it. Of all relations amongst words, the most obvious are
those of resemblance and derivation. An etymological dic¬
tionary, therefore, in which words have been classed in con¬
sequence of their resemblances, and arranged by means of
VOL. XVII.
433
their derivative distinctions, will greatly facilitate the ac- View of
quisition of the language. Bacon’s
It is just so in nature. The objects around us may be ThUoso-
grouped by means of their resemblance, and then arranged - _ p
in those groups by means of their distinctions and other re¬
lations. In this classification we are enabled to proceed by
means of the faculty of abstracting our attention from the
circumstances in which things differ, and turning it to those
only in which they agree. By the judicious employment
of this faculty we are able not only to distribute the indi¬
viduals into classes, but also to distribute those classes into
others still more comprehensive, by discovering circum¬
stances of resemblance amongst them ; for the fewer the
circumstances are which concur to form that resemblance
which has engaged our attention, the greater is the num¬
ber of similar circumstances which are neglected, and the
more extensive will be the class of individuals in which the
resemblance is observed. Thus a number of individuals
resembling each other in the single circumstance of life
composes the most extensive kingdom of Animals. If it be
required that they shall further resemble in the circum¬
stance of having feathers, a prodigious number of animals
are excluded, and we form the inferior class of Birds. We
exclude a great number of birds by requiring a further si¬
milarity of web feet, and have the order of Anseres. If we
add lingua ciliata, we confine the attention to the genus of
Anates. In this manner may the whole objects of the uni¬
verse be grouped, and arranged into kingdoms, classes, or¬
ders, genera, and species.
Such a classification and arrangement is called Natural
History, and must be considered as the only foundation of
any extensive knowledge of nature. To the natural histo¬
rian, therefore, the world is a collection of existences, the
subject of descriptive arrangement. His aim is threefold.
1. To observe with care, and describe with accuracy, the
various objects of the universe. 2. To determine and enu¬
merate all the great classes of objects; to distribute and
arrange them into all their subordinate classes, through all
degrees of subordination, till he arrive at what are only ac¬
cidental varieties, which are susceptible of no farther dis¬
tribution ; and to mark with precision the principles of this
distribution and arrangement, and the characteristics of the
various assemblages. 3. To determine with certainty the
particular group to which any proposed individual belongs.
Description, therefore, arrangement, and reference, consti¬
tute the whole of his employment; and in this consists all
his science.
Did the universe continue unchanged, this would con¬
stitute the whole of our knowledge of nature ; but we are
witnesses of an uninterrupted succession of changes, and
our attention is continually called to the events which are
incessantly happening around us. These form a set of ob¬
jects vastly more interesting to us than the former, being
the sources of almost all the pleasures or pains we receive
from external objects. We are therefore much interested in
the study of the events which happen around us, and strongly
incited to prosecute it. But they are so numerous and so
multifarious, that the study would be immense, without some
contrivance for abbreviating and facilitating the task. The
same help offers itself here as in the study of what may be
called quiescent nature. Events, like existences, are sus¬
ceptible of classification, in consequence of resemblances
and distinction ; and by attention to these, we can acquire
a very extensive acquaintance with active nature. Our at¬
tention must be chiefly directed to those circumstances in
which many events resemble each other, whilst they differ
perhaps in a thousand others. Then we must attend to
their most general distinctions; then to distinctions of
smaller extent, and so on. It is in this way accordingly
that we have advanced in our knowledge of active nature,
and are gradually, and by no means slowly, forming assem-
SOPHY.
434
PHILOSOPHY.
View of blages of events more and more extensive, and distributing or well-being are we left to the guidance of our boasted View.
Bacon’s these with greater and greater precision into their different reason ; God has given us the surer conduct of natural in- Baer'1
_ o O X .  XT  • _ : ^    Phil
Philoso¬
phy
Constancy
in the
classes.
■ In the zealous and attentive prosecution of this task a
very remarkable and interesting observation occurs. In
describing those circumstances of similarity amongst events,
and particularly in distributing them according to those si¬
milarities, it is impossible for us to overlook that constancy
which is observed in the changes of nature in the events
which are the objects of our contemplation. Events which
have once been observed to accompany each other are ob¬
served always to do so
stincts. No case is so important as this. In none do we so Plll'0S!
much stand in need of a guide which shall be powerful, in- ^
fallible, and rapid in its decisions. Without it we must re- n
main incapable of all instruction from experience, and there¬
fore of all improvement.
Our sensations are undoubtedly feelings of our mind.
But all those feelings are accompanied by an instinctive re¬
ference of them to something distinct from the feelings
themselves. Hence arises our perception of external ob¬
jects, and our very notions of this exlerneity. In like man-
The rising of the sun is always accompanied by the light ner, this anticipation of events, this irresistible connection
of day, and his setting by the darkness of night. Sound
changes of argument is accompanied by conviction, impulse by mo-
nature. tjon; kindness by a feeling of gratitude, and the perception
of good by desire. The unexcepted experience of man¬
kind informs us that the events of nature go on in certain
regular trains; and if sometimes exceptions seem to con¬
tradict this general affirmation, more attentive observation
never fails to remove the exception. Most of the sponta¬
neous events of nature are very complicated ; and it fre¬
quently requires great attention and penetration to discover
the simple event amidst a crowd of unessential circum¬
stances which are at once exhibited to our view. But when
of the idea of fire with the idea of burning, is also a feeling
of the mind ; and this feeling is by a law of human nature
referred, without reasoning, to something external as its
cause ; and, like our sensation, it is considered as a sign of
that external something. It is like the conviction of the
truth of a mathematical proposition. This is referred by us
to something existing in nature, to a necessary and exter¬
nal relation subsisting between the ideas which are the sub¬
jects of the proposition. The conviction is the sign or in¬
dication of this relation by which it is brought to our view.
In precisely the same manner, the irresistible connection
of ideas is interpreted as the sensation or sign of a neces-
we succeed in this discovery, we never fail to acknowledge sary connection of external things or events. These are
the perfect uniformity of the event to what has been for
merly observed. But this is not all. We firmly believe
that this uniformity will still continue ; that fire will melt
wax, will burn paper, will harden clay, as we have formerly
observed it to do ; and whenever we have undoubted proofs
that the circumstances of situation are precisely the same
as in some former case, though but once observed, we ex¬
pect with irresistible and unshaken confidence that the
event will also be the same
supposed to include something in their nature which ren¬
ders them inseparable companions. To this bond of con¬
nection between external things we give the name of Cau¬
sation. All our knowledge of this relation of cause and
effect, is the knowledge or consciousness of what passes in
our own minds during the contemplation of the phenomena
of nature. If we adhere to this view of it, and put this
branch of knowledge on the same footing with those called
the abstract sciences, considering only the relations of ideas,
It is not surely necessary to produce many proofs of the we shall acquire demonstrative science. If w e take any
universality of this law of human thought. The whole lan- other view of the matter, we shall be led into inextricable
guao-e and actions of men are instances of the fact. In all mazes of uncertainty and error.
languages there is a mode of construction which is used to We see, then, that the natural procedure of our faculty of Laws of
express this relation as distinct from all others, and the con- abstraction and arrangement, in order to acquire a inore®^'
versation of the most illiterate never confounds them, ex- speedy and comprehensive knowledge of natural events,
cept when the conceptions themselves are confounded. The presents them to our view in another form. We not only
general employment of the active and passive verb is regu- see them as similar events, but as events naturally and ne-
lated by it. Turris eversa est a militibus ; turns eversa est cessarily conjoined. And the expression ot resemblance
terras motu, express two relations, and no schoolboy will amongst events is also an expression of concomitancj ,
confound them. The distinction therefore is perceived or and this arrangement of events in consequence of their re
felt by all who can speak grammatically. Nor is any lan- semblance is in fact the discovery ot those accompam
o-uage without general terms to express this relation. Nay, ments. 1 he trains of natural appearance being consi er
ft is a fact in the mind of brutes, who hourly show that they ed as the appointments of the Author of Nature, has occa
expect the same uses of every subject which they formerly sioned them to be considered also as consequences ot
made of it; and without this, animals would be incapable ot laws imposed on his works by their great author, and every-
subsistence, and man incapable of all improvement. From thing is said to be regulated by fixed law s. But this is
this alone memory derives all its value ; and even the con- the language of analogy. When a sovereign determines on
stancy of natural operation would be useless if not matched certain trains of conduct for his subjects, he issues his or-
or adapted to our purposes by this expectation of any con- ders. These orders are laws. He enforces the observ-
fidence in that constancy. ance of them by his authority ; and thus a certain regula-
After all the labours of ingenious men to discover the rity and constancy of conduct is produced. But shoul a
foundation of this irresistible expectation, we must be con- stranger, ignorant of the promulgation of these laws, an
tented with saying that such is the constitution of the hu- of the exerted authority of the magistrate, observe this uni-
man mind. It is an universal fact in human thought; and, formity of conduct, he would ascribe it to the genius an
for any thing that has yet been discovered, it is an ultimate disposition of the people ; and his observation w ould be as
fact, not included in any other still more general. We shall useful to him for directing the tenor of his own conduct, as
soon see that this is sufficient for making it the foundation the knowledge of the subject himself of the real source o
of true human knowledge, all of which must in like man- this constancy is for directing his.
ner be reduced to ultimate facts in human thought. We It is just so in nature. Whilst the theologian pretends, from
must consider this undoubted feeling, this persuasion of the his discoveries concerning the existence and supenntenc -
constancy of nature, as an instinctive anticipation of events ence of God, to know that the constant accompanimen o
similar to those wdiich we have already experienced. The events is the consequence of laws which the great Au ior
general analogy of nature should have disposed philoso- and Governor of the universe has imposed on his works,
phers to acquiesce in this, however umvelcome to their va- the ordinary philosopher, a stranger to this scene, and to
nity. In no instance of essential consequence to our safety unsearchable operations of the Supreme Mind, mus
PHILOSOPHY.
435
T Of
in’s
oso-
:v.
O' fts of
pli sophy.
cribe this constancy to the nature of the things. There is
a great resemblance between the expression natural law
and grammatical rule. Rule in strict language implies
command ; but in grammar it expresses merely a genera¬
lity of fact, whether of flexion or construction. In like
manner, a law of nature is to the philosopher nothing but
the expression of a generality of fact. A natural or phy¬
sical law is a generally observed fact; and whenever we
treat any subject as a generally observed; fact, we treat it
physically. It is a physical law of the understanding that
argument is accompanied by conviction; it is- a physical
law of the affection that distress is accompanied by pity;
it is a physical law of the material world that impulse is
accompanied by motion. And thus we see that the ar¬
rangement of events, or the discovery of those general
points of resemblance, is in fact the discovery of the laws
of nature ; and one of the greatest and most important is,
that the laws of nature are constant.
There is no question that this view of the universe is
incomparably more interesting and more important than
that which is taken by the natural historian ; contemplating
everything that is of value to us, and, in short, the whole
life and movement of the universe. This study, therefore,
has been dignified with the name of Philosophy and of
Science; and natural history has been considered as of
importance only in as far as it has proved conducive to the
successful prosecution of philosophy. But the philosopher
claims a superiority on another account. He considers
himself as employed in the discovery of causes, saying that
philosophy is the study of the objects of the universe as re¬
lated by causation, and that it is by the discovery of these
relations that he communicates to the world such important
knowledge. Philosophy, he says, is the science of causes.
The vulgar are contented to consider the prior of two in¬
separably conjoined events as the cause of the other ; the
stroke on a bell, for instance, as the cause of sound. But
it has been clearly shown by the philosopher, that between
the blow struck on the bell and the sensation of sound
there are interposed a long train of events. The blow sets
the bell a trembling; this agitates the air in contact with
the bell; this agitates the air immediately beyond it; and
thus between the bell and the ear may be interposed a
numberless series of events, and as many more between
the first impression on the ear and that last impression on
the nerve by which the mind is affected. He can no longer
therefore follow the nomenclature of the vulgar. Which
of the events of this train, therefore, is the cause of the
sensation ? None of them. It is that something which
inseparably connects any two of them, and constitutes their
bond of union. These bonds of union or causes he consi¬
ders as residing in one or both of the connected objects;
diversities in this respect must therefore constitute the most
important distinctions between them. They are accordingly
with great propriety called the qualities, the properties, of
diese respective subjects.
As the events from which we infer the existence of these
qualities of things resemble in many respects such events
as are the consequences of the exertion of our own powers,
these qualities are frequently denominated powers, forces,
energies. Thus, in the instance which has just now been
given of the sound of a bell, we infer the powers of impulse,
elasticity, nervous irritability, and animal sensibility. In con¬
sequence of this inference of a necessary connection be¬
tween the objects around us, we not only infer the posterior
event from the prior, or, in common language, the effect
from the cause, but we also infer the prior from the poste¬
rior, the cause from the effect. We not only expect that the
presence of a magnet will be followed by certain motions
View of
Bacon’s
Philoso¬
phy-
in iron filings, but when we observe such motions, we in¬
fer the presence and agency of a magnet. Joy is inferred
from merriment, poison from death, fire from smoke, and
impulse from motion. And thus the appearances of the -  
universe are the indications of the powers of the objects in
it. Appearances are the language of nature, informing us
of their causes. And as all our knowledge of the senti¬
ments of others is derived from our confidence in their ve¬
racity, so all our knowledge of nature is derived from our
confidence in the constancy of natural operations. A ve¬
racity and credulity necessarily resulting from that law of
our mental constitution by which we are capable of speech,
conduct us in the one case ; and the constancy of nature,
and the principle of induction, by which we infer general
laws from particular facts, conduct us in the other. As
human sentiment is inferred from language, and the exist¬
ence of external things from sensation, so are the laws of
nature, and the powers of natural objects, inferred from the
phenomena. It is by the successful study of this language
of nature that we derive useful knowledge. The knowledge
of the influence of motives on the mind of man enables the
statesman to govern kingdoms, and the knowledge of the
powers ol magnetism enables the mariner to pilot a ship
through the pathless ocean.
Such are the lofty pretensions of philosophy. It is to be Discoveries
wished that they should be well founded ; for we may be per- °f Aristotle
suaded that a mistake in this particular will be fatal to the?™* ^evv_
advancement of knowledge. An author of great reputation1 pared111*
gives us an opportunity of deciding this question in the
way of experiment. He says that the ancients were phi¬
losophers, employed in the discovery of causes, and that
the moderns are only natural historians, contenting them¬
selves with observing the laws of nature, but paying no
attention to the causes of things. If he speak of their
professed aim, we apprehend that the assertion is pretty
just in general. With very few exceptions indeed it may
be affirmed ol his favourite Aristotle, the philosopher xar’
and of Sir Isaac Newton. We select these two in¬
stances, both because they are set in continual opposition by
this author, and because it will be allowed that they were
the most eminent students of nature (for we must not yet
call them philosophers) in ancient and modern times. Aris¬
totle’s professed aim, in his most celebrated writings, is the
investigation of causes; and, in the opinion of this author,
he has been so successfid, that he has hardly left any em¬
ployment for his successors besides that of commenting up¬
on his works. We must, on the other hand, acknowledge
that Newton makes no such pretensions, at least in that
work which has immortalized his name, and that his pro¬
fessed aim is merely to investigate the general laws of the
planetary motions, and to apply these to the explanation of
particular phenomena. Nor will we say that he has left no
employment for succeeding inquirers ; but, on the contrary,
confess that he has only begun the study, has discovered
but one law, and has enabled us to explain only the phe¬
nomena comprehended in it alone. But he has not been
unsuccessful; his investigation has been complete; and
he has discovered, beyond all possibility of contradiction, a
fact which is observed through the whole extent of the so¬
lar system, namely, that every body, nay, that every par¬
ticle in it, is continually deflected toward every other body,
and that every deflection is, in every instance, proportional
to the quantity of matter in that body toward which the
deflection is directed, and to the reciprocal of the square of
the distance from it. He has therefore discovered a phy¬
sical law of immense extent. Nor has he been in any
degree less successful in the explanation of particular phe¬
nomena. Of this there cannot be given a better instance
1 Ancient Metaphysics.
436
PHILOSOPHY.
View of than the explanation of the lunar motions from the theory
Bacons gravity begun by iNewton, Mctthesi suci fctcew,prcpferente,
Philoso- ¥ ¥ 6,. i i ^ if
phy-
and now brought to such a degree of perfection, that if the
^ moon’s place be computed from it for any moment within
the period of two thousand years back, it will not be found
to differ from the place on which she was actually observed
by one hundredth part of her own breadth.
Discimus hinc tandem qua causa argentea Plicebe
Passibus baud sequis eat, et cur, cognita nulli
Hactenus astronomo, numerorum frena recusat.
Qua; toties animos veterum torsere sophorum,
Quseque scholas hodie rauco certamine vexant,
Ob via conspicimus, nube pellente mathesi;
Qua superos penetrare domes, et ardua coeli
Newtoni auspiciis jam dat contingere templa.
We may now perhaps desire the champions of the science
of causes to name any one cause which has really been disco¬
vered by their great master, whether in the operations of
mind or of body. But they must not on this occasion ad¬
duce the investigation of any natural law, in which he has
sometimes succeeded. With still greater confidence may
we challenge them to produce any remarkable instance of
the explanation of natural phenomena, either of mind or
body. By explanation we mean an account of the produc¬
tion, and an appreciation of all the circumstances, suscep¬
tible of a scrupulous comparison with fact, and perfectly
consistent with it. It is here that the weakness of this
philosopher’s pretensions is most conspicuous ; and his fol¬
lowers candidly acknowledge, that in the inquiries which
proceed by experiment, we have not derived any great as¬
sistance from Aristotle’s philosophy. But this, say they, does
not derogate from the pre-eminence of his philosophy, be¬
cause he has shown that the particular fields of observation
are to be cultivated only by means of experiment. But
surely every field of observation is particular. There is no
abstract object of philosophical research, the study of which
shall terminate in the philosophy of umversals. In every
kind of inquiry, that cause alone must be supposed to act
which we understand so far as to be able to appreciate its
effects in particular circumstances, and compare them with
fact, and see their perfect coincidence. If we have disco¬
vered causes, they are knoum as far as they are discovered.
Their genuine effects are known, and therefore the pheno¬
mena which result from their agency are understood. When
therefore it is acknowledged, as it must be acknowledged,
that mankind have made but little advances in the know¬
ledge of nature, notwithstanding the pretended discovery of
causes by Aristotle, and the conducting clue of his philo¬
sophy, until of late years ; and when it is also allowed that
now, whilst we are every day making great additions to this
subordinate knowledge, the causes which Aristotle has dis¬
covered are forgotten, and his philosophy is neglected;
there is great room for suspecting, to say the least, that
either the causes which philosophy pretends to have disco¬
vered are not real, or that Aristotle and his followers have
not aimed at the discovery of causes, but only at the disco¬
very of natural laws, and have failed in the attempt.
Philosopbi- But there seems here to be a previous question : Is it
cal causes, possible to discover a philosophical cause, that something
which is neither the prior nor the posterior of the two im¬
mediately adjoining events, but their bond of union, and
• this, too, distinct from the union itself ? It is evident that
this is an inquiry purely experimental. It is of human know-
ledge we speak. This must depend upon the nature of the
human mind. This is a matter of contingency, known to
us only by experiment and observation. By observing all
the feelings and operations of the mind, and classing and
arranging them like any other object of science, we discover
the general laws of human thought and human reasoning;
and this is all the knowledge we can ever acquire of it, or
of any thing else.
Much has been written upon this subject. The most View
acute observation and the soundest judgment have been
employed in the study; and we may venture to say that
considerable progress has been made in pneumatology. ^ ^
Many laws of human thought have been observed, and very
distinctly marked; and philosophers are busily employed,
some of them with considerable success, in the distribution
of them into subordinate classes, so as to know their com¬
parative extent, and to mark their distinguishing characters,
with a precision similar to that which has been attained in
botany and other parts of natural history, so that we may
hope that this study will advance like others. But in all
these researches no phenomena have occurred which look
like the perception or contemplation of these separate ob¬
jects of thought, these philosophical causes, this power in
abstracto. No philosopher has ever pretended to state such
an object of the mind’s observation, or attempted to group
them into classes.
We may say at once, without entering into any detail,
that those causes, those bonds of necessary union between
the naturally conjoined events or objects, are not only per¬
ceived by means of the events alone, but are perceived
solely in the events, and cannot be distinguished from the
conjunctions themselves. They are neither the objects of
separate observation, nor the productions of memory, nor
inferences drawn from reflection on the laws by which the
operation of our own minds are regulated; nor can they
be derived from other preceptions in the way of argumen¬
tative inference. We cannot infer the paroxysm of terror
from the appearance of impending destruction, or the fall
of a stone when not supported, as we infer the incommen¬
surability of the diagonal and side of a square. This last
is implied in the very conception or notion of a square, not
as a consequence of its other properties, but as one of its
essential attributes; and the contrary proposition is not
only false, but incapable of being distinctly conceived. This
is not the case with the other phenomenon, or any matter
of fact. The proofs which are brought of a mathematical
proposition are not the reason of its being true, but the
steps by which this truth is brought into our view; and
frequently, as in the instance now given, this truth is per¬
ceived, not directly, but consequentially, by the inconceiv¬
ableness of the contrary proposition.
Mr Hume derives this irresistible expectation of events Mr am
from the known effect of custom, the association of ideas. “T
The co-related event is brought into the mind by this well-^..
known power of custom, with that vivacity of conception
which constitutes belief or expectation. But without in¬
sisting on the futility of his theory of belief, it is sufficient
to observe, that this explanation begs the very thing to be
proved, when it ascribes to custom a power of any kind. It
is the origin of this very power which is the subject in dis¬
pute. Besides, upon the genuine principles of scepticism,
this custom involves an acknowledgment of past events,
of a something different from present impressions, which, in
this doctrine, if doctrine it can be called, are the only cer¬
tain existences in nature ; and, lastly, it is known that one
clear experience is a sufficient foundation for this unshaken
confidence and anticipation. General custom can never,
upon Mr Hume’s principles, give superior vivacity to any
particular idea. - , ^ i
This certain nonentity of it as a separate object ot obse * Anothe
vation, and this impossibility to derive the notion of neces-hypo <
sary and causal connection between the events of the uni¬
verse from any source, have induced two of the most acute
philosophers of Europe, Leibnitz and Maiebranche, to deny
that there is any such connection, and to assert that t e
events of the universe go on in corresponding trains, but
without any causal connection, just as a well-regulated cloc
will keep time with the motions of the heavens, witbou
any kind of dependence upon them. This harmony (
PHILOSOPHY.
437
p:- o-
events was pre-established by the Author of the universe,
in subserviency to the purposes he had in view in its for¬
mation ; and all those purposes which are cognisable by us
may certainly be accomplished by this perfect adjustment.
But without insisting on the fantastical wildness of this
ingenious whim, it is quite enough to observe, that it also
is a begging of the question, because it supposes causation
when it ascribes all to the agency of the Deity.
Thus have we searched every quarter, without being able
to find a source from which to derive this perception of a
necessary connection amongst the events of the universe, or
of this confident expectation of the continuance of physical
laws; and yet we are certain of the feeling, and of the per¬
suasion, be its origin what it may ; for we speak intelligibly
on this subject. We speak familiarly of cause, effect, power,
energy, necessary connection, motives and their influence,
argument and conviction, reasons and persuasion, allure¬
ments and emotions, of gravity, magnetism, irritability, &c.;
and we carry on conversations on these subjects with much
entertainment and seeming instruction. Language is the
expression of thought, and every word expresses some no¬
tion or conception of the mind; therefore it must be al¬
lowed that we have such notions as are expressed by cause,
power, energy. But it is here, as in many cases, we per¬
ceive a distinction without being able to express it by a
definition ; and that we do perceive the relation of causa¬
tion as distinct from all others, and in particular as distinct
from the relation of contiguity in time and place, or the re¬
lation of agent, action, and patient, must be concluded from
the uniformity of language, which never confounds them
except on purpose, and when it is perceived. But even
here we shall find, that none of the terms used for express¬
ing those powers of substance which are conceived as the
causes of their characteristic phenomena, really express any
thing different from the phenomena themselves. Let any
person try to define the terms gravity, elasticity, sensibili¬
ty, and the like, and he will find that the definition is no¬
thing but a description of the phenomena itself. The wrords
are all derivatives, most of them verbal derivatives, imply¬
ing action, gravitation, and so on. As the general resem¬
blances in shape, colour, or otherwise, are expressed by
the natural historian by generic terms, so the general re¬
semblances in event are expressed by the philosopher in ge¬
neric propositions, which, in the progress of cultivation, are
also abbreviated into generic terms.
This abundantly explains the consistency of our language
on this subject, both with itself and the operations of nature,
without, however, affording any argument for the truth of
the assumption, that causes are the objects of philosophical
research as separate existences; or that this supposed ne¬
cessary connection is a necessary truth, whether supreme or
subordinate. But since the perception of it has its founda¬
tion in the constitution of the human mind, it seems en¬
titled to the name of a first principle. We are hardly al¬
lowed to doubt of this, when we consider the importance of
it, and the care of nature to secure us, in all things essential
to our safety and well-being, from all danger, from inatten¬
tion, ignorance, or indolence, by an instinct infallible in its
information and instantaneous in its decisions. “ It wmuld
not be like her usual care,” says Hume, “ if this operation
of the mind, by which we infer like effects from like causes,
and vice versa, were intrusted to the fallacious deduction
of our reason, which is slow in its operations, appears not
in any degree during the first years of infancy, and in every
age and period of human life is extremely liable to error.
It is more conformable to her ordinary caution to secure so
necessary an act of the mind by some instinct, or blind ten¬
dency, which may be infallible and rapid in all its opera¬
tions, may discover itself at the first appearance of life, and
may be independent of all the laboured deductions of rea¬
son. As she has taught us the use of our limbs, without
View of
Bacon’s
Philoso¬
phy.
giving us any knowledge of the nerves and muscles by which
they are actuated ; so she has implanted in us an instinct,
wThich carries forward the thought in a course conformable
to that established among external objects, though we be
ignorant of the powers and forces on which this regularity
depends.”
Such a knowledge is quite unnecessary, and therefore
causes are no more cognisable by our intellectual powers
than colours by a man born blind; nay, whoever will be at
the pains to consider this matter agreeably to the received
rules and maxims of logic, will find that necessary connec¬
tion, or the bond of causation, can no more be the subject
of philosophical discussion by man than the ultimate na¬
ture of truth. It is precisely the same absurdity or incon¬
gruity as to propose to examine light with a microscope.
Other rational creatures may perceive them as easily as we
hear sounds. All that we can say is, that their existence is
probable, but by no means certain. Nay, it may be, though
we may never know it, that we are not the efficient causes
of our own actions, which may be effected by the Deity or
by ministering spirits; and this may even be true in the
material world. But all this is indifferent to the real occu¬
pation of the philosopher, and does not affect either the
certainty, the extent, or the utility of the knowledge which
he may acquire.
We are now able to appreciate the high pretensions of The object
the philosopher, and his claim to scientific superiority. "We of the phi-
now see that this can neither be founded on any scientific
superiority of his object, nor of his employment. His ob- verv 0r
ject is not causes, and his discoveries are nothing but the physical
discovery of general facts, the discovery of physical laws; laws,
and his employment is the same with that of the descriptive
historian. He observes and describes with care and accu¬
racy the events of nature; and then he groups them into
classes, in consequence of resembling circumstances, de¬
tected in the midst of many others which are dissimilar and
occasional. By gradually throwing out more circumstances
of resemblance, he renders his classes more extensive ; and
by carefully marking those circumstances in which the re¬
semblance is observed, he characterizes all the different
classes ; and by a comparison of these with each other, in
respect to the number of resembling circumstances, he dis¬
tributes his classes according to their generality and subor¬
dination ; thus exhausting the whole assemblage, and leav¬
ing nothing unarranged but accidental varieties. In this
procedure it is to be remarked, that every grouping of si¬
milar events is, ipso facto, discovering a general fact, a phy¬
sical law ; and the expression of this assemblage is the ex¬
pression of the physical law. And as every observation of
this constancy of fact affords an opportunity for exerting the
instinctive inference of natural connection between the re¬
lated subjects, every such observation is the discovery of
a power, property, or quality of natural substance. From
what has been said, this observation of event is all we know
of the connection, all we know of the natural pow er. And
when the philosopher proceeds farther to the arrangement
of events, according to their various degrees of complica¬
tion, he is, ipso facto, making an arrangement of all natural
powers according to their various degrees of subordinate in¬
fluence. Thus his occupation is perfectly similar to that
of the descriptive historian, namely, classification and ar¬
rangement ; and this constitutes all the science attainable
by both.
Philosophy may therefore be defined the study of the Philosophy
phenomena of the universe, with a view to discover the ge- defined,
neral laws which indicate the powers of natural substances,
to explain subordinate phenomena, and to improve art; or,
in compliance with that natural instinct so much spoken of,
philosophy is the study of the phenomena of the universe,
w ith a view to discover their causes, to explain subordinate
phenomena, and to improve art. The task is undoubtedly
PHILOSOPHY.
438
View of difficult, and will exercise our noblest powers. The em-
Bacon s ployment is manly in itself, and the result of it important.
1 phy80* ^ therefore justly merits the appellation of Philosophy, al-
v  , though its objects are now ise different from what occupy the
attention of other men.
The em- The employment of the philosopher, like that of the natu-
ployment rai historian, is threefold, viz. desorption, arrangement, and
f t!l® P1^' reference ; whilst the objects are not things, but events. The
oi°p er. wpen empi0yed about events, may be more pro¬
perly termed history. A philosophical history of nature con¬
sists in a complete or copious enumeration and narration of
facts, properly selected, cleared of all unnecessary or extra¬
neous circumstances, and accurately narrated. This con¬
stitutes the materials of philosophy. We cannot give a bet¬
ter example of this branch of philosophical occupation than
astronomy. From the beginning of the Alexandrian school
to this day, astronomers have been at immense pains in ob¬
serving the heavenly bodies, in order to detect their true
motions. This has been a work of prodigious difficulty; for
the appearances are such as might have been exhibited al¬
though the real motions had been extremely different. Not
that our senses give us false information; but we form has¬
ty, and frequently false judgments, from these informations ;
and call those things deceptions of sense, which are in fact
errors of judgment. But the true motions have at last been
discovered, and have been described with such accuracy,
that the history may be considered as nearly complete. This
is to be found in the usual systems of astronomy, where the
tables contain a most accurate and synoptical account of
the motion, so that we can tell with precision in what point
of the heavens a planet has been seen at any instant that
can be named.
Pbenome- Sir Isaac Newton’s Optics is such another perfect model
nology. of philosophical history, as far as it goes. This part of phi¬
losophy may be called Phenomenology. Having in this man¬
ner obtained the materials of philosophical description, we
must put them into a compendious and perspicuous form,
so that a general knowledge of the universe may be easily
acquired and firmly retained. This is to be done by clas¬
sification and arrangement, and this classification must pro¬
ceed upon resemblances observed in the events; and the sub¬
sequent arrangement must be regulated by the distinctions
of which those resemblances are still susceptible. This as¬
semblage of events into groups must be expressed. They
are facts, therefore the expression must be propositions.
These propositions must be what the logicians call general
or abstract propositions; for they express, not any indivi¬
dual fact of the assemblage, but that circumstance in wdiich
they all resemble. Such propositions are the following:
Proof is accompanied by belief; kindness is accompanied
by gratitude ; impulse is accompanied by motion. These
are usually called general facts, but there are none such ;
every fact is individual. This language, however inaccu¬
rate, is very safe from misconstruction, and we may use it
without scruple. These propositions are natural or physical
laws, and then the detecting or marking those resemblances
in event is the investigation of physical laws ; and we may de¬
nominate this employment of the philosopher Investigation.
In the prosecution of this task, it will be found that the
similarities of fact are of various extent. And thus we shall
form physical laws of various extent, and we shall also find
that some are subordinate to others ; for the resemblance of
a number of facts in one circumstance does not hinder a
part of them from also resembling in another circumstance;
and thus we shall find subordinations of fact in the same
way as of quiescent qualities. And it is found here, as in
natural history, that our assemblage of resembling events
will be the more extensive as the number of resembling
circumstances is smaller; and thus we shall have kingdoms,
classes, orders, genera, and species of phenomena, which are
expressed by physical laws of all those different ranks.
It has already been observed, that this observation of Vievr
physical laws is always accompanied by a reference of that ®a«
uniformity of event to a natural bond of union between the
concomitant facts which is conceived by us as the cause ofy
this concomitancy; and therefore this procedure of the phi- ’’ *
losopher is considered as the discovery of those causes, that
is, the discovery of those powers of natural substances which
constitute their physical relations, and may justly be called
their distinguishing qualities or properties. This view of
the matter gives rise to a new nomenclature and language,
We give to those powers generic names, such as sensibility,
intelligence, irritability, gravity, elasticity, fluidity, magne¬
tism, and the like. These terms, without exception, mark
resembling circumstances of event; and no other definition
can be given of them except a description of these circum¬
stances. In a few cases which have been the subjects of
more painful or refined discussion, we have proceeded farther
in this abbreviation of language.
We have framed the verb “ to gravitate,” and also the Aitiok
verbal noun “ gravitation,” which purely expresses the fact,
the phenomenon, but is conceived to express the operation
or energy of the cause or natural power. It is of import¬
ance to keep in mind this metaphysical remark on these
terms ; for a want of attention to the pure meaning of the
words has frequently occasioned very great mistakes in phi¬
losophical science. We may with propriety call this part of
the philosopher’s employment Aitiology.
We shall give an instance of its most successful applica-Keple:'
tion to the class of events already adduced as an example !awsa
of philosophical history or phenomenology. Kepler, a ce-lnstaiK:
lebrated Prussian astronomer, having maturely considered
the phenomena recorded in the tables and observations of
his predecessors, discovered, amidst all the varieties of the
planetary motions, three circumstances of resemblance,
which are now known by the name of Kepler’s Laws. 1.
All the planets describe ellipses, having the sun in one fo¬
cus. 2. The elliptical areas described by a planet in the
different parts of its orbit are proportional to the times of
description. 3. The squares of the periodic times are pro¬
portional to the cubes of the mean distances from the sun.
By this observation or discovery, the study of the plane¬
tary motions was greatly promoted, and the calculation of
their appearances was now made with a facility and an ac¬
curacy which surpassed all hopes ; for the calculation of the
place of a planet at any proposed instant was reduced to the
geometrical problem of cutting off an area from an ellipse
of known dimensions, which should bear the same propor¬
tion to the whole area, as the time for the duration of which
the motion is required has to the known time of a com¬
plete revolution.
Long after this discovery of Kepler, Sir Isaac Newton These
found that these laws of Kepler were only particular cases
of a fact or law still more general. He found that the de-der t)ie
flections of the planets from uniform rectilineal motion wereinore p
all directed to the sun ; and that the simultaneous deflec-rallaw
tions were inversely proportional to the squares of the dis-gi'a'ita
tances from that body. Thus was established a physical
law of vast extent. But further observation showed him,
that the motion of every body of the solar system was com¬
pounded of an original motion of projection, combined with
a deflection towards every other body; and that the simul¬
taneous deflections were proportional to the quantity of mat¬
ter in the body towards which they were directed, and to the
reciprocal of the square of the distance from it. Thus was
the law made still more general. But he did not stop here.
He compared the deflection of the moon in her orbit with
the simultaneous deflection of a stone thrown from the hand,
and describing a parabola; and he found that they followed
the same law, that is, that the deflection of the moon in a
second, was to that of the stone in the same time, as the
square of the stone’s distance from the centre of the eart i
PHILOSOPHY.
459
rif
,tte| fs
) ini de
list
nde. a-
to the square of the moon’s distance from it. Hence he con¬
cluded, that the deflection of a stone from a straight line was
just a particular instance of the deflections which took place
throughout the whole solar system. The deflection of a stone
is one of the indications it gives of its being gravis or heavy,
whence he calls it gravitation. He therefore expresses the
physical law which obtains throughout the whole solar sys¬
tem by saying that “ every body gravitates to every other
body; and the gravitations are proportional to the quantity
of matter in that other body, and inversely proportional to
the square of the distance from it.”
Thus we see how the arrangement of the celestial phe¬
nomena terminated in the discovery of physical laws ; and
that the expression of this arrangement is the law itself.
Since the fall of a heavy body is one instance of the physi¬
cal law, and since this fall is considered by all as the effect
of its weight, and this weight is considered as the cause of
the fall, the same cause is assigned for all the deflections
observed in the solar system, and all the matter in it is
found to be under the influence of this cause, or to be heavy ;
and thus his doctrine has been denominated the system of
universal gravitation.
Philosophers have gone farther, and supposed that gravity
is a power, property, or quality, residing in all the bodies of
the solar system. Sir Isaac Newton does not expressly say
so, at least in that work where he gives an account of these
discoveries. He contents himself with the immediate con¬
sequence of the first axiom in natural philosophy, viz. that
every body remains in a state of rest, or of uniform recti¬
lineal motion, unless affected by some moving force. Since
the bodies of the solar system are neither in a state of rest,
nor of uniform rectilineal motion, they must be considered
as so affected ; that is, that there operates on every one of
them a moving force, directed towards all the others, and
having the proportions observed in the deflection.
Other philosophers have endeavoured to show, that this
general fact, detected by Sir Isaac Newton, is included in
another still more general, viz. that every body moves which
is impelled by another body in motion. They assert, that
all the bodies of the solar system are continually impelled
by means of a fluid which they call ether, which is moving in
all places, and in all directions, or in circular vortices, and
hurries along with it the planets and all heavy bodies. It
would seem that the familiarity of motion produced by im¬
pulse, at least in those instances in which our own exertions
are most employed, has induced philosophers to adopt such
notions; perhaps, too, they are influenced by an obscure
and indistinct notion affixed to the term action, as applied
to changes in the material world, and which has given rise
to an axiom, “ that a body cannot act at a distance, or where
it is not,” and thus have thought themselves obliged to look
out for an immediate and contiguous agent in all these phe¬
nomena.
But the philosophers who profess to be most scrupulous
in their adherence to the rules of philosophic discussion
deny the legitimacy of this pretended investigation of
causes, saying that this doctrine is in direct opposition to
the procedure of the mind in acquiring the knowledge of
causes. Since the fact of impulse is not really observed in
the celestial deflections, nor in the motions of heavy bodies,
the law cannot be inferred. They say that it is not even
necessary to show that the phenomena of the celestial mo¬
tions are unlike the phenomena of impulse, although this
can be done in the completest manner. It is enough that
neither the fluid nor the impulse are observed; and there¬
fore they are in the right when they assert that there is
inherent in, or accompanies, all the bodies of the system, a
power by which they deflect to one another. The debate
is foreign to our present purpose, which is only to show how
the observation and arrangement of phenomena terminate
w the discovery of their causes, or the discovery of the
powers or properties of natural substances. This is a task View of
of great difficulty, as it is of great importance. Bacon's
There are two chief causes of this difficulty. 1. In most Bhiloso-
of the spontaneous phenomena of nature there is a compli-
cation of many events, and some of them escape our obser- Causes of
vation. Attending only to the most obvious or remark-the difficul-
able, we conjoin these only in our imagination, and are apt of philo-
to think these the concomitant events in nature, the proper S0P^ca^n"
indication of the cause, and the subjects of this philosophi-^j1-1
cal relation, and to suppose that they are always conjoined
by nature. Thus it was thought that there resided in a
vibrating chord a power by which the sensation of sound
was excited, or that a chord had a sounding quality. But
it appears clearly from observation that there is an incon¬
ceivable number of events interposed between the vibra¬
tion of the chord and the sensitive affection of our ear ;
and therefore, that sound is not the effect of the vibration
of the chord, but of the very last event of this series ; and
this is completely demonstrated by showing that the vibra¬
tion and the sound are not necessarily connected, because
they are not always connected, but require the interposition
of air or of some other elastic body. These observations show
the necessity of the most accurate and minute observation
of the phenomena, that none of those intermediate events
may escape us, and we be thus exposed to the chance of
imaginary connections between events which are really far
asunder in the procedure of nature. As the study has im¬
proved, mistakes of this kind have been corrected ; and phi¬
losophers have become careful to make their trains of events
under one name as short as possible. Thus, in medicine, a
drug is no longer considered as a specific remedy for the
disease which is sometimes cured when it has been used,
but is denominated by its most immediate operation on
the animal frame ; it is no longer called a febrifuge, but a
sudorific.
2. When many natural powers combine their influence
in a spontaneous phenomenon of nature, it is frequently
very difficult to discover what part of the complicated ef¬
fect is the effect of each ; and to state those circumstances
of similarity which are the foundation of a physical lav/, or
entitle us to infer the agency of any natural power. The
most likely method for insuring success in such cases is to
get rid of this complication of event, by putting the subject
into such a situation that the operation of all the known
powers of nature shall be suspended, or so modified as that
we may perfectly understand their effects. We can thus ap¬
preciate the effects of such as we could neither modify nor
suspend, or we can discover the existence of a new law,
the operation of a new power.
This, which is called making an experiment, is, of all, the Experi-
most effectual way of advancing in the knowledge of na- mental phi-
ture, and it has been called Experimental Philosophy. It l°i:0pliy.
seems, however, at first sight, in direct opposition to the
procedure of nature in forming general laws. These are
formed by induction from multitudes of individual facts,
and must be affirmed to no greater extent than the induc¬
tion on which they are founded. Yet it is a matter of fact,
a physical law of human thought, that one simple, clear,
and unequivocal experiment gives us the most complete
confidence in the truth of a general conclusion from it to
every similar case. Whence this anomaly ? It is not an
anomaly or contradiction of the general maxim of philoso¬
phical investigation, but the most refined application of it.
There is no law more general than this, that “ Nature is
constant in all her operations.” The judicious and simple
form of our experiment insures us in the complete know¬
ledge of all the circumstances of the event. Upon this
supposition, and upon this alone, we consider the experiment
as the faithful representative of every possible case of the
conjunction. This will be more minutely considered after¬
wards.
440
PHILOSOPHY.
Vie w of The last branch of philosophical occupation is the expla-
■Roo/vn’c r* i t __i   T'liic ic nntV»ino* mnrp
Bacon s nation of subordinate phenomena* This is nothing more
PliilOSO- 1.1 ^ n v-VXT r»nl Qr n
, than the referring any particular phenomenon to that class
v^rj^in which it is included; or, in the language of philosophy,
Theory or it is the pointing out the general law, or that general fact
explanation of which the phenomenon is a particular instance. Thus
of subordi- the feeling of the obligations of virtue is thought to be ex-
natepheno- ,ained when it }s shown to be a particular case of that re-
mena' gard which every person has for his dearest interests. The
rise of water in pumps is explained when we show it to be
a particular case of the pressure of fluids, or of the air.
The general law under which we show it to be properly ar¬
ranged is called the principle of the explanation, and the
explanation itself is called the theory of the phenomenon.
Thus Euler’s explanation of the lunar irregularities is call¬
ed a theory of the lunar motions on the principle of gravi¬
tation. This may be done either in order to advance our
own knowledge of nature, or to communicate it to others.
If done with the first view, we must examine the phenome¬
non minutely, and endeavour to detect every circumstance
in it, and thus discover all the known laws of nature which
concur in its production; we then appreciate the opera¬
tion of each, according to the circumstances of its exer¬
tion ; we then combine all these, and compare the result
with the phenomenon. If they are similar, we have ex¬
plained the phenomenon. We cannot give a better exam¬
ple than Franklin’s explanation of the phenomena of thun¬
der and lightning. . ,
If we explain a phenomenon from known principles, we
proceed synthetically from the general law already estab¬
lished and known to exert its influence in the present in¬
stance. We state this influence both in kind and degree,
according to the circumstances of the case; and having
combined them, we compare the result with the phenome¬
non, and show their agreement, and thus it is explained.
Thus, because all the bodies of the solar system mutually
gravitate, the moon gravitates to the sun as wTell as to the
earth, and is continually, and in a certain determinate man¬
ner, deflected from that part which she would describe did
she gravitate only to the earth. Her motion round the
earth will be retarded during the first and third quarters of
her orbit, and accelerated during the second and fourth.
Her orbit and her period will be increased during our win¬
ter, and diminished during our summer. Her apogee will
advance, and her nodes will recede ; the inclination of her
orbit will be greatest when the nodes are in syzigee, and
least when they are in quadrature ; and all these variations
will be in certain precise degrees. Then we show that all
these things actually obtain the lunar motions, and they are
considered as explained.
Fundamen- This summary account of the object and employment in
tal proposi- all philosophical discussion is sufficient for pointing out its
tion of phi- piace jn the circle of the sciences, and will serve to direct
losophical ug to the pr0per methods of prosecuting it with success,
discussion. JEvents are its 0bject; and they are considered as connect¬
ed with each other by causation, which may therefore be
called the philosophical relation of things. The following
may be adopted as the fundamental proposition on which
all philosophical discussion proceeds, and under which every
philosophical discussion or discovery may be arranged:—
“ Every change that we observe in the state or condition
of things is considered by us as an effect, indicating the
agency, characterizing the kind, and determining the de¬
gree of its inferred cause.”
As thus enounced, this proposition is evidently a physi¬
cal law of human thought. It may be enounced as a ne¬
cessary and independent truth, by saying that every change
in the state and condition of things is an effect, &c. And ac¬
cordingly it has been so enounced by Dr Reid ;l and its title
to this denomination has been abundantly supported by him. Vie f
But we have no occasion to consider it as possessing this IW s ;
quality. We are speaking of philosophy, which is some- ^ >■
thing contingent, depending on the existence and constitu-
tion of an intellectual being such as man; and, in confor¬
mity to the view which we have endeavoured to give of
human knowledge in the subjects of philosophical relation,
it is quite sufficient for our purpose that we maintain its
title to the rank of an universal law of human thought. This
will make it a first principle, even although it may not be a
necessary truth.
All the proof necessary for this purpose is universality of
fact; and wre believe this to be without exception. We are
not to expect that all mankind have made, or will ever make,
a formal declaration of their opinion ; but we may venture to
say that all have made it, and continually do make it, vir¬
tually. What have the philosophers of all ages been em¬
ployed about except the discovery of the causes of those
changes that are incessantly going on ? “ Nil turpius phy-
sico,” says Cicero, “ quam fieri sine causa quidquam di-
cere.” Human curiosity has been directed to nothing so
powerfully and so constantly as to this. Many absurd causes
have been assigned for the phenomena of the universe; but
no set of men have ever said that they happened without a
cause. This is so repugnant to all our propensities and in¬
stincts, that even the atheistical philosophers, who, of all
others, would have profited most by the doctrine, have never
thought of advancing it. To avoid so shocking an absur¬
dity, they have rather allowed that chance, and the con¬
course of atoms, are the causes of the beautiful arrange¬
ments of nature. The thoughtless vulgar are no less soli¬
citous than the philosophers to discover the cause of things;
and the poet expresses the natural and instinctive passion
of all men when he says,
Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.
And this anxiety is not to nourish, but to get rid of super¬
stitious fears; for thus
 metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari.
Had men never speculated, their conduct alone gives suffi¬
cient evidence of the universality of the opinion. The whole
conduct of man is regulated by it, nay, almost wholly pro¬
ceeds upon it, in the most important matters, and where
experience seems to leave us in doubt; and to act other¬
wise, as if any thing wdiatever happened without a cause,
would be a declaration of insanity. Dr Reid has beautiful¬
ly illustrated this truth, by observing, that even a child will
laugh at you if you try to persuade him that the top, which
he misses from the place where he left it, was taken away
by nobody. You may persuade him that it was taken away
by a fairy or a spirit; but he believes no more about this
nobody than the master of the house, when he is told that
nobody was the author of any piece of theft or mischief
What opinion would be formed, says Dr Reid, of the intei-
lects of the juryman, on a trial for murder by persons un¬
known, who should say that the fractured skull, the watch
and money gone, and other like circumstances, might pos¬
sibly have no cause ? He would be pronounced insane or
We believe that Mr Hume is the first author who has This
ventured to call the truth of this opinion in question; and^P^,
even he does it only in the way of mere possibility. Heac-^jj.
knowledges the generality of the opinion, and he only ob-Humi
jects to the foundation of this generality ; and he objects to
it merely because it does not quadrate with his theory ot
belief, and therefore it may happen that some men may
have no such opinion. But it must be observed on this oc-
1 Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man.
PHILOSOPHY.
casion, that the opinion of a philosopher is of no greater
weight in a case like this than that of a ploughboy. If it
be a first principle, directing the opinions and actions of
, all, it must operate on the minds of all. The philosopher
is the only person who may chance to be without it; for it
requires much labour, and long habits resolutely maintain¬
ed, to warp our natural sentiments ; and experience shows
us that they may be warped if we are at sufficient pains. It
is also worthy of remark, that this philosopher seems as
much under the influence of this law as ordinary mortals.
It is only when he is aware of its not tallying with his other
doctrines that his scruples appear. Observe how he speaks
when off his guard : “ As to those impressions which arise
from the senses, their ultimate cause is, in my opinion, per¬
fectly inexplicable by human reason ; and it will always be
impossible to decide with certainty whether they arise im¬
mediately from the object, are produced by the creative
power of the mind, or are derived from the Author of our
being.”
Amongst these alternatives he never thought of their not
being derived from any cause. But it is not enough to show
that this is a physical law of the human mind. We have
assumed it as a first principle, the foundation of a whole
science, and therefore not included in or derived from any
thing more general. Mr Hume’s endeavours to prove that it
is not a necessary truth, show with sufficient evidence that
most attempts to derive it in the way of argument are peti¬
tions principii; a thing very commonly met with in all at¬
tempts to prove first principles. It cannot be proved by
induction of facts that every event has a cause, because in¬
duction always supposes an observed fact or event. Now
in by far the greater number of events the causes are un¬
known. Perhaps in no event whatever do we know the real
cause, or that power or energy which, without any inter¬
vention, produces the effect. No man can say that, in the
simplest event which he ever observed, he was fully ap¬
prised of every circumstance which concurred to its pro¬
duction. We suppose that no event in nature can be ad¬
duced more simple than the motion of a suspended glass
ball when gently struck by another glass ball; and we ima¬
gine that most of our readers will say that they perfectly see
every thing which happens in this phenomenon. We be¬
lieve, too, that most of our readers are of opinion that a body
is never put in motion but by the impulse of another, ex¬
cept in the cases of animal motion ; and that they are dis¬
posed to imagine that magnets put iron in motion, and that
an electrified body moves another, by means of an interpos¬
ed though invisible fluid somehow circulating round them.
Now we must inform such readers, that unless the stroke
has been very smart, so smart indeed as to shatter the glass
balls, the motion of the suspended ball was produced with¬
out impulse; that is, the two balls were not in contact du¬
ring the stroke, and the distance between them was not
less than the nine thousandth part of an inch, and probably
much greater. We must say farther, that it is not certain
that even the violent stroke, such as would shatter them to
pieces, is enough to bring them into real contact.
Unless, therefore, our readers are willing to allow that
t e suspended ball was put in motion by a repulsive force
inherent in one or both balls, they must acknowledge that
they, do not fully know all the circumstances of this so
simple phenomenon, or all the train of events which happen
m it; and therefore they are reduced to the necessity of
supposing, although they do not see it, an intervening fluid
or matter, by the immediate action of the adjoining par-
ticles of whieh the motion is produced.
his being the case in the simplest phenomenon that
we can pitch upon, what shall we say of the numberless
mu titudes which are incomparably more complex. Must
We,no^ at‘knowledge that the efficient causes, even in the
^u^gar sense of the word, the immediately preceding events,
441
Philoso¬
phy-
are unknown, because the conjunctions are not observed ; View of
and therefore it cannot be said that it is from experimen- Bacon’s
tal induction that this truth gains universal belief. Expe¬
rience, so far from supporting it as a direct proof, seems ra- ^
ther the strongest argument against it; for we have no ex¬
periment of unquestionable authority but the narrow circle
of our own power exerted upon our thoughts and actions.
And even here there are perhaps cases of change where
we cannot say with certainty that we perceive the efficient
cause. Nothing seems to remain, therefore, but to allow that
this physical law of human judgment is instinctive, a con¬
stituent of the human soul, a first principle, and incapable
of any other proof than the appeal to the feelings of every
man.
Simply to state, that every change is considered as an Causes not
effect, is not giving the whole characters of this physical observed,
law. I he cause is not always, perhaps never, observed, mfer-
but it is inferred from the phenomena. The inference is Ij f
therefore in every instance dependent on the phenomenon. meiia
The phenomenon is to us the language of nature. It is
therefore the sole indication of the cause and of its agency;
it is the indication of the very cause, and of no other. The
observed change therefore characterizes the cause, and marks
its kind. I his is confirmed by every word of philosophical
language, where, as has already been observed, the names
of the inferred powers of nature are nothing but either ab¬
breviated descriptions of the phenomena, or terms which
are defined solely by such descriptions. In like manner,
the phenomenon determines the cause in a particular de¬
gree, and in no other; and we have no immediate measure
of the degree of the cause but the phenomenon itself. We
take many measures of the cause, it is true ; but on exami¬
nation they wrill be found not to be immediate measures of
the cause, but of the effect. Assuming gravitation as the
cause of the planetary deviations from uniform rectilineal
motion, we say that the gravitation of the moon is but
TTTboth Part of the gravitation of a stone thrown from the
hand; but we say this only from observing that the deflec¬
tion of the stone is three thousand six hundred times great¬
er than the simultaneous deflection of the moon. In short,
our whole knowledge of the cause is not only founded on
our knowledge of the phenomenon, but it is the same. This
will be found a remark of immense consequence in the pro¬
secution of philosophical researches ; and a strict attention
to it will not only guard us against a thousand mistakes into
which the reasoning pride of man would continually lead us,
but will also enable us fully to detect may egregious and
fatal blunders made in consequence of this philosophical va¬
nity. Nothing can be more evident than that, whenever we
are puzzled, it would be folly to continue groping amongst
those obscure beings called causes, when we have their pro¬
totypes, the phenomena themselves, in our hands.
Such is the account which may be given of philosophy,
the study of'the works of God, as related by causation. It
is of vast extent, reaching from an atom to the glorious
Author of the universe, and contemplating the whole con¬
nected chain of intelligent, sensitive, and inanimate beings.
The philosopher makes use of the descriptions and arrange¬
ments of the natural historian as of mighty use to himself
in the beginning of his career, confiding in the uniformity
of nature, and expecting that similarity in the quiescent
properties of things will be accompanied by some resem¬
blances in those more important properties which constitute
their mutual dependencies, linking them together in a great
and endlessly-ramified chain of events.
We have endeavoured to ascertain with precision the pe¬
culiar province of philosophy, both by means of its object
and its mode of procedure. After this it will not require
many words to point out the methods for prosecuting the
study with expedition and with success. The rules of phi¬
losophizing, which Newton premises in his account of the
3 K
442
PHILOSOPHY.
View of
B aeon’s
Philoso¬
phy.
The chief
rule of phi¬
losophizing
explained.
A true
cause eX'
plained.
planetary motions, which he so scrupulously followed, and
with a success which gives them great authority, are all
in strict conformity to the view we have now given of the
subject.
The chief rule is, that similar causes are to be assigned
to similar phenomena. This is indeed the source of all our
knowledge of connected nature; and without it the Uni¬
verse would only present to us an incomprehensible chaos.
It is by no means, however, necessary to enjoin this as a
maxim for our procedure; it is an instinctive propensity
of the human mind. It is absolutely necessary, on the
contrary, to caution us in the application of this propensity.
We must be extremely confident in the certainty of the
resemblance before we venture to make any inference. We
are prone to reason from analogy ; the very employment is
agreeable, and we are ever disposed to embrace opportu¬
nities of engaging in it. For this reason we are satisfied
with very slight resemblances, and eagerly run over the con¬
sequences, as if the resemblance were complete ; and our
researches frequently terminate in falsehood.
This propensity to analogical reasoning is aided by an¬
other equally strong, and equally useful when properly di¬
rected ; we mean the propensity to form general laws. This
is in fact a propensity to discover causes, which is equiva¬
lent to the establishing of general laws. It appears in an¬
other form, and is called a love of or taste for simplicity ;
and this is encouraged or justified, as agreeable to the uni¬
formity and simplicity of nature. “ Natura semper sibi si-
milis et consona,” says Newton. “ Frustra fit per plura,
quod fieri potest per pauciora,” says another. The beauti¬
ful, the wise economy of nature, are phrases in every body’s
mouth; and Newton enjoins us to adopt no more causes
than are sufficient to explain the phenomena. All this is
very well, and is true in its own degree; but it is too fie-
quently the subterfuge of human vanity and self-love. This
inordinate admiration of the economy and simplicity of na¬
ture is generally conjoined with a manifest love of system,
and with the actual production of some new system, where
from one general principle some extensive theory or expla¬
nation is deduced and offered to the world. The author
sees a sort of resemblance between a certain series of phe¬
nomena and the consequences of some principle, and thinks
the principle adequate to their explanation. I hen, on the
authority of the acknowledged simplicity of nature, he
roundly excludes all other principles of explanation ; be¬
cause, says he, this principle is sufficient, “ et frustra fit per
plura,” &c. We could point out many instances of this
kind in the writings of perhaps the first mathematician and
the poorest philosopher of this century; where extensive
theories are thus cavalierly exhibited, which a few years’
examination have shown to be nothing but analogies, in¬
distinctly observed, and, what is worse, inaccurately applied.
To regulate these hazardous propensities, and thus to keep
philosophers in the right path, Newton inculcates another
rule, or rather gives a modification of this injunction of
simplicity. He enjoins that no cause shall be admitted but
what is real. His words are, that “ no causes shall be ad¬
mitted but such as are true, and sufficient to account for
the phenomena.” We apprehend that the meaning of this
rule has been mistaken by many philosophers, who imagine
that by true he means causes which really exist in nature,
and are not mere creatures of the imagination. We have
met with some who would boggle at the doctrines of Aris¬
totle respecting the planetary motions, viz. that they are
carried along by conducting intelligent minds, because we
know of none such in the universe ; and who would never¬
theless think the doctrine of the Cartesian vortices deserv¬
ing of at least an examination, because we see such vortices
exist, and produce effects which have some resemblance to
the planetary motions, and have justly rejected them, solely
because this resemblance has been very imperfect. We
apprehend Newton’s meaning by these words is, that no View;
cause of any event shall be admitted, or even considered, ^
which we do not know to be actually concurring or exert- PlllM
ing some influence in that very event. If this be his mean- - / • t
ing, he would reject the Cartesian vortices, and the con¬
ducting spirits of Aristotle, for one and the same reason;
not because they were not adequate to the explanation,
nor because such causes do not exist in nature, but be¬
cause we did not see them anyhow concerned in the phe¬
nomenon under consideration. We neither see a spirit nor
a vortex, and therefore need not trouble ourselves with in¬
quiring what effects they would produce. Now we know
that this was his very conduct, and what has distinguished
him from all philosophers who preceded him, though many,
by following his example, have also been rewarded by simi¬
lar success. This has procured to Newton the character of
the modest philosopher ; and modest his procedure may, for
distinction’s sake, be called, because the contrary proce¬
dure of others did not originate so much from ignorance as
from vanity. Newton’s conductor in this was not modesty,
but sagacity, prudence, caution, and, to say it purely, it was
sound judgment.
For the bonds of nature, the supposed philosophical caus¬
es are not observed; they are only inferred from the phe¬
nomena. When two substances are observed, and only
when they are observed to be connected in any series of
events, we infer that they are connected by a natural power;
but when one of the substances is not seen, but fancied, no
law of human thought produces any inference whatever.
For this reason alone Newton stopped short at the last fact
which he could discover in the solar system, that all bo¬
dies were deflected to all other bodies, according to certain
regulations of distance and quantity of matter. When told
that he had done nothing in philosophy, that he had dis¬
covered no cause, and that to merit any praise he must
show how this deflection was produced, he said that he
knew no more than he had told them; that he saw nothing
causing this deflection, and was contented with having dis¬
covered it so exactly, that a good mathematician could now
make tables of the planetary motions as accurate as he
pleased, and with hoping in a few years to have every pur¬
pose of navigation and of philosophical curiosity completely
answered ; and he was not disappointed. And when phi¬
losophers on all sides were contriving hypothetical fluids
and vortices which would produce these deflections, he
contented himself with proving the total inconsistency of
these explanations with the mechanical principles acknow¬
ledged by their authors; showing that they had transgress¬
ed both parts of his rule, their causes neither being real,
nor sufficient for explaining the phenomena. A cause is
sufficient for explaining a phenomenon only when its legi¬
timate consequences are perfectly agreeable to these phe¬
Newton’s discoveries remain without any diminution or This w
rNew iUil& VCl.ICO "   J   + 1Pfn .
change; no philosopher has yet advanced a step farther.
But let not the authority, nor even the success, of Newton, ^
be our guide. Is his rule founded in reason ? It surely is.
For if philosophy be the only interpretation of nature’s lan¬
guage, the inference of causes from the phenomena, a fan¬
cied or hypothetical phenomenon can produce nothing but
a fanciful cause, and can make no addition to our knowledge
of real nature
i- Danger
A CiAl 11CILU.1C* ^ ry
All hypotheses therefore must be banished from phuoso- . ^
• i i • •  „ „ 11 n /-'ll o rl m vni ftliPTlTlSf tO v
phical discussion as frivolous and useless, administering o
vanity alone. As the explanation of any appearance is no¬
thing but the pointing out the general fact, of which this
is a particular instance, a hypothesis can give no explana¬
tion ; knowing nothing of cause and effect but the conjunc¬
tion of two events, we see nothing of causation where one
of the events is hypothetical. Although all the legitima e
consequences of a hypothetical principle should be pertec )
PHILOSOPHY
\ 1 of
similar to the phenomenon, it is extremely dangerous to as¬
sume this principle as the real cause. It is illogical to make
use of the economy of nature as an argument for the truth
/ of any hypothesis; for, if true, it is a physical truth, a mat¬
ter of fact, and true only to the extent in which it is ob¬
served ; and we are not entitled to say that it is so one step
farther, therefore not in this case till it be observed. But
the proposition that nature is so economical, is false ; and it
is astonishing that it has been so lazily acquiesced in by
the readers of hypotheses ; for it is not the authors who are
deceived by it; they are generally led by their own vanity.
Nothing is more observable than the prodigious variety of
nature. That the same phenomena may be produced by
different means, is well known to the astronomers, who must
all grant that the appearances of motion will be precisely
the same whether the earth moves round the sun like the
other planets, or whether the sun with his attendant planets
moves fbund the earth; and that the demonstration of the
first opinion is had from a fact totally unconnected with all
the deflections, or even with their causes; for it may be as¬
serted, that Dr Bradley’s discovery of the aberration of the
fixed stars, in consequence of the progressive motion of
light, was the first thing which put the Copernican system
beyond question; and even this is still capable of being
explained in another way. The Author of nature seems to
delight in variety; and there cannot be named a single
purpose on which the most inconceivable fertility in re¬
source is not observed. It is the most delightful occupa¬
tion of the curious mind and the sensible heart to contem¬
plate the various contrivances of nature in accomplishing
similar ends.
As a principle, therefore, on which to found any maxim of
philosophical procedure, this is not only injudicious, because
imprudent and apt to mislead, but as false, and almost sure
to mislead. In conformity to this observation, it must be
added, that nothing has done so much harm in philosophy
as the introduction of hypotheses.
Authors have commonly been satisfied with very slight
resemblances, and readers are easily misled by the appear¬
ances of reasoning which these resemblances have counte¬
nanced. The ancients, and above all Aristotle, were much
given to this mode of explanation, and have filled philoso¬
phy with absurdities. The slightest resemblances were
with them sufficient foundations of theories. It has been
by very slow degrees that men have learned caution in this
respect; and we are sorry to say that we are not yet cured
of the disease of hypothetical systematizing, and to see at¬
tempts made by ingenious men to bring the frivolous theo¬
ries of antiquity again into credit. Nay, modern philoso¬
phers, even of the greatest name, are by no means exempt¬
ed from the reproach of hypothetical theories. Their writ¬
ings abound in ethers, nervous fluids, animal spirits, vor¬
tices, vibrations, and other invisible agents. We may affirm
that all these attempts may be shown to be either unintel-
ligible, fruitless, or false. Either the hypothesis has been
such that no consequence can be distinctly drawn from it,
on account of its obscurity and total want of resemblance
to any thing we know; or the just and legitimate conse¬
quences of the hypothesis are inconsistent with the phe-
This is remarkably the case in the hypotheses
i ch nave been introduced for the explanation of the me¬
chanical phenomena of the universe. These can be ex¬
amined by accurate science, and the consequences com¬
pared without any mistake; and nothing else but a perfect
agreement should induce us even to listen to anv hypothe¬
sis whatever. ’ r
It may be here asked, Whether, in the case of the most
JY ^ aRreement, after the most extensive comparison,
tne hypothesis should be admitted ? We believe that this
must be left to the feelings of the mind. When the belief
18 lrresistible, we can reason no more. But as there is no
443
View of
Bacon’s
Philoso¬
phy.
impossibility of as perfect an agreement with some other
hypothesis, it is evident that it does not convey an irrefra¬
gable title to our hypothesis. It is said, that such an agree¬
ment authorizes the reception of the hypothetical theory, in
the same manner as we must admit that to be the true cipher
of a letter which w ill make perfect sense of it. But this is
not true. In deciphering a letter we know the sounds
which must be represented by the characters, and that they
are really the constituents of speech ; but in hypothetical
explanations the first principle is not known to exist; nay,
it is possible to make two ciphers, each of which shall give
a meaning to the letter. Instances of this are to be seen in
treatises on the art of deciphering.
We conclude our criticism on hypothetical explanations
with this observation, that it is impossible that they can make
any addition to our knowledge. In every hypothesis we
thrust in an intermediate event between the phenomenon
and some general law*; and this event is not seen, but sup¬
posed. Therefore, according to the true maxims of philo¬
sophical investigation, we give no explanation ; for we are
not by this means enabled to assign the general law in which
this particular phenomenon is included. Nay, the hypothe¬
sis makes no addition whatever to our list of general laws;
for our hypotheses must be selected, in order to tally with
all the phenomena. The hypothesis therefore is under¬
stood only by and in the phenomena, and it must not
be made more general than the phenomena themselves.
The hypothesis gives no generalization of facts. Its very
application is founded on a great coincidence of facts; and
the hypothetical fact is thrust in between two which we
really observe to be united by nature. The applicability,
therefore, of the hypothesis is not more extensive than the
similarity of facts which we observe, and the hypothetical
law is not more general than the observed law. Let us then
throwaway entirely the hypothetical law, and insert the ob¬
served one in our list of general laws ; it will be in different
language from the hypothetical law, but it will express the
same facts in nature.
It is in experimental philosophy alone that hypotheses On what
can have any just claim to admission; and here they are occasions
not admitted as explanations, but as conjectures serving to hyP0dieses
direct our line of experiments. Effects only appear; and k0 use'
by their appearance, and the previous information of ex- u ’
perience, causes are immediately ascertained by the per¬
fect similarity of the whole train of events to other trains
formerly observed. Or they are suggested by more im¬
perfect resemblances of the phenomena ; and these sugges¬
tions are made with stronger or fainter evidence, according
as the resemblance is more or less perfect. These sugges¬
tions do not amount to a confidential inference, and only
raise a conjecture. W ishing to verify or overturn this con¬
jecture, we have recourse to experiment; and we put the
subject under consideration in such a situation that we
can say what will be the effect of the conjectural cause if
real. If this tallies with the appearance, our conjecture
has more probability of truth, and we vary the situation,
which will produce a new set of effects of the conjectured
cause, and so on. It is evident that the probability of our
conjecture will increase with the increase of the conformity
of the legitimate effects of the supposed cause with the
phenomena, and that it will be entirely destroyed by one
disagreement. In this way conjectures have their great
use, and are the ordinary means by which experimental
philosophy is improved. But conjectural systems are worse
than nonsense, filling the mind with false notions of nature,
and generally leading us into a Course of improper conduct
when they become principles of action. This is acknow¬
ledged even by the abettors of hypothetical systems them¬
selves when employed in overturning those of their prede¬
cessors, and establishing their own ; witness the successive
maintainers of the many hypothetical systems in medicine,
444
PHILOSOPHY.
View of
Bacon’s
Philoso¬
phy-
Air being
O
which have had their short-lived course within these two
last centuries. Let every person, therefore, who calls him¬
self a philosopher, resolutely determine to reject all temp-
v . tations to this kind of system-making, and let him never
consider a composition of this kind as any thing better than
the amusement of an idle hour.
True mode After these observations, it cannot require much discus-
of philoso- sion to mark the mode of procedure which will insure pro-
pliical pro- in all philosophical investigations. The sphere of
cetuire. our intuitive knowledge being very limited, we must be
indebted for the greatest part of our intellectual attain¬
ments to our rational powers, and it must be deductive.
In the spontaneous phenomena of nature, whether of mind
or body, it seldom happens that the energy of that natural
power, which is the principle of explanation, is so imme¬
diately connected with the phenomenon that we can see the
connection at once. Its exertions are frequently conceal¬
ed, and in all cases modified, by the joint exertions of other
natural powers; hence the particular exertion of each must
be considered apart, and their mutual connection traced
out. It is only in this way that we can discover the per¬
haps long train of intermediate operations, and also see m
what manner and degree the real principle of explanation
concurs in the ostensible process of nature.
In all such cases it is evident that our investigation (and
investigation it most strictly is) must proceed by successive
steps, conducted by the sure hand of logical method. To take
an instance from the material world, let us listen to Gah-^
leo whilst he is teaching his friends the cause of the rise m
wrater in a pump. He says that it is owing to the pressure
of the air. This is his principle ; and he announces it m
all its extent. All matter, says he, is heavy, and in parti¬
cular air is heavy. He then points out the connection of
this general principle with the phenomenon,
heavy, it must be supported; it must lie and
press on what supports it; it must press on
the surface AB of the water in the cistern sur¬
rounding the pipe CD of the pump; and also
on the water C within this pipe. He then
takes notice of another general principle which
exerts its subordinate influence in this process.
’VVater is a fluid; a fluid is a body the parts of
which yield to the smallest impression, and,
by yielding, are easily moved amongst them¬
selves ; and no little parcel of the fluid can
remain at rest unless it be equally pressed in
every direction, but will recede from that side
where it sustains the greatest pressure. In
consequence of this fluidity, known to be a
property of water, if any part of it is pressed,
the pressure is propagated through the whole ;
and if not resisted upon every side, the water
will move to that side where the propagated
pressure is not resisted. All these subordinate
or collateral propositions are supposed to be previously
demonstrated or allowed. Water, therefore, must yield to
the pressure of the air, unless pressed by it upon every
side, and must move to that side where it is not withheld
by some opposite pressure. He then proceeds to show, frofn
the structure of the pump, that there is no opposing pressure
on the water in the inside of the pump. “ For,” says he, “ sup¬
pose the piston thrust down till it touches the surface of the
water in the pipe ; suppose the piston now drawn up by a
power sufficient to lift it, and all the air incumbent on it;
and suppose it drawn up a foot or fathom, there remains
now nothing that I know of to press on the surface of
the water. In short,” says he, “ gentlemen, it appears to
me that the water in the pump is in the same situation that
it would be in were there no air at all, but water poured into
the cistern to a height AF ; such, that the column of wa¬
ter FABG presses on the surface AB as much as the air
ti a
does. Now, in this case, we know that the water at C is
pressed upwards with a force equal to the weight of a
column of wrater having the section of the pipe for its
base and CFI for its height. The water below C, there¬
fore, will be pressed up into the pipe CD, and will rise
to G, so that it is on a level with the external water
FG; that is, it will rise to H. This is a necessary con¬
sequence of the weight and pressure of the incumbent co¬
lumn FABG, and the fluidity of the water in the cistern.
Consequences perfectly similar must necessarily follow from
the weight and pressure of the air; and therefore, upon
drawing up the piston from the surface C of the water with
which it was in contact, the water must follow it till it at¬
tain that height which will make its own weight a balance
for the pressure of the circumambient air. Accordingly,
gentlemen, the Italian plumbers inform me that a pump
will not raise water quite fifty palms; and from their infor¬
mation I conclude, that a pillar of water fifty palms high is
somewhat heavier than a pillar of air of the same base, and
reaching to the top of the atmosphere.”
Thus is the phenomenon explained. The rise of the The sy:
water in the pump is shown to be a particular case of the^efca.
general fact in hydrostatics, that fluids in communicatingmetil01
vessels will stand at heights which are inversely as their
densities, or that columns of equal weights are in equilibrio.
This way of proceeding is called arguing a priori, or the syn¬
thetical method. It is founded on just principles; and the
great progress which we have made in the mathematical
sciences by this mode of reasoning shows to what length it
may be carried with irresistible evidence. It has long been
considered as the only inlet to true knowledge ; and nothing
was allowed to be known with certainty which could not be
demonstrated in this way to be true. Accordingly logic, or
the art of reasoning, which was also called the art of dis¬
covering truth, was nothing but a set of rules for success¬
fully conducting this mode of argument.
Under the direction of this infallible guide, it is not sure¬
ly unreasonable to expect that philosophy should make sure
progress towards perfection; and as we know that the
brightest geniuses of Athens and of Rome were for ages
solely occupied in philosophical researches in every path of
human knowledge, it is equally reasonable to suppose that
the progress has not only been sure, but great. We have
seen that the explanation of an appearance in nature is no¬
thing but the arrangement of it into that general class in
which it is comprehended. The class has its distinguish¬
ing mark, which, when it is found in the phenomenon under
consideration, fixes it in its class, there to remain for ever
an addition to our stock of knowledge. Nothing can be lost
any other way but by forgetting it; and the doctrines o
philosophers must be stable, like the laws of nature.
We have seen, however, that the very reverse of all this
is the case ; that philosophy has but very lately emerge
from worse than total darkness and ignorance ; that what
passed under the name of philosophy was nothing but sys¬
tems of errors, if systems they could be called, which were
termed doctrines, delivered with the most imposing appa¬
ratus of logical demonstration, but belied in almost every
instance by experience, and affording us no assistance in
the application of the powers of nature to the purposes o
life. Nor will this excite much wonder in the mind of the
enlightened reader of the present day, who reflects on the
use that in this dialectic process was made of the catego¬
ries, and the method in which those categories were forme .
From first principles so vague in themselves, and so gratui¬
tously assumed, ingenious men might deduce many i er
ent conclusions, all equally erroneous; and that this
actually done, no surer evidence can be given, than ^
hardly a lifetime elapsed when the whole system o
trines which had captivated the minds of the most pen
trating was oftener than once exploded and overturne y
PHILO
of another system, which flourished for a while, and then was
n’s supplanted by a third, which shared the same fate. Here was
'30‘ an infallible proof of their error, for instability is incom-
L/ patible with truth.
It is allowed by all that this has been the case in those
branches of study at least which contemplate the philoso¬
phical relations of the material world; in astronomy, in me¬
chanical philosophy, in chemistry, in physiology, in medi¬
cine, in agriculture. It is also acknowledged, that in the
course of less than two centuries we have acquired much
knowledge respecting these very subjects, call it philosophy,
or by what name you will; so much more conformable to
the natural course of things, that the deductions made from
it by the same rules of the synthetic method are more con¬
formable to fact, and therefore better fitted to direct our
conduct and improve our powers. It is also certain that
these bodies of doctrine which go by the name of philoso¬
phical systems have much more stability than in ancient
times ; and though sometimes in part superseded, they are
seldom or never wholly exploded.
This cannot perhaps be affirmed with equal confidence
respecting those speculations which have our intellect or
propensities for their object: And we have not perhaps at¬
tained such a representation of human nature as will bear
comparison with the original, nor will the legitimate de¬
ductions from such doctrines be of much more service to us
for directing our conduct than those of ancient times; for
whilst we observe this difference between these two general
classes of speculations, we may remark, that it is conjoined
.with a difference in the manner of conducting the study. We
have proceeded according to the old Aristotelian method
when investigating the nature of mind; yet we see the mate¬
rial philosophers running about, passing much of their time
away from books in the shop of the artisan, or in the open
fields engaged in observation, labouring with their hands,
and busy with experiments. But the speculatist on the in¬
tellect and the active powers of the human soul seems un¬
willing to be indebted to any thing but his own ingenuity,
and his labours are confined to the closet. In the first class,
we have met with something like success, and we have im¬
proved many arts; in the other, it is to be feared that we
are not much wiser, or better, or happier, for all our philo¬
sophical attainments.
Here, therefore, must surely have been some great and
fatal mistake. There has indeed been a material defect in
our mode of procedure, in the employment of this method
of reasoning as an inlet to truth. The fact is, that phi¬
losophers have totally mistaken the road of discovery, and
have pretended to set out in their investigation from the
very point where this journey should have terminated.
The Aristotelian logic, the syllogistic art, that art so much
boasted of as the only inlet to true knowledge, and the only
means of discovery, is in direct opposition to the ordinary
procedure of nature, by which we every day, and in every
action of our lives, acquire knowledge and discover truth.
It is not the art of discovering truth ; it is the art of commu¬
nicating knowledge, and of detecting error: it is nothing
more than the application of this maxim; “Whatever is true
of a whole class of objects, is true of each individual of that
class. ’ This is not a just account of the art of discovering
truth, nor is it a complete account of the art of reasoning.
Reasoning is the producing of belief; and whatever mode
of argumentation invariably and irresistibly produces belief,
is reasoning. The ancient logic supposes that all the first
principles are already known, and that nothing is wanted
but the application of them to particular facts. But were
this true, the application of them, as we have already ob¬
served, can hardly be called a discovery. But it is not true ;
v r^C- ^aCt ^S’ ^at ^le ^rst principles are generally the
c lef objects of our research, and that they have come into
view only now and then, as it were by accident, and never
SOPHY. 445
by the labour of the logician. He indeed can tell us whether View of
we have been mistaken ; for if our general principle be true’ Bacon’s
it must influence every particular case. If, therefore, it be Bhiloso-
false in any one of these, it is not a true principle. And it, llhy'
is here that we discover the source of that fluctuation which
is so much complained of in philosophy. The authors of
systems give a set of consecutive propositions logically de¬
duced from a first principle, which has been hastily adopt¬
ed, and has no foundation in nature. This does not hinder
the amusement of framing a system from it, nor this system
from pleasing by its symmetry ; and it takes a run : but when
an officious follower thinks of making some use of it, which
requires the comparison with experience and observation,
they are found totally unlike, and the whole fabric must be
abandoned as unsound ; and thus the successive systems
were continually pushing out their predecessors, and pre¬
sently met with the same treatment.
How was this to be remedied ? The ratiocination was
seldom egregiously wrong; the syllogistic art had ere now
attained a degree of perfection which left little room for im¬
provement, and was so familiarly understood by the philo¬
sophical practitioners, that they seldom committed any great
blunders. Must we examine the first principles ? This was
a task quite new in science; and there were hardly any
rules in the received systems of logic to direct us to the
successful performance of it. Aristotle, the sagacious in¬
ventor of those rules, had not totally omitted it; but, in the
fervour of philosophical speculation, he had made little use of
them. His fertile genius never was at a loss for first prin¬
ciples, which answered the purpose of verbal disquisition,
without much risk of being belied on account of its dissi¬
militude to nature ; for there was frequently no prototype
with which his systematic doctrine could be compared. His
enthusiastic followers found abundant amusement in follow¬
ing his example; and philosophy, being no longer in the
hands of men acquainted with the world, conversant in the
great book of nature, was now confined almost entirely to
recluse monks, equally ignorant of men and of things. But
curiosity was awakened, and the men of genius were fret¬
ted as well as disgusted with the disquisitions of the schools,
which one moment raised expectations by the symmetry of
composition, and the next moment blasted them by their
inconsistency with experience. They saw that the best way
was to begin de novo ; to throw away the first principles
altogether, without exception or examination, and endea¬
vour to find out new ones which should stand the test of
logic; or, in other words, should in every case be agreeable
to fact.
Philosophers began to reflect, that under the unnoticed The me-
tuition of kind nature we have acquired much useful know- thod of in¬
ledge. It is therefore highly probable that her method is d,1.ction
the most proper for acquiring knowledge, and that by imi-Pomt®d out
tating her manner we shall have the like success. We are ^ Ua
too apt to slight the occupations of children, whom we may
observe continually busy turning every thing over and over,
putting them into every situation, and at every distance. We
excuse it, saying that it is an innocent amusement; but we
should rather say with an ingenious philosopher (Dr Reid),
that they are most seriously and rationally employed ; they
are acquiring the habits of observation, and, by merely in¬
dulging an undetermined curiosity, they are making them¬
selves acquainted with surrounding objects ; they are struck
by similitudes, and amused with mere classification. If some
new effect occurs from any of their little plays, they are
eager to repeat it. When a child has for the first time tum¬
bled a spoon from the table, and is pleased with its jingling
noise upon the floor, if another lie within its reach, it is sure
to share the same fate. If the child be indulged in this di¬
version, it will repeat it with a greediness that deserves our
attention. The very first eager repetition shows a confi¬
dence in the constancy of natural operations, which we can
446
P II I
PHI
Philostra- hardly ascribe wholly to experience ; and its keenness to re-
tus- peat the experiment shows the interest which it takes in
” the exercise of this most useful propensity. It is beginning
the study of nature ; and its occupation is the same with
that of a Newton computing the motions of the moon by
his sublime theory, and comparing his calculus with obser¬
vation. The child and the philosopher are equally employ¬
ed in the contemplation of a similarity of^ event, and are
anxious that this similarity shall return. I he child, it is
true, thinks not of this abstract object of contemplation, but
throws down the spoon again to have the pleasure of hear¬
ing it jingle. The philosopher suspects that the conjunc¬
tion of events is the consequence of a general law of na¬
ture, and tries an experiment w here this conjunction recurs.
The child is happy, and eager to enjoy a pleasure which
to us appears highly frivolous ; but it has the same founda¬
tion with the pleasure of the philosopher, who rejoices in
the success of his experiment; and the fact, formerly a trifle
to both, now acquires importance. Both go on repeating
the experiment, till the fact ceases to be a novelty to either;
the child is satisfied, and the philosopher has now establish¬
ed a new law of nature.
Such, says this amiable philosopher, is the education of
kind nature, who from the beginning to the end of our lives
makes the play of her scholars their most instructive les¬
sons, and has implanted in our mind the curiosity and the
inductive propensity by which we are enabled and disposed
to learn them. The exercise of this inductive principle, by
which nature prompts us to infer general laws from the ob¬
servation of particular facts, gives us a species of logic new
in the schools, but as old as human nature. It is certainly a
method of discovery ; for by these means general principles,
formerly unknowm, have come into view.
Induction a Induction is a just and rational logic; for it is founded on,
just logic, and indeed is only the habitual application of, this maxim,
that “ Whatever is true with respect to every individual of PLilo?-
a class of events, is true of the whole class.” This is just
the inverse of the maxim upon which the Aristotelian logic'
wholly proceeds, and is of equal authority in the court of
reason. Indeed, the expression of the general law is only
the abbreviated expression of every particular instance.
This new logic, therefore, or the logic of induction, must
not be considered as subordinate to the old system, or found¬
ed upon it. In fact, the use and legitimacy of the Aristote¬
lian logic is founded on the inductive : All animals are mor¬
tal ; all men are animals; therefore all men are mortal.
This is no argument to any person who chooses to deny the
mortality of men; for even although he acknowledges his
animal nature, he will deny the major proposition.
It is beside our purpose to show how a point so general,
so congenial to man, and so familiar, remained so long un¬
noticed, although the disquisition is curious and satisfactory.
It was not till within these two centuries that the increas¬
ing demand for practical knowledge, particularly in the arts,
made inquisitive men see how useless and insufficient was
the learning of the schools in any road of investigation which
was connected with life and business ; and observe that so¬
ciety had received useful information chiefly from persons
actually engaged in the arts which the speculatists were en¬
deavouring to illustrate ; and that this knowledge consisted
chiefly of experiments and observations, the only contribu¬
tions which their authors could make to science.
The Novum Organum of Bacon, which points out the
true method of forming a body of real and useful know¬
ledge, namely, the study of nature in the way of descrip¬
tion, observation, and experiment, is undoubtedly the no¬
blest present that science ever received. It may be consi¬
dered as the grammar of nature’s language, and is a coun¬
terpart to the logic of Aristotle ; not exploding it, but mak¬
ing it effectual. B* B0
PHILOSTRATUS, Flavius, was an ancient Greek au¬
thor. Eusebius calls him an Athenian, because he taught
at Athens; but Eunapius and Suidas always speak of him
as a Lemnian ; and he himself hints, in his Life of Apollo¬
nius, that when he was young he used to reside at Lemnos.
He frequented the schools of the sophists ; and he mentions
his having heard Damianus of Ephesus, Proclus Naucrati-
tas, and Hippodromus of Larissa. This seems to prove that
he lived in the reign of the Emperor Severus, from 193 to
212, when those sophists flourished. He afterwards be¬
came known to Julia Augusta, the wife of Severus, and wTas
one of those learned men whom this philosophical empress
had continually about her. It was by her command that he
wrote his celebrated Life of Apollonius Tyanensis, as he re¬
lates himself in the same place where he informs us of his
connections with that learned lady. Philostratus, as Cyril
observes, endeavours to represent Apollonius as a wonder¬
ful and extraordinary person, rather to be admired and ador¬
ed as a god, than to be honoured or considered as a mere
man. Hence Eunapius, in the preface to his Lives of the So¬
phists, says that the proper title of that work should have
been, The Coming of a God to Men ; and Hierocles, in his
book against the Christians, called Philalethes, and which
was refuted by Eusebius in a work still extant, amongst
other things instituted a comparison between Apollonius and
Jesus Christ. It has always been supposed that Philostra¬
tus composed his work with a view to discredit the miracles
and doctrines of our Lord, by setting up other miracles and
other doctrines against them; and this supposition may be
true : but that Apollonius was really an impostor and ma¬
gician may not be so certain. He may, for ought we know,
have been a wise and excellent person ; and it is remark¬
able that Eusebius, though he had the worst opinion of the
history of Philostratus, says nothing unfavourable of Apollo¬
nius. He concluded that that history was wTitten to oppose
the history of Jesus ; and the use which the ancient infidels
made of it justifies his opinion: but he draws no informa¬
tion from it with regard to Apollonius. It would have been
improper to do so, since the sophistical and affected style
of Philostratus, the sources whence he owns that his mate¬
rials were drawrn, and, above all, the absurdities and contra¬
dictions with which he abounds, plainly show that his his¬
tory was nothing but a collection of fables, either invented,
or at least embellished, by himself.
The works of Philostratus, however, have engaged the at¬
tention of some critics of the first class. Grsevius intended to
have given a correct edition of them, as appears from the
preface of Merle Casaubon to a dissertation upon an intend¬
ed edition of Homer, printed at London in 1658, 8vo. So
also had Bentley, who designed to add a new Latin version
of his notes ; and Fabricius says that he saw the first sheet
of Bentley’s edition printed at Leipzig in 1691. Both these
designs, however, were dropped. But a very exact an
beautiful edition was at length published at Leipzig, 1709,
in folio, by Olearius, professor of the Greek and Latin lan¬
guages in that university; a man who has proved himselt
perfectly qualified for the work he undertook, and shown all
the judgment, learning, and industry, which are required in
an excellent editor.
At the end of the Life of Apollonius, there are ninety-
five letters which go under his name. They are not, how¬
ever, believed to be his, the style of them being very a -
fected, and like that of a sophist, whilst they bear in other
respects all the marks of a forgery. Philostratus says tM
he saw a collection of the Letters of Apollonius in Hadri¬
an’s library at Antium, but had not inserted them all amongs
p PI I
tenus these. They are short, and have in them little else than
!| moral sentences. The Lives of the Sophists contain many
yra- y things which are to be met with nowhere else. The He¬
roics of Philostratus are only a dialogue between a vintner
of the Thracian Chersonesus and a Phoenician, in which the
former draws characters of Homer’s heroes, and represents
several things differently from that poet; and this is done
upon the faith of Protesilaus’s ghost, who had lately visited
his farm, not far from the tomb of this hero. Olearius
conjectures, with much probability, that Philostratus’s de¬
sign in this dialogue was secretly to criticise some things
in Homer, which he durst not do openly, on account of the
great veneration then paid to him, and for fear of the odium
which Zoilus and others had incurred by censuring him too
freely. The images are elegant descriptions and illustra¬
tions of some ancient paintings and other particulars relat¬
ing to the fine arts, to which Olearius has subjoined the
description of some statues by Callistratus, for the same
reason that he subjoined Eusebius’s book against Hierocles
to the Life and Letters of Apollonius, namely, because the
subjects of these respective works are related to each other.
The last piece is a collection of Philostratus’s Letters ; but
some of these, though it is not easy to determine which,
were written by a nephew of Philostratus, of the same name,
as were also the last eighteen in the book of images. This
is the reason why the title runs not Philostrati, but Phi-
lostratorum qium supersurd omnia. There were many per¬
sons of the name of Philostratus amongst the ancients; and
there were many other works of the Philostratus here re¬
corded, but no others are extant except those we have men¬
tioned.
PHILOXENUS, a celebrated dithyrambic poet, a na¬
tive of the island ofCythera, flourished b. c. 398, being con¬
temporary with Timotheus and Telestes, and died at the
age of sixty, b. c. 380. He was a son of Euletidas, and,
when Cy thera was taken by the Lacedaemonians, he was car¬
ried off as a slave. He was sold to Hegesylus, and on his
death was bought by the poet Melanippides, by whose in¬
struction he seems to have profited. He was devoted to the
pleasures of the table, and became a great favourite of the
elder Dionysius. Amongst various anecdotes told of him,
it is said that Dionysius once repeated some of his own
poetry to him, and asked his opinion of it, when the poet
boldly told him that it was mere trash. The tyrant order¬
ed him to prison, but at the solicitation of his friends re¬
leased him the following day, and invited him to supper.
He again repeated some poetry ; but when Phiioxenus was
asked his opinion, he simply said, “ Order me again to pri¬
son and arose, in expectation of being led away ; but the
tyrant was amused at the idea, and forgave him. Phiioxe¬
nus, however, took an early opportunity of leaving Syra¬
cuse, and retired to Tarentum, which no solicitation of the
tyrant could induce him to leave. According to another
statement, he was so long confined in prison, that he had
time to write a poem entitled Cyclops, which is said to have
been one of the finest of his productions. Alexander the
Great was a great admirer of the dithyrambics of Phiioxe¬
nus and Telestes.
PHILTER, or Philtre (philtrum), in Pharmacy or
Chemistry, a strainer. This term is also used for a drug or
preparation, which, it is pretended, will excite love. The
word is formed from the Greek <pi\eo), I love, or tpiXog, lover ;
because philters were given by the Greeks and Romans to
excite love. Many grave authors believe the reality of these
philters, and allege various facts in confirmation of their sen¬
timents.
PHILYRA, in fabulous history, was one of the Ocean-
ides, whom Saturn met in Thrace. The god, to escape from
the vigilance of Rhea, changed himself into a horse, and by
Philyra had a son half a man and half a horse, called Chiron.
Philyra was so ashamed of having given birth to such a
P H I 447
monster, that she entreated the gods to change her nature ; Phinehas.
and she was accordingly metamorphosed into a tree, called > '
by her name amongst the Greeks.
PHINEHAS, or, as the Jews pronounce it, Pinehas,
was the son of Eleazar, and the grandson of Aaron. He was
the third high priest of the Jews, and discharged this office
from the year of the world 2571 till towards the year 2590.
He appears in Scripture chiefly as distinguished by pious
zeal for the faithful discharge of his duty, and for the divine
glory. Two of his actions are commemorated as more par¬
ticularly worthy of notice in this respect. The former of
these events occurred during the high priesthood of his father
Eleazar, and whilst he himself was second priest. The cir¬
cumstances connected with it, and of which a full account
is given by Moses (Numb. xxv. 7, ff.), were briefly these:
Balaam, a famous soothsayer, having been brought by Ba-
lak, king of Moab, to curse the Israelites, but having by a
mysterious influence been compelled to bless them, willing
nevertheless to please his patron, and to earn “ the wages of
unrighteousness,” suggested to the king the expedient of
seducing the Israelites to idolatry, as the most likely mode
of withdrawing from them the protection and favour of
God. The expedient unhappily proved successful. At¬
tracted by the license that prevailed at the celebration of
the heathen festivals, the people of Israel joined in the sa¬
crifices, and indulged in the loose and immoral practices of
the Moabites. As an expression of the divine indignation
against this conduct, God, in addition to a destroying plague
which he sent amongst the people, commanded the judges
of Israel to “ slay every one his men that were joined to
Baal-peor.” To this command Phinehas was the first to
render obedience. One of the princes of Israel, a man of
great influence in the tribe of Simeon, Zimri by name,
having audaciously, in this madness of sinful indulgence,
conveyed a Moabitish female of high rank through the very
midst of the camp of the Israelites, thereby offering out¬
rage to the virtue and piety of those who were lamenting
over the transgressions of the people, insulting in the most
direct manner the majesty of God, and ostentatiously ut¬
tering defiance of the threatened punishment, Phinehas,
stirred with a holy indignation, rushed from the midst of
those who in horror and consternation had beheld the dar¬
ing offence, and, following the guilty prince to his tent,
transfixed him and his paramour in the midst of their li¬
centious indulgence, and killed them both with one blow .
For this act of valour, decision, and zeal, the plague was
removed, and Phinehas was rewarded by having renewed
to him that “ covenant of peace,”. “ the covenant of an
everlasting priesthood,” winch God had on former occasions
made with Noah, Abraham, and others distinguished for
piety and zeal. Some have erroneously supposed that the
blessing conferred upon Phinehas was the perpetuation in
his family of the high priesthood of the Jews, and they have
been not a little puzzled to account for the fact, that this
office nevertheless passed out of his family after the death
of Eli, at a period not very far removed from that here refer¬
red to. The mistake, however, must be obvious to all who
have observed carefully the language of Scripture in regard
to what is called God’s covenant. By that term is designated
the covenant of grace, “ the everlasting covenant,” which,
the apostle tells us, was sealed with the blood of Christ
(Heb. xiii. 20). This covenant God made with Adam af¬
ter the fall; and he renewed it with particular individuals,
in token of his approbation of their conduct, from time to
time, until it was consummated in Christ; and it wras by such
a renewal of it with Phinehas that he expressed his com¬
mendation of the zeal which that individual showed in the
case above related. With this, his occupying the place of
high priest had no connection, as to that he succeeded by
right of birth on the death of his father.
The other memorable action of Phinehas, in w'hich he
448
P H L
P H L
Phlebo¬
tomy
Phlogiston.
showed his zeal for the Lord, is recorded in Josh. xxii.
9-34. This was when the Israelites who were beyond Jor¬
dan had raised upon the banks of this river a vast heap of
earth in the form of an altar. Those on the other side,
fearing that they were going to forsake the Lord, and set
up another religion, deputed Phinehas and other chief men
amongst them to go and inform themselves of the reason of
erecting this monument. But when they had found that
it was in commemoration of their union and common ori¬
ginal, Phinehas took occasion to praise the Lord, saying,
“ We perceive that the Lord is among us, because ye have
not committed this trespass against the Lord.”
We do not exactly know the time of the death of Phi¬
nehas. But as he lived after the death of Joshua, and be¬
fore the first servitude under Chushan-rishathaim, during
the time that there were neither kings nor judges in the
land, and every one did that which was right in his own
eyes (Judges, xvii. 6, xviii. 1, xxi. 24), his death is placed
about the year of the world 2590. It was under his ponti¬
ficate that the story of Micah happened, as also that of the
tribe of Dan, when they made a conquest of Laish; and
the enormity which was committed upon the wife of the Le-
vite of the mountain of Ephraim (Judges, xx. 28). Phi-
nehas’s successor in the high priesthood was Abiezar, or
Abishuah.
The Rabbin allow a very long life to Phinehas. There
are some who believe that he lived to the time of the high
priest Eli, or even to that of Samson. Others will have it
that he was the same as Eli, or rather as the prophet Elias,
which would still prolong his life for several ages.
PHLEBOTOMY, the opening of a vein with a proper
sharp-edged and pointed instrument, to let out a certain
quantity of blood, either for the preservation or recovery of
a person’s health. See Surgery.
PHLEGON, a Greek historian, was a native of Tralles,
in Lydia, and the freedman of the Emperor Hadrian (a. d.
117-138) ; and he is said to have published under his own
name some works which were really the production of the
emperor. He was the author of a history or chronicle, in
sixteen books, which ended a. d. 141; and the loss of this
work is the more to be regretted, as it would have probably
furnished us with some curious information respecting the
early times of the Christian church. A small fragment,
entitled De Olympiis, on the origin and institution of the
Olympic games, still remains ; and in this work he notices
the eclipse or wonderful darkness which occurred at the
death of our Saviour. We have also two other works;
De Longcevis libellus, in which he mentions a certain Faus-
tus, aged 136, who was presented to the emperor; and
De Rebus Mirabilibus liber, a collection of popular stories,
and prodigies performed at Delphi, which are narrated by
those who had been eye-witnesses. These fragments have
been frequently published, but the edition of Bast (Halle,
1822, 8vo) includes all the valuable annotations of his pre¬
decessors.
PHLOGISTON, a term employed by chemists to denote
a principle which was supposed to enter into the composition
of various bodies. The bodies which were thought to con¬
tain it in the largest quantity are such as are inflammable;
and the property which these substances possess of being
susceptible of inflammation was thought to depend upon this
principle, so that it was sometimes called the Principle of
Inflammability. Inflammation, according to this doctrine,
was the separation of this principle, or phlogiston, from the
other matter which composed the combustible body. As its
separation was always attended with the emission of light
and heat, some chemists thence concluded that it was light
and heat combined with other matter in a peculiar manner,
or that it was some highly elastic and very subtile matter,
upon certain modifications of which heat and light depended.
Another class of bodies which were supposed to contain
phlogiston were the metals ; and the chemists supposed thatPhlogi
the peculiar lustre of the metals depended on this principle.
Of this they thought themselves convinced by the evidence
of their senses in two ways; first, because by exposing a
metal to the action of a long-continued heat, it lost its me¬
tallic lustre, and was converted into an earthy-like sub¬
stance called calx metallicus, or oxide; and, secondly, be¬
cause by mixing this oxide with any inflammable substance
whatever, and subjecting the mixture to certain operations,
the inflammable matter disappeared, and the metal was re¬
stored to its former condition and lustre, without suffering
much diminution in quantity, especially if the processes had
been conducted with care and attention.
This fact relative to the metals was thought to be a full
demonstration of itself, independently of other proofs which
were brought to support the doctrine. These were, that a
combustible body, by the act of inflammation, that is, by
the dissipation of its phlogiston in the form of heat and
light, was converted into a body which was no longer com¬
bustible, but which might have its property of combustibi¬
lity restored to it again by mixing the incombustible re¬
mains with any kind of inflammable matter, and submitting
the mixture to certain processes. In this way the body was
restored to its former state of inflammability.
They were also at some pains to prove that the phlogiston,
or the principle of inflammability, was the same in all in¬
flammable bodies, and also in the metals. This identity of
phlogiston they thought to be evident from the fact, that
the calx of a metal might be restored to its metallic state,
or that the remains after the combustion of a combusti¬
ble body might be restored to its original state of com¬
bustibility by the addition of any inflammable body what¬
ever, taken either from the animal, the vegetable, or the mi¬
neral kingdoms.
These and several other facts were brought to prove, not
only the existence of phlogiston, but its effects in mixture
with other substances ; and the objections which were made
against the doctrine were removed with wonderful inge¬
nuity. The chief objection against it was, that if the in¬
flammation of a combustible body, or the conversion of a me¬
tal into calx, depends upon the dissipation or extrication of
phlogiston, then it must follow, that the remains of a com¬
bustible body after inflammation, and the calx of the me¬
tal, must be less than the matter from which they were pro¬
duced. But this is contrary to fact, for when we collect
with care all the vapour into which the purest inflammable
bodies are converted by combustion, these incombustible
remains are much heavier than the inflammable body from
which they were produced, and the calx into which a metal
is converted by long exposure to the action of heat is heavier
than the metal from which it was produced. This consi¬
deration made several people doubt of the truth of the doc¬
trine ; but the objection was removed by saying, that phlo¬
giston was so subtile, as not only to have no weight, but to
possess an absolute levity; and that when it was taken from
an absolutely heavy body, that body must, by losing so
much absolute levity, become heavier, in the same manner
as the algebraists say that a positive quantity is augmented
by the subtraction of a negative quantity. This sophism sa¬
tisfied the minds of most of the chemists, especially those
who were algebraists.
The opinion that phlogiston was heat and light somehow
combined with other matter, was proved, not only by the
fact that heat and light were emitted from a combustible
body during its combustion, but from the reduction oj cer¬
tain metallic calces to the original metallic state again) at
least in some degree, by simple exposure to heat and hgh •
The white calx of silver, for instance, when exposed in
closely-sealed glass vessels to the light and heat of the sun,
resumes a black tinge, and is in part restored to its me a -
lie lustre, without any addition whatever ; but then this re-
P H L
;iston. storation, like the others above mentioned, is attended with
r-* a loss of weight.
Besides constituting the principal portion of inflammable
bodies and metals, phlogiston was thought to be the cause
of colour in all vegetable and animal substances. This was
concluded from the fact of plants growing white when de¬
fended from the action of the sun’s rays, and having their
green colour restored by fresh exposure to the light; and
so far did the chemists suffer themselves to be deceived,
that they actually thought the green colouring matter,
which they extracted from fresh plants by certain chemical
processes, to be an inflammable substance. But a very
material objection was made to this argument. If plants
owe their colour to phlogiston imparted by the sun’s rays,
why do the sun’s rays destroy vegetable colours which are
exposed to them ? We know that the sun’s rays are very
effectual in diminishing the lustre of cloth dyed with vege¬
table colours, and in bleaching or taking out various stains
from linen and other substances. All this, however, was
removed by saying, that the sun’s rays possessed different
powers on living and on dead vegetable matter, and that
the living vegetables had the power of absorbing phlogiston
from the sun’s rays, which dead vegetable matter had not.
Since the existence of phlogiston, as a chemical prin¬
ciple in the composition of certain bodies, has now been
Mly proved to be false, we shall not trouble our readers
with any further observations on it, except to add, that
although the chemists were satisfied with the proofs they
gave of its reality, they were never able to exhibit it in a
separate state, or show it in a pure form, unmixed with
other matter.
From the time of Sir Isaac Newton till the middle of the
eighteenth century, no real improvement was made in scien¬
tific chemistry; and the progress this science has made
since that period is owing to the important discovery of
the existence of heat in a state of composition with other
matter. Heat thus combined loses its activity, or becomes
insensible, just in the same way as any other active sub¬
stance loses its apparent qualities in composition. Acids,
for example, when combined in a certain proportion with
substances for which they have strong attraction, as alkalies
or absorbent earths, lose all their obvious acid qualities, and
the compound turns out mild, and totally conceals the
acid which it contains. In a similar manner, heat, when
combined in certain proportions with other matter, loses
its sensible qualities, and the compound conceals the heat
which it contains. Heat, in this combined state, was deno¬
minated by its ingenious discoverer, Dr Black, latent; and
it was found to be very abundant in the atmosphere, which
owes its existence as an elastic fluid to the quantity of la-
tent eat that it contains. After this discovery was made,
. r V^v-ford, considering that air was absorbed by a burn¬
ing body, concluded that the heat which appears in the
combustion of a combustible body, is the heat that had
petore existed in the air which was consumed by the burn¬
ing body. M. Lavoisier and others, prosecuting this inqui¬
ry, found that the combustible body, whilst it is burning,
unites with the basis of the air, and that the heat which the
air contained, and which was the cause of the air existing
n the state of air, is expelled. This absorption of the ba-
is of the air by the burning body, and the reduction of
is basis to a solid form, accounts for the increase of
'p,' . 1C1 a body acquires by burning; or, in other
HKi u gjVe.s a reason why the matter into which a combus-
i ,e „° - 18 converted by combustion, is heavier than the
{j?o'. .roiP which it was produced. The same absorption
„ j'Vs 0 , ervable when a metal is converted into a calx,
.• Vhe addltl°nal weight of the calx is found to be pre-
calfin +^Ua t(^tbe weight of the air absorbed during the
nlain tbes.e principles, therefore, we now ex-
vol xvn enornena a much more satisfactory manner
P H L
449
than by the supposition of phlogiston, or a principle of in- Phoca*
flammability.
PHOCAiA, the most northern of the cities of Ionia, was Pllocion-
situated on the coast, about two hundred stadia from Smyrna.'
It was founded by a colony of Phocians, led by two Athe¬
nians, Philogenes and Damon, and was not admitted into
the Ionian confederacy till it had received, from Teos and
Lrythne, kings of the race of the Codridae. Its citizens are
said to have been the first amongst the Greeks who extended
their voyages to great distances; in fact, the Adriatic, Tus¬
cany, and even Tartessus, were visited in pursuit of commer¬
cial speculations. After the conquest of Crcesus, Cyrus sent
ns general Harpagus to reduce the Greek cities of Ionia,
and the Phocaeans abandoned their city rather than sub¬
mit to the Persian yoke, b. c. 544. Some of them returned,
but the greater part eventually settled in Italy, and found¬
ed the city of Velia. Phocaea, however, must still have con¬
tinued to exist, as it furnished three ships in the Ionian
revolt. Livy describes the city as standing at the bottom
ot a bay, and as being of an oblong shape. It enclosed a
space of two miles and a half in length, and then contract¬
ed on both sides into a narrow wedge-like form, which
place they called Lampter, or the lighthouse. It had two
excellent harbours; the one towards the south was called
hvaustathmos, and the other was situated close to Lampter.
It was taken and plundered by the Romans in the war
against Antiochus. Phocaea founded Massilia, and Attalia
in Corsica. The site is still called Palaio Fokia.
PHOCION, a very celebrated Athenian general, was
descended from a family which at no time had been parti¬
cularly distinguished in the political transactions of their
country. He was born b. c. 402, and died b. c. 317, at the
age of eighty-five. His early years were spent under the
direction of Plato and Xenocrates, and his subsequent career
showed that he had profited by their instruction. His as¬
pect was forbidding, though his disposition was mild and
gentle. It was remarked, that he was never seen to laugh
or to weep. He commenced his military career under Cha-
bnas, and gained so much influence with that general that
he directed many of his proceedings. The victory at Naxos,
b. c. 376, was in a great measure due to his prudence and
military talents; nor was he less distinguished as a states¬
man and orator. He was quick in perception, and ready
in debate, so that Demosthenes feared him more than any
other orator, and is said to have called him the Hatchet.
Phocion was aware of the true position of his country, know¬
ing that she could no longer maintain that predominating
influence which she had possessed during the last century.
Peace was therefore the true policy of Athens, and he at
all times advocated such a course of conduct. Yet, though
his sense of the true interests of his country led him to be
the promoter of peace, he was at all times ready to assist
with his military talents. He commanded in the expedi¬
tion, b. c. 350, against Euboea, and gained the battle of
Jamynae. When Philip king of Macedonia laid siege to By¬
zantium,. and the cities along the coast, Phocion relieved
these cities from all danger, and compelled Philip to retire.
At the head of his army he endured all the fatigues of the
low est of his soldiers; and when he appeared more warmly
dressed than usual, the soldiers used to consider it the sign
of a severe winter. He was a man of the strictest inte¬
grity ; and, at a time when few of the orators and statesmen
of Athens were able to resist the temptation of enriching
themselves at the expense of their country, Phocion re¬
mained poor, and refused all the offers of the Macedonian
kings. He was, of course, opposed to the policy of Demos¬
thenes, and employed all his influence to thwart his measures.
In the troubles which followed the death of Alexander, he
was favourable to the party of Antipater; and when Poly-
sperchon re-established the popular form of government,
Phocion was seized, and being brought before an assembly,
3 L
450
P H O
Phoeis. composed chiefly of slaves and strangers, he was condemned
to die. He was put to death in his eighty-fifth year.
PHOCIS, a country of Greece, contained between Bceotia
in the east and Locris in the west, but extending formerly
from the Sinus Corinthiacus on the south to the Sea of
Eubcea on the north, and, according to Dionysius, as far as
Thermopylae ; though it was reduced afterwards to narrow-
er dimensions. The Phocenses were the people, of Phocis,
and Phocicus was the epithet; thus Bellum Phocicum means
the sacred war which the Thebans and Philip of Macedonia
carried on against them for plundering the temple at Del¬
phi, and by which Philip paved the way to the sovereignty
of all Greece. The greatest length of Phocis was from
north to south, that is, from 38. 45. to 39. 20., or about
thirty-five miles ; but it was very narrow from east to west,
not extending to thirty miles, that is, from 23. 10. to 23.
40. at the widest, but about twenty-three miles towards the
Corinthian bay, and still narrower towards the north. This
country is generally allowed to have taken its name from
Phocus the son of Ornytion, a native of C orinth; but hav¬
ing been soon afterwards invaded by the Eginetae, under
the conduct of another Phocus, the son of Eacus king of
Enopia, the memory of the first insensibly gave way to that
of the second.
In Phocis there were several very celebrated mountains,
such as Cythaeron, Helicon, and Parnassus. Cythaeron was
consecrated to the muses, as were also the other two, and it
was consequently much celebrated by the poets. Both it and
Helicon contend with Parnassus for height and magnitude.
There were no remarkable rivers in Phocis except the Ce-
phisus, which runs from the foot of Parnassus northwards, and
empties itself into the Pindus, which was near the boundary
of the kingdom. It had several very considerable cities,
such as Cirrha, Crissa, and Antecyra, which, according to
Ptolemy, were situated on the sea coasts; and Pythia, Delphi,
Daulis, Elatia, Ergosthenia, and Baulia, which were inland
towns. Elatia was the largest and richest after Delphi.
Deucalion was king of that part of Phocis which lies near
Parnassus, at the time when Cecrops flourished in Attica;
but the Phocians afterwards formed themselves into a com¬
monwealth, governed by their general assemblies, the mem¬
bers of which were chosen from amongst themselves, and
changed as often as occasion required. Of the history of
the Phocians but little is known until the time of the holy
war, of which the following account is given in the Ancient
Universal History.
“ The Phocians having presumed to plough the terri¬
tories of the city of Cirrha, consecrated to the Delphic god,
were summoned by the other Grecian states befoie the
court of the Amphictyons, where a considerable fine was
imposed upon them for their sacrilege. They refused to
pay it, on pretence that it was too large; and at the next
assembly their dominions were adjudged confiscated to the
use of the temple. This second sentence exasperated the
Phocians still more ; who, at the instigation ot one Philo-
melus, or, as he is called by Plutarch, Philomedes, seized
upon the temple, plundered it of its treasure, and held the
sacred depositum for a considerable time. This second
crime occasioned another assembly of the Amphictyons, the
result of which was a formal declaration of war against the
Phocians. The quarrel being become more general, the
several states took part in it, according to their inclinations
or interest. Athens, Sparta, and some others of the Pelo¬
ponnesians, declared for the Phocians; and the Thebans,
Thessalians, Locrians, and other neighbouring states, against
them. A war was commenced with great fury on both
sides, and styled the holy roar, which lasted ten. years; dur¬
ing which the Phocians, having hired a number of foreign
troops, made an obstinate defence, and would in all proba¬
bility have held out much longer had not Philip of Mace-
don given the finishing stroke to their total defeat and pu-
P H (E
nishment. The war being ended, the grand council as-Phocylt,
sembled again, and imposed an annual fine of sixty talents !
upon the Phocians, to be paid to the temple, and continued I
till they had fully repaired the damage it had sustained from ^’“vv
them; and, till this reparation should be made, they were
excluded from dwelling in walled towns, and from having
any vote in the grand assembly. They did not, however,
continue long under this heavy sentence. Their known
bravery made their assistance so necessary to the rest, that
they were glad to remit it; after which remission they con¬
tinued to behave with their usual courage and resolution,
and soon obliterated their former guilt.”
PHOCYLIDES, a Greek poet, was a native of Miletus,
in Ionia, and flourished b. c. 544, being the contemporary
of Theognis. He was the author of some epic poems and
elegies; but, of all his works, only a poem ( Carmen Nutheti-
con), of two hundred and seventeen verses, has been pre¬
served. As it is only alluded to by an ancient scholiast on
Nicander, there is some doubt if it be really the produc¬
tion of Phocylides, as none of the passages quoted by Plato,
Aristotle, Strabo, and other writers, are to be found in any
part of this poem. It is published in all the editions of
the Sententice of Theognis ; but the most valuable one is that
by J. A. Schier, with a Latin translation, and learned anno¬
tations, Leipzig, 1751, 8vo.
PHCEBUS, one of the names applied by the ancient my-
thologists to the Sun, Sol, or Apollo.
PHCENICIA, or more properly Phcenice, the ancient
name of a country situated between the thirty-fourth and
thirty-sixth degrees of north latitude, being bounded by
Syria on the north and east, by Judaea on the south, and
by the Mediterranean on the west. How it obtained its
name is not certainly known. Some derive it from one
Phoenix ; and others from the Greek word phoenix, signify¬
ing a palm or date, as that tree abounded in the country.
Some suppose that Phcenice was originally a translation of
the Hebrew word Edom, from the Edomites who fled thither
in the days of David. By the contraction of the word Ca¬
naan it was also called Chna, and anciently Rhabbothin and
Colpitis. The Jews commonly named it Canaan; though
some part of it, at least, was known to them by the name of
Syrophcenice. Bochart tells us, that the most probable ety¬
mology is Phene Anak, the descendants of Anak. Such
were the names peculiar to this small country, though Phffi-
nice was sometimes extended to all the maritime countries
of Syria and Judaea, and Canaan to that of the Philistines,
and even of the Amalekites. On the contrary, all these
names were superseded by those of Palestine and Syria.
There is some disagreement amongst authors respecting
the northern limits of this country. Ptolemy states the ri¬
ver Eleutherus as the boundary of Phoenice to the north;
but Pliny, Mela, and Stephanus, place it in the island ot
Aradus, to the northward of that river. Strabo observes,
that some considered the river Eleutherus as the boundary
of Seleucis, on the side of Phoenice and Ccelesyria. On the
coast of Phcenice, and south of the river Eleutherus, stood
the cities of Simyra, Orthosia, Tripolis, Botrys, Byblus, Pa-
laebyblus, Berytus, Sidon, Sarepta, Tyrus, and Palaetyrus.
According to Ptolemy, Phcenice extended even beyond
Mount Carmel; for that geographer places in Phcenice no
only Ecdippa and Ptolemais, but Sycaminum and Ltera,
which are situated to the southward of that mountain, nu
these towns, properly speaking, belonged to Palestine. e
will not take upon us to mark out the bounds ot the m
land Phcenice. Ptolemy reckons in it the towns of Area,
Palsebyblus, Gabala, and Caesaria Pamae. rh*s Pr?v.
was considerably extended in the early times of Christian
ity, when, being considered as a province ot byna,
eluded not only Damascus, but also Palmyra.
The Phoenicians were governed by kings; and tne
ritory, small as it was, included several kingdoms, nam y.
P H (E
ieia. those of Sidon, Tyre, Aradus, Berytus, and Byblus. In
—' this particular they imitated and adhered to the primitive
government of their forefathers, who, like the other Ca-
naanites, were under many petty princes, to whom they al¬
lowed the sovereign dignity, reserving to themselves the
natural rights and liberties of mankind. Of their civil laws
no remnant has been preserved.
With regard to religion, the Phoenicians were the most
gross and abominable idolaters. The Baal-berith, Baalze-
bub, and Baal-samen, mentioned in Scripture, were some of
the Phoenician gods ; as were Moloch, Ashtaroth, and Tham-
muz, also mentioned in the sacred writings. The word Baal,
in itself an appellative, was no doubt applied to the true
God, until he rejected it on account of its being so much
profaned by the idolaters. The name was not appropriated
to any particular deity amongst the idolatrous nations, but
was common to many ; it was generally imagined, however,
that one supreme God presided over all the rest. Amongst
the Phoenicians this deity was named Baal-samen, but the
Hebrews would have called him Baal-shemim, or the God
of heaven. In all probability this was also the principal
Carthaginian deity, although his Punic name is unknown.
Many religious rites of the Carthaginians have been handed
down to us by the Greek and Roman v/riters; but they all
bestowed the names of their own gods upon those of the
Carthaginians, a circumstance which leads us to a know¬
ledge of the correspondence between the characters of the
Phoenician and the European deities. The principal deity
of Carthage was, according to Diodorus Siculus, Chronos or
Saturn; and the sacrifices offered up to him were children
of the best families. We also learn, that the Carthaginians
had a brazen statue or colossus of this god, the hands of
which were extended in the act of receiving, and bent
downwards in such a manner that the child laid thereupon
immediately fell down into a hollow where there was a nery
furnace. It is added, that this inhuman practice seemed to
confirm a tradition handed down to the Greeks from remote
antiquity, that Saturn devoured his own children.
The goddess Coelestis, or Urania, was held in the high¬
est veneration by the Carthaginians. She is supposed to
have been the same with the queen of heaven mentioned in
Jeremiah, or the Juno Olympia of the Greeks. According
to Hesychius, the same word, in the Punic language, was
applied both to Juno and Venus; nay, the ancient Greeks
frequently confound Juno, Venus, and Diana or the moon,
which is to be attributed to the Egyptians and Phoenicians,
from whom they received their system of religion, and who
in the most ancient times appear to have had but one name
for them all. Besides these there were several other dei¬
ties, who were worshipped amongst the Phoenicians, parti¬
cularly those of Tyre, and consequently amongst the Car¬
thaginians. 1 hese were Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, and Bacchus.
Jupiter was worshipped under the name of Belus or Baal;
to him they addressed their oaths ; and his name they placed
at the head of their treaties. Apollo or the Sun went either
by this name simply, or by others of which it formed a part.
The Carthaginian superstition, how'ever, was not confined
t0 j iSe ^e^es al°ne- They worshipped the fire, the air,
and the other elements, and had a multitude of local gods.
JNay, they paid divine honours to the spirits of their heroes,
an even to men and women whilst yet in life; and in this
a oration Hannibal had for some time a share, notwithstand¬
ing the infamous conduct which his countrymen showed
owards him at last. In order to worship these gods with
wore convenience, the Carthaginians had a kind of portable
emples. These were covered chariots, in which were small
images representing their favourite deities, and which were
rawn by oxen. They served also as a kind of oracle, and
leu- responses were understood by the motion impressed
. j5?11 ^ e vehicle. The tabernacle of Moloch is supposed
ave been a machine of this kind ; and it is not impro-
P H (E
451
bable that the whole was derived from the tabernacle of the Phoenicia.
Jews in the wilderness. ' Y—
Besides all the deities above mentioned, we find another,
named the Daemon or Genius of Carthage, which is men¬
tioned in the treaty made by Philip of Macedonia and Han¬
nibal. What this deity was we know not; but it may be
observed, that the pagan world in general believed in the
existence of daemons, or intelligences who had a kind of
middle nature between gods and men, and to whom the
administration of the world was in a great measure com¬
mitted. Hence it is no wonder that they should have re¬
ceived religious honours; for when once mankind were
possessed with the opinion that they were the ministers of
the gods, and trusted with the dispensation of their favours,
as well as the infliction of their punishments, it is natural
to suppose that they would be desirous of making their ad¬
dresses to these beings.
Much has been said of their arts, sciences, and manufac¬
tures ; but as all that we find concerning them is couched in
general terms, we cannot enter into particulars. The Sido-
nians, under which denomination we comprehend the Phoe¬
nicians in general, were a people of most happy genius. They
were from the beginning addicted to philosophical exercises
of the mind; insomuch that a Sidonian, by name Moschus,
taught the doctrine of atoms before the Trojan war, and
Abomenus of Tyre puzzled Solomon by the subtilty of his
questions. Phoenice continued to be one of the seats of
learning, and in later times both Tyre and Sidon produced
their respective philosophers ; namely, Boethus and Dioda-
tus of Sidon, Antipater of Tyre, and Apollonius of the same
place, who gave an account of the writings and disciples of
Zeno. As to their manufactures, the glass of Sidon, the pur¬
ple of Tyre, and the fine linen they wove, were the products
of their own country, and their own invention ; and for their
extraordinary skill in working metals, in hewing timber and
stone, and their perfect knowledge of what was solid, great,
and ornamental in architecture, we need only remind the
reader of the large share which they had in erecting and de¬
corating the temple at Jerusalem under their king Hiram.
I heir fame for taste, design, and ingenious invention, was
such, that whatever was elegant, great, or pleasing, whether
in apparel, in vessels, or in toys, was distinguished by way
of excellence by the epithet of Sidonian.
The Phoenicians were likewise celebrated merchants, na¬
vigators, and planters of colonies in foreign parts. As mer¬
chants, they may be said to have engrossed all the com¬
merce of the western world ; as navigators, they were the
boldest, the most experienced, and the greatest discoverers
of ancient times, and for many ages they had no rivals. In
planting colonies they exerted themselves so much that,
considering their territory was little more than the slip of
land situated between Mount Lebanon and the sea, it is sur¬
prising how they could furnish such supplies of people, and
not wholly depopulate their native country.
It is generally supposed that the Phoenicians were in¬
duced to deal in foreign commodities by their neighbour¬
hood to the Syrians, who were perhaps the most ancient of
those who carried on a considerable and regular trade with
the nations farther to the east. And this conjecture appears
at least probable ; for their own territory was but small,
and little able to afford any considerable exports, if we ex¬
cept manufactures ; but that their manufactures were con¬
siderable until they began to turn all the channels of trade
into their own country, it is difficult to believe. In Syria,
which was a large country, they found store of productions
of the natural growth of the soil, whilst many choice and
useful commodities were imported from the East. Thus,
having a safe coast, with convenient harbours on one side,
and excellent materials for ship-building on the other; per¬
ceiving how acceptable many commodities which Syria fur¬
nished would be in foreign parts, and being stimulated by
452 P H (E
P H O
Phoenicia.
the example of the Syrians; they turned all their thoughts
to trade and navigation, and by an uncommon application
soon eclipsed their masters in that art.
It were in vain to discourse of the Edomites who fled hither
in David’s time, or to inquire why Herodotus supposed that
the Phoenicians came from the Red Sea. That some of
the Edomites fled into this country in the days of David,
and that they were a trading people, is very evident; but
what improvements they brought with them into Phcemce
it is hard to say, and it is not less difficult to ascertain their
numbers. In all probability they brought with them a know¬
ledge of the Red Sea, and of the southern parts of Arabia,
Egypt, and Ethiopia, and by their information made the
Phoenicians acquainted with those coasts; and by these means
the latter were enabled to undertake voyages to those parts,
for Solomon, and Pharaoh-Necho, king of Egypt.
Their whole thoughts were employed about schemes for
advancing their commerce. They affected no empire but
that of the sea, and appeared to aim at nothing but the
peaceable enjoyment of their trade. This they extended
to all the known parts they could reach ; to the British
Islands, commonly understood by the Cassiterides; to Spain,
and other places in the ocean both within and without the
Straits of Gibraltar ; and, in general, to all the ports of the
Mediterranean, the Black Sea, and the Palus Macotis or
Sea of Azof. In all these parts they had founded settlements,
whence they drew whatever was useful to themselves, or
might prove so to others; and thus they enjoyed the three
great branches of trade, as it is commonly divided into im¬
portation, exportation, and transportation. Such appears to
have been their trade by sea; and as to that which they
carried on by land in Syria, Mesopotamia, Assyria, Babylo¬
nia, Persia, Arabia, and even in India, it was not less exten¬
sive, and may give us an idea of what this people once was,
and how deservediy their merchants are mentioned in Scrip¬
ture as equal to princes. Their country was at that time the
great warehouse, where every thing that could administer
either to the necessities or luxury of mankind was to be
found; and all this they distributed as they judged best for
their own interest. The purple of Tyre, the glass of Sidon,
and the fine linen made in this country, together with curi¬
ous pieces of art in metals and wood, appear to have been
the chief and almost only commodities of Phcenice itself.
Indeed their territory was so small, that it is not to be ima¬
gined they could afford to export any products of their own
growth.
Having thus spoken in general terms of the trade of the
Phoenicians, we shall now touch upon their shipping, and some
things remarkable in their navigation. Their larger vessels
were of two sorts, being divided into round ships or gauli,
and long ships, galleys, or triremes. When they drew up in
line of battle, the gauli were disposed at a small distance
from each other in the wings, or in the van and the rear;
whilst their triremes were contracted together in the centre.
If at any time they observed that a stranger kept them com¬
pany in their voyage, or followed in their track, they were
sure to get rid of him if they could, or deceive him if pos¬
sible ; and in this policy they went so far, as to venture the
loss of their ships, and even their lives, so jealous were they
of foreigners, and so tenaciously bent upon keeping the
whole trade to themselves. To discourage other nations
from engaging in commerce, they practised piracy, or at least
pretended to be at war with such as they met when they
thought themselves strongest. This was a natural stroke
of policy on the part of a people who grasped at the whole
commerce of the then known world. We must not forget
to mention here the famous fishery of Tyre, which so re¬
markably enriched that city. The murex, or purple dye,
has been celebrated by all the ancient writers.
PHCENIX, the great palm or date-tree. There is only
one species, viz. the dactylifera, or common date-tree, a na¬
tive of Africa and the eastern countries, where it grows to Pha*
fifty, sixty, and a hundred feet in height. The trunk is round, ||
upright, and studded with protuberances, which are the,
vestiges of the decayed leaves. From the top issues forth
a cluster of leaves or branches eight or nine feet long, ex¬
tending all around like an umbrella, and bending a little
towards the earth. The lower part produces a number of
stalks like those of the middle, but these seldom shoot so
high as four or five feet. The stalks, according to Adanson,
diffuse the tree very considerably, so that, wherever it grows
naturally in forests, it is extremely difficult to open a pas¬
sage through its prickly leaves. The date-tree was intro¬
duced into Jamaica soon after the conquest of that island by
the Spaniards. There are, however, but few of them in the
island at the present time. The fruit is somewhat in the
shape of an acorn. It is composed of a thin, light, and
glossy membrane, somewhat pellucid and yellowish, which
contains a fine, soft, and pulpy fruit, that is firm, sweet, and
somewhat vinous to the taste, esculent, and wholesome;
and within this is enclosed a solid, tough, and hard kernel,
of a pale gray colour upon the outside, and finely marbled
within like the nutmeg. For medicinal use dates are to be
chosen large, full, fresh, yellow on the surface, soft and
tender, not too much wrinkled; such as have a vinous taste,
and do not rattle when shaken. They are produced in many
parts of Europe, but never ripen perfectly there. The best
are brought from Tunis; they are also very fine and good
in Egypt, and in many parts of the East. Those of Spain
and France look well; but they are never perfectly ripe,
and very subject to decay. They are preserved three dif¬
ferent ways; some pressed and dry; others pressed more
moderately, and again moistened with their own juice; and
others not pressed at all, but moistened with the juice of
other dates, as they are packed up, which is done in baskets or
skins. Those preserved in this last way are much the best.
Dates have always been esteemed moderately strengthen¬
ing and astringent.
Dates afford wholesome nourishment, and have a very
agreeable taste when they are fresh ; the Arabs, however,
eat them without seasoning. They dry and harden them in
the sun to reduce them to a kind of meal, which they lay
up in store to supply themselves with food during the long
journeys which they often undertake across their deserts.
This simple food is sufficient to nourish them for a long
time. The inhabitants of the Sahara also procure from
their dates a kind of honey, which is exceedingly sweet.
For this purpose they choose those which have the softest
pulp ; and having put them into a large jar with a hole in
the bottom, they squeeze them by placing over them a
weight of eight or ten pounds. The most fluid part of the
substance, which drops through the hole, is what they call
the honey of the date. Even the stones, though very har ,
are not thrown away, but given to their camels and sheep
as food, after they have been bruised or laid to soften in
Wetter**
Phcenix, in Antiquity, a famous bird, which is general¬
ly regarded by the moderns as fabulous. The ancients
speak of this bird as single, or the only one of its kind. Ihey
describe it as of the size of an eagle, having its head finely
crested with a beautiful plumage, its neck covered witi
feathers of a gold colour, and the rest of its body, excep
the tail, purple, and the eyes sparkling like stars, ihey
hold that it lives five or six hundred years in the wnder-
ness; that when thus advanced in age, it builds itselt a
pile of sweet wood and aromatic gums, which it fires wi
the wafting of its wings, and thus burns itself; and tliat
from its ashes arises a worm, which in time grows up to e
a phoenix. Hence the Phoenicians gave the name Vhm^.
to the palm-tree, because, when burned down to the roo ,
rises again fairer than ever. ..
PHOLIS, an old name for gypsums or plaster-stones.
P H O
s is derived from <poXis, a scale or small flake, because these
stones are composed of particles of that form.
iS- PHONICS, the doctrine or science of sound, otherwise
called acoustics. See Acoustics.
PHORMINX, a stringed instrument used by the ancient
Greeks, and probably by the Egyptians. Its nature is not
known; but it is mentioned by Homer, Euripides, and others.
PHOSPHORUS, a name given to certain substances
which shine in the dark without emitting heat. By this cir¬
cumstance they are distinguished from the pi/rophori, which,
though they take fire on being exposed to the air, are yet
entirely destitute of light before such exposure. Phosphori
are divided into several kinds, known by the names of Bo-
lognian phosphorus, Mr Canton’s phosphorus, Baldwin’s phos¬
phorus, phosphorus of urine, and the like. The phosphorus
of urine is by far the most remarkable, both with respect to
the quantity of light which it emits, and its property of tak¬
ing fire and burning very fiercely upon being slightly heat¬
ed or rubbed.
PHOTINIANS, in Ecclesiastical History, were a sect of
heretics in the fourth century who denied the divinity of
our Lord. They derive their name from Photinus their
founder, who was bishop of Sirmium, and a disciple of Mar-
cellus. In the year 343 Photinus published his notions re¬
specting the Deity, which were repugnant both to the or¬
thodox and to the Arian systems. He asserted that Jesus
Christ was born of the Holy Ghost and the Virgin Mary ;
that a certain divine emanation, which he called the Word,
descended upon him ; that, because of the union of tfce Di¬
vine Word wdth his human nature, he was called the Son of
God, and even God himself; and that the Holy Ghost was
not a person, but merely a celestial virtue proceeding from
the Deity. Both parties condemned the bishop in the coun¬
cils of Antioch and Milan, held in the years 345 and 347.
He was also condemned by the council at Sirmium in 351,
and having been degraded from the episcopal dignity, he
died in exile in the year 372 or 375. His opinions were
afterwards revived by Socinus.
PHOTINX, an ancient wind-instrument of Egypt, said
to have been a kind of flute of a curved form. Several mo¬
dern wind-instruments are curved.
PHOTIUS, patriarch of Constantinople, was one of the
most remarkable men of his time, and by his merit raised
himself to the patriarchate. When Bardas had driven Igna¬
tius from the see, Photius was consecrated by Asbestus in
859. He condemned Ignatius in a synod, upon which the
pope excommunicated him; and, to balance the account,
Photius anathematized the pope. Basilius of Macedonia,
vhom Photius had reproved for the murder of the Emperor
Michael, expelled him, and restored Ignatius; but after-
j wards, upon the death of Ignatius, Photius was re-established
m the year 878. At last, being wrongfully accused of a con¬
spiracy against the person of Leo the philosopher, son and
successor of Basilius, he was expelled in 886, and is supposed
to have died soon afterwards. He wrote a Bibliotheca, which
contains an examination of two hundred and eighty authors ;
and we have also two hundred and fifty-three epistles of his,
t le Nomocanon under fourteen titles, and an abridgment of
the acts of several councils. This great man was born in
onstantinople, and descended from a very illustrious and
noble family. His natural abilities were eminent, and he
cu tivated them with the greatest assiduity. There was no
ranch of literature, whether sacred or profane, and scarcely
anyartorscience,in which he was not deeply versed. Indeed
m appears to have been by far the greatest man of the age
in which he lived; and he was so intimately concerned in
e chief transactions of it, that ecclesiastical writers have
0n 1 a*' account called it Sceculum Photianum. He was first
P H It 453
raised to the chief dignities of the empire, being made prin- Photome-
cipal secretary of state, captain of the guards, and a sena- ter
tor; and in all these stations he acquitted himself with a p, II . .
distinction suitable to his great abilities, having been an able. hrenitlc-v
statesman as well as a profound scholar. His rise to the ^
patriarchate was very rapid ; for when he was chosen to that
office he was only a layman; but, that he might, as it were,
be gradually raised to that dignity, he was made monk the
first day, reader the next, and the following days sub-dea¬
con, deacon, and priest, so that in the space of six days he
attained to the highest office in the church. On the whole,
however, his ardent love of glory and unbounded ambition
led him to commit excesses which rendered him a scourge
to those around him. I abricius describes his Bibliotheca, or
Library, as non liber, sed insignis thesaurus, not a book, but
an illustrious treasure, in which are contained many curious
things relating to authors, and many fragments of works
which are nowhere else to be found. It was brought to
light by Andreas Scottus, and communicated by him to Da¬
vid Hoeschelius, who caused it to be printed in 1601. Scot¬
tus, considering the great utility of this work, translated it
into Latin, and printed his translation separately in the year
1606. The Greek text, together with the translation, was
afterwards printed at Geneva in 1611.
PHOTOMETER, an instrument for ascertaining the in¬
tensity of light. See Meteorology and Optics.
PHRASE, in Grammar, an elegant turn or manner of
expression, peculiarly belonging to this or that occasion, this
or that art, this or that language. Thus we say, an Italian
■phrase, an eastern phrase, a poetical phrase, a rhetorical
phrase. Phrase is sometimes also used for a short sentence
or small circuit of words constructed together. In this sense,
Father Buffier divides phrases into complete and incomplete.
Phrases are complete where there is a noun and a verb, each
in its proper function; that is, where the noun expresses a
subject, and the verb the thing affirmed of it. Incomplete
phrases are those where the noun and the verb together only
perform the office of a noun, and consist of several words,
which, without affirming any thing, might be expressed by
a single term. Thus, that which is true, is an incomplete
phrase, and might be expressed in one word, truth; and
again, that which is true satisfles the mind, might be con¬
verted into truth satisfies the mind.
PHRASEOLOGY, a collection of the phrases or the
elegant expressions in any language.
PHREATIS, or Phreattium, in Grecian antiquity, was
a court belonging to the civil government of Athens, situ¬
ated upon the sea-shore, in the Piraeus. The name is com¬
monly derived am rov pgiarog, because it stood in a pit; or, as
others suppose, it is formed from the name of the hero Phre-
atus. This court heard such causes as concerned persons
who had fled from their own country for murder, or those
who had fled for involuntary murder, and had afterwards
committed a deliberate and wilful murder. The first wno
was tried in this place was Teucer, on a groundless suspicion
that he had been accessory to the death of Ajax. The ac¬
cused was not allowed to land, or so much as to cast anchor,
but pleaded his cause in his bark, and if found guilty, he was
committed to the mercy of the winds and waves, or, as some
say, suffered there condign punishment; but if innocent,
he was only cleared of the second fact, and, according to
custom, underwent a twelvemonth’s banishment for the
former.
PHRENITIC, a term used to denote those who, without
being absolutely mad, are subject to such strong sallies of
imagination as in some measure pervert their judgment, and
cause them to act in a way different from the more rational
part of mankind.
454
PHRENOLOGY.
Physiology
of the
brain im¬
perfectly
known.
Phrenology Phrenology, derived from 4>Pt)v, the mind, and Aoyos, dts-
course, is a term which has been recently applied to denote
Definition. a new doctrine of mental philosophy, founded on a presumed
knowledge of the functions of different portions of the brain,
obtained by comparing their relative forms and magnitudes
in different individuals, with the propensities and intellectual
powers which these individuals are found respectively to
possess. This term has of late years totally superseded the
more unpretending titles of Craniology and Cranios-
copy, by which this doctrine, in its earlier periods, and be¬
fore it had aspired at effecting a revolution in psychology,
was designated, and which simply implied the study of t e
external forms of the skull, both in men and animals, with
a view to determine the size of the subjacent parts of the
brain, and thence to derive indications as to the mental and
moral qualities of each individual. .
The original propounder of the doctrine which is the
basis of phrenology was Dr. Gall, a physician of Vienna,
whose system, matured in conjunction with Dr. Spurzheim,
has attracted so much attention, and been so keenly dis¬
cussed, both here and on the Continent, that we think it
our duty to present our readers with a general outline of
this pretended science.
’ Of the several parts which compose the human body, the
mechanism of which has been so thoroughly unfolded by
the diligence of modern anatomists, there are few whose use
in the economy is wholly unknown. The intention and
operation of every part of our frame subservient to the me¬
chanical purposes of connexion, of locomotion, and of strength,
such as the bones, muscles, and ligaments, are, in general,
sufficiently apparent; the functions performed by the ab¬
dominal and thoracic viscera are, for the most part, well
ascertained ; and we are able, in like manner, to discern the
adaptation of the organs of sense to receive appropriate im¬
pressions from surrounding objects. One organ alone, and
an organ of vast importance in the system, connected with
every other, and essentially interwoven with our sensitive
existence, has baffled all investigation, and still presents a
wide blank in this rich and cultivated field of knowledge.
The brain, that large mass of pulpy substance, which fills
the cavity of the cranium, is, even at the present day, as
incomprehensible in its functions, as it is subtle and com¬
plex in its anatomy. It appears, indeed, to be sufficiently
established, that the brain is, in some unknown way, sub¬
servient to sensation and voluntary motion, and is thereby
the immediate agent by which the soul and body mutually
exert an influence over each other: and it has also been
very generally supposed, that this organ is immediately con¬
cerned in all our mental operations, besides being the in¬
strument by which we feel and act. But the phenomena
comprehended under the operations of the mind are ex¬
ceedingly various and complicated, and are also of very dif¬
ferent kinds; so that before we can reason concerning them,
it is necessary that they should be properly distinguished
and arranged. Metaphysicians have, accordingly, classed
them as referable to our sentient, our intellectual, our ac¬
tive, and our moral powers. Further subdivision again is
required ; and the intellectual phenomena, for instance, are
arranged according as they relate to the faculties of con¬
ception, association, memory, abstraction, judgment, ima¬
gination, invention, &c. Other phenomena are distributed
under the heads of the different active principles, such as
the propensities, the instincts, the affections, and the pas¬
sions, which belong to our nature. Whilst we thus discover Phrem
a great diversity in the functions of the mind, we observe
also as great a complexity of structure in the organs by
which they are performed. Shall we rest satisfied with an
acquiescence in the general proposition, that the brain is
the organ of thought ? May we not rather regard it as a
congeries of distinct organs, corresponding to the different
faculties into which the mind may be analyzed ; each organ
having its appropriate office, and being immediately subser¬
vient to some particular function of the mind ? The ques¬
tion has, indeed, presented itself to many physiologists; but
few have ventured farther in attempting its solution, than
to throw out some vague and general conjectures as to the
uses of certain parts, or as to the supposed habitation of the
sentient principle. Thus, for a long period it was held,
that the cerebrum was the organ of perception, and the
cerebellum the organ of memory. The cavities which are
met with in the interior of the brain have often been con¬
sidered as the scene of the intellectual operations. Ne-
mesius, the first bishop of Emesa, under the reign of Theo¬
dosius, taught that the sensations had their seat in the an¬
terior ventricles, memory in the middle, and understanding
in the posterior ventricles. Albertus Magnus, in the thir¬
teenth century, went so far as actually to delineate upon a
head the supposed seat of the different faculties of the mind.
He placed common sense in the forehead, or in the first
ventricle of the brain, cogitation and judgment in the se¬
cond, memory and moving power in the third. Peter de
Montagnana, in 1491, published the figure of a head, on
which were indicated the seat of the sensus communis, the
cellula imaginativa, cellula cestimativa seu cogitativa, cel-
lula memorativa, and cellula rationahs. Ludovico Dolci,
Servito, and a great number of other writers, have hazard¬
ed similar hypotheses as to the locality of the different fa¬
culties. Both Haller and Van Swieten fancied that the in¬
ternal senses occupy different places in the brain ; but they
considered its whole organization as too complicated, too
intricate, and too difficult, to allow of any hope that the
seat of memory, of judgment, or of imagination, could ever
be detected. ,
In the pursuit of this speculation, no one has engaged^ ^
with more ardour and perseverance than Dr. Gall, who, ^
after many years of patient labour, and much fruitless wan tjons
dering in search of the truth, conceived that he had at last
discovered the clue which was to conduct us throug i t e
mazes of this labyrinth, and enable us to arrive at a more
accurate knowledge of human nature, and of the nl^n®
which may conduce to its perfection. The account w ic
he gave of the circumstances that gradually drew his atten¬
tion to the subject, and of his progress in this new path ot
discovery, is as follows : Brought up in the midst 0 a
merous family, and naturally gifted with the talent ^ 0
servation, he was struck, even when a boy, with the dive -
sities of disposition and of character amongst his brothers an
sisters, and the companions with whom he was educa e •
He remarked, that each excelled in a particular study,
was distinguished by a peculiar turn of mind. One wa
noted for the beauty of his handwriting; another tor
quickness at arithmetic; a third for his aptitude in learning
languages ; a fourth for remembering everything t m
read in history. This diversity was apparent m all tha )
did ; thus the style of composition of the one wasrema
ble for its flowing and elegant periods; of another 10
PHRENOLOGY.
logy baldness and dryness ; of a third for its condensation and
-w vigour. Many displayed talents for arts which had never
been taught them ; they excelled, perhaps, in drawing, or
in the execution of works of mechanism ; some sought for
amusement in noisy sports, others preferred cultivating their
gardens ; a few placed their chief delight in rambling through
fields and forests, and in collecting birds, insects, and flow¬
ers. One was of a social and affectionate disposition, an¬
other was selfish and reserved ; a third was fickle, and not
to be depended upon. The great facility with which some
of his school-fellows could commit their tasks to memory,
which to him was a work of immense labour, although in
matters of reasoning and judgment he felt himself their su¬
perior, often proved a grievous source of mortification, and
excited in him a strong desire to know the cause of this dif¬
ference. He at length remarked, that all the boys gifted
with this kind of memory had large and prominent eyes.
He afterwards went to the university; and directing his at¬
tention to all those among his fellow-students, who presented
the same peculiarity of feature, he learned that they were
all distinguished by the tenacity of their memories ; as, in¬
deed, he soon found to his cost, for they were sure to leave
him far behind in every competition, where the exercise of
this faculty was essential to success. This observation gave
rise to others; it suggested the notion, that other intellec¬
tual endowments might also be indicated by the features;
and Gall, by degrees, came to imagine that he had disco¬
vered a number of external signs, which respectively indi¬
cated a decided turn for painting, for music, for mechani¬
cal arts, or other objects. He had by this time commen¬
ced the study of medicine; and, in the course of his
academical instructions, he heard much about the functions
of the muscles and viscera; but nothing was taught about
those of the brain and its different parts. It then occur¬
red to him, that the differences he had already noticed in
the external configuration of the head, as connected with
certain dispositions of mind, were occasioned by differen¬
ces in the form of the brain. Delighted with the prospect
which this idea opened to him of discovering the functions
of particular parts of this organ, and of obtaining an insight
into the connexion between the mind and the body, he
formed the resolution of prosecuting the research, till he
had either accomplished his object, or satisfied himself that
it was not to be attained by that method. Natural his¬
tory, which had long been his favourite study, furnished
ample scope for the extension of these inquiries. He had
been in the practice of collecting plants and animals of va¬
rious kinds, and of arranging them, not according to the
artificial methods of classification detailed in books of science,
but according to their more obvious resemblances. He now
studied the relations between their external forms, and their
natural habits and dispositions. Dogs showed him the great¬
est diversities in their capabilities of being educated. He
remarked that some were naturally expert at the chace,
while others, of the same breed, could not be trained with¬
out the utmost difficulty ; that some perpetually lost them¬
selves, while others found their way home from great dis¬
tances. In birds, he observed that one would listen with
attention to a tune which it heard, and immediately learn
it; while another of the very same brood would sing no-
tning but the note that was natural to it. Whence, he
would ask himself, can arise this wide diversity among in¬
dividuals ?
solution of this difficult question was not to be hop¬
ed for, unless by means of observations conducted on the
largest possible scale. He therefore set about examining
all the skulls he could lay hold of, that had belonged to in¬
dividuals whose history was known. He looked out for all
persons in any way distinguished for a particular talent or
moral quality. He examined their heads with great atten¬
tion, and noted the peculiarities in their shape. He also
455
collected observations on other individuals, who were re- Phrenology
markable for the weakness of any faculty, and then compar-'
ed together the positive and negative indications. On the
other hand, when he chanced to meet with a head that pre¬
sented some singularity in shape, he was at much pains to
obtain information as to the moral and intellectual charac¬
ter of the person to whom it belonged. When he had no
other resource, he did not scruple, as Dr. Spurzheim in¬
forms us, to address his questions directly to the person in
whose head he observed any distinct protuberance. We
are also told, that he was in the habit of collecting around
him the boys he met with in the streets of Vienna, and of
inducing them, by petty bribes, to confess their own faults,
and betray those of their companions. He excited them,
for instance, to fight together, in order to discover which
possessed most courage, and thence drew inferences as to
the organ which prompted that sentiment. In order to ob¬
tain more precise data for his conclusions, he endeavoured
to procure models of the more remarkable heads that he
met with, and generally got permission from the individuals
themselves to take a cast of their heads in plaster of Paris.
The Count of Sauran, then minister of police at Vienna,
gave him material assistance in effecting these objects; and
he was thus in no long time in possession of a very large
collection of casts, all bearing more or less upon the seve¬
ral points of his theory. If he happened to hear of the death
of any one whose head he had already moulded, he was at
great pains to procure his skull, that he might compare the
form of its different parts with the shape of the head during
life. As it was soon known that the doctor aimed chiefly
at those who possessed some remarkable talent, a very ge¬
neral alarm spread itself amongst the inhabitants of Vienna;
and not a few were pursued with the terror of being select¬
ed as the subjects of cranioscopical investigation, and of
their skulls being destined to make a figure in his anatomi¬
cal cabinet. The aged Mr. Denis, librarian to the emper¬
or, is said to have inserted an express clause in his will, to
protect his head from the keen scalpel of Dr. Gall. Not¬
withstanding these fears and precautions, he contrived to
amass an extensive collection of skulls, as well as of heads,
in illustration of his doctrines. He next availed himself of
the aid of comparative anatomy ; and having no family to
provide for, spared no expense in procuring skulls of all
sorts of animals, with a view of tracing the form and size of
corresponding organs throughout the whole series. Being
physician to the establishment for the deaf and dumb at
Vienna, he had opportunities of observing the natural fea¬
tures of uncultivated minds, and the various degrees in
which they were susceptible of education. With the same
view, he used to call together into his house persons of the
lowest class, such as coachmen, and beggars in the street,
and excite them to display their characters before him.
His professional practice made him acquainted with a great
number of families, and afforded him many opportunities of
making valuable observations. He neglected no means of
instruction that could be derived from the inspection of the
heads of patients labouring under different forms of insani¬
ty. He was physician to the director of establishments for
education, and was allowed to examine every child who ex¬
celled, or showed any remarkable disposition. He visited
the prisons and houses of correction, as well as the hospi¬
tals for idiots and lunatics. He took casts of the heads of
criminals, inquired into the offences for which they were
confined, and collected the history of their lives ; and thus
derived from every quarter materials for bringing his theory
to perfection.
As his observations multiplied, he became sensible that His Lee-.
he had fallen into many errors in the earlier periods of his tures.
inquiries, and was forced to give up many of his favourite
opinions, which he found had been too hastily adopted, with
regard to the general form of the head, as connected witft
/
456
PHRENOLOGY.
Publica-.
tions and
travels.
Phrenology the character of the individual. He felt the necessity of
'being in future more on his guard, and resolved to institute
a separate examination of the different regions of the skull;
and although he was here, also, frequently obliged to shift
his ground in assigning the function of each part, his re¬
searches were, on the whole, attended with more uniform
success. By degrees he acquired greater confidence in the
stability of his conclusions, and at length ventured to an¬
nounce them to the public, by the delivery of lectures on
his new science. His doctrines were eagerly received, and
much canvassed at Vienna; but their fame had no sooner
reached the Austrian court, than a violent outcry was rais¬
ed against them by the bigoted priests, who controlled all
the operations of that weak and misguided government, and
who represented these doctrines as tending to materialism
and atheism. The consequence of this senseless clamour
was, that Gall was interdicted from lecturing. But the
number of those to whom he had communicated the prin¬
ciples of his art, and in whom he had infused a strong de¬
sire to continue to profit by his instructions, was by this
time very considerable, especially among the strangers who
happened to be at Vienna. They formed a strong party in
his favour, and made such interest at court, principally
through the medium of the foreign ambassadors, that the
doctor was again permitted to resume his prelections, on
condition that he delivered them to foreigners only ; as it
was wisely considered that their being exposed to the dan¬
gers of knowledge, would not be of any material conse¬
quence to the state, as long as care was taken that the in¬
fection did not spread farther ; the emperor kindly preser¬
ving the bliss of ignorance for the exclusive enjoyment of
his Austrian subjects.
It was long before Gall committed himself by writing on
the subject that had procured him so much celebrity. He
merely announced, in 1798, in a letter addressed to Baron
Retzer, which appeared in the Deutsche Merhur of Wie-
land, his design of publishing a large work on the new the¬
ory, of which he affords his readers only an imperfect glimpse.
A detailed account was afterwards given by M. Froreiss,
one of his pupils, in the second volume of Voight’s Magazin
Physique ; and an amusing outline appeared from the pen
of M. Charles Villers, in a letter addressed to Cuvier. Va¬
rious surreptitious copies of his lectures were also circulat¬
ed throughout the protestant states of Germany, where
they excited so much curiosity, that Dr. Gall was at length
induced to make a tour for the purpose of delivering them
himself at the principal universities in the north of Ger¬
many. With this view he visited Dresden, Berlin, Halle,
Jena, Weimar, Gottingen, Hamburgh, &c. and every where
met with the most flattering reception, being invited to the
several courts of the states through which he passed, and
treated with the honours due to a distinguished literary
character. By frequenting the first societies, and conver¬
sing with the best informed persons, he had ample oppor¬
tunities of extending his observations, and he was attentive
to improve these opportunities to the utmost of his power.
Dr. Spurzheim, who had at an early period been associated
with him in these inquiries, and who had devoted himself
particularly to the anatomical researches they comprised,
accompanied him in this tour, and participated in all his
labours. Dr. Gall at length settled in Paris, where he con¬
tinued his pursuits and lectures, and united with them the
practice of his profession.
In 1810 Drs. Gall and Spurzheim published, in conjunc¬
tion, the first volume, in quarto, of the work they had an¬
nounced, and which was to contain a full account of their
doctrines, under the title of Anatomic et Physiologic du sys-
teme nerveux en general, et du cerveau en particulier, avec
des observations sur la possibilite de reconnoitre plusieurs
dispositions intellectuelles et morales de V homme et des ani-
maux, par la configuration de leurs tetes. I he first part
of the second volume appeared in 1812. This work, to-Phenol
gether with the one published in 1815, by Dr. Spurzheim,
entitled The Physiognomical System of Drs. Gall and
Spurzheim, founded on an anatomical and physiological ex¬
amination of the nervous system in general, and of the brain
in particular, and indicating the dispositions and manifes¬
tations of the mind, contain the most authentic account of
their system. Information on the subject may, however, be
derived from the following books, besides those of Froreiss
and Villers, already mentioned. The best of the foreign
works is that of Professor Bischoff, entitled Darstellung der
GalV schen Gehirnund Schadellehre, nebst Bemerhungen
uber diese Lehre, von D. W. Hufeland, Berlin, 1805. At
Dresden, in 1806, Bloede published a similar work, viz. Galls
Lehre liber die Verrichtungen des Gehirns, nach dessen zu
Dresden gehaltenen Vorlesungen ; and at Paris, in the same
year, we have, from the pen of Demangeon, Physiologic in-
tellcctuelle, ou developement de la doctrine du Professeur
Gall. A small tract in English, entitled Some Account of
Dr. Gall’s new Theory of Physiognomy, founded upon the
Anatomy and Physiology of the Brain, and the Form of
the Skull, appeared in London in 1807, and is chiefly taken
from Dr. Bischoff’s work, including the critical strictures of
Dr. Hufeland. Soon after the publication of Dr. Spurzheim’s
book, a small volume, principally reprinted from a short tract
in the Pamphleteer, was given to the public by Mr. Thomas
Forster, under the title of Sketch of the New Anatomy and
Physiology of the Brain and Nervous System of Drs. Gall
and Spurzheim, considered as comprehending a complete
system of Zoonomy, with observations on its tendency to the
improvement of education, of punishment, and of the treat¬
ment of insanity. Two pamphlets in opposition to these
doctrines were published by Professor Walter of Berlin, in
1805, of which, as well as of Bischoff’s work, a short account
is given in the Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal
for July 1806. Dr. Spurzheim having conceived that he
was unfairly attacked in some of the Reviews, thought pro¬
per to publish a reply, in a pamphlet which made its ap¬
pearance at Edinburgh in 1817, entitled Examination of
the Objections made in Britain against the Doctrines of
Gall and Spurzheim. These, together with the lectures
delivered in London by Dr. Spurzheim, are the sources
which have supplied the materials for the following sum¬
mary.
It is laid down both by Gall and Spurzheim as the foun-Thehun
dation of their doctrines, that the nature of man, like that faculties
of all other created beings, is determinate, and that the fa-!imate
culties with which he is endowed are innate ; that is, that
they are implanted in him at his first formation, and are not
the result merely of the external circumstances in which he
may afterwards happen to be placed, nor of the wants and
necessities to which these circumstances may have given
They warn us that this opinion is by no means at ya-
1
rise
Other
works on
his system.
A        l * . , .
riance with that of Locke, who argues only against the in¬
nateness of ideas, and not of the faculties or capacities of re¬
ceiving ideas. Education, doubtless, has a powerful influence
in modifying and giving certain directions to these faculties;
but the faculties themselves, that is, the capacities of fee -
ing, of intellect, and of action, must have already pre-exist¬
ed before they could be called into play, and thus produce
the various phenomena which diversify the scene of human
life. Savages have at different times been found in woods
destitute of all the ordinary faculties of rational being8-
Their resemblance to brutes has been supposed to be tne
consequence of their total want of education ; but, when vve
come to examine into their real condition, we shall tnid tm
they are wretched beings, with great bodily defects; f°r ‘'
most part deeply tainted with scrofula, and almost a way
complete idiots. In general, they appear to have been a a -
doned in their childhood by their parents, to whom they
burdensome. The pretended savage of Aveyron, who
PHRENOLOGY.
enology kept in the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb at Paris, was
almost completely idiotical. He was quite deaf, and his
head and body were incessantly in motion from side to side,
even when he was sitting.
finally In estimating the causes of that diversity which we see
rent in prevailing in the characters and faculties of individuals, much
i indi- has been ascribed to the influence of diet, mode of living,
a1' and the impressions received in early infancy, while the or¬
gans are yet tender, and highly susceptible of every kind of
external influence. But the operation of these causes, as
well as the power of education in general, is much too li¬
mited to explain the immense differences we observe among
different men, and even among different children of the
same family. Helvetius and other bold metaphysicians have
maintained the paradox, that all men are born originally the
same, and are moulded into what they afterwards become
solely by the force of external circumstances. Genius, ac¬
cording to this doctrine, is a mere creature of the fancy, and
originally belongs no more to one man than to another.
Train all men alike, and their powers, their attainments, and
their actions, will all be similar. Accident, more than de¬
sign or premeditation, has fixed the destinies of great men,
as well as disposed of those who are unknown to fame.
“ Demosthenes,” say these philosophers, “ became eloquent,
because he heard an oration of Callistratus, whose eloquence
made so deep an impression on his mind, that he aspired
only to acquire this talent. Vaucanson excelled in mathe¬
matics, because, being obliged, when a child, to stay alone
in the waiting room of his mother’s confessor, he found there
a clock, examined its wheels, and endeavoured, with the help
of a bad knife, to make a similar machine of wood. He
succeeded ; and one step leading on to another, he arrived
at the construction of his wonderful automatons. Milton
would not have composed his Paradise Lost, had he not
been deprived of his place of secretary to Cromwell. Shak-
speare composed his tragedies because he was an actor, and
he became an actor because he was forced to leave his na¬
tive place on account of some juvenile errors, Corneille fell
in love, made verses for the object of his passion, and thence
became a great poet. An apple fell from a tree at the feet
of Newton, while he was in a contemplative mood: this
event, so trivial in itself, led him to the theory of gravita¬
tion.” Reflections of a similar kind are often met with in
the writings of poets and moralists. Those contained in
Gray’s Elegy must be familiar to all our readers. Dr. John¬
son considered talents or genius as a thing that, when once
existing, might be directed any way. Newton, he thought,
might have become a Shakspeare, for, said he, a man who
can run fifty miles to the south, can run fifty miles to the
north.
Yet these are but the ingenious speculations of the theo¬
rist, more calculated to dazzle than to convince, and ob¬
viously in contradiction with the daily experience of man¬
kind. Original differences in the constitution of the mind
exist as certainly as in that of the body ; and doubtless are
dependent upon differences in organization. Children often
show, from their earliest infancy, the germs of those pecu¬
liarities of character which adhere to them through life, wrhich
hardly any education can alter, and which no condition of
life or variation of circumstances can afterwards affect. It
is needless to expatiate on the subject of the diversities of
intellectual powers exhibited by different individuals under
the very same circumstances of birth and education ; diver¬
sities which, as we have already seen, first directed the mind
^r; Gall to his physiognomical researches. Many of these
peculiarities are unquestionably derived from the parent,
and are observed to prevail in certain families, and to de-
ri scend through several successive generations,
f itmenta , That no sensation, or other affection of the mind, and
li. no operation of intellect can take place without a cer-
c ^ tain condition of the nervous system, is a position establish-
VOL. XVII.
4.57
ed by so many direct proofs, that its truth must be gene-Phrenology
rally admitted. The question becomes more difficult when ’
we come to inquire what part of the system it is that exer¬
cises these functions. It is quite clear that the sentient prin¬
ciple does not reside in the nerves, or in the part which re¬
ceives the first impression from the external cause of sen¬
sation. The opinion which has been embraced by many
physiologists, and particularly Bichat, that while the brain
is the organ of the intellectual faculties, the nerves of the
great viscera of the abdomen and thorax are the seat of the
moral sentiments, is at variance with a multitude of facts
in comparative anatomy. There are animals endowed with
the faculties ascribed to these nervous plexuses, or gang¬
lions of the great sympathetic nerves, distributed to certain
viscera, which have not the viscera in question. On the
other hand, most quadrupeds have viscera analogous in their
whole structure to those in man, without having the facul¬
ties of which in man it is pretended they are the seat. We
have a complete series of proofs that the nerves, of them¬
selves, and without an uninterrupted continuity with the
brain, can produce neither sensation nor voluntary motion.
Compression of the brain, by any cause, produces an entire
suspension of all sensation and consciousness, and puts a
complete stop to every operation of intellect. All the other
parts of the body, on the other hand, may be wounded or
destroyed, and even the nervous mass of the spinal marrow
may be compressed or injured, at a certain distance from
the brain, without the immediate destruction of the feelings
and intellectual faculties. In tetanus, produced by a cause
remote from the brain, the other nervous systems are af¬
fected in the most violent manner, while the functions of
the mind continue unimpaired.
In children, Dr. Spurzheim observes, the brain is yet Proved by
pulpy, and the faculties imperfect; its growth accompanies the deve-
their improvement; its maturity marks their greatest de- lopement of
gree of vigour. If its developement has been considerable,tlie brain;
the manifestations of these powers are energetic; if small,
they are comparatively weak. In proportion as the orga¬
nization of the brain decreases, the strength of the moral
sentiments and intellectual faculties decreases also. If the
developement of the brain take place too early or too late,
the faculties exhibit corresponding variations. Certain fa¬
culties are more active in men, and others in women, ac¬
cording to the difference of their cerebral organization; and
peculiarities of character are hereditary, according as the
corresponding organization of the brain, on which they de¬
pend, is propagated from parents to their children.
Although many facts show that considerable injuries may by injuries
be sustained by the brain without detriment to the mental and dis-
faculties, yet as a general principle, it is contended by Dr.eases •
Spurzheim, that these faculties are weakened or destroyed
in proportion as the brain is mechanically altered. It is,
however, certain, that physiologists are by no means agreed
as to this point; and that innumerable cases might be quot¬
ed in direct contradiction to this principle. These are at¬
tempted to be explained away by the general supposition,
that most of them are the result of very inaccurate obser¬
vations, in which the statement of the facts has been dis¬
torted and vitiated by ignorance, prejudice, or credulity;
and that the rest are inconclusive as to the general ques¬
tion, from the observers not being aware of the real func¬
tions of the injured parts, and being inattentive to the cir¬
cumstance, that almost all the parts of the brain being dou¬
ble, the loss of those on one side would scarcely be felt, as
long as the corresponding organs on the other side remain¬
ed entire. On the other hand, it should be recollected, that
a derangement in an organ may occur of such a nature as
that our senses cannot enable us to discover it. How often
is this exemplified in fatal diseases of the nervous system,
such as hydrophobia, tetanus, and atonic gout. Analogy
shows us other parts where apparently no proportion is pre-
3 M
458
PHRENOLOGY.
lus
Phrenology served between the injury and the derangement of function.
* Sometimes large abscesses are met with in the lungs with¬
out much disturbance of the function of respiration ; and
ossification of the heart, without any sensible affection of
the circulation. In persons possessed of great irritability,
very slight wounds of the brain may produce serious effects,
while considerable wounds in others, who are less irritable,
shall be attended with no bad consequences. This consi¬
deration will go a great way towards explaining the fact,
that in many cases of insanity, instead ot our discovering
any change in the brain, a diseased state has been observed
in the liver, the bowels, and other viscera ; and may serve
as an answer to the assertions and objections of Pinel, who
states that the most accurate dissections have not taught us
any thing with regard to the seat of mental alienation, and
that we have no sufficient data to conclude, from diseases
of the brain, that it is exclusively the organ of the intellec¬
tual faculties.
by dissec- Those who have opposed the theory of the subserviency
tionsin by-of the brain to the operations of mind, have laid great stress
drocepha- upon an argument derived from the phenomena of hydro¬
cephalus. In patients afflicted with this disease, the brain
appears to be destroyed and replaced by water; and yet the
intellectual and moral faculties have remained perfect to
the last. Drs. Gall and Spurzheim conceive, that the facts
have been very erroneously represented; and that the only
alteration which the brain sustains in these cases, is a dis¬
placement of its parts, and not an absorption of its substance.
The effused fluid, by accumulating in the ventricles, gra¬
dually unfolds the convolutions of the hemispheres of the
brain, and expands them to such a degree, that they are
reduced to a thin stratum of substance, constituting a soit
of bag, within which the fluid is still contained. This stra¬
tum of brain is sometimes not more than a line in thickness,
and is generally lacerated in attempting the dissection ; in
which case the water rushes out, the real structure escapes
notice, and the fluid is erroneously supposed to have been
accumulated between the brain and its membranes.
It has been advanced, as another objection to the same
theory, that monsters are sometimes born without any brain,
who yet suck and perform various movements. Actions of
this kind, however, are purely automatic, and appear to be
unattended with consciousness ; with such actions the brain
has no concern whatever. Some have founded their oppo¬
sition to the theory, on the result of some experiments of
Duverney on pigeons, which, it is alleged, continued to per¬
form all their animal functions after the whole of the brain
had been removed from the skull. But Dr. Spurzheim, on
repeating these experiments on birds and rabbits, found,
indeed, that the destruction of the superior parts of the brain
does not destroy the functions of the five senses and of vo¬
luntary motion, but that it is impossible to take out all the
cerebral mass without killing the animal. As soon as the
corpora striata and optic thalami are wounded, convulsions
and death ensue ; consequently he does not hesitate to pro¬
nounce the account given by Duverney to be entirely false.
He, in like manner, wholly discredits the stories related by
Morgagni, Zacutus, Lusitanus, Bartholine, Haller, Vallis-
neri, Moreschi, Giro, Dr. Simson, Soemmerring, and others,
concerning petrified or ossified brains being found in indi¬
viduals, without prejudice to the exercise of their intellec¬
tual faculties. He admits it to be doubtful, how far, in per¬
fect animals, the brain may be necessary to the passive con¬
sciousness of the external senses ; but deems it cei tain, that
the exertions of the will, including voluntary motion and re¬
flection, depend entirely upon the brain ; no phenomenon
of this kind ever taking place without that organ.
Hypothesis Concluding, therefore, that the brain is the organ of the
of the plu- sensitive, the intellectual, and the moral faculties, vye have
rality of next to inquire, whether these faculties are exercised in corn-
organs. mon by the whole, or any particular portion of the brain, or
whether, on the other hand, they are more especially the Phrenology
offices of different parts of that organ. Dr. Gall adopts the
latter of these opinions, and upon this view of the subject
is the whole of his system founded. The following is the
reasoning on which be builds it.
Physiologists, influenced by the metaphysical tenets of Argument
the schools, have often maintained, that the soul, being sim- in its fa. "
pie, its material residence must be simple also, and that all vour deriv.
the nerves must end in one point; or, which amounts to the ^ fr(™
same, that they can have but one common origin, because *hoe^eJeinS
each individual has but one soul. Bonnet, Haller, and oth- aye
by mon¬
sters,
and by di¬
rect expe.
riment.
ers, who had extended its seat to the whole substance of rim com.
the brain, were opposed by these metaphysicians, who did mime;
not reflect that a little more or less room could not enable
them to explain any better the nature ot the soul; nor that,
as Van Swieten and Tiedemann remark, a material point,
in which all ideas and sensations should centre, is incon¬
ceivable, in consequence of the confusion and disorder that
would result from such an arrangement. It appears ridi¬
culous, indeed, that the physiologist, to whom all nature is
open, should direct his researches and inductions by the
guidance of such frivolous speculations. Great pains were,
however, taken to determine this central point, or sensorium
commune ; but it is enough to enumerate the various and
contradictory opinions that have been held with regard to
it, in order to be satisfied of the utter futility of this re¬
search. Descartes, in his treatise on the Passions, labours
to prove that the soul is concentrated in the pineal gland.
This hypothesis continued in fashion for some time, till it
found an enemy in a follower of Descartes, the Dutch phy¬
sician Boutekoe, who dislodged the soul from its narrow
watch-towrer in the pineal gland, and confined it in the more
spacious prison of the corpus callosum. Lancisi, Maria,
and La Peyronie, successively declared themselves in fa¬
vour of this new opinion ; and the latter of these anatomists
wrote a memoir in support of it, which was printed by the
Academy of Sciences in 1741, and which has since been
republished separately. Digbynext transferred the soul to
the septum lucidum in place of the corpus callosum. Vie-
ussens allowed it greater latitude, assigning lor its bound¬
aries those of the centrum ovale of the medullary substance.
Willis, again, restricted it to the corpora striata ; Serveto,
to the aqueduct of Sylvius. Wharton and Schellhammei
placed it in the commencement of the spinal marrow; Mol-
inetti and Wrisberg in the pons Varolii ; Crusius and Meig
in the origin of the medulla oblongata ; whilst Drelincourt
and others lodged it altogether in the cerebellum. Lastly,
Soemmerring imagined the soul to reside in the serosity
which moistens the inner surface of the ventricles, to which
he had traced the extremities of many nerves from the or¬
gans of sense ; and conceives that the different motions or
oscillations of this fluid are the immediate material cause of
our sensations.
Discarding the notion that the functions of sense and in-from va-
tellect are concentrated in any particular point or portion nous analo*
of the brain, let us next examine the opinion that all the Sies >
faculties are exercised by the whole mass of brain consid-
ered as one organ. We may, in the first place, remark, that
the analogy of other parts of the system is adverse to this
hypothesis. Every different secretion has its appropriate
gland, the offices of which are never interchanged. I he
liver never secrets urine, nor the kidneys bile. The five
external senses are distinct and independent of one another.
Every where do we observe that nature, in order to produce
various effects, has varied the material organs. The struc¬
ture of the brain in its different parts, is far from being sim¬
ple and uniform; it is composed of two substances ; the one
soft, pulpy, and ash-coloured; the other white, opaque, ana
fibrous in its texture. The fibres of the latter run paralle
to each other, having, at the same time, various collatera
connexions, but by no means uniting in any one central pari
PHRENOLOGY.
renology which can be considered as their common origin or termi-
nation. The parts of the brain are numerous, and distinct
from one another, bearing evidence of a very complex and
artificial construction. They are constant in their general
arrangement in different subjects, shewing in this respect a
striking contrast with the distribution of blood-vessels, or
even the disposition of the muscles and viscera, in which it
is so common to meet with variations. Comparative, as
well as human anatomy, furnishes strong analogical argu¬
ments in favour of a plurality of the cerebral organs, corre¬
sponding to the plurality of faculties. However defective
may be our knowdedge of the structure of these organs in
the lower animals, still a general comparison of their facul¬
ties, as we ascend in the scale of being, shows us that the
number of these faculties increases in proportion as the cere¬
bral parts are multiplied. The immense augmentation of
the powers of intellect which we behold in man, when com¬
pared with the limited instincts of animals, is neither in pro-
poition to the increased size of the five external senses, nor
of any other part of the body, but to the increase of the
cerebral organs only. It is the great size of the hemi¬
spheres of the brain, more especially, that characterizes this
oigan in man, and establishes its superiority, as an instru¬
ment of intellect, over that of all other animals. Man unites
in himself all the organs which are variously scattered and
distributed among the brute creation ; but he has also or¬
gans in his brain, which no other animal besides himself
possesses; and these are the seats of faculties of a higher
order, peculiar to him alone.
f i the Considerations arising from the differences in the propor-
d mty oftional energy with which the faculties manifest themselves
a Hirst *n (^'erent individuals, are also in favour of the plurality
it. a. independence of the organs. If the brain were one
simple organ of mind, and alike instrumental in all its fac¬
ulties and operations, wherever we met with any one faculty
in a state of high energy, we must suppose the whole organ
adapted to produce this degree of energy, and ought to ex¬
pect its other operations to be equally energetic. Yet we
may find the same individual remarkably deficient in other
faculties, which are equally dependent on this organ. One
person shall excel in verbal memory, while he cannot com¬
bine two ideas philosophically ; another is a great painter,
but a bad musician, or a wretched poet; another is a good
poet, but a bad general. If the brain be a single instru¬
ment, it cannot be at once both weak and strong ; it can¬
not exhibit one faculty in its perfection, and another in a
very limited extent. But all difficulty vanishes if we admit
it to be an assemblage of many organs ; for the combina¬
tions of these organs may be as infinitely diversified as the
actions and powers of man. The argument derives addi¬
tional force from the readiness with which this theory may
e applied to explain the diversity of character we meet
wit i in the brute creation, and especially to the varieties of
disposition observable among some of our domestic ani-
mals, which, under the same circumstances of education,
exhibit such different qualities. In like manner, the diver-
S1^, ^hanmter in the same individual, at different periods
of ms life, are most readily explicable on the supposition
o istinct organs, which have their respective periods of
growth, maturity, and decline. The analogy of the exter-
na senses is also strongly in favour of the same doctrine
us the taste and smell appear earlier than the senses of
seeing and hearing, because their respective organs are ear
ier developed. This reasoning will be confirmed when it
is ound, as will afterwards be shown, that the proportional
size of the different parts of the brain is very different in
i erent individuals. Is it not, therefore, reasonable to sup¬
pose, that the different energies of the several functions of
e nuud are connected with these differences in the struc-
UTL c 6 °ySans which respectively produce them?
e faculties of animal life are incapable of long continu-
459
ed exertion ; rest is necessary for the renovation of their Phrenology
powers. Fatigue is the consequence of the prolonged ac-
tion of the muscles of voluntary motion; but when one set
of rmiscles are fatigued, the power of others is still unim¬
paired, and they are ready to be employed in a different ac¬
tion, without any additional fatigue. When we have been
Jong sitting, we are relieved by standing; and even the
bed-ridden find ease from a change of posture. Our eyes
m like manner, may be fatigued by looking at pictures;
but we can then listen to music, because there is one or¬
gan for seeing, and another for hearing. It is well known
that study, long protracted, produces fatigue; but we can
continue to study, provided we change the object of atten¬
tion. If the brain were a single organ, the whole of which
is employed in performing all the functions of mind, a
new form of study should increase instead of relieving; the
sense of fatigue. 1 hus the analogy is complete between
the phenomena of mental and bodily exertion. Are we
not, then, justified in extending it to the instruments bv
whieli these operations of mind and body are effected ?
TV1.6 Phenomena of sleep are also readily accounted for from the
on this hypothesis. During this state all the organs do not phenomena
remain inactive ; but sometimes a particular organ enters °f sleep,
into action, and this constitutes dreaming. The state 0f^ream'n^»
vigilance is that in which the will can put in action theand som*
organs of intellectual faculties, of the five senses, and ofnambuhsm:
voluntary motion; but it is incorrect to define it as the
state in which all these organs are active, for it is impos¬
sible that all the faculties should be active at the same
moment. Somnambulism may be regarded as a state of
still more incomplete sleep, or one in which several organs
are watching. If, during sleep, the action of the brain is
partial and is propagated to the muscles, locomotion takes
place; if to the vocal organs, the sleeping person speaks.
All tins may take place in different degrees. Some persons
dream and speak in their sleep ; others dream, speak, hear,
and answer; others, besides dreaming, rise, walk, and do
various things. This latter state is called somnambulism ;
that is, the state of walking during sleep. Now as the ear
can hear, so the eyes may see, while the other organs sleep •
and there are undoubted facts which prove that several
persons in the state of somnambulism have seen ; but it has
always been with the eyes open. There are also convul¬
sive fits in which the patients see without hearing, or vice
versa. Some somnambulists do things of which they are
not capable in a state of watching; and dreaming persons
reason sometimes better than they do when awake. This
phenomenon is not astonishing. If we wish to reflect upon
anj subject, wTe avoid noise, and all external impressions ;
we cover the eyes with our hands, and we put to rest a’
great number of organs, in order to concentrate all vital
power in one, or in a few. In the state of dreaming and
somnambulism this naturally happens ; consequently the
manifestations of the active organs are then more perfect
and more energetic; the sensations are more lively, and
the reflections deeper than in a state of watching.
States of disease are also adduced as proving the plura-from states
ity oi the cerebral organs. In many cases of insanity we°f disease;
find only one faculty deranged, whilst all the rest are in a
perfectly sound state. Lunatics, on the other hand, are
met with, who are reasonable only while pursuin
ig some
rot] ma*
particular train of thought. There W'as a chemist, for in¬
stance, who was insane on every subject except chemistry.
An embroiderer, during her paroxyms of insanity, while
uttering the greatest absurdities, calculated correctly how
much stuff was necessary to such or such a piece of work.
The effects of blows, or other injuries on the head, supply
facts of a similar kind, which afford still more convincin'^-
proofs that the brain is susceptible of being very partially
affected. Some persons lose from this cause the memory
of proper names, while they preserve the memory of words
460
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenology which indicate the qualities of objects. f ^nc
- ^Marseilles, after having received a blow from a “ “
orbit lost entirely the memory of names ; sometimes he
did not recollect those of his intimate friends, or e^en ^
his father. Cuvier, in his historical eulogmm on biousso
net states that this celebrated botanist, after having reco-
veredfrom an apoplectic lit, never could recollect proper
names nor substantives, though he had recovered Ins pro-
die-ious memory with respect to other objects. He knew
nlants their figure, leaves, and colours ; he recollected the
adiectives, but could never recover the generic substantives
by which they were designated. These and similar instan¬
ces of partial affections of the faculties support the supposi¬
tion of their being owing to different conditions of various
narts of the brain subservient to these faculties. .
■,T,d from P Lastly, the doctrine that different portions of the brain
authorities, exercise^ different mental functions, .s countenanced by
numerous authorities in former as well as in modern times.
It is expressly stated in the writings of Boerhaave, Van
Swieten, Haller, Prochaska, Soemmerrmg, &c.; and the
Academy of Dijon long ago proposed it as a prize-question,
to determine the situation of these different cerebral organs.
Charles Bonnet, indeed, went the length of maintaining
that each fibre of the brain is a particular organ of the
rharge of S0’it seems hardly necessary to expose the absurdity of the
materialism accusation that these doctrines tend particularly to mate-
unfounded. rial ism, although the dread of such a consequence has been
sanctioned by Voyal edicts. There are two opinions only,
which, in respect to this question, stand opposed to eac
other ; namely, that which asserts perception to take place
by the intervention of a material organ, and that which as¬
serts it to take place immediately by the energies of the
mind itself, or at least without the intervention of
The doctrines of Gall are unquestionably incompatible with
this last opinion, that is, with pure immatenahsm, which
may in fact be regarded as denying the existence of matter
altogether. This sceptical spiritualism can be avoided
only by the admission of the necessity of a material organ ;
and if this be admitted, any modification of such opinion,
that does not exclude mind as the ultimate percipient, mus
be equally remote from absolute materialism. The xmma-
terialist believes that it is the soul which sees and the soul
which hears, as much as that it is the soul which judges
and the soul which imagines; and since he does not con¬
demn, as impious, the allotment of different organs of sight
and hearing, what greater heresy is there m the allotment
of different parts of the sensorium, as the organs of judg¬
ment and imagination? If, indeed, any one were to say,
that the affections of these parts are themselves judgment
and imagination, he would be a materialist; but he would
be as much a materialist, if he should say, that the affec¬
tions of the organs of sight and hearing are themselves the
ideas of colour and sound. .
Detemina- Supposing it, then, established that each function o ic
tion of the mind is exercised by a separate portion of the brain, let us
functions of next inquire whether observation can furnish us with any
the cerebral meang of determining the precise nature of the function,
organs, by particular organ is subservient. Although
rivTsize?' it is clear that the adaptation of each organ to the perform-
ance of its office, must be wholly dependent on its parti¬
cular organization, yet it is equally evident that no consi¬
deration of its general structure as shewn to us by anatomy,
can teach us a priori what such function really is, and still
less what may be its degree of energy, or its peculiar qua¬
lity and modifications. The energy of the function must
in all cases depend on certain conditions of the organ, such
as the perfection of its original constitution, its elaborate
texture, its relative size, and the degree of exercise it
has received; and will also be regulated by the influence
which other faculties may exert on its operations. Ihe
only one- among these conditions, which is open to obser- Phrenology
vation, is the relative size of the organ. In general, we'^V^-
find that the properties of bodies act with an energy pro¬
portionate to their size. A large loadstone attracts a greater
mass of iron than a small loadstone. A large muscle, in
like manner, is stronger than a small one. If the nerves
of the external senses be larger on one side of the body,
the functions on that side are also stronger. Comparative
physiology shews us that the olfactory, optic, and auditory
nerves of those animals which are distinguished for the
excellence of their smell, sight, or hearing, are marked by
being numerous and large, evincing a more elaborate de-
velopement. The coincidence is so uniform as to justify
the general inference, that wherever any organ is met with
in a higher state of developement, we may there expect to
find the power dependent on it increased in energy in the
same proportion. May not this analogy be fairly extended
to the organs which compose the brain ? Our present
obiect, it must be recollected, is not to determine every
degree of activity existing in a cerebral part, but merely
the nature of its function ; and for this purpose the indi¬
cation afforded by its comparative size, in different cases,
We may observe in different individuals a considerable Process::
variation in the proportional developement of different parts conducti:. I
of the brain. It is reasonable to suppose, that the func-thein(lulT
tions which are more developed in one person than in
others, will be more active, and manifest themselves with
more energy, than those which are less developed. Those
which are comparatively small we may expect to be less
active, and their powers more feebly exerted. Let us then
select as the subjects of observation^ such persons as are
marked by strong peculiarities of mind or character, and
especially such as are endowed with a partial genius, as it
is called; that is, who manifest in a very high degree any
particular faculty of mind: let us note the peculiarities m
the form of their heads, and observe what organs in them
are of an unusually large size. By repeated comparisons
we shall arrive at the knowledge of the particular organ
in which that faculty resides. The converse method, on
the other hand, must be pursued w ith those who betray a
singular deficiency of power in any faculty. With such
persons we must endeavour to discover what particular
part of the brain exhibits an imperfect developement. Ihe
results of both these modes of determining the functions
of each organ, when compared together, will correct, and,
if iust, will ultimately corroborate each other. Experience,
multiplied and extended, will finally confirm and estabhs i
our conclusions, and complete the system in all its parts.
But the living brain can never be exposed to observa;CorresJ1
tion, and, from the nature of its substance, loses much °fa=«£
its form and texture soon after death. It may appear im ^ tbi
possible to discover the form or size of particular parts oi sku)1 and
the brain during life, since the whole mass is inclosed in brain<
the bony case of the skull, of which the thickness varies in
different parts ; and since the skull itself cannot be imme¬
diately inspected, being covered by muscles and ntegu
ments, which, by contributing to smooth all the inequalities
of its surface, must preclude us from forming an exact esti¬
mate of its real shape. This obvious objection to the pr
po^l inquiry, Dr,‘Gall and Spurzheim labour to remove
by the following considerations. If we attend to the s
cessive stages of the growth of the skuH, we find that its
ossification begins at different points; and the bony?
cesses extend in divergent lines, adapting themse ves e
actlyto the form and size of the cerebral parts they a
destined to inclose and protect. Whatever violenc
be done to the bones of the skull during birth, tl y
return to their natural state, partly from their elasticity,
and partly from the inherent powers of the bram, w^h
tend constantly to restore its original shape, in
PHRENOLOGY.
enology pression of the brain is besides of too transient a nature to
produce any permanent change in the primitive forms
either of the skull or of the brain. If it ever amounted to
what could irrecoverably derange the organization, and
hinder its future developement, the necessary consequence
of such a degree of violence would be death or idiocy.
In the progress of its growth, the increasing dimensions
of the skull keep pace with those of the brain. All the
cerebral parts do not increase simultaneously; and this
partial developement is equally observable in the skull. The
forehead, for instance, which at birth is narrow and flat,
grows wider and more prominent from the age of three
months to that of eight or ten years. After this period,
the middle part of the forehead is less developed in pro¬
portion to the other parts. The neck of the child is very
small, because the cerebellum, which is situated at the in¬
ferior occipital fossce, is not yet developed ; but in propor¬
tion as this organ increases in size, the skull grows promi¬
nent at that part. The same happens with all the other
cerebral parts which increase progressively. The shape of
the skull cannot be in any degree influenced by external
causes, such as occasional pressure in one direction, as hap¬
pens in carrying burdens on the head, or artificial model¬
ling of the heads of infants, as is asserted to be practised
among the Caribs and other savage nations. In other
parts of the body we may remark, that whatever soft parts
are inclosed in bones, the shape of the latter is adapted to
the dimensions of the former, and is regulated by the
changes they undergo; the ribs, and even the spine, yield
to the pressure of an abscess, or the enlargement of an
aneurism ; and uie bones of the face, in like manner, make
way for the increase of tumours, and adapt themselves to
the new form these render necessary. By experience in
feeling the living head, we may readily learn to distinguish
the form of the bones which lie beneath the integuments.
The observation of the shape of the skull, or of the head,
is therefore capable of giving us exact information as to
the relative size and shape of the different parts of the brain,
and on the knowledge thus obtained is founded the art of
€ramoscopy.
itical 1° practising this method, however, it is necessary to
ions, guard against several sources of error. We must take into
account several protuberances, which belong to the natural
state of the skull, and which had some particular destina¬
tions foreign to the immediate functions of the brain ; such
as the mastoid processes behind the ears, the crucial spine
of the occiput, the zygomatic processes, and the frontal
sinuses. The cerebral parts, situated behind the orbits,
indeed, require some exercise on the part of the organos-
cope, in order to be exactly determined. The developement
may be perceived by the configuration and position of the
eyes, and by the circumference of the orbits. It is there¬
fore necessary to examine whether the eyeball is prominent
or hidden in the orbit, whether it is depressed or pushed
sideward, inward, or outward. According to this position
of the eyeball, we may judge that such or such parts of the
brain, which is situated against such or such part of the
orbit, is more or less developed. The functions of those
organs, which lie wholly at the basis of the brain, can be
ascertained only by examination after death.
It may be objected, that the organs are not confined to
f e surface, or convolutions of the brain ; but although this
e the case, and although they really extend from the sur-
ace to the basis of the brain, or medulla oblongata, yet the
egree in which they are expanded at the surface, where
ey form the convolutions, will indicate, in general, the
relative magnitude of the whole organ. The analogy of
e five senses, of which the peripheric expansions indicate
e developement of their respective nerves, shews the rea¬
sonableness of this supposition. From a large eye, imply¬
ing % large retina, or peripheric expansion of the optic
461
nerve, we naturally infer that the nerve itself is of con si- Phrenology
derable magnitude: may we not draw the same conclusion
with regard to the organs of the moral sentiments and in¬
tellectual faculties, whenever we find that the convolutions,
which are their peripheric expansions, are much developed ?
In feeling for the organ, Dr. Gall recommends the use,
not of the fingers, but of the middle of the palm of the
hand ; and declares that habit, as well as a certain natural
delicacy of tact, is necessary to qualify a person to make
these observations with certainty of success. We are
warned, also, to confine our observations to young and
grown-up persons in the flower of their age ; for at an ad¬
vanced period of life the brain diminishing by degrees, and
retiring from the skull, leads to the recession of its inner
table, and consequent inequality in its thickness, which
renders it impossible to judge exactly of the size or shape
of brain from that of the head. Analogous changes occur
in the skulls of some lunatics, and occasion similar diffi¬
culties in applying the rules of cranioscopy. It is also to
be considered, that our aim is to distinguish the size, and
not the mere prominence of each organ. If one organ be
much developed and the neighbouring organ very little,
the developed organ presents an elevation or protuberance,
but if the neighbouring organs be developed in propor¬
tion, no protuberance can be perceived, and the surface is
smooth.
We have already stated the mode in which Dr. Gall
proceeded to apply and to verify these principles; it is
now time that we should present our readers with the result
of his labours.
He arranges the faculties of the mind, with their corres- Class! fica-
ponding organs, according as they relate to the feelings tion of fa-
and to the intellect: the first class comprehending the pro- culties.
pensities, all which are common to men and animals, and
the sentiments, which constitute what the French denomi¬
nate Fame, and the Germans gemuth; and the second
class comprising the faculties by which we acquire know¬
ledge, or the knowing faculties, as he terms them; and
also the reflecting faculties, which last compose what the
French call Vesprit, the Germans gheist, and what we
should generally understand by the term intellect. He finds
that the organs of those faculties which men possess in
common with animals, are situated towards the basis and
back part of the brain ; while those of the superior facul¬
ties, which are peculiar to man, are placed somewhat
higher ; and the organs subservient to the intellectual fa¬
culties occupy exclusively the forehead. The total number
of special faculties is thirty-three, as may be seen by the
following enumeration.
1. Of the faculties common to men and animals, the first Organs of,
is that physical propensity which has for its final purpose {• Ama-
the continuance of the species. The cerebellum, a parttiveness‘
which occupies the lowest situation in the encephalon, is
affirmed to be the organ, the actions of which give rise to
this propensity. Accident led Dr. Gall to this discovery,
by his noticing the size of the back of the neck in a lady
whose character, in respect to this passion, was not equi¬
vocal : and subsequent observation on an extensive scale,
both in the human subject and in the lower animals, have
abundantly confirmed him in his opinion, The following
are the leading arguments on which he has rested it. First,
the great size of the organ indicates the importance of the
function to which it is subservient, and there is no cause,
except the existence of such an organ in the brain, that is
adequate to account for this propensity. The function of
copulation takes place only in those animals which have a
nervous mass or cerebellum. Throughout the whole class
of quadrupeds, the neck of the male is thicker than that of
the female, as may be observed particularly in the bull,
the ram, and the stallion. It is also remarked that vigor¬
ous pigeons are distinguished by the size of their necks.
462
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenology The developement of the cerebellum is simutoneous with
that of the genital organs at the pcnod rfP“b«ty, a"d ear 1^
castration prevents its developement, as well as titat of the
beard, and the organs of the voice. Wounds of the neck
have been observexl by Hippocrates to be
bv impotency. In other cases, however, they produce ero
tic excitement. Apollonius Rhodius, in speaking of the love
of MedeTrepresents her as suffering a violent pmn in the
back of her neck. A case occurred to Professor Remhold,
at I eipsig, in which an excitement of the genital organs suc-
ceeded the introduction of a seton in the neck, in a boy who
laboured under ophthalmia, ^ ^
neck in hysterical fits are very useful. Lastly, the position
of the cerebellum is supposed to prove its destination. After
hunser and thirst, no function is more necessary than that of
orom-atiiK- the species. This function is the most common
Fn anfmalslfter nutrition^ and the cerebellum is m the mfe-
rior part of the head. Hence it is probable, that it i* des
tined to the propensity of propagating, or that it is, as Di.
Spurzheim expresses it, the organ of amativeness.
2. Philo- P2. Philoprogenitiveness, or the love of progeny, . ^
progenitive- ^ Gf the Greeks, has its seat m those convo u i
neS8, the brain situated immediately above the hind part of the
tentorium, and corresponding, therefore, on the outside of
the skull with the crucial spine of the occiput. Dr. Ga
observed a distinct protuberance on tins part ofthe he^
women and comparing the skulls in his collection, found a
similar? elevationFm the skulls of children, and on those of
monkies During five years he was in search of a faculty
fhafwas common to all the subjects of those observations,
and was in the habit of suggesting this difficulty to hisaui-
tors. At length a clergyman who attended, observed that
monkies have much attachment to their progeny. The Doc-
Sr pursued this idea, and found that it applied perfectly to
the observed appearances, as the developement of this part
coincided always with the energy of thj® P^^J^Xs
mals it is generally larger in the females than m the males
nf the same species. This rule holds good in the human
subject although it is liable to occasional exceptions ; for
there are men who manifest the strongest propensity to as¬
sociate with children, and in whom we accordingly find thi
organ larger than in the generality of women. In neg oe
we find this organ more prominent than in Europeans,
the cuckoo, the crocodile, and other animals to whom nature
has not appointed the office of rearing *eir progen^thK
organ is extremely defective. The crime of infanticide is
more likely to he perpetrated by mothers in whom this or¬
gan is deficient in size ; ^ Old wh„ had
this organ Extremely smafi.^On the other hand a female
who, being seized with delirium during child-birth, imagined
that she was pregnant with five children, was oun o a
this organ unusually large. It must, no dou ,
of gigantic dimensions in the lady, who, stricken by the cuise
of the gipsey whom she had refused to relieve, was impress¬
ed with the belief that she was about to give birth to as many
children as there are days in the year.
3. Inhabi- 3, The organ of Inhabitiveness, or the propensity which
tiveness, orsome animais, such as the chamois and the wild-goat, have
Concentra- i l bit high situations, is placed still higher m the occi-
tlVeneSS- put than the former, in a line proceeding towards the top of
the head. In animals of the same species which live m low
countries, we do not meet with an equal degree of protube¬
rance in this part of the brain, as is observable in those which
prefer living in elevated and mountainous districts. T ns is
Feen even in the rat, some varieties of which choose for their
dwelling corn-lofts or the higher parts of a house, while others
prefer living in the cellars. This faculty is not very active
Fn man ; but Dr. Gall conceived that it was in him allied to
pride and haughtiness. Dr. Spurzheim, however ffisdaims
this doctrine; as he thinks it impossible to confound the
“ instinct of physical height” with the moral sentiment of self Phrenol
love and pride. Mr. Combe, conceiving that this organ has
a more extensive sphere of action, and that it confers the
power of being conscious of every thing going on in the mind,
and of concentrating the attention, terms this power Con-
centrativeness.
4. The organ of Adhesiveness, or the propensity to attach 4. Adh.:
ourselves to persons, animals, or other objects, is situated on siveness:
each side of the former, immediately under the lambdoidal
suture, and gives a fullness to the lateral and posteiior part
of the head." This organ is the source of friendship, moral
love, society, marriage, and attachment of all kinds. Dogs
have it in an eminent degree, especially those races whose
fidelity and constancy are characteristic, as the terrier, spa¬
niel, and lap-dog. It is less prominent in the butcher’s dog,
greyhound, and mastiff. It was very large in a notorious
highwayman at Vienna, distinguished equally as a robber
and a friend, and who chose rather to die than to betray his
confederates. #
5. Combativeness, or the propensity to fight, results from 5. Coir:
the operation of an organ, situated immediately behind thetivenes.;
ears on each side, at a part corresponding to the posterior
inferior angle of the parietal bone, and behind the mastoid
process. It is the seat of anger, as well as of pugnacity;
and its locality is fully established, in Dr. Gall’s estimation,
by an extensive series of facts. His first discovery of the
seat of this faculty, was from his observation of the head of
the Austrian General Wurmser ; and it was subsequently
confirmed by the experiments we have already mentioned
which he made on boys he had collected from the street.
The breadth of the occiput is a criterion of the spirit and
courage of horses, dogs, &c. The bull-dog and pug-dog are
in this respect superior to the mastiff. The hyaena is strong¬
ly contrasted with the hare, and the guinea-hen with the
robin red-breast. . .
6. Destructiveness, or the propensity to destroy in general, 6. Desti
but more especially to destroy life, has its seat just above tiveness,
the ears ; the prominence of which part will account for the
strange pleasure which some people take in killing or tor¬
menting animals, in seeing executions, and for their inclina¬
tion to commit murder. Among animals, this instinct tor
blood is strongly marked in the carnivorous tribes, especial¬
ly in the lion, tiger, and others of the feline tribe ; and the
breadth of their skulls in this part shows us the great size of
this organ, compared with that of their victims, the sheep,
the goat, or the hare. The heads of murderers have in gene¬
ral been found to possess a visible prominence at this place.
When the band of ferocious robbers and assassins, who so
long infested the left banks of the Rhine, under Schmder-
hanns, had been caught, and a number of them executed.
Dr. Gall found this organ strikingly developed in the heaas
of these banditti. This propensity is frequently strong in
children, in idiots, and in madmen. Its object, in the lowe
animals, is evidently to procure the food on which natu e
destined they should live ; yet some animals kill more than
is necessary for their nourishment. In man this propensi Y
presents different degrees of activity, from a mere indiher-
ence to the pain of animals, to the pleasure of seeing them
killed or tortured, or even the most imperious desne to kw
Dr. Gall called this faculty murder ; but Dr. Spu z
thinks it produces the propensity to destroy in with¬
out determining the object to be destroyed, or the manne
of destroying it. “ It gives,” says he, “ the F0?6^
pinch, scratch, bite, cut, break, pierce, devastate, demol
ravage, burn, massacre, strangle, butcher, suffocate, drown,
kill, poison, murder, and assassinate. It would seem,
fore, that this organ has a great deal to answer tor. ,.g_7 CoIlslt!.
7. Constructiveness, the propensity to bmia, or u tivenesl
position to the mechanical arts, is indicated y ^
lopement of the brain at the temples. sculptors,
to be the case in great mechanicians, architects, P
PHRENOLOGY.
463
diet-
tlVi =S,
9. 'ret'
ive s.
Ph )logy and designers; and also in the skidls of the beaver, mar¬
mot, field-mouse, and rabbit, which construct habitations.
Hares, on the contrary, which lie in the fields, have this or¬
gan defective, although in general they resemble rabbits.
He possesses the skull of a milliner of Vienna, who had a
good taste, and understood perfectly the art of changing the
forms of her merchandises ; in this skull the organ in ques¬
tion is prominent. It is by means of this faculty that birds
build nests, savages huts, and kings palaces. It produces
also fortifications, ships, engines of war, manufactures of all
kinds, furniture, clothes, toys, &c. There was a lady at Paris,
who, every time she was pregnant, felt the greatest propen¬
sity to build. The excessive size of this organ may lead a
man to ruin his family by building, or to coin false money.
8. Covetiveness, or the propensity to covet, gather, and
iveU or acquire, without determining the object to be acquired, or
Acpsi- manner of acquiring it, has its organ situated at the tem¬
ples, on the anterior inferior angle of the parietal bone. This
faculty gives a desire for all that pleases ; money, property,
animals, servants, land, cattle, or any thing upon earth. It
produces egotism and selfishness, and may, when abused,
lead to usury, plagiarism, fraud, or theft. The instinct of
stealing, it is asserted, is not always the effect of bad edu¬
cation, of poverty, idleness, or the want of religion and mo¬
ral sentiment. This truth, says Dr. Spurzheim, is so gene¬
rally felt, that every one winks at a little theft committed
by rich persons, who in other respects conduct themselves
well. Mr. Combe terms this faculty Acquisitiveness.
9. The organ of Secretiveness, or the propensity to con¬
ceal, or to be clandestine in general, is situated in the mid¬
dle of the side of the head, above the organ of the propen¬
sity to destroy. Dr. Gall first observed this organ in a per¬
son who had many debts, but who had the address to conceal
his real situation, so that the creditors could have no know¬
ledge of each other. He ascribes to this faculty cunning,
prudence, the savoir faire, the capacity of finding means
necessary to succeed, hypocrisy, lies, intrigues, dissimula¬
tion, duplicity, falsehood; in poets, the talent of finding out
interesting plots for romances and dramatic pieces; and
finally, the quality of slyness in animals, as in the fox and
the cat, who conceal their intentions, and are clever in hid¬
ing themselves.
To the second genus of the order of feelings, namely,
Sentiments, belong the following faculties :—
10. Self-love, or self-esteem. Dr. Gall first noticed this
organ, which lies in the middle of the upper posterior point
of the head, in a beggar, who stated that he was reduced to
his present condition by his pride, which made him neglect
his business. The animals endowed with this organ are the
turkey-cock, peacock, horse, &c. Dr. Gall thought this
organ is the same as that of the faculty which makes cer¬
tain animals dwell upon mountains ; but Dr. Spurzheim, as
we have already observed, draws a line of distinction be¬
tween them. The two great activity of this faculty is the
cause of various abuses, as pride, haughtiness, disdain, con¬
tempt, presumption, arrogance, and insolence. The want
ot it disposes to humility. It is said to be more active in
women than in men, and that its excess is sometimes the
cause of madness.
11. Love of Approbation. Persons fond of the good
opinion of others, have the upper posterior and lateral part
of the head much developed. This may be called the or¬
gan of ambition or vanity, according to the object, which
may be of various kinds. A coachman endowed with this
faculty is pleased if his manner of conducting horses be ap¬
proved ; and a general is elated if he be applauded by his
nation for leading his army to victory. This faculty is more
active in women than in men, and even in certain nations
more than in others. More women become mad from this
cause than men.
12. Organ of Cautiousness. Two persons at Vienna were
12.
tioii
If-
opro-
known to be remarkable for their extreme irresolution. One Phrenology
day, in a public place, Dr. Gall stood behind them, and ob-
served their heads. He found them extremely large on the
upper posterior part of both sides of the head. Hence he
derived the first idea of this organ. Circumspect animals
also, as the stag, roe, pole-cat, otter and mole, and those
which place sentinels to warn them of approaching danger,
as the chamois, cranes, starlings, and bustards, have this
cerebral part much developed. This faculty produces pre¬
caution, doubts, demurs ; and, in general, exclaims contin¬
ually “ take care.” It considers consequences, and pro¬
duces all the hesitations expressed by the word but. When
excessive, it produces uncertainty, irresolution, unquietness,
anxiety, fear, melancholy, hypochondriasis, and suicide. Dr.
pall finds this organ more strongly marked in children than
in grown persons.
13. The organ of Benevolence in man, or of meekness in j3 j>ene
animals, is situated on the superior middle part of the fore- volenceT"
head. In most animals it is restrained to a passive good¬
ness ; but in man its sphere of activity is very considerable,
producing all the social virtues, or in one word, Christian
charity.
14. The organ of Veneration, or of Theosophy, occupies 14. yene-
the centre of the uppermost part of the os frontis. Dr. Gall ration,
had observed in churches, that those who prayed with the
greatest fervour were bald ; and that their heads were much
elevated. The pictures of saints show the very configura¬
tion which he had thus noticed in pious men ; and the head
of our Saviour, also, is generally represented of this shape.
It is by this faculty that man adores God, or venerates
saints, and persons and things deemed sacred.
15. The organ of Hope is situated on the side of that of 15. Hope,
veneration. Dr. Spurzheim considers the sentiment of hope
as proper to man, and as a sentiment necessary in almost
every situation; it gives hope in the present, as well as of
a future life. In religion it is called faith. Its excessive
developement produces credulity.
16. Ideality, or the poetical disposition. The heads ofl6. Ideal
great poets are enlarged above the temples, in an arched ity.
direction. The sentiment inspired by this organ is the op¬
posite of circumspection ; it renders us enthusiasts, while
circumspection stops our career by saying “ take care.” If
the part of the head above this organ, and a little backward
from it, be very much developed, the person is disposed to
have visions, to see ghosts, and to believe in astrology, ma¬
gic, and sorcery.
17. The faculty of JRighteousness, or Conscientiousness, 17, High-
which produces the sentiment of just and unjust, right and teousness,
wrong, has its organ situated a little more forward than the or Consci-
organ of approbation. It produces the sentiment of duty, entious-
and constitutes what is called conscience or remorse. Dr.ness‘
Spurzheim admits farther an organ 0$justice, which he seeks
for on the side of the following organ.
18. Determinateness, or Firmness. Dr. Gall observed ig. Deter-
that persons of a firm and constant character have the topminateness,
of the brain much developed. Lavater had made the same or Firm-
observation. This faculty contributes to maintain the ac-riess'
tivity of the other faculties by giving constancy and perse¬
verance. Its too great activity produces infatuation, stub¬
bornness, obstinacy, and disobedience. Its deficiency en¬
genders fickleness and inconstancy.
To the order called Intellect, and the first genus of that
order, viz. the knotting faculties, belong the following spe¬
cies :
19- Individuality, or the faculty which procures us the 19* Indivi-
knowledge of external beings, after we have received im-d^hty*
pressions from them by the external senses, occupies the
middle of the lower part of the forehead. Dr. Gall found
this part very prominent, indicating a great developement of
the anterior and inferior part of the brain, in all persons,
who, from their extensive, but superficial knowledge in the
464
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenology arte and sciences, were capable of shining and taking a lead
— in conversation. It has been ^ unaptly though satrr -
cally characterized as the blue-stocking facu y.
male have the forehead more developed ^an mid
are more or less tameable in proportion as the ^
more or less developed; Dr. Gall, therefore, calls this or-
.ran that of educability. Dr. Spurzheim, however, objects
to this term, and has substituted that of individuahty , he
also remarks that the organ is early dXwk^of tlm S-
because they are obliged to acquire a knowledge ot the ex
ternal of Form ieads us to take cognizance of
th^forms of objects, with the existence of which the pre¬
ceding faculty had made us acquainted. Persons endowed
with it in a high degree, have a great facility of distmguish-
W mid recollecting persons ; they are fond of seeing pic¬
tures, and if they make collections, they collect poi traits.
Crystallography is the result of this faculty. 1 he concep¬
tion of smoothness and roughness also bfX o, hi and if
oraan is placed in the internal angle of the mbit, and, it
much developed, it pushes the eyeball tow^I the e^rnd
angle, that is, a little outward and downwaid. The Chi
20. Form.
21. Size.
ne2,.aE t0AhCAelnextenCce°and figure of any body,
the mind considers its dimensions or size, for there is an
essential difference between the idea of size and that of form.
The organ must therefore be different; it is probably how¬
ever in the neighbourhood of the former. .
o2 Weight. 22. Weight. The ideas of weight and resistance, density,
8 softness and hardness, cannot be attnbuted to sense of
feeling, and require, therefore, a particular faculty for thei
conception. Its organ must be situated in the vicinity of
23. Colour.th 2?^Colour. The faculty of conceiving colour is, in like
manner, totally distinct from the sense of vision, orth^ fa¬
culty of perceiving light. Its organ is placed in the midbt
of the arch of the eye-brows, giving them, when expand^
a vaulted and rounded arch. This configuration k chuiac-
teristic of painters, and is strikingly displayed in the Chi¬
nese, who ire well known to be very fond of colours. This
faculty is generally more active in women than in men.
e-l Snare 2^ Space, or Zoc«%. The faculty of local memory,
or locality* by which we recollect localities, and find our way “ P*““s
where we have been before, is much stronger m some per¬
sons than in others. Animals are also endowed with it,
and it enables them to return to their dwellings and their
progeny, when obliged to leave them in search of food. It
Is conspicuous in s°ome dogs; while others are very defi¬
cient in this respect. The migration of birds is the result of
this faculty. The pictures and busts of great astronomers,
navigators! and geographers, as of Newton, Cook, Colum¬
bus,^c. present a great developement of this organ, whic
is situated under, but extends a little beyond, the fronta
sinuses. The swallow, the stork, and the carrier-pigeon,
have all this organ. This faculty conceives the places oc¬
cupied by the external bodies, and makes space not only
known to us, but inspires a fondness for this kind of know¬
ledge. It makes the traveller, geographer, and landscape
painter; it recollects localities, judges of symmetry, mea¬
sures space and distance, and gives notions of perspective.
25 Order. This faculty enables us to conceive order.
It foves method and order in arranging objects as they are
physically related. Its organ is probably situated outward,
but not far from the organs of size and space.
26. Time. Ideas of time are the result of a distinct fa¬
culty • for they may exist without those of order and num¬
bed They seem to be higher in the scale, and their organ,
accordingly, occupies a higher place in the brain.
27. Number. All the ideas that are concerned about
unity or plurality, that is, about number, belong to a faculty
whose organ is situated in a part of the brain near the ex-
25. Order.
26. Time.
27. Num¬
ber.
ternal angle of the orbit. The object of this faculty is cal- Phrenol
dilation in general. When much developed, the arch ofWy^
the eye-brows is considerably depressed, or is elevated at
the outer extremity. This conformation is apparent in the
portraits and busts of great calculators, as Newton, Euler,
Kaestner, Jedediah Buxton, and Pitt. The heads of negroes
are very narrow at this part; and, in general, they do not
excel in this faculty. . ^
28. Tune. The perception of musical tone is distinct28. Tm;
from that of sound, and implies a different faculty from that
of hearing. Its organ is placed on the lateral parts of the
forehead. Its form varies according to the direction and
form of its convolutions. In Gluck and Hadyn, it has a py¬
ramidal form ; in Mozart, Viotti, Zumsteg, Dusseck, and
Crescentini, the external corners of the forehead are en¬
larged but rounded. # .
The heads and skulls of singing birds, especially the
males, exhibit this organ fully developed. Monkeys are ab¬
solutely destitute of it.
29. Language. The organ of the faculty of learning the29. La,
artificial signs for the operations of the mind, of perceiving guage,
their connection with the thing signified, and of remember¬
ing them, and judging of their relations, occupies a trans¬
verse situation in the midst of the knowing faculties, and
presses upon the basis of the orbit of the eye, so as to pro¬
ject the eye forwards when much developed. This produces
what is commonly called a goggle-eye, denoting strong
verbal memory. Sometimes the eyes are not only promi¬
nent, but also depressed downward, so that the under eye¬
lid presents a sort of roll, or appears swollen. Such per¬
sons are fond of philology, that is, they like to study the
spirit of different languages.
The second genus of the order Intellect, viz. the reflect¬
ing faculties, contains the following species
30. Comparison. This faculty compares the sensations30. Co-.
and ideas of all the other faculties; and points out theirpa™
difference, analogy, similitude, or identity. Dr. Gall ob¬
served various persons, who, in every conversation, had re¬
course to examples, similitudes, and analogies, in order to
convince others ; and seldom to reasoning and philosophi¬
cal arguments. In them he found, in the midst of the su¬
perior part of the forehead, an elevation which presented
the form of a reversed pyramid, and he named this organ,
according to its functions, the organ of analogy. Nationa
who have this faculty in a high degree are fond of figurative
X'MW"causality. This faculty examines causes, considers 31. Ca
the relations between cause and effect, and always promp
men to ask, Why ? Persons fond of metaphysics have the
superior part of the forehead much developed a^F0^
nent in a hemispherical form, as Mendelsohn, Kant, Fichte,
and others. The ancient artists have given to JupiterUpi
tolinus a forehead more prominent than to any other an
tl%2^Wit. Persons who have this faculty, who write hke3-
Sterne, Voltaire, Piron, &c. have the SUPX .^.rvcon-
of the forehead elevated. The essence of ^ w!s ex-
sists in its peculiar manner of comparing, which always e
cites gaiety and laughter. Jest, raillery, mockery, ridicule,
irony, &c. are its oftsprings. vWahlp pleva-33. b
33. Imitation. Persons who have a considerable eleva.^
tion of a semi-globular form at the superior Pal^ XcMon,
head, have the faculty of imitating, with great precasio^,
the gestures, voice, manners, and, in general, all t
ral manifestations of men and animals. Theylm Thig or-
sition to be actors, and are prone to gesticulation. 11)^
gan is, in general, more developed in children than
personae catalogue of the organs enumerated by Dr.
Spurzheim, Mr. Combe has since added the two
namely,
PHRENOLOGY.
465
Yon-
,'entu-
A Hca-
p iology 34. The organ of Wonder, (situated immediately above
Ideality, in the lateral parts of the anterior regions of the
vertex,) which occasions the belief in the reality of ghosts,
and other mysterious apparitions and visitations, and inspires
a love for all that is marvellous and supernatural, and also
a taste for novelty and fashion. When largely developed,
it excites young men, born and bred in inland situations, to
choose the sea as a profession.1
35. The organ of Eventuality, which, when large, gives
prominence or a rounded fulness to the middle of the fore¬
head. “ The function of this faculty is to take cognizance
of changes, events, or active phenomena, indicated by ac¬
tive verbs. In such expressions as the rock falls, the
horse gallops, the battue is fought, the substantive springs
from Individuality, and the verb from Eventuality. It
prompts to investigation by experiment, while Individuality
leads to observation of existing things. Individuality gives
the tendency to personify abstract ideas, such as Ignorance
and Wisdom ; and Eventuality to represent them as acting.
An author in whom Individuality is large, and Eventuality
small, will narrate actions, but deal little in physical descrip¬
tion”2
Two other primary faculties are mentioned by Mr. Combe;
one, which he terms Alimentiveness, or the desire of eating
and drinking; and another, which had been called by Spurz-
heim Vitativeness, or the Love of Life; but the seat of
these powers has not been exactly determined.
Excepting in the case of idiots, all the thirty-five or-
ti< ofthegans above described are possessed by every person, but
dc me. they exist in greater or less perfection in different indivi¬
duals. Peculiarity of character is the result of irregularity
in the original structure, or inequality in the relative deve-
lopement of the several organs; circumstances which, accor¬
ding as they are diversified, lay the foundation of every ex¬
cellence, as well as constitute the fatal sources of vice and
depravity. These doctrines should, however, by no means
be understood as lending their sanction to the latter; for
crimes are considered as flowing from the abuse of certain
faculties, and as still requiring for their prevention the coun¬
teracting influence of morality, and the salutary coercion of
law. It must be of importance to every individual to know,
if such knowledge be attainable, what is the degree of ener¬
gy of the propensities and other faculties with which he
may have been naturally and originally endowed ; because
every organ and corresponding faculty may be invigorated
by proper exercise. The business of education w ill accor¬
dingly consist in exciting or restraining their developement,
according to their natural deficiency or exuberance. Phre¬
nology, by pointing out what are the strongest faculties in
a child, will enable us to adopt the best plan of intellectual,
as well as moral discipline ; will assist us in regulating his
passions, and maintaining a due balance between all his
moral sentiments ; and guide us in the choice of a profes¬
sion for our pupil, conformable to the particular bent of his
genius. “ What benefit would arise to society,” says Mr.
Forster, the zealous advocate of these doctrines, “ should
we be enabled to make a just election of objects in youth,
to be placed in situations capable of ripening their natural¬
ly energetic faculties. Phrenology will lead to important
considerations regarding criminal punishment, particularly
in houses of correction. It will enable us to distinguish, not
only between those who have naturally strong evil propen¬
sities, from those whom distress or other contingencies may
have hurried on to crime, but will point out the particular
nature of the evil propensities to be corrected.” It will also
tend, he conceives, to establish important distinctions be¬
tween different kinds of insanity, and enable us to discover
the treatment appropriate for the cure of each. Lastly, it
may prepare the way to a radical improvement of the hu- Phrenology
man race, by pointing out those conformations of the head
which it is desirable to eradicate or to perpetuate, and which
should therefore be avoided or preferred in the choice of
marriages. “ It is certainly a pity,” says Dr. Spurzheim,
“ that, in this respect, we take more care of the races of
our sheep, pigs, dogs, and horses, than of our own offspring.”
Such is the body of doctrines, and such the reasonings Objections
in their support, which have emanated from the school of to this sys-
Gall and Spurzheim, and which they have dignified with tern*
the appellation of a new science. A host of opponents, as
might be expected, have arisen against a system so much
at variance with common notions, leading to conclusions so
remote from vulgar apprehension, and admitting so easily
of being held up to ridicule by partial or exaggerated state¬
ments. We have already noticed the objection founded
upon its supposed tendency to favour materialism, and shall
pass over others of a similar nature, w'hich proceed upon
the presumption of a greater knowledge of the laws of the
creation than we really possess, or which are derived from
imperfect or mistaken views of the theory itself. We shall
also refrain from employing the weapons of ridicule against
a system so vulnerable to its attacks, and which would have
been so capable of affording Swift a new incident for the
history of the philosophers of Laputa. The simple exposi¬
tion of the sandy foundation on which it has been built, of
the flimsy materials of which it has been composed, and the
loose mode in which they have been put together, will suf¬
fice to enable our readers to form their own conclusions as
to the soundness and solidity of the edifice.
It is, in the first place, obvious, that nothing like direct No parti-
proof has been given that the presence of any particular part cu*ar Part
of the brain is essentially necessary to the carrying on of the j^^ene
operations of the mind. The truth is, that there is not a cessary."
single part of the encephalon, which has not, in one case or
other, been impaired, destroyed, or found defective, with¬
out any apparent change in the sensitive, intellectual, or
moral faculties. Haller has given us a copious collection
of cases, which bear upon this point; and a similar cata¬
logue has been made by Dr. Ferriar, who, in a paper in the
fourth volume of the Manchester Transactions, has selected
many of Haller’s cases, with considerable additions from other
authors. The evidence afforded from this mass of facts,
taken conjointly, appears to us to be sufficient to overturn their
fundamental proposition. This evidence is not impeached
by the feeble attempts of Dr. Spurzheim to evade its force,
by a general and vague imputation of inaccuracy against
the observers, or by having recourse to the principle of the
duplicity of each of the cerebral organs ; a principle of very
dubious application, on a subject of so much uncertainty as
the physiology of the brain. Poor, indeed, must be his re¬
sources, when we find him resorting to the following argu¬
ment, in proof that the brain is the organ of thought, namely,
that “ every one feels that he thinks by means of his brain.”
We doubt much if any one has naturally that feeling.
It requires, also, but a slight attention to perceive, that Analogical
the very ground-work on which the whole of the subsequent arguments
reasoning proceeds, namely, that the different faculties ofcornilatec*'
the mind are exercised respectively by different portions of
the brain, is in no respect whatever established. The only
arguments in its favour which bear the least plausibility, are
derived from analogy. Now, analogy, in reasoning concern¬
ing the unknown operations of nature, is, at best, but slip¬
pery ground; and when unsupported by any other kind of
evidence, cannot lead to certain knowledge, far less con¬
stitute the basis of an extensive system. The utility of
analogical deductions as to what takes place in one depart-
VOL. XVII.
System of Phrenology, fourth edition, p. 381,
2 Ibid. p. 518.
3 N
466
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenology ment of nature, from our knowledge of what occurs in
> another, consists chiefly in their affording indications of what
may possibly happen, and thus directing and stimulating our
inquiries to the discovery of truth by the legitimate road of
observation and experiment. But to assume the existence
of any such analogy as equivalent to a positive proof, result¬
ing from the evidence of direct observation, is a gross vio¬
lation of logic. Yet it is upon assumptions of this kind that
Drs. Gall and Spurzheim have ventured to found all the
leading propositions of their doctrine. In the secretions of
the body, they observe, the preparation of different fluids is
consigned to different glands, having different appropriate
structures ; and they consider this analogy as a demonstra¬
tive proof of what happens in the operations of thought, and
the phenomena of the passions, which, because they differ
as much in their nature as milk does from gall, must, accord¬
ingly, be the result of actions in different portions of the
brain; which portions are, therefore, to be regarded as so
many different organs, rather than as parts of one organ.
Even in a case where all the analogies are favourable to one
side of a question, such a loose mode of reasoning would be
entitled to little confidence; but how fallacious must it not
prove, when analogies can be pointed out which apply in the
opposite direction? It requires no extensive knowledge of the
animal economy to perceive, that modifications of functions
equally diversified with those of the intellect, are, in many
cases, the result of actions taking place in the same organ.
Does not the same stomach digest very different and even op¬
posite kinds of aliment? Yet we do not find that one portion
of that organ is destinedfor the digestion ofmeat, and another
for the digestion of vegetable matter; although the operations
required for the conversion of such different ingredients into
the same chyle, cannot possibly be the same. Nerves perform
the double office of volition and sensation; but the different
bundles offibres which convey each impression, the one to the
muscles, the other to the sensorium, are wrapped up in the same
sheath, and are so intimately intermixed during their course
as to constitute a single cord. The same organ serves for
the hearing of acute and of grave sounds. The whole retina,
and not merely different portions of its surface, receives the
impression of different kinds of colour ; there is not one or¬
gan for the perception of blue and another for the percep¬
tion of red rays. Guided by such analogies as these, might
we not be equally justified in concluding, that the same part
of the brain may serve for the memory of words, as for the
memory of things; and that the same portion of that organ
which enables us to conceive the idea of figure, may also
suggest to us that of size?
The same doctrine of the plurality of cerebral organs, is
endeavoured to be supported by another analogy, equally
vague and loose with the former, namely, that the sense of
fatigue from long continued muscular exertion, resembles,
in its circumstances, the effects of long continued study on
the mind, and is equally relieved, in both cases, by a change
of action. To us, however, it appears, that this analogy
might, with equal justice, have been adduced, as favouring
the opposite view of the subject; for we can just as readily
conceive the sense of fatigue to take place from the exer¬
cise of the whole organ in a particular mode, as from that
of any part of the organ ; and relief must equally, in both
cases, be experienced from the ceasing of that action, or
from the substitution of one of a different kind. The mus¬
cles admit only of one kind of action ; and the energy which
each derives from the nerves, when once exhausted, is not
so readily replaced from the general stock belonging to the
system. In the finer textures of the body, which approach
more to that of the brain, the analogy not only fails of giv¬
ing support to the doctrine, but has an opposite tendency.
The same retina, when fatigued by the continued impres¬
sion of a particular colour, is still as ready as before to re¬
ceive the impression of another colour. The circumstance
of partial fatigue with regard to one set of actions, may, Phrenolc;
therefore, exist, without implying the necessity of a sepa-^—v,^
rate organ for the performance of these actions. Indeed,
if the brain have any laws similar to those of muscular mo¬
tion, it must have a much greater number peculiar to itself,
and all such distant analogies as those we have been con¬
sidering, must be perfectly inconclusive. Similar observa¬
tions will apply to the explanation of the phenomena of
sleep, of dreams, of somnambulism, of partial losses of me¬
mory, and of insanity. It is equally conceivable, that they
should result from the imperfect or differently modified ac¬
tions of one organ, as from the separate activity of different
parts of that organ, whilst the other parts are inactive. Ana¬
logies may be equally adduced in support of both sides of
the question, and can certainly prove nothing on either.
Drs. Gall and Spurzheim appeal with great confidence Futility (
to anatomy, and particularly to their own anatomical dis-anatomic
coveries, as affording a solid support to their doctrines. Pro()fs'
“ We never,” say they, “separate anatomy from physiology,
for physiology without anatomy is unfounded ; while ana¬
tomy without physiology is useless. A physiological sys¬
tem of the brain would necessarily be false, were it in con¬
tradiction with its anatomical structure.” This conclusion,
which at best is but a negative one, is totally inapplicable
to the theories in question. The anatomy of the brain is
so complex, and so void of apparent adaptation to any pur¬
pose we can understand, that it will suit any physiological
system nearly equally well; at least it can never be adduc¬
ed in contradiction of any hypothesis, however wild, that
can be framed as to the mutual operation of soul and body.
All that these anatomists have done, in this respect, is to
show that there is no appearance of a common centre of
departure or of a collection of nervous filaments. The se¬
paration of the parts of the brain and their diversity of shape,
can no more be evidence of a diversity in their functions,
than the multitude of distinct and separate lobules which
compose the kidneys of birds, and of a great number of
quadrupeds, are indications that each part performs a dif¬
ferent office. Comparative anatomy, indeed upon which so
much is made to hinge, is of all guides the most fallible in
questions of this nature ; since we behold, in numberless in¬
stances, a great variety of ways in which nature accomplish¬
es the same function and the same purpose, in different de¬
partments of the animal creation. But on a comparison of
animals with each other, it may even be doubted, whether
there is any connexion or proportion observable between
their intellect or inclinations and the number of parts in their
brains.
The possibility of discovering the size and the shape of the
different parts of the brain from the external examination
of the head, is also discountenanced by anatomy. There
are often considerable impressions on the interior of the
skull, where the corresponding exterior surface does not ex¬
hibit the slightest appearance of projection, and is sometimes
even depressed; and there are frequently large prominen¬
ces without, where ther* are no corresponding concavities
within ; so that when the outer surface of the bony case is
compared with a mould in plaster or wax of the cavity it¬
self, they exhibit considerable differences, and,, from the
great variation which may take place in the thickness of
the bones, this difference is not the same in degree in any
two skulls. t
Hollow as are the foundations of this theory, the mate-Size
Tials which compose the superstructure will prove, on exa-org®^
mination, to be still more frail and unsound. . The whole ^
fabric rests upon the validity of a single proposition, which
in itself is extremely questionable, namely, that the size ot
an organ is in general a criterion of the energy with which
its function is performed. If any doubt should remain as
to its truth, the whole of the pretended discoveries relative
to the functions of the several parts of the brain are shaken,
_4^_
P H R E N
nologyand the fantastical edifice has no auxiliary prop to arrest its
y^^'fall. So essentially, indeed, does the whole of this system
depend upon the truth of a number of independent propo¬
sitions, that if any one of them should turn out to be incor¬
rect, the whole fabric must give way. The evidence in its
favour, instead of being cumulative, is disjunctive. Where
each proposition must be sustained by a separate series of
proofs, as is the case here, it is evident that the chances of
eiTor must be multiplied in proportion to the number of
steps we must ascend before we can arrive at the last con¬
clusions. Let us, for example, examine the logic by which
the above fundamental principle is deduced. “ A large mus¬
cle,” say they, “ is stronger than a small one ; and a large
loadstone is more powerful in its attraction than a smaller
one. Why should it not be the same with regard to the
brain ?” Thus again do they confide in a loose analogy, de¬
rived from another and a totally different part of the econo¬
my ; and as if the organization and functions of the animal
body were not sufficiently remote from the nature and oper¬
ations of the human mind, the inanimate world is ransacked
for the shadows of an analogy, which, when viewed through
such a distance of intervening mist, may wear the semblance
of reality. But the phantom must immediately vanish upon
a near inspection. For the perfection of a refined and deli¬
cate instrument, such as must be that which is subservient
to the operations of the intellect, innumerable conditions
must concur ; amongst which that of size, it is reasonable
to suppose, is the least important. Delicacy of texture,
fineness of organization, and harmony of adjustment between
the several parts of its complex structure, must contribute
infinitely more towards rendering it capable of performing
its office, than superior magnitude ; a circumstance which
in itself is quite as likely to prove a source of imperfection,
as to impart additional facility. Increase of size in the vis¬
cera of the body is often the indication of a diseased, in¬
stead of a healthy state. Small eyes, Professor Hufeland
observes, see with more strength, and last longer than large
eyes. Why may not this be also the case with the organs
of the brain ? But really, in our present state of ignorance
as to the mode of operation by which they are subservient
to the processes of intellect and sensation, all such reason¬
ings a priori on their functions, as connected with their
size, must be completely illusory.
Even were we to admit so questionable a doctrine as that
the energies of the parts of the brain are proportional to
their magnitude, insuperable difficulties would still be op¬
posed to the determination of their relative size in the liv¬
ing head; crowded as all these organs are in a narrow com¬
pass, and completely hid from our view by an irregular bony
case which protects them from injury, and which is itself
covered by a thick and variable layer of muscle and integu¬
ment. Let us, however, for the sake of argument, suppose
that the form of each organ within the skull can really be
ascertained by external examination of the head; shall we
allow it to be an easy task to determine the real character
of the individual who is the subject of observation ? Are we
always able to discriminate between real and affected senti¬
ment ; or to mark with certainty the operation of all the
various motives which constitute the springs of action ? Is
the transient glance of a passing observer sufficient for unra¬
velling the complex web of our affections, or unveiling the
secret and tortuous recesses of the human heart, so as to as¬
sign to each principle its precise sphere of agency ? Can
the most profound moralist, or acute metaphysician, pro¬
nounce with confidence what are the natural dispositions of
any human being, knowing as we do, that these dispositions
must have been changed or modified, exalted or subdued,
perverted or refined, by the force of habit, education, ex¬
ample, and a multitude of other powerful causes, which, in
ns progress through life, have moulded his intellectual and
moral constitution ? Can he trace them through the guise
O L O G Y.
of falsehood, artifice, and dissimulation, which so common- Phrenology
ly hide his real character from the world, and which occa-
sionally deceive the eye of the closest and most vigilant
observer ? Is it to the behaviour of a person who knows
that he is watched ; is it to the partial report of his friends ;
is it to the testimony of the individual himself, the most
fallible of all, that the phrenologist is to trust for his know¬
ledge of human character ? Such, however, is the kind of
experience, from which it appears that all the doctrines re¬
lative to the functions of the different parts of the brain have
been derived ; and it is in this experience, as in an impreg¬
nable fortress, that the adherents of the system make their
last and most resolute stand. Quitting the airy region of
theory, they fancy themselves posted upon a rock, secure
against the insidious minings of scepticism, and bidding de¬
fiance to the rude assaults of argument. The appeal to the
evidence of induction, as to the supreme authority in the
court of philosophy, is made with confidence ; and all the
wild effusions of a bewildered fancy are presumed to be
sanctioned by a supposed conformity with experience. You
may speculate or reason, they exclaim, as you please ; ob¬
servation shows that such and such forms of the head, are
the invariable concomitants of such and such predominant
dispositions and faculties. Who will dare to set up his opi¬
nion in opposition to ascertained facts ? We venture only
to express strong doubts as to the reality of these facts, on
which so much is made to depend, possessing the character
of general facts, that is, of being the results of legitimate
induction ; and to suggest the expediency, previously to
any admission of their truth, of inquiring not only into the
manner in which the knowledge of these pretended facts
has been obtained, and in which inductions from them have
been made, but also into the talents and qualifications of
the observer upon whose testimony we receive them for the
exercise of this philosophical process. We should know in
what spirit he conducted the inquiry; with what previous
dispositions he examined the objects of his contemplation ;
what motives led him to these researches; and what inter¬
est he may have in the event. Experience, we should re¬
collect, leads to very different results, according to the sa¬
gacity and good faith of the person who acquires it. Minds
already prejudiced collect from it only a confirmation of
their errors, and become, by its means, only the more ob¬
stinately wedded to their opinions. The sailor, steadfast in
his belief that his whistling to the sea will raise a wind, or
conjure up a storm, instead of being undeceived by expe¬
rience, is only the more strengthened in his faith by the
observations which it furnishes to him. In what a multi¬
tude of* instances do we not find men deceiving themselves
as grossly, when they draw inferences from what they see,
if prepossessed with the expectation of meeting with a cer¬
tain coincidence, or succession of events. How disposed
are we all to disregard the exceptions to a preconceived
rule, and to allow undue weight to every example that con¬
forms to it. How willingly we repel the evidence that op¬
poses, and how eagerly we catch at whatever corroborates
our previous notions, especially when those notions have
originated with ourselves, and are viewed as the darling off¬
springs of our own lucubrations.
The discerning reader may already have perceived strong Nature of
indications of this bias in the framers of the phrenological the logic
system, from the account we have already given of its ori- employed,
gin and history, and of the kind of evidence on which they
pretend to establish its doctrines. In order, however, to
enable him to form a correct idea of the species of lo¬
gic which they have been in the habit of employing and
which they deem conclusive, and of the tone of mind with
which they prosecute the investigation of subjects where
nothing but the exercise of consummate prudence can se¬
cure from error, we shall conclude by offering one or two
specimens of their mode of reasoning. We shall pass over
468
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenology the numerous stories, each more ridiculous than the piece
' ing, of irresistible natural inclinations to wander from place
to place, to commit murder, theft, infanticide, and other
crimes, without any assignable object. We shall refrain from
criticising the wonderful accounts of people who were insane
on one side of the head only, and observed their insanity with
the other side, and of others who heard angels sing, and
devils roar, only on one side ; nor shall we stop to investi¬
gate the curious case of the woman who declared in a court
of justice, when accused of having destroyed her infant,
that her sole motive for becoming pregnant was that she
might enjoy the exquisite pleasure of killing her own child.
Neither shall we venture to involve ourselves in that meta¬
physical labyrinth of the thirty-jive special faculties into
which they pretend to have analyzed the human soul; but
content ourselves with examining, what in fact alone de¬
serves examination, the sort of evidence brought forward to
establish the relation between each faculty and a particular
defined portion of the brain. We shall take, for this pur¬
pose, the following passage, which may be esteemed a fair
specimen of the whole.
“ Dr. Gall examined the head of a woman at Vienna who
was known as a model of friendship. She suffered different
changes of fortune ; she became alternately rich and poor;
but was attached to her former friends. Gall found the
part of her head situated upward and outward from the or-
<ran of philoprogenitiveness, very prominent, and called it
the organ of friendship. Our observations are not multi¬
plied enough to enable us to decide positively on this or¬
gan ; yet its seat appears to be more than probable. It
must be inferiorly, because this faculty exists in the lower
animals, and is a propensity. For this reason it belongs to
their region of the head; and according to its mimical signs,
and the motions of the head when it is active, it lies later¬
ally and backward.” Dr. Spurzheim, it is obvious, here
reasons in a circle ; for he assumes as true the thing to be
proved, namely, that faculties of a certain class reside in a
certain department of the head, and then applies it to esta¬
blish the very proof on which the proposition itself ought to
have rested. In order to render intelligible the latter part
of his argument, the reader should be informed that Dis.
Gall and Spurzheim believe, that, when any faculty of the
mind is strongly excited, the action of the corresponding
organ in the brain tends to raise that part of the head in
which it is situated ; so that the person has a propensity to
lay his finger upon the nearest external part of the head,
or sometimes to apply his hand to it, either to cool it when
too hot, or to warm it when too cold, and that he is occa¬
sionally prompted to rub it in order to excite it when too
sluggish. Thus, when we endeavour to recollect a name
or a wTord, we unconsciously slap our foreheads, or rub the
skin a little above the eyes, or perhaps higher still, just
where the appropriate organ of memory is situated, that it
may awake and exercise its peculiar faculty. When em¬
barrassed by any difficulty, we gently stimulate in like man¬
ner, the organ of contrivance, by scratching the head at the
part under which is the seat of constructiveness. The timid
man scratches his head on the organ of courage behind his
ear, as if he tried to rouse the feeble organ into activity. A
proud man holds his head erect upon his shoulders, and raises
himself upon his toes, for no other reason than because the
organ of the sentiment lies at the very top of the head, and
is therefore elevated by the action. A sense of danger, or
the necessity of circumspection, leads all animals, man not
excepted, to stretch their necks forwards horizontally, thus
presenting the broad extent of that organ, as it were, in
front. Devotion raises the head gently ; and our adorations
are all directed upwards, not because we regard the Deity
as above, but because the organ of adoration is situated in
the centre of the upper part ot the head. W hen busied in
deep contemplation, we cover the whole forehead with our
hands, as it is there that the reflecting faculties are lodged; Phren0]«
and, accordingly, when we reproach any one for his want of
reflection, we put our hand to this part of the head; and
exclaim, “ he wants it here.” If we try to recollect a date,
we put into action the organ of time, which being situated
over the eyebrows, and a little to one side, occasions an in¬
voluntary movement of the eyes upwards and towards the
temples. In beating time to a musical air, we make the
head oscillate from side to side, because the organs of tone
as well as of time, being situated on each side, and being
alternately in action, occasion these gesticulations. Sterne
excelled in wit: and we find him represented in all his por¬
traits with his head leaning on his hand, the fore-finger of
which is placed on a particular part of the forehead. Dr.
Spurzheim considers this as one of the proofs that the organ
of wit occupies that very spot.
With minds capable of allowing any weight to such ob¬
servations and imbued with such notions of the nature of
philosophical induction, as are implied by the grave admis¬
sion of such frivolous arguments as these, the investigation
of the laws of nature must be an easy and a delightful task.
With the abundant and all-powerful resources, which their
indulgent method of reasoning is ever ready to supply, all
difficulties may be smoothed away, all chasms immediately
filled up, and all obstacles made to vanish the moment they
arise. We need not be under any embarrassment at meeting
with a skull exhibiting a particular prominence, although the
faculty which should correspond to it be deficient. Doubt¬
less the individual must have been strongly gifted by na¬
ture with this faculty, but education has long ago taught him
to disguise or suppress its manifestations. It exists, perhaps,
unknown to the person himself, and wants only a proper oc¬
casion for its being exhibited ; or more probably the other
faculties, having received a greater proportional develope-
ment, have overpowered and prevented it from appearing.
If we find, on the contrary, a strongly marked faculty, with¬
out the corresponding shape of the head, we may still con¬
clude that the organ exists notwithstanding ; for the neigh¬
bouring organs, having received a greater extension, may
have pushed it from its true place, or have grown up around
it, and have concealed it from vulgar observation. Its not
having been recognised is only a proof of want of skill in
the observer ; no doubt, it would easily have been discover¬
ed by the eye or hand of a true believer, and experienced
cranioscopist; for it should be recollected that the dilier-
ences are often very minute, and require the tactus eruditus
for their detection. Besides, how can we be certain that
the excellence of the faculty in question is not of an artifi¬
cial or relative kind, and that it results from education, or
the w eakness of opposite faculties, rather than from nature ?
If all these expedients should fail us, we have nothing to do
but to plunge into the depths of metaphysics, to refine and
make subtle distinctions, or loosen the signification ot a
few words, till we have entangled ourselves in a wood, and
lost sight of the real difficulty that had perplexed us. Thus
will the theory be freed from all exceptions, and the induc¬
tion be rendered complete. With such a convenient logic,
and accommodating principles of philosophizing, it would be
easy to prove any thing. We suspect, however, that on that
very account, they will be rejected as having proved nothing.
We have here re-printed the Essay on this subject which
appeared under the headofCR ANioscorY,m theSupplemen
to the last edition of the present work. We have done so be¬
cause we have not seen any reason to alter our views. &in
the year 1818, when that essay was written, replies have bee
attempted to some of our strictures; particularly by Jvlr;Vrt
Combe, in his “Essays on Phrenology, and on the objcctio
t ^
PHRENOLOGY.
469
ology made against it? Edinburgh, 1819; and by Dr. Andrew
Combe, in the Phrenological Journal. Although the con-
ductorsof this Journal have admitted that our Articlewas “re¬
garded in the South as the most formidable attack Phrenology
ever had to sustain,”3 and have in so far paid us a compliment,
we deem it unnecessary to answer, otherwise than very gene¬
rally, their comments on the reasonings contained in it; be¬
cause most of those comments are foundedon a misconception
of the scope ofour arguments. When, for instance, we attempt¬
ed to show, that, in establishing aphilosophical principle, mere
analogies ought not to be esteemed as equivalent to proofs, and
when we maintained that they are still less to be relied on,
when other analogies, ofa contrary tendency, can be adduced
on the other side of the question, we are represented by Dr.
Combe as building our arguments on analogy, the very princi¬
ple of which we were pointing out the fallacy, and repudiating
the authority; and we are even charged with being guilty of
the strange inconsistency of endeavouring to “ refute direct in¬
ductive evidence, by that drawn from analogy.” 2 Any reader
who had paid the least attention to the train of reasoning we
employed, must have perceived that our reasoning was dia¬
metrically the reverse of that which is imputed to us ; and
that we had even guarded against the possibility of mis¬
take by the sentence concluding with the words, “ all such
reasonings a priori must be completely illusory.”
Ar Tients By the help of a mis-quotation, in which the qualifying
tiofcu- adverb “nearly” is omitted, we are represented as having
aaa na- asserted, that the anatomy of the brain “ will suit any phy-
m y siological system equally well.”3 All the notions we can form
r of the nature of mental operations are so completely and es¬
sentially different from any of the affections of which we can
conceive matter to be capable, that it is utterly impossible
for us to understand the mode in which a connexion has been
established between them; or to imagine any physical struc¬
ture whatsoever, which shall, in the remotest manner, cor¬
respond with the metaphysical constitution of the soul. This,
however, we may confidently assert, that amongst all the hy¬
potheses which have been propounded respecting the corres¬
pondence between the corporeal instruments of the mind,
and the mental faculties themselves, the one which is the least
in accordance with the actual structure of the brain, is that
devised by the phrenologists. Let a person, unacquainted
with the anatomy of that organ, be shown the phrenological
map of the cerebral regions, and let him be told, that to each
corresponding subjacent portion of the brain is ascribed, as
to a separate organ, a certain special mental function ; one
set of these organs being appropriated to the establishment
of certain definite propensities, whilst another set gives rise
respectively to various sentiments, and a third confers each
its peculiar intellectual power; with what immeasurable sur¬
prise, on lifting up the bony covering which had concealed
this expected assemblage of well defined organs, would he
behold a uniform mass of pulpy substance, divided by furrows
only, into serpentine but continuous convolutions, bearing
no conformity or even similitude to the notions which his
previous instructions had led him to form of distinct masses,
divided from each other in accordance with their phrenologi¬
cal functions. Each of these pretended organs, far from
being isolated in its structure, as its alleged isolated func¬
tions would imply, from the neighbouring parts, is seen to
pass on, without visible boundary, to the next, by a conti¬
nuity of cerebral substance. Turning round upon his in¬
structor, would he not complain of being misled by him ;
and would he not require him to explain what intermediate
unction he can ascribe to those portions of the same con¬
volution which occupy an intermediate place between two
organs, to which he has already assigned functions utterly
leterogeneous with one another ? What lucid ideas can he
convey of a function intermediate between benevolence and Phrenology
imitation, between ideality and acquisitiveness, between ' «***• ]'~***^
cautiousness and adhesiveness, or between self-esteem and
concentrativeness or inhabitiveness, of which the respec¬
tive organs are not merely contiguous, but pass insensibly
into one another; and wrhat is the curious and hitherto non¬
descript office that he will assign to those portions of the
brain which occupy the central space at the junction of quin¬
tuple groups of organs, such as those of ideality, acquisitive¬
ness, constructiveness, tune, and wit, all of which, though
separated by the fancy of the phrenologist, have been by
nature amalgamated into one continuous mass, undistinguish-
able by any visible lines of demarcation ? y
Not content with expressing his dissatisfaction at our failing From com-
to perceive the accordance between the structure of the hu-Para^ve
man brain and the doctrines of phrenology, Dr. Combe ex-3"310"17’
tends his censure to our objection as to the evidence which ob¬
servations on lower animals are supposed to afford in their fa¬
vour ; and to our assertion, that in the construction of their
system “ much was made to hinge ” on facts derived from com¬
parative anatomy. That the founders of the system placed
great reliance on this kind of evidence, is a proposition suffi¬
ciently borne out by the testimony of Sir George Mackenzie,
who, when speaking of inhabitiveness, remarks, “ it is chiefly
from observation on the lower animals that Dr. Spurzheim
seems to consider it as certain, that there is such a faculty in
man. 4 The fallacy of the reasoning by which comparative
anatomy has been pressed into the service of phrenology, has
been so ably exposed by Dr. Prichard, in his Treatise on
Insanity, that we shall beg leave to borrow from that work
the following judicious remarks. « The chief peculiarity,” ob¬
serves Dr. Prichard, “ of Dr. Gall’s psychological theory, was
the attempt to draw a parallel between the animal qualities
displayed by the lower animals and the individual varieties
discovered among men.” He proceeded “ on the principle,
that the innate or original faculties are common to man and
the lower tribes of animals, to those at least which bear to
man a general analogy in their organization, and especially
in the structure of their nervous system; and sought for
analogies in physical phenomena between the brute tribes,
tracing in them the rudiments of those properties which,
taken collectively, and in their highest degree of develope-
ment, form the human character, and which, in lower de¬
grees and various relations, constitute the distinctive nature
of each of the inferior kinds. The attempt was ingenious,
and seemed to hold out the prospect of discovering curious
and interesting relations; but it is necessary, before em¬
barking in the inquiry, to determine whether the analogies
are real or apparent; for it has been tacitly assumed that
the supposed distinction between instinct and reason is un¬
real, and that the active principles are of the same kind in
the higher and lower beings of the creation.” “ Perhaps
metaphysical writers have been mistaken in laying down
so broad a line of difference as they have established. We
must, then, either elevate the brutes, or lower the superiori¬
ty of mankind. Shall we say, after tracing the operations of
a constructive instinct so wonderfully displayed by the beaver,
or in the cells in which the bee lays up his honey, that an
impulse to action precisely similar gave origin to the pyra¬
mids of Egypt, or to the building of Constantinople ? Shall
we venture to affirm that the tunnel under the Thames owes
its existence to a burrowing propensity resembling that of
the rabbit or the mole ? Shall we conclude that Parry and
Franklin sought the regions of the north, impelled by the
instinct of the migratory rat; and that Magellan and De Ga¬
ma traversed the Southern Oceans directed by an influence
analogous to that which moves the flight of swallows ? Or
may we, with greater probability, determine that the lower
Phrenological Journal, i. 166.
2 lb. i. 168, 169.
3 76. i. 166.
4 Illustrations of Phrenology, p. 92.
470
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenology tribes act under the guidance, not of blind instinct, but of
v -^enlightened reason; that metaphysicians were mistaken
when they laid down the principle, ‘ Deus est amma bru-
torum,’ that the birds of passage have some acquaintance
with physical geography, and know the quarter w ere tro
pical warmth exists and genial breezes blow ; that the bee
has studied the exact sciences, and knows by calculation
the form most advisable for its cells ? In short, that there
is a real analogy and correspondence between the mental
faculties of man and the physical endowments of those crea¬
tures whom he conceitedly regards as his inferiors If either
of these positions can be maintained, there will be a sound
foundation for the comparative pyschology of Dr. Gall and his
followers ; but if they should be rejected as improbable, we
must admit that the analogies pointed out are remote, the
things compared are different in kind, they agree only in ex¬
ternal appearances; and we shall be brought to the conclu¬
sion that it has pleased the Author of nature to bring about
corresponding results in the rational and irrational depart¬
ments of the creation, by very different means.
u If the evidence,” continues Dr. Prichard, “ bi ought in
support of the organological system depends so entirely on
universal coincidence between psychical properties and cor¬
responding varieties in the structure of the nervous fabric,
it must be important to determine whether there aie any
departments of the animal kingdom in which instincts and
motive habitudes, and an entire psychical nature are dis¬
played analogous to those of vertebrated animals, while yet
in these departments there is no structure which can be said
to bear resemblance to the complicated cerebral system of
the so termed higher animals. In all the vertebrated kinds,
the organization of the nervous fabric is m one principle,
and the same fundamental type, with different degrees of de-
velopement, is traced in man and all other mammifers, in
birds, reptiles, and fishes; but here the resemblance ter¬
minates, and the nervous system of molluscous animals and
insects presented but few and remote analogies to that which
belongs to the first great branch of the animal creation. It
is, indeed, to be presumed that the nervous system, taken as
a whole, fulfils, in the tribes last mentioned, the same oftces
as in those animals who have it enclosed in a bony case. Still,
nothing exists at all resembling the complicated formation
of a brain, with its lobes and convolutions. It is so much the
more surprising to find the higher instincts, which had a -
most disappeared in fishes, display themselves with newsplen-
dour and variety in the brainless insects; creatuies wine ,
in the wonderful imitations of intelligence that govern their
motive habits, rival, if they do not even exceed, the sagaci¬
ty of the animals which most approximate to man.
> “ Now, if it should be established, that all those properties
of animal life, approximating to intelligence, or bearing ana¬
logies so striking to the manifestations of mind, which, in
one great division of the animal kingdom are assumed to
be essentially connected with, and depending on, a paiti-
cular svstem of organization, exist in another department,
and display themselves in all the same various profusion,
while the creatures belonging to this latter depaitment are
yet destitute of that system of organization, and of any thing
that bears the resemblance to it, the advocates of Phreno¬
logy will be obliged to abandon that broad ground on which
they have attempted to fortify their position. Within the
more confined field which the vertebrated tribes alone pre¬
sent, it will be more easy to maintain such an assumed con¬
nexion of physical properties with a peculiar structure; or,
rather, it is more difficult to disprove it when assumed. The
general analogy which prevails throughout these tribes in
the organization of their cerebral and nervous system, af¬
fords no room for so decisive a contradiction to the relation
which the phrenologists would establish. Yet even within Phrenolc
this field great and striking facts display themselves which
are adverse to the hypothesis. Birds and reptiles, as Jacobi V
has observed, are nearly, if not wholly destitute of many
cerebral parts, which in mammifers are held as of high im¬
portance for the manifestation of psychical properties, and
yet they display psychical phenomena similar to those of
mammifers. Whenever an undoubted and tangible fact can
be laid hold of in the different proportional developement
of cerebral parts, which can be brought into comparison with
the relative differences of animal instinct, or of psychical
properties in general, there is, if I am not mistaken, a man¬
ifest failure of correspondence between the two series of
observations. This has been shown by Rudolphi in a strik¬
ing manner, with respect to the cerebellum. The cerebel¬
lum, as this writer has observed, is found to lessen in its
proportional developement as we descend in the scale of or¬
ganized beings, without any corresponding diminution, and
even with an increase of the propensity which Gall connects
with it. How remarkably powerful is this instinct in birds;
and yet how small is the cei’ebellum in the feathered tribes
compared with its size in mammifers, and even in the lat¬
ter, when we consider the magnitude which it attains in the
human species ? We observe those tribes in which the ce¬
rebellum nearly or entirely ceases to exist, obeying, never¬
theless, the impulsion of instinct as blindly or devotedly as
other kinds which have the organ in question remarkably
developed. When we consider the great amplitude which ^
the cerebellum attains in man, in comparison with its size
in lower animals, we are obliged, if we really attach any
importance to such a system of correspondence, to acknow¬
ledge some relation between this circumstance and the tran-
scendant superiority of the human intellect, compared with
the psychical powers of brutes.”
“ The facts which suggest themselves as we follow these f
trains of reflection, are scarcely to be reconciled with the j
phrenological theory : they seem, in the first place, to show,
that the relations which in it are assumed to prevail through
all nature are subject to vast exceptions ; and as one great
proof of the doctrine is the assumed universality of such
relations, or the endowment of psychical properties in coex¬
tension with certain peculiarities of structure in cerebral
parts, the exceptions endanger at least the outworks of the
whole doctrine. When, in a more limited survey, we con¬
fine our observation to the sphere of vertebrated animals,
and discover that variations in psychical phenomena take
place without any evidence of corresponding changes in the
structure of cerebral parts, and that these changes, on the
other hand, occur without such alterations as we are led to
anticipate in psychical properties, the system of organology
seems to be shaken to its very centre.”1
Whilst the defenders of phrenology have, on the oneTbemd
hand, misrepresented the minor points of our argument, they ^
have, on the other, disguised from their readers that it is
on the insufficiency of the evidence adduced in support o
their doctrine, that we rest our main objection to its credi¬
bility. We maintain, that they have taken only a one-sid¬
ed view of what nature presents to our observation; tiia
they have paid attention to those facts alone, which are con¬
firmatory of phrenology, and shut their eyes to those whic
oppose it. In order to establish what they consider as the
rule, they have collected together all the instances in its fa¬
vour, and have passed over or suppressed all the exceptions-
What we assert is, that more enlarged inquiry, c0"duc
with a more entire devotion to the cause of truth, and a sc -
pulous rejection of error, would have shewn the latter o
at least equal, if not superior in number to the former,
own observations, as far as we have pursued them, ha
i Treatise on Insanity, p. 465 to 474-
PHRENOLOGY.
nolo?y us to this conclusion ; and it was on the result of these ob-
servations that our scepticism was principally founded. So
frequent, indeed, are the exceptions, that even the founders
of the system, Drs. Gall and Spurzheim themselves, on ap¬
plying it practically, committed, as is well known, very glar¬
ing mistakes ; giving frequently the most false judgments
of the characters of various individuals. Have these mis¬
takes, we may ask, been any where recorded by the phreno¬
logists, and candidly set off against the instances in confir¬
mation of their sagacity ? What avails their collections of
thousands of examples of coincidences, when the perhaps
equally numerous instances of discordance are excluded from
the catalogue ? The fact, that the brain of Cuvier was of un¬
usual magnitude, has been triumphantly proclaimed in all
the publications on phrenology ; but we are not aware that
any phrenologist has brought forward the equally well-cer¬
tified fact, that the brain of Sir Walter Scott was found on
examination to be “ not large.”1
In like manner, a long catalogue of persons avowing their
belief in phrenology, including many men of eminent talents
and extensive knowledge, has been paraded before the pub¬
lic ; but we have not yet seen any counter list of unbeliev¬
ers prepared with the view of ascertaining, in a science pro¬
fessedly of pure observation, on which side the weight of
authorities preponderates. The class of men who, from the
nature of their pursuits, are perhaps best qualified to form
a correct judgment in matters of this nature, are the mem¬
bers of the medical profession ; yet how inconsiderable,
compared with the total number, is the proportion of those
belonging to that profession who, according to Mr. Combe’s
catalogue, have given in their adhesion. Sculptors, again,
compose another class of men whose studies lead them more
especially to the most minute and accurate knowledge of the
external form of the human head; yet amongst the many who
are at present engaged in the active exercise of their noble
art, Mr. Combe has been able to bring forward the name
of only one solitary individual as lending a countenance to
phrenology.
“ It18 n°t enough,” as Dr. Prichard very justly observes,
471
/
Te tony
atlv e to <•' to have a few chosen coincidences brought forward by
phi Ilogy. zealous partizans, who go about in search of facts to sup¬
port their doctrine, and pass by, or really cannot perceive
the evidence that ought to be placed in the opposite scale.
The principles of the system ought to be applicable in every
instance. The phrenologists, however, aware of numerous
and striking exceptions, elude their evidence'by asserting,
that when a certain portion of the cranium and of the brain
is greatly developed, while the faculty there lodged has
never been remarkably distinguished, it nevertheless existed
naturally, though the innate talent, for want of proper cul¬
tivation, has never been displayed; the predominant or¬
ganic power was never discovered by the owner, though,
according to the principles of the doctrine, with this organic
power a proportional impulse to exertion, or an instinctive
energy is combined, which communicates of itself a strong and
irresistible tendency to particular pursuits. When, again,
a strongly marked propensity, or a decided talent has been
manifested without any corresponding amplitude of struc¬
ture, it is in like manner pleaded, that by sedulous exercise
and culture, a natural deficiency has been overcome. Thus
the phrenologist avails himself of a double method of elu¬
sion ; his position, like the cave of Philoctetes, affords him
an escape on either side; and in one direction or another
Tf tr*VeS ^le address of his opponents,
i i j’ however, the testimony of facts in a great scale
s ould be found adverse to the alleged coincidences, or to
e correspondence of given mental equalities with certain
con itions of the brain, phrenology will not continue to
4
make proselytes, and it will be ultimately discarded as an Phrenology
hypothesis without foundation. At present, most inquisi- w^
tive persons seem to be in doubt on this subject, and to be
looking out for evidence. I have taken every opportunity f
that has occurred to me for many years of making inqui- 1
ries of persons who had a great field of observation within
their teach, what had been the result of their experience
on this subject. Many of the persons have been physicians,
who were superintendants of extensive lunatic establish¬
ments. Some of them had been men who had addicted
themselves to the study of phrenology, and were predisposed
to imbibe the opinions of its authors; some have been per¬
sons distinguished by their researches in the anatomy and
physiology of the brain and nervous system. Among these
I do not remember to have found one who could say that
his own observation had afforded any evidence favourable
to the doctrine. Yet we should imagine, that a man who
lives amidst hundreds of monomaniacs must have constantly
before his eyes facts so obvious that he could not be mis¬
taken in their bearing. Some hundreds, and even thousands
of such persons have passed a part of their lives under the
inspection of M. Esquirol, who possesses most extensive re¬
sources for elucidating almost every subject connected with
the history of mental diseases, and has neglected no in¬
quiry which could further the attainment of that object.
The result of his observations will be allowed to be of some
weight on the decision of this question, in w hich the appeal
is principally to facts of the precise description of those with
which he has been chiefly conversant. At his establishment
at Ivry he has a large assemblage of crania and casts from
the heads of lunatics, collected by him during the long course
of his attendance at the Salpetriere, and at the Royal Hos¬
pital at Charenton, which is under his superintendance.
While inspecting this collection, I was assured by M. Es¬
quirol, that the testimony of his experience is entirely ad¬
verse to the doctrine of the phrenologists ; it has convinced
him that there is no foundation whatever in facts for the
system of correspondences which they lay down between
given measurements of the head and the existence of par¬
ticular mental endowments. This observation of M. Es¬
quirol was made in the presence of M. Mitivie, physician
to the Salpetriere, and received his assent and confirmation.
M. Foville, physician to the extensive lunatic asylum at St.
Yon, gave me a similar assurance. There are few indi¬
viduals in Europe whose sphere of observation has been so
extensive as that of M. Esquirol and M. Foville, and cer¬
tainly there are none whose science and habits of observa¬
tion better qualify them to be witnesses in such a subject
of inquiry; but testimonies to the same result may be col¬
lected from unbiassed witnesses, whose evidence taken col¬
lectively may have nearly equal weight. Among these there
are men unscientific, though capable of correct and unpre¬
judiced observation, as well as anatomists and physiologists.
In the number of the latter is Rudolphi, who declares that
he has examined many hundreds of brains without finding
any thing that appeared to him favourable to the phrenolo- 4
gical theory.”2
The mode in which Dr. Combe evades the force of the Evaded by 4
strong testimony here adduced, is quite characteristic of the the phreno-
disposition to be found amongst confirmed phrenologists, oflogists.
resolutely rejecting all evidence that militates against the
system they have adopted. Thus, he says, in reference to
the passage we have just quoted, “ If Dr. Prichard believes
that the intelligent and benevolent Esquirol, is that person,”
(namely, one “ competent to form a judgment on the sub¬
ject,”) and if his collection of crania and casts be the hostile
evidence which is relied on, this only proves, in a forcible
manner, that Dr. Prichard is himself not competent to judge,
of Sir Walter Scott, by Lockhart, vol. vii. p. 395, note.
2 Treatise on Insanity, pp. 476, 477.
II
472
PHRENOLOGY.
Phrenologyor that he has not taken time either to examine the co ec-
'tion of crania, or to ascertain the competency oi Esquirol a.n
Metivie, to decide on the merits of the question on w ic i
they volunteered an opinion.”1 We cannot help remark-
ing here, that, on another occasion, when criticising the sug¬
gestion we threw out, in the Essay on Cramoscopy, of the
propriety of inquiring into the talents and qualifications of
observers before admitting the truth of the facts received on
their testimony, a very different language was held. “ When
they” (the advocates of phrenology) “ affirm that the subjects
of observation are patent to the whole world, who have eyes
to see, and understandings to comprehend ; and when they
say, compare manifestations with cerebral developement,and
you are at the bottom of the problem yourself; what need
for inquiry into their talents and qualifications to observe
“ When Gay Lussac hears that Sir Humphry Davy has made
a discovery in chemistry, and reads Sir Humphry’s statement
of the way in which it was made, does he begin by inquir¬
ing first, whether it be possible to make the discovery at all,
seeing natural substances are ‘ so changed and modified,
exalted and subdued’ by a multitude of powerful causes ?
And, after settling this point, does he, in the second place,
proceed to inquire into Sir Humphry Davy’s talents and qua¬
lifications as a chemist, and into his capacity to make the
discovery, and then believe it, or not, according to the result
of this investigation ? No man who knows the first rudiments
of philosophy would follow so absurd and preposterous a
course. What should we think of Gay Lussac’s refutation
of Sir Humphry’s discovery, founded on a metaphysical in¬
quiry into the possibility of making it, and into the talents
and qualifications’ of the discoverer? We should pity him
for his ignorance of the rudiments of philosophy.”2
This happy talent, possessed by the champions of phreno¬
logy, of shaping their course either one way or the oppo-
sife, according as it may suit the convenience of the occa¬
sion, enables them, at one time, to proclaim, that the evi¬
dences of their science are palpable and demonstrative, that
the field of nature is open to all inquirers, that “ every one
who has eyes may see” and judge for himself; and at ano¬
ther, when such judgment is against them, they can turn
round, and allege that in order to arrive at the truth a pecu¬
liar discretion and tact, acquired by long experience and
careful appreciation of minute and hair-breadth differences
of size is necessary. T hey can then declare that the ob¬
server who has not arrived at the same conclusions as them¬
selves, is doubtless incompetent to the task he has attempt¬
ed ; and that his testimony, being of no value, ought to be
wholly set aside.
Let it be borne in mind, then, by the practical inquirer
4
Process of ^   
verification. jnt^4he" truth "of phrenology, that he will not be esteemed
qualified to verify its doctrines, unless he be previously deep¬
ly versed in the new system of psychology, can assign to
each of the thirty-five special and primary faculties of the
soul its sphere of operation, and has acquired a readiness in
unravelling their multifarious combinations, so as to analyze,
by this subtile metaphysical chemistry, all human qualities
into their proximate and ultimate elements, refer all ac¬
tions to their proper innate impulses, and assign the propor¬
tions of the various ingredients which are mixed up in the
formation of the character of each, individual. No one is
competent to excel in this new branch of philosophy who
doubts the possibility of appreciating the intensities of moral
or intellectual qualities by geometrical measurements, on
scales divided into tenths and hundredths of inches. The
young and ardent phrenologist, who after having applied his
callipers to the skull subjected to his examination, and taken
a note of the dimensions of each of the thirty-five organs,
proceeds to verify his observations by comparing them with
the character of the possessor of those organs, will never
tail to meet with wonderful coincidences, sufficient to give
him the greatest satisfaction, and confirm him in the per- Phrenolj
suasion that he possesses the real key to the secrets of nature
in the hitherto recondite science of mental philosophy. A
moderate share of dexterity in reconciling apparent discre¬
pancies will suffice to ensure a preponderance of favourable
evidence; since, fortunately, there have been provided in the
brain different organs, sometimes of similar and sometimes
of opposite properties, capable, by a little adjustment of plus
or minus on either side of the equation, of furnishing the
requisite degrees of the mental quality sought for, and of
thus solving every psychological problem. We shall sup¬
pose, for instance, that he is inspecting the head of a person
known to have given credit to the prophecies of a weather
almanack; he finds, on reference to the “ system of phre¬
nology,” that a belief in astrology is the offspring of No. 16,
that is, ideality ; so that if this organ happen to be sufficient¬
ly large, the phenomenon is at once accounted for. But if
it be not, our phrenologist will have another chance; for he
will probably discover it to arise from the dimensions of No.
15, which inspires hope, the source of the propensity to cre¬
dulity. Habitual irresolution may result either from the
magnitude of No. 12, or the diminutiveness of No. 18;
thus affording very great convenience for making our ob¬
servations of the character square with those of the dimen¬
sions of the organs, and vice versa. If, again, the magni¬
tude of the organ of combativeness accord with the mani¬
festations of pugnacity given by the individual, it is well,
and we need inquire no farther, but set it down at once
as an irrefragable proof of the accuracy of phrenological
determinations. Should the correspondence, however,
not prove satisfactory, the organ being large for instance,
and the manifestation small, we have then further to ex¬
amine the dimensions of the organ of caution, the influ¬
ence of which is to moderate and check the operation of the
former; and we shall perhaps find this organ sufficiently
large to account for the phenomenon. Both these organs
may be large, or both small, or the first may be small and
the second large, or the converse ; and other modifications
of action may result if either one or both be only of moder¬
ate size, allowing great latitude of choice in the assign¬
ment of motives. Should we be so unfortunate as to exhaust
all the combinations without meeting with the success we
desire, there is still an abundance of auxiliary faculties of
which we may avail ourselves with advantage. If we were
to explain the fact of the individual in question having ac¬
cepted a challenge, he might have been inspired by comba¬
tiveness, whose voice was “ still for war,” or goaded on by
destructiveness, to fight that he might destroy % firmness may
have urged him to persevere by the consideration that he
had previously resolved it, and concentrativeness, by rivet-
ting his attention to the subject, may have screwed his cour¬
age to the sticking place; or he may have been prompted
by imitation to follow the example, or by approbation to
gain the applause of his friends. We have also to take into
the account the countervailing influence of faculties which
are pulling in the opposite direction, and qualifyingthe com¬
bined powers of the former incentives: And should cawftoMS-
ness not be in sufficient force, we are to consider the power ot
conscientioumess, which preaches forbearance, meekness,
and forgiveness ; of veneration which appeals to the high
authority of religion and of law; of benevolence restraining
the hand from inflicting pain and death; of approbation,
who qualifies her sanction by raising other voices condem¬
natory of the deed; and last, though not least, the ovef!^
life which recoils with instinctive dread from the possible
catastrophe. Drawing, then, a diagram of all these compo¬
nent moral forces, in their proper directions, and suitao
proportions, it will not be very difficult to obtain by t
artificial dynamico-phrenological process, the exact resu -
ant which corresponds with the actual fact to be explaine -
1 Phrenological Journal, viii. p. 654.
s Essays on Phrenology, p. 71.
PHRENOLOGY.
473
hr<
:xe
ed.
ogy Lest it should be imagined that the above description is
caricature of the new method of philosophizing, so admir¬
ably calculated to establish the truths of phrenology, we
shall beg to quote the following passage from Sir George
Mackenzie’s Illustrations as an example of this satisfactory
process of ratiocination.
i- “ In discussing the conjectured faculty of inhabitiveness
with Mr. Combe, he had the goodness to make us acquaint¬
ed with a case, in which locality and inhabitiveness were
both very moderate in developement, but the propensity to
wander, as he informed us, very powerful. Dr. Spurzheim
mentions this propensity as belonging to locality, and he
states several remarkable cases in which the organ was much
developed, and the propensity strong. The case referred to
by Mr. Combe was, on this account, interesting ; and we
will state the result of our inquiries into the particulars, for
the purpose of giving an example of the caution with which
we ought to receive the description of any case brought in
opposition, since it sometimes appears to be necessary even
among friends.
“ The young man to whose case we refer, had a very
strong desire to adopt a seafaring life, contrary to the wishes
of his friends. It occurred to them, that a voyage up the
Baltic, during the stormy months of October and Novem¬
ber, might have the effect of giving him a disgust to the
profession for which he showed so ardent a desire. He
suffered so many privations and hardships, that he yielded
to the wishes of his friends, although the desire to go to sea
continued as strong as ever. On proposing a few questions,
we found that the propensity was confined to being at sea ;
that this propensity did not originate in a desire to wander;
for neither travelling on land, nor mere change of place,
would have gratified the propensity. At the same time,
the person referred to declared, that regular voyages to the
same place would not have satisfied him. The propensity
had haunted him as long as he could remember any thing.
Being anxious himself to contribute to the unravelling of
what appeared mysterious and irreconcilable to the system,
he stated that he used to go once or twice a-day to examine
the mechanism and rigging of ships in Leith harbour, an
employment of which he was passionately fond ; and long
before he commenced his trial voyage, he had become familiar
with the names and uses of every part of a ship, and of the
rigging. He was fond of machinery, and has often amused
himself by making models of ships; and his mechanical
turn was so strong, that he had constructed a model of ma¬
chinery, by which a ship’s motion may be applied to work
the pumps. This mechanical propensity, and his early at¬
tachment to naval machines, together with firmness, appear
to us to have given rise to his desire for a sea-faring life.
Courage might also have prompted his wish to enter the
navy. Thus the supposed propensity to wander appeared
not to exist; and it was found that a mechanical genius,
an early attachment1 to the mechanism of a ship, persever¬
ance, courage, and probably also love of approbation, or
ambition, and ideality, all of which were well developed
m the individual referred to, combined to inspire the desire
to enter the navy.” (Illustrations of Phrenology, p. 170.J
It is to be lamented that, at the period when this elabor¬
ate investigation was undertaken, the organ of wonder had
not yet been made ; for as one of the functions of this or-
rihiei
fedu
on.
gan, according to Mr. Combe, is to “ incite young men. to
c use the sea as a profession,” much light would have been
t rown upon the object of the inquiry by a critical examina¬
tion of its dimensions compared with those of all the other
organs which were taken into consideration as combining
their influence in producing the result.
, ^ei’e 18 this very remarkable peculiarity in the pursuit of
P renology, that the student is perplexed, not with the dif¬
ficulties, but with the facilities it affords for explaining every Pbrenolog-y
phenomenon. The pliability of its doctrines is exemplified,
not merely in the analysis of motives, but likewise in the
influence which w^e are allowed to ascribe to the habitual
exercise, or education of the faculties. The observed mag¬
nitudes of the respective organs indicate, not the acquired,
but the natural powers, sentiments, and propensities. Now,
the character of the individual is the joint result of the force
of natural endowments, and of the amount of moral and in¬
tellectual cultivation which has been bestowed upon them.
But can we ever know enough of the minute history of the
progress of the mind of any individual to enable us to form a
correct estimate of the relative power of these two ele¬
ments, which have, in the formation of each respective fa¬
culty, combined their operations ? If it be true that an
organ may be the seat of a faculty varying in its activity
according to the occasions which call it forth, by what phy¬
sical criterion can we distinguish the active from the dor¬
mant conditions of that organ ? Unless we can draw, with
precision, these distinctions, it is evident that the ground
of ah cranioscopical observation is cut from under us.
It may be indeed alleged, that at all periods of life, and
even after the bones of the skull are consolidated, the or¬
gans increase or diminish in size according to the exercise
or disuse of the faculty associated with it, whether such
change may have been brought about by voluntary train-
ing, or by the discipline of circumstances; and certainly, if
such were the fact, our experience would repose on a much
surer basis, than if the form of the organs merely retained
the stamp originally impressed upon them by nature. But
the hypothesis that the cerebral organs acquire additional
size by the exercise of their powers was positively rejected
as untenable by Dr. Spurzheim, as we have heard him pub¬
licly declare ; and it is, we believe, repudiated by the ge¬
nerality of phrenologists.
We do not think it difficult to account for the progress Progress of
which phrenology has made amongst the very numerous class phrenology
of persons who find in it a source of agreeable occupation, *ccounte(*
giving exercise to their ingenuity in discovering striking 01'
coincidences, and gratifying their self-complacency by in¬
spiring them with the fancy that they are penetrating far
into the mystic regions of psychology. For the last twenty
or thirty years, various popular writers, and lecturers with¬
out number, have been displaying their powers of elocution,
exercising their skill in the critical examination of deve-
lopements, and expounding the doctrines of the new phi¬
losophy to wondering and admiring audiences. With all
these advantages and appliances to boot, the wonder seems
to be, not that phrenology has met with the success of
which so much boast is made, but that it has not speedily
gained the universal assent; for had it been a real science,
like that of Chemistry and other branches of Natural Phi¬
losophy, founded on uniform and unquestionable evidence,
it could not have failed, by this time, of being generally
recognised as true.
When we consider that the present age is not one in
which there is any lack of credulity, or in which a doctrine
is likely to be repudiated on the score of its novelty or its ex¬
travagance, we cannot but smile at the complaints of perse¬
cution uttered by the votaries of the system of Dr. Gall, and
at the attempts they make to set up a parallel between
its reception in this country, in these times, and that which,
two centuries ago, attended the speculations of Galileo,
and subjected him to the tyrannous cognisance of the In¬
quisition ; or to establish an analogy between the dogmas
of phrenology and the discoveries of the circulation of the
blood, and of the analysis of light, which have immortalized
the names of Harvey and of Newton.
0-)
Dr. Spurzheim has shown, that the faculty of attachment
VOL. XVII.
extends its influence to inanimate things, as well as to animate beings."
3 o
474
Phrygia.
P H R
PHRYGIA, a country in Asia. The origin of the name
' is uncertain ; but some say that it was derived from the river
Phryx, now Sarabat, which divides Phrygia from Cana,
and empties itself into the Hermus; whilst others think
that it was so called from Phrygia, the daughter of Asopus
and Europa. The Greek writers inform us that the country
took its name from the inhabitants, and these from the town
of Brygium in Macedonia, whence they first passed into
Asia, and gave the name of Brygia or Phrygia to the coun¬
try where they settled. Bochart is of opinion that this tract
was called Phrygia from the Greek verb pguys/v, to hum or
parch, which, according to him, is a translation of its He¬
brew name, derived from a verb of the same signification.
Nor are the opinions of authors less various as to the an¬
cient boundaries of this country ; an uncertainty which gave
rise to an observation of Strabo, that the Phrygians and
Mysians had distinct boundaries, but that it was scarcely
possible to ascertain them. The same writer adds, that the
Trojans, Mysians, and Lydians, are, by the poets, all blend¬
ed under the common name of Phrygians, which Claudian
extends to the Pisidians, Bithynians, and lonians. Phrygia
proper was, according to Ptolemy, bounded on the noith
by Pontus and Bithynia ; on the west by Mysia, froas, the
iEgean Sea, Lydia, Maeonia, and Caria; on the south by
Lycia ; and on the east by Pamphylia and Galatia. It lies
between the 37th and 4<lst degrees of north latitude, and
extends in longitude from 56 to 62 degrees. The inhabi¬
tants of this country, mentioned by Ptolemy, are the Ly-
caones and Anthemisenii towards Lycia, and Moccadelis or
Moccadine; the Cyddeses or Cydisses towards Bithynia; and
the Peltini or Speltini, the Moxiani, Phylacenses, and Hiera-
politae, between these. To the latter may be added the Be-
recyntes, mentioned by Strabo.
Phrygia is commonly divided into the Greater and Les¬
ser, called also Troas. But this division did not take place
till Troas had been subdued by the Phrygians ; and hence
it is rather considered by some Roman writers as a part of
Phrygia, than Bithynia, Cappadocia, or any other of the ad¬
jacent provinces. In after ages the Greater Phrygia was
divided into two districts or governments ; one called Phry¬
gia Pacatiana, from Pacatianus, who, under Constantine,
was the prcefectus prcetorio of the East; and the other Phry¬
gia Salutaris, from some miraculous cures supposed to have
been performed there by the archangel Michael.
This country, and indeed all Asia Minor, was in ancient
times greatly celebrated for its fertility. It abounded in all
sorts of grain, being, for the most part, a champaign coun¬
try covered with a deep and rich soil, and plentifully watered
by small rivers. In some parts it produced bitumen and
other combustible substances. The plains were also well
stocked with cattle and pasture grounds. The air was an¬
ciently deemed pure and wholesome, although it is now in
some parts thought extremely bad, great part of the coun¬
try lying uncultivated.
Phrygia Major anciently contained several cities of great
celebrity, such as Apamea, Laodicea, Hierapolis, Gordium,
&c. There were also in it some famous rivers, such as the
Marsyas, the Maeander, &c. The Maeander is now named
Madre or Mindre, and was much celebrated by the ancients
for its windings and turnings ; whence all such windings and
turnings have been denominated meanders.
The Phrygians accounted themselves the most ancient
people in the world. Their origin, however, is extremely
uncertain. Josephus and St Jerome say that they were
descended from Togarmah, one of Gomer’s sons ; and that
they were known to the Hebrews under the name of I'i-
grammanes. The heathen authors derive them from the
Brygians, a people of Macedonia. But this is a mere con¬
jecture, being totally unsupported, except by the similarity
of names. Bochart thinks that the Phrygians were the off¬
spring of Gomer the eldest son of Japhet, the word Phry-
P H R
gia being the Greek translation of his name. Josephus Py,
makes Gomer the father of the Galatians ; but by the Ga-S—„
latians he must necessarily mean the Phrygians inhabiting
that part of Phrygia which the Galatians had made them¬
selves masters of; the descendants of Gomer having been
placed by Ezekiel to the northward of Judaea, near Togar¬
mah (which Bochart takes to be Cappadocia), long before
the Gauls passed over into Asia. We are willing to let Go¬
mer enjoy the fine country which Bochart has been pleased
to assign him, and concede to him the honour of being the
progenitor of the Phrygians, since we know no other person
upon whom it can be conferred with any degree of pro¬
bability.
The ancient Phrygians are described as superstitious,
voluptuous, and effeminate, without any prudence or fore¬
sight, and of such a servile temper that nothing but stripes
and ill usage could make them perform their duty ; a cha¬
racter which gave rise to several trite and well-known pro¬
verbs. They are also said to have been the inventors of
divination by the singing, flying, and feeding of birds. Their
music, commonly called the Phrygian mood, is alleged by
some as a proof of their effeminacy.
The government of this country was certainly monarchi¬
cal ; for during the reigns of some kings, Phrygia was sub¬
ject to one prince. Ninnacus, Midas, Manis, Gordius and
his descendants, were undoubtedly sovereigns of all Phry¬
gia. But some time before the Trojan war we find this
country divided into several petty kingdoms, and different
princes reigning at the same time. Apollodorus mentions
a king of Phrygia as contemporary with Bus king of Troy.
Cedrenus and others speak of one Peuthrans, a king of a
small country in Phrygia, whose territories were ravaged
by Ajax, whilst he himself was slain in single combat, his
royal seat laid in ashes, and his daughter, named Tecmessa,
carried away captive by the conqueror. Homer makes
mention of Phorcys and Ascanius, both princes and leaders
of the Phrygian auxiliaries who came to the relief of Troy.
Tantalus, a prince no less famous for his great wealth, than
infamous for his covetousness and other detestable vices, was
only king of Sipylus and its adjacent district. That Phry¬
gia was subdued either by Ninus, as Diodorus Siculus in¬
forms us, or by the Amazons, as we read in Suidas, is not
sufficiently established. Most authors who speak of Gor¬
dius tell us, that the Phrygians, having sent to consult an
oracle in order to learn how they might put an end to the
intestine broils which divided their country into many fac¬
tions and parties, received for answer, that the most effec¬
tual means to deliver themselves and their country from
the calamities under which they groaned, was to commit the
government to a king; an advice which they followed ac¬
cordingly, and placed Gordius on the throne.
Apamea was the chief emporium of all Asia Minor, i hi¬
ther resorted merchants and traders from all parts of Greece,
Italy, and the neighbouring islands. Besides, we know from
Syncellus, that the Phrygians were for some time masters
of the sea ; and none but trading nations ever prevailed on
that element. The country produced many choice and
useful commodities, which afforded considerable exports
They had a safe coast, convenient harbours, and whatevei
may incline us to think that they carried on a consxderaDte
trade. But as most of the Phrygian records are lost, v
will not dwell on conjectures so difficult to be ascertained.
We have no remains of the Phrygian laws; and in re¬
gard to their learning, as we are informed that for some tim
they enjoyed the sovereignty of the sea, we may au
allow them a competent skill in geography, geometry, an
astronomy, besides their reputed knowledge of music,
have been of opinion that the Phrygian language bor_
great resemblance to the Greek; but the contrary 1
nifest from the few Phrygian words which have bee" ,,
mitted to us, and carefully collected by Bochart and
P H R
P II Y 475
U chius. To these we may add the authority of Strabo, who,
after attempting to derive the name of a Phrygian city from
' the Greek, concludes that it is a difficult matter to discover
^ any similitude between the barbarous words of the Phrygian
language and the Greek. The Phrygian tongue, after the
experiment made by Psammetichus, king of Egypt, was
looked upon by the Egyptians as the most ancient language
)f the world. But other nations, particularly the Scytliians,
refused to submit to their opinion, as founded on an argu-
nient of no real weight. “ As the two children,” say they,
“ had never heard the voice of any human creature, the word
bee, or bekkos, the first they uttered, was only an imitation of
the goats that had suckled them, and happened to be a
Phrygian word signifying bread?
As the Phrygians were superstitious, their idols were con¬
sequently numerous. The chief of these was Cybele, who
went by a variety of names. They also worshipped Bacchus
under the name of Sabazios, and called his priests Saboi.
The history of their kings is dark and uncertain, and the
dates of their several reigns and actions cannot now be
fixed. We refer such of our readers, therefore, as wish to
know what is certain respecting them, to the Ancient Uni¬
versal History.
PHRYGIANS, a Christian sect. See Cataphrygians
and Montanists.
PHRYNE was a celebrated courtezan, who flourished at
Athens about 328 years before the Christian era. She was
mistress to Praxiteles, who drew her picture, which was one
of his best pieces, and placed in the temple of Apollo at
Delphi. We are told that Apelles painted his Yenus Ana-
dyomene after he had seen Phryne on the sea-shore naked,
and with dishevelled hair. Phryne became so very rich by
the liberality of her lovers, that she offered to rebuild, at
her own expense, Thebes, which Alexander had destroyed,
provided this inscription were placed on the walls, Alex¬
ander diruit, sed meretrix Phryne refecit; but her offer was
rejected.
PHRYNICHUS, a tragic poet of Athens, was the son of
Polyphradmon or Phradmon, and the disciple of the cele¬
brated Thespis, being a little earlier than AEschylus. He
gained the tragic prize, b. c. 511, and is said to have intro¬
duced several improvements into the dramatic art, bring¬
ing on the stage female characters, and making the actors
adopt tiie use of masks instead of disfiguring their faces with
the lees of wine. Suidas mentions the names of nine of his
tragedies, and ascribes to another Phrynichus, son of Me-
lanthes, a tragedy entitled The Sack of Miletus, which re¬
called so forcibly to the Athenians the melancholy fate of
| that Greek city, that they punished the poet by a fine of a
thousand Attic drachmae, or, according to ./Elian, banished
him from Athens. As the son of Phradmon is said to have
died in Sicily, probably at the court of Hiero, where iEs-
chylus also took refuge, it is not unlikely that this tragedy
may have been his production.
Phrynichus, one of the last writers of the old comedy
at Athens, flourished b. c. 435, and was the contemporary
ofEupolis, Euripides, and Aristophanes. He obtained the
second prize, b. c. 405, the year before Athens was taken by
the Spartans. Plutarch states, that in one of his plays he
defended Alcibiades when he was accused of having muti¬
lated the statues of Hermes. Aristophanes ridicules Phry¬
nichus for introducing too frequently on the stage charac¬
ters in low life. The fragments of Phrynichus have been
collected by Morel, Ex Veterum Comicorum Fabulis quee
Integra non extant, Par. 1553 ; by Hertelius, Vetuslissimo-
rwn Comicorum Sententice, Bale, 1560; and by Grotius,
Excerpta ex Tragcediis et Comcediis, Gr. Lat> Par. 1626.
Phrynichus Arrhabius, a Greek grammarian, was a
native of Bithynia, and flourished about the middle of the
second century, in the reigns of Marcus Aurelius and of
■■ ornmodus. He had devoted much time to the study of
the Greek language, which he pretended to speak and write
in the utmost purity. He made a collection of all the
words used in the Attic dialect, of which an abridgment
has been preserved under the title Eclogce Nominum et Ver-
borum Atticorum. He rejected every word which could not
be found in some work of Plato, Thucydides, or Demos¬
thenes, and was particularly severe on the style of Menan¬
der. This little work, published first by Calliergi, Rome,
1517, was reprinted at Venice, 1524 ; but the best edition
is that of C. A. Lobeck, with learned annotations, Leipzig,
1820, 8vo. Phrynichus had also collected examples of
every different kind of style, in the form of a dictionary,
divided into thirty-five books, which he dedicated to the
Emperor Commodus. This compilation, entitled Apparatus
Rhetoricus sive Sophisticus, was still extant in the time of
Photius. Some fragments remain, which have been pub¬
lished by Montfaucon in the Bibliotheca Coisliniana, p.
465-69.
PHRYXUS, in fabulous history, was a son of Athamas,
king of Thebes, by Nephele. When his mother was repu¬
diated, he was persecuted with the most inveterate fury by
his stepmother Ino, because he was to sit on the throne of
Athamas, in preference to the children of a second wife.
His mother, or, according to others, his preceptor, apprised
him of Ino’s intentions upon his life ; and, the better to
make his escape, he secured part of his father’s treasures,
and privately left Bceotia with his sister Helle, to proceed
to the court of dEetes, king of Colchis. They embarked on
board a ship, or, as we are informed by the poets and my-
thologists, they mounted on the back of a ram, whose fleece
was of gold, and proceeded on their journey through the
air. The height to which they were carried rendered Helle
giddy, and she fell into the sea. Phryxus gave his sister a
decent burial on the sea-shore, and after he had called the
place Hellespont, from her name, he continued his flight, and
arrived safely in the kingdom of /Eetes, where he offered
the ram on the altar of Mars. The king received him with
great tenderness, and gave him in marriage Chalciope, his
daughter, by whom he had Phrontis Melas and Argos Cy-
lindrus, whom some call Cytorus. He was afterwards mur¬
dered by his father-in-law, who envied him the possession
of the golden fleece; and Chalciope, to prevent her chil¬
dren from sharing their father’s fate, sent them privately
from Colchis to Boeotia, the jealousy or resentment of Ino,
who was then dead, being no longer to be dreaded. The
fable of the flight of Phryxus to Colchis on a ram has been
explained by some, who observe, that the ship in which he
embarked was either called by that name, or carried on her
prow a figure of that animal. The fleece of gold is ac¬
counted for by observing that Phryxus carried away im¬
mense treasures from Thebes. Phryxus was placed after
death amongst the constellations of heaven. The ram which
carried him to Asia is said to have been the fruit of Nep¬
tune’s amour with Theophane the daughter of Altis. This
ram the gods had given to Athamas to reward his piety and
religious life; and Nephele procured it for her children,
just as they were going to be sacrificed to the jealousy of
Ino. The murder of Phryxus was some time afterwards
amply revenged by the Greeks, having occasioned the fa¬
mous expedition under Jason and many of the princes of
Greece, which had for its object the recovery of the gol¬
den fleece, and the punishment of the king of Colchis for
his cruelty to the son of Athamas.
PHUGWANA, a large walled town of Hindustan, in
the province of Lahore, belonging to the Sikhs, it is situ¬
ated between the Beyah and the Sutelege Rivers, south¬
east from Jallinder, in a fertile and well-cultivated plain,
which produces wheat and other grains, and also the sugar¬
cane.
PHYLACTERY, in general, was a name given by the
ancients to all kinds of charms, spells, or characters, winch
Phryxus
II
Phylac¬
tery.
476 PHY
Phylactery they wore as amulets, to preserve them from danger or
II. disease.
1 hysic. Phylactery particularly denoted a slip of parchment,
v ^ V on which was written some text of Scripture, generally of
the decalogue, which the more devout people amongst the
Jews wore on the forehead, the breast, or the neck, as a
mark of their religion. The primitive Christians also gave
the name of phylacteries to the cases in which they enclosed
the relics of their dead. Phylacteries are often mentioned
in the New Testament, and appear to have been very com¬
mon amongst the Pharisees in our Lord s time.
PHYLLIS, in fabulous history, was a daughter of Sithon,
or, according to others, of Lycurgus, king of Thrace, by
whom Demophoon, the son of Theseus, at his return from
the Trojan war, was received and hospitably entertained.
Phyllis became enamoured of him, and did not find him
insensible to her passion. After some months of mutual
tenderness and affection, Demophoon sailed for Athens,
whither his domestic affairs recalled him. He promised
faithfully to return before a month had expired ; but either
a dislike for Phyllis, or the irreparable situation of his af¬
fairs, obliged him to violate his engagement; and the queen,
PHY
growing desperate on account of his absence, hanged herself, p;
or, according to others, threw herself from a precipice into 11 a
the sea and perished. Her friends raised a tomb over her
body, where there sprung up certain trees, the leaves ofjj1
which at a particular season of the year suddenly becamev
wet, as if shedding tears for the death of Phyllis. Accord¬
ing to an old tradition mentioned by Servius, Phyllis was
changed by the gods into an almond-tree. Some days after
this metamorphosis, Demophoon revisited Thrace; and when
he learned the fate of Phyllis, he ran and clasped the tree,
which suddenly shot forth, and blossomed, as if still sensible
of tenderness and love.
PHYSHARMONICA, a musical instrument, in which
the immediate sonorous bodies are springs of steel or of
brass, thrown into vibration by a current of air impelled
against them. It was invented by Hackel, at Vienna, and
is an instrument of the same kind as the aeolodicon, or aeo-
line, which was previously invented by Eschenbach, a Ba¬
varian. The same sort of instrument was reproduced in
England a few years ago. On the Continent it has been
introduced into organs as a very efficient stop. See the
article Music for some notices of similar instruments.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
We feel that it would be unsuitable to occupy the pages
of a work like this w ith an epitome of the Practice of
Physic, composed either on such a scientific plan as would
adapt it to members of the medical profession, or in such
a more popular style as would be requisite were it ad¬
dressed to general readers. But there are some topics
connected with the study and exercise of the medical pro¬
fession, from a discussion of which general readers may
derive, we conceive, both interesting and useful informa¬
tion. In particular, it seems extremely desirable that the
public should entertain more accurate notions than gene¬
rally prevail, as to the nature and extent of the difficul¬
ties medical men have to encounter in the exercise of
their profession;—difficulties that are in part, no doubt,
common to medicine with all other practical sciences;
but which must also be attributed in a great measure to
the peculiar character of the subject itself. By being
better informed with regard to the nature and sources of
these difficulties, the public would be better able to judge
of the qualifications they ought to look for in those to
whom they intrust their health; more reasonable in the
expectations they form of the benefits to be derived from
medical assistance; and less easily estranged than they
are too apt to be, from a just reliance on persons of judg¬
ment and skill, by the boastful pretensions of ignorant
and possibly uneducated empirics.
When the physician is called to a patient, there are
two objects to which his attention is successively di¬
rected ; first, to ascertain with what disease his patient
is affected; and, second, to determine the method of treat¬
ment best suited for its cure or alleviation. In the fol¬
lowing article we purpose to consider what are the means
that the practitioner employs for effecting the first of these
objects—for determining in practice what the disease is
with which he has to contend; and, in particular, to take
a general view of the difficulties he has to encounter in
endeavouring to arrive at a correct judgment on this sub¬
ject.
A knowledge of the disease with which his patient is af¬
fected, the medical practitioner can hope to attain only by
an accurate observation of the morbid phenomena or symp¬
toms that manifest themselves, combined with or follow¬
ed up by a careful consideration of the pathological condi¬
tions from which his own experience and that of others has
shown that the particular group of symptoms under his ob¬
servation, or a group closely resembling it, may possibly ori¬
ginate. We had occasion in the article Medicine, in ad¬
verting to the attempts which have recently been made to
undervalue the study of symptoms as compared with that
of proximate causes, to point out the necessary connections
and dependencies of these two subjects of medical inquiry;
and to show that as, on the one hand, a more accurate ob¬
servation of symptoms leads to greater precision in esta¬
blishing the proximate causes of diseases, so, on the other
hand, a more correct acquaintance with proximate causes
leads to the more accurate noting and the more due appre¬
ciation of symptoms. But in considering the relations of
symptoms and proximate causes, it is necessary to keep in
remembrance, that there is a wide diversity in the degree
of directness with which different symptoms indicate the
morbid condition upon which they ultimately depend. Thus,
if the lining membrane of the air-passages be inflamed,
or, in other words, if a person be aftected with catarrh, or
bronchial inflammation, amongst the principal symptoms
that will arise will be fever, cough, and expectoration. Now
the fever is immediately an affection of the nervous and cir¬
culatory systems, liable to occur in a great variety of dis¬
eases besides bronchial inflammation. Its occurrence, there¬
fore, warns us of derangement in some part of the economy,
but does not lead us to the respiratory organs as the pri¬
mary seat of this derangement. The cough depends on a
preternatural action of certain of the respiratory muscles,
and is liable to be excited by a number of different causes
capable of calling these muscles into play. It serves in some
degree, therefore, to guide us to the primary seat ol disease.
The altered secretion, again, of which the expectoration con¬
sists, is the immediate result of that state of inflammation
of the lining membrane of the air-passages, which consti¬
tutes the proximate cause of the disease, and serves very
materially to guide us to a knowledge both of its locality
and of its nature. . ,
In attempting to ascertain, from a consideration ot tn
symptoms that present themselves, what the disease is wit
which his patient is affected, the conduct of the practitioner
will vary according to the more or less inquisitive character
of his mind. The empirical practitioner will content luro
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
c. self with endeavouring to determine what name the parti-
cular group of morbid phenomena or symptoms under his
observation bears in systems of nosology; whilst the ra¬
tional practitioner will aim at forming a judgment, from
the consideration of these symptoms, "as to the nature of
the disease, or, in other words, as to the proximate cause on
which it depends, and its immediate seat. Thus, if a patient
presents the symptoms of yellowness of the skin and of the
conjunctiva of the eye, the alvine evacuations being whitish
or clay-coloured, and the urinary of a yellowish red or saf¬
fron hue, the empirical practitioner will be satisfied with
knowing that he has to do with a case of jaundice, as dis¬
tinguished from all other nosological diseases ; whilst the
rational practitioner or dogmatist will push his inquiries
with the view of determining, if possible, whether the jaun¬
dice, in this particular case, is referrible to some morbid
alteration of the structure of the liver itself, to the presence
of gall-stones in the gall-ducts, or to the existence of spasm
in these canals (morbid conditions or pathological diseases
which may all separately or conjointly produce the symp¬
toms that have been enumerated), or, in short, with the view
of ascertaining what particular form of jaundice he has to
subject to treatment. Both these practitioners must depend
upon their observation of the symptoms that present them¬
selves, for attaining the knowledge which they respectively
desire. But the rational practitioner, whose object it is to
arrive at a knowledge of the particular form of jaundice
under consideration, must investigate these symptoms more
accurately and minutely than is requisite for him who is con¬
tent with the general knowledge of the fact, that the dis¬
ease with which his patient is affected is that which has
been termed jaundice. In the investigation of the ratio¬
nalist, it is obvious, the differences between the objects to
be distinguished, viz. the different forms of jaundice, are
less apparent, the resemblances of these objects are closer,
and their analogies are more striking, than those that
exist between the objects of the empiric’s comparison, viz.
jaundice and other nosological diseases; and, consequently,
a nicer and more elaborate analysis is required for their
discrimination.
The process of analysis which the scientific medical prac¬
titioner has to carry on in his own mind, in endeavouring,
from a consideration of the combinations of morbid pheno¬
mena or symptoms that present themselves to his observa¬
tion, to arrive at a knowledge of the nosological disease with
which his patient is affected, and of the morbid condition of
the economy on which, in the particular instance, this noso¬
logical disease may depend, consists of several successive
I stePs* He has to inquire what is the function, or what
are the functions, a morbid affection or derangement of which
is indicated by the symptoms observable. 2d, What is the
particular process, or what are the particular processes, in
the deranged function or functions, that are more imme¬
diately indicated as being disturbed. 3d, If several func¬
tions be deranged, he has to consider whether these de¬
rangements ought to be x'egarded as separate and inde¬
pendent occurrences, or as being dependent on one ano¬
ther; and if the latter, what is the particular relation sub¬
sisting between them in respect of antecedence and con¬
sequence. kth. By these considerations respecting the
deranged functions, the practitioner is gradually led to de¬
termine in his own mind what is the organ or part of an or¬
gan that is primarily and principally affected. And, bth,
laving formed his judgment as to what is the organ, part
of an organ, or texture affected, he has to consider the man¬
ner m which it is affected, or, in other words, what is the
nature of its morbid condition ; whether the symptoms can
o supposed to depend on simple dynamical derangement,
or whether they imply the existence of organic alteration of
structure (see article Pathology) ; and also, what is the
particular morbid change in property or in structure that
477
must be supposed to exist. Under this last head is obvi- Physic,
ously comprehended the determination of the pathological'
nature of the disease with which the practitioner has to con¬
tend,—the consideration upon which the practice he is to
pursue must necessarily be founded.
In each of the steps of this analytic process there is,
in respect of a large number of diseases, ample room for
mistake, not only in consequence of ignorance on the part
of the practitioner, but in consequence also of the defective
state of medical knowledge depending on the inherent dif¬
ficulties of the subjects to which it relates. In whatever
stage of the analytic process such mistakes may originate,
their ultimate effect must be to lead the practitioner into
one or other of two errors ; ls£, that of supposing the ex¬
istence of morbid conditions which do not actually exist;
or, 2d, that of overlooking the presence of morbid condi¬
tions which do exist.
We shall endeavour, in the following article, to point out, Sources of
and to illustrate by particular examples, some of the circum- difficulty
stances under which the practitioner is liable to commitand fallacy
such mistakes; or, in other words, in which difficulties^ diaSU0-
and fallacies in diagnosis are liable to arise. Our illustra-813’
tions shall be drawn chiefly from the writings of some of the
most eminent clinical physicians of the present day, in or¬
der to obviate any suspicion that the difficulties to which
we refer are attributable to the want, on the part of the ob¬
server, of an acquaintance with those precepts which the
present state of medical science furnishes for the discrimi¬
nation of diseases from one another, or of skill in applying
these precepts to particular examples. In the course of these
illustrations it will appear, that not only may the several
sources of difficulty and fallacy to be noticed exist sepa¬
rately, but that two or more of them may, in some in¬
stances, occur in combination, rendering the determination
of the pathological condition or conditions existing in the
economy a matter of proportionally greater difficulty.
The first circumstance to which we shall advert is the j. Morbid
occasional existence of organic or structural pathological lesions
conditions in some of the textures, systems, or organs ofwithout
the body, without this being indicated by any obvious or symptoms,
characteristic symptom, so that the physician remains en¬
tirely ignorant of their existence till it is revealed by exami¬
nation after death.
Every part of the body, it may be presumed, is destin¬
ed for the accomplishment of some particular end; and,
reciprocally, each phenomenon which the economy exhi¬
bits is referrible to the operation of some particular part
of the organized frame. It seems natural, therefore, to
infer, that a deviation from the healthy structure of any
part of the body must produce a determinate and percep¬
tible change in the performance of the corresponding func¬
tion ; and, on the other hand, that where there occurs a
deviation from the healthy performance of any of the func¬
tions of the economy, this must depend on some change
having occurred in the structure of a corresponding part
of the body;—in short, that where there is altered func¬
tion, there must be corresponding alteration of structure;
and where there is altered structure, there must be cor¬
responding alteration of function. As general principles,
these propositions are unquestionably true; but at the
same time they are liable to very numerous and important
exceptions. It has elsewhere been shown (Pathology,
General) that very obvious deviations from the healthy
exercise of the function of a part may manifest themselves
during life, without its being possible to detect in that part,
after death, the minutest deviation from its natural struc¬
ture. And it is not less fully established, that in a large
number of cases there have been found, on the dissec¬
tion of bodies after death, deviations of parts from their
healthy structure, of which no indicatory symptoms, di¬
rect or indirect, had presented themselves during life.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
478
Physic. “ There is no anatomist,” as was remarked by Dr Thomas
Simson, formerly the distinguished professor ot medicine at
St Andrews, “ who has had opportunity of opening any
number of persons carried off without a manifest disease,
but who must have had convincing proofs that there are
great numbers of preternatural appearances in the body,
which, during life, give no sensible disturbances. (Edin.
Med. Ess. and Observ. vol. v. p. 616.) “ It has been ob¬
served,” remarks another intelligent author (Dr Cramp-
ton, Trans, of the Assoc. Phys. in Ireland, vol. i. p. 1), “ by
those physicians who are most in the habit of opening bo¬
dies, that they sometimes find morbid appearances after
death, which they had not expected, even though they had
closely attended to the antecedent symptoms.”
The circumstances upon which it may depend that a
part of the body may be altered in its structure, and yet no
deviation from its healthy functions, or from those of the
economy generally, be observable, or at least be observed
From the to result from this alteration, are very various. First, The
exercise exercise of the function of the particular organ may not be
of the func- conspicuous to observation. Secondly, We may be ignorant
tion not tiie pUVp0se which the part serves in the economy, and
being con- conseqUently unable to detect any deviation from the pro-
spicuous. exercise of its functions. It seems reasonable to ex-
Irom its pect; that symptoms wall be the more readily perceived,
hehETun- ancl the more characteristic when perceived, in proportion
known. as we are well acquainted with the healthy functions of
the organs on a morbid condition of which they depend,
and can easily discern the exercise of these functions.
And as the functions of those organs, and their several
parts, are in general most apparent and best known, which
either perform some of the vital motions (that is, of those
motions without which life cannot be carried on for more
than a very minute space of time), or which furnish some
sensible secretions or excretions, so the symptoms resulting
from diseased states of such organs must be more easy of de¬
tection, and more characteristic, than those symptoms that
are connected with organs not similarly circumstanced.
Thus, if the organs of respiration are out of order, or if the
action of the heart, the spring of the circulation, is dis¬
turbed, the symptoms arising from such disorders are more
readily perceived, and more easily referred to the organs
concerned in their production, than are the symptoms
that arise from the diseases of other parts the action of
which is not so immediately necessary to life. If the se¬
creting or excreting organs, as the liver or kidneys, fail in
their proper offices, the symptoms thence arising are much
more evident than those which depend on the derange¬
ment of organs that do not secrete any fluid from the blood ;
and among the organs that secrete a fluid, there will be
greater facility in recognising the symptoms connected with
those organs the fluid secreted by which is discharged out
of the body, than with those organs whose fluid is retained
in the body for the performance of some particular purpose ;
greater facility in recognising the symptoms produced by
pathological conditions of the liver or of the kidneys, for ex¬
ample, than in recognising those produced by pathological
conditions of the pancreas, though that, too, is a secreting or¬
gan, and separates from the blood a large quantity of fluid.1
Dr Monro, in his enumeration of the circumstances which
concur in rendering the history of diseases imperfect, has
very properly included “ the imperfect knowledge we pos¬
sess of the functions of some of the organs of the body.
Thus,” adds he, “ we do not know whether or not the
spleen be diseased, unless it has attained so great a bulk
as to be felt by an external examination.” (Morbid Ana¬
tomy of the Gullet, &c. 1811, Introduction, p. xxx.) “Nul- Ph_v
lum est viscus in corpore,” says Grottanelli, in a work ex- <
pressly treating of diseases of the spleen (Splenis Morbi,
p. 78, Florentise, 1821, 8vo), “ quod diutius subdole segro-
tet, pathologicumque statum, absque manifesto detrimento
servet, quam lien.”
Thirdly, The function of the organ may not be essential From
for the general wellbeing of the economy, as is the case not be
with the ovary; or it may be of trivial importance in itself, essent
and exercise little influence on the action of other organs,to life
as is the case with the gall-bladder. “ Before there be any
direct evidence of the existence of enlargement of the ovary,
it has generally,” says Dr Hamilton, “ made a certain pro¬
gress ; and although there may be some data, from the ap¬
pearances in dead bodies, for conjecturing the phenomena
of the early stages of the disease, yet, practically speaking,
a considerable advance must always have taken place be¬
fore either the patient or the practitioner can be aware of
its existence.” (Pract. Observat. on Subjects relating to
Midwifery, part i. p. 71.) “ The gall-bladder,” says M.
Andral, “ may be filled with calculi, and even with pus;
its parietes may be the seat of different alterations; its
cavity may have diminished in a considerable degree, or
even disappeared; lastly, it may cease to receive bile, in
consequence of the obliteration of the cystic duct, without
there resulting during life, from any of these lesions, the
production of any morbid phenomenon which can lead to
a suspicion of their existence.” ( Clinique Medicale, tome
iv. p. 492.)
Fourthly, The change which the organ has undergone, From
though apparently considerable in amount, may not be ofcontim ;
a nature to prevent its performing its destined purposes in"01'™;
the economy. This seems in particular to be the case^J1
when the structural change occurs in a gradual manner, iesjon
the parts apparently adapting themselves to their altered
circumstances. “ When a compressing cause,” observes
M. Cruveilhier, “ acts slowly on the brain, this organ ac¬
customs itself to the compression, or rather the compress¬
ed portion becomes atrophied; and if this compressed or
atrophied portion is not indispensable to the free exercise
either of the sensory and locomotory functions, or of the
intellectual faculties, the patient and the physician are not
made aware, by any morbid feeling or phenomenon, of the
existence of the cerebral lesion.” (Anatomic Pathologique,
folio, livr. viii. pi. i. ii. and hi.) “ The very great frequency,”
says Dr Sims, “ of collections of serous fluid found in the
ventricles or membranes of the brain, in cases vyhere no
cerebral symptoms were known to have existed, is a sub¬
ject of great importance to pathologists and practical phy¬
sicians, especially when viewed in reference to the discri¬
mination and curative treatment of apoplexy and other dis¬
eases of the nervous system. There is also a great variety
of other morbid appearances found on dissection of the
brain, in cases where no symptoms, or no symptoms ade¬
quate to explain the phenomena (that is, indicative of organic
lesion of this organ), were noticed during ttfe.”2 “ Cere¬
bral diseases,” says M. Rostan (Med. Clin. ii. 354), “ may
go on without there existing any symptoms to characterize
them. At all times the occurrence of latent diseases has
been acknowledged ; there exist fewer of them at present
than formerly ; our means of investigation have been mul¬
tiplied to such a degree, that many diseases which would
formerly have been overlooked, are in our days easily re¬
cognised. Nevertheless there are still affections of organs
which we are surprised to meet with after death, an
which have not produced during life any sign that could
1 See Introduction to A Treatise on Biliary Concretions, by Thomas Coe, M. D. 8vo- Lond. 1757- ,
2 With the view of attempting to illustrate this subject, Dr Sims has subjoined a table, containing fifty cases or persons w
of various diseases not cerebral, and who manifested no symptoms referrible to the brain, though, on dissection, effusion ot nui
other morbid appearances were found in the brain or membranes. Med. Chir. Trans, xix. 274-5.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
, have revealed their existence. This point of pathology
''' is truly very obscure, and almost inexplicable. It is very
certain that these things happen when the affection has
advanced slowly, and has destroyed the organ slowly ; it
is very certain also that a lesion of very limited extent
that has come on rapidly, gives rise to well-marked phe¬
nomena: but this does not alter the fact that, in thefirst
case, an organ which is destroyed continues its functions;
and that, in the second, an organ almost unchanged ceases
from its functions. How can the functions still go on in the
first case ? how do they stop in the second ? It is therefore
very difficult, not to say impossible, to recognise diseases
when they are truly latent; and that there are such, is
proved by experience.,,
The secreting glands seem to be capable of undergoing a
very gvc^t degree of organic change without their secretion
being put a stop to, or even sensibly disturbed, so that un¬
less some other symptoms should happen to indicate the
affection that exists, it will not be manifested by any de¬
ficient exercise of the proper function of the organ. M.
Chardel, in his valuable Monograph on Scirrhous Degene¬
rations of the Stomach (Paris, 1808, p. 133), observes,
“ that the examination of a great number of dead bodies
has convinced him, that frequently even the most consider¬
able diseases of the liver occasion no impediment to the se¬
cretion of bile. Very large tumours may form in this organ,
appearing to occupy the greatest part of its parenchyma,
and still the secretion continue/5 And he particularly re-
fers to a case of hydatid of monstrous size that had form¬
ed for itself a cavity in the liver, without the biliary secre¬
tion being put a stop to.
The urinary organs furnish us with numerous illustrations
of the existence of organic affections, very considerable in
their apparent degree, of which in many instances no indica¬
tory symptoms manifest themselves during life, or at least
during a considerable period of their existence. There is
perhaps no organ of the body in which a greater extent
of structural alteration may take place, without affecting,
in a very marked degree, the exercise of its function, than
the kidney. In some cases the urine has continued to be
indication of its existence being furnished by the attendant
symptoms. “ In several cases,” says Sir Everard Home ’
(Diseases of the Prostate Gland, ii. 239), “ in which I have
examined the body after death, calculi have been found en¬
closed in cysts formed between the fasciculi of the mus¬
cular coat of the bladder, so as to be entirely excluded
from the general cavity, and therefore had not produced
any of the common symptoms of stone. I have seen in
the same bladder two, three, and even four such cysts,
each containing a calculus of the size of a walnut.” And,
even independently of the existence of such cysts, calculi
may, as Mr Wilson has remarked, “ exist in the bladder
for years, without producing always those distressing symp¬
toms which render life a burden, and which so frequently
occur m this disease.” (Lectures on the Urinary Organs,
&c. p. 238, 1821.) .X 8“
Fifth, Some other organ or part may supply the place From its
ot tnat which, by a change of structure, has, in whole or in being exe-
part, been rendered incapable of exercising its function. bv
Hus is especially the case with those glandular organsanother or-
which are double; for when one of these is morbidly af-gan'
fected, the other not unfrequently performs its function
in such a manner as to supply the place of both. “ Sup¬
pression of urine,” says Mr Howship (Complaints that af¬
fect the Secretion and Excretion of the Urine, p. 2), “ may
be complete or incomplete. The first case is very rare ;
the second comparatively frequent. An affection that
either deranges or destroys the functions of one kidney,
may leave the other to the more vigorous performance of
its duty; a circumstance most happily calculated to guard
the constitution from the ill effects of a disease the com¬
plete establishment of which is almost invariably fatal.”
“ What we have said,” remarks M. Bouillaud, “ of the ob¬
scurity of the signs of diseases of the kidneys, is applicable to
those of the lesions of the ureters. If these two canals were
obliterated simultaneously, fatal consequences would en¬
sue; but this does not happen when one of these organs only
is obliterated, from a case which I shall relate, it appears
that, in some instances of this kind, the kidney which
has its ureter obliterated, has a tendency to become atro-
disease, little more than the “mere shells of the two kid¬
neys has seemed to remain. (See Chardel, as above.) In
other cases, calculi in considerable number, and of consi¬
derable dimensions, exist in the kidney without materially
eranging their function, or otherwise betraying their own
it may be able of itself to fulfil the function which it for¬
merly divided with that of the opposite side. I do not
affirm, however, that this is in all instances the case.”
(Journ. Compl. xxxi. 15.)
May we, in this point of view, consider the brain or any
P°rtion of it as a double organ; that is to say, niay"we be~
S7five no Lns blSnr„7Z-°nCe ‘n lleve that the corresponding portions ofits two hemispheres
eviJt tWo a/i • b g ® i f th Pre?ence- * hey may co-operate in the exercise of a common function, and that
withnm • increase’ Wltll0ut Producing uneasiness, and this function will continue to be performed without any sen
picion of their existence. We have quoted examples of
persons whose kidneys contained calculi which had not oc¬
casioned any pain to them. Baglivi found large calculi in
tne kidneys of two persons who, during life, had never com¬
plained m these viscera.” To the same effect a more recent
jvriter, Dr Marcet, in mentioning the symptoms with which
Si!!\!0dsed m the. kidney is generally accompanied,
s> Yet cases of this kind occur in which these symp¬
toms are scarcely perceptible; it will appear hardly credi-
e> or instance, that the patient from whom the kidney
represented in plate i. was taken, died of hydrothorax, at
y s Hospital, without any symptom having occurred
ici cou d lead me to suppose that there was any dis-
Zlr? Q / rrinary 0xrgans•,’ (Essay on Calculous Dis-
of IF V- ’ et ^ tke case alluded to, the pelvis
bpr k'dn*y 7as ,much enlarged and distended by a num-
rfl. rCa cu i elusely pressed against each other; and other
Tn ./m6 “ntained in the enlarged infundibula,
stanno 1C .adde.r» also’ there may, under particular circum-
s5 exist disease to a considerable extent, without any
ed in its exercise is injured or diseased on one side, provided
the corresponding part of the opposite hemisphere remains
sound? M. Bouillaud (Traite de TEncephalite, p. 263,
1825), in speaking of the lesions of the intellectual func¬
tions which occur in encephalitis, or inflammation of the
brain, decidedly adopts this idea, “ When one of the he¬
mispheres only is diseased, either in whole or in part, the
phenomena purely intellectual continue entire. I have ad¬
duced a great number of observations in support of this
fact. The slightest reflection, indeed, might have enabled
us to anticipate this result. It is obvious that the brain,
the organ of the intellectual faculties, being composed of
two halves, which are symmetrical and perfectly similar,
each of them is equivalent, in what regards the mechanism
of intelligence, to the two combined.” And M. Lallemand
had previously expressed his belief (Reck. Anat. Pathol,
sur I’Enoephale, 1820, i. 435), “ that when the sound he¬
misphere of the brain is not compressed by the one which
is diseased, it will continue to perform its functions in re¬
spect of intelligence, as in respect of voluntary mption and
4S0
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Phvsic.
sensibility; that the patient will continue to think with a
' half of his brain, as he continues to see with one eye, and
to hear with one ear.” , • i
Sometimes one organ may supply, in a mechamcal ma -
ner, a deficiency or imperfection in its neighbour, and
such a case the existence of the deficiency or imperfection
may not be indicated by any apparent disturbance o the
action of the organ in which it exists. Ihis happens by
no means unfrequently, for example, when an aperture in
the stomach, produced by chronic ulceration, is filled up
by the adhesion of the liver, the pancreas, or the spleen,
t J the margins of the ulcer. “ I have been often surpris¬
ed ” remarks Dr Pemberton (On the Abdominal \iscera,
3d edit. London, 1814, p. 130), “ to find very extensive
mischief in the structure of the stomach, without the con¬
stitution being sensibly affected by it; that 1S> P1.0^611
the mischief was so situated as not to interrupt the pas
gacre of the food. I have seen a large scirrhus in the sto¬
mach, near the pylorus, with an open cancer in one par
of it, which had made its way through the stomach and
through the left lobe of the liver, and an adhesion had
taken place between the sides of the abscess and the pen-
i , i i   T-vofionf hppn taken oil DV d
To those who are engaged in the examination of dead Phys
bodies with a view to trace the connection between the' r
symptoms of diseases and the morbid alterations of struc¬
ture that produce or accompany them, it must obviously
be of essential importance to distinguish, in particular
cases, those alterations of structure that had existed dur¬
ing life, without giving any outward indication of their ex¬
istence, from those on which the symptoms that manifested
themselves really depended. The observation of some cases
in which the coronary arteries of the heart (the vessels by
which the substance of this organ is supplied with blood)
were found after death to be ossified, in pensons who duiing
life had exhibited the symptoms of the painful affection of
the chest termed angina pectoris, led some practitioners to
conclude that thev had detected, in that alteration of struc¬
ture, the proximate cause of this disease. More extensive
observation, however, has shown that ossification of the co¬
ronary arteries often exists without the symptoms tfangma
pectoris, or even without any symptoms whatsoever, mani¬
festing themselves; as it has also shown that the symptoms of
angina pectoris may occur in persons whose coronary arte-
ries are sound. In the same way some recent pathologists
-« . i 1 • ^1 -.. 4- *>/-, fr yv» o rl oY'iPl'Tfiil in Jill
:e between the sides of the abscess and the pen- J d to establish that asthma depends, in all
s„ that, had not the ^ ent been taken off by a ^ disease „f the though U
sons.
disease in the aorta, I have no doubt but that this absces
would have made its way out through the integuments o
the abdomen. Still, however, though this must have been
a disease of very long standing, the body was but little
emaciated, and the patient had never shown any one
symptom by which such a disease of the stomach could
possibly have been suspected. I his single case,
Pemberton, “ is sufficient to point out the infinite difficulty
there is to determine the nature of internal diseases.
From un- Sixth and lastly, Medical men must confess that,
known rea-some instances, they are unable to assign any plausib e
reason why the diseased organ does not reveal ‘tself by
any outward indication of deranged exercise of function.
Thus M. Andral has related (Malad. de l Encephale, p. 402,
403) some cases in which morbid softening of the brain,
variable in its extent and in its seat, produced neither pain
of the head nqr disorder of the intellect, nor alteration o
motion, nor disturbance of the sensations ; nothing, in short,
occurred during life that could even excite a suspicion of the
central part of the nervous system being in any way affected
“ As in these cases,” remarks this accurate observei, the
softening was seated in different parts of the hemispheres
of the brain, the absence of symptoms cannot be explained
by the particular seat of the alteration. As to the nature oi
the alteration, it appeared identical in all the case*. «
all certainly, the softening was uncomplicated with a y
injection, effusion of blood, or other lesion ; but its latency
could not reasonably be attributed to this circumstance.
Shall we explain it by conditions inherent in the indivi¬
duals themselves ? Shall we remark that they were all ex¬
hausted by chronic diseases, which must have blunted t e
sympathies, and diminished the tendency to re-action f
But in many other cases we shall find the existence^
the same chronic diseases " " a—
ivoureu lu   , , .
instances, upon organic disease of the heart; thoug it
seems to be well established, by the researches of accurate
observers, that, though asthmatic symptoms and structural
affection of the heart are frequently conjoined, every fo m
of organic alteration may exist in the heart without indu¬
cing the symptoms of an asthmatic paroxysm; and that in
many persons liable to such paroxysms, there exists no ah
teraUon in the structure of the heart. “ One who would
investigate diseases among the dead, as was remar e y
an author formerly referred to (Dr Thomas Simson in the
Edin. Med. Ess. and Observ. vol. v. p. 617), “ should have a
lar-e history before him of what the living can bear without
disturbance. If this had been always the qualifications of our
dissectors, in what different light should our histories o dis¬
eased bodies appear. And, in consequence of this, physi¬
cians should not have been so far misled in advancing the
causes of diseases, and of the death of their patients, as o
have placed every irregularity found as the original of the
l;;p«P2s“heyhad observed io life. A cautious,heons -
never be satisfied in his inquiries till he has found out the
disorder whence he can deduce all the symptoms that ha
appeared to him, by easy and natural consequence ^
disorder that he observes upon dissection that has no ap
parent connection with the apparent disorder tha hap
Lned in the actions of his patient, must be passed by lam
^ foreign to his inquiry, or is only to be left on record
see if others may afterwards find the connection ; but ul
then, such a disorder can never justly be advanced a
Ca After the ^ed!^ vlTrf the circumstances under
whfch an organic or structural morbid affection of some pad
or other of the body may escape detection, m cons ^
of its not giving rise to any perceptible alterations
• nfthp economy generally, and more
cases we shall find the existence o o its no 0f t|ie economy generally, and more
the same cnronie uiseases not in any degree Preventing ^ Ocularly of the functions of the partinwhich itis situate ,
the development of the usual symptoms of softening of Part ^me to consider those sources of difficulty and fal-
the brain. Lastly, shall we refer the circumstance o -e c^"^Lis,Tom which it arises, that although m
the advanced age of the persons ? This reason would la J ^ m toms do manifest themselves, it is under
not be more available than the others ; for, though one of Pfie"°“stances calculated to create an uncertainty as to
the patients was an octogenarian, another was only forty- ^rcu pathological condition on which
five years of age. Let us here acknowledge, then, our the nature andseatrttlm pa ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ exislence „f
complete ignorance; and, in reference to these tacts, to
which we find analogous ones in respect of each lesion
:S^ln^lt:tSsd0;it"eSrSl ident^al, or at least so similar^ U-^erthetr^l
1 • *.l 4- /-IKTiCJ QC ti
the nature and seat of the pathotog.ca conun,™ ™ ^
SC!ii^“^^-^«ac,ua..y
“Thbe. first Face, then groups or J™"5.
tocf
a derangement of its functions. Thus there are organic ident cal, or at ea ^ ^ impossible. In some,,,,
lesions without symptoms, as there are symiffoms w.thout “,',a“"““ilaritg yor identity i„ the groups of symptoms
any appreciable lesion that can account for them. cases, tins y
f>HYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
efl
sa| Jr
produced by difFerent pathological conditions, is constant,
'so that the well-informed practitioner is on his guard
against the risk of mistake. But, in other instances, a
pathological condition usually recognisable by a group or
train of symptoms peculiar to itself, assumes appearances
foreign to its own habitual or ordinary character, and such
as usually accompany some other form of morbid condition,
so that the practitioner is taken, as it were, unawares,
and exceedingly liable to adopt an erroneous opinion as
to the nature of the disease which he is proceeding to treat.
From the illustrations to be quoted, it will be seen that
when difFerent pathological conditions or proximate causes
give rise to the same group or train of symptoms in difFer¬
ent persons, they may have their seat in the same organ,
or in difFerent organs. In either case it may be that both
the morbid conditions are of an organic character, or that
the one is organic and the other dynamical.
We shall, in the first place, adduce some examples of
organic pathological conditions, differing in nature, but
gaj both corresponding in seat, which give rise to groups or trains
ki isbe- 0f Symptoms so similar, as to render it difficult, if not im-
,a possible, to. say, during life, with what morbid condition
the patient is actually affected. M. Andral, after describing
the difFerent morbid alterations of the mucous membrane
of the stomach, and of the subjacent textures, that may
arise from chronic inflammation (including cancer, accord¬
ing to the view which he takes of the nature of this dis¬
ease), puts the question, whether the infinitely varied
lesions which he has described are each of them mark¬
ed by a peculiar train of symptoms ? “ We do not fear,”
says he, “ to answer in the negative. With the excep¬
tion of some symptoms that are the mechanical result of
the obliteration of the cardia or of the pylorus (the two
apertures of the stomach) by a tumour, the same phenome¬
na most generally attend during life these so difFerent al¬
terations of form and of structure.” {Malad. de VAbdomen,
p. 429.) In speaking of the symptoms of diseases of the
liver, the same author says, “ they are few in number, often
too obscure or too little marked to enable us from a con¬
sideration of them always to affirm the existence of an af¬
fection of the liver. In other circumstances there is no
room for doubt as to the existence of an affection of this
organ; but it is very difficult, or even impossible, to deter¬
mine its nature. For, on the one hand, analogous symp¬
toms are often produced by affections of the liver which
present the greatest differences in respect of their anato¬
mical characters; and, on the other hand, we cannot say
that in any of these affections we find any particular symp¬
tom constantly present.” The same principle is applicable
to the diseases of the urinary organs. Dr Marcet, after
enumerating the symptoms generally produced by calculi
in the kidneys, or by their passage into the bladder, adds
(hb. cit. p. 13), “ yet the occurrence of these symptoms
cannot be considered as an absolute demonstration of the
existence of this disease, unless calculi have been actually
discharged; since it is well ascertained that symptoms
very nearly similar are also sometimes occasioned by mere
inflammation of the kidneys, without any concretion beinsr
present.” a
e 'i°n Before pointing out examples of an organic and a dyna¬
st the I^1C., Pathological condition of the same organ producing
oth( ty. similar or identical groups or trains of symptoms, it may not
naiij j, be amiss to suggest of how much importance it is that the
p lysician should be able to ascertain whether the proximate
al USe ®n.which ti16 symptoms in a particular case of disease
imp ance 1 • ,1S organicor dynamical, since, according to the con-
°fd n. ? usion he may form on this point, the general plan and ob-
guij lg jects of treatment must be very materially influenced. It
°r'r ! ls„in.the class of dynamical diseases chiefly that the efforts
na. ot tbe medical art are likely to be of avail. Of organic
ns. diseases there is. a very large portion in which, though we
VOL. XVII. °
Pra
may for a time retard their progress, or alleviate the suf¬
ferings to which they give rise, we can entertain very lit-'
tie or no rational expectation of effecting a cure. The
distinction between an organic and a dynamical disease of
the same organ is one, however, which, in practice, it is
very far from being at all times easy to make. The ex¬
istence of an organic disease can, indeed, frequently be
ascertained by direct observation, or by what may be call¬
ed its physical indications or signs, as when it is seated in
external parts, or in parts w hich the practitioner is able to
examine by sight or by touch, directly or with the aid of in¬
struments. In this mode of investigation a correct know¬
ledge of the geography of the body, if we may so speak,
is obviously essentially necessary. The practitioner must
know the ordinary position of each part, its extent and its
relations to the other parts in its neighbourhood. He must
know in what situations to expect a prominence, and in
what a depression; where to expect to find a soft and
yielding part, and where a part that is hard and resisting.
But even where he is able by direct observation to ascer¬
tain the existence of an organic disease, he often derives
from this no knowledge of its particular nature, no informa¬
tion, for example, as to whether a tumour is simply inflam¬
matory or scrofulous, whether it is of a mild or of a malig¬
nant nature ; nor consequently does he obtain any insight
into its probable progress : and in a great many of the or¬
ganic alterations which occur, from the deep and remote
situation of the parts which they occupy, as in diseases of
the brain, for example, he is not apprized by direct observa¬
tion, even of their existence. For all that remains to be
learned respecting organic diseases, their existence, their na¬
ture, and their seat, after the means of investigation dedu-
cible from direct observation, or from what we have called
their physical indications or signs, have been exhausted, the
practitioner must, as for the whole of his knowledge of dy¬
namical diseases, be entirely dependent on the detection of
deviations from the regular exercise or performance of the
several functions of the body, or of what may be termed the
functional indications or signs of diseases. Hence it is obvi¬
ous of how great importance an accurate knowledge, both of
the healthy phenomena of the economy (as embraced in the
science of physiology), and of the various modifications
which these phenomena are liable to undergo in the state of
disease (the branch of general pathology termed Symptoma-
tology, or Semeiotics), must be to the practitioner of physic.
We may now point out some examples of an organic and
a dynamical disease of the same organ, producing groups or
trains of symptoms apparently identical. In diseases of the
brain, the same train of symptoms may arise from an obvi¬
ous organic alteration, or without any such alteration, and,
as it is usually expressed, from mere functional disturbance.
“ A person previously in perfect health,” observes Dr Aber¬
crombie (On Diseases of the Brain, 3d edition, p. 199, 200),
“ feUs down suddenly, deprived of sense and motion, and
dies after lying for some time in a state of coma. We find,
on examination, a large coagulum of blood compressing the
surface of the brain, or filling its ventricles, and the phe¬
nomena of the disease appear to be distinctly accounted
for. Another person is cut off with the same symptoms,
but nothing is met with except serous effusion in no
great quantity in the ventricles, or only on the surface
ot the brain. A third is seized in the same manner,
and dies after lying for a considerable time in a state of
coma, from which nothing can rouse him for an instant;
and, on the most careful examination, we cannot detect
in his brain the smallest deviation from the healthy struc¬
ture.” Here, then, are three cases which, as present¬
ing the same external phenomena, all fall under the same
nosological disease, apoplexy; but of which the first may
be regarded as depending on an organic, and the last, at
least, on a dynamical affection; whilst with regard to the
3 p
481
Physic.
482
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Physic, second, it may not be easy to determine 'vheitl]"-‘r llle ra“'
'  ' bid appearances discovered after death should be rega
ed as the primary disease, or only as one of its ettects.
The stomach may be mentioned as another organ the
structural and dynamical affections of which give rise to
closely resembling groups or trains of symptoms. lo
trace exactly the phenomena of a disease, says M. Char-
del nib. cit. p. 159), “ is not always sufficient for convey¬
ing a proper knowledge of it; it is still necessary to point
out any other affections the resemblance of which with
the object of our researches might possibly occasion mis¬
take. This observation is of especial importance in the case
of incurable diseases, since, to confound these with other
diseases that are susceptible of cure, is to deprive the un¬
fortunate persons committed to our charge of the assis -
ance which they had a right to expect, and to deceive
their confidence. No affection,” this author proceeds to
observe, “ simulates so completely scirrhous degenerations
of the stomach as spasmodic vomiting, or that arising from
an immediate lesion of the principle of life in the nerves
of the stomach, from a special sensibility of that viscus.
Of differ- In other instances in which different pathological condi-
ent organs, tions or proximate causes give rise to the same group or
train of symptoms in different individuals, the different le¬
sions have their seats in different organs or parts of the
body. These organs or parts may be related to one another
simply in the way of contiguity or superposition ; or there
may exist some functional dependence or sympathetic con¬
nection between them. . . e
related by The mistakes liable to occur in the judgments of medi-
proximity; cai men as to the existence or non-existence of aneurism,
furnish an illustration of the similarity that may exist
in the morbid phenomena induced by different pathologi¬
cal conditions of organs or parts in near proximity. 1 he
occurrence of a pulsating tumour in the vicinity of an ar¬
terysays Mr Hodgson (Diseases of Arteries and Veins,
p 88), “ will induce every cautious surgeon to suspect the
existence of an aneurism. But there are many diseases
which, from their situation, or from other circumstances,
may assume the symptoms of aneurisms ; and in some
instances aneurisms assume the appearances of other dis¬
eases.” “ The circumstances that characterize the exist¬
ence of an aneurism are much more complicated when t le
disease is situated in the thorax or abdomen, than when it
exists in the extremities. Aneurisms in the thorax ab“
domen frequently prove fatal before a knowledge of their
existence is confirmed by that evidence which the appear¬
ance of the tumour externally generally affords; and the
/ viscera with which they are surrounded are subject to a
t variety of diseases, many of the symptoms of which are
common also to aneurisms of the aorta and of its primary
ramifications.” .
If we turn our attention to the diseases of particular or¬
gans, we shall find ample illustrations of the source of fal¬
lacy in diagnosis to which we have just alluded. Practition¬
ers are well aware that a difficulty of breathing or of swal¬
lowing may arise not only from affections of the organs by
which these functions are respectively exercised, but from
morbid conditions of one or other of the neighbouring organs
or parts, as of the thyroid or bronchial glands, the vertebra;,
and the larger blood-vessels; and also, that whilst difficult
respiration may be occasioned by morbid conditions of the
pharynx and oesophagus (the organs by which deglutition is
effected), difficulty of deglutition'may arise from morbid con¬
ditions of the glottis, of the larynx and trachea, and even of
the lungs, that is to say, ofthe organs of respiration. “Aneu¬
risms arising from the thoracic aorta,” Mr Hodgson has re- Phy
marked, “ by compressing the trachea and oesophagus, pro-s—y
duce great impediments to respiration and deglutition, and
are often mistaken for diseases of the lungs, or strictures of
the oesophagus.” (P. 91.) M. Cruveilhier, in speaking of
the diagnosis of inflammation of the larynx, remarks, that “a
very serious error, and, at the same time, one very easily
committed, is the referring to inflammation of the submucous
membrane of this organ the effects of the compression ofthe
trachea by an aneurism of the arch of the aorta. Nothing
resembles more a paroxysm of suffocation produced by
laryngitis than the dyspnoea occasioned by the pressure of
an aneurismatic aorta upon the windpipe. I have myself,”
he adds, “ been on the point of committing this error so
much the more easily that the individual submitted to my
observation was at the same time affected with hoarseness
of the voice.” (Diet, de Med. et Chirurgie, xi. 35.)1
“ As to the symptoms of splenitis,” says M. Andral,
“ their great obscurity depends on several causes; for, ls£,
as the functions of the spleen are unknown, their distur-
bance cannot reveal its morbid condition in the same way
as the disturbance of digestion reveals an affection of the
stomach; and, 2dly, the symptoms produced by inflamma¬
tion of the spleen must be easily confounded with those
arising from inflammation in one of the surrounding or¬
gans, and vice verset.’’ (Diction, de Medecine, art. Splen ite.)
“ The symptoms of the diseases of the pancreas,” it has
been remarked, “ are obscure, being for the most part such
as belong equally to morbid aftections of other parts con¬
tained within the abdominal cavity. It is, indeed, very sel¬
dom that we are able to discover pancreatic disease in the
living subject.” (Dr Carter, art. Pancreas, in the Cyclop,
of Pract. Medic.) “ From common experience,” remarks
another author, “ and the evidence of morbid dissection,
it may justly be inferred that disease of the pancreas is a
rare occurrence; yet the difficulty of ascertaining the con¬
dition of this organ in the living subject, by any other symp¬
toms than such as are secondarily manifest in the stomach
or liver, must render our judgment in many cases uncer¬
tain, and our practice, doubtless, sometimes erroneous.
(Dr Percival, Trans. Assoc. Phys. in Ireland, vol. ii. p. 128.)
We have seen, in respect ofthe kidneys, the difficulty of
distinguishing, by the symptoms that manifest themsehes,
between the different affections of which these organs may
be the seat. But besides this, they also afford proofs of the
difficulty of distinguishing between the morbid conditions
of a particular organ and those of the parts in its vicinity.
« The diseases of parts near to the kidneys, says Uio-
part, in reference to the diagnosis of renal calculus (hb. cit.
p 182), “ may be accompanied with symptoms closely re¬
sembling those which manifest themselves in calculous
nephritis. Have there not been found, in persons believed
to be nephritic, scirrhus, abscesses, and calculi of the pan¬
creas, or of the mesentery ; the spleen scirrhous, displaced
and lying upon the kidney; a tumour of the intestines res
ing on that viscus, &c.? Other facts of the same nature
might be adduced in confirmation of the difficulty that ex¬
ists in judging of the presence of calculi in the kldneyfe-
But if in some cases we cannot arrive at certainty,
may at least have strong presumptions respecting this dis¬
ease, by combining all the symptoms, and comparing the
with one another.” ,, •
It is proper to be kept in mind, that the resemblance m
the symptoms produced by morbid conditions of organs -
lated to one another by proximity, may show itself eith
in physical or in functional indications. Of resemblan
See generalization of the same feet by Dr Cheyne, hi the article the^latterby
and
article Laryngitis oi me u ------- -G h See
A. U* "S ^“necti “ “If S » .he difficulty .f
case of aneurism ofthe aorta, producing symptoms of pneumonia related by llostan, ue v. 166.
diagnosis in internal aneurisms, particularly abdominal, see case by Dr T. L. Beatty, in uum P P
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
] sic.
J _
jy !*•
jro in-
3u( '2.
in physical indications, we may take an example from M.
'' Chardel, who, in pointing out certain circumstances under
which scirrhus of the stomach may exist without any tu¬
mour being perceptible in the epigastric region, suggests
(lib. cit. p. 185) that, on the other hand, tumours really ex¬
isting in some other organ, such as “ a prominent liver, an
abscess in the posterior cavity of the epiploa, or a swelling
of the pancreas, may simulate an induration of the stomach.
Tubercular mesenteric glands, when they are in the neigh¬
bourhood of the stomach, may easily be taken for a scirrhus
of that viscus.” And he adds, that “ it is possible that the
hardness which the muscles of the abdomen, particularly
the recti, exhibit in persons in whom they are strong and
much exercised, may equally lead into error.” Of resem¬
blance in functional indications, we may quote an instance
mentioned by Mr Hodgson, who observes that “ when
an aneurism arises from the aorta at the root of the cceliac
artery, it is attended with frequent sickness, more espe¬
cially after food is taken into the stomach, and by its pres¬
sure produces symptoms like those of stricture of the nv-
lorus.” (P. 95.) ^
The reciprocal influence which the different parts of the
bodyexercise upon one another, often throws great difficulty
in the way of the practitioner in attempting, in particular
instances, to ascertain the seat of disease from a considera¬
tion of the symptoms that attend it, seeing that the promi¬
nent symptoms may point at organs very different from
those which are actually the seat of disease. This influence
is sometimes exerted between parts that co-operate in
the performance of the same general function, as when vo¬
miting arises in consequence of obstruction of some portion
of the intestinal tube ; but in other instances it is exerted
between parts concerned in the performance of functions
essentially distinct, as when headach or palpitation of the
heart occur in various derangements of the stomach and
bowels. In consequence of this reciprocal dependency of
different parts, not merely may a symptom immediately re-
ferrible to some particular organ depend on an affection of
an organ quite distinct from this, but the same symptom
may arise from affections of several different and remote
organs. Thus, for example, the symptom of cough, the im¬
mediate cause of which is known to be the convulsive or
rapid contraction of certain respiratory muscles, may occur
as a symptom of various affections of the air-passages or
lungs; but it may also form a very prominent symptom in
diseases having their seat in parts remote from the respira¬
tory organs; and a late French author, M. de Larroque, has
published a work professedly treating of cough as a symp¬
tom, more or less severe, of certain abdominal diseases,
ihe circumstances just adverted to render it impossible,
it may be remarked, to characterize and recognize diseases
by one particular prominent symptom. It is only by mark¬
ing and analysing the concomitant groups of symptoms that
we can arrive at a knowledge of the organ which is the pri¬
mary seat of disease. When a patient complains of head¬
ach, for example, the practitioner must judge, from a consi¬
deration of the other symptoms by which this uneasy feel¬
ing is accompanied, whether it depends on the existence
o some pathological condition in the head, the immediate
seat of the symptom, or in the organs of digestion, the
derangements of which we know to be capable of inducing
i sympathetically. In the same way, when the outstand¬
ing or prominent symptom is vomiting, it is only by a care-
u consideration of the concomitant circumstances that
we can hope to determine whether it is in the stomach it-
e , or in some other organ more or less immediately con¬
found W1^ t^at or^na^ seat roischief is to be
• Seneral signs by which pericarditis may be recog-
Sa^S. -^ams> “ are exceedingly equivocal, and
c requires to be done by the physician to clear the
obscurity. I have been frequently called upon to examine
the bodies of persons supposed to have died of disease of
the lungs or liver, and I have found pericarditis the true
and single source of death, although during the previous
illness the heart was never suspected to be the seat of a
fatal affection. I have myself been witness to the treat¬
ment of a case of chronic inflammation of the pericardium
in a girl aged fourteen, which terminated fatally, and dur¬
ing the whole progress of the disease, phthisis, or rather
what was considered hepatic phthisis, was the disease un¬
der which this child was supposed to be gradually declining.”
(Dubl. Hosp. Reports, iv. 360.)
Morbid conditions of the alimentary canal are peculiarly
liable to produce disturbance in the functions of some other
organs, without betraying their own existence. “ Such,”
says M. Piorry, in an essay on the influences which the
stomach exercises on other organs in health and in dis¬
ease ( Journ. Complem. du Diet, des Scien. Med. xvi. 199),
“ such is frequently, in diseases of the stomach, the inten¬
sity to which the sympathetic lesion of the related organs
amounts, that it seems to destroy the primary affection, or
at least to cause it to be overlooked. Whilst the patient
labouring under such disease experiences only slight un¬
easiness in the epigastrium, he is tormented by the sever¬
est and most intolerable cerebral, muscular, thoracic, and
other pains.” “ The exact appreciation of the nature of
the symptoms observed,” remarks the same author, “ is so
much the more difficult on this account, that the organ
whose sufferance is symptomatic of the lesion of another
part becomes itself a new centre of irradiation, which in¬
duces, in its turn, secondary irritations or pains. And as
there is nothing to prevent these from being, in their turns,
new points of departure of physiological influences, there
results excessive difficulty in establishing a just diagnosis,
in cases so embarrassing.” Every one is aware of the in¬
fluence which the presence of worms in the intestines
is generally believed to exercise in producing derange¬
ment in the functions of remote organs. “ There are
few diseases,” says M. Andral (Fievres, p. 273-5), “ par¬
ticularly in children, of which worms have not been sup¬
posed to be capable of being the cause. Klein has said,
‘ Nullum tarn peregrinum est symptoma, tamque (Sa/^owaxoi/,
quod vermes excitare non possint.’ We read in authors
numerous examples of palsies, comatose attacks, asthmas,
palpitations of the heart, obstinate coughs, epilepsies, and
hysterical convulsions, depending on that cause. Even
tetanus has been considered as the result of the pre¬
sence of worms in the intestinal canal. In the time of
Alexander Trallianus, it was said that, when worms pass¬
ed from the small intestine into the stomach, they gave
rise to excruciating cardialgia, to syncope, and that some¬
times even they occasioned sudden death. It must be
confessed, that observations of this kind become the less
frequent as pathological anatomy is more generally and
more carefully cultivated. But, in hesitating as to the
reality of these extraordinary facts, let us be careful not
to deny altogether their possibility. A hemiplegia caused
by worms would not appear to us a less credible pheno¬
menon than a palsy succeeding to the introduction of par¬
ticles of lead into the alimentary passages. Now nothing,
unfortunately, is more real and more common than this
last species of palsy. The symptoms caused by worms may,
besides, be expected to vary much according to their na¬
ture, their number, their greater or less mobility and ac¬
tivity of existence, their more or less immediate contact
with the mucous membrane, their situation in particular
parts of the alimentary canal, the energy of the patient’s
sympathies, his nervous susceptibility, &c. Amongst phy¬
sicians, said De Haen, some have made worms play too
important a part in the production of diseases; and others
have not paid sufficient attention to them.”
483
Physic.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Lesions of
nervous
centres
producing
symptoms
in remote
organs.
To the class of cases in which different pathological the several nervous centres are affected, and their affec- %
conditions having their seats in different organs or parts tions modified by individual circumstances. It is precisely ^
nf^he hodv Jwe rise to the same group or train of symp- from this variety and anomaly of appearances that practi-
toms may be referred those in which lesions of the central, cal men are apt to be misled. The most marked symptoms
or cerebro-spinal and canglionic, portions of the nervous are apparently so d,slant from, and unconnected w.th ner-
svstem occasion the development of symptoms in remote vous irritation, and are moreover so violent and similar m
system occasmn tne f t} are produced, their character to pure inflammatory diseases, that there is
iirgans of body, similar^to^those^ are ^ risk of our ^hief curative efforts being directed to
eans bv'morbid lesmns of which they are themselves the the appendages and coincidents, instead of attac ing the
immediate seats. In many cases, for instance, of local disease itself. , . . ,
nTs or neuralgias, as of nLralgia of the mamma, of the Numerous facts upon record show that a pathological con-Lesio: f
pains or neu™‘S “ ’ d f , there ig reason t0 be_ dition existing in the trunk of a nerve may produce symp-tier J
lleveThat the pain is not attributable to an affection of the toms that appear referrible to the organ in which its branches^*
heve that the pam referred, but (as Drs are distributed. “ Every part to which a nervous filament^
Brown LriX^ bave^ point- can be traced,” as is remarked by Sir BenjanunBrodie ^
Pfl out! is caused bv the presence of a primary diseased (Lectures illustrative of certain Local Nervous Affections,brand
ed out) ^ cause" ,Dy , j1 in its coverings. Al- p. 2), “ may be said to have its corresponding point in
T innuhr hmhsdonot allovv us to enter fully info the il- the brain or spinal marrow; and an impression made
lustration of the doctrine of spinal and ganglionic irritation, either at its origin, or anywhere m the course of the trunk
is t harbeefcalled, we cannot refrain from quoting a very of a nerve, will produce effects which are rendered mam. |
i • mmi nf the diversity of symptoms manifested fest where the nerve terminates, at that extremity of it
KiXs of case^ri given nTpaper on diseases which is most distant from the brain. The experiments
shnulatin^acuteTifflammatory attacks of various important of different physiologists had fully established, that when
oreans b? Mr Torbet, surgeon in Paisley, contained in the the pneumogastric nerve or the .recurrent branch of this
S , r.., m j;_, u t\t„,i c.ivrr- Trtnv n nerve, which goes to the larynx, is divided on each side ot
the neck, paralysis of the muscles that open the glottis is
produced, and, as a consequence of this, the state of stri-
dulous breathing. The knowledge of this fact has been very
ingeniously applied by the late Dr Hugh Ley to the expla¬
nation of certain affections of respiration occurring as con¬
sequences of disease. Thus he conceives that the crowing
or croup-like inspiration which is not unfrequently met with
in infants, depends primarily, not on a morbid state of the
h: Ifc-olP Vint- iirtnn n rrmrhid oon-
forty-fourth volume of the Edinburgh Med. Surg. Jom. p.
375 “ Of the diseases in question,” says that author, “ re¬
males frequently before, sometimes after, puberty, are the
most usual victims. The individuals are of what is called
irritable constitution, a peculiarity moreover distinctly he¬
reditary, and connected more or less with strumous dia¬
thesis. The morbid train of neuralgic symptoms is most
usually set in operation either by a serious inflammatory
or febrile disease, by excessive fatigue, or by injury, as
1 • r*.   r„11 HTU ^ onr 1 vnriof V
parte constituting the glottis itself, but upon a morbid con-
from a heavy btt or severe tan. / . 5ltion of the pneumogaStr.c and recurrent nerves; and
dition of the pneumogastric and recurrent nerves
that in very many instances it is connected with a diseased
irum a ucavjr aiAu      ^ , r ui
of diseases to which the individuals appear to be liable,
TtMTol t"ent ibnessesfthe pIwerM TeTetl iymp'ha'.ic glands of the neck, producing pres-
f nn mhpr nersons. They are paralytic, blind, which patients affected with tumours, aneurisms, or other
^^ths6 a J yertheTdo n^t dif10^ the'held" the'organ rS,\s wdra?tVe\%hyxb bywhlch’ such persons are
"Xa" o? „^:omp“ pen the; teacri
IS cl llca v y vv 1 # 1 • i j u 11
age compresses, or hammers beat within their heads, be s
ring in their ears, vertigo and sickness overpower them,
iciiiid kyiwuv/**!)     w
as to cause compression, stretching, or more or less com¬
plete destruction, of the pneumogastric nerve, or its recur-
r , 11 T QfriHnlnc.l
nnS ^ Then S to ngeai br’aneb. On Laryngismus Stridulus.)
noise and light disturb them, is the cnes, a ,LSst morbid conditions of the central parts ol
J1U1SC CllIVA liquid   — 
a sepulchral cough, each fit of which seems to threaten ex
istence, over which medical art seems to possess no con-
LiL laryngeal uicuu-u.   --
But whilst morbid conditions of the central parts ot the Lesio if
nervous system frequently give rise to groups or trains ofremoti r-
istence, over which medical art seems to possess no con- nervous system  -J . ^ons on thegansi
trol harasses from morning to night, and night to morn- symptoms that seem referrible to distant orga, ^jjucin
TbTe is excruciating pain tn the chest especWly
during the cough, which is perfectly devoid ot expectora
^  . n 1 • n n;  J of f n l
oiner iuuiu il auuiewiAiv,® „ — —- sjmpi ^
the couo-h, which is pertectiy aevom oi cxpeciuia- remarked, that diseases having their seat e se'v1^ oc-^ T *
There tea feeling of sweiUng and choking at the V ^
under [laTof of ihe MS -
tiAVtoleSrof^^oughlS^lheS ” VmPT^that T^Tfhe—n/srf
Mem tcToccupy the whole left side of the chest. Is the ing life were those of inflammation of *0 mombrane^ot
digestive apparatus the seat of disease ? Then ensue vomit- the brain, whilst the ajipearances found ^
ing without apparent cause; incessant retching for hours, were those of acute inflamm a 1 R()s.
nr-purrimr nerhaus every dav for weeks, without any thing of the heart; and he refers to a case reiaieu y
S™Ped; no a^plS unquenchable thirst; occa- tan, in which there occurred cerebral ^o^o\tbe
sio'nal pain in the belly, ov muscular cramps ; and explanation of which no other lesion
costiveness alternating with diarrhoea, the stools being un- of inflammation of the ^stm| membia f ^ well
accountably copious. Are the organs of voluntary mo- “ Thf f LlfcoLequence of individual sus-
tirm attacked ? Then there are cramps, prickling or numb- calculated to show, that in consequence
ness sometimes severe spasms, liker tetanus or hydro- ceptibilities, there is no organ the lesion whlch ^ ^
phobia than any thing else, ending possibly in catalepsy; induce the most varied nenrous symptom!,, ^ ^ ^
or paralysis of one or more limbs ensues. Such is an epi- duce sympathetic^ in th(e'nervouS
tome of the symptoms of the more violent cases; but al- logical disea ) P j , been correctly
most endless variety must of necessity occur, according as centres and their dependencies. It has been
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
485
c. laid down, that the alimentary canal, when inflamed, re-acts,
—''more frequently than any other organ, upon the brain, and
gives rise to the symptoms of inflammation of the mem¬
branes or substance of the brain. But it is not less true, as
M. Boisseau has already very well shown, that inflammations
of other organs may equally produce, by their sympathetic
influence on the encephalon, the different groups of symp¬
toms which constitute the ataxic fever of M. Pinel.” Dr
Latham, too, after remarking that the perplexities with
which the diagnosis of the diseases of the pericardium is
beset, are more considerable than any belonging to the in¬
flammatory class of diseases in other organs of the body, has
mentioned some cases in which the symptoms that mani¬
fested themselves during life were those which usually at¬
tend inflammation of the brain, whilst, upon examination
after death, the brain and its coverings were found in a per¬
fectly healthy and natural state, and the pericardium alone,
or conjointly with the substance of the heart, discovered un¬
equivocal marks of acute and recent inflammation. “ These
cases,” Dr Latham continues, “ furnish specimens of the
enormous difficulties which medical men have sometimes
to contend with in the diagnostic part of their art, and they
ought to mitigate the censure of those who would judge
harshly of our mistakes. Here it is remarkable, first, that
a vital organ should sustain an acute inflammation without
any symptom whatever immediately referrible to itself, and
that organ the heart; and, secondly, that it should impart
expressly to another organ, not the mere symptoms of com¬
mon derangement, but the authentic symptoms of inflam¬
mation, and that organ the brain. Diagnosis is necessarily
perplexed and baffled where no symptoms whatever are
found in the organ really diseased, and none in those with
which it is functionally allied, but in some other organ with
which it has no known connection, save that they are both
parts of the same body. And, further, diagnosis becomes ab¬
solutely hopeless when the organ, thus suffering sympathe¬
tically, puts forth, not the sign of a mere indefinite ailment,
but of a real disease, changing and disorganizing its struc¬
ture ; as when the brain, being perfectly healthy, manifests
the signs of acute inflammation, while the heart, being
acutely inflamed, gives no evidence of its disease whatever.”
Of the cases in which the medical practitioner is mis¬
led by the symptoms that present themselves, as to the
nature of the malady under which his patient is labouring,
this arises, in some, from a local affection producing the
symptoms of a constitutional disease, without betraying
any marks of its own existence; whilst in other instances,
on the contrary, it depends upon a constitutional disease,
simulating, or producing the symptoms of a local affection.
A learned journalist, in quoting a case related in Hufe-
lands Journal by Dr Roeser of Wurtemberg, in which in-
™'flammation of the heart had assumed the symptoms of
chorea, or St Vitus’s dance, has justly remarked, that “ the
medical practitioner is not unfrequently puzzled by ner¬
vous affections taking on the character of serious organic
diseases ; he should be on his guard against the reverse,
dangerous maladies concealed under the mask of nervous
disorders.” (Johnson’s Journal, July 1829.)
In local diseases,” says Sir Everard Home, in his work
on Strictures (ii. 13), “ it is often difficult, and some-
times impossible, to ascertain whether the constitutional
attections that are met with are in reality symptomatic of
t e local irritation, or belong to some new disease which
ias been superinduced; and for want of some criterion to
guide our judgment in the investigation of diseases, we too
° ten mistake the occasional symptoms for the disease it-
se , which, from the obscurity of its situation, or its appa¬
rent insignificance, is totally neglected.” “ The constitu-
lonal symptoms which belong to a stricture in the urethra,”
e adds, “ have been more frequently mistaken for an ori-
gma disease, than those of any other local complaint; and
it is only within these few years that this error has been Physic,
detected.” And to the same effect Dr Thomson observes, -v—~
in his Lectures on Inflammation (p. 105), that “ of fevers
resembling intermittent, and arising from local diseases, we
have examples in the febrile affections which not unfre¬
quently accompany strictures in the urethra. I have re¬
peatedly known,” he adds, “ these symptoms mistaken for,
and treated as, a true intermittent fever.”
It is well known that the “ new medical doctrine,” main¬
tained by M. Broussais, proceeds on the assumption that
certain diseases usually regarded as constitutional or essen¬
tial, that is, as not proceeding from nor depending on any
local affection of a particular organ or texture, always result
from certain local internal inflammatory affections, though
in some instances there may not occur any well-marked
symptoms indicative of the existence of such affections.
“ All the essential fevers of authors,” says M. Broussais,
“ are referrible to gastro-enteritis (inflammation of the sto¬
mach, and adjacent part of the intestines), simple or com¬
plicated. Medical men have all overlooked this inflamma¬
tion when unaccompanied by local pain; and even when
pains have occurred, they have always been regarded as
accidental.” (Propositions de Medecine, cxxxix.) It would
be out of place to enter here on an exposition of the errors
involved in this fundamental principle of the so-called
physiological doctrine of medicine ; but whatever may be
thought of the doctrine which represents all fevers as ori¬
ginating in and referrible to some local inflammatory affec¬
tion, it must be allowed, that local inflammations occasion¬
ally assume the symptoms and course of particular forms
of fever, so as to mislead the practitioner in his judgment
as to the nature of the disease which he has to treat.
“ Before entering,” says Professor Van Coetsem of Ghent
(Recherches Cliniques, &c. p. 91), “ on an elaborate dis¬
cussion as to the diagnostic value of the local symptoms
which manifest themselves during the course of acute
arachnoiditis (inflammation of the serous membrane of
the brain), we have thought it right to fix the attention
of the medical public upon a singular modification of this
inflammatory affection, of which we have hitherto in vain
sought for any notices in the works of the different authors
who have described this affection, if we except only Pinel
and Morgagni, who relate with astonishment some scatter¬
ed observations, which they have, as it were, left to their
successors to make use of, when, having become more nu¬
merous, they might serve as the foundation for a medi¬
cal doctrine applicable to analogous cases. We mean to
say that this terrible inflammation may sometimes simu¬
late the paroxysms of quotidian or tertian intermittent
fever. This result, founded directly on observation, is of
the highest importance as regards the treatment; for if,
unfortunately, the physician deceives himself respecting
the nature of the pretended febrile paroxysms, which are
observed at the commencement or during the course of
the disease, he loses successively all the patients commit¬
ted to his care.” “ Resting on the observations of our pre¬
decessors, and on those which we have ourselves collect¬
ed, we think we may affirm, without fear of being taxed
with rashness, that there are acute inflammations of the
serous system which sometimes affect the periodical form
of intermittent fevers; and that, of these, acute arachnoi¬
ditis presents, during its course, more frequently than the
inflammations of other serous membranes, the periodicity
in question.” (P. 121.)
It would appear that under peculiar states of the gene-constj*u_
ral constitution, the groups or trains of symptoms charac-tional dis-
teristic of diseases appertaining to particular organs may eases may
manifest themselves, though there do not exist in these simulate
organs any morbid conditions, pathological states, or proxi-loca? at"
mate causes, such as those upon which the occurrence oftectl0ris*
these diseases usually depends. Thus, for example, in
486
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Physic, certain states of the general constitution, all the symp- fer in the passages which we have quoted, have generally Pii
—-y-—' toms which indicate an apoplectic attack may occur, whilst, been designated as instances of larvccted or masked inter-v0
from circumstances developing themselves in the progress mittent fever. But they have not at all times been distin-
of the affection, the practitioner has the assurance that no guished with sufficient accuracy from other instances of
vascular turgescence of the brain, nor serous nor sangui- intermittent fever, in which the symptoms of some severe
neous effusion, such as genuine apoplexy depends upon, local malady have manifested themselves in complication
has actually taken place. As illustrative of those states of with, and not to the exclusion of, the ordinary febrile
the general constitution in which such fallacious or simu- symptoms of ague; a form of disease to which, from its
lating diseases occur, we may refer to that induced by the dangerous character, and frequent rapidly fatal termina-
morlTific agent which produces ague or intermittent fever, tion, the name of pernicious intermittent fever has been
to the o-outy habit or diathesis, and to the hysterical. given by Torti and other writers on this subject.
^ ue We shall give a few illustrations of the influence of each That the gouty or arthritic constitution frequently givesGoU;
of these forms of constitutional disease in inducing pheno- rise to phenomena which simulate very accurately the
mena analogous to those of particular local affections; and, symptoms of local diseases, although the usual proximate
first, of ague. Sydenham, in the account he has given of causes of these diseases do not exist, the following passages
the epidemic diseases which prevailed from the year 1675 from Musgrave, a very distinguished writer upon gout,
to 1680, in speaking of the intermittent fevers of 1678, may satisfy our readers. “ The diagnosis of anomalous
makes the following observation (Epistola Responsoria, arthritic affections,” says this author (De Arthritide Ano-
lma,p.22-3,edit.sec.Londini, 1685; also Works, London, mala, Exonise, 1707, § iii.), “is surrounded by a great
1742, p. 284, § 34) : “ Here it is proper to be noticed, that many difficulties, and involved in very deep obscurity.” “ In-
during "the first years of this constitution, a very remark- deed those anomalous affections which occur without be-
able symptom sometimes succeeded these intermittents ; ing preceded by any regular paroxysm of gout, imitate so
for their paroxysms did not begin with chilliness and shi- closely the legitimate and well-marked diseases of the parts
vering, afterwards succeeded by a fever, but the patient which they affect, that it may be considered wholly im-
was seized with precisely the same symptoms as if he had possible to discriminate between them. If, for example*
been affected with true apoplexy, though, however closely angina or quinsy occurs in a person previously healthy, and
it resembled this affection, the ailment was nothing more who has never suffered a single paroxysm of gout, nor
than the fever itself attacking the head, as was shown by shown any tendency to it, and no point of difference can
the colour of the urine and other symptoms. Although be detected between the symptoms of this case and the
in a case of this nature all kinds of evacuations seem to be ordinary ones of genuine angina, who would dream that
indicated for producing revulsion of the fluids from the this affection was dependent on gout ? yet that a gouty
brain, as is wont to be done in primary apoplexy, yet these angina may occur under such circumstances is established
means must be altogether abstained from, as being wholly by medical experience beyond all possibility of doubt.”
opposed to the original cause of this symptom, viz. the in- “ With regard to the inward part or trunk of the body,”
termittent fever, and endangering life, as I have myself observes Musgrave (lib. cit. § viii.), “ anomalous gout most
known. But, on the contrary, we must wait till the pa- frequently seizes upon the stomach and intestines. Hence
roxysm disappears spontaneously, at which time the bark, arise anorexia, dyspepsia, vomiting; hence colic, dysentery,
if it could not be administered at an earlier period, must diarrhoea, and hence sometimes arthritic abscess. Frequent-
be given as soon as possible, and sedulously repeated in the ly it attacks the head, exhibiting at one time the appear-
intervals between the paroxysms, till the patient be per- ance of vertigo, at another of headach, and at another of
fectly recovered.” arthritic apoplexy. Not unfrequently it makes its attack
Dr Morton, in his treatise De Morbis Acutis) Univer- upon the region of the chest and the organs of respiration,
salibus, published in 1692, has dedicated a chapter to the presenting itself under the form of asthma, or of cough, or
consideration of the proteiform character of intermittent of hoemoptysis, or of arthritic phthisis. Sometimes it even
fever. He observes that intermittent fevers are wont not attacks the fauces, assuming the characters of angina;
unfrequently to assume the appearance of several other sometimes the gums, receiving the name of gout in the
diseases, some of them of a very acute character. “ These teeth. Sometimes, in seizing upon the kidneys, it produces
diseases yield to the power of bark, the great specific for the symptoms of calculus, dysuria, and strangury. In fine,
the cure of a°-ue; and if bark be not administered, they it lays hold of the viscera, the membranes, the muscles,
often prove fatal. No one hitherto,” he continues, so the glands, the tendons, the ligaments, perhaps even the
far as I know, has treated of this subject, though its in- bones ; so that throughout the whole trunk there can
vestigation seems to me of the greatest importance for scarcely be found a part which is totally exempt from it.
the promotion of practical medicine. Among the innu- “ It is well ascertained,” adds this author in another place,
merable symptoms that usually accompany intermittent “ that the affections thus produced by this wandering poi
fevers, there is no one which does not sometimes rise son (devio miasmate), simulate most accurately all the
to such a degree of intensity as to bring the life of the diseases to which the parts in which they occur are su
patient into immediate danger, whilst at the same time ject; assume their characters, exhibit even their pat og-
the type of the fever, in its various stages of chill, heat, nomonic symptoms, and can in no ways be distinguis e
and sweating, is completely obscured, so that we are not from the indigenous diseases by the concurrent diagnos-
able to detect the existence of the fever by its usual cha- tics, but, on the contrary, are in fact frequently confoun
racters. Sometimes it presents itself to the physician un- ed with them.”
der the mask of a fatal chill; sometimes of an unceasing We have mentioned hysteria as another of those sta e Hystf •
vomiting, of a griping diarrhoea, of cholera morbus, of co- of the general constitution that are liable to give rise o
lie, of periodical hemicrania, of apoplexy, syncope, rheuma- groups or trains of symptoms closely resembling those
tism, of universal spasm, pleurisy, peripneumony, pleuro- which are in wont to arise from morbid conditions ot par-
dyne, or of some other disease; and though the remedies ticular organs. Sydenham, in speaking of hysteria, o -
be administered that are suitable to the particular disease serves (Works, uti cit. p. 370), that “ this disease is no
the form of which it assumes, no benefit is obtained from more remarkable for its frequency, than for the numero
their use, and it is only by the administration of bark that forms under which it appears, there being scarcely any
the symptoms are relieved.” (Exercitat. i. chap, ix.) diseases with which mankind is afflicted, of which it doe
The class of cases to which Sydenham and Morton re- not assume the semblance. For, of whatever part ot
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
body it may take possession, it immediately produces symp-
^ toms corresponding to that part, so that unless the physi¬
cian be a person of judgment and penetration, and of con¬
siderable experience in practice, he will be deceived, and
suppose these symptoms to arise from some essential dis¬
ease of this or that particular part, and not from the hyste¬
rical affection on which it really depends.”
“ Among the diseases which Sydenham had observed to
be counterfeited by hysteria,” says an able writer in Rees’
Cyclopaedia (art. Hysteria), “ are apoplexy, which termi¬
nates in hemiplegia, and is chiefly seen in lying-in women,
after difficult parturition attended with great haemorrhage :
the clavus hystericus, or acute pain in one small spot in the
head, which is often accompanied by vomiting and palpi¬
tation of the heart ; this is most frequent in delicate and
chlorotic girls : pain in the stomach, cholic, with porrace-
ous vomiting, resembling the iliac passion, terminating in
jaundice, and always accompanied by great despondency ;
chiefly attacking women of lax fibre,” who have suffered se¬
vere labours from large children : pains in the kidneys and
bladder, like fits of the stone, with suppression of urine;
occurring in women much debilitated by previous hysteric
fits, and in a bad state of health, who are also liable to
long-continued vomiting and diarrhoea without pain, dis¬
charging green bile. He likewise remarks, that the dis¬
ease is liable to attack the external parts and muscular
flesh, sometimes causing pain, sometimes swelling, in the
throat, shoulders, hands, thighs, and legs, more especially
in the last, which swelling, however, is to be distinguished
from oedema, by being greatest in a morning, by leaving
no pit after pressure with the finger, and by commonly
affecting only one leg, though its external appearance
much resembles that of oedema. But the most severe of
those pains is that which affects the back. Sydenham
adds, that these pains have this circumstance in common,
that they all leave the parts extremely sore and tender,
as if they had been severely beaten, so that they cannot
bear the touch for some time ; and that these pains and
other symptoms are all preceded by a death-like coldness
of the external parts.” (Diss. Epistolaris, edit. sec. Lon-
dini, 1685, p. 124, seqq. Works, ut supra cit. p. 370.)
Dr Ferriar, in his essay on the Conversion of Diseases
(Med. Hist, and Reflections, ii. 17), in speaking of hyste¬
ria, remarks that, <{ whoever would present us with a good
book on the fallacy of symptoms, which is greatly want¬
ed, must be completely master of this unaccountable dis¬
ease.” “ I have met,” says he, “ with several cases of
hysterical hcemoptoe, in which the quantity of blood eva¬
cuated was very considerable; six or eight ounces were
sometimes spit up daily, for a fortnight or three weeks
successively. Most of the usual symptoms attended which
denote danger in this complaint when it arises from other
causes; but the equal, moderate state of the pulse, and
the appearance of some degree of the globus hystericus^
seemed to determine the nature of the complaint; a
conversion, accordingly, soon took place to the ordinary
hysteric paroxysm, and no bad consequence followed the
haemorrhage from the lungs.” “In one case,” says the
same author, “ the bowels were attacked, and the symp¬
toms of enteritis (inflammation of the bowels) were so
precisely imitated, as to give much alarm for the patient’s
safety. I suspected the real nature of the disease from
observing that the pulse was soft and full, that the eva¬
cuations were natural, and that her spirits were agitated,
even to involuntary emotions, by slight causes, j This case
terminated successfully on the accession of clear hyste¬
ric symptoms. “ Several years ago, I attended an el-
er y ady, for a complaint which seemed to vibrate be-
ween apoplexy and palsy. After lying for several weeks
in a state which afforded little hope of amendment, she
w affected with involuntary sobbing and weeping; the
487
complaints in her head and limbs were converted into Physic,
hysterical convulsions, and she recovered completely. It■
is very common to meet with syncope, or palpitations of
the heart and great vessels, accompanied with a soporific
depression, or extreme dejection of strength and spirits,
and converted, after deep sighing or discharge of tears,
into the hysterical paroxysm. In these cases the pulse
is sometimes full and regular during the most alarming
appearance of sinking ; and sometimes variable to such a
degree as to exclude all conjecture, excepting that of an
hysteric origin.” (Pp. 29, 30, 32.) It would be easy to
swell to a large amount our quotations illustrative of the
great variety of diseases which hysteria occasionally simu¬
lates. But we must content ourselves with referring to
the account which Dr Marshall Hall has given in his work
on Diagnosis (p. 214), of hysteric croup and hysteric
pleurodyne; to some cases of hysteria imitating inflam¬
matory action, paralysis, &c., which are related by Dr
Bright in his very valuable Clinical Reports (ii. 452) ; and
to a selection of cases presenting aggravated and irregular
forms of hysteria, &c. by Mr Laycock, published in the
134th and subsequent numbers of the Edinburgh Medi¬
cal and Surgical Journal.
In some cases it is not a single form of disease only of
which an hysterical state of the constitution induces the
phenomena, but several different forms of disease may be
simulated in succession. “ When the hysteric disposition
is set in motion,” says Dr Ferriar (p. 31), “ it is not uncom¬
mon to find many of the different viscera attacked by it in
turns, and the disease peculiar to each counterfeited with
much exactness. I have seen symptoms of paralysis, jaun¬
dice, palpitation, and nephritis, succeed each other rapidly
in the same patient, while some of the characteristic marks
ot hysteria have been discernible, and where the unity of
the disease was proved, by the disappearance of all mena¬
cing affections on the approach of regular fits.”
It is well known to medical men that there are certain Diffic„Hy
diseases which possess what is called a specific character, of distinl
that is, w hich depend on the introduction of a peculiar poi-guishmg
son into the system, animal or mineral, such as those of syphi- between
lis, and of lead, or on a peculiar state of constitution, some-sp®,clfie
times hereditary and sometimes acquired, such as cancer. specifiT*
These diseases, in their general features, resemble affections diseases,
of a simple or non-specific character. Hence it is not unfre-
quently a matter ot great difficulty, when affections present
themselves resembling in their symptoms those which are
known to be produced by specific diseases, to determine
whether or no there exists in the constitution such a modify¬
ing influence as should communicate to these affections a spe¬
cific character, or whether they be the results of diseased
action in a constitution not peculiarly modified. Thus, it
is well known how much controversy has arisen among me¬
dical men as to the possibility of distinguishing the vari¬
ous symptoms of syphilis from analogous affections occur¬
ring independently of the operation of the syphilitic virus.
“ There is hardly any disorder,” says Mr Hunter, “ that has
more diseases resembling it in all its different forms than the
venereal disease.” (On the Ven. Dis. p. 380.) In the same
way, it is, in many instances, impossible to judge, by the
symptoms which present themselves, whether an affection,
as of the breast, of the lymphatic glands, of the tongue, &c.
ought or ought not to be considered as cancerous; and it is
only the melancholy distinction of incurability that ulti¬
mately clears up the diagnosis. Again, when lead is intro¬
duced into the economy, as it may be in a variety of ways,
it is liable to give rise to a certain combination of symptoms
which, from the predominance of abdominal pains, and the
retraction of the belly, bilious vomitings, and obstinate con¬
stipation, with which it is accompanied, is usually designat¬
ed lead colic. But the symptoms of lead colic, as M. An-
dral has observed, sometimes manifest themselves in per-
488
Physic.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
sons who have not been subjected to the influence of any effusion commenced, and to trace its progressive exten-
' saturnine preparation. (Malad. de V Abdomen, p. 507.) To sion to other parts of the body, these circumstances of them-
the same effect Dr Graves, in the conclusion of a clinical selves often afford sufficient data for determining in what
lecture, published in the Lond. Med. Gaz. for 26th Feb- organ the morbid condition is situated on which the pro-
ruary 1831 (vii. 675-6), has suggested, “ that perhaps the duction of the dropsy depends,
followino- general law will be found applicable to the effects So much for the circumstances under which the prac- m
which poisons produce on the constitution, viz. that all poi- titioner may be embarrassed or misled in his judgmentsfere
sons o-ive rise to a train of symptoms, constituting a certain respecting the seat and nature of diseases, from resem-syn|
disease, of which we may always find a counterpart among blances in the group or train of symptoms produced by dif-j™'
those diseases which arise in the system from other causes, ferent pathological conditions. Die next source of difficulty ^
Thus symptoms exactly resembling those of colica picto- and fallacy in the diagnosis of diseases which we propose to
num Vor lead colic) may occur where no lead has acted illustrate, arises from the fact that the group or train of
on the system ; and the remarkable epidemic paralysis of symptoms produced by a particular pathological condition,
the extremities observed in Paris in 1828 bears a striking or concourse of pathological conditions, in one individual,
resemblance to the paralysis caused by lead. If time per¬
mitted me to enter upon this subject,” adds Dr Graves, “ I
think I could succeed in bringing forward examples of mor¬
bid states of the system, in which symptoms similar to those
arising from mercury, arsenic, narcotic poisons, &c. are pro¬
may be very different from the group or train of symptoms
produced by an apparently identical lesion in another in¬
dividual. This production of two or more different groups
or trains of symptoms in different individuals, by a patho¬
logical condition or proximate cause that seems to be iden-
Itesem-
blance of
different
diseases
may be
limited
to their
commence'
ment,
ducecf totally independent of the ingestion of these sub- tical, may occur, as will appear from the illustrations which
we shall adduce, whether the pathological state or lesion
be organic or simply dynamical.
The diversity in the group of symptoms attending a parti-Li
stances.
The resemblance in the groups or trains of symptoms
produced by different pathological conditions, which is
liable to embarrass the practitioner, or lead him into error
in forming his diagnosis, exists in some instances only dur¬
ing a particular period of the course of the disease, as at its
commencement or termination. Thus, for example, a great
.many diseases, in their incipient stages, exhibit the general
cular morbid condition, which misleads a practitioner in hisofsl|-
diagnosis, may extend to the whole or greater part of the^H
symptoms, or be confined to one symptom, or to a few™,;
only. In the latter case the deviation from the ordinary
^ ^    —7  a characters of the disease may consist either in the pre¬
characters of fever, without any symptom manifesting itself sence of a symptom or symptoms that do not usually at-
by which the physician can be enabled to foretell whether, tend the morbid condition which exists, or in the absence
in its progress, the disease will prove to be of the nature of of symptoms by which it is usually accompanied. The dis-Ma* b.
‘ ‘ " ease drops, as it were, some of its usual characters, or as-sist; b.
sumes some that appertain to other diseases. “ A disease,”sentl
progress,
simple fever, or one of the various forms of febrile erup
tion, or whether an inflammatory affection is about to de¬
velop itself in one or other of the internal organs of the
body. Unless there happen to be some adventitious cir¬
cumstances, by which in such cases the judgment can be
assisted, as, for example, the presumption afforded by the
knowledge of exposure to a specific contagion, the practi¬
tioner must wait for a more advanced stage of the malady
before he can pronounce with confidence upon its nature.
M. Pinel, in noticing some remarkable varieties which mania
presents at its first commencement, remarks, that “ the
extreme intensity of the symptoms may sometimes lead to
error, and the name of mania may be given to a malignant
or ataxic fever; for, besides that the same causes may
equally produce one or other of these diseases, they may
also exhibit common characters, violent agitations, furious
delirium, alternations of stupor and nervous excitement;
sometimes a marked acceleration of the pulse, dryness of the
tongue, a pale and exhausted countenance, slight and inter¬
rupted sleep, and an entire rejection of all nourishment.
The distinction is then difficult to make at the commence¬
ment, and it is only by watching the disease for several
days that the practitioner can arrive at a positive conclu¬
sion.” (Sur VAlienation Mentale, Paris, 1809, p. 59-60.)
or to their As there is in many instances a close resemblance in
termina- the symptoms by which different diseases commence, so
tion. also it frequently happens that diseases of different natures,
at an advanced stage of their course, give rise to some de¬
terminate group of symptoms which mask or conceal those
says M. Rostan {Med. Clin. ii. 355), “ without being en-u^;
tirely latent, may want many of its characteristic symptoms;*^
and this circumstance must occasion great difficulties inai(S,L
diagnosis. This is of frequent occurrence in cerebral dis-tomi
eases. Thus, when softening of the brain is unattended by
precursory symptoms, its diagnosis is of extreme difficulty.”
“ Cerebral haemorrhage,” says the same author, ‘‘may ex¬
hibit precursory symptoms, and cerebral softening want
them. How, in such a case, can these two affections be dis¬
tinguished ?” Pain being a symptom to which the atten¬
tion of the practitioner is always forcibly directed by his pa¬
tient, much reliance is usually placed on its presence or ab¬
sence in the diagnosis of diseases, and particularly in dis¬
criminating between those which are and those which are
not inflammatory. It is far, however, from being an infal¬
lible sign. “ The signs of the different alterations of which
the kidney may be the seat are,” observes M. Bouillaud
{Journ. Compl. xxxi. 13), “veryobscure. All that semeiolo-
gists have said on this subject is far from being exactly con¬
formable to observation. We may easily conceive w hy the
diagnosis of affections of the kidney presents so many diffi¬
culties, if we reflect, 1st, that the depth at which that organ
is situated withdraws it almost entirely from our means of
exploration ; 2dfy, that the disturbance of its functions
produces phenomena which may equally be occasioned by
different diseases of the bladder and ureters ; 3d/y, that pain
is not a constant accompaniment of renal affections. If we
of the primary disease, and themselves assume the promi- trusted to most pathologists, the most acute pains shoul
nent character. Thus various organic diseases situated in be almost inseparable from inflammation of the kidneys,
different organs or parts are liable to induce, at an ad- I do not pretend to deny that this may sometimes be te
vanced period of their progress, the state of dropsy ; and case, but I can affirm that I have met with incontestab e
when the dropsical effusion has once attained a consider- traces of nephritis in persons who had not complaine o
able extent, it frequently masks the symptoms of the ori- any pain in the region of the kidneys. This absence o
ginal disease so much as to render it difficult, if not im- pain in the diseases of these organs is, besides, the moie ea-
possible, to ascertain its nature, from the consideration of sily conceivable, that they are not sensible in the state o
the existing symptoms. It would appear, however, from health. It maybe added, that it is not very uncommon o
the results of recent clinical observation, that if the prac- observe violent pains in the region of the kidneys in per-
titioner is able to ascertain in what situation the dropsical sons who are not affected with any disease of these organs.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
489
sic. No circumstance certainly tends more to perplex the
medical observer, in attempting to determine, from the
consideration of the symptoms that manifest themselves
'the*11 cases> what the disease is which presents
j_ itself to his observation, than the great diversity which
5 on a disease may exhibit in its phenomena, according to a
di- variety of circumstances not at all times easily appreciable ;
J such as atmospheric influence, individual constitution, or,
°ms perhaps, mode of treatment. Those diseases that arise
s' from the action of a contagious principle afford us the best
opportunity of noticing the great diversities of appearance
which the same disease may exhibit in particular epide¬
mics, and as modified by diversity of constitution, mode of
treatment, &c. If we compare, for example, the severest
and the mildest case of typhus fever, or of smallpox, or
scarlet fever, we shall have difficulty in believing that
they are instances of the same diseases. Yet, in examin¬
ing a considerable number of cases of any one of these
diseases, we shall be satisfied, that between these extreme
points there is a series of intermediate links which exhi¬
bit the most gradual transition from the most mild to the
most severe.
In the diseases to which we have just alluded, we are un¬
able to detect after death, when it occurs, any structural
morbid conditions of the different textures, systems, and or¬
gans of the body, as being constantly and necessarily pre¬
sent, so as to justify us in regarding them as the proximate
cause of the symptoms that manifest themselves; and this
circumstance must no doubt add considerably to our difficul¬
ty in determining what are the essential and characteristic
symptoms by which we should be able to recognise these
diseases under the great diversity of appearances which
they present in particular cases. But even in diseases in
which we meet with structural alterations on examination
after death, and these too having proceeded, in some cases,
to a very considerable extent, we often find that there
had been great diversity in the groups or trains of symp¬
toms by which, in different individuals, the same structural
change had been attended.
il The various affections to which the contents of the ca¬
vity of the cranium are subject, furnish numerous illustra¬
tions of the fact that the same structural morbid condition
may be attended in different cases by different groups or
trains of symptoms. M. Andral, in his Resume {Malad. de
VEncephale, p. 522) of the cases which he has published
illustrative of softening' of the hemispheres of the brain,
observes, “ In showing us the softening of the brain un¬
der all its forms, both anatomical and symptomatical, the
preceding cases have shown us also how far the diagnosis
of this affection is from being in all instances easy.” “ In
each of the cases, it is not only that the symptoms are
not the same, but that the same symptoms are com¬
bined, or succeed each other in the most different ways.
Hence there result for one particular anatomical lesion,
several forms of disease, which, in a nosological table,
might be placed at a great distance from one another.
In some cases the nosological disease is what is called an
attack of apoplexy, with or without loss of consciousness ;
in others, it is a so-called ataxic or malignant fever; and
m others, again, it is a gradual diminution either of mo¬
tion only, or of intellect and motion at the same time.”
To the same purpose Dr Abercrombie remarks, that
“ when we endeavour to trace the leading symptoms con¬
nected with the different forms of organic diseases of the
brain (comprehending under that name permanent changes
ot the cerebral substance itself, and new formations with¬
in the head), we do not find any uniformity, by which
particular symptoms can be distinctly referred to the va¬
rious forms of the morbid affections.” He afterwards al-
udes to the extreme difficulty of fixing upon any general
principles, or of referring the particular character of the
VOL. XVII. .
symptoms to any thing in the seat or nature of the dis- Physic,
ease. “ Tumours, for example, will be found, in one class
of cases, unaccompanied by any remarkable symptoms ;
while, in other cases, tumours in the same situation, and
of no larger size, are accompanied by blindness, convul¬
sions, or paralysis. It does not appear that these diversi¬
ties depend either upon the size of the tumours, or, as far
as we know at present, upon their particular structure.
But these points remain to be investigated; particularly
what diversity of symptoms is connected with the nature
of the tumours, and especially with their characters, as
being tumours distinct from the cerebral mass, or as being
indurations of the substance of the brain itself.” (On Dis¬
eases of the Brain, third edit. p. 316, 322-3.)
In the viscera of the chest, as well as in those of the Thoracic
head, examples are to be met with of the same structural diseases,
morbid condition giving rise, in different persons, to differ¬
ent combinations of symptoms in concourse and succession.
Thus, Dr Latham, in illustrating his observation, that one of
the common difficulties attending the diagnosis of pericar¬
ditis is referrible to the variableness of its own symptoms,
remarks (Lond. Med. Gazette, iii. 211): “ Disease belongs
most unequivocally to the heart when pain is immediately
referred to it, and when its action is disturbed. And when
there is fever withal, it bespeaks the essence of the dis¬
ease to be inflammatory, and fixes it, almost to a certainty,
in the pericardium. But why in the pericardium more
than in other parts of the heart ? Because it is matter
of experience, that, above all others, the pericardium is
liable to acute inflammation in an incalculable proportion.
But, strange to say, the pericardium may be acutely in¬
flamed, and yet there may be no pain. And the distur¬
bance of the heart’s action is so little of one kind in all
cases of pericarditis, that no certain mode of disturbance
can be relied upon as a diagnostic symptom ; and though
fever may be present wherever there is pericarditis, there
is often, at the same time, inflammation of some other or¬
gan, out of which it may arise.”
Nor are the viscera of the abdomen more constant in re-Abdominal
spect of the symptoms by which their several structural pa-diseases,
thological conditions are attended, than those of the head
and chest. Dr Coe, after describing the ordinary signs of
biliary concretions when they are making their way through
the ducts, remarks (lib. supra cit. pp. 145-6, 147-8) that
these “ do not happen precisely alike in all persons, but will
be found to vary in different patients, and even in the same
person at different times, as well as to the number of the
symptoms as the degrees of them, and the order in which
they come on. Which variations,” he continues, “ will arise
from several causes (in like manner as we see happens in
other diseases), according to the difference of constitutions
and other circumstances, and according to the size and
shape, and perhaps other properties, of the calculi, as also
of the ducts through which they pass. From which varia¬
tion of the symptoms there sometimes arises an obscurity
and uncertainty in judging of particular cases. So that we
may have good reason to suspect that the disorder is occa¬
sioned by a stone, though we cannot be clear enough to
pronounce that it is so; which at other times we can do
with sufficient certainty.” “ As in the more uncommon
and less known diseases, some particular cases may be so
strong and clear as to be sufficiently obvious, so in some of
the most evident diseases, which are readily known at first
view when the train of symptoms is regular and uniform,
we sometimes meet with so great irregularity, and such a
perplexed combination of circumstances, that we are at a
loss to unravel them, and find some difficulty in determin¬
ing the particular nature of the case.”
From the illustrations that have been given of the two
last-mentioned sources of difficulty and fallacy in diagno¬
sis, it must be obvious that, in practice, they frequently
3 Q
490
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Phvsic.
Sources II,
and III.
may occur
combined.
Precau-
tions in
their ap¬
plication.
occur combined with one another. A concourse of symp¬
toms which we shall designate as A, may arise from two
different lesions ym\dz; whilst at the same time the lesion
y, besides giving rise in one individual or class of indivi¬
duals to the train of symptoms A, may in another indivi¬
dual give rise to a different train B. When, therefore, A
presents itself to our notice, we may suppose it to depend
on y in cases in which it actually depends on z. And when
B presents itself to our notice, we may fail to detect its de¬
pendence on y, from its not occurring to us that this lesion
can exist without being attended by the symptoms A. “ If
inflammation of the contents of the cranium always an¬
nounced itself by the same symptoms,” says M. Charpen-
tier, “ or if the symptoms by which it usually announces
itself did not sometimes depend solely upon simple irrita¬
tion reflected upon the brain by some organ or organic
texture in a state of inflammation, its diagnosis would
never be very difficult. This, however, is not the case, for
inflammation of these parts occasionally differs so much
from its ordinary physiognomy, both in respect of its course
and of its symptoms, that the opening of the dead body can
alone reveal its existence; whilst at other times simple
sympathetic irritation of the brain deceives so much by
the perfect resemblance of its symptoms to those which
meningo-cephalitis (inflammation of the membranes and
substance of the brain) presents, that the sight of the un¬
inflamed condition of these parts can alone undeceive us
as to the nature of the disease. Among the number of
affections capable of inducing cerebral symptoms which
by their concurrence simulate meningo-cephalitis, we must
particularly reckon the presence of worms in the intestines,
dentition, pneumonia at its height, but, above all, inflam¬
mations of the stomach and small intestines.” (De la
Nature, &c. de la Maladie dite Hydrocephale Aigue, Paris,
1829, p. 195.) M. Rostan, in showing that pain, vomiting,
and swelling form the principal characters of cancer of
the stomach, remarks {Medecine Clinique, ii. 477), “ These
symptoms, however, may exist, and the disease (that is, the
pathological condition of cancer of the stomach) not exist,
and vice versa, that is to say, the symptoms may be absent,
and yet the disease exist. And, in thefirst place, pain apper¬
tains to all diseases of the stomach, and cannot be regarded
as a special sign of that in question; the same may be said
of vomiting; and, lastly, swelling may appertain to a mul¬
titude of different lesions. Engorgement of the liver, of the
spleen, or of the pancreas, the accumulation of fecal mat¬
ters in the arch of the colon, aneurismal dilatation of the
aorta, and other accidental tumours, may so much the more
readily pass for cancer of the stomach, that most of them
occasion disturbance of the digestive functions. In the se¬
cond place, the pain may not exist, as happens in cases of
indolent cancer, which, as is well known, are not uncom¬
mon. The vomiting, also, may not occur, ls£, when the
pylorus is free; 2d, when it is extensively ulcerated ; 3c?,
when the whole of the stomach is involved in the disor¬
ganization. The swelling may not be sensible, which, so
far as regards diagnosis, is the same as if it did not exist,
ls£, when the false ribs and sternum descend very low, and
cover it; 2d, when the free border of the liver lies over it;
3c?, when the subject is pretty stout; 4?/c, when the ab¬
dominal muscles contract,” &c. “ Notwithstanding these
difficulties,” adds M. Rostan, “ it is in general possible
to arrive at a precise diagnosis, because it rarely happens
that they occur in sufficient number entirely to mask the
disease.”
But although a train of symptoms apparently identical
may arise from different morbid lesions, and different
trains of symptoms may arise from what appears to be an
identical lesion, it is possible that in neither case does
there actually exist the identity supposed. For, notwith¬
standing the apparent resemblance of the symptoms aris¬
tlie
ing from different lesions, it seems reasonable to suspect P1L
that there may exist points of difference between these ''““N
symptoms, if we were capable of detecting them. And, jnai
accordingly, the progress of improvement in diagnosis hasj^ r-
in numerous instances brought to light symptoms or marks^ 1,1
by which we are enabled to distinguish between different supi J
morbid lesions of the economy, that had previously beenidetsj.
supposed to produce precisely the same trains of symp¬
toms.
Of many nosological diseases, such as asthma, ileus, and
jaundice, it may be said that they afford examples of the
same group or train of symptoms, arising from different pa¬
thological conditions. Asthma, for instance, understand¬
ing by that term “ difficulty of breathing returning at in¬
tervals, with a sense of oppression in the chest and sibilous
respiration, cough difficult at the commencement of the pa¬
roxysm, or absent, towards the termination free, with mu¬
cous expectoration, frequently copious,” may proceed from
diseases of the respiratory organs, or of the heart and large
vessels, or of the organs belonging to the nervous system.
But though on a first view it may appear true in respect
of each of the nosological diseases that has been mention¬
ed, and of many others that might be enumerated, that
different lesions give rise to the same group or train of symp¬
toms, on more accurate examination it will generally be
found possible to detect, in the cases which depend on one
pathological condition, symptoms that are absent in the
cases which depend upon a different pathological condition;
or, though the symptoms of the two sets of cases are the
same in their general nature, one or more of them may be
found to be differently modified. “ We must at all times,”
observes M. Dalmas, “ conform to that rule of logic which
teaches that one same effect always results from one same
cause. If, in cases which have exhibited the same symptoms
during life, we meet, after death, with different lesions, we
may be sure that the true seat of the disease has escaped
our researches. It is proper to remark here, however, that
there are some vague words employed in symptomatology
to express general results, for which it would be unjust to
pretend that, in conformity with the rule alluded to, we
ought always to find a single and identical lesion. The
words dyspnoea and palsy are so circumstanced. If there
be twenty species of dyspnoea, we need not be astonished
if we find as many different lesions capable of producing
it.” It is upon such diversities in the minor features of
particular sets of cases, depending on differences of patho¬
logical condition, that nosologists found, or should found,
their varieties of diseases; and it is by the accurate mark¬
ing of these diversities that they should seek to improve
their systems of definitions.
In like manner, it seems probable, that when different 0r in t
groups or trains of symptoms arise from what appears to beiesioi >
the same morbid lesion, there is in reality some unperceiv-Posec ;D‘
ed diversity in the lesion. It may be identical in respect of ica'
its nature in the different cases, but different in its seat or in
its relations to other parts. For, supposing that in two or
more cases the same organ is affected with the same form
of disease, it is obvious that there may be considerable
difference in the functional disturbance, and consequently
in the symptoms that arise, according to the particular part
of the organ in which the pathological condition may be
seated. In cases of cancer of the stomach, for example,
the symptoms vary greatly according as one or other aper¬
ture, or the body of the stomach, are affected separately»
or in conjunction with one another.
In illustration of the remark, that where the same le¬
sion appears to give rise to different symptoms, there may
actually be some difference in the relation of the lesion to
other parts, though not adverted to by a superficial observer,
we may quote an observation made by M. Cruveilhier m re¬
ference to cancerous tumours in the brain. (Anatomie fl*
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
thologique, folio.) “ A point extremely important in the his-
" tory of these tumours,” says he, “ is the difference of the
effects produced by causes apparently identical. Thus, in
one individual, hemiplegia is occasioned by a spheroidal tu¬
mour of two inches in diameter, while in another a tumour
of four inches may exist upon the brain without any paraly¬
sis being induced, though everything is in other respects
correspondent as regards the seat and nature of the dis¬
ease. I think,” adds this intelligent author, “ that one of
the circumstances to which this diversity of result is attri¬
butable is the difference of the direction in which the
compressing power acts.”
M. Lallemand has with much justice observed, in the
preface to his work on Diseases of the Brain (p. xvi.), that
“ The circumstance which has most influence on the con¬
course of symptoms, is the more or less rapid, the more or
less slow course of the disease. This influence is such as to
cause that very different pathological alterations manifest
themselves by phenomena sufficiently similar to deceive
the most attentive observer, simply from their correspond¬
ing in their general course or progress. Thus, for example,
there is more resemblance between the symptoms of an
acute inflammation of the brain, and of a softening of the
cerebral substance, and those of an apoplexy, or sudden
compression of the brain, whatever be its cause, than be¬
tween the symptoms of an acute inflammation and those
of a chronic inflammation of this organ. In the same way,
an encysted abscess has less resemblance, in respect of the
external phenomena which it produces, to a recent abscess,
than to a scrofulous, fibrous, bony, or hydatid tumour, or
a foreign body lodged in the brain. The same,” he adds,
“ may be said of the affections of the arachnoid membrane.”
“ Reason and common sense,” observes Dr Latham,
“ seem to declare, that there cannot be the same disease
of the same organ, and yet the most prominent symptoms
be absolutely different. But morbid anatomy is not con¬
tent merely to contemplate a disease in its general charac¬
ter, and have done with it: it takes into account also the
various morbid products and changes of structure accom¬
panying it, or resulting from it. In pericarditis it takes
cognizance of the lymph deposited upon the surface, and
of the fluid effused into the cavity of the pericardium; the
different quantities of each in different cases, and the dif¬
ferent proportions which they bear to each other. It no¬
tices, also, that the lymph sometimes contracts a partial and
sometimes a complete adhesion, and sometimes none at all;
that the fluid is sometimes freely effused into the pericar¬
dium, and envelopes the whole heart; and is sometimes
limited by adhesions to a part of it. These conditions must
influence the action of the heart in various ways; and
morbid anatomy, knowing these things, suggests to clini¬
cal observation, with respect to pericarditis, that as its
products are different, so too must its symptoms be in dif¬
ferent cases, and even in the same case at different pe¬
riods. (Lond. Med. Gaz. iii. 212.) These observations
are well calculated to excite the most minute attention, on
the part of medical observers, to the less obvious differences
1”^.v^ua^ symptorns or groups of symptoms produced
y different lesions, and to the less obvious differences in
particular lesions which seem to give rise to different symp¬
toms or groups of symptoms.
The last source of difficulty and fallacy which we have to
notice as occurring to the medical practitioner, in attempt¬
ing to judge, from the symptoms that manifest themselves
in any particular case, as to the seat and nature of the dis¬
ease with which his patient is affected, arises from the cir-
491
cumstance, that two or more parts may be the seats of
iT con(^^ons same individual at the same time,
et er these morbid conditions shall correspond or differ
|n eir nature, and whether they shall have come on simul-
neously or in succession. Such a complication of pa¬
thological conditions will possibly produce a complication Physic.
of symptoms which may render it very difficult for the prac- v v-—'
titioner to ascertain how many parts are disordered, where
the principal seat of disorder is, what part was primarily af-^P1^'
fected, and how far the disorders in the others depend upon Svm toms
that of the part first affected. Thus, if we suppose an indivi- difficulTto
dual to be labouring at the same time under the symptoms unravel;
of disorder of the stomach and of disorder of the heart, the
practitioner may experience considerable difficulty in de¬
termining whether the symptoms of deranged digestion
and those of disordered circulation are referrible to two dis¬
tinct primary morbid conditions, or whether one or other of
these groups of symptoms is not produced sympathetically;
whether, whilst one of the groups arises directly from a
primary morbid condition of the corresponding organ, as
those of indigestion from disease of the stomach, the other
group of symptoms, those of disordered circulation, may
not depend on sympathy of the heart with the stomach,
rather than on a primary morbid condition of the heart
itself.
, In the case just supposed, the co-existence of two dis¬
tinct pathological conditions in the economy is obviously
accidental, there being no necessary bond of connection
between them. But in other instances, from the depend¬
ency of different organs and functions upon one another,
the existence of diseased action in one organ may occa¬
sion diseased action (whether of a simply dynamical or of
an organic character) in another. Thus, it is now well
established, that in a large proportion of cases of disease
of. the heart, the change of structure or of action which
this organ undergoes is occasioned by an interruption to
the circulation of the blood through some other organ of
the body, as, for example, through the lungs, in conse¬
quence of previous disease of these viscera. Hence, in the
progress of cases of this kind, the symptoms belonging to
the organ in which the impediment to the circulation'ex-
ists, come to be complicated with those immediately re¬
ferrible to the altered condition of the heart, occasioned by
that impediment.
I he reciprocal dependency of the stomach and liver on
one another furnishes us with another example of compli¬
cation of morbid lesions producing complication of symp¬
toms. “ It must be admitted,” says Dr Cheyne (Cases of
Apoplexy, &c. Lond. 1812, p. 17l), “ that it is often diffi¬
cult to know to which viscus of the abdomen we ought to re¬
fer the uneasy sensations that attend imperfect digestion.
When disease of structure is apparently confined to the
liver, the patient has been known to suffer greatly from
dyspeptic symptoms (that is, symptoms of derangement
of stomach)—great anxiety, sickness, flatulence, and pros¬
tration. And, on the contrary, when the stomach alone
appears to be the seat of disease, there is not unfrequent-
ly an imperfect or redundant secretion of bile (indicat¬
ing derangement in the action of the liver), with listless¬
ness, depraved sensation, tsedium vibe, &c. The work
of the stomach is never well performed unless when the
liver is sound, and the functions of the liver equally re¬
quire a healthy condition of the stomach. As when either
viscus is in a diseased state, the uneasy sensations felt in
consequence are referrible to both, the stomach and liver
are to be considered, in their morbid states, as firmly
linked as in health. But in practice it is of consequence
to discover in which organ disease has begun; for, if we
are able to restore the organ primarily affected, the organs
sympathetically drawn into disease will often return to a
healthy state in consequence.”
The supervention of a new morbid condition in a person
previously labouring under some complaint, whether in the
same or in a neighbouring organ, is very liable to be over¬
looked till it has made considerable progress, in consequence
of the premonitory and early symptoms being suffocated, aa
492
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Physic, it were, in those of the original malady. And if in a case in
 v   which there exist two or more distinct pathological condi¬
tions at the time of the physician’s examination, the morbid
phenomena or symptoms produced by one of them be, from
the nature or the seat of the organ affected, much more ap¬
parent than those produced by the other, then it may veiy
readily happen that the practitioner, having satisfied him¬
self of the existence of the more considerable pathological
condition, may take it for granted that this is in itself suf¬
ficient to explain all the phenomena that present them¬
selves, and thus fail to detect the existence of the other
pathological condition, upon which the less marked, though
perhaps not the least important, portion of the symptoms
actually depends.
or modify- But it is not the mere circumstance of complication,
ing or ob- anti the difficulty of separating the symptoms arising out
scaring one 0p different co-existing pathological conditions, into their
another. r ective groups, that render cases of this kind puzzling
and perplexing to the practitioner. It frequently happens
that the symptoms of one or other, or possibly even of bot ,
the co-existing pathological conditions, are modified in such
a degree as to throw over them a great degree of obscu¬
rity. “ In many diseases,” says M. Melier (sur le Diag-
iiostique), “ instead of a single organ, or of a single texture,
there are two, or a still greater number, affected. It rare¬
ly happens, for example, that a mucous membrane is alone
affected ; it is the same with the skin. It is necessary to
attend to this coincidence of several diseases, or rathei o
several organic foci of disease; for in almost all cases the
physiognomy of the symptoms is thereby changed, two
diseases existing in this way together, are far from pro¬
ceeding as if they existed separately. On the contrary,
they modify one another. Sometimes they mutually di¬
minish one another’s intensity ; at other times one of them,
in running through its stages, preserves a preponderating
intensity, whilst the other, restrained, so to speak, in its
development, advances slowly. The first only attracts at¬
tention ; but when once it has terminated, the second,
which, up to that time, had been slight or unperceived, is
awakened, and excites fresh symptoms, which the existence
of the other seems to have prevented ; as if there were in
our economy, as Bichat said on this subject, only a certain
amount of strength which cannot exist in excess in one
place without being diminished in another, and that na¬
ture does not indulge in the development of several dis¬
eases at the same time.” . .
“ It rarely happens,” observes M. Lallemand (p. xix. xx.),
“ that a patient dies of a simple and single affection. In a -
most all cases, several organs have been involved simu.tane-
ously or successively. Then the symptoms of the one 01 the
other disease predominate; the others are very obscure; and,
in all cases, these complications influence one another reci¬
procally, so as to give an unusual aspect to the concourse of
symptoms, and to the progress of the diseases. Formerly,
in the examination of dead bodies, attention was paid only
to the organ which was supposed to be diseased; and when
the alterations did not correspond exactly to the symptoms,
medical men were contented with regarding the tact as
anomalous; or they supposed they had explained it by at¬
tributing it to a peculiar idiosyncrasy; or, better still, they
made an abstract being of it, existing by itself, and call¬
ed it an essential disease. The progress of the different
parts of medicine, the exactness that is now bestowed
upon the observation of symptoms, and the attention that
is o-iven to the examination of dead bodies, enables us to
appreciate more accurately than was possible till recent
times, the influence of each of these complications on the
course and concourse of the symptoms. ...
In some instances the co-existing pathological condi¬
tions, each of which furnishes its particular symptoms to the
resulting concourse, are seated in the same organ, or in
textures immediately adjacent; as in the investing mem¬
branes of parenchymatous organs. “ Next to those diseases ^ r
of the brain,” observes M. Rostan (Med. Clin. ii. 355-6),
“ which do not exhibit any symptom, or what are called™
latent diseases, there are none more obscure than those lheeg -
which are complicated with one another. Thus, when there organ
exist at the same time several different alterations of the
brain, as haemorrhage and primary or consecutive soften¬
ing, it is almost impossible accurately to determine the
nature of the affection ; but as in general we recognise at
least one of the alterations, these cases cannot rigorously
be regarded as errors.” M. Lallemand, in remarking that
the pathological alterations of the brain are not always
accompanied with the same symptoms, and in pointing out
that “ this apparent disagreement depends sometimes on or i t|
the different seat of the affection, sometimes on the age,cen
on the sex, or on the temperament of the patient; some-turt;
times on important complications; and, lastly, at other
times on the acute or chronic course of the disease;” adds,
“ when we compare together cases of affection of the brain
and of the arachnoid membrane, exempt as much as pos¬
sible from complication, we see that they exhibit symptoms
very distinct, a particular character (cachet); whilst those
cases that are complicated, as is most frequently the case,
present a mixture of the two orders of symptoms, a ch>
cumstance which has not been sufficiently attended to,
and which has frequently led observers into error.” (Pre¬
face, p. xvi.) The same observation has been specially
applied by Professor Van Coetsem to the complication
of one particular form of cerebral disease, viz. softening,
with inflammation of the arachnoid or serous membrane of
the brain. One of the causes,’ says this author (lib. cit.
p. 374), “ which seems to us to render the diagnosis of
cerebral softening so obscure, is the complication of arachi
nitis (inflammation of the serous membrane of the brain),
sometimes of an acute and sometimes of a chronic charac¬
ter, which frequently accompanies or precedes the morbid
degeneration of the substance of the encephalon, and in
other instances succeeds to it. In fact, it has more than once
happened to us, after conceiving that we had recognised the
nature and the seat of the disease by its symptoms, to find
in the bodies of those who have died, independently of
the lesion of the substance of the brain, which we expected,
unequivocal traces of inflammation of the serous membrane
that surrounds this viscus, such as adhesion between the
different laminse of the arachnoid, sero-purulent effusion
into the lateral ventricles, &c. In such circumstances the
facies morbi appears to us very doubtful, in respect of diag¬
nosis, because the symptoms connected with each of fl16 co¬
existing affections are far from being characteristic.
In other instances the different pathological conditions in
which exist simultaneously have their seats in distant or-0,
gans. When one of these organs is the brain, the symp¬
toms that might be expected to arise from the diseased
condition of the other organ are exceedingly liable to be
obscured. “ The diseases of the brain,” says M. Bourdon
(Principes de Physiologic Medicale, i. 164), mask the dis¬
eases of other organs. Far from requiring opium, cerebra
affections serve as such to the whole body.” M. Lallemand,
in speaking of the influence of cerebral affections on the de¬
velopment of the symptoms of such diseases as may exis
simultaneously with them, observes (i. 233), “Whenever
the functions of the brain are disturbed, and there exists at
the same time an inflammation in some other organ, the
pain produced bvthat inflammation diminishes, and even en¬
tirely disappears.” “ It is not,” he adds, “ because t e
of the head is greater, that that of the abdomen or o
chest, &c. disappears, for frequently there is no •
these cases. Nor is it because the inflammation in the b
is more severe, seeing that an effusion of serum or o
may produce the same effect; it is because the pain being
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OFC 493
me- the result of a sensation perceived by the brain, whatever
’ deranges its functions will cause this symptom of the in¬
flammation to disappear. But if the inflammation is severe,
it is not arrested in its development by the cerebral affec¬
tion ; all the other phenomena continue, because they are
not, like the sensibility, dependent on the brain. The
disease runs through its course in a manner so much the
more dangerous, as it is the more difficult to be recognised,
and produces the death which is attributed to the affection
of the brain, though this be in reality only accessory. If the
body be opened with some attention, we are surprised to
find so little relation between the symptoms observed dur¬
ing life and the morbid alterations found after death; and
this misapprehension throws discredit on medicine, and on
pathological anatomy in particular. It is, therefore, of the
greatest importance, whenever we observe any symptom
which indicates an alteration in the functions of the brain,
not to allow ourselves to be imposed upon by the absence
of pain. We must then investigate with so much the
greater attention the other phenomena, which, being in¬
dependent of sensibility and volition, do not vary with the
state of the brain.” “ These proper symptoms are so much
the more precious, that, if alterations of the brain mask, so
to speak, certain inflammations of the stomach, by causing
the disappearance of the pain, it also happens very fre¬
quently, by a singular sort of compensation, as it were,
that certain cerebral affections produce sympathetically
nausea and obstinate vomiting, which might be regarded
as symptoms of inflammation of the stomach.” “ These
considerations on the perception of pain apply to all inflam¬
mations complicated with cerebral affection.”
The influence of delirium in concealing the symptoms
of diseases seated in other organs than the brain must be
explained upon the same principles. In reference to a
case of fever in which, as appeared on examination after
death, there occurred perforation of the small intestine,
followed by inflammation of the serous membrane of the
abdomen, but in which the usual symptoms of these mor¬
bid conditions did not manifest themselves, M. Louis
takes occasion to observe, that “ the most formidable
symptoms are usually so completely masked by delirium,
that as soon as it declares itself, the diagnosis of diseases
that are most easily recognised becomes difficult, and
sometimes even impossible.” (Recherches Anatom. Pa-
thologiques, p. 187.)
In treating of “ ramollissement (softening) of the cen¬
tral parts of the brain, combined with serous effusion,”
Dr Abercrombie remarks, “ an interesting modification
of this affection is that which supervenes upon other dis¬
eases, chiefly of a chronic nature, especially affections of
the lungs; and the remarkable circumstance in these cases
is, that the pectoral symptoms generally cease after the
commencement of the symptoms in the head.” (On the
Brain, 3d edit. p. 137.)
M. Andral, in speaking of the varieties of pneumonia,
or inflammation of the substance of the lungs, observes
(Malad. de Poitrine, i. 369), that some very important
modifications of this disease depend on the absence of
one or of several of its usual symptoms, whence results
latent pneumonia. “ It is well established,” he continues,
“ that an intense inflammation of the parenchyma of the
lungs may exist without being announced by dyspnoea,
cough, or expectoration. It may sometimes happen, even,
that at the same time that these symptoms are wanting,
auscultation and percussion themselves cease to reveal the
true state of the lung; in this case it becomes impossible
to establish a diagnosis. We have already remarked that
these latent pneum oniae are rarely primary, but generally
supervene when an inflammation of the lung complicates
some other disease.” “ We have seen,” remarks the same
author (Fievres, p. 441), “ in recapitulating the lesions dis¬
covered by opening the bodies of the dead, that in severe Physic,
fevers pneumonia was a very frequent complication, and ^
most frequently a fatal one. If we pass in review the
symptoms which have announced this inflammatory affec¬
tion, we shall find that, in most of the cases, the diagnosis
has been very obscure. These intercurrent pneumonic
affections have frequently not been announced by any ap¬
parent oppression of respiration, nor by any characteristic
expectoration. The cough itself was very slight, and the
disorganization of the lung might be completed before even
any suspicion of the existence of pulmonary inflammation
was excited. Hence the indispensable necessity of fre-
quently practising percussion and auscultation in such
cases. Lastly, we have seen these two modes of investi¬
gation become themselves useless, when the inflammation
was settled in the centre, the base, or roots, of the lungs.
The absence of all characteristic expectoration in these
cases of intercurrent pneumonia may often depend on the
circumstance that the patients, having reached the last
degree of debility, swallow their expectoration, when they
have no longer the strength or instinct to spit it out. But
sometimes also it appears that there is really no secre¬
tion, and this seems to occur particularly in cases of sple-
nisation, or pultaceous softening of the lungs.”
We have thus endeavoured to illustrate the various cir- Recapitu-
cumstances under which it may happen that, in the exa-lation-
mination of a patient, a well-informed medical practitioner
may fail to detect the existence of any morbid or patho¬
logical condition of the economy, though such a condition
actually exists; or, in recognising the existence of some
such condition, may form an incorrect judgment respect¬
ing its nature or its seat. These sources of error in diag¬
nosis we have attempted to reduce to four general heads,
which may be shortly stated in the following terms:
Morbid lesions without symptoms; 2d, identical symp¬
toms with different lesions; 3c?, different symptoms with
identical lesions; and, 4<A, complications of lesions and
symptoms.
We have seen, in the Jirst place, that many changes
may take place in the structure of the different textures,
systems, and organs of the body, and that even to a con¬
siderable degree, without producing any symptoms which
attract the notice of the individual himself, or of his medi¬
cal attendant, in the event of some other ailment giving
occasion to the latter to inquire into his patient’s state of
health ; or, at all events, without producing any symptoms
calculated to direct attention to the organ or part in which
the change has occurred. The causes that may be as¬
signed for this occasional latency of morbid lesions we
have endeavoured to refer to the following heads: Is?, The
lesion being seated in an organ the function of which is
not exercised in a conspicuous manner; 2d, its being seat¬
ed in an organ, of the function performed by which we
are ignorant; 3d, its being seated in an organ that is
not essential to the wellbeing of the economy, or that
is of trivial importance; kth, the exercise of the function
not being prevented by the change that has taken place
in the structure of the organ, as happens particularly when
the alteration is slow in its progress; and, 5th, some other
organ exercising the function or supplying the place of
that which is injured. We found it necessary to admit,
also, that in some instances no explanation of the latency
of the morbid lesion can be given; and we may remark,
that in explaining the same particular instance of latency,
we may sometimes find it necessary to refer it to two or
more of the causes which we have mentioned, operating
in conjunction.
We have seen, in the second place, that a particular, and,
to all appearance, identical group or train of symptoms,
which in one individual is connected with one form of pa¬
thological condition, may, in another individual, be con-
494
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Physic, nected with a pathological condition of an entirely different
’“v-™’*' nature. We have seen, that when different pathological con¬
ditions or proximate causes give rise to the same group or
train of symptoms in different persons, these lesions may be
both organic, or the one lesion may be organic and the
other dynamical. In some instances the different lesions
giving rise to the same group or train of symptoms have
their seats in the same organ; in other instances they are
seated in different organs or parts of the body, and these
different organs or parts may be related to one another
simply in the way of contiguity or superposition, or there
may exist functional dependencies or sympathetic connec¬
tions between them. To this head we have referred the
class of cases in which lesions of the central portions of
the nervous system give rise to symptoms in particular
organs of the body similar to those that are produced, or
that may be supposed to be produced, by lesions of which
these organs are themselves the immediate seats; and
that other class of cases in which a central portion of the
nervous system exhibits symptoms of being affected with
some morbid condition, while in fact it is in some other
organ that the primary source of disturbance is seated.
We had occasion to observe, that in some of the cases
in which one disease assumes the characters that usually
appertain to another, it is a constitutional disease which
assumes the appearance of a local one ; and that in other
instances, again, it is a local disease which assumes the
semblance of one that is constitutional. Sometimes the
simulating disease retains one constant character through¬
out its progress, while in other instances it assumes in
succession a variety of different characters. We have
seen that the characters by which certain specific diseases
can be distinguished from analogous diseases that are desti¬
tute of a specific character, are often far from being obvi¬
ous, and that consequently the discrimination of these
two classes of diseases is frequently a matter of difficulty
and uncertainty. We have seen, likewise, that in some
cases the community of symptoms between two diseases
may exist only during a particular period of their pro¬
gress, as at their commencement or termination; and that
in other cases the community of symptoms may continue
during their whole progress.
In the third place, we have seen that different groups or
trains of symptoms may arise, in different individuals, from
pathological conditions or proximate causes that appear to
be identical. This seems to occur whether the patholo¬
gical state or lesion be simply dynamical or organic. We
have seen that the diversity in the group or train of symp¬
toms may be confined to one of the symptoms, or to a
few only, or may extend to the greater part or to the
whole of them ; and that it may consist in the presence
of a symptom or symptoms not usually attendant upon the
morbid condition, or in the absence of a symptom or symp¬
toms by which it is usually accompanied. Under this
head we have illustrated, or rather suggested, the influence
of external and internal circumstances in modifying the
characters which the same disease exhibits in different
persons.
In relation to these two last-mentioned sources of diffi¬
culty and fallacy in diagnosis, we have seen reason to sus¬
pect that when groups or trains of symptoms apparently
identical .arise from different morbid lesions, and different
groups or trains of symptoms arise from what appears to
be an identical lesion, it is possible that in neither case
does there actually exist the identity supposed; but that
the apparent identity is attributable only to our inaccurate
observation, or to the imperfection of the means of investi¬
gation hitherto ascertained.
Fourth and lastly, we have seen that several different
pathological conditions, having their seats in the same or
contiguous organs or parts, or jn organs or parts remote
from one another, may exist in the economy simultane-
ously, whether they shall have come on simultaneously,''-^
or shall have followed one another in succession ; and, in
the latter case, whether they shall stand in the relation of
cause and effect, or shall be entirely independent of one
another; and that not only may these co-existing patho¬
logical conditions, in producing in a more or less marked
manner their respective symptoms, give rise to a compli¬
cation of phenomena which in many instances it is by no
means easy to unravel, but they may in various ways modify
and obscure the phenomena appertaining to one another.
In illustrating these several sources of difficulty and fal¬
lacy in diagnosis separately, it has very clearly appeared,
that in a large number of cases they are met with, not
singly, but more or fewer in conjunction; a circumstance
which cannot fail seriously to increase the embarrass¬
ments of the practitioner. Had our space allowed of it,
it was our wish, with a view to impress more forcibly on
our readers the practical operation of these sources of dif¬
ficulty in ascertaining and distinguishing diseases, to have
traced their influence, separately or variously combined,
in rendering difficult and obscure the diagnosis of some
one particular disease. For that purpose we had made
choice of pulmonary consumption; and it is on this ac¬
count that, in illustrating the several sources of difficulty
individually, we have not taken advantage of the nume¬
rous illustrations of these which consumption affords, and
which have been so ably pointed out in the writings of
Laennec, Andral, Louis, Abercrombie, Craigie, and Clark.
With this recapitulation we must bring to a close our
review of the various sources from which those difficulties
proceed that the medical practitioner has to encounter,
either in detecting the presence of disease in the human
economy, or, when its existence is manifestly proclaimed
by obvious signs, in discriminating, in individual cases as
they present themselves to his observation, the true nature
and seat of the affection. To the professional reader, we
flatter ourselves, such a review may be not without its use,
as tending to bring before him, under somewhat of a syste¬
matic arrangement, a number of particular facts, of which,
in order to avoid the risk of perpetual errors of diagnosis,
it is necessary not only that he should be aware, but that
he should be able, in the exercise of his art, readily to re¬
call the recollection, and make the appropriate application.
On the general reader, we venture to hope, a knowledge of
the nature and extent of these difficulties may tend to im¬
press, the importance of the friends and attendants of
the sick, as well as the sick themselves, not only facilitat¬
ing such inquiries as the medical practitioner may himself
institute, but spontaneously affording every information
from which it can be supposed that he may possibly derive
aid in forming a judgment respecting the disease under
which his patient labours ; secondly, the inexpediency of
urging the medical practitioner to the precipitate expres¬
sion of an opinion respecting the nature of his patients
malady, which, however incorrect it may be, must, when
once it has been pronounced, enlist upon its side both
his pride and his interests, and thus render it difficult for
him to perceive the true posture of affairs, and even more
difficult for him, perhaps, to avow it when perceived ; and,
thirdly, the unreasonableness of withdrawing confidence
from a practitioner of whose knowledge and skill they have
had manifold personal experience, or sufficient warrant on
the testimony of others, because in some particular case or
cases the judgments which he has formed may have proved
to be incorrect. It has been justly remarked, that “ in the
practice of physic, there is doubtless a great difference in
men as to quickness of apprehension, and also as to the
improvement derived from experience ; so that one prac¬
titioner may discover a difficult case much sooner than an¬
other, But there is also a difference in respect of cases.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
495
c. Some are obvious and easy to proper judges at first view;
others are so obscure and perplexed that they are not to
be hit off at first sight, nor to be discovered by a superfi¬
cial inquiry, but require time and attention, with a care¬
ful discriminating examination of all the circumstances of
the patient, before the true state of them can be deter¬
mined. Some that are not knowable in their beginning,
will become evident in tHeir progress or maturity; and it
must be owned there are some that will be too hard for
all our inquiry and consideration, and cannot be fully dis¬
covered but by the anatomical knife after the death of the
patient.” (Dr Coe, lib. cit. p. 5, 6.)
As a knowledge of the existence of these difficulties seems
calculated to bespeak from the public a more favourable
consideration for the practitioner who has availed himself
of all those means which medical science affords for im¬
proving his acquaintance with diseases and his means of
discriminating them, so we cannot but think that there is
another purpose to which it may, in some degree, also be
subservient. We have already expressed our conviction
(art. Medicine), that it is vain to trust to any legislative
enactments for the suppression of quackery ; and that the
only mode in which any one can hope to promote this end,
is by assisting in opening the eyes of the public to the
grossness of the delusions which, in matters relating to
medicine, they practise upon themselves, or allow others to
practise upon them. But if it be admitted that a know¬
ledge of the nature of the disease under which a patient
labours, is an indispensable preliminary to the safe and pro¬
per management of his case; and if, in attempting to ar¬
rive at this knowledge, so many sources of difficulty and
fallacy await even the best-informed medical practitioner,
—him who is furnished with all the means of avoiding and
overcoming them which the accumulated experience of
ages has been able to discover or invent,—the prudent man
may hesitate before he admits the belief that these diffi¬
culties can be overcome by persons of no scientific instruc¬
tion, and who professedly reject all aid from the observa¬
tions or experience of others ; he may well pause to con¬
sider whether the discrimination of such a person can be
with safety relied upon, even in those cases of which Dr Coe
speaks as “ obvious and easy to proper judges,” far less in
those obscure and perplexed cases, which require so much
skilled observation “ before the true state of them can be
determinedand whether the freedom of such a person,
from doubt or uncertainty in diagnosis, may not arise from
the rash presumptuousness of ignorance, rather than from
the reasonable confidence which knowledge is calculated
to inspire.
of We could have wished, before terminating this article,
ing to have taken a view of the means by which the medical
^practitioner endeavours to overcome those, difficulties, and
avoid those fallacies of diagnosis, which we have represent¬
ed as arising from the uncertain relations that subsist be¬
tween internal morbid conditions of the economy and their
external manifestations or symptoms. The observations
we can offer on this subject must necessarily be very
brief and imperfect; but we are unwilling to leave on the
minds of our readers the impression that medical science
has accomplished, and can be expected to accomplish, no¬
thing towards the more accurate determination and mark-
mg of these relations, which can aid the practitioner in
his diagnostic judgments.
Previously to entering on these observations, however,
we would repeat, what we have already hinted, that dili¬
gence in seeking out, and precision in examining, the symp¬
toms of diseases, are often of themselves sufficient for the
correction of those errors into which a less diligent inves¬
tigation and less precise examination of these phenomena
R°ki >^6 lead the practitioner. “ There is pro¬
bably,’ as Mr Hunter has remarked in his work on the Ve¬
nereal Disease, p. 379, “ no one disease to which some
other may not bear a strong resemblance in some of its
appearances or symptoms, whereby they may be mistaken
for each other. But diseases which resemble others sel¬
dom do it in more than one or two of the symptoms;
therefore, whenever the nature of the disease is suspected,
the whole of the symptoms should be well investigated, to
see whether it agrees in all of them with the disease it is
suspected to be, or only in part.” The judicious remarks
applied by Dr Southwood Smith to the symptoms which,
in the progress of fever, indicate the occurrence of morbid
changes within the abdomen, are applicable, probably, to
many other cases of disease. “ Their great peculiarity,”
says he, “ which it is as important to know as it is to un¬
derstand their indication itself, is their want of prominence.
They are always to be discerned, or Avith extremely rare
exceptions ; but they seldom or never force themselves up¬
on the notice of the careless, or extort the attention of the
unobserving: still they are not the less constant in their
occurrence because they come without noise, nor is the
indication they give of their presence less significant be¬
cause it is unobtrusive.” (P. 288.)
Some physicians, indeed, as we had elsewhere occasion
to remark (Medicine), have been so much impressed with
the fallacies to which those judgments are exposed which
medical men form respecting the nature of diseases, from
a consideration of their symptoms, that they have gone
the length of representing symptoms as of no assistance in
diagnosis. “ It is not, then, on the symptoms,” says a late
French writer, “ that the diagnosis of diseases must be
founded. In order to recognise them, we must go farther
back, to their source, and discover the internal and con¬
cealed spring which has been the primum mobile of the de¬
rangements that appear externally. We must investigate
the organic lesion which has produced, which keeps up,
and renews the symptoms observed. It is this lesion
which constitutes the disease ; it is it which has induced
the disturbance of the functions.” “ In diagnosis,” says
the same author, “ we must absolutely direct our attention
to the organs, and in no degree to the symptoms.” Of the
propriety of endeavouring to arrive at a knowledge of the
pathological state, morbid condition, or proximate cause
on which a disease or particular case of disease depends,
and of the curative efforts of the practitioner being direct¬
ed against that pathological condition when it can be as¬
certained, and not against one or other of the various
symptoms to which it gives rise, no doubt can be enter¬
tained ; but it must never be forgotten, that it is only by
an attentive investigation of the symptoms that we can
hope during life to arrive at a knowledge of the pathologi¬
cal condition which exists. And it would be easy to ad¬
duce, from the same author who speaks of excluding symp¬
toms from our attention in diagnosis, passages fully dis¬
playing the incorrectness of these views, or rather show¬
ing that the expressions in which they are clothed great¬
ly belie the meaning they Avere intended to convey. To
escape the fallacies into which symptoms are apt to lead
us in our conclusions respecting the pathological con¬
ditions upon Avhich they depend, we must study them in
all their varieties of appearances and combinations. The
doctrine of symptoms is in every respect as improvable as
any other department of medical science. By the succes¬
sive labours of medical men, additions are constantly mak¬
ing to the number of symptoms or indications by which we
are enabled to arrive at a knowledge of the existence of dis¬
ease, and of its particular nature and seat. And with re¬
gard to those symptoms that have been long familiar to
medical practitioners, and constantly employed in charac¬
terizing and discriminating diseases, much has been done,
and much is doing, in the way of determining more accu¬
rately their connection with particular pathological condi-
Physic.
496
Physic.
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
Previous
history of
the case.
Causes
producing
it.
Effects of
remedies.
tions of the economy; so that not only are the means which
medical men possess of discriminating diseases, throng i
the medium of symptoms, becoming gradually more nu¬
merous, but they are also becoming more valuable.
But when the symptoms actually present are insufficient
to guide the practitioner to a satisfactory judgment le-
specting the nature of the disease before him, are there
any subsidiary aids towards the accomplishment of this
object, of which he may avail himself?
In the first place, a careful consideration of the previous
history of the case, from the earliest development of mor¬
bid phenomena to the period of examination, may often
afford important assistance. For even in cases in which
there exists a striking coincidence between the symptoms
produced by two distinct lesions at a particular stage of
the progress of one or other of them, there may be such
differences either in the concourse of their symptoms at
other periods, or in their general course, as to enable the
practitioner who is duly informed respecting these parti¬
culars to decide on which of the lesions the case under
his immediate observation depends.
In the second place, when, after the most careful consi¬
deration of the symptoms as they actually exist, and of the
course which the disease has run previous to the time of
examination, the nature of the malady is sBll doubtful, the
practitioner may in some instances be assisted in its deter¬
mination bv the knowledge he obtains of the causes by
which it has seemed to be induced.
In the third place, it happens in some cases that the
first certainty the practitioner acquires respecting the na¬
ture of the disease with which he has to deal, is from the
effects of the remedies administered for its removal; whe¬
ther these effects shall be such as to confirm him in the
correctness of the opinion upon which his mode of practice
has been founded, or to satisfy him of the error of his di¬
agnosis. It must not be forgotten, however, that infer¬
ences of this kind must be subject to the numerous falla¬
cies to which the judgments of medical men, respecting the
influence of remedies over diseases, are exposed. Thus,
it is well known that medical men long imagined that the
most certain test of a syphilitic or non-syphilitic taint in
particular cases was to be derived from the fact whether
or not the malady disappeared when no mercury was em¬
ployed ; an opinion which recent experience has shown to
be wholly without foundation. In modern times Italian
physicians have established, as a general law in pathology,
a principle, which they designate the law of tolerance of
medicines, that would, if well established, lendei a know¬
ledge of the juvantia and Icedentia a very powerful assist¬
ance in forming our diagnosis, and particularly in judging
of the intensity of a disease. The principle to which we
allude is, that the human body, in becoming _ diseased,
acquires the faculty of supporting medicines suited to its
state, in doses exactly proportional to the intensity of the
disease; and that it loses this faculty in proportion as the
disease diminishes, and in the ratio of its diminution.
It has generally been understood, that when there ex¬
isted a doubt as to the inflammatory or non-inflammatory
character of a disease, a cautious trial of blood-letting
might advantageously be made, with a view to throw light
on&the nature of the disease, and to determine the pro¬
per mode of treatment to be pursued. “ The effects of
remedies carefully considered,” says Dr Marshall Hall,
“ throw an important ray of light upon the nature and
force of the disease, and upon the condition and ener-
o-ies of the system.” (i. 1.) And in reference to this pro¬
position the author observes, “ One of the sources of diag¬
nosis enumerated constitutes a department ot knowledge
which may be termed new .* it is that of the eftect of re¬
medies, and especially of blood-letting, as a diagnostic of
diseases, and as a criterion of the general powers of the
system. In cases in which it is doubtful whether the Phyjrj
pain or other local affection be the effect of inflammation ''"“■y *
or of irritation, the question is immediately determined by
placing the patient upright, and bleeding to incipient syn¬
cope : in inflammation much blood flows; in irritation, very
little. The violence of the disease, the powers of the sys¬
tem, and the due measure of the remedy, are determined
at the same time. There is, in my opinion,’ adds Dr Mar¬
shall Hall, “ no single fact in physic of equal importance
and value in the diagnosis of acute diseases and the use
of an important remedy.” (P. 2, 3.) How far this appli-
cation of the Italian doctrine of tolerance of medicines to
the practice of blood-letting affords a safe rule of practice,
we cannot here inquire ; but we may observe, that common
opinion assigns more influence in the production of syn¬
cope from venesection to individual constitution, than to the
nature or intensity of the disease for which it is practised.
Lastly, when a case, respecting the exact nature of which imprp, I
any doubt has existed, proves fatal, it is of great import*menti
ance that the practitioner should have an opportunity ofdiagn
confirming or correcting the judgment he may have formed,
by the examination, after death, of the several organs and^
systems of the body ; for though the information then ac*ana^:I
quired can be of no practical use in the individual case,
and the seeking it may, with the ignorant, expose the medi¬
cal man to Moliere’s sneer, “ d’aviser et voir ce qu’iUurait
fallu faire pour guerir un homme qui mourut hier,” it may
on a future occasion exempt him from doubt, or rescue him
from error. It cannot be questioned that a much greater
degree of precision than formerly prevailed in medical diag¬
nosis has been introduced, and is in the course of being in¬
troduced, into this branch, since medical men have become
duly aware of the importance of examining dead bodies for
the purpose of determining the existence or non-existence,
in particular diseases, of organic alterations of structure, and,
when these exist, of ascertaining their nature and seat. But
in endeavouring to connect the symptoms that manifest
themselves during life, with the morbid alterations of struc¬
ture found on examination after death, much attention is
requisite, as has been already hinted, to enable us to dis¬
criminate between those structural changes that give rise
to diseases, and those that only develop themselves during
their progress, or the existence of which may be merely
fortuitous. “ Multum prodesse ad intelligOndas morborum
causas cadaverum sectionem,” says Van Swieten in his
Commentaries on Boerhaave’s Lectures (sect. 1041), “ne¬
mo dubitat; interim tamen magna cautela hie opus est, ne
pro morbi causa habeatur illud, quod potius morbi effectus
est; multa enim in cadavere inveniuntur mutata per mor-
bum ipsum, quae non prae-exstiterant ante morbum.’ lo
assist us in this discrimination, it is very desirable to have
an opportunity of making post-mortem examinations in
every stage of the progress of a disease. But in some dis¬
eases in which there is no tendency to death, particularly
in their early periods, it is only by availing ourselves ot
deaths accidentally occurring that we are able to ascertain
whether the disease depends primarily on organic or struc¬
tural lesions, and, if so, of what nature these may be.
It would perhaps be impossible to refer to a more happy
illustration of the reciprocal light which the attentive ex¬
amination of the symptoms that present themselves dur¬
ing life, and the careful inspection of the structural le¬
sions met with after death, are calculated to throw upon one
another, than is afforded by the connection traced by ur
Bright between a particular affection of the kidney (no
well known to medical men under the name of its first ac¬
curate describer), and a train of symptoms too often lorcing
themselves on the attention of the medical Pr^ctlt10,^ ’
but which had never before been recognised as depenains
on a specific pathological condition or proximate cause.
It must, we conceive, be acknowledged upon all ban ,
PHYSIC, PRACTICE OF.
that the farther medical inquiries have been pushed, the
smaller has the number of diseases become which are not
known to be connected with, if not immediately dependent
upon, perceptible alterations in the structure of particular
portions of the body; or, in other words, that the diseases
reputed dynamic have gradually diminished, while those re¬
puted organic or structural have proportionally increased in
number. It may be doubted, however, whether medical men,
in their anxiety to trace the symptoms of diseases to organic
causes, have not occasionally attributed to structural alter¬
ations a greater influence in the production of these phe¬
nomena than they actually exercise. For, even when struc¬
tural alterations are found in the organs which, during life,
had exhibited symptoms of a deranged condition, it does
not necessarily follow that these symptoms and organic
alterations were immediately and necessarily connected.
In many cases, indeed, the symptoms seem to depend
rather on some superadded dynamical derangement, than
on the change of texture which has occurred.
In corroboration of this opinion may be mentioned the
well-ascertained facts, Jirst, that the same organic lesion
which in one individual is accompanied with well-marked
symptoms, in another individual may give rise to no indi¬
cation of its existence, which, indeed, may become known
only on examination after death; secondly, that the same
combination of symptoms which post mortem examination
would lead us to refer in one case to obvious organic altera¬
tions, may be found in another case totally unconnected
with any perceptible change in the structure of any part
oi the body ; and, thirdly, that in some cases of disease in
which organic alterations are found after death, the symp¬
toms have exhibited during life a periodical or intermit¬
tent character, which could not be the case if they de¬
pended simply on organic alterations of structure, seeing
that these are not subject to variation. Thus, in a large
proportion of epileptic subjects, organic alterations have
been met with in the encephalon ; but, in the first place,
it sometimes happens that similar organic alterations are
found after death in cases in which no symptoms of epi¬
lepsy occurred; in the second place, in some cases of epi¬
lepsy, no marks of organic disease can be detected; and,
m the third place, though the organic alterations found
in a number of cases of epilepsy may possibly account for
such deviations from the healthy exercise of their func¬
tions as are manifested by some epileptics between their
paroxysms, we must suppose that some other morbid con¬
dition of the encephalon, not permanent in its existence,
but only occasional in its occurrence, is requisite for the
production of the paroxysms themselves. “ We know,”
says an intelligent author,1 “ that morbid alterations in the
substance of the brain sometimes produce periodic dis¬
eases, and that certain additicnal causes of excitement
operating upon an unsound brain, one or other of the func¬
tions of that organ is for a time impeded, till the new
cause ceases to operate, when the individual immediately
returns to his former state of apparent health.”
In attempting to distinguish between those diseases
which are referrible to an organic pathological condition,
and those which are to be considered as dynamical, in
the sense that has elsewhere been explained (in the article
Pathology), it is necessary also to keep in mind that a
deranged exercise of some, at least, of the functions of
the economy, though not originating in any perceptible
alteration of structure, may in its continuance give rise
to some such alteration. The morbid appearances met
with on the examination of dead bodies may, conse¬
quently, sometimes stand in the relation of effect to the
derangement of function, and the consequent symptoms,
of which medical men are disposed to regard them as the
cause. “ Les troubles des fonctions de la vie,” said M.
I lost, “ et les alterations organiques, sont la double source
des maladies, qui s enchainent, s’accroissent, et se repro-
duisent mutueUement."z
•There is another source of fallacy in the attempts made
by medical men to refer the symptoms that present them¬
selves during life to such altered appearances as are found
after death, in the different textures and organs of the
body. We allude to certain changes that are liable to
occur during the last periods of life, or even subsequently
to death, and which those who are not duly warned of
their occuirence, or not aware of the characters by which
they may be distinguished, are liable to regard as products
of disease. Much has been done, of late years, to facili¬
tate the distinction between truly morbid, and, as they
are termed, pseudo-morbid appearances, particularly be¬
tween those turgescences of the extreme vessels which
do, and those which do not, depend on inflammatory ac¬
tion. But, even from the difficulties that have presented
themselves in establishing the grounds of distinction be¬
tween these two sets of appearances, it may be inferred,
that when these distinctions were not sufficiently under¬
stood or attended to, the symptoms that had manifested
themselves during life must not unfrequently have been
supposed to find their explanation in altered appearances
of different textures and organs, which were not in reality
products of morbid action.
Irom these observations, it is obvious that medical men
require to be at all times equally on their guard against
attributing to mere dynamical disturbance morbid pheno¬
mena which depend upon organic alteration of structure,
and against attributing to structural alterations phenomena
that arise simply from dynamical derangement. (l.)
497
Physic.
1 Mackenzie on the Eye, p. 765.
the affection vdhchh^been cahT/ISr? ^ f bercro“bie (°n Diseases of the JBrain, 3d edit. p. 217) for believing that
perceptible deviation from healthy structure? telSating inVSon ^ Ap°pleXy (that is’ apoplexy not Spending on any
3 R
VOL. XVII.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical A treatise on physical geography should comprehend
Geography, a description of the general structure of our planet, of the
v -■ v ' arrangement of the solid and liquid materials of which its
surface consists, of the nature of the elastic invisible fluids
with which it is surrounded, and an account of the distri¬
bution of the organized beings by which it is inhabited. A
detailed description of a field so vast, of a range of sub¬
jects so multifarious, would embrace every branch of natu¬
ral history ; but the province of physical geography is un¬
derstood to be limited to general views of the different
subjects now indicated. These views, if founded on legi¬
timate deductions from observed phenomena, should en¬
able us to reduce to a few general principles the infinite
variety of appearances presented to us by nature; and it
is this generalization which in modern times has elevated
the study to the dignity of a science. Physical geography,
however, in this philosophical sense, is of very recent ori¬
gin ; much of every domain of terrestrial nature yet re¬
mains to be explored; the surface of our earth is still but
partially known; and although each succeeding age adds
prodigiously to the knowledge of mankind, this exhaustless
field will, for ages to come, afford materials to exercise the
industry and reward the investigations of the philosophical
inquirer, ere physical geography approaches to its limits of
perfection.
Sect. I.—Position of the Earth in the System of the Uni-
verse; its Form, Magnitude, Density.
The sublime conceptions of astronomy, founded on ob¬
servation and on mathematical inductions, have taught us
to consider the innumerable stars visible to the naked eye
and indicated by the telescope, as so many suns, probably
enlightening and gladdening unseen worlds, which revolve
round each, as our earth and its kindred planets revolve round
our glorious luminary. The stars nearest to our earth are
grouped into constellations, for the convenience of descrip¬
tive astronomy ; but the more distant appear to the eye as
nebulous patches or streaks of diluted light, which the high¬
est powers of optical instruments have barely enabled us to
resolve partially into clusters of stars, which analogy would
lead us to regard as myriads of other suns; while imagina¬
tion, ranging through illimitable space, pictures still more
remote orbs, whose light has for ages travelled the profound,
without as yet reaching the abodes of men. Such lofty
conceptions of infinite power and beneficence are calculated
to elevate the mind which entertains them, and to afford a
compensation to human vanity for the comparative insigni¬
ficance of our earth in the scale of creation. The solar
system, of which our planet forms only a small part, seems
to be itself but a fragment of a more extended system,
round the centre of which the observations of Maskelyne
and Herschel have rendered it probable that the sun and
the fixed stars all revolve.
The terraqueous globe, without including comets, is one
of twenty-nine bodies wheeling round our sun. Of these,
eleven are termed primary planets, and revolve round the
sun as a common centre ; the remaining eighteen are named
moons, satellites, or secondary planets, because they also re¬
volve round some one of the primaries. The earth is ac¬
companied in her orbit by one of these satellites. The
orbits of two other planets are included within her path
round the sun. The orbit of the earth is elliptical, but dif¬
fers so little from a circle, that, in estimating its diameter,
it may be considered as such; and its semidiameter, or the
earth’s distance from the sun, as determined from various as¬
tronomical data, especially from the transits of Venus over Pbys;
the sun’s disc, equals ninety-five millions of miles. Geogra
That the earth is globular, is proved by ships steering in
a general direction, either westward or eastward, arriving
again at the point of departure ; and very satisfactorily by
the phenomena exhibited by vessels in receding from an
island in the ocean. At a short distance the hull of the
ship is sunk below the horizon; a little farther and the
courses or lower sails are lost; and soon only the upper sails
are descried on the circular horizon. The rotundity of the
earth is such, that when the eye is elevated six feet above
the water, an object on its surface may be seen at a dis¬
tance of three miles; and at all other altitudes of the eye,
the distance of the utmost visible point varies as the square
root of the altitude.
The earth, however, is not a perfect sphere, but is some-Form.
what flattened at the poles, or forms what is termed an oblate
spheroid. Newton attempted to ascertain the ellipticity of
the earth by calculation ; and, considering the effect of its di¬
urnal velocity on a homogeneous fluid of the mean density
of the earth, he determined its equatorial to be to its polar
axis as 236 to 230 ; but he imagined, that if the density were
greater at the centre than at the surface, the compression
would be greater than in a spheroid of equal density. This
error was pointed out by Huygens, who, on the supposition
that the density increases regularly with the depth in the
earth, estimated the relative axes as 578 to 579. But the
determination of both philosophers is at variance with the
results of geodesical experiments made about that time, and
with the more refined measurements of meridional degrees
in different parts of the earth in later times, as well as with
the results of observations with the pendulum made by
Maskelyne on the mountains of Perthshire, and the very
recent investigations on the same subject by Forster, Sa*
bine, Duperrey, Freycinet, Kater, Brisbane, and others.
On comparing the two methods of determining the figure
of the earth, we are inclined to place more confidence in the
result of measurements of meridional arcs than on the pen¬
dulum experiments, because the latter are liable to be dis¬
turbed by the geological structure of the regions in which
they are made; and this is probably the cause why they
accord less with each other than we should have expected
from the delicacy of the apparatus, and the expertness of
the observers. They give a greater ellipticity to the earth
than the comparison of meridional arcs. The latter are not
only more accordant with each other, but agree very nearly
with the form deduced from the inequalities in the moons
motions, the equations for which were discovered by La¬
place. The result of the whole is, that we may safely as¬
sume the ellipticity as equal to ^gth of the earth’s axis; or
the polar is to the equatorial diameter as 30o to 3Ub.
The solution of this problem is essential to the deter-M^,
mination of the exact length of the radius of the eaxtn L
a most important problem in astronomy, as it is the unit ^
which we measure the planetary distances. But tlie deter¬
mination of meridional arcs affords the solution of the poin
in question ; and, aided by calculations, we obtain the to -
lowing results in English miles :
Equatorial radius —
Polar radius =
39^
Mean diameter —
Mean circumference — 24)871
The oblate figure of the earth appears to be a conse-
ence of its rotation on its axis. Mathematicians have de-
quence
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
499
p; cal monstrated, that if the earth had been a homogeneous body,
e( i»hy- its ellipticity would have been greater than it really is; and
J if it had been so constituted that its density increased so as
to be infinitely great at the centre, the ellipticity must have
been much less. But the ellipticity is intermediate between
these extremes, and perhaps coincides with that of a sphe¬
roid of equilibrium. The effect of centrifugal motion has
evidently affected not only the liquid, but the solid materials
of the globe; and this has been adduced by Playfair as a
striking proof of the former fluidity of the solid materials of
the earth.
The revolution of the earth on its axis is performed in a
natural day, or, more strictly speaking, once in 23h 56' 4";
and as its mean circumference is = 24871 miles, it follows
that any point in its equatorial surface has a rotatory mo¬
tion of more than 1000 miles per hour. This velocity must
gradually diminish to nothing at either pole. Whilst the
earth is thus revolving on its axis, it has a progressive mo¬
tion in its orbit. If we take the length of the earth’s orbit at
600,000,000, its motion through space must exceed 68,490
miles in the hour.
Besides these two motions, the refinements of modern
astronomy have determined two secular movements of ex¬
treme slowness, produced by the attractions of the other hea¬
venly bodies of our system, namely, the motions which cause
the 'precession of the equinoxes, and the nutation of the earth's
axis. These motions, though important astronomical specu¬
lations, are little connected with geography ; but it is other¬
wise with the diurnal and annual movements of our planet, the
former of which produces the grateful vicissitudes of day and
night, the latter the changes of the seasons. Both exercise
remarkable influences upon the organized beings inhabiting
the earth ; and their consequences, therefore, deserve no¬
tice in a treatise of physical geography.
Various astronomical phenomena indicate that the den¬
sity of the earth increases towards the centre. Cavendish
endeavoured to estimate the mean density of the earth from
the force of gravitation ; and, from experiments with spheres
of lead, he estimated it at 5*48. The investigations with the
pendulum by Maskelyne and more recent observers have
given it as equal to 4-71; and perhaps we shall not greatly
err, if in round numbers we consider the mean density of
the earth as equal to five times that of water. But the
average density of the rocky masses which compose the
crust of the earth does not exceed 2*5, or 2*8 at the utmost;
and therefore the density of the interior parts must be con¬
siderably greater than that of the materials on the surface.
Laplace considers it as probable that the density increases
progressively with the depth, and that the globe may be
composed of concentric beds symmetrically arranged round
the centre of gravity. From these determinations, some
philosophers have conjectured that the interior of the earth
must consist of matter as ponderous as the metals, and that
probably the metallic veins which we find near the surface
may only be small portions of the central masses, expanded
and projected through the concentric stony materials by the
internal heat of the earth. If, however, we admit that the
density of all matter is in the direct ratio of the pressure which
it sustains, it has been shown, by a philosopher not less re¬
markable for the originality and boldness of his theoretical
speculations, than for the profundity and sagacity of his phi¬
losophical investigations, that the interior of the earth can¬
not be a solid mass of any material with which we are ac¬
quainted, but “ that our planet must have a very widely
cavernous structure, and that we tread on a crust or shell
whose thickness bears but a very small proportion to the
diameter of its sphere ;’u which, since an absolute void is
inadmissible, he conjectures to be filled with elemental heat,
Der ,v,
or light in its most concentrated state, shining with the most Physical
intense refulgence. Geography.
Sect. II.—General Distribution of the Land and Water.
On glancing at a map of the world, we are immediately
struck with the great extent of its superficies occupied by
the waters, which are united into one great ocean, filling
up the depressions which separate the more elevated portions
of the solid crust of the globe, and dividing the land into
detached masses of very various extent, which we denomi¬
nate continents, islands, or insulated rocks. These divisions,
however, differ only in size; the continent is but a larger
island; and the insulated rock is merely the summit of a
mountain, the flanks and base of which are buried below
the general level of the sea.
We are in the habit of speaking of the four quarters of
the world, and sometimes of its four continents; but it is
sufficiently obvious that there are only two great distinct
divisions or principal masses of the dry land to which the
name of continent should be applied; the eastern, includ¬
ing Europe, Asia, and Africa, which, from being the ear¬
liest abodes of civilization, may be termed the Old Conti¬
nent; and the western, or American, which is usually known
as the New Continent. By confining the designation of con¬
tinent to these prime divisions of the land, we shall find no
difficulty in classing Australia with islands. The old conti¬
nent includes three of the great divisions of the earth, Eu¬
rope, Asia, and Africa; the western continent, though chief¬
ly occupied by the descendants of Europeans, is naturally
divided into two great portions, which in future ages may
become as distinctly marked by political and moral differ¬
ences as they are by geographical peculiarities.
The vast extent of Australia has induced some geogra¬
phers to consider it as a continent; but it may more justly
be reckoned the first of islands in magnitude ; and it might
be grouped with the numerous and extensive islands lying
to the south-east of the old continent, as a fifth great divi¬
sion of the globe, under the title of the Oceanic or Poly¬
nesian.
The terms employed in describing the various forms of
the land, and the subdivisions of the liquid surface of our
planet, have been sufficiently noticed under the article Geo¬
graphy, to which the reader is referred.
The slightest glance at a map of the world will show, that
there exists a greater accumulation of dry land in the north¬
ern than in the southern hemisphere. Recent voyages
have indeed proved that this disproportion was over-rated by
the geographers of the last age. The late discoveries of the
extensive tracts of land to which the names of New Shet¬
land, New Orkney, and Sandwich Land have been given,
prove that considerable deductions must be made from
what was at one time considered as the domain of the Ant¬
arctic Ocean. But the voyages of Cook, Furneaux, Wed¬
dell, and others, have shown that these, although extensive
groups of islands, do not belong to a great antarctic conti¬
nent; and even if such existed, the general form of the
ancient, as well as of the western continent, towards the
north, would still leave a great preponderance of dry land
in the northern hemisphere. It is not unworthy of notice,
that the proximate sides of the old and new continent seem
as if they had mutually influenced the forms of each other;
for where any remarkable projection of the one is perceived,
we find an indentation nearly opposite in the other. Thus,
the principal eastern projection of South America is almost
opposite to the vast African bight, extending from Cape
Palmas to Cape Negro ; the great western projection of
Africa is opposed to the basin of the Carribbean Sea and
1 Leslie’s Elements of Natural Philosophy, note I.
500
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Land.
Physical the Gulf of Mexico; and the north-eastern trending of the
Geography. COasts of Europe is balanced by the opposite direction of the
' / shores of North America.
The general disposition of the land is different in each.
In the old continent the principal extension is to the west
and east; in the new it is to the north and south. In the
former we may draw continuous straight lines of immense
extent in different directions without encountering one sea.
Thus a line from Cape de Yerd in Western Africa will pass
through continuous land till it reaches the promontory which
separates the Yellow Sea from the Gulf of Leatong, a dis¬
tance of 7800 geographical miles. One projected from Cape
Palmas, on the Gulf of Guinea, to the Asiatic promontory
called Tscheoutskoi-nos, will extend 8700; and another,
from Tangier to the Cape of Good Hope, will be nearly 5800
geographical miles. The longest straight line which we can
project on the land of the new continent is from Cumana
to Tierra del Fuego, a distance of 4600 geographical miles ;
and the next, from Icy Cape to Puerto de los Angelos, on
the western coast of Mexico, is about 4100. In the old con¬
tinent the lines we have described have large portions of the
surface on either hand ; but in the new continent the greater
part of the land is on the eastern side of the imaginary lines.
The greatest extension of each considerable division of
the two continents lies in the direction of its principal moun¬
tain chains. This is strikingly exemplified in America, where
the Rocky Mountains and Western Cordillera of Mexico in
the northern, and the gigantic Andes in the southern hemi¬
sphere, pursue the general direction of the American conti¬
nent. The greatest extent of Europe is from west to east,
and this is the general direction of the chains of the Pyre¬
nees, the Alps, the mountains which form the northern boun¬
dary of Turkey in Europe, and the Carpathians. A simi¬
lar direction is pursued by Mount Taurus, and other ranges^
of Central Asia, die Himalaya chain, and the mountains of
Thibet. In Africa the position of the mountain chains is
less known ; but the direction of the rivers, and the notices
of travellers, would lead to the inference, that, on its eastern
side, a spine of mountains, more or less interrupted, extends
from Abyssinia towards the southern extremity of Africa.^
Even the direction of smaller portions of both worlds, as of
islands and peninsulas, coincides with their principal moun¬
tain chains. This is well illustrated in Norway, in Italy,
in the so-called peninsula of India, in Siam, Cambodia, Flo¬
rida, and California, and on a smaller scale in the islands of
Ceylon, Madagascar, Cuba, and Great Britain.
The expanse of the waters is termed the Ocean ; but, for
the convenience of descriptive geography, it is divided into
several, though, strictly speaking, there is but one ocean;
and the different seas form but parts of a vast whole, which
communicate freely with each other, and can scarcely be
considered as marked by definite limits. Most geographers
speak of two grand oceans, which have derived their appel¬
lations from their position relative to the old continent.
I. The Western Ocean, which includes three principal
subdivisions. 1. The Northern Ocean, of which the southern
limits are the British coasts, and a line drawn thence to the
southern extremity of Greenland. 2. The Atlantic Ocean,
which should be limited to the south by the extreme pro¬
jections of Guinea and Brazil. 3. The Ethiopia Ocean,
which lies between the limits of the last, and a line joining
the southern extremities of Africa and America. All three
are sometimes, though less correctly, denominated the At¬
lantic.
II. The Eastern Ocean, which is also subdivided into
three principal portions. 1. The Indian Ocean, compre¬
hending the seas between Southern Africa, Australia, and
the Malayan Islands. 2. The Pacific Ocean, extending
from Behring’s Straits to Cape Horn, and the southern side
of Australia.' It is often subdivided into the Northern and
Southern Pacific, of which the limits are not well defined.
Ocean.
3. The Austral or Southern Ocean, which in general terms Phys, i ■
may be described as extending southwards from a line®eogrJj *
passing round the globe and touching Van Diemen’s Land, <
and the Cape of Good Hope, and Cape Horn. With these
main oceans various seas communicate, either by narrow
straits, as the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea, the Mediterra¬
nean, and the Baltic; or by wider channels, as the Sea of
Okhotsk, the Yellow Sea, the Sea of Hudson, and of Baffin;
or by numerous openings, as the Sea of China, the Carrib-
bean Sea, and the Mexican Gulf. The Euxine, the Cas¬
pian, the Sea of Aral, and of Baikal, and the magnificent
fresh-water lakes of North America, have many of the cha¬
racteristics of lakes ; but their gigantic scale, and their im¬
portant influence on the climate of the adjacent countries,
entitle them to the designation of Inland Seas.
The portions of the earth’s surface which are covered byPropc ■
the waters bear a large proportion to the dry land. Dr Hal- betw
ley first suggested the idea of ascertaining the comparative™^ j |
surface of the land and water, by cutting them out of a map, er
and weighing them separately. It was by this means that
he ascertained the relative area of the English counties. The
astronomy of Dr Long, published in 1742, contains the ap¬
plication of this principle for ascertaining the relative sur¬
face of the land and water on the earth. He describes his
having cut out each from the gores of Senex’s sixteen-inch
globes, and on carefully weighing them he obtained the
ratio of the water to the land as 349 to 124, or very near¬
ly as 3 to 1. Dr Long’s experiment appears to have been
conducted with great nicety ; for Professor Rigaud of Cam¬
bridge has very lately confirmed it by a laborious and care¬
ful repetition upon the great scale. This latter gentleman
used the gores printed for Addison’s three-feet globes, which
contain a superficies of 4071L square inches. The gores
of this magnificent globe are twenty-four in number. The
torrid zone was divided at these lines and at the equator,
and thus formed into forty-eight divisions; the divisions of
the two temperate zones were also forty-eight, and these
together made ninety-six divisions, each of which was care¬
fully examined separately, divided into land and water, and
accurately weighed in a balance which easily indicated one
tenth of a grain.
The southern frigid zone was considered as wholly con¬
sisting of water ; but the northern frigid zone, from longitude
180° to 270° west, was taken as land, and, from 270° to
360°, was computed to consist, one half of land and one
half of water. The whole surface of the earth was sup¬
posed to be divided into 1000 parts, and all the estimates
of the different regions were expressed in proportions of
this standard. Rigaud’s paper contains several tables, of
which the following are the general results.
North polar zone..
Land. Water. Ratio.
18*0263  23*4437 100 to 139
North temperate... 126*6308 132*5247 100
North half of torrid 52*5582 146*8162 100..
South ditto  46*1592 158*2156 100..,
South temperate... 22*5488 236*6060 100..
South polar    41*4700 
105
279
332
1049
Whole sphere 265*9233 734*0762 100... 276
North hemisphere...! 97*2153 302*7846 100... 154
South hemisphere...68*7080 431*2906......100... 628
Whole torrid zone...98*7171 300*0318 100... 204
This differs surprisingly little from the estimate of Dr
Long, considering that each was deduced from the works
of different geographers, and at a considerable interval ot
time. If we express the ratios of each determination, we
shall have, in
Dr Long’s estimate, the land to the water = 1 •
Professor Rigaud’s  *— ^ : .
And it is also deserving of notice that Rigaud’s last esti-
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
p ical mate differs but little from his former experiment on Carey’s
-e itphy. twenty-one-inch globe; but both differ considerably from
the calculations of Malte-Brun. As, however, that author
has not furnished us with the elements of his calculation, it
ought not to be put in competition with the elaborate inves¬
tigations of Long and of Rigaud.
The dry superficies of each great division of the globe
was ascertained by the same method; and the tables of
Rigaud enable us to give an accurate comparative view of
their relative area in thousandths of the earth’s surface.
Europe   = 15*6989
Asia = 88*7320
Africa =59*5764
America = 91*2573
New Holland   = 9*9063
Smaller islands = 0*7524
265*9233
If we take the whole superficies of the globe=196,836,658
square miles, as the land is to the water in the proportion
nearly of 266 to 734 it follows that the whole land occu¬
pies a surface of 52,363,231 square miles, and the ocean an
area of 144,473,427 square miles.
Sect. III.— Variations of the Surface.
Besides the inequality produced by the oblate figure of
the earth, different portions of its surface are at different
distances from its centre. The dry land is elevated into
mountains, depressed into valleys, or stretched out into
plains, varying in extent and elevation above the sea; and
the ocean itself must be considered as effused into a vast
basin, seemingly diversified, like the dry land, with moun¬
tains, precipices, valleys, and plateaux of an infinite variety
of shapes and dimensions. In fact, the whole dry land
may be considered as a series of islands, or of plains and
mountains, elevated above the general surface of the am¬
bient fluid which occupies the deeper valleys that divide
them.
The whole surface of the dry land is elevated more or
less above the general level of the ocean ; with one remark¬
able exception, which, however, has only of late years been
detected. Barometrical measurements have shown that a
vast area of Central Asia, no less than 18,000 square leagues,
is considerably below the level of the ocean. This tract in¬
cludes the Caspian and the Aral, the surfaces of which have
recently been shown to be 101*2 feet lower than that of the
Euxine. Should any convulsion of nature, such as earth¬
quakes are known to produce in other quarters of the earth,
depress the low sandy tract which now separates the sea
of Azof and the Caspian, the waters of the Euxine, and
also of the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, would inundate
an enormous extent of the sandy steppes of Asia, and en¬
tirely change the climate and face of that portion of the
earth.
Plains of greater or less extent, with inconsiderable in¬
equalities, are found in every region. The most consider¬
able plain in Europe is that which, commencing on the
Northern Ocean, between the extremity of Jutland and the
mouths of the Scheldt, extends eastwards through Prussia
and Poland into Russia, and constitutes in that empire an
almost unbroken plain, from the confines of the Frozen
Ocean to the shores of the Euxine and the Caspian, until it
meets the Uralian chain, which separates Northern Europe
from Northern Asia. In this vast expanse, the surface is
scarcely broken by any hills, except the inconsiderable ridge
of Valdai, between Toropetz, Smolensk, and Moscow, which
nowhere rises to 1200 feet above the sea. This magnifi¬
cent plateau is divided by the Uralian Mountains from a
still more extensive plain, which may be denominated the
great plain of Northern Asia, the boundaries of which are
501
the Altaian chain and the Icy Ocean. It commences at Physical
the eastern side of the Ural, and inclines towards the north- Geography,
east until it almost touches the Northern Pacific Ocean.
Both plains together form a remarkable feature in the sur¬
face of our earth, and being only interrupted by the Ural
chain, which never exceeds 4500 feet in height, have been
regarded by some geographers as but one plateau ; which,
thus considered, is the most extensive on our planet, with
a medium breadth of 1100 miles, a length of 6000, and a
surface of about 6,600,000 square miles. The surface of
much of these two great plains is fertile; some of it is co¬
vered with heaths or swamps, producing dwarf birches,
willows, and a stunted vegetation; a considerable part is
shrouded in dark pine forests.
Far different in appearance are the enormous wastes of
arid sand in Northern Africa and Central Asia, the vast sa¬
vannas of the Mississippi and the Missouri, and the pampas
and llanos of South America.
A prodigious zone of sand stretches like an ocean, in Deserts.
Northern Africa, between the ridges of Mount Atlas and
the parallels of the Senegal and the Niger, and from the
Atlantic to the narrow valley of the Nile. It may be said to
cover a tract across that continent between the eighteenth
and thirty-first degrees of north latitude, extending from
long. 15° W. to 30° E. This enormous area may be con¬
sidered as having a length of 2470 miles, a breadth of 900
miles, and consequently a superficies of about 2,200,000
square miles. It is, however, by no means an uniform sur¬
face of loose sand. In many parts the dreary waste is bro¬
ken by low hills of naked sandstone, or by tracts of arid
clay ; occasionally it is enlivened in a few spots by verdant
isles, or oases, of various extent, according as water finds
its way to the parched surface. The principalities of Fez-
zan and Darfur are the most considerable of these islands
of the desert; but the most celebrated of these insulated
spots is the far less considerable oasis of Siwah, the palms
of which still wave over the ruins of the Temple of Am¬
mon, and indicate the most ancient seat of African civili¬
zation.
Egypt, Nubia, and Sennaar, the eastern boundaries of this
desert, would long ago have been overwhelmed by the mov¬
ing sands of the western desert, but for the annual inunda¬
tion of the majestic Nile; and thus the empire of sand would
have stretched uninterruptedly into Arabia. As it is, the
narrow valley of that river, and the Red Sea, are all that
separate the African deserts from those of Asia. Soon after
quitting the Nile, the traveller by the route of Suez en¬
counters sand, which is continued into the centre of Arabia,
where it forms the Desert of Nedsjed, extending to the val¬
ley of the Euphrates. The sandy zone then inclines north¬
wards, enters Persia, and forms the saline deserts of Adjemi,
Kerman, and Mekran ; it is turned north-east by the valley
of the Indus, passes through Caubul and Little Bukharia, till
it joins the vast deserts of Gobi and Shamo, which occupy
so large a portion of Central Asia between the Altaian and
Mustag chains, and reach to the confines of China. The
sandy zone thus traced throughout the breadth of the an¬
cient continent, from Western Africa to the 120° of east
longitude, has been computed to cover an area of 6,500,000
square miles ; but the Asiatic portion of this tract includes
many chains of mountains and fertile valleys. It is charac¬
terized by the occurrence of arid wastes of sand or clay,
sometimes with saline incrustations on the surface, and is
remarkably deficient in considerable rivers; except the Nile,
the Euphrates, the Indus, and the Oxus, there are no large
rivers in a region which embraces almost a fourth part of
both Africa and Asia. This portion of Central Asia forms
a series of elevated plains six thousand miles in length from
west to east. “ Some of these plains,” says Humboldt, “ are
covered with herbage ; others produce only evergreen sali¬
ferous plants, with fleshy and jointed stems; but a great
502
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical
Geography.
North
American
plains.
South
American
plains.
number glitter from afar with a saline efflorescence, that
crystallizes in the semblance of lichens, and covers me
clayey soil with scattered patches like new-fallen snow.
From these elevated plains have issued the barbarous
hordes which at different periods have swept like a whirl¬
wind over the regions where the human intellect had
achieved its proudest triumphs, and devastated the seats of
Asiatic and European civilization. From this officina gen¬
tium have successively issued the Huns, the Avars, the
Mongols, the Alans, and Uzes—the scourges of humanity ;
and possibly also the tribes by whom the American conti¬
nent was originally peopled.
The great valley of the Mississippi is a magnificent plain,
covered with primeval forests, or spreading in vast savan-
nahs; but a great portion of it is liable to periodical inun¬
dations from the river. At 100 miles from the sea its an¬
nual inundation has a breadth of from 80 to 100 miles ; and
even at the mouth of the Ohio, which is 1000 miles from
the sea, the inundating waters have the breadth of thirty
miles. This shows the extreme flatness of the soil. The
river has been extensively embanked, to rescue a portion
of the rich soil from these inundations; but, during the sea¬
son of the inundations, the greatest part of this extensive
plain is still abandoned to the alligator and other reptiles,
and to enormous herds of wild animals during the rest of
the year.
The banks of the Lower Missouri, for 2500 miles, pre¬
sent a succession of fertile plains beyond the reach of inun¬
dations. This district, which may be considered as a conti¬
nuation of the great valley of the Mississippi, exhibits an
agreeable intermixture of natural prairies and forests,
abounding in wild animals, which retreat before the rapidly-
advancing tide of human colonization.
These immense plains are probably destined to become
the abodes of a dense population, and perhaps the seat of a
mighty empire, subject to few of the natural vicissitudes
that impede the march of improvement, if we except the
contingent risk of some mighty convulsion, by which the
waters of the extensive fresh-water seas of Canada may be
permitted to overwhelm this extensive realm with a far more
formidable catastrophe than the deluge of Deucalion. Lake
Superior has a depth of about 600 feet, and its surface is
more than 300 feet above the level of the plains of the
Mississippi. Should earthquakes disrupt the intervening
barrier, the waters of that and the other great inland seas
would sweep these plains with a devastation quite unpa¬
ralleled in the history of our planet since the deluge of
Noah.
The interior of South America presents plains not less
extensive, the peculiarities of which have been sketched
with a masterly hand by Humboldt. The first may be term¬
ed the valley or plain of the Orinoco. It is bounded on the
north by the maritime ridge of Caraccas, on the south by
the forests of Guiana, and extends westward to the moun¬
tain chain of New Granada, the summits of which are lost
in perennial snow. It is a solitude of more than 20,000
square leagues.
The second is divided from the first by the mountain-arm
which the Andes sends eastward to separate the waters of the
Orinoco from those of the Marahon, an interrupted branch,
stretching from the towering ridges of Popayan, to the hum¬
bler granitic Sierra de Tumucuraque, on the confines of Gui¬
ana. The southern boundary of this second plateau consists
of the chains of Santa Cruz de la Sierra, of Chiquito, and
Cuyaba, which separate it from the plains of the Paraguay,
the Parana, and La Plata. The western boundary is the
cordillera of the Andes. This territory includes the llanos,
extended solitudes, with a scanty soil, destitute of trees,^
but covered with a luxuriant herbage, the consequence ot
the periodical inundations, which convert this portion of
South America into inland seas ; amidst the turbid waters
of which, as has been forcibly described by Humboldt, Physi
may be seen herds of wild cattle and of horses, swimming Geogr
from one gradually-diminishing island to another, in search "
of food, or escaping from the attacks of the jaguar, to become
the prey of the alligator, or perhaps to be stunned by the
strokes of the electric gymnotus. In the immense tract of
country included in this second division, are some detach¬
ed groups of mountains, indicated on the magnificent map
of Olmedilla ; but they are generally of inconsiderable ele¬
vation, and the face of the country may be considered as
one enormous plain, or succession of contiguous plains, lit¬
tle elevated above the general level.
The third system of great South American plains forms
the basins of the Paraguay and La Plata. This region in¬
cludes the vast pampas of Buenos Ayres, extending from
the foot of the eastern ridge of the Andes to the “ sea-like
Plata,” and stretching southward into the cheerless deserts
of Patagonia, presenting to the eye interminable plains,
with a surface often as unvaried as the ocean, inhabited
by vast herds of wild cattle and droves of horses; while
the tall form of the Rhea Americana, a species of ostrich,
frequently gives local peculiarity to the picture.
Besides the extensive plains already described, which Table
are either not much elevated above the sea, or rise by im-bnds.
perceptible degrees, there are other plains, with steep accli¬
vities on every side, which have thence been termed table¬
lands. Some of these are very extended, and retain a ge¬
neral level of several thousand feet above the sea. Some¬
times they are bordered with chains of mountains, much
less elevated on the side towards the table-land than in
the opposite direction; sometimes they have surfaces much
undulated or broken. There are few table-lands in Eu¬
rope of sufficient importance to be here noticed. The
most considerable is that of Central Spain, embracing the
two Castilles, which has a general elevation of nearly 2000
feet above the level of the sea. The barometer at Ma¬
drid has a mean height of about twenty-seven English
inches, which, supposing the instrument on the shores to
have a mean of thirty inches, would give to the capital of
Spain an elevation of about 1900 English feet. The thermo¬
meter in winter often descends below the freezing point;
and the chamerops and the agave, which flourish luxuriant¬
ly in the plains around the table-land, are unknown at that
elevation, though under the fortieth parallel of north latitude.
The descent from this table-land on all sides is steep ; and
the transition from the arid and almost treeless plains of
Castille, into the milder climate at the foot of the moun¬
tain ridges which support it, is marked by the vegetable
productions of a warmer latitude.
Our imperfect knowledge of Central Asia prevents any
accurate notion of the extent and form of these remote re¬
gions ; but there can be little doubt, that in this quarter there
is the most extensive table-land on the face of our globe.
The severity of the climate, the direction of the rivers
flowing from it on every side, and the scanty information
derived from Asiatic caravans, all indicate that there is a
prodigious central elevation, supported on the north by
the chain of the Altai, on the west by that of Belug tag,
on the south by the mountains of Thibet, and on the east
by the chain of Sialki, which divides the country of the
Mandshurs from their Tatar brethren of Mongolia, ihis
enormous tract, however, can scarcely be described as con¬
sisting of one table-land ; for it is intersected by the lofty
mountain ranges of Alaki and Mus Tag, which are cappe
with perennial snows, and it contains the vast, treeless,
sandy deserts of Gobi and Shamoo. .
The central plateau of Asia, from the severity of its cli¬
mate, is inferred by Humboldt to have an elevation o
not less than 9000 or 10,000 feet above the sea ; and this
region, including Thibet and the desert of Shamoo, is be¬
lieved to have a superficies of 1,500,000 square miles,
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 503
il According to the observations of Olivier, Persia should
}'y-likewise be considered as a table-land of great elevation.
/ Southern India affords an excellent instance of a table-land,
which includes the whole kingdom of Mysore. It stretches
from the banks of the Kistna on the north, and is support¬
ed by the steep acclivities of the Western, and of the less
abrupt Eastern Ghauts. The general elevation of this
region is about 3000 feet; but at its southern extremity it
abuts against a smaller though much loftier table-land, the
. district of the Neilgherry Hills, which, till lately, was al¬
most unknown to Europeans. A good account of it has
recently been published at Calcutta, by Dr Robert Baikie,
from which we learn that the district occupies an area of
600 or 700 square miles, between the eleventh and twelfth
degrees of north latitude, and the seventy-sixth and seven¬
ty-seventh degrees of east longitude. The general level of
its finely-undulated surface is between six and seven thou-
No.
sand feet above the sea. It is connected with the Mysore Physical
country by a neck of land about fifteen miles in width ; butGe0£raP,1v-
its northern flank towers above that kingdom by 3500 feet,
and it is separated from the subjacent plains of Malabar
and Coimbetore by an almost precipitous boundary 7000
feet in perpendicular altitude. The surface is fertile, the
climate mild and salubrious ; and there the invalid, suffer¬
ing from the baneful influence of a residence in the sultry
plains of India, finds a European climate. The barometer
varies from 22‘840 to 23*220; whilst the thermometer
throughout the year ranges from 73°*51 to 42°, and has a
mean of 52°*50. The quantity of rain is = 42*251 inches;
heavy rain falls on nineteen days, showers on eighty days,
and the clear days are 179 in the year.
The great similarity of this Indian table-land, in eleva¬
tion, in salubrity, and in climate, to the more extensive
table-land of Mexico in North America, is remarkable.
1.
in The Mexican plateau (No. 1) has also a general elevation of
e Ud. 7000 feet above the sea; it rises as abruptly as the Neilgherry
district, especially from Vera Cruz, and in a single day
the European may escape from the pestilential atmosphere
of the plains, to an elevation at which the black vomit
is unknown. The sea-coasts of Mexico are hot and un¬
healthy at certain seasons, and are known to the natives by
the name of Tierras Calientes, or burning regions, produ¬
cing the vegetable riches of the torrid zone. A single
day, from Vera Cruz, suffices to reach the height of 4000
feet, where there reigns, a perpetual spring; and this re¬
gion, termed Tierras Templadas, though often enveloped
in clouds and fogs, is healthy. On ascending to the height
of 7000 feet, the traveller gains the Tierras Frias of the
Mexicans, or great table-land, which has generally a mean
temperature of 63° Fahrenheit. It produces the cerealia
of Europe, and the vine and the olive flourish on its plains.
But its surface is varied by hills; and along its margins,
stupendous peaks, such as Orizaba, Popocateptl, and the
Sierra Nevada of Mexico, have their summits far above
the limits of perpetual snow. There are other plains in
Mexico which are more than 1000 feet above the general
level of the great plateau. Such is the plain of Toluca,
where the climate is severe, and the mean temperature so
low that the olive there refuses to ripen its fruit.
Several less extensive table-lands are included between
the two lofty parallel chains which constitute the Southern
Andes. Thus the plains of Quito and Riobamba are true
table-lands ; the general level of the first being 8000 feet
above the sea, and the city of Riobamba having an eleva¬
tion of 10,800 feet, so that it is probably the most elevated
city in the world.
1 Mountain chains and ranges of hills are separated by
valleys, which have obtained the names of ravines, dells,
defiles, or passes, when narrow and difficult of access. These
chiefly occur among lofty mountains, and sometimes pre¬
sent mural precipices of wonderful sublimity. Narrow val¬
leys often present a striking coincidence in the position
of the salient and receding angles of their opposite sides.
This has been well described, as observed in the Pyrenees,
by Ramond; and some geologists have considered it as a
proof that such valleys had been formed by the sudden dis¬
ruption of continuous strata.
In describing valleys, geologists likewise distinguish them
into different kinds, according to their respective relation
to the mountain ranges on which they occur. Princi¬
pal valleys are such as run parallel to and separate great
chains of mountains. Those w hich have a direction at
a considerable angle with the principal chain, separating
the branches or arms of the mountain chain, are termed
lateral valleys ; and the smaller ones, running into these
lateral arms, are denominated subordinate valleys. The la¬
teral open into the principal, and the subordinate into the
lateral valleys.
Sometimes we find a valley, consisting of a chain or suc¬
cession of basin-shaped cavities, at different levels, sepa¬
rated from each other by narrow gorges. Such appear¬
ances are not uncommon among all mountains; and seve¬
ral examples occur in our Highland glens, as in Glen Roy,
Glen Gluoy, and Glen Spean, where the fancied parallel
roads mark the successive heights at which the waters for¬
merly stood, until the rocky barriers which pent them up
were opened.
Sometimes a valley has a circular form, or is basin-shap¬
ed, and on all hands surrounded with mountains, excepting
at a narrow gorge, where the wraters of the valley make
their escape. Two of the most remarkable instances of
this are found in Bohemia and in Cashmere. The former
consists of a single circular valley, nearly 200 miles in dia¬
meter, which appears at one time to have been a vast
lake, until the formation of the defile in the Erzgebirge,
through which the Elbe escapes into Saxony. Cashmere
is a fertile valley of difficult approach, nearly circular, and
ninety miles in diameter, embraced by the arms of the
Himalaya Mountains. Native tradition represents it as a
lake, until one of the Hindu deities burst the rocky boun¬
dary, by the formation of the ravine through which the
Vidusta now pours its waters.
Some valleys contain large rivers and lakes, from which
there is no issue or outlet. Such valleys have not yet been
drained by the giving way of some point of their bounda¬
ries. Central Asia affords many instances of this species
of valley, as in the districts around the Koko-noi, the Loke-
nor, the lakes of Zaizan, Kirgha, and Palkati, and the Sea
of Aral. A very remarkable instance occurs amidst the
loftiest peaks of the Andes, in the valley which contains
the great lake of Titicaca, which the ancient Peruvians re¬
garded as sacred, the residence of the founder of their mo-
504 PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
'physical narchy, and which is sufficiently remarkable, by its extent.
—.and*e»yo^e8rrdmgrS.s ^ ^ F^oZxi^f Movement ? Such specu,ati„„s aided by-
^-"%i,L“Srex.Pen^ —
or t^Xr^uC^eYghtt rifing more or less abruptl lines of subterranean disturbances which have modifled the
ly from plains. We have seen that the direction of moun- tartiS s'urface, however consi-
cMrtonttadtoll.1SThus *7,principal ^nounmun. of En- miles in ^“^J^XaTa^e^ylSfsome
Xon of’thetreSesrexte™ ofrach of Aese divisions of idea of their effects on its general form, by considering, that
rection ot the gieatest extern oi eacu such inequalities on the surface of our earth produce no
th XhTdirection of peninsular chains is well seen in Nor- greater proportional deviation ^ XXoTatail
way, in the Apennines, in the mountains of the western “ ^"“^Xeler con“derable as the inequ "
side of Arabia, in the Ghauts °f Mia, and m e "j™" ,ities duced thc form of an orange by the papilla:
tains of Corea, Kamtschatka, and California. T e . . f ^ • i rp, i-}t3 0f mountains, however, exercise
tion of insular chains, as corresponding with the principal of ts rind The^heighteo^mou^ J ^ of
dimension of each island, is also illustrated in Ma agascar, P. g where t]iey occur ; and it becomes an important
Ceylon, Japan, Cuba, St Domingo, the British is e , - ^ physical geography to determine their respective
dinia, Sicily, and in many of the smaller islands. P. . , 1 qnqs has usually been attempted by two me-
If we endeavour to generalize the observations on he altitudes ^^/^suration, and by marking the
direction of mountain chains, one very lemarkab e pecu i barometrical columns on their summits
rity seems deducible, namely, that they very generally pre- d'^rence^of ^^p^ firgt is the most accurate when
sent their steepest acclivities towards the great basins to and at them t^ ^ moderate distance from the
which they are contiguous, while they slope more gr c u - ascertained, and when the measurements of the
ly in the opposite direction ; and on examining their inti- ^^^iCteken by expert operators, and with
mate structure, we find their stratified beds dipping gene g f • metricai instruments. The use of the baro-
rally from the basins to which their escarpments are pre- g iefonfined to accessible heights ; but it is much more
sented. Thus the ridges of the Scandinavian peninsula ^^Xunde^ and requires
present their boldest escarpments to the basin of the Is y attention t0 the true height of the baro-
ern Atlantic ; while the opposite ranges of G^enlan ical column corrected for the temperature of the instru-
Iceland also show their steepest acclivities towards tha . and of the ambient air. In variable climates, accu-
Round the shores of the Mediterranean the same arrange- ‘ id reauire synchronous observations at the foot
ments are especially observable. The lofty ridge of the be ascertained ; but in
Atlas is very bold on the northern side, and declines m e climates or even in the south of Europe, the baro-
gradually towards the Sahara. The chain of Spanish m u - P , ^aries throughout the year at the level of
tains which skirt the Mediterranean, from Gibraltar to e ^ gea and therefore sucl/measurements are more easily
Pyrenees, present their escarpments towards that sea, , h d f b th kinds 0f observation are suf-
^^0^^^^ ficiently detailed in panicles Baromeyrical Measure-
sent their most precipitous sides to the basin of the Me- ME^eggible bdghts have also been estimated by the fall
diterranean. We believe that the considerable chain w ic f t] thermometer on ascending. It has been found that,
in Asia Minor extends from Mount Ida to the country «f ^ an iceTof el maybe con-
around Scanderoon, has the escarpment directed tow arc s 1 eauivalent to a fall of 1° of Fahrenheit’s thermo-
the Levant seas; while the mountains of Armenia present sMered not answer so well either in
their boldest declivities to the basm of the Euxme, and the meter , put tms lurinuia
Caucasus and mountains of Mazanderan towards that of the ig ^ ™ ^ proposed to measure such elevations by
Caspian. The escarpment of the great cham of Afhca, It has a to been pu p^ ^ ^ ^ boils a( the base
termed that of Lupata, which seems to be prolonged from A convenient instrument for such ob-
the lofty mountains of Abyssinia to the south of the Mo- f invented by the Rev. F. Wollaston, but it is
zambique Channel, would appear, from the little we ave “ accidents in carriage ; and, on the whole, geologists
learned of its structure, to face the basin of the Indian t0 rigonometrical observa-
Ocean; and we know that the steepest declivities of the tiust either to paromeiriuu u >
Western Ghauts of India are directed towards the same ““^“sUofty mlZtes in general'form parts of ex-
basin. The mighty spine of the American continent, from I he most lolty “T™ = J instances of great ele-
the shores of the Arctic Frozen Ocean to the extremity of tensive chains; but there } instances of the
South America, through a course of more than 8600 British vations beilJgJJ ine > A] thePCarpathians, the Hima-
miles, presents a series of rugged precipices to the vast basin former are familiar in the Alp , h rp t()Wering sum-
Of the Pacific ; and, if we might indulge in one sweeping ^ an^Ae Ande^of^eMter, ^ ^
generalization, it would seem that the chains stretching _ ’ . . . , j i „v„tions are either active or
from“e Persian Gulf eastward through Thibet, and thence Islands. But such detached elevates are eitne
bending to the north-east through Mongolia and Northern exfnet volctmoes. the h(.ghts f
China to Tscheoutskoi-nos on the Frosen Ocean, present ^J^dtorto the regions in which they oc^r; and
any relation to the operation of the force which caused the timated height.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
505
jl Table of Heights of Mountains, §c.
Africa.
Abyssinia Mountains of Geesh 15,000 E.
Amid ,13,000 E.
Lamalmon 11,200 E.
Gondar  8,450 T.
Taranta  7,800 T.
Morocco Atlas, two peaks of. 11,400 T.
Abyla or Ape’s Hill  3,000? E.
Mountains near Fez 10,000? E.
South Africa. Chain of Lupata 12,000 E.
Niewveldt, Cape of Good Hope 10,000 E.
Kom, ditto  5,000 E.
Khamies, ditto  4,300 E.
Table Mountains, ditto  3,582 T.
Devil’s Head, ditto  3,315 T.
Lion’s Head, ditto  2,166 T.
African Islands ...TenerifFei the peak 12,236 B.
Trigo, Canaries  7,400 B.
Ruivo, Madeira  5,162 T.
Diana’s Peak, St Helena  2,692 T.
Gros Morne, Isle de Bourbon  9,600 B.
Volcano in ditto   7,680 B.
Bonnet Pointu, ditto  6,050 B.
South America.
Peru and Bolivia..Pico de Illimani, first peak 24,450 T.
Second peak of ditto 24,200 T.
Sorata 25,000 T.
Chimborazo   21,440 T.
Antisana, v 19,150 B.
Cotopaxi, v 18,890 B.
Tunguragua, v 16,579 B.
Pichincha, v 15,940 B.
Antiquipa, v 17,800 T.
Corazon 15,800 T.
Potosi 16,000 B.
Defile of Assuay 15,540 B.
Huancavelica 14,960 T.
Pass of Quindiu 11,500 B.
Lake of Titicaca. 12,000 B.
City of Rio Bamba 10,800 B.
City of Quito  9,356 T.
Columbia Nevado de Merida 16,420 T.
Nevado de Sta Martha 15,200 T.
Volcan de Duida  8,467 T.
Guadarrama  6,400 T.
City of Bogota de Sta Fe  8,650 T.
Mountains of Venezuela  5,000 E.
Guachano  5,250 B.
Silla de Caraccas  8,432 T.
Tumiriquiri  6,250 B.
North America.
Mexico Volcan de Popocateptl..  17,716 T.
Pico de Orizaba 17,371 T.
Nevado de Mexico 15,700 T.
Nevado de Toluca 15,159 T.
Coffre de Perote 13,514 T.
Cerro de Axusco 12,052 B.
Pico de Tancitaro 10,498 B.
Volcan de Colima  9,186 B.
Volcan de Jorullo  4,267 B.
City of Mexico  7,470 B.
City of Toluca  8,818 B.
CityofXalapa  4,333 B.
Guanaxuato mine  6,836 B.
Real del Monte mine  9,057 B.
Valenciana mine  7,637 B.
N orth-West Coast.Mount St Elias 12,672 T.
Mount Fair weather.  8,970 T.
Crillon  5,440 T.
Last Greenland....Blaaserk  6,000 T.
Werner Mountains, east coast  6,000 T.
Coast from 70° 33' to 71° 12'.  3,000 T.
Church Mountain  2,967 T.
Double Mount  3,444 T.
Roscoe Mountains  3,690 T.
Cape Brewster  4,000 T.
Raffles’s Island  2,000 T.
TT . ,, Trai11 Island  1,300 T.
ni ea States White Mountains, Massachusetts.... 6,230 B.
Kaatskill, New York  3,454 B.
VOL. XVII.
Killington, Vermont '.  3,450 B. Physical
Ridge of Alleghany  3,000 B. Geography.
Apalachian Peak  2,700 B.
Asia.
South Sea Islands.Ophir, Sumatra 13,842 T.
Volcano in ditto 12,465 T.
Egmont, New Zealand 11,433 T.
Volcano, Isle de Bourbon  7,680 T.
Parmesan, Banka 10,050 T.
Jesso, Isle of Jesso    7,680 T.
Quilpaert    6,400 E.
Mountain in Behring’s Isle  6,000 E.
Mouna Kaah, Sandwich Islands 18,400 E.
Mouna Roa, ditto 16,020 T.
Himalaya Dhawala-giri 26,862 T.
Jamautri 25,500 T.
Dhaibun 24,740 T.
Twenty.seven other peaks raised froml5,700 T.
to...25,669 T.
Nitee Ghaut 16,814 T.
Temple of Kedar Nath 12,000 T.
llubet, &c Soomoonang, Bootan 14,500 T.
Ghassa, ditto 13,030 T.
Chumularee, Thibet 11,960 T.
Hindustan Western Ghauts  3,500 E,.
Town of Ootacamund, Neilgherries.. 7,416 B.
Dodabetta, ditto  8,760 T.
Morkoortee Peak, ditto  8,402 T.
Kodanad  6,815 T.
 Petcha, Chinese Tartary 15,000 E.
Sochondo, ditto 12,800 E.
Mountains of Corea  4,480 T.
Asiatic Russia Italitzkoi, Altai 10,735 T.
Torgonskoi, ditto 10,700 T.
Katunayaiskoi, ditto. 10,650 T.
Awatscha, Kamtschatka  9,600 T.
Sludina  7,722 T.
Tangai, Ural  4,912 T.
Kyria, ditto..7.  3,015 T.
Western Asia Olympus, Asiatic  6,500 T.
Ida  4,960 T.
Ararat  9,500 T.
Lebanon  9,520 T.
Gargara  4,960 T.
Carmel  2,000 E.
Sinai  5,000 E.
Elburz in the Caucasus 18,500 T.
Demavend, in Mazanderan 14,700 B.
Iceland 
Norway. 
Sweden 
Hanover....
Bohemia 
Silesia 
Switzerland
Europe.
..Snaefell  6,860 T.
Hekla  4,900 T.
Solheima Ydkul  5,500 T.
Oraefa Ybkul  6,240 T.
Akkrefell  2,000 E.
Hialtadals Ybkul    2,000 E.
.Sneehattan  8,115 B.
Dovrefeldt Range  4,875 B.
Pass of Jerkin, Dovrefeldt  4,563 B.
Vorrie, Kiolen, Duder Mountains.... 3,620 B.
Akka-Solki, Talvig, ditto  3,392 B.
Sulitelma  5,910
Areskutan, Jemptland  6,180 B.
Sylfioellen  4,020 B.
Taberg  420 T.
.Brocken, Hartz  3,690 T.
Bruchberg   2,800
.Ochsenkopf, Fichtelgebirge  3,980 T.
Summit of Erzgebirge  3,781 T.
Donnersberg, Mittlegebirge  2,562 T.
.Grosse Rader  4,972 T.
Schneekopf, Riesengebirge  4,950 T.
Tafelfichte, Riesengebirge  3,781 T.
Zobtenberg  2,885 T.
.Mont Blanc 15,781 T.
Mont Rosa 15,555 T.
Jungfrauhorn 13,720 T.
Schreckhorn 13,397 T.
Furca 14,040 T.
Finsteraarhorn 14,116 T.
L’Alle Blanche 14,775 B.
Nager Horn 12,217
Breithorn 12,800
3 s
506
Physical
Geography.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Tyrol.
Austria..
Scotland.
Hungary.
Greece...
Italv.
Spain.
Pyrenees.
France.
  !i’4ro
Mont Cenis t
Little St Bernard  i'
StGothardPa.5  W
  K 1 Pi A "R
IIoTpiceforeat St Bernard  8,040 B.
Hospice, St Gothard  6,817 B-
..Ortler-Spitze !o
Glockner  111
Hohen war tshdhe  11,070
Orteles !n’n^o
Muschelhorn w
Brenner  MG3 •
   6,5oo B.
CEtscher  5,990 B.
Wechsels, Styria  5,352 B.
Kasberg  ti*
Gross Kogl, Carinthia  9,700 B.
...Lomnitz, Peak of Carpathians  8,640 1.
Peak of Kesmark    8,540 I.
Gold-mine of Krivan  8,343 1.
   ^nn
Pindus  7,000 E.
Athos    5’nnn V
Albanian Mountains  4,000 B.
Peloponnesian ditto  1,200 E.
....jEtna, Sicily T.
Le Gran Sasso 
Monte Yelino, Naples  8,397 1*
Monte Chimone  6’4«i -r'
Monte de St Angelo, Lipari  5,260 1.
Vesuvius  3,97« •
Soracte    *
Porto Fino, Apennines  x-
 Gibraltar   
Mulahacen, Sierra Nevada Il,b7>> r.
Pico de Veleta, ditto 11,398 i.
Sierra Morena  3,^nA ’w"
Guadarrama  8,500 E.
Montserrat .p
 Mont Perdu 1^83 1.
Maladetta ^6,857 T.
Le Pic Blanc t’
Canigou....  9,290 T.
Pic d’Abnzon 
 Louceira, dept. Hautes Alpes 1.
Loupilon, ditto.   14,144 P.
Malvern  1,414 T. Phyg
Pillar, Cumberland  2,893 T. Geogif w
Stowhill, Hereford  1,417 T. s—^ ;
Wrekin  1,320 T.
Snowdon  3,571 T.
Carnedd, Dafydd  3,427
Carnedd, Llewellyn  3,467
Cader Idris  2,914
Arran Fowddy, Merioneth  2,969
Arrenig  2,809
Caermarthen Van  2,596
Cradle Mountain, Brecon  2,545
Plinlimmon  2,463
Radnor Forest  2,163
Llandian  1,898
Llangeinor  1,859
MoelFammau  1,845
Tregarron Down  1,747
Wenmaen Maur  1,540
..Ben Macdui  4,418 T.
Ben Nevis  4,358 T.
Cairngorm    4,050
Ben We vis  3,720
Ben Lawers  3,944
Bein More, Assynt  3,903
Ben More, Perthshire  3,818
Ben    3,651
Schehallien  3,613
Bein Deirg  3,550
Ben Gloe  3,724
Ben Ferkinich  3,482
Scairsoch, Aberdeenshire.....  3,400
Ben Aan    3,301
Ben Gurdy  3,364
Cruachan  3,390
Mount Battock, Mearns  3,450
BenVoirlich  3,270
Ben Lomond  3,191
Stuichachrone  3,171
Bein Dearg  3,550
Ben Venue  3,000 E.
Bedinam-brawn  3,150
Goatfell, Arran  2,945 T.
Pap of Jura  2,470
Cobbler   2>8j>3
Hartfell  2,635
Black Larg, Ayrshire  2,890
Tintock    2,306
Lowther Hill  2,522
Eilden Hills  I’38® p
Dollarburn, Peebles    2,840 E.
Broad Law, ditto  2,800
Leadhills, house  ^
Caernethan, Edinburghshire  1J88 1
Arthur Seat, Edinburgh  810 1,
^uupiiuu,      11 838 T. Arthur Seat, Edinburgh  **
a SS'noS Zil :::::: 10,505 x. Main Macgimcudd/s b^s s.™
^ t.  X
England.
Pic d’Autane, ditto  „
Mont d’Or, Auvergne  6,707 4-
Puy de Cantal, ditto  6,355 1.
Puy de Sausi, ditto  rf’
Puy de Dome  4 „a
Puy de Cleirsou, ditto  4,280 I.
Puy de Saudoire, ditto    3,980 I.
Del, Juva  5 412 B.
■ Helvelyn  5,0»| T.
Saddleback  2,78 > T.
Crossfell  2,901 T.
Grassmerefell  2,755 1.
Cheviots   2,658 T.
Bowfell  2,911 T.
Conistonfell   2,577 £•
Croagh-Patrick, Mayo  2,666
Morne Hills, Down  2,500
Croaghan, Kinshelly  ^850
From this table it appears that the loftiest pinnacles of
our earth are to be found in the Himalaya range.^ Sorae o
them attain an elevation a mile higher than Chimborazo,
which was long regarded as the loftiest mountain on ^ e
globe. Of late years our countryman Mr Pent land nas
measured several mountains in Upper Peru, especially near
the Lake of Titicaca, much higher than Chimborazo; ana
Sorata, one of these, is only surpassed by a few pea s
in the great Indian chain. Although those who first ar-
   tempted to measure the summits of the Himalaya appe _
Ingleborough  2,361 T. have exaggerated their real altitude, succeeding obser
Hedgehope, Northumberland  2,347 T. jiave sh0wn that we must consider that range as the m
" °0 ‘ ^ elevated on the globe, and the peak of Dhawala-gm as the
Whernside     2,334 T.
Highpike  2,101 1.
Sneafell, Isle of Man  2,004 T.
Camfell, York  2,245 T.
Holmemoss, Derby  1,859 T.
Brown-Cleehill, Salop  1,805 T.
Axe Edge, Derby    1,751 T.
Dundry Hill, Somerset  1,668 1.
sovereign of mountains. , ,, ^ 0 iiqvP
Human habitations, and even considerable towns,
been erected in very elevated stations on mountain c r •
Dr Gerard states, that in the valley of Sulei, m tne
malaya Mountains, there is a village at the enormou
vation of 14,700 feet above the sea, and that rye is
,•< mit T- 1 pm T vation ot 14<,7UU leet aoove me bea, f j
Sm™ I’los % vated as high asll,900 feet. Several traveUers have to
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
•al the revered temple of Kedar-Nath to be elevated not less
thy. than 12,000 feet. America presents some extraordinary
i*—' examples of the same kind.
The mines of Potosi = 16,080 feet.
Town of Potosi = 13,350 ...
Shepherds’ huts on Antisana = 13,200 ...
Lake and plain of Titicaca  = 12,700 ...
City of Riobamba = 10,800 ...
City of Quito  =: 9,356 ...
City of Toluca, Mexico  = 8,818 ...
City of Mexico  = 7,470 ...
1 In Europe we have the following.
Hospice de St Gothai'd = 6,790 ...
Director’s house at Leadhills, the 1 _ j
highest habitation in Britain... J ’
Sect. IV.— General Arrangement of the Solid Materials
of the Globe.
A particular description of the solid materials of our earth
has been given under the articles Geology and Mineral¬
ogy ; but it is our business to present here a brief statement
of their general distribution.
Persons unaccustomed to examine the structure of the
crust of our earth are apt to imagine that mineral masses
present but a confused congeries of stony matter, without
any order or particular arrangement. Nothing, however, can
be more erroneous. Wherever water-courses, artificial ex¬
cavations, or abrupt precipices, expose the structure of the
crust of the earth, we find very striking appearances of the
agency of causes which must have acted with great unifor¬
mity over vast portions of its surface, and which have pro¬
duced a general resemblance between the structure of coun¬
tries widely distant from each other. A large portion of
the solid materials is arranged in beds, varying in extent
and thickness, but everywhere indicating the operation of
one common agent. These beds are sometimes slightly co¬
herent, as when composed of clay or sand; at other times
they are consolidated stony bodies, arranged in parallel
layers, which are often subdivided into thinner portions by
seams or joints, and preserve their parallelism for a great
extent, whether their position be horizontal, or at different
degrees of inclination. Such beds are termed strata, and
the general fact is expressed by the term stratification.
Sometimes we find a succession of strata of the same rock
in juxtaposition ; at other times there are strata of different
substances interposed or alternating with the principal rock.
The position of strata in plains is generally but little inclin¬
ed towards the horizon; but as we ascend mountains, the
strata are usually inclined, sometimes nearly, or even abso¬
lutely vertical. When a mountain, or a chain of mountains,
is lofty, it is not unusual to find the strata inclined from
the centre or axis of the chain towards either hand (No. 2) ;
No. 2.
and in such cases we generally find the strata reposing on a
different kind of rock, which has no appearance of having
a seamed or stratified structure. Such rocks may also oc¬
cur in plains; they have frequently a granular or crystal¬
line structure, and form an important class of stony bodies.
Hence the distribution of rocks into two great divisions,
the stratified and unstratified. Both divisions present in¬
stances of rocks which either appear simple or homogeneous
to the eye, or consist of stony bodies, which are evidently
composed of two or more materials. Instances of the one
507
occur in clay-slate, limestone, quartz-rock, and basalt; of Physical
the other in mica-slate, gneiss, granite, and porphyry. Thepeo^raPhy>
visible axis of a mountain chain is very often some species ^ " v
of unstratified rock, and stratified materials usually form its
flanks. In other instances no unstratified material is visi¬
ble at the axis, as far as we can trace the structure of a
mountain. But whenever the mountain is much elevated, or
No. 3.
steep, and its sides ploughed by torrents, it is very rare not
to find some un stratified material as the nucleus upon which
the inclined strata rest (No. 3, g'). We are not, however, to
assume, that in the order of superposition the stratified ma¬
terials are invariably above the unstratified. Though this
holds good in a great number of cases, we frequently observe
vast masses of unstratified rock directly resting upon regular
strata (No. 3, t). In some cases we are able to show such ir¬
regular masses connected with other similar materials much
lower in the series of rocks, by one or more lines of commu¬
nication penetrating the strata, which, according to their
shape and size, have obtained the name of veins or dykes.
Instances of this occur frequently in mountains into the com¬
position of which trap-rocks enter (No. 4).
No. 4.
There are, however, other kinds of veins which we cannot
so readily trace to larger masses of mineral substances. The
most familiar instances of such occur in metallic veins (No. 5).
They may often be observed penetrating both stratified and
unstratified matter, in the greatest diversity of forms and
directions ; sometimes in very minute threads, expanding to
the dimensions of many feet, or even yards, and repeatedly
contracting again to the thickness of a fraction of an inch.
No. 5.
Sometimes mineral bodies form irregular masses entirely en¬
closed in the rocks in which they occur, varying in weight
from a few grains to many tons, without any perceptible
trace of the mode by which they were so introduced. Oc¬
casionally long fissures occur, which are not filled up by
any solid material; sometimes also cavities are left in the
more solid species of rocks, the sides of which are lined with
crystalline bodies of various kinds. Sometimes these fis¬
sures and cavities are of enormous extent, forming vast ca¬
verns in the bowels of the earth, which are either empty or
filled with water. Instances of these on the great scale oc-
508
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Basis of
Geology.
Physical cur in the limestone strata of many countries, especially of
Geography. Carniola and North America ; and on a less scale in France,
Germany, and in our own island. The cavern of Adels-
berg, in Carniola, extending to three leagues in its various
ramifications, and containing a subterranean lake and i iver,
affords an example of the extent of caverns in limestone
rocks ; and the no less remarkable Mammoth Cave of Ken¬
tucky, which has been traced to the extent of nine or ten
miles, is an American example of the same formation. Al¬
most every extensive cavern of Europe is also in limestone,
as the interesting ossiferous caves of Gailenreuth and Ku-
loch, in Franconia; of Bize, Somieres, and Racogne, in
France; the Kirkdale Cave, and the caverns of the Craven
and Mendip Hills, in England; but the fine stalactitic cave
of the Isle of Skye is in sandstone. We do not recollect any
considerable caverns found in other rocks, excepting one in
the schist of the island of Thermiae in the Archipelago,
and the vast Icelandic cavern of Surtshellir, in a current of
lava which had flowed from the Bald Yokul. This last ca¬
vern, as described by Henderson, is nearly a mile in length,
and appears to have been formed in the flowing lava by the
disengagement of gaseous matters ; as it has all the appear¬
ance of being the consequence of an enormous air-bubble,
having its arched roof ornamented with coralliform piojec-
tions of black slag. Perhaps we may also give as an excep¬
tion the small but remarkable columnar cave at Staffa, which
is in trap-rock.
Such is the general structure of the solid crust of our
earth. But when we examine the rocks more minutely,
we find other striking peculiarities belonging to each, which,
besides the order of their superposition, mark different eras
in their formation.
The regularity of the lines dividing stratified rocks early
suggested the idea of their deposition from water ; and this
was rendered still more apparent when observers began to
remark that the remains of organic beings were often in¬
cluded in them. Plants, shells, and corallines were first
noticed as entering into the composition of rocks ; and next
the remains of fishes, and of other vertebrate animals, were
distinctly recognized. Some organic remains were observed
to pervade limestone rocks at great depths in the earth, and
upon very high mountains ; and remains ot plants, and even
stems of trees, were found fossilized, or converted into stone,
in the strata of the coal formation. Some remains of
marine genera of animals were detected in slaty strata
which do not belong to either of these two kinds of rocks ;
and, lastly, the remains of quadrupeds were recognised in
the sandy marl and gypseous deposits which in some coun¬
tries lie immediately below the soil, or were imbedded in
sedimentary matter in the floors of caverns in various parts
of the world. In most instances there is an alternation of
marine and fresh-water organic remains; and the genei al
fact appears to be, that the fresh-water shells are most nu¬
merous in the upper beds, and those of marine origin in the
subordinate strata of the low country, while the former
seldom attain any considerable height on mountains; but
the marine animal remains are found on the summits of
ridges as lofty as the Pyrenees.
Minute examination of the organic remains collected from
different strata have established the fact, that compara¬
tively but few of the fossil animals are of the same species
with those of the same families now living ; and we can¬
not doubt that whole genera and orders have disappeared
from the face of the earth. It is only in the upper deposits
that any species identical with those now existing have been
detected. Where the organic bodies are completely fossil¬
ized, very few if any living species can be recognised, and
generally the recent species most nearly allied to the fossils
are now no longer to be found in the adjacent seas 01 le¬
gions. Thus the fossil-shells and corallines of northern
countries, in both continents, liave their congeneis (when
such are known) generally in tropical climates; and the Pkqll
fossil-trees of the British coal-fields have a greater affinity Geogt .J!
to the tree-ferns and cyacadere of southern regions, than to'>“^ ' '
any sort of European vegetation.
These circumstances are too remarkable not to have sug¬
gested theoretical speculations. Accordingly, geology has
long been conversant w ith sublime, but hasty, and some¬
times unwarranted generalizations ; and though she is still
remote from the period when a lasting theory shall safely
and satisfactorily embrace the explanation of observed phe¬
nomena, yet she has begun to assume a more philosophical
aspect. Facts are rapidly accumulating, and the deductions
of ingenious men, applying the science of number and cal¬
culation to this interesting study, have already established
a basis on which future observers may erect a philosophical
theory of the earth.
The crystalline arrangements of the particles of a consi¬
derable portion of the solid materials of the earth’s crust,
indicate, beyond doubt, that the particles have been once
in a state of such freedom of movement as to assume a
determinate order, that is, in a certain degree of fluidity;
and hence the geologist assumes that such minerals must
have either been softened, or melted by heat, or have been
suspended in a fluid medium. The phenomena of stratifi¬
cation, and the incorporation of organized bodies in dif¬
ferent rocks, are not less certain indications that a large
portion of stony matter has obtained its present form by sub¬
sidence from water ; and this constitutes the grand basis of
geological reasoning. The second link in the chain, the re¬
lative age of the different strata, is derived from the order
of their succession. As the strata bear the marks of depo¬
sition from water, it is obvious that the lowest in the series
must have been the first deposited, and the upper beds the
most recent formations. No such chronological data are
afforded by the unstratified rocks, though their relations to
stratified materials afford just inferences respecting their
true era; but it is from the examination of the strata of
any country that we can arrive at a just conception of its
geological history.
Relative geological age, then, is to be sought by a care-Geolo; l
ful examination of the superposition of the strata; and as epoch
the observation of organic remains has shown a succession of
living forms to be peculiar to each series of rocks, the know¬
ledge of such remains forms an important feature in modern
geology. Certain fossils are peculiar to certain formations,
and wre are sometimes able to identify particular rock forma¬
tions by their included organized remains. It is on such a
basis that the most generally received classification of strata
has been established; and geologists now usually divide them
into three great classes, the primary, secondary, and tertiary.
The primary strata are such as do not include any organic Prima
bodies. They are the lowest in the series of strata, and are strata,
found to repose on crystalline unstratified rocks, generally
on granite, which, as far as we have penetrated the crust,
has the appearance of being the general fundamental rock.
The name primitive was originally given to these rocks be¬
cause they were supposed to have been deposited before the
creation of organized bodies; but this involves a hypothesis
which we cannot prove, as the disappearance of organic re¬
mains may be owing to the cause which crystallized such
rocks. The term, however, as indicative of the oldest strata,
is convenient, although the theory which suggested it may
be exploded. . „ 1 v
The secondary strata are generally less crystalline in st™c‘gbteratil
ture, and in their lower beds the organic remains are tew,
being chiefly marine productions; but these increase m
number and variety in the upper beds, which may be said
to end with the chalk formation. The organized bodies are
chiefly marine productions, as zoophyta, Crustacea, she! s,
fishes ; sometimes reptiles, amphibia, and plants are also
found in secondary strata. During the deposition ot tne
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
cal
|,phy
secondary strata the land appears to have been gradually
rising above the level of the waters which once covered it;
and during the same period there are marks of more sud¬
den changes or disturbances among them, which are most
probably to be accounted for by the forcible irruption of
ignigenous rocks from the bowels of the earth. The land ap¬
pears to have attained extensive elevations above the waters
after the deposition of the cretaceous formation, the newest
of the secondary rocks ; and another system of deposits now
begins to be developed. Stratified rocks appear now also to
have been formed by deposition from fresh water, as is prov¬
ed by the abundant remains of animals inhabiting that ele¬
ment ; and this is one characteristic of the tertiary strata.
It is true, that in the coal-fields of the secondary rocks, we
occasionally find alternations of sea and fresh water ani¬
mals; which may be explained by such formations having
taken place in extensive estuaries, into which rivers have
flowed. But the decided alternations of fresh and salt wa¬
ter deposits are peculiarly characteristic of the tertiary pe¬
riod ; and this, with the limitation of such formations to par¬
ticular basins or circumscribed hollows, enables us to recog¬
nise them. Some of the best recognised of these beds are the
Paris Basin, the London Basin (No. 6), and that of the Isle
509
of Wight and the opposite coast of Hampshire. Tertiary
beds appear to be entirely wanting in Scotland and in Ire¬
land ; but they occur in Germany, in Spain, in Italy, and
in different parts of Asia and America. In the upper strata
of the tertiary period we find many shells similar to living
animals in the adjacent seas ; and bones of extinct mam¬
malia also occur among their beds. Sometimes the remains
belong to genera of which no species now exists; at other
times to genera of which we still possess living types.
M. Deshayes has attempted to ascertain the dates of ter¬
tiary deposits by the number of living species they contain,
considering that which contains the greatest number of ex¬
isting species the most recent. He distinguishes three ter¬
tiary epochs. The most ancient is that of the Paris, London,
and Hampshire Basins, in which he finds 3-5 per cent, of
living shells, corresponding to the Eocene deposits of Mr
Lyell. The middle group includes the basins of the south¬
west of France, of Baden, Vienna, Hungary, and Moravia.
Among these he found 15-2 per cent, of living shells; and
this corresponds to Lyell’s Miocene period. The most re¬
cent strata include the tertiary beds of Italy, Sicily, Spain,
of the south-east of France, the Morea, and the crag for¬
mation of England. In it he detected 45*4 per cent, of liv¬
ing shells; and it corresponds to the Pliocene formation of
Mr Lyell.
Besides these great formations, there are local deposits of
more limited extent, which we may slightly notice. 1. The
formations at present going on, or elevated within historical
periods, by earthquakes and volcanic agency from the bed
of the sea, and added to the dry land. 2. Lacustrine de¬
posits, now forming the rock called travertino, or giving rise
to marly sediments. This last deposit, at Big-bone-Lick,
m Kentucky, contains bones of the mastodon and other
mammalia, with fresh-water shells; and at Market Weigh ton,
in Yorkshire, the bones of the elephant, with those of the
lion and the wolf. 3. The incrustations of calcareous mat¬
ters cementing fragments of other rocks, as in the nagelfluhe
m the Germans ; or including bones of living species, which
lave fallen or have been washed into caves and fissures.
• Superficial deposits of gravel and sand, evidently the pro-
uce of rivers or of floods, which sometimes contain bones
of elephants, the rhinoceros, &c., and are distinguished by Physical
the name of diluvian. 5. Erratic blocks of different rocks Geography
which have been removed from their original beds, andv"—''
scattered over extensive tracts. The most remarkable in¬
stances of this transportation are the profusion of large
blocks of the zircon syenite of Norway, scattered over all the
north of Germany, to the very foot of the Jura chain; of
the granites of the Alps on the summit of the Jura, and
beyond it into France; and of the granite of Shap Fell, over
the intervening mountains, into Lancashire and Yorkshire.
6. The deposits formed by volcanoes at present in activity,
consisting either of ashes, mud, or lava; to which we may
add the obsidian, pumice beds, trachyte, and basalts of ex¬
tinct volcanoes. The best characterized and most remarkable
of the former are the ashes which have buried Pompeii, the
mud eruptions of Funguragua in 1797, the enormous lava
streams of the Skaptar Ydkul in 1783, and of Vesuvius and of
Aitna at numerous periods : of the latter, we have examples
in the obsidian of Lipari, Ascension Island, and Teneriffe ;
in the pumice beds of Lipari and of Auvergne ; in the tra¬
chytes of the latter country, of Germany, and Italy ; and in
the basalts of almost every region.
The general opinion now entertained by geologists is, Stratified
that the stratified materials of the earth’s crust have beenrocks.
horizontally deposited from water at different eras, but that
the unstratified rocks have been produced by the action of
a high temperature. The consolidation of the older strata
is supposed to have been accomplished by heat, produced
either by internal changes among the elements of which
they consist, or derived from a source of heat deep seated
in the earth. The less crystalline state of the secondary
strata, with the more perfect preservation of the forms of
these organic remains, are ascribed to their having been
subjected to a less intense temperature; while the still more
earthy texture of the beds, and less altered nature of the
organic bodies among tertiary strata, are ascribed, with seem¬
ing justice, to the still less heat they have experienced. The
loose beds of clay and sand appear to have been deposited
when the crust of our earth was cooled dow n to its present
state.
The unstratified rocks are now generally allowed to be of Unstrati-
igneous origin, and believed to have been introduced intofied rocks,
their present situations after the deposition of the greater
part of the stratified materials. These are believed to have
been liquefied by heat in the bowels of the earth, and forced
upwards by the expansion of elastic matter, either in a soft¬
ened state, or, in some instances, after they had been melted
and again consolidated. In this view, granite, which so of¬
ten forms the nucleus of mountains, and the lowest basis
we can discover of other rocks, is supposed to have been
acted on by heat, and slowly cooled after it had been ele¬
vated by the agent which liquefied it. This elevation is con¬
sidered as having produced the fractures, dislocations, and
elevations of the stratified rocks ; and the heat of the melted
material, thus introduced, is believed by most geologists to
be the cause of the crystalline state of the older strata which
rest on it. In some instances the elevating force has tilted
the strata to an absolutely vertical position; at other times it
has carried up detached portions of the strata, and separated
them from the principal bed, or even inverted the order of
their superposition in considerable masses (No. 7). The in¬
jection of the fluid matter of granite between some of the
strata, has given rise to the rare appearance of beds of this
510
Physical material; and when the force applied has rent or fissured
Geography. the different strata, some of the liquefied matter has formed
  ' granitic veins, penetrating the stratified matter in different
diriWrocks, in like manner, are now generally considered
as the immediate progeny of fire. They are occasiona y
found as interposed beds, or sometimes alternate with other
matter, in distinct but thick beds, though not exhibiting the
seams of true stratification. Most geologists regard sue
annearances as the consequence of subaqueous volcanic
eruptions, in which liquid matter had flowed out of craters,
spread over the adjacent strata, and been covered by aque¬
ous depositions; after which a repetition of the same pro-
cess may have given rise to such alternations, ihe more
ordinary appearance of trap-rocks, especially of greenstone
and basalt, is either in the form of veins penetrating strati¬
fied rocks, or as forming mountain caps, or huge beds su¬
perimposed on secondary, or sometimes on tertiary strata.
Familiar instances of these veins occur in all coal-fields, more
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
which border the southern side of the valley of Chamouni, Physk |
a vast torrent of liquid mud, bearing before it woods and^ograi fcr
vast masses of rock, proved the influence which dammed-
up water had in the catastrophe. The fall of the moun¬
tain of Chiavenna, which in 1618 buried the town of Fleurs
and all its inhabitants, appears to have been produced by
water insinuating itself among the shaly stiata which un¬
derlie the limestone beds in the Italian Alps.. Among
lofty mountains, another cause of disintegration is perpetu-
allv at work. The accumulation of snow, and the forma¬
tion of glaciers on their steep acclivities, where there is a
considerable difference between the summer and winter
temperature of the climate, is a powerful cause of the de¬
gradation of these elevations. Ihe fall of the thundering
avalanche, and the movements of the increasing glacier, from
its own weight, detach vast masses of rocks, and hurl them
into the valleys below. Even the action of minute particles
of sand, moved by the winds for a succession of ages, is ca¬
pable of wearing the hardest stones. Thus the polished
Familiar instances of these veins occur in all ^ great prob,
the former, biUt* attributed to the perpe^
affords a&good example of a mountain capped by trap lepos
dlU B , , Praia, nf a vast be(
affords a goon examuieui a —rr .— j ^ , % ,
ing on sandstone strata; and Salisbury Craig, of a vast bed
P  i • — .v efrata nVn. KY 1 he chalk
ing on sanuscone suduj., anu j ~
of greenstone overlying the same strata (No. 8). 1 he chalk
n a . •   como vnannpr r.overed.
ot greenstone ovenying tuc y
of Antrim is in the same manner covered by greenstone
and basalt; and the tertiary strata of Auvergne are often
. , , , t ianio-pnmiS rOCkS.
and basalt; ana me leiuaiy , a
concealed by beds of trachyte or other igmgenous rocks
No. 8.
Dlllty, atuiuuteu lu bin- —  . 1 j i c
over the rock; and we have in our possession nodules of
Egyptian iasper, the exterior of which has been worn into
smooth and deep channels, apparently by the long-continued
action of the sands of the desert of Nitria on the surface of.
this hard mineral. .
The heavier detritus of mountains is accumulated at their
bases; but land-floods often convey large blocks of stone
to astonishing distances. The finer particles are swept !)}
rivers to the ocean. Humboldt has pointed out how the
Gulf of Mexico is rapidly filling up by the sedimentary
deposits from the waters of the Mississippi and other rivers
which fall into that inland sea. The turbid waters of the
Orinoco and the Marahon discolour the ocean to the dis¬
tance of 300 miles from their mouths ; and there can be no
doubt that the formation of the flat land of Guiana, now
about 100 miles in width, from the most eastern ridge of
hills, is principally the alluvial deposition of these .mighty
rivers. The waters of the Ganges, at the highest inunda¬
tion, are stated by Ilennell to contain an enormous quantity
of sedimentary matter ; and we can hence conceive how
J n .t tt   i  4.V./-V ✓xfVwnY' Lrnnr'nPS. hcLVG
Action of
the ele¬
ments.
The movements which produced these changes are be- ^^^^^/ofthe Hoogly, and the other branches, have
lieved to be comparatively of considerable antiquity, that is, J1 formed, and how the Bay of Bengal may,
before the records of history ; but there are some causes, be ^aterially altered in its depth. An-
in operation at the present day, which may affect the sta- p instance of the effect of rivers in silting up a
bility of those more ancient arrangements, and which there- °th ^ ^ to be observed in the Gulf of Leaotong, or
fore we must now briefly consider. of the yellow Sea, into which a great part ot the
, , cw f detritus of Northern China is deposited by its numerous
Sect. V'—Circumstances affecting the present Order of } rivers, and by the effects of the strong currents m that
Geological Phenomena. inland sea. Staunton has calculated that the Yellow i
i • i olrmp dkrharees into the Yellow Sea more than 4,t)UU,
These may be considered as four: Atmosphenca! action; So{ earthy matter every hour. The matter car-
the effect of the waters of the ocean and of floods , disturb- down b the Nilye and the Po is well known to affect
ances occasioned by earthquakes ; and the influence o v - ^ extent aad deepness of the adjacent seas ; and the dis-
canoes. . , , x ^ ..A t„nrp 0f Ravenna from the present shores of the Mechte -
1. Atmospherical action is slow, but constant. The uni e " ^ (between three and four miles) proves how a corn-
influences of winds and rams serve to form detritus, by w hi ^ gmall river like the Montone, pouring its sechmem
the higher portions of the earths surface are gradually lo - P J j altered the situation of a port, where,
ered, and the materials thus abraded carried by streams and if ^ ^^^^0^ empire, the Roman fleets
rivers to the sea. The consequence must be, a very gra- m the aDes eve ^ ^ ^ tn thp sunnosihon
dual change in the relative level of the land and the ocean.
The abrasion of mountains by torrents and impetuous ri¬
vers produces deposits of gravel, sand, and mud in plains
at their feet. These effects are increased by the sudden
bursting of water long pent up in the bowels of a moun¬
tain, or dammed up in an alpine lake ; thus giving rise to
the phenomena which are termed debacles. Instances of the
fall of mountains have been frequently afforded in the Alps
and other lofty mountains. The fall of the Rossberg was
foretold by General Pfeffer, several years before it happen¬
ed, from the existence of enormous collections of water in
its bowels; and in the recent fall of one ot the Aiguilles,
01 the lower empire, uic
used to anchor. These facts would lead to the supposihon
that the land was gaining upon the sea; but “
circumstances which are at least equivalent to thi^“g
The natural consequence, as was well pointed o )
fair in his Illustrations of the Huttoman
viously noticed by Manffedi, must be to elevate the |
of the ocean, by the deposits of detritus m s bed.^^.
rise is most conspicuous in inland seas. Thu ,
ern side of Italy, the rums of the palace of TAenus ^
pra: are now wholly covered by the sea; and t t
temple of Serapis, situated on ‘^Lof PMan-
ment below the present level of the Mediterra
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 511
cal fredi states, that when the ancient pavement of the cathe-
io i phy- dral of Ravenna was discovered in 1731, it was found to be
- ,w' a foot below the present high-water mark; from which we
must infer that the level of the Adriatic had risen at least as
much in 1500 years. The shores of Baiae may have had the
level altered by the vicinity of an active volcano, and the
temple alluded to shows indications of more than one up¬
heaving and depression of the land; but the district of Ra¬
venna is all alluvial; and a similar rising was noticed at Ve¬
nice by Zendrini.
The same fact is attested by observations along our own
coasts. The submarine forest on the coast of Lincoln, first de¬
scribed by Correa de Serra in the Philosophical Transactions,
1799, proves a rise in the level of the sea; and the tradi¬
tion, that the Godwin Sands once formed part of the fertile
domain of the Saxon earl of that name, has probably a fair
claim to be arranged with the same phenomenon,
ctj, of 2. The wasting of the land by the waves of the ocean,
ie and the overwhelming of large tracts by the sea, are nearly
allied facts. The changes on our own coasts, and on the
countries between the Rhine and the Elbe, afford striking
instances of the encroachments of the ocean on the land.
Even where the rocky boundaries are the most solid, the
ceaseless action of the waves has wasted and disintegrated
the cliffs around all our shores; but the destruction of the
softer strata along the east coasts of England, and the chalky
heights of Dover, is still going on, and affords undeniable
proofs of the power of this agent. The swallowing up of
whole districts along the coasts of Yorkshire is shown in
the annihilation of the villages of Auburn, Hyde, and Hart-
burn, and in the ravages of the sea on the neck of land
uniting the Spurnhead with the rest of the country. We
have authentic records of the destruction of Dunwich, on
the coast of Suffolk ; and near Harwich, in Essex, the sea
is annually encroaching. The Start islet was within the
memory of man a part of the island of Sandey, in the Ork¬
neys.
Still more remarkable changes have taken place on the
coasts of Holland and Friesland within historical periods.
Well-known instances of this occurred in the devastation
which accompanied the formation of the Zuyder Zee in the
beginning of the thirteenth century ; in the successive en¬
croachments of the ocean, which formed the islands near
the Texel in 1251; and in the disappearance of the once
fertile district of North Friesland, the only remnants of
which, since the disastrous 11th of October 1634, are the
three small islets of Noordstrand.
Such changes have occurred in various parts of the earth.
Some of them, especially the overwhelming of low sea-coasts,
may be owing to the gradual elevation of the level of the
sea by detritus washed into it; but probably still more is
due to changes in the level of the land by unequal subsi¬
dence, the consequence of earthquakes.
lctl ot 3. The terrible effects of earthquakes have attracted atten-
uak ^0n every age> and records of some of such convulsions
have descended to us from very remote ages. No period
of our earth’s history has been more noted for the violence
and extent of earthquakes than that between the first, third,
and the middle of the fourteenth century. China was ter¬
ribly convulsed for ten years from 1333, when Kiang-si, its
capital, was swallowed up; mountains were engulfed, and
floods, occasioned by the obstruction of the course of rivers,
destroyed vast multitudes of human beings. The succus-
sions extended westwards, and Asia Minor and Egypt were
violently shaken in 1346 ; while in the following year severe
earthquakes were experienced in Cyprus, Greece, and Italy.
In 1692, the island of Jamaica was visited by a most ter¬
rible earthquake, in which enormous masses of earth and
rock were detached from the Blue Mountains, and vast
quantities of timber, hurled from their flanks, covered the
adjacent sea like floating islands. It was during this earth¬
quake that the city of Port Royal, with a tract of adjacent Physical
land, estimated at 1000 acres, sunk, in one minute, into the pe°graphy-
deep. In the succeeding year great earthquakes in Sicily ^
destroyed the city of Catania, and a hundred and forty other
towns and villages in that island, where upwards of 100,000
persons perished. In 1746, Lower Peru suffered severely
from this calamity. The ocean burst in upon the land with
irresistible force, when the barrier of land sunk into the
sea, Lima was overwhelmed, and the present port of Callao
formed. These convulsions were accompanied by erup¬
tions of water and mud from several volcanoes among the
Andes. In 1750, the city of Conception, in Chili, disap¬
peared during an earthquake, and the sea rolled over it. In
1755, Lisbon was in a great measure destroyed by one of
the most terrible earthquakes that ever visited Europe. The
mountain chains between the Douro and the Tagus were
most dreadfully convulsed. The new mole at Lisbon, to
which multitudes had fled, as to a place of safety, suddenly
sunk into an hideous abyss, and not one body floated to the
surface, nor were any fragments of the vessels sucked into
the chasm rendered up, and on the spot there is now an
hundred fathoms of water. In this awful convulsion at Lis¬
bon sixty thousand persons perished in about six minutes. A
violent shock threw down the greatest part of the city, and the
sea retired, leaving the bar momentarily dry; but suddenly
a mighty wave, fifty feet high, rolled in on the devoted city.
The extent of the terra motus, on this occasion, is very
remarkable. The violence of the shocks, which were ac¬
companied by a fearful subterranean noise, like the loudest
thunder, was chiefly felt in Portugal, Spain, and Northern
Africa ; but its effects were perceived over a considerable
part of Europe, and were even experienced in the West In¬
dies. Our Scottish lakes, particxdarly Loch Ness and Loch
Lomond, rose and fell repeatedly on that dreadful day.
Ships at sea were affected by the shocks, as if they had
struck on rocks, and their crews were in some instances
thrown down by the violence of the concussions. In 1766,
the island of Trinidad, and great part of Colombia, were
violently agitated by earthquakes; an islet in the Orinoco
disappeared, and land in other parts of the coast was raised
above the waters. In 1772, the lofty volcano of Papanday-
ang (the loftiest mountain in Java) disappeared, and an area
around, fifteen miles by six, was swallowed up. Most ter¬
rible earthquakes desolated Calabria in 1783. This cala¬
mity has been admirably described by several writers,
among whom we may mention Dr Yivenzio, Grimaldi, Sir
W illiam Hamilton, Dolomieu, and the commission of the
Royal Academy of Naples. The violence pf the shocks was
chiefly felt in the Farther Calabria, and in the neighbour¬
hood of Messina. The principal agitation was felt over an
area of five hundred square miles. Many sudden sinkings
of the land were perceived, numerous fissures were formed,
and partial elevations were effected in some places. The
greatest depressions happened at Terra Nuova, Oppido, Si-
nopoli, and Santa Christina: a fissure a mile in length, a hun¬
dred and five feet in width, and thirty feet in depth, opened
at Plaisano ; another about the same length, and a hundred
feet in depth, was formed at Cerzulle ; and at La Fortuna a
chasm a quarter of a mile in length, thirty feet in width, and
two hundred and twenty-five feet in depth, suddenly opened
in the ground. In some districts considerable mountain-slips,
or the separation of huge masses of earth and rock, took
place ; and along the Straits of Messina, in the neighbour¬
hood of Scylla, the cliff of Gian-Greco, a mile in length, was
precipitated on the subjacent houses and gardens. A frag¬
ment detached by the earthquake from Monte Jaci crushed
multitudes who had fled to the shore for safety ; and at the
same moment a wave broke on the devoted shore, and
swept away the aged prince of Scylla, and numbers of his
people.
In the year 1797, Upper Peru was terribly convulsed. The
512
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical shocks of earthquakes continued with great violence for three
Geography. m0nths, and the face of the country in the centre of the con-
Vj r vulsion was totally changed. In 1811, violent earthquakes
shook the valley of the Mississippi, by which lakes of consi¬
derable extent disappeared, and new ones were formed; but
these were less terrific than the catastrophe which destroyed
the city of Caraccas in 1812. On the 26th of March there
were heard subterraneous thunderings; the ground undulat¬
ed, as if agitated by a boiling liquid, and at one shock this
fine city entombed in its ruins 10,000 of its inhabitants. Du¬
ring the earthquake the great lake of Maracaibo had its level
lowered, and the riven earth at Puerto Cabello and Valencia
poured forth enormous torrents of water. It is remarkable,
that the volcano of St Vincent, which had been perfectly
quiescent for a century, burst out with prodigious violence on
the 27th of April in the same year, and threw out clouds of
ashes, which rose to an immense height into the air. Much
of the island was ruined by showers of scoriae and ashes ; and
such was the violence of the eruption, that the decks of ves¬
sels 200 miles to windward of St Vincent were covered with
an impalpable dust. On the day of this eruption subterranean
thunderings were distinctly heard at Caraccas, and even on
the Rio Apure, 210 leagues in a right line from St Vincent.
In the eruption of Tomboro, about to be noticed, the earth¬
quakes extended throughout an area a thousand miles in dia¬
meter, a considerable tract of land at the foot of the moun¬
tain disappeared in the waves, and the port of Bima, where
ships of war could formerly anchor, was ruined by the up¬
raising of a shoal. On the 19th of November 1822, Chili
was visited by a most destructive earthquake. The shock was
strongly felt at the same time throughout a line of coast 1200
miles in extent. It is stated, on good authority, that the coast
for one hundred miles sustained an elevation of from two to
four feet; and about a mile inland from Valparaiso it was rais¬
ed from six to seven feet. The sudden elevation of the coast
was indicated by shell-fish being found adherent to the rocks
considerably above high-water mark. The shocks conti¬
nued until the end of September in the following year ; and
the area over which the permanent alteration of level ex¬
tended is believed to embrace the country from the base of
the Andes to the sea, a surface of not less than 100,000
square miles. In 1827 Popayan and Bogota suffered most
severely from earthquakes, during which vast fissures opened
in the elevated plains around the latter city.
The last earthquake in Europe occurred in Murcia in
1829, near Alicante. Several villages in an area of above
four square miles were thrown down by vertical movements
in the valley through which the Rio Segura flows, and many
small fissures were formed in the alluvial soil; while black
mud, sand, and marine shells were thrown up from small ca¬
vities formed near the sea. Such are some of the severer
earthquakes on record; but less considerable shocks are of
frequent occurrence in various countries, especially in South
America and in Italy. Smart shocks are occasionally felt
in Scotland. They have often occurred at Comrie in Perth¬
shire. A smart shock rent the spire on the town-hall of In¬
verness in the year 1816 ; and another earthquake was felt at
Lancaster in 1834, which shattered chimneys, and alarmed
the inhabitants. But all the shocks experienced in our island
have fortunately been insignificant compared to those which
have been felt in many other countries.
Action of 4. The alterations produced on our earth’s surface by vol-
voleanoes. canoes in activity within historical periods appear to be un¬
derrated by some writers. Few geologists now will be dis¬
posed to doubt that most of the phenomena of earthquakes
are the consequences of volcanic fire. The coincidence of
those formidable shakings of the earth with volcanic erup¬
tions, and the distance to which such agitations have been
felt, show that the causes of both are deep-seated in the earth,
and that they are probably the consequences of elastic mat¬
ter formed by subterranean heat. We shall say nothing of
the almost universal diffusion of trap-rocks, which, under Phy.j|
the name of trachyte, basalt, greenstone, and trap-tuffa, are Jog
now generally admitted to be of igneous origin, nor of the'
true craters of extinct volcanoes which abound in France,
Germany, and many other parts of the earth, but which
have ceased to emit any eruption within known periods, and
confine our attention to those mountains now either in ac¬
tive combustion, or which have been so within historical pe¬
riods. Gay-Lussac enumerates 163 volcanoes active at the
present time; and Professor Jameson gives the following
distribution of 193 volcanoes in a state of present activity:
Continent of Europe  1 Continent of America...87
European islands 12 American islands 19
Continent of Asia  8 —
Asiatic isles ^
African islands  8
To these we may add the gigantic crater of Kirauea, in
Hawaiah, one of the Sandwich Islands; the volcano of
Tomboro, in the isle of Sumbawa; the volcano of Tofua,
in the Friendly Islands ; that of Barren Island, one of the
Andamans, in the Bay of Bengal ; to which we may perhaps
add the submarine volcanoes which have suddenly risen
from the bosom of the deep, but soon afterwards have again
disappeared, as that of Nyoe, off the coast of Iceland; Sa¬
brina, off St Michaels, in the Azores ; and Graham s Island,
not far from the east coast of Sicily.
The substances ejected by volcanoes consist either of
melted stony matter termed lava, of scoria;, of ashes, of
sand, of muddy eruptions, or of vast quantities of hot and
fetid water, always accompanied by earthquakes and sub¬
terranean thunderings, and generally by columns of flame
or of dense smoke. . . „
The general form of a volcano is a truncated cone, otten
isolated, and having a circular depression or spiracle on or
near its summit, which is named a crater. From this crater
smoke is perpetually issuing ; sometimes flame appears, or
volleys of ignited stones are projected into the air. from
the dark cloud of smoke emitted during eruptions, vivid
lightnings are usually seen to dart; and the vapours of sul¬
phur, ammonia, or of muriatic acid, are often emitted.
Sometimes the boiling lava is elevated from the bowels ot
the mountain to its terminal crater, fills that cavity entire¬
ly, and descends from the cone in streams of liquid fire, which
concretes as it cools on the surface, but continues to move
on with resistless force till it congeals into stone, though it
often retains its heat for long periods. At other times the
elasticity of the pent-up matter is incapable of forcing the
lava to the highest crater ; but the liquefied material bursts
through the flanks of the mountain, and pours into the
plains. Sometimes the volcanic cone is included in an ex¬
terior one ; a circumstance on which Von Buch has founde
his theory of craters of elevation (No. 10). The stra
or beds in both cones are inclined from the genial axis.
The projectile power of volcanoes is prodigious. The dus
of the volcano of St Vincent was carried more than 2UU mi »
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
513
■eastward of that island, and must have attained a vast eleva¬
tion, to obviate the effect of the trade-wind in its descent. It
is stated, on credible authority, that Vesuvius has projected
large stones 3600 feet above its summit; and Cotopaxi was
ascertained by the French academicians to have hurled a
rock, calculated to weigh 200 tons, to the distance of three
leagues, or more than ten English miles.
Instances of volcanic eruptions are by no means rare.
There are fifty-nine or sixty eruptions of v£tna recorded by
?tl) historians, and about fifty-two of Vesuvius. The first erup¬
tions of ./Etna are lost in the remoteness of antiquity. Ve¬
suvius was not in existence as an active volcano till the year
seventy-nine of the Christian era, when the ancient crater
presented a slight circular hollow, the sides of which were
overgrown with wild vines, and the exterior of the cone was
well cultivated. In the eruption which then took place,
Stabile, Herculanum, and Pompeii were destroyed, and the
elder Pliny lost his life. Stromboli appears to have been an
active volcano from 300 years before Christ, and is still in a
state of incessant activity, ejecting flame and red-hot stones
in quick succession. The most noted eruption of /Etna was
probably that of 1699, when, from a long rent on its flank,
it poured out a stream of lava, which in its course to the sea
destroyed fourteen towns and villages, some of which con¬
tained three or four thousand inhabitants. This current is
fifteen miles in length, about 600 yards at its broadest part,
rest; is. and there it is forty feet deep. Vesuvius has more frequently
been active in our own times than /Etna. One of its most
terrible eruptions was that of 1538, when Monte Nuovo was
forced up in two days to the height of 413 feet, and with a
circumference of 8000 feet. Another happened in 1631,
which covered with lava most of the villages at its foot, and
sent forth torrents of boiling water. In little more than a
century it has had eighteen eruptions. The eruption of 1794
has been well described by Breislac, who estimates one of
its streams of lava on that occasion as containing upwards
of forty-six millions of cubic feet. It again burned with
great fury in 1805, 1813, and in 1822. We possess lavas
of this latter period so strongly impregnated with sulphuric
and muriatic acids, that they destroy every species of vege¬
table material they rest on ; and, when recent, the specimens
[°lc es smelled strong of the latter acid. The volcanoes of Iceland
lc jid. have been in activity ever since the island was discovered,
in the ninth century. Hekla, though not the most consi¬
derable of these, from its position and its former activity, is
the best known. It has had many formidable eruptions,
twenty-two of which have been noted in about 800 years ;
and in the same period we have notices of twenty eruptions
from five other Icelandic volcanoes. A succession of erup¬
tions of Hekla lasted for six years; but the most severe con¬
vulsions of that country happened in 1783, when the dread¬
ful eruption of the Skaptar Yokul burst forth, and did not
cease till the following year. About a month before this ter¬
rible catastrophe a submarine volcano elevated the crater
of Nyoe, seventy miles south-west of Cape Reikianes, and
threw out such an immense quantity of scoriae as to cover the
sea, to the distance of 150 miles, with a stream which impeded
the progress of ships making the island; and portions of this
eruption floated as far as the Shetland and Orkney Islands.
Ayoe emitted smoke and scoriae from several apertures;
vol. xvn.
but within a year the island disappeared, and a shoal marks Physical
its former site. On the 8th of June the Skaptar Ydkul threw Geography,
out smoke; on the 10th an enormous current of molten
lava flowed from numerous cones on the Yokul, which, di¬
viding into two main streams, pursued its course to the sea,
filling up the beds of two large rivers, and covering an im¬
mense extent of once productive country. The horrors of
the scene were aggravated by the enormous torrents of boil¬
ing water produced by the liquefaction of the glaciers that
covered the Yokul, and by incessant showers of ashes which
darkened the sun; stream of lava succeeded stream from
the 10th of June to the end of August, at short intervals ;
and noxious emanations destroyed numbers of those whom
fire and water had spared. From this calamity Iceland has
never recovered; for within the space of two years the
island, in consequence of this eruption, lost 9336 persons,
11,460 head of cattle, 28,000 horses, and 190,480 sheep.
The extent of the principal stream of lava is fifty miles in
length ; its greatest breadth is from twelve to fifteen miles;
in the plains its general depth is 100 feet, but in the chan¬
nel of the Skapta River, which it dried up, it is 600 feet in
perpendicular depth. The south-western side of Iceland
appears to be one vast focus of subterranean fire ; for the
several eruptions of the Oraefa, the Skeidera, Sida, and
Skaptar Yokuls, seem but as occasional outbreakings from
one immense volcanic fissure, which really belongs to the
same chain of icy mountains.
The volcanic formations of Java have been well examined Volcanoes
by Dr Horsfield, who describes them as extending through-0!Eastern
out the centre of that noble island. They form a chain, inIslands-
which thirty-eight large mountains, evidently volcanic, are
conspicuous, and attain an elevation of from 5000 to 12,000
feet. Most of them are no longer in activity. Tankuban
Prahu has been quiescent for a series of ages; but its cra¬
ter contains a large lake, a mile and a half in circumference,
and 250 feet deep, from one side of which sulphureous va¬
pour issues with great violence. Papandayang was once
the largest of the Javan volcanoes; but in August 1772 the
greatest part of it was swallowed up during an eruption. A
luminous cloud at first seemed to envelope the mountain,
prodigious quantities of ashes were ejected, which destroy¬
ed forty villages, and an area of fifteen miles by six was en¬
tirely swallowed up.
The eruption of Tomboro, in the island of Sumbawa, in
the year 1815, described by Sir Stamford Raffles, is one of
the most violent on record. The earthquakes caused by this
eruption were felt over a circle with a radius of 1000 miles;
and all around to the distance of 300 miles the quantity of
ashes excited terror and dismay. In Java, though 300
miles in a direct line from Sumbawa, the sky at mid-day
was darkened by dense clouds of fine dust ejected from the
volcano. In Sumbawa it was attended by a whirlwind of
surprising fury, which lasted for an hour, sweeping away
trees and houses in its career. The explosions commenced
on the ceasing of the whirlwind. They began on the 5th
of April, and continued until the 15th of July. Whole
villages were swept away, and upwards of 12,000 persons
perished in this eruption. Vast numbers of trees, torn up
by the whirlwind, strewed the ocean to a considerable ex¬
tent. Raffles states that the explosions of Tomboro were
distinctly heard in a circle with a diameter of 1700 miles;
and that the quantity of light scoriae and pumice it threw
out within a week formed a bed on the ocean two feet in
thickness, and many miles in extent, which impeded ships
in approaching Sumatra.
The volcanoes of America claim notice, not only from Volcanoes
their magnitude and number, but from the peculiarities of of South
their position. Several of the most lofty mountains of the America. ;
South American Andes are active volcanoes. Cotopaxi
has an elevation of 16,800 feet above the sea; the vol¬
canoes of Mecas and Antisana equal 17,000 feet, and Tun-
3 T
514
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical gurasma 16,500 feet. Humboldt considers these enormous
Geography, cones as the spiracles of one prixhg.ous volcanic vault
' stretching from south to north, which presents an area of
600 square leagues; and he regards them as merely different
summits of the same volcanic mass. “ I he fire issues some¬
times from one, sometimes from another, of these summits.
The obstructed craters appear to us to be extinguished vo-
canoes; but we may presume, that while Cotopaxi or Tun-
luralua have only one or two eruptions in the course of a
century, the fire is not less active under the city of Quito,
under Pichincha, and Imbaburu. / ‘ ' ,
The connection of the volcano of Paste, in New Granada,
with the volcanoes of Quito, was strikingly displayed in 1797.
A column of black smoke had continued for several months
to issue from the Yolcan de Pasto; but, to the surprise of
the inhabitants, this smoke suddenly disappeared on the 4th
of February 1797, at the precise moment when, at sixty-
Sve leagues from the city of Pasto, the city of lliobamba,
near Tunguragua, was destroyed by a temfic earthquake.
The eruption of Tunguragua, on the 4th of h ebruary 1 97,
was of a very extraordinary nature. The country around, to
the extent of forty leagues from south to north and twenty
leagues from east to west, sustained an undulatory move¬
ment of extreme violence, which lasted four minutes. In
the district around the mountain every town was levelled
with the ground, and the cities of Riobamba and Quero
were buried under the ruins of the impending mountains.
The base of Tunguragua was riven asunder, and poured out,
from numerous apertures, streams of water and mud, which
accumulated in the valleys to 600 feet m depth The mud
covered everything, blocked up the channels of the rivers,
forming lakes which remained for more than eighty days, fe¬
tid, suffocating exhalations were emitted by the lake Quilo-
toa, and it is said that flames also issued. The covering of
mud, and the levelling of elevated portions of the country,
totally changed its face. The shocks continued to be violent
for upwards of three months, and were felt oyer a district
170 leagues from south to north, and 140 from west to
east. It was during this eruption that the curious fishes,
Pimelodes Cyclopum, were discovered in the ejected water
of the volcano. They are supposed to be generated m
subterranean lakes in the bowels of the mountain, and only
to be brought to light by such an explosion. I here are
no less than sixteen active volcanoes in Chili, the erup¬
tions of which are confined to the valleys of the Andes.
A line of volcanoes in South America may be distinctly
traced from 5° to 6° of south latitude, running parallel to
the ocean, and occupying the highest ridges of the Andes.
In North America, Mexico presents a chain of active
volcanoes crossing the general direction of the cordillera of
Anahuac from east to west. It commences on the coasts
of the Mexican Gulf, with the small but energetic Volcan
de Tuxtla, which lies a little to the southward of a line join¬
ing the rest; next is the vast cone of the peak of Orizaba
(No. 9), which attains an elevation of 16,365 feet; and then
the still loftier Popocateptl, rising to 17,060 feet. These
lie to the east of the city of Mexico; and on its west are
the cones of Jorullo and Colima. They are all active ; but
at no very distant period the snow-clad summits of Iztacci-
huatl, of Toluca, and of Tancitara, lying in the same line,
were also burning. This chain extends for 140 leagues;
and perhaps the volcanoes should be considered as spiracles,
all connected with an huge ignited fissure, passing through¬
out the table-land of Mexico. Five of these mountains pe¬
netrate far into the region of perpetual congelation; and
from the inaccessible summits of Orizaba and Popocateptl
are pinnacles of frozen snow, from which smoke continual y
issues*
The extent of these eruptions is attested by the preva¬
lence of volcanic rocks over the whole table-land ; and the
present form of this magnificent plateau would seem to be
derived from the accumulation of ignigenous formations Flys
in a series of valleys among primary rocks. Tuxtla had aGeogi£H |
strong eruption in 1793, which covered the roofs of the^vll
houses at Oaxaca, Vera Cruz, and Perote, with ashes; and
at the latter, which is 196 miles distant, the subterranean
noises resembled heavy discharges of artillery.
The formation of the volcano of Jorullo dates not farther
back than the year 1759. Until that period, the present site
of the volcano was a fertile plain, well cultivated, and pro¬
ducing indigo and the sugar-cane. In the month of June
in 1759 subterranean thunderings commenced, accompa¬
nied by frequent shocks of earthquakes; and these alarm¬
ing phenomena continued to terrify the inhabitants for fifty
or sixty days. About the beginning of September every¬
thing seemed to announce the re-establishment of tran¬
quillity ; but on the night of the 28th the horrible subter¬
ranean explosions were renewed, and an area of four square
miles rose up, like an enormous bladder, to the height of
above 500 feet. Those who gained the mountains around
saw flames shoot up, from a surface of a square league in
extent, and huge fragments of ignited rock hurled into the
air through a dense cloud of ashes. The softened surface
was seen to undulate like an agitated ocean. The waters
of two streams precipitated themselves into the burning
chasm, and this seemed to add fresh fury to the flames.
Thousands of small burning cones, from six to eight feet
high, issued from the softened and inflated surface ; and in
the midst of these hornitos or ovens, which still pour out
steam, and emit the sounds of internal ebullition, six vast
mountain masses arose, to a height varying from 300 to
1690 feet above the former plain. The most elevated of
No. 11.
Volcanoes
of North
America.
these is the Volcan de Jorullo, which is perpetually burn¬
ing, and has ejected a vast quantity of ashes and scoriaceous
lava, often mingled with fragments of primary rocks. The
ashes of this eruption were scattered to a distance of loU
miles. The eruptions of the Jorullo continued till Febru¬
ary 1760 without intermission, but they have since become
less and less frequent. On this catastrophe Humboldt
justly remarks, that an event, “ by which so considerable
an extent of country entirely changed its appearance, is
perhaps one of the most remarkable _ physical revolutions
in the annals of our globe. Geology indicates parts of the
ocean where, within the last two thousand years, several
small volcanic islands have been formed; but it gives no
other example of the formation, from the centre of a thou¬
sand burning cones, of a mountain of scoriae and ashes iwa
feet above the level of the adjoining plain, upwards ot
thirty-six leagues from the sea, and forty-two leagues from
every other active volcano and he adds, that thoug
within six days’ journey of the Mexican capital, this won¬
derful event had remained unknown in Europe until tn
PG In’tlnf worlls of the South Sea missionary Ellis there is anVoka. *
interesting account of the volcano ot Kirauea, in the a Souti, *
wich Islands. The devastating effect of volcanic fire in he ^
island of Hawaiah had been noticed by Captam Cook, b
it has been particularly described by Mr Ellis. Ther
to the present volcano is over a vast waste of naked
Instead of a mountain-crater, however, Kirauea presen s
chasm in a plain, perhaps occasioned by the engulfing o
iical
Jiiphy
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
previous elevation. He describes it as a flat area of fifteen
or sixteen miles in circumference, sunk from 200 to 400
feet below the level of the country by which he approached
Kirauea. In the bottom of this area yawns an immense
abyss, in the form of a crescent, about two miles in length
from north-east to south-west, and about a mile in breadth
at its widest part. One portion presents a flood of glowing
matter in a state of terrific ebullition. Fifty-one conical
islets, containing as many craters, rise around the edges, or
from the surface of the burning lake. Some of them emit
flame and smoke, and others occasionally vomit streams of
lava, which roll in blazing torrents down their black sides into
the boiling flood below. The sides of the gulf just describ¬
ed are perpendicular, and rise from a wide horizontal ledge
of solid lava of irregular breadth, but extending completely
round the chasm ; and beneath this ledge the sides slope to
the burning lake, the surface of which appears to be from
three hundred to four hundred feet lower.
Besides this volcano, there are several others now extin¬
guished in the island. Of these, one is Mouna Roa, which
Captain King calculated, from the position of its perennial
line of snow, to be 16,020 feet in height; and the same na¬
vigator assigns to another, Mouna Kaah, the vast elevation
of 18,000. In a word, the researches of Mr Ellis would
lead us to infer that the whole island of Hawaiah, an area
of about 4000 square miles, is covered by lavas and other
volcanic matters in various stages of decomposition.
The whole islands in the Pacific are divided by Kotzebue
into two classes j the low and the elevated. The former are
coral reefs, of which the formation has been so well describ¬
ed by Captains Flinders and Beechy. Their bases would
appear to be submarine mountains, which are brought to
the surface of the waters by the depositions of the coral
animalcules. Captain Beechy examined thirty-two of these
islands, the largest of which was thirty miles, the smallest one
mile, in diameter. Twenty-nine had lagoons within their
centres, which seem once to have existed in them all, until
they had been filled up by the operations of the zoophytes.
These low coral islands present a singular appearance. (No.
12, a section.) I hey often form chains, extending for hun-
515
No. 12.
dreds of miles with little interruption. Their exterior is a
border of dead coral rock, and stands a few feet above the
waves, on which the seeds of plants, wafted by the sea, soon
fix their roots, and speedily a verdant wood encircles the
island, whilst its central lagoon is still the habitation of living
zoophytes. The elevated islands of the Pacific very gene-
rally abound in volcanic products, and numbers of them are
still the seats of active volcanoes. Many of them have the
appearance of having been raised from the deep by subma¬
rine volcanoes; and Mr Lyell has with much force of reason¬
ing contended, that numerous coral islands ought to be con¬
sidered as the cones of extinguished submarine volcanoes
covered over by coralline formations. If we adopt this idea,
and extend it to the enormous coral reefs described by
Hinders, King, Horsburgh, and Chamisso, the surface of
the Pacific must repose upon a prodigious magazine of vol¬
canic energy, which is from time to time destined to increase
* e surface of the habitable globe. A very extensive line of
active volcanoes exists in the Great Eastern Ocean, which
as been noticed by Lyell, and forms too remarkable a fea-
me on our globe to be omitted in a sketch of physical geo-
Kraphy. It commences in Barren Island, off the coast of
ie Malayan peninsula; is continued by a chain of active
volcanoes through Sumatra, Java, Sumbawa, and Flores ; it
len *'urns northward through the Moluccas, the Philip¬
pines, Formosa, and Loo-Choo; it passes through Japan, Physical
Jesso, and the Kuriles; reaches the peninsula of Kamts- Geography,
chatka, and terminates in the Aleutian Islands, after a course
of between 9000 and 10,000 miles, besides the several
branches which are sent off to the eastward in the direc¬
tions of Papua and the Ladrone Islands.
The cause of volcanic phenomena is involved in obscu- Cause of
nty; but various conjectures have been proposed by geo- volcanoes,
legists. The Neptunian hypothesis has ascribed them to
the inflammation of beds of coal, or of other combustibles,
in the burning mountain; regarding them as local, or very
limited in their range. Fernery’s experiment on the heat
extricated by moistening a mixture of iron filings and sul¬
phur, and burying it in the earth, was supposed to afford a
satisfactory explanation of the manner in which the fire
might originally be kindled ; and the extinction of volcanoes
was supposed to give probability to the local nature of the
heating cause. Abbe Breislac modified this hypothesis, by
supposing that volcanic fires were fed by collections of pe¬
troleum collected in caverns, and set on fire by the chemi¬
cal action of several other substances. Both these views
seem to afford too narrow a basis for the extent of volca¬
nic energy, the apparent connection between distant volca¬
noes, and the great length of time that some of them are
known to have remained in activity. The Huttonians con¬
sider volcanoes as spiracles connected with the great source
of central heat. (Playfair, 86.)
Another hypothesis has been suggested by the discovery
of the metallic bases of the alkalis and earths. Their bases
have been supposed to constitute the interior of the earth;
and when water finds its way to them, through fissures in
its crust, it will be rapidly decomposed, with the extrication
of intense heat and the evolution of elastic gases, and thus
the phenomena of earthquakes and volcanoes may be pro¬
duced. This view, originally suggested by Sir Humphry
Uavy, has been illustrated by Humboldt, and especially by
Daubeny, with great ingenuity; and although it has not yet
arrived at the state in which, perhaps, we are entitled to de¬
nominate it a theory, it is an hypothesis which affords a sa¬
tisfactory explanation of the observed phenomena.
All the enumerated causes have produced and are still
producing changes upon the surface of the globe ; some of
which are general, though slow in their operation, whilst
others act much more violently, but are more local in their
effects.
Mud and air volcanoes, as they have been termed, ap- Mud and
pear to owe their existence partly to the disengagement ofair voloa-
gases by subterranean fire, but in a great measure to waternoes'
fiom a higher level, compelled to pursue a subterranean
course, by a thick bed of tenacious clay suddenly escaping
by a perpendicular fissure, with a force proportional to the
height of the aqueous column. An ingenious explanation
of the phenomena of the mud eruptions of Sicily and Italy,
on this principle, is given by Dr Daubeny. One of the most
noted eruptions of this sort is that of Macaluba in Sicily,
which in 1777 threw up a vast column of mud, mixed with
stones and naphtha, and the disengagement of sulphureous
vapours, with much hydrogenous gases. Similar eruptions
occui near C atania, and also near Alodena. The gaseous
exhalations of the Grotta del Cane and of the lake of An-
santo in the kingdom of Naples, are probably disengaged
from mineral bodies by heat. The inflammable air of Pie¬
tro, Mala near Bologna, and of the petroleum wells of the
country around Baku, on the western shores of the Caspian,
are evidently connected with subterranean fire. In the lat¬
ter district there are strong proofs of volcanic agency still
active in the bowels of the earth. The singular eruption
which M. Figalgo saw at the northern extremity of Prince
William’s Sound in North America, belongs to the same
class. “ The Indians conducted him into a plain covered
with snow, where he saw great masses of ice and stones
516
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical thrown up to prodigious heights in the air with a dreadful
Geography. noise.” (Humboldt.)
Sect. VI.—Distribution of the Waters of the Globe.
Natural water never exists in a state of absolute purity.
When collected as it descends from the atmosphere, it a -
wa^s contS air; and when derived front W»
rivers, it invariably contains more or less ol saline ingre
dients Dr Henry found in spring-water between four and
five per cent, of its bulk of gas, of which nearly three and
a half consisted of carbonic acid, and the rest ol atmosphe¬
ric air Besides the gases, natural waters contain the fol¬
lowing salts ; muriate of soda, muriate of lime, sulPha^ of
notassa sulphate of lime or of magnesia, carbonate ol lime,
and sometimes carbonate of soda. Hail and snow water,
when collected at a distance from habitations, contains
scarcely any trace of these salts. Rain-water is next in
purity fbut dew-water is generally contaminated with vege¬
table matter, as well as with salts. The water of springs
usually abounds with these salts, and often with other in¬
gredients. River-water differs much in its purity ; but when
ft flows through a siliceous rock it is often very pure. a e
water is subject to much contamination; but often, whe
the lakes are deep and extensive, the water is depurated by
subsidence and rest; though stagnant water, when shallow,
becomes contaminated with vegetable and animal matter.
The water of the ocean contains about three P?V;en '
saline contents, or one thirty-third part of lts • f
quantity of saline matter appears to mcrease slightly from
the highest latitudes towards the equator. The ocean, tiom
pxtent* claims our first attention* ^
Ocean. 1. Ocean—From data already given in section second, we
shall probably not err if we estimate the surface of the whole
ocean and its branches at 144,473,000 square miles. It s
not so easy to arrive at a safe conclusion with regard to its
mean depth. Laplace and later investigators seem to believe
that thePdepths of the ocean may be m proportion to the
elevation of the land, and the ratio of their respective areas
Mrs Sommerville states, that although it ^ Probab!e that
profound cavities of small extent exist in the bed of the
ocean, its mean depth does not exceed the mean height o
the continents and islands above its leve . 1 f he
Lagrange, the velocity of the tidal wave is a function ol the
depth of the channel through which it moves; and recent
investigations respecting the velocity of the tidal wave in
these seas, would lead us to infer that the mean depth of
the sea around the coasts of England is about 120 feet, on
those of Scotland 360 feet, on the western coast ol Ireland
2000 ?eet, and in the main Atlantic 50,000 feet, or a little
more than nine miles and a half. The examination of the
co-tidal lines on Whe well’s charts would lead to the conclu¬
sion that no considerable extent of the ocean has a greater
depth than the Atlantic. If the depths of the ocean are in¬
deed proportional to the elevation of the land, in the ratio
of their respective surfaces, the greatest profundity ot the
oceanic abyss would be about fifteen miles, and its mean
depth, at a distance from the land, would vary from one to five
miles. If we assume four miles as its mean depth, this woult
o-ive 577,892,000 cubic miles as the volume of the whole
waters of the globe; or, if we reckon it five miles in depth,
the mass of waters would equal 722,365,000 cubic miles.
Waves. The waters of the ocean are in perpetual movement, from
the effects of winds, currents, and the tides. The effect of
winds in agitating the ocean is chiefly confined to its sur¬
face. The most powerful waves in the free sea only rise to
the height of a few feet; and it is highly probable, that m
the profound depths of the ocean, there reigns a perpetual
stillness, unruffled by any movement, except m as far as
general currents may disturb the tranquillity of the waters.
The surface, acted upon by strong gales, is thrown into long
ridgy waves, which rise with an uniform swell, and maintain Plm
the same velocity for considerable distances, the top curl-^od,
ing in foaming surges, which are precipitated on the undu- 'ft
lating surface below, often to the great danger of the navi-
gator. No region of the ocean is subject to more violent
oscillations of this nature than that portion of the Atlantic
termed the Bay of Biscay, when agitated by a smart gale
of westerly wind. Geometry has been applied to measure
the velocity of waves, and Lagrange estimates, that where
the depth is not very great, the velocity will be the same
as a heavy body would acquire in descending from a height
equal to half the depth of the water, and that the velocity i
of the wave is in the duplicate ratio of the depth of the
channel in which the water moves. It is believed, how¬
ever, that the wildest tempest in the open sea does not agi¬
tate the water at the depth of an hundred feet; but when
waves meet with resistance, as when they dash upon lofty
cliffs, we have known them rise apparently in one unbroken
mass to the height of two hundred feet.
There are other movements of the waters of the ocean, Curk
termed currents. The most general currents are produced
by the movement of the waters perpetually setting from the
polar regions towards the equator, and the progression of
the tropical seas towards the west. Both are chiefly caus¬
ed by the centrifugal force of the earth’s diurnal rotation.
This produces a culmination of water towards the equator,
and thus a current is generated towards the part of the earth
in most rapid motion ; but the water accumulated there
passes off before the influence of the trade-wmds; and the
strength of the western current is increased by the mobi¬
lity of the particles of water preventing the fluid imme¬
diately acquiring the velocity of that portion of the earth
over which it arrives in its progression towards the equator,
by which it will appear to have a motion from east to west,
or in an opposite direction to the earth’s rotation. 4 he ng
er density of the sea, when it has been cooled by the polar
ices, will increase its tendency to displace the lighter waters,
which are forced westward by the constant pressure of the
trade-winds, and the other causes already mentioned. I he Pok i
currents from the north have been well desenbed by Mar-rent|
tens, Scoresby, and other navigators. The set of the cur¬
rent from the antarctic regions has been illustrated by
the voyages of Cook, La Perouse, Flinders, and others. 1 he Equ,
equatorial current becomes very apparent in the Atlantic cum
and in the Pacific, between the parallels of 30 on each side
of the equator. According to the best observers, it has a
mean velocity of nine or ten miles per day m the open sea.
In the Atlantic it produces that remarkable movement of
the waters termed the gulf-stream. This current passes be¬
tween the West Indian islands, and sweeps along the north¬
ern coasts of South America, from Cumana to the isthmus of
Darien ; from thence it stretches toward Cape Catoche in
Yucatan, and, after wheeling through the Mexican «
it rushes through the channel between Cuba and Florida,
nassim? between the Bahamas and the United States of
Nortlf America towards Newfoundland. In the latter part
of its course it can be distinctly traced, not only by its e -
feet on the dead reckoning of ships, but by the supen
temperature of its waters, which betray its tropical origin,
and by its greater depth; for it appears in a long succes¬
sion of ages to have hollowed out for itself a submannechan-
neh In the Bahama Channel it has a breadth of fifteen
leagues, and its waters have, in latitude 42°, a temperature
of 71° Fahrenheit, whilst that of the adjacent sea beyond its
influence is only 63°. The gulf-stream flows mth dum-
nished velocity as it proceeds northward, until 11 Is >°J 0
the banks of Newfoundland, where it encounters the grea
current from the arctic regions. This vast sub-marine b i
indeed, probably owes its origin to the depo^on
solid particles borne along by both currents, at P
where their opposing forces meet; and there can be httie
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
517
I tl doubt that the eastern movement of the waters of the North-
py- ern Atlantic is the resultant of the compound motion of
^ these mighty oceanic streams. It has been computed from
the average velocity of both, that the waters of the Atlan¬
tic, between the parallels of 10° and 43° north, perform a
circuit of about 3800 nautical leagues in thirty-four months.
The retrograde current preserves a general easterly direc¬
tion after leaving Newfoundland; but it reaches consider¬
ably farther north, for its influence frequently throws on
our western shores the trees and ligneous fruits of the An¬
tilles ; but the great body of it is deflected to the south¬
ward at the Azores, partly by the influence of the polar cur¬
rent from the north ; and then sending a branch to enter
the Straits of Gibraltar, gives rise to that dangerous cur¬
rent which has been described by Major Rennell as the cause
of the frequent shipwrecks on the African coast within
the Canary Islands, when the mariner, by reckoning, con¬
siders himself as far to the westward of Teneriffe.
Another branch of the great western current of the At¬
lantic appears to be deflected by the peculiar form of South
America, from the latitude of Pernambuco, along the east¬
ern coasts to Cape Horn; and, doubling that promontory,
it finds its way into the Pacific. There is also a general
western current in the Great Pacific. Ships are carried
by this with great celerity from Acapulco to the Philippine
Islands ; but, in returning, it is found advisable to sail north¬
wards, for the benefit of the variable winds and of the po¬
lar currents. In the Southern Pacific, the polar currents,
being little interrupted by land, proceed with less deviation
from their course than those in the northern hemisphere;
and hence they carry icebergs nearer to the tropical regions
than we ever find to the north of the equator. The west¬
ern motion of the waters of the Pacific is interrupted and
broken by the vast chain of islands, shoals, and sub-marine
banks which stretch from China to New Zealand. The ge¬
neral direction is changed or modified by the form of these
lands; and the vast mass of New Holland is one cause of
those dangerous currents around its shores which were
noticed by Cook, La Perouse, and Flinders. The weaken¬
ed force of the general current in the Indian seas permits
its interruption by the variable direction of the monsoons ;
but the current which always sets from Australia towards
the Bay of Bengal seems to be produced by the modifying
influence of the south polar current on the general equa¬
torial current when weakened by the interruption of islands.
The direction of this current, finding obstacles to' its pro¬
gress in a north-west direction, and being resisted by the
banks and islands which stretch between Cape Comorin and
Madagascar, is deflected to the south-west, forming the
current in the Mozambique Channel, and thence sweeping
round the Cape of Good Hope in a powerful stream, not
less than forty-three leagues in breadth. The entrance
into this current may be ascertained by the sudden in¬
crease in the temperature of the water to eight degrees be¬
yond that of the adjacent ocean. It is probably to this
current that the vast shoal off the Cape, known by the name
of the Aguillas Bank, is to be attributed. It appears to
round off upon both sides, forming a bank forty leagues in
breadth, and 160 leagues from east to west.
The strong current through Bass’s Straits, separating
New Holland from Van Diemen’s Land, is but a part of
the general western current; but in its passage through
the intricate channels between the islands, reefs, and shoals
of the ocean north of Australia, it is divided and modified
in a thousand different ways. There is another current less
easily accounted for. On the western coast of Africa, about
thirty leagues from the land, a strong current appears to
set eastward in the Gulf of Guinea, and often draws ships
tar off their southern course. It seems to be a species of
eddy, produced by resistance to the polar current caused
by the sudden contraction of the Atlantic from the form of
the opposite coasts of America and Africa. These currents Physical
may be considered as general; but there are other currents Geography,
which, though special, are remarkably constant. Of these
we may notice the perpetual current which sets into the
Mediterranean through the Straits of Gibraltar. It occu¬
pies the middle of the Straits. On either shore a less pow¬
erful and less extensive current alternates with the tides; but
there is a constant and powerful influx from the Atlantic
into the Mediterranean. A perpetual current sets out of the
Baltic to the Northern Ocean; and here also smaller coun¬
ter-currents are found on the coasts of Sweden and Jut¬
land. Another considerable local current perpetually sets
from the Black Sea in the Mediterranean. The causes of
these peculiarities we shall afterwards explain.
Besides the motions already described, the waters of the Tides,
ocean are subject to alternations in the level of its surface in
any particular place several times a day. The rising of the
water is termed flood, the fall is named ebb-tide. The con¬
nection between the tides and the moon were long observed
before any theory was proposed to account for them. Des¬
cartes ascribed the flood to the pressure of the moon on the
earth’s atmosphere ; but Kepler first suggested that it might
arise from the attraction exerted by the moon ; and this
theory was confirmed and enlarged by Newton, who showed
how well the general phenomena might be explained on the
principle of universal gravitation. The theory and the phe¬
nomena are given under the article Astronomy ; to which
we refer for the explanation of the two floods and two ebbs
daily, how the united influence of the sun and moon causes
the two spring and two neap-tides during each lunation; and
why the highest tides of all take place about the equinoxes,
when the sun and moon are on the equator, and in perigee.
The phenomena of the tides accord well with the theory
in the open sea; but in the vicinity of land, amongst nume¬
rous islands, or in deep inland basins, their regularity is af¬
fected by various causes, as the occurrence of strong gales
in particular directions, the form of points of land, of banks,
and shoals, and the mechanical influence of narrow chan¬
nels. Thus the tides of the German Ocean take twelve
hours to reach London bridge; and consequently the time
of high-water there is just as a new flood is commencing
in that sea. The usual rise of the tides in mid-ocean is
about three or four feet; but on the coasts of Britain, espe¬
cially in the mouths of rivers, the attraction of the land raises
them far higher. Thus, at Chepstow, the tide rises from
forty-five to sixty feet; and it is recorded that once, from
the influence of a strong gale blowing at the same time
into Bristol Channel, the rise was seventy feet. In the
river of Annapolis, which falls into the bay of Fundy, on
the coast of America, the spring-tides have been known
to reach the surprising height of 120 feet. In such cases
the flood-tide often rushes in with a vast mass, like a huge
wave, several feet above the general surface, which is term¬
ed a bore, and is dangerous to ships that may have been
stranded on the receding of the tide. Something similar is
often seen in our smaller rivers, and on such extensive flat
sands as those in Morecamb Bay on the coast of Lancashire,
and in the Solway^Frith. In narrow straits the tide runs with
great velocity, such as no ship can stem even with the most
favourable breeze. In the embouchure of the Mersey, the
ebb-tide has a rate of five or six miles an hour. In the
Pentland Frith, between Caithness and the Orkney Islands,
the spring-tides have a velocity of nine miles an hour.
Whirlpools appear to be occasioned by currents meeting 'Whirlpools,
with sub-marine obstacles, which throw them into gyration.
When the movement is rapid, the centre is the most de¬
pressed portion of the rotating circle, and objects drawn
within it are submerged in that point. Several small whirl¬
pools, capable of whirling round a boat, are seen among the
Orkney Islands. That of Coryvrechan, in the narrow chan¬
nel between Scarba and Jura, in the Western Islands, is
518
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical caused by a rock of a conical form rising abruptly from the
Geography, bottom, where the depth is 600 feet, and reaching to within
v "J Y "" ninety feet of the surface. This obstruction, in a tortuous
rocky channel, causes a succession of eddies ; and when the
flood-tide sets in, with a fresh breeze in the opposite di¬
rection, the eddying waters rise in short heavy waves, which
are highly dangerous to boats, and even to decked vessels.
The Malstrom on the coast of Norway, near the island
of Moskoe, is a whirlpool of a similar kind, the perils of
which are probably much exaggerated. The flood-tide set¬
ting from the south-west amongst the Laffoden Isles, espe¬
cially when it meets with a strong gale from the north-west,
produces a great agitation of the waves, and a whirlpool is
in the Atlantic, and in innumerable bays; and believe that Phy a]
they are very general in the ocean. Geog hy.
The dependence of the phosphorescence of the sea on
living animals was long ago asserted by Captain Cook and
Sir Joseph Banks. In the voyage from the Canaries to Rio
de Janeiro they drew a net through luminous water, and
caught a large medusa, which shone brilliantly when taken
on board; they obtained from it also three minute Crustacea,
about one tenth the size of the glow-worm, which also were
very luminous in the dark. Banks named the first Medusa
pellucens, and the most brilliant of the second Cancerfulgens.
Other naturalists have enlarged the list of marine luminous
animals, which includes occasional instances amongst the
formed, the roaring of which is heard at the distance of largei fishes
Colour of
the sea.
many miles. Its agitated vortices are dangerous to vessels,
and it is said that seals and whales, when caught within its
eddies, are unable to extricate themselves from destruction.
It is now well ascertained that Charybdis, in the Strait of
Messina, owes its terrors to the imagination of seamen in
the infancy of navigation, and all its celebrity to poetic fancy.
The sea, when viewed near land, has its colour affected by
the nature of the bottom. Where the bottom is sandy, and
the depth not very considerable, it has a greenish tint; and
this is the general hue of the German Ocean; but when
viewed out of soundings, the colour of the ocean is gene¬
rally of a beautiful deep blue. I his may be considered as
the natural hue of a deep column of water, from which only
the most refrangible colours reach the eye of the spectator
placed on a ship’s deck; and the greenish tint is produced
by the mingling of this hue with the yellowish tint of the
sandy bottom. Sometimes partial colours are observed in
the ocean. Captain Cook and other navigators describe a
brown colour of the sea, produced by myriads of minute
mollusca and Crustacea. In the Greenland seas, the waters
in which the whales chiefly delight are streaked with green.
This colour appears in broad streams in the sea; and, when
examined by Scoresby, was found to be produced by innu¬
merable medusae and minute Crustacea, the olive-green water
containing sixty-four in one cubic inch. Captain Horsburgh
mentions a milky appearance of the sea, observed in a pas¬
sage from China to Australia, which was occasioned by mi¬
nute globular bodies linked together, and doubtless forming
some species of beroe or medusa. T he occasional red coloui
of the sea on the coast of Brazil and of China is believed to
proceed from minute mollusca which float in myriads in the
waters at certain seasons of the year. Ehrenberg asserts
that the name of Red Sea has been given to that gulf from
the prevalence of a species of oscillatoria.
Phospho- The phosphorescence of the sea is a very brilliant appear-
rescencs of ance which the ocean and arms of the sea frequently assume,
the sea. j|. jg seen when a vessel is in brisk motion through the
waves, or when a boat is impelled by oars through a calm
sea. We have seen this appearance so brilliant that we
could distinguish letters in a book by its phosphorescence
in the wake of a ship, where it will sometimes form a line
of pale lambent light several hundred yards in length. We
have also seen from the deck, by its light, the hour on a
watch, when in other situations on the deck we could not
distinguish the features of the seamen. When the hand is
immersed in luminous water, we have found the shining
particles adhering to the fingers; and on examining such
water in a globular glass vessel by transmitted light, we
scarcely ever failed to observe in it several minute animals
of the genera medusa and beroe. Ihese animals appeared
to have the power of emitting light by their own efforts, as
the water, when left at rest, shone by fits. On counting
their number in a glass of water, and suddenly dashing it
on the deck, in a dark night, it was observed that the num¬
ber of luminous points generally coincided with that of the
animals in the water, and never exceeded it. We have found
these animals in sea-water, from 60° to 37° north latitude,
A considerable number of experiments have been made Ten.;
on the temperature of the ocean by Ellis, Piron, Flinders,ture 1 he
Parry, Ross, and others; but the results are not uniform.sea> i
Ellis found in the Atlantic that the temperature remained
stationary at 50° at depths a little exceeding a mile. Piron,
who had sounded to greater depths, found it to decrease with
the depth. The mean temperature of the ocean at the sur¬
face, and at a distance from land, is higher than that of the
atmosphere with which it is in contact; but it is generally
lower than the air at mid-day, and higher than the atmo¬
sphere at midnight. The ocean over a bank is colder than
where it is of great depth. This is ascribed to cold currents
being forced upwards by the obstruction ; but whatever be
the cause, the fact is important, as it may enable a seaman
to recognise his approach to land when the atmosphere is
obscure and his reckoning doubtful, as was first remarked
by Mr Williams.
The Southern Ocean, receiving less fresh water than the Salt; sot
Atlantic, is rather salter, as is also the Mediterranean ; but c -'n.
the Baltic, White and Black Seas, from the size of the rivers
they receive, are fresher. According to Marcet their spe¬
cific gravities are as follows :
Mediterranean 1*02930
Southern Ocean 1*02882
Northern Ocean 1*02829
Arctic Frozen Ocean 1*02664
White Sea 1*01901
Baltic  1*01523
Euxine   1*01418
Sea-water has a mean specific gravity of 1*0280 to dis¬
tilled water as 1*0000. The late Dr John Murray publish¬
ed an admirable analysis of sea-water, 10,000 parts of which
afforded him
Muriate of soda 245*04
Muriate of magnesia 28*63
Muriate of lime  
Sulphate of magnesia 17*04
Sulphate of soda 2*66
Sulphate of lime 9*72
303*9
Dr Murray detected no trace of muriate of lime, which
Lavoisier has stated as high as 20*38, and Pfaff at 31*25.
In reflecting upon these discrepancies, he was led to con¬
clude that several of the products obtained may be the re¬
sults of the mutual decomposition of the salts during the
processes for separating them from the water; thus the sul¬
phates of magnesia and of lime would be decomposed by
muriate of soda, and when both are obtained from sea-wa
ter, we should regard them as results of decomposition. I he
real ingredients of sea-water would thus be,
Muriate of soda  220*01
Muriate of magnesia  33*16
Sulphate of soda  42*08
Muriate of lime  7'84
303*9
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Isical This doctrine he has happily applied to explain the ac-
■ aphy- tivity of several mineral waters, the analysis of which only
affords inert ingredients.
The saline contents of the ocean do not appear to vary
considerably; they, however, increase as we approach to
the equator, from ^7) to as is proved by the increase of
density. The numerous experiments of Bladh of Sweden
proved that the specific gravity of the waters of the Atlan¬
tic on both sides of the equator increase as they recede
from the poles. This table was republished by Kirwan in
the Geological Essays, with a reduction of the specific gra¬
vity to temperature 62° Fahrenheit. The longitudes of
Bladh are from the meridian of Teneriffe.
Dr Traill has published the results of some experiments
on water taken up in different parts of the Atlantic, from
58° to 6° N., which also show a progressive increase in the
specific gravity of the ocean towards the equator, and like¬
wise as the depth increases.
Lat. 47° 47' N. Long. 10° 40' W....surface 1-0277
Ditto Ditto 40 fathoms 1-0280
37° 0' 9° surface 1-0281
32° 0' 16° surface 1-0284
Ditto 46 fathoms 1-0286
26° 64° 36 fathoms 1-0287
22° 11' surface 1-0289
8° 20' 56° surface 1-0267
This last was apparently affected by the waters of the Ori¬
noco, though out of sight of land.
The phenomena of sea-ice have been admirably described
by Scoresby, who divides it into two kinds, and moun¬
tain ice. Field-ice has a thickness of from two to three or
four fathoms. He mentions single fields 100 miles in length
and fifty in medial breadth, with a general elevation above
the water of from four to six feet. When the ice is of smaller
extent it is termed & floe. Mr Scoresby found the specific
519
gravity of ice to sea-water to be as 8 to 8-97, or nearly as Physical
8 to 9, so that ice floats in sea-water with ^th above water ; geography,
and a field which has six feet above water will have forty-
eight feet below it, if the ice be of uniform thickness. When
a field or floe is exposed to the dashing of the waves, espe¬
cially to what is called a ground-swell, it is speedily broken
up; but the pieces are apt to collect into what is termed a
pack, when from the mast-head no opening can be disco¬
vered in it. In smaller collections it forms patches. The
ice is loose or open when ships can pass between the frag¬
ments of floes or packs. By the collision of pieces of ice,
the fragments are often heaped on the larger portions, and
form hummocks, which are thus sometimes raised thirty feet
above the general level of the ice. Some ocean-ice is
whitish and porous. This affords only a brackish water; for
though freezing separates the salt from the ice, the salt wa¬
ter is retained in its pores, and the water yielded is not pot¬
able ; but ice which looks blackish whilst swimming has a
solid consistence, a beautiful beryl-green hue in the air, and
when melted affords a potable water, a fact of great im¬
portance to navigators in high latitudes. Sea-ice assumes
diflerent appearances, according as it is formed in smooth
or in rough water. The first process in freezing is the for¬
mation of minute prisms; when these form in smooth wa¬
ter, they speedily unite into sheets of ice, which in twenty-
four hours of keen frost will attain a thickness of two or
three inches, and in forty-eight hours will be able to bear
the weight of a man. This sort often forms in the inter¬
stices of fields, and is termed bay-ice. It sometimes in¬
creases to three feet in thickness. When the congelation
takes place in rougher water, the crystals of ice accumu¬
late, rendering the water sluggish; and this is termed by
sailors sludge. When the motion of the waves prevents the
concretion into larger masses, it forms what sailors term
pancakes, which generally attain the thickness of a foot.
Both these sorts of ice are termed young ice, to distinguish
them from the more solid field-ice. They often rapidly
form around ships engaged in the whale fishery, till no open
water can be seen from the mast-head; and they often dis¬
appear, from the effects of gales or currents, with an almost
magical celerity. The heaviest ice is liable to disruption
by the waves, especially when detached from the shores,
and when the fields are carried by currents into the open
sea. Through the openings thus produced, Scoresby pe¬
netrated in one voyage as far north as 81° 30' N. between
Spitzbergen and Greenland; and at another time reached
the long-lost eastern coast of Greenland, which he survey¬
ed to the extent of 800 miles. The drifting of fields of ice
is a proof of the existence of currents from the circumpolar
regions. Scoresby mentions that he has seen a field drift
100 miles to the south in a month, although the wind had
been very variable during that time. When ice-fields drift
they often acquire a rotatory motion, which brings them into
collision with other fields ; the crushing of the weaker ice
is attended with an awful noise; and the utmost presence
of mind in the mariner is often required to extricate his
vessel from the encounter of such irresistible forces. Moun¬
tain-ice or Iceberg is the term applied to those enormous
masses of ice that are more common in Baffin’s Bay than
in any other part of the northern seas, and are also very
frequent in the Great Southern Ocean. It is now generally
believed that they are glaciers originally formed on the
cliffs of lofty islands or in abrupt valleys, where their lower
part being undermined by the waves, in process of time they
thus become detached from the land, and float about, as im¬
pelled by currents. Some of the icebergs seen in Davis’
Straits have an area of five or six square miles, rise 100
feet above the surface, and are aground in water of 100
fathoms ; from which data we calculate, that such enormous
masses wreigh more than two thousand millions of tons. Ice¬
bergs assume most fantastic shapes, as may be seen in Cap-
520
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Large icebergs
Physical tain Ross’s and Captain Parry’s Voyages.
Geography. can only be produced where there is deep water close to
the cliffs on which they are formed ; and this is probably
the reason why they abound in Davis Straits. In the
Southern Ocean icebergs have been said occasionally to
be 200 feet above the surface, and Forster describes them
as composed of layers of different coloured ice. It is dan¬
gerous to approach some icebergs, still more to make fast
to them; for sometimes they suddenly split into a thousand
pieces, with a thundering explosion, as if they were of un¬
annealed glass; at other times they suddenly lose their
equilibrium, and are overturned by the wasting of the sub¬
merged parts, whilst the upper portion has lost little of its
weight. Icebergs have been wafted by currents and storms
far from their native seats. Occasionally they have been
encountered in the Atlantic, in latitude 40° north; but in
the southern hemisphere they have been frequently seen as
Ice-blink, low as 35°. The Ice-blink is one of those singular effects
of extraordinary refraction, by which the existence of open
water is often recognised, though it really be beyond the
limits of direct vision.1
The polar ices appear to be subject to periodical increase
and diminution, depending on causes not yet perfectly un¬
derstood. One of the last and most remarkable disrup¬
tions of the arctic ice is that described by Scoresby. That
able philosopher has traced the usual boundary of the firm
ice in close and open seasons; and during one of those pe¬
riodical disruptions,’in which more than two thousand square
leagues of ice had broken up, he was enabled to penetrate
through the boundary, which had seemingly remained un¬
disturbed for four centuries. Large, however, as this quan¬
tity disrupted seems, it is a very small part of the whole po¬
lar ices. Leslie computed that a total eclipse of the sun for
a single hour deprives our planet of as much heat as would
be capable of melting a circle of ice 500 miles in diameter
and 150 feet in thickness, which he estimates to be sixty
times the extent of what is annually melted in the Green¬
land Seas; yet the effect of a total eclipse of the sun does
not cool the atmosphere more than 3° of the thermometer.
We cannot, then, ascribe any important influence on our
climate to the melting of this portion of the polar ices.
2. Inland Seas.—A few of the inland seas yet remain
Inland seas.
Baltic.
Mediterra¬
nean.
to be noticed. We begin with the Baltic. This sea differs
from the arms of the ocean already mentioned, by its compa¬
rative freshness, by its want of tides, and by its sending a
current continually into the German Sea. Its freshness
arises from the number and size of the rivers it receives, in
proportion to its extent. It is a narrow, irregular sea, the
extreme length of which is about 1200 miles, with a mean
breadth of about 140 miles. This will not give an area of
70,000 square miles, and its mean depth is only about sixty
fathoms. Yet it receives forty considerable rivers, and the
waters of innumerable lakes, which are the drainage of a
country five times as extensive as its whole surface. The
immense influx of fresh water into such a small basin, from
which evaporation is but slow for a large portion of the year,
sufficiently accounts both for its deficiency of salt and for
the out-going current. The want of regular tides in the
Baltic is a consequence of the same causes that operate in
allconfined collections of water having narrow communica¬
tions with the ocean, viz. that the moon must act almost
equally on all parts of its surface at the same time, and the
oceanic tidal-wave, obstructed by the sinuosities of the nar¬
row channel, only penetrates a little way into the three pas¬
sages which lead into theBaltic.
The Mediterranean is the noblest and most remarkable
inland sea on the face of our earth. A strong current
is perpetually setting into the Mediterranean through the
Straits of Gibraltar, especially in the centre; and although Pf cal
there be an eddy on each side, this reflux is far inferior toGeo- phy,
the quantity flowing in from the Atlantic. This inland sea,'w
which is 2350 miles in length, with a breadth varying from
100 to 650 miles, covers an area of about 1,000,000 of
square miles. Its depth is much more considerable near the
Straits than that of the adjacent Atlantic. The fine hydro-
graphical chart of Don Vincente Tofino de San Miguel, re¬
published in this country with additions by Captain W. H.
Smyth, R. N., shows, that from the longitude of Cape Tra¬
falgar, where the Atlantic is from fifty to sixty fathoms, the
channel deepens as we proceed upwards, until, a little within
Gibraltar, it is a thousand fathoms deep, and soon after is
beyond soundings. It is also very deep towards its eastern
extremity. Between Sicily and Africa its depth varies from
a hundred to thirty fathoms; so that there exists in that part
of the sea a submarine chain or shoal, which may be con¬
sidered as an extension of the rock-formations of Italy and
Sicily, with deep water on either hand. Besides the per¬
petual current from the Atlantic, it receives the surplus wa¬
ters of the Euxine, by the constant stream passing through
the strait of the Dardanelles. These immense additions
appear necessary to supply the enormous evaporation from
its surface. It has been remarked, that the rivers which fall
into it are the contributions of a smaller extent of territory
than the river-domain of any other inland sea, in proportion to
its area; for they are to each other rather less than one and
a half to one. Some have contended that there is a current
below that setting in from the Atlantic. The only fact of¬
fered in proof is stated to have happened in 1712. A Dutch
merchantman, laden with wine and brandy, was sunk by a
broadside from a French privateer in mid-channel, and a
few days afterwards the ship and cargo were cast on shore
near Cape Spartel, twelve miles below where the accident
happened ; but the nature of the cargo probably prevented
the complete sinking of the vessel, and she may have drift¬
ed within the range of the outgoing current on the African
shore. The eastward slope of the bottom of the strait would
certainly favour the ingress of the cooler waters of the At¬
lantic into the Mediterranean, and afford an argument against
the existence of this alleged under-current.
There is, however, no need of the hypothesis of a coun¬
ter-current to explain the preservation of the level of this sea,
notwithstanding that it receives several large rivers, and a
perpetual supply from the Euxine and the ocean; since Dr
Halley has shown, that the amount of evaporation from its
extensive surface, in so warm a latitude, is sufficient to pre¬
serve its level unchanged.
Tides are but little felt in the Mediterranean. They are
only sensible in certain parts of that sea, and seldom rise to
six inches above the mean level; but, in the Straits of Mes¬
sina, the form of the land, and the peculiar set of the cur¬
rents, give them a more considerable range. These tides,
however, are irregular, and are liable to be affected greatly
by the direction and force of the winds. The want of con¬
siderable tides in the Mediterranean kept the Romans ig¬
norant of the extent of ebbs and floods, and caused them
several disasters when they carried their arms to the shores
of Western Europe. Even in the time of Tacitus they were
imperfectly acquainted with the currents produced by t e
tides around the northern coasts of Scotland, the difficulty
of stemming which the historian ascribes to a “ mare pig-
rum, remigantibus infestissimum.” (
That large inland sea the Buxine, writh its branch the m •
Sea of Azof, has somewhat of the characters of the North
American lakes in its comparative freshness, which is one
cause of the duration of ice on waters that have the same
latitude as the finest regions of Italy and France. The sur-
Scoresby’s Arctic Regions, and Ross’s and Parry’s Voyages
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
/sical
raphy,
face of the Euxine and the Sea of Azof is estimated as equal to
170,000 square miles; but as they receive some of the largest
rivers in Europe, and smaller streams from Asia, the drainage
of an extent of country equal to five times their own surface,
we see a strong reason why there should be a constant efflux
through the Bosporus. This current in the Thracian Bos¬
porus has generally a velocity of from three to five miles an
hour, according to the direction and force of the wind. Be¬
fore this outlet was formed, the Euxine probably united with
the Caspian, and constituted an hyperborean sea on the plains
of Russia, and the provinces on the Lower Danube; and most
probably the floods of Deucalion and Ogyges were connect¬
ed with debacles arising from disruptions of the barrier of
this sea.
According to Pallas, there are traces of the former union
of the Caspian with the Euxine, in the saline marshy
ground and numerous lakes which intersperse the flat coun¬
tries of Ulagann-Ternik, Alabuga, and Byeloe. The pre¬
sent Caspian is below the level of the Euxine. From baro¬
metrical measurements, Parrot stated its surface to be 300
feet below the level of that sea; but the recent trigonome¬
trical levelling of Fuss, Sabler, and Sawitch, which has been
conducted with the utmost care, reduces this depression to
101*2 feet. Its length is about 700 miles, and its breadth
about 210, which would give it an area of 147,000 square
miles. It has a very unequal bottom. Hanway states, that
in some places 450 fathoms of line could not reach the
bottom; but in other places it abounds in shallows, which
render its navigation perilous, independently of the sudden
storms to which it is liable. It is without tides ; but its
shores are subject to irregular floods, from the size and
number of its rivers, and the direction of the winds. It is
extremely salt, and abounds with fish ; amongst which the
most important is the isinglass sturgeon, and the sterlet (Ac-
cipenser huso, and A. Rulhenus). Several species of Sal-
mo and Cyprinus, and a species of herring, are numerous ;
and there are extensive fisheries of several kinds of seals.
How seals found their way into this inland sea, unless at one
time it communicated with the ocean, we cannot easily ex¬
plain.
The Sea of Aral seems once to have communicated with
the Caspian, from the similarity of their fishes, and the nu¬
merous salt lakes and marshes that still crowd the inter¬
vening space, especially towards the northern extremity.
The Sea of Aral is 200 miles by 100, and therefore has an
area of about 20,000 square miles. It is extremely salt,
though it receives several very large rivers, particularly the
Sihon and Gihon, the ancient Jaxartes and Oxus.
The inland sea or lake called Baikal differs from those
already mentioned in being perfectly fresh. Its length is 360
miles, and its breadth forty ; so that its area is about 14,400
square miles, including the islands which it contains. This
lake or sea is remarkable for its green tint, and the very
great inequalities of its bottom. In some parts its depth
is asserted to be more than 3000 feet, but then the water
suddenly shoals to 150 feet. Considering the mass of water
it receives from the rivers Bargazin, Selinga, Angara, and
many less considerable tributaries, and that its only visible
outlet is the Lower Angara, which is not capable of dis¬
charging above a tenth of the water poured into this sea,
it is conceived by some geographers, that evaporation, in a
climate where the whole surface is annually frozen for five
months, could not carry off the surplus, and that there¬
fore the Baikal must have some secret outlet, by which its
superfluous waters may reach the ocean. The same diffi¬
culty occurs here as with the Caspian and the Aral. How
could the seals which it contains have been introduced ?
They are extremely numerous in its northern part, and as
many as two thousand have been killed in one year. Of
the fishes, the omul, or Salmo migratorius, is the most im¬
portant in an economical point of view; but it also con-
VOL. XVII.
521
tains S. salvelinus, S. oxyrhinchus, the carp, the tench, Physical
the sterlet, and the isinglass sturgeon. One fish is peculiar Geography,
to this sea, Calyonymus Baikalensis, which occurs in such ^ y'~—'
quantities as to corrupt the air by its putrefaction on the
shores after storms, to which this sea is very liable. There
are many appearances of volcanic fire in the vicinity of
the Baikal. It is probable that the surface of the waters of
this inland sea once stood on a higher level than at present,
and that thus the salmon and the seal might have been able
to surmount the rapids of the Yenisei, or have found their
way into the Baikal by the channel of the Lena.
The Red Sea is the only other Asiatic sea which we shall Red Sea.
here notice particularly. It is a long arm of the ocean, ex¬
tending between Asia and Africa for nearly 1500 miles,
whilst its medial breadth is not above 100 miles. Until Lord
Valentia’s voyage, our charts of this sea were very imper¬
fect, and much still remains to be done ; but his lordship
has established the important point of the superior depth of
the western side, although the general depth is inconsider¬
able. These peculiarities of its form give it more the cha¬
racter of a river than of an arm of the ocean ; a circum¬
stance which, with the position of its strait in the direction
°f the tidal wave from the Arabian Sea, makes it subject
to very considerable tides, especially in its lower part;
whilst their rise is not prevented by the influx of any river.
The less powerful influence of shape, and the influx of the
united streams of the Euphrates and Tigris, tend to dimi¬
nish the height of the tides in the Persian Gulf another in¬
land sea, about half the length of the Red Sea.
The Tchad, an inland sea of fresh water, is one of the Tchad,
most considerable of the kind in the world ; and constitutes
that Bahr el Soudan, so long considered as the common re¬
ceptacle of the rivers of Central Africa. The discoveries
of Denham and Clapperton prove that it is one of the
grandest features in the kingdom of Bornou. It seems to be
not less than 200 miles in length by 150 in breadth; but in
the rainy season it becomes greatly enlarged, and encroaches
on its fiat shores. It is principally fed by the rivers Shary
and Yeou. The former flows from the south into the lake,
and is a noble, rapid river, half a mile in width. The lat¬
ter, once supposed to be the Niger, comes from the west,
but is not considerable.
We have already noticed the general direction of the Mexican
equinoctial current into the Gulf of Mexico, from which Gulf,
it has obtained the name of the Gulf Stream. The ed¬
dying of this current in the great inland basin, the preva¬
lence of the trade-winds, and the enormous quantity of
mud brought down by the Mississippi and the less import¬
ant tributary streams descending from the Mexican Sierra
Madre, are, according to Flumboldt, rapidly filling up the
gulf. The eastern coast of Mexico, from 18° to 26° north
latitude, abounds with bars, over which large vessels can¬
not pass; and, far inland, that distinguished traveller found
banks filled with sea-shells but little changed. Were the
Isthmus of Darien annihilated, the equinoctial stream would
pass round the globe ; and this change would probably, ere
long, place the feeble governments of Japan and China at
the mercy of some European conqueror.
Hudson's Sea, improperly called a bay, is during a great Hudson’s
part of the year encumbered with ice. This basin is almost Sea.
three times larger than the Baltic, comprehending an area
of about 500,000 square miles. It is inhabited by some
kinds of cetacea, especially the Greenland whale and the
beluga.
Baffin's Sea is now found to communicate with the po- Baffin’s
lar sea by several openings. Its extent, if we include Da- Sea.
vis’s Straits to the latitude of Cape Farewell, is only inferior,
as an inland sea, to the Mediterranean. It is locked up for a
considerable period of the year in impenetrable ice ; but in
the summer months the ice is broken up, and partially carried
off by a strong current, which is continually setting down
3 u
522
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical through the strait. The centre of that sea, however, is oc-
Geography. cvlpieti either by a series of rocky islands, or by shoals, on
v v ^ which vast icebergs are perpetually grounded. Its desolate
shores have been much frequented by our whale fishers,
on account of the multitudes of the balcsna mysticetus that
resort to this inlet.
Buffon has justly termed North America the country ot
lakes or of fresh-water seas. Commencing in the north with
Great Bear Lake, we may trace a connection by means
of minor lakes to Slave Lake, a vast sea of fresh water,
about 200 miles in length and 100 in breadth. This last
lake communicates with the Arctic Ocean by Mackenzie’s
River, and with Alhabasca Lake by Slave River. A chain
of smaller lakes conducts thence to Winnipeg, which is
scarcely inferior to Slave Lake in extent of surface. Ad¬
vancing to the south-east, we arrive at Lake Superior, which,
with the Michigan and the Huron, may be considered as
forming the great inland sea of Canada. Lake Superior has
an extreme length of 380 miles, a breadth of 161, anti a cir¬
cumference of 1525 miles; the coasts are rocky, and its depth,
in some points, is 1200 feet, but its mean depth may be about
900 feet; and its surface is 641 feet above the sea. Ihe
Huron communicates with the Michigan by a channel four
miles in length; it is 250 miles in length, varies from sixty
to 180 miles in breadth, and has a circumference of 1100
miles. The Michigan is 262 miles in length by 55 in
breadth, and has a circumference of 915 miles. The mean
depth of the three lakes is 900 feet, which shows that their
bottom is 300 leet below the level of the ocean. Iheir
whole surface is computed at 72,930 square miles. We
have already pointed out the danger to the whole valley of
the Mississippi, should earthquakes ever burst the rocky bar¬
rier at the southern extremity of the Michigan.
Lake Erie is connected with the Huron by a narrow chan¬
nel, which expands into Lake St Clair, and. again contracts
ere it reaches the lower lake. Erie is 230 miles in length,
about sixty in breadth where it is widest, and about thirty-
five at the mean. It differs from the upper lakes by its com¬
parative shallowness, the mean depth not exceeding 120 feet.
From many observations, it would appear that Lake Erie is
rapidly filling up. Long Point, at the Big Creek, is stated to
have advanced three miles in three years, in consequence of
the alluvion carried into the lake by its numerous rivers.
The connection of this lake with that of Ontario is by the
river Niagara. The difference in level between the lakes is
330 feet; and, after the river has passed down twenty-one
miles, it suddenly precipitates itself over the celebrated
cataracts of Niagara, in a fall with a depth of 160 feet. It
then flows for seven miles through a deep rocky chasm to
Queenstown, where the country suddenly sinks ; and it flows
seven miles farther, through a champaign country, to Lake
Ontario, another fresh-water sea, 171 miles in length and
about sixty in breadth. The lakes above the falls abound
with many kinds of fish, as salmon, sturgeons, several spe¬
cies of cyprinus, &c. The five last-mentioned seas or lakes
are computed to have an area of 70,000 or 80,000 square
miles.
3. Lakes.—Several of the large collections of water al¬
ready mentioned have been considered as lakes; but that de¬
signation properly belongs to those less considerable bodies
of water which we are now to notice. Many lakes are salt;
and of such, a considerable number exist in Asia. The
most celebrated salt lake in that quarter is the
Dead Sea, or Lake Asphaltites. Independently of the
account in the sacred Scriptures relating to the destruction
of the cities of the plain the site of which is now occupied
by this lake, the nature of the surrounding country bears
evident traces of the ravages of fire in remote ages. 1 he
frowning cliffs on its eastern shore are evidently volcanic,
thermal waters occur near them, the country around is often
to this day shaken by earthquakes, and asphaltum is yet col¬
lected on its shores. Some have supposed it the crater of a PbU
volcano. The lake is much more saline than the ocean; and Geop ^
although the waters are limpid, their specific gravity is 1-2110.
Mr Gordon attests their great buoyancy, and an analysis of
the waters by Dr Marcet shows that they contain one fourth
of their weight of salts. An hundred parts of water yielded,
Muriate of lime 3,920
Muriate of magnesia 10-246
Muriate of soda 10‘360
Sulphate of lime 0-054
Lakes.
Dead Sea.
24-580
This saltness of the Dead Sea is evidently owing to the
abundance of salt in its vicinity, which all the streams fall¬
ing into it perpetually deposit in this lake. Although the
waters of the Jordan, the most considerable of these, are
nearly tasteless, and do not contain above one three-hun¬
dredth of their weight of salts, the latter are of the same
kinds as are obtained from the waters of the Dead Sea; and
it is easy to imagine how this constant supply of saline mat¬
ter to a lake of narrow dimensions, without any visible out¬
let, must produce an accumulation of salt, which cannot pass
off by evaporation. On the western shores of this lake are
the ruins of considerable edifices, and still more ancient re¬
mains are said to be covered by its waters.
Messrs G. Moore and Beek have very lately proved, by
the temperature at which water boils, that the surface of
the Dead Sea is 500 feet lower than that of the Mediter¬
ranean ; and the correctness of this estimate they confirmed
by the barometrical results of Professor Schubert of Munich,
which give 500 feet as the depression of the Lake of Tibe¬
rias, and 598 feet as that of the Dead Sea.
The no less celebrated Lake of Gennesareth, or Sea of Gem t.
Tiberias, is still smaller. According to Ali Bey, it is onlyreth.
seven leagues in length by two in breadth. It is embo¬
somed in lofty mountains of a volcanic character, amongst
which Mount Thabor is pre-eminent. Ali Bey considers
this lake as the crater of an ancient volcano; and the nature
of the rocks around, and the thermal springs of Tiberias, fa¬
vour the idea of the volcanic nature of the country.
The want of any outlet, and the influx of rivers passing
through a very saline soil, are the causes of the saltness of
the considerable lakes of Van in Armenia, and of Ourmia
in Persia. The former has a circumference of 168 miles;
and its waters, though potable, are brackish. Ourmia, oi Ou-
rumea, is not less than 300 miles in circuit, and is probably
the saltest of any known lake. Its waters are stated to con¬
tain thirty-two per cent, of salt; and the sinking of the wa¬
ters, during the dry season of the year, leaves a thick crust
of salt on its shores, which at some points extends a consi¬
derable distance into the lake. There are many other lakes
of considerable size in Central Asia; many of them aie
salt; but the most singular is that in Thibet, which pro¬
duces tincal or borax, a substance which is imported in flat
prismatic crystals into Europe, where it undergoes purifi¬
cation. c
Lakes of America.—If North America be the country of Anu
lakes, South America is remarkably deficient in them. “ri
That of Titicaca, in Upper Peru, already noticed, is the
only considerable one in the southern division of the new
world. It is true, that in the rainy season, the mighty rivers
which water the plains of central South America inundate
the low country to an immense extent, converting it into
seas with a prodigious area, but of small depth; and it ap¬
pears that inundations of this sort gave rise to the fable ot
the Lake of Parima, or El Dorado. ,
The Mexican lakes are more remarkable for their ele¬
vation of 7450 feet above the sea than for their extent.
They are essentially saline, being more salt than the Baltic.
The specific gravity of the waters of Tezcuco fdAo, an
the impregnation is derived from a soil containing muria e
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
523
ipean
5 Of
stance.
of
(leva.
1 sh
of soda and carbonate of soda. These lakes have dimi¬
nished since the Spanish conquest, and the capital is no
longer in the lake, but connected with it by a canal. The
natural decrease of these lakes has been accelerated by the
felling of trees, and by a tunnel driven, with immense labour
through a mountain, to carry off the superfluous water that
formerly often flooded part of the city. Between the in¬
land seas of North America and the Icy Ocean there are
innumerable lakes ; a circumstance in which the northern
portion of the new continent resembles the boreal regions of
the old. A lake amongst the defiles of the Rocky Mountains,
about the fiftieth degree of latitude, we were assured by the
late Mr D. Douglas (a botanist, who several times crossed
that chain, and was afterwards unfortunately killed by a wild
bull in the Sandwich Islands), presents a remarkable pecu¬
liarity. From each extremity it discharges a considerable
stream, one of which, falling into the Columbia, finds its
way to the Pacific, whilst the other forms a branch of the
Saskatchewan, and therefore may be said to fall into the
Atlantic, through Lake Winnipeg, the inland seas of Ca¬
nada, and the St Lawrence.
European Lakes.—Amongst these some of the most ce¬
lebrated are the Lakes of Constance and Geneva. The first
receives the Rhine, which was fabled to pass through it
without mingling with its waters. Like other alpine lakes,
it uniformly increases in summer, by the melting of the
mountain snows ; and its lowest period is in winter, when
its sources are locked up in ice. Its length is thirty-five
miles, its greatest breadth is eighteen miles, and its mean
depth is 600 feet, but in some places it requires a line of
2130 feet to reach the bottom. Its waters thus fill a chasm
about 1000 feet below the level of the ocean.
The Lake of Geneva has an area less than that of Con¬
stance ; its extreme length being fifty-four miles, and its
greatest width fifteen. Its depth is very variable ; in some
parts it was found by Deluc to be 960 feet, which shows
that its bottom is only 200 feet higher than the level of the
Mediterranean. Like the Lake of Constance, it receives a
river, the Rhone, at one end, and discharges it at the other
extremity, near to which the river precipitates itself into a
subterranean channel termed Perte de Rhone. The beauty
of the banks of this lake, and the prospect of the distant
glaciers, have given to it great celebrity. The other Swiss
lakes, though eminently beautiful, are not of sufficient im¬
portance to be described here.
Italian Lakes.—The beautiful scenery on the Lago di Co¬
mo and the Lago Maggiore have been the theme of general
praise; but some of the smaller Italian lakes, which seem
to be the craters of extinct volcanoes, deserve notice. The
lakes of Nemi and Averno are most evidently so ; and the
poetical representations of the sulphureous exhalations from
the latter may possibly have had a real origin in former
periods; but now birds rest with impunity on its surface,
and fishes inhabit its waters.
British Lakes.—Our lakes are in general of small extent.
The lakes of Westmoreland and Cumberland are more re¬
markable for their picturesque beauty than their size, and
appear hut as insignificant specks in a map of Europe. A
few of the Scottish lakes are on a larger scale. Some of
them are remarkable for their depth, and probably on that
account Loch Toy and Loch Ness are never frozen. Loch
hiiess in some parts is 800 feet deep ; so that its bottom is
not less than ninety or a hundred feet below the bottom of
the deepest part of the German Sea, on the eastern coast of
Great Britain. The depth of Loch Tay varies from eighty
to 600 feet. Loch Lomond is the largest of the Scottish
lakes, being thirty miles in length by nine in its widest part,
and at its northern extremity it is 600 feet deep. In the
terrible earthquake at Lisbon, Loch Lomond repeatedly
rose and fell several feet. The same took place in Loch
A huge wave rolled with impetuosity from east to
Ness.
west, and the waters sunk and fell repeatedly in an hour. Physical
Loch Tay was remarkably agitated in 1783 and 1784, during ^eoSraP^y*
the violent earthquakes in Calabria. On 22d September of ^*' v-'-''
the latter year, two large waves were observed to rush from
each extremity of the lake, and coalesce near its centre,
leaving about 100 yards of its banks at the eastern extre¬
mity momentarily dry; but the water returned and over¬
flowed its usual boundary. The same appearances were re¬
peated for several successive days with less violence ; and the
agitations of the loch did not cease till the 15th of October.
The agitation to which some alpine lakes are subject when
the air is perfectly calm, in which even whole breakers have
been observed, is a very obscure phenomenon. It has been
often observed on the lakes in the north-west of England,
in the Highlands of Scotland, and in the Lake of Geneva.
It may possibly be explained by the compression of air in
caverns existing in the adjacent mountains, the roofs of
which are on a higher level than the surface, and commu¬
nicating with the bottom of the lakes. If water much
charged with air find its way into such caverns, the air se¬
parated may be compressed in their roofs, until its elastici¬
ty becoming superior to the pressure of the column of water,
forces its way into the lake, and thus gives rise to what in
England is termed a bottom vnnd.
The Irish lakes of Killarney and Tuough Erne are highly Irish lakes,
picturesque; but the petrifying qualities of the waters of
the more extensive Lough Neagh, in Antrim, ought rather
to be attributed to the qualities of the soil in its vicinity.
We possess specimens from that locality of w ood converted
into siliceous petrifactions.
Periodic Lakes.—The inundations of rivers may be said Periodic
to form periodic lakes; but there are other instances where ^u^es-
the cause is more occult, although the effect be no less con¬
spicuous. The best-known instance of this is the cele¬
brated Lake of Cirknitz, in Carolina. It is only about eight
miles in length by two in breadth. In the beginning of
June its waters disappear through several fissures in its ba¬
sin, and the peasants immediately begin to cultivate its
bottom, or to pasture their herds on the rich herbage which
its oozy bed soon produces. The crop is removed, and
about the end of September or middle of October the
waters return, spouting up through several apertures in the
earth with great force. With these waters various species
of fish appear; and sometimes is seen amongst them that
curious animal, so puzzling to systematic naturalists, the
Anguina Proteus of Laurenti, the Syren Anguina of Shaw.
This lake is placed in a valley amongst limestone hills,
which are well known to be hollowed out into vast caverns.
Of these the most considerable is Mount Javornick. The
caves are supposed to be the receptacles of subterranean
rivers, which, when augmented by the autumnal rains, over¬
flow into the channel which communicates with the basin
of the Cirknitz; and when the sources of these floods fail,
the waters retreat to their summer level. Other lakes of a
similar kind are said to occur in Dalmatia.
4. Rivers—The size and course of rivers are chiefly de-Rivers,
termined by the height and direction of the mountain chains
in which they originate. Thus the Rhine, the Danube, and
the Rhone, the largest rivers in Europe, take their rise in
the Swiss Alps. The great rivers of Asia have their origin
in some of its lofty central chains. The northern rivers, the
Irtish, Ob, Yenisei, and Lena, may all be traced to the Al¬
tai ; the Ho-yang-Ho and Yang-tse Kiang of China arise
in the mountains forming the eastern abutment of the cen¬
tral table-land of Asia; whilst the southern ramparts of that
table-land contain the sources of the great river of Cambo¬
dia, the Irawaddy, the Brahmaputra, the Ganges, and the
Scind or Indus. In Africa, the Nile has one of its sources
in the lofty mountains of Abyssinia, and the other in the
more distant central chain; the Niger rises in the western
chain, runs eastward, is deflected in the kingdom of Houssa
524
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical towards the south and west, and finally pours its waters into
Geography. tiie Atlantic in the Gulf of Guinea. In America, the Ma-
v dalena and Maranon spring directly from the Cordilleras of
the Andes, which also contain the principal sources of the
Orinoco ; whilst the more sluggish streams of the Paraguay
and Parana derive their waters from a lower transverse chain,
stretching to the coast of Brazil. In North America, the
Arkansas, Red River, and Missouri, the great feeders of the
Mississippi, spring from the Northern Andes, where also are
the sources of the Columbia to the west, and of the Saskat¬
chewan, the principal stream, which, flowing into Lake Win¬
nipeg, becomes thus a part of that vast chain of lakes or seas,
the outlet of which is the St Lawrence.
Channels The channels of rivers are partly produced by the action
of rivers, of their own waters ; but undoubtedly also by some of the
causes which we have indicated as disturbing the original
arrangement of the solid materials of the earth. Thus
earthquakes have often opened passages for rivers through
barriers of rocks and mountain chains. It may be admitted,
that the continual action of water will excavate the hard¬
est stone; but the ravines through which rivers flow fre¬
quently bear no traces of having been formed by the action
of water; and the depth of some channels, compared to the
scantiness of the stream, scarcely permits us to ascribe the
whole to the excavation produced by the water. Thus, it
is impossible to suppose that the small stream of the Lauri-
cocha, in South America, has cut its way through the chain
of the Andes, which it traverses in a long mural chasm, only
twenty-five fathoms wide, but of astonishing sublimity. In
other instances, the bottom of the channel itself is even below
the level of the ocean ; thus, the bed of the Maranon, above
its junction with the Rio Negro, and more than 1000 miles
from its embouchure, was found by Condamine to exceed
620 feet; which, by the estimate of Humboldt, is more than
100 feet below the level of the Atlantic. This may be a
chasm produced by an earthquake, like that which, in 1752,
suddenly opened, and received the whole waters of the Rio
del Norte (a river which has a course of 1000 miles), so
as to lay dry its channel for a distance of fifty leagues; and
it was several weeks before the river assumed its usual level.
Sometimes the channel of a river near its mouth is much
below that of the adjacent sea. It is so in the Maranon ;
and the same has also been proved with regard to the Mis¬
sissippi, which, just above New Orleans, is 153 feet deep,
that is, at least fifty feet below the mean depth of that part
of the Mexican Gulf. In such circumstances it is obvious,
that the lower part of these hollows in river channels must
be filled with salt water ; which, by its superior gravity, will
insinuate itself below the descending current. Indeed this
takes place in the mouths of all rivers communicating with
the sea by considerable channels of small declivity. Thus
the lowest stratum of water at London Bridge, at the highest
flood, is salt, though the upper current flowing over this
stratum is quite potable. The tides in the Maranon are
sensibly felt 600 miles from its mouth; and probably the
sea-water forces itself up at least thus far beneath the mighty
current of the river.
Rivers occupy the lowest parts of valleys through which
they flow, and when they are very large their declivities are
generally small. The surface of the Maranon, 3000 miles
from the sea, has only an elevation of 1235 English feet,
which would give less than five inches per mile for its
mean declivity; but, from the point to which the tides of
the ocean reach, the declivity is considered as not above
0-2 inch per mile. The Ganges, from Hurdwar, where it
. issues from the defiles of the Himalaya, has a mean decli¬
vity of four inches per mile; that of the Volga is about five
inches.
The general form of the channels of rivers, however, PhiL
especially in a champaign country, indicates, that if not^ofipty.
wholly formed, they are greatly modified, by the action of
their waters. In fact, their beds are usually proportional
to the force of the stream. On the banks of many large
rivers we can still trace the different heights at which the
waters have formerly flowed. Playfair mentions the existence
of four or five successive terraces on the Rhine,1 each of
which has evidently been formed in succession by the ri¬
ver ; and hence he concludes that the Rhine once flowed
360 feet above its present level. Similar remarks were
made on the Upper Rhone by Saussure. The general ef¬
fect of the action of the water must be the erosion of the
channels in the lapse of ages ; and even in the rocky beds
of rivers this action of water is very perceptible. Thus
the waters of the Niagara have apparently worn away the
limestone rock of the falls, and formed a deep ravine
through the stony bed, six miles in length from Queens- |
town, where the cliffs terminate abruptly, to the present
site of the Falls. The undermining of the cliffs by this
stupendous cataract has caused a recession ot the Falls
equal to about eighteen feet in thirty years; but we can¬
not thence infer the length of time that this cataract has
existed, because we have no certainty of the equability
of the disintegration, nor of the other causes which may
have aided or facilitated the process. When rivers which |
have their sources in lofty mountains flow through ex¬
tensive plains, they are subject to periodical inundations at
the rainy season, or when the snows which feed them
are melted by the summer heat. Under these circum¬
stances, the swollen river bears along with it mud, sand,
and gravel. A portion of these is deposited on the banks
of the river, and thus tends to elevate them above the
level of the adjacent country; whilst a portion is swept
to the sea by the current, and the materials are tfiere col¬
lected into sand-banks, or, by the repellent action of the
waves, serve to augment the triangular plain often form¬
ed at the mouths of rivers, to which the name of delta has Form c
been applied. This evident and gradual increase of aofde ;
delta has given rise to the idea of attempting to estimate
the antiquity of existing geological arrangements by such a
natural chronometer. Thus, if the increase of a delta at
the mouth of any river be a certain number of feet in a
given time, it has been supposed that we could thence ob¬
tain a measure of the age of the whole alluvial land at that
point. But for the accuracy of such deductions several
data are required. We must ascertain that the supposed
delta is really the formation of the river, and that the rate of
increase at distant periods is uniform. In every attempt
to solve such problems there is danger of mistaking the
effects of general for local causes; and there is strong rea¬
son to disbelieve the alleged uniformity of the increase of
the alluvial soil at the mouths of rivers. The Po, of late
years, appears to have gained upon the Adriatic, at the
rate of 228 feet per annum, at its two principal embou¬
chures ; but had the annual increase always equalled this,
the mouth of the Po at the commencement of the Christian
era should have been seventy-eight miles from the pre¬
sent shore, or extended beyond Mantua. But towns fifty
miles nearer the Adriatic, in the valley of the Po, have ex¬
isted from before the birth of Christ. The calculations
of Yolney, on the advance of the delta of the Nile, are
founded on very insufficient grounds; and as yet it must
be conceded, that we have no determinations of this sort
worthy of confidence.
The currents of large rivers may frequently be traced, by
their colour, to great distances in the ocean. Thus the
Ganges, when in flood, discolours the sea in the Gulf of
1 Works, vol. i.
I
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
525
ieical
raphy,
ul 01
1 nk-
Bengal to the distance of sixty miles, and its mud covers
the bottom at eighty miles from the land. The mud of the
Orinoco is carried far into the Atlantic; and on examin¬
ing water drawn from the sea in latitude 8° 20' north, that is,
in the parallel of the Orinoco, and 200 miles from its em¬
bouchure, Traill ascertained that the specific gravity of the
water suddenly fell below what it was to the north and to
the south of this parallel. The enormous mass of water dis¬
charged by the Marahon, according to Sabine, discolours
the ocean, and has even considerable rapidity in a direc¬
tion inclined to that of the equinoctial current, at the dis¬
tance of 300 miles from the American coast. Fresh wa¬
ter may be obtained from the surface of this current, at a
great distance from the shore.
The periodical inundations of rivers depend on great falls
of rain in mountainous regions, or on the melting of snows
in the neighbourhood of their source. The period depends
on the return of these seasons in different places. Within
the tropics the rainy season is usually about the time when
the sun passes the meridian towards the tropic ; and conti¬
nues until his return to the same place. The floods of the
Marahon and La Plata cover a vast extent of unexplored
country. The rise of the Orinoco commences in May, its
inundation begins in June, and the waters return to their
channel in September ; from which time they decrease until
April of the succeeding year. The inundations of the Lower
Mississippi begin in March, are at their height in June, and
the river is lowest in October. The waters, at their height,
1000 miles from the sea, attain a rise of fifty feet; at 300
miles, of twenty-five feet; and at 100 miles, of twelve .feet.
The western bank of the Mississippi forms a vast series of
lakes, which are dried up in autumn into arid plains, inter¬
spersed with swamps; but the delta below the junction of
Red River is a dismal swamp, scarcely elevated above the
sea. In the Red River, the Arkansas, and the Lower Missis¬
sippi, are found those enormous rafts of drift-v/ood, formed
during the river floods, which sometimes extend for ten or
twelve miles in one mass, rise and fall with the stream, yet
have a luxuriant vegetation on their summits. The inunda¬
tions of the Ganges follow a nearly similar course. The
waters begin to increase in April, when the rains commence
in the mountains in which it has its sources ; the rate of
its increase is about three inches daily until the month of
July, when the rains descend in torrents in the plains. The
increase of the river is then more rapid, being about five
inches daily; and the country for 100 miles along its banks
presents in the end of July the appearance of a vast lake,
interspersed with insulated villages and woods. The ge¬
neral height of the inundation-waters in Bengal is about
twelve feet, but in some places they have a depth of more
than thirty feet. The great river of Ava, the Indus, the
Euphrates, and the Tigris, have also their periods of inun¬
dation, depending on the circumstances determining the
setting in of the rains on the mountains in which they origi¬
nate.
The inundations of the Nile have long been celebrated.
Shortly after the commencement of the rains on the moun¬
tains of Abyssinia, in June, the river begins to rise, and at¬
tains its greatest height in August. At Cairo the greatest
rise is twenty-eight feet; at Rosetta it is no more than four
about the middle of August, when the valley of Egypt, w ith
a mean breadth of three or four leagues, and the greatest
part of the delta, are covered with one sheet of water. Its
increase is irregular; and it decreases gradually until the
following May. As soon as the waters are within their
usual channel, the soil, moistened and enriched by the se¬
diment deposited from the inundation, is diligently culti¬
vated by the natives.
By such inundations the banks of rivers are usually ele¬
vated above the adjacent plains ; and when the stream car¬
ries down much mud and gravel, the whole bed of the river
may become considerably raised above the general level of Physical
the country through which it flows. This natural process Geography,
has been considerably accelerated by art on the Po in Italy.
To obviate the evil of sudden overflowings of this river, its
channel, and that of the tributary streams, have for many
ages been carefully embanked; but the quantity of mud
and gravel carried down by its waters is so great, that the
bottom of the river is gradually raised, further embank¬
ments become necessary, and the repetition of these pro¬
cesses have elevated the whole bed of the river below its
junction with the Mincio, until it is now actually thirty feet
higher than the general level of the adjacent plains; a cir¬
cumstance fraught with the utmost danger to the whole
country between that point and the sea, should any acci¬
dent happen to the main embankment. Where the evil is La colma-
of less magnitude, the Italian engineers have long followed
a remedy, devised, it is said, by Torricelli. When streams
bring down much mud, and their channels have been suf¬
fered to become elevated above the level of the adjacent
plains, the lower ground is subdivided by embanked en¬
closures ; the turbid waters of the river are admitted by
flood-gates into the subdivisions, and are there allowed to
deposit their sediment. The addition of fertilizing mud
thus made, in many situations amounts to four inches in
depth by each irrigation, which may be repeated several
times in the year. By such means, in five or six years,
the soil is raised to a level with the river, and the risk of
extensive inundations greatly diminished. The process is
termed la cohnata. It has been very advantageously, ap¬
plied in Tuscany and Lombardy; and if steadily and judi¬
ciously directed, under the auspices of a just and vigorous
government, might possibly still avert a catastrophe which
seems to impend over the districts of the Lower Po.
When river-courses lie amongst mountains, they are sub- Rapids and
ject to sudden breaks, which, according to their depth, give cataracts
rise either to rapids or to cataracts. There are many pic- ot EuroPe ;
turesque waterfalls in Scotland, as the Cascade of Fyers
and that at Lochleven-head in Inverness-shire, Bruar Cas¬
cade in Athole, the Devon Lynn in Clackmannanshire, and
the magnificent Falls of the Clyde near Lanark. The most
stupendous cascade in Great Britain is the Fall of Glomach,
in the district of Applecross, in the parish of Kintail, and
county of Ross. At the head of a wild and solitary glen,
seven miles from the inn of Shealhouse, the river Girsac is
precipitated in one unbroken fall of more than three hun¬
dred feet. At the distance of about fifty feet from the bot¬
tom, the water impinges on a shelf, whence it falls into a
dark pool, amidst naked perpendicular rocks. When the
river is in flood, it descends in one unbroken sheet of above
380 feet in height. Wales and Cumberland can boast of
many beautiful cascades on a smaller scale, particularly the
Pistil y Cain and Pistil y Mouddach, in Merionethshire.
The cataracts of the Dahl in Sweden, of the Staubach in
the Alps, of Tivoli and Terni in Italy, the less considerable
cascades of Mavraneria, the far-famed Styx of Homer,
Hesiod, and Pausanias, in Arcadia, and the Fall of the Rhine
at Schauffhausen, are amongst the most celebrated in Eu¬
rope.
A cataract may exist in a comparatively flat country, from of Aineri-
a sudden sinking in its level. The stupendous cataract of ca;
Niagara, in which a large and rapid river, 1650 feet in width,
precipitates itself, by two channels, in one vast leap of 160
feet perpendicular, is an instance of such an occurrence.
The celebrated cataract of Tequendama, near Bogota, though
found by Humboldt to be far less lofty than had been sup¬
posed by Bouguer, is still of stupendous height, and one of
the most magnificent in the world: a river half the breadth
of the Seine at Paris is precipitated into a rocky gulf, at two
bounds, to a depth of 540 feet.
The cataract of the river Shirawati, in the Indian pro-of India,
vince of Canara, exceeds in beauty and sublimity every
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
526
Physical waterfall which has been hitherto made known in Europe.
Geography. rp[ie country around the village of Haliali, about three
' v ' ^ miles north-west of the fall, presents the richness of a tro¬
pical forest, mingled with cultivation. The traveller comes
suddenly on the river. “ A few steps more,’ says Dr Chris¬
tie, “ over huge blocks of granite, bring you to the brink
of a fearful chasm, rocky, bare, and black, down into wnich.
you look to the depth of a thousand feet. 1 he bed of
the river is one fourth of a mile broad, in a diiect line ;
but the edge of the fall is elliptical, with a sweep of about
half a mile. This body of water rushes, at first for about
three hundred feet, over a slope at an angle of 45°, in a
sheet of white foam, and is then precipitated to the depth
of eight hundred and fifty feet more, into a black abyss, with
a thundering noise. It has therefore a depth of 1150 feet.
In the rainy season the river appears to be about thirty
feet in depth at the fall; in the dry season it is much lower,
and is divided into three cascades of varied beauty and
astonishing grandeur; but the smaller streams are almost
dissipated in vapour before they reach the bottom. Dr
Wilson succeeded in viewing this magnificent cataract from
the bed of the river, from which it appears to much ad¬
vantage.1
Number of The number of considerable rivers which fall into the
rivers. sea jn different parts of the old continent amounts to 430,
and those of the new continent may be estimated at 140,
but this seeming disproportion is amply compensated by the
vast dimensions of the latter.
Quantity of Several attempts have been made by philosophers to
water they compUte the quantity of water which rivers discharge into
discharge. the ocean. i)ut jt is a problem scarcely admitting of any
solution, beyond a probable approximation From the ob¬
servations of Father Riccioli on the discharge of the river
Po, it has been calculated, that the water poured out by all
the rivers of the globe is equal to forty-one cubic miles
daily, or to 14,965 cubic miles annually. This computa¬
tion is probably too high. The greatest estimate of the mean
annual fall of rain, dew, &c. is not above thirty-four inches
for the whole earth ; and the superficies of the globe being
196,816,658 square miles, this will afford a mass of water
equal to 105,614 cubic miles as the whole that is annually
precipitated on the earth. But from this must be deducted
all that falls on the ocean, which, if we consider the preci¬
pitation in the ratio of their surfaces, will give 38,271 cubic
miles as the water that falls on the land. Of this quantity,
however, at least two thirds are expended in irrigating the
soil or in sustaining vegetable life, and are restored to the
atmosphere by the process of evaporation, so that no more
than 12,757 cubic miles will become the annual tribute of
the rivers of the globe to the ocean. This estimate differs
less from that founded on the tables of Cotte than some later
speculations on this subject, in which we suspect that the
mean annual rain, and the quantity returned by the rivers
to the sea, are considerably underrated.
The length of the course of twenty-two of the principal
rivers, and the area of their respective domains or basins,
were calculated with much care, and given in a tabular
form in the essay on Physical Geography in the last edition
of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. These elements we here
insert, with the addition of a reduction of the proportional
lengths into English miles, which has been obtained by
multiplying them by 180, the distance between the re¬
motest sources of the Thames and its embouchure at the
Nore, that river having been assumed as unity in the first
column of the table. The proportion of water discharged
by each has been omitted, because the data on which that
column was calculated did not seem to be sufficiently esta¬
blished.
Length of
their
Length.
Europe. *
Asia.
Thames 
Rhine 
Loire 
Po 
Elbe 
Vistula 
Danube 
Dnieper 
Don 
'Wolga 
Euphrate ....
Indus 
Ganges 
Kang-tse,
or Great |
River of |
China 
Amour,
Chinese J
Tartary..
Lena, Asi¬
atic Rus-
7i
n
14
11*
10
Length
in Eng¬
lish
Miles.
Oby, ditto.
Africa Nile 
St Law-'
rence, in¬
cluding
lakes 
21*
16
13*
15
18*
221
. Mississippi..
America j p]ata-t..
Amazon,
not in¬
cluding
Araguay.
19
13*
224
180
810
720
400
820
760
1750
1390
1350
2520
1750
2070
1800
Propor-
MaUn! Area of Basin
tude of in English Miles.
Basin.
3870
2880
2430
2700
2330
4050
3420
2430
4095
1
12*
8*
5
9
13*
56
36
37
94
42
72*
76
138
164
174
236
90
109
249
225
5,500
70,000
48,000
27,000
50,000
76,000
310,000
200,000
205,000
520,000
230,000
400,000
420,000
760,000
900,000
960,000
1,300,000
500,0001
uncertain. \
600,000
395
1,368,000
1,240,000
2,177,000
Pk; al
Leogj h
A diagram exhibiting the lengths of the courses of the
principal rivers on the globe w ill be found in Plate CCCC .X.
We have noticed the usual courses of rivers; but some-Occu-
times their streams, after flowing through open channels, tion < i-
are engulfed, and afterwards re-appear at considerable dis-vers
tances from their occultation. Limestone districts afford
many specimens of this phenomenon. In Derbyshire, the
small streams named the Hamps and the Manifold sink
into a chasm on a common near Ashburn, and re-appear in
Islam grounds, three miles below. The stream which is¬
sues from the Cavern of the Peak is believed to be the same
which disappears near the road from Chapel-in-Frith to
Castleton; and the caves of Weathercote and Yordas in
Yorkshire exhibit similar instances. The occultation of
the Rhine has great celebrity, and attracts numerous visi¬
tors from Geneva. The Guadiana, one of the largest rivers
in Spain, disappears near the village of Castillo de Cer-
vera, and, after pursuing a subterranean course for twelve
or fourteen miles, bursts again into day near the high road
to Madrid, between Manzanares and Villaharta, at the spot
named OJos de Guadiana, or the Eyes ot the Guadiana.
No country surpasses Greece in the number of its subter¬
ranean streams, the peculiarities of which are often clothed
in splendid mythological fictions by her ancient bards. The
waters of many valleys in the Peloponnesus have no other
outlets than or chasms engulfing the streams, which
are termed Katavothra by the modern Greeks. Such are
the outlets of the valleys of Tegea, Mantineia, Assea, Or-
chomenus, Alea, Stymphalus, and Peneus. A familiarity
with such phenomena, and a poetical temperament, readi y
led the ancient Greeks to conceive still more distant secret
communications ; and the imagination which peopled every
1 Jameson’s Journal, vol. xxiv. for January 1838.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
527
deal
iphy.
iP
T 1 tom-
tioi f
¥
grove and animated every stream with presiding deities,
could easily reconcile itself to the fabled loves of Alpheius
and Arethusa, which led the enamoured river-god to pur¬
sue his coy nymph, beneath the bed of the ocean, from
Greece to the shores of Sicily.
5. Springs.—Springs derive their origin from water raised
into the atmosphere by evaporation, falling down in the
form of showers or mists on hills, and thence percolating
through fissures in rocks, or through porous beds, until they
appear at lower points of the earth’s surface. Hence springs
of any size are rarely found near the summits of mountains.
When they occur in such situations, they probably arise from
water collected on higher though distant mountains, finding
its way, as in the two legs of a siphon, through a fissure open
to the air only at its extremities. Springs are most nume¬
rous in mountainous districts, because hills readily arrest
and condense clouds. The observation of Mr White of Sel-
borne, on the condensation of moisture by a single tree, is
a proof of the effect of even small elevations in collecting
moisture from the atmosphere. Springs are directed to the
surface by the position of the strata or fissures through which
they flow. In flat countries, springs sometimes have a long
subterranean course, especially when they encounter beds
of plastic clay, through which their waters cannot penetrate.
Copious perennial springs usually undergo very little altera¬
tion in their temperature throughout the year; and there¬
fore very generally indicate the mean temperature of the
climate where they occur. But water brought up from con¬
siderable depths in the earth, as in those wells which (from
having been first introduced in Artois) are termed Artesian,
has usually a higher degree of heat, which increases with
their depth.
A higher temperature than the mean of the latitude is
occasionally also observed in large springs, the source of
which is perhaps not deep. Professor Traill has stated, that
the largest spring in Great Britain, St Winefredes Well, at
Holywell, has always a temperature several degrees above
the mean heat of our climate, and that at different times he
had found it to vary as much as 4° of Fahrenheit. This
noble spring may be considered as the bursting out of a
subterranean river; for it throws up, it is said, about twenty-
one tuns of water per minute, or 30,240 tuns daily. It is
worthy of remark, that this spring issues from a hill much
disturbed by numerous mineral veins, and probably has its
temperature also affected by surface water.
The Crawley Spring, from which Edinburgh is supplied
with water, though of far inferior size, is yet very remark¬
able, as it yields 220 cubic feet, or more than a tun, per
minute, of the purest water.
The most magnificent spring we have ever beheld is the
far-famed Fountain of Petrarch, at Yaucluse. It rises with¬
in a cavern, at the foot of a vast semicircular precipice of
compact limestone terminating a wild valley. In the be¬
ginning of autumn, by clambering over a heap of rubbish,
the traveller may descend into the cavern, and will find him¬
self on the brink of a gulf of the clearest water, of unfathom¬
able depth, with the deep blue tint of the ocean out of
soundings, rising with .great force, and an unruffled surface,
from the recesses of the mountain. It issues from the cavern
through concealed channels, and forms at once the river
Sorgue, capable at its very source of moving machinery, and
almost immediately navigable for boats. The waters of this
extraordinary spring never vary half a degree in tempera¬
ture. When the melting of snow on the neighbouring Alps
increases its sources, the cavern is entirely filled with wa¬
ter, and the stream rushes over the rugged bank at the
mouth of the cavern with the tumult of a cascade.
The water of springs always contains air, and some saline
ingredients. In good potable water the air usually equals
■oyth or J^th of its volume ; of this one third is atmospheric
air, and the rest carbonic acid gas. The saline contents of
good spring-water generally vary from yJ^th to ^G^th of Physical
their weight; and such water has a specific gravity of from Geography.
T00016 to P00030. Such springs are termed soft, and'^^^^
answer well for culinary and other domestic purposes. When
the solid ingredients exceed this proportion, the water be¬
comes hard; and is less fitted for cooking or dissolving
soap, in proportion to the quantity of foreign impregnation
it contains. The springs of Upsal, analysed by Bergman,
afford a good instance of a very soft water. The three
purest contained no more than -j^oth part of their weight of
solid matter, and had a specific gravity of T0002. From
a kanne (about 57,000 grains troy) of the Sandvik spring,
he obtained 9*65 of solid contents, in the following propor¬
tions :
Grains. Grains.
Carbonate of lime 5-5 Muriate of lime 0‘5
Muriate of soda 2"25 Sulphate of potassa 0*25
Silica 0#5 Carbonate of soda 0’25
besides four cubic inches of carbonic acid gas, and two cubic
inches of oxygen gas.
The same ingredients are found in most potable waters,
and many also contain sulphate of lime. The springs which
supply Liverpool have a specific gravity of from 1-0026 to
T0027, and contain of solid matter. They are rather
hard; but when the ingredients are in more considerable
quantity, the spring becomes a mineral water.
Mineral springs, besides the substances already indicated, Mineral
may contain one or more of the following substances: sul- waters,
phuretted hydrogen, or nitrogen; sulphates of soda, ammonia,
magnesia, alumine, iron, copper; nitrates of potassa, lime, and
magnesia; muriates of potassa, ammonia, and baryta; more
rarely free sulphuric acid, boracic acid, and borate of soda.
Muriatic acid uncombined has been detected in the waters
of the Pusambio in South America, which arise from the vol¬
canic mountains of Purace, and are strongly impregnated
with sulphuric and muriatic acids ; and in Java sulphuric
acid has been discharged by volcanoes in such quantities
as to destroy vegetation. Boracic acid is deposited from
several of the Tuscan springs, especially from the thermal
waters of Sasso. The borate of soda is found in some of
the lakes of Persia and Thibet. Mineral waters may be,
1. acidulous ; 2. chalybeate ; 3. sulphureous ; or, 4. saline.
The first generally owe their sparkling appearance and acid
qualities to carbonic acid. The second contain either the
carbonate or the sulphate of iron. The third owe their
fetid smell to sulphuretted hydrogen, or to sulphurets of
lime, or of some other alkaline substance. The fourth con¬
tain a notable portion of neutral salts, from which they
have a disagreeable taste, and are hard waters.
The acidulous waters almost always contain some alka-Acidulous
line or earthy salt. Such are the waters of Tunbridge, Spa, and chaly-
Pyrmont, Seltzer, and others. The chalybeates generally freate:
contain from one to two and a half grains of oxide of iron,
or some salts, in each English pint, often combined with
other salts. Of this kind are the British springs of Peter¬
head, Brighton, and the chalybeate sources of Harrowgate
and Cheltenham, which last, however, are much mixed
with other saline ingredients. These vary from 1-0007 to
1-0010 in specific gravity.
Our sulphureous waters are potent, and owe their quali-Sulphure-
ties to sulphuretted hydrogen. The principal are, Strath- ous waters;
peffer, near Dingwall; St Bernard’s Well, at Edinburgh ;
Hartwell, near Moffat; Harrowgate, Leamington, and a less ,
known well at Kilburne, near London. Their specific gra¬
vity ranges from 1-0042 to 1-0132, especially of those
which, like Harrowgate and Leamington, contain much sa¬
line matter. Moffat spring contains very little saline im¬
pregnation, and its sulphuretted hydrogen amounts to 1-20
cubic inch in each English pint. The old well at Harrow¬
gate contains much saline matter, and 1-75 cubic inch of
that gas in the same quantity of water. The thermal wa-
528
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical ters of Aix-la-Chapelle are very strongly impregnated ; con-
Geography. taining no less than 5*5 cubic inches of sulphuretted hy-
' Y drogen.
Saline Saline mineral waters contain a notable quantity of some
waters. 0f tiie saits already indicated as found in springs. The
most noted in Great Britain are the waters of Dumblane,
Pitcaithly, Cheltenham, and Leamington. Their specific
gravity varies from 1*0047 to 1*0119. The waters of the
two last contain respectively 80*5 and 110*38 grains of salts
in each English pint. All these mineral springs are re¬
puted remedies for various diseases, but are evidently un¬
fit for culinary purposes. The source of their peculiar im¬
pregnations is the mineral beds through which they flow.
Thermal Thermal Springs.—The heat of thermal waters has been
springs. ascribed, by Hutton, Laplace, and Bischoff, to the agency
of a central heat, which is conceived to exist in the bowels
of the earth. Some indeed have supposed that their tem¬
perature may be derived from the mutual chemical action
of local accumulations of certain substances at more mode¬
rate depths in the earth. But the long-continued uniformity
»f their heat has given rise to a modification of this doctrine,
which is ably supported by Dr Daubeny. He considers ther¬
mal springs as deriving their temperature from the same
source as volcanoes, viz. the infiltration of water through the
external crust of the earth, to the regions where he conceives
the metallic elements of earthy and alkaline bodies to exist.
The intense heat extricated during the oxidation of these
elements will convert a portion of the water into steam,
which, under compression, will attain a high temperature,
act on various earthy matters, and communicate its heat to
the subterranean waters which issue in thermal springs.
The position of such springs in the vicinity of disturbances
or upheavings of strata by ignigenous rocks, seems to favour
this idea. Whatever may be the cause, we can now no longer
doubt that there is within the earth a source of heat, the
effect of which is perceived in the increased temperature as
we descend in deep mines, and in the distances to which
the effects of volcanoes are known to be propagated. The
hypothesis of a central heat, unconnected with chemical
changes, has been strongly insisted on, from the uniformity
of the increments of temperature w ith the depth of borings
for Artesian wells ; and the result would lead to the con¬
clusion, that the heat of the earth augments, at an average,
one degree of Fahrenheit for every 100 feet of perpendicu¬
lar depth; so that at the depth of three miles w ater would be
boiling hot. But if we adopt the views of Daubeny, the
temperature of particular springs will depend on the variable
profundity of the unoxidized materials of the globe, and the
supply of water. The temperature of thermal waters seems
to be liable to little change in each spring; but in different
waters it occurs in every degree, from a temperature very
little exceeding the mean of the place, to the boiling point
of water.
Table of the Temperature of some Thermal Springs.
Matlock 66°
Bristol 74
Buxton 82
Bath 116
Alhama, Spain 118
Aregos, Portugal 142
Gurgitello, Ischia ..88
Coquinas, Sardinia 198
Nero’s Bath, Naples.... 121
Albano, Padua 121
Thermopylae, Greece... 113
Balkan, Turkey 163
Vichy, France 113°
Cauterets, do 130
Bourbonne les Bains, do. 131
Neris, do 145
Plombieres, do 146
Chaudes Aigues, do 174
Aix-la-Chapelle, Ger¬
many 136
Weisbaden, do 158
Carlsbad, Bohemia 167
Borsets, Lower Rhine... 172
Gevsers, Iceland 212
Geysers. Iceland abounds with boiling springs, some of which are
remarkable for their issuing out of a small mass of rock in
the midst of a large river, as that figured by Sir George
Mackenzie in the Reikiadalsaa ; others are celebrated for
their intermissions and magnificent jets of boiling water, as Ph ^i
the Geysers. These fountains are well known by the writ-^eori,^
ings of Von Troil, Stanley, Mackenzie, Hooker, Henderson,
and by two Danish publications, the first by Olafsen and
Povelsen, the latter by Ohlsen. The two principal of these
singular fountains are in a valley near Haukadal, about six¬
teen miles from Skalholt, the bottom of which contains nu¬
merous cavities filled with hot water. In the midst of a
little mount formed by siliceous deposits from its waters, six
or seven feet in height, opens a circular basin fifty-six feet
in diameter in one direction, and forty-six in the other. The
depth of this basin is three feet; but in its bottom is a
round hole about ten feet wide, the termination of a pipe
or fissure w hich sinks into the earth to the depth of seventy-
eight feet. By this pipe the water occasionally retires, leav¬
ing the basin quite dry, and no steam is then perceived to
issue from the pipe. Periodically the water begins to rise
in the pipe, and again fills the basin to overflowing; the
ground is shaken by hollow subterraneous explosions; sud¬
denly a prodigious column of boiling water is shot into the
air with astonishing violence, and clouds of steam obscure
the atmosphere. This is followed by successive jets, some¬
times to the number of sixteen or eighteen in five minutes,
the last of which is generally the most energetic, and at¬
tains an altitude of from 90 to 100 feet. On a second visit
to the Great Geyser in 1815, Mr Henderson saw it rise to
the height of 150 feet; and Lieutenant Ohlsen says that
in 1804 he took the altitude of one eruption with a quad¬
rant, and ascertained it to be 212 feet. These efforts are
attended with a loud noise, and the ground trembles beneath
the feet, whilst the velocity with which the jets and the ac¬
companying steam are hurled into the air is astonishingly
sublime. When stones are thrown into the pipe, they re¬
main there until the succeeding jet projects them with great
violence into the air, and they may be seen descending amid
showers of boiling water. The intermissions of this extra¬
ordinary fountain are not absolutely regular ; but there are
generally four great series of eruptions from its orifice in
twenty-four hours.
The jets from the Stroke, or New Geyser of Stanley,
though smaller in diameter, are scarcely less magnificent;
and, taking place more frequently, and with surprising vio¬
lence, afford a high gratification to the traveller.
The mechanism of these Geysers must be simple, to have
lasted for many ages. They are mentioned by Saxo in his
History of Denmark; and this shows that some of them
have existed for about 600 years. It is not easy to imagine
an application and removal of a heating cause within the
earth in such short intervals ; but an arrangement some¬
what resembling that represented in No. 13 would be ca-
No. 13.
pable of producing a Geyser. A cavity similar to that sup¬
posed by Mackenzie or by Lyell, in which water performs
the office of a valve, from the form of the lower part of the
canal communicating with the surface, might suffice; or its
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
529
/sical effect might be increased by a simple valve formed by a
rapby- mass of stone accidentally getting into the position repre-
Y sented in the figure. Indeed, an experiment of Mr Hen¬
derson on the Strockr proves the dependence of the force
of its jets on some such mechanical obstruction. That gen¬
tleman found that the eruptions were accelerated by throw¬
ing a quantity of stones into the pipe, and the violence of the
succeeding jets seemed to be in proportion to the load so
applied ; just as loading the valve of a steam-boiler will in¬
crease the elasticity of the steam. Henderson asserts that
he was thus able to double the effect of the fountain, and
to make it project the water to a height of 200 feet. The
steam is no doubt produced by the agency of that volcanic
fire which everywhere pervades Iceland, and is evidently in
great activity under this secluded valley.
If the cavern in the imaginary section, No. 13, be sup¬
plied with water from a subterranean source, whilst steam
is introduced into it from some more distant volcanic focus,
the fountain will remain quiescent until the accumulation
of steam, and the pressure of the vertical column of water,
aided by the rude valve of rock, will augment its elasticity,
until it become sufficient to overcome the resistance, and to
project the water remaining in the pipe into the atmosphere.
the Geysers are not confined to the valley near Hauka-
dal; several on a smaller scale exist at Reykum, issuing,
at intervals of about an hour and a half, from a bank of hot
sulphureous clay.
The waters of the Great Geyser hold a notable propor¬
tion of silex in solution, which no doubt is owing to their
alkaline impregnation, and their high temperature. Accord¬
ing to the analysis of Dr Black, in the Edinburgh Philoso¬
phical Transactions, vol. iii., an English gallon contains—
Gr.
Argil 2-80
And a little sulphuretted
hydrogene.
Gr.
Silex 3P58
Muriate of soda 14,42
Sulphate of soda  8-57
Caustic soda 5-56
The silex is deposited in beautiful stalactitic forms in
many of the adjacent pools, and the Geysers petrify plants,
like other petrifying waters.
lit. Cold intermitting springs have been well described by the
rings, late Mr Gough of Kendal, who divides them into two kinds;
reciprocating, or such as have a constant but irregular flow;
and true intermitting springs, in which the issue is entirely
suspended for a time, and the water returns at intervals of
greater or less regularity.1 Of the former sort we have a
good example in Giggleswick Well, in Yorkshire, in which
the reciprocations are well marked. In it the water will
sometimes rise and fall a foot in ten or fifteen minutes ; at
other times it will fall as much in four minutes, but usually
requires double that time to regain its former height. The
water bubbles out with force, so as to carry with it particles
of sand. Another reciprocating well occurs near Torbay,
called Lay-well. It is described, in an early volume of the
London Philosophical Transactions, as ebbing and flowing
sixteen times in an hour. A similar well, but on a far less
scale, is St Anthony’s Well on Arthur Seat. The cause seems
to be in both instances the confinement and compression of
air in tortuous cavities within the subterranean channel of
the spring, which, from the position of the aperture, is alter¬
nately compressed by the accumulating fluid, until it ac¬
quire sufficient elasticity to drive before it the resisting co¬
lumn of water. It is easy to conceive a simple mechanism
capable of this alternation, without any species of valve,
except that formed by the water itself, which may be re¬
presented by the diagram No. 13, without its valve. Of
the pertectly intermitting spi'ing the most remarkable is the
Bolder-Born, in Westphalia, near Paderborn. After flow- Physical
ing for twenty-four hours, it entirely ceases for the space ofGeoffraphy.
six hours ; it then returns with a loud noise, and mixed with
air, in a stream sufficiently powerful to turn three mills very
near its source. In Lowthorpe’s Abridgment of the Philo¬
sophical Transactions (vol. ii.), it is said to disappear twice
in twenty-four hours ; and possibly its intermissions are not
regular, but may depend upon the quantity of rain which
has recently fallen. Dr Boue has described a powerful
intermitting spring which occurs at Bihar, in the com¬
mune of Maybugyer, in Hungary. It issues, many times a
day, from the foot of a mountain, after hollow subterranean
noises, in such quantity as in two minutes to fill the channel
of a considerable stream. Its returns are most frequent
from Christmas to Midsummer, when they take place every
quarter of an hour; but they are rarer during the other half
of the year.2
The most probable manner in wdiich such powerful ef¬
fects are produced, seems to be the descent of streams of
water, much mixed with air, into a cavern, the more direct
communication of which with the surface is through a chan¬
nel so connected with the cavern as to confine the air in its
upper part, in the manner of a water-blast, until the in¬
creasing elasticity, from compression, enables the imprison¬
ed air to dislodge the water accumulated between it and
the outlet.
Sect. VII.— The Atmosphere.
The earth is surrounded by an invisible and highly elas- Atmos-
tic fluid, termed its atmosphere, which accompanies it in all phere.
its movements; being retained by the influence of gravita¬
tion toward the earth, though, from the repulsion between
its own particles, it extends to a considerable distance from
the surface. Its density diminishes as it recedes from the
earth, and its expansibility is in the inverse ratio of the
force by which it is compressed. Its density is farther af¬
fected by the influence of heat and cold, by the admixture
of watery vapour it contains, by the decreasing force of
terrestrial gravitation, and the increasing attraction of the
heavenly bodies as its distance from the surface of the earth
is augmented. Experiment and calculation have proved
that the rate of diminution is such, that the atmosphere at
the height of seven miles would only have a density £th of
what it has at the surface ; and that if the altitudes be taken
in an arithmetical series, the decrease in density will follow
a geometrical ratio. Thus, if the density at the surface be
assumed as unity, at seven miles it will be |th, at fourteen
miles it will be j-'^th, at twenty-one miles it will be ^th,
and so on. This property of the air would lead to the idea
of an indefinite extension of the atmosphere ; but there is
evidently a limit to this, probably arising from the gravita¬
tion of the particles of air; and the nicest observations on
the duration of twilight, as well as some other phenomena
in astronomy, almost warrant the inference, that the utmost
limit of the atmosphere cannot exceed forty-five miles in al¬
titude. See the article Atmosphere.
Air is ponderable; 100 cubic inches of air at the tempe-Its weight,
rature 60° Fahrenheit weigh 30-5 grains troy, at a mean
barometrical pressure; and a perpendicular column of the
whole atmosphere is just balanced by a mercurial column
of about thirty inches in height. Hence the length of such
a column is employed to ascertain the weight or pressure
of the atmosphere; and the oscillations of the barometer
have taught us, that this pressure varies in different stations
on the earth’s surface, and in the same place at different
times. See the articles Barometer, Atmosphere, and
Meteorology.
1 Nicholson’s Journal, eighth series, vol. v. p. 35.
VOL. XVII.
* Jameson’s Journal, vol. xxxv. July 183S.
3 x
530
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical
Geography.
Register
barome¬
ters.
No. 14.
The height of the barometer forms an important part of a
meteorological journal. Observation has made us acquaint¬
ed, not only with the occasional, but also with the diurnal
oscillations of the column ; and exhibited the connection of
the more considerable variations with changes in the wea¬
ther. The trouble of continual attention to obtain the
mean heights of the barometer at any place, have given rise
to several contrivances for registering the maxima and mi¬
nima during the absence of the observer. A very ingeni¬
ous instrument for this purpose is described by Mr Keith,
in the Philosophical Transactions of Edinburgh (vol. iv.).
The open end of the instrument is a lar¬
ger cylinder than the rest of the tube.
The cistern is placed horizontally at the
upper part, and an ivory float, supporting
a kneed wire, is placed on the surface of
the fluid, as in No. 14. The scale is
above the opening of the tube, and the
kneed wire moves two light indices, slid¬
ing on a fine wire, with sufficient friction
to retain them in the position which they
receive from the movements of the ivory
float. The same gentleman caused the
instrument, by a slight modification, to
record the whole course of its observa¬
tions through a given period. A per- ^ ^
pendicular cylinder, divided into thirty-
one compartments, is moved round its
axis once a month by clock-work ; a pencil attached to the
float wire records the whole course of the oscillations; and
a proper scale, marked on the cylinder, gives the value of
the irregular curves thus traced. Once a month the cy¬
linder is covered with a fresh paper, ruled into thirty-one
columns, for another monthly series.
Professor Traill has given a simple and cheap form of a
register barometer for maxima and minima.
A diagonal barometer registers the maximum height of
the column. Before the tube is bent,
a piece of iron wire is introduced into
the closed end of the tube, which is
then filled in the usual way. The wire
being lighter than the mercury, will rise
to the top of the column, is pushed be¬
fore it on the rise of the barometer, and,
on the fall, remains, by its own weight,
at the point it had attained. A slight
modification of Cassini’s rectangular
barometer marks the minima, by means
of a piece of iron wire introduced at
the open end of the tube, as in No.
15. To make the indications of both
instruments as nearly equal as the con¬
struction will allow, the lower part of
this tube is bent to less than a right
angle.
It is obvious that the barometer affords the means of
ascertaining the weight of the whole atmosphere. The
pressure of the atmosphere varies from twenty-eight to
thirty-one inches of the barometric column. A column of
pure mercury, whose base is a square inch, and its height the
mean between twenty-eight and thirty-one, or 29-5 inches,
is found to weigh 14*5 pounds avoirdupois; therefore, the
pressure of the whole atmosphere w ill be 14,5 pounds on
each square inch of the earth’s surface. And as the super¬
ficies of our globe is equal to 790,116,426,647,756,800
square inches, if we multiply this number by 14*5, we ob¬
tain, as the absolute weight of the whole atmosphere,
11,456,688,186,392,473,600 pounds; or, if we adopt the
more common estimate of the mean barometric height at
30 inches, and the weight of that column at 15 pounds on
the square inch, this will give 11,851,746,399,716,352,000
No. 15.
pounds, or 5,290,958,214,159,OSS’? tons, as the mass of our P|'(|j|i
atmosphere. Ge<ffl
The variations of atmospherical temperature are ascer- ^ ■>/
tained by the thermometer. (See the articles Meteorology
and Thermometer). The instrument, for this purpose,
should be placed in the shade, protected against reflected
heat, and also against that transmitted through walls, or
other bodies to which it is attached. It is by no means
easy, in a town, to obtain an eligible position for a mea¬
sure of atmospheric temperature, on account of the many
causes which affect the instrument. It ought to be pro¬
tected by a glass case against rain ; yet the air should cir¬
culate freely around it, and it ought to radiate its heat
freely to the sky. The importance of obtaining accurate
information on changes of the temperature of the atmo¬
sphere has given rise to numerous observations on the
annual, monthly, daily, and hourly variations of the ther¬
mometer.
The labour and minute attention required in such inves-Re, r
tigations have induced ingenious men to devise methods of the-.
ascertaining mean temperatures from a few observations.®^:
It has been found that the mean of the thermometer during
the month of April will, in our climate, nearly indicate the
mean annual temperature ; and that the mean of observa¬
tions made about half past 8 a. m., at 2 p. m., at 9 p. m.,
and an hour before sunrise, will give the mean temperature
of each day. To abridge such fatiguing observations,
register thermometers have been devised. The best known
of these are the thermometers of Six and of Rutherford.
(See the article Meteorology, Plate CCCLIY. fig. 6 and
7.) A modification of Six’s thermometer, rendering springs
to the indices unnecessary, has been constructed by Profes¬
sor Traill, in which the indices slide in slightly inclined
tubes, as will be easily understood from No. 16.
No. 16.
As in Six’s thermometer, the expansions of alkohol are
the measure of the temperature ; the indices, of iron wire,
enclosed in glass tubes, are moved by a short column of
mercury ; and they are adjusted for a fresh observation by
bringing them to the extremities of the mercurial column
with a magnet.
The atmosphere itself is invisible; but the column ofColoii if
air interposed between the eye and distant objects investsthj^ ’•
them with an azure hue. This tint depends upon the great-SP e
er refrangibility of the blue rays ot light than ot those to¬
wards the other end of the spectrum. When a ray of
white or undecomposed light enters our atmosphere, the
red and yellow rays pass with little deviation from a recti¬
lineal course ; but the blue rays are dispersed in the air,
and affect the colour of objects beheld through a long
column of the atmosphere. As we ascend lofty moun¬
tains, the refractive power of the air diminishes with its
density, and hence the blue tint is lost in the blackness
produced by the want of refraction ; until a traveller, on
the ridges of the Alps, the Andes, or the Himalaya, will
perceive the sky to assume a hue approaching to deep
blue or black. Saussure has described this phenomenon,
and invented the Cyanometer, an instrument for measur-Cyanc >
ing the intensity of the colour of the sky. (See the article er-
Cyanometer.) The form will be best understood from
No. 17.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
531
sical
aphy.
No. 17-
With this instrument Saussure found a numerical value
for the colour of the sky at different places. Thus it was at
Geneva = 17°, at Chamouni = 19°, on Col du Geant
= 31, and on Mont Blanc, at the height of 15,750 feet, it
was = 39°. It also showed that the intensity of the co¬
lour varied at the same place at different times. The in¬
tensity of the colour is greatest at the zenith. It increases
towards mid-day, more rapidly on mountains than on
plains; and the difference between morning and mid-day is
then also greatest; but the whole difference is most consi¬
derable in plains.
The following comparative tables of observations on Col
du Geant, and at Geneva, illustrate these points. The first
column shows the degrees above the horizon, the second
the degree of the cyanometer.
Geneva.
Col du Gcant.
1°  
10  
20  
30  
40 
50 
60  
60 to zenith 20
. 4°
. 9
.13
.15
.17-5
.19
.20
5°
10
20
30
40
60
.16°
.18
.20-5
.29
.32
.34
60 to zenith 34
At midnight, on the Col du Geant, the cyanometer indi¬
cated 51°.
Some years ago we endeavoured to give greater perma¬
nence to the tints by employing thin films of blue glass in
constructing a cyanometer. The first degree was formed
of a single film enclosed between plates of thin crown glass,
and each succeeding degree consisted of an additional film.
fo the refractive power of the atmosphere we owe the splen¬
dours of sunrise and sunset. When the sun is on the hori¬
zon his beams reach the eye through a long column of dense
air; the more refrangible rays are dispersed, and the eye re¬
ceives the red and orange rays undiluted, especially through
the serene air of a summer evening. As the brilliant hues
of sunset melt away, the blue tone which the atmosphere
had acquired by the dispersion of the most refrangible rays,
but which was lost in the splendour of sunset, gradually re¬
appears. and, mingling with the ruddy gleam, sheds the purple
light of evening on the softened landscape. As the sun de¬
scends more below the horizon the purple colour fades away,
fur Sradually gives place to the “ faint erroneous ray,” that
“ flings half an image on the strained eye.”
Atmospherical air was long considered as a simple sub- Physical
stance, one of the elements of other matter ; but the dis- Geography,
coveries of Black, Cavendish, Priestley, Scheele, and La-
voisier, have proved it to be a compound, of which the prin- si^on of
cipal constituents are oxygene and nitrogene gases, usually the atmo-
estimated at twenty-one volumes of the former to seventy- sphere,
nine of the latter. Dr Black discovered that the atmo¬
sphere always contained carbonic acid, which was found to
exist in slightly variable proportions; and it holds water
suspended in the state of vapour, in proportions which are
still more fluctuating. If we average the two last ingre¬
dients, the composition of the atmosphere may be stated as
follows:
Volume. Weight.
J^itrogene — 77*50  = 75*55
Oxygene  = 21*00 = 23*32
Carbonic acid — 0*08 — 0*10
Aqueous vapour  — 1*42 1*03
The manner in which these different ingredients are
united has given rise to some controversy. The opinion
once generally entertained was, that they were united by
an affinity between their particles, like that which forms che¬
mical compounds. The celebrated Dr Dalton first suggest¬
ed the theory, that of the various elastic fluids constituting
the atmosphere, the particles of one are neither retractive
nor repellent of the particles of another; but that the pres¬
sure upon any one particle of such a mixture is entirely
derived from particles of the same kind of matter. Each
fluid, on this view, is considered as occupying the same
space as it would in a vacuum; and each constituent of the
atmosphere, under a mean barometrical pressure of thirty
inches, as exerting its own separate pressure in the following
proportions, depending on its own quantity and specific gra¬
vity. Thus, the
Inches of Mercury.
Nitrogene would exert a pressure = 23*36
Oxygene  = 6*18
Carbonic acid  — 0*02
Aqueous vapour     0*44
30-001
Soon after the composition of the atmosphere was de- Eudiome-
tected, and the qualities of oxygene in supporting combus-ters.
tion and respiration were understood, it was conceived that
important modifications of disease might depend on or ori¬
ginate in the varying proportions of this essential ingredient
in the air; and various methods were devised for analysing
atmospheric air, and ascertaining the quantity of oxygene it
contained. 1. Dr Priestley devised a method of doing this
by the eudiometer, or measure of the purity of the air. His
method consisted in adding, in a graduated tube, fifty-five
volumes of nitric gas to a hundred of atmospheric air. The
property of this gas is to abstract oxygene from the air, and
to form nitrous acid, which is absorbed by water; and the
amount of the diminution marked the quantity of oxygene
in the air. 2. Gay-Lussac improved Priestley’s eudiome¬
ter. Instead of adding the nitric gas in the graduated tube,
he mixed a hundred volumes of the gas with as much of the
air to be analysed, in a wide jar, and transferred this mix¬
ture to the graduated tube to ascertain the diminution ; on
dividing the residual air by four, he obtained the amount
of the oxygene present in the air. 3. Scheele employed the
sulphuret of potassa for the same purpose. 4. Seguin used
the rapid combustion of phosphorus ; and, 5. Volta ex¬
ploded a mixture of hydrogene and air by means of an
electrical spark. This is one of the most elegant and accu¬
rate of the eudiometers. He recommends a mixture of
200 volumes of hydrogene with 300 of air. On passing an
1 Manchester Memoirs, vol. v. See the article Atmosphere.
532
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
No. 18.
0^j°oi=K>
Physical electric spark through the wires in the top of the jar, the
Geography, hydrogene is fired, instantly forms water with
v J'~ v the oxygene of the included air, and, in ordinary
cases, the diminution of volume of the mix¬
ture amounts to 195, of which one third is oxy¬
gene, or sixty-five parts of oxygene have been
lost by 300 of air, or about twenty-one per cent.
6. Dr Hope’s eudiometer consists of a gradu¬
ated tube exactly ground to a small tubulated
phial. The bottle may be filled, either with
hydrosulphuret of potassa, or with a liquid pro¬
posed by Davy (which is formed by saturating
sulphate of iron in solution with nitric gas.)
The air is in the tube, which is inserted in the neck of the
phial; the instrument is inverted ; the air, now
in the phial, is agitated with the liquid for a few
minutes, and on opening the tubulature of the
phial, below the surface of the liquid, the amount
of the oxygene absorbed will be indicated on the
graduated tube. This very neat instrument has
been modified by Dr Henry, who substituted
a bottle of caoutchouc for the phial. Any of
these instruments, especially 18 or 19, will show
the quantity of oxygene in any given air ; but it !
has been found that the quantity of oxygene of
the air is little subject to variation, and that gas
is equally present on mountains and in plains,
in the town or in the country, except in con¬
fined situations, where fuel is burning, or many
animals respiring. Air which is very deleteri-
to man has no sensible difference in the
No. 19.
sphere. Air collected on the summit of Mont Blanc was Phy
analysed by the younger Saussure, and agreed in the pro-f'e°g» iy,
portions of the gases with that of Geneva ; and the same ^
uniformity was found in air from Spain by De Marti, from
Egypt and France by Bertholet, from the coast of Guinea
and England by Davy, from the summit of Teneriffe and
the ridges of the Equinoxial Andes by Humboldt.
The quantity of aqueous vapour in the atmosphere is li-Aque,
able to far greater variations than that of the other consti-^P01
tuents. Water in the state of vapour is invariably present;t ie a
but the proportion is modified by the temperature, and by
changes in the barometric pressure of the air. The pro¬
cess by which water finds its way into the atmosphere is
one of the highest importance, and has obtained the name
of
Spontaneous Evaporation.—If water be exposed to theErap
air, it gradually disappears; and if this be carried on intion.
closed vessels, the air is found to have taken up water,
which may again be obtained by the action of certain sub¬
stances that have a great affinity for water. The principal
substances which have been employed for abstracting wa¬
ter from air are, sulphuric acid, quicklime, chloride of lime,
and carbonate of potassa. If given proportions of any of
these be enclosed in a vessel containing air, they absorb
the moisture of that air ; and the weight they thus acquire
has been taken as the measure of the quantity of its water.
The same is estimated by the quantity of water which is
absorbed by a given volume of air thus artificially dried.
Some very careful experiments on this subject were made
by Saussure, who inferred that a cubic foot of air, at tem¬
perature 65° Fahrenheit, when fully saturated with mois-
unwholesomeness of the atmosphere
Carbonic The quantity of carbonic acid in the atmosphere is sub¬
acid in the ject to slight variation, except in confined apartments. Dr
Dalton found it only varying from T7jby-th to
To doth of the
proportion of the oxygene from the purest atmosphere; and ture, holds eleven grains of water dissolved. Notwithstand
we must probably look to other causes than this for the ing the acknowledged accuracy and patience of this philo¬
sopher, we are inclined to prefer the method of Dr Dalton
(founded on the suggestion of Le Roy of Montpellier), of
observing the temperature at which moisture begins to be
separated from the air. This is termed the Dew-point of
whole air, an uniformity which is surprising, considering that atmosphere, and forms an important element in several
how much carbonic acid is constantly formed during respi- interesting problems in meteorology. Dalton had shown,
ration and combustion. Perhaps this may be partly owing that the water existing in the atmosphere has precisely the
to our imperfect modes of ascertaining very minute changes same elasticity as it would assume in a vacuum at the same
in its quantity. If we are to give credit to the experi- temperature ; hence it is obvious that it exists in the air,
ments of the younger Saussure, the quantity in the atmo- not as water, but as elastic vapour. But the elasticity of
sphere is greater in summer than in winter, by 2“3 volumes vapour is demonstrated to depend on temperature ; and,
in 10,000 ; but his experiments are not generally considered therefore, if we could measure the elasticity, we could de-
as satisfactory, in a case where the difference appears so termine the quantity of water in the atmosphere. This
great, and the point so difficult of determination. Even the elasticity is measured by the Manometer, a barometer the
experiments of Dalton are not considered as decisive ; for cistern of which is enclosed in the vessel containing the air,
lime-water does not appear to be capable of abstracting all and therefore only affected by the variations of elasticity of
the carbonic acid from air, as was remarked by Cavendish ; the included air. Deductions from these experiments have
and philosophers have generally considered the quantity as been given in a tabular form in the Manchester Society s
ranging from i^th to y^L^th of the whole atmosphere. In Transactions.
confined apartments, however, the quantity of carbonic acid In the article Hygrometry there is another table of great
is sometimes much increased, while the oxygene is consum- value, showing the elasticity, weight, and rate of expansion
ed in the process of combustion and respiration ; and this of aqueous vapour, in air saturated with moisture, at each
double vitiation of the air may give rise to fatal conse- degree of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, from 0° to 100°, whic
quences, as was too well illustrated in the catastrophe of was intended by the author of that treatise to facilitate hy-
our unfortunate countrymen in the dungeon of the Black grometrical investigations. In this table the elasticity o
the vapour is calculated on a formula deduced by Biot from
Dalton’s experiments.
The quantity of water suspended in the air is liable to
great variation, from several natural causes; and it is chief¬
ly liable to be deposited or separated, on a diminution of
the capacity of the air for moisture, by a reduction of its
temperature. Warm air is capable of taking up, in the
state of invisible vapour, more water than cold air. Thus
a cubic foot of saturated air, at 32°, contains of watery va¬
pour 2-350 grains; at 60°, 5-825 grains; at 70°, 7-941 grains.
           When the temperature of the air is diminished, as, for m-
that these gases do not appear to vary considerably in their stance, by mingling with colder currents in the atmosphere,
relative proportions in any part of the accessible atmo- a quantity of water is separated; and, according to the su
Hole in Calcutta in 1756, and in one which happened to
persons confined in St Martin’s Roundhouse in London in
1742. In the celebrated Grotta del Cane, the carbonic
acid which issues from crevices in the floor fills the bot¬
tom of the cave to the level of the entrance, and then
flows out by its superior gravity, so that the upper part is
free of the noxious impregnations. A man enters with im¬
punity, because his head is above the stratum of carbonic
acid; but the air of the cave is speedily fatal to a dog, be¬
cause the prone position of his air-passages brings his re¬
spiratory organs into contact with the gas. It is remarkable
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 533
I
:al denness of the change, will be suspended in the form of vi-
;?hy. sible clouds, or precipitated in fogs or rain.
—'' Changes in the density of the air also affect its capacity
for retaining moisture. Evaporation is quicker, everything
else remaining unchanged, in rare than in dense air. Saus-
sure found, that water evaporated quicker on the Col du
Geant, which is 11,275 feet above the sea, than at Gene¬
va, which is but 1324 feet above that level, in the propor¬
tion of eighty-four to thirty-seven. Light air then speedily
becomes charged with moisture, which slight changes in
temperature are ready to precipitate ; and hence a falling
barometer is often the immediate precursor of rain.
When atmospheric air approaches its point of saturation
with moisture, evaporation goes on slowly, at length ceases,
and a slight diminution of temperature is sufficient to pre¬
cipitate a portion of water on contiguous bodies; we then
term the air damp or moist. This change is not always to
be immediately recognised by our sensations; and as the
change is important to the success of some processes in the
arts, and also to health, philosophers have invented instru¬
ments for indicating the approaches of the air to saturation,
which have been named
me- Hygrometers, or measures of moisture. The change in
bulk which some vegetable and animal substances undergo,
in moist air, has been employed for this purpose. The
most common are the twisting and untwisting of a cord
of flax or hemp by moisture and dryness; the movements
of the natural twist in the beard of the wild oat, arena fa-
tm; in the Indian grass, andropogon contortum, proposed
by Captain Kater; or the arista of the seed of stipa pen-
nata (a common inmate of our gardens, and often found
in our fields), proposed by Dr Gumming of Denbigh. Un¬
fortunately these substances, though indicating minute
changes in the air, are incapable of forming comparable hy¬
grometers, and gradually become less and less sensible to
the influence of humidity. The same may be said of the
animal substances which have been employed in the con¬
struction of such instruments. The most simple of the
animal hygrometers is Wilson’s, formed of a rat’s bladder
fixed to a glass tube, and filled with mercury to a cer¬
tain point on the tube when the bladder is moist. As it
dries, the contraction of the bladder raises the mercury in
the tube. Still more delicate hygrometers were formed by
Saussure and De Luc, on nearly the same construction.
(See the article Hygrometry.) Saussure employed a fine
human hair, freed from unctuous matter by boiling in a
weak alkaline solution ; and De Luc used a slip of whale¬
bone, scraped extremely thin. These animal bodies length¬
en by moisture ; and, in both instruments, one end of the
hygrometric substance was fixed to the frame, while the
other was attached to a fine flat wire lapped round an
index made to move along a graduated arc by the vary¬
ing length of the hygrometric substance. In Saussure’s in¬
strument, the index vras brought back by a small weight
as a counterpoise ; and the same was effected in De Luc’s
by a spiral gold-wire spring. Both instruments were gra¬
duated by placing them in a jar filled with air saturated
with moisture, and then in air dried by quicklime, or
some similar body; and the space between these extreme
points was divided into 100°, or any given number of de¬
grees.
The imperfection of these instruments, when made by
the hands of the inventors with every care, rendered it
difficult to have two that gave the same indications under
similar circumstances; and the still more fatal objection,
that they become altered by time in mobility and delicacy
of indication. Although both Gay-Lussac and Biot have
endeavoured to show the relation between the indications
°f the hair hygrometer and the quantity of moisture in the
tir, we cannot consider the instrument as entitled to confi¬
dence.
A very elegant hygrometer was invented by Daniel, Physical
founded on the determination of the temperature at which Geography,
dew begins to be deposited; but for the description of it
we must refer to the article Hygrometry, as well as for
an ingenious substitute devised by Mr Adie of Edinburgh,
and another by M. Pouillet. All these depend on the dew¬
point ; and all are liable to the objection, that it is difficult
to determine the precise degree at which dew begins to
be formed, especially at low temperatures. The original
idea of obtaining a measure of the hygrometric state of the
air from comparing the indications of a thermometer with
its bulb moist and dry, is certainly due to Dr James Hut¬
ton, the celebrated geologist. This eminent philosopher
made use of a single thermometer, which he carried en¬
closed in a glass case. This form of hygrometer, neglect¬
ed for thirty years, has at length become an object of phi¬
losophic interest in this country and Germany; and two
thermometers are now mounted on the same scale, and the
indications of the wet and dry bulbs seen at the same time.
This instrument has been termed a psychrometer. The
most elegant form of an instrument on this principle is the
hygrometer of Sir John Leslie, or double air-thermometer ;
one of the balls is covered with tissue paper, defended by
a thin covering of blue silk, while the other is naked ; but
in order to obviate the effect of light, the dry ball is formed
of pale-blue glass. This instrument is described in his ori¬
ginal paper, and fully in the article Meteorology of this
work. When the covered ball is moistened with water,
the evaporation produces a degree of cold in proportion to
the dryness of the ambient air ; and the air within that ball
contracting, the elasticity of the air in the other ball pushes
the coloured fluid in the stem towards the covered ball.
This transference is marked on a scale, each degree of
which is equivalent to y^th of a centigrade thermometri-
cal degree. This hygrometer does not indicate the abso¬
lute dryness of the atmosphere, but only the degree of dry¬
ness it has after being reduced to the temperature of the
humid ball. In the article to which we have just referred,
there are tables given ‘for correcting the indications of Les¬
lie’s hygrometer, and showing the point of saturation at
different centesimal degrees, and the corresponding degrees
of the hygrometer.
The instrument gives excellent comparative results; and
two or three minutes are sufficient to bring the fluid to
equilibrium, which marks the full effect of the evaporation ;
and no farther sinking of the hygrometer is produced by
keeping the ball bedewed with moisture. In winter, in our
climate, it ranges from 5° to 25° ; in our summer from 15°
to 55°. It has occasionally been observed as high as 80° or
even 90°, and in thick fogs it falls to the beginning of the
scale : it rises when the weather clears up after rain, and
in long tracts of clear warm weather it remains high. It
always falls before rain, and remains low during wet
weather. When as low as 15°, the air feels damp ; when
it is between 30° and 40°, we should term the weather
dry ; from 50° to 60°, very dry; and from 70° upwards, it
would be called intensely dry. In a warm inhabited apart¬
ment the hygrometer would not be below 50° ; but when
below 30°, that room would be felt to be uncomfortably
damp.
The mean annual evaporation is an interesting subject, Annual
for an approximation to which we are mainly indebted to evapora-
the experiments of Dr Dalton and Mr Hoyle, at Manches-^011,
ter, in 1796, 1797, and 1798. A cylindrical vessel of tin¬
ned iron, three feet deep and ten inches in diameter, was
filled with soil; it was provided with one pipe near the
bottom, and another one inch from the top. This was left
in this state for a year, until it became covered with grass.
Bottles were now applied to the end of each pipe, so as to
collect both the surplus water which soaked through the
earth, and that which ran off at the upper pipe. The soil
534
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical
Geography,
Evapora¬
tor.
Clouds.
was soaked with water on commencing the experiment; a
rain gage of similar dimensions was placed near the cylin¬
der of tin ; and the evaporation was estimated by subtract¬
ing the quantity which passed into the bottles from the
whole rain.
1796. 1797-
Rain 30-629 in. 38-791 in.
Evaporation...23-725 ... 27-857 ...
1798.
31-259 in.
23-862 ...
The mean evaporation for each month, deduced from
the three years, was
Inches.
January T008
February 0-528
March 0-623
April 1*485
May 2-684
June 2-184
Inches.
July 4-095
August 3-386
September 2-954
October 2-672
November 2-055
December 1-484
giving 25-158 inches for the annual evaporation at Man¬
chester. Dr Dalton considers that we ought to add five
inches to this for the annual dew, which will raise the eva¬
poration to about thirty inches.
From the nature of our climate, the mean annual evapo¬
ration over the globe cannot be estimated at less than thir¬
ty-four ; and this would make the whole mass of water
raised from the surface of the earth equal to 105,614-72
cubic miles, or equal to all the rain that falls upon the
globe. The evaporation of any place may be ascertained
by exposing freely to the air a given quantity of water in
a shallow circular dish, accurately ]\T0. 20.
turned, so as to have 100 inches of
superficies. It should be so placed
as not to receive any rain: on mea¬
suring the remainder once a week
or once a month, we shall obtain the evaporation.
There is reason to believe that the evaporation from the
foliage of trees and from herbage is somewhat greater
than from an equal area of water, and that the quantity
from the surface of new-ploughed land is almost equal to
what arises from water ; but we have got no good compa¬
rative experiments on this subject.
Having considered the conversion of water into an elas¬
tic fluid, let us turn our attention to the mode by which it
is re-converted into moisture.
1. Clouds.—Some have accounted for the suspension
of so dense a fluid as water in air, on the supposition
that the vapour in clouds existed in the shape of hollow
spherules, filled with a lighter fluid than the atmosphere;
but this suggestion would seem to be devised rather to
meet the difficulty than to be supported by observation;
and it is possible to explain the considerable durability
of clouds without recourse to any such gratuitous assump¬
tion.
The experiments of Volta and Cavallo have shown, that
when water is converted into vapour, not only is caloric
absorbed, but electricity is also developed. The vapour
acquires positive electricity, and the remaining fluid pos¬
sesses the opposite electric state. By the process of eva¬
poration much electric fluid must be carried into the at¬
mosphere ; and when the capacity of the vapour for elec¬
tricity is diminished by its partial condensation by cold in
the upper regions of the air, it may be conceived that the
spherules of vapour may become surrounded with atmo¬
spheres of electric fluid, the mutual repulsions of which may
prevent the coalescing of the particles of vapour into drops
so heavy as to descend by their gravity on the earth, espe¬
cially as a stratum of air charged with moisture is specifi¬
cally lighter than dry air at the same temperature. The
form of clouds, and their different degrees of aggregation, Pi. ^
may depend on the electric tension of the atmospheres sur- Gpc pW
rounding the particles of which they are composed ; or on ^ -3
a balance between the electric repulsions and the gravita¬
tion of the particles for each other. This view is favoured
by the generally positively electrified state of the atmo¬
sphere when clouds are forming, the heavy falls of rain
which accompany electric explosions when the discharge
of the accumulated electricity allows the coalescing of the
moisture into heavy drops, as well as by the peculiar odour
of some kinds of fog, and the highly electric state such
fog often exhibits. Beccaria, Romayne, Bennet, and Vol¬
ta have remarked, that the atmosphere exhibits signs of
electricity on the appearance of clouds and fogs. Becca¬
ria always found the electricity of the air positive ; and Ro-
mayne states, that mere diminution of volume in any sub¬
stance is constantly attended with increased electrical ten¬
sion. The various forms of clouds, their aggregation in
deep masses piled on each other, or their dispersion in long
radiated filaments, may be more easily explained on an elec¬
tric theory than on any other supposition ; and the acciden¬
tal manner in which solar light is reflected from them to
the eye of the spectator gives an infinite diversity to their
appearance.
The vulgar have long remarked the association of cer-Forrpf
tain forms of clouds with the state of the weather; anddou
meteorologists have begun to appreciate the value of a
descriptive language for indicating their varied appear¬
ances. No system of nomenclature has yet been applied
to clouds superior to that proposed by Mr Luke How¬
ard. He divides them into seven species. (See Plate
CCCCXI.)
1. Cirrus.—A cloud resembling a lock of hair or a fea¬
ther, composed of parallel, flexuous, or diverging fibres, un¬
limited in the direction of their increase.
2. Cumulus.—A cloud which increases from above, in
dense, convex, or conical heaps.
3. Stratus.—An extended, continuous, level sheet of cloud,
increasing from beneath.
4. Cirro- Cumulus.—A connected system of small round¬
ish clouds, placed in close order or contact.
5. Cirro-Stratus.—An horizontal or slightly inclined
sheet, attenuated at its circumference, concave downwards,
or undulated. Groups having these characters.
6. Cumulo-Stratus.—A cloud in which the cumulus is
mixed with cirro-stratus or cirro-cumulus; the cumulus
flattened at top, and overhanging its base.
7. Nimbus.—A dense cloud, spreading out into a crown
of cirrus, and passing beneath into a shower.1
The cirrus is generally formed of white radiated streaks,
pencilled on an azure sky. It is the most elevated species
of cloud. Its motions are slow. It generally indicates a
breeze, and often precedes a storm. Horizontal sheets of
cirrus, with streamers pointing upwards, often indicate rain;
while the depending fringes are the precursors of fine wea¬
ther.
The cumulus is generally a dense cloud, moving near
the surface of the earth. When large, this species often
exhibits large intervening spaces of clear sky. It begins
in the morning, and obtains its maximum about two P. M.,
and usually decreases before sunset, breaking up and dis¬
appearing before nightfall. It is the prognostic of settled
weather.
The stratus is the lowest modification of cloud, often
creeping along the ground, in calm evenings, from lakes
and rivers, and rising toward the higher grounds. It often,
at night, travels over plains, invests the summits of mo¬
derate elevations, but usually melts away before the morn-
1 Philosophical Magazine; Rees’ Cyclopaedia; Nicholson’s Journal, xxx.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Mi
Bai
ical ing sun. Few days are more serene than those ushered in
ipby*by stratus.
Cirro-cumulus consists of dense rounded masses, in close
position. It often forms beds at different altitudes in the
air. It is transient in winter, and occurs in the intervals of
summer showers. A frequent repetition of it is amongst the
best prognostics of fine weather.
The cirro-stratus is narrow in proportion to its horizon¬
tal length. It seldom retains long the same form. It is
often seen very high in the air, especially that variety which
is composed of grouped masses, and is chiefly seen in sum¬
mer evenings. When seen overhead, it has an uniform
hazy appearance ; but viewed on the horizon, it often seems
very dense, from being viewed edgewise. It indicates rain
or storms of snow when it is stationary. It often forms the
seat of rainbows and halos when descending from the ze¬
nith. It often shrouds mountain summits, and in cold
weather often descends into plains as soaking dense mist.
The cumulo-stratus usually appears in an overcast sky,
and may be regarded as a prognostic of rain. It appears
to be formed by the successive blending of cumuli, in-
laced by streaks of dark stratus. The thunder-cloud is one
modification of this species. It often assumes a portentous
size, and is contorted into singular forms. Its indications
are not uniform. When it appears in the morning, the
day is often dry, though overcast; but when much mixed
with stratus, it indicates approaching rain, after some in¬
terval.
The nimbus is a shower seen in profile as it approaches
the spectator from the horizon. The thunder-cloud, on the
discharge of its electricity, generally passes into the nimbus.
Mists or Fogs are but the condensation of invisible vapour
into minute drops of water. They are generally more station¬
ary on the sea than on the land. They are less frequent in
the day than the night, in hot than in cold climates; and they
are frequent in approaching the poles. One of the most
remarkable stationary fogs is on that part of the Atlantic
called the Banks of Newfoundland. The warm wraters of the
gulf-stream, after sweeping along the shores of the United
States, and warming the superincumbent air, are encounter¬
ed at Newfoundland by the polar currents, and the colder
air over them. The consequence of this intermixture of
the aerial currents at different temperatures, is the dimi¬
nished capacity of the mixture for moisture, and the con¬
sequent deposition of a portion of its vapour in the form of
mist. When the cold producing condensation of atmo¬
spheric moisture is intense, instead of mist, a deposition of
minute particles of ice may take place, and will cover w ith
delicate crystallizations the hair and clothes of the traveller,
or the twigs and branches of trees. When the air is sa¬
turated with moisture, sudden condensation assumes the
form of
Rain—Amongst the numerous speculations on the pro¬
duction of rain, one of the most ingenious is that proposed
by Dr James Hutton. He evidently considered the water
as dissolved by the air ; but if we merely consider the term
“ complete saturation with moisture” as meaning the dew¬
point, and the quantity suspended by air as indicating the
quantity of vapour existing in the atmosphere at a given
temperature by its own elasticity, this phraseology will pro¬
duce no error. Hutton ascribed rain to the intermingling
of air saturated with moisture at different temperatures.
His views were communicated to the Royal Society of
Edinburgh in 1787 ; but, from his contenting himself with
a mere enunciation of his theory, it has been scarcely no¬
ticed by meteorologists, until illustrated in the articles Me¬
teorology and Hygrometry. Sir John Leslie has shown,
that the mere commixture of air at different temperatures
would produce but a small part of the effect perceived. It
is proved by experiment that the capacity of air for mois¬
ture, or the quantity of vapour in a given space, increases
535
in a much higher ratio than the temperature ; and hence, Physical
if the space occupied by the mixture of masses of moist ^eograPhy.
air, at different temperatures, have the mean temperature v '
of the mixture, or one below it, a deposition of moisture or
of rain will follow; but the whole effect would be smaller
than what is often observed to take place, unless we sup¬
pose that two currents of air are moving, with considerable
velocity, in opposite directions.
The objection to this simple view of the question is,
that there are often heavy falls of rain when the clouds
emitting it are evidently in very slow movement; and we
have long believed, that without calling in the aid of elec¬
tricity, as already stated when treating of the formation of
clouds, no theory of rain will be satisfactory.
The hygrometric water in the air seems to owe its sus¬
pension to the repulsions among the electric atmospheres of
its particles: when that electricity is withdrawn by any
cause, the particles of water, no longer kept asunder by
their electricity, coalesce, and descend by their gravity with
a force proportional to their quantity and the reduction of
their electric tension. If the electric fluid be slowly with¬
drawn, there is neither lightning nor any explosion; but
if the accumulation has been great, and the abstraction
sudden, we have the phenomena of thunder and lightning.
On this view, evaporation is to be considered as the grand
mode by which the atmosphere ac¬
quires electricity, and the accumula- No. 21.
tion seems in general in proportion
to the intensity and duration of the
evaporation. Hence lightning is most
common and vivid in warm latitudes;
and there is seldom any considerable
electric discharge from the atmo¬
sphere, without a concomitant fall of
rain, which is usually proportional to
the violence of the thunder-storm.
Rain falls in drops of a size va¬
rying from Jjth to 0f an inch jn
diameter ; and it has been calculated
that their ultimate velocity is in the
duplicate ratio of their diameters.
When formed high in the atmosphere,
or passing through very cold strata of
air, they congeal into hail or into
snow.
To ascertain the quantity of rain Ombrome-
wnicn tails in any place m a given ters
time, various species of ombrometers
or rain-gages have been employed.
The most usual form of the gage is
that represented in No. 21. It con¬
sists of a cylindrical vessel of copper,
usually 3*75 of an inch in diameter.
Upon its upper part, a funnel of the
same metal, with an upright brim
exactly one foot in diameter, is fitted ;
a hollow vessel of metal, or a piece
of cork, serves as a float, to support
a rod of boxwood graduated in tenths
of an inch. The water which falls
into the funnel finds its way into the
cylinder, and raises the float. The
quantity is read oft* the rod at a stay
placed across the funnel, and from
the relative proportion of the cylinder
and funnel, each TLth of an inch is
equivalent to y^oth of an inch of
water entering the mouth of the fun¬
nel.
Another very convenient form
represented in No. 22., where the
No. 22.
536
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical heieht of the column of water in the cylinder is seen in a A country may be involved in almost perpetual fogs, or have Pijj^
• ^ -...*.1 1 •   1 1   \     rvrrl i v-k It'I'll TA11 m rA ot* I nil/-an (yPHUJ
No. 23.
Geography, glass tube connected with the cylinder below. A scale is
v' applied, as in the figure; and when the observation is made,
the water is let off by the stop-cock.
Mr Luke Howard’s rain-
gage is seen in No. 23.
The funnel is fitted on the
neck of a glass bottle, by
means of an exterior tube,
which is soldered to the
funnel, and prevents the
entrance of water into the
vessel, except through the
mouth of the funnel. The
quantity of rain is ascer¬
tained by a graduated glass
measure, the divisions of
which correspond to lOOths
of an inch, falling on the
mouth of the funnel. This
same measure will serve to
Their po¬
sition.
ascertain the quantity evaporated in a given time, provided
the mouth of the vessel, No. 20, is exactly equal to the
mouth of the rain-gage. .
There are considerable practical difficulties m the pro¬
per position of a rain-gage. It is found, that if one be
placed on the ground, and another on the top of a building,
that which is in the lowest position will almost always in¬
dicate more rain than the upper. Thus, the quantity col¬
lected in a gage on the top of York Minster, from Febru¬
ary 1833 to February 1834, only equals 14-963 inches, while
perfectly similar instruments placed on the top of the mu¬
seum of that city, and on the ground, gave relatively 19-852,
and 25-706 inches. The elevations of the first and second
stations are 212 feet 10^ inches and 43 feet 8 inches abo\e
These differences are too considerable to be
many days of drizzling rain, in which the number of inchesGe> ip
of rain throughout the year may be very small.
The quantity of rain, however, depends upon other cir¬
cumstances than the latitude. It is much influenced by the
vicinity of mountains in every climate. Thus,
Indies.
At Kingston, on the shores of Jamaica, it = 83
In Caraib country, among the mountains there... = 97
In Demerary, in the swamps of Guyana = 73
In the lofty island of Granada   = 126
Yet in Demerary as much as six inches of rain have been
observed to fall in twelve hours. Similar observations oc¬
cur in our own country.
Indies.
At Carlisle the annual rain =34
At Whitehaven    
At Kendal     5(3
At Langside, near Glasgow   37
At Carbailly, in Stirlingshire = 46
At Ardincaple   = 50
At Lochlomond = 52
At Castle Toward, Argyleshire = 56
In Great Britain, it is generally found that much more
rain falls on the western than on the eastern coasts. Thus,
Indies.
At Edinburgh the rain = 24
At Elgin =:
At Garnet Hill, near Glasgow = 32
At Greenock :=: 39
The latter town lies in a sheltered nook, or perhaps its an¬
nual quantity would have been higher; for,
Indies.
At Catrine House, in Ayrshire, it = 45
And at Lanfine House, ditto = 52
It is scarcely necessary here to dwell on various extraor- She rs ol
t 1 • 1  1 ■f-V/'VrYV FriiX Oil* Sill f ",
the surface*   . # , , .
attributed to any tiling but some imperfection in the in ^ , r* n /* 4.k •
strument when much exposed to gales of wind; and it dinary substances which have sometimes fallen from the air. e ,
probably arises from eddies being formed round the rim of Showers of sulphur have been mentioned by different ob-
the funnel which divert part of the water. On the whole, servers. Wormms records such a shower as occurring at
the most accurate estimate of the quantity of rain will Copenhagen in May 1646 ; but the same phenomenon oc-
be obtained from instruments placed on the ground, or curred in May 1804 ; and the philosophers of our own age,
near it The larger the recipient surface, the more ac- on analyzing this deposit, recognised it to consist of a e-
curatewill be the indications; and on this principle, Ge- getable pollen, resembling the powder o? lycopodium
neral Sir Thomas Brisbane, president of the Royal Society This substance fell in the night time, and, being phosp
of Edinburgh, collects the rain from the roof of his ob- rescent when observed, gave considerable alarm.
At Bor-
“ervatoVftU area of which has been accurately ascer- deaux, in 1761, a shower of a yellow powder was o^ed,
tained),^ measuring the quantity of rain which falls in his which how-er was recogn.sed as the pollen of
vicinity.
forests in the neighbouring landes, carried up
Quantity of When the quantity of rain which falls at any place has by a violent gale. Of a simikr nature in all p^
Rain. been regularly kept for several years, it is easy to obtain was the yellow ram which covered the Lake of Zurich in
the mean annual quantity at that place. The multiplica- 1677. EoVp Wn record-Of id,
tion of such observations has proved, that the mean annual The supposed showers of blood which h^ b^" reC
  ‘ ancient chronicles are now ascribed to tnesaine
quantity is greatest in tropical climates, and diminishes^ fd injorne^ ^ ^ ^
Thus, the mean annual rain
we recede from the equator
at
Inches.
Island of Granada, lat. 12° = 126
Kingston, Jamaica, lat. 18° = 83
Calcutta, India lat. 22° 23' = 81
Rome lat. 41° 54' = 39
Liverpool ....lat. 53° 22' = 33
Edinburgh lat. 55° 57' = 24
Petersburg lat. 59° 56' = 16
In general the number of rainy days is least where the
fall of rain is the greatest, and the dampness of any cli¬
mate must not be inferred from the annual quantity of rain.
source as , . .
to the red globules or seeds of the uredo nivalis; or to
minute red insects, which are sometimes carried down in
great quantity with rain. The appearance of drops of blood
falling from the air has occasionally been produced by the
red excrement of insects. That small frogs and fishes have Of P
occasionally descended with rain has been admitted, as such—
animals, and even much more ponderous matter, have been
elevated into the atmosphere by whirlwinds. o<
The showers of stones which have been noticed byseve-^
ral ancient writers as happening in Italy, Greece, and Asia* *
Minor, are now believed to belong to the class of facts de¬
scribed under the article Meteorolite.1 These are mi-
1 See also Chladni, Mtmoire, in Journal de Physique ; Howard, in Phil. Trans. 1802; Bibliotheque Britannuque 1893; NichoLon s Journal,
1803, 1805, 1809, 1810; Annales du Museum d'Hist. Nat. 1803; Izarns Lithologic Atmosphenque, Edin. Phil. Journal, voi. .
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
537
3 of
sical neral bodies, which, however they find their way into the
aphy- atmosphere, have undoubtedly fallen upon the earth; and,
/ however remote the places in which they descend, they are
all distinguished by one remarkable similarity, viz. their con¬
taining an alloy of iron and nickel, generally with twenty-
five of the former to six or eight of the latter.
Dew.—The phenomena and cause of this deposition have
engaged the attention of philosophers from the time of Aris¬
totle ; but their speculations present little that is satisfactory
until the experimental investigations of Dr Wells. One of
the most remarkable circumstances attending the deposition
of dew is, that the bodies on which it is found have invari¬
ably a lower temperature than the ambient air, as was first
pointed out by Dr Patrick Wilson of Glasgow, w ho ascrib¬
ed the coldness to the deposition of dew ; but Dr Wells has
proved that the cooling of these bodies below the tempe¬
rature of the air always precedes the formation of the dew,
and is, in fact, the cause of this aqueous meteor. His theory
is founded on Leslie’s view of the heat which is sent off from
the earth toward a clear sky; and on this simple principle
Wells has been enabled to give a satisfactory explanation
of the phenomena of dew.
The essential requisites for the deposition of dew are
five in number, viz.
1. An atmosphere replete with moisture. As dew is a
deposition of water from the air, it obviously must be in
excess ere it is deposited. In Egypt, the south winds,
blowing over extensive tracts of sandy desert, deposit no
dew; but when the Etesian or north wind blows, loaded with
moisture from the Mediterranean, the deposition of dew
in lower Egypt is sufficient to soak through the garments
of the inhabitants ; and in the arid plains of New Castille
the dews are far less copious than on the coasts of Anda¬
lusia.
2. There must be a considerable difference between the
temperature of the earth in the night and the day. Other
things being the same, the deposition is greatest when a
cool evening succeeds a sultry day. In our climate, the
dews are most abundant in spring and autumn, when the
difference of temperature is greatest; but as the ratio of
the increase of moisture in the air is greater than the in¬
crease of heat, hot climates have more copious dews than
Great Britain, even though the difference between diurnal
and nocturnal temperature be less in the former. Thus
we have found the dews in the south of Spain, and in Ma-
rocco, far more copious than here ; a short exposure about
sunset in those countries completely soaking one through
the clothes.
3. But the most essential requisite for the deposition of
dew is, that the bodies upon which it forms should have
their temperature considerably lower than that of the am¬
bient air. In repeating Wilson’s experiments, Dr Wells
found that all bodies on which dew formed were colder
than the air by 10° or 15°. Thus, in clear weather, he ob¬
served that a thermometer laid on grass was 12° lower than
one laid on mould, and sixteen and a half below one on a
gravel walk. He always found that the coldness of the
body preceded the deposition of dew ; and this is illustrat¬
ed by the deposition of moisture which immediately takes
place on pouring into a glass cylinder, placed in a warm,
moist room, very cold water.
I. A serene and cloudless sky is also very favourable to
the formation of dew. Wells found, that although the at¬
mosphere be in other respects favourable to the deposi¬
tion, yet little or none is formed if the sky be veiled in
clouds; and, in such cases, the temperature of objects on
tne surface was near that of the air. He points out how
clouds act as a screen to intercept the emanations be¬
tween the earth and the upper regions of the air, which Physical
are well known to be the abodes of perpetual congelation. Geography.
The same effect was produced by interposing screens of
an opake material between the sky and the surface of the
earth. Thus a thermometer, laid on a table, indicated a
lower temperature than one placed on the ground under
the table ; and a lock of wool laid on the table collect¬
ed ten grains of dew, whilst an equal weight of wool
placed under the table gained only two grains. Fogs,
acting also as screens, intercept the influence of the sky;
and though in themselves moist, they are unfavourable to
the deposition of true dew, which may be regarded as wa¬
ter separated from the inferior stratum of air ; but fogs, like
rain, are precipitated from the general mass of the super¬
incumbent air.
The effect of clouds in preventing the radiation of heat
is beautifully illustrated by carrying Professor Leslie’s ele¬
gant invention, the iEthrioscope, into the open air. Every
cloud that passes the zenith affects this delicate instrument,
which rapidly loses its heat when exposed to the clear
sky; or the effect is still more conspicuous if the operator
hold a parasol, and alternately extend the sethrioscope be¬
yond the shade and withdraw it under the parasol.
5. Serene and calm weather is favourable to the forma¬
tion of dew; a fact which had been noticed by Aristotle.
The influence of wind seems to depend on the rapid suc¬
cession of aerial particles preventing the full influence of
the cooling medium on the general temperature of an in¬
ferior stratum of the atmosphere. Every circumstance
which favours radiation is favourable to the deposition of
dew, such as a rough surface, and dark colour ; proving the
dependence of dew on the cooling of the objects on w hich
it is deposited.1
Dew often partakes of the sensible qualities of the bo- Honey and
dies upon which it is found ; hence dew-water is very apt jelly dew\
to putrefy. Some substances found on plants have been er¬
roneously confounded with dew. What is termed honey-dew
generally owes its qualities to the saccharine exudation from
the bodies of the insects called Aphides. Thejelly-dew is be¬
lieved to be the original form of a cryptogamian vegetable
production, the Tremella nostoc of Linnaeus; a membranous,
pellucid, greenish-yellow matter, about one or two inches
in width, which is at first moist and soft to the touch, but
dries into a blackish membrane.
Snow.—When the congelation of moisture takes place Snow,
slowly, the flakes of snow assume very symmetrical figures,
the varieties of which have been well represented in the
work of Scoresby. They usually present modifications
or combinations of the hexangular prisms, often consisting
of a star of six rays, formed of prisms united at angles of
60° ; and from these other prisms shoot, at similar angles,*
giving the whole a plumose appearance, of exquisite beauty,
and often of surprising regularity.
The quantity of snow which falls in any place is not pro¬
portional to the height of its latitude. In many tempe¬
rate countries, the successive falls of snow, during a winter,
may often greatly exceed in depth what falls in the same
period in countries between the 65th and 80th degrees of
latitude. In fact, it bears some proportion to the evapora¬
tion in countries where the winter temperature is below the
freezing point of water. Snow is extremely useful, in cold
climates, as a loose and spongy covering of a white colour,
in preventing the loss of terrestrial heat by radiation, and
in defending the surface from the frigorific influence of
very cold winds.
Hail differs from snow chiefly in its state of aggregation,
and its far less regular crystalline form. It appears, indeed,
to be the production of sudden and intense cold in the
1 Wells’s Essay on Dew, London, 1814.
VOL. XVII.
* Scoresby’s Arctic Regions, vol. i.
3 y
538
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical
Geography
Winds.
Register
anemos¬
copes.
higher regions of the atmosphere, and therefore often oc¬
curs in warm climates, where snow is utterly unknown. A
hail shower is often ushered in by a rattling noise, heard
over head, before almost any hailstones have reached the
ground. The ordinary size of hailstones with us varies
from -Ayth to M of an inch in diameter. Occasionally they
are much larger ; as in the remarkable hail-storm described
by Dr Neill, which occurred during a thunder-storm in the
Orkneys on the 24th of July 1818.1 Mingled with ordinary
hail were enormous masses of ice, some as large as the
egg of a goose; by which animals were killed, and indi¬
viduals wounded. An enormous hailstone is recorded to
have fallen, amongst many very large masses, at Handsworth
House, near Birmingham, during a thunder-storm, on the
8th of June 1811. It consisted of a cuboidal mass 6^ inches
in diameter; and, from the engraved sketch, it resembled
a congeries of frozen balls about the size of walnuts. On
the Continent of Europe, the large hail of summer is fre¬
quently exceedingly destructive to vineyards ; and in some
districts of France, where the damage has often been great
from thunder-storms, accompanied by large hailstones-, the
ingenious device of the Paratonnerre has been employed
to^prevent the accumulation of electricity over these val¬
leys. The contrivance consists in the erection of pointed
electric conductors on the surrounding hills, by which the
lightning is silently and gradually abstracted from the air,
and dangerous accumulations over the included districts
generally prevented. In hot climates, the descent of large
masses of frozen water is still more common than in Eu¬
rope, especially within the Calms off the western coast of
Winds.—The influence of mechanical causes in produ¬
cing those aerial currents termed winds has been gene¬
rally admitted, from the ages when they were poetically
imagined as viewless forms, imprisoned or let loose from t ic
caverns of iEolus, to the present day, when they are consi¬
dered as the consequences of partial changes in the density
of the atmosphere, arising from the unequal distribution of
heat over the surface of the globe, or from alterations on
its hygrometric and electric states. But the manner in
which their force and direction are affected by these cir¬
cumstances, in those sudden and local storms which fre¬
quently agitate the air, is difficult of explanation, although
the general phenomena may admit of a very probable so¬
lution. , • j
The dependence of the weather on the direction and
of the vane on the slate. The pressure of the pencil may PhL
be regulated by sliding the ball e on the arm ; and, to di- ^ ^
No. 25.
minish friction, the socket consists of a flint, with a smooth
hollow cavity, and the axis is kept perpendicular by moving
between friction rollers.
In the second, No. 25, the same
effect is shown on a vertical dial, by
converting the horizontal motion of
the vane into a vertical movement
of the index. This is produced by
one bevelled wheel e on the axis
of the vane, and a similar one c on
the axis of the index/. The maxi¬
ma and minima are shown by two
moveable arms gg, concentric with
the index, but pushed to either
side by a stud on the lower sur¬
face of the index. These instru¬
ments, devised long ago by Traill,
and published in Professor Jame¬
son’s Journal for 1837, sufficiently
answer the object for which they
were intended.
The varying force of the wind is
ascertained by the anemometer. The
principle of several such instruments
is the direct pressure of the wind on
a given surface, kept by a vane per¬
pendicular to the direction of the breeze
No. 26.
force of the winds has given rise to
many inventions for indicating their
variations. The direction is shown
by the well-known vane, or simple
anemoscope, the movements of which
are referred to the cardinal points
by a fixed index, or by a plate
marked with the rhumbs of the
mariner’s compass. To save the
trouble of frequent daily observa¬
tions, the labour of the meteorolo¬
gist may be materially abridged by
the following methods of obtaining
maxima and minima of the direction
of the winds.
In the first, No. 24, the vane b,
fixed to the axis a, causes the lat¬
ter to revolve in a socket, in the
centre of a writing slate marked
with the rhumbs of the compass.
The arm c, jointed to it, carries a
pencil d, which records the progress
No. 24.
      Sometimes this
pressure is measured by raising a weight; in some instru¬
ments by the degree cff compression of a spiral spring ; or,
as in the ingenious anemometer of Mr Waddel of Leith,
by the compression of a slender cylindrical bag filled with
quicksilver, and connected with a vertical tube one foot in
length, with a bore of j^th of an inch. The force of the
wind is estimated by the height of the column of mercury.
A practical difficulty arises from the quickness of the oscil¬
lations, which renders it not easy to read off the indications
of the instrument during a smart gale.
The same objection in some measure applies to the ele¬
gant pocket anemometer of Dr Lind. It consists of two
equal glass tubes, united below by a narrow connecting
piece, as in No. 26, and having between them a scale of
equal parts. The tubes are
filled to the middle with wa¬
ter ; and as the instrument is
made to revolve freely round
the iron spindle a, its body acts
as a vane, to keep the orifice
of the kneed brass tube always
directed to the wind. The breeze received
at that aperture depresses the liquid in that
limb, and raises it in the other to a certain a
point on the scale, according to the force of
the breeze. When it is very strong, the de¬
tached piece of brass b is joined to the top,
and an allowance made for the effect on the
column. The sum of the two columns is the
height of a column of water which the wind
is capable of sustaining; and every body op¬
posed to that wind will be pressed on with a
force equal to the weight of a column of
water of that height, and with a base equal
to that of the surface exposed to the wind.
In the original instrument the bore of both
legs = T4<jths of an inch, the connecting tube
was y'Uhs, and the length of the whole was
six inches. Lind gave the following table as its indication?.
1 Edinburgh Philosophical Transactions, vol. ix.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
539
deal
aphy.
This instrument is, upon the whole, the most convenient
anemometer we possess, and has the advantage of porta¬
bility. The oscillations of the liquid might be farther
checked by twisting spirally the tube of communication, as
in the marine barometer.
Height of Water
in the Gage,
12 inches.
11
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
05
OIO
0-05
0-025
Force of the Wind on
One Foot Square, in
lbs. avoirdupois.
62-500
57-293
52-083 }
46-875 J
41-667
36-548
31-750
26-041
20-833
15-625
10-416
5-208
2-604
0-521
0-260
0-030
Common Designations.
Most violent hurri¬
cane.
Very great hurricane,
Great hurricane.
Hurricane.
Very great storm.
Great storm.
Storm.
Very high wind.
High wind.
Brisk gale.
Fresh breeze.
Pleasant wind.
Gentle wind.
A very ingenious anemometer has been constructed by Mr
Richard Adie, late of Edinburgh, now of Liverpool. An in¬
dex E is moved by the rising and falling of a cylinder A, closed
at one end, and inverted in a larger cylinder G, containing
water, on the principle of a gasometer for chemical experi¬
ments. The inverted vessel is suspended by a cord passing
No. 27.
over a pulley B fixed on the axis C of the index. The coun¬
terpoise is a weight W, the cord of which, wound on a fusee
orsnail D, equalizes the counterpoise in the different positions
of the internal cylinder. The influence of the w ind on the
instrument is produced through a tube, as in the figure.
One end terminates in the interior cylinder, and the other
m a kneed tube moving freely round by means of the at¬
tached vane. A very gentle breeze is sufficient to elevate
the cylinder, and the revolution of the index marks the
comparative force of different winds. This anemometer has
been found to act well, and has been put up at several of
the northern lighthouses.
"t)16 ,^as^ anemometer we shall notice is that invented
y Professor Whewell, who exhibited it to the British As¬
sociation. It consists of a small wind-wheel of eight vanes, Physical
directed to the wind by an attached vane. By a train of Gt:ography-
toothed wheels and endless screws, the rapid revolutions of ''""^'"^—'
the wheel are converted into a slow, vertical motion, by
which a pencil is made to trace a downward line on the
surface of a vertical cylinder having the same axis as the
vane. The length of this line records the whole amount
of the aerial current that passes over the place of observa¬
tion, and the part of the circumference of the cylinder on
w hich the trace appears indicates the direction of the winds.
Three of these instruments are, by direction of the Associa¬
tion, on trial in different places, and the results will be com¬
municated in the present year (1838).
In Smeaton’s valuable paper upon the moving power of Force of
wind and water (Philosophical Transactions, vol. li.) there the wind,
is the following table of the force of the wind, calculated
by his friend Mr Rouse; which the celebrated engineer
considers as entitled to confidence, especially in velocities
below fifty miles per hour.
Velocity of the Wind.
Miles per
Hour.
1
2
3
4
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
60
80
100
Feet per
Second.
1- 47
2- 93
4- 40
5- 87
7-33
14-67
22-00
29-34
36-67
44-01
51-34
58-68
66-01
73-35
88-02
117-36
146-70
Perpendicular
Force on an
area of One Foot,
in lbs. avoird.
0-005
0-020
0-044
0-079
0-123
0-492
1-107
1-968
3- 075
4- 429
6- 027
7- 873
9-963
12-300
17-715
31-490
49-200
Common Designations
of the Winds.
Hardly perceptible.
| Just perceptible.
| Gentle breezes.
| Pleasant brisk gales,
| Very brisk gales,
j- High w inds.
| Very high winds.
A storm or tempest.
A great storm.
A hurricane.
A great hurricane.
The third column is calculated according to the squares of
the velocities of the wind, which Smeaton considers as ge¬
nerally correct.
Trade-winds.—In those portions of the Atlantic and the Trade.
Pacific Oceans between the tropics, the wind has, through-winds,
out the year, a direction from the east. The following ex¬
planation agrees pretty well with the facts. The dense cool
air of the polar and temperate regions naturally tends to
displace the lighter warm air over intertropical regions,
which, heated by the sun, produce vertical movements in
the superincumbent atmosphere. Hence the ascending
current of warm air between the tropics has its place
supplied by the denser air from either side; and thus two
currents are set in motion, from the poles towards the tro¬
pical regions. The velocity of every point on the earth’s
surface increases from the poles to the equator. But as
the particles of these currents cannot at once acquire a ve¬
locity equal to the continually accelerating velocity of the
parts of the earth’s surface over which they arrive in this
transit, the northern and southern currents will gradually
seem to acquire a motion in an opposite direction to that
of the rotation of the earth, that is, both will gradually de¬
cline to the west, assuming in the northern hemisphere the
character of a N. E., and on the south side of the line of a
S. E. wind; whilst both will become more easterly as they
approach the equator. This effect of the augmenting velo¬
city of the earth’s surface, in approaching the equinoxial line,
is increased by the continual movement of the point over
540
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical which the sun is vertical, and consequently his heat the great-
Geography ,est( west; and the effect of the gravitation of the sun
and moon on the atmosphere, as was shown by D Alem¬
bert, must directly tend to increase the force of the east¬
erly wind. The influence of these luminaries on our atmo¬
sphere is corroborated by the observations of Bacon, Hal¬
ley, and Gassendi, on the frequency of storms about the
equinoxes, or at full and new moon, and the general occur¬
rence, in calm weather, of light airs of wind at the time of
high water. Whefl these causes are not counteracted by
the superior rarefaction of air over land heated by the sun’s
rays, the easterly w inds blow with much regularity, as in the
o-reat oceans ; and, from their important influence on navi¬
gation, they have obtained the denomination of trade-winds.
They extend to about 30° on each side of the equator; but,
from the less density of the atmosphere in the northern he¬
misphere, arising from the greater quantity of land to be
acted on by the sun’s rays in that half of the globe, the line
which marks the blending of the S. E. and N. E. trade-
winds is between two and three degrees north of the
equator.
If the surface of the globe had been one expanse of wa¬
ter, the trade-winds would have blown all round the equa¬
tor, and the only other winds known would have probably
been N. and S. winds near the poles, gradually bending
from E. to W. as they approached the tropics. But the
air over the land being much more heated by the sun’s rays
than that over the sea, the vicinity of large islands or of
continents causes interruptions to the regularity of the
trade-winds. Thus, on the coasts of Africa, within the re¬
gular limits of the trade-winds, westerly gales are not un¬
known ; and a southerly wind prevails along the western
shores of that continent, from Cape Palmas to the Cape
of Good Hope ; a consequence of the form and climate of
Northern Africa, which continues the southern polar cur¬
rent far beyond its limits in the free ocean.
A similar cause appears to give rise to the Calms on that
coast, from 10° to 4° N., a tract avoided by seamen, on ac¬
count of these calms, and sudden alternations, with tremen¬
dous storms of thunder and lightning, to which it is subject.
The general direction of the trade-winds is affected by their
approach to the shores of America; they are expanded, chief¬
ly owing to the resistance they meet with from the land, and
also by the additional rarefaction of the air re-acting upon
that continent. Precisely similar disturbances from the
position of land produce
The Monsoons of the Indian Ocean. The eastern trade-
wind blows regularly in that sea between the parallels of
10° and 30° S.; but from these parallels northwards, or on
the sea between Sumatra and Eastern Africa, the course of
the trade-winds is reversed for half the year, from April to
October, during which period there is a constant wind from
the S. W. During the other six months the regular trade-
wind, from the N. E., resumes its course. These winds
are termed the S. W. and N. E. monsoons, from a Malayan
word signifying seasons. The latter is produced by the
same causes as the general trade-wind. The other ap¬
pears to be occasioned by the great rarefaction of the at¬
mosphere over the extensive regions of Eastern Asia when
the sun is north of the equator, and the dense air of the In¬
dian Ocean rushes in to occupy the place of the ascending
current.
This disturbance of the trade-wind is attended with very
remarkable effects on the climate of the country where it
prevails. It is the harbinger of the rainy season in India,
which is ushered in by violent thunder-storms. A most
striking picture of this change of monsoon is given by Mr
Elphinstone in his Account of Caubul. “ The most remark-
Jlonsoons.
able rainy season is that called in India the S. W. mon- Physic-
soon. It extends from Africa to the Malayan peninsula, Geo8T4^
and deluges all the intermediate countries, within certain
lines of latitude, for four months in the year. In the south
of India this monsoon commences about the beginning of
June, but it gets later as we advance towards the north.
Its approach is announced by vast masses of clouds, that
rise from the Indian Ocean, and advance towards the N.E.,
gathering and thickening as they approach the land. After
some threatening days, the sky assumes a troubled ap¬
pearance in the evenings, and the monsoon in general sets
in during the night. It is attended by such a thunder¬
storm as can hardly be imagined by those who have only
seen that phenomenon in a temperate climate. It gene¬
rally begins with violent blasts of wind, which are suc¬
ceeded by floods of rain. For some hours lightning is
seen almost without intermission; sometimes it only illu¬
mines the sky, and shows the clouds near the horizon; at
other times it discovers the distant hills, and again leaves
all in darkness; when, in an instant, it re-appears in vivid
and successive flashes, and exhibits the nearest objects in
the brightness of day. During all this time the distant
thunder never ceases to roll, and is only silenced by some
nearer peal, which bursts on the ear with such a sudden
and tremendous crash as can scarcely fail to strike the 0
most insensible heart with awe. (Malabar is the province
Xpost distinguished for the violence of the monsoon.) At
length the thunder ceases, and nothing is heard but the
continued pouring of the rain, and the rushing of rising
streams. The next day presents a gloomy spectacle ; the
rain still descends in torrents, and scarcely allows a view
of the blackened fields: the rivers are swollen and disco¬
loured, and sweep down along with them the hedges, the
huts, and the remains of the cultivation which was carried
on during the dry season, in their beds.
“ This lasts for some days, after which the sky clears,
and discovers the face of nature changed, as if by en¬
chantment. Before the storm, the fields were parched up,
and, except in the beds of the rivers, scarce a blade of ve¬
getation was to be seen. The clearness of the sky was
not interrupted by a single cloud, but the atmosphere was
loaded with dust: a parching wind blew, like a blast from
a furnace, and heated wood, iron, and every solid material,
even in the shade ; and immediately before the' monsoon
this wind had been succeeded by still more sultry calms.
But when the first violence of the monsoon is over, the
whole earth is covered with a sudden but luxuriant vei-
dure: the rivers are full and tranquil; the air pure and
delicious; and the sky is varied and embellished with
clouds. The effect of this change is visible on all the ani¬
mal creation, and can only be imagined in Europe by sup¬
posing the depth of a dreary winter to start at once into
all the freshness and brilliancy of spring. From that time
the rain falls at intervals for about a month, when it comes
on again with great violence, and in July the rains are at
their height: during the third month they rather diminish,
but are still heavy ; and in September they gradually abate,
and are often suspended till near the end of the month,
when they depart amid thunders and tempests, as they
came.”1
Sea and land breezes are occasioned by the same causes Sea^a,
which produce the S. W. monsoon, and are chiefly exPe'^
rienced on tropical sea-coasts.
The sea-breeze commences about 10 a. m., and conti¬
nues throughout the day, till towards 6 p. m., when it gra¬
dually dies away, and about eight in the evening is succeed¬
ed by a much fainter breeze from the land, especially in
those islands which have considerable mountains. It is well
1 Account of Caubul, p. 126.
L
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
541
|) cal
lfphy,
■iiin
leH p
clit
known in Jamaica, but less so in the smaller Antilles, and
scarcely at all on the flat coasts of America. It continues
during the night, and usually dies away before six or se¬
ven in the morning ; but it is much less regular in its pe¬
riods than the sea-breeze. The latter, too, occurs in places
where the land-breeze is quite unknown. An admirable
description of these is contained in the voyages of Dampier,
and given at length in the article Meteorology. The
sea-breeze is more or less felt on the coasts of all warm
countries. We have had occasion to observe with what
regularity the sea-breeze sets in from the S. W. during the
summer at Gibraltar, and it blows with considerable force
throughout the greatest part of the day.
The explanation of the sea-breeze is the rarefaction of
the air by the heat of the land, and the rushing in of den¬
ser air from the sea to supply its place; and as the in¬
fluence of the sun decreases, this breeze dies away. The
land-breeze is chiefly produced by the descent of air from
mountainous regions, flowing, by its gravity, towards the
sea, over which the atmosphere is less liable to suffer
extreme rarefaction and condensation than the air over the
land.
In temperate climates the winds are far less regular than
in tropical countries. The general causes which produce
them act wuth less force and constancy; and the disturbing
causes, such as the vicinity of land, alteration in density
from moisture and dryness, act with more uncontrolled
energy. The most prevalent winds in Great Britain are
from the S. W., especially on the western side of our island.
The Royal Society registers give the following average for
the winds throughout the year at London.
S. W ..112 days.
N. E  58
W  53
N.W  50
S. E 32 days.
E  26
S 18
N 16
Or, with Professor Playfair, if we group the S. with the
westerly, and the N. with the easterly winds, we shall have
the following results, from the Edinburgh register of Play¬
fair, and the Glasgow register of Dr Meek.
"Westerly. Easterly.
London 233 + 132 = 365
Edinburgh 242 4- 123 = 365
Glasgow..... ,...314 + 51 365
These determinations of the direction of the winds refer
to the surface of the earth ; but there can be no doubt that
the direction of the aerial currents is often different in the
upper regions of the air. The permanence of very elevated
clouds, their occasional movements in directions opposite
to those of the winds below, and the information obtained
from aeronauts, all prove this point.
There are several remarkable modifications of the wind,
which deserve notice in this place.
Sirit). The Sirocco of Italy and Sicily is a S. E. or S. wind,
which, heated on the sandy wastes of Arabia and Libya,
becomes occasionally moist in its passage across the Medi¬
terranean, and oppresses the inhabitants of Italy, Malta,
and Sicily with excessive languor, and a sinking of their
mental energies. When it sets in, it causes a very sudden
and powerful rise of the thermometer, and is accompanied
by a haze which obscures the pure sky of those southern
countries; the sun appearing dimmed and shorn of his beams.
Sol;. The Solano of Spain is only a modification of the Siroc¬
co. We have experienced it as most oppressive on the
eastern shores of Spain ; and it is greatly detested by the
natives, who gravely remark, that “ no animals except a pig
and an Englishman are insensible to the Solano.” The
Italian condemnation of a stupid work, “ era scritto in
tempo del Sirocco,” is not more pointed than the Spanish Physical
adage, “ no rogar alguna gracia en tiempo de Solano,” not Geography,
to ask any favour during the Solano; and both proverbs ''““‘'V'""-''
sufficiently indicate the belief of the people of southern
Europe in the disagreeable qualities of the S. E. wind. We
have observed fine dust deposited from the Solano or Le¬
vanter at Gibraltar, and to this we partly attribute the haze
with which it is accompanied. If this dust be brought with
the Solano from Africa, it is less surprising than the follow¬
ing instance of dust carried by the easterly wind into the
Atlantic. On the morning of the 19th January 1826, when
the Clyde East Indiaman was on her voyage to London, in
latitude 10. 40. N., longitude 27. 41. W., her rigging was
observed to be covered with an impalpable powrder of a
brownish colour, and on unfurling the sails at two p. m. to
catch the breeze, they emitted clouds of dust, which, had
lodged in them during a strong gale from the E. and N. E.
In this case the nearest land in that direction was about
seven hundred miles distant.
The Khamsin of Syria, the Samiel of the Turks, and the Si- Khamsin
mun of the Arabs, is well described by Volney. It is a wind in or Simun.
no degree poisonous, except in as far as it is dangerous from
its extreme heat and aridity ; qualities it derives from blow¬
ing over sandy deserts intensely heated by the sun. Denon
states, that it is loaded with impalpable sand, which pene¬
trates into the closest packages. These winds derive their
Syrian name from their prevalence during the fifty days about
the equinoxes. They produce difficult respiration, a shrivel¬
led skin, and a distressing sense of heat. Volney compares
the effect of them to the sensation produced by the hot air
from a baker’s oven. They sometimes blow in squalls, and
in Egypt usually continue for about three days at a time.
In that period vegetation is withered, the inhabitants shut
themselves up in their houses or their tents ; and the Simun
is dangerous to persons of a full habit, from the sudden en¬
trance of this heated and parched air into the lungs. In
the sandy deserts it is greatly dreaded; but fortunately its
extent is not considerable, and it seldom lasts long. It has
been well described by Chardin, Sir John Malcolm, and
Badhia.
The Hannattan of the wrest coast of Africa is of the same Harmattan.
kind, and produced by the same causes. The extreme dry¬
ness of this wind has been mentioned by all observers. It
usually blows from the Great Sahara towards the coast, from
the N. E., and, like the Solano, Sirocco, and Simun, is loaded
with dust. The dust which fell on the vessel just mention¬
ed was from a violent Harmattan. The only difference be¬
tween the Sirocco and these other winds appears to be, that
the Sirocco obtains some moisture in crossing the Mediter¬
ranean ; but they all seem to be mere modifications of aerial
currents produced by the same causes.1
The Tornadoes, Typhous of the Chinese Seas, the Ox-eye Tornado,
of the Cape, and the Hurricanes of the West Indies, are &e.
violent and extraordinary agitations of the air, generally ac¬
companied by thunder-storms, and usually of short dura¬
tion. The destructive violence of the three first has been
well described by several navigators; and of the hurricane
which desolated Barbadoes in the year 1780 we have a short
but good account by Sir B. Blane.2
The name of Whirlwind has been given to eddying cur- Whirl-
rents, seemingly depending on electricity, which sometimes wind,
rage with surprising fury in particular spots, tearing up trees
by the roots, and overthrowing buildings. The extent of
the whirlwind is usually confined; and as it passes through
a forest it has been observed to form a lane or long track
of inconsiderable breadth. The singular columns of mov¬
ing sand, described by Bruce as occurring in Africa, appear
to have been the effect of whirlwinds, or probably analo-
1 For an account of the Harmattan, see Norris in Philosophical Transactions, Ixxi.; and Lind on Hot Climates.
* Edinburgh Philosophical Transactions, vol. i.
542
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical gous to the meteor termed a Waterspout, which seems to be
Geography, decidedly an electrical phenomenon.
^ J,"~ v-"-|V a curious account of waterspouts is contained in Michaud’s
Memoire in the Transactions of the Academy of Turin, which
has been translated in Nicholson’s Journal (vol. i. 4to se¬
ries). The conical pillar would appear to consist of con¬
densed vapour, which often has the deep indigo-blue tint
of the cloud from which it proceeds. As this column de¬
scends to the sea, the spot below it becomes agitated, and,
according to some observers, the waters are bodily drawn
up towards the cloud. But this opinion seems to be doubt¬
ful ; for it is stated that the water discharged on the burst¬
ing of a waterspout is always fresh, and therefore any wa¬
ter derived from the sea must have passed into the air in
the form of vapour. Besides, they generally dissolve merely
into mist on touching the land.
Iris. On the luminous meteors which appear in the air our
space will not permit us to expatiate. The Iris is well known
to be produced by the refraction of white light by the sphe¬
rules of water in a cloud, as has been beautifully and satisfac¬
torily demonstrated by Newton. The explanation of the
single and the double iris will be found in every treatise on
natural philosophy.
Aurora. The Aurora Borealis, and the similar luminous Southern
Meteor, are still objects of doubtful origin. The brilliancy
of the colours is subject to periodical increments and inter¬
vals of decline; and, after a considerable period of obscura¬
tion, it has, within the last few years, again begun to blaze
forth with increasing splendour. We have seen all the pris¬
matic colours present in an aurora; and many years ago, in
the Orkney Islands, we were enabled at midnight to distin¬
guish letters of a large print by its light. From the distance
to which the same aurora has been seen, the meteor must
often be very high above the earth, perhaps in the utmost
limits of our atmosphere; but at other times it appears to
be nearer to the earth, and we have persuaded ourselves
that we have heard a noise accompanying the sudden cor-
ruscations of a brilliant aurora.
Halo and The Halo, the Parhelion, and Paraselene, are optical phe-
parhelion. nomena produced by refraction of light by vapour, or mi¬
nute spicula of ice floating in the air. Parhelia have been
described by Scheiner, Gassendi, Delahire, Cassini, Halley,
Muschenbroeck, and Epinus.1
Lightning has been considered, with other electrical phe¬
nomena, under Electricity. The identity of lightning
with common electricity, as excited by the machine, was so
completely established by the celebrated Franklin, that no
doubt has since existed on the subject; and the recent dis¬
coveries of Oersted and Seebeck have indicated a close af¬
finity between the phenomena of electricity, heat, and mag¬
netism. As the electrical state of the atmosphere is an im¬
portant subject of inquiry, we beg leave to recommend to
the philosophical traveller some instrument for ascertaining
this quality of the atmosphere ; and perhaps no better port¬
able electroscope has yet been devised than the pocket in¬
strument of Cavallo.
Bolls, St The Bolis, St Elmo's Fire, Castor and Pollux of the an-
Elmo’s fire, cients, appear to be electric meteors. The former we have
twice seen. The last time was on the 18th of September
1835, at eleven p. m., when at sea. The head appeared an
No. 28.
elliptical ball of the most intense, brilliant, bluish-white Pbkj
light; the train had a tint of azure mixed with reddish,
which sufficiently distinguished it on the clear sky; and w w
sparks proceeded from its tail. Its motion was nearly hori¬
zontal, from S. W. to N. E., at a considerable height. It
was visible for five or six seconds, and disappeared in a
dense cloud. It was observed by four gentlemen stand¬
ing together on the deck, and we thought that it emitted a
crackling noise as it proceeded, with a majestic uniform
movement.
The more common meteor, the Shooting Star, as it is vul- Shoe ?
garly termed, seems to be an electrical ball of fire, at a con-star
siderable height in the atmosphere. Its general course is
from the zenith towards the horizon, which it seldom ap¬
pears to reach.
The Ignis Fatuus, or Will o’ the Wisp, is a meteor which Igni i
apparently is connected with decaying animal or vegetable
matter; and probably is produced by the disengagement
of phosphuretted hydrogene. It is frequently seen in boggy
grounds, as a flickering, unsteady light, in irregular motion.
It sometimes plays over dunghills ; and has occasionally, to
the extreme terror of the ignorant, appeared as a lambent
flame in church-yards. Dr Derham saw it once playing
about a dead thistle. The most extraordinary meteor of
this kind is that described by Signor Beccari, in the Philo¬
sophical Transactions (vol. xxxvi.). In the low grounds to
the north and east of Bologna, ignes fatui of remarkable
splendour were at that time seen almost every dark night.
That in the fields of Bagnara, to the east of the city, was
especially brilliant. It appeared and disappeared suddenly;
it rose and fell, and often hovered about six feet from the
ground ; it sometimes contracted its volume, then expanded
or divided into two ; would again unite, and assume the form
of a wave of flame; often it dropped bright scintillations,
and occasionally threw as much light upon the road as a
large torch.
The curious meteor described by Dr Shaw2 as running
along the ground, and playing on the ears and mane of his
horse, has its counterpart, on a smaller scale, in other coun¬
tries, and has often been witnessed in Britain. It seems
in some instances to be an electrical meteor ; but possibly
it may also arise from the disengagement of phosphuretted
hydrogene from living animals, or of a luminous and unc¬
tuous matter, like that of the glow-worm, or of phospho¬
rescent marine animals.
A lambent flame has occasionally been observed to play
around the heads of children, which has probably a similar
origin; it has been finely described by Virgil, in his ac¬
count of the glory that surrounded the head of the young
Ascanius.
Ecce levis summo de vertice visus luli
Fundere lumen apex, tractuque innoxia molli
Lambere flamma comas, et circa tempora pasci.
JEn. ii. 682.
Sect. VIII.— Climate.
The temperature of the atmosphere is derived from the Climat
heating of that portion of it in contact with the ground,
which has received and absorbed the incident solar rays.
Whilst the earth revolves on its axis, successive portions of
its surface are illuminated and heated by the sun ; but the
excessive accumulation of heat in any particular place is pre¬
vented by the abstracting power of the air, and by the ra¬
diation from the earth’s surface which takes place during the
night. These causes alone, however, could not have secured
the diffusion of ivarmth over a large portion of the earth.
Had the axis of the earth been perpendicular to the plane
1 See Priestley on Vision, and Muschenbroeck’s Philosophy.
3 Travels in Palestine and the East.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
543
n ' ‘
nil
fr
cal of its orbit, the same places would have had the sun always
johy. vertical; the equatorial regions would thus have been
parched with intolerable heat; and much of what is now
the fairest portions of the globe, the seats of literature and
the arts, would have been doomed to sterility and desola¬
tion. The simple yet stupendous contrivance of the in¬
clination of the axis to the plane of the orbit, by bringing
successive portions of the northern and southern hemi¬
spheres alternately under the vivifying solar influence, has
rendered the largest portion of the globe the abodes of ani¬
mated beings ; the fervour of a tropical climate is thus ren¬
dered less oppressive, and the limits of the temperate re¬
gions are greatly extended. The division into five Zones,
and their denominations, give us a general idea of the tem¬
perature in each; but these are very inadequate to express
the diversities of atmospherical temperature. Ancient geo¬
graphers distributed the earth’s surface into twenty-six pa¬
rallel bands or Climates, which were supposed to indicate,
with sufficient exactness, the differences of the heat of each
region, until the invention of the thermometer gave more
precise information.
We have already stated how multiplied and careful ob¬
servations may point out the mean temperature of any place,
■ and the contrivances which have been resorted to for abridg¬
ing the labour of the meteorologist; and philosophers have
endeavoured to supply by calculation what is wanting in
observation. The most ingenious of these speculators was
Mayer of Gottingen. From an examination of such regis¬
ters of temperature as he could obtain, he concluded “ that
the mean temperatures decrease from the equator to the
poles, as the squares of the sines of latitude and therefore,
if the mean temperature at the level of the sea under the
equator were ascertained, this formula would enable us to
calculate the. mean temperature of any given latitude.
Mayer applied his formula to the equatorial temperature as
determined by Bouguer, =r to 24° of Reaumur ; but this has
been found by Humboldt to be too high. It should have
been only 22° of that scale, which is equivalent to 27°*5 of
the centigrade, and to 810,5 of Fahrenheit. With these
corrections, Mayer’s formulae for the three thermometers,
T signifying the temperature sought, will be
T = 22° 2cos. lat. for Reaumur.
T = 27°*5 2cos. lat. for Centigrade.
T = 81®*5 2cos. lat. for Fahrenheit.
Unfortunately, however, later observations have shown
that Mayer’s formula is worse than useless in high latitudes,
and indeed is only found tolerably consistent with observa¬
tion in latitudes between 40° and 60° N. The thermo-
metrical registers of Scoresby, Parry, Franklin, and Ross,
have proved that the mean temperature of the parallel be¬
tween 70° and 75° is very far below what Mayer’s formu¬
la would assign, and is even far below what that empirical
rule would give to the pole. In low latitudes, too, it is not
to be depended on ; and it is totally at variance with the
recent but well-established fact of meridians of greatest cold.
No attempt of this kind has yet been found reconcileable
lal with observation. In the mean time, the celebrated Hum¬
boldt has performed an acceptable service to science, by a
more critical examination of the accumulated observations
of his predecessors and contemporaries. The results he
has given in his essay on the Distribution of Heat over the
Globe; and the representation of them upon a chart of Iso¬
thermal Lines is peculiarly valuable, as deductions from ac¬
tual observation. An inspection of such a chart shows, that
these lines are neither parallel to the equator nor to each
other. They are higher in Europe than at 100° to the E.
or W. Thus the isothermal line of temperature 54°'5, in
France passes through lat. 45° 46'; in China (long. 116°
E.) it is in lat. 39° 54'; and in America, on the western Physical
coast (in long. 104° W.), it is in 44° 40'. Geography.
The isothermal lines descend lower in America than in ^
Europe. Thus the line of 32°, or the freezing point, in
Europe, lies in Lapland between 66° and 68°, but in
America it passes on the coast of Labrador in lat. 54° ;
and this difference, which is small near the tropic, increases
much with the latitude. Thus,
Lat.
30°
40
50
60
Mean Temperature.
Old.
70°-52 F.
63 -14
50 -99
40 -64
New.
66°-92 F.
54 -50
37 -94
23 -74
Difference.
3°-60
8 -64
12 -96
16 -92
In both continents, the most rapid decrease of tempera¬
ture takes place between lat. 40° and 45°. This circum¬
stance has justly been considered by Humboldt as pro¬
ducing a happy influence upon the civilization and industry
of the nations inhabiting these parallels; because there
slight changes in latitude produce considerable diversity in
the vegetable productions, which may become objects of
rural economy; and when contiguous countries differ much
in their products, it stimulates the industry of each, and
gives vigour to commercial intercourse; circumstances
highly favourable to civilization. The range of the ther¬
mometer is not the same under the same isothermal lines,
as representing the mean temperature of the year. It is
greater in the New than in the Old Continent. Thus,
Cincinnati in America, and St Malo in France, are both on
the isothermal line of 54° ; yet the difference between the
mean heat of summer and winter is 40° at the former, and
but 32° at the latter. Even though the difference between
the mean temperature of the seasons increase with the
latitude, under the same meridians, yet the difference at
Philadelphia in America, in lat. 40°, is much greater than
at Copenhagen in Europe, in lat. 56°.
Philadelphia. ...
Copenhagen..
Lat.
40°
56
Mean of
Summer.
73°’94
60 *60
Mean of
Winter.
32°-18
30 -74
Difference.
41°-76
29 *86
The remarkable fact of the influence of longitude on tem- Effect 0f
perature leads to the conclusion, that on each side of the longitude,
equator there are two meridians, under which the mean tem¬
perature is lowest. These have been termed by Sir David
Brewster the cold meridians, and their extremities are the
poles of greatest cold. The position of these in the north¬
ern hemisphere may be approximated from recent investi¬
gations ; and perhaps we shall not greatly err if we assign
the longitude of 95° W. for the American, and of 100° E.
for the Asiatic cold meridians. The apparent coincidence
of the cold meridians with the general direction of Han-
steen’s lines of no variation is perhaps more than accidental,
when we reflect that there seem to have been, in former
ages, migrations of the cold meridians eastward and west¬
ward, coincident, as far as we can judge from recorded
changes of climate in northern countries, with similar mi¬
grations of the magnetic needle.1
Elevation above the sea is one of the most important cir- Effect of
cumstances by which climate is modified. As we ascend elevation
in the atmosphere the temperature diminishes, and under above the
every latitude the summits of very lofty mountains pene- SL‘a-
trate into the abodes of perpetual congelation: such sum-
1 Traill in Memoires de la Societe de Physique et d'Histoire Naturelle de Geneve, tom. iv.
544
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY
Physical
Geography,
Perpetual
congela¬
tion.
Effect of
vicinity of
the sea.
mits are covered with perpetual snows. The altitude at
which this takes place varies with the latitude, diminishing
from the equator to the poles. In climates where there is
a great difference between the heat of summer and ot win¬
ter, this point will fluctuate between two limits, one ot
which is the upper, the other the lower limit of congelation.
The distance between them is least at the equator, and
increases as we recede from it. This circumstance is im¬
portant ; for it influences the formation of those stupen¬
dous glaciers, that excite the astonishment of the traveller,
on the elevated regions of the temperate zone, and on the
declivities of the arctic circle. .
Sir John Leslie concluded, from some experimental in¬
vestigations, that in moderate elevations we might estimate
this decrease of temperature as we ascend, at 1° of Fahren¬
heit for every 300 feet of elevation ; and he has given a for¬
mula for computing the point of congelation for every lati¬
tude ; which, however, does not agree with observation in
high parallels. The same remark applies to Kir wan’s for¬
mula,1 which presupposes a gradual depression of the point
of congelation in receding from the equator. The requisite
data for his calculations are the mean temperature at the
level of the sea at the equator and at the given place, and
the height of the equatorial point of congelation. Thus, if
we take the point of perpetual congelation at Humboldt’s
estimate of 15,744 feet, and the mean temperature at the
level of the sea there at 81°-5, the difference between that
mean temperature and 32° will bear the same ratio to the
equatorial point of congelation, as the excess of the mean
temperature at the given place above the freezing point, to
the point of congelation at the latter. Thus, if we wish to
find the point of congelation in this latitude, 56°, we turn
to a table of mean temperatures, and find it = 49° Fahren¬
heit. .
81-5 — 32 = 49-5, and 49 — 32 = 17, and
49-5 : 15744 : : 17 : 5407.
On this formula, then, 5407 feet would be the point of
perpetual congelation in our climate ; and had w e any moun¬
tain exceeding that elevation, its summit would be covered
with perennial snow'.
We apprehend, however, that no formula will apply to
all latitudes; and we know that Kirwan’s does not agree
with observation in high latitudes.
Even when the latitude and elevation of twTo places do
not differ greatly, they may suffer very different extremes
of temperature. The chief agent in effecting this is the
ocean. It has been found that the proximity of the sea,
in all climates, affects the extremes of temperature. When
cold air sweeps over the surface of the ocean, the caloric
of the upper particles is diminished, their density is in¬
creased, and they sink, while their place is supplied by
fresh particles from below, which becoming cooled in their
turn, give rise to internal motions in the ocean. As the
law of expansion during cooling from 39° to 32°, which
forms so singular an exception in the case of fresh water,
does not take place in sea-water, there is nothing to arrest
these internal motions in the ocean :s and from its enor¬
mous mass, it is obvious that no partial application of cold,
in this wray, can sensibly reduce its mean temperature.
Hence we find that the temperature of islands is not in
winter so low as that of continents in the same parallels.
Thus the severity of winter in Britain bears no proportion
to that of continental regions under the same parallel.
The Orkney Islands are in the same latitude as St Peters¬
burg ; yet, in the former, a frost of a week’s duration is a
comparatively rare occurrence, whilst at the latter, the wride,
deep, and rapid Neva is for several months annually frozen
On the other hand, the ocean exerts a great influence in PI ^
mitigating the excessive heat of tropical climates. It is true, Geo.'.iaji
that when the upper particles of its waters become heated,
the internal motions cease; but the rarefaction produced sets
a current in motion to the west (as becomes apparent in the
Gulf Stream), the place of which is supplied by the influx
of cooler waters from either pole. This is not all. The
increased temperature is mightily diminished by increased
evaporation ; a process by which as much caloric is ab¬
sorbed as would be capable of heating an equal weight of
water 942° Fahrenheit. Hence tropical islands are less op¬
pressively hot than continents in the same latitude. The
summer temperature of the smaller Antilles, for instance,
is lower than that of the same parallels in America, Africa,
or Arabia. The intersection of continents by arms of the
sea, or by vast collections of water, tends to mitigate the
fervour of summer. The extended form of the old conti¬
nent toward the east renders inequalities of temperature
much greater in Eastern Asia than under the same parallels
in Europe. Thus, at Pekin, in latitude 40° N., longitude
116° 20' E., the mean temperature of summer is 78°-8, and
of winter 23°—a difference of not less than 55°-8, which
gives rise to a frost of several months’ duration in that part
of China; yet Pekin is under the same parallel as the south¬
ern extremity of Naples, where frost is unknown, and of the 1
central provinces of Spain, in which, though at an elevation
of 2000 feet above the sea, ice is an extremely rare occur¬
rence.
The face of a country, though less important than the >f
circumstances already noticed, affects its climate. A regionsurfj
shrouded in primeval forests, or covered with swamps and
marshes, will have a different temperature when cleared and
drained. Marshes, by evaporation, rob the surface of much
of its heat; and forests, by intercepting the sun’s rays, the
source of terrestrial warmth, and by the increased exhalent
surfaces exposed to the air, undoubtedly have some ef¬
fect on mean temperature. In hot climates forests tend to
cool the air, and in frigid regions to prevent the loss of the
earth’s heat by chilling blasts. The clearing of forests may
thus affect the temperature, and the draining of marshes in¬
crease the salubrity of particular regions ; but the mere ef¬
fect of cultivation can never be very considerable in chan¬
ging a climate. J .
A combination of several of the causes already noticed ! ot
as affecting climate have conspired to render the North mt a'
American continent colder than the same parallels in Eu¬
rope. Thus Nova Scotia and Canada, in latitude 47°, are
in the same parallel as the central provinces of France and
Upper Italy. In the former, the cold of winter has been
observed as low as —40° Fahrenheit, or 52° below the freez¬
ing point of water ; and the lakes and rivers of that part ot
America are bound up in impenetrable ice during four or
five months of the year; while in the latter, in ordinary
seasons, the severity of winter is scarcely felt. Labrador
and England, each in latitude 53°, differ widely in mean
temperature.
Labrador.
England..
Mean Temperature.
Summer. Winter. General,
51°’8
62 -6
3°*2
37 -4
_ 270.5,
= 50
over.
The climate of America, however, should not be compared
with that of Europe, but with the eastern side of the old con¬
tinent. The eastern sides of both, from causes which pei-
haps are not easily explained, are certainly colder than e
* Essay on Climate.
2 Dr Hope, Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburg!;.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
545
5;
Ctf1
6i
fee
ma
cal western ; and when observations are multiplied on the west-
phy. ern shores of America, it will probably be found that both
continents approximate more nearly in mean temperature
than the above comparisons would seem to indicate. In
fact, the whole of Europe, as Humboldt has remarked, has
an insular climate compared with the eastern parts of Asia
and America; “ and upon the same isothermal line the
summers become warmer, and the winters colder, in pro¬
portion as wre advance from the meridian of Mont Blanc to
the east or to the west.”1 The eastern parts of China, and
the Atlantic portions of the United States, have great dif¬
ferences between their summer and winter temperatures, or
they are what Humboldt terms excessive climates ; whilst all
that we yet know of California, and of the country between
it and the mouth of the Columbia, shows that the mean tem¬
perature of their winters and summers differs much less, and
that they approach more nearly to the climate of Europe.
The distribution of the land in high latitudes is not un-
af- important as regards climate. Land is more easily heated
cli- than water by the sun’s rays; and where the icy barriers
are in contact wdth land, there is a greater probability of
their being melted by the heat of summer, than where the
ice extends over a large surface of uninterrupted ocean. This
seems to be one cause of the greater extent of the southern
than of the northern polar ices.
Had the globe been uniformly covered by water, the pi’o-
gression of climate would probably have been very regular.
Indeed it might be shown, that the effect of the polar cur¬
rents produced by equatorial rarefaction, supposing them to
move with a velocity of two miles per hour, or to make
three annual transfers from the pole to the equator, would
be sufficient to produce the variations of temperature which
are experienced at the level of the ocean.
On the whole, the peculiarities of climate are chiefly at¬
tributable to latitude, elevation, the distribution of land and
water, proximity to the cold meridians, the humidity or dry¬
ness of the air ; to which we may add, though less import¬
ant, the prevalence of particular winds, the transparency
or cloudiness of the sky, and the state of the general sur¬
face of any country.
Sect. IX Geographical Distribution of Plants.
Whoever considers the vast accessions made to our list of
vegetable species within the last twenty years, and the im¬
mense tracts of the earth still unexplored by scientific men,
will readily conceive that we are yet in no condition to
pronounce even as to the probable amount of the existing
plants. In Professor Lindley’s Introduction to Botany, the
following is an approximation to known species.
Pliaenogamous. Cryptogamous.
t of Number of described species, ac-1 nnn a ftnf)
cording to Sprengel, in 1827... j ° ’   '
Add for errors and suppression of I a nnn 1 nno
real species / ’   ’
Add for India and the rest of Asia...10,000 I
Add for America 20,000 'r 2,000
Add for Africa 10,000)
77,000 9,000
But if this afford a just estimate of the known species, it
cannot give us any idea of the plants existing on the globe.
Europe, with a surface ^th that of Asia and Africa, and in
some respects less favourable to a varied vegetation, has a
flora more numerous than either, and, till within a few years,
superior to both united. This can only be attributed to the
greater diligence with which the botanic riches of Europe
have been explored, and may lead us to suspect that we are Physical
yet far from a knowledge of all existing species. Geography.
While botanists considered plants only as belonging tov '
artificial systems, the progress of geographical phytology
was inconsiderable. Tournefort, in ascending Mount Ara¬
rat, had observed at its foot the plants of Western Asia;
but a little way up he recognised the vegetable forms of
Italy ; at a still higher level, those of Central France ; next
those of Sweden; and beyond them the flora of Lapland
and the Alps.
Similar remarks were occasionally made by other bo¬
tanists in other regions. They had determined with con¬
siderable accuracy the northern boundaries of some plants,
especially those useful to man ; but whilst the method
of grouping plants was merely artificial, the physical laws
which regulate their distribution were not perceived, and
the circumstances which limit certain vegetable forms to
particular situations were not comprehended. Humboldt’s
essay on the geography of plants appeared at Paris in 1807,
and contained some generalizations on the succession of
vegetable forms in Equinoxial America ; but it is admitted
on all hands, that the disquisitions of Dr Robert Brown,
in the'Supplement to Flinders’ Voyage, published in 1814<,
led the way to still more extensive generalizations on the
geographical distribution of plants, and first indicated the
proportions that subsist in different places between the
three great divisions of the vegetable kingdom. Since that
period, the progress of vegetable geography has been rapid,
chiefly through the labours of Von Humboldt, Brown, Wah-
lenberg, Decandolle, Von Buch, Parrot, Hornemann, and
Schouw ; and this improvement is ascribed, by the illus¬
trious philosopher first named, to the adoption of the natu¬
ral method of Jussieu. To none of these writers are we
more indebted than to Von Humboldt. The ideas deve¬
loped in his Essai sur la Geographic des Plantes., and in his
Tableaux de la Nature, were expanded in the Prolegomena
de Distributione Geographica Plantarum. Flis invaluable
Memoire on isothermal lines (Mem. d'Arcueil, and Edin.
Phil. Journ. iii. iv. and v.), and, last of all, his New Enqui¬
ries into the Laws which regulate the distribution of Ve¬
getable Forms (same Journal, vi.), contain an admirable
summary of almost all we know on vegetable geography.
The primary divisions of the natural arrangement are into
acotyledon.es, which include the ferns, fungi, lichens, mosses,
sea-weeds, &c.; monocotyledones, including palms, rushes,
sedges, grasses, liliaceous plants, &c.; dicotyledones, which
comprehend all plants not contained in the other groups.
The circumstances on which the geographical distribution of
these different vegetable forms depend, may all be compre¬
hended in climate and soil. The causes chiefly modifying
climate are, latitude, elevation above the sea, longitude,
moisture, and insolation ; particularly the first two. We
shall endeavour to point out very generally how vegetation
is modified by these circumstances ; and, first, of the effect
of latitude.
In proceeding from the equator towards either pole, Effects of
the temperature diminishes; but we have seen that the latitude on
isothermal lines are not parallel to the equator, and the plants,
vegetable forms which characterize them descend lower in
the new than in the old continent. In equatorial regions
the vegetation consists of dense evergreen forests, charac¬
terized by palms and arborescent ferns, mixed with Epiden-
dra and rigid grasses; and the lower tribes of vegetable life,
such as Fungi, Confervae, and Musci, are very rare; but
Musaceae, Melastomaceae, Scitaminiae, Myrtaceae, Piperaceae,
and the larger Composite, are very frequent. On reced¬
ing from the equator these tropical forms give place to Ro-
saceae, Coniferae, and Amentaceae; verdant meadows of soft
3 z
VOL. XVII,
1 Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, vol. iii.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
546
Physical grasses intersperse the landscape, the epiphytal Orchidiae
Geography, disappear, and are succeeded by plants whose fleshy roots
v ^ “ draw their sustenance from the soil; the trunks ot aged
trees are clothed with mosses, parasitic Fungi invest decay¬
ing vegetables, and the waters abound with Confervm. On
entering the frigid regions trees disappear ; dicotyledonous
plants become more and more rare; and Gramineae, Mosses,
and Lichens are the last retreats of vegetable life. The
northern hemisphere, with which we are best acquainted,
is by Humboldt divided into six isothermal bands.
1st band has a mean temperature above 77° F., and may
be considered the natural region of Palms, of the Banana,
and the Coffee-tree. It extends northwards in the old con¬
tinent to lat. 32°, in the new to 23° 30'. .
2d band, with a mean temperature ranging between 77
and 68°, is the proper region of the Citron and its varie¬
ties. In the old continent it reaches to 37° or 38°, in the
new to 29°. .
3d band, with a mean temperature from 68° to 5 J , is the
true region of the Olive and the Vine. In the old continent
it extends to 43° 30'; in the new, and in Eastern Asia, to
32° or 33°.
4th band, with a mean temperature from 59° to oO , pro¬
duces the Vine, and in perfection Wheat, and the Oak.
In Europe it extends to 52° 25', in America to 42° 25', in
China to 40°.
5th band, with a mean temperature from 50° to 41°, is
the region of various Cerealia, and of forests of Quercus
Robur. In Europe it extends to lat. 60°, in America pro¬
bably to 50°. .
6th band, with a mean temperature from 41° to 32°, is
the native region of the Pine, the Birch, and the Willow, in
its lowest parallels ; and in its higher, of alpine plants, Li¬
chens, and Byssi. It reaches to the limits of perpetual con¬
gelation. In Europe it extends to lat. 71°, in Asia to the
arctic circle, but in Eastern America only to 57° 8'.
But the effect of elevation above the sea is no less strik¬
ing, and is capable of counterbalancing or of subverting the
influence of a low latitude. Wherever lofty mountains oc¬
cur in the torrid zone, their summits are veiled in perpetual
snows ; and the ascent presents the flora of a vast variety
of climates. This is beautifully illustrated in Flumboldt’s
Geographic des Plantes Equinoxiales, the chart of which
forms Plate CCCCXII. in this volume. He divides Equi-
noxial America into eight regions.
1. The region of Palms, Scitaminiae, and Liliaceae. This
is the habitat of true Palms, of the Musa, Theophrasta,
Mussaenda, Pumeria, Caesalpinia, Hymenaea, Cecropia, and
Cusparia. It extends from the level of the sea, under the
equator, to the elevation of 5700 feet. One species ot tree
found in this region extends to the height of 6800 feet.^
2. The region of arborescent Ferns, and the true Cin¬
chona. Gigantic Ferns first appear at the height of 1200
feet, and disappear at an elevation of 4900 feet. The me¬
dicinal Cinchonae attain the height of 8800 feet.
3. The region of Oaks commences at 5200 feet, and
reaches to
4. The region of Shrubs. Trees disappear entirely at a
height of 10,800 feet, and are succeeded by shrubby plants.
5. The region of plants corresponding to the alpine
plants of Europe. These are first found at 6100 feet above
the sea, and continue to the great height of 12,600 feet.
Amongst these the most conspicuous are the genera Genti-
ana, Lobelia, Ranunculus, &c.
6. The region of Grasses. Here the Gramineae are the
sole vegetable produce; and the principal genera are Ave-
na, Agrostis, Dactylis, Panicum, Stipa, Javara. In this re¬
gion snow regularly falls, and the plants enumerated con¬
tinue to the vast elevation of 14,200 feet.
7. The region of the Hyperoxylon, Byssi, Hepaticae, and
Lichenes. These lowly and hardy forms of vegetable life
Effect of
elevation.
continue to the very verge of uninterrupted winter, which Pli
in the ®eoi
8. Region covers the Equinoxial Andes, from the height
of 15,700 feet, to their towering summits.
In the temperate climate of Europe, the changes pro¬
duced by elevation, though less striking, are not less im¬
portant on vegetation. M. Ramond, in examining the Py¬
renees, found vegetable forms distributed into very regu¬
lar zones.
1. The region of Oaks lies at the foot of the chain, and
is chiefly characterized by Quercus Robur, which continues
to the elevation of 4800 feet above the sea.
2. The zone of Beeches, characterized by the Fagus
Sylvatica, commences at 1800 feet above the sea, and ex¬
tends to 1400 feet beyond the oaks, rising to 5200 feet, or
to a mile, in height.
3. The region of the Silver Fir, or Pinus Picea, and Yew.
It commences at 4200 feet, and extends to the height of
6000 feet, or 600 beyond the region of Beeches.
4. The region of the Pinus Sylvestris and Pinus Pumilio,
commencing at 6000 feet, and extending to an elevation of
6200 feet; and this is the extreme limit of trees.
5. Region of dry-leaved shrubs and creeping plants,
such as Rhododendron, Daphne, Passerina, Globularia Re¬
pens, and two diminutive species of willow, Salix Herbacea
and S- Reticulata. The limit of this last is uncertain, but
it rises much beyond this region.
6. The region of alpine plants with perennial roots and
naked stems; as Gentiana, Primula, Saxifraga, Ranuncu¬
lus. The extreme limit of phaenogamous plants is marked
by Ranunculus Glacialis, Saxifraga Cespitosa, S. Oppositi-
folia, S. Androsacea, and S. Groenlandica. These elegant
but hardy individuals, intermixed with Byssi and Lichens,
reach to
7. The region of perennial snow.
As a further illustration, we may give the progress of ve¬
getation within the arctic circle from the masterly sketch
of Wahlenberg. In ascending the Lapland Alps, from the
head of the Gulf of Bothnia, he found eight well-marked
zones.
1. The region of the Spruce Fir had almost ceased before
reaching the mountains. It had become a slender pole,
with short, drooping branches. The Rubus Arcticus had
ceased to ripen its fruit, and the pools were no longer or¬
namented with Arundo Phragmitis, Galium Boreale, and
Carex Globularia. The upper limit of the Spruce Fir is
3200 feet below the line of perpetual snow. This is the
true region of Tussilago Nivea ; it has a mean temperature
of 370,5 of Fahrenheit.
2. Pinus Sylvestris, or Scotch Fir, is still found ; but its
stem is low, and its branches widely spread. In this region is
the last appearance of Ledum Palustre, Salix Pentandra, and
Veronica Serpyllifolia. Near the upper limit of the Scotch
Fir the Phaca Alpina is found, and the berries of Vaccinium
Myrtillus do not ripen well. The upper limit of this zone
is 2800 feet below the line of snow ; its mean temperature
36°-5 Fahrenheit. A little below this boundary barley
ceases to ripen ; but grazing farms, with turnips and po¬
tatoes, are cultivated, even 400 feet higher.
3. The zone of the Birch with short, thick stems and
knotty branches ; its lively green leaves are refreshing to
the eye, but the tree is diminished, so as to be command¬
ed from every eminence. The upper boundary of the Eire
is 200 feet below the line of snow. The Alnus Incana,
Prunus Padus, and Populus Tremula, had long before this
disappeared ; and Sorbus Aucuparia, Rubus Arcticus, and
Erica Vulgaris, disappear near the upper limit of this re¬
gion; but the drier spots produce Lichen Rangiferinus,
Tussilago Frigida, and Pedicularis Sceptrum Carohnum, to
the upper boundary of the Birch.
4. The lower skirts of this region are covered with tne
Wlf
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
(sical dark foliage of Betula Nana; Salix Glauca fringes the
aphy-streams; every hill is covered with Arbutus Alpina, and
variegated with Andromeda Caerulea and Trientalis Euro-
psea; while the bogs are ornamented with Andromeda Po-
lifolia and Pedicularis Lapponica. This zone reaches to
within 1400 feet of perpetual snow.
5. Brush-wood has disappeared ; Salix Lanata is two feet
high; Betula Nana creeps along the ground; the hills abound
with Azalea Procumbens and A. Lapponica. No berries
ripen here, except those of Empetrum Nigrum. This zone
rises to within 800 feet of the line of snow ; its mean tem¬
perature is 34° Fahrenheit.
6. Region where patches of snow remain all the year.
Bare places still produce a few shrubby plants, as Empetrum
Nigrum, Andromeda Tetragona, and A. Hypnoides, Gen-
tiana Nivalis, G. Tenella, Draba Alpina, and Dryas Octo-
petala. This zone reaches to within 200 feet of perennial
snow, which forms
7. Zone in which, wherever a patch of soil is visible, va¬
rious Saxifrages and Ranunculi appear. The upper limit
of this region is 4200 feet above the sea ; but on the higher
mountains we have an
8. Region of pure snow. Yet even here, if a southern as¬
pect chance to thaw for a few days any cleft in a rock, a few
hardy specimens of Ranunculus Glacialis venture to bloom.
The plant has been gathered even 500 feet above the last
zone ; and Umbilicated Lichens have been seen 2000 feet
above the line of perennial snow. The mean temperature
of the eighth region is 30° Fahrenheit.
0f In these instances, then, the effect of elevation is equiva-
jo ude. lent to latitude ; but it must be recollected, that plants will
not thrive equally in places with the same mean tempera¬
ture. Some require a strong ephemeral heat. Hence, in
judging of the aptitude of any place for rearing particular
plants, we must compare the mean temperature of the sum¬
mer, as well as of the whole year, before we decide. Thus
we are enabled to explain why the Pistacio-nut ripens in
Pekin, but will not ripen in France, where the isothermal
line for the whole year is the same ; but though the Chi¬
nese winter be more severe than that of France, the sum¬
mer heat is far greater. Innumerable other instances might
be adduced of the same fact. The moisture of a climate
has much influence upon its vegetation. Water is the ve¬
hicle of the food of plants, and perhaps yields a great pro¬
portion of it. If moisture be deficient, plants die; but
they require water in very different proportions. Those with
soft, broad, smooth leaves, that grow rapidly, and have
many cortical pores, require much water to maintain their
vitality ; on the other hand, plants with few cortical pores,
with oily or resinous juices, and small roots, will generally
thrive best in dry situations.
Ef of Insolation, or exposure to light, is necessary for most
lig plants. The green colour of plants is only formed in light,
as is shown by etiolation ; and light appears to be the cause
of certain movements which are remarked in the flowers of
most plants, and in other parts of some delicately organized
individuals, which open and close their leaves according to
the degree of light. This last property is chiefly seen in
tropical plants. Light appears to be necessary to the de¬
composition of carbonic acid, and the fixation of carbon in
their tissues ; and it is indispensable to the right perform¬
ance of the function of reproduction.
5 of The influence of soil on vegetables is seen in the prefer¬
ence which many plants have for a calcareous soil; some
affect siliceous sands, others clay retentive of water ; some
plants thrive best in the clefts of slaty rocks; some delight
547
to dwell amid granitic rocks, and others on a saliferous soil. Physical
Earthy matters enter largely into the composition of some Geography
vegetables ; and, in the epidermis of the Graminem, silica is >
invariably found. The presence of animal matter in soils
is necessary to many plants, and is generally nutritive to
all. Iron and copper are found in small quantities in some
plants. The stations of particular plants have often been
determined by these peculiarities of soil; and where a soil
and climate are equally suitable for many social plants, we
find them growing together, until the strongest obtains the
mastery, and chokes the others. Thus Erica Vulgaris ap¬
pears to have usurped in Europe a space once occupied by
other genera, if we may judge by what generally happens
on exterminating heath ; for then other plants very speedily
make their appearance, the seeds of which seem to have
long preserved their vitality in the earth, and only to have
wanted room to spring into visible existence.
A combination of these causes no doubt influences the
distribution of particular species. Thus, in the old world,
Ericeae and the Proteaceae of Southern Africa are peculiar,
and are replaced in Australia by Epacrideae and new ge¬
nera of Proteaceae. The Banksia, the Yucca, the Goodenia,
and the leafless Acaciaf, are peculiar to the latter country.
The Cinnamon, Nutmeg, and Clove are confined to the In¬
dian islands; the Thea and Camellia are indigenous to China.
America does not contain a single species of Erica, from
one extremity to the other; nor has a Pmonia ever been
found in it, except a solitary one observed by Douglas to
the west of the Rocky Mountains. That mountain bar¬
rier divides two vegetations, almost as peculiar as those of
two continents. On its eastern side the forests of North
America are distinguished by the variety of their Oaks and
Juglandes, the magnificent inflorescence of the Rhododen¬
dron, the Magnolia, the Azalea, and the humbler beauties
of the Actea and Vaccinium ; all of which are utterly un¬
known on the western side of that ridge. America is the
real habitat of the Cinchonaceae and the Cacti, of the
Fuschia, the Calathea, the Mustisia, and all the Bromeli-
aceae.
One grand question in vegetable geography, first consi- Numerical
dered by Brown, has yet to be noticed, viz. the numerical re- relations
lations that subsist between different vegetable forms. We between
may ask, which natural families of plants abound most over different
the world ? and give in succession the comparative num- vfri^es
bers that are known to exist. This interesting comparison1
has been attempted in Decandolle’s grand work. But this
information is less important and satisfactory than the in¬
vestigation of the relation which the numbers of each fa¬
mily bear to soil and climate. The question thus becomes
far more complex ; and we are under the necessity of com¬
paring the ascertained number in each division with the
whole mass of phaenogamous plants.
It is to this last mode of studying vegetable forms that
the admirable inquiries of Humboldt are directed. We
strongly recommend the whole of that paper to the perusal
of our readers. Our limits will only permit us to give his
table of the numerical results of his investigations of the
distribution of certain extensive families which exert a
marked character on the vegetable physiognomy of the
countries where they occur.1
In the following table the sign indicates that the de¬
nominator of the fraction diminishes from the equator to¬
wards the pole ; that it diminishes towards the equa¬
tor ;   that it diminishes from the north pole and the
equator to the temperate zone — that it diminishes
towards the equator and the north pole.
‘ The Agamce of Humboldt correspond to the Acotyledones of other botanists; his Glumuctx include the families of Monocotylcdones
indicated in the table.
548
Physical
Geography.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Groups founded on analogy of Form.
Agamse (ferns, lichens,mos-'\
ses, fungi) i
Ferns alone.
Monocotyledones 
Glumacea; (junceai, cype-j
racese, gramineie) J
Juncese alone 
Proportion to the whole mass of Pluenogamous Plants.
Equatorial Zone.
Lat. 0° to 10“.
Temperate Zone.
Lat. 45“ to 52°.
| Frigid Zone.
I Lat. 67° to 70°
Signs indicating
the direction of
the Increase.
Cyperacete alone 
Gramineie alone   
Compositse 
Leguminosie 
Rubiaceie 
Euphorbiaceae 
Labiatae 
Malvaceae 
Ericeae and Rhododendra.
Amentaceae..
Umbelliferae
Cruciferae ...
J Plains, \
(Mountains, | J
( Countries nearly flat, ^ \
(Very mountainous, 3 to g /
f Old Continent, ^ \
nt, i J
(New Continent,
4 0 0
f Old Continent
(New Continent
> s' s 1
fj slo J
j” Old Continent, ,'5 \
(New Continent, T‘5 J
_I
f Old Continent, ^
(New Continent, J
as
1
130
1
8 0 0
1
500
1
80 0
/ Old Cont. 1)
(New Cont. i/
f America
(Europe
'a,
/Europe, 7i„|
(America, gg
(Europe,
( America, 5'5 /
/Europe, T'g /
( America, ~ I
T 5
1
T3
1
3 5
1
80
1 _
5 0 0
1
7 o
0
1
3 0
1
So
1
50
1
51
Geoi
t( On comparing the two continents, we find in general in 6- Region of Magnolia—Ibis comprehends the soutli-
the new world, under the equatorial zone, fewer Cyperaceae ern portion of the United States.
and Rubiaceae, but more Compositae ; under the temperate 7- Region of Cacti, Melastomacece, and Piperacece.—
zone, fewer Labiatae and Cruciferae, and more Compositae, This includes Lower Mexico, the West Indies, and the
Ericeae, and Amentaceae, than in the corresponding zones in northern coast of South America.
the old world. The families that increase from the equator 8. Region of Cinchonacece.—This includes Bolivia and
to the pole, according to the method of fractional indica- Columbia to a certain elevation, or Peru and New Granada,
tions, are Glumaceae, Ericeae, and Amentaceae. The fami- 9- Region of Escallonia, Calceolaria, Winteria, and
lies which decrease from the pole to the equator are Legu- Vaccinia—It includes the highest parts of South America,
minosae, Rubiaceae, Euphorbiaceae, and Malvaceae: the fa- 10. Chilian Region.—It is formed into a district region,
milies that appear to attain their maximum in the temperate because not above one half of its plants occur in the lower
zone are Compositae, Labiatae, Umbelliferae, and Cruciferae.” regions of South America. ,
Botanical Botanists have attempted to divide the globe into bota- 1L Region of Arborescent Composita—This includes
regions. ideal regions. The first successful attempt of this kind was Buenos Ayres, and the eastern division of temperate South
made by Decandolle, who divides it into twenty regions, America.
the designations of which are drawn from particular por- 12. Antarctic Region.—This includes the southern part
tions of the earth, marked by the peculiarity of their vege- of the American Continent, the Magellanic region of De¬
table productions. But the most able and luminous expo- candolle.
sition of this sort is the Phyto-Geographie of Professor 13. New Zealand Region—It has many plants in com-
Schouw. The designations of each kingdom or region mon with New Holland, as Epacris, Melaleuca, and Mjo-
are usually derived from some of its most characteristic porum; some common to South America, as Wintera, An-
veo-e table productions; but where we are not sufficiently cestrum, and Weinmannia; some common to South Africa,
acquainted with the botany of certain districts, he uses a as Gnaphalium, Xeranthema, and Mesemhryanthema; some
geographical designation. Schouw divides the earth into which seem peculiar, as Phormium, Areca Sapida, Dracaena
twenty-two botanical regions, of which our limits will only Indivisa.
allow a very imperfect sketch. 14. Region of Epacrides and Eucalypti, fins em
1. Region of Saxifraga and Musci, or of the alpine braces the southern parts of Australia and Van Diemen >>
arctic flora.—This includes all countries within the arctic Land. The families of 1 remandreae, Stackhousese, Froia-
t;rc]c> ceae, Eucalypti, Cassuarineae, Diosmeae, Stylideae, &c. ciia-
2. Region of Umbellifera and Crucifer a.—This includes racterize it. TU
the whole of Europe north of the Pyrenees not included in 15. Region of Mesembryanthemum and Stapeha.-
the last region, most of Siberia, and the Caucasus. comprehends the south of Africa. Besides these plants, 1
3. Region of Labiata and, Caryophyllea, or Mediterra- is distinguished for the number and beauty of its Lncm.
nean flora It includes the south of Europe, north of possesses several plants mentioned under 13, which are on y
Africa, the Canaries and Azores, as well as Western Asia. found in it and Australia. It abounds in compositae.
4. Japanese Region includes Eastern Asia and Northern 16. Region of Western Africa.—Its characteristic i»
Qqna> Adansonia, the largest of known trees. Many of its Gype-
5. Region of Asteria and Solidagines.—The north-east- raceae are peculiar. It wants, or has very sparing y, t e
ern part of the* United States. It is marked by the varieties American Cacti, Palms, Peppers, and Passion-flowers.
of its Oaks and Pines. 17. Region of Eastern African-Two thirds of its known
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
549
siral plants belong also to India. This region includes Mada-
raphy.gascar.
18. Region of Scitaminece.—This includes the flora of
the Indian peninsula. It contains Carcunise, Zedoarise,
Cardamona, &c.; and its Scitamineae are more numerous
than the same family in America.
19. Himalayan Region—Tropical forms here disappear.
It bears a strong resemblance in its vegetation to some
parts of Europe. Orchideae and Filices are numerous. It
presents the Cerealia and Fruits of Europe.
20. Southern Chinese and Cochin-Chinese Region,—
The flora of this region is little known, but appears pe¬
culiar.
21. Region of the Cassia and Mimosa—This includes
Persia and Arabia. The peculiar plants are Senna, Bal-
samadendron, Cadia, Caucanthus, Straenia, CofFaea Arabica.
Ferula Assafcetida belongs to it.
22. Polynesian Region—Most of the genera are com¬
mon to this region and India, or to America.
Sect. X.—Geographical Distribution of Animals.
The slightest acquaintance with zoology is sufficient to
show that animals do not indiscriminately spread themselves
over every part of the habitable earth. One species is
found to be peculiar to a certain region, and sometimes is
represented in another region by an analogous yet different
animal. Difference of climate, and the greater or less faci¬
lity of procuring subsistence, are often the probable causes
of such limitations, when animals have the power of emi¬
gration ; but in numerous instances we can trace the ope¬
ration to no secondary cause. Why, for instance, should
animals, incapable of crossing arms of the sea, be found in
certain insular Situations, and denied to other lands, seem¬
ingly as well fitted for their propagation and their mainte¬
nance ?—why should the forms of organization which we
find to prevail in one portion of the globe be represented
in another by other forms, and by a very different though
not less admirable structure ? In this species of inquiry, one
thing is demonstrable, that if, in every class of animals, we
compare their organization with the intended residence and
mode of life of each creature, with its necessities and the
nature of its aliment, the most admirable adaptation of
means to the end is everywhere perceptible ; whether we
consider the instinct which impels the ant and the hamster
to lay up stores of food for the season of scarcity, or the
bee at once to solve a delicate problem in practical geo¬
metry ; whether we regard the structure of the proboscis
of the gnat or of the elephant as suited to their wants; or
whether we contemplate the form and position of the levers
that move the limbs of animals, or the exquisite mechanism
of the visual organ ; all proclaim the handiwork of a wise
and beneficent Creator.
i ogical To us it appears evident that nature has only distin-
' lions, guished animated beings into species, the limits of which
are fixed by the capability of procreating fertile progeny ;
and that all our divisions into genera, orders, and classes
are more or less artificial, though of high value in assist¬
ing the memory to recollect individuals, or to arrange new¬
ly-discovered species, and often as leading to interesting in¬
ferences respecting their habits and geographical distribu¬
tion. When several species resemble each other in struc¬
ture and habits, we agree to consider them as of one ge¬
nus ; when their resemblances are somewhat less nume¬
rous, we consider them as belonging to the same order;
and when their similarity is confined to a few points, they
are grouped in the same class. All these divisions are but
•artificial helps to our memory, whether we follow the sys¬
tem of the illustrious Swede ; or, with Cuvier, found dis- Physical
tinctions more on the anatomical structure of the animals ; Geography,
or, with our sagacious countryman Macleay, attempt to re- ''“""'v'"—'
duce all recognized animals to quinary circular groups;
or, with Swainson, resolve these circles into ternary asso¬
ciations ; or, with Kirby, expand these groups into the ma¬
gic number seven. Some arrangement is absolutely neces¬
sary in pursuing the subject of animal geography, when we
consider the multitude of species ; and perhaps no system
is so convenient as that of Cuvier, from its very general re¬
ception, and its sufficiently according with the geographical
distribution of species.
It is not easy to give any accurate idea of the real num- Number of
ber even of known species of animals, from the difficulties sPecies-
thrown in the way of animal statistics, by the multiplication
of species, and from confounding the effects of sex and age on
some animals, and overlooking specific differences in others.
Naturalists have differed widely on this subject. The esti¬
mate of Keferstein, as exhibiting the number of extinct as
well as of living species, is interesting.1
Living. Extinct.
Mammifera 883 270
Aves 4,099 20
Reptilia 1,270 104
Pisces 3,586 386
Insecta 247
Arachnida   211
Mollusca 3,816.
Annelida 102.
Radiata 187.
Polypi 816.
.6,056
...214
...411
...907
14,759 8,826
But this table contains no account whatever of living in¬
sects and arachnides. Mr Swainson2 gives the following as
the numbers known at a later period.
Mammifera 1,000
Aves 6,000
Pisces 6,000
Insecta   120,000
Mollusca 5,100
Radiata 1,000
Polypi 1,500
In the same work Swainson has given a conjectural esti¬
mate of the number of probably existing species.
f Mammifera 1,200 Sp.
Vertebrata 17,500 J Heptiiia Amphibia" *1^500
( Pisces   8,000
at aKo tcno f Insecta 550,000
’ 1 vermes, &c 2,500
f Radiata, star-fish 1,000
at nil ncr“i 7 firm ) PoJyPb corals KSOO
Mollusca G000 ^ Mollusca, nuda 600
(.Testacea 4,500
577,600 577,600
Besides these, there exist innumerable hosts of Infusoria,
in which the researches of Ehrenberg have detected re¬
markable peculiarities of structure; proving that, though
minute, they possess a very complex organization, not less
wonderful than the anatomy of the higher animals.
To these statements we may add, that M. Temminck has
lately given the number of well-ascertained mammifera as
= 930, besides 140 species which he considers as doubtful;
that the birds of our recent catalogues exceed 6000 ; and
that Cuvier had enumerated 6000 species of fishes. With
regard to insects, some naturalists have stated, that at least
1 Die, Natnrgeschichte des Erdkorpers, Francf 1834.
8 Zoology, vol. ii. of the Cabinet Cyclopaedia.
550 PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical two species of insects feed on every species of plant; and stantly reside in the arctic regions are very few ; but this Pb 4
Geography, therefore, that as the ascertained vegetable species amount region is penetrated by numerous birds well known in other
' to 86,000, there must be 172,000 species of insects. parts of Europe and Asia, which resort to it as their breed- w ^
Geographi- The evident tendency of animals to be congregated in ing-places during its transient summer. These birds chiefly
cal distri- gr0ups peculiar to certain divisions of the earth’s surface, belong to the order of Natatores. A single Woodpecker,
bution of ]m(j jong |)een famiiiar to zoologists; but it does not appear Tridactyliallirsiita, is peculiar to the palaeonarctic kingdoms;
animals, ^ attempt was made to define the limits of those as are the Great Wood-Grouse, and several other species of
zoological divisions until the appearance of the essay of Mr the genus Tetrao. The Snowy Owl and Jer-Falcon belong
Swainson, in the Cabinet Cyclopaedia-. The ingenious to this region, though occasionally they are found in the
author has there shown the claims of Europe to be consi- north of Scotland, and occur also in North America. Yet
dered as one of the grand zoological divisions of the globe, these regions, seemingly so inhospitable, are not without
from the number of the types of natural families which it numerous tenants. No part of creation is an absolute waste,
possesses. Swainson contends that the birds of any district destitute of animation. It is well known that the enormous
afford a fairer criterion of the limits of a geographical distri- number of ducks and other water-birds which frequent the
bution than any other class of animals. Quadrupeds he streams and lakes of arctic countries, are attracted by the
believes to be too much under the dominion of man, and infinite swarms of insect food which abound in them du-
liable to have their geographic limits disturbed by human ring their short summer. Scoresby found numerous but-
interference ; and the other classes of animals are either too terflies and other insects on the bleak shores of East Green-
numerous or too few to afford the means of determining land ; and he states that the Greenland seas teem with my-
the limits of such divisions ; whilst birds, though seemingly riads of minute animalcules, which are the food of the Z?a-
fitted by nature to become wanderers, are surprisingly Icrna Mysticetus, and which, in sea-water examined by him,
steady in their localities, and even in the limits of their an- existed to the number of 110,592 in each cubic foot, or
nual migrations. These migrations are evidently caused 23,887,872 in every cubic fathom of that water,
by scarcity of food. Thus our swallows leave us when their 2. Occidento-Caucasian Kingdom.—This division is equi-
insect food begins to fail, and they naturally pursue that valent to the European province of Swainson ; but that de¬
route which is shortest, and affords subsistence by the way. signation appears to be not very appropriate to a region em-
The distance from the shores of the Baltic to Northern bracing also a part of Western Asia and of Northern Afri-
Africa is not half so great as that between England and ca. The zoology of this division has been more completely
America; and during the migration over land, the winged explored than that of any other portion of the globe, and
travellers find food and resting-places as they proceed to it presents to the naturalist types or characteristic species
more genial climates. of a great number of genera in all classes of zoology. It
The distribution of mammifera may probably be less cha- contains many imported species, some of which are domes-
racteristic than that of birds in Europe, where the long pro- ticated, or rendered subservient to the wants of man ; so
gress of civilization, and the spirit of commercial enterprise, that it is difficult to trace its larger mammifera to their pa-
have blended the races of the larger animals; so that it rent stock. Its most characteristic quadruped is the Aue-
would be difficult, in most cases, to trace the native coun- rocks, or Bos Urus. It is the animal next in size to the
try of their original stock: but in most other parts of the Rhinoceros, but is not the original stock, as has been al-
world peculiar quadrupeds might be found sufficiently cha- leged, of our domestic cattle. It formerly was abundant in
racteristic of each division. Europe, but has fled from human persecution into the path-
The natural associations of animals have suggested an- less forests of Lithuania, and the wilds of the Carpathians
other division of the earth into zoological kingdoms ; and, and the Caucasus. The Brown Bear, Ursus Arc/os, appears
did our limits permit, it would not be difficult to subdivide strictly to be a denizen of this region, though it is also
these into zoological provinces, each distinguished by some found in the palaeonarctic kingdom. 1 he Ibex, the Stag,
less considerable peculiarities of its animal productions. It and the Roe, are also among its characteristic animals; and
is at once apparent, that these divisions w ill not correspond though the Fallow Deer is said also to be found in Eastern
to the zones of the geographer, which do not coincide with Asia, it appears to be chiefly an inhabitant of the Occiden-
marked differences in climate, nor with the supply of food, to-Caucasian kingdom. The Horse and Ox, though both
nor with the configuration of the dry land ; circumstances imported, nowhere attain to greater perfection in their most
most materially influencing the distribution of animals. The valuable qualities, though the former requires the occa-
earth may be divided into fourteen zoological kingdoms ; sional transfusion of Arabian blood to preserve its energies
the first eight belong to the old, the six last to the new unimpaired. Its more considerable characteristic birds are,
world. the noble Gypaete or Bearded Vulture of the Alps; the Im¬
perial and Royal Eagles of Temminck, F. imperialis an&chry-
old world. scetos ; and several species of Falcons. The Red Grouse is
in the old Palaeonarctic Kingdom.—This division includes all Eu- found in no part of the w7orld except the British islands,
world ; rope and Asia w ithin the 60th degree of N. lat. Many of its The Great and the Little Bustards are peculiar also to this
mammifera and birds are common to it and the northern re- division, which is particularly rich in many other genera of
gions of America, and its peculiar animals of this class are but birds. It contains about 470 species of aves, of which
few. The Polar Bear it has in common with North America, 310 are inhabitants of Britain; in this list are seventeen
but the Rein-Deer of Northern Europe now appears to be at Raptores, 117 Insessores, seventeen Rasores, sixty-six Gral-
leastavarietydifferingfromtheRein-DeerofNorthAmerica; latores, ninety-three Natatores, besides thirteen occasional
and certainly the Elk of the former should not be considered visitors to our shores.
as the same species w ith the Moose-Deer of the latter. The 3. Oriento- Caucasian Kingdom.—In this division there
Glutton, Gulo Borealis, seems to be confined to this region; is included all Asia between the Altaian and Himalayan
as are the common Lemming and the Hamster. The great chains. It should most probably be subdivided into tvro
Sea-Otter, Lutra Marina of Steller, is found on both sides of provinces.
the Northern Pacific, as low as 50° or perhaps 45° N. lat. a. The Mongolian province, of which the characteristic
The Cetacea, as might be expected, are common to the Mammalia are the FbA, Bos G'rwmews; the Argali, Ovts A/»-
arctic seas of both worlds, and some of these occasionally mon, the Onager or Wild Ass; the Wild Horse, or JEquus
wander southwards ; but the true Greenland Whale, and the Hemionus of Pallas. The Felis Onea also belongs to this re-
Narwal, are confined to the arctic seas. The birds that con- gion; as does the Ursus Thibetianus, the Thibetian Musk,
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
551
Land, and New Zealand, it has one of the richest and most Physical
peculiar fauna of any on the globe. It may be charac-^eo6TaP^y-
terized as the native region of the Kangaroo, the Ornitho-" v ^ "
rhynchus, and Echidna, of the entire superb family of Birds
of Paradise, of the Honey-suckers, of innumerable Parrots,
of the Emeu, and Menura Sitperba. The absence of all
the larger and pachydermatous quadrupeds was common
to Australia, with the islands in the great Southern Ocean,
at the time of their discovery, and is one reason for group¬
ing those islands in this zoological kingdom. We have,
besides the quadrupeds above mentioned, whole genera
peculiar to this kingdom, particularly the Perameles, Pha-
langer, Petaurista, Phascolomys, and Hypsiprymnus. The
following genera of birds are peculiar to that region : Seri-
culus, Podargus, Malurus, Ptilonorhynchus, Glaucopis,
Pardalolus, Mellisuga, Menura, Dacelo, Megapodius, Scy-
throps, Dromiceius, Ceriopsis, &c.
8. The African Kingdom includes that continent south
of Atlas, with the islands of Madagascar and the Seychelles.
It is the region of the Camelopard, the Hippopotamus, and
the Two-horned Rhinoceros, of the African Lion, the Leo¬
pard, and African Elephant, of the Zebra and Quagga, of the
Pongo or Black Orang, and of the larger Baboons. It abounds
in a great variety of Antelopes. These animals, with few ex¬
ceptions, are found over a large extent of Africa; but the
Hyrax of the Cape, and the Tenrec of Madagascar, are more
limited in their range. Of the variety and beauty of its
birds, some idea may be formed by consulting the splendid
works of Le Vaillant. The Occipital Vulture of Burchill,
and numerous Eagles, are found in its southern regions.
The genera Pogonius, Musophaga, Numida, Struthio,
Anastomus, Touraco, Indicator, Pomerops, Centrcpus, con¬
tain its most remarkable birds; but the brilliancy of the
Cinnyridce and Lamprotornidce is well known. Most of the
African birds brought to Europe have rich plumage. The
extinct species of bird, the Dodo, belonged to this division
of the earth, as our early voyagers found it in the Mauritius
and Isle of France. The Crocodile and Cayman appear to
be diffused throughout this continent. The number of poi¬
sonous Serpents is considerable, and highly dangerous in its
hotter regions; yet in Africa, as in other parts of the earth,
by far the greater number of snakes are harmless. Africa is
peculiarly rich in land Testacea, among which is the Acha-
tina Zebra, the largest of land shells. Amongst its insects,
we may notice the number of its locusts, and the preva¬
lence of the Termes Bellicosus, an insect allied to the ant,
which constructs a mansion of clay, equalling in size, and
surpassing in solidity, the simple habitations of most of the
natives of Africa to the south of the desert of Sahara.
cal which is pretty widely diffused in this division; and the
‘phy* lively Jerboa. Its birds are little known to the naturalist,
except the few which have been brought from Dauria.
b. Septentrio-Sinican Province.—The little we know of
the zoology of China enables us only to state, that this di¬
vision abounds with beautiful Phasianidce, particularly with
the Golden and Silver Pheasants, which were originally
brought from China. The Argus Polyplectron is said to be
found in the colder regions of Thibet and China ; and the
Impeyan Lophophorus, which we have received from the
Himalayan Mountains, may probably also inhabit the moun¬
tainous districts of China.
4. The Austro-Asiatic Kingdom may be considered as
bounded by the 30th degree of N.lat. and the equator. It in¬
cludes Southern China, Cambogia, Siam, the Birman empire,
Hindustan, and Ceylon. It may be characterized as the na¬
tive region of the Tiger, the Panther, of the Asiatic Ele¬
phant, and of the Long-armed Apes; of the Peacock, the
Giant Argus, and the Hornbills; of the Gangetic Crocodile,
the Python, and Cobra de Capello. Its other remarkable
animals include the One-horned Rhinoceros, the Hunting
Leopard, the Malayan Bear, the Ursine Sloth ; that curious
animal described by Sir William Jones, the Slow Lemur,
or Stenops of Illiger; the Short-tailed Pangolin or Scaly
Manis, the Brahmins’ Bull, the Urneh or Wild Buffaloe,
and the less-known wild ox of India, named the Gour, as
well as the Antelope Picta or Nilghau, A. Tragocamelus,
and several other antelopes; the beautiful Spotted Axis,
and several other deer; the Pigmy and Indian Musks.
Among its characteristic birds, besides those already men¬
tioned, we should not omit the Jungle Fowl, and the Ban-
kiva Cock, which many naturalists suppose to be the stock
of our domestic poultry. The genus Buceros is the repre¬
sentative of the Toucans of America, and has the nerves of
its nose distributed in its upper mandible and bony casque ;
the Ciconia Argala, or gigantic Adjutant-bird, is the most
remarkable of its w aders.
5. Polynesian Kingdom.—In this division we include
the Philippines, Borneo, the Moluccas, Celebes, Java, and
Sumatra. It may be considered as the native country of the
great Orang-Outan, and numerous Monkeys, among which
the Proboscis Monkey and Cochin-China Monkey are the
most remarkable ; of enormous Bats, of the Galeopithecus
or Flying Lemur, of the Indian Tapir, and of a species of
Musk. It is also characterized by its very magnificent
birds: among these we may notice the genera Idra, Ca-
lyptomena, Eurylaimus, Irena, Gracula, Lamprotornis, and
its very splendid Lories. It is distinguished by the beauty
and splendour of the genus Cinnyris, formerly included
among the Creepers ; and the elegance of its Columbidce.
It also contains the Argus Pheasant or Polyplectron, the
Gigantic Argus, and the Lophyrus Cuvierii. Its seas
abound in most beautiful and valuable shells, though it is
comparatively poor in fluviatile Testacea.
6. Chaldceo-Arabian Kingdom.—The natural boundaries
of this province are well marked by seas, the river Tigris,
and by the cultivated part of Syria. It may be distinguish¬
ed as the region in which the most valuable qualities of the
Horse are developed, and where the Camel, and its variety
the Dromedary, with the Gazelle or Antilope Dorcas, are
the most conspicuous mammifera. Its ornithology is but little
investigated; but the deserts are traversed by the Ostrich ;
its mountainous regions breed Pheasants and Doves ; and
one bird that frequents Arabia, and is greatly respected by
the people, is a thrush, Turdus Seleucus of Forskal, which
follows and destroys the innumerable swarms of locusts.
The rarest and most beautiful shells are found in the adja¬
cent seas; and the pearl-fisheries of the Persian Gulf have
been long celebrated.
7. Australian Kingdom.—If we are permitted to in¬
clude in this division New Holland, Papua, Van Diemen’s
NEW WORLD.
The zoology of North America has been so admirably in the new
treated by Dr Richardson in his memoirs in the Sixth Re- world,
port of the British Association, that it ought to be studied
by all interested in such researches, who will not fail to
consult the splendid Fauna of North America, lately pub¬
lished by him and Mr Swainson. In most parts of Ame¬
rica we meet with many new genera in every class of ani¬
mals, and find few species that are not peculiar to the new
world, with the exception of marine animals. The Qua-
drumana, which range in America between 29° on each
side of the equator, have the peculiarity of either wanting
the thumb on the fore extremity, or having it so placed, or
imperfectly developed, as not to be a real opponent to the
fingers; while the prehensile tails of many, and the hairy
buttocks of all, showing that none of them sit erect, distin¬
guish them from the individuals most resembling them in
the old world. The Carnivora of America are almost all
peculiar to it; indeed, with the exception of some of the
marine carnivora, and a very few terrestrial species, all are
specifically distinct from those found in other parts of the
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
552
Physical earth. The whole order of Marsupiata are either Ameri-
Geography. can or Australian ; and the species of one zoological kingdom
- -"H* v'-'—' are unknown in the other. America exceeds every other
country in the number of its Rodentia; and there is reason
to doubt whether almost any of this order are common to
the two worlds. The Edentata occur chiefly in South
America, but all are peculiar to the new world. Though
America appears at one period to have been rich in the
number of its Pachydermata, as their fossil remains testify,
yet at its discovery by Europeans there were not above
four or five species of this order found in that continent,
all peculiar to America, and only one, Dicotyles Torquatus,
or Peccari, common to its northern and southern divisions.
Among Ruminantia we consider the American Rein-Deer
and the Elk as peculiar species; and the identity of the Ovis
Montana of the Rocky Mountains and the Argali of Sibe¬
ria as very doubtful. The order of Cetacea is probably
common to both worlds,' with the exception of the Mana-
tus Americanm of Cuvier, which occurs on the coast of
Florida, and seems also to occur in that of South America.
Dr Richardson reckons, that out of 207 species of Mammi-
fera found in North America, 169 are peculiar to that coun¬
try ; and if we take Temminck’s estimate of this class to be
correct, North America contains £th of all known Mamma¬
lia. The same author gives the number of North Ameri¬
can birds at 696 species, of which 54 are Raptores, 400 In-
sessores, 33 Rasores, 87 Grallatores, and 122 Natatores.
Except in the last two orders, the species common to the
new and old worlds are few, and a great many genera are
wholly American.
The Alligator, the Boa Constrictor, and the Rattlesnake,
are all peculiar to America. The former and the latter are
widely diffused over the American continent; and the Rat¬
tlesnake is found even as far north as Canada.
In the new world we begin with the
9. Neonartic Kingdom This includes all America be¬
tween lat. 50° N. and the pole, with Greenland and the in¬
tervening islands. The characteristic Mammifera are the
Musk Ox, the Black American Bear, the Occidental Wolf,
the Wolverine, and, as we have already stated, the Rein-
Deer and the Moose-Deer, with several species of Marmot,
Squirrel, Lemming, and other animals allied to the genus
Mas. The animal discovered by Scoresby in Greenland, the
Mas Groenlandicus, has since been discovered in Novaia
Zembia. The Arctic Fox, Arctic Hare, and the Beaver,
are common to both continents. The Mustela Erminea and
Ursns Maritimus seem identical in both.
The Raptorial birds peculiar to this region are, several
kinds of hawks and owls; of the genus Tetrao, T. Canaden¬
sis, T. Eranklinii, T. Obscurus, and T. Leucurus. Most
of the Natatores are also found in the first zoological king¬
dom. The Cycnus Buccinator is peculiar to this region ;
and among the duck tribe we may notice as American
species Anas Valisneria, A. Canadensis, and A. Hutch-
insonii.
10. Septentro-American Kingdom.—In this region, on
account of the considerable similarity of species, we would
include all the British possessions south of lat. 50°, New
Albion, and the other country west of the Rocky Mountains,
between Queen Charlotte’s Sound and New Mexico, and
all the territories of the United States, as far as lat. 30° N.
It may zoologically be characterized as the region of the
Griesly Bear, the Bison, the Wapeti, the giant of the deer
tribe, and of the Antelope Eurcifer. It possesses one mar¬
supial animal, Didelphis Virginica, a species which ranges
from the lakes of Canada to the intertropical regions of
America. But its most distinguishing characteristic is the
number of its Rodentia, amounting to not less than fifty-
three wrell-jascertained species, and only one of which, the Fhiij,
Beaver, is found in the old continent. ^eo!«|il
Its birds are numerous, and among these the Wild Turkey
is the most conspicuous and characteristic. Of the Rap-
tores it has many falcons and hawks, and, among the rest,
Washington’s Eagle, a magnificent bird, which is found in
Kentucky. Of its numerous Insessores, the greatest num¬
ber are peculiar to North America. The Trochilidce first
appear in this region. A considerable number of species
are found in it, but only three range to the north of lati¬
tude 33°. They resemble in structure the Honey-eaters of
the Australian kingdom ; but we doubt the propriety of de¬
nominating the Humming-Birds suctorial; for, having dis¬
sected a considerable number of them, we invariably found
their stomachs crammed with minute insects. To capture
these is probably the object of their fluttering about flowers,
the nectar of which they were supposed to sip. Their struc¬
ture, too, assimilates them to insectivorous birds. The Ra¬
sores of this kingdom are all, except a single species of Te¬
trao, peculiar to America. Of this genus the most remark¬
able are Tetrao Cupido, T. Umbelfus, T. Franklinii, T.
Urophasianus, Ooctyx Douglasii, O, Picta. Of the nume¬
rous Grallatores found in this region a considerable num¬
ber occur also in Europe, and still more of the Natatores ;
but of the former order, the Ardea Herodias, Platalea
Aiaia, Ciconia Maguari, are peculiar to America; as are
of the latter order Pelicanus Amcricanus, and Rynchops
Nigra. The Alligator Lucius abounds in the valley of the
Mississippi. Two very peculiar reptiles are there found,
the Syren Lacertina of Carolina, and Meopoma Gigantea.
These have no animal at all resembling them in the old
world, except the Proteus Anguinus of the subterranean
lakes of Carniola. Among the numerous tortoises there
may here be noticed T. Serpentina, T. Ferox, and T.
Clausa. The serpents are numerous; the most remarkable
are the Rattlesnakes, four, if not five, distinct species of
which are to be found in this kingdom.
11. Equinoxial American Kingdom.—Using this term
in an extended sense, we would include under it the re¬
gions between the parallels of 30° N. and S. of the equator,
but exclusive of the elevated valleys and table-lands of
Mexico and Bolivia, which, from the peculiarities of their
climates, are entitled to be considered as separate zoologi¬
cal kingdoms.
The division under consideration is distinguished by the
number of its Quadrumana, all of which are furnished with
tails, and many of them have that organ prehensile, or so
formed as to constitute a sort of fifth hand. It is the re¬
gion of the Jaguar, a beast of prey of vast strength and cou¬
rage, so very unlike the account of its habits in the pages
of Buffon, that it is now generally supposed that the French
naturalist confounded it with another South American Felis,
the Ocelot.1 In this region, too, the Puma abounds, an animal
that has far less claim to the name of lion of America than
the Jaguar has to be termed the tiger of that continent.
The Puma has a considerably larger range than its congeners
now mentioned, being found in the wmods of America from
Brazil to Canada. We once possessed the large skin of a
black Jaguar, killed in Brazil, which is now deposited in the
museum of the Royal Institution in Liverpool. It is of a
beautiful deep blackish-brown ground, on which, in certain
lights, the still deeper ocellated marks of the Jaguar are vi¬
sible. It also abounds w ith the Tapir, the Capybara, and the
Agouti. The Orinoco and other rivers of Equinoxial Ame¬
rica swarm with the Manati, Trichechus Amazonius, which
wanders far from the sea, as does a species of Porpesse not
yet ascertained. It is also distinguished by the splendour ot
the plumage of its birds, of which numerous genera are
1 See Humboldt’s Personal Narrative.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
553
either wholly peculiar to Tropical America, or are almost
’• unrepresented in other regions. Its Raptorial birds are often
' distinguished by t^eir size. To this region belong the
magnificent King Vulture, and a very numerous species of
the same family as large as a turkey, the Vultur Uruba ;
the Destructor and Harpy Eagles, the giants of their tribe,
are the tyrants of the lower provinces. The Insessores of
Tropical America are very numerous. Among them the
American genera Trogon, Galbula, Ampelis, Rupicola,
Procnias, Nectarinia, and Trochilus, are remarkable for
the magnificence of their plumage. The bell-bird, Casma-
rhynchus Carunculatus, is celebrated for the deep intona¬
tion of its simple note, which simulates the distant bell of
a convent; the Troupiales are distinguished by the abrupt
yet pleasing contrast of their colours. The enormous Goat¬
suckers, especially that of the cave of Caripe, and the Mo-
mots or Prionites, are peculiar to this region. The Toucans
and Aracaris are conspicuous for the size and structure of
their bills, in which the organs of smell are conspicuously
developed. Tropical America also abounds with beautiful
Psittacidae, among which the Ultramarine Parrot, the Scar¬
let and Blue, and the Blue and Yellow Macaws, are the most
conspicuous.
The beautiful family of Crux or Pauxi, of Penelope, the
singular Rhea, and Serpent-eater, are among its Gallinacece;
the Boat-Bill, Cancroma, and the remarkable species Myc-
teria Americana, and Palamedea Cornuta, the Scarlet Ibis,
the Trumpeter or Psophia Crepitans, the Jacana, areamonff
its waders.
This region abounds with snakes. Some, like the Boa
Constrictor and Boa Centhris, are remarkable for their en¬
ormous size; others, like the Canine Boa, Garden Boa, the
Peruvian and Mourning Snakes, for the beauty or elegant
pattern of their colours'; others, like the Rattlesnake, Cro-
talus Durissus, or the redoubted Bushmaster, Fer de Lance
or Vipera Megcera, dreaded for the virulence of their poison.
The fluviatile fishes of this region are remarkable; but we
can only here notice the Electric Gymnote, the Soldier Lo-
ricaria, and the Salmo Rhombeus; the latter the pest of the
South American rivers. The Papilionidce and Phalcenidce
among its insects, are noted for the splendour of their co¬
lours and their size; and the singular Lantern-fly for the
brilliancy of its phosphorescence. The wounds inflicted by
the large Aranea Avicularia, or Bird-catching Spider, the
Scolopendra Morsitans, which there grow to an enormous
size, and by a small species of scorpion, are much dreaded.
In these Arachnid®, dissection shows a tubular offensive
weapon, and a poison apparatus resembling that connected
with the poison-fangs of serpents.
12. Mexican Kingdom.—Its animal productions, though
but imperfectly explored, would seem to justify the inference
drawn from its peculiarities of climate, that this portion of
America should be considered as a distinct zoological king¬
dom. It has been recognised as the point in which the
faun® of North and South America meet. There the Wolf
of a northern climate ranges the same forest as the Monkey
of a tropical region ; the Bunting and the Titmouse nestle
near the Parrot and the Trogon ; the Phalarope of the north
searches for its food on the same beach with the Jacana and
the Boat-bill of Brazil.1 Lichtenstein has indicated several
species of Weasels and Martens as peculiar to Mexico. The
Bassaris Astuta of Lichtenstein is an intermediate genus
between Viverra and Nasua. The Mexican Wolf is per¬
haps a peculiar species. Mr Swainson states, that out of
114 species of Mexican birds examined by him, sixty-seven,
or more than one half, are peculiar to that country; yet,
among so many species, there was but a single new genus,
Bhliogonys, which unites the Tyrant Shrikes with the Ca¬
terpillar-eaters ; thirty-six species are common to Mexico Physical
and the United States, and eleven to Mexico and South Geography.
America. The lakes of the valley of Mexico contain that '—~v  
singular animal the Axocotl of the Mexicans, the Siren Pis-
ciformis of Shaw, which seems to be intermediate in ap¬
pearance between the other Sirens and the Prot®i.
13. Bolivio-Chilian Kingdom The vast elevation of
the greatest part of this region has strongly impressed its
fauna with peculiarities which future research will extend.
In the mean time, it is sufficiently characterized as the re¬
gion of the Guanaco, the Alpaca, and Vicuna, three distinct
species, which have sometimes been confounded under the
name of Llama. They are the Camels of South America,
and were almost the only mammalia subdued and domesti¬
cated by the ancient Peruvians. This is the peculiar re¬
gion of the Condor, a bird which, though not so enormous
in size as the earlier travellers reported, is still as large as
the Lmmergeyer of the Alps, the largest of the Raptores
of the old world. It loves to dwell amid the snowy solitudes
of the Andes, perched on pinnacles from 9700 to 1500 feet
above the sea, whence it pounces on its prey in the subja¬
cent valleys. The fauna of these countries is still imper¬
fectly explored.
14. Austro-American Kingdom—This district extends
from lat. 30. S. to Cape Horn, and embraces the Pampas
of Buenos Ayres and the south of Chili. Its fauna has
been little explored. Amongst its quadrupeds are the nu¬
merous heads of wild horses and sheep, originally intro¬
duced by the Spaniards, but now spread over a great part
of South America. The Antarctic and Chili Fox seem to be
peculiar; and perhaps the Felis Colorolo and F. Guigna of
Molina should be considered as belonging to it. On its
coasts many species of seals are found, especially the Phoca
Longicollis or Fur-seal, Ph. Falklandica, Ph. 'Flavescens,
Ph. Leonina or Bottle-nosed Seal, Ph. Lupina, and Ph.
Jubata, which is also found, it is said, in the seas of Kamt-
schatka. The extensive Pampas of this region are the
chosen haunts of the Rhea, or American Ostrich ; and on its
southern coasts are found the huge, wingless, Patagonian
Penguin, with the whole genus Pachyptila, judiciously se¬
parated by Illiger from the Petrels.
Such is an imperfect sketch of the distribution of ani¬
mals over the globe. But the natural limitation of species
has been in some measure affected by human agency. The
domesticated animals have been by man imported from dif¬
ferent parts of Asia into Europe, and finally into America.
At the discovery of that continent it was without the horse,
the cow, the sheep, the hog, the dog, and our common
poultry, all which are spread over it in innumerable herds,
and in some places have relapsed into the wdld state in
countries well suited for their subsistence. The same use¬
ful animals have been by Europeans, within the last half
century, carried to the larger islands of the Pacific, where
they were previously unknown. How many insects may'
have been propagated by the cargoes of our ships in dis¬
tant lands, it is easier to conjecture than to estimate; how
many have been imported with the cerealia, and other
gramine® of Europe, into newly-discovered regions, it is
impossible to say. Human agency has sometimes been the
means of propagating in Europe disgusting or destnictive
species from foreign regions. Thus the commerce of the
Dutch wafted the Teredo Navalis to the dyke-defended
coasts of Holland, to the imminent hazard of that coun¬
try ; the Brown Rat and the Blatta, which now infest this
country, are believed to be importations from the East In¬
dies ; and the white bug that now lays waste our orchards
is stated to have reached us with American fruit-trees.
VOL. XVII.
Richardson, Report of the British Association, vol. v. ; and Address, vol. vi.
4. A
554
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
Physical Still the effect of human agency is confined, and the limi-
Geography. tations imposed by nature upon animal migrations are gene¬
rally preserved.
Sect. XI Varieties of the Human Species.
The identity of species in the whole human family is in¬
dicated in the sacred Scriptures, and is confirmed by the
deductions of the physiologist and the anatomist. The
true principle which serves to mark identity of species in
the animal kingdom, is the propagation, not of hybrids, but
of fertile progeny between a male and female of a different
race. The offspring between individuals of all the known
races of mankind are equally fertile with the progeny of a
pair of the same nation; and, therefore, it can be no longer
doubted that man is everywhere of the same species. There
are, however, several well-marked varieties of the human
species, that appear distributed in a peculiar manner over
the earth; and hence the Geographical Distribution of Man
becomes an object of our attention.
Man appears to possess a remarkable pliancy of constitu¬
tion, and to be the only animal fitted by nature to inhabit
every possible variety of climate. His animal existence is
not less secured in the frozen regions of the arctic circle, or
under the burning climate of the equator, than in the inter¬
mediate countries ; and he may be said to be the only true
denizen of the whole world.
Varieties of The classification of Cuvier, in his Tableau Elementaire,
the human divided the human race into five varieties, viz. 1. the W bite
species. ftace . 2. the Lapland, Samoied, and Esquimaux Race ; 3.
the Mongolian Race ; 4. the Negro Race ; 5. the American
Race. In his Regne Animal he seems inclined to confine
them to three, of which the characteristics are very strongly
marked, the White, the Yellow, and the Black Races; but
he admits that the Malays and the Americans are not easily
distinguishable from any of the three great varieties of
mankind in the ancient continent. Blumenbach considers
the varieties as five, viz. the Caucasian, the Mongolian, the
Ethiopian, the Malayan, and the American; and this dis¬
tribution, though not altogether free from objection, seems
one of the best hitherto proposed.
1. Caucasian Variety, is so named, because the traditions
respecting the diffusion of the human race seem to point out
the region between the Caspian and Black Sea as the cradle
of this race, from which there have been numerous radiations;
and the most perfect specimens, in point of beauty of form,
are found among the Georgians and Circassians, still inha¬
biting the native seats of their race. I he characteristics of
the Caucasian Variety are, the fair skin, the oval contour of
the head ; soft hair, varying from black to light brown or
flaxen, waving or slightly curled; eyes varying from blue
to dark brown ; cranium expanded ; facial angle large ; nose
thin, and rather aquiline or straight; small mouth, perpen¬
dicular cutting teeth ; lips gently recurved ; chin full and
rounded. In this race the intellectual qualities have been
more strikingly displayed than in any other. Its principal
branches maybe still traced by certain, though often not very
obvious, affinities in the structure of language. The most
ancient offsets appear to have been that to the south and
the east. The Southern Armenian or Syrian branch seems
to have been the parent stock of the Assyrians, the Chal¬
deans, the Arabs, the Jews, the Phoenicians, and Abyssi-
nians. The examination of the most ancient mummies
would lead to the conclusion that the ancient Egyptians
belonged to the same stock, though the Ethiopian counte¬
nances of some of their sculptures have sometimes led to a
different conclusion. We believe, however, that, these may
be transcripts of venerated originals imported with the re¬
ligion of Egypt from the Nubian Meroe.
The second branch appears to have given rise to the an¬
cient Medes, the Persians, the Afghans, and the higher
castes of India whose language was the Sanscrit; whilst Ptrjsj
another portion of it, taking a westerly direction, spread it-®H%
self over Asia Minor, and, under the name of Pelasgians,' W
penetrated irito Europe, jit seems to have been preceded
by an offset from the satne branch, the Celts, who early
penetrated to the western shores of Europe, where they
were found; after the lapse of centuries, by the leutones, a
younger shoot from the same stock. The whole nations
already mentioned, and the whole present inhabitants of
Europe, with the exception of the Samoieds and Laps, are
derived from the Caucasian Variety, the most scattered and
most energetic of the human family; and the affinity in
descent will account for the strong resemblances which
have been traced between the languages of India, of an¬
cient Media, and the principal European tongues. The
Scythian branch of the Caucasian race may be considered
as the ancestors of the Parthians, the Tatarians of the Tau¬
rida, the Turcomans, the Finlanders, the Hungarians, and
the tribes about the mouths of the Danube and to the
north-east of the Euxine.1:5 au. rsiu p
2. The Mongolian Variety seems to have had its original
seat in the vicinity of the Altaian chain of mountains. It is
characterized by an olive complexion, and black eyes, the
outer angles Of which are pointed rather upward; their
hair coarse, lank, and thin, their beard scanty ; the head of a
square form, with a low and narrow forehead, a broad and
flattened face, high cheek-bones, flat nose, a wide mouth,
and thick lips. Two branches of this race are represented
by the Nomade Kalmucks and Kalkas, whose ancestors
spread devastation over a large portion of the earth, under
their leaders Attila, Zenghiz Khan, and Timur. A third
branch, the Mantscheou, in later times had conquered
China, of which they are still the rulers. The ancient
Chinese, however, seem to have belonged to the same race;
and the Japanese, the Coreans, and people of Thibet, pro¬
bably are also offsets from the great Mongolian variety.
The Esquimaux of America appear from their form to be¬
long also to the Mongolian Variety; and may have passed
into America on the arctic ices, just as rein-deer now do
annually; or as the Tschutskoi have been frequently known
to do in order to attack the American Indians. The Laps,
the Samoieds, the Tschutskoi, and the Kamtschatkadales,
bear strong marks of their Mongoliari origin, though soice
are disposed to regard them as derived from the Scythian
branch of the Caucasian race.
3. The Ethiopian Variety owns Africa as its native re¬
gion. This variety is distinguished by a black or very dark
skin ; black eyes; WOolly, crisp, coarse hair, collected into
little knots; a skull laterally compressed; a forehead low
and narrow, a small facial angle, produced by the inordi¬
nate projection of the maxillary bones, with an oblique po¬
sition of the front teeth, and a small chin ; the nose flat
and simous; the lips, especially the upper, thick; the arms
long; the legs often slightly bowed. Lawrence has satis¬
factorily shown that there is not one peculiarity of the ne¬
gro race, which is not occasionally met with in some of the
other races ; and that there is no reason to believe that the
negro is not of the same origin as the rest of mankind. Mr
Browne, and other recent travellers, have stated, that the
Furians and Nubians, though black, have often handsome
elevated features ; and we have seen a jetty negress, from
the eastern shores of Africa, with features that might well
have been a model for a Grecian statue of Juno in bronze.
Those variations are probably from the intermixture of the
Caucasian with the Negro race.
In the Malayan peninsula, in Luconia, and m Borneo,
among the mountainous districts, are found a few scattered
tribes°of black men, who form the chief population of ra-
pua or New Guinea. They have dark skins and "00, ^
hair, and, if we may judge from the native of Papua broug
to England by Sir Stamford Raffles, the Papous do not ma-
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
ical terially differ from the natives of the eastern coast of Af-
spA’ rica, whence probably their ancestors have emigrated.
' 4 The Malayan Variety has its native seats in the Ma¬
layan peninsula and the adjacent islands. The inhabitants
of Polynesia, New Holland, and New Zealand, are believed
to belong to this race. It is far less^ characterized than the
three races before noticed, mid perhaps might be consider¬
ed as produced by their intermixture. The perspicuous
characteristics are a brown colour ; sometimes almost ap¬
proaching to white, as in the inhabitants of Taheite and
the Marquesas, at other times very swarthy, as in the New
Zealander and Australian. The hair is black, thick, and ge¬
nerally slightly curled; the head is laterally compressed, the
forehead rather narrow, but high ; the bones of the face
large ; the nose full, broad at the apex, and passing gradu¬
ally into the cheeks; the mouth large; the lips rather thick;
the eyes sometimes have the Mongolian cut; the hands are
small. But many of the islands are occupied by a very
handsome race of inhabitants. The Malay language is wide¬
ly scattered over the islands of the Pacific, which shows a
common origin. The recent South Sea voyages show the
vast distances to which design or accident has carried the
people of one group of islands to another in their frail canoes,
and point out how those islands may have been originally
peopled.
5. The American Variety was spread over all that conti¬
nent at its discovery in the end of the fifteenth century.
This race, like the last, is not very distinctly characterized,
but bears a very strong resemblance to. some of the Mon¬
golian tribes in the scantiness of the beard, which is gene¬
ral in both parts of that continent. The principal peculia¬
rities of tins race, besides the scanty beard, which they ge¬
nerally try entirely to eradicate, are a dark skin, with a
tint of red, or what has, not very, happily, been termed a
copper-colour. The hair is black, lank, long, and coarse.
The skull is very similar to the Mongolian, but the fea¬
tures are more prominent, especially the nose; the fore¬
head is generally low and retreating ; the eyes deeply set ;
and the face, across the cheek-bones, broad, the mouth
large, the lips rather thick. Some of the native tribes sin¬
gularly flatten the head by compression while in the infant
state. This is particularly the case with a tribe on the
Columbia. One of their skulls, in the College Museum of
Edinburgh, is depressed in a most extraordinary degree,
so that the frontal sinus seems almost as high as the ver¬
tex; and the head is posteriorly and laterally extended.
This was the skull of a person of rank. It was procured by
the late Dr Gairdner, along with the skull of a slave of the
same tribe, in which this flattening, no doubt esteemed a
great beauty, had not been practised, but which exhibited,
to our eyes, a much more handsome form than that of his
master,
Pe| igof The peopling of America was long a problem of much dif¬
ficulty ; but it has of late, years been elucidated in. various
respects. Strong affinities have been discovered between
the languages of America and Eastern Asia, which confirm
the inferences drawn from physiognomy. Sidi Meili-melli,
Tunisian envoy to the United States in 1804, on seeing the
deputies of the Cherokees, the Miamis, and Osages, assem¬
bled at Washington, instantly recognised their Tatar phy¬
siognomies ; and Genet, when minister plenipotentiary of
France, w as also struck with the resemblance of the Indians
of America to the Asiatic Tatars, with whose appearance
he was familiar. The late researches of Dr Heckewelder,
and other American archaiologists, have reduced the sup¬
posed infinite variety of North American tongues to three
or four radical languages. According to this authority, all
the North American native tongues may be traced to the
Ait -a.
Floridan, the Lene-Lenape, the Iroquois, and the Che-
pewyan ; and the researches of Klaproth, and other German
philologists, have strengthened the belief in the affinities
between the native American languages and those of East¬
ern Asia. •'-n.fW mVs V • • }~p
The traditions of the Mexicans, and their hieroglyphical
writings, trace their migrations from the north to the table¬
land pf New^ Spain. Their mythology and their calendars
strongly indicate an Asiatic origin,1 whilst their architecture
and their pyramidal temples have something of an Indian
or Egyptian character. The scanty annals of this singu¬
lar people show, that migrations from the north-west had at
different,.epochs reached the elevated table-land of Mexico.
T he first occupiers, or aborigines, are named the 01-
mecks. How long they had been there does not appear;
but they were driven out in the year 648 of our era by the
loltecks, a people w ho left their country, w Inch they named
Tlapallay, supposed to be in Eastern Asia, in the year 544.
A pestilence seems to have weakened this nation in 1051 ;
and in 1170 the Chichimacks migrated into Mexico, where,
eight years afterwards, the Anahuatlachs also arrived. This
last nation consisted of seven tribes, the principal of which
were the Aztecks. This tribe called their native country
Aztlan, which they left in 1064, according to Gama; and,
uniting themselves with the Chichimacks and the remnant
of the Toltecks, they founded the city of Tenochtitlun in
1325. It was this united people whom the Spaniards de¬
nominated Mexicans, and whose empire was extinguished at
the capture of the capital, Tenochtitlan, by Cortez in 1521.
The Toltecks appear to have pushed colonies into South
America, either by the Cordillera of the Andes, or by the
eastern plains at their feet. M hen Gonzales Ximenez de
Quesada arrived on the table-land of Bogota, he was sur¬
prised to find a population on that plateau in a state of
considerable Civilization. It consisted of four tribes, all
clothed in cotton garments, and settled in agricultural
communities. The principal tribe was the Muysca, who
possessed a calendar, the intercalations of which had as
striking a similarity to that employed by nations on the
banks of the Indus, as that of the Mexicans approached
the calendar of the Mantcheous;2 and it is believed that
the Muyscas deduced their calendar from the motions of
Jupiter in the ecliptic.
Several travellers have been struck with the resem¬
blance of the Peruvian to the Malayan race; and it is pos¬
sible that, by the isles of the Pacific, their ancestors reached
the southern Cordillera. Their architecture has a sort of
Egyptian character in the form of its apertures, and the
squaring of its blocks of stone; but their theocracy had much
resemblance to that of some nations of Central Asia.
Our limits preclude our pursuing this interesting subject
further, or entering on the consideration of the alleged
causes of the varieties of the human species. We must re¬
fer our readers to the Researches of Humboldt, to the Phy¬
siology of Lawrence, to JJUistoire Naturelle du Genre
Humain of Virey, to the Dissertations of Blumenbach, Cu¬
vier, and Klaproth, to the wrork of Dr Smith of New Jersey,
to Prichard’s History of Man, and to the article Man in the
present work. Suffice it to state, that whilst some attribute
the varieties of the human family to the long-continued ac¬
tion of climate, food, and the external condition or habits ot
life, others have regarded them as the consequences of ac¬
cidental peculiarities transmitted to the posterity of the
individuals affected by them ; and a third class have con¬
sidered the three great varieties of the human race as di¬
rectly derived from the individual qualities of the sons or
Noah. But whatever view we take, it will not be found
the less difficult to account for the marked national pecu-
555
Physical
Geography.
1 Humboldt, Recherchct.
* Hid.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
556
Physical iiarities of people confessedly derived originally from the
Geography.game stocks  .      >     ..._L I
In conclusion, we may remark, that the study of physi¬
cal geography, both as it regards inorganic and animated
nature, tends to exercise the intellect in tracing the connec¬
tion between natural causes and their consequences, and to
expand and elevate the mind to the noblest of human con- Geiff.
temptations,—the wisdom and beneficence of the Deity, j
“ I cannot go
Where .universal Love hot smiles around, j |
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons;
From seejnihg gvil SttU educing good.
And better thence again a better still,
In infinite progression?’'
9(*oH i (l i.i.)
I .nqoH .OnqfiOfJTOluBoS 000 S i    niedmoH ! 81 r
T /uoH bo< r)tM oosQ SRS.g L . .ninlnuoM slrfsT \ 61 I
EXPLANATIONS OF REFERENCES TO TABLES OF MOUNTAINS.
PLATE CCCCXltfT F’oO lo nqaO
e'itvnd
nnsiO
’.'snniG
g'noLI
America.
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
Nevada de Sorata
Nevada dTllimani, \
first peak J
Ditto, second peak 
Chimborazo  
Antiaana.................
Cotopaxi 
Arequipa, volcano.,...
Descabefada...........
Popocateptl 
Iliniza     
Citlalpetl, or Peakl
of Orizaba J
Tunguragua  
Nevado de Merida...
Cerro de Potosi. 
Pichincha   
Nevado de Mexico....
Coffre de Perote 
Bighorn, or Long’s \
Peak j
Mount St Elias 
James’s Peak 
Sierra de Cobre 
Serrania Grande 
Mount Fairweather...
Duida, volcano..
Blue Mountains
Mount Washington..
25,250
24,450
24,200
21,440
19,150
18,890
18,373
18,000
17,716
17,376
17,371
16,579
16,420
16,000
15,940
15,700
13,514
13,430
12,670
11,500
9,000
9,000
8,970
8,467
7,486
6,650
| Andes of Peru and Bo-
( livia.
Mexican chain.
Andes, Bolivia.
Mexican chain.
Andes, Bolivia.
Colombia.
Andes, Bolivia.
Guadarrama  6,400
White Mountains..
6,234
Blaaserk   6,000
Werner Mountains...1
Morne Garou 
Souffriere 
Moose Hillock 
Jorullo, volcano....
Pelee  
Camel’s Hump 
Saddle Mountain..
Kaatskill 
Killington Peak...,
Grand Monadnock....
Appalachian Peak..
Cape Horn 
6,000
5,110
5,041
4,636
4,267
4,260
4,188
4,000
3,454
3,450
3,254
2,700
1,870
Mexican chain.
Rocky Mountains.
Cuba.
Haiti.
Colombia.
Jamaica.
White Mountains, U. S.j
Colombia.
New Hampshire.
East Greenland.
St Vincent, W. I.
Guadaloupe, ditto.
New Hampshire, U. S.
Mexico.
Martinique, W. I.
United States.
New York.
Vermont.
New Hampshire.
United States.
Tierra del Fuego.
Asia and Oceanica.
Dhawalagiri 
Jewahir    
Jamautri 
Dhaibun    
Hindoo Kho  
Mowna Kaah  
Elburz 
Agri-dagh, or Ararat
Rlioutsherskoi, vole ..
Mowna-Roa 
26,862
25,749
25,500
24,740
20,800
18,400
17,796
17,266
16,512
16,020
Himalaya.
Owhyhee, or Hawaiali.
Caucasus.
Armenia.
Kamtschatka.
Owhyhee, or Hawaiah.
16 I
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
Kazbec 
Demavend  
Ophir   
Arjish-dagh, Argseus..
Gunong Dempu, vole.
Egmont...  
Koriatskaia, volcano.
Bielukha  
Peak
Italitskoi
15,345
15,000
13,842
13,100
12,465
11,433
11,215
11,000
10,895
10,735
Krionotskaia, volcano 10,625
Shivelutsh, volcano... 10,591
Parmesan   10,050
Lebanon  9,520
Awatska, volcano...... 8,760
Dodabetta..., - 8,760
Daneshken Kamen.... 8,500?
Pedro-galla.      8,280
Me-lin 1 8,200
Kirrigal Pota   7,810
Tottapella...   7,720
PeakofJesso  7,880
Sinai  7,500
Adam’s Peak  7,420
Olympus..   6,500
Bettigo    6,500
Sea-view Hill  6,500
Quelpaert  6,400
Subramani  5,560
Jebal Akral, or Cas- ) 5^ i g
Aboo  5,100
Ida   | 4,860
Corean Mountains. ...I 4,480
Baskirian Ourals ! 4,400
Benloniond | 4,200
Plain of Ispahan  4,140
Mount Wellington...! 3,795
Forest Hill.....  3,776
Mount York  3,292
Mount Exmouth j 3,000
King’s Table-land j 2,827
Sugar Loaf......   2,527
Chaisgour  2,400
Mount St Paul’s 2,400
Carmel   2,160
Tabor ! 1,950
Caucasus.
Irak, trtnlff 3n<
Sumatra.
Asia Minor.
Sumatra.
New Zealand.
Kamtschatka.
Altai. R6-i9j*i
Otaheite.
Altai.
Kamtschatka.
Banca.
Syria.
Kamtschatka.
Neilgherries.
Ourals.
Ceylon.
Quantong, China.
Island of Jesso.
Arabia Petrsea.
Ceylon.
Asia Minor.
Western Ghauts.
New South Wales.
Quelpaert Island.
Western Ghauts, India.
Syria.
Aravulli, India.
Asia Minor.
Corea.
Siberia.
Van Diemen’s Land.
Irak, Persia.
Van Diemen’s Land.
New South Wales.
VindhyaMountains,Ind
Van Diemen’s Land.
Syria.
Mountains of Geesh.
Mountains of Amid..
Cameroons 
Peak 
Lamalmon 
Miltsin 
Clarence Peak.
Nieuveldt 
Compassherg.
Volcano 
Africa.
15,000
13,000
13,000
12,236
11,400
11,200
10,655
10,000
10,000
7,884
Gojam, Abyssinia.
Biafra.
TenerifFe.
J Samen Mountains,
I Abyssinia.
Marocco.
Fernando Po.
j Beaufort, Cape of
\ Good Hope.
Graffreynet, ditto.
Fogo.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
■sical
rapliy'
Taranta.   
Volcano..,. 
Trigo   
Peak 
Peak  
Khamies 
Ituivo 
Komberg 
Table Mountain 
Devil’s Peak 
Green Mountaia.......
Diana’s Peak............
Lion’s Head 
Cape of Good Hope...
Pyramid of Cheops..,.
Feet.
7,«00
7,680
7.400
6,900
6.400
5,300
5,102
5,000
3,582
3,315
2,868
2;6oI
2,166
1,000
720
EtTUOl'E.
-«ant
Tigre, Abyssinia.
Isle de Bourbon.
Canaries
Pico, Azores.
Tristan da Cu
Cape of Good Hope.
Madeira.
Beaufort, Cape G. Hope.
Cape of Good Hope.
Ascension Island.
St Helena.
Cape of Good Hope.
Mont Blanc 
Mont Rosa......... 
Ortler Spitze....;. 
L’Alle Blanche... 
Lou^eira 
Loupilon   
Finster-aar-horn. 
Furca   
Olan. 
Jungfrau-horn
Glockner   
Schreck-horn...  
Orteles 
Breit-horn   
Nager-horn  
Hohen-wartshohe...
Mulahacen.  
Mont Cenis  
Pico de Veleta......
Mont Perdu .......jj.
Great St Bernard 
Simplon.  
Monte Gibello (J3tna)
Maladetta.. 
Aiguille Noire 
Pic Blanc 
Buet   
Gros Kogl 
Little St Bernard 
Canigou  
Loriinitz  
Orbelus  
Guadarrama 
Velino 
Pic d’Arbizon 
Parnassus   
Taygetus 
Pindus   
Mont d’Or 
Agion Oros (Athos)..
Olympus 
Brenner 
Puy de Cantal 
Puy de Sausi  
Oraefa Ybkul 
Areskutan   
Rigi 
Malhao 
Sulitelma  
Dole 
St Angelo 
Rossberg  
Gross Rader 
Schneekopf...... 
Dovrefeldt 
Puy de Dome 
Ochsenkopf 
Vesuvio   
Erzgebirge 
Brocken 
Montserrat 
St Orestd 
15,781
15,585
15,430
14,775
14,451
14,144
14,116
14,040
13,838
13,720
13,713
13,397
12,859
12,800
12,217
11,676
11,673
11,460
-11,398
11,283
11,006
11,000
10,963
10,857
10,505
10,205
10,112
9.700
9,594
9,290
8,540
8,500
8.500
8,397
8,344
8,000
7,200
7,000
6,707
6.700
6.500
6,463
6,355
6.300
6,240
6,180
6,050
6,000
5,910
5,412
5,260
5,154
4,972
4,950
4,875
4,750
3,980
3,978
3,781
3,690
3.300
2,271
Egypt.
Alps.
..
afaJahoH 71 I
.fisT
Sierra Nevada, Spain.
Alps.
Sierra Nevada, Spain.
Pyrenees.
Alps. i j &£
Sicily.
Pyrenees.
Alps.
Pyrenees.
Pyrenees.
Carpathians.
Greece.
Sierra de Guadarrama.
Naples.
Pyrenees.
Morea.
Albania.
Puy de Dome.
Greece.
Tyrolese Alps.
France.
Iceland.
Jemptiand, Sweden.
Schweiz.
Estremadura.
Norway.
Mont Jura.
Lipari Islands.
Alps.
Silesia.
Riesengebirge, Silesia.
Dovrefeldt, Norway.
Puy de Dome.
( Fichtelgebirge, Bo-
( hernia.
Naples.
Bohemia.
Hartzwald.
Catalonia.
States of the Church.
’a"
Gibraltar 
Valdai Hills 
Montmartre  
OO 91 fl gruanH tit
i .fesonaups
Feet.
1,439
1,200
400
Andalusia.
Novgorod, Russia.
Depar tment of La Sene.
BmTisk IstAtfbs.
13 Tngleborough,
Greenwich Obser-7
vatory.... J
2 Holyhead 
(r3. Carraton.........
4* Penniaen Mauf- .^.U..
5 Axedge 
6 Pendlehill 
7 Brown Clee 
8 Holmemoss 
9 High Pike 
10 Camfell 
IT Whernside 
12 Hedgehope  
0*
! fi-f
Plinlimmon
Cradle Mountain -
Coniston Fell 
Caermarthen Van....
Cheviot   
Grassmere Fell  
Arrenig  
Crossfell    
Bowfell 
Cader Idris  
Arran.Fcwddy  
Helvelyh i.. 
Skiddaw..... 
Carnedd, Dafydd 
Carnedd, Llewellyn..,
Snowdon 
Cairngorm  
Bex ^Iacdui..
Ben Nevis 
Ben Lawers....
Bein More.....
Ben More 
Ben Gloe 
Ben Wyvis..,..
Ben Ledi 
Schehallien 
Bein Deirg 
Ben Ferkinich
Mount Battock
Macgillicuddy’s Reeks
Scairsoch 
Ben Cruachan....
Ben Gurdy 
Ben Aan  
Ben Voirlich......
Ben Lomond 
Sleibh Dorin......
Ben Venue 
Black Larg  
The Cobbler 
Dollarburn 
Broad Law 
Croagh Patrick...
Hartfell 
Lowther Hill 
Morne Hills 
Paps of Jura 
Tintock 
Croaghan 
Pentland Hills...
Campsie Hills....
Eildon Hills 
Arthur Seat 
Salisbury Craigs.
Edinburgh Castle
Goatfell 
Snaefell.... 
Dunnose 
Ailsa Craig 
Bass Rock 
214
709
1,208
4,546
1,751
1,803
1,805
1,859
2,101
2,245
2,334
2,347
2,361
2,463
2,545
2,577
2,596
2,658
2.755
2,809
2,901
2,9U
2,914
2.969
3,055
3,022
3,427
3,467
3,571
4,050
4,418
4,358
3.944
3,903
3,818
3,724
3,720
S,651
3,613
3,550
3,482
3,460
3,410
3,400
3,390
3,364
3,301
3,270
3,191
3,150
3,000
2,890
2,863
2,840
2,800
2,666
2,635
2,522
2.500
2,470
2,306
1,850
1,700
1.500
1,300
822
560
434
2.945
2,004
810
1,139
400
Kent.
Anglesea.
Cornwall.
Caernarvon.
Derby.
Lancashire.
Shropshire.
Derby.
Cumberland.
Yorkshire.
Northumberland.
Yorkshire.
Cardiganshire,
Brecknockshire.
Westmoreland.
Caermarthenshire.
Northumberland.
Cumberland^'-'' ■*
Merionethshire.
Cumberland.
Merionethshire.
Cumberland.
10 .UeqTr
Caernarvon.
Inverness-shire.
Aberdeenshire.
Inverness-shire.
Perthshire.
Sutherlandshire.
Perthshire.
Ross-shire.
Perthshire.
Kincardineshire.
Kerry, Ireland.
Aberdeenshire.
Argyleshire.
Perthshire.
Stirlingshire.
Derry.
Perthshire.
Ayrshire.
Argyleshire.
Peeblesshire.
Mayo, Ireland.
Dumfriesshire.
Lanarkshire.
Downshire.
Argyleshire.
Lanarkshire.
Kin shelly.
Mid-Lothian.
Stirlingshire.
Roxburghshire.
Mid-Lothian.
Isle of Arran.
Isle of Man.
Isle of Wight.
Firth of Clyde.
Firth of Forth.
557
Physical
Geography.
558
PHYSICS.
General de¬
finition.
Particular
explana¬
tion.
Taken in its most enlarged sense, the word Physics com¬
prehends the whole study ot- nature; and Natural Philoso¬
phy is a term of the same extent; but ordinary language,
especially in Britain, employs both of these terms in a much
narrower sense, which it is proper in this place to deter¬
mine with some precision.
Under the article Philosophy, we gave a particular ac¬
count of that view of nature in which the objects of our
attention are considered as connected by causation; and
we were at some pains to point out the manner in which
this study may be successfully cultivated. By a judicious
employment of the means pointed out in that article, we
discover that the objects of our contemplation compose an
universe, which consists, not of a number of independent
existences solitary and detached from each other, but of a
number of substances connected by a variety of relations
and dependencies, so as to form a whole, which may with
great propriety be called the System of Nature.
This assembling of the individual objects which compose
the universe into one system is by no means the work of a
hasty and warm fancy, but is the result of sober contem¬
plation. The natural historian attempts in vain to describe
objects, by only informing us of their shape, colour, and
other sensible qualities. He finds himself obliged, in de¬
scribing a piece of marble, for instance, to tell us that it
takes a fine polish ; that it strikes fire with steel; that it
burns to quicklime; that it dissolves in aquafortis, and is
precipitated by alkalies ; that with vitriolic acid it forms
gypsum, &c.; and thus it, appears, that even the descrip¬
tion of any thing, with the view of ascertaining its specific
nature, and with the sole purpose of discrimination, cannot
be accomplished without taking notice of its various rela¬
tions to other things. But what do we mean by the na¬
ture of any thing ? We are ignorant of its essence, or what
makes it that thing and no other thing. We must content
ourselves with the discovery of its qualities or properties 5
and it is the assemblage of these which we call its nature.
But this is very inaccurate. These do not constitute its
essence, but are the consequences of it. Yet this is all we
shall ever know of its nature. Now the term property is,
nothing but a name expressing some relation which the
substance under consideration has to other things. This
is true of all such terms. Gravity, elasticity, sensibility,
gratitude, and the like, express nothing but certain mat¬
ters of fact, which may be observed respecting the object
of our contemplation in different circumstances of situation
with regard to other things. Our distinct notions of indi¬
viduals, therefore, imply their relations to other things.
All parts of The slightest observation of the universe shows an evi¬
dent connection between all its parts in their various pro¬
perties. All things on this earth are connected with each
other by the laws of motion and of mind. We are con¬
nected with the whole of the solar system by gravitation.
If we extend our observations to the fixed stars, the con¬
nection seems to fail; but even here it may be observed.
Their inconceivable distance, it is true, renders it impos¬
sible for us to obtain any extensive information as to their
nature. But these bodies are connected with the solar
system by the sameness of the light which they emit with
that emitted by our sun or any shining body. It moves
with the same velocity ; it consists, in most of them at least,
of the same colours ; and it is reflected, refracted, and in¬
flected, according to the same laws.
In this unbounded scene of contemplation, our attention
will be directed to the different classes of objects nearly in
proportion to the interest we take in them. There is no¬
the uni¬
verse con¬
nected in
their va¬
rious pro¬
perties.
Primary
objects of
attention.
thing in which we are so much interested as our fellow Intri!C.
men ; and one of the first steps that we make iti our knbw- til I
ledge of nature, is an acquaintance with them. We learn''—
their distinctive nature by attending to their characteristic
appearances; that is, by observing their action's; We ob¬
serve them continually producing, like ourselves, certain
changes in the situation or condition of surrounding ob- |
jects ; and these changes are evidently directed to certain
ends which respect themselves. Observing this subser¬
viency of the effects which they product to their otvn ac¬
commodation, we consider this adjustment of means tb ends
as the effect of an intention, since we experience it to be so
in our own case, where we are conscious of this intention,
and of these its effects. We therefore interpret those ac¬
tions of other men, where we observe this adjustment of
means to ends, as marks or signs of intention to them simi¬
lar to our own ; and thus a quality, or power, or faculty,
is supposed in them by means of its sign,'although the
quality itself is not immediately cognisable by our senses.
And as this intention in ourselves is accompanied by per¬
ception of external objects, knowledge of their properties,
desire of good, aversion to evil, volition and exertion, with¬
out all of which we could not or would not perform the
actions which we daily perform, we suppose the same per¬
ception, knowledge, desire, aversion, volition, and exertion
in them. Thus, by the constitution of our mind, we con¬
sider the employment of means, by which ends terminating
in the agent are gained, as the natural signs of design or
intention. Art, therefore, or the employment of means,
is the natural sign of intention ; and wherever we observe
this adjustment of means to ends, we infer the agency of
design.
A small acquaintance with the objects around us, obliges
us to extend this inference to a great number of beings be¬
sides our fellow men, namely, to the whole animal creation;
for in all we observe the same subserviency to the ends of
the agent in the changes which we find them continually
producing in the objects around them. These changes are
all adjusted to their own well-being. In every such case,
therefore, we are forced, by the constitution of our own
minds, to infer the existence of design or intention in these
beings also. But in numberless changes produced by ex¬
ternal objects on each other, we observe no such fitness in
the effects, no such subserviency to the well-being of the
agent. In such cases, therefore, we make no such inference
of thought or design.
Thus, then, there is presented to our observation an im-All ob is
portant distinction, by which we arrange all external ob-divided-
jects into two classes. The first resembles ourselves, ?
giving external marks of that thought or intention of which
we are conscious ; and we suppose in them the other pro-agings,
perties which we discover in ourselves, but cannot imme¬
diately observe in them, viz. thought, perception, memory,
foresight, and all that collection of faculties which we feel
in ourselves, and which constitute the animal. The other
class of objects exhibits no such appearances, and we make
no such inference. Hence we divide the whole of external
nature into the classes of thinking and unthinking beings.
Our first judgments about these classes will be very in-jjoww
accurate; and we will naturally ascribe the differences, come to e
which we do not very well understand, to the differencesknowlej;
in organical structure, wdiich we very clearly observe. But0*nun
when we have knocked down or perhaps smothered an ani¬
mal, we find that it no longer gives the former marks of
thought and intention, and that it now resembles the class
of unthinking beings: and yet it still retains all that fit-
PHY S I C S.
oduc- ness of organical structure which it had before ; it seems
jn. only to want the intention and the will. This obliges us
v—'' to conclude that the distinction does not arise from a dif¬
ference in organical structure, but from a distinct substance,
common to all thinking beings, though separable from their
organical frame. To this substance we ascribe thought,
intentiqn, contrivance, and all that; collection of faculties
which we fee} in ourselves. To this substance in ourselves
we refer all sensations, pleasures, pains, remembrances, de¬
sires, purposes ; and to this aggregate, however imperfectly
understood, we give the name mind. Our organical frame,
which seems to be only the instrument of information and
operation to the mind, we call our body,
nature As the animating principle is not, like our body, the im-
indas mediate object of the senses, we naturally conceive it to
istocd be a substance essentially different from those which are
uLaud ^ objects of our senses. The rudest people have shown
a disposition to form this conclusion. Observing that ani¬
mal life was connected with breathing, it was natural to
imagine that breathing was living, and that breath was
life. It,,is a remarkable fact, that in most languages the
term for expressing breath is at least one of the terms for ex¬
pressing the soul ; tip, spiritus, in the Hebrew, Greek,
and Latin,, express both ; gheist or ghosts in the Teutonic,
comes from gheisen, to breathe or sigh ; ducha or diiha, the
soul, in,Sclavonic, comes from duichat, to breathe; so, in
the Gaelic, does anal come from anam ; and the same re¬
lation is found between the two words in the Malay and
other eastern languages. We believe that most persons
can recollect some traces of this notion in their early con¬
ceptions of things; and many, who do not consider them¬
selves as uncultivated, believe that the soul quits the body
along with the last breath. Amongst the Tartar nations
hanging is regarded with particular horror, on account
of the ungraceful and filthy exit which the soul is obliged
to make bom the body. But the observation of the same
appearances of thought and intention in fishes, and other
animals which do not breathe, wrould soon show that this
was but a rude conception. Very little refinement indeed
is necessary to convince us that air or breath cannot be
the substance which thinks, wishes, and designs; and that
the properties of this substance, whatever it is, must be
totally different from, and incompatible with, any thing
that we know of the immediate objects of our senses.
0|2two Hence we are led to conclude that there are two kinds
M of substances in nature; one which is the principle of sen-
iii'i Ik’ sat‘on’ an(l therefore cannot be the object of our senses,
of any more than light can be the object of the microscope,
ion This substance alone can feel, think, desire, and propose,
and is the object of reflection alone. The objects of our
3 the senses compose the other class, and therefore can have
none of the other properties which are not cognoscible by
the senses. These have all the properties which our senses
can discover ; and we can have no evidence of their hav-
ing any other, nor indeed any conception of their having
them. I his class is not confined to the unorganized masses
oi matter ; for we see that the bodies of animals lose after
death that organized form, and are assimilated to all the
rest of unthinking beings. It has arisen from such views
as this, that whilst all nations have agreed to call this class
of objects by the name of body, which originally expresses
our organical frame, some nations, farther advanced in cul¬
tivation or refinement, have contrived an abstract term to
express this general substance of which all inanimate beings
are composed. Such a term we have in the words materies
and
Matter, then, is that substance which is immediately
Whatever, therefore, is not
Ilk
tin n Lg,
cognoscible by our senses  ,  7 „
nd t|lus immediate!}' cognoscible by our senses is not mate-
wial rial, and is expressed by a negative term, and called im~
kes. matericd; and hence it is that mind is said to be immaterial.
It is of importance to keep in mind this distinction, though
merely grammatical. Little more is necessary for detecting
the sophisms of Helvetius, Mirabeau, and others, who have
been anxious to remove the ties of moral and religious ob¬
ligation, by lowering our conceptions of our intellectual na¬
ture. It will also serve to show how hastily they have
formed their opinions, who have ascribed to the immediate
agency of mind all those relations which are observed in
the actions of bodies upon each other at a distance. The
connecting principles of such relations e distante, if there
be any such, are not the immediate objects of our senses;
they are therefore immaterial. But it does not follow that
they are minds. There may be many immaterial substances
which are not minds. We know nothing of any object what¬
ever, except by the observation of certain appearances,
which suggest to our minds the existence and agency of
its qualities or powers. Such phenomena are the natural
signs of these qualities, and it is to such signs that we
must always have recourse when we wish to conceive with¬
out ambiguity concerning them. What is the character-
istical phenomenon of mind, or what is the distinguishing
quality which brings it into view? It is intention ; and it
may be asserted with the utmost confidence; that we have
no other mark by which mind is immediately suggested to
us, or which would ever have made us suppose that there
existed another mind besides our own. The phenomenon
by which this quality is suggested to us is art, or the em¬
ployment of means to gain ends; and the mark of art is
the supposed conduciveness of these ends to the well-being
of the agent. Where this train is not observed, design or
intention is never thought of; and therefore where inten¬
tion is not perceived in any immaterial substance, if any
such has ever been observed, it is an abuse of language to
call it mind. We do not think that even perception and
intelligence entitle us to give the name mind to the sub¬
stance in which they are inherent, because it is from marks
of intention alone that we infer the existence of mind ; and
although these must be accompanied with perception and
intelligence, it does not follow that the substance which
can perceive and understand must also desire arid propose.
However difficult we may find it to separate them, they
are evidently separable in imagination. And let not this
assertion be too hastily objected to; for the separation has
been made by persons most eminent for their knowledge
and discernment. When Leibnitz ascribed to his monades,
or what we call the ultimate atoms of matter, a perception
of their situation in the universe, and a motion precisely
suited to this perception, he was the farthest in the world
from supposing them animated or endowed with minds.
It is true, indeed, that others, who think and call them¬
selves philosophers, are much more liberal in their appli¬
cation of this term. A modern author of great metaphy¬
sical eminence says, “ I call that mind which moves, and
that body which is moved.’’ This class of philosophers
assert that no motion whatever is begun except by the
agency of an animating principle, which, after Aristotle,
they call Nature, and which has in these days been exalt¬
ed to the rank of a god. All this jargoq, for it is nothing
else, has arisen from the puzzle in which naturalists think
themselves involved in attempting to explain the produc¬
tion of motion in a body at a distance from that body which
is conceived as the cause of this motion. After having
been reluctantly obliged, by the reasonings of Newton, to
abandon their methods of explaining such phenomena by
the impulses of an intervening fluid, nothing seemed left
but the assertion that these motions were produced by
minds, as in the case of our own exertions. These ex¬
planations, if they deserve the name, cannot be objected
to in any other way than as an abuse of language, and as
the introduction of an unmeaning jargon. We nave, and
can have, no notion of mind different from those of our
559
Introduc¬
tion.
560
PHYSICS.
Introduc- own minds; and we discover the existence of other minds,
tion. as we discover the existence of bodies, by means ot phe-
v nomena which are characteristic ot minds, that is, which
resemble those phenomena that follow the exertion of our
mental faculties, that is, by the employment ot means to
attain selfish ends; and where such appearances are not
observed, no existence of a mind is inferred. W hen we
see a man fall from the roof of a house, and dash out his
brains on the pavement, we never ascribe this motion to
his mind. Although the fitness of many of the celestial
motions for most important purposes makes us suppose de¬
sign and contrivance somewhere, and therefore a Supreme
Mind, we no more think of inferring a mind in the earth
from the fitness of its motions for purposes most beneficial
to its inhabitants, than of inferring a mind in a bit of bread
from its fitness for nourishing our bodies. It is not Irom
the mere motions of animals that their minds are inferred,
but from the conduciveness of these motions to the well¬
being of the animal.
The mind The term mind, therefore, in the ordinary language of
is not that all men, is applied to what desires and wills at the same
which pro- tjme tjiat it perceives and understands. If we call that
duces nio- mjntj yyididi produces motion, we must derive our notions
thTt which of its qualities or attributes from observing their effects,
desires and We must therefore discover the general laws by which
wills
they act, that is, the general laws observed in those mo¬
tions which we consider as their effects. Now these are
the general laws of motion ; and in none of these can we
find the least coincidence with what we are accustomed to
call the laws of mind. Nay, it has been the total want of
similarity which has given rise to the distinction which all
men, in all ages and countries, have made between mind
and matter. This distinction is found in all languages;
and it is an unpardonable liberty which men take with
language when they use a term of distinction, a specific
term, to express things of a different species. What these
authors have been pleased to call mind, the whole world
besides have called by another name, force ; which, though
borrowed from our own exertions, is yet sufficiently distinc¬
tive, and never leads us to confound things which are differ¬
ent, except in the language of some modern philosophers,
who apply it to the laws of the agency of mind, and, when
speaking of the force of motives, &c. commit the same
mistakes which the followers of Aristotle commit in the
use of the term mind. Force, in the language of these
philosophers, means what connects the operations of mind ;
as mind, in the language of Lord Monboddo, is that which
connects the operations of body.
Those persons are not less to blame who consider this Na¬
ture of Aristotle, this principle of motion, as an existence or
substance different both from matter and from the minds of
ter and
mind.
The prin¬
ciple of
motion is  
not distinct-^eHigent creatures. Aristotle calls it in some places wffTrsg
trom mat- might with equal propriety, and equal consist¬
ency with his other doctrines, have called mind wtfffeg nXos,
or udffeg dvvu/MZ' Besides, we have no evidence for the
separability of this usvtg from body, as we have for
the separability of such minds as our own, the genuine
yai. Nay, his whole doctrines, when maturely considered,
assume their absolute inseparability.
This doctrine of elemental minds, therefore, as the im¬
mediate causes of the phenomena of the material world,
is an abuse of language. It is a jargon ; and it is a frivo¬
lous abuse, for it offers no explanation whatever. The
phenomena are totally unlike the phenomena of ordinary
minds, and therefore receive no explanation from them ;
and since our knowledge of these or quasi minds
must be derived entirely from the phenomena, it will be
precisely the same, although we express it in common lan- Intro,.
guage. We shall not indeed raise the wonder of our hear- tioti
ers, as those do who fill the world with minds which they ',^v'
never suspected to exist; but, on the other hand, we shall
not bewilder their imaginations, confound their ideas, and
mislead their judgments.
Some philosophers have attended only to the appear- The ns :e
ances of fitness which are exhibited in every quarter of theand us-
universe; and, by arranging these into different classes,
and interpreting them as indications of thought and inten¬
tion, have acquired the knowledge of many classes of sen¬
tient and intelligent beings, actuated by propensities, and
directed by reason. Whilst the contemplation of these
appearances indicates thought and design in any indivi¬
dual of one of these classes, and brings its propensities
and purposes of action, and the ends gained by these ac¬
tions, into view, the contemplation of these propensities,
purposes, and ends, occasions an inference of a much more
general kind. All these intelligent beings give indica¬
tions of knowledge and of power; but their knowledge
bears, in general, no proportion to their power of produ¬
cing changes in nature, and of attaining important ends;
and their power is neither always, nor in the most import¬
ant cases, the consequence of their knowledge. Where
the effect of their actions is most eminently conducive to
their most important interests, the power of attaining
these valuable ends is generally independent of any atten¬
tion to the fitness of the means, and the exertion is fre¬
quently made without even thinking of the important end.
The well-being of the individual is secured against any
danger from its ignorance, indolence, or inattention, by an
instinctive propensity, which leads it to the performance
of the necessary action, which is thus made immediately
and ultimately desirable, without any regard to its ulti¬
mate and important end. Thus, in our own nature, the
support of animal life, and the improvement of the means
of subsistence by a knowledge of the objects which sur¬
round us, are not intrusted to our apprehensions of the
importance of these ends, but are committed to the surer
guides of hunger and curiosity.
The same observers discover a connection between the There >
individuals of a class, different from that which arises from connec i
the mere resemblance of their external appearance, or“j
even of their propensities and pursuits; the very circum-duals(11>
stances which produced the classification. They observe, ent fro
that these propensities are such, that whilst each indivi-thatol •
dual seeks only its own enjoyment, these enjoyments aresembk;.
in general such as contribute to the support of the species,
and the enjoyment of other individuals. Thus, in the
classes of animals, and in human nature, the continuance
of the race, and the enjoyment of the whole, are not in¬
trusted to the apprehension we entertain of the import¬
ance of these ends, but are produced by the operation ot
sexual love and the love of society.
The same observers find that even the different classes There
xue same uuoci vcio imi* —    - als0 a k
of sentient beings are connected together ; and whilst the ^ ;
whole of each class aim only at their own enjoyment, theytion b
contribute, in someway or other, to the well-being of tnet^eeil m-
other classes. Even man, the selfish lord of this sublu-tient
Elemental
minds an
abuse of
language.
Otner Classes* XliVeil niaiij tuc aciuon iwiva vaa . tt ; a- if-
nary world, is not the unconnected inhabitant of it- (
J . • .   .u his cinin-iereiu
cannot, in every instance, reap all the fruits of his Sltmj'classe
tion, without contributing to the enjoyment of thousands
of the brute creation. Nay, it may be proved to the sa¬
tisfaction of every intelligent man, that whilst one race ot
animals, in consequence of its peculiar propensities, sub¬
sists by the destruction of another, the sum total of ani¬
mal life and enjoyment is prodigiously increased.1
1 See a very judicious dissertation on this curious and puzzling subject, entitled a Philosophical Survey of the An ob_
where it appears that the increase of animal life and enjoyment which is produced by this means, beyond what cou \ 1
tain without it, is beyond all conception. See likewise the edition of King’s Origin of Evil, by Dr Law.
PHY
i,due- Thus the whole assemblage seems connected, and joint-
i n. Jy employed in increasing the sum total of possible happi-
I IO ri ♦     /* , * .
. ness.
• f This fitness of the various propensities of sentient
n or and intelligent beings, this subserviency to a general pur-
strikes these observers as a mark of intention, evi-
ion-
bnis pose> .
ecu- dently distinct from, and independent of, all the particu-
:ature,
jiaiu-
, is
jeted.
fgy-
ti
n
jtJ.ion of]ar intentions, and superior to them all; and thus it irre-
tp88, sistibly leads them to infer the existence of a Supreme
Mind, directing the whole of this intellectual system,
whilst the individuals of which it consists appear the un¬
conscious instruments in the hand of a great Artist, with
which he executes his grand and beneficent purposes.
But the observation extends yet further. The bodies of
the inanimate creation are not only connected with each
other by a mutual dependence of properties, and the re¬
lation of causation, but they are also connected with the
sentient beings by a subserviency to their purposes of en¬
joyment. The philosopher observes that this connection is
admirably kept up by the constancy of natural operations
and the expectations of intelligent beings. Had either of
these circumstances been wanting, had either the opera¬
tions of nature been without rule, or had sentient beings
possessed no perception or expectation of their uniformity,
the subserviency would be totally at an end. This adjust¬
ment, this fitness, of which the result is the enjoyment of
the sentient inhabitants of the universe, appears to be the
effect of an intention of which this enjoyment is the final
cause. This constancy, therefore, in the operations of na¬
ture, both in the intellectual and material world, and the
concomitant expectation of sentient beings, appear to be
the effects of laws imposed on the different parts of the
universe by the Supreme Mind, who has formed both
these classes of beings so admirably suited to each other.
1 (origin To such observers the world appears a work of art, a
oi iiural system of means employed for gaining certain proposed
ends, and it carries the thoughts forward to an artist; and
we infer a degree of skill, power, and good intention in this
artist, proportioned to the ingenuity, extent, and happy
effect which we are able to discern in his works. Such a
contemplation of nature, therefore, terminates in natural
theology, or the discovery of the existence and attributes
of God.
Our notions of this Supreme Mind are formed from the
P1 indications of design which we observe, and which we in¬
terpret in the same way as in the actions of men. These
notions therefore will differ from our notions of other minds
only in the degrees which we are able to observe, and
which we assign to these faculties; for the phenomenon
or the effect is not only the mark, but also the measure of
its supposed cause. These degrees must be ascertained
by our own capacity of appreciating the extent, the mul¬
tiplicity, and the variety of the contrivance. Accordingly,
the attributes of the Supreme Mind, in the theological
creed of a rude Indian, are much more limited than in that
of a European philosopher. In proportion as our under¬
standings are enlarged, and as our acquaintance with the
operations of nature around us is extended, we shall per¬
ceive higher degrees of power, of skill, and of kind inten¬
tion ; and since we find that the scene of observation is
unbounded, we cannot affix any boundaries to these attri¬
butes in our own imagination, and we are ready to sup¬
pose that they are infinite or unbounded in their own na¬
ture. When our attentive survey of this universe, and a
careful comparison of all its parts, as far as we can under¬
stand or appreciate them, have made us conclude that it is
one design, the work of one artist, we are under the ne¬
cessity of inferring, that, with respect to this universe, his
|urePower, wisdom, and benevolence, are indeed infinite,
ued When men have been led to draw this conclusion from
neral the appearances of fitness which are observed everywhere
around them, they consider that constancy which they
VOL. xvit-
Q node
in |i the
o| tic
o d.
ystem,
SICS.
561
observe in natural operations, whether in the material or Introduc-
the intellectual system, and that expectation of and con- ion-
fidence in this constancy, which renders the universe a
source of enjoyment to its sentient inhabitants, as the
consequences of laws imposed by the Almighty Artist on
his works, in the same manner as they would consider
the constancy in the conduct of any people as the conse¬
quences of laws promulgated and enforced by the supreme
magistrate.
There can be no doubt of this view of nature being ex- The rise of
tremely captivating, and likely to engage the curiosity ofr?oral sen-
speculative men; and it is not surprising that the pheno-hmentsand
mena of mind have been keenly studied in all ages. This
part of the study of nature, like all others, was first culti¬
vated in subserviency to the wants of social life; and the
general laws of moral sentiment were the first phenomena
which were considered with attention. This gradually
ripened into a regular system of moral duty, accompanied
by its congenial study, the investigation or determination
of the summum bonum, or the constituents of human feli¬
city ; and these two branches of intellectual science were
always kept in a state of association by the philosophers
of antiquity. Jurisprudence, the science of government,
legislation, and police, were also first cultivated as arts, or
at least in immediate subserviency to the demands of cul¬
tivated society; and all these so nearly related parts of
the study of human nature had made a very considerable
progress, in the form of maxims or precepts for directing
the conduct, before speculative men, out of mere curiosi¬
ty, treated them as subjects of philosophical study. Our
moral sentiments, always involving a feeling of obligation,
are expressed in a language considerably difiPerent from
the usual language of pure philosophy, speaking of things
which ought to be, rather than of things which are; and
this distinction of language was increased by the very aim
of the writers, which was generally to influence the con¬
duct as well as the opinions of their scholars. It was re¬
served for modern times to bring this study into the pure
form of philosophy, by a careful attention to the phenome¬
na of moral sentiment, and classing these according to their
generality, and ascertaining their respective ranks by an
appeal to experiment, that is, to the general conduct of
mankind ; and thus it happens that in the modern treatises
on ethics, jurisprudence, &c. there is less frequent reference
made to the qfficia or duties, that is, the constituents of the
summum bonum, than amongst the ancients, and a more
accurate description of the human mind, and discrimina¬
tion of its various moral feelings.
It was hardly possible to proceed far in these disquisi- The origin
tions without attending to the powers of the understand-of logic and
ing. Differences of opinion were supported by reasonings, 10t^er intel*
or attempts at reasoning. Both sides could not be in the le?tual
right, and there must be some court of appeal. Rules of L
argumentation behoved to be acquiesced in by both par¬
ties ; and it could hardly-escape the notice of some curi¬
ous minds, that there were rules of truth and falsehood as
well as of right and wrong, Thus the human understand¬
ing became an object of study, first in subserviency to the
demands of the moralist, but afterwards for its own sake;
and it gradually grew up into the science of logic. Still
further refinement produced the science of metaphysics,
or the philosophy of universals. But all these were in fact
posterior to the doctrines of morals; and disquisitions on
beauty, the principles of taste, the precepts of rhetoric
and criticism, were the last additions to the study of the
phenomena of mind. And now, since the world seems to
have acquiesced in the mode of investigation of general
laws by experiment and observation, and to agree that
this is all the knowledge which we can acquire of any sub¬
ject whatever, it is to be expected that this branch of phi¬
losophical discussion will attain the same degree of im-
4 u
562
PHYSICS.
Introduc- provement (estimated by the coincidence of the doctrines
tion. with fact and experience) that has been attained by some
others.
The partial The occupations, however, of ordinary life have oftener
practice of directed our efforts towards material objects, and engaged
natural phi- our attention on their properties and relations ; and as all
m-eceded sciences have arisen from arts, and were originally implied
its study as in the maxims and precepts of those arts, until separated
a science, from them by the curious speculatist, the knowledge or
the material system of nature was possessed in detached
scraps by the practitioners in the various arts of life long
before the natural philosopher thought of collecting them
into a body of scientific doctrines. But there have not
been wanting in all ages men of curiosity, who, having been
struck by the uniformity of the operations of nature in the
material world, were eager to discover their causes. Ac¬
cordingly, whilst the moralists and metaphysicians turned
their whole attention to the phenomena of mind, and pro¬
duced the sciences of pneumatology, logic, ethics, jurispru¬
dence, and natural theology, these observers of nature
found sufficient employment in considering the phenome¬
na of the material world.
The nature The bodies of which it consists are evidently connected
ofthema- j-,y means 0f those properties by which we observe that
terial sys- j.jiey produce changes in each other’s situations. 1 his as-
tem' semblage of objects may therefore be justly called a sys¬
tem. We may call it the material system. It is frequent¬
ly termed nature; and the terms natural appearances, na¬
tural causes, natural laws, have been generally restricted
to those which take place in the material system. This
restriction, however, is improper, because there is no dif¬
ference in the manner in which we form our notions of
those laws, and reason from them, with respect both to mind
and to body ; or if there is to be any restriction, and if any
part of the study of the universe is to be excluded in the
application of these terms, it is that part only which con¬
siders moral obligation, and rather treats of what ought to
be than of what actually is. As has already been observed,
there is a considerable difference in the language which
must be employed ; but still there is none in the principles
of investigation. We have no proof for the extent of any
moral law but an appeal to the feelings of the hearts of
men, indicated by the general laws or facts which are ob¬
served in their actions.
The unre- But this is only a question of the propriety of language,
stricted And no great inconvenience would arise from the restric-
sense in t;on now nientioned if it were scrupulously adhered to;
of these)mC but unfortunately this is not always the case. Some au
terms are* thors use the term natural law to express every coincidence
used, and of fact; and this is certainly the proper use of the term,
its conse- The French writers generally use the term loi physique in
quences. ^jg eniarged sense. But many authors, misled by, or tak¬
ing advantage of, the ambiguity of language, after having
established a law founded upon a copious and perhaps unex¬
cepted induction of the phenomena of the material system
(in which case it must be considered in its restricted
sense), have, in their explanation of phenomena, extended
their principle much farther than the induction on which
they had founded the existence of the physical law. They
have extended it to the phenomena of mind, and have led
their followers into great and dangerous mistakes. Lan¬
guages, like every other production of human skill, are
imperfect. They are deficient in terms, and are there¬
fore figurative. The most obvious, the most frequent, and
the most interesting uses of language, have always pro¬
duced the appropriate terms, and the progress of cultiva¬
tion has never completely supplied new ones. There are
certain analogies or resemblances, or certain associations
of ideas, so plain that a term appropriated to one very fa¬
miliar object will serve to suggest another analogous to it,
when aided by the concomitant circumstances of the dis¬
course ; and this with sufficient precision for the ordinary Intrc..
purposes of social communication, and without leading us fT
into any considerable mistakes ; and it is only the rare and
refined disquisitions of the curious speculatist that bring
the poverty and imperfection of language into view, and
make us wish for words as numerous as our thoughts.
There is hardly a sentence, even of common discourse, in
which there are not several figures either of single words
or of phrases ; and when very accurate discrimination is
required, it is almost impossible to find words or phrases
to express distinctions which we clearly feel. We believe
it impossible to express, by the scanty vocabulary of the
Hebrews, the nice distinctions of thought which are now
familiar to the European philosopher. In nothing does
this imperfection of language appear so remarkably as in
what relates to mind. Being a late subject of separate
discussion, and interesting only to a few speculatists, we
have for it no appropriate vocabulary; and all our disqui¬
sitions concerning its operations are in continual metaphor
or figure, depending on very slight analogies or resem¬
blances to the phenomena of the material world. This
renders the utmost caution necessary; and it justifies the
British philosophers, who have been the most successful in
prosecuting the study of the intellectual system, for hav¬
ing, almost without exception, restricted the terms natu¬
ral laws, natural causes, natural philosophy, and such like,
to the material system. With us pneumatology forms no
part of physics. And we may venture to affirm, that the
sciences have fared better by the restriction of the terms.
In no country has the spirit of liberal discussion been more
encouraged and indulged than in Britain, and her philo¬
sophers have been equally eminent in both branches of
science. Their performances in ethics, jurisprudence,
and natural theology, are considered by all our neighbours i
as the fountains of knowledge upon these subjects; and
Locke and Clarke are names not less familiar on the con¬
tinent than that of Newton.
Physics, then, is with us the study of the material sys-The t ji
tern, including both natural history and philosophy. The/^' |*
term is not indeed very familiar in our language; and in-T^'
stead of physicus and disciplina physica, we more generally jv unI
employ the terms naturalist and natural knowledge. The stood
term natural philosophy, in its common acceptation, is ofBritai
less extent. The field of physical investigation is still of
prodigious extent; and its different quarters require very
different treatment, make very different returns, and ac¬
cordingly have engaged in their particular cultivation per¬
sons of very different talents and tastes. It is of some im¬
portance to perceive the distinctions, and to see how the
wants and propensities of men have led them into the dif¬
ferent paths of investigation; for, as has been more than
once observed, all sciences have sprung from the humble
arts of life, and both go on improving by means of a close
and constant correspondence.
All the phenomena of the material system may be ar- The h
ranged into twm classes, distinguished both by their ob-nonm >-
jects and by the proper manner of treating them. 1 he^™
first class comprehends all the appearances which are ex¬
hibited in the sensible motions of bodies, and their actions
on each other producing sensible motion. The second class
comprehends the appearances which are exhibited in the
insensible motions and actions of the invisible particles of
rritittd*#
Of the phenomena of the first class we have examples Exam ^
in the planetary motions, the motions of heavy bodies, the ^ 0
phenomena of impulse, the motions and actions of ma- ^ j n(]
chines, the pressure and motions of fluids, the sensible ac-claiJj
tions of magnetical and electrical bodies, and the motions
of light. We have examples of the second class in the
phenomena of heat and mixture, those exhibited in the
growth of animals and vegetables, and many phenomena
m.
PHYSIC S.
563
oduc- of solid, fluid, magnetical, electrical, and luminous bodies, organs. The phenomena have been gradually discriminated, Introduc-
0’1, y w‘1ich no change of place can be observed. and arranged under the various heads of nutrition, concoc- fl°n-
, ar_ Thus it appears that there is a distinction in the pheno- tion, secretion, absorption, assimilation, rejection, growth,
, ament mena sufficiently great to warrant a division of the study, life, decay, disease, and death ; and, in conformity to the
i )areiit-aijd to make us expect a more rapid improvement by this doctrines which have with greater or less evidence been
j itural. division. INay, the division has been made by nature it- established on these subjects, the action of medicines, and
self, in tie acquaintance which men have attained with the whole practice of physic and surgery, has been esta-
her operations without study, before science appeared, and blished in the form of a liberal or scientific art.
whilst art constituted all our knowledge. The husbandman, in the mean time, must till or labour The oriihn
1 origin Before man had recourse to agriculture, as the most the ground which lies before him. He, too, is greatly in-ofthe
Jtieul- certain means of proem ing subsistence, our acquaintance terested in the knowledge of the vegetable economy, and knowledge
pty- with external substances was principally that of the natu- forms some systems on the subject by which he regulatesot the me-
Tnd ral historian ; consisting of a knowledge of their fitness for his labours ; but he sees, that whatever is the nature 0ff:5umical
| jistry- food’ medicine, or accommodation, their places of growth vegetable life, he must work hard, and he searches about P°WerS'
or habitation, and the means of procuring them, depend- for everything which can tend to diminish his labour. The
ing upon their manner of life or existence. It required a properties of the lever, the wedge, and the inclined plane,
studied attention to these circumstances to give rise to soon become familiar to him; and, without being able to
agriculture, which therefore generally made its appearance tell on what their efficacy depends, he uses them with a
after men had been in the practice of keeping flocks ; by certain sagacity and effect. The strength of timber, the
which means they were more at their ease, and had some pressure and force of water, are daily seen and employed
leisure to attend to the objects around them, and in par- by him and other artisans who labour for their mutual ac-
ticular to those circumstances of soil and weather which commodation ; and some rude principles on these subjects
?rowt^ ^mir pasture. are committed to memory. Many tools and simple ma-
When agriculture and a rude medicine were thus esta- chines are by this time familiar; and thus the general pro-
bhshed, they were the first arts which had their founda- perties of matter, and the general laws of the actions of
tion in a system of laws, by which the operations of nature bodies upon each other, become gradually matter of obser-
were observed to be regulated; and with these arts we vation and reflection ; and the practical mechanic will be
may begin the general study of nature,^ which was thus di- frequently improving his tools and machines. The general
vided into two different branches. The rude physician aim is to produce a greater quantity of work by the same
would at first be a collector of speciucs ; but by degrees he amount of exertion. The attempts at improvement will be
would observe resemblances amongst the operations of his awkward, and frequently unsuccessful. When a man finds,
drugs, and would class them according to these resem- that by increasing the length of his lever he increases his
blances. He would thus come to attend less to the drug power of overcoming a resistance, a small degree of curi-
than to its mode of operation; and would naturally specu- osity is sufficient to make him inquire in what proportion
late concerning the connection between' the operation and his advantage increases. When he finds that a double
the economy of animal life. His art now became a scien- length gives him a double energy, he will be surprised and
tific system, connected by principle and theory, all pro- mortified to find, that at the end of the day he has not
ceeding upon the observation of changes produced by one performed twice the quantity of work ; but, after much ex¬
kind of matter on another, but all out of sight. The fre- perience, he will learn that every increase of energy, by
quent recourse, to the vegetable kingdom for medicines means of a machine, is nearly compensated by an increase
would cause him to attend much more minutely to the of time in the performance df his task; and thus one of
few plants which he had occasion to study than the hus- the great and leading principles of practical mechanics
bandman can do to the multitude which he is obliged to is inculcated in a manner not to be forgotten, and the
rear. I he physician must learn to think, the husbandman practical mechanic brought to speculate about motion and
to work. A n analogy between the economy of animal and force; and by gradual and easy steps the general laws of
vegetable life could hardly fail to engage the attention of simple motions are established.
the physician, and would make him a botanist, both as a It is evident that these speculations cannot be carried The origin
j classifier of plants and as a philosopher. on, nor any considerable knowledge acquired, without some of mathe-
| He would naturally expect to unite the services of his acquaintance with the art of measurement; and the verymatics.
drugs by combining them in his recipes, and would be questions which the mechanic wishes to solve presuppose
surprised at his disappointments. Curious and unexpect- some advances in this art, which in process of time refined
ed changes would frequently occur in his manipulations : itself into mathematics, the most perfect of all the sciences,
the sensible qualities, and even the external appearances, All the phenomena of sensible motion afford employment to
of uis simples, would be often changed and even invert- the mathematician. It is performed in a double or triple
ed by their mixture ; and their medicinal properties would time, through a double or triple space, by a double or triple
frequently vanish from the compound, and new ones be body, by the exertion of a double or triple force; produces a
induced. 1 hese were curious, and to him interesting facts ; double or triple effect; is more to the right or to the left, up-
and he would naturally be inquisitive after the principles wards or downwards, &c.; in short, every affection of motion
which regulated these changes. His skill in this would by is an object of mathematical discussion. Such a science must
degrees extend beyond the immediate use for the know- have ere now appeared in the form of an art, in consequence
ledge of them ; and the more curious speculatist would lay of the mutual transactions of men. These amongst an un-
tne foundations of a most extensive and important science, cultivated people are chiefly in the way of barter. If I want
comprehending all the phenomena of heat and mixture. corn from a peasant, and have nothing to give for it but
Along with this, and springing from the same source, the cloth which I have made, we must fall on some way of
another science must arise, contemplating the appearances adjusting our terms in respect of the quantity. We should
of animal and vegetable life, and founded upon a careful ob- soon discover that the length, and breadth, and depth of
servation and accurate description of the wonderful ma- the box or bag were equally important; and it would not be
Cffne" ^le most. ’ncur*ous °f men have in all ages been difficult to see, that if any of them were doubled or tripled,
a ected by the displays of w isdom and contrivance in the the quantity of grain would be so too ; if two of them were
o ies of animals, and immediately engaged in investiga- doubled, the grain would be quadrupled; and if all the
ion into the uses and functions of their various parts and three were doubled the quantity of grain would be increased
564
PHYSICS.
Introduc
tion.
eight times. The same thing would also be observed with
respect to my cloth. By such transactions as these, a few of
the properties of plane and solid numbers and figures would
become known, and the operations of multiplication and
division, where arithmetic is combined with geometry ; and
daily observation shows us, that the more abstruse proper¬
ties of number and figure, which to the generality of man¬
kind are so insignificant, lay hold on the fancy of some in¬
dividuals with such force, as to abstract them from every
other intellectual entertainment, and they are studied with
a keenness and perseverance almost unequalled in any other
walk of science. To most men the performance of a ma¬
chine is a more attractive object than the properties of a
figure, and the property of a figure more entertaining than
that of a number ; but the fact seems to be otherwise. Be¬
fore Pythagoras had invented the theorem which bears his
name, and which is amongst the first elements of geometry,
he had reformed the Grecian music by the addition of a
note to their scale; and this addition proceeds on a very
refined speculation respecting the properties of numbers.
Hence amongst the Greeks arithmetic must have made con¬
siderable progress, whilst geometry was yet in its cradle ;
and we know to what astonishing length they prosecuted
the science of pure geometry, whilst their knowledge of
mechanical principles was almost nothing. The Arabs also
made hardly any addition to the geometry of the Greeks,
if they did not rather almost completely forget it; whilst
thev improved their arithmetic into algebra, the most re¬
fined and abstract branch of human knowledge. There
is such a distance, in point of simplicity, between pure ma¬
thematics and the most elementary mechanics, that the
former continued to make rapid steps to improvement in
more modern times, whilst the latter languished in its in¬
fancy, and hardly deserved the name of science till latterly,
when the great demand for it, by the increase and improve¬
ment in manufactures, interested many in the study, and
facilitated its progress, by the multitude of machines which
were contriving on all hands by the manufacturers and ar¬
tisans : and even at present it must be acknowledged, that
it is to them that we are indebted for almost every new
invention in mechanics, and that the speculatist has seldom
done more than improve the invention, by exhibiting its
principles, and thus enabling the artist to correct its im¬
perfections ; and now science and art go hand in hand,
mutually giving and receiving assistance. The demands
of the navigator for mathematical and astronomical know¬
ledge have dignified these sciences ; and they are no longer
the means of elegant amusement alone, but merit the mu¬
nificence of princes, who have erected observatories, and
furnished voyages of discovery, where the mathematical
sciences are at the same time cherished, and applied to the
most important purposes.
This short sketch of what may be called the natural his¬
tory of the physical sciences will not, we hope, be thought
improper or unprofitable. It tends to confirm an assertion
often alluded to, that the prosecution of the study of na¬
ture will be more successful, if we imitate her mode of pro¬
ceeding, and divide the labour. It will be still further
confirmed by attending to the scientific difference of the
phenomena, which marks out a different mode of proceed¬
ing, and a difference in the knowledge which wre shall ulti¬
mately acquire, after our most successful researches.
In both classes of phenomena already distinguished, we
noting must grant, that the principle which connects the pairs of
principle of concomitant events, rendering the one the inseparable com-
concomi- panion of the other, is totally unknown to us, because it is
tant events. not the imme(liate object of our perception. But in the
phenomena of the first class, w^e see the immediate exer¬
tion of this principle, whatever it may be ; we can observe
the exertion with accuracy ; we can determine its kind and
degree, which are the signs and measures of the kind and
This exertion, being Intmi
degree of the unperceived cause, xms exeruuu, uemg
always some modification of motion, allows us to call in the h
aid of mathematical knowledge, and thus to ascertain with '
the precision peculiar to that science the energy of the
cause, judging of the tendency and quantity by the ten¬
dency and the quantity of the observed effect. But in the
second class of phenomena the case is very different. In
the operations of chemistry, for instance, the immediate
exertion of the cause is not perceived ; all that we observe
is the assemblage of particles which obtains before mix¬
ture, and that which takes place when it is completed, and
which we consider as its result. The procedure of nature
in producing the change is unseen and unknown. The
steps are hid from our observation. We are not only ig¬
norant of the cause which determines one particle of our
food to become a part of our body whilst others are reject¬
ed, but we do not see the operation. We are not only ig¬
norant df the cause which determines a particle of vitriolic
acid to quit the fossil alkali with which it is united in
Glauber’s salt, and to attach itself to a particle of magnesia
already united with the muriatic acid, which also quits it
to unite with the alkali; but we do not see the operation.
The particles and their motions are not the objects of our
senses ; and all that we see is the Epsom salt and common
salt separated from the water in which we had formerly
dissolved the sal mirabile and the muriated magnesia. Hie
motions, which are the immediate effects of the changing
causes, and therefore their only indications, characteris¬
tics, and measures, fitted to show their nature, are hidden
from our view.
Our knowledge therefore of these phenomena must be The,
less perfect than that of the phenomena of the former class ;nom«
and we must here content ourselves with the discovery of™^111
more remote relations and remote causes, and with our ig-]esstI1
The con¬
necting
IIJUIC I dilute ICldl'IUUo CIUIA ^ £ 1GSS 11 If-
norance of the very powers of nature by which these changes st00j
are brought about, and which are cognoscible only by their
immediate effects, namely, the motions which they produce
unseen. The knowledge which we really do acquire is
somewhat similar to what the mechanical philosopher has
acquired when he has discovered, by many experiments
and investigations, that magnets attract each other by
their dissimilar, and repel each other by their similar
poles, and do not act at all upon any bodies except load¬
stones and iron. Here we leave undiscovered all that is
most curious in the phenomenon, namely, how these at¬
tractions and repulsions are produced; and even here the
magnetical philosopher has the’advantage of seeing the
agents and the operation.
But philosophers attending to this circumstance, that, Some i-
even in these cases, the changes are produced by motions, losop 3
or consist in motions, however unperceived these may be,“™ to
have concluded, that the laws according to which natureexp£
operates in producing these changes are similar to the lawSpjjen( na
which regulate her operations in the sensible actions ofbyth oc-
bodies, or are included in them; and that the motions,tnnel
although unseen, and the moving forces, are perfectly simi-ra0
lar. They have therefore employed similar modes of in¬
vestigation, applying the laws of impulse, and calling in
the aid of mathematical knowledge. Of this we have many
examples in the writings of Dr Freind, Keill, Bernoulli,
Helsham, Boerhaave, Hartley, and others, who have de¬
livered theories of fermentation, solution, precipitation,
crystallization, nutrition, secretion, muscular action, nay,
even of sensation and intelligence, founded, as they think,
upon the laws of motion, and illustrated and supported by
mathematical reasoning. Lord Bacon himself, that care¬
ful and sagacious distinguisher of intellectual operations,
has gone into the same track in his explanation of the phe¬
nomena of fire and combustion; and Sir Isaac Newton has
made several attempts of the same kind, although with
peculiarities which always characterize his discussions,
PHYSICS.
565
sdvan-
ieriv-
tliese
la-
from
lilo-
and render them very different from those of an inferior
class.
But the success of these philosophers has hitherto been
very discouraging ; indeed they had no title to expect any;
for their whole trains of reasoning have proceeded upon ana¬
logies which were not observed, but assumed or supposed
without any authority. There is not that similarity in the
phenomenon, or in the visible effect, which is absolutely
necessary for a successful reasoning by analogy. We do
not observe any local motion, any change of place, which
alone enables us to reason mathematically on the subject.
And to render the case desperate, this ill-founded analogy
has been mixed with hypotheses completely gratuitous.
Certain forms have been assigned to the particles, and cer¬
tain modes of action have been laid down for them, for the
reality of which we have not the least argument or indica¬
tion ; and, to complete the matter, these fancied forms and
laws of action have been such as are either self-contradic¬
tory and inconsistent, or they have been such as, if allow¬
ed to act in a way analogous to what we observe in the
sensible motions of bodies, would produce effects totally
different from those which are observed. These atomical
theories, as they are called, transgress every rule of phi¬
losophical discussion ; and even the best of them are little
better than trifling amusements. By far the greatest part
of them only serve to raise a smile of pity and contempt in
every person who is at all acquainted with mechanical phi¬
losophy. Whenever we see an author attempting to explain
these hidden operations of nature by invisible fluids, by
ethers, by collisions, and vibrations, and particularly if we
see him introducing mathematical reasonings into such ex¬
planations, the best thing we can do is to shut the book,
and take to some other subject. That we may not be
thought to speak presumptuously upon this occasion, we
only beg leave to remind our readers, that the united
knowledge of the most eminent mathematicians of Europe
has not yet been able to give any thing more than an ap¬
proximation to the solution of the problem of three bodies,
that is, to determine with accuracy the motions of three
particles of matter acting on each other in the simplest of
all possible manners, viz. by forces varying as the squares
of the distances inversely; and the vibrations of elastic
bodies, of any but the very simplest possible forms, are to
this day beyond the reach of investigation. What then
should be our expectations in cases where millions of par¬
ticles are acting at once, of forms unobserved, and with
forces unknown, and where the object is not a determina¬
tion of an average result of many, where the precise state
of an individual article need not be known, but where it
is this very precise state of each single particle that we
want to know ? What can it be but uncertainty and mis¬
take ?
Notwithstanding these discouraging circumstances, we
must observe that this kind of inquiry has greatty im¬
proved, alongst with the improvement and extension of
mathematical philosophy, and since philosophers have given
over their incessant attempts to explain everything by
impulse; and we need not despair of making still further
advances, if we will content ourselves with going no far¬
ther than Newton has done in his explanation of the plane¬
tary motions. He has immortalized his own name, and has
added immensely to our stock of useful knowledge ; yet he
has stopped short at the discovery of the fact of universal
gravitation ; and all who have endeavoured to explain or ac¬
count for this fact have only exposed themselves to pity.
We may perhaps be one day able to demonstrate from the
phenomena that the particles of matter have certain mu¬
tual tendencies to or from each other, exerted according
to fixed or invaried rules; and from these tendencies we
may be able to explain many other phenomena, and pre¬
dict the consequences, with as much certainty and evi¬
dence as an astronomer calculates a future eclipse. This Mechanical
would be a great acquisition, and perhaps more is impos- BMloso-
sible ; and the road to this has been indicated by Sir Isaac v _jiphy' ,
Newton, who has expressed his suspicion, that as the '*
great movements of the solar system are regulated by uni¬
versal gravitation, so the mutual actions of the particles of
matter are produced and regulated by tendencies of a si¬
milar kind, equally but not more inexplicable, and of which
the laws of action are to be discovered by as careful an at¬
tention to the phenomena, and by the same patient think¬
ing, which he has employed on the planetary motions.
The above distinction in the nature of the phenomena, The parti-
the difference in the nature of the knowledge which is to cular divi¬
be acquired, and the means which are to be employed sions. °f
for the successful prosecution of the two branches of gene- p l^sica.
ral physics, have occasioned a still farther restriction (atjjrjtajn
least in Britain) of the term Natural Philosophy. It is
particularly applied to the study of the phenomena of the
first class, whilst those of the second have produced the
sciences of Chemistry and Physiology.
The phenomena of the first class have been usually called
mechanical, in order to distinguish them from those ob¬
served in the operations of chemistry, and in the animal
and vegetable economy; and the explanations which have
been attempted of some of the last, by applying the laws
observed in the phenomena of the first class, have been
called mechanical explanations.
As this first class is evidently but a part of general phy¬
sics, there is some impropriety in giving the name natural
philosophy to a course of doctrines which is confined to
these alone. Indeed at the first institution of universities,
the lectures given in the Schola Physica were much more
extensive, comprehending almost all the phenomena of the
material world ; but as all arts and sciences have improved
most where the labour has been most divided, it was found
more conducive to the advancement of knowledge that
separate institutions should be founded for the studies of
natural history, chemistry, physiology, &c.; and thus the
phenomena, purely mechanical, and a few others in mag¬
netism, electricity, and optics, which either were suscepti¬
ble of mathematical treatment, or had little connection with
the studies of chemistry and physiology, were left to the
care of the professor of natural philosophy.
As the terms chemistry and physiology have been applied
to two very important branches of general physics, we think
that a more specific or characteristic name might be ap¬
propriated to the other, and that it might very properly be
termed Mechanical Philosophy.
It only remains to make a few observations on the dis¬
tinctive means of prosecuting these studies with success ;
and to point out some of the advantages which may rea¬
sonably be expected from a careful prosecution of them ;
but in doing so, we shall confine ourselves to what is
usually called Natural Philosophy, referring generally to
the articles Chemistry and Physiology for what be¬
longs to these branches.
Mechanical Philosophy may, in conformity with the Mechanical
foregoing observations, be defined, the study of the sen- philosophy
sible motions of the bodies of the universe, and of their ac-defined,
tions producing sensible motions, with the view to discover
their causes, to explain subordinate phenomena, and to im¬
prove art.
The principle upon which all philosophical discussion
proceeds is, that every change which we observe in the
condition of things is considered by us as an effject, indi¬
cating the agency, characterizing the kind, and measuring
the degree of its cause. In the language of mechanical
philosophy, the cause of any change of motion is called a
moving or changing force. The disquisitions of natural
philosophy must therefore begin with the consideration of
566
PHYSICS.
Mechanical motion, carefully noticing every affection or quality of it,
Philoso- g0 as to establish marks and measures of every change of
p ,which it is susceptible; for these are the only marks and
measures of the changing forces. This being done, it only
remains to apply them to the motions which we observe in
the universe.
The laws From the general principle of philosophical discussion al-
of motion, rea(Jy mentioned, there flow directly two axioms. 1. Every
and their perseVeres in a state of rest, or of uniform rectilineal
appauuion. moti0n, uniess affected by some moving force. 2. Every
change of motion is in the direction and in the degree of
the force impressed. These are usually called the laivs
of motion. They are more properly laws of human judg¬
ment with respect to motion. Perhaps they are neces¬
sary truths, unless it be alleged that the general principle,
of which they are necessary consequences, is itself a con¬
tingent though universal truth. By these two axioms, ap¬
plied in abstracto to every variety of motion, we establish
a system of general doctrines concerning motions, accord¬
ing as they are simple or compounded, accelerated, re¬
tarded, rectilineal, curvilineal, in single bodies, or in sys¬
tems of connected bodies; and we obtain corresponding
characteristics and measures of accelerating or retarding
forces, centripetal or centrifugal, simple or compound.
We have an illustrious example of this abstract system
of motion and moving forces in the first book of Sir Isaac
Newton’s Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy.
Euler’s Mechanica sive Scientia Motus, Herman’s Phorono-
mia sive de Viribus Corporum, and D’Alembert’s Traite
de Dynamique, are also excellent works of the same kind.
In this abstract system no regard is paid to the casual dif¬
ferences of moving forces, or the sources from which they
arise. It is enough to characterize a double accelerating
force, for instance, that it produces a double acceleration.
It may be a weight, a stream of water, the pressure of a
man ; and the force of which it is said to be double may be
the attraction of a magnet, a current of air, or the action
of a spring.
Having established these general doctrines, the philoso¬
pher now applies them to the general phenomena of the
universe, in order to discover the nature of the forces which
really exist, and the laws by which their operations are
regulated, and to explain interesting but subordinate phe¬
nomena. This is the chief business of the mechanical phi¬
losopher; and it may with some propriety be called the
mechanical history of nature.
Mechanical Some method must be followed in this history of mecha-
phenomena nical nature. The phenomena must be classed by means
of the uni- 0f their resemblances, which infer a resemblance in their
verse- causes; and their classes must be arranged according to
some principle. We have seen no method which appears
to us less exceptionable than the following.
The principle of arrangement is the generality of the
phenomena; and the propriety of adopting this principle
arises from the probability which it gives us of more readi-
principteofty discovering the most general actuating forces, whose
arrange- agency is implicated in all other phenomena of less ex¬
tent, and therefore should be previously discussed, that
we may detect the discriminating circumstances which
serve to characterize the subordinate phenomena, and are
thus the marks of the distinguishing and inferior natural
powers.
The most general of all phenomena is the curvilineal mo¬
tion of bodies in free space ; it is observed throughout the
are hrst ap- wi10]e extent of the solar system. The mechanical history
tronomical" nature* begins therefore with astronomy. Here, from
the general phenomena of the planetary motions, is evinced
the fact of the mutual deflection of every body towards
every other body, and this in the inverse proportion of the
squares of the distance, and the direct proportion of the
quantity of matter. This is the fact of universal gravita-
The gene¬
rality of
the pheno¬
mena the
ment.
The laws
of motion
phenome¬
na.
indicating the agency, and measuring the intensity, Menya
of the universal force of mutual gravity. Ei|so.
Having established this as an universal fact, the natural J
philosopher proceeds to point out all the particular facts ^
which are comprehended under it, and the peculiarities of
which characterize the different movements of the solar
system. That is, in the language of philosophy, he gives a
theory or explanation of the subordinate phenomena, the
elliptical motions of the planets and comets, their mutual
disturbances, the lunar irregularities, the oblate figure of
the planets, the nutation of the earth’s axis, the precession
of the equinoxes, and the phenomena of the tides-and trade i J
winds; and he concludes with the theory of the parabolic
motion of bodies projected on the surface of this globe, and
the motion of pendulums.
As he goes along, he takes notice of the applications Ap ( . ]
which may be made to the arts of life, of the various doc-tioi
trines which are successively established; such as chrono-scit M
logy, astronomical calculation, dialling, navigation, gun¬
nery, and the measuring of time.
If a square parcel of sand be lying upon the table, andTheiuJ
the finger be applied to any part of it to push it along the°fgT.ta.
table, that part is removed where you will, but the rest^on! co¬
remains in its place ; but if it be a piece of sand-stone or S1) \
the same materials and shape, and the finger be applied as
before, the whole is moved, and the other parts accompany
the part impelled by the finger in all its motions. From
the moon’s accompanying the earth in all its motions
round the sun, we infer a moving force which connects the
moon and earth. In like manner we must conclude, that
a moving force connects the particles of the stone ; for we
give the name force to everything which produces motion.
We call it the force of cohesion, a term which, like gravita¬
tion, expresses merely a fact. This seems to be the next
phenomenon of the universe in point of extent.
Having, from the general phenomenon, established thejf0(i,; m.
existence of this force, the philosopher proceeds to ascer-vestianj
tain the laws by which its exertions are regulated; which the la of
is the ascertaining its distinctive nature and properties.c0*les'•
This he does in the same way that he ascertained the na¬
ture of planetary gravitation, namely, by observing more
particularly the various phenomena. Here is opened a most
extensive and varied field of observation, in which it must
be acknowledged that very little regular amd marked pro¬
gress has been made. The variety of the phenomena, and
the consequent variety in the nature of the connecting
forces, appear as yet inconceivably great; and there seems
little probability of our being able to detect in them all
any sameness, combined with the other distinguishing cir¬
cumstances, as we have done in the case of gravity. Yet
we should not despair. Boscovich has shown, in the most
unexceptionable manner, that although we shall suppose
that every atom of matter is endowed with a perfectly simi¬
lar force, acting in a certain determined ratio of the small
and imperceptible distances at which the particles of mat¬
ter are arranged with respect to each other, the external
or sensible appearances may, and must, have all that va¬
riety which we observe. He also shows very distinctly
how, from the operation of this force, must arise some of
the most general and important phenomena which charac¬
terize the different forms of tangible bodies.
We observe the chief varieties of the action of this cor¬
puscular force upon the bodies which we denominate hard,
soft, solid, fluid, vaporous, brittle, ductile, elastic. We see
instances where the parts of bodies avoid each other, and
require external force to keep them together, or at certain
small distances from each other. This is familiar in air,
vapours, and all compressible and elastic bodies, and is
evidently a most curious and interesting subject of inves¬
tigation. On the nature and action of these corpuscular
forces depend the strength or firmness of solids, their elas-
PHYSICS.
mical
jso-
y-
'ro¬
of
«by
ticity, their power of communicating motion, the pressure,
and motion, and impulse of fluids; nay, on the same ac¬
tions depend all the chemical and physiological phenome¬
na of expansion, fusion, congelation, vaporisation, conden¬
sation, solution, precipitation, absorption, secretion, fermen¬
tation, and animal and vegetable concoction and assimila¬
tion. Out of this immense store of phenomena, this inex¬
haustible fund of employment for our powers of investiga¬
tion, the natural philosopher selects those which lead di¬
rectly to the production or modification of sensible motion.
He will therefore consider, firstly, the communication of
motion amongst detached and free bodies, establishing the
laws of impulse or collision. This has always been con¬
sidered as the elementary doctrine of mechanical philo¬
sophy, and as the most familiar fact observed in the ma¬
terial world ; and in all ages philosophers have been anxious
to reduce all actions of bodies upon each other to impulse,
and have never thought a phenomenon completely ex¬
plained or accounted for until it had been shown to be a
case of impulse. This it is which has given rise to the
hypotheses of vortices, ethers, magnetic and electric fluids,
animal spirits, and a multitude of fancied intermediums
between the sensible masses of matter, which are said in
common language to act upon each other. A heavy body
is supposed to fall, because it is impelled by a stream of
an invisible fluid moving according to certain conditions
suited to the case, d.he filings of iron are supposed to be
arranged round a magnet by means of a stream of mag¬
netic fluid issuing from one pole, circulating perpetually
round the magnet, and entering at the other pole, in the
same manner as we observe the flote-grass arranged by the
current of a brook.
But the philosopher who has commenced the mechanical
study of nature by the abstract doctrines of dynamics, and
made its first application to the celestial phenomena, and
who has attended carefully to the many analogies between
the phenomena of gravitation and cohesion, will be at least
ready to entertain very different notions of this matter.
He will be so far from thinking that the production of mo¬
tion by impulse is the most familiar fact in nature, that he
will acknowledge it to be comparatively very rare; nay,
there are some appearances in the facts, which are usual¬
ly considered as instances of impulsion, which will lead
him to doubt, and almost to deny, that there has ever been
observed an instance of one body putting another in mo¬
tion by coming into absolute contact with it, and striking
it; and he will be disposed to think that the production
of motion in this case is precisely similar to what we ob¬
serve when we gently push one floating magnet towards
another, with their similar poles fronting each other. There
will be the same production of motion in the one and di¬
minution of it in the other, and the same uniform motion
of the common centre of gravity: and, in this case of the
magnets, he sees completely the necessity of a law of mo¬
tion, which is not an axiom, but is observed throughout the
whole ofnature, and which receives no explanation from any
hypothesis of an intervening fluid, but is even totally inconsis¬
tent with such a supposition. We mean, “ that every action
of one body on another is accompanied by an equal and
opposite action of that other on the first.” This is usually
called the equality of action and re-action. It is not intui¬
tive, but it is universal; and it is a necessary consequence
o the perfect similarity of the corpuscular forces of the
same kinds of matter. This general fact, unaccountable
on the hypothesis of impelling fluids, is considered in the
planetary motions as the unequivocal indication of the
sameness of that gravity which regulates them all. The
rules of good reasoning should make us draw the same
conclusion here, that the particles of tangible matter are
connected by equal and mutual forces, which are the im¬
mediate causes of all their sensible actions, and that these
567
forces, like gravitation, vary with every change of distance Mechanical
and situation. Philoso-
The laws of collision and impulsion being now establish- P^-
ed, either as original facts, or as consequences of the agency
of equal and mutual forces which connect the particles of^™!.10'1
matter, the philosopher considers, secondly, the production spects the
of motion by the intervention of solid bodies, where, by rea-theory of
son of the cohesion of matter, some of the motions are ne- mackines,
cessarily confined to certain determinate paths or direc-&e'
tions. This is the case in all motions round fixed points
or axes, or along planes or curves which are oblique to the
action of the forces.
Ihis part of the study contains the theory of machines, Mecha-
pointing out the principles on which their energy depends, nics.
and consequently furnishing maxims for their construc¬
tion and improvement. But these observations do not
complete the discussion of the mechanism of solid bodies.
-They aie not only solid and inert, but they are also heavy;
and therefore the action of gravity must be combined with
the consequences of solidity. This will lead to discussions
about the centre of gravity, the theory and construction
of arches and roofs, the principles of stability and equili-
biium, the attitudes of animals, and many particulars of
this kind.
I hirdiy, tne philosopher will now turn his attention to The nature
anothei foim in which tangible matter exhibits many in-and defini-
teresting phenomena, namely, fluidity. The first thino- to^on of flui-
be attended to here is, What is that particular form of ex-^^*
istence ? What is the precise phenomenon which charac¬
terizes fluidity ? What is the definition of a fluid ? This
is by no means an easy question, and considerable objec¬
tions may be stated against any definition that has been
given of it. ^ Sir Isaac Newton says, that a fluid is a body
whose particles yield to the smallest impression, and by so
yielding are easily moved amongst themselves. It may be
doubted whether this be sufficiently precise; what is
meant by the smallest impression? and what is easily
moving ? Is there any precise degree of impression to
which they do not yield ; and do they oppose any resistance
to motion ? And a still stronger objection may be made.
It is not clear that a body so constituted will exhibit all
the appearances which a body acknowledged to be fluid
does really exhibit. Euler offers some very plausible rea¬
sons for doubting whether it will account for the horizon¬
tal surface, and the complete propagation of pressure
through the fluid in every direction ; and therefore pre¬
fers selecting this last phenomenon, the propagation of
pressure quaqua versum, as the characteristic of fluidity,
because a body having this constitution (on whatever cir¬
cumstance it may depend) will have every other observed
property of a fluid. But this definition is hardly simple
or perspicuous enough; and we think that the objections
against Newton’s more simple and intelligible definition
are not unanswerable. Boscovich defines a fluid to be a
body ichose 'particles exert the same mutual forces in all direc¬
tions, and shows that such particles must be indifferent,
as to any position, with respect to each other. If no ex¬
ternal force act upon them, they will remain in every po¬
sition, and will have no tendency to arrange themselves in
one position rather than another; differing in this respect
from the particles of solid, or soft, or viscid bodies, which
require some force to change their respective positions,
and which recover these positions again when but gently
disturbed. He illustrates this distinction very beautifully,
by comparing a parcel of balls thrown on quicksilver, and
attracting each other, with a parcel of magnets in the
same situation. The balls will stick together, but in any
position ; whereas the magnets will always affect a parti¬
cular arrangement.
W hen the characteristic phenomenon of fluidity has been
selected, the philosopher proceeds to combine this pro-
568
PHYSICS.
Mechanical perty with gravity, and establishes the doctrine of hydro- The philosopher examines the to fH-l
Philoso- statics or of the pressure and equilibrium of heavy fluids, air and other elastic fluids, and thus gets the knowledge U.
, tlm ^propagation of This pressure in every direction ; and of the constitution of the atmosphere, andof the action of. 1*1
phy.
de«fre7.he ho ^oSn; of surface' assumed by all those fluids when employed to impel solid bodies Gun- ^
Ofthepres-uel"ons‘ „„,i e„„hle us nowder contains an immense quantity of permanent'-el..-
ie lionzontauty OI sunuce assuuicu uy ait  r—^  , vnuf
s’irp and perfect fluids. These doctrines and principles enable us powder contains an immense quantity of permanent yelas-pressi y
lovaml vprv interesting circumstances re- tic air, which may be set at liberty by inflammation. V henof elail
equilibrium to determine several very interesting circumstances re- tic air, which may be set at liberty by inflammation. When of da*
of fluids, or specth^g the mutual pressure of solids and fluids on each this is done at the bottom of a piece of ordnance, it willfluid,
hydrosta. fch ^ h the pressures exerted on the bottoms and impel a ball along the barrel, and discharge it jr0™ the
tics' sides of vessels, and the support and whole mechanism of muzzle, in the same way that an arrow is impelled by a
sides or vessels, aim bow> And thus having dlsC0Vered in what degree this air
Ofthemo- Heathen considers how fluids will move when their presses in proportion to its expansion, we discover its ao
tion of equilibrium of pressure is destroyed ; and establishes the tion on the ball throughout the whole length of the piece,
fluids’ ?.r doc ines of hydraulics, containing all the modifications of and the velocity which it will finally communicate to the
hydraulics. arising from the form of the vessels, or from ball. Here then is contained a theory of artillery and of
the intensity or direction of the pressure which occasions mines. t l|
it. And this subject is completed by the consideration of Chemistry teaches us, that most bodies can be convert-Of thL
the resistance which fluids oppose to the motion of solid ed by fire into elastic J i_ _ hnriip If
to their action. These are very important matters, being
the foundations of many mechanical arts, and furnishing us
with some of our most convenient and efficacious powers for
impelling machines. They are also of very difficult discus¬
sion, and have by no means been completely investigated
or established. Much remains yet to be done, both for per¬
fecting the theories, and for improving the arts which de¬
pend upon them
of these ledge of the motions of rivers and of waves; the buoyancy,
branches of equilibrjumj an(i stability of ships; the motion of ships
science. tbr0Ugh the waters ; the action of the winds on the sails ;
and the whole arts of marine construction and seamanship.
The nature There is another general form of tangible matter which
and defini- exhibits very different phenomena, which are also ex-
tion of va- treme]y interesting ; we mean that of vapour. A vapour
is a fluid, and all the vapours that we know are heavy
fluids ; they are therefore subject to all the laws of pres¬
sure and impulse. But they are susceptible of great com¬
pression by the action of external forces, and expand again
when these forces are removed. In consequence of this
compression and expansion, the general phenomena of flu¬
idity receive great and important modifications; and this
pour.
namely, the directing the course of a ship through thebsm
pathless ocean, has rendered these phenomena extremely
interesting. They are specified by the term magnetism.
Considerable progress has been made in the arrangement
and generalization of them ; but we have by no means been
able hitherto to bring them all under one simple fact or
law. The attention has been too much turned to the dis¬
covery of the ultimate cause of magnetism; whereas we
should have rather employed our ingenuity in discovering
all the general laws, in the same manner as Kepler and
Newton did with respect to the celestial phenomena, with¬
out troubling themselves with the cause of gravitation.
Dr Gilbert of Colchester was the first who considered the
,aKuTar=:«ion: As air U nragnetical phenomena in a truiy
r. .1- U u .Uliiacrrrflw and his treatise De Maanete may be considered as tne
a familiar instance, this branch of mechanical philosophy
has been called pneumatics.
The doc- Under this head we consider the pressure of the atmo-
trine of air, Spbere, and its effects both on solid and on fluid bodies. It
or pneuma- p\.0(juces tbe rise of waters or other fluids in pumps and
tlCS' syphons, and gives us the theory of their construction. It
explains many curious phenomena of nature, such as the
motions in the atmosphere, and their connection with the
pressure of the air, and its effect upon the barometer or
weather-glass. Air, when in motion, is called wind; and
it may be employed to impel bodies. The theory of its
anti his treatise De Magnete may be considered as the
first, and one of the most perfect specimens of inductive
lo<nc. It is indeed an excellent performance ; and when
we consider its date, 1580, it is almost a wonder. iEpinus s
Tentamen Theorioe Magnetismi is a most valuable work,
and contains nearly all the knowledge which we have as
yet of the subject.
There is another class of mechanical phenomena which Or ej
have a considerable affinity with the magnetical; we ineancal f'1 J’
the phenomena called electrical. Certain bodies, when
rubbed or otherwise treated, attract and repel other bo
mena.
the resistance which fluids oppose to tne motion ox soiiu eu uy me mm ciaawv, ~ • i „ bodieL
bodies through them, and their impulse on bodies opposed act upon other bodies m the way of pressure or impu se.^,
uuu. . .o  unrW tbp review of the mechanical phi-t,.., H
Thus they come under the review of the mechanical phi*by fir
losopher; and they have become interesting by being em¬
ployed as moving forces in some very powerful machines.
These discussions will nearly exhaust all the general me¬
chanical phenomena. There remain some, however, which
are much more limited, but furnish very curious and im- 1
portant subjects of investigation. |
The phenomena exhibited between loadstones or mag-Oftk e.
i •  1  4.4-^^ ^v/^1 rtf ff • anrl tVif* TlOIIlfc I ft
Importance is evklenTtliat upon these doctrines depend 0ieknow~
it may oe empioyeu to impel uouies. j.ue memy m na     . c \n
action, and of its resistance to moving bodies, is therefore dies, and occasion a great vane y ° se)? 1 fj t rs
to be considered in this place. the neighbouring bodies. Philosophers have e/e ^
But besides their motions of progression, &c. such as we paid much attention to tiese appearances,
observe in winds, compressible or elastic fluids are suscep- blished many general laws concerning them. 11
tible of what may be termed internal motion; a kind of not been more successful in bringing tae‘n
undulation, where the contiguous parts are thrown into factor law, and thus establishing a comp e e . ’
tremulous vibrations, in which they are alternately con- than in the case of magnetism. Franklin an p
densed and rarefied ; and these undulations are propagated the authors who have been most successfu P '
along the mass of elastic fluid, much in the same way in Dr Franklin, in particular, has acquired gre /
which we observe waves to spread on the surface of wa- his most sagacious comparison of the phenom »
ter. What makes this an interesting subject of considera- has enabled him to establish a few genera aJ&’ . in_
tion is, that these undulations are the more ordinary causes precise as those of Kepler, and of equa y ,
of sound. A trembling chord, or spring, or bell, agitates fluence. His discovery, too, of the identity the
the air adjoining to it. These agitations are propagated electricity has given an importance and ^ . J . • ity
along the air, and by its intervention agitate the organ of whole subject. There are many phenomena ^ X
hearing. The mechanism of these undulations has been which cannot be called mechanical, and are
much studied, and furnishes a very beautiful theory of curious and interesting kind. As these ,iave uvsical
musical harmony. nection with any of the other great branches of ph^ica
PHY
mical science, they have generally been considered in treatises
oso- 0f natural philosophy ; and, along with inquiries into the
^ y original cause of electricity in general, continue to engage
much of our attention.
iphe- The appearances which are presented to us by our
13 sense of seeing form another class, which has always been
considered as forming a branch of natural philosophy in all
seminaries of learning. It does not, however, obviously
appear that they are mechanical phenomena. The inti¬
mate nature of light is still a secret. Fortunately it is not
necessary to be known to give us a very perfect theory of
the chief phenomena. The general laws of optics are so
few, so simple, and so precise, that our theories are per¬
haps more perfect here than in any other branch of phy¬
sics ; but these theories are as yet far removed from the
rank of primary facts. Many unknown events happen be¬
fore the phenomenon comes under the hands of the ordi¬
nary optician, so as to become the subjects of the simple
laws of reflection and refraction. It may even be doubt¬
ed, and has been doubted, whether the phenomena of op¬
tics are cases of body in motion ; whether all the lines
which the optician draws are any thing but the directions
along which certain qualities are exerted. The side of a
ball which is next the candle may be bright and the other
side dark, just as the side of a ball which is next the elec¬
trical globe is minus and the other side plus ; and all this
without any intervening medium. Apparition or visibility
nay be a quality of a body, depending on the proximity
^nd position of another body, without any thing between
them, just as weight is; and this quality may be cogniz¬
able by our faculty of seeing alone, just as the pressure of
a heavy body is by our feeling alone.
I optics The first thing which made it probable that mechanical
to be philosophy had any thing to do with the phenomena of op-
irtoftics, was t^ie discove,7 -^r Roemer, “ that apparition
jiical was not instantaneous that some time elapsed between
aphy, the illumination of a body and its being seen at a distance.
He discovered that it was not till forty minutes after the
sun illuminated one of Jupiter’s satellites that it was seen
by the inhabitants of this globe. If therefore a sun were
just created, it would be forty minutes before Jupiter would
be illuminated by him, and two hundred before the Geor¬
gian planet wmuld be illuminated. Here then is motion.
It is therefore highly probable that there is something
moved; but it is still doubted whether this something,
which we call light, is a matter emitted from the shining
body, and moving with great velocity, and acting upon and
affected by other bodies in the various phenomena of op¬
tics, or whether it is a certain state of a medium which is
thus propagated, as we see that waves are propagated along
the surface of water, or sonorous undulations through the
mass of air, whilst the water or air itself is hardly moved
out of its place. Either of these suppositions makes op¬
tics a legitimate branch of mechanical philosophy ; and it
is the philosopher’s business to examine both by the re¬
ceived laws of motion, and to see which of them gives con¬
sequences which tally with the phenomena. This has been
done ; and we imagine that a complete incompatibility has
been demonstrated between the consequences of the un¬
dulations of an elastic medium and the phenomena of op¬
tics, whilst the consequences of the other or vulgar notion
on this subject are perfectly consistent with mechanical
laws. There are some things in this hypothesis very
far beyond our power to conceive distinctly ; but they are
all similar in this respect to many facts acknowledged by
all, and there is no phenomenon that is inconsistent with
the legitimate consequences of the hypothesis. This gives
it great probability ; and this probability is confirmed by
many chemical facts, and by facts in the vegetable eco¬
nomy, which give strong and almost undeniable indications
of light being a body capable of a chemical union w ith the
VOL. XVII.
SICS. 569
other ingredients of sublunary bodies, and of being after-Mechanical
wards set at liberty under its own form, as the cause or I’hiloso-
medium of vision. But these are questions similar to those v phy‘
about the cause of gravity, and totally unnecessary for es- Y
tablishing a complete theory of the optical phenomena for
explaining the nature of vision, the effects of optical in¬
struments, the cause of colours, the phenomena of the rain¬
bow, halos and parhelia, &c. Only all this theory is un¬
connected with the principles called mechanical.
Such is the field of observation laid open to the mechani-The proba-
cal philosopher of the present day. We may hope to ex-Me increase
tend it, and by degrees apply its doctrines even to the un-®^^8 ®x:
seen motions which take place in chemistry and physiolo-
gy. But we must, in the first place, perfect our knowledge tion. ‘
and description of the sensible motions and actions of bo¬
dies. Ihose of fluids still demand much investigation ; and
till these are thoroughly understood, it is not time to at¬
tempt penetrating further into the recesses of nature.
^ In the prosecution of this study, it is found that every investiga-
change which can be observed in the state of a body, withtion of the
respect to motion by the action of another body, is aceom-Mw thatac-
panied by an equal and opposite change in the state oftlon is al‘
that other body. Thus, in the phenomena of gravitation,
it is observed that the deflections of the sun and planets site to re-
are mutual. The same thing is observed in the actions ofaction.
magnets on each other and on iron ; it is also observed in
the attractions and repulsions of electrical bodies ; and it
also obtains in all the phenomena of impulse and of cor¬
poreal pressure. It is therefore an universal law of mo¬
tion,' that option is always equal and opposite to re-action ;
but this must be considered merely as a matter of fact, a
contingent law of nature, like that of gravitation. The
contrary is perfectly conceivable, and involves no contra¬
diction. That this is so, is evident from the proceedings
of philosophers, who in every new case make it their bu¬
siness to discover by experiment whether this law was ob¬
served or not. It was amongst the last discoveries made
by Sir Isaac New ton in his examination of the celestial
motions. This being the case, it should never be assum¬
ed as a principle of reasoning until its operation has been
ascertained by observation. It has been owing to this im¬
proper procedure that much false reasoning has been in¬
troduced into mechanical philosophy, and more particular¬
ly into the theory of impulsion, or the communication of
motion by impulse. In considering this subject, a term
has been introduced which has occasioned much wrang¬
ling and misconception; we mean the term inertia. It
serves indeed to abbreviate language, but it has often mis¬
led the judgment. When used with cautious attention to
every circumstance, it expresses nothing but the necessity
of a cause to the production of any effect; but it is gene¬
rally used as expressing a quality inherent in matter, by
which it resists any change of state, or by which it main¬
tains its present state. Matter is said to be inert; and as
everything which changes the motion of a body is called
a force, and as the inertia of A is supposed to change the
motion of B, it is called vis inertice ; and yet matter is said
to be indifferent as to motion or rest, and to be inactive.
These are surely very incongruous expressions. This ob¬
scure discourse has arisen from the poverty of all lan¬
guages, which are deficient in original terms, and there¬
fore employ figurative ones. Force, action, resistance, are
all appropriated terms relating to our owm exertions ; and
some resemblance between the external effects of these
exertions and the effects of the connecting qualities of na¬
tural bodies, has made us use them in our disquisitions on
these subjects. And as we are conscious that, in order to
prevent our being pushed by another from our place, we
must resist, exerting force; and that our resistance is the
reason why this other man has not accomplished his pur¬
pose ; we say, that the quiescent body resists being put in
>70
PHYSICS.
Mechanical motion, and that its inertia is discovered by the diminution
Philoso- made }n the motion of the impelling body. And upon the
, phy‘ , authority of this vis inertias as a first principle the pheno¬
mena of impulsion are explained, and the law of equal ac¬
tion and re-action is established.
But all this procedure is in contradiction to the rules of
inductive logic; and the obscurity and confusion which
have arisen from this original misconception, the consequent
incongruity of language, and the awkward attempts that
have been made to botch and accommodate it to the real
state of things, have occasioned a dispute, and the only
dispute, in natural philosophy, which has not yet been set¬
tled, and never can be settled, whilst such misconceptions
are allowed to remain.
Proper If the word inertia be taken as expressing, not a quality
meaning of 0f matter, but a law of human judgment respecting mat-
the term ter) as expressing our necessity of inferring the agency of
men™. ^ moving force whenever we observe a change of motion,
all difficulties will vanish, and the equality of action and
re-action will be inferred, as it should be, from the pheno¬
mena of collision. There will be inferred a vis insita cor-
pori impellenti, not qua moventi, but qua corpori; and this
inference will carry us through all the mysteries of corpo¬
real action, as it conducted Sir Isaac Newton in his grand
researches.
Let us just consider how we reason m a new case. Let
A and B be two magnets fastened on the ends of two long
wooden laths AE, BF, which turn horizontally on pivots
C, D, like compass needles, with their north
poles fronting each other, twelve inches apart;
and let A be pushed towards B, so that it
would move uniformly with the velocity of
two inches in a second. The phenomena
which have been observed are as follow : A will
gradually diminish its velocity; and when it
has advanced about nine inches, will stop
completely. B in the mean time will gradu¬
ally acquire motion ; and when it has advan¬
ced about nine inches, will have a velocity of
about two inches per second, with which it
will continue to move uniformly. Now, what
is inferred from these phenomena? Because
the motion of A is gradually retarded, we in¬
fer that a retarding force, that is, a force in
the direction BA, has acted on it. And since this would
not have happened if B had not been there, and al¬
ways happens when B is there, we infer that B is either
its cause or the occasion of its action. The vulgar say that
B repels A ; and so also say the dynamists. The abettors
of invisible fluids say that a stream of fluid issuing from B
impels A in the opposite direction. All naturalists agree in
saying, that an active force connected with B has destroy¬
ed the motion of A, and consider this curious phenomenon
as the indication and characteristic of a discovery. The
same inference is made from the motion produced in B ;
it is considered by all as effected by a force exerted or oc¬
casioned by the presence of A ; wherefore the dynamists
and the vulgar say that A repels B. And both parties con¬
clude, from the equal changes made on both bodies, that
the changing forces are equal; here acknowledging that
they observe an equality of action and re-action ; and they
add this to the other instances of the extent of this law of
motion. All this while no one thinks of the inertia or in¬
activity of B, but, on the contrary, conclude this to be a
curious instance of its activity , and most people conclude
that both bodies carry about with them a vis insita both
when at rest and when in motion.
Doubtful otiier phenomena give unquestionable evidence that
tualcontactin ordinary collisions there is the same changes of motion,
has ever produced without mathematical contact, the same infer-
been ob- ences must be drawn; and a scrupulous naturalist will
served
doubt whether contact should make any change in ourMeej
reasonings on the subject, and whether actual contact ever Phi
has been or can be observed. He will also be convinced,
that whilst this is the general, or perhaps universal, pro-
cess of nature in producing motion by impulse, all expla¬
nations of the action of bodies e distanti, by the interven¬
tion of ethers and other invisible fluids, are nothing but
multiplying the difficulties; for instead of one fact, the
approach of one magnet, for instance, to another, they sub¬
stitute millions of unseen impulses, each of which equal¬
ly needs an explanation. And if this fluid be supposed to
produce its effects by any peculiarity in its constitution, as
in the case of Newton’s elastic ether, proposed by him to
explain gravitation, the hypothesis substitutes, in the most
unqualified manner, millions of similar phenomena for the
one to be explained ; for there is the same want of a se¬
cond fluid in order to produce that mutual recess of the
particles of the ether which constitutes its elasticity.
And this seems to be the limit to our inquiries into all The ,1^
the classes of natural phenomena. We find the masses orof bc< 3
the particles of matter endued, in fact, with qualities which^erja
affect the state of other particles or masses, at smaller orot^jJ
at greater distances from each other, according to certaininsci, ]e
general rules or laws. This ultimate step in the constitu¬
tion of things is inscrutable by us. It is arrogance in the
highest degree for us to say, that because we do not com¬
prehend how there is inherent in a body any quality by
which another body may be affected at any distance from it,
therefore no such quality is possible. It is no less so to say,
that matter has no active property but that of moving other
matter by impulse ; and that because it may be so moved,
and also by the agency of our own minds, therefore, when
it is not moved by impulse, it is moved by minds. The
same almighty fiat which brought a particle of matter in¬
to existence could bring those qualities equally into exist¬
ence ; and the how in both is equally beyond our compre¬
hension.
But, on the other hand, we must carefully guard against This si il4
the incurious resting on this consideration, as a stop to fur-"ot s* |
ther inquiry. There may be species of matter possessed ^
of the mechanical powers, and which notwithstanding is4
not cognisable by our senses. All the properties of mat¬
ter are not known to a person who is both deaf and blind;
and beings possessed of more senses may perceive mat¬
ter where we do not; and many phenomena may really
be produced by the action of intervening matter, which
we, from indolence or from haste, ascribe to the agency
of inherent forces. The industry of philosophers has al¬
ready discovered intermedia in some cases. It is now
certain that air is the conductor of sound, and it is almost
certain that there is such a thing as light. Let us there¬
fore indulge conjectures of this kind, and examine the
conjectures by the received laws of motion, and reject
them when we find the smallest inconsistency; and al¬
ways keep in mind, that even the most coincident with the
phenomena is still but a possibility.
We may conclude the whole of these observations with These
* . . . ■ 1 __ •   eorrnt
the remark, that the questions about the activity^ormac-servat s
tivity of matter are not physical, but metaphysical. J-',aLl*;cai) y
Natu¬
ral philosophy, it is true, commonly takes it for granted
that matter is wholly inactive ; but it is not of any moment
in physics whether this opinion be true or false. Whether
matter be acted on according to certain laws, or whether
it act of itself according to the same laws, makes no diffei-
ence to the natural philosopher. It is his business to dis¬
cover the laws which really obtain, and to apply these to
the solution of subordinate phenomena; but whether these
laws arise from the nature of some agent external to mat¬
ter, or whether matter itself is the agent, are questions
which may be above his comprehension, and do not imme¬
diately concern his proper business.
P II Y
ir.ical The account we have now given of natural philosophy
oso- points out to us in the plainest manner the way in which
the study must be prosecuted, and the helps which must
, t be taken from other branches of human knowledge. The
1(l of causes, powers, forces, or by whatever name we choose to
® express them, which produce the mechanical phenomena
of the universe, are not observed, and are known to us only
in the phenomena themselves. Our knowledge of the me¬
chanical powers of nature must therefore keep pace with our
knowledge of the motions, and indeed is nothing different
from it. In order to discover and determine the forces by
whiph the moon is retained in her orbit round the earth, we
must know her motions. To a terrestrial spectator she ap¬
pears to describe an ellipse, having the earth in one focus ;
but, in the mean time, the earth is carried round the sun, and
the moon’s real path, in absolute space, is a much more
complicated figure. Till we know this figure, and the varia¬
tions in the velocity wuth which it is described, we know
nothing of the forces which actuate the moon in her orbit.
T: iean- When Newton says that the forces by which she is re-
jjiJ some tained in this elliptical orbit are directed to the earth, what
tel used does he mean ? Only this, that the deflections from that
® rmg uniform rectilineal motion which she would otherwise have
LI mo- performed are always in this direction. In like manner,
LI when he says that these forces are inversely proportional
to the squares of her distances from the earth, he only
means that the deflections made in equal times in different
parts of her motion are in this proportion. These deflec¬
tions are considered as the characteristics and measures of
the forces. We imagine that we have made all plain when
we call this indicated cause a tendency to the earth ; but
we have no notion of this tendency to the earth different
j from the approach itself. This word tendency, so fashion¬
able amongst the followers of Sir Isaac Newton, is pervert¬
ed from its pure and original sense. Tendere versus solem,
is, in the language of Rome, and also of Newton, to go to¬
wards the sun ; but we now use the words tend, tendency,
to signify, not the approach, but the cause of this approach ;
and when called upon to speak still plainer, we desert the
safe paths of plain language, and express ourselves by
metaphor, speaking of nisus, conatus, vis centripeta, and
the like. When these expressions have become fami¬
liar, the original sense of the word is forgotten, and w-e
take it for granted that the w ords never had another mean¬
ing ; and this metaphor, sprung from the poverty of lan¬
guage, becomes a fruitful source of misconception and mis¬
take. The only way to secure ourselves against such mys¬
tical notions as are introduced by these means into philo¬
sophy, is to have recourse to the way in which we acquire
the knowledge of these fancied powers; and then we see
that their names are only names for phenomena, and that
universal gravitation is only an universal mutual approach
amongst the parts of the solar system,
p pur- There is one case in which we fondly imagine that we know
F.'pea-the cause independently of the effect, and that we could
'• |a have predicted the phenomenon a priori; we mean the case
of impulse: and hence it is that we are so prone to reduce
everything to cases of impulsion, and that we have fallen
upon all those subterfuges of ethers and other subtile fluids.
But we might have saved ourselves all this trouble ; for
after having, by much false reasoning and gratuitous as¬
sumptions, shown that the phenomenon in question might
have been produced by impulse, w e are no nearer our pur¬
pose, because that property by which matter in motion puts
other matter in motion, is known to us only by and in the
effect. The fair and logical deduction from all this is, that
we must not expect any knowledge of the powrers of nature,
the immediate causes of the motions of bodies, but by means
of a knowledge of the motions themselves; and that every
niistake in the motions is accompanied by a similar mis¬
take in the causes. It is impossible to demonstrate or ex-
S I c s.
571
plain the gravitation of the planets to him who is ignorant Mechanical
of the properties of the ellipse, or the theory of gunnery to Phfloso-
him who does not know the parabola. Phy-
A notion has been sometimes advanced, that a man may V P,"
become a natural philosopher without mathematical know-not be a
ledge; but this is entertained by none who have any ma-goodnatu-
thematics themselves; and surely those who are ignorantnd philoso-
of mathematics should not be sustained as judges in this P*161" with-
matter. We need only appeal to fact. It is only in those
parts of natural philosophy which have been mathemati- ciari.
cally treated, that the investigations have been carried on
with certainty, success, and utility. Without this guide,
we must expect nothing but a school-boy’s knowledge, re¬
sembling that of the man who takes up his religious creed
on the authority of his priest, and can neither give a rea¬
son for what he imagines that he believes, nor apply it
with confidence to any valuable purpose in life. These
observations, on the other hand, show us the nature of the
knowledge which may be acquired, and the rank which
natural philosophy holds among the sciences.
Motions are the real and only objects of our observation, The mo-
the only subjects of our discussion. In motion are included tions of bo-
no ideas but those of space and time, the subjects of pure dies.are
mathematical disquisition. As soon, therefore, as we have su,).iects of
discovered the fact, the motion, all our future reasoningsthematk-al
about this motion are purely mathematical, depending only disquisi-
on the affections of figure, number, and proportion, andtion.
must carry along with them that demonstration and irre¬
sistible evidence which is the boast of the science. To
this we are indebted for that accuracy which is attained,
and the progress which has been made, in some branches
of mechanical philosophy ; for when the motions are dis¬
tinctly and minutely understood, and then considered only
as mathematical quantities, independently of all physical
considerations, and we proceed according to the just rules
of mathematical reasoning, we need not fear any intricacy
of combination or multiplicity of steps ; we are certain that
truth will accompany us, even though we do not always at¬
tend to it, and will emerge in our final proposition, in the
same manner as we see happen in a long and intricate alge¬
braic analysis.
It appears from what has been said, that mechanical phi-Mechanical
losophy is almost wholly a mathematical study, and that it philosophy
is to be successfully prosecuted only under this form ; butis almost
in our endeavours to initiate the young beginner, it will a .
be often found to require more steadiness of thought than
can generally be expected for keeping the mind engaged *
in such abstract speculations. The object presented to the
mind is not readily apprehended with that vivacity which
is necessary for enabling us to reason upon it with clear¬
ness and steadiness, and it would be very desirable to have
some means of rendering the conception more easy, and
the attention more lively. This may be done by exhibit¬
ing to the eye an experiment, which, though but a single
fact, gives us a sensible object of perception, which we can
contemplate and remember with much more steadiness
than any mere creature of the imagination. We could, by
an accurate description, give such a conception of a room
that the hearer should perfectly comprehend our narration
ot any occurrence in it; but one moment’s glance at the
room would be infinitely better. It is usual therefore to
employ experiments to assist the imagination of the be¬
ginner ; and most courses of natural philosophy are ac¬
companied by a series of such experiments. Such ex¬
periments, connected by a slight train of argumentative
discourse, may even serve to give a notion of the gene¬
ral doctrines, sufficient for an elegant amusement, and
even tending to excite curiosity, and engage in a serious
prosecution of the study. Such are the usual courses
which go by the name of Experimental Philosophy. But
this is a great misapplication of the term; such courses are
572
PHYSICS.
Experi- little more than illustrations of known doctrines by expe-
mental Phi- rimgnts.
losophy.
p . Experimental Philosophy is the investigation of ge-
mental phi-neral laws, as yet unknown, by experiment; and this is
losophy de- the most infallible, and indeed the sole, way of arriving at
hned and the knowledge of them. This is the Novum Organum
explained. Scientiarum strongly recommended by Lord Bacon. It
was new in his time, though not altogether without ex¬
ample ; for it is the procedure of nature, and is followed
whenever curiosity is excited. There was even extant in his
time, as we have already mentioned, a very beautiful exam¬
ple of this method, namely, the Treatise of the Loadstone,
by Dr Gilbert of Colchester ; a work which has hardly been
excelled by any, and which, when we consider its date,
about the year 1580, is really a most wonderful performance.
The most perfect model of this method is the Optics of
Sir Isaac Newton. Dr Black’s Essay on Magnesia is an¬
other very perfect example; and Dr franklin’s Iheory of
Electricity is a third example of great merit. That the
investigation is not complete, nor the conclusions certain,
is not an objection. The method is without fault; and a
proper direction is given to the mind for the experiments
which are still necessary for establishing the general laws.
A good It were much to be wished that some person of talents
treatise on an(j 0f extensive knowledge would give a treatise on the
the method metbod of inquiry by experiment. Although many beau-
by'expen- tiful and successful examples have been given as particu-
ment very lar branches of inquiry, we have but too many instances
necessary, of very inaccurate and inconclusive investigations. Expe¬
riments made at random, almost without a view, serve but
little to advance our knowledge. Ihey are like shapeless
lumps of stone merely detached from the rock, but still
wanting the skill of the builder to select them for the dif¬
ferent purposes which they may chance to serve ; whilst
well-contrived experiments are blocks cut out by a skilful
workman, according as the quarry could furnish them, and
of forms suited to certain determined uses in the future
edifice. Every little series of experiments by Margraaf
terminates in a general law, whilst hardly any general con¬
clusion can be drawn from the numberless experiments of
Pott. Lord Bacon has written much on this subject, and
with great judgment and acuteness of distinction ; but he
has exceeded in this, and has fatigued his readers by his
numerous rules ; and there is in all his philosophical woiks,
and particularly in this, a quaintness and affectation which
greatly obscure his meaning, so that this most valuable
part of his writings is very little read. ^ ^
An objec- A formidable objection has been made to this method^
tion to ex- of inquiry. Since a physical law is only the expression of
perimental a general fact, and is established only in consequence of
inquiry. our having observed a similarity in a great number of par¬
ticular facts; and since the great rule of inductive logic
is to give the law no greater extent than the induction on
which it is founded ; how comes it that a few experiments
must be received as the foundation of a general inference ?
This has been answered in very general terms in the ar¬
ticle Philosophy. But it will be of use to consider the
subject a little more particularly. Our observations on
this subject are taken from the dissertation on evidence
by Dr Campbell in his Philosophy of Rhetoric.
This objec- An attentive consideration of the objects around us will
tion an- inform us that they are generally of a complicated nature,
swered. not on]y as consisting of a complication of those qualities
of things called accidents, such as gravity, mobility, co¬
lour, figure, solidity, which are common to all bodies; but
also as consisting of a mixture of a variety of substances,
very different in their nature and properties; and each of
these is perhaps compounded of ingredients more simple.
Moreover, the farther we advance in the knowledge of na¬
ture, we find the more reason to be convinced of her con¬
stancy in all her operations. Like causes have always Ex;
produced like effects, and like effects have always beenm®m
preceded by like causes. Inconstancy sometimes appears ^
in nature’s works at first sight; but a more refined expe- 1
rience shows us that this is but an appearance, and that
there is no inconstancy ; and we explain it to our satisfac¬
tion in this way.
Most of the objects being of a complicated nature, we
find, upon an accurate scrutiny, that the effects ascribed to
them ought often to be solely ascribed to one or more of
these component parts, whilst the others either do not con¬
tribute to them, or hinder their production; and the va¬
riety of nature is so great, that hardly any two individuals
of the same species are in every respect like any other.
On all these accounts we expect dissimilitudes in the phe¬
nomena accompanying perfectly similar treatment of dif¬
ferent subjects of the same kind ; but we find, that when¬
ever we can be assured that the two substances are per¬
fectly alike, the phenomena arising from similar treatment
are the same ; and long and extensive observation teaches
us, that there are certain circumstances which insure us in
the perfect similarity of constitution of some things. When¬
ever we observe the effect of any natural agent on one, and
but one, of these, we invariably expect that the same will
be produced on any other.
Should a botanist meet with a plant new to him, and ob¬
serve that it has seven monopetalous flowers, he will con¬
clude with the utmost confidence that every plant of this
species will have monopetalous flowers; but he will not
suppose that it will have seven, and no more than seven,
flowers. Now these two facts seem to have no difference
to warrant such a difference in the conclusion ; which may
therefore seem capricious, since there is but one example of
both. But it is not from this example only that he draws the
conclusion. Had he never before taken notice of any plant,
he would not have reasoned at all from these remarks. But
his mind runs immediately from this unknown species to
all the known species of this genus, and to all the genera
of the same order ; and having experienced in the figure
of the flower an uniformity in every species, genus, and
order, which admits of no exception, but, in the number of
flowers, a variety as boundless as are the circumstances of
soil, climate, age, and culture, he learns to mark the diffe¬
rence, and draws the above-mentioned conclusions. Thus
we learn, that perfect uniformity is not to be expected in
any instance whatever, because in no instance is the sim¬
plicity of constitution sufficiently great to give us assurance
of perfect uniformity in the circumstances of the case ; and
the utmost that our experience can teach us is a quick dis¬
crimination of those circumstances which produce the oc¬
casional varieties.
The nearer that our investigations carry us to the know¬
ledge of elementary natures, the more are we convinced
by general experience of the uniformity of the operations
of real elements; and although it may perhaps be impos¬
sible for us ever to arrive at the knowledge of the simplest
elements of any body, yet when any thing appears simple,
or rather so exactly uniform, as that we have invariably
observed it to produce similar effects, on discovering any
new effect of this substance, we conclude, from a general
experience of the efficient, a little constancy in the energy
as to the rest. Eire consumes wood, melts lead, and har¬
dens clay. In these instances it acts uniformly, but not in
these only. We have always found, that whatever of any
species is consumed by it in one instance, has been con¬
sumed by it upon trial at any time. If therefore a trial be
made for the first time of its influence on any particular
substance, he who makes it is warranted to conclude that
the effect, whatever it may be, is a faithful representative
of its effects on this substance in all past and future ages.
This conclusion is not founded on this single instance, but
PHY
ri- upon this instance combined with the general experience
Phi-of the regularity of this element in its operations.
»y- v This general conclusion, therefore, drawn from one expe¬
riment, is by no means in opposition to the great rule of
inductive logic, but, on the contrary, it is the most gene¬
ral and refined application of it. General laws are here
the real subject of consideration ; and a law still more ge¬
neral, that nature is constant in all its operations, is the in¬
ference which is here applied as a principle of explana¬
tion of a phenomenon which is itself a general law, viz.
that nature is constant in this operation.
The foundation of this general inference from one ex¬
periment being so firmly established, it is evident that ex¬
periments must be an infallible method of attaining to the
knowledge of nature ; and we need only be solicitous that
we proceed in a way agreeable to the great rule of induc¬
tive logic; that is, the subject must be cleared of every
accidental and unknown circumstance, and put into a si¬
tuation that will reduce the interesting circumstance to a
state of the greatest possible simplicity. Thus we may
be certain that the event will be a faithful representative
of every similar case ; and unless this be done in the pre¬
paration, nothing can result from the most numerous ex¬
periments but uncertainty and mistakes.
|na. The account which has been given of mechanical phi-
3 not losophy would seem to indicate that experiment was not
of much use in the farther prosecution of it. The two
ot laws of motion, with the assistance of mathematics, seem
3 i fully adequate to the explanation of every phenomenon ;
and so they are to a certain degree. But this degree is
as yet very limited. Our mathematical knowledge, great
as it is in comparison with that of former times, is still
insufficient for giving accurate solutions even of ques¬
tions, comparatively speaking, very simple. We can tell,
with the utmost precision, what will be the motions of
two particles of matter, or two bodies, which act on each
other with forces proportioned to the squares of the dis¬
tances inversely; but if we add a third particle, or a
third body, acting by the same law, the united science
of all Europe can only give an approximation to the solu¬
tion.
Exp What is to be done, then, in the cases which come con-
P' of. tinually before us, where millions of particles are acting
tei mly at once Up0n each other in every variety of situation and
rf distance? How shall we determine, for instance, the
motion of water through a pipe or sluice when urged by
a piston or by its own weight ? what will be its velocity
and direction ? It is impossible, in the present state of
mathematical knowledge, to tell with any precision or cer¬
tainty. And here we must have recourse to experiment.
But if this be the case, must the experiment be made in
every possible variety of situation, depth, figure, pressure ?
or is it possible to find out any general rules, founded on
the general laws of motion, and rationally deduced from
them ? Or, if this cannot be accomplished, will experi¬
ment itself furnish any general coincidences which show
such mutual dependences, that we may consider them as
indications of general principles, though subordinate, com¬
plicated, and perhaps inscrutable ? This can be discover¬
ed by experiment alone.
te The attention of philosophers has been directed to each
of these three chances, and very considerable progress has
been made in them all. Numerous experiments have
1 ^ been made, and are almost sufficient to direct the practice
in many important cases, without the help of any rule or
principle whatever. But there are many cases, and these
of by far the greatest importance, such as the motion of a
ship impelled by the winds, resisted by the water, and
tossed by the waves, where distinct experiments cannot be
made.
Newton, Bernoulli, D’Alembert, and others, have la-
Sics. 573
boured hard to deduce from the laws of motion rules for Experi-
determining what maybe called the average motion ofmentalBhi-
water in these circumstances, without attempting to de- ^ losophy. ^
fine the path or motion of any individual particle; and
they have actually deduced many rules which have a great the necessi-
degree of probability. It may here be asked, Why do youty of'expe-
say probability ? The rules, as far as they go, should be nment.
certain. So they are; they are strict deductions from
their premises. But the premises are only suppositions,
of various degrees of probability, assumed in order to
simplify the circumstances of the case, and to give room
for mathematical reasoning; therefore these deductions,
these rules, must be examined by experiment. Some of
the suppositions are such as can hardly be refused, and
the rules deduced from them are found to tally precisely
with the phenomena. Such is this, that the velocities
of issuing water in similar circumstances are in the sub¬
duplicate ratio of the pressures. And this rule gives most
important and extensive information to the engineer.
Other suppositions are more gratuitous, and the rules de¬
duced from them are less coincident with the phenomena.
The patient and sagacious Newton has repeatedly failed
in his attempts to determine what is the absolute velocity
of water issuing from a hole in the bottom of the vessel
when urged by its weight alone, and the attempts of the
others have hardly succeeded better. Experiment is
therefore absolutely necessary on this head.
Those who have aimed at the discovery of rules purely
experimental on this subject, have also been pretty suc¬
cessful ; and the Chevalier de Buat has, from a comparison
of an immense variety of experiments made by himself and
various others, deduced an empirical rule, which will not
be found to deviate from truth above one part in ten in
any case which has yet come to our knowledge.
This instance may serve to show the use of experiments
in mechanical philosophy. It is highly proper in all cases
by way of illustration; and it is absolutely necessary in
most, either as the foundation of a characteristic of a par¬
ticular class of phenomena, or as argument in support of a
particular doctrine. Hydrostatics, hydraulics, pneumatics,
magnetism, electricity, and optics, can hardly be studied
in any other way.
Having in the preceding paragraphs given a pretty full T}ie acjvar_
enumeration of the different subjects which are to be con-tages de-
sidered in the study of natural philosophy, it will not be rived from
necessary to spend much time in a detail of the advanta-tIie study
ges which may reasonably be expected from a successful 0fP^oso‘
prosecution of this study. It stands in no need of pane- ' ‘
gyric; its intimate connection with the arts gives it a
sufficient recommendation to the attention of every per¬
son. It is the foundation of many arts, and it gives libe¬
ral assistance to all. Indebted to them for its origin and
birth, it has ever retained its filial attachment, and repaid
all their favours with the most partial affection.
To this science the navigator must have recourse for
that astronomical knowledge which enables him to find
his place in the trackless ocean; and although very small
scraps of this knowledge are sufficient for the mere pilot,
it is necessary that the study be prosecuted to the utmost
by some persons, that the unlearned pilot may get that
scanty pittance which must direct his routine. The few
pages of tables of the sun’s declination, which he uses
every day to find his latitude, required the successive and
united labours of all the astronomers of Europe to make
them tolerably exact; and in order to ascertain his longi¬
tude with precision, it required all the genius of a New¬
ton to detect the lunar irregularities, and to bring them
within the power of the calculator; and, until this was
done, the respective position of the different parts of the
earth could not be ascertained. Vain would have been
the attempt to do this by geodetical surveys, indepen-
574 PHYSICS.
Expeii- dently of astronomical observation. It is only from the
mental Phi-most refined mechanics that we can hope for sure principles
losopby. t0 jmeot us jn the construction and management of a ship,
' "the boast of human art, and the great means of union and
communication between the different quarters of the globe.
A knowledge of mechanics not much inferior to this
is necessary for enabling the architect to execute some
of his greatest works, such as the erection of domes and
arches, which depend on the nicest adjustment of equi¬
librium. Without this he cannot unite economy with
strength, and his works must either be clumsy masses or
flimsy shells. The effects of artillery cannot be under¬
stood or secured without the same knowledge. The whole
employment of the engineer, civil or military, is a conti¬
nual application of almost every branch of mechanical know¬
ledge ; and whilst the promises of a Smeaton, a Watt, a
Belidor, may be confided in as if already performed, the
numberless failures and disappointments in the most im¬
portant and costly projects show us daily the ignorance of
the pretending crowd of engineers.
t The microscope, the steam-engine, the thunder-rod, are
presents which the world has received from the natural
philosopher ; and although the compass and the telescope
were the productions of chance, they would have been of
little service had they not been studied and improved by
Gilbert, Halley, and Dollond.
But it is not in the arts alone that the influence of na¬
tural philosophy is perceived; it lends its aid to every
science, and in every study. It is often necessary to have
recourse to the philosopher in disputes concerning pro¬
perty ; and many examples might be given where great
injustice has been the consequence of the ignorance of
the judges. Knowledge of nature might have prevented
many disgraceful condemnations for sorcery. The histo¬
rian who is ignorant of natural philosophy easily admits
the miraculous into his narrations, accompanies these with
his reflections, draws consequences from them, and fills his
pages wfith prodigies, fables, and absurdity.
It is almost needless to speak of the advantages which
will accrue to the physician from this study. So close is
the connection between it and medicine, that our language
has given but one name to the naturalist and to the medi¬
cal philosopher. Indeed the whole of his study is a close
observation of the laws of material nature, in order to draw
from them precepts to direct his practice in the noble art
of healing. During the immaturity of general knowledge,
whilst natural philosophy was the only study which had ac¬
quired any just pretension to certainty either in its prin¬
ciples or method of investigation, the physicians endea¬
voured to bring the objects of their study within its pro¬
vince, hoping by this means to get a more distinct view of
it; and they endeavoured to explain the abstruse pheno-
* mena of the animal functions by reducing them all to mo¬
tions, vibrations, collisions, impulses, hydrostatic and hy¬
draulic pressures and actions, with which the mechanical
philosophers were so ardently occupied at that time. But
unfortunately their acquaintance with nature was then very
limited, and they were but little habituated to the rules
of just reasoning; and their attempts to explain the eco¬
nomy of animal life by the laws of mechanics did them but
little service either for the knowledge of diseases or for that
of the methods of cure. The mechanical theories of me-
dicine, which had considerable reputation about the end
of the seventeenth century, were many of them very in¬
genious, and had an imposing appearance of symmetry and
connection ; but they are now forgotten, having all been
formed on the narrow supposition that matter was subject
only to mechanical laws.
The discovery of error, however, diminishes the chance E
of again going wrong, especially w hen the cause of error hasmenijij
been discovered, and the means pointed out of detecting Mj]
the mistakes; and the vital principle must combine its in- ^jlj
fluence with, or operate upon, the properties of rude matter.
It appears therefore evident that a knowledge of the me¬
chanical laws of the material world is not only a conve¬
nient, but a necessary, accomplishment to the physician. We
are fully justified in this opinion, by observing medical au¬
thors of the present day introducing into medicine theories
borrowed from mechanical philosophy, which they do not
understand, and which they continually misapply. Appear¬
ance of reasoning frequently conceals the errors in prin¬
ciple, and seldom fails to mislead.
But there is no class of men to whom this science is of
more service than to those who hold the honourable office
of the teachers of religion. Their knowledge in their own
science, and their public utility, are prodigiously hurt by
ignorance of the general frame and constitution of nature;
and it is much to be lamented that this science is so gene¬
rally neglected by them, or considered only as an elegant
accomplishment. Nay, it is too frequently shunned as a
dangerous attainment, as likely to unhinge their own faith,
and taint the minds of their hearers. We hope, however,
that few are either so feebly rooted in the belief of the
great doctrines of religion as to fear this, or of minds so
base and corrupted as to adopt and inculcate a belief which
they have any suspicion of being ill founded. But many
have a sort of horror at all attempts to account for the
events of nature by the intervention of general causes, and
think this procedure derogatory to the Divine nature, and
inconsistent with the doctrine of his particular providence;
believing that “ a sparrow does not fall to the ground
without the knowledge of our heavenly Father.” Their
limited conceptions cannot perceive, that, in forming the
general law, the Great Artist did at one glance see it in
its remotest and most minute consequence, and adjust the
vast assemblage so as completely to answer every purpose
of his providence. There never was a more eager in¬
quirer into the laws of nature, or more ardent admirer of
its glorious Author, than the Honourable Robert Boyle.
This gentleman says, that he will always think more highly
of the skill and power of that artist who should construct
a machine, which, being once set a-going, would of itself
continue its motion for ages, and from its inherent prin¬
ciples continue to answer all the purposes for which it was
first contrived, than of him whose machine required the
continual aid of the hand which first constructed it. It is
owing to great inattention that this aversion to the opera¬
tion of secondary causes has any influence on our minds.
What do we mean by the introduction of secondary causes?
How, in fact, do we infer the agency of any cause whatever?
Would we ever have supposed any cause of the operations
of nature, had they gone on without any order or regula¬
rity ? Or would such a chaos of events, any more than a
chaos of existences, have given us any notion of a forming
and directing hand ? No, surely. We see the hand of God
in the regular and unvaried course of nature, only because
it is regular and unvaried. The philosopher expresses
this by saying that the phenomena proceed by unalterable
laws. Greatly mistaken therefore are they who think that
we supersede the existence of mind and of providence
when we trace things to their causes. A physical law be¬
ing an unvaried fact, is an indication, and the strongest
possible indication, of an unerring mind, who is incapable
of change, and must do to-day what he always did ; for to
change is to deviate from what is best.1 The operations
of unerring mind will therefore be regular and invariable.
1 Ferguson’s Lectures on Ethics.
PHY
IL. Physical laws, therefore, or secondary causes, are the best
in proofs of unerring wisdom. Such regularity of conduct is
ry universally considered as an indication of wisdom amongst
men. The wise man is known by the constancy of his con¬
duct, whilst nobody can depend upon the future conduct
of a fool.
And what astonishing evidences of wisdom do we not
observe in the general laws of the material world? They
will ever be considered by the intelligent philosopher as
the most glorious display of inconceivable wisdom, which
has been able, by means so few and so simple, to produce
effects which by their grandeur astonish our feeble under-
h standings, and by their inexhaustible variety elude all pos¬
sibility of enumeration. Whilst the teachers of religion
remain ignorant of the beautiful laws of nature, the great
characteristics of the wisdom and goodness of the Almighty
Creator, their hearers are deprived of much sublime plea¬
sure ; God is robbed of that praise which he would have
received from an enlightened people ; and the only w orship
he receives is tainted with mean notions of his attributes,
and groundless fears of his power.
But besides those advantages which accrue to different
classes of men from this study, there are some effects which
are general, and are too important to be passed over unno¬
ticed. That spirit of dispassionate experimental inquiry
which has so greatly promoted this study, will carry with it,
into every subject of inquiry, that precision and that con¬
stant appeal to fact and experience which characterize it.
And we may venture to assert, that the superior good order
and method which distinguish some of the later produc¬
tions in other sciences, have been in a great measure ow¬
ing to this mathematical spirit, the success of which in na¬
tural philosophy has gained it credit, and thus given it an
unperceived influence even over those who have not made
it their study.
The truths also which the naturalist discovers are such
as do not in general affect the passions of men, and have
therefore a good chance of meeting with a candid recep-
PHYSIOGNOMY is a word formed from the Greek
<pvff/g, nature, and y/vwirxw, I know, and it is the name of a
science which occupied much of the attention of ancient
philosophers, but since the revival of learning has in a great
degree been disregarded.
It does not appear that the ancients extended the com¬
pass of physiognomy beyond man, or at least animated na¬
ture. But the study of that art was revived in the middle
ages, when those who treated of the subject strained their
speculations far beyond the ancient limits. The exten¬
sion of the signification of the term wras adopted univer¬
sally by those naturalists who admitted the theory of sig¬
natures ; and physiognomy came thus to mean the know¬
ledge of the internal properties of any corporeal existence
from the external appearances. Baptista Porta, for in¬
stance, a physiognomist and philosopher of considerable
eminence, wrote a treatise on the physiognomy of plants,
in which he employs physiognomy as the generic term; and
there is likewise a treatise de Physiognomia Avium, writ¬
ten, we believe, by the same person. In the Magia Phy-
siognomica of Gaspar Schottus, human physiognomy is de¬
scribed as merely a subdivision of the science.
Boyle, too, adopts the same extensive signification. At
present, however, physiognomy seems to mean no more than
a knowledge of the moral character and extent of intellec¬
tual powers of human beings, from their external appear¬
ance and manners. In the Berlin Transactions for 1769 and
1770, there appears a controversial discussion on the sub¬
ject of the definition of physiognomy, between Pernetty and
Le Cat, two authors of some note. The former contends,
PHY S’ZS
tion. Those whose interest it is to keep men in political Physiog-
or in religious ignorance cannot easily suspect bad conse- nomy-
quences from improvements in this science ; and, if they
did, have hardly any pretext for checking its progress. Be- .fj*
sides, discoveries accustom the mind to novelty ; and it will vantages of
no longer be startled by any consequences, however con- philosophy,
trary to common opinion. Thus the way is paved for a
rational and discreet scepticism, and a free inquiry on
other subjects. Experiment, not authority, will be consi¬
dered as the test of truth ; and under the guidance of fair
experience we need fear no ill as long as the laws of na¬
ture remain as they are.
Lastly, since it is the business of philosophy to describe
the phenomena of nature, to discover their causes, to trace
the connection and subordination of these causes, and thus
to obtain a view of the whole constitution of nature, it is
plain that it affords the surest path for arriving at the
knowledge of the great cause of all, of God himself, and
for forming proper conceptions of him and of our relations
to him ; notions infinitely more just than can ever be en¬
tertained by the careless spectator of his works. Things
which to this man appear solitary and detached, having
no other connection with the rest of the universe but the
shadowy and fleeting relation of co-existence, will, to the
diligent philosopher, declare themselves to be parts of a
great and harmonious whole, connected by the general
laws of nature, and all tending to one grand and beneficent
purpose. Such a contemplation is in the highest degree
pleasant and cheering, and cannot fail to impress us with
the wish of co-operating in this glorious plan, by acting
worthy of the place we hold amongst the works of God, and
with the hopes of one day enjoying all the satisfaction which
can arise from conscious worth and consummate know¬
ledge ; and this is the worship which God will approve.
“ This universe,” says Boyle, “ is the magnificent temple
of its great Author; and man is ordained, by his powers
t nd qualifications, the high priest of nature, to celebrate
divine service in this temple of the universe.” (b. b. b.)
that all knowledge whatever is physiognomy ; the latter
confines the subject to the human face. Soon afterwards
appeared the celebrated book of Lavater, who defines phy¬
siognomy to be the art of discovering the interior of man
by means of his exterior; but in different passages of his
work he evidently favours the more extended signification
of Pernetty.
Physiognomy was much cultivated in Egypt and India; Pythagoras
and from these countries Pythagoras probably introduced probably
the rudiments of this science, as he did those of many brought
others, more important, into Greece. Plato also mentions^s;!peiK‘e
the subject; and it is formally treated of by Aristotle, in a “
book which he has allotted to the purpose.
Physiognomy, he conceives, had been treated of in three
ways. Some philosophers classed animals into genera, and
ascribed to each genus a certain mental disposition, corre¬
sponding to their corporeal appearance ; whilst others made
a further distinction by dividing the genera into species.
Amongst men, for instance, they distinguished the Thra¬
cians, the Scythians, the Egyptians, and whatever nations
were strikingly different in manners and habits, to whom
accordingly they assigned the distinctive physiognomical
characteristics. A third set of physiognomists judged of
the actions and manners of the individual, and presumed
that certain manners proceeded from certain dispositions.
But according to the method of treating the subject adopt¬
ed by Aristotle, a peculiar form of body is invariably ac¬
companied by a peculiar disposition of mind, and a human
intellect is never found in the corporeal form of a beast.
The mind and body reciprocally affect each other. Thus
576
P H Y
P PI Y
Physiog-
nomy.
in intoxication and mania the mind exhibits the affections
of the body ; and in fear, joy, and other emotions, the body
displays the affections of the mind.
From such facts he argues, that when in man there ap¬
pears a particular bodily character, which by prior expe¬
rience and observation has been found uniformly accom¬
panied by a certain mental disposition, and with which
therefore it must have been necessarily connected, we are
in all such cases entitled to infer the disposition from the
appearance. Such observations, he conceives, may be
drawn from other animals as well as from men. For, as a
lion possesses one bodily form and mental character, a hare
another, the corporeal characteristics ol the lion, such as
strong hair, deep voice, large extremities, discernible in a
human character, denote the strength and courage of that
noble animal; whilst the slender extremities, soft down,
and other features of the hare, visible in a man, betray the
mental character of that pusillanimous creature. Upon
this principle Aristotle treats of the corporeal features of
man, and the corresponding dispositions, as far as these
have been observed; he illustrates them by the analogy
just mentioned, and in some instances attempts to account
for them by physiological reasoning.
Aristotle was followed by Theophrastus, whose ethical
characters form a distinct treatise on that branch of phy¬
siognomy which may be called the physiognomy of man¬
ners ; and the latter was in his turn succeeded by others.
There is indeed a considerable collection ot Greek authors
on physiognomy, entitled Physiognomice Veteris Scriptores
Grceci, Greece et Latine, 1780, in 8vo. From these authors,
it appears that the science was much cultivated in Greece ;
but the professors seem soon to have connected with it
something of the marvellous. This we are led to suspect
from the story told by Apion of Apelles. The noviciates
of the Pythagorean school were subjected to physiognomi¬
cal observation by their teachers, and it is probable the first
physiognomists by profession amongst the Greeks were of
this sect. They, too, to whom, from the nature of their
doctrines and discipline, mystery was familiar, were pro¬
bably the first who, in Greece, exposed the science of
physiognomy to disgrace, by blending it with the art of
divination. From the period of which we have been treat¬
ing to the close of the Roman republic, nothing worthy of
remark occurs in the literary history of physiognomy.
About the last-mentioned era, however, and thence to the
decline of the empire under the later emperors, the science
appears to have been cultivated as an important branch of
erudition.
In the works of Hippocrates and Galen there occur many
physiognomical observations. Cicero appears to have been
peculiarly attached to the science. In his oration against
Piso, and in that in favour of Roscius, the reader will at
the same time perceive in what manner the orator employs
physiognomy to his purposes, and find a curious instance
of the ancient manner of oratorical abuse. Many physiog¬
nomical remarks are likewise to be found in the writings
of Sallust, Suetonius, Seneca, Pliny, Aulus Gellius, Petro-
nius, Plutarch, and others. That the science was practised PhjK
as a profession in the Roman empire, ample evidence may no1
be discovered in the writings of the authors just mentioned.*
Suetonius, for instance, in his Life of Titus, mentions that
Narcissus employed a physiognomist to examine the fea¬
tures of Britannicus, and he predicted that the empire
would devolve on Titus.
The science of physiognomy shared the fate of all others,
when the Roman empire was overthrown by the northern
barbarians. But about the beginning of the sixteenth cen¬
tury it began to attract notice ; and from that time till the
close of the seventeenth, it was one of the most fashion¬
able studies. Within the space here mentioned appeared
almost all the modern authors who have written upon this
subject.1
Soon after the controversy in the Berlin Transactions, theLavat.
great work of Lavater attracted the attention of the lite-celen (
rary world. The work itself is magnificent; and that cir-worl
cumstance, as well as the nature of the subject, has con¬
tributed to extend its fame. With the scholastic and sys¬
tematic method adopted by the physiognomists of the last
and preceding centuries, Lavater rejected their manner of
writing, which was dry, concise, indeterminate, and gene¬
ral. His own remarks are. for the most part, precise, and
frequently founded on distinctions extremely acute. His
opinions on the physiognomy of the ears, hands, nails, and
feet of the human species, on hand-writing, on the physi¬
ognomy of birds, insects, reptiles, and fishes, are obviously
premature, as hitherto no sufficient number of accurate
observations have been made, in fegard to these particulars,
to authorize any conclusion. He has also erred in the op¬
posite extreme, when treating of the important topic of na¬
tional physiognomy, where he has by no means prosecuted
the subject so far as facts might have warranted.
In the Berlin Transactions for the year 1775, there ap¬
pears a formal attack upon Lavater’s work by M. Formey.
After disputing the propriety of the extensive signification
applied by Lavater and Pernetty to the term physiognomy,
Formey adopts nearly the same definition which we have
proposed near the beginning of this article. He allows
that the mental character is intimately connected with, and
sensibly influenced by, every fibre of the body; but his
principal argument against physiognomy is, that the human
frame is liable to innumerable accidents, by which it may
be changed in its external appearance, without any corre¬
spondent change of the disposition ; so that it surpasses
the extent of the skill of mortals to distinguish the modifi¬
cations of feature which are natural from those which may
be accidental. Although, therefore, the science of physi¬
ognomy may be founded in truth, he infers that the Deity
only can exercise it. Formey further contends, that edu¬
cation, diet, climate, and sudden emotions, nay, even the
temperaments of our ancestors, affect the cast of human
features; so that the influence of mental character on these
features may be so involved with, or hidden by, accidental
circumstances, that the study of physiognomy must ever
be attended with hopeless uncertainty.
« Such as Codes, Baptista Porta, Honoratus Nuquetius, Jacobus de Indagine, Alstedius Michael Schottus, Caspar Schottus, Cardan,
Taisnierus, Fludd, Behmen, Barclay, Claromontius, Conrmgius, the commentaries ot Augustin Niphus and Camdlus ^albu
Physiognomica of Aristotle; Spontanus, Andreas Henricus, Joannes_ Lhgander, Goclemus, Alexander Achillmus, 1 rastonus, Be o ,
taiorus, and others, noticed in the Polyhistor of Morhoff (vol. i. lib. i. cap. 15, sect. 4, and vol. u. lib. m. cap. i. sect. 4).
PHYSIOLOGY.
fsiology.
CHAPTER I GENERAL VIEWS OF PHYSIOLOGY.
mo ogy (1.) Physiology, or the science of animal life, has been
variously defined by different writers. If the term were in¬
terpreted strictly according to its etymology, it would carry
a meaning much more extensive than is warranted by com¬
mon usage ; for, being derived from (pucris, nature, and
\oyos, discourse, its proper signification should be, the science of
nature. It might accordingly be understood to comprehend
inquiries in every department of nature, both animate and
inanimate ; and might indeed be regarded as synonymous
with physics, or natural philosophy, which are other ex¬
pressions of corresponding import, but which at present are
themselves restricted in their meaning to a special depart¬
ment of nature. Ihere can be do doubt, indeed, that such
must originally have been the real signification of these
terms , but it is needless now to inquire by what gradual
transitions they have at length come to bear such different,
and even in some respects, opposite significations. If we
were desirous of substituting a term which would accurately
express the idea now associated with the word physiology,
we should adopt that of biology, from /3tof, life, first intro¬
duced by Previranus, who has written a German work on
this subject, which bears that title.
(2.) Natural philosophy, or physics, is now understood
as designating that class of sciences, which have for their
object the examination of the properties of lifeless matter ;
whilst physiology, in its modern acceptation, is in like man¬
ner limited to the consideration of the properties which are
peculiar to organized and living bodies. The former is con¬
versant only with nature in her dead or inanimate condi¬
tion ; the latter with nature endowed with life, and in all its
various forms and modifications.
Thus mechanics, hydrostatics, and pneumatics, wholly re¬
late to the genera] phenomena exhibited by matter in its
solid, liquid, and gaseous forms; optics, which relates to
the phenomena of light, together with electricity, magnet¬
ism, and the science of heat, which regard other classes of
phenomena produced by peculiar agents, are all considered
as branches of natural philosophy. Chemistry, which is
concerned with the changes of composition in bodies, re¬
sulting fiom the mutual action of their particles at insensi¬
ble distances, ranks also with the sciences relating to the
properties of inorganic matter, and of which the assemblage
constitutes what are more correctly termed in the present
day, the physical sciences.
ural a ot^er hand, the study of animated nature
does not admit of the same extent of subdivision. Nature
has indeed traced a broad and obvious line of demarcation
between the vegetable and the animal kingdoms ; the first
being the province of botany, the second of zoology ; both
of which departments offer us a w ide field of inquiry, and in¬
exhaustible subjects of speculation. But it is in the animal
World, more especially, that the busy and ever-changing
scene is calculated to awaken the most lively curiosity, and
inspire the deepest interest. The multiplied relations which
connect us with the lower animals, the obvious analogies
which subsist between them and our own species, and the
striking evidences of power, intelligence, and benevolent
design displayed in all the phenomena they present to our
observation, confer on the study of animal life a degree of
importance which belongs to scarcely any other study.
(4.) But the foundations of all science must be laid by
VOL. XVII.
drawing accurate distinctions among the objects which come Physiology,
within its cognizance ; by making a strict analysis of the
ideas it comprehends, and by establishing precise definitions
of the terms it employs. As in all the other departments of
human knowledge, we can arrive at general facts, or com¬
prehensive laws, only by submitting to the previous task of
ascertaining and collecting individual facts ; so in natural
history we find it necessary to subdivide our labours into
that which takes cognizance of individual objects only, and
that which inquires into their more general relations with
one another. The first is properly the history, the second
the philosophy of nature ; and this distinction we may ob¬
serve to run through all the branches into which the sub¬
ject is divisible. It applies even to astronomy, in which the
mere physical history of the phenomena forms a preliminary
body of knowledge, yet subordinate to that higher range of
inquiry which establishes connections between these phe¬
nomena, and unites them into comprehensive laws or the¬
ories. Mineralogy, again, must be studied as the founda¬
tion of geology ; the former being the history of the actual
appearances ; the latter, the theory of the series of changes
which have led to these observed phenomena. Thus, also,
the external forms, and more obvious habitudes of plants,
and their classifications in conformity with these forms and
properties, constitute the subjects of botany, properly so call¬
ed ; whilst the study of their internal structure and economy,
with relation to the more general phenomena of vegetation,
is comprised under the head ofphytology, or the physiology
of vegetables.
(5.) In like manner, the proper objects of Zoology are Provinces
to trace the external forms of animals, to distribute and ar-of zoology
range them in systematic order, and to record the particu- a.nd
lar facts relating to their history ; that is, to the more ob-81010^’
vious phenomena which they present to our observation.
Physiology embraces a wider field of research, inquires in¬
to the connexions between the phenomena, and investigates
the causes from which they spring, and the laws by which
they are governed. The zoologist is content with collect¬
ing observations on the visible actions of animals, on their
peculiar habits, modes of life, and the manifestation of those
faculties with which they are respectively endowed by the
Author of nature ; a pursuit which affords inexhaustible
sources of amusement, and furnishes abundant matter of
admiration and of wonder. But the physiologist aims at
far higher objects ; and considering the external phenomena
presented by animals as lying merely at the surface, seeks
for information relative to the causes of all the facts which
are furnished to him by zoology, by examining the interior
structure of their bodies, by inquiring into the movements
of that interior mechanism, and the sources of those various
actions which give rise to all the complicated phenomena of
life. An extensive and even boundless region of knowledge
opens to his view in these highly curious and interesting
subjects of research, constituting one vast science, which, al¬
though considerable progress has been made in it by the la¬
bours of our predecessors, is yet destined to occupy, for an
incalculable period of time, the unremitting efforts of suc¬
ceeding generations.
(6.) The phenomena of living beings have a totally dif- Organic
ferent character from the changes which take place in in-Phe,1°mena.
animate matter ; and are with more difficulty subjected to
the severe analysis required by inductive philosophy. The
properties of inorganic bodies are of a simpler and more de-
4 D
578
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, finite nature, and however variously they may be combined
in their effects, admit, in general, of a reduction to general
laws. This is most effectually accomplished by means of
experiments, varied in such a manner as to reduce each
class of phenomena to its simplest conditions, and afterwards
combined in such a way as to allow of a comparison of their^
results with the appearances presented by nature, and of
thus verifying their identity.
But it is hardly possible to pursue the same process of
investigation to any extent in the diversified phenomena of
organization. So complicated is the mechanism, and so fine
the minuter structure of animal and vegetable bodies, that
they elude the cognizance of our senses, even when assist¬
ed by the utmost refinement of optical and mechanical art.
All that chemistry has yet achieved in disclosing to us the
properties of different species of matter, and of their various
combinations, falls infinitely short of that knowledge which
could enable us to follow and to understand the curious and
elaborate series of chemical changes which take place in the
interior of the living body. Far less are we competent to
trace the operation of those more subtle and mysterious
principles, which are the springs of motion, and which re¬
gulate the actions of the maohine, and connect the whole
of its movements into one harmonious system. Judging
from their more obvious effects, indeed, these principles ap¬
pear to be quite of a different nature from those which pro¬
duce the phenomena of the inorganic world. The series of
changes which are exhibited by an animal or a vegetable,
from the first moment of its separate existence, through all
the stages of its growth, maturity, and decline, to the pe¬
riod of its death, are far too complicated and multifarious
to admit of being reduced to one single principle, in the
same way as the movements of the heavenly bodies, for in¬
stance, are reducible to the simple law of gravitation.
(7.) Physiologists, indeed, not deterred by these difficulties,
which are inherent in the subject of their researches, have
in all ages attempted generalizations of this kind. They
have considered all the actions and phenomena which arc
peculiar to living beings, and which differ from those exhi¬
bited by the same bodies after death, as resulting from the
operation of a single principle of life. Different designa¬
tions have been given to this power by different theorists ;
thus, some have called it the vital principle, others the spirit
of animation, the archceus, the organic force; and many
other appellations have been given to it, according to the
particular taste or fancy of the writer. Nothing, indeed,
can be more specious than this reference to unknown facts,
which have a manifest connexion with one another, to a
common principle of action, or in other words, to a vital
power. The only idea we can form of life appears to imply
the unity of such a principle. This idea, as is well remarked,
bv Cuvier, is suggested by the observation of a certain class
of phenomena, succeeding each other in an invariable order,
and having certain mutual relations with one another ; yet
it is but a vague and indistinct idea. We are ignorant of
the nature of that link which unites the whole of these phe-
Vital prin¬
ciple.
amongst each other. In order to arrive at this conclusion,
however, it will be necessary to take a review of the phe-
nomena themselves, and we shall therefore defer the con¬
sideration of this subject to a future chapter.
(9.) Although the peculiar nature of the phenomena Final
which physiology embraces has hitherto baffled all our en-cause,
deavours to obtain results of the same general and compre¬
hensive nature as those which have rewarded our efforts in
the purely physical sciences, yet other resources are open
to us, capable of conducting us to a still more ample and
inviting field of inquiry. Living nature is impressed with
a character, which at once raises it to a higher order among
the objects of human intellect, and invests the science which
regards it with a more lofty and ennobling sentiment. Life
is peculiarly characterised by the manifestation of inten¬
tion. Adaptation of means to an end is visible through¬
out the whole of this animated scene. Express design is
palpably discernible in every formation, in every arrange¬
ment, in every series of changes wdiich this vast theatre of
nature displays. Utility is the governing principle of all
intelligence and power far exceeding the utmost stretch of
our imagination, are revealed to us in language not to be
mistaken, and carrying with it irresistible conviction. Thus,
while the sciences of inorganic matter are founded on the
relations of cause and effect, physiology takes cognizance
more especially of the relations of means to ends, which the
phenomena present to our view. Hence we obtain a new
principle of arrangement among these phenomena; hence
also arises a new source of interest, of a kind very superior
to that which mere physical relations can ever inspire. ^
(10.) The purposes to which, pursuing this new princi-Study of
pie of arrangement, we can perceive the different structuresfuncUon;
which compose an animal body, are subservient, are term¬
ed, in the language of physiology, the functions of those
parts. Life results from the exercise of these functions,
and consists in the continued accomplishment of their re¬
spective objects. The principal object of physiology, then,
is the study of the functions of life ; that is, the investiga¬
tion of the changes occurring in the living system with re¬
ference to their respective objects, and in their subservience
to the maintenance of life, and the various purposes for
which life was bestowed. We shall now proceed to take
a general review of these functions, in order to establish a
foundation for the divisions of the science we are now treat-
>
ing
(11.) The most cursory view that we can take of the^M
phenomena of life will be sufficient to shew that the func-
tions to which they are referable are of different degrees of
importance with relation to the objects of life, borne are
so closely connected with these objects, that their continued
exercise is indispensable to the very existence of life, which
would cease if they were for a moment interrupted. Others
which are less immediately concerned in the actual main¬
tenance of the vital actions, are yet essential to its preser¬
vation, and cannot, with safety, be suspended but for a very
short interval. Some are only occasionally called into play,
nomena
; ot tnat unx wmcn uuues uie wnuieui mcoc —   , ^ j •„ i,,;™hw
but the existence of some such link forces itself and others are so remotely useful, as to admit of aor
upon our belief, and we are compelled to give it a particu¬
lar designation, and speak of it as if it were something more
than a mere fiction of the intellect.
(8.) Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical rea¬
sonings, may be, indeed, and often are, deceived by the em¬
ployment of these abstract terms, and regard them as the
expressions of a simple law of nature, of the same compre¬
hensive, yet definite character, as those 01 gravitation, co¬
hesion, heat, and electricity. A more careful and profound
analysis, however, will convince us that the power inherent
in organization, upon which its infinitely diversified actions
depend, is not a simple agency, but a combination of seye
ral powers, not only different from the physical agents which
actuate the inorganic world, but differing also very widely
mant for a considerable period, or even of being dispensed
with altogether. Some functions require for their perform¬
ance the concurrence of others, and these, again, imply the
exercise of many more. Some are of a more isolated na¬
ture, and have less connexion with the general system ot
functions. By studying these relations, we are enabled to
trace a certain plan in the designs of nature, and a certain
subordination of functions sufficient to guide us in our stu¬
dies, and to enable us to trace out a tolerably connected
order of subjects. , , ..
(12.) It will be useful, before proceeding to the details
of the subject, to present our readers with a general sketch
of the system of the animal economy, which may serve, in¬
deed, the same purpose, as a map does to a traveller, im
PHYSIOLOGY.
siology
579
' *V
parting a general notion of the bearings and relations of the tore ; and when acted upon in any way that may be iniu- Physiology
severa! objects of interest in the country he is about to tra- rious to the part impressed, or to the syLm generally, they
verse. We shall, for this purpose, embrace in one view give suitable warning to the individual, by exciting 1 sense
J ;orial
[ lions.
t tons
Ti
xter.
^'nses.
To'i.
verse. We shall, for this purpose, embrace in one view
that assemblage of functions which constitutes animal life
in its most complete and perfect form, and in the attain¬
ment of its full developement.
(13.) All the functions of the animal economy, all the
mechanical dispositions of the system, and all the move¬
ments of its parts, are subordinate to two great objects; first,
the preservation and welfare of the individual being which
they compose; and, secondly, the continuance of the race
to which it belongs. It is evident that the first great pur¬
pose to be accomplished is the conferring of the powers of
sensation and perception, these being the essential attributes
of animal nature, and the characteristics which distinguish
it from the mineral or vegetable world. Next to these is
the power of voluntary motion, by which the animal is en¬
abled to change its place, to procure for itself those objects
which are necessary for its subsistence or gratification, and
to repel those which are noxious or painful.
(14.) The power of being affected by external objects, or
of receiving impressions of which we are conscious, is con¬
nected, in the more perfect animals, with a part of the body
having a more peculiar organization, and very remarkable
properties. It is a soft and pulpy substance, of a whitish
colour, with different shades of gray, opaque, and exhibiting
slight traces of a fibrous structure. It is termed medullary
or nervous substance. Of this substance are composed the
brain, which is a large mass of medullary matter ; and also
the nerves, which have the appearance of white cords, ex¬
tending from the brain to almost every other part of the
body. The nerves establish a communication between these
parts and the brain, so that impressions made upon the for¬
mer, are communicated, along the nerves, and by their in¬
termedium, to the brain, where they excite their ajipropriate
sensations, corresponding to the nature of the impression,
and to the structure of the organ that originally received it.
By what agency, or in what way affections of the brain, thus
induced, are instrumental in producing sensation, or how
the sentient principle is connected with the physical consti¬
tution of the brain, are subjects of which we have no know¬
ledge; nor have we, in our present state, the smallest ground
of hope that the mystery in which it is involved, will ever
be dispelled. Sufficient let it be for us that such is the fact;
and resting on this as an ultimate fact, let us proceed in our
inquiries, as to the occasions on which this power, assuming
it to exist, is called into action.
(15.) Experience shews that the impressions conveyed
by each nerve, or class of nerves, are of different kinds, for
they are capable of being readily distinguished from one
another by the percipient being whose brain receives them.
Hence he acquires a knowledge of the presence, of the si¬
tuation, and of the different properties of external bodies,
which are the source of those impressions. The nature of
that power with which the nerves are endowed is such as
to convey the impressions from which this knowledge is de¬
rived, from the external organ to the brain, with a velocity
that exceeds all imagination. This instantaneous transmis¬
sion is evidently a provision of the highest importance both
for the welfare and preservation of the individual.
(16.) The different powers of perception, corresponding
to different qualities of external objects, constitute the ex¬
ternal senses ; and each has its appropriate organ, furnish¬
ed with its separate system of nerves. The skin, which is
the organ of touch, receives the largest share of nerves, as
it is evidently of the greatest consequence that the surface
of the body should receive impressions from every substance
with which it may happen to come in contact. The nerves
of the skin are also susceptible of various impressions, be¬
sides those of mere impulse or resistance from solid bodies.
They are affected, for instance, by variations of tempera-
of pain. Hence he is admonished of impending evil, and
is incited to the prompt adoption of the means of avert¬
ing it.
(17.) Next in importance to the sense of touch are those Sight,
of sight and of hearing ; but for the communication of dis¬
tinct impressions relating to these senses, a much more re¬
fined apparatus is requisite than for that of touch. The
structure of the eye is calculated to combine, upon a thin
expansion of nervous substance, the retina, the rays of light
proceeding from distant objects, so as to form a picture of
these objects, and thus convey to the mind an exact know¬
ledge of the relative situation of all their parts that are
within the sphere of vision. Hence are derived the per¬
ceptions of their distance and position with respect to the
observer.
(18.) In like manner are the sonorous undulations of the Hearing,
ail collected into a kind of focus by the structure of the
ear, and impressed upon the sensitive expansions of nervous
matter in the inner regions of the organ. Thus an impor¬
tant avenue of communication is opened with the external
world, highly useful in an infinite variety of ways.
(19-) The existence and properties of various objects at Smell,
a distance are also recognized by the sense of Smell, which
enables us to appreciate the presence of the subtle effluvia
which they emit, and which affect the atmosphere often to
a considerable distance around. The olfactory nerves are
adapted to the impressions of this kind, and are situated on
the surface of those passages destined for the transmission
of the air in subservience to another function hereafter to
be noticed, namely, that of respiration.
(20.) The sense of Taste is exercised on the substances Taste
employed as aliment, and has its seat at the entrance of the
passages appropriated to the reception of food, and which
are subservient to another class of functions presently to be
described.
(21.) The faculty of Sensation consists merely in the ex- Sensation,
citation of a simple mental change, known to everyone, al-&c.
though incapable, in consequence of this very character of
simplicity, of either analysis or definition. With reference
to its physiology, we know that it is effected through the
intermedium of certain nerves, connected, on the one hand,
with the organs on which impressions of various kinds are
made by the physical action of external objects, and on the
other, with those parts of the brain, of which the physical
affections are, by some inscrutable link, connected with the
affections of the soul, or sentient principle. These simple and
preliminary phenomena, composed of both physical and
mental changes, are to be carefully distinguished from those
subsequent operations that constitute perception, thought,
volition, and the whole series of psychical phenomena, which
we are in the habit of referring to a distinct branch of hu¬
man knowledge, and which is generally denominated Afcto-
physics. Psychology, or the Philosophy of Mind ; in con¬
tradistinction to Physics, Somatology, or the Philosophy of
Matter. •
(22.) There can be little doubt that these operations,
which we are naturally accustomed to consider as being
purely of a mental character, are, in some unknown degree,
connected with physical changes taking place in the cere¬
bral substance ; but as we are utterly unconscious of these
changes, and as we are totally precluded from arriving at
any knowledge of their nature, or even of conceiving the
manner in which a connexion between mind and matter has
been established, we are compelled, in this branch of the in¬
quiry, to direct our attention exclusively to the mental phe¬
nomena, to study their laws by the evidence of our own con¬
sciousness, and to resort to processes of analysis and methods
of inductive investigation, in many respects different from
580
PHYSIOLOGY.
Voluntary
motion.
Physiology, those which are successfully employed in the more arable
— ' fields of physical science.
Whenever we are fortunate enough to trace some portions
of the mysterious but broken thread which unites the mate¬
rial changes occurring in our bodily organs, with the opera¬
tions of the intellect, or the affections of the soul, we may
then occasionally re-enter the territory of Physiology ; and
while the two sciences are thus capable of being studied in
conjunction, they will derive mutual advantage and illumi¬
nation. ....
(23.) Yet, with regard to the mere physiological study of
the animal functions, it cannot escape our observation, that
a vast variety of phenomena in the economy have a direct
reference to the mental constitution of our nature, and are
to be studied, with relation to final causes, in immediate con¬
nexion with these objects. Thus, although the special pur¬
poses served by the multiplicity, the curious arrangement,
and intricate structure of the parts of the brain, are as yet
wholly unknown, and as we still are, and shall probably ever
remain, in utter darkness as to the mode in which they per¬
form their respective offices as instruments of perception,
thought, and volition, yet when we return to the observa¬
tion of the bodily actions consequent on these mental pro¬
cesses, as well as contributing to their performance, we are
enabled to resume our physiological inquiries, and trace the
continuity of design in the exercise of the faculties of volun¬
tary motion, by which the mind exerts a power of reacting
on matter, employs its properties for beneficial ends, and
exercises that partial dominion over nature, which has been
granted to it by the Divine Author of its being. The pos¬
session of voluntary motion is directed, first, to enlarge the
sphere of our perceptions, by directing our organs of sense
to their respective objects; secondly, to bring the objects
themselves within the reach of those organs by which they
are to be examined ; thirdly, to alter their forms and com¬
binations, and modify them in various ways, so that the mind
may, from these different modes of examination, derive ac¬
curate and extensive information of their properties, and
apply these properties to use ; and lastly, to effect the loco¬
motion of the whole body, and thus extend widely the range
of its operations, and spread the dominion of man over every
kingdom of nature, and over every region of the globe.
Voice, &c. (24.) But the relations of man with the external world
comprehend a much larger and more important field, since
they are not limited to the sphere of the material world, but
embrace the intellectual and moral existences of other per¬
cipient and sentient beings. Through the intermedium of
signs, the results of movements of our bodily organs acting
on the senses, communications are established, not merely
between mind and matter, but between mind and mind.
Mutual interchanges take place, of thoughts, of opinions, of
feelings, and of affections ; and the value of existence is, to
an incalculable degree, augmented by the operations of sym¬
pathy, the impulses of benevolence, and all the potent and
benign influences of social union. Hence, physiologically
considered, the function of the voice, and its modulation into
articulate sounds, ranks as an important part of the animal
economy.
Sensiferous (25.) The faculty of Voluntary Motion, like that of Sen-
and motor sationj jg derived from the peculiar properties of the nervous
nerves. substance. In the instance of sensation impressions are con¬
veyed by means of the nerves from the external organs of
sense to the general centre of the sensitive faculty, the brain.
A similar power, we find, is exercised, though in a contrary
direction, in transmitting the actions arising from the deter¬
minations of Volition, and which produce their first effects
on the brain, towards those parts which are capable of exe¬
cuting these determinations. Modern discoveries have shewn,
l Physiol^ ;;
1
that for this latter purpose sets of nervous fibres are employed Physio]
different from those instrumental in conveying sensitive im-v —
pressions from the organs of sense to the brain. Hence a
distinction is established between the Nerves of Sensation,
and the nerves of motion, or the Motor Nerves.1 While the
nerves of sensation should properly be considered as com¬
mencing at the organs of sense, and terminating in the brain,
the nerves subservient to volition have their proper origin
in the brain, and proceed thence to the organs of motion.
Let us next examine in what these organs of motion con¬
sist.
(26.) The principal source of motion, in the animal body, Muscuil
resides in the Muscles, which taken altogether, usually com-power,
pose by far the largest part of the bulk of the animal. Mus¬
cles consist of a collection of fleshy fibres, proceeding for
the most part in parallel directions, and extending from the
two points in the limb, or parts of the body, which are de¬
signed to be brought nearer to each other. The fibres of
which the muscles are composed are endowed with the re¬
markable property of contracting, under certain circum¬
stances, with prodigious power, so as to move the parts to
which they are attached with sudden and enormous force.
The impulse given to them by the nerves of volition, by
which they are connected with the brain, in every effort of
volition, excites them to contraction, and produces those
movements of the body which are the objects of that volition.
(27.) The movements required for the purposes of ani¬
mal life, are of course infinitely diversified in their kind, and
scarcely admit of any distinct classification. Amongst the
objects of these movements, however, we may notice two,
which are of essential importance ; the first is that of Loco¬
motion, the second that of Prehension.
(28.) Locomotion is one of the faculties more partial-Locom:1
larly distinctive of animal life in opposition to that of vege-tion.
table. Plants are more or less rooted to the soil where they
originally sprung : animals, destined to a wider sphere of
action, are endowed with the power of transporting their
bodies from place to place, on the one hand, of pursuing,
and on the other, of flying from pursuit; of choosing their
habitations, or of changing regions and climes according to
their wants or necessities.
(29.) The power of detaining and laying hold of objects, Prehen
is another mode in which the faculty of voluntary motion siou.
may be highly advantageous to the animal possessing it.
With these may be associated the various actions requisite
for defence or attack, rendered necessary by the conflicts
incident to their condition. J
(30.) For the performance of all these actions, there is Meehan
required in the first place, a solid and unyielding structure, fuiictl01j
capable of sustaining the weight of the body, and of furnish¬
ing to the muscles or agents of motion, fixed points of at"
tachment. The bones, the union of which constitutes the
skeleton, are provided for these objects. They are formed
into separate pieces, with a view to their being moveable
upon one another. Their extremities are connected to¬
gether by smooth surfaces, which are bound together by
firm bands or ligaments, bracing them on the sides where
they are exposed to the greatest strain. An apparatus of
this kind constitutes & joint.
(31.) The due performance of these mechanical objects,
implies a variety of subsidiary contrivances and adjustments,
too diversified in their nature and objects to admit of particu¬
lar specification. It is evident that the particular texture
of each part must be adapted to the actions it has to per¬
form. Flexibility and compressibility are required in one
organ ; rigidity and hardness in another. Some parts must
readily yield to an extending force, others must resist such
a force with extraordinary tenacity. Some must exert elas-
,»8
1 We would suggest the propriety of designating these two classes of nerves respectively, by the terms Sensiferous and Voluntiferous as
more distinctly expressing their proper functions.
PHYSIOLOGY
581
lar
t#fe-
l 0118
ti es.
fi iiology- tic power, others must be devoid of this quality. Some tex-
v,v'^','tures must be permeable to fluids, others must deny them
all transmission. Hence, the variety of structures compos¬
ing the mechanical frame-work of the system.
(32.) But in all the variations of conformation, it would
appear that nature has employed the same ultimate structure
as the basis of her work All the solid parts of the animal
fabric are formed of fibres, variously united and interwoven ;
in some cases only loosely connected, so as to constitute a
spongy or cellular mass, flexible in every direction, and
forming a medium of connexion between adjacent parts of
various degrees of cohesion. This substance, which is found
universally to pervade the body, is termed the cellular sub¬
stance or texture. It is eminently endowed with elasticity,
and thus contributes essentially to preserve the natural
figure of every organ, and to restore it to its proper situa¬
tion, after any displacement by a foreign cause,
j pbrane. (33.) When condensed into a firmer layer or sheet of
animal matter, the same substance assumes the form oi'mem¬
brane, and is extensively employed as such, to supply or¬
gans with external coverings, or to afford them attachments
to surrounding parts for the purpose of protection and sup¬
port. Membranes are also used as barriers, for intercepting
the communication of fluid from one cavity to another ; and
they are also employed to form receptacles for the retention
of fluids, and tubes for conveying them from one part of the
system to another.
(34.) The fibrous structures, comprehending ligaments,
tendons, and fascice, are composed of still a denser approxi¬
mation of fibres, are endowed with a higher degree of tough¬
ness and strength, and are capable of exerting great resist¬
ance to any stretching force. Hence, they are extensively
employed in the construction of parts where these proper¬
ties are required.
(35.) The organs specially appropriated to touch, are
generally also those of prehension: and progressive motion
is accomplished by means of limbs, which act either upon
the ground, the waters, or the air, according to the element
in which the animal resides. But, in order to give proper
effect to these movements, the agency of levers is required ;
and we accordingly find a provision made for this purpose
in the construction of the bones, which, as we have before
observed, are capable of supplying the fulcra or fixed cen¬
tres of motion, and allow of the application of the moving
powers. It often happens that the actual attachment of
muscles to the points required to be moved, would be at¬
tended with inconvenience. In this case, an intermediate
structure is employed, analogous to that of a ligament, but
here denominated a tendon, serving as a strap to connect
the muscle to a distant bone, or other part on which the ac¬
tion of the muscle is to be exerted.
(36.) All the functions, which have for their object some
mechanical effort of the kind we have now described, may
be comprehended under the general head of the mechanical
functions.
(37.) The consideration of the chemical condition of the
animal system, introduces us to a class of functions of a totally
different nature from any of the preceding, yet equally es¬
sential to the maintenance of life. The solids and fluids of
which organized structures are composed, differ materially
in their chemical constitution from the products of the mi¬
neral kingdom. Their elements are combined by a much
more complicated arrangement, and united by less powerful
affinities; or rather the balance of affinities, by which they
are held together, is more easily destroyed, and thus, prone¬
ness to decomposition is constantly present. One of the
most remarkable and important of the operations of the vital
functions, is to repress this tendency to decomposition; for
no sooner is life extinct, than we find both the solids and
fluids of the body hastening to assume new forms and com¬
binations of their elements; and nothing can now prevent
f J0US
nlc.
ion.
I rition,
death.
the final disorganisation of that fabric which so lately de- Physiology,
lighted the eye with its beauty, and in which dwelt the
genial warmth of life, and the elastic vigour of youth. If
we watch the progress of those changes which take place in
the body, we shall find it characterised by a perpetual reno¬
vation of materials, continual losses of substance on the one
part, being compensated by an equally constant supply on
the other. From an atom of imperceptible minuteness we
trace its gradual increase of size, by the reception of nutri¬
tious matter from without, by the incorporation of this mat¬
ter with that which had before existed, by the consolidation
of the fluid, by the extension of the solid parts. We see
all the organs expanding by a slow, but uniform increase,
and in regular proportion, till they arrive at a certain limit.
Having attained this limit, the body remains stationary for
a certain period; that is, the waste of substance is exactly
compensated by the supplies furnished by the food receiv¬
ed into the body. At length, however, the compensation
is less perfectly maintained ; the powers which carry on the
functions begin to decline, the solids dry up and harden,
and a general torpor gradually pervades the system. Life
is sooner or later brought to a close by the natural progress
of these changes, even if its course be not sooner arrested
by causes of an accidental nature.
(38.) The functions of nutrition embrace a class of oper- Chemical
ations, destined to supply the materials wanted for the functions,
growth of the body, and for the supply of those materials
which either may have been expended in the natural exer¬
cise of the other functions, or lost in various ways, or else
employed in the reparation of injuries, which the organs
may have accidentally sustained. The nutritive, or as they
may also be termed the chemical functions, since they re¬
late to the chemical condition of the body, comprehend a
long series of processes, which, in order to study them suc¬
cessfully, require many successive subdivisions.
The first division includes all those functions which con¬
tribute to the reduction of the food to a substance of simi¬
lar chemical composition with the materials of which the
body already consists ; processes which are comprehended
under the general term ot Assimilation.
The second and third divisions relate to the collection of
the nutriment thus prepared, or assimilated, into a general
reservoir ; and its subsequent distribution throughout the
body, so as to admit of being applied to use whenever it
may be wanted. These objects are attained by the func¬
tions of Absorption and of Circulation.
A fourth division refers to the purification of the general
mass of nutritious fluid existing in the great reservoir of the
body, by the separation of its superfluous combustible por¬
tion, and more especially of its carbon; a change which is
effected by the function of Respiration.
The last division of this class of functions comprehends
the several processes by which certain materials are separ¬
ated from the blood in a solid or fluid form; some with a
view to their final expulsion from the system, some to an¬
swer purposes connected with other functions, and the re¬
maining part being expended in repairing the waste which
the solids of the body undergo in the exercise of their re¬
spective offices. To the former of these functions the term
of Secretion is applied ; whilst the last is more especially re¬
garded as the proper and final process of Nutrition. We
shall examine each of these divisions more particularly.
(39.) Assimilation is effected by a long series of pro- Assimila-
cesses, which are partly of a mechanical and partly of ation, masti-
chemical nature. The food taken into the mouth is first cat'on> 4e-
masticated by the action of the teeth and jaws, so as to break
down the cohesion of its parts, and prepare it for the che-^n lf’e8‘
mical action of the fluids to which it is afterwards to be sub¬
jected. There is at the same time added to it a quantity
of liquid, termed the saliva, prepared by a set of glands, to
be hereafter specified, and poured out into the mouth in
582 PHYSIOLOG Y.
Physiology.large quantities during the act of mastication. By these
means the food is softened in its texture, and reduced to the
form of a pulp, in which state it is swallowed, by the organs
of deglutition, and conveyed through a tube called the oeso¬
phagus into the stomach. The stomach is a capacious bag,
or receptacle, capable of holding a considerable quantity
of food, and of retaining it for a certain period. The inner
membrane which lines the cavity of the stomach prepares a
fluid termed the gastric juice, which acts chemically upon
the food in that cavity, while this food is at the same time
subjected to a degree of pressure from the action ot a set of
muscular fibres which are interposed between the interior
and exterior coats of the stomach. The food is also slowly
moved by the successive contractions of these muscles, so
that every part of it comes in its turn to be acted upon by
the gastric juice, until the whole is converted into a soft and
smooth mass of uniform consistence which is termed chyme;
the operation itself by which this conversion is effected
being termed digestion.
Chylifica- (40.) The aliment thus digested, or reduced to the state
tion, lac- of chyme, passes onwards from an orifice at the farther end
teal abso P-of the stomach into a tube of great length, several portions
non, and 0f which have received different names, but which are com-
e ccation. prjge(j un(jer the general term of the intestines. In the first
portion, the duodenum, the aliment undergoes still further
changes; it is mixed with two fluids, the one called the bile,
which is prepared by a large glandular organ, termed the
liver ; and the other called the pancreatic juice, prepared
by another gland, the pancreas. Secretions also take place
from the inner membrane of the intestines themselves, and
the result of the united action of all these fluids, aided by
the movements imparted to the aliment by the contractions
of the muscular fibres contained in the coats of the intestines,
is gradually to convert part of what was chyme into a new
substance called chyle, which is the most nutritious portion
of the aliment, and has the appearance of a milky fluid.
The chyle is received into a set of very minute tubes call¬
ed lacteals, which are exceedingly numerous, and arise by
open mouths from the inner surface ot the duodenum and
its prolongations, the jejunum and ileum. They collect the
chyle together, and pour it into an intermediate receptacle,
whence it is conveyed along a large tube, called the thoracic
duct, into other cavities, of which we shall presently speak.
That portion of the chyme which is not converted into chyle,
descends into the lower portions of the intestinal canal, is
collected in the larger intestines, of which the colon is the
principal one, and finally ejected from the body.
Sanguifica- (41-) The next step in the assimilatory process is the
tionT conversion of the chyle into blood, a change which has been
termed sanguification. It is in the great system of vessels
which contain the blood already formed, and in the course
of the passages through which the blood is moved, that this
gradual change is effected. The great reservoir of this im¬
portant fluid, on which the nutrition of every part of the
body, and its maintenance in a state of action, immediate¬
ly depend, is the heart. The thoracic duct opens into
one of the veins or tubes leading directly to the heart; the
chvle is tnerefore immediately conducted into this reservoir,
and thoroughly mixed with the general mass of food.
Circulation. (42.) The heart is a powerful muscular organ ; from its
cavity arise the trunks of large tubes, called arteries, which
subdivide and ramify as they proceed in their course to
every part of the body, being distributed in abundance to
every organ, with a very few exceptions. No sooner are
the cavities of the heart distended with blood, than the
muscular structure which surrounds their cavities contract
with enormous force, and propel their fluid contents through
the system of arteries, sending it in one great wave, even
to the extremities of its minutest ramifications. From these
extremities of the arteries it passes into corresponding
branches of another set of vessels, the veins, which proceed
in the opposite direction, towards the heart, uniting in their Physiolo;
course into larger and larger trunks, till they reach the'^'s,/^/
heart, to which they deliver back the portion of blood that
has thus percolated through every part of the body. No
sooner has it again filled the cavities of the heart, than it is
again sent with renewed force into the same arterial chan¬
nels, and again brought back by the veins. The functions
by which this circular course is given to the blood, is term¬
ed the circulation.
(43.) The blood, in the course of its circulation, furnishes Secretioif
to all the organs the materials which are necessary for their
growth, for the renovation of their powers, and for the sup¬
ply of those fluids and other animal products which are
wanted in various parts of the economy. The separation
of these fluids, and* the formation of these peculiar animal
products, are the objects of another function, that of secre¬
tion. Particular organs are in most cases provided for the
purpose of effecting these processes. These are the glands,
which are variously constructed according to the particular
offices they have to perform ; each is furnished with an
elaborate apparatus of vessels ; and the fluid which is form¬
ed by them, is generally conducted to the place of its des¬
tination by a pipe, or excretory duct, as it is termed.
(44.) The fluids which are thus separated from the blood
are, for the most part, applied to useful purposes in dif¬
ferent parts of the economy ; some for the repair of that
loss of substance in the part of the body incident to the ex¬
ercise of their respective functions, others for different sub¬
sidiary purposes related to those functions. The substance
of the bones, for example, undergoes a gradual change dur¬
ing the whole of life ; each particle is removed in succession
and is replaced by others, so that in the course of time the
whole substance of the body undergoes renovation. Two
important functions are called into action for the completion
of these processes; the first of these is concerned in the re¬
moval of the old and decayed materials ; the second, in the
due application of those which are to replace them.
(45.) The removal of those particles which have become Lympi,at
useless, and whose presence might be injurious, is effectedat)Sorptjoi
by a distinct set of vessels, called lymphatics. The lym¬
phatics are met with in almost every part of the body ; and
resemble, both in structure and mode of distribution, the
lacteal vessels already described. The mode of their ori¬
gin is not well ascertained, but, like the lacteals, the smaller
branches successively unite into trunks, which terminate
either in the thoracic duct, or into the larger veins leading
directly to the heart. Through these channels, then, it is
that all the particles which require removal are conveyed
away, and deposited into the general mass of circulating
fluids. The function thus performed by the lymphatics in
common with the lacteals, is termed absorption. t ,
(46.) The function having for its object the reparation hlltr^(n
of the substance of the different organs, is designated by the^™-^
general name of Nutrition. It includes the developement
and growth of the parts, and their maintenance in the heal¬
thy state, that is the state in which they are fitted for the
exercise of their several functions; as well as the restora¬
tion of what they may have lost from accidental causes, such
as mechanical injuries.
When a bone is broken, for instance, a solid union is by
degrees effected by the deposit of new ossitic materials,
consisting chiefly of phosphat of lime, which is secreted or
separated from the blood by the irritated vessels in the
neighbourhood of the injury. In all these cases the absorb¬
ents are also at work in modelling the shape of the part to
be restored, in removing all roughnesses or angular projec¬
tions, and making room for the new formations which are to
take place. The functions of absorption and nutrition are
thus, in some respects, opposed to each other, producing
contrary effects, though both co-operating in the accom¬
plishment of one final purpose, and balanced and adjusted
PHYSIOLOGY.
583
l tsition
1 re-
p i iology. to one another with that manifest intention. The general
bulk of the body, and of its parts, varies according to the
predominance of the one or the other of these actions of
absorption and nutrition ; wasting when the former is in ex¬
cess ; thriving and enlarging when the latter prevails.
(47.) There is one peculiar mode in which superabund¬
ant nutrition manifests itself. When the supply of nutri¬
ment is greater than what the wants of the system require,
the superfluous portion is converted into an oily fluid, which
is laid up in store for future use. This fluid is the fat;
and it is accumulated in various parts of the body, and es¬
pecially between the skin and the muscles, and in other
places, where it may also serve a subsidiary purpose of me¬
chanical protection against inequalities of pressure. The fat
is thus useful as a soft cushion on which delicate organs,
such as the eye, may move in security ; and also as a con¬
venient material for filling up hollows in various unoccupi¬
ed situations. The chief use, however, of large accumula¬
tions of fat, is to serve as a magazine of nutriment, out of
which the body may be supported in those seasons when
the supply of food is deficient, and more particularly during
those periods which are, by some animals, passed in a state
of complete inactivity. This is the case in those animals
which are said to hybernate, or continue during the whole
of winter in a perfectly torpid state.
(48.) Whilst some of the products of secretion are thus
employed in nutrition, others are subservient to the func¬
tions of particular organs. Thus, the tears are useful in
washing away from the surface of the eye, dust, and other
materials which might obstruct vision ; the gastric juice is
subservient to digestion ; and the mucilaginous secretion of
the wind-pipe and nostrils defend those passages from the
acrimony of the air. But, in other cases, these secreted
matters have noxious qualities ; and it is the object of their
separation from the blood, to get rid of them altogether.
This is the case with the secretions from the kidneys, and
from the skin, and perhaps, also, partly with that from the
liver. These are termed the excretions, in contradistinction
to the proper secretions, and the organs which separate them
are termed the emunctories.
(49.) The organs which, in this sense of the term, must
be considered as the principal emunctory of the body are
the lungs. It would appear that the blood, from which the
animal solids and fluids derive their nourishment, contains
a larger proportion of carbon than what is required for the
formation and reparation of these solids and fluids ; the ele¬
ments abstracted from the blood by the processes of secre¬
tion and nutrition, being principally oxygen, hydrogen, and
nitrogen.
The continuance of these processes must tend therefore,
to produce an accumulation of caroon in the blood ; and
accordingly we find that this fluid, in the course of its cir¬
culation, gradually acquires a darker colour. From being
of a vivid scarlet hue in the trunks of the arteries, it has
changed to a dark purple by the time it has reached the
veins. It is returned to the heart, therefore, in a state un¬
fit for the purposes of nutrition, and not proper to be again
circulated through the vessels of the body. In order to re¬
store it to its original state, it is necessary to deprive it of the
ingredient it contains in excess, that is, of carbon, which,
when thus present in the blood, is found to exert a positively
deleterious power on the parts to which it is applied.
For this purpose the blood is transmitted by an appro¬
priate system of arteries, to the lungs, where it is exposed
to the influence of atmospheric air, alternately received in¬
to, and expelled from that organ. By a process which ap¬
pears to be analogous to slow combustion, the superfluous
carbon of the blood combines with the oxygen of the atmo¬
spheric air, and is expelled, in the form of carbonic acid
gas, along with the air expired. The blood thus purified,
and restored to its salutary qualities, is conducted back again,
I’"-
by a corresponding set of veins, to the heart, and is again Physiology,
sent, by the contractions of that organ, into the arteries
the body, and performs the same round of circulation as be¬
fore. Respiration, which is the title of the function we
have now been describing, completes this class, which we
have termed the chemical functions of the economy.
(50.) The three classes of functions we have been re- The re¬
viewing, namely, the mechanical, the chemical, and the sen- productive
sitive, relate only to the preservation and welfare of the tunctk’ns.
individual alone. But as nature has assigned a limit to the
duration of life, it became necessary that a provision should
be made for the multiplication of individuals, and the con¬
servation of the race. Such, then, is the object of a fourth
class of functions, namely the reproductive functions, includ¬
ing the processes of fecundation, of evolution, of gestation,
and of parturition, and the auxiliary function of lactation,
provided for the supply of the new-born infant with nourish¬
ment adapted to the tender condition of its organs of assi¬
milation.
(51.) Having studied the phenomena and the circum-Develope-
stances which lay the foundations of individual existence, ment.
the physiologist has next to occupy himself with the consi¬
deration of the long series of changes which intervene be¬
tween the cradle and the grave, and constitute the “strange
eventful history” of the physical life of man. He follows
the rise and developement of the several organs, and the
occasions on which their functions are called forth : he no¬
tices their entry on the stage of life, in which they are de¬
stined to play more or less important parts; he watches
their progress, maturity, and decay, till they finally disap¬
pear from the scene, when their functions having succes¬
sively declined, and passed away, the vital spark becomes
extinguished, and the curtain drops on the fleeting drama
of our probationary existence. A multitude of interesting
subjects press on his attention in this division of his subject,
so replete with wonder, and so calculated to impress us
with exalted ideas of divine prescience, and of the unbound¬
ed resources of creative power.
To this department of physiology properly belong, first,
the history of the changes #which take place in the organs,
during their natural course of developement, in what has
been styled their normal condition, such as the formation
of the vital organs, the process of ossification, the general
growth of the body, the changes occurring at the period of
puberty, the slow but sure progress of consolidation attend¬
ing the decline of life, and the successive decay and obli¬
teration of the faculties which precede death ; and, second¬
ly, the study of phenomena exhibiting the operation of
those powers of repair and renovation, which exist in the
constitution, and which are called forth only on certain oc¬
casions, when the organization hasbeen injured or destroyed,
or when the functions have been deranged or suspended,
by various accidental causes.
(52.) These topics introduce to our notice the varieties Tempera-
which are observable in different classes of individuals in meins,
the general mode in which the functions are performed
with reference to their balance, or relative preponderance :
conditions which constitute the different temperaments, as
they are called, and which are severally characterised by
peculiar external indications.
(53.) Physiology, lastly, comprehends within the scope Varieties
of its inquiries, those more strongly marked diversities that^n the race,
are met with in the inhabitants of different regions of the
globe, and which appear to form separate races of mankind.
These constitutional peculiarities, as shown by differences
both in external conformation, and in the internal endow¬
ments of an intellectual and moral nature, are of so distinct
and permanent a character, as to have suggested the hypo-
pothesis of their indicating, in a zoological sense, not merely
varieties of a single species, but several different species of
the genus Man.
584
PHYSIOLOGY.
Phywology. (54.) The present treatise is intended to exhibit a con-
densed view of the actual state of our knowledge on all the
Plan of subjects comprised in the above outline, and to conclude
this trea- a revjew 0f tlie progressive history of the science from
the earliest periods to the present tiiiie-
Pathology. (55.) It is hardly necessary to remark, that the pro¬
vince of Physiology, is restricted to the consideration of
the phenomena of the living body in its perfectly normal
or healthy state: while those which are presented when
these limits of healthy action are passed, and the abnormal,
or diseased state commences, are the subjects of another
branch of science, denominated Pathology, no less inter¬
esting and important than the former, as furnishing the
principles by which the art of medicine derives all its pow¬
ers; but which, it must be obvious, must have its foundations
laid in an extensive and correct knowledge of physiology.
Physiology (56.) It is evident that the foundations of all physiolo-
founded on gjcal knowledge must be laid in a thorough acquaintance
anatomy, the structure or internal mechanism of animals. The
study of anatomy, indeed, derives its chief interest from its
connexion with physiology; for unless viewed w ith reference to
their uses, or subserviency to particular purposes, the examina-
tionof the forms andpropertiesofthe parts of a machine would
be a barren and an irksome task. Let us imagine, for exam¬
ple, a person, who had never seen a ship, and had no idea
of the object for which it is intended, to visit it for the first
time, and to be at liberty to examine at his leisure every
part of its rigging and internal construction. A restless cu¬
riosity might indeed lead him to handle the ropes and blocks,
and climb upon every mast; to descend between the decks,
and minutely inspect every part of its fabric; to explore,
in a word, the whole anatomy of this most stupendous pro'
duct of human ingenuity. But his labour would avail him
nothing. The most complete survey would afford him no
instruction, or leave any distinct impression as long as he
had no principle to connect them in his mind. But let him
review the same objects with an experienced guide, instruct¬
ing him, as he proceeds, with the general purposes of the
whole machine, and the particular uses of every part, as well
as the mode in which they operate and concur in the pro¬
duction of the intended effect. Then it is that he will feel
a real interest in the examination: then it is that he will
attach due importance to each part of the inquiry. Per¬
ceiving the relations which connect the objects, and under¬
standing the functions of the several instruments he sees,
he is no longer perplexed and bewildered ; individual facts
arrange themselves in a natural order, and the whole forms
in his mind one connected system of knowledge, readily re¬
tained and easily communicated.
The case is perfectly similar with regard to the body of
an animal, of which anatomy lays open to us the structure.
Dissection can only shew us that it consists of various parts,
some hard, some soft, and others fluid. The harder parts, such
as the bones, are of various forms, perforated by numerous
apertures, andjoined together in different ways. The soft parts
are found to be composed of various kindsof textures, ofwhich
the elements appear to be collections of fibres or plates, cu¬
riously disposed and interwoven, so as to constitute a cellular
or spongy tissue, and, occasionally, more extended layers of
membrane. In every part we find innumerable tubes and
passages, branching out and again uniting, in an infinite va¬
riety of ways. We arrive at cavities of different forms and
extent, enclosing organs of various descriptions, or contain¬
ing fluids which pass through appropriate channels of com¬
munication to very distant parts; composing altogether a
vast and complicated system of mechanical and hydraulic ap¬
paratus. Thus whilst we confine our attention to the mere
anatomy,all is perplexity and confusion; we are overwhelm¬
ed by the multiplicity of objects, and lost in the immense
mass of unconnected detail. But no sooner do we study the
parts of the animal frame with reference to their uses, and
their subserviency to the several functions of the living body, Pliysioi
than the whole appears under a newr aspect. Aided by the <
light of physiology, we trace order and connexion in every
part, and gather increasing delight and instruction as we
proceed. The requisite adaptation of the organs to their
respective offices, and the correspondence established be¬
tween these offices, by which they concur in the same ulti¬
mate object, must ever excite our most profound admiration,
and exalt our ideas of that infinite intelligence which plan¬
ned, and that transcendent power and beneficence which
executed the vast and magnificent system of creation.
CHAP. II. APPLICATIONS OF PHYSIOLOGY.
(57.) Physiology claims our attention, not merely as an Applfs
ornamental branch of speculative knowledge, but as a science tions ol
of immediate and vast practical utility. Numerous are the physion I
occasions on which a scientific knowledge of the structure
of our own bodies, and of the operations that are carried on
within us, is highly valuable to its possessor ; and more es¬
pecially if combined with the more enlarged views derived
from the study of comparative physiology. It may be use¬
ful here to point out some of the most important applica¬
tions of physiological knowledge.
(58.) It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the utility of al. Meet
knowledge of anatomy, enlightened by physiology, in itsc'ne. i
application to the art of medicine ; for the very foundations
of that art must be laid by these sciences. It is, however,
proper to advert to the limited advantage which would ac¬
crue from such applioation if those sciences were confined
to the human structure and the human functions, instead of
comprehending within its range the whole of the animal
creation. All the important discoveries of modern times
with regard to the economy of the human body have been
derived from observations made on the lower animals. That
of the circulation X)f the blood, for instance, which has im¬
mortalised the name of Harvey, was obtained principally
from this source. John Hunter, one of the greatest bene¬
factors to the healing art in modern times, was so deeply
impressed with the necessity of an extended study of com¬
parative physiology, that he devoted his whole life to its cul¬
tivation, with an ardour and a perseverance that have been
rarely equalled, and never surpassed ; as is attested by the
unrivalled museum of preparations in every department of
comparative anatomy, which he formed by his own unaid¬
ed exertions, and which will ever remain an imperishable
monument to his fame.
(59 ) The various combinations of faculties, which are
met with in the different tribes of animals, exhibit in a most
striking manner the mutual dependence and relations of
the animal and vital functions. As if with the express in¬
tention of assisting us in our physiological researches on the
attributes of that vitality which eludes our experimental in¬
vestigations, nature offers to our view, in the diversified
structures of each successive order of animals, a series, as
it were, of varied experiments ; and exhibits the several or¬
gans under every degree of simplicity and complication of
structures, and every possible mode of combination. The
application of all this knowledge comes home to our own
bosoms ; for the human race is then viewed as composing
a member of the great family of nature ; and we ourselves,
as well as all the individuals of that race, are placed under the
governance of those general laws which regulate all ani¬
mated beings. Our deepest interests, our future comforts
and enjoyments, our powers of action, our intellectual ex¬
istence, our capacities of feeling and of reasoning, all that
renders life desirable, nay, that very life itself, are wholly
dependent on the operation of those laws, and on the mi¬
nutest results produced by their varied combinations. In a
word, we ourselves are animals, and nothing that relates
ever so remotely to animal life can be to us a matter of in¬
difference.
PHYSIOLOGY.
P ology. (60.) Although the researches into comparative physio-
J /^'logy necessarily imply a know ledge of the forms and his-
2.iplogy-tory of the different races of animals, it tends to reflect, in
its turn, the most important light on the science of zoology ;
and more especially on that department which relates to
the classification of animals. All scientific knowledge must
be founded on correct classification ; but in zoology a me¬
thodical arrangement is indispensable ; for scarcely any pro¬
gress could be made without it. The number of animals
in the habitable globe is immense, while our faculties and
means of observation are extremely limited. Of insects
alone, the number of distinct species which have been al¬
ready determined considerably exceeds one hundred thou¬
sand. Of the other classes of animals, though less numerous,
the catalogue of known species is at least half as great.
Each of these races of beings has its distinct and charac¬
teristic form, its peculiar organization, habits, and faculties.
It is obvious that if, at the outset of our inquiries, we were to
attempt describing, or even of taking an inventory of all the
living objects that presented themselves to our notice with¬
out regard to any principle of order, our attention would soon
be distracted, and our memory overwhelmed by the confu¬
sed accumulation of details ; and it would not be possible to
deduce from them any useful result. Classification affords
the only clue wdiich can extricate us from this intellectual
labyrinth, which can resolve this state of chaos, and reduce
this crude and indigested mass of materials into the form of
regular science. It is only by a methodical arrangement
of objects that we can arrive at the perception of the more
extended relations which subsist among them, or establish
general propositions, embracing a multitude of subordinate
facts, and capable of an indefinite number of useful appli¬
cations.
iSca- (61.) In framing a system of classification of the animal
kingdom, there are two objects which we may have in view ;
first, that of being able readily to ascertain the name of any
animal which may present itself to our notice, and of recog¬
nising its identity with a species already known and de¬
scribed ; or, secondly, that of becoming acquainted with
the general nature and character of the animal in question ;
with the affinities which it has with others of the same class,
and with the rank which it holds in the scale of animation.
The first of these obj ects is attained by what are called artificial
methods of classification ; the second by what are called
natural methods. Much error and confusion have prevail¬
ed in the reasonings of naturalists from their neglecting to
discriminate the respective objects of these two kinds of
methods, which nevertheless are perfectly distinct from each
other.
fial (62.) In endeavouring to accomplish the first of these ob-
1I" ,(is- jects, we take, as it were, an inventory of nature, we record
all her productions, and follow'her in all her variations; we
collect the fullest and most faithful description of every
known species, and assign to each a particular name.
The end we have in view being simply to devise a ready
method of identifying animals, we follow a process of this
kind. We first unite those species which are most nearly
allied to each other into one cenus. We observe, for ex¬
ample, several species which have much resemblance to the
stag; such as the rein-deer, the elk, the roebuck, the fal¬
low-deer, the axis, the muntjac, and several others: we as¬
semble all these into one genus, which we call the deer
kind. By a similar process we form another genus of ani¬
mals resembling the bull ; such as the buffalo, &c. The
genus antelope will, in like manner, comprehend the gazelle,
the chamois, the nylghau, the oryx, the saiga, the gnu,
and a multitude of others. In the same way, the camel-
leopard, the goat, sheep, camel, and musk, may be regard¬
ed as so many generic terms, each including a number of dif¬
ferent animals, distinct in race, but similar in appearance.
Having thus constituted the genera, we may apply to them
VOL. xvn.
585
the same principle of generalization that we did to the spe- Physiology,
cies; uniting them, according to their similitudes, into more
comprehensive assemblages. Thus the genera above men¬
tioned, having many features of resemblance, are consider¬
ed as composing a tribe or order, to which Linnaeus has given
the name ofpecora.
(63.) We may continue this process till we have gone
through the whole animal kingdom ; but it will then be ne¬
cessary to adopt in some respects a contrary method ; and
instead of ascending as we have done from particulars to
generals, to descend from generals to particulars. Regard¬
ing the animal kingdom as one entire subject, we must par¬
tition it into provinces, and again subdivide these into small¬
er portions. All these divisions and subdivisions must be
founded upon distinct variations of external organs, and must
be characterised by concise definitions, enumerating the
leading circumstances common to all the animals they com¬
prehend, and by which they may be contrasted with those
included in the collateral divisions. The great primary di¬
visions of the animal kingdom are the classes ; the subdi¬
visions of these form the orders; these comprehend the
genera, which again include the separate races or species ;
while the ultimate ramifications of the system, expressive
merely of diversities arising in the same race, constitute
what are called varieties. By thus confining our atten¬
tion to a small number of essential characters, we are ena¬
bled to ascertain, by a sort of analytical process, the name
of any animal that we may wish to examine or identify. We
have converted our rude inventory into a convenient dic¬
tionary of nature, where every object may be found at its
appropriate place. The characters of the classes resemble
in their office the initial letter of a word ; the characters of
the subsequent divisions that of the succeeding letters, con¬
ducting us with certainty and precision to the place we seek.
The full developement of this method, and of the logic w hich
should regulate it, and its successful application to natural
history, we owe to the genius and industry of Linnaeus, to
wrhom the science will ever have to record a lasting obliga¬
tion.
(64.) But however perfectly we may have accomplished
the purpose we had in view in these artificial arrangements,
it is impossible not to perceive that we have obtained them
by the sacrifice of that order which nature herself points
out. A strict adherence to any arbitrarily assumed princi¬
ple of classification, is, in truth, incompatible with the nre-
servation of the natural affinities of animals. Thus, in the
system of Linnaeus, the order primates, among the mamma¬
lia, presents the incongruous association of man with mon¬
keys, lemurs, and bats. In the order belluce, the horse is
placed by the side of the hog. The ferce offer us the un¬
natural association of the seal, the dog, the bear, the opos¬
sum, the hedgehog, and the mole, merely because these
animals, in most respects totally dissimilar, happen to agree
in having the incisor teeth of a conical shape. The conti¬
nual violation of natural analogies, which is yet necessarily
incident to all artificial systems, has exposed them to much
censure and ridicule, from those wdio forget that the pur¬
pose for which they are framed, is that of convenient re¬
ference, and that it is essential to arrangements adapted
to that end, that they should be arbitrary. As well might
it be made the subject of complaint, that, in a dictionary,
words having very different meanings, are found placed in
juxtaposition.
(65.) Cuvier has justly remarked that a perfect natural
method should be the expression of the science itself, that is, methods,
of its most general propositions. By assembling animals in
groups, according to their general resemblances in the more
important circumstances of their organization and functions,
we are enabled to connect them under one description, and
afterwards apply to each individual species all the particu¬
lars comprised in this description, and thus we obtain more
4 E
586
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, or less comprehensive statements, or, as it were, zoological
^y ' laws, enabling us both to acquire and to retain the facts
with greater facility, and to apply them with readiness in
every case ; in a word, it gives us the entire command of
that knowledge, by imparting to it the form of science. The
tribe of pecora, formerly mentioned, may be taken as an
excellent example of a natural family of animals ; for they
consist of species which bear a striking resemblance with
one another in form, organization, and manners. If we
meet with a new animal having one or two of the leading
characters of this tribe, we deduce at once all the most im¬
portant features of its history. We know, for instance, from
its possessing a double hoof, that it belongs to this tribe,
and consequently that it feeds on herbage, that it has four
stomachs, and that it ruminates its food ; that it belongs to
a species disposed to assemble in flocks or herds, and that
it has a disposition to be domesticated. We may pronounce
that its upper jaw has no incisor teeth, and so forth.
(66.) It is evident that from the discovery of these ana¬
logies, on which the arrangement into natural families is
founded, we must resort to the aid of comparative physio¬
logy. It is this science alone that can teach us to discri¬
minate the circumstances wdiich are of real importance in
the animal economy, and on which their very nature and
character depend. The immense progress which has been
made in this branch of knowledge since the time of Lin-
neeus, has enabled us to determine with much greater pre¬
cision the relative affinities of animals, and the rank which
each tribe is entitled to hold in the natural system of clas¬
sification.
Method of (67.) Attempts have often been made to combine these
Dum&il. two methods into one, by a sort of mutual compromise be¬
tween them, that is, by an arrangement partly natural and
partly artificial, to obtain the principal advantages of both.
The most perfect specimen of this union of the two methods
is that of Dumeril, which he has published under the title of
Zoologie Analytique. The characters on which his divi¬
sions are founded are distributed in a strictly analytical order,
and they conduct us to classes much more natural than those
of Linnaeus. Thus he divides the Linnaean class of insects into
two, namely, Crustacea, and insects properly so called. The
very miscellaneous class of vermes, in which animals very
dissimilar in their nature had been thrown together as it
were in a lumber closet, compose in this system the more
natural assemblages of mollusca, vermes, and zoophytes. Du¬
meril has pursued this plan throughout the whole of the ani¬
mal kingdom, reducing all the characters which lead to the
determination of classes, orders, families, and genera, to the
form of synoptic tables.
Cuvier. (68.) The arrangement which makes the nearestapproach
to a natural distribution is that adopted by Cuvier, in his
celebrated work entitled Le Regne Animal Distribue
d’apres son Organization ; as it is founded chiefly on the
structure of the organs most essential to life, and having
most influence in determining the intelligence, sensibilities,
activity, habits, and manners of animals. Physiology is, in
fact, the basis of Cuvier’s classification, for it proceeds on
the following principles.
(69.) The powers of sensation and of voluntary motion
being the chief attributes of animal life, it follows that the
organs of primary importance in the economy are those
which are immediately subservient to the performance of
these functions. They are, as we have seen, the organs
composing the nervous system ; and the general form and
distribution of the nervous system, therefore, should lay
the foundation of the primary divisions of the animal king¬
dom. There appear to be four general types or models of
structure of these organs presented in the animal creation.
The first consists of a brain, or large mass of nervous sub¬
stance, from which a cylindrical process, called the spinal
marrow, is continued; and these are protected respectively
1. MAMMALIA.
1. Bimana Man.
2. Quadrumana Monkey, ape, lemur.
3. Cheiroptera Bat, colugo
4. Insectivora Hedgehog, shrew, mole.
5. Plantigrada Bear, badger, glutton.
6. Digitigrada Dog, lion, cat, martin, weasel, otter.
7. Amphibia Seal walrus.
8. Marsupialia Opossum, kanguroo, wombat.
9. Rodentia Beaver, rat, squirrel, porcupine, hare.
„ , f Sloth, armadillo, anteater, pangolin, ornithor-
10. Edentata -J nychus
11. Pachydermata Elephant, hog, rhinoceros, tapir, horse.
. . . ( Camel, musk, deer, giraffe, antelope, goat,
12. Ruminantia -j ^ 0;r
13. Cetacea Dolphin, whale.
2. AYES.
1. Accipitres Vulture, eagle, owl.
2. Passores Thrush, swallow lark, crow, sparrow, wren.
3. Scansores Woodpecker, cuckoo, toucan, parrot.
4. Gallinse Peacock, pheasant, grouse, pigeon.
5. Grallse Plover, stark, snipe, ibis, flamingo.
6. Palmipedes Auk, grebe, gull pelican, swan, duck-
3. REPTILIA.
1. Chelonia Tortoise, turtle, emys.
2. Sauria Crocodile, lizard, gecko, chameleon.
3. Ophidia Serpents, boa, viper.
4. Batrachia Frog, salamander, newt, proteus, siren.
4. PISCES.
1. Acanthopterygii...PercA, mackerel, sword-fish, mullet-
( Salmon, herring, pike, carp, silurus, eod,
2. Malaeopterygu..... sole, remora, eel.
3. Lophobranchii. Pipe-fish, pegasus.
4. Plectognathi Sun fish, trunk-fish.
5. Chondropterygii...Lamprey, shark, ray, sturgeon-
II. MOLLUSCA.
1. Cephalopoda Cuttle-fish, calamary, nautilus.
2. Pteropoda Clio, hyalaa.
by the bones of the skull, and by a series of bones, called * uys»»,
vertebrce, which form a jointed column along the whole 's^v ^
length of the back. Animals formed on this construction
are called vertebratcd animals, a division which compre¬
hends all the higher classes of the animal kingdom, namely,
mammalia, birds, reptiles, and fishes.
In the second form of the nervous system, there is pro¬
perly but one central mass of nervous substance, or brain,
without any spinal marrow, and from this mass filaments of
nerves proceed, in various directions, to be distributed to
all the other parts. This division comprehends all the mol¬
lusca, including both the mollusca and testacea of Linnaeus.
The third form is that of a longitudinal series of masses
connected together by lateral filaments, and sending out,
as from so many centres, ramifications of nerves. This
structure is the distinctive mark of articulated animals, and
may be recognised in insects, and worms properly so called.
The fourth and last division of Cuvier, he denominates
radiated animals, in which, wherever nerves are found,
they appear as a number of equal masses disposed in a cir¬
cle, and sending out fibres, which diverge like rays from a
common centre. Hence the whole body of the animal, or
at least some of its principal organs, has a radiated or star-
like form. This is the case with the asterias, medusce, po¬
lypi, and all the other animals comprehended under the
name of zoophytes.
As frequent reference will be made, in this treatise, to
the zoological classification of Cuvier, we shall here give a
table of the principal divisions which it comprises, together
with examples of animals included in each order.
I. YERTEBRATA.
iology* 3- Gasteropoda Slug, snail, limpet, whelk
4. -Acepbala Oyster, muscle, ascidia.
PHYSIOLOGY.
587
5. Brachiopoda Lingula, terebratula.
6. Cirrbopoda Barnacle.
III. ARTICULATA.
1. ANNELIDA.
1. Tubicola Serpula, sabella, amphitrite.
2. Dorsibranchia Nereis, aphodrite, lob-worm.
3. Abranchia Earth-worm, leech, nais, hair-worm.
2. CRUSTACEA.
ry of
pilous
iion.
1. Malacostraca 
Decapoda Crab, lobster, prawn.
Stomapoda Squill, phyllosoma.
Amphipoda Gammarus, sand-hopper.
Lsemodipoda Cyamus.
Isopoda Wood louse.
2. Entomostraca Monoculus.
3. ARACHNIDA.
1. Pulmonalia Spider, tarantula, scorpion.
2. Trachealia Phalangium, mite.
4. INSECTA.
1. Aptera Centipede, podura.
2. Coleoptera Beetle, glow worm.
3. Orthoptera Grasshopper, locust.
4. Hemiptera Fire-fly, aphis-
5. Neuroptera Dragon-fly, ephemera-
6 Hymenoptera Bee, wasp, ant.
7. Lepidoptera Butterfly, moth.
8. Rhipiptera Xenos, stylops-
9. Diptera Gnat, house-fly.
IV. ZOOPHYTA.
1. Ecbinodermata Star-fish, urchin.
2. Entozoa Fluke, hydatid, tape-worm.
3. Acalephae...... Actinia medusa.
4. Polypi Hydra, coral, madrepore, pennatula-
5. Infusoria Brachionus, vibrio, proteus, monos.
It has long been a favourite notion with speculative natu¬
ralists, that organized beings might be arranged in a conti¬
nued series, every part of which, like the links of a chain,
should be connected with that which preceded and that
which followed it. Linnaeus was even impressed with the
idea that nature, in the formation of animals, had never
passed abruptly from one kind of structure to another. But
the idea of a chain, or continuous gradation of being, was
cherished with enthusiastic ardour by Bonnet, who, assum¬
ing man as the standard of excellence, attempted to trace a
regular series, descending from him to the unorganized ma¬
terials of the mineral world. Many other writers have adopt¬
ed this speculation ; but none have carried it to a more ex¬
travagant length than Lamarck, who blends it with the wildest
and most absurd hypothesis that was ever devised, to ac¬
count for the diversities of animal structures. He conceives
that there was originally no distinction of species, but that
each has, in the course of ages, been derived from some other
less perfect than itself, by a spontaneous improvement in the
race. He believes that the animalcula of infusions gave
birth, by successive transformations, to all other animals ;
aquatic animals acquiring feet and legs, fitting them for
walking on the ground, and, after a time, being converted
into wings, merely from the long continued operation of a
desire to walk or to fly.
(70.) In support of the theory of continuous gradation
many anomalous animals are produced as instances of links
of connexion between different classes of animals. The bat
has been regarded as one of these intermediate links be¬
tween mammalia and birds. The cetaceous tribe, including
the whale, cachalot, dolphin, and narwhal, though proper- Physiology,
ly belonging to the class mammalia, make an apparently near
approach to the tribe of fishes. The ornithorhyncus is al¬
lied both to quadrupeds and to birds. Many similar examples
might be produced among the inferior classes of the animal
kingdom. A little attention, however, will soon enable us
to perceive that they occupy but small portions of the wide
spaces intervening between different orders of animals.
Even in the best arranged systems, such as that of Cuvier,
we discover innumerable chasms wholly unoccupied, be¬
tween adjacent orders; and in many instances animals,
which are scarcely in any respect allied to each other, are
placed in immediate sequence. This defect, as I have al¬
ready observed, is unavoidable, because it is inherent in the
very nature of the subject. Instead of a single continuous
line, nature presents us with a multitude of partial series,
with innumerable ramifications, and occasionally a few in¬
sulated circles. If metaphor must be employed, it would be
better to say, that instead of being a chain, the natural dis¬
tribution of animals offers the idea of a complicated net¬
work, where several parallel series present themselves, and
are occasionally joined by transverse or oblique lines of con¬
nexion. I he great divisions of Cuvier represent these prin¬
cipal parallel series. The last, however, or that of the ra-
diata, appears to be the least perfect of these series, and
might with advantage be farther divided. On the subject of
natural classification Mr. Macleay1 has advanced a hypothe¬
sis, which he supports with some ingenuity, namely, that the
real types or models of structure may be represented by a cir¬
cular or recurring arrangement; and he gives a number of
instances in which this principle appears very happily to ap¬
ply. But speculation on these subjects can lead to satisfac¬
tory conclusions only on the supposition that an extensive
comparison of organs has been instituted throughout the
whole of the animal kingdom.
(71.) A scientific knowledge of the organization andfunc-g Appli-
tions of animals is valuable, not only in its application tocatjon t0
zoology, but also in reference to many other sciences, such geology,
as geology, with which it might at first view appear to have
but little connexion. By attending to the arrangement of
mineral bodies as they occur in nature, we have sufficient
proofs that the earth has undergone frequent and conside¬
rable changes prior to the existence of any living beings.
But we find, besides, a great number of strata, which con¬
tain unequivocal remains of vegetable and animal bodies.
A large proportion of these are shells, exuviae of zoophytes,
and other marine animals. We also find, in other strata, a
multitude of fossil bones, and teeth of various quadrupeds
and reptiles ; and occasionally, but more rarely, of birds and
fishes. Whole mountains and extensive districts appear to
be composed entirely of these animal remains. It is by the
aid of comparative anatomy and physiology alone that we
are enabled to compare these relics of antiquity with simi¬
lar facts of living or recent animals, to discover their diffe¬
rences or identity, and to deduce certain conclusions with
regard to the nature, habits, and characters of the animals
to which they had belonged; and by studying their rela¬
tion with the strata in which they are found, to draw infe¬
rences with regard to the changes which must have taken
place in those parts of the earth, inferences which are of
the highest importance towards establishing a correct theory
of those changes. The difficulties attending researches of
this nature were of course exceedingly great; but they have
been at length surmounted by the persevering zeal and in¬
dustry of modern naturalists. In these arduous investiga¬
tions Cuvier stands pre-eminent; and his labours have been
rewarded with a number of highly interesting results. The
great principle which he has assumed as the foundation of
his researches, is that every organized individual constitutes
1 Macleay, Horae Entomologicce, or Essays on Annulose Animals, 1821.
588
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology.a svstetn of itself, of which all the parts are connected to
'each other by certain definite relations. In passing trom
each of these structures to that of other animals in the na¬
tural series, we find that all the changes 01 form which take
place in any one organ are accompanied by corresponding
alterations in the form of every other organ ; so that by the
careful application of certain rules, deduced from this ob¬
served reciprocal dependence of its functions, we aie ena¬
bled to ascertain with considerable certainty the forms and
habits of animals, of which only small fragments have been
preserved. We have already given an instance of this mode
of reasoning as applied to ruminant animals. By following
this guide Cuvier ascertained and classed the fossil remains
of nearly 100 different quadrupeds in the viviparous and ovi¬
parous classes. Of these above seventy were distinct spe¬
cies, hitherto unknown to naturalists.
It appears from these researches that the earth has sus¬
tained more numerous convulsions than had before been sus¬
pected, and that these must have been separated by consi¬
derable intervals of time; that the ocean has deposited va¬
rious strata in regular succession ; that the species of ani¬
mals whose remains are found in these strata change with
every variation in the nature of the deposit, and become more
and more analogous with the living animals of the present
day, in proportion as the deposits have been of more recent
date. It appears from an examination of these fossil remains,
that the sea must have retired at intervals from the districts
it had formerly covered, and left dry land, affording habita¬
tion for large quadrupeds; and that after a certain unknow n
space of time, the sea has suddenly returned to the same
spot, has destroyed all the terrestrial animals, and has form¬
ed subsequent deposits of shells and other marine produc-
tions.
These sudden irruptions and recessions of the ocean, which
have occurred several times in the same district, must have
been attended with extensive destruction of animal life.
Whole races have perished irretrievably, and are known to
us only by the durable memorials they have left behind of
their own existence, and of the several epochs of antedilu¬
vian chronology.
(72.) The study of the fossil remains of animals has also
extended our views of the animal kingdom ; it has in many
instances supplied chasms which had occurred in the natu¬
ral series, and has enlarged our ideas of the extent of crea¬
tive power. Another important conclusion which has re¬
sulted is, that the human race has been the last created ;
for nowhere do w'e find any vestiges of human bones. I hese
researches tend also to throw light on the history of man¬
kind, and to refute the pretensions to high antiquity which
have been arrogated by certain nations, and particularly the
Chinese, &c. which Voltaire and other modern philosophers
had so zealously defended. All that science has brought to
light, indeed, is in conformity with the testimony of the sa¬
cred writings, when rationally interpreted, and may even be
adduced as illustration of their truth. Geology and compa¬
rative physiology concur with these writings in teaching us
that man was the last act of creative power ; that a great
catastrophe took place on the surface of the globe a f ew thou¬
sand years ago, duringwhich the sea covered for a time every
part of the land ; and that the subsequent diffusion of the
population of the earth is of comparatively recent date. It
is pleasing to see conclusions, derived from such different
sources, converging to the same points, and affording each
other that reciprocal confirmation which is the invariable
concomitant and surest test of truth.
(73.) The enlarged views to which we are conducted by
the study of comparative physiology afford us a glimpse of
some of the plans or models of structure which appear to
have been followed in the formation of the animal world. Physiokj
The analogies of form discernible in corresponding organs, '^yv
throughout a very extensive series of tribes, have been late¬
ly traced and developed with extraordinary care by the mo¬
dern naturalists of the French and German schools, and es¬
pecially by Cuvier, Blainville, Savigny, Geoffroi St. Hilaire,
Oken, Cams, and Milne Edwards. The conclusions they
have drawn from their labours, though sometimes overstrain¬
ed, are always ingenious, and in general satisfactory ; and
they strongly tend to prove, that several distinct types, or
standards of figure, have been adhered to in all the multi¬
plicity of forms with which it has pleased the Author of na¬
ture to diversify the animal creation.1
(74.) These inquiries, however, suggest still higher sub-4. App;
jects of contemplation. They illustrate the connexion and tion to
relationship of every part with the rest of the system. They [ural tk
prove the unity of design with which the system has been W
planned and executed. They demonstrate the perfection
with which all its parts are mutually adjusted, and the har¬
mony w hich pervades the whole. The evidences of express
design and contrivance are so distinct and palpable, and they
so multiply and accumulate upon us as we advance, that they
may almost be said to obtrude themselves on our notice; and
we cannot avoid being impressed wfith the notion of its be¬
ing intended that we should observe them. W hilst the pur¬
pose to be answered continues the same, the means are va¬
ried in every possible manner, as if designedly to display to
us the exhaustless resources of inventive power, and the su¬
preme intelligence with which that power is wielded. Nor
is it possible to overlook the general object to which every
thing so manifestly tends in the system of animal existence.
Every element in every part of the habitable globe, teems
with life, and that life is replete with enjoyment. Happiness
is unquestionably the great object of animal existence. The
benevolence which pervades the whole system of creation,
is no less conspicuous than the power and intelligence from
which it emanated. Revealed religion is thus in unison
with the theology derived from the contemplation of nature,
and the lights of modern science.
(75.) The facts derived from comparative physiology
which more especially support the arguments of natural the¬
ology have been collected by authors who have written pro¬
fessedly on the subject. Derham’s work, entitled Phy-
sico-Theology, has been deservedly held in estimation;
but since the time it was published, which is now' above a
century, the sciences have been prodigiously extended. Dr.
Paley, in his Natural Theology, has produced a great mul¬
titude of facts and observations in support of the same ar¬
guments, has applied them with singular felicity, and im¬
pressed them with the most fascinating perspicuity and elo¬
quence. But his object being purely theological, he has
not professed to adhere to any scientific order in stating
them. The design of the Bridgewater Treatise, already re¬
ferred to, is to supply this desideratum, by presenting the
details of animal and vegetable physiology, arranged accord¬
ing to the functions to which they relate, or in other words,
in reference to final causes. As theological arguments, the
value of these facts cannot fail to be better appreciated
when they are studied in all their bearings, and as forming
a part of the science to which they belong. It is by the
aid of genuine science alone, that we can avoid the danger
ous error of building arguments, on so momentous a sub¬
ject, upon equivocal or unstable foundations, and of injuring
a cause already established upon incontrovertible grounds,
by weak and inconclusive evidence.
(76.) It has been too hastily inferred, from the abuse w men
has too often been made of philosophical inquiries, that they
are to be avoided as dangerous, and even pernicious; an
See the Bridgewater Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology, where this subject is enlarged upon, and especially the chapter
“ Unity of Design.” Vol. if p. b25.
I
PHYSIOLOGY. 58f)
biology- that of the fountain of philosophy, as of the Pierian spring
•■Y*'*’’' we should “ drink deep,” or abstain from tasting. Super¬
ficial knowledge has often been decried as mischievous, and
extremely liable to abuse. The hackneyed maxim of Pope,
that “ a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” has furnish¬
ed a ready text for those who declaim against all attempts
to render science popular, and to include it as a branch of
general education. Willing proselytes to this doctrine will al¬
ways befoundamongthosewhom indolence or frivolity render
averse to mental exertion, when bestowed on subjects not
immediately connected with the common concerns of life, as
well as among those who, already enjoying some of the ad¬
vantages ofknowledge, are desirous of securingto themselves
the monopoly of those advantages. But their sophistry is
soon detected w'hen we examine into the real meaning of
the expressions they employ. What is commonly denomi¬
nated superficial knowledge, may certainly be useless, or
even dangerous ; but the mischief or danger arises, not be¬
cause it is superficial, but because it is incorrect. It is error,
under the guise of knowledge that alone deserves such re¬
probation. The value of information is to be estimated much
more by its accuracy, than by its extent. Although it may
be true that there is no royal road to science, it is equally
true that many are the roads that lead astray ; and that much
fruitless labour may be spared by having that one pointed
out which leads directly to the object we wish to attain.
Though the distance we have ■to travel cannot be abridged,
yet the path may be rendered smoother, and the velocity of
our progress accelerated, by availing ourselves of such guid¬
ance as may be afforded by concise treatises, which, however
superficial in appearance, or popular in their garb, are yet,
as far as they go, perspicuous, accurate, and comprehensive.
CHAPTER III ARRANGEMENT OF FUNCTIONS.
:empts (77.) The general review we have taken, in our intro-
an ar- ductory chapter, of the objects and mutual connexions of
. gement functions of the animal economy will furnish us with the
:URC" principles on which the methodical arrangement and classi¬
fication of those functions should be established. Various
attempts have been made by different systematic writers on
physiology towards the accomplishment of that object; but
they have generally been deficient in that logical precision,
which alone can ensure entire comprehensiveness of every
branch of the subject, and at the same time convey clear
perceptions of the bearings of every part to one another.
Some physiologists have limited their views to the human
economy, or that of animals which most nearly resemble
man ; others have framed their systems so as to embrace the
whole animal kingdom, and even all beings endowed with
life. Some have been wholly governed by anatomical con¬
siderations, regarding mere structure as the basis of phy¬
siological distinctions ; others, overlooking the unity of pur¬
pose in each function, and pursuing their subdivisions to an
excessive degree of minuteness, have overloaded the subject
by needless multiplication and superfluity of detail. Many
have introduced confusion by a loose and vitious nomencla¬
ture, derived from partial or hypothetical views ; which were
often tinctured with mysticism, and wdiich, by biassing their
judgments, have betrayed them into a w ide field of delusion
and of error.
'al mis- (78.) Another source, to which the greater part of the
en for mistakes, pervading all the systems of physiological arrange-
«ieal rnent that have been hitherto framed, may be traced, is in-
attention to the essential distinction which exists between
physical and final causes. The study of the phenomena of
life differs from all the other branches of philosophical in¬
quiry, by its involving considerations relating to both these
kinds of causes ; the latter of which introduces a totally new
principle of arrangement, wholly inapplicable in those sciences
which concern the physical properties of inert and inorganic
matter. Therulesofastrictlyphilosophical induction, which
alone can guide our steps in the pursuit of these sciences. Physiology,
must be greatly modified, and in some measure superseded
by those derived from another department of human know¬
ledge ; namely, psychology. The knowledge of those ge¬
neral facts, which, when once established, and the conditions
on which they depend ascertained, constitute what are call¬
ed the laws of nature, is obtained first, by comparing toge¬
ther phenomena and uniting in one class such as are of the
same kind, and carefully separating them from others which
are essentially different; and next, by endeavouring to re¬
move all extraneous influences, so as to reduce each class of
phenomena to its simplest conditions; an object to be at¬
tained by experiments, that is, by varying the circumstances
under which they occur, and also by combining them in dif¬
ferent ways, so as to enable us to verify our theories, by com¬
paring their results with the actual observation of nature.
But the attempt to apply the same process of induction to
the physiology of organised beings, is attended with pecu¬
liar difficulty ; for while the changes which occur in the in¬
organic w'orld exhibit the operation of forces or agents cha¬
racterized by their simplicity, their constancy, and their uni¬
formity, the phenomena presented to our view7 by living be¬
ings, so prodigiously varied in their form, so extensively
spread throughout every element, every clime, and every
habitable region of the globe, and so infinitely diversified in
their nature, and complicated in their connexions, are calcu¬
lated to baffle the efforts of the most cautious reasoner, and
elude the penetration of the most sagacious inquirer after
truth. The resources of experimental research are here ex¬
tremely narrowed, in consequence of the simultaneous and
connected operation of a great number of powers, which pre¬
vent us from studying the influence which each would ex¬
ert when isolated from the rest, and ascertaining the laws
which are peculiar respectively to each. Hence it is that
we have hitherto made but very imperfect approaches to the
determination of those laws.
(79.) Some compensation is, however, afforded us, while
struggling with the obstacles which impede our progress in
the direct and thorny path of science, by the abundant re¬
sources accessible to us in the psychological considerations,
which every where arise in this vast field of contemplation.
All the phenomena of organic beings reveal to us so palpa¬
bly the indications of design, that we cannot resist the im¬
pression thus created in our minds ; nor can we avoid recog¬
nising the connexions which are so established between the
objects and the changes they present, as being those of means
employed for the accomplishment of certain ends. Thus,
then, the relation of means to ends becomes a leading prin¬
ciple of association among the facts of physiology ; giving
a new aspect to the science, and creating an interest of a
different and much higher kind, than could ever be inspired
by the study of mere physical relations. So deep has been
this impression, and so completely has the principle of final
causes been interwoven with the pursuits of physiologists,
that the study of the functions of life, that is, of the purposes
to which the actions constituting life are subservient, has
been almost universally regarded as the principal, if not the
sole object of the science. It has, accordingly, been as¬
sumed as the basis of arrangement, in all systematic treatises
of Physiology ; and likewise in framing theories for explain¬
ing the phenomena of life, physiologists have generally been
satisfied writh pointing out their fimil, rather than their phy¬
sical causes.
(80.) This natural proneness to substitute final for phy¬
sical causes has been a frequent source of delusion, by insen¬
sibly leading to the belief that we have reached the physical
law7 which regulates the phenomena we are viewing, when
we have, in fact, done nothing more than traced their rela¬
tion to the intelligent agency by which they have been each
adjusted to their respective objects, and given that law a
name with reference to that agency ; thus, in our eagerness
PHYSIOLOGY.
590
Physiology, to grasp at hidden knowledge, mistaking the shadow for the
substance.
Ancient di- (81.) Frequent instances of this confusion of ideas occur
visions of jn thie writings of the older physiologists ; but at all times
the subject. t^e predominant tendency has been to refer the phenomena
to their final causes ; that is, to the purposes which they an¬
swer in the animal economy. The functions were arranged
by the ancients into three classes, designated by the titles
of animal, vital, and natural; the first comprising those
powers of sensation and of voluntary motion which are more
especially characteristic of animal, as contradistinguished
from vegetable life ; the second, those powers, the continued
exercise of which are immediately necessary for the main¬
tenance of life, such as respiration of the blood; and the
third, those which are directly concerned in the continuance
of its vital actions, but which are yet indispensable in pre¬
serving the organs in the conditions enabling them to per¬
form their respective offices, by supplying the materials re¬
quisite for their nutrition, and for counteracting their ten¬
dency to decomposition ; in this class were included diges¬
tion, secretion, and absorption. To these were added by
many, a fourth class, the generative, comprehending all the
functions which have for their object the continuance of the
species by the reproduction of individuals similar to the par¬
ent animal. The principal objection to this arbitrary divi¬
sion of the functions is, that the line cannot be drawn with
sufficient distinctness between what are called the vital and
the natural functions, their connexion with the maintenance
of life being one of degree only, and not of kind ; as is evi¬
dent from their being united together in the lowest tribes
of the animal kingdom. This classification appears also to
be defective, inasmuch as it omits all notice of those func¬
tions which have immediate reference to the mechanical
condition of the frame ; conditions which are the foundation
of their physical capabilities of executing the operations as¬
signed them in their respective places in the general system.
It is also liable to the imputation of employing terms to de¬
signate the classes which are obviously incorrect, and bear
not the meaning they are intended to convey. In one sense,
and that which would first present itself to the mind, the
term animal functions would comprehend all the others, for
there are none in which powers peculiar to animal life are
not called into play ; and, on the other hand, the strictly
animal functions are equally entitled to the appellation of
vital, as being directly essential to the support of life; and
no specific meaning can attach to the term natural, as ap¬
plied to any description of functions.
Classifica- (®2.) Vicq D’Azyr proposes to establish a preliminary
tion of Vicq division of the functions into two great classes ; the first,
D’Azyr. comprising those concerned in the preservation of the indi¬
vidual ; and the second, those concerned in the preserva¬
tion of the species. The former class he divides into two
orders ; the first having for their object the assimilation of
food into the substance of the body, and designated as the
interior assimilative and nutritive functions ; and the se¬
cond, establishing the relations of the individual to sur¬
rounding objects, and denominated the exterior or relative
functions.
The first of these orders comprises six genera; namely,
1st, digestion, by which the nutritive particles are extract¬
ed from the food; 2d, absorption, by which this nutritive
matter is conveyed into the blood ; 3d, circulation, by which
it is carried to all the organs ; 4th, respiration, by which it
is exposed to the influence of atmospheric air; 5 th, secretion,
by which it is made to undergo various modifications ; 6th,
nutrition, by which it is applied to the organs for the pur¬
poses of growth and nourishment.
The second order of the first class comprehends three
genera ; namely, 1st, the sensations, which give to the in-Physiol*
dividual notice of the presence of surrounding objects ; 2d,
the motions, which bring him towards, or remove him from
them ; 3d, voice and speech, which enable him to commu¬
nicate with his fellows without transporting his body to a
different place.
The second class, or the generative functions, likewise
comprise two orders ; the first, including the functions of
conception and generation, requiring the concourse of both
sexes ; the second, including gestation, parturition, and
lactation, performed exclusively by the female. To these
were subjoined by Vicq d’Azyr, as a kind of supplement to
his system, the several facts relating to the progressive
changes taking place during the advance of life from infan¬
cy to decrepitude, through the ages of growth, of maturity,
and of decay, and to those which attend the absolute ex¬
tinction of life, and the subsequent decomposition of the
organs.
The arrangement of Vicq d’Azyr is entitled to much com¬
mendation, and has been followed in all its essential features
by Dumas,1 Richerand,2 and other systematic authors on
physiology, with the exception of Haller,3 who adopted a
classification of functions founded altogether on the anato¬
mical relations of the organs by which they are performed.
(83.) Bichat,4 whose original genius led him to disregard of Blew
the opinions of his predecessors, and to strike out for him-and Du-
self new paths of inquiry, aimed at giving greater simplicity mas.
to physiological classification, by pursuing a more rigid ana¬
lysis, and infusing a more philosophical spirit into the me¬
thods of research. With this view he distributed the func¬
tions into two classes, which he denominates respectively
the animal and the organic ; the former coinciding nearly
with those already known by that title ; and the latter com¬
prehending both the vital and the natural functions of pre¬
ceding writers. Impressed, however, with the necessity of
drawing distinctions among the powers of life, he has per¬
plexed his system by intermixing with those final causes,
which he takes as the basis of his divisions, the results of a
philosophical analysis of those powers. He is thus led to
make continual efforts to establish a distinction between
muscular contractibility, which is one of the simple and ele¬
mentary powers of life, when that power is employed in sub¬
servience to the animal functions, and when it is subservient
to the functions of organic life ; a distinction which regards
only the final, and not the physical causes of the pheno¬
mena. Dumas* has been guilty of a still more palpable er¬
ror in deeming it necessary to add to his catalogue of prin¬
ciples, consisting of the acknowledged powers of sensibility
and contractility, a third power, which he terms “ the force
of vital resistancethus associating a final cause in the
same rank with causes that are strictly physical.
(84.) To the animal and vital functions of Bichat, Cuvier Of Cuvia
has added, in his physiological arrangement, a third class, Adelon,
the generative, which cannot, indeed, be, with any proprie-
ty, included in any of the former. He still, however,
into a similar mistake as that of Dumas, which we have just
now pointed out; for he describes sensibility and muscular
contractility not as primary principles, but both of them
functions of the nerves. Adelon6 distinguishes the follow¬
ing eleven actions as being the functions of life; namely,
sensibility, locomotion, language, digestion, absorption, re.
spiration, circulation, calorification, secretion, and genera¬
tion. Bourdon7 reduces them to seven, which are as fol¬
lows : caloricite, nutrivite, absorptivite, exhalativite, durabi-
lite, reproductivite, et resistabilite; thus presenting a strange
jumble between physical principles of action, and actions
referred to definite purposes. The same confusion maybe
remarked in the classification of the functions by Beclard,*
1 Principes de Physiologic- 2 Piemens de Physiologic. 3 Primce Linece Physiologic. 4 Anatomie Generate. * Principes de Physiologic.
6 Physiologic de l’Homme. 7 Principes de Physiologic Medicate, 8 Elemens d'Anatomie.
PHYSIOLOGY. 591
jsiology. who has arranged them into six classes, viz. nutrition in its of the body as to require being included in a complete view Physiology,
most extended sense, generation, muscular action, sensa- of the animal economy. Among those intellectual opera-
tion, nervous action, and the functions ot the intellect. But tions which possess a decided action on the corporeal frame,
it would be needless to multiply examples of this error, since he places the passions ; and also refers to this class tha
it will be found to pervade almost every physiological sys- compound of mental and physical influence, from which re-
tem that has yet been framed, not excepting even that adopt- suits what are called temperament and character. These
ed by Dr. Bostock, in his valuable Elementary System of lead to the consideration of functions of a more purely in-
Physiology. tellectual kind, which, as they recede from the corporeal,
Sostock. (85.) Dr. Bostock regards contractility and sensibility as and advance towards the mental part of our frame, are less
the two primary attributes of animal life, each equally cha- within the province of the physiologist, and belong more
racteristic of it, and peculiar to it, and each performed by to the metaphysician or the moralist.
its appropriate organs. “ The functions,” he remarks, “ de- (86.) Dr. Alison1 has adopted a principle of arrange- Of Alison,
pend on the exercise of these powers, and although proba- ment, which, though differing in some of its applications, is
bly, in all cases, they are both of them exercised, yet ge- essentially the same as that of Dr. Bostock, as it is derived
nerally one of them seems to be the principal agent, or the from the analysis of the phenomena of life into certain pow-
prime cause of the ensuing operation ; we may consequent- ers ; or, if these phenomena be considered as the results of
ly divide them into the contractile and sensitive functions, a single principle, which we may denominate vitality, the
or those which more directly belong to contractility and to study of physiology will resolve itself into an inquiry into
sensibility, and which, of course, serve respectively for mo- the conditions under which the various phenomena of life
tion and sensation, and to these two classes must be added take place, that is, into the laws of vitality. These laws
a third class of the intellectual functions.” Among the con- are ranked by Dr. Alison under three heads: 1. Those of
tractile functions, the essence of which consists in motion, vital contractions, by which the visible movements of liv-
Dr. Bostock considers the circulation as being the first in ing animals are chiefly effected: 2. Those of vital ajfni-
point of importance, and the one which may be regarded as ties, by which the chemical changes peculiar to living ani-
the most necessary to the direct support of life, and to the mals are determined, and their physical structure maintain-
indirect maintenance of all the rest. Next in importance ed : 3. Those of nervous actions, by which the physical
is respiration, which modifies the blood so as to adapt it to changes in living animals are placed in connexion with
the maintenance of life. After these two functions, by the mental phenomena, and subjected to the control of mental
former of which the blood is carried to all the parts of the acts. The first and third of these divisions correspond to
body, and by the latter of which it acquires its vital proper- those of Dr. Bostock, which he has denominated the con-
ties, Dr. Bostock places those of calorification, secretion, di- tractile and the sensitive functions. The second division
gestion, including assimilation and sanguification, and ab- of Dr. Alison is founded on the principle pointed out by the
sorption, functions which contribute, he observes, to the writer of the present article, in a treatise on Physiology
continuance of the motion of the animal machine, and which which appeared many years ago in the last Supplement to
preserve all its parts in their proper condition, without, how- this wrork, and to which he gave the designation of the or-
ever. being essential to the immediate support of life. In ganic affinities.
this class he places the function of generation, which, al- Dr. Alison considers that the movement of the fluids, in
though one of the most inexplicable of all the operations all the higher classes of animals, is in a great measure de-
that are performed by the animal powers, and acting in a pendent on vital contractions in certain of their solids, and
specific manner of which we have no other example, may may accordingly be regarded as the first and most impor-
be considered as essentially consisting in secretion. tant consequence of the exercise of the vital pow er. This
The sensitive functions are divided by Dr. Bostock into subject he divides into two parts ; first, the movement of
two classes ; first, those which originate in the action of the the mass of blood in the heart, arteries, and veins, or the
external agents on the nervous system ; and, secondly, those function of circulation ; and, secondly, the continual evolu-
of a reverse kind, which depend on the reaction of the ner- tion of matters from, and absorption of matters into, the
vous system on these agents. In the first of these divisions mass of blood ; or the functions of nutrition, exhalation,
are included what are called the external senses, the sight, secretion, and absorption, to which the circulation is sub¬
hearing, taste, smell, and touch; and in the same division servient, and on which all the other functions are depend-
must be placed the sensation of hunger, that of tempera- ent. The study of these nutritive functions naturally in-
ture, and some others, which have not been correctly dis- troduce the consideration of the properties of the different
criminated from general feeling, but which possess specific textures and secretions which are formed from the blood,
characters. In the second class, those functions which de- and which are the materials combined in the construction
pend on the reaction of the nervous system on external of the organs themselves.
bodies, he places volition ; and to the same class he also re- The nervous system has been endowed with peculiar
fers instinct, association, sympathy, habit, and some other properties or powers, in order that it may be the seat, and
faculties of a similar kind, which appear to hold an inter- the instrument, of mental acts. These mental acts, and all
mediate rank betwreen the corporeal actions and those of a the functions in which they bear a necessary share, consti-
purely intellectual nature. As the functions which com- tute, according to Dr. Alison, the animal life, or animal
pose the first of these classes may be all referred to a spe- functions. As in all animals the reception of food into the
cies of perception, so the latter may be considered as more digestive organs, and in all vertebrated animals, and many
or less analogous to volition ; in the former, the effect on of the inferior orders, in the adult, the reception of air into
the nervous system, whatever it may be, is propagated the respiratory organs is accomplished by movements which
from the extremities to the centre ; in the latter, it pro- are excited through the intervention of sensations and of
ceeds in the opposite direction, from the centre to the ex- instincts and volitions ; he considers the commencement
tremities of the body. of the processes of respiration and digestion in them as be-
The intellectual frinctions compose, in this arrangement, longing to the province of animal life, and as dependent on
the third class. These, Dr. Bostock observes, are a less the nervous system. Dr. Alison, therefore, commences his
direct object of physiology than the two former, yet many account of the animal functions, with the consideration of
of them are so closely connected with the physical changes respiration, animal heat, and digestion, which he refers to
1 Outlines of Physiology and Pathology, Edinburgh, 1833.
592
Physiology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Of Mayo.
Of Roget
that class : proceeding afterwards to notice the physiology
of the external senses, of the mental faculties, voluntary
and instinctive motion, the involuntary action of the mind
on the body, sleep and the analogous states of somnam¬
bulism, reverie, and other irregular actions of the nervous
functions. The subjects of generation, and the peculiari¬
ties of age, sex, and temperament, occupy the concluding
chapters of his work.
(87.) The order in which Mr. Mayo has treated of the
functions,1 differs but little from that adopted by Dr. Alison.
(88.) The author of this article has given, in his Bridge-
water Treatise,2 an arrangement of the functions founded
altogether on the basis of final causes : and corresponding
therefore with the views, which have been explained in the
preceding chapter, of the relative subordination of purposes
which the functions are designed to answer in the econo¬
my ; and not limited to human physiology, but embracing
all the different forms and modifications which those func¬
tions present in the animal kingdom. Taking them in the
order of their increasing complexity, he has distributed
them into the four following classes ; namely, first, the
mechanical functions, which include the consideration of all
the circumstances relating to the mechanism of the frame
and of its different organs ; the arrangements provided for
procuring the proper cohesion, strength and mobility re¬
quisite for the different actions they have to perform ; and
also for the preservation of their connexions, support, se¬
curity and other mechanical conditions adapted to the ex¬
ercise of their respective functions. To this head are also
referred the operation of the moving powers, derived prin¬
cipally from muscular contractility, by which the various
parts of this system of machinery are set in motion.
Secondly, the nutritive, or chemical functions, corres¬
ponding to what has been formerly denominated the vital
functions ; and the object of which is the preservation of
the organs in those states of chemical composition which
enable them to sustain life, and to perform their destined
offices in the economy. The functions by which, in the
higher orders of animals, this object is accomplished, may
be arranged under the following heads ; each, however,
admitting of further subdivision. 1. Assimilation, includ¬
ing the processes which prepare the food for digestion, chy-
mification, which is the office of the stomach, and chylifi-
cation, which is performed in the intestines. 2. Lacteal
absorption, by which the chyle so prepared, is collected in¬
to the heart and blood-vessels. 3. Circulation, by which
the blood, or nutrient fluid, is regularly diffused over the sys¬
tem. 4. Respiration, or the aeration of the blood. 5. Se¬
cretion, by which the properties of that fluid are modified.
6. Excretion, by which various chemical principles are se¬
parated from the blood, and discharged from the system.
7. Absorption, by which substances are conveyed from dif¬
ferent parts back again into the general mass of circulating
fluids. 8. Nutrition, by which the nutritive matter is ap¬
plied to the growth or restoration of the various organs of
the body, so as to maintain them in the state which enables
them to discharge their proper functions. 9. For effecting
all these various processes, the agency of a peculiar power,
derived from the properties of the nervous system, is requi¬
site. This may be termed the nervous power, in contradis¬
tinction to those actions of the same system, which have
reference to mental phenomena, and which come under the
next class of functions.
Thirdly, the sensorial functions comprehends all those
corporeal changes in which the mind is concerned ; and
consequently include those of sensation, of perception, of
volition, and all those intellectual functions which employ
for their agency the physical organization of the body.
Fourthly, the reproductive functions, which have for their Physiol .
object the continuance of tlie species, and the multiplica-
tion of its numbers. This subject is naturally connected
with the progressive developement of the organs, the growth
of the body from infancy to manhood ; and the stages of its
decline, till all the vital phenomena cease by the death of
the individual.
CHAPTER IV THE VITAE POWERS.
(89.) We have already remarked, that there are two ways Physics
in which the assemblage of phenomena presented to us bylaws,
living beings may be studied. We may, in the first place,
view these as mere physical phenomena, applying to them
the same methods of induction which have been employed
with so much success in other departments of natural science.
The object of philosophical induction is the reference of
the events occurring in nature to their proper causes. 1 his
is accomplished by comparing the phenomena together, ob¬
serving in what they agree, and in w'hat they differ, classing
them in the order of their agreement; and distinguishing
them according to their differences. 1 he result of this pro¬
cess, when it has been carried as far as the extent of our
mass of facts will allow, is the establishment ot certain ge¬
neral relations between these facts, or conditions, under
which they occur, and which we may consider as so many
laws of nature: and any appearance we may afterwards
meet with which corresponds in its character to any single
law, or combination of these laws, is at once referred to them,
and considered as a particular instance or exemplification ot
these laws. When we can succeed in tracing these coin¬
cidences with a previously established law or general fact,
we are said to have discovered its cause. Philosophy, in
this sense, then, comprehends the collection and comparison
of phenomena, their classification, the establishment by care¬
ful induction of general laws ; the verification ot these laws
by experiment; and lastly, the subsequent reference of par¬
ticular phenomena to their appropriate laws.
(90.) In the sciences which relate to the laws of matter
in its inorganic state, this inductive method of philosophis¬
ing admits of being pursued to an indefinite extent, and with
comparative facility. The phenomenon themselves, which
are the subjects of induction, are of a simple and more de¬
finite character thhn those of animal or vegetable life ; they
are generally more under our control ; and more easily sub¬
jected to the test of experiment. The endless variety ot
the forms of life, the extent and intricacy of the connexions
between the different parts of the animal system, introduce
a degree of complexity in the phenomena, incomparably
greater than is ever met with in the combinations of inor¬
ganic matter. We shall accordingly find that the know¬
ledge we have hitherto acquired of the physical laws which
govern the vital phenomena, is as yet exceedingly imperfect.
(91.) In entering upon the philosophical study of the Proper^
phenomena presented to us in the living body, and carefully of 'noj|
arranging them according to the rules ot induction, andIC m
without reference to the final causes that connect them, (a
subject which forms a totally different branch ot inquiry,)
we easily recognize the operation of many of those powers
and principles to which inorganic matter is also subjected.
The living system, with all its complicated apparatus of so¬
lids and fluids, is obedient to the universal laws of gravita¬
tion, of cohesion, of elasticity, of capillary attraction, the.,
as well as to the ordinary principles of mechanics, hydro¬
statics, hydraulics, and pneumatics, which result from com¬
binations of these laws ; and we may pursue the application
of these laws to the mechanism of the body, as tar as no
other causes intervene, without danger of error.
(92.) The laws of chemistry apply also, to a certain ex-yjtalpi
v 7     perties.
1 Outlines of Human Physiology, 3d edition, London, 1833. „
* Roget, Animal and Vegetable Physiology, considered ivith reference to Natural Theology, two vols. London, 18o4.
PHYSIOLOGY.
■siology- tent, to the changes which are going on in the living sys-
tem; but in tracing the operation of these laws, we soon
become sensible of the apparent interference of other prin¬
ciples which seem to control the ordinary chemical affinities
which the same kinds of matter are found to exert when
deprived of life. Here, then, we perceive a sensible devi¬
ation from the course of phenomena exhibited by inorganic
I matter; and we are forced to recognize the existence of
new and unknown powers peculiar to, and characterizing
the living state. We discern the operation of such powers
in the processes of digestion, of sanguification, of nutrition,
of secretion, of the growth and organization of the various
[ . structures that compose the fibres of the body. Powers of
lities. a similar kind are exhibited in the phenomena of vegeta¬
tion : they seem, therefore, to attach to vitality in all its
forms. In order to distinguish them from the ordinary che¬
mical affinities to which they are so frequently opposed, we
shall designate them by the name of Organic Affinities, al¬
though, as we shall afterwards attempt to shew, they pro¬
bably do not differ in their kind, but only in the circum¬
stances and conditions of action, from the ordinary inorganic
affinities.
iseular (93.) Another power which more peculiarly appertains
I Ltracti- to animal life is Contractility. This is especially a property
I of those fibres which' compose the muscles. It is often de¬
nominated Irritability, a name originally given to it by
Glisson, but which has justly been objected to by Dr. Bos-
tock as a term employed in many different senses, accord¬
ing as it is applied in physiology, pathology, or ethics.
Haller speaks of it frequently under the designation of the
Vis insita. The term Contractility, adopted by Dr. Bos-
tock,1 and sanctioned by many other eminent physiologists,
is in itself unobjectionable, and has the advantage of being
a simple expression of the fact itself. It consists in the
spontaneous shortening of muscular fibres, in consequence
of the impression of certain agents termed stimuli, by a
power residing in the fibres themselves, and which operates
with a force greatly superior to any of the ordinary mecha¬
nical sources of motion.
•vous (94.) The remarkable property which the nerves possess
ker. of conveying with electric celerity impressions made on one
of their extremities, or even on any part of them, to the
opposite extremity, and to other parts, fji the line of their
course, the influence of which impressions are rendered ap¬
parent by certain effects, such as the contraction of the
muscles, increased or modified action of the blood-vessels,
absorbents, and organs of secretion, and the evolution of
animal heat. All these effects may take place from impres¬
sions, or irritations, (by which term is meant impressions
of a certain degree of intensity,) which do not excite sen¬
sation, or volition, or any other mental change ; and they
even occur after the destruction or removal of those parts
of the nervous system which are connected with affections
of the mind. A power of the same kind is also possessed
by those nerves which are connected with the sensorium,
on the parts in immediate connexion with the sentient
principle.
(95.) It is by the exertion of this power that impressions
made on those nervous filaments which are instrumental in
sensation, and especially if made on their extremities which
are distributed to the organs of the external senses, are in¬
stantly transmitted to the sensorium, in which they may be
said to terminate, and the changes produced in which are
attended by the mental affection termed sensation. In like
manner, certain other changes in the sensorium, consequent
on volition, which is a mental affection, are followed by the
contraction of certain muscles, by means of some unknown
influence communicated through the medium of certain
other nervous filaments having their origin in the sensorium,
593
and their termination in those muscles. The nature of the Physiology,
power by which these transmissions are effected in the course
of each of these sets of nervous filaments, judging from the
similarity of the circumstances under which it takes place,
especially in the instantaneousness of the effect, is probably
the same in every case; the only perceptible difference in
the mode in which it is exerted consisting in the direction
of the transmission. This remarkable power, which is to¬
tally distinct from any mental effect that may accompany
its exertion, we shall distinguish by the name of the ner¬
vous power.
(96.) A fourth power, perfectly distinct from any of the Sensorial
former, although it also belongs to a portion of the nervous power,
system, is that from which the corporeal changes which take
place in those parts immediately connected with sensation,
volition, and the intellectual operations, proceed. To this
specific property, which should be carefully distinguished
from the mere faculty of transmission possessed by the fibres
of the nerves, the name of sensorial power has been given.
We are indebted to Dr. Wilson Philip for the establishment
of this important distinction in the specific powers of the
nervous system, and for having bestowed upon it the above
appropriate designation. The same term had, indeed, been
employed by physiologists in a different and much more
extended sense, as including muscular irritability, which had
been regarded as in some way or other analogous to ner¬
vous power. In the sense in which we shall use the term,
it is meant to apply exclusively to those physiological chan¬
ges occurring in certain parts of the nervous system, which
produce or accompany changes or affections of the mind.
(97.) It is evident that the astonishing properties belong¬
ing to the refined organization of the brain, which consti¬
tute sensorial power, and which are, in a manner utterly in¬
comprehensible to us, connected with the affections of the
sentient and intelligent principle, present subjects of far high¬
er interest than even the organic, muscular, or nervous
powers, and are infinitely more remote from the ordinary at¬
tributes of matter.
(98.) Thus we may perceive that the system of the liv- Gradation
ing body exhibits not only a multiplicity of new powers, powers,
which we no where meet with in unorganized matter, but al¬
so presents us with a gradation of powers ascending from
those of a mechanical nature, but yet derived from highly
artificial arrangement of particles, to those of a refined and
elaborate chemistry silently at work in the secret laborato¬
ries of the body ; rising again to principles of a still more
elevated order, acting through the medium of the nerves ;
till we lose ourselves in the more lofty contemplation of those
mysterious agencies, which confer on the central portions
of the nervous system the power of exciting sensation;
which render them instruments of thought and of volition,
and which stamp on the being they compose the distinctive
character of individuality.
(99-) Viewed with reference to their subserviency to final
causes, it is to the sensorial powers, which confer the capa¬
city of enjoyment, that the supreme rank in point of impor¬
tance must be assigned. The faculties of sensation, of vo¬
luntary motion, and of enjoyment, are the only ultimate
ends for which, as far as we can judge, the animal has been
created and endowed with life. Those ultimate ends of its
being are attained primarily by the sensorial powers; and
to the maintenance of these are the muscular and the ner¬
vous powers subservient. Of these latter powers it is also
evident that the muscular is placed in obedience to the ner¬
vous, in the same manner as the nervous is obedient to the
sensorial power. Thus, the views now presented of the
classification and distribution of the physical powers which
operate in producing the phenomena of life, are in strict ac¬
cordance and harmony with the results obtained from the
4 F
VOL. XVII.
Elementary System of Physiology, third edition, pp. 91, 92.
594
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology consideration of final causes, which we have already pre-
sented in our preliminary chapter.
Vital prin- (100.) If the analysis we have here offered of the vital
ciple. powers, that is, of powers peculiar to the phenomena of life,
and the distinctions we have endeavoured to establish be¬
tween them be correct, we shall be enabled at once to de¬
tect the fallacy of those views of life, and of those defini¬
tions of the vital principle which are generally received; and
which, we apprehend, have been laid down in violation of
the just rules of philosophical induction. The truth is, dis¬
guise it how we may by a vain parade of words, that the real
state of the science is not sufficiently advanced to authorise
that degree of generalization which these definitions would
imply. ° We are certainly not warranted, by the phenomena
already known, in regarding life as the effect of any single
power. The attempt of Brown, of Hunter, and of Bichat
to reduce the science to this state of simplification, though
highly ingenious, are yet premature ; and have, it is to be
feared, had rather the effect of retarding than of advancing
the progress of real science.
Arcbaeus. (10L) Many of the older physiologists entertained the
notion of a principle, endowed with qualities in some mea¬
sure partaking of intelligence, and as if it were a spirit pre¬
siding over and governing the vital actions. Such was the
idea attached by Van Halmont, and by Stahl, to the prin¬
ciple which they termed the archceus, or anima, and which
they conceived regulated the operations of the different
powers of the system ; an assumption which, however natu¬
rally suggesting itself to the mind, while contemplating the
harmonious adjustments that pervade every part of the ani¬
mal economy, is in no respect a philosophical explanation
of the phenomena, and is even utterly irreconcileable with
some of these phenomena. In like manner, the vis medi-
catrix naturce, which Hoffman and Cullen have so largely
employed in their pathological theories, and which suppli¬
ed them with ready solutions of every obscure morbid
change that embarrassed them, was, in fact, nothing more
than a branch of the same doctrine. Nor have the more
sober theorists of modern times been sufficiently on their
guard against this illusion. In the attributes which John
Hunter ascribes to his vital principle, we may continually
trace the same want of discrimination between that intelli¬
gence, by which the conditions of organization were origi¬
nally adjusted to a variety of contingent circumstances, and
those physical agents, by the instrumentality of which the
intended objects are attained. W hen it is said, for exam¬
ple, in the language of this school, that the coagulation^ of
the blood is occasioned by “ the stimulus of necessity,’* it
is clearly the final cause alone which is indicated, while the
real physical cause is not assigned; and it is also evident
that no advance is thereby made towards its discovery. This
principle of life, with which organized beings are endowed,
is represented as a new power, which modifies and controls
the operation of those simpler physical laws, to which the
same matter, in its unorganized state, is subjected; a pow¬
er which imposes new cohesive and repulsive forces on the
solid materials of the animal or vegetable structures, which
imparts to the fluids a new property of coagulation, which
alters the order of chemical affinities between their elements
or primary compounds, retaining them, contrary to their
natural tendencies, in a certain state of equilibrium, and re¬
sisting the agency of causes usually tending to destroy that
state : and, lastly, which produces, in a degree correspond¬
ing with the wants of the system, either an evolution or an
absorption of caloric. All these, it must be admitted, are
purposes of manifest utility, being directly conducive to the
welfare of the individual, and indeed essential to its contin¬
uance in the living state. In as far as they are means con- Physiol,
ducive to specific ends, the reference of all these pheno- v^vjLl
mena to one class cannot be objected to. The fallacy lies
in regarding it as a philosophical generalization of effects
of a similar kind, resulting from the operation of a simple
power in nature ; for between many of these effects, con¬
sidered as mere physical phenomena, there exists not the
remotest similarity. But it is the fundamental principle of
the method of induction, that similar effects alone are to be
ascribed to the agency of the same physical cause. Judg¬
ing, therefore, from the observed effects, which differ wide¬
ly in their nature from each other, we ought to infer the
operation of several distinct powers, the concurrence of
which is requisite to produce the complex phenomena in
question. We are, no doubt, unavoidably led to view these
phenomena as conjoined, because we witness their existing
combinations, and perceive that they are tending to the ac¬
complishment of a specific purpose ; namely, the preserva¬
tion and welfare of the being to which they relate. But
this unity of design is an attribute, not of matter, but of
intellect, and does not necessarily imply the unity of the
agent employed in their production.
(102.) We may take as an example, the phenomena of
the circulation of the blood, which, when viewed with re¬
lation to that function, form together so beautiful and har¬
monious a system. These phenomena, taken abstractedly,
are ultimately resolvable into such as result from a few ge¬
neral powers, as muscular contractility, membranous elas¬
ticity, the hydraulic properties of the blood, &c. The phe¬
nomena of digestion, in like manner, when subjected to an¬
alysis, are found to be results of the combined agencies of
the muscular action of the stomach and intestines, of the
chemical powers of the gastric juice, the bile, &c. of the
organic powers of secretion, and so forth ; all of which con¬
cur in the production of a definite object, namely, the con¬
version of the aliment into chyle. The combined processes
subservient to this purpose, constitute, when viewed in their
relation to final causes, the function of digestion.
(103.) However the laws which regulate the vital phe-Identic f
nomena may appear, on a superficial view, to differ from vital w|
those by which the physical changes taking place in inor- Phy^CK
ganic matter are governed, still a more profound mvestiga- oaes-
tion of their real character will shew that, when viewed ab¬
stractly from the consideration of final causes, there is real¬
ly no essential difference between them, either as to their
comprehensiveness, their uniformity of action, or the mode
in which they are to be established by the generalization of
particular facts.1 The difficulty of effecting these induc¬
tive generalizations is undoubtedly incomparably greater in
the former than in the latter; but this difficulty is similar
to that which impedes our progress in all cases where the
existing combinations which are the objects of study, are
too numerous and too complicated to yield to our powers of
analysis. We have examples of this difficulty in many
branches of physical science ; in meteorology, for example,
where no one can doubt that the phenomena are the results
of the ordinary physical powers, of the laws of which we are
tolerably cognisant; but the operations of which, in effect¬
ing the daily and hourly changes of atmospheric phenomena,
have hitherto baffled the most persevering and penetrating
inquiries directed to this highly important branch of physics.
There is, in like manner, no distinct evidence of the material
particles, which compose the organized and living fabric,
being actuated by any powers or principles different from
those which are inherent in them, in their ordinary or in¬
animate state. They are, in both cases, obedient to certain
definite physical laws, the operation of which is determined
1 See an Essay by Mr. Carpenter on the difference of the Laws regulating Vital and Physical Phenomena, Edinburgh New Philoso¬
phical Journal, xxiv. 327.
PHYSIOLOGY.
595
ysiology.by the peculiar circumstances of their mode of combination,
'■y'^and the peculiar conditions under which they are brought in¬
to action.
(104.) It may, in like manner, be contended, that the af¬
finities which hold together the elements of living bodies,
and which govern the elaboration of organic products, are
the same with those which preside over inorganic compounds;
and that the designations of organic and vital affinities are
expressive only of peculiarities attending the circumstances
and conditions under which they are placed, but do not
imply any real difference in the nature of the powers them¬
selves. If our knowledge of these circumstances and con¬
ditions were complete, their identity would be at once re¬
vealed to us ; but until that period, which must be very far
distant, has arrived, we must be content with gathering a
few indications, which occasionally break out from the clouds
ofmystery in which the subject is obscured, of the similarity of
operation between these two apparently contending powers,
the ordinary chemical, and the extraordinary vital affinities.
Every fresh discovery in animal and vegetable chemistry, by
shewing the mutual convertibility of many of the proximate
principles of organic compounds, adds to the number of those
indications. Hence it becomes every day more and more
probable that the forces immediately concerned in the pro¬
duction of chemical changes in the body, are the same as
those which are in constant operation in the inorganic world;
and that we are not warranted in the assertion that the oper¬
ations of vital chemistry are directed by distinct laws, and
are the results of new agencies.
(105.) We are therefore led to the conclusion, that the
vital properties are not, as it is commonly expressed, super-
added to matter in the process of organization, but are the
result of the material constitution, that is, of the peculiar
combinations and arrangement of the ultimate molecules of
the organized tissues, which call out and develope the pro¬
perties previously existing in those molecules, but which
cannot be effective unless these circumstances exist.
||:alitynot (106.) However natural it may be to conceive the exist-
mPle ence of a single and presiding principle of* vitality, we should
recollect that this, in the present state of our knowledge,
is only a fiction of the mind, not warranted by the pheno¬
mena themselves, in which we perceive so much real diver¬
sity, and therefore inadmissible as the result of a philoso¬
phical induction. We find that vitality ceases in different
textures, at different periods, prior to the total extinction of
life ; a phenomenon which appears scarcely compatible with
the unity of any such power.
(107.) It is well known that attempts have in like manner,
re
muscular, the nervous, the sensorial, and the organic powers. Physiology.
No speculative ingenuity can reduce them to a single phy-
sical power; nor can we establish any kind of association
between them, but by the consideration of another and a
totally different class of relations, namely, those they bear to
the general object which they combine to produce. This,
however, is to substitute final for physical causes; a mode
of procedure which we have seen, is totally at variance with
the principles of philosophical induction. It is physical
causes only which are the legitimate objects of philosophi¬
cal analysis, and the true bases of the physical sciences.
(108.) We shall now proceed to give an account of each Order in
separate function; taking them in the order of their respective which the
simplicity, with reference not only to their objects, but alsofunctions
to the powers which are concerned in their accomplishment.w'11 l)U con'
We shall accordingly begin with the consideration of theSldered'
mechanical functions, as being more simple in their char¬
acter, and implying the operation of the simpler powers of
organization ; together with the peculiar faculty of muscular
contractility, which is the great source of mechanical power
provided for carrying on the greater movements of the
machine. We shall, in the second place, review that class
of functions which depend more especially on the operation
of the organic affinities, and which have for their objects
the nutrition and extension of the organs, and their main¬
tenance in that state of chemical, as well as mechanical
condition, which fit them for the performance of their re¬
spective offices. We shall then be properly prepared for
the study of that higher class of functions, which appertain
to sensation, and all the other faculties connected with mind ;
functions which imply, in addition to all the powers concern¬
ed in the preceding functions, others of a superior order,
but which, although in the highest degree interesting and im¬
portant, are incomparably the most obscure and complex of
all. Our attention will, in the last place, be directed to the
functions relating to reproduction, the study of which re¬
quires a previous knowledge of every other department of
physiology.
CHAP. V. THE MECHANICAL FUNCTIONS.
Sect. I.—On Organization in general.
(110.) If we analyze the ideas attached to the term or-Idea of or
ganization, we find that it implies, as its essential condition, ganization.
a specific arrangement of parts, adapted to some particular
purpose, and composing by their assemblage, an individual
system endowed with life. It seems impossible, therefore,
to attach the idea of organization to a mere fluid, because
from time to time, been made to reduce the phenomena of the mechanical condition of the particles of a fluid is such
the inorganic world, to a single primordial law; instead of as to preclude the capability of any permanent arrangement,
being content to refer them to the operation of distinct laws, T ‘ ’
such as those of gravitation, cohesion, elasticity, light, heat,
electricity, magnetism, and chemical affinity. The pheno¬
mena usually ascribed to these great powers of nature have,
for instance, been considered as resolvable into one univer¬
sal principle of attraction. By other philosophers, they have
It appears to be essential to every organized structure, that
there shall be solid parts provided for containing those
which are fluid. All animal bodies accordingly, are com¬
posed of solids and fluids; the former being more permanent
in their nature and arrangement, and constituting the basis
by which the general form of the body is determined ; and
been regarded as the effects of a general and sole power of the latter, being lodged in appropriate cavities formed by
repulsion. None of these simplifications are as yet warrant
ed by facts; and equally vain, in the present state of the
science, is the endeavour to reduce all the vital phenomena
to one single law. It is possible, or perhaps even probable,
that future researches may be successful in establishing the
identity of some of the powers we now conceive to be dis¬
tinct, with other powers already known. Thus, in the
physical sciences, the recent discoveries that have taken
place in electro-magnetism, have satisfactorily established
the identity of the magnetic and electric agencies. The
same may possibly be accomplished in future times, with re¬
gard to heat and light, which are already connected together
by so many analogies. But no such approximation can yet
be attempted with any prospect of success, between the
the solids, but capable by their mobility of undergoing more
rapid changes of place, and of chemical composition.
(111.) It may in general be said, that the solids bear but
a small proportion to the fluids, which enter into the com¬
position of the body. It is difficult, however, to determine
the exact proportion which they bear to one another; in
the first place, because this proportion is not fixed, and ad¬
mits of variation in different ages, circumstances, and con¬
ditions of the system; and secondly, because it is scarcely
possible to effect the complete separation of these two con¬
stituent portions ; partly from the ready conversion of the
solids into fluids, and vice versa, and partly from the tena¬
city of their mutual adhesion. Some estimate of this pro¬
portion has been attempted to be formed, by carefully drying
596
PHYSIOLOGY.
Is there an
elementary
material ’
Theory of
universal
vascularity.
Physiology, the dead body in a stove, or oven; and the result of some
experiments has been, that in an adult man, the weight of
the fluids is to that of the solids, as six to one, or, according
to other experiments, as nine to one. From the examina¬
tion of an adult Egyptian mummy, which may be supposed
to contain nothing but the dry fibres of the body, a still lower
proportion has been assigned to the solid part; since this
mummy weighed only seven pounds and a half.1
(112.) The possibility of reducing all the organic tex¬
tures of the human body to one elementary material, which
might be regarded as the basis of the whole, was long a
favourite subject of speculation among anatomists : and
Haller has devoted to it the first section of his great work
on Physiology.2 He conceives that all the solid parts of
the frame are ultimately composed of fibres; the animal
fibre being the simplest form of organized matter, and being
to the physiologist, what the line is to the geometrician, that
from which all other figures are produced. This simple
fibre, he observes, is invisible, even with the assistance of
the microscope ; it is only by the union of the primary fibres,
that visible fibres are constituted; and from the assemblage
and lateral adhesion of these, again, thin plates of animal
substance are formed, while the grosser substance of the
organs themselves, is composed of a complicated contexture
of these plates and fibres. This supposed basis, or essential
constituent, of all animal textures, has been by some term¬
ed the animal parenchyma, and by others, has been desig¬
nated by the general name of animal membrane.
(113.) Besides this spongy or areolated texture, which
composes by far the greater bulk of the organs of the body,
Haller has also admitted two other constituent parts, name¬
ly the muscular, and the nervous substances. These views
have since been generally adopted by physiologists, with
some slight modifications. Many have thought it necessary
to introduce, in addition to the preceding, an element which
they consider as of a tubular form, constituting vessels fitted
to contain fluids. This was the favourite doctrine of Boer-
haave, who supposed that the simple fibres, or the smallest
into which they can be conceived to be divisible, formed
by their lateral adhesion, a membrane of the first order,
which, when coiled up into a tube, would constitute a vessel
of the first order. These vessels, again, when interwoven
together, composed a new order of membranes, by the du¬
plication of which a second order of vessels was formed.
Successive series of membranes and vessels were thus con¬
structed, until they acquired a magnitude sufficient to be
visible to the eye. According to this hypothesis, therefore,
all the parts of the body might ultimately be resolved into
a congeries of vessels, arranged in these ascending orders.
This hypothesis, which evidently rested on the most vision¬
ary basis, has been ably refuted by Albinus, and by Haller.
It has, however, left some traces in the opinions expressed
by many subsequent anatomists, who still cherished the idea
of the universal vascularity of the animal fabric, and of this
vascularity being essential to organization. The skilful in¬
jections of Ruysch, who succeeded in introducing coloured
fluids into vessels, the contents of which are naturally tran¬
sparent, had long ago shown that there exists an order of
vessels too minute to be otherwise detected. Dr. William
Hunter has, even in later times, adopted the opinion that
every living part is necessarily vascular; and that where
there is no circulation, there can be no life. Mascagni was
also a strenuous advocate of the hypothesis of the universal
vascularity of the animal textures but he conceived that
every part is made up of a congeries of minute lymphatic
vessels. We shall have occasion afterwards to point out the
fallacy of these views.
(114.) Although the analysis of animal tissues, into the Physiol,
three primitive elements we have pointed out, namely, into
the membranous, the muscular, and the nervous fibres, be Other
founded on the most prominent and well marked features mentar;
of distinction which they exhibit, yet there are perhaps other strucM
kinds of texture also, which possess sufficiently characteris¬
tic properties to entitle them to rank as elementary tissues:
these are the albugineous fibre of Chaussier, and the epi¬
dermoid substance ; and to these we might also add, in or¬
der to make the analysis complete, the cartilaginous and
the osseous structures.
(115.) But this analysis of animal textures, has, by some Ultima
later anatomists, been carried, in another point of view, still forms o
farther. With relation to the forms assumed by the ele-tlssues
mentary tissues, they have been referred to three kinds, the
fibrous, the lamellar, and the granular, ox globular. The
two former are exemplified in the structure of the cellular
substance, which composes the greatest portion of the ani¬
mal fabric ; the fibrous is characteristic of the muscular and
ligamentous structures ; the fibrous, united with the granu¬
lar, is exhibited in the texture of the glands, and in the
medullary substance of the nervous system ; and the globu¬
lar is most perfectly shown in the composition of the chyle,
the blood, and several of the secretions.
(116.) Anatomists have sought for still more general re-Micros
suits, by means of microscopical investigations. WhenP'caloo.
very high magnifying powers are employed, both the mus- j^e°n'
cular fibre, and the nervous or medullary matter, appear to |
be resolvable into a mass of globular particles, analogous to Edwar([
those which compose the opaque portion of the blood.
Meckel has founded upon these observations the following
system: He conceives that every animal structure is ulti¬
mately resolvable into two kinds of substance, the one form¬
ed into minute, but solid spherular masses, or globules; and
the other, being an homogeneous, but amorphous matter,
either uniting together these globules in the way of a ce¬
ment interposed between them, or constituting by itself,
what has been termed the cellular substance, membrane,
and the various structures derived from membrane. Dr. Ed¬
wards, on the other hand, has carried this notion to the ut¬
most possible length ; for he represents the cellular and
membranous substances, as being themselves composed ot
globules; so that, according to his views, the whole struc¬
ture of an animal body will consist ot globules.
But the later, and more careful investigations of Dr. Observj
Hodgkin and Mr. Lister,0 appear to have established, that
the globular appearance of the different organized textures, ^
when viewed with microscopes of high magnifying power,
is altogether an optical deception. A similar conclusion,
indeed, was, many years ago, deduced by Dr. Monro, from
his microscopical researches, detailed in his work on the
Nervous System.
Sect. II.—Combinations of Textures.
(117.) Such being the results of the general analysis ofSystemj
animal textures, into a few primary elements, we are next
to consider the combinations of these textures which are
actually presented to us by nature, in the various organs of
the body ; and in order to possess the most comprehensive
views on the subject, it will be proper to study these organs
as forming systems of which the several parts are related to
each other by similarity of composition and of properties.
Tiie most elaborate arrangement founded on this principle
is that of Bichat, who distinguishes the constituent textures
of the body into twenty-one different kinds.4 But it may
be objected to his classification, that it is founded on dis¬
tinctions of function, as well as on those of structure. We
1 See Bedard, Eleraens de Anatomie Generate, pp. 77- 2 Elementa Physiologies Corporis Humani. i ,
5 Philosophical Magazine, and Annals «f Philosophy, vol. ii. p. 136; and also in the appendix to their translation of Lh• B war s wo
4 See his Anatomie Generate-
£
B
PHYSIOLOGY.
597
aology.therefore prefer following on this subject, the arrangement its perfect flexibility, and its great extensibility in various PWrinl,,™
Ml Bedard, which proceeds on one uniform principle, name- directions ; while it exerts, at the same time, eonsiXk
B«W|y, that of mechamca conformation. Taking this principle powers of cohesion. The combination of these two
as our guide, we shall find that the systems of organs may properties is the source of another, which it possesses in a
be eas% reduced to eleven different classes ; namely, 1, very eminent degree, that o(Elasticity, or the power of re-E]a,,i,i,
ne f ,7 s 3, the Memlranous ; 4, the covering its original form, when the disturbingPforce, whe- ' y'
5’ 6, the Cartilaginous ; 7, ther producing compression or extension, has ceased to act
the Osseous ; 8 the Muscular ; 9, the Medullary or Ner- It is evident that by possessing all these properties, the cel-
vous; 10, the Vascular ;ond,U, the Glandular systems o! lular texture is eminently qualified to ihlfil the important
structures. The properties of these several tissues will offices assigned to it, of serving as the elastic scaffoldintr or
come under our review m connexion with the functions to canvass for sustaining all the other parts, and retaintog Stem
whuh they are more imnaediately subservient. The three in their proper situations ; and whilst it Is the univeSl me
chanical cement, or medium of connexion between them, it
is at the same time admirably adapted to facilitate their re
lative movements and mutual actions, which are required
for the performance of their respective functions.
/i i c \ mi • • vu • i a r • ,• i i O^l-) -^no^ier Property, besides elasticity, has also been Cellular
j,-- t 0‘8-) This is the simplest form in which theammal sub- ascribed to the cellular substance and other textures deriv-corn™".
Jjamre. stance presents itself to our observation; and it appears to ed immediately from it. It consists in a peculiar kind ofdhy.
be not only the real basis of the structure of all the other contractility, attended by a sudden corregation and curling
organs, but also the general medium which unites their se- up of its substance. As this property his been supposed
to bear some relation to muscular contractility, we shall de-
fei its consideration till we come to treat of that property.
first of these, however, claim our immediate attention, as
being the simplest, and most generally diffused over the
body.
1. 77ie Cellular Texture.
cellu-
veral parts together, as well as the bond of connexion be¬
tween adjacent organs. It is accordingly, of all the simpler
textures, that which is the most extensively diffused over the
body ; not only pervading the substance of the organs, but
also filling up all the intervening spaces, and preserving
them in their proper relative situations. Haller found it to
consist of an irregular assemblage of plates and fibres, cross¬
ing one another in all manner of directions; so that when
stretched or expanded by the insinuation of any fluid be¬
tween the plates, the whole presents a cellular structure.
These cells, which are produced by the separation of the
plates from each other, are of no regular shape, but com¬
municate freely with one another throughout the whole ex¬
tent of the substance in which they are met with,
inuity (H9.) As there is a continuity of the cellular substance
i cells, in every part of the body, where it exists in this form, there
must, in like manner, be a continuity in the cavities of these
cells; and the consequence of this structure is, that any
fluid, such as air, or water, which may happen to be intro¬
duced into any one part, will readily find its way into ad¬
joining parts, and will thus gradually be diffused over the
whole body. If the fluid be water, as happens in dropsies,
it will, by its gravity, tend to accumulate in the most de¬
pending parts of the body, as the ankles, while a person is
standing or sitting; and it will leave these parts, and be
more generally distributed, after he has remained for some
time in a horizontal posture.
The cellular texture may easily be inflated by air; and
this may happen in consequence of injury, even during life ;
in which case the air gradually insinuates itself into every
part of the frame, puffing up the skin to an extraordinary
degree, so as totally to obliterate the features of the face,
and disfigure the whole body. If measures be not taken to
let the air escape, the patient is at length destroyed by suf¬
focation. A remarkable instance of this disease, which is
termed Emphysema, is given by Dr, William Hunter, in an
essay on the properties of cellular texture, contained in the
second volume of the Medical Observations and Inquiries^
and which also deserves particular notice, as presenting the
best account of this branch of general anatomy.
(120.) The cells, or rather intervals between the plates
and fibres of this substance, contain in the natural and heal¬
thy state, a quantity of aqueous fluid, which has been term-
2. Adipose Texture.
(122.) This texture contains the oily secretion which Fat.
is known by the name olfat. The adipose matter, or fat,
is lodged in particular portions of the cellular texture, ap
propriated to this office. It consists of very minute grains
or globules, distinguishable only by the aid of the micros¬
cope. Each of these globules is contained in a separate in¬
vestment, or sac, constructed of an exceedingly fine and
delicate membrane, formed out of the constituent plates of
the cellular substance, and having no external opening.
I he size of these vesicles is stated to be from the eight-
hundredth to the six-hundredth part of an inch in diameter.
They are collected together in small rounded masses, unit¬
ed by vessels, and presenting an appearance under the mi¬
croscope, not unlike that of a bunch of grapes. They are
lodged in the cells of the cellular substance in various situ¬
ations throughout the body, and contribute to fill up the
hollows which occur in different places between the bones
and muscles, and other organs. They are very abundant
immediately under the skin ; and in some parts are evident¬
ly interposed as cushions for the protection of organs ex¬
posed to injury from pressure or other mechanical violence.
It is evident that the cells in the cellular substance wrhich Contained
are occupied by the fat, are different from those which are in separate
the seat of dropsical accumulations of fluid ; and that they
do not, like the latter, communicate with one another; for
it is found that each portion of fat alvrays remains station¬
ary in the same cell in which it was originally lodged.
(123.) The fat varies considerably in its consistence in Its proper-
different parts of the body, according to the purpose it is in- ties,
tended to serve. At the usual temperature of the living
body, however, it is retained very nearly in a state of flu¬
idity. The quantity accumulated in the body is very dif¬
ferent at different periods of life ; and varies also according
to the state of health, and the peculiar habit and constitu¬
tion of the individual. It is whiter in its colour, and more
firm in its consistence, during the earlier periods of life,
and becomes more soft, and acquires a yellow tinge as age
advances. & &
(124.) The fat of animals has been resolved by Chevreul,
oil // / • t ,— --—7  — -me f<ai, ui cmiiiiaio ims ut;uu icsuiveuuv '^ntrvreui,
e cellular serosity, and which serves the purpose of who undertook an elaborate analysis of this substance, into
lubricating the surfaces of the plates, and thus, by diminish- two proximate principles, to which he gives the names of
MI tnct^n’ of facilitating their relative motions on each stearin and elain. The former, derived from the Greek
er’ /°. ,s circun^stance we may also trace many of word erreap, signifying tallow, is of a much more solid con-
ties. e mechanical properties of the cellular texture ; such as sistence than the latter in ordinary temperatures, and does
1 Page 26, et seq.
598
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, not melt under a heat of from 110° to 120° of Fahrenheit.
It is obtained from fat by digesting it in alcohol, in the mrm
of white crystalline needles, which are deposited as the fluid
cools. It is a white brittle substance, void of taste or odour,
and resembling wax in its appearance. If, aftei the stearin
has been deposited, heat be applied to the remaining solu¬
tion, so as to drive off the alcohol, there remains an oily
matter, which continues fluid at 59° of Fahrenheit, and is
called, by Chevreul, elain, from the Greek term for oil,
The consistence of the fat of different animals, and in dif¬
ferent parts of the same animal, admits of considerable di¬
versity, according to the proportions in which these two
ingredients are contained ; the abundance of stearin is the
principal cause of the hardness of tallow or suet, whilst an
increased proportion of elain characterises the composition
of marrow, which is one of the most fluid kinds of fat. . ^
(125.) The marrow which occupies the central cavities
of the cylindrical bones, and which also exists in small
quantities in the canals that pervade the substance of the
denser portions of the bones, is perfectly analogous in its
composition and structure to the fat in other parts of the
bodv. The oily particles are contained in membranous ve¬
sicle, which are themselves connected together, and re¬
tained in their places by a fine net-work of plates and fibres,
corresponding to the general cellular structure of other
parts, but of a peculiarly delicate contexture.
Marrow.
3. Membranous Structures.
Mpmhrane (127.) When the texture of cellular substance becomes
’ consolidated by the intimate adhesion of the plates and fibres
of which it is originally composed, which, of course, pro¬
duces the complete obliteration of its cells, it constitutes
the different varieties of membranous structures, ihese
structures are of different degrees of thickness, and compose
masses of different degrees of density. When expanded
into a continuous sheet or plate, it forms what is more pro¬
perly termed a membrane. These membranes, when suf¬
ficiently thin, are semi-transparent, and have a smooth and
uniform surface. Flaller found that all membranes are re¬
solvable, by long maceration in water, into a flocculent
spongy substance, in which the original cells of the cellular
texture from which they were formed, could be rendered
apparent by inflating them with air.
Their im- (128.) Membranes retain almost all the mechanical pro-
permeabili-perties belonging to the cellular substance from which they
ty to fluids. are drived ; for they are equally flexible and elastic, al-
though possessing superior strength and firmness. But in
qne respect they exhibit a marked difference, while t ic
simple cellular texture, as we have seen, allows of the ge¬
neral communication of fluids introduced into its cells, from
one part to another ; membranes are for the most part im¬
permeable to fluids, and are in consequence employed with
the express design of preventing their diffusion.
(129.) The property possessed by membranes of contract¬
ing in their dimensions by the evaporation of the water
they contain, and which is united with the animal matei ial
by a very weak affinity, constitutes what may be termed
the hygrometric property. ' '
All the membranes are capable of being dried by the
continued application of a moderate heat, and may be kept
in this dry state for a great length of time without under-
goinp' any change. But if & dry membrane be immersed
in water, it absorbs a considerable quantity, recovers its
softness and flexibility, and expands in all its dimensions.
These effects are greater when the action of warmth is com¬
bined with that of moisture. A membrane will absorb mois¬
ture even from the atmosphere, and again part with it, ac¬
cording to its different states of humidity. Philosophers
have availed themselves of this property in the construction
of an hygrometer, or instrument for indicating these 5arm¬
ing states of the atmosphere with respect to dryness or hu- Physiol:,
midity. Any long slip of dried membrane, suspended in^ylf
the air, and stretched by a moderate weight, may be made
to act on a moveable index by any mechanical contrivance
rendering the variations in its length visible on a large scale,
and will serve the purpose of an hygrometer. The mem¬
brane will be found to lengthen by exposure to a humid at¬
mosphere, from which it imbibes moisture, and again to
contract by the evaporation of this moisture in a driei ail.
A piece of catgut, which is prepared from the membrane
of a sheep, will answer the same purpose. We find, accor¬
dingly, that the state of the weather has a considerable ef¬
fect upon the tone of a musical instrument made of catgut.
A violin, or harp, may be in perfect tune in one situation,
and yet become quite out of tune when placed in an atmos¬
phere of greater humidity, as in that of a room filled with
company.
The principle of which these facts are illustrations, is to
a certain extent applicable to the animal body. T-he doc¬
trine of the animal fibres being braced or relaxed, which
was formerly a more fashionable language than it is at pre¬
sent, may perhaps have been carried too far, but it has cer¬
tainly a foundation in truth. Warmth and moisture have
a powerful influence on the body, and their effect is partly
mechanical; and this operation, which is pi imai ily exerted
on the skin, renders them efficacious in the relief of inflam¬
matory action, by diminishing the tension of the inflamed
parts/ This effect is not merely temporary, but may be¬
come the permanent habit of the system. I hus, we find
that the inhabitants of elevated countries where the air is
peculiarly dry, are more hardy, and possess more of the
vis tonica in their frames, than those who dwell m a humid
climate, or in low and swampy plains. The Swiss and other
inhabitants of mountainous tracts, may in this respect be
contrasted with the Dutch and Flemish, who have in gene¬
ral a constitutional laxity of fibre ; and similar differences
have been observed in the lower animals among vaiieties
of* tho same i*ace.
(130.) All these properties of membrane, taken together,
adapt them for being employed in various useful ways in
the animal economy. Membranes in general are employe
to establish relations not only between adjacent, but also
between distant parts *, they strengthen their connexions,
and, whilst in some they allow of relative motions in certain
directions, and to a certain extent, in others they restrain
them and limit their degrees. Almost every organ is fur¬
nished with a firm covering of membrane, which gives it
protection and support. For all these purposes, a looser and
more yielding cellular tissue would not have possessed ade-
^ (131.) As the cellular substance is the basis of mem-Vessel
brane, so membrane, in different modifications, constitutes&c.
the essential portion of many other parts of the body; sucn
as all those recipient organs, having the form of sacs or
pouches, like the stomach, and especially those which are
provided for the retention of fluids, as the gall-bladder, and
urinary bladder. Membranes are also formed into tubes ot
various kinds, destined to transmit their fluid contents to
various parts. These tubes, known under the name ot
vessels, canals, or ducts, are also frequently furnished with
a valvular apparatus, likewise composed of membrane, al¬
lowing of the passage of the fluid only in one direction. ^
(132.) The structure and properties of every description
of membranes have been minutely investigated by Bichab
who, in his Anatomic Generate, has given us an elaborate
classification of the animal textures. He establishes tw
general divisions of membranes, namely, the simple and the
compound. Of the former he makes three classes; first, t ^
mucous membranes, the surface of which is defende y
mucous secretion ; secondly, the serous membranes, char
acterised by the serous nature of the fluid with which
PHYSIOLOGY.
p|: iology. surface is constantly moistened; and thirdly, the fibrous
membranes, which are distinguished by their peculiar struc¬
ture, as being composed of dense and inelastic fibres. The
compound membranes are formed by the intermixture of
two or more of the simpler membranes, and exhibit a com¬
bination of the characters of each,
is (133.) Serous membranes are universally met with where-
iraneSever there are internal cavities in the body, which are closed
599
as to on eve.ry s^e’ that is, have no communication, by any chan-
dosed116^ with the external air; such cavities being always lin¬
ed by serous membranes. This is exemplified in the cavi-
| ties of the chest, which are three in number; namely, one
on each side, containing the right and left lung, and the in¬
termediate cavity, occupied by the heart. The membranes
lining the former are called the pleura;; and the membrane
lining the latter, the pericardium. The great cavity of the
abdomen, in which are situated the organs of digestion and
chylification, is lined by the peritoneum, which is also a
serous membrane. The same, also, applies to the cavities
in the interior of the brain, which are called ventricles, and
also the external surface of the organ, which are lined by
the dura mater, the arachnoid coat, and pin mater. The
serous membranes, after lining their respective cavities, are
extended still farther, by being reflected back upon the or¬
gans inclosed in their cavities, so as to furnish them with
an external covering. If it were possible, therefore, to dis¬
sect these membranes from off the parts which they invest,
they would have the form of a sac without an opening, the
organ invested by one of their folds, being altogether ex¬
ternal to the cavity of that sac; just as happens when a
double night-cap is worn, of which the part immediately
covering the head is analogous to that portion of the serous
membrane which adheres to, and invests the organ; whilst
the external portion of the cap represents the lining of the
cavity in which that organ is said to be contained.
Tt have (134.) Hence it will readily be understood, that the se-
tw .rfa- rous membranes never open, or allow of any perforation, for
the passage of blood vessels, nerves, or ducts, to or from the
enclosed organs ; but that they are always reflected over
those parts, forming a sheath round them, and accompany¬
ing them in their course. It also follows, as a necessary
consequence, that their free surfaces completely isolate the
parts between which they intervene. The great viscera,
suspended in the bags formed by their serous coverings, can
have no communication with the adjacent parts, except at
the points where their vessels enter; in all other situations
there is no continuity of parts, although there may be con¬
tiguity.
(135.) In every serous membrane we may distinguish two
surfaces having very different characters: the external sur¬
face, or that by which they adhere to the surrounding or¬
gans, and the internal surface, which is in immediate con¬
tact with another portion of the same membrane, but with¬
out adhering to it. I his interior surface is remarkable for
lts P6rfcct smoothness and polish ; and it is continually pre¬
served in a state of moisture by a serous fluid, which ex¬
udes from it. This fluid has been termed the liquid of
surfaces, and consists almost entirely of water, with a very
minute proportion of albuminous matter. Its presence is
evidently of the greatest use in facilitating the motions of
the parts contained within the cavities, with relation to their
sides, by diminishing friction, preserving the smoothness
of the surfaces applied to each other, and preventing their
mutual adhesion. When the internal surface of these mem¬
branes is exposed to the air in living animals, or imme¬
diately after death, this fluid exhales in the form of vapour,
to which formerly great attention was paid, and which was
ignified with the name of hahtus. In consequence of dis¬
ease, this fluid of surfaces sometimes accumulates in one of
ese cavities, and thereby produces a dropsy of that respec-
]ve cavity: a fact which proves the power of serous mem¬
branes to retain these fluids, and not, as in the case of the Physiology,
cellular substance, to allow of their diffusion into the adjoin-
ing organs. ‘
(136.) The serous membranes constitute the simplest
form of condensed cellular substance ; they are not divisible
into any regular layers ; although cellular portions may be
removed from the outer surface by which they are attached
to the surrounding parts. In the natural state they are ex¬
ceedingly thin, and transparent; but become thicker and
opaque by disease. Although perfectly flexible, they pos¬
sess considerable strength ; they are exceedingly extensible ;
but they are not in the same proportion elastic: for after
they have been stretched, they give but feeble indications
of a power of retraction.
4. The Osseous Fabric.
(137.) For the purpose of thoroughly understanding the Properties
whole mechanism and operations of any complicated engine, of the
or system of machinery, the best and most natural course is bones,
to commence with the study of the solid frame-work, which
gives stability to the whole fabric, and affords fixed bearings
i-a?11 ^ie P°wers, regulating the movements of its
different parts, exert their respective powers. This purpose
of procuring mechanical rigidity and support, is the appro¬
priate function of the osseous system, or skeleton ; which is
composed of a connected series of solid structures, called
bones, deriving their mechanical properties from their pecu¬
liar chemical composition, and almost crystalline hardness,
and which constitute one of the most important of the con¬
stituent textures of the body. Our first object of attention,
theiefbre, in considering the mechanical functions, is the
study of this system of structures.
(138.) 4 he bones, then, are to be viewed as the densest
and most solid parts of the animal frame; constituting the
basis of support to the softer textures, affording protection
to all the vital organs, and furnishing those powerful levers
which are essential to the advantageous action of the mus¬
cles concerned in locomotion, and in the various movements
of the limbs. With reference to their form, they have
usually been divided into three classes: the long cylin¬
drical bones; the broad and fiat bones; and the short or
square bones, which include those of a more irregular form,
and not referable to either of the other two heads. To the
first class belong the principal bones of the upper and lower
limbs, which are adapted more especially to the purposes of
motion. Under the second may be ranked the bones of the
skull, which serve for the protection of the brain; and the
third include the vertebrae, the bones of the face, and the
small bones which concur in the formation of the wrist and
the ankle. There are, besides, other bones, such as the ribs
and the bones of the pelvis, of a more anomalous descrip¬
tion, which are rather distinguished by their irregularity
than by any definite character.
(139.) On examining the mechanical structure of bones, Structure
we find that their external surface is generally their hardest of bones,
part, and that it consists of a solid plate, or layer of bony
matter, of different thickness in different bones, and in dif¬
ferent parts of the same bone. In the cylindrical bones this
firm and compact substance extends only to a certain depth,
and within this the structure is spongy and cellular. To
the latter part the name of cancelli has been given. In the
middle of the long bones the central parts are occupied by
the marrow ; but as we continue our examination, by taking
different sections across the bone, in proportion as we ap-
proach the extremities, we find the dense external substance
diminishing in thickness, while the proportion of the spongy
part increases, and encroaches upon the space in the centre
occupied by the marrow, which at length disappears, so that
at the very extremity of the bone, nearly the whole area of
the section is filled by the cancelli, while the outer cover¬
ing of solid bone is merely a thin superficial plate. In the
600
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology flat bones, having, of course, an upper and under surface,
the plates of bone forming each of these surfaces, are termed
the two tables, and the cellular portion which is found be¬
tween them is called the diploe. In many of the more irre¬
gularly shaped bones, neither cancelli nor diploe are found,
the whole substance being compact. Dr. Bostock observes,
that the transition from the compact to the spongy part ot
a bone is not marked by any decided limit; but they pass
into each other by insensible degrees, so as to shew that
there is no essential difference between them.
(140.) Bones present the appearance of fibres on their
surface. This is seen particularly in all bones that have
been long exposed to the weather, or that have been long
boiled. In the cylindrical bones most of these fibres are
longitudinal; but in the flat bones they generally run in a
radiated direction. In the short bones their course is much
more irregular and difficult to trace. In the compact part
of the section of a bone, the appearance of plates is not very
distinguishable ; but certain cavities are discovered which,
for the most part, run in a longitudinal direction, and nearly
parallel to one another. They are of various lengths ; and
their diameters are exceedingly small. I hey have tians-
verse or oblique canals, which establish communications
between them ; and some of which also open into the larger
cancelli in the middle of the bone. These cavities have
been called the canals of Havers,2 who first discovered them.
Their existence, however, was for a long time considered
as dubious : but it has been lately verified by Mr. Howship,
who, with the help of the solar microscope, obtained dis¬
tinct views of them, and was enabled to trace their course.
He ascertained the diameter of these canals to be about the
400th of an inch ; and farther discovered that they are lined
with an extremely fine vascular membrane, and that they
are filled with marrow. .
(141.) The intimate structure of bone was first minutely
investigated by Malpighi, who discovered that its basis con¬
sists of an animal membrane having an areolated, or cellular
form. Duhamel4 next ascertained that this membranous
matter was frequently disposed in plates or laminae ; and he
described these plates as forming concentric rings, analo¬
gous to those which compose the trunk of a tree ; but there
is no other foundation than mere fancy for this analogy.
We owe to Herissant5 the important fact, that the chief
properties of bone are derived from the presence of an ear¬
thy ingredient, which is deposited in the animal basis, or
parenchyma of the bone.
Analysis of (142.) The analysis of a bone into its two constituent parts
bone. is easily effected by the agency either of acids or of heat.
By macerating a full grown bone for a sufficient time m
diluted muriatic acid, the earthy portion of the bone, amount¬
ing to nearly one-third of its weight, is dissolved by the
acTd ; the animal portion only remaining. This animal basis
retains the bulk and shape of the original bone, but is soft,
flexible, and elastic ; possessing, in a word, all the proper¬
ties of membraneous parts, and corresponding in its chemi¬
cal character to condensed albumen.6 A portion of this solid
animal substance affords gelatine by long boiling in water,
especially under the pressure, admitting of a high tempera¬
ture, to which it may be subjected in Papin’s digester. On
the other hand, by subjecting a bone to the action of fire,
the animal part alone will be consumed, and the eaith left
untouched, preserving, as before, the form of the bone, but
having lost the material which united the particles, present¬
ing a fragile mass which easily crumbles into powder. This
earthy basis, when chemically examined, is found to con¬
sist principally of phosphate of lime, which composes eighty-
two hundredths of its weight; and to contain also, accord- Physio ,
ing to Berzelius, minute portions of fluate and carbonate of
lime, together with the phosphates of magnesia and of soda.
Dr. G. O. Rees, who has lately made exact analysis of
different bones taken from the same individual, in a state of
perfect dryness, and quite free from fat, periosteum, or car¬
tilage, deduces from his researches the following conclusions:7
1. The long bones of the extremities contain more ear¬
thy matter than those of the trunk.
2. The bones of the upper extremity contain somewhat
more earthy matter than the corresponding bones of the
lower extremity ; thus the humerus more than the femur,
and the radius and ulna more than the tibia and fibula;
this difference is, however small, being about one half per
cent.
3. The humerus contains more earthy matter than the
radius and ulna, and the femur more than the tibia and fibula.
4. The tibia and fibula contain, as nearly as possible, the
same proportions of animal and earthy matter, and the. ra'
dins and ulna may also be considered alike in constitution.
5. The vertebrae, ribs, and clavicle, are nearly identical
as regards the proportion of earthy matter ; the ileum con¬
tains somew'hat more of the earth, the scapula and sternum
somewdiat less : the sternum contains more earthy matter
than the scapula.
6. The bones of the head contain considerably more ear¬
thy matter than the bones of the trunk, as observed by Dr.
J. Davy ; but the humerus and other long bones are very
nearly as rich in earths.
7. The metatarsal bones may probably be ranked with
those of the trunk in proportional constitution.
8. The cancellated structure (at least in the rib) contains
less earthy matter than the more solid parts of the bone,
this difference, however, is not considerable.
9« The bones of the trunk of the foetal skeleton are as
rich in the proportion of earthy matter as those of the adult;
at least the difference is too small to be material.
10. The bones of the foetal extremities, on the other hand,
are deficient in earthy matter, which is a fact simply explica¬
ble from the circumstance that such an excess of earths as
appears necessary to very great strength of bone is not
needed at birth, and therefore only appears in after life.
The existence of a general lawr, regulating the proportion
of earthy deposit in the different bones, (which is shown by
the curious agreement of relative proportions observed be¬
tween the foetal and adult skeletons,) adds one more to the
many proofs of the regularity and perfection of design whic i
nature evinces in her operations.
(143.) It appears evident, then, from these and other
facts, that the basis of the osseous structure is essentially
the same as that of membraneous parts, being composed o
fibrous laminae or plates, which are connected together so as
to form, by their intersection, a series of cells analogous to
those of the cellular texture. In the interstices of these
plates, or in the cells themselves, the particles of phosphate
of lime are deposited ; the particles being held in union by
the interposed membrane, which performs the office of a
cement. Hence there is no necessity for admitting t e
hypothetical explanation of Gagliardi,8 who maintained t u
the bony plates are held together by small processes, like
nails, which, rising from the inner plates, pierce throug
the adjoining ones, and are fixed into the more external
plates. Of these processes, or claviculi, as he called mem,
he described four different kinds, the perpendicular, the
oblique, the headed, and the crooked. But no subsequen
anatomist has been able to verify these observations; ana
1 Elementary System of Physiology, third edition, p. 61. 2 Osteologia nova, § 35, 37.
4 Memoires de I'Acad mie des Sciences, pour 1739, 1741, 1742, arid 1743.
6 This was first satisfactorily shewn by Mr. Hatchett. Phil, Trans, for 1800.
8 Anatomic Ossium.
8 Medico-Chimrgical Transactions, vii. 393.
s Ibid. 1758. . .
7 Medico- Chirurgical Transactions, xxi. 'tea.
ysiology-the account given by Gagliardi remains on record as a
pY curious instance of the extent to which an observer of mere
appearances is liable to deceive himself by the influence of
too vivid an imagination. Monro states, that in bones fitly
prepared, he could only see numerous irregular processes
rising out from the plates. Duhamel, trusting to a fancied
analogy between the process of ossification, and the growth
of trees, imagined that a bone is composed of a series of re¬
gular concentric laminae. But this hypothesis has been re¬
futed by Scarpa,1 who investigated, with great care, both
the mechanical structure of bone and the mode of its for¬
mation ; and concludes that the ultimate texture of bone is
not lamellated but reticular. Raspail has indulged in spe¬
culations of a still more questionable nature respecting the
ultimate osseous texture, which he endeavours to assimilate
with that vesicular form, which he views as the essential cha¬
racter both of animal and of vegetable organization. Dr.
Benson observes2 that all writers, before the time of Scar¬
pa, considered the structure of bone as laminated, or fibrous
and laminated ; whilst, according to all later authorities, it
should be regarded as cellular. In the works of the for¬
mer, however, we may notice intimations of a reticular tex¬
ture ; and in those of the latter, on the other hand, we meet
with the expressions of a tendency or disposition to a lam¬
inated arrangement. “ If, with these opinions before us,”
he continues, “ we come to examine for ourselves, we shall
have no hesitation in agreeing with Scarpa that it is really
cellular. At the same time, it must be confessed, that the
sides of the cells are, in the compact tissue, so pressed to¬
gether, that the appearance of laminae is often very strik-
ing; and, again, that the sides of the cells have, in most
places, the appearance of fibres ; when the earthy portion
is removed by an acid, we can tear out with a pin the mem¬
branous fibres, and almost demonstrate the fibres. But a
closer examination will shew that we have torn the cells,
and destroyed the true texture. The laminated disposition
supposed to be shewn by exfoliation, the weather, burning,
&c., may all be proved to be deception ; and there can sel¬
dom, indeed, be exhibited a plate, however small, of equal
thickness throughout, which has been removed by any of
these agents. There is, however, an approach to the lam¬
inated arrangement, and every cell is formed of particles
which approach to the form of fibres. The longitudinal
canals of Havers, Leuwenhoeck, and Howship, probably
result from the flattened cells, and may be deceptive appear¬
ances in the old bone, or the channels for blood vessels, &c.”
osteum (144.) Bones are invested on every part of their surface,
excepting in those parts where they are plated with carti¬
lage, with a firm plate of membrane, termed the periosteum,
which conveys blood vessels to the bone, and establishes
mechanical connexions between it and surrounding parts.
This membrane belongs to the class of fibrous textures
PHYSIOLOGY.
601
teum which covers the bones of the skull has received the Physiologv.
name of the pericranium. > , ^
(145.) The internal cavities of the bones are, as is well
known, occupied by an oily secretion, termed the marroiv,
contained in a delicate structure, composed of minute vesi¬
cles which are filled with the fluid oil, and which are connect¬
ed by fine threads and plates of fine cellular tissue. Monro
describes the vesicles as perfectly distinct, having no com¬
munication with one another, and as presenting, under the
microscope, the appearance of a cluster of pearls.
Many have been the conjectural uses assigned to the mar
row by the older physiologists ; it was at one time very ge¬
nerally imagined that it served, by its mechanical properties,
to temper the brittle quality of the earthy materials which
form the chief constituent portion of the bone ; a purpose,
however, which it is impossible it could fulfil, as, instead of
being mixed up and blended with the phosphate of lime, or
diffused generally through the substratum of the bone, it is
lodged in separate cavities, and thereby prevented from any
umon with bony matter, or intermixture with its substance.
The marrow is, in general possessed of little sensibility, ex¬
cept in a few points, where it is traversed by the nervous
filaments supplying the bone itself. It is regarded by phy¬
siologists of the present day rather as constituting a part of
the general store of nutritious matter, which is kept in re¬
serve for particular occasions of exigency, than as having
any mechanical relation with the dense texture within which
it is lodged. The circumstance of its being wholly absent
in the bones of birds is a clear proof that there is no mutual
dependence between the functions of the latter and the pre¬
sence of the marrow.
(146.) All the internal cavities of bones occupied by the internal
marrow are lined with a vascular membrane, which follows periosteum,
all the windings of the canals and of the cancelli, and has
been called the internal periosteum. It may easily be ren¬
dered visible by sawing a long bone longitudinally, and
plunging it in boiling water, by which treatment the mem-
bi ane is made to detach itself from the bone, and contract
upon the marrow which is within it, and to which it is closely
attached. It has then the appearance of a fine cobw’eb.
5. Cartilage.
(147.) The structure which ranks next to bone in respect Properties
to its density is cartilage, a term which expresses a firm and" of cartilage,
dense substance, apparently homogeneous in its texture,
semipellucid, and of a milk-white or pearly colour. Sub¬
stances of this description are found to enter into the com¬
position of several parts of the body. The surface of a car¬
tilage is perfectly uniform, and presents no visible eminences
or pores ; nor can any cavities or inequalities of any kind be
perceived in its internal texture. When it is cut into with
a sharp knife, the section exhibits an uniform appearance,
i • . ° , ,7 d&ucup Kiiuo, me section exniDits an umtorm annearance
being composed ot numerous inelastic fibres of great densi- like that of a piece of glue. Yet, after exposure for a cer-
ty and strength, passing m various directions, and compos- tain time, the surface thus cut begins to contract and a se-
ofohp p1 ° lgam£ntous tISS,ie’ interlacing with the fibres rous fluid is perceived slowly to exude from it, proceeding
of the ligaments which encircle the mints. from certain invisible pores, which are in all probability mb
of the ligaments which encircle the joints.
Ihe inner surface of the periosteum is connected with
the bone by the vessels passing from the one to the other,
and also by numerous prolongations which dip down into
the osseous substance. The blood-vessels of this membrane
are numerous, and easily rendered apparent by means of in¬
jections, especially in young subjects. Besides the more
obvious uses of the periosteum, in affording protection to
the surface of bones from injurious impressions they might
receive from the action of surrounding parts, and interpos¬
ing a membranous layer for the defence of the latter, Bichat
ascribes to it the more important office of affording fixed
centres of support to the general system of fibres, in its
niechanical relations to the rest of the frame. The perios-
nute capillary vessels, of which the diameters are too small
to admit the coloured globules of the blood. That a deli¬
cate system of circulating passages exist in cartilages, is
shewn by various diseased conditions, in which sometimes
granulations have been seen to arise from their surfaces, and
at other times extensive absorption of their substance has
taken place ; and although insensible, on ordinary occasions,
to wounds inflicted by cutting instruments, yet in others,
when sudden pressure is made on them under peculiar cir¬
cumstances, extreme pain arises, giving warning of serious
injury impending.
Cartilaginous structures appear to be composed of albu¬
men alone, with scarcely any intermixture of gelatin. Dn
4 G
vol. xvrr.
1 De Perit. Structura Ossium.
2 Cychpadia of Anatomy and Physiology, vol. i. p. 433.
602
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology. John Davy found that they contain a small proportion of
y phosphate of lime, amounting to about the two hundredth
part of their weight. Mr. Hatchett, however, does not re¬
gard this substance as an essential ingredient in their com¬
position. .
The mechanical property which particularly distinguishes
cartilage is elasticity, a quality which it possesses in a greater
degree than any other animal structure, and which adapts it
to many useful purposes in the economy. Hence it forms
the basis of many parts where, contrary to the purposes an¬
swered by the bones, pliancy and resilience as well as firm¬
ness are required ; and hence cartilage is employed when
a certain shape is to be preserved, together with a capabi¬
lity of yielding to an external force. The flexibility of car¬
tilage, however, does not extend beyond certain limits ; if
these be exceeded, fracture takes place. Great density be¬
stowed upon an animal structure, indeed, appears to be in all
cases attended with a proportionate degree of brittleness.
These mechanical properties of cartilages, as well as their
intimate structure, although nearly homogeneous in all, are
subject to modification in different kinds of cartilage. Carti¬
lages are covered with a fine membrane, termed the peri¬
chondrium, analogous in its structure and office to the pe¬
riosteum, which we have already had occasion to point out
among the fibrous membranes, as investing the bones.
Cartilages, (148.) Cartilages are distinguished into those which are
temporary temporary and those which are permanent structures. The
and perma-former are only met with in the earlier periods of life, dur-
nent. ing ^ gr0wth of the body, and are gradually removed to
make way for the deposition of bone. When about to un¬
dergo this change, small canals have been detected in the
substance of these temporary cartilages. The permanent
cartilages are those which retain the cartilaginous structure
throughout every period of life. They have been distin¬
guished into three or four different kinds, such as the mem-
braniform, the interosseal, the articular, and the interar-
ticular cartilages.
Membrani- (149-) The membruniform cartilages are included by Bi-
fonn. chat in the class of fibro-cartilaginous structures hereafter
to be described. They furnish a basis of support to the softer
parts, and in some measure supply the place of bone, giving
a determinate shape and firmness to parts where bone would
have been inconvenient. They possess greater tenacity and
less brittleness than the other kinds of cartilage. By their
elasticity they admit of considerable variation of figure,
yielding” to external pressure, and recovering their proper
shape as soon as the pressure is removed. Of this kind are
the cartilages of the nose and ear, and also those of the larynx
and trachea. These cartilages are extremely thin, and are
invested with a very thick and firm perichondrium, to which
they are connected bv means of a number of fibres travers¬
ing their substance, and rendering their surfaces rough and
porous. Long maceration enables us to detect these fibres,
and to resolve the whole into a cellular and albuminous sub¬
stance.
Interosseal. (150.) The interosseal cartilages pass from one bone to
another, adhering firmly by their extremities to each. They
answer the same purpose as would be attained by an in¬
crease of extent in one or both of the bones, with the fur¬
ther advantage of allowing of obscure degrees of motion,
and deadening the effects of jars incident to percussion. The
cartilages of the ribs are of this class. They are covered
with perichondrium. When they have been steeped in wa¬
ter for a great many months, they are divisible into laminae,
of an oval shape, which are united by fibres passing oblique¬
ly between them.
Articular. (151.) The articular, or diarthrodial cartilages, are those
plates of cartilaginous substance which adhere firmly, and
almost inseparably, to the surfaces of those bones which are
opposed to each other in the joints, or over which tendons
and ligaments slide. In some joints the whole of the sur¬
face of the bone within the capsular ligament is covered with Physioloj
cartilage ; in others, only the parts of bones which move
upon each other; the remaining part being covered with
ligament. This latter disposition is met with in the joint of
the hip. This kind of cartilage, like the others, appears per¬
fectly smooth on its surface, and also when a section is made
through its substance ; but by a sufficiently long macera¬
tion, to allow of a commencement of putrefaction, its fibrous
structure may be detected. The elastic resilience of these
cartilages has a powerful tendency to lessen the shocks in¬
cident to sudden and violent actions.
(152.) Cartilages of a similar kind are found in the cavi-Interart ;
ties of certain joints, and have hence been called interarti- cular.
cular cartilages. They have no immediate connexion with
the bones forming the joint, but are attached only to the in¬
side of the capsular ligament. They are thus rendered
somewhat moveable, and being interposed between the
bones, allow them a greater latitude of motion, while they
at the same time contribute to adapt their surfaces more
perfectly to each other. By long maceration in water, a
laminated structure is more distinctly perceived in this kind
of cartilage than in any of the others.
6. Fibro-Cartilaginous Structures.
(153.) Many structures exist in the human body which
appear to be of an intermediate nature between ligament
and cartilage, in which a fibrous texture is united to a car¬
tilaginous basis, and which combines the characteristic pro¬
perties of both these textures. They are distinguished
from the purely ligamentous parts by their high degree of
elasticity, and from cartilage by their fibrous texture. Ac¬
cordingly we find them employed when this combination of
properties is requisite for the functions of the parts. They
form additions to interarticular ligaments, and eke out the
borders of cavities adapted to the reception of the rounded
heads of bones.
(154.) The principal instances of large masses of fibro-Interver
cartilaginous structures occur in those which unite the bo-bralsuh
dies of the vertebrae and of the bones of the pelvis. Thesestances>
intervertebral substances, as they are termed, impart great
elasticity to the spine ; and diminish the effects of concus¬
sion. When the body has been long in the erect position,
the weight of the head and upper parts of the trunk occa¬
sions the compression of these intervertebral substances,
and the height of the person is diminished. By continu¬
ance for an equal time in a horizontal posture, this super¬
incumbent pressure being removed, they recover their ori¬
ginal dimensions. Hence a person is taller when he rises
in a morning than after sustaining the fatigues of the day;
and the difference of stature often amounts to a whole inch.
7. Ligamentous Structures.
(155.) Striictures possessing inferior degrees of solidity, L|gamelj
but still exhibiting structures of considerable density, aretcussysj
met with in the interior of the body, and serve various me-tem.
chanical purposes of cohesion and support. Many of these
may be regarded as mere modifications of membrane; but
yet the peculiarities of structure and of properties exhibited
by ligamentous textures point them out as requiring to be
classed separately. Bichat, who has viewed them as com¬
posing a system of structures, has given to it the title of
the fibrous system ; a name which is liable to the objection
of not being sufficiently distinctive ; since, as we shall af¬
terwards find, many other parts, and especially the muscles,
are no less fibrous than the tendons and the ligaments.
As a general designation of this class of fibres, we have
therefore preferred the term of ligamentous system, which
sufficiently expresses the general mechanical purpose which
they are designed to serve in the animal economy.
(156.) This system includes a great number of struc¬
tures, which, although very similar in their nature and o*-
3-jS
| irous
ysiology- fice, have received difFerent names, such as ligaments,
tendons, fascia;, aponeuroses, capsules, &c. Fibres of a
similar kind to those which constitute these parts, also en-
ter into the composition of other organs, imparting to them
different degrees of mechanical strength.
(157.) Various as are the forms and dispositions assumed
by ligamentous fibres, they present us with two principal
varieties, according as they are expanded into thin and
broad plates, or ligamentous membranes, or collected into
thick and elongated cords. The first division includes
fibrous membranes, fibrous capsules, tendinous sheaths, and
aponeuroses.
   (158). The fibrous membranes resemble ordinary mem-
, ilibraries, branes, but have, superadded to the structure of the latter,
numerous denser fibres, which give them greater strength^
and fit them for affording mechanical support to various
organs. Thus the periosteum of the bones is a membrane
of this description. The internal periosteum of the skull
or dura mater has a similar structure. The external coat
of the globe of the eye, or sclerotica; the investing mem¬
branes of many of the glands, as the kidneys, belong to the
class of fibrous membranes ; to which also we may perhaps
refer some of the coats of the larger blood-vessels, and of
the excretory ducts of glands. Besides enveloping organs,
these fibrous membranes often extend into their interior,
forming partitions, or even cells, which contribute to their
firmness and support.
(159.) The fibrous capsules present the form of sacs,
which surround certain joints, especially those of the shoul¬
der and hip, and preserve the connexion between the bones
which form these joints. These capsules, again, are lined
internally by serous or synovial membranes, supplying the
fluid which lubricates the surfaces of the parts plavinsr upon
each other. r j & i
(160.) The tendinous sheaths axe formed by fibrous mem
PHYSIOLOGY.
603
tened form, bringing these ligaments nearer to the descrin- Physiology,
tion of fibrous membranes. i— Y
(163.) The tendons are generally more simple in their Tendons,
structure, consisting of elongated cords; but in some in¬
stances they are more complicated, being divided into se¬
veral smaller cords.
(164.) Bichat1 has exhibited, in the following table, a ge- Bichat’s ar-
Iaera!?/VleW ^ie Preceding classification of what he calls rangement.
the fibrous system.
p ^ f Fibrous membranes.
S
<D
S’
<D
■5 2
Fibrous capsules.
Fibrous sheaths,
2 I Aponeuroses.
^ L
L = '
{Ligaments.
Tendons.
f Partial.
( General.
f For envelop- f Partial.
J ment. ( General.
V _ (In abroad surface.
(.Forinsertion •< In an arch.
( In separate fibres.
( With regular fasciculi.
( With irregular fasciculi.
j Simple.
( Complicated.
I ous
c ales.
S iths of
U :ms
%e
eats.
branes of a cylindrical shape, which surround the tendons
in those parts where they pass over bones, and are par-
ticularly subjected to friction, or liable to occasional dis¬
placement during the action of the muscles which move
the joint. Some of these include only one tendon in their
respective cavities, as those of the fingers and toes: others
receive several tendons, as those belonging to the muscles
of the wrist and ankle joints.
061.) Aponeuroses consist of extended sheets of fibrous
texture, principally belonging to the organs of locomotion ;
and disposed in some instances so as to form coverings of
parts ; while in others they constitute points of attachment
to muscles. I hus they may be distinguished into aponeu¬
roses for enveloping, and aponeuroses for insertion. The
former, which are generally termed fasciae, either surround
the muscles of the limb, forming a general sheath for it, as
in the fore-arm and thigh; or else they invest and confine
some particular muscles. The aponeuroses for insertion
either form broad or narrow surfaces, or consist of separate
fibres, giving attachment to particular portions of muscles,
or form arches, which both admit of their connexion with
muscular fibres, and at the same time allow of the passage
of vessels.
(162.) The second division composes the proper liga¬
ments and tendons, all of which have more or less the
form of cords.
The ligaments connect together the articular surfaces of
bones, and oppose a very considerable resistance to any
orce tending to their displacement. The fibres which
enter into their composition, generally preserve a direction
nearly parallel; but frequently they are extended in va¬
rious ways, forming an intertexture calculated to resist ex-
ension in difFerent directions; and from their mere flat-
(165.) The structure of all these parts, as their name Albugine-
imports, is essentially fibrous; the individual fibres which ous fibre,
compose them being exceedingly slender filaments of a
very dense, firm, and inelastic substance ; sometimes pa¬
rallel to each other, as in the tendons and ligaments, and
sometimes variously interwoven, as in the fibrous mem¬
branes. In some portions of the denser structures here¬
after to be noticed, the fibres are so closely united as to
present an almost homogeneous appearance; but in all the
parts hitherto considered, the bundles of fibres admit of be¬
ing separated by maceration ; and are resolvable into length¬
ened filaments of extreme tenuity. It has not been per¬
fectly ascertained what is the diameter of the fibres when
this subdivision has been carried to its utmost limit; but
they appear in this ultimate state of division to be as fine
as the filaments spun by the silk worm. These ultimate
fibres are distinguished by their flexibility, their extreme
tenacity, and their brilliant whiteness. They are probably
in no case tubular, but solid throughout, although Mas¬
cagni, extending to them his general system of organic tex¬
tures, regards them as formed of lymphatic vessels. Chaus-
sier,2 with great appearance of truth, considers them as a
peculiar and primary organic tissue, to which he has given
the name of the albugineous fibre, in order to distinguish
it from the mere simple cellular or membranous fibre, which
constitutes the basis of the general substance of the body.
(166.) The fibres which enter into the composition of
these ligamentous textures, are united by a cellular tissue
of extreme fineness and tenuity, which is rendered evident
after maceration when the ligamentous fibres are drawn asun¬
der. Their arrangement at the surface of these structures
is such as to produce that glistening and satin-like lustre
which results from a surface of high polish and density ; an
appearance which is very characteristic of the fibrous struc¬
tures. This smoothness and resplendent white colour is pos¬
sessed in the greatest degree by tendons, which have in ge¬
neral a greater extent of motion than the ligaments, and
therefore require a higher degree of polish.
Sect. Ill—Mechanical Connexions.
1. Articulation.
(167.) Having noticed the properties of those elementary Variety in
textures that furnish those cohesive and resisting forces the modes
which are necessary for the mechanical purposes of the ani- °* con-
mal fabric, we have next to review those combinations ofnexion*
1 See his Anatomic Gentrale, tom. iii. p. 142.
2 Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicates. Organization.
fi04
Physiology.
Joints.
PHYSIOLOGY.
■ . i -i , fnr establishine the con- fixed bone. Bones of a flat or irregular shape are, in ge- Physio],*
structure which have been adop e ^ d hich nerai muCh more limited in their motions, when they form^^
nexions between the vanous “„nex!o„ joinU, than those of a lengthened cylindrical form,
adapt them to those objects. different mechanical J (169.) In proportion to the extent of motion allowed in
admit of great variety, acco,'^inS ^ ft]iem and more the joint, we find provisions adopted for diminishing friction,
relations which must take place l c ^ and euardine against injury. In all the articulations the
particularly with reference ^he^s ^l^Tbone's whichUer into their formation, are in-
are to result from their union. ^ ^ jaces vested with a smooth and polished plate of cartilage ; a sub¬
placed m JUX\aP°S‘d0^^Xcan secure their relative immo- stance which, by its modified hardness, and great elasticity
HT • Mothers the frees motion must be allowed ; while is especially adapted to both these purposes. Its limited
bihty . in others, the ^eest moi intermedi- degree of organization, also, gives it many advantages in
in various other instances, we ^ wifhstanding the influence of pressure, especially if sudden-
ate degree of flexion allowed, and every kind o^connect! g made> ^ frequently repeated> In some joints this in.
mechanism employed. But fro p P p , vesting layer of cartilage is of equal thickness throughout,
the teeth in the ]aws, like nmls firm^ fiMd in wowl^and the ”7* Urea's zs a°cr„st, re’gt.larly moulded over the
mutual locking in of the bones of t ^ Y .1 f articular surface of the bone which it covers, and exactly
tures, like the dove-tailed junctions o caipen , preserving its figure ; but, in other cases, it is found to be
,y rotating joints of the hmbs - *7 SS afil mTddle tha^ at the marginal parts ; thereby
the hip, we may trace l arious mode increasing the convexity of the projecting portion, or dinn-
are calculated to limit the There L~he concavity o? those w^icl recedL; bo* of which
of movements, in ^bordination^t P wond(Jrfuny and appear to be provisions for ensuring, as the case may be, the
is certainly no part of the huina , expibits uniformity of contact of the adjacent parts composing the
fearfully as the whole of ^joint. These superficial articular cartilages, or “ cartilages
more palpable evidences of expi ess J0f incrustation,” as they have been termed, appear to be
and adaptation to purposes, . apparatus. composed of a multitude of slender fibres, strongly adher-
ot the joints, and of the whole of ■ ■ uQ ino- tnp-ether and all of them being perpendicular to the
It is well observed by Paleyd that ever, jomt ts a mecha- £8^^^ they invest, like
the pile of velvet, and disposed, therefore, in a manner very
similar to that of the fibres of the enamel of the teeth, which
is superimposed in nearly the same way*on the bony part of
the tooth. The most complete investigation of this struc-
neiTI‘ 2 • a i rictovminf. tbp ture will be found in a paper of Dr. William Hunter’s, pub-
(IflS.) There are two circumstances w ii h ^ lishedin the Philosophical Transactions? It results from this
kind of relative motion of which a joint, by , conformation that the fibres, on the application of pressure,
more particularly of the yield to a ceriaiu degree, and bend in waves ; just as hap-
is capable. The first of 'eS® ^™P } lves which are pens to velvet when it is compressed ; and they again resume
brougl^Me playful each other^and their mode of apposi- their perpendicular positionson the removaloi thecompress-
tion r the second relates to Je structure and niecham^l “6 “r«- The who,e of ,he interior surface of each joint is S).ow
conditions of the interjacent flexible parts, such as the i g t J th d glistening membrane of great te-capsule
ments, the cartilages, and the membranes, which impart d,f- lined “ s™oth ana g g 8i(te and ' pplyi„gb»~.
ferent degrees of elastiblhty or W1™88’ ” plcut™ecretion, termed the synJia, obviously intend--*;
mohonawhidil^l. Xr the lubrication of all the contiguous surihees. Simi-"®
the principal diversities arise synovial membranes, as they are called, forming, m like
range allowed with negard to he pla c close(l sacs, are met with, surrounding the sheaths
it is wen ooseiveu uy x cuc^, j j-- 
nical curiosity, and a proof of contriving wisdom. I hey are,
indeed, as Cicero has truly expressed it, “ mirabiles com-
missuras, et ad stabilitatem aptas, et ad artus hmendos
accommodatas, et ad motum, et ad omnem corporis actio-
these varieties are naturally distributed under two heads;
the one being a semi-rotatory motion within a considerable
extent of a spherical surface, as exemplified in what are
called the ball and socket joints ; the other, in which the
angular motion is restricted to a single plane, as is the
case with what are termed the hinge-joints. It is not neces¬
sary here to advert to the further distinctions to which a
minute examination of all the different modifications of these
kinds of mechanism, which are exhibited in the solid struc¬
tures of the body, would lead us ; which the older physiolo¬
gists pursued with great diligence, and which they were fond
of dignifying with a formidable array of technical terms ; a
sufficient account of these now obsolete denominations hav¬
ing been already given under the head ot Anatomy in this
work. It will be sufficient for our present purpose to ob-
manner, closed sacs, are met with, surrounding the sheaths
of the tendons, and interposed between other parts, the mo¬
tions of which would expose them to considerable friction.
In the former case, when employed in the articulations, they
are termed capsules of the joints ; in the latter, they htjve
received the inappropriate name of Burses Mucosce. The
synovia is a transparent and viscid fluid, slippery to the feel,
and capable of being drawn out into strings by the fingers.
It has been imagined that the secretion is principally de¬
rived from certain fringe-like processes, chiefly visible m
the knee and hip-joints, and constituting what have been
called the alar ligaments. These membranous appendages,
which project into the cavity of the joint, and appear to be
formed by folds of the synovial membrane, containing some
cellular substance, and small pellets of adipose matter, pre¬
work. It will be sufficient for our present purpose to on- cenuiai - .f , f , pninloic du-
rerve in seneral, that the long bonis of the limbs have their sent an appearance very similar to that pf the epiploic au
extremitiesexpanded so as to Ln broad surfaces where they pHcatures of the pentoneum, and espeoally of the appro
are in apposition with the “"tig^s b»nes, between winch ^/Pj^he nttLs which a joint is capable of perform-
ZvelbL bone whiS as *e roundeThead and the fixed 4 are often modified and extended by the mterP«bon »
bone or that newest to the trunk of the body, which con- detached plates of carttlage connected on y by bgament
tains the corresponding cavity or socket. Such at least is with the 8yn°J“la“P8U|^’ea]!ang“P^n(j modify the mode of
the case in man ; but some animals present us with exam- si ion, s £ whic h we have already described under the
nles of a contrary arrangement; that is. of the concave sur- action. T ^ rhipflv in those
til of ihe moveable, turning on a convex projection of the title oi interartrcular cartdages, are met w ith chieflymtho^
1 Natural Theology.
l)e Natura Deonm, 1- ii. c. 35-
For 1743, vol. 42, p- 544.
PHYSIOLOGY.
siology-joints where the motion is frequent and considerable, and
where the ends of the bones are subjected to great pressures;
as in the junction of the lower jaw with the temporal bone,
and in the knee-joint. The semilunar cartilages, in this
latter example, increase the depth of the articular cavity,
and ensure, in all the motions of the joint, a perfect adapta¬
tion of the surfaces to one another.
iments. (172.) The bones are retained in connexion, their junc¬
tion strengthened, and their relative movements farther re¬
gulated, by the ligaments which invest the joint. Of these
there are two kinds, the capsular, and the fascicular ; the
former investing the joint on all sides in the case of the ball
and socket articulation ; and the latter passing from bone
to bone in different directions, limiting the motion more or
less to a particular plane. When, in the hinge-joint, they
are placed externally on the two sides, they form what are
called lateral ligaments ; but in the case of the knee, addi¬
tional securities are provided, by short and round ligaments,
crossing one another in the interior of the joint; these are
the crucial ligaments. Besides these, we often find other
ligamentous bands, passing more obliquely, and dispersed in
different directions, which assist in strengthening the joint,
preventing the displacement of the bones, and thus com¬
pleting the mechanical apparatus of each articulation. The
muscles which surround the joint also contribute very power¬
fully in retaining the bones in their proper places, and pre¬
venting the sudden dislocations which might otherwise oc¬
cur during the strains incident to rapid and violent actions.
2. Package of Organs,
ckage of (173.) The great mechanical objects of adhesion and sup-
organs. p0rt being provided for by the organic systems we have now
considered, our attention may next be directed to purposes
of a subordinate and special nature, and which relate to lo¬
cal adaptations, comprehending what Paley has aptly term¬
ed the package of the organs. Art and contrivance have
been as manifestly displayed in fulfilling these more limit¬
ed objects, as in the more extended designs of the gene¬
ral fabric. When we consider the vast multiplicity of parts,
which it requires the study of years of patient instruction
and dissection to be thoroughly acquainted with, which are
closely arranged and stowed in the narrow space allotted for
them in the body, we cannot but be struck with the care
that has been taken in their disposal in the most convenient
manner, and with the greatest economy of room. The brain
consists of a prodigious number of fibres, gathered together
in curious folds, or convolutions, in order that they may oc¬
cupy the smallest possible bulk, and be contained within the
circumscribed cavity of the skull, which is to afford them
protection. Within how small a compass are lodged all the
delicate parts which compose the complex organ of hear¬
ing, and which are encased in a hollow space, scooped out
of the most solid parts of those bones. Equal care has been
bestowed in the lodgment and package of the viscera which
occupy the other cavities of the body, namely, the thorax
and abdomen. Those which are of greatest importance to
life, and whose delicate texture admit most easily of being
injured, are always placed in situations of greatest security,
and effectual care is taken to provide additional protection
by means of bones, cartilages, or other denser mechanical
fabrics. All the organs are tied down and secured in their
places by membranes, so adjusted in regard to breadth and
flexibility, as to allow of those motions which their func¬
tions require ; or, in other cases, to restrain their displace¬
ment, by tightly binding them in their situations. All the
important viscera are invested with coverings proper to
themselves, composing capsules, w'hich are generally of
great density and strength, and calculated to give them ef¬
fectual protection against pressure or other mechanical cau¬
ses of injury. The muscles, which are in strongest and
605
most frequent action, are firmly braced and tied down by Physiology,
sheets of fibrous tissue, inserted into the neighbouring bones,
and preventing them from starting from their places when
urged into sudden and violent contractions. Lastly, all the
spaces intervening between the muscles,blood-vessels, nerves,
and bones, are filled up with a quantity of cellular and adi¬
pose substances, sufficient to leave no vacuity. Hence ari¬
ses that rounded and flowing outline which has been given
to the body, and which forms one of the constituent ele¬
ments of its beauty.
(174.) The provision of a general envelope to the whole
of this complex system of organs, may be regarded as an¬
other consideration which appertains to the subject now be¬
fore us, namely, the package of the body ; but its impor¬
tance is such as to entitle it to be treated of under a sepa¬
rate section.
(175.) This combination of structures, individually pos- Tone, or
sessing different degrees of rigidity, but cemented together tonicity,
by a highly elastic medium, and bound down by a general
envelope of considerable strength, produces a result, which,
being of considerable importance with reference to the me¬
chanical condition of the fabric, is deserving of special no¬
tice. It is matter of observation that the sum of the cohe¬
sive forces among the particles composing the mass of ani¬
mal tissues, is balanced, in the living body, only by the
resistance arising from the rigidity or incompressibility of
the parts opposed to them; or, in other words, the force
of elasticity in the cellular and membranous textures is not
in a state of neutrality, but the equilibrium is maintained
only by the mechanical circumstances of situation. Thus
it happens that, when these circumstances are altered, and
the equilibrium disturbed, elasticity comes into play and
produces a shrinking of the whole mass. The result is that,
in the natural state, every part is kept on the stretch; but
retracts as soon as its elasticity is allowed to act by the re¬
moval of the extending cause. This will happen whenever
the contents of hollow organs are withdrawn, whenever the
parts themselves are divided transversely by a cutting in¬
strument, and also when, by a change of position, their ex¬
tremities are brought nearer together, and the mass assumes
a more rounded figure. This property, the result of a high
degree of unbalanced elasticity, has long been known, though
described under various names. The term by which it
has most frequently been designated is that of tone or to¬
nicity ; but Bichat, who has given a good description of
its effects, denominated it “contractilite de tissu” and “con-
tractilite par defaut d’extension,” whilst he regards tonicity
as another and distinct property not of a mechanical, but of
a vital nature. The observations we have formerly made
on the vital properties, w ill show that we regard the distinc¬
tion which he here makes as being founded on very ques¬
tionable grounds.
Sect. IV. The Integuments.
1. The External Integuments.
(176.) The skin, which gives covering to the whole body, integu-
together with its various prolongations and parts connected merit in
with it, and constituting altogether the integuments, are general,
complex structures. They consist, in the first place, of or¬
dinary cellular tissue ; secondly, of the same substance in
a more condensed and membranous form; and, thirdly, of
a stratum of adipose substance ; but they also present us
with a kind of structure which differs totally from any of
those we have hitherto had occasion to notice. For the
clear understanding of these distinctions, it will be neces¬
sary, first to explain in greater detail the composition of the
external integuments, or the skin. Structure
The parts of which skin consists are arranged in layers ; of the skin.
PHYSIOLOGY.
606
Physiology, and in giving an account of these we shall take them in an
order the reverse of that in which they are usually consi¬
dered ; beginning with the innermost layers, and proceed¬
ing successively to the more external.
Cutis vera, (177.) That portion of the integuments which is called
or corion. ^ true skin, is in most parts of the body separated from
the subjacent muscles or bones, by a stratum of fat, or ra¬
ther of adipose substance ; that is, as we have already seen,
of a cellular and vesicular structure, containing the minute
globules of the fat. In other parts, the attachment of the
skin is effected merely by interposed common cellular sub¬
stance, of more or less thickness and density in different
places. The succeeding layer is that which forms by far
the largest portion of the integuments, and has been de¬
nominated the corion, or the true skin. Its ultimate struc¬
ture is described by Haller as being analogous to that of
membranous parts ; that is, composed of a dense intertex¬
ture of short fibres and of plates, artificially interwoven to¬
gether, and united by the close adhesion of their surfaces.
It may in this view, therefore, be considered as merely a
denser tissue of the common cellular substance, which is,
in fact, the basis of most animal structures. This density
increases gradually as we trace the texture from the inner
to the outer parts ; while at its interior surface it passes
gradually into the looser cellular texture which is beneath
it. Bichat gives a similar description of the essential struc¬
ture of the corion, but states that, in addition to this, there
are found a great number of dense fibres, of a whiter co¬
lour than the rest, interspersed throughout its substance,
which pass in all possible directions, so as of themselves to
compose a close net-work, and leave certain interstices or
areolce. This reticulated texture, with the interposed va¬
cuities, may be discovered by long-continued maceration,
which loosens the adhesion of the fibres. Small masses of
fat are found occupying the intervals between them. Thus
the dense fibres of the corion may be regarded as the chief
support or skeleton, as it were, of the whole fabric, giving it
its requisite form, consistence, and other mechanical pro¬
perties.
Corpus pa. (178.) The external portion of the corion is more finely
pill ire, and organized than the rest. It has been considered as form-
papillse. ing a distinct layer of the skin, named by Bichat, from the
large proportion of minute blood-vessels it contains, the
vascular net-work ; and by other anatomists, corpus papil-
lare, from its presenting on its outer surface, when viewed
with the microscope, an immense number of little eminen¬
ces or conical projections, which have been termed papillae.
These papillae were discovered by Malpighi, and have been
since described and delineated by Ruysch, Albinus, and
many other anatomists. Cheselden and others, however,
have doubted their existence, at least as a necessary ap¬
pendage of the corion; for papillae are perfectly visible to
the naked eye on the upper surface of the tongue, where they
are presented on a very large scale. They are also easily per¬
ceived, with a magnifying glass, at the tips of the fingers, as
well as in other organs endowed with a peculiar sensibility
to impressions of touch. But in those parts of the body
which have not the same sensibility, and are seldom em¬
ployed as the vehicles of touch, they are so minute as
scarcely to admit of detection ; and their existence has
been inferred rather from analogy than from distinct and
positive observation.
Rete mu- (179-) The external surface of the corion, or of the cor-
coMim. pus papillare, is covered with a thin layer of a soft substance,
which has been termed the Rete Mucosum. It was first ob¬
served by Malpighi, in the skin of the negro, and is hence
often called after him the Rete Malpighianum. The struc¬
ture, and even existence of this membrane have given oc¬
casion to much controversy. Malpighi had announced it as Physiol
being a stratum of soft matter, disposed in the form of lines s^vf,
which crossed one another in various directions. Blumen-
bach and other anatomists describe it as merely a thin layer
of pulpy matter, without any distinct reticulated structure.
Bichat, on the other hand, denies altogether its existence
as a proper membrane, and supposes that what Malpighi saw
and described is merely a collection of very delicate vessels,
which, after having passed through the corion, form a net¬
work on its surface. In this opinion he is supported by
other anatomists of high authority, as Chaussier and Rudol¬
ph!. Mr. Cruickshank,1 on the contrary, who has bestow¬
ed great pains on the examination of this subject, entertains
no doubt of the existence of the rete mucosum, both in the
external skin, and also even in some of its productions in the
interior of the body. Dr. Gordon admits of the presence
of the rete mucosum in the skin of the negro, where it is
easily demonstrated; but asserts that it cannot be found in
that of the European. On the whole, the positive evidence
in favour of the real existence of this membrane appears to
preponderate ; and at any rate, it seems admitted on all
hands, that the colouring matter of the skin, which is black
in the negro, and has different tints in the other varieties of
the human race, is situated in that part which has been as¬
signed as the seat of the rete mucosum. By some it has
been stated that, the rete mucosum extends in a uniform
layer over the whole surface of the true skin ; by others that
it is perforated in various parts by the papillae of the corion,
and exists only in the interstices of these papillae.
(180.) The outermost layer of the skin is the cuticle or Cuticle)
epidermis, which gives a uniform covering to every part ofepidermi
its surface, adhering closely to it, and being accurately ap¬
plied to all its inequalities. It adheres with considerable
tenacity to the subjacent skin, through the medium of the
rete mucosum, and its attachment is perhaps also secured
by fibres passing from the one to the other. In the dead
skin a separation is easily effected by maceration in water,
and by a state of incipient putrefaction. In the living body
the cuticle is detached by the operation of a blister, or by
scalding water, which produce an effusion of serous fluid on
the outer surface of the corion. As the cuticle is impervi¬
ous to this fluid, it is raised, and gives rise to a permanent
vesicle.
(181.) When the cuticle is carefully separated from the
corion, after its connexion has been loosened by putrefac¬
tion, a multitude of very slender transparent filaments are
seen, stretching between these two layers, which are torn
asunder when farther extended. Dr. William Hunter be¬
lieved these filaments to be the terminations of those ves¬
sels which exhale the perspiration, and nearly the same
views have been entertained with regard to their nature by
Bichat and by Chaussier. Cruickshank, on the contrary,
considered them to be processes from the cuticle, and not
vessels.
(182.) Many erroneous notions have at different times
prevailed with respect to the intimate structure of the epi¬
dermis. Leeuwenhoeck conceived that it is composed of a
number of laminae, or scales, which he represented as hav¬
ing an imbricated arrangement, that is, overlapping each
other successively, like the scales of a fish. But it is now
generally admitted that this was a deceptive appearance.
The division of layers, which it may seem to admit of in
parts where it is of unusual thickness, is merely an artificial
separation, not warranted by any natural distinction of tex¬
tures. Although some have pretended to discover in it a
congeries of vessels, especially lymphatics, yet the most ac¬
curate and unbiassed observers declare that they cannot
perceive in the epidermis, a specific texture of any kind or
1 On Insensible Perspiration.
PHYSIOLOGY.
607
i
i'
F
N,
iology* any regular arrangement of its parts. Dr. Gordon gives it
as his decided opinion that it is “ truly inorganized, and
non-vascular.”
s- (183.) Leewenhoeck imagined also that he could discern
a number of perforations, or pores, as he termed them, in
the cuticle. But later and more scrupulous inquirers have
looked in vain for these supposed pores; and it is now ge¬
nerally admitted that none such exist. Indeed, one of the
most characteristic properties of the cuticle is its impermea¬
bility to fluids, under ordinary circumstances. The latest
inquiries into this subject are those of Mr. Chevalier, who
describes the cuticle as composed of an infinite number of
small velatnina, regularly arranged, so as to form a bibulous
and exquisitely hygrometrical covering.1 The mode in which
the occasional transmission of fluids through this substance
takes place in cutaneous absorption, and perspiration, will
be the subject of future discussion. The only real distin¬
guishable pores in the cuticle are those which give passage
to the hairs, and to the sebaceous follicles hereafter to be
noticed.
Thus, then, there is presented to us in this layer of the
integument, a kind of structure differing essentially from
either the cellular or membranous tissues which have al¬
ready been described. The epidermis is an animal texture,
nearly homogeneous in its substance, possessing but a mo¬
derate degree of extensibility, and approaching to the na¬
ture of an inorganic substance, inasmuch as it exhibits no
appearance of vascularity, and a total absence of nerves, or
other medium of connexion with the living system. Bichat
even considers its vitality as exceedingly obscure; he doubts
whether it can be said to possess life ; but is inclined to re¬
gard it as a semi-organized, or rather inorganic body, plac¬
ed by nature at the point of communication between ex¬
ternal dead matter and the living skin, and serving as a gra¬
dation between them.
(184.) The nails and the hair are to be classed as struc¬
tures very similar to the epidermis, of which, indeed, they
are often regarded as mere appendages. The nails, in par¬
ticular, have so intimate an adhesion to the epidermis, that
both are generally detached together, by maceration. They
consist of hard, transparent, and semi-elastic plates, formed
of a substance analogous to the horns of animals. They ad¬
here to the subjacent corion, (which is in those parts fur¬
nished with a great abundance of minute blood-vessels, and
of which the papillae are arranged in longitudinal and paral¬
lel rows, very close to one another,) in a manner similar to
that in which the epidermis adheres to the corion in other
parts. The internal surface of the nail is soft, pulpy, and
marked with longitudinal grooves corresponding to the lines
which they cover and enclose; and by this mutual adapta¬
tion the connexion between them is extremely intimate.
The innermost edge of the nail is received into a groove
formed of a duplicature of skin fitted for its reception. The
epidermis belonging to this portion of skin is folded back
upon it, and on arriving at the root of the nail, quits the co¬
rion, is reflected over the external surface of the nail, and
becomes identified with its substance.
The nails, in all their mechanical properties, correspond
to the cuticle, and may be regarded as the same substance
in a greater state of condensation.
The hair consists of slender filaments, which appear to
be formed of nearly the same substance as the nails, and
may be considered, in a mechanical point of view, as still
more condensed forms of cuticle. Each hair is provided at
its root, with an expanded portion, or bulb, from which its
extension proceeds, and which, by the intervention of its
vessels, connects it with the corion, in which it is imbedded,
just as the roots of a vegetable attach it to the soil. The
strength of hair is exceedingly great, compared with its Physiology
small diameter, as has been frequently ascertained by try-
ing the weights which it can support without tearing. There
is no substance, indeed, which would be better adapted for
makingropes than human hair, provided it could be procured
of sufficient length. It scarcely possesses any extensibility,
and is consequently inelastic. " If exposed to moisture, it
imbibes a certain quantity of water ; and this absorption is
accompanied with an increase in the length of the hair.
From its having this property, it has been employed by De
Saussure as a hygrometer, or instrument for indicating the
degree of moisture or dryness of the atmosphere. In order
to adapt it to this purpose, however, it requires to be freed
from a quantity of oily matter, which it naturally contains,
by maceration in an alkaline solution. The colouring mat¬
ter of the hair is supposed to correspond in its nature, as it
does in its appearance, to that which is contained in the
rete mucosum of the skin.
Thus we find that there is a very considerable similarity
between the hair, the nails, and the cuticle, with regard both
to structure, composition, and mechanical properties ; and
that they may be regarded, when once their formation has
been completed, as equally devoid of vascularity, and as pos¬
sessed of the lowest degrees of organization and vitality ; if,
indeed, these latter properties can at all be attributed to
them.
2. Of the Internal Integuments, or the Mucous
Membranes.
(185.) The structure which characterises the external Mucous
integuments, is continued in various places into the internal mem-
parts ; and is found, with certain modifications, in all those Cranes,
membranes which line the internal surfaces of cavities or
channels having an external opening. This is the case with
the whole track of the alimentary canal ; including the
mouth, pharynx, oesophagus, stomach, and intestines. It is
exemplified, also, in all the passages of the air in respira¬
tion, as the nostrils, larynx, trachea or wind-pipe, bronchia
or air tubes, and the air vesicles of the lungs. All those
passages which open externally, such as those of the ears,
urethra, and vagina, are likewise defended by a lining of
mucous membrane.
(186.) Bichat has considered the mucuous membranes as
forming a distinct system of structure. Analogous in many
respects to the serous membranes, they present, in others,
the most marked differences. They agree in their office of
affording protection to the organs to which they are attached ;
and their structure, in as far as it is chiefly resolvable into
condensed cellular tissue, is very similar. But as they have
to serve the additional office of defending the parts which
they invest against the irritating qualities of the substances
that may come in contact with them, and which may be
either the external air or the food, or extraneous bodies, re¬
ceived from without; or else secretions formed by the in¬
ternal organs, which are to be conducted to the surface, it
was necessary that the fluid which covered them should have
properties adapted to this object.
(187.) We find, accordingly, that instead of the watery Mucous
liquid which exudes from serous membranes, the mucous secretions,
membranes prepare a secretion containing a large propor¬
tion of mucus. Hence a more complicated structure is re¬
quired in the mucous than in the serous membranes. They
are divisible into several layers ; that which connects them
with the parts surrounding the passage or cavity which they
line, is of a denser structure ; while the one which forms the
inner surface of the cavity is softer, and somewhat pulpy in
its consistence. Its surface is beset, in many parts, with
numerous minute processes, or villi, as they are termed. Villi.
Lectures on the Gene al Structure of the Human Body, p. 133.
608
PHYSIOLOGY.
Crypts, or
follicles.
Sebaceous
secretion.
Physiology. These have been supposed to bear some analogy to the pa-
'v—' pillse of the corion ; and the general correspondence of the
structure of the mucous membrane and of the external inte¬
guments has been farther pursued in the examination of the
fine pellicle which gives an universal covering to the pulpy
portion, and which has been assimilated to the cuticle. There
can be no doubt that the cuticle belonging to the skin is
continued over the membranes which line many of the pas¬
sages above enumerated, and may be traced for a consider¬
able wav in those passages. As we advance farther, this
cuticular covering becomes gradually thinner, till it ceases
to be perceptible.
(188.) But the circumstance which more especially cha¬
racterises the mucous membranes, is the presence ot a num¬
ber of small cavities, crypts or follicles as they are called ;
which have more or less of a spheroidal shape, and which
open upon the surface of the membrane by a distinct orifice,
or duct of communication. These minute sacs or follicles
are themselves lined with an extremely fine cuticular mem¬
brane, derived from the general covering of the surface on
which they are met with. They are found filled with mu¬
cus, and are therefore considered as the sources whence that
secretion is principally derived.
(189.) Follicles of a similar structure are found in the
various parts of the skin ; but the substance which they pro¬
duce, and which they effuse upon the surface of the skin, is
more of an oily, than of a mucous nature. It has been
termed sebaceous matter ; and the small cavities which pre¬
pare this matter, are known by the name of the sebaceous
glands or follicles.
(190.) Thus it appears, that although the offices of the
external integuments of the internal mucous membranes
are sufficiently distinct, yet a general analogy exists between
them in many points of their structure, sufficient to justify
their being arranged under the same order, in a general
classification of animal structures.
Sect. IV Muscular Action.
(191.) Having now considered the system which consti¬
tutes the passive instruments of the fabric, it is time that
we direct our attention to the active powers which are the
sources of motion, and the springs of animation and of en¬
ergy in the living body.
(192.) As in an extensive system of machinery, economy
is best consulted by the employment of a single moving
power, such as a fall of water, the impulse of the wind, the
current of a river, or the force of steam, so, in the animal
economy, nature has provided the muscular power, and ap¬
plied it in every instance where great mechanical power was
required to accomplish the intended object. But before in¬
quiring into the nature of this new animal power, it will be
necessary to consider the properties of those organs, the
muscles, in which this power appears to reside.
1. Structure of Muscles.
Structure (193.) Muscles are organs composed of certain fibres, en-
of muscles, dowed with a peculiar power of contracting in their length,
under certain circumstances. These fibres are generally
disposed in a parallel direction, and variously united toge¬
ther by intervening cellular substance. The muscular sysr
tem forms a large proportion of the weight, and certainly
the greater part of the bulk of the human body.
Fasciculi of (194.) On examining the structure of a muscle, we find
fibres. the minuter fibres are every where surrounded by a fine
cellular texture, which connect them together into bundles,
which have been called fasciculi. These bundles are con¬
nected to each other by coarse cellular membrane, so as to
form fasciculi of larger size: these, again, are united toge¬
ther into still larger fasciculi by a still more loose cellular
tissue. This system of package is continued until .we ar-Physiolo?
rive at large cylindrical bands of fibres, which have been'^V''
termed lacerti, and which, being applied laterally to each
other, and covered by a general investment of membrane,
compose the entire muscle. "I he fasciculi, as well as the
cellular membrane, are coarser in some muscles than in
others. Thus the/are thicker in the large muscles of the
limbs, than in the delicate muscles appropriated to the eye, *
and other organs of sense. The structure which has now
been described is easily discovered in a portion of muscle
which has been cut transversely, and then boiled for some
time, or macerated in alcohol.
(195.) Physiologists have not contented themselves with uitimat;
these general views of the structure of muscles, but have structure
been solicitous to ascertain the nature and. dispositions of i
the ultimate fibres to which muscles owe their characteristic jjeewei j
properties. The microscope has been resorted to for thiseck
purpose ; but the success ot those observers who have trust¬
ed to this instrument in establishing any certain facts, has
by no means corresponded with the diligence and zeal with
which they have engaged in the inquiry. We find in this,
as in many other subjects where the appearances resulting
from the employment of very high magnifying powers are
the objects of research, that the greatest discordance pre¬
vails among the accounts given by different observers.
Leewenhoeck, who was one of the first who applied the mi¬
croscope to the investigation of the intimate structure of
organized bodies, but who was too often led a.way from the
truth by the ardour of his imagination, describes the ulti¬
mate muscular fibres, or those which admit of no further
mechanical division without a separation of their substance,
as being almost inconceivably minute. He states them to
be many thousand times smaller than a fibre which would
only be just visible to the naked eye. He represents them
as cylindrical in their shape, and parallel to each other, but
pursuing a serpentine course. He remarks that they are ot
the same figure in all animals, although differing consider¬
ably in their diameter in different animals, and that without
any relation to the size of the animal. He observed, for
example, that the fibril of the frog was larger than that ot
(1°96.) Muys, a Dutch anatomist, who was engaged for a Of Mn;
period of twenty-five years in the most laborious researches
on this subject, arrived at a very different result from Lee¬
wenhoeck ; for he concludes that the real ultimate fibrils of
muscles are in all cases, even when the comparison was ex¬
tended to animals, exactly of the same size. , i of Pro
(197.) Among the more modern anatomists, Prochaska ^
has bestowed the greatest care in the examination of this
subject; and his account has every appearance of being en¬
titled to our confidence. He states expressly that the mus¬
cular fibrils are not all of the same diameter, but differ in
different animals, and even in different parts of the same
animal. Each individual fibril, however, when careful y se¬
parated from all extraneous matter, is of uniform thickness
throughout its whole extent, and perfectly continuous, even
in the longest muscles, from one end to the other. He con¬
fidently asserts that they are solid; and instead of being
cylindrical, that they have a prismatic, or polyhedral shape,
generally flattened, or thicker on one side than on the other;
a transverse section of the muscle thus presenting the ap¬
pearance of basaltic columns in miniature. Their diameter
is stated to be about the fiftieth part of that of the globules
of the blood. Their surface was found to present a num-
■ ber of depressions or wrinkles ; a circumstance which gives
them a serpentine appearance. These transverse lines he
attributes to the numerous blood-vessels, nerves, and mem Of H
branous bands which cross the fibrils at different poims. ^
(198.) According to Hooke and Swammerdam, the mu -
1 De Carne Musculari.
I'Carlisle.
Bauer,
■y-iyi'imi. 21Z SSTihJi'J? .*w
=L=i=,ft,h“".c— gSSZ.tS-C.t'XSSsr
lmtana. wa® aIso biassed by his favourite hypothesis, believed them «,,« fih,. ' \ !uy reacllly dlstinguishable from tendin-
to be composed of a series of rhomboidal vesicles, ddm /w,! ’ by,the filamentsof the latter being uniform in
•, Abbe Fontana'1 in general agrees with Prochaska in his re in lin^26’ ^u Pursuin8 individually one unvarying course,
presentation of muscular fibrils. He remarks that thev nrp ^ hnes Paral!el t0 one another. The fibres of the heart
x u.j . " — - ’ ■ • y - PPear 1? Possess a somewhat compound character of tex¬
ture. 1 he muscles of the pharynx exhibit the character of
the muscles of voluntary motion ; whilst those of the ceso-
nn!cgUS’ 1^“’the intestines’ and the arterial system,
p ssess that of the muscles of involuntary motion. The
determination of the exact nature of the muscular fibres of
the ms, presented considerable difficulties, which Mr. Skev
was not able satisfactorily to overcome.
2. Muscular Contractility.
uThe Er<?per muscular fibre is so completely sur¬
rounded by cellular membrane, and is of so small a dia¬
meter, that it is scarcely possible to determine with accu¬
racy its physical properties, independently of those of the
tissue m which it is imbedded. The contractile power with
:rVtiIlend,rd: Can be Stndied on]y as its effects are
exhibited by collections of fibres, such as those which con¬
stitute the muscles ; although in these it must obviously be
combined with the elastic power of the cellular texture en¬
tering into its composition.
wards, and by" MesTrePrivoa and bvwht'b h“TCVe,r>that the l»q>erty Muscular
Dutrochet. by whlch ™e muscular fibre is eminently characterized, is action.
, dodS (200.) On the other hand, the more recent and anna- w f£L?dden J cornt1racting in its length, and thus of bring-
1 Lister, rently accurate researches of Dr. Hod«-kin and Mr I iiL c ^ 1 tVV° ends.0 t,le muscle, and the parts to which those
1 and subsequently those of Mr. sShave cleariv shewn fs T “T £ ’ each othtT' Tl'is contraction
that the supposed globular structure5 of the muscular fibre ini’ 0dutT "' •'lst',l"s,MII8 quickness and force, overcom-
is a mere optical deception, arising from deficS definS piT n f, res,a,““s' ,“d raising enormous weights,
power in the microscope employed ; and tlmt the hbre if ,11 g , T y, e,ffect of ,he wi“ of the «»im«l to move
continuous throughout its whole length, and sometimes ni irk be P i°, ” t,e “uscle is attached; but it may also
ed by transverse ftrim, which occuAt intervarmnS smi ^ r " CaU?eS'. ^ “gent which thus pro-
erthan the diameter of the fibre itself. They have also point- 1201 wV'lf c”ntlaction is called a stimulus.
edout this circumstance as constituting a remarkable dis- minvtKLIf aPPellatmn of stimuli, are included Stimuli,
tinction between the muscles of voluntary and those of invo ungSM lc seem scarcely to have any property in com-
untary motion, with regard to this striatL structure hr k Stlv P L Tn the muscalar ^res, either
is only the fibres of the former which are characterized bv in! t\v thL 'rL°Ug T*1™ of the nerves which sup-
numerable very minute, but clear and fine parallel lines or lifor t h ' The co"tac.t 0.f many bodies will produce this
striae, which.cross the fibre transversely Mr Skev eon tl U mec,lamcal ^pulse, independently of any
eludes from his researches, that these fibres in man have an a!ay Possess* Whatever occasions a me-
average diameter of one four-hundredth of an inch and that 1° ^ texture of the muscle or nerve, or an
they are surrounded by transverse circuto- stnae v’^inf b, “ br5ach f.?1"11^ sirch as tIle Picture, division,
thickness, and in the number contained in 1 riv^lf , a“™ °f ^ *br“' wil1 im'”'=diately excite muscu-
He describes these striae as constituted by actual elevations’ tfonTf ^nvT’h effect.also refIts from the applica-
—i-Ss!i‘5s'assr?.4sar5 T‘
and metallic salts, alcohol, the volatile oils ; and above all,
oxygen, either in the form of gas, or when contained in
, ‘lluOL'uiai nor us. remarks that they are
tarnished with transverse bands at regular intervals,land
that they may always be distinguished by their parallel dis-
tes contorted.1'" °f membrane> "'h“h “ore or
Sir A,nt^onf Carlisle4 states that a muscular fibre duly
prepared, by washing away all adhering extraneous sub¬
stances, and viewed by a powerful microscope, appears to
be a solid cylinder, the covering of which is a reticulated mem-
brane, and the contained part, a dry pulpy substance, irre-
^ITqq ?rMU Rted’ arid bttle cohesive power when dead.
vards nnthiee ^r' wh° ^ 0ne of the latest authorities
’ °n thls s’lbJect, represents the ultimate muscular fibrils, as
composed of a row of globules, exactly corresponding in
size to those of the blood when deprived of their colouring
matter; that is, about the five-thousandth part of an inch.
Joy long maceration in water, he finds that the mutual co¬
hesion ot these globules is loosened, and the fibre is conse-
quently broken down and resolved into a mass of globules,
fhe general results of Mr. Bauer’s observations were con¬
firmed by various observers in France, such as Dr. Ed-
warn a anH Kxr T\/T^« ' , i ^ _
ui wmeu uie aiame-
ter is one four-hundredth of an inch, is divisible into bands
or fibnllae, each of which is again subdivisible into one hun¬
dred tubular filaments, arranged parallel to one another in
a longitudinal direction, around the axis of the tubular fibre
winch they compose, and which contains in its centre a
soluble gluten. 1 he partial separation of the fibrillm gives
rise to t ie appearance of broken or interrupted circular
s nas, vv uch are occasionally seen. The diameter of each
filament is one sixteen-thousandth of an inch, or about a
substances that part with it readily. Even water itself
seems to have some corrugating power when it is applied
directly to the muscular fibre ; its action, however, is much
increased by minute quantities of salt which it may hold in
solution. 1 hus it is found that hard water promotes the
contraction of the muscles of fish that have been crimped
more than fresh water ; and a similar difference of effect is
third part of that of a globule of the blood On ihn ntW IcAT “'T‘ 'T"’ aim a amiuar umerence ot efte<
hand, the muscles of involuntary motion, (or as Bichat would f204 f^But hes' i°l Tif m SOi t 0r in liard water*
3 Sur les Poisons.
» mZpZ°I W°rk’ “ De *• » ,a Vie."
VOL. XVII. ’
4 H
610
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, clearly be traced to any chemical property they
 This class of stimuli includes a variety of substances which
- are denominated acrid, and others winch are called warco-
tics, because when largely applied they destroy altogether
the power of contraction, and soon extinguish life. As an
example of this latter class, we may take opium and hydro-
Cy^205?) Some particular muscles have a disposition to he
acted on more especially by particular kinds of stimuli.
Each stimulus applied to the body generally, appears to ex¬
ert a particular influence upon certain parts of the system
which are predisposed to be affected by it, while on other
parts it appears to be wholly inert. Thus emetic substances
act principally on the stomach, even when applied to a dif¬
ferent part of the system; and cathartic substances act spe¬
cifically on the intestines. The muscular fibres of the heart
are more particularly excited to contraction by the influx
of blood into the cavities of that organ ; and, in like man¬
ner every system of muscular fibres concerned in carrying
on the vital functions, has a specific disposition to be affect¬
ed by its appropriate stimulus.
/2o6.) All the muscles which move the joints of the
limbs, and the several parts of which the skeleton is com¬
posed, together with several muscles attached to the softer
parts, such as the eye, tongue, and throat, are excited o
contract by the stimulus of the will, and are therefore call¬
ed voluntary muscles. They compose a class by themselves
as distinguished from those muscles which are not under t ^
control of volition, and which are therefore involuntary
muscles, such as the heart, stomach, intestines, and blood¬
vessels. The nature of this distinction, and of the different
laws under which each class of muscles act, will be after¬
wards pointed out, when we come to treat of the physio ogy
of the nervous system.
Relaxation (207.) The natural state of a muscle, or that in which it
exists when not acted upon by any external cause, is relax-
ation. When contracted, its surface, from bei g >
becomes furrowed, its middle portion swells out, and grows
exceedingly hard and firm, while the extremities are drawn
nearer toeach other, so that the muscle is now both thicker
and shorter than it was before.
Change of (208.) It has been frequently made a question whether
speciegra-the increase of thickness exactly compensates or the di-
i„„,v.i-, This nnint nnaht be determined
vity. minution of length. This point might be determined
by ascertaining whether the specific gravity of a muscle
undergoes any alteration during this change. Ghsson had
inferred from some experiments which he had made on this
subject, that the bulk of a muscle is, on *e whole, ifim1-
nished when it is in a state of contraction. Sir Gilbert Blane,
on the contrary, inferred from experiments which he made
on fishes confined in a glass vessel with a very slender neck,
that the absolute bulk, and of course the specific gravity, of
their muscles remains the same whether they are contract¬
ed or relaxed; for the level of the water in the narrow stem
of the vessel was observed to be unaffected by the muscu¬
lar exertions made by the fish. Mr. Mayo, by an experi¬
ment of this kind on the heart of a dog, found the bulk of
that organ unchanged during its contraction or relaxation.
Exhaustion (209.) The long-continued, or frequent application of a
stimulus to a muscle, tends to impair its power of contract¬
ing, or, in other words, to exhaust its irritability. This lia¬
bility to exhaustion is exemplified by all the muscles that
are under the controul of the will. We cannot continue to
exert the same muscle, or set of muscles, with the same de¬
gree of power beyond a certain time, however strong may
be the motive to continue that action, and whatever men¬
tal effort we may make to persevere. If, for example, we
extend the arm in a horizontal line, with a weight held m
the hand, we shall find, in the course of a few minutes, that
the source of fatigue becomes intolerably acute ; Tj
arm at length drops from mere exhaustion, m spite of every
'°(‘iH).) The contraction of a muscle ceasing on the re-Elongatio:
moval of the stimulus that produced it, relaxation succee s,
and the muscle becomes again elongated; not, however,
in consequence of any inherent power of elongation, but
from the operation of causes which are extraneous to it.
The elasticity of surrounding parts is often sufficient to pro
duce this effect; but in most cases the elongation of the e-
laxed muscle is the consequence of the action of othe
muscles, which produce motion in a contrary direction. _
most every muscle has another corresponding muscle, or set of
muscles, which are antagonists to it. If the one foi in¬
stance, binds a joint, the antagonist muscle unbinds or ex¬
tends it; and by this action must elongate the former muscle.
(211.) The swelling of the muscles of the limbs, when
they are' in strong action, is matter of familiar observation.
It fs this circumstance, above all others, which renders a
knowledge of anatomy so essentially necessary to the pa
ter and the sculptor. In every attitude and in every move¬
ment of the body some particular set of muscles are in ac-
Hon, and consequently swelled and pronnnent, whde others
are relaxed and less conspicuous; and unless these d «t
ences were accurately noted and faithfully expressed, d
would be impossible to give a correct representation of
hvung hgure.though the fibres which composethesumller
portions of a muscle are arranged in parallel direc i ’•.position
the disposition of the mass of fibres, relatively to the wf o ethe fibrej
muscle! varies considerably according to the action wh.ch Spfcln[tI1
the muscle is intended to perloi m. e . n narticular 1
some cases, radiating from, or converging to a particular
point; and sometimes we even find that the di eien p
tions of a muscle having this structure can act independent¬
ly of the rest. The temporal muscle is an instance ot a
muscle of which the fibres converge IVom the circumference
to a central point, where they are inserted into the coro-
noid process of the lower jaw. In other cases the f
comnosinu the muscle pass In a circular direction so as to
close upon some organ which they surround, or to compress
the bodies they enclose. Thus the eye and the mouth are
closed each by a circular or orbicular muscle. Jn
narts muscles of this description are called sphmete
Some parts, as the iris, are provided with both radiating an
circular fibres, the one used for dilating, and the othe fc
contracting the central aperture. Me meet with a cue
lar arrangement of muscular fibres in the coats of the vari¬
ous pipes and canals of the body, such as the blood-vessel
generally, and also the alimentary passages ; and together
S these circular fibres are also often found bands of lon¬
gitudinal fibres, which shorten the tube, while the former
tends to contract its diameter, and press upon its content
The several hollow receptacles for fluids, such as .
and the stomach, present us with a still ^ comphca-
tion in the arrangement of their muscular hbi e,,
we may sometimes trace layers of fibres having a spira
CO(213.) But it very frequently happens f
a muscle is wanted when its presence wou!d be exceeding
ly inconvenient. The common medium of connexion era
ployed by mechanicians, when the object to be mo
too^reat a distance to admit of the direct apphcatio
power, is that of a rope or strap. !n the animal mach th
same purpose is effected by means ot tendoris, which are 1 j
strings attached at one end to the muscle and a the
to the bone, or part to be moved. If the muscles uy
the fingers are bent and extended, for instance, a
placed in the palm or back of the hand, they won! a
1 Phil. Trans, for 1805, p. 22, 23.
2 Anatomical and Physical Commentaries, p. 12.
PHYSIOLOGY.
ysiology. larged that part to an awkward and clumsy thickness, which
- —“ would not only have destroyed the beauty and proportion of
the organ, but have impeded many of its uses as an instru¬
ment. They are therefore disposed at the arm, even as high
up as the elboiy, and their tendons pass along the joints of
the wrist, to be affixed to the joints of the fingers they are
intended to move.
(214.) The employment of tendons also reduces the space
which would have been necessary for the direct insertion
of the muscular fibres in a bone, so that the same bone may
be acted upon in a great variety of ways, by means of the
tendons attached to it proceeding from a great number of
muscles.
Jnniform (215.) Another advantage resulting from the employment
k'le. of tendons is, that by their intervention a great number of
fibres are made to act in concert, and their united power is
concentrated upon one particular point. In this respect, also,
they resemble a rope, at which a great number of men are
pulling at the same moment, by which means their combined
strength is brought into action. These tendons are various¬
ly disposed with respect to the muscular fibres to which they
are attached. It is but in a few muscles that the fibres are
arranged in a perfectly longitudinal direction. We often find
them covered on both sides with a tendinous investment, the
muscular fibres proceeding obliquely from the one to the
other. This arrangement forms what is called a penniform
muscle, which may be either single or double. The struc¬
ture is frequently even more complex than this, a number
of tendinous layers being interposed among the fleshy fibres.
By means of tendons a different direction may also be given
to the moving power, without altering its position. There
are many instances of this employment of tendons, in which
they are made to pass through a loop, which serves as a pul¬
ley, an expedient which is adopted in one of the oblique
muscles of the eye.
(216.) We have already seen, that wherever friction takes
place by the motion of tendons over bones, or other hard
parts, a bursa mucosa is interposed, which obviates in a great
measure the injurious effects that would otherwise result
from the rubbing of the parts.
:hanical (217.) But although it be true that the force with which
Ltions muscles contract is very great, yet the extent to which they
are capable of exerting that force is in general very limited,
and would be insufficient for most of the purposes their con¬
traction is intended to serve, unless it were very conside¬
rably enlarged by mechanical expedients. In the practice
of mechanics we find a variety of contrivances had recourse
to for attaining this object; namely, the production of a
great extent of motion, by a power acting through very li¬
mited space. But most of these devices would not answer
in the human body, from the inconvenience which would
attend their application. We find that nature has solved
this problem in the simplest possible manner. In the first
place, the tendons are inserted into the bones they are de¬
signed to move, very near to the centres of motion, so that a
small extent of contraction in the muscle will produce a great
range of motion at the other extremity of the limb. The
principle is here obviously that of what mechanicians have
termed a lever of the third class, namely, that in which the
power is applied at some point intermediate between the ful¬
crum and the weight to be raised, or resistance to be over¬
come. Secondly, the direction of the power so applied, with
reference to the line connecting the point of application
and the centre of motion, or what is termed the radius of
rotation, is oblique ; that is, it forms with it an acute angle.
Here again we may perceive another cause of the increase
of motion, obtained by a smaller extent of contraction above
that which would have resulted if the power had been ap¬
plied at right angles to the radius of rotation, which is ob-
611
viously the mostadvantageousmodeof employing that power, Physiology,
when the object is to economise it, by giving it the greatest
mechanical advantage. It must happen, indeed, by such a
disposition of the force, that a large portion of it is lost, being
spent on a fixed obstacle, namely, on the bone of the joint,
against which the pressure is exerted ; but the quickness and
velocity of the motion that results are undoubtedly increas¬
ed. Thirdly, the muscular fibres are themselves obliquely
disposed with respect to the tendons, so that the same cause
operates in a similar manner here also. Lastly, pairs of mus¬
cles are placed so as to form an obtuse angle with one ano¬
ther, and are made to contract at the same time. Their ac¬
tions, therefore, will partly concur, and partly oppose one
another. They will conspire to produce a movement in the
parts to which their extremities are attached, in a direction
intermediate to that of the muscles themselves ; for it is a
fundamental law of dynamics, that when a body is urged by
two forces inclined to each other at any angle, it will move
as if it were urged by a force in the direction the diago¬
nal of a parallelogram, having for its sides lines correspond¬
ing in their direction and their lengths to the directions and
relative intensities of the two component forces.
(21b.) In all these cases it is evident that there must be Loss of
a great loss of force ; but when the muscular power is con-force-
cerned, we almost always find that strength is sacrificed to
convenience, and that construction adopted which unites in
the whole the most advantages. We must allow, that the
muscular power is turned to the best account when it is
made to perform in the completest and quickest manner the
intended motion. We find, in following the mechanism not
only of the joints of the limbs, but of the whole system of
organs, both internal and external, that the mode in which
this force is applied is diversified in every possible way. Its
combinations are varied, and its action modified beyond cal¬
culation, though the original powrer be still essentially the
same, and observes the same laws in its action.
(219.) 1 he source of that enormous mechanical power Source of
which seems to be an inherent property of the muscular muscular
power, has long been sought for by physiologists ; but itPower-
has always continued to elude their most patient and labo¬
rious researches. It was at one period a favourite subject
of speculation to devise hypotheses as to mechanical arrange¬
ments of particles capable of producing results similar to
those of muscular contraction. Borelli1 conceived that each
muscular fibre might be composed of a series of minute blad¬
ders, or vesicles, of a rhomboidal figure. Stuart supposed
that these vesicles were round. But on either hypothesis
they were conceived to be empty, while the muscle remain¬
ed in its natural state of relaxation. On the sudden intro¬
duction of a fluid of some kind into these vesicles, their sides
would be separated, they wmuld become distended, and as¬
suming a more spherical form, would consequently be short¬
ened in their longitudinal diameter; and as this shortening
would take place simultaneously in all the vesicles, the whole
muscle would be contracted in its length, and at the same
time proportionally dilated in its breadth. The contrivance
had certainly the merit of ingenuity, inasmuch as it explain¬
ed the swelling of the muscle as well as its shortening, in
the act of contraction. But it evidently will not bear the
test of serious examination. No such structure as is im¬
plied in the hypothesis has ever been rendered visible to the
eye, however dexterously the microscope may have been ap¬
plied to the muscular fibre ; nor can we find any power suf¬
ficient to propel so large a quantity of fluid as would be re¬
quired for the distension of the vesicles; an effect also which,
in order that the theory may correspond with the pheno¬
mena, must be produced almost instantaneously The re^
sistance that would be opposed to the entry of a fluid so
propelled would be incalculable, and incomparably greater
1 De Motu Anirnalium.
612
PHYSIOLOGY.
organized nature.
Physiology, than that exerted by the muscle itself, which latter force,
'it may be observed, it is the professed object of this theory
to explain. The hypothesis itself, therefore, on which the
theory is built, involves a greater difficulty than the simple
fact. Such, indeed, was a very common mistake in the
speculations of the earlier philosophers, who were ever prone
to theorize without having any legitimate basis for the for¬
mation of a theory ; their foundations being often more in
need of support than the superstructure they attempted to
raise upon it. It reminds us of the Indian fable of the world
being carried on the back of an elephant, whilst the elephant
was supposed to require a tortoise for its own support.
(220.) The hypothesis that the fibres of muscles have a
spiral shape, and pass in a contorted line from one end of
the muscle to the other, like the turns of a corkscrew, a
form which readily admits of elongation or contraction, ac¬
cording as it is more or less contorted, is quite as unsatis¬
factory as the former ; and equally open to the fundamental
objection, that it leaves the original source of motion still
unexplained. Muscular power, indeed, does not appear,
from what we hitherto know of its laws, to bear any close
analogy to any of the other great principles in nature, which
we recognize as original sources of mechanic force ; and un¬
til such analogy can be traced, all our endeavours to explain
the phenomena of muscular contraction must be fruitless.
(221.) It was a favourite notion with the physiologists of
the seventeenth century, that an effervescence was excited
in the interior of the muscle, by some chemical operation ;
such as a mixture of acid and alkali. Willis and others as¬
cribed muscular contraction to a fermentation occasioned by
the union of the particles of the muscle, with a supposed
nervous fluid, or ethereal spirit contained in the blood.
(222.) But in fact, the only power inmature to which irrita¬
bility can be compared in the quickness and suddenness of its
variations, as well as in its dependence on peculiar qualities of
matter, is electricity, and more particularly that form of elec-
tricity which constitutes galvanism. Attempts have accorcl-
inelv been often made, since the phenomena of galvanism
^    This, however, is equivalent to the as-Pbysiolog
sertion, that the phenomena requires no explanation at all;
for it certainly leaves the question just where it was before.
We already knew that the effect of muscular power indicat¬
ed a peculiarity to the nature of that power, for they appear¬
ed different from any other. To say that it is a peculiar
modification of the power of life, gives us therefore no new
information, unless it be meant that it is similar in its na¬
ture to the other powers which the living organs exhibit;
but it would, in that case, convey an erroneous idea, be¬
cause, the phenomena themselves being different, cannot,
according to the rules of legitimate induction, be ascribed to
the same physical cause. We have already pointed out the
fallacy of this mode of reasoning, in which final causes are
confounded with physical causes, and substituted for them
as philosophical explanations of phenomena.
(224.) There is, unquestionably, a greater degree of co-Cohesiv
hesion in the particles which compose the fibres of muscles
in their living, than in their dead state. This cohesive y'
power, in consequence of the connexions of the muscle in
the body, is equivalent to a constant tendency to contrac¬
tion. Hence, the fibres of muscles are in a constant state
of tension, like an elastic substance kept upon the stretch.
This property, evidently derived from contractility, has been
denominated tonicity, a term which has also, as we have
seen, been applied to the peculiar state of tension of cellular
and membranous structures, derived from a particular con¬
dition of their elasticity. (See § 175.) It produces the state
of tone in a muscle ; or that in which it is disposed to con¬
tract to a greater degree, than its connexions with the
neighbouring parts will allow. This explains why, on cut¬
ting a muscle across, the cut edges retract to a considerable
extent, leaving a wide gap at the place of section: when, by a
sudden effort, the tendo achilles is ruptured, the muscles in
the calf of the leg to which that tendon had been attached,
being released from this stretching force, retract to a great
extent, and form a large and hard swelling high up in the leg.
(225.) On minutely examining the phenomena of mus-iremmo
and endless have been the fanciful hypotheses invented for
this purpose. Each muscular fibre was at one tune con¬
sidered as performing the office of a separate Leyden jar,
charged with opposite electricities on its exterior and in-
. i -i .  4- np»nptratprl into it
undiminished vigour for a certain time, that each individual
fibre undergoes, during the interval, a succession of changes
of condition, contracting and relaxing alternately. It is
only a certain number of the fibres that are in action at the
discharge of Jres- another in succession, until by frequent action the exhaus-
,t was immediately conceived that ^n arrat^e Uon beeomes more general, and the restoration less com-
to^onsir muTeular contraction as only a particular mode as possible, a peculiar vibratory sound is heard stmtlarm
nf attraction and as included in the general law of attraction that of a carnage rolling on the pavement.
“ all the partiefes of matter; but this is dent,y pro^ from a ^
a generalization totally unwarranted by the phenomena. muscu'a'*bJe^ Jf^refflctTn this case, although it
n/Lrc j,,,vp maintained that contractility is to be ascribed remarks, that the voluntary ettect in tms case, h
to the attraction of life, and to be merely a modification of may seem to us to be perfectly continuous, ^onsl ,
litffiity Thus, Girtanner imagined that this property re- ality, of a great number of vibrations repeated at extrem y
sided even in the living fluids, and was co-extensive with short intervals.   _
1 Philosophical Transactions for 1810, p- 2.
PHYSIOLOGY.
.vsiology* (226.) There is a peculiar kind of contractility possessed
~  ’ by rpembranous structures, which has often been supposed
to bear an analogy to muscular contractility, or even to be
some modification of this property. It is called into action
by the application of a certain degree of heat, and also by
some powerful chetnical agent, such as the concentrated
mineral acids ; and the effect produced is a sudden corru¬
gation, or curling up of the membranous part. This phe¬
nomenon was noticed by Haller, and was termed by Bichat
racornissement. Alcohol, and many of the neutral salts
produce, but more slowly, effects which are similar in kind,
though much inferior in degree ; but in this case the corru¬
gation continues to increase, if the agent continues applied,
which does not happen when the more powerful agents, as
the acids, or boiling water are employed ; for the continued
operation of these latter agents is to dissolve and disorganize
the animal substance. Bichat took considerable pains to
investigate these phenomena, and has pointed out1 several
circumstances by which this property may be distinguished
from mere membranous elasticity. From muscular contrac¬
tility, indeed, it differs much more considerably, and de¬
pends, therefore, in all probability, on principles totally dif¬
ferent from that remarkable animal property.
Sect. V.—Functions of the Osseous Fabric, or Skeleton.
(227.) The general basis for the mechanical support of
all the softer organs of the body, both in their states of
quiescence and of motion, is the osseous fabric, or skeleton ;
composing a connected frame-work of solid and unyielding
structures, fitted for the threefold purposes of giving pro¬
tection to the more important organs which perform the
vital functions, of sustaining the weight of the several por¬
tions into which the body may be conceived to be divided,
and of furnishing fixed points of attachment to the muscles
or moving powers, and thus supplying them with the mechan¬
ical ad vantages of levers in the execution of the more power¬
ful movements of the frame, and especially in the progres¬
sive motion of the whole body from place to place.
(228.) The organs more especially defended from exter¬
nal injury by a bony covering, are the brain, the principal
organs of the senses, and the organs of circulation and res¬
piration.
613
. ictions
«be
t eton.
1. The Cranium.
turns (229.) The bones of the skull are contrived with singular
' artifice and skill to afford protection to the brain, an organ,
as we have seen, of peculiarly soft and delicate texture, and
of which the functions are so refined as to require for their
accomplishment the most perfect freedom from external
pressure, and even from any harsh vibration or concussion
of its parts. It is evidently with this view that the bony
covering of the brain, or skull-cap, as it has been called, is
constructed in the form of a vault or dome, as being the
best calculated to resist external pressure, on the well-known
mechanical principle of the arch. But pressure applied ver¬
tically to an arch necessarily gives rise to an outward hori¬
zontal thrust at the two ends of the arch. In architecture,
various expedients are resorted to for opposing this force.
In a bridge it is resisted by the solid abutments where the
arch takes its rise on each side. In the higher arches of or¬
namental architecture it is counteracted by the weight of a
buttress placed over the origin of the arch, and in harmony
with the design of the whole. For the support of the roof of
a building, which has to rest upon perpendicular walls, either
these walls must be built of a strength equal to withstand
this horizontal pressure, or, what is generally resorted to,
a tie-beam must be attached to the base of the roof, which
tie-beam will resist by its cohesive strength the force which
tends to stretch it, derived from the outward pressure of Physiology,
the roof. . ^.
(230.) In the architecture of the skull we find the ex¬
emplification of these methods, and their strict conformity
with the refined principles of mechanics. The two parie¬
tal bones on the sides, the frontal bone before, and the
occipital bone behind, may be considered as the four great
stones which compose the convex part of the dome. If we
first consider the parietal bones, viewing them as consti¬
tuting a single arch, we find that their lower edges are be¬
velled off at an acute angle, so as to be overlapped on each
side by the upper edge of the temporal bone, which con¬
tinues the curvature as far as the basis of the skull. Thus
the tvvo parietal bones are effectually wedged in between
the two temporal bones, and any pressure applied on the
top of the head, which would of course tend to thrust their
lower sides outwards, is resisted by the temporal bones. But
these temporal bones are themselves locked into the irre¬
gularly-shaped sphenoidal bone, which, as we have seen,
forms the central piece of the basis of the skull, being in
actual contact with every one of the bones which compose
it, as well as the face, in which the organs of all the senses,
except that of touch, is contained. The os sphenoides thus
performs the office of a great tie-beam to the lower part
of the arched roof of the skull: and the same principles
will be found to hold good when the section of the skull is
taken in the longitudinal direction; the os frontis before,
and the os occipitis behind, which sustain their share of any
pressure made on the upper parts of the head, being so lock¬
ed in, by the bending inwards of their lower processes, with
the sphenoid bone, as effectually to prevent their starting
outwardly.
(231.) Another circumstance in the architecture of the
skull is particularly deserving of notice, as it exhibits the
most marked instance of provident design. It relates to
the structure of the bones themselves, which is that best
calculated to resist fracture on the one hand, and on the
other to prevent the transmission of vibrating concussions to
the brain. It is manifestly with this view that it is composed
of two plates of bone, the external one fibrous, tough, and
not easily broken; the inner one more dense and rigid,
offering the most poweful resistance to simple direct pres¬
sure ; yet, on that very account, more fragile in its nature,
and partaking therefore in the quality of brittleness, which
belongs to all the harder bodies, such as glass or flint. It
was on account of its possessing this property that it was
named the tabula vitrea by anatomists. But while it is
evident that such an accident would have been of frequent
occurence if that part of the bone had been directly ex¬
posed to every casual blow, this evil has been carefully
guarded against by the interposition of a spongy intertex¬
ture of bony fibres, the cancellated structure, as it is term¬
ed, which forms a thick layer between the two laminae of
bone, or as they have been called, the outer and the inner
tables of the skull. This intervening layer operates as a
cushion, arresting the progress of the vibrations from the
external to the internal plate of bone, and preventing frac¬
ture.
(232.) Even when the impetus is so great as to pene¬
trate through this resisting medium, still the force with
which it impinges on the subjacent parts must be very con¬
siderably moderated, and the danger of injury to the brain
diminished. It is with a similar design of giving protection
that a soldier’s helmet is lined with leather or covered with
hair; a provision which we even find in the head-piece of
the Roman soldiers, in whose equipment utility alone was
consulted, and nothing was admitted that served the pur¬
pose of mere ornament. Wherever the bones of the skull
Anatomic Generate.
614
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, are more particularly exposed to blows, we find a greater
thickness of bone provided for the sake ot additional power
of resistance.
(233.) The sutures, or joinings of these bones, are also
admirably contrived to stop the transmission of vibrations
arising from percussion from extending to any distance
round the skull. These sutures, externally, where the
tough and fibrous plates of bone are united, present a ser¬
rated line; the fibres at the edges of each being mutually
inserted between those of the contiguous bone. But this
dove-tailed joining is not met with in the inner table ; there
the edges of the bone are smootti and placed in simple con¬
tact. This is evidently done in order to prevent the chip¬
ping off of the minute parts of a brittle structure, had they
been interlaced together as the fibres of the outer table are.
But still the interruptions afforded by the suture tends in a
great degree to check the progress of fracture.
2. The Face.
Protection (234 ) The organs of the principa1 senses, the eye, the
given to the ear. the nostrils, and the mouth, are protected by the bones
organs of tlie face? which likewise form part of the skull. The
eyes are exceedingly well defended by the superciliary ridge
of the frontal bone above, and also by the orbital plate which
supports the anterior lobes of the brain ; anteriorly they are
protected by the projection of the nasal bones, and out¬
wardly by the arched process which divides them from the
temples: while the prominent cheek bones belowr guard
them from injury in that quarter. No part of the body has
the senses.
muscles which move the trunk and the principal joints of Physiol
the extremities. It contains and gives protection to that '--*^
important organ, the spinal cord, from which, as we have
seen, almost all the nerves of the body take their origin, and
which is unquestionably, next to the brain, the most essential
organ in the economy. Whilst the spinal column performs
these offices, it is at the same time capable of considerable
flexion, both laterally and longitudinally ; and admits also
of some degree of twisting motion, in a plane perpendicular
to its axis.
(237.) No where has art been more conspicuously dis¬
played than in the construction of an apparatus adapted to
fulfil such opposite and apparently imcompatible functions.
To secure the firmness and strength which are required in
the basis of support to the whole body, in the key-stone, as
it were, of its various arches, whilst it is at the same time
rendered capable of so great a variety of motions, objects
which seem utterly at variance with its also affording pro¬
tection to a tender and delicate organ, in which the least
pressure would be attended with fatal consequences, must
be allowed to be a most difficult problem of mechanism. And
yet these various, complicated, and apparently inconsistent
offices, w e find executed by one and the same instrument.
Flexibility is obtained by subdividing it into a great num¬
ber of small portions, each of which is separately allowed
but a small degree of bending upon the next; and thus a
considerable motion is obtained in the whole column, with
but a very inconsiderable one at each joint. Each bone, as
was described in the account of its anatomy, is connected
so effectual a protection from bone as the internal organ of with its neighbour by a broad basis of attachment; and the
hearing : nor is there any part of the osseous system so slight relative motions of which they are susceptible are
hard as the portion of the temporal bone in which this organ chiefly entrusted to the latera articulations. W hilst these
is lodged. The nasal cavities, in like manner, which are broad bones give the whole chain its requisite firmness and
occupied by the membranes receiving impressions from odo
rous effluvia, are formed in deep recesses of bone. The or¬
gan of taste is also protected by the jaws, though less com¬
pletely, because the same parts are required to enjoy exten¬
sive power of motion.
3. The Thorax.
stability, they are so constructed as to afford a passage,
without any diminution of their strength, to the substance
of the spinal marrow. For this purpose each of the bodies
is hollowed out so as to form a continued groove all down
the back ; and over this groove a broad arch is thrown from
each side, converting it into a complete canal. In order to
preserve the continuity of this canal, and prevent the ver-
1235 j The heart and lungs, which are lodged in the ca- tebrse from shifting upon one another so as to press upon
ty of the thorax, are defended before and behind by the the spinal cord within, during the various movements of the
Framework
Ot the chest vity m^uie u,u^ "‘^^ia^raHy foVm body,* further securities are provided. They are severally
bony arches, the shape best calculated for resisting pres- connected together by their projecting processes, which lock
sure applied externally. They are formed of separate pieces,
with intervals between, in order to admit of motion : for the
cavity of the chest requires to be alternately enlarged and
contracted in the performance of respiration, which is a
function of primary importance in the animal economy.
into one another, and are still more firmly secured by the
ligaments that bind them down on every side. Thus, the
bodies of the vertebrae are guarded against the danger ot
accidental slipping, but they are defended also from displace¬
ment by any force short of what would break the bone.
(238.) But besides all these provisions the vertebral co¬
lumn is protected from injury arising from violent jolts or
4. The Spine.
Functions (236.) The support of the trunk and upper parts of the jars, by having interposed between each adjoining vertebrae,
ofthe spine, body, including the head, is entrusted to a column of bones, the peculiar springy substance known by the name ot the
the assemblage of which constitutes the spine. The spine intervertebral cartilage or ligament; for it in reality par-
is that part of the skeleton of all animals composing the four takes ofthe nature ot both these textures. It is a substance
superior classes, namely, the mammalia, birds, fishes, and quite peculiar to this part of the frame. Its compressibility
reptiles, which is most constantly found, and which exhibits and the elastic force with which it recovers its shape when
the greatest uniformity of structure. The individual bones relieved from the compressing power, must greatly lessen
which compose the spine are so intimately united and so the quantity of motion required of each bone during t e
firmly secured by ligaments on every side, that they appear flexion of the column, as well as soften all the concussions
in the living body as one continued bone, and the whole as- incident to violent motion. No chasm is left by their se-
sembla«-e is known, in ordinary language, by the name of paration when the spine is bent; and the unity of the whole
the bach-bone. The purposes answered by this complex fa- column, and of the channel in its centre, is preserved un-
bric are numerous and important. It is the great central broken. A passage is at the same time allowed between
beam of the fabric, and furnishes the basis of support to all each contiguous vertebrae for the nerves which issue in pairs
other bones ofthe skeleton. It serves, in particular, to unite from the spinal cord, to distribute their branches and n a-
the bones of the limbs with the trunk, so that they form with ments to every part of the body.
the latter one connected frame-work. It is the axis of their (239-) The natural curvatures in the line of the vertebral
principal motions, the common fulcrum round which they column also contribute materially to the elasticity of t e
all revolve. It has an intimate mechanical relation with all wdiole framework. On receiving any shock in the direc-
the parts of the body. It affords attachment to the great tion of its length, the impulse, instead of being propagated
PHYSIOLOGY.
jasiologY the whole length of its line, is diverted from its course and
‘V-®*'' taken off by the flexures of the column; and the mainte¬
nance of its natural position is effected more by the power
of the muscles attached to the spine, than by its inherent
elasticity.
o. The Pelvis.
rework (240.) The broad expansion of bone which extends on
e pel- each side of the pelvis, and the extremities of which form
the hips, are evidently designed as a basis of support for the
viscera of the abdomen. 1 he lower portion of the bones of
the pelvis is at the same time rendered light by being form¬
ed into several arches; strengthened at the points where it
is exposed to the greatest pressure, and at the same time
affording room for the articulations of the thigh bones.
615
6. The Limbs in General.
I fnework (241.) The third office of the skeleton is to furnish levers
o filimDs. por accomplishing the progression and other movements of
the body, which require great force, great extent, and great
precision of motion. 1 hese objects are attained by the
limbs, which, as is well known, are divided into separate
portions, obviously for the purpose of increasing the facility
of adaptation to a great variety of movements and of actions
which the individual may be called upon to perform.
(242.) The principal bones of the extremities have the
shape of lengthened cylinders, and compose a system of
levers adapted to the regular and accurate application of
the moving force, and for the execution of rapid, extensive,
and powerful movements. The circumstance of their hol¬
low and cancellated structure is a palpable instance of pro¬
vident adaptation to the office for which they are framed.
It may be mathematically demonstrated, that if the quanti¬
ty of materials assigned for the construction of the bone be
given, there is no mode in which those materials could have
been more advantageously disposed for resisting a transverse
force, that is, a force tending to break it across, than the
form of a tube, or hollow cylinder, which is that actually
given to them by nature. If, for instance, the same quan¬
tity of matter had been collected into a solid cylinder of the
same length, it would have been subject to fracture bv a
much smaller force than that which it bears without injury in
its actual tubular f orm. 1 his remark was long ago made by
the elder Dr. Monro,1 who observes that the resistance op¬
posed by a body of cylindrical shape to a force applied trans¬
versely is in the direct ratio of its diameter; hence the same
number of fibres disposed round the circumference of a cir¬
cle in such a way as that their sections wrould present the
appearance of a ring, will resist with greater force than if
the} had been united at the centre, so that their section
would present a circle of much smaller diameter than the
„ring. The hollow cylindrical bones are accordingly found
in those situations where the power of resisting external
orce is principally wanted, while it is at the same time an
object of importance not to add unnecessarily to the weight.
A simple experiment will illustrate in a very striking man¬
ner this proposition. Let a cylindrical glass rod and a glass
tube be taken of the same length and also of the same
wejght, so that they may both contain the same quantity of
materials. If each be then supported at their two endsj on
a frame adapted to the purpose, it will be found that the
same weight which, wdien hung from the rod, will break it
asilnder, will, when transferred to the tube, be sustained
without even bending it in any sensible degree- Dr. Por¬
terfield has given an elaborate mathematical demonstration
ot the general proposition.2
(243.) There are few subjects in physiology which pre
sent so many interesting points of inquiry, or afford more Physiology,
abundant proofs of intelligence and design than the mecha-
ideal properties of the osseous fabric. From the account we
formerly gave of the composition of bone, it appears that it
is constructed of twm principal materials, an earthy basis,
which is the phosphate of lime, and an animal or membran¬
ous substance, which possesses considerable tenacity. To
the first of these ingredients the bones owe their solidity
and hardness. No inorganic matter, not even the metals,
has so great a cohesive power, with a given weight of ma¬
terials, as the earthy bodies ; and this is probably the rea¬
son why the phosphate of lime has been selected as the sub¬
stance employed to give the necessary solidity and hardness
to bones. But these qualities, if carried to excess, would
be accompanied with brittleness. To guard against this
evil, the cohesion of the inorganic earth is tempered by the
interposition of an elastic organic material; this is the cel¬
lular tissue, within the cells of which the bony matter is de¬
posited, and which acts the part of a cement, binding them
more strongly together, and at the same time obviating the
excessive brittleness which a substance of more uniform
hardness would have possessed. Thus, by the admirable
blending of these two elements, two qualities which, in mas¬
ses of homogenous and unorganized matter are scarcely
compatible with one another, are happily united.
(244.) The manner in which the cylindrical bones are Articula-
connected together is also highly deserving of attention . tions.
There are, indeed, few parts of the mechanism of animals
more peculiarly fitted to excite our admiration than the
structure of the joints. Every provision seems to have been
made for facilitating their motion, and every precaution ta¬
ken to enable them to act with safety. Their ends are en¬
larged for the purpose of affording a broader surface of
junction, and for procuring greater firmness and security of
connexion. The rough and hard substance of bones w ould
have been particularly exposed to injury if they had been
allowed to grate upon one another without some interven¬
ing smooth surface. In all the joints, at the places where the
ends of the bone would have suffered from this cause, we find
them tipped with a w'hite, smooth, and elastic cartilage. Dr.
Paley3 has very aptly compared this expedient to the plat¬
ing of a metallic instrument with a different metal. De¬
tached portions of cartilage, are, as we have seen, frequent¬
ly placed between the bones, which thus, instead of work¬
ing upon each other, work upon the intermediate cartilages.
I his is analogous to the contrivance practised by mechanics,
who interpose a loose ring where the friction pf the joints
of any of their machines is great, and who particularly re¬
sort to it where some strong and heavy work is to be done.
It is precisely under similar circumstances that the same
contrivance is employed in the human body; and the ana¬
logy is a striking evidence of that art and foresight which
are manifested in the plan of its conformation. The lubri¬
cating quality of the synovia is also an exquisite provision
designed to diminish friction.
(245.) The ligaments which bind the ends of the bones
together, and restrain the direction of their motions, are ad¬
mirably calculated to perform the offices assigned to them.
Like the bones, they unite qualities which are rarely met
v, ith in conjunction. Ihey have all the properties we can
desire in a rope ; namely, perfect flexibility, with great
power of resisting extension. It is hardly imaginable how
great a. force is required to stretch, or rather to break asun¬
der a ligament, for it will not yield in any sensible degree
until the force is increased so as at once to tear it to pieces.
Yet with all this toughness, it is so flexible as to oppose no
impediment to the suppleness of the joint. “ Every joint,”
says Dr. Paley, “is strictly a mechanical instrument, and
1 Anatomy °fthe S°™ Muscles, p. 21. * Edinburgh Medical Essays, vol. i. p. 95.
3 Natural Theology.
616 PHYSIOLOGY.
• j i floftnprl n<5 anv centre of eravity is continually shifted from one part of the Physiology
Physiology-as manifestly contrived, and as accur. . . ,1 0tller • the tendency to fall in any one direc- '^.^x,
- - that can be produced out of a cab.net makers shop. Their ^““ "rnetuav counteracted by small and insensi-^^
durability is no less a^onisbmg. A hmb shall swing upon “"^^‘"t^u.iary direejn. Long habit has
its hinge, or play mjtsjmiket, nm 5^ #f ^ rendered „ unconscious of these exertions, and inattentive
Act of
standing
rpnrlprpfl im unconscious of these exertions, and inattentive
hour, for sixty years together, without mm,nutiou o, ns ^“^“^“rwhich prompt them. Beta child, when
agility. acquiring the art of walking, is sensible of all these diffi-
7. The Lower Extremities. culties, and does not learn to walk but by reiterated lessons,
^ The three portions into which the lower extremi- and by the experience of many falls. It is by a practice of
Mechanism (24o.) 1 1 » . , i j foot beinff unit- the same kind, and continued during a longer period, that
of the lower ties are ufu ^raltl^calcu- Z rope-dancer learns to support himself on a narrower or
extremities. doubl7purpose of firm columns of support more unstable base than that which nature has provided.
SdTwMe sSiP„g,Pa„d of faciltating and regulat- Thtahee^uptbyk^ingh^t^v^pu^d,
■ . v.L.Ti'xntsi while advancimr. It misht, on a super- m the mathematical perpendicular to the rope, but by con
!“? standing in tinually shifting it from side to side; never allowing it to fall
tlTerect nosture the weight of the body would be more above a certain very minute distance, and immediately cor-
, trSruLXreSCawl ^ 7Tegh Thi^emeut
FiSS^f»Kd^MllnglrM7“7tiie Sexot'^Th^irfnaSTo tHct S
%S“ttr.i::Cbb^ti7ntjoXw.ds
would give way under the weight of the body, were they
not prevented from bending by the constant action of the
muscles. The continual muscular effort required in stand-
ino- is nearly as great an expenditure of muscular power as
the act of walking. Soldiers on parade remaining in the
same attitude, experience even more fatigue than they
would suffer by a march during an equal time, because t e
same muscles are constantly in action. The posture ot a
soldier under arms, with his thighs and legs in t.ie same
straight line, is one which requires a painful effort to pre¬
serve. The moment the word of command is given him to
“ stand at ease,” the muscles on one side immediately relax,
provided with this express intention. This is the purpose
of the trochanter of the thigh bone, and the projecting bone
of the heel. The same object is accomplished, in a still more
artificial manner, in the knee-joint, by an additional bone,
the patella, or knee-pan, into which the great extensor mus¬
cles situated in the fore part of the thigh are inserted, and
which renders their action much more efficient, both by di¬
minishing its obliquity, and by removing it farther from the
centre of rotation. It acts, therefore, as a pulley, which is
a species of lever; and it is so contrived, that while the
knee is bent, and the muscles at rest, as when we are sit¬
ting, this bone sinks down, concealed in a hollow ot^ the
si£Sf:pisfia:gs
height dim rushed by above ““f/78 ally rislng gives greater mechanical advantage to their ao
of the trunk is sustained more directly by the co y ^ r n wilen uv their complete con-
bones of the left limb, which support that weight at a great- „ou which ts °f 8 upended
er mechanical advantage than before; lor the oblique direc- traction ttar ^J als0 admirably con-
tion of the neck of the thigh bone, with regard to the bones (250.) The stmclure ot t m teet ^ ^ ^ ^
of the pelvis, which is very great in the perfectly erect po- live > a^a h jK)C|v Ind of all the additional
sition, is now diminished. But the great sourceot relief is incumbent m eight to sustain. Thear-
that a different set of muscles is called into play on every burdens " hlLh he \ stl ic conformity to the
change of posture ; those which were before fatigued have rangement of the bones is m^as^strirt ^ bones
time to recruit their energies, and become prepared aftei - principles Oi - double arch;
wards to afford in their turn the same relief to others byre- right angles
"TS sTriXspeaking, it is quite impossible for even to one’another. There is, in the first pkce 0^great
the strongest man to remain for even a very short interval longitudinal arc^spnnging horn thejom ^ second
of time in precisely the same position. 1 he fatigue of the the ha 0 » arch formed among the tarsal bones
muscles which are in action soon become sensible, a.nd re- P ace, < ' • . . . .v Near the heel this arch is
lipf in instinctively uiven to them by varying the points of themselves, one within anotnr . . , and
support. Thus we may observe that in standing, the weight composed of the astragulus, os ca eis, ‘he ’name
of the body is naturally thrown alternately from one foot to farther on, by T^ThT office analo-ons to that of the
the other. * The action of standing must be considered as of which expresses their office, ana g ^ ^
a series of perpetual, but obscure movements, by which the stones at the crown of an arch y  
1 Natural Theology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
isiolofry. xs well as security, resulting from all these arches, imparts
v -v^wthat ease and spring so remarkable in the step, and obvi¬
ates the injurious jar that would be otherwise inevitably
communicated to the body by leaps, by falls, or other acci¬
dents.
j ton of (251.) In walking, the first action consists in fixing one
v ting- foot firmly on the ground, by transferring to it the whole
weight of the body ; the other foot being then at liberty to
move, is with the leg carried forwards. This projection of
the limb is necessarily attended with a corresponding ad¬
vance of the centre of gravity, which proceeds to move for¬
wards till it arrives beyond the basis of the foot on which
the body is resting. Whenever this happens, the body, be¬
ing unsupported, begins to fall, and would continue to fall,
were not the other foot in advance, and ready to receive it,
and stop its further descent. This is the reason why we
experience so disagreeable ajar, if in walking inattentively,
the foot we had advanced happens to arrive at a lower level
on the ground than had been expected; as when, for in¬
stance, we meet with a descending step for which we were
not prepared. The body on these occasions, falling through
greater space than usual, acquires a certain velocity of de¬
scent, and this unusual velocity being suddenly checked,
commuicates a shock to the whole system.
(252.) While the weight of the body is thus transferred
alternately from one foot to the other, the centre of gravity
of the body, while it is continually carried forwards, is at
the same time alternately raised and lowered, so as to de¬
scribe at each step a small arch ; and its whole motion may
be represented by a waving line, having lateral as well as
longitudinal inflexions, and composed of a succession of
short curves. In taking long steps, we are obliged to raise
the centre of gravity through a longer arch, and therefore
to a greater height. This is consequently more fatiguing
than a shorter step. If, however, we go into the contrary
extreme, and take too short steps, the advantage obtained
in lessening the height of the arches described by the cen¬
tre of gravity, is more than compensated by the greater
quickness required in the motions necessary for keeping up
the same rate of walking.
(253.) The lateral undulation of the body during walk¬
ing is never performed with precise equality on both sides ;
and the amount of the accumulated deviations would be
considerable, did we not avail ourselves of the assistance of
the sense of sight in counteracting it. This will appear
from the well-known fact, that it is impossible for a person
who is blindfolded to continue to walk in a straight line for
any considerable distance. Even on a perfectly level plain,
we unavoidably incline to the right or to the left; and the
want of consciousness that we are doing so, prevents us from
rectifying the error ; so that while we imagine we have un-
deviatingly pursued a straight course, we may perhaps, when
the bandage is removed from our eyes, find ourselves near
the very spot from whence we had commenced our circum-
ambulatory excursion.
8. The Upper Extremities.
of ^n'Sm (254.) The upper extremity, though exempt from the
ex nkiesl °®ce supporting any part of the weight of the trunk, and
intended for a variety of very different uses, presents us with
exactly the same number of divisions as the lower extremi¬
ties ; excepting that in the skeleton, if we compare the sca¬
pula to the bones of the pelvis, there is an additional bone
provided in the clavicle, or collar bone, by means of which
the bones of the arm are articulated with those of the trunk.
• The extremity of the clavicle, indeed, by which it joins the
sternum, is the pivot on which all the great motions of the
arm are performed. The interposition of the scapula is
evidently for the purpose of giving a more extended surface
for the attachment of the strong muscles destined to act
upon the arm and upper part of the trunk, and which also
VOL. XVII.
617
lend their aid in performing the movements necessary for Physiology,
respiration. It also contributes its share in the defence of
the back part of the chest.
(255.) The joint of the shoulder is of the ball and socket
kind, and admits, therefore, of the greatest latitude of mo¬
tion. That of the elbow is a simple hinge-joint, and re¬
stricted consequently to mere flexion and extension. A ro¬
tatory motion was here unnecessary ; for the free rolling of
the arm at the shoulder answers every purpose that can be
desired, and the elbow-joint is rendered more secure by this
limitation of its motion ; for it will always be found, that
whenever a hinge-joint is sufficient for the purposes requir¬
ed, it is employed in preference to that of the ball and
socket, w hich, from its very extensive range of motion, must
necessarily be looser in its structure, and more liable to dis¬
location.
(256.) In the wrist, which is the great centre of all the The hand,
motions of the hand, a construction was called for which
might allow of the utmost latitude of motion. The follow¬
ing wrere the three kinds of movement required; first,
simple flexion and extension ; secondly, lateral flexions ;
and, thirdly, twisting, or rotation of the hand, as when it is
employed in turning a screw'. If all these different motions
had been entrusted to a simple ball and socket joint, they
could not have been well performed without great strains
and hazard of dislocation. This danger is admirably obviat¬
ed by distributing the motions among several articulations.
No part of the bony system is more complex than the wrist,
which consists of eight small bones crowded into a very nar¬
row space, and lashed together by many strong ligaments,
that form bands crossing one another in every possible di¬
rection. While they are together fitted to the bones of the
fore-arm in the manner of a hinge-joint, their mutual con¬
nexions allow at the same time of considerable lateral flexion.,
(257.) But still the rotatory or twisting motion of the hand,
which is perhaps the most useful of all, is not provided for
by this mechanism. For the accomplishment of this object
there is employed a contrivance to which the rest of the sys¬
tem presents nothing similar. The wrist is connected not
so much with the principal bone of the fore-arm, as with a
subsidiary bone of equal length with it, and placed in a pa¬
rallel position, termed the radius ; and its peculiar mode of
junction is such as to enable it to describe round the former
a complete semicircle. In these rolling motions the radius
carries along with it the hand, which thus turns in perfect
security ; for it is difficult to conceive how a force could well
be applied, so as to separate bones having so long a lever of
resistance. Thus, while the wrist is exempt from the weak¬
ness incident to circular joints, it possesses all the properties
which we find in the most moveable.
(258.) The manner in which the fingers are disposed in
the hand, like radii from a common centre, is such as to al¬
low them very free play, and to extend their sphere of ac¬
tion. But the chief perfection of the hand, as a mechani¬
cal instrument of prehension, consists in the structure of the
thumb, which is furnished with muscles of so great a strength,
compared with those of the fingers, as to enable it to oppose
and balance their united pow er. Hence the hand is capable
of grasping a spherical body, and of keeping firm hold of a
variety of objects, vdiich it would otherwise have required
the concurrence of both hands to retain.
(259.) The passage of the tendons, by which the fingers
are bent, is particularly deserving of notice, and has often
been appealed to as a signal instance of express contrivance.
As the uses of the hand require the bending of each joint
of the fingers independently of the others, it was necessary
that separate muscles and separate tendons should be pro¬
vided for each. The muscles are most advantageously
placed high up in the arm, and convenience requires that
those muscles which bend the last joints should lie beneath
those that bend the middle joints. Had the tendons pro-
4 i
618
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, ceedin^ from the latter been directly inserted into the mid-
die of the second bone of the finger, they would have been
exactly in the way of the tendons which are underneath,
and which are proceeding to a more distant insertion. They
are therefore split into two branches, each being inserted
into the side of the bone; and the lower tendon is thus al¬
lowed to pass on securely between them. Ihis structure
has also this further advantage, that it procures a more ready
flexion of the last joint than of the other joints; a provision,
the purpose of which is manifest, since it tends effectually
to prevent the escape of the object we wish to lay hold of.
“ There is nothing,” says Dr. Paley, “ in a silk or cotton
mill, in the belts, straps, or ropes, by which motion is com¬
municated from one part of the machine to the other, that
is more artificial, or more evidently so than this perforation.”
« Let a person observe his own hand while he is writing,
the number of muscles that are brought to bear upon the
pen, how the joint and adjusted operation of several tendons
is concerned in every stroke, yet that five hundred such
strokes are drawn in a minute. Not a letter can be turned
without two or three tendinous contractions, definite both as
to the choice of the tendon, and as to the space through
which it moves. Yet how correctly does the work proceed ;
how faithful have the muscles been to their duty ; how true
to the order wdiich endeavour or habit has inculcated. Let
us watch the hand while playing upon a musical instrument.
All the changes produced, though extremely rapid, are ex¬
actly measured, even when most minute ; and display on
the part of the muscles an obedience of action alike wonder¬
ful for its quickness and its correctness.”
Uses of the (260 ) To specify all the instances of express contrivance
hand. in the mechanical conformation of the hand would fill a vo¬
lume. As an organ of touch it is admirably formed. No
instrument is better adapted to the practice of the mecha¬
nical arts; none could be better fitted for examining the pro¬
perties of bodies, and the laws of the material world, of which
none of the other senses, unassisted by that of touch, could
impart to us any accurate knowledge. So great are the ad¬
vantages which the possession of this organ has conferred
upon the human race, that many philosophers, prone to pa¬
radox, have ascribed to this circumstance alone the whole
of the intellectual superiority which he enjoys over the
brute creation.
CHAP. VI. ASSIMILATION.
Sect. I Chemical Constitution of Organized Matter.
1. Necessity of Aliment.
Necessity (251.) A constant supply of nutritive matter is necessary
for nutri- for the continuance of life, a necessity arising from a variety
merit. of causes. In the first place, the substance ot which the
body is formed is exposed to various sources of waste and
dissipation, and is continually verging to a state in which
the organs become unfit for the performance of their func¬
tions. The chemical affinities by which the elements of or¬
ganized substances are retained in that peculiar mode of
combination which constitutes their living state, are, as we
shall presently see, very nicely balanced, and would be un¬
able to preserve them in that condition were not some means
provided for counteracting their natural tendency to decom¬
position. By the active exercise of their respective func¬
tions all the organs, but more especially the muscular and ner¬
vous systems, experience a deterioration of their component
parts, and suffer decay and wraste. Fresh materials are re¬
quired for supplying this continual expenditure. A certain
degree of temperature must also be kept up, otherwise the
muscles would lose their faculty of contracting, and the
nerves their pow er of conveying impressions to and from the
sensorium. Materials are therefore necessary to be employ¬
ed as fuel for keeping up the vital w^armth. The daily con¬
sumption of combustible materials, apparently used for thisPhysiolo
purpose in the animal economy, is, we shall afterwards find,
very large, and forms a considerable proportion of the food
received into the body.
(262.) All that we have now said refers to the body in
its adult or mature state, when it has attained its full di¬
mensions, and when all that is required is its preservation
in that state. But during all that period of life when the
body is increasing in its size, it is evident that its growth
can only take place in consequence of the addition of new
particles to those already composing the substance of the
body; and some parts, such as the hair and nails, continue
to grow even to the latest period of life. At every age
some part is liable to be injured or destroyed, and a pro¬
vision is in most cases made for the reparation of that which
has been injured, or even for the replacement of that which
had been destroyed. These objects can be effected only
by the supply of new materials derived from external sources.
“ The changes effected by the long series of assimilatory
processes being essentially chemical, it becomes necessary
to institute a particular inquiry into the chemical constitu¬
tion of organized substances in their successive stages of
mutation, from the most simple to the more complex con¬
ditions in which they are found to exist in the composition
of an animal body.
2. Chemical conditions of organized matter.
(263.) The parts, w'hich by their assemblage constitute Chemical
an organized body, when compared with unorganized mat-conditions
ter, exhibit in their chemical, as well as in their mechani-^0^™2-
cal characters, the most well marked and striking contrast.
Complexity, variety, and difficulty of analysis, are the lead¬
ing features as much in the former, as in the latter of these
subjects of consideration. Combinations equally artificial,
equally the result of design, and of refined elaboration, are
exhibited both in the mechanism of organic structures, and
also in the chemical constitution of organic substances.
Compared with the latter, all the bodies which are present¬
ed to us in the mineral kingdom, are extremely simple;
and their study presents no difficulties of an insurmount¬
able nature. The number of primary or elementary sub¬
stances, or of those at least which we regard as simple, is, in¬
deed, greater in the mineral kingdom, than thatof those which
enter into the composition of animal or vegetable bodies ;
but they are for the most part found united in binary com¬
binations, or are, at least, easily resolvable into a small
number of such binary compounds. In the products of
animal or vegetable systems, we find a less variety of ulti¬
mate principles; but this is more than compensated by
the infinitely greater diversity of modes in which they are
combined. ” The same elements, instead of forming with
each other mere binary combinations, generally exist in
more complicated states of union ; there, four, five, or even
a greater number of constituent substances, having their
affinities nicely balanced, and harmonized into one individ¬
ual combination.
(264.) From this diversity in the mode of union, there
arise remarkable differences in the properties of different
organized products, formed from the same ultimate princi¬
ples : nor can we, as in bodies belonging to the mineral
kingdom, with an exact knowledge of the nature and pro¬
portions of the component substances, proceed, by any arti¬
ficial arrangement, to the actual formation of the compounds
themselves. No approach has yet been made by human
ingenuity, to the imitation of nature in these refined oper¬
ations of vitality. „ .
(265.) Another consequence resulting from this differ- Bala ^
ence in constitution between organized products and the a
inorganic bodies of the mineral kingdom, is that the affini¬
ties by which the elements of the former class of bodies are
held in union, being nicely balanced, are more subject to
PHYSIOLOGY.
619
animal ^i^orv^e^ble^ubstenc^s^h'^at^fie
5»” "y ^ fK.T^“Zrr&b0^„*S^
regarded as the base of vegetable matter, to which oxygen
arm L^rrlmn-m-.  i i .  -i i i Jb.
T'rcom
pc int ele
m s.
" '  j —^ 1 j upjuu uy van
ous agents, as water or atmospheric air ; and they are gene¬
rally liable to spontaneous changes, to fermentation, and
putrefaction.
(267.) Such, then, are the distinguishing features of the
chemical properties belonging to the products of organiza¬
tion > simplicity as to the number of ultimate elements;
complication in the mode and order of combination ; un¬
steadiness in the balance of affinities retaining them in union,
and consequent proneness to decomposition, and impracti¬
cability of their artificial formation by a reunion of their
principles.
. . (268.) Whilst the products of the animal kingdom parti-
•cipate with vegetable bodies in these common characters,
which distinguish them from inorganic materials, they differ
and hydrogen are attached; while hydrogen appears to be
the principal component part of animal matter, and is there
combined with nitrogen, oxygen, carbon, and phosphorus.
Hence during the decomposition of animal substances by
neat, the chief products are ammonia and empyreumatic
oil, m both of which hydrogen is a principal constituent,
n general animal matters contain less oxygen than vegeta-
b e, and hence afford less acid by their decomposition ; and
ic coal which remains differs from vegetable charcoal in
being much less combustible.
chemical relation. The constituent principles of animal
substances are somewhat more numerous, and their affini¬
ties more nicely adjusted, and more easily disturbed. Their
chemical constitution is the result of still more delicate pro¬
cesses, and of a more elaborate organization. The three
great component elements of all vegetable bodies, are oxy-
gen, hydrogen, and carbon; but animal substances gene¬
rally contain, besides these, a considerable proportion of a
fourth element, namely nitrogen, the presence of which
has a considerable influence on the changes they undero-o
when subjected to the operation of foreign agents, or left
to the spontaneous operation of internal causes of decompo¬
sition. Phosphorus and sulphur must also be enumerated
among the component parts of the greater number of ani¬
mal substances; and the affinities exerted by these elements
also tend to modify the results produced by these various
causes. I he greater the number of elementary ingredi¬
ents present in any assemblage, the greater will be the ten¬
dency to form binary or ternary combinations ; and the
more will the affinities be divided between different ele¬
ments, and pass easily from one mode of arrangement into
another. Hence the greater susceptibility to decomposi-
ion w iic i characterises animal products, when compared
with vegetable.
(269.) In addition to the substances already mention¬
ed, we must also reckon among the constituents of animal
substances, lime, potash, soda, and iron ; but these exist
only in small quantities.
(270.) Some of the most important qualities distinguish¬
ing animal substances are owing, in particular, to the pre¬
dominance of nitrogen in their composition. This substance
3. Proximate Animal Principles.
(272.) In the numerous and diversified products of the animal Proximate
ingdom, we may trace diffprpnt dpo-vono :  .•
from the former in several subordinate circumstances of L-' vlnthenumerousanddiversifiedproductsoftheanimal Proximat
chemical relation. The constituent principles of animal the^oTio^
. Ain:*buusiance vano
IS disengaged from them in large quantities by the action of rived
the nitric nc d TL.-o . . lvcu
the nitric acid. This acid, indeed, itself contains nitrogen ;
but it has been ascertained, that in producing this effect,
ie acid does not undergo any decomposition ; so that the
nitrogen is furnished not by the acid, but entirely by the
substance subjected to its action. Ammonia is evolved
both during the putrefaction of animal substances, and also
by the application of a heat sufficient for their decomposi¬
tion ; and this ammonia results from the combination of the
nitrogen with hydrogen during these processes. Cyano¬
gen, or prussic acid, is also a frequent product of these
operations; and is known to consist chiefly of nitrogen. Un-
er these circumstances, also, the phosphorus enters into
new combinations, particularly with the hydrogen and azote,
the composition of their elements. Several substances pre¬
sent the appearance of greater simplicity, and appear to re¬
sult from the more direct union of a few elements, and to
preserve among various shades of modification the same ge-
neial properties, and the same distinctive characters. The
more compound products often admit of an intermediate
analysis into these comparatively simpler constituents, which
are distinguishable from each other by a certain uniformity
o character, and which we may presume are obtained in
the same state as that in which they existed in the compound
subjected to the analysis. These form what are termed the
intermediate or proximate principles of animal bodies, in
conti adistinction to the elementary principles, which are the
result of the ultimate analysis of the substance. These proxi¬
mate principles may be considered as forming by their mix¬
ture, or combination, all the varieties of animal matter; and
they are therefore the more immediate object of attention
to the chemist in his analysis of animal substances.
(273.) The only method resorted to by the earlier che¬
mists, in the infancy of science, for ascertaining the compo¬
sition of animal substances, was that of subjecting them to
the process of distillation at a high temperature, by which
their proximate principles were entirely destroyed, and ei-
thei converted into new compounds, or resolved into their
ultimate elements. Many of these being gaseous, were suf¬
fered to escape, and were totally disregarded. Scarcely any
light could be thrown upon the composition of animal bodies
by such an imperfect mode of examination. Successive im¬
provements were afterwards introduced into this branch of
chemical research, consisting chiefly in the application of
various re-agents, from which instructive results were de-
(274.) The modern art of animal analysis may be consi¬
dered as comprising three different kinds of operations,
which, however, admit of being variously combined. The
first consists in observing the spontaneous changes result¬
ing from various natural circumstances in which the sub¬
stances may be placed; the second depends on the applica¬
tion of chemical agents, employed either as tests to indicate
the existence of particular elements or proximate principles,
or as menstrua, which, by their specific affinities, may sepa¬
rate the elements or primary compounds from each other ;
while the third set of operations, reverting to the original
plan of destructive analysis, effects the complete decompo¬
sition of the substance, but carefully collects all the volatile
n n ri nrocorAno  1 J „ J
and forms compound gasesTwffichare exSed both d, / 7 ^ Substance’ but carefully collects all the volatile
mg the putrefaction and destructive distillation of animal Tt gaSe0J}S matter: and deduces an accurate estimate of the
substances. By becomL acidffied bv fnK" ? and ProPortlons the ultimate elements. We ob-
gen, it enters into combination with earths alkahes °and anT or exairiPle> a certam quantity of wiiter, carbonic acid,
oxide of iron, and forms a variety of neutral salt. The
620
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology- able to ascertain the precise amount and relative proportion
' of the elements which entered into the constitution ot the
substance analysed. . . ,. , ,
('275.) The general result of the investigations which have
been conducted by the last of these methods is, that the
simple bodies of which animal substances consist are com¬
prised in the following list:
Gelatin.
Oxygen
2. Nitrogen
3. Carbon
4. Hydrogen
5. Lime
6. Phosphorus
7. Sulphur
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
Soda
Potass
Chlorine
Magnesia
Iron
Silica
14. Manganese.
(276.) Of these, the first six may be considered as the
principal elementary ingredients of animal substances. Mag¬
nesia and silica are found only in very minute quantities,
and may therefore be in a great measure considered as fo¬
reign bodies. The soft parts of the body are composed al¬
most entirely of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and hydrogen ,
while lime and phosphorus form the basis of the hard parts.
(277.) The proximate principles most generally met with
in animal substances are,
1. Gelatin 3. Fibrin
2. Albumen 4. Mucus.
(278.) To these have been added some others, such as
urea, picrotnel, stearin, ela.in, osnicizome, and several sac¬
charine and acid principles, which being more limited in
their extent, will fall more properly under consideration in
the review we shall give of the substances which chiefly con¬
tain them. We shall first then present an account of the
properties of the four essential principles above enumerated.
4. Gelatin.
(279.) Gelatin may be extracted by long continued boil¬
ing in water from almost all the hard and solid parts of the
body, such as the skin, membranes, ligaments, cartilages,
and even the bones themselves. By the slow evaporation
of the water which thus holds it in solution, the gelatin may
be obtained in a state of purity, when it appears as a hard,
brittle, and semi-transparent substance, which breaks with
a glassy fracture. It varies somewhat in its appearance, ac¬
cording to the source from which it has been obtained. Glue
may be taken as an example of dried gelatin, in which, how¬
ever, a few impurities are contained. Isinglass may be con¬
sidered, on the whole, as the purest form under which gela¬
tin is met with, and it exhibits most completely the cha¬
racteristic properties of that proximate animal constituent.
(280.) One of the most striking characteristics of gelatin
is the property it exclusively possesses, when united to a
quantity of water, of dissolving slowly, but completely, form¬
ing a solution of an opaline colour, which is perfectly fluid
when warm, but becomes concrete on cooling, assuming the
tremulous appearance so well known as belonging to jelly.
In this state it readily again becomes liquid, by the applica¬
tion of a gentle heat, and may, by the continuance of that
heat, be brought back to the state of dryness. These alter¬
nate solutions and desiccations may be repeated for any num¬
ber of times, without any change being produced in the che¬
mical constitution of the gelatin. The proportion in which
gelatin forms a solution capable of concreting by cooling,
has been ascertained by Dr. Bostock in the following man¬
ner. One part of dry gelatin to 100 parts of water gave a
solution which completely stiffened by cooling. But when
the proportion of water was 150 parts to one of gelatin, a
compound was produced, which though evidently gelati¬
nous, did not assume the concrete form.
(281.) Solid gelatin undergoes no change if it be kept
perfectly dry; but when united with water, either in the
form of solution or of jelly, it very soon becomes putrid; an
acid first makes its appearance, a fetid odour arises, and am- Physiologt
monia is afterwards formed. 1 ^
(282.) The most ready and convenient test of the pre¬
sence ot gelatin in any fluid, is a solution of tannin, the
addition of which immediately occasions, by the combina¬
tion of these two principles, a copious precipitate, which as¬
sumes a solid form. This precipitate collects into an elas¬
tic adhesive mass, which soon dries in the open air, and
forms a brittle resinous-like substance, very similar in ap¬
pearance to over-tanned leather. It is perfectly insoluble
in water, and is not susceptible of putrefaction. It is this
combination of'tannin with gelatin that constitutes the pre¬
servative part of tanned leather, and which enables it to re¬
sist the transmission of moisture. The solutions of tannin
most conveniently applicable as tests ot gelatin, may be pre¬
pared by an infusion of an ounce of gall-nuts in a pint of wa¬
ter ; or, as Dr. Bostock has proposed, the extract of ihata-
nia, digested in hot water, and filtered after it becomes cold.
A considerable precipitate is produced by these infusions,
when the proportion of gelatin to the water is so small as to
compose only the five thousandth part of the solution. The
precipitate afforded by tannin is not, however, to be consid¬
ered as a decisive test of the presence of gelatin ; for, as we
shall presently find, it also occurs in consequence of the
presence of albumen. In order to prevent any confusion
from this cause, it will be necessary to have recourse also
to another test, that of corrosive sublimate, which is found
to precipitate albumen, but not gelatin. If, therefore, by
adding corrosive sublimate, we obtain no precipitate, we
may be certain of the presence of albumen.
(283.) Gelatin is insoluble in alcohol, but when already
in solution in water, it is not precipitated by that fluid.
Acids dissolve it with great facility, even when much dilu¬
ted, especially when aided by heat. The nitric acid effects
its decomposition, during which nitrogen, and then nitious
gas, are disengaged in considerable quantities; and oxalic and
malic acids are evolved, and may be obtained from the re¬
siduum. Sulphuric acid, with the assistance of heat, partly
converts it into a substance resembling sugar. Chlorine
combines with gelatin, forming a white substance, which as¬
sumes the form of filaments.
The pure liquid alkalies dissolve gelatin very readily.
The solution is a brown viscid substance, which possesses
none of the properties of soap, and is not precipitated by
acids. This property of remaining dissolved after acids are
added to the alkaline solution, distinguishes gelatin from al¬
bumen, fibrin, and other animal products, and is therefore
a valuable mode of discriminating its presence, and of se¬
parating it from them in analysis.
(284.) Gelatin is precipitated by several of the metallic
salts and oxides, but not so unequivocally as to afford satis¬
factory tests of its presence. Like all the other .constitu¬
ents of animal bodies, gelatin, while it preserves its essen¬
tial properties, is susceptible of many shades of variation,
and appears therefore under a diversity of forms, such as
glue, size, isinglass, &c ; but although many valuable re¬
marks on this subject are contained in Mr. Hatchett’s 06-
servations on the Component Parts of Animal Membrane,
published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1800, we are
still very much in the dark as to the circumstances which
occasion the differences in the several kindsof animal gelatin.
5. Albumen.
(285.) The proximate principle which, from its compo-Albumej
sing the greater part of the white of the egg has been term¬
ed "albumen, is most abundantly met with in almost all the
parts of animals, whether solid or fluid. It is the chief basis
of several of the more solid textures of the body, such as
the membranous and fibrous structures, and the parenchyma
tous substance of the glands and viscera; and it also forms
a large proportion of the blood and of the secreted fluius*
PHYSIOLOGY.
I isiology.. In the white of the egg, albumen exists in a state of so-
vv^^lution in water, and combined with a small quantity of soda.
By agitation with a still larger quantity of water, the two
fluids unite, and form a viscid liquid, the component parts
of which do not separate by standing.
(286.) The characteristic property of albumen is its ca¬
pability of coagulating, or passing from a liquid to a solid
form, by the action of heat, of acids, and of alcohol, and
several metallic salts and oxides. This change takes place
in undiluted albumen, at a temperature of about 160° of Fah¬
renheit. After it has been once coagulated, albumen is no
longer soluble in water, unless by long boiling, aided by
pressure. By a long continued gentle heat, coagulated al¬
bumen gradually has its moisture dissipated, and the solid
matter, amounting to about one-fifth of the original weight,
is left behind, in the form of a hard brittle transparent sub¬
stance.
(287.) If the albumen be much diluted, it appears to be
incapable of coagulation by the usual means ; but still it was
found by Dr. Bostock, that a solution containing only one
thousandth of its weight of albumen, although not properly
coagulated, was rendered perceptibly opaque by a boiling
temperature; so that heat may be considered, for all prac¬
tical purposes, as a sufficiently accurate test of its presence
in any fluid. During coagulation there is no absorption of
oxygen ; nor is any gas extricated: and hence there ap¬
pears to be no reaction of the principles of the albumen upon
each other. The nature of the change which takes place
during this transition from the fluid to the solid form, is by
no means well ascertained. Dr. Thomson supposed the flu¬
idity of albumen to depend on the presence of alkaline mat¬
ter ; and its coagulation to the removal or neutralization of
this alkali; and some experiments which were devised by
Mr. Brande tend strongly to support this theory. He found
that a rapid and abundant coagulation took place in the
white of an egg subjected to the action of a galvanic bat¬
tery, around the negative pole, where the alkali must have
been separated ; while a thin film only collected round the
positive pole. He discovered also, by these experiments,
that galvanic electricity may be applied successively to the
detection of very minute quantities of albumen, which would
not be rendered sensible by any other test.
(288.) Another agent which immediately effects the co¬
agulation of albumen, unless it be previously much diluted,
is alcohol. Ether also produces the same effect.
(289.) Acids in general occasion the coagulation of albu¬
men ; but several of them afterwards redissolve the coagulum
if assisted by heat. This is at least the case with the three
mineral acids. The coagulum formed by acids always retains
in combination a portion of the acid which has been em¬
ployed. That produced by nitric acid is the least soluble;
and hence nitric acid occasions a precipitate from solutions
of albumen, which are so dilute as not to be affected by other
acids. Thenard remarks that the coagulum produced by
acids, is re-dissolved by pure alkalies, and even by ammo¬
nia, which does not dissolve albumen that has been coagu¬
lated by heat. Nitric acid, when concentrated, decomposes
albumen, extricating from it azotic gas, and during its solution,
nitrous gas. Oxalic and malic acids are formed, and a thick
oily matter, soluble in alcohol, appears on the surface. On
the other hand, when coagulated albumen is subjected to
the action of dilute nitric acid, it is after some time con¬
verted into a substance having the properties of gelatin.
For this highly curious fact we are indebted to Mr. Hatch¬
ett.1 Alum, probably in consequence of its excess of acid,
coagulates albumen, provided the solution be not very di¬
lute. One part of albumen in five hundred of water is ren¬
dered slightly turbid by a solution of alum, but without any
formation of a precipitate.
621
(290.) The triple prussiate or ferrocyanate of potass is, Physiology,
according to Dr. Henry, an extremely delicate test of the v'—
presence of albumen, and may be used to discover it in fluids
to which other tests are inapplicable. To enable it, how¬
ever, to produce a precipitate, a very slight excess of ace¬
tic acid should be previously added, either to the test, or to
the liquid suspected to contain albumen.
(291.) Another delicate test of the presence of albumen
is a solution of corrosive sublimate ; and it is the more va¬
luable, inasmuch as it has no effect on solutions either of ge¬
latin or of mucus. Dr. Bostock found that a single drop of
a solution of corrosive sublimate added to a liquor containing
one thousandth of its weight of albumen, renders it visibly
milky, and at the end of some hours a flocculent precipitate
falls to the bottom of the vessel. The same re-agent pro¬
duces a sensible effect on a liquid, containing only half that
quantity, or one two-hundredth of albumen.
(292.) Many other metallic salts, throw down a preci¬
pitate from solutions of albumen, as the acetate of lead, the
nitro-muriate of tin, the nitrate of silver, and the nitro-mu-
riate of gold ; but as they produce a similar effect on other
species of animal matter, they are scarcely deserving of con¬
fidence as tests of any one in particular. A solution of tan¬
nin, which, when added to albumen, occasions, after some
time, a precipitate, may sometimes afford useful indications
in analytical inquiries, for it may be distinguished from that
produced from gelatin by its want of density and cohesion.
(293.) Albumen is readily dissolved by the pure liquid al¬
kalies, which disengage ammonia from it, and form with the
residue a saponaceous compound. This soap, when dissolv¬
ed in water, is precipitated by acetic or muriatic acids.
6. Fibrin.
(294.) The proximate animal principle, known by the Fibrin,
name offibrin, or animal gelatin, exists in large quantity in
the blood, and forms the basis of the muscular flesh of ani¬
mals. When properly prepared, and freed from the admix¬
ture of extraneous matter, it presents a substance of a white
colour, destitute of taste or smell, of a fibrous texture, and
of a soft and elastic consistence. When dried it is brittle,
and has a certain degree of transparency ; it undergoes no
change from the action of either air or water.
(295.) When exposed to heat, it contracts very conside¬
rably, and exhibits movements like horn, exhaling at the
same time the smell of burned feathers. When subjected
to great heat, it yields the usual animal products of water,
oil, ammonia, carbonic acid, and carburetted hydrogen, with
a large carbonaceous residuum. This charcoal is very diffi¬
cult to incinerate, owing to the presence of phosphoric salts,
which are fused by the heat employed for that purpose, and
form a glassy coat on the surface. A considerable quantity
of carbonate of lime is found in the residual ashes.
(296.) The acids exert a considerable action upon fibrin.
Concentrated acetic acid renders it soft and transparent;
and the whole mass is converted by heat into a tremulous
jelly. By the addition of water, and the continued applica¬
tion of heat, a complete solution is effected, attended with
the evolution of nitrogen. Fibrin combines with muriatic
acid in two proportions; the one gives a neutral compound
soluble in water; the other, containing an excess of acid, is
insoluble, but becomes soluble by the action of pure water.
Concentrated sulphuric acid decomposes and carbonizes
fibrin. Diluted with six times its weight of water, this acid
acquires a red colour by being digested with fibrin, but
scarcely dissolves any sensible portion ; but part of the acid
is absorbed by the remaining mass, which becomes a com¬
pound of fibrin and an excess of sulphuric acid. Water de¬
prives it of this excess, and a neutral combination is obtain¬
ed, which is soluble in water, and has the same characters
1 See his paper already quoted from the Philosophical Transactions for 1800.
622
PHYSIOLOGY
Gelatin.
Albumen.
Fibrin.
Physiology, as neutral muriate of fibrin. The action of nitric acid upon principles of nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, phospho- Physiol^
'fibrin is much diversified, according to its dilution or state rus, and sulphur, yet these differ somewhat in their proper-
of concentration. When the acid is diluted with a large tions. The most accurate analysis of these substances into
quantity of water, a great abundance of nitrogen gas is dis- their ultimate elements are those of MM. Gay Lussac and
engaged. This gas is entirely derived from the fibrin, and Thenard, the results of which are exhibited in the following
not from the acid, which, as Berthollet ascertained, has suf- table :
fered no decomposition during the process. 1 he residuum,
in this case, is principally oxalic acid, with a small quantity
of malic and acetic acids, and a portion of fatty matter.
When the nitric acid is undiluted, on the other hand, it un¬
dergoes decomposition, and nitrous gas, mixed with nitro¬
gen gas, is disengaged. When fibrin is digested for twenty-
four hours in nitric acid of the specific gravity 1.25, it is
converted into a pulverulent mass, of a pale citron colour,
which is deposited at the bottom of the liquid. By washing
it in water, the excess of acid is carried off, and the colour
gradually becomes of a deep orange. Fourcroy and Vau-
Carbon, 
Oxygen,....,
Nitrogen,...
Hydrogen,..
47*881
27*207
16*988
7*914
100.
52*883
23*872
15*705
7*540
100.
53*360
19*685
19*934
7*021
100.
Analogies
between
them.
Compara¬
tive analy¬
sis.
It appears from the above analysis, that the principal dif-
quelin considered this yellow matter to be a peculiar acid, ference of composition occurs in the proportion of nitrogen,
which they distinguished by the name of the yellow acid. Gelatin contains the least of this element; albumen more ;
But Berzelius has shewn that it is merely fibrin combined and fibrin a quantity considerably larger than either of the
with nitric and malic acids. When the action of nitric acid others. The latter substance appears therefore to be the
on fibrin is very slow, it is gradually converted into a state most animalized product. It also contains the largest quan-
somewhat analogous to gelatin. tity of carbon, as appears indeed from the greater residuum
(297.) Fibrin, when subjected to the action of caustic al- of charcoal which it leaves after destructive distillation,
kali, increases in bulk, becomes transparent and gelatinous, Sulphur is perhaps peculiar to the composition of albumen,
and at length is entirely dissolved, forming a yellowish green On the other hand, the proportion of oxygen is considera-
solution. From this solution it is precipitated both by acids bly greater in gelatin than in either of the other two sub-
and alcohol, but seems to have undergone some change stances. This predominance of oxygen, together with the
for it is not as before, soluble in acetic acid. Fourcroy had less compactness of its mechanical composition, are proba-
asserted, that the compound of fibrin and alkali resembles bly the causes of the greater tendency which gelatin shows
soap *, but it does not, in fact, appear to have any analogy to pass into the acid fermentation. In this respect also,
with saponaceous bodies. gelatin shows itself to be less completely animalized than
(298.) Alcohol of the specific gravity of 0.81, converts the other proximate principles, and to partake more of the
fibrin into a kind of adipocirous matter, which is soluble in chemical character of vegetable substances, which are well
alcohol, and precipitated by the addition of water. It has known to evolve an acid in the progress of spontaneous de-
a strong and unpleasant odour. The alcoholic solution leaves, composition. There are indeed some vegetables, as the
on evaporation, a fatty residue, which did not pre-exist in tribe of fungi, that become alkaline by their putrescence;
the fibrin, but which, like the original substance, is soluble and these are found to contain nitrogen ; so that gelatin on
in acetic acid. By the action of ether, fibrin is converted the one hand, and the fungi on the other, may be regarded
into the same kind of adipocire, but which has a more offen- as forming, on each side, the connecting links between these
sive odour, and is in larger quantity. two great kingdoms of nature.
(299.) After the account we have given of the three proxi- (301.) It is a curious subject of speculation to reduce the
mate principles which enter so largely into the composition proportions resulting from the analysis of the French che-
of animal matter, namely, gelatin, albumen, and fibrin, it will mists, to those which are most reconcileable to the atomic
be useful to take a comparative view of the analogies they theory. They will then stand as follows :
present, and of the differences by which they are distin¬
guished, both in their properties and composition. They are
apparently composed of the same ultimate elements, com¬
bined in proportions which are not widely different. Ihey
admit accordingly of mutual conversion into one another,
by processes which produce a slight alteration in the propor¬
tion of their constituents. By the action of the nitric acid
fibrin is converted into a kind of gelatin, and a similar change
has been effected on albumen by the same re-agent. All
these substances are presented both in the liquid and solid
forms, and pass readily from the former to the latter of these
states, without any apparent change in their chemical con¬
stitution. They are all of them indestructible when perfect¬
ly dry, but readily undergo putrefaction when united with
water. Yet the modes in which they are respectively acted
upon by water are different, and affords an easy character of
distinction between them. Gelatin is soluble in cold water;
the solution when evaporated becomes gelatinous ; and if
this jelly be dried, it is still again soluble. Albumen is like¬
wise soluble in water; but whenever the temperature is
raised to 170°, it separates by coagulation, and this coagu-
lum is not again soluble. Fibrin is clearly distinguished by
its total insolubility in water at any temperature, at least un¬
der the common atmospheric pressure.
(300.) Then these principles likewise differ in their com¬
position ; for though they seem to consist of some ultimate
Number of atoms of
Carbon,....
Oxygen,....
Nitrogen, .,
Hydrogen,
In Gelatin.
15
6
2
14
In Albumen, i In Fibrin.
17
6
2
13
18
5
3
14
The weights, both absolute and relative, of the atomic
elements, are shewn in the following table :
Carbon,....
Oxygen,...
Nitrogen,..
Hydrogen,
Gelatin.
Absolute.
90
48
28
14
180
Relative.
50*00
26*67
15*55
7*78
100-
Albumen.
102
48
28
13
191
53*40
25*13
14*67
6*80
100-
Fibrin.
Absolute.
108
40
42
14
204
Relative.
52*94
19*61
20*59
6*86
100-
In the conversion of albumen into jelly, by the slowly
continued action of nitric acid, we may conclude that the
acid imparts a portion of its oxygen to the albumen, and
perhaps adds also a small quantity of nitrogen; thus con-
PHYSIOLOGY.
623
ph jlogy. stitutmg the proportions assigned to gelatin by Gay-Lussac
vj, —/ and Thenard.
7. Mucus.
M i-
(302.) The term mucus has been employed in very dif¬
ferent senses by different writers. Some have applied it
vaguely to almost every animal substance which was not re¬
ferable to any other class. Fourcroy and Vauquelin, while
they include under this term the viscid secretions which lu¬
bricate the alimentary and other passages that open at the
surface of the body, they have admitted its claim to be con¬
sidered as a peculiar proximate principle, but regard it as
analogous to vegetable gum, from which they suppose it to
differ only by containing a proportion of nitrogen. Their
descriptive account of its properties, however, are deficient
in the precision which the subject seems to require, and
which have been aimed at by subsequent chemists. Ber¬
zelius, it is true, refuses to allow that there is any such com¬
mon principle as mucus, and founds his opinion on the ground
that the chemical characters of the fluids which bear that
name, are very various in different parts of the body, and
are modified in different situations, according to the parti¬
cular purposes they are intended to fulfil. Mr. Hatchett,
in his interesting paper on the Component Parts of Animal
Membrane, has attempted to fix the meaning of the term
more definitely. Viewing mucus as extremely analogous in
its properties to gelatin, he considers these two substances
as merely modifications of each other ; the former charac¬
terized by its incapability of being gelatinized ; the latter
by possessing that property ; while both are soluble in water.
Dr. Bostock, in his excellent papers on the Analysis of
Animal Fluids, has endeavoured to establish definite cha¬
racters as belonging to this fluid, when existing in a state of
purity. He states that if the solid matter obtained from the
evaporation of saliva to dryness, be re-dissolved in water, and
filtered, the solution will consist of mucus alone, or with
scarcely any extraneous substance. By a careful evapora¬
tion he found that the solution contained one two-hundredth
part of its weight of mucus. He also obtained a similar
principle by macerating an oyster in water, and evaporating
the liquid. It thus appeared that the water had dissolved
about one-fiftieth of its weight of animal matter. Mucus
thus obtained resembles gum-arabic, excepting that it is
somewhat more opaque. Like it, it has scarcely any taste,
dissolves readily in water, and forms an adhesive solution.
Alcohol added to this solution has no tendency to coagulate
it. No appearance of coagulation is produced by exposing
the fluid for some time to the heat of boiling water; nor is
there any tendency to gelatinize, by evaporating and after¬
wards cooling the fluid. No distinct effect is produced on
the solution of mucus, either by the nitro-muriate of tin,
corrosive sublimate, or the infusion of galls. The subace¬
tate of lead, or Goulard’s extract, occasions an immediate
opacity, and after some time, a flaky precipitate.
(303.) Dr. Bostock concludes that a decided and essen¬
tial difference is thus established between mucus and jelly,
by the different effects produced by tannin, and by subace¬
tate of lead. Tannin is a most delicate test of jelly, but
does not in any degree affect mucus. Goulard’s extract, on
the other hand, is a delicate test of mucus, but does not in
any degree affect jelly. The bichloride of mercury, (cor¬
rosive sublimate), on the contrary, which is one of the most
accurate tests of albumen, does not appear to affect either
jelly or mucus.
Notwithstanding the attempts which Dr. Bostock made
to devise a method of directly determining the proportion
of mucus in a compound fluid, he was not able to succeed,
in consequence of the facility with which Goulard’s solution
decomposes the different extraneous ingredients, both ani¬
mal and saline, which are almost always present in substan¬
ces that contain mucus, even in a state the nearest approach¬
ing to purity. The salts are particularly liable to act upon Physiology
the metallic solutions employed as tests; so that it is im- 's—
possible to say how much of the effect is owing to each of
these separate causes. The precipitates thrown down from
mucus by subacetate of lead, and nitrate of silver, were
found by Mr. Brande to consist both of the muriates and
phosphates of those metals. Mr. Brande also attempted to
obtain mucus free from neutral salts, by subjecting it to the
action of galvanic electricity. He thus detected a small
quantity of albumen in saliva, which was not discoverable
by the ordinary tests.
(304.) A great resemblance has frequently been noticed
between the mechanical properties of animal mucus and ve¬
getable gum ; and Dr. Bostock found that they strongly re¬
semble each other also in their chemical qualities. A solu¬
tion of gum-arabic, containing one grain of gum to two hun¬
dred grains of water, was not affected either by the bichlo¬
ride of mercury, nor by tannin. With the nitro-muriate of
tin, and with the nitrate of silver, there was only a slight
degree of opacity; but with the subacetate of lead there
was a dense precipitate instantly formed.
(305.) On the whole, however, animal mucus in its che¬
mical relations appears to be most nearly allied to albumen ;
and the constituent upon which its characteristic properties
principally depend, would seem, as Dr. Bostock remarks, to
be a mere modification of this substance.
(306.) We shall conclude our account of this substance Method of
by the following direction as to the order in which it will analysis,
be most convenient to conduct our analytical inquiries of a
fluid, which may be supposed to contain either albumen,
jelly, or mucus. The first step is to observe the effect of
the bichloride of mercury ; if this produce no precipitate,
we may be certain that the fluid in question contains no
albumen. We should next employ the infusion of galls,
and if this also occasion no precipitate, we may conclude
that the animal matter held in solution consists of mucus
alone. Such being the chemical properties of the chief
proximate principles of animal organization, we have next
to examine the mode in which these substances are produc¬
ed in the economy.
Sect. II—Arrangement of the Functions of Assimilation.
(307.) The means provided by nature for meeting the Reparatory
various demands of the system, by converting materials de- or chemical
rived from without into the proximate principles of animal ^unct^0IIS'
organization, the properties of which we have now examined,
constitute a separate class of functions distinct from all the
others. They might not unaptly be termed the repara¬
tory functions ; but as the changes which are effected in
the materials received into the body for its conversion into
nutriment are wholly of a chemical nature, we thought they
might, with still greater propriety, be termed the chemical
functions, in contradistinction to those the objects of which
are entirely of a mechanical nature, and which have already
passed under our review.
(308.) The reparatory, or chemical functions, may be di¬
vided into two great orders; the first consisting of those
which effect all the changes that the food undergoes dur¬
ing its conversion into blood; the second, of those which
apply the blood, or nutriment thus properly prepared, to the
various purposes for which it is wanted, and which effects
in it those chemical changes that are required for those ob¬
jects.
(309.) The first order may again be subdivided into seve- Series of
ral subordinate processes, including, 1st, The preparation reParatory
which the food undergoes in the mouth by mastication, or Processei*-
mechanical division. 2d, Its admixture with saliva and
other secretions, which is generally termed insalivation.
3d, Its deglutition, or conveyance into the stomach. 4th,
Its digestion in that cavity, and conversion into chyme,
which may properly be termed chymification. 5 th, The
624
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology.subsequent changes it undergoes in the intestines, by the
'influence of various agents, such as the bile, the pancreatic
and intestinal secretions ; and its ultimate conversion in o
Chyle, and separation from the excrementitious portion,
comprising the processes of chylification. 6th, Its absorp¬
tion by the lacteals, its transmission to the heart, and its
sanguification, or conversion into blood. 1 o the above
functions the title of natural functions was given by the
older physiologists, and the name is retained in many mo¬
dern works in medicine. _
(310.) The second order comprehends, in like manner, a
number of most important functions, which, from their im¬
mediate influence on the continuance of life, have been em¬
phatically denominated the vital functions. They consist,
1st, of the Circulation of the blood, by means of the heart,
arteries, veins, and capillary vessels. 2d, Respiration, by
which every portion of the blood is subjected in its turn to
the chemical action of the air respired ; is freed from its
excess of carbon, and becomes oxygenated, or arteriahzecl,
and fit to be applied to the purposes of the system. 3d, ^e-
cretion, a term which expresses a variety of changes effect¬
ed in the blood, bv passing through glands and other secret¬
ing organs, adapting it to different purposes in different
cases. Closely allied in its object to secretion is the func¬
tion of (4th) Nutrition, whereby the several parts of the
body receive accessions to their growth, and are maintained
in the condition requisite for the perfect performance of
their requisite offices. 5th, Absorption by the lymphatics,
for the removal of all superfluous or decayed particles in
the body. 6th, The last function in this order, which com¬
pletes the series of chemical changes going on in the living
laboratory of the body, is Excretion, or the separation of use¬
less or noxious materials from the blood, and their rejection
from the system. We shall proceed to the consideration of
these functions in the order in which they have been enu¬
merated. But for the proper understanding of the subjects
they involve, it will be necessary to premise an inquiry into
the chemical nature of the substances which are received
into the body as food.
Sect. III.—Properties of Food.
(311.) The food of man is more various in its kind than that
Properties
of food.
of any other animal; for it comprehends a great multitude
of articles both of an animal and vegetable nature. Hence
man has been regarded as entitled to the appellation of an
omnivorous animal. His powers of digestion, however^
though capable of being exercised upon a great variety of
materials, are yet inadequate to the assimilation of many sub¬
stances, which form the exclusive food of several of the
larger quadrupeds whose structure and economy are not
very remote from those of man. The human stomach and
intestines are incapable of extracting nourishment from the
fibrous or membranous parts of vegetables, like the ox, the
sheep, and other herbivorous animals ; nor have they the
power of digesting hard and solid bones, like the hysena, the
dog, and other highly carnivorous quadrupeds. Neither
the leaves of trees nor the grasses, have ever, in any age or
country, been used as the food of man. Many savage races^
of the American continent, though possessing vast tracts of
country abounding in trees and grass, have frequently been
visited by the extremes of famine, by which whole districts
have been depopulated. When Australia was first visited
by Europeans, the native inhabitants were found only oc¬
cupying the sea-coast, gathering up a scanty and precari¬
ous subsistence from the shell-fish casually thrown upon
the shore ; but the settlements which have since been made
have occasioned their retirement into the interior, and their
numbers have rapidly diminished. It is obvious that, had
the leaves of the vegetables which grow wild in those re¬
gions been capable of affording the smallest sustenance,
they would have necessarily been resorted to in these ex¬
tremities of hunger. But no authenticated instance of the Physiolei
kind occurs in the history of the human race. >
(312.) Man, however, seems to enjoy the exclusive pri- Food oil !
vilege of having organs of digestion equally adapted to themun.
assimilation of both animal and vegetable aliment of certain
kinds; and the range which is allowed him in this respect
is most extensive. Hence we find, that in most countries
where there prevails a high degree of civilization, and where
religious scruples do not interfere, both animal and vegeta¬
ble food is indiscriminately employed by all who can pro¬
cure them. In many parts of the globe, indeed, necessity
compels a restriction to certain kinds of diet; and in some
the same restriction is imposed as a religious duty. Thus
the Gentoos live entirely on the vegetable produce of the
earth, to which, however, they add the highly nutritious
article of milk. The Birmans, who are a remarkably active
and robust race, are said to live exclusively upon vegetable
food. On the other hand, the inhabitants of the mouths of
many of the African rivers, live wholly upon the produce
of the ocean. The flesh of the rein-deer constitutes the
principal food of the Laplander. In general it would ap ¬
pear that the inhabitants of cold climates consume a larger
proportion of animal food than those of the torrid zone.
Whence it has been, with much probability, inferred, that
less combustible matter is required by the system in situa¬
tions where the external temperature is habitually high ; a
remark which, if well founded, is conformable to the prin¬
ciple already laid down in our statement of the purposes to
which a portion of the food is applied, namely, that of keep¬
ing up the animal temperature. In the ruder periods of
society, when the arts of civilization had not yet diffused
their beneficial influence over mankind, it is probable that
men were more carnivorous than in the present state of the
world. The introduction of the use of corn, and other grains
of the same class, has effected in this respect an important
change in the condition of the species ; but it would appear
that the introduction of this great benefit was very gradual,
and must have required a long succession of ages before the
cultivation of the gramina had attained any degree of per¬
fection,
/
1. Animal Food.
(313.) The parts of animals which are chiefly consumed Animal
as food is the muscular flesh ; but milk, and the different food,
products obtained from milk, together with eggs, also com-
pose articles of diet. T he animals from which these ali-
ments are derived, are principally the herbivorous mamma¬
lia, different tribes of birds and fish, a small number of the
class of reptiles, and several species of mollusca and Crus¬
tacea. The flesh of the mammalia and of birds consists
principally of fibrin and gelatin, intermixed also with fat.
Milk may be considered as an emulsion of albumen, oil, and
sugar, suspended in a large quantity of water. The two for¬
mer ingredients, when obtained separately, constitute re-
pectively cheese and butter. The eggs of birds chiefly con¬
tain albumen, together with a small quantity of oil. T ish
contains less fibrin, but a larger proportion of albumen and
gelatin than the flesh of either quadrupeds or birds ; and in
some fish there is joined to these constituents a large quan¬
tity of oil. This also is the case with those Crustacea and
mollusca which are used as articles of diet. When we
come, therefore, to analyze the proximate principles from
which animal nutriment is derived, we find them reducible
to the following: namely, fibrin, albumen, oil, gelatin, and
sugar; together with a few others, such as ozmazome, which
are of minor importance.
2. Vegetable Food.
(314.) The parts of vegetables most frequently consumed Vegetc
as food, are the seeds, seed-vessels, fruits, stalks, roots, and foo
tubera, and more commonly the leaves. The most nutn- e •
PH YSI
1 physiology tious amongstthe proximate principles resultingfrom the an-
v—' alysis of these vegetable materials, are gluten, farina, muci¬
lage, oil, and sugar. The seeds of the cerealia or of rice
constitute the chief bulk of the food in those countries where
civilization has made any considerable progress. Of all these
kinds of grain, wheat appears to contain, in proportion to its
bulk, the greatest quantity of nutriment; and this arises from
its abounding in gluten, which of all the vegetable principles
appears to be best adapted to the human organs of digestion.
In its properties it bears a strong resemblance to animal sub¬
stances ; and it appears, indeed, by chemical analysis, to con¬
tain a large proportion of nitrogen. Hence it may be con¬
sidered as the most animalized of the vegetable products.
Gluten is contained in most vegetables which afford farina,
and is also found in the leaves of many esculent vegetables,
such as the cabbage.
Farina. (315.) Farina is found in great abundance in wheat and
other grains, and also forms a large proportion of the nutri¬
tive portion of rice, and of certain tubers, among which the
principal is the potatoe. The leaves, stalks, and seed-vessels
of plants are rendered nutritious by the mucilage which they
contain, which is generally united with a portion of sugar.
Sugar. (316.) The saccharine principle contained in vegetables,
and blended with their other elements, contributes greatly
to render them nutritious ; though in its pure state, as ex¬
tracted from the sugar-cane, or the beet, it is rather used as
a grateful addition to other articles of diet than as a sepa¬
rate source of nutriment. Sugar may be extracted from a
great variety of plants besides those above mentioned. The
maple, the birch, the parsnip, the cocao-nut, walnut, maize,
and carrot, contain it in great abundance, as is the case,
indeed, with every species of grain used as food. Almost
all fruits are more or less saccharine. Figs, grapes, and
dates, which contain it in large quantity, form a very con¬
siderable proportion of the food of the inhabitants of the
south of Europe, and the African nations on the borders of
the Mediterranean. All fruits contain a basis of mucilage,
and in many this mucilage is combined with oil as well as
with sugar.
: scale of. (317.) Attempts have frequently been made to reduce all
Hitriment. nutritious substances to a single principle common to all of
them, and to establish accordingly a scale of nutriment, the
place which any substance should occupy on that scale being
regulated by the proportion in which this essential principle
existed in it. Haller conceived that jelly might be consi¬
dered as fulfilling this condition, and as being the essentially
nutritive substance in nature.1 Cullen thought that this
property appertains to two substances, the nutritious matter
being either of an oily or saccharine nature, or consisting
of these two qualities combined.2 * Richerand considers ali¬
mentary matter as either gummy, mucilaginous, or saccha¬
rine.5 Dr. Fordyce referred all nutriment to the presence
of mucilage.4 All these, and many other attempts at ge¬
neralization, made by different physiologists at different
times, are premature and unphilosophical, since they asso¬
ciate in the same class substances having properties totally
dissimilar, although they concur only in that of affording ma¬
terials for the support of the animal system. Perhaps the
most exact classification of the kind is that of Magendie, who
refers all alimentary substances, whether animal or vege¬
table, to the following heads, namely, farinaceous, mucilagi¬
nous, saccharine, acidulous, oily, caseous, gelatinous, albu¬
minous, and fibrinous.
(318.) Prout, in a paper published in the Philosophical
Transactions,5 thinks that all the articles of food used by
man may, according to their chemical relations, be arrang¬
ed under three heads, namely, the saccharine, the albumi¬
nous, and the oily. Sugar, the basis of the first class of ali-
o L O G Y. 625
mentary substances, he finds to consist of carbon in different Physiology
proportions, from thirty to fifty per cent, chemically com- -v—
bined with water. The basis of albumen and oil are more
compound, but are also united with water, the proportion of
carbon existing in some of the oils being nearly eighteen per
cent. He is of opinion that two at least of these elements
must be blended together in our food in order to render it
either nutritious or digestible. Milk, the food provided by
nature for the young animal, exhibits the most perfect union
of these three elements.
(319-) It must be evident, however, upon a slight consi- Oil.
deration, that notwithstanding all the attempts that have
been made to establish an accurate scale of nutriment, more
must depend upon the powers possessed by the digestive
organs to convert the particular kind of food into nutritious
matter, than upon its being able to supply the elements re¬
quisite for composing nutriment. Thus there are many sub¬
stances, such as oil for example, which contain a very large
proportion of the elements which compose the blood, but
which are extremely difficult of digestion, and consequently
cannot of themselves be considered as nutritious, although
when blended with other substances which contain fewer of
these elements, but which enable the stomach to exert a
proper action upon the compound, they become highly nu¬
tritive. This remark applies also to sugar, which, although
adding considerably to the nutritive qualities of those vege¬
table products which contain it, would not, if used alone, be
capable of supporting life. Magendie found, that dogs fed
upon sugar alone soon became unhealthy, and if that diet
was persisted in, perished from inanition.*'* Dr. Stark made
numerous experiments upon himself, to which, indeed, he
ultimately fell a victim ; from these it appears, that sub¬
stances which afford most nutriment, if their use be per¬
severed in for any length of time, to the exclusion of other
diet, soon produce derangement of the stomach, and failure
of its digestive power. Peculiarities are often met with in
the stomachs of different individuals with respect to the
power of digesting particular kinds of food. In this respect
much depends upon previous habits; so that it is scarcely
possible to establish any general rules with regard to the
nutritious qualities of different species of aliment, that are
not invalidated by innumerable exceptions. The quantity
of liquid that is taken in along with the solid food is also
exceedingly various in different individuals ; that which is
suited to the digestion of the one being found to disagree
with another. If we except soups, which of course consist
of the soluble parts of materials out of which they are pre¬
pared, and also milk, the liquids received into the stomach
rarely contain any notable proportion of nutritious matter,
but seem rather to aid the digestion of more solid food, ei¬
ther by supplying the place of a solvent, or by acting as a
stimulus to the stomach. They are also in many cases ne¬
cessary for supplying the loss occasioned by perspiration,
which in hot climates, by regulating the temperature of the
body, is essential to the preservation of health. These pur¬
poses are answered by many vegetable infusions, such as
tea and coffee, and also by fermented liquors, although the
latter contain to a certain extent many of the materials of
nutrition, such as sugar and mucilage, besides the stimulant
principle of alcohol.
3. Condiments.
(320.) With a view to the same stimulant effect, various Condi
substances are added in small quantities to our food, which merits,
act as condiments. Of these the principal is common salt,
a taste for which seems to be natural to a great number of
animals, and which, used in small quantity, has the effect of
promoting digestion. Other condiments, such as pepper,
1 Elementa Physiologies, xix. .3, 2.
1 Treatise on JJigestion, p. 84.
VOL. XVII.
2 Physiology, § 211.
5 For the year 1827, p. 355.
3 Elcmens de Physiologic, § 3, p. 82.
6 Physiologic, tom. ii. p. 390.
4i K
626
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, mustard, garlic, and various other spices and aromatics, are
1 employed chiefly from the agreeable impression they make
upon the palate; but they in many cases check the ten¬
dency to fermentation which many kinds of food are liable
to undergo in the stomach. As a general rule, to which,
of course, there are many exceptions, whatever is agreeable
to the palate is adapted also to the digestive powers of the
stomach. A certain degree of variety in the articles ot diet
is more conducive to the nourishment of the body than con¬
finement to any single article.
Sect. IV—Appetites.
1. Hunger.
Hunger.
(321.) Hunger is a peculiar sensation excited in the sto¬
mach by the want of food, and by the presence of the gas¬
tric juice in that organ conjointly. It is evidently an attec-
tion of the nerves of the stomach, for it is a good deal de¬
pendent on the state of the nervous system. Its periodi¬
cal recurrence at stated times shews that it is a good deal
under the dominion of habit. Hunger often suddenly ceases
upon the occurrence of sudden emotions of grief or anger,
and is much influenced by other causes ot mental excita¬
tion. Literary men deeply absorbed in meditation often
forget that they have occasion for nutriment, and are uncon¬
scious of the calls of hunger. Hence such persons are often
great sufferers from disordered digestion.
(322.) The presence of the gastric juice appears however
to be a natural stimulus to appetite, its primary action be¬
ing probably in the nerves of the stomach. A similar effect
may be produced, when the stomach is full, by taking spi¬
rituous liquors, or high-seasoned dishes. Those physiolo¬
gists who were inclined to refer the phenomena of the living
body to mechanical causes, ascribed the sensation of hun¬
ger to the friction of the surfaces of the stomach against one
another, which they supposed took place when it was emp¬
ty ; but the anatomy of that organ, which, from its round¬
ed form, and from the softness of its texture, would seem
totally incapable of producing friction by any of its move¬
ments, is totally at variance with this hypothesis. Others
have conceived that the collapse of the stomach in its empty
state, by deranging the position of the liver and spleen, drags
down the diaphragm, and thus excites irritation in the nerves
of those regions ; and they endeavour to support this doc¬
trine by the alleged fact, that hunger is prevented and ap¬
peased by wearing a tight girdle, which occasions pressure
on the stomach and gives support to the neighbouring or¬
gans. But the instances already given of the dependence
of hunger on the states of the nervous system, are sufficient
to prove that it is not owing to any mechanical cause.
(323.) The chemical physiologists attempted to explain
the phenomena solely by the action of the gastric juice on
the coats of the stomach, which they imagined it tended to
corrode, and hence gave rise to an uneasy sensation. It is
much more probable, however, that the impression made by
this secretion is exclusively on the nerves of the stomach ;
and there is no doubt but that this action is one of the
principal causes of hunger ; for it has been found, that, if
after long fasting, when there is a considerable accumula-
lation of gastric juice, and when the sensation of hunger is
extremely intense, it at once ceases if the gastric juice be
removed by an emetic ; or even if it be much diluted by
taking large quantities of hot water.
(324.) The effects of long abstinence from food are, great
loss of strength, emaciation, discoloration of the blood and
of the secretions, an increase of nervous susceptibility, fever,
loss of sleep, painful sensations in the region of the stomach,
followed by total loss of appetite, delirium, and death. It
has been said, that the exterior of the bodies of those who
die of famine has exhibited a shining appearance m the
dark, as if they had been impregnated with uncombined Physiol!
phosphorus, S'^V’'
2. Thirst.
(325.) Thirst is a sensation somewhat analogous to hun- Thirst,
ger with respect to its cause and effect, and with respect of
its depending on particular states of the nervous system. It
is considerably more distressing and intolerable than hun¬
ger. The seqt of the sensation appears to be in the mouth
and faupes, although its origin is generally in the state of
the stomach, or general condition of the system. In the
healthy condition of the organs it is a natural impulse
prompting us to supply the system with the fluids requisite
for carrying on its functions. But in the case of fevers,
and other morbid states, thirst is sometimes excessive, and,
if indulged without restriction, would prove highly injuri¬
ous. In cases where a preternatural opening has been made
into the oesophagus through the neck, the sensation ot thirst
is found not to be in any degree assuaged by fluids applied
to the mouth, or even swallowed, if they escape through the
wound, and do not descend into the stomach ; whereas, it
is immediately relieved when the same fluids are introduced
into the stomach.
Sect. V Preparation of the Food for Digestion.
(326.) The preparatory processes to which the food isprepan
subjected previous to its introduction into the stomach, aretory pn
partly of a mechanical and partly of a chemical nature. It cesses,
is masticated by the teeth and jaws, and at the same time
mixed with the saliva and mucous secretions ot the mem¬
brane lining the mouth, fauces, and oesophagus. The effect
produced by these operations is to reduce the food to a soft
and uniform pulp, which is more easily acted upon by the
solvent powers of the gastric juice than if it had been swal¬
lowed entire.
1. Mastication.
(327.) During mastication a great number of muscles are Mastic
called into action. The principal of these are the power-tion.
ful muscles that elevate the lower jaw, namely, the tempo¬
ral, the masseter, and the pterygoid muscles, the latter ot
which are capable of giving at the same time some degree
of lateral motion to the jaw, adapting it thereby to effect a
grinding action by the medium of the teeth. The lower
jaw forms a lever of the third kind with a double angle, the
fulcrum being at the condyles, which are curiously articu¬
lated with the skull, by means of an interposed cartilage.
Its motions are almost entirely confined to those of eleva¬
tion and depression ; but it has also a more limited extent
of lateral motion. . T ,
(328.) The teeth, which are the great agents in maStica- leetn
tion, have already been described and their different classes
enumerated, under the head of Anatomy. The respective
purposes served by each class are sufficiently evident from
their shape and position in the jaw. The incisor, or front
teeth, are employed for cutting or dividing the food like a
pair of shears or scissors ; the cuspidati, or eye-teeth, plac¬
ed a little farther back in the jaw, are particularly adapted
to lay hold of, and tear asunder, fibrous textures that afford
considerable resistance ; their action may be compared to
that of pincers. Mr. Hunter, after reviewing their different
forms in the different tribes of quadrupeds, is enabled to
trace a similarity in shape, situation, and use of the cuspi¬
dati, from the most imperfect carnivorous animal, which he
believes to be the human species, to the most perfect car¬
nivorous animal, the lion. The bicuspidati and molares
compose what are called the grinding teeth, and their chiet
office is the trituration of substances already torn off by the
cuspidati, or cut by the meeting of the incisors. The mo¬
lares especially, being placed nearer to the articulation o
the jaw, or centre of motion, act with greater power in ex-
PHYSIOLOGY.
ivsiology-erting pressure on whatever is between them. If we wish
break a very hard body, the shell of a nut for example,
we instinctively place it between the backmost molares,
where the resistance it opposes to fracture acts by the
shortest lever.
The bony substance of the teeth is preserved from the
injury to which it would be exposed by the friction of hard
substances, and by the contact of corroding fluids, and the
influence of the air, by being cased in enamel, which, as we
have seen, is considerably harder than bone. In conse¬
quence of the peculiar mode of its formation, the enamel is
incapable of being renewed by a fresh growth when it has
been worn away by friction. When, however, the teeth
are lost by age, accident, or disease, their alveoli close and
are obliterated by absorption ; the gums then acquire a de¬
gree of hardness, that renders them an imperfect substitute
for the teeth in mastication.
ingue. (329.) The chief agent in distributing the food so as to
place it in proper situations between the teeth for the pur¬
pose of mastication, and for transferring it to the faiuees, is
the tongue. This organ consists almost entirely of muscu¬
lar fibres, which are variously arranged, and interwoven to¬
gether in a very intricate manner, so as to render it capa¬
ble of motion in every possible direction. Its root is affix¬
ed to a bone which is peculiar to it, called the os hyoides,
from its resemblance to the Greek letter v, which furnishes
a basis of attachment to the greater number of the muscles
of the tongue, and the extremities of which being extended
considerably backwards, serve to keep the palate expanded
and always prepared to receive the food. But the tongue
also contains a set of muscular fibres, which proceed longi¬
tudinally through the centre of that organ, unattached to
any bone, and serving to contract its length. The tongue
is thrust out of the mouth, not by any power of elongation
in the muscles, as might at first sight appear to be the case,
but by the contraction of that portion of the radiating fibres
proceeding backwards from the inside of the jaw and the
os hyoides, and drawing forwards the root of the tongue
when they act alone. This complex structure is admirably
adapted to the great variety of uses to which the tongue is
applied, not only in mastication and deglutition, but also in
speaking.
(330.) The muscular actions of the lips and cheeks are
also intimately concerned in mastication ; and ample pro¬
vision is made for their varied movements by being furnished
with so great a number of muscles as those which cover the
face, and are attached more or less to the lips and corners
of the mouth.
2. Insalivation.
(331.) While the food is under the action of the organs
of mastication which effect its mechanical division, it is at
the same time mixed up with the saliva. This fluid is
found, when chemically examined, to consist principally of
mucus and albuminous matter held in solution in water, to¬
gether with a small proportion of saline ingredients.
(332.) Dr. Bostock considered that he had detected two
kinds of animal matter in the saliva, one composing the soft
masses, and giving it its consistence and physical characters,
nearly similar to coagulated albumen, the other dissolved
in the water of the fluid along with the salts, and resembling
the serosity of the blood.1 Berzelius regards the former of
these substances as corresponding in its properties to mu¬
cus, and states the saline ingredients to be chiefly alkaline
muriates, with a small quantity of lactate of soda and of pure
soda.2 fiedemann and Gmelin state the solid contents of
the saliva to vary from one to twenty-five per cent, and to
consist of salts, mucus, and ozmazome, to which are added,
627
in some cases, a little albumen and a little fatty matter, con-Physiology,
taining phosphorus. The soluble- salts consist of alkaline car¬
bonate, which gives an alkaline character to the fluid, ace¬
tate, phosphate, sulphate, muriate, and sulpho-cyanate. The
alkali in man is almost solely potass; while, in the dog and
sheep, it consists of soda, with very little potass. The pre¬
sence of sulpho-cyanic acid, on the other hand, is almost pe¬
culiar to the human saliva, being scarcely perceptible in that
of the dog. Some insoluble salts, namely, phosphate of lime,
carbonate of lime, and carbonate of magnesia, are also de¬
tected in the saliva, but in very minute quantity.3 Leurat
and Lassaigne, whose investigations were nearly contempo¬
raneous with those of Tiedemann and Gmelin, represent the
chemical properties of the chyle as being essentially the same
in all animals, and consider the animal matter it contains
as a species of mucus.4
(333.) When viewed by a good microscope, the saliva is
generally found to contain globules of very minute size.
(334.) The saliva is secreted by the parotid and other
glands in the vicinity of the mouth, and is poured out in con¬
siderable quantities during mastication. It has been esti¬
mated that about six or eight ounces of saliva are at each
principal daily meal mixed up and incorporated with the
food. It flows much more abundantly during a meal, and
particularly if the food that is eaten possesses stimulating
qualities, and has a sapid flavour. The quantity is augment¬
ed by the appearance, or even the idea of food, when the
appetite is keen. The influence of the nerves which supply
the salivary glands is very marked in regulating their secre¬
tions, as we shall have occasion to observe more at length,
when we come to consider the function of secretion. The
pressure of the muscles of the cheek on the parotid gland
assists no doubt in the quick discharge of the secretion of
that gland by its excretory ducts; and the same remark
applies also to the submaxillary and sublingual glands, which
also prepare saliva, and whose ducts open into the mouth ;
for we find, that during mastication all the muscles about
the mouth are in continual action. The tongue presses the
food on all sides, and thrusts it between the grinding teeth,
while the muscles of the cheek, but more particularly the
buccinator, against which the food is pressed by the tongue,
forces it back again under the teeth, until the whole has
been sufficiently subjected to their action ; and during the
whole of this time it is gradually receiving additions of saliva,
which thus become intimately and uniformly mixed up with
every portion of the divided food. When completely chew¬
ed, it is collected together on the surface of the tongue,
which sweeps round the different parts of the mouth for this
purpose, and moulds it into the form of a bolus ; and the
point of the tongue being then raised, and its basis depress¬
ed, an inclined plane is formed, along which the bolus is pro¬
pelled backwards, and delivered to the pharynx, which is ex¬
panded to receive it.
3. Deglutition.
(335.) The action of swallowing, simple as it may appear
to be, is in reality extremely complex, consisting of a suc¬
cession of muscular contractions, nicely adjusted and ba¬
lanced, so as to co-operate harmoniously in the production
of one general effect, the descent of the food along the
oesophagus. The whole exhibits one of the most beautiful
examples of mechanical contrivance that is to be met with
in the body.
(336.) The pharynx, as we have seen, is a large muscu- Degluti-
lar bag, shaped like a funnel, capable of being contracted intion.
diameter, and of compressing its soft contents by means of
the muscles which are expanded round it, and are called the
constrictors of the pharynx. Other muscles are provided
< ^ Journal, ii. 44. 2 Medioo- Chirurt/ical Transactions, iii. 242. * Recherches sur la Digestion, par Jourdan, p. 23.
Recherehes Physiologiques et Cfrimiques sur la Digestion, p. 33. See Rostock’s Elementary System of Physiology, p. 487, note.
628
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, for elevating it, that is, for bringing it nearer to the base of
v-#-V^the tongue. While the food is passing downwards, the ve¬
lum pendulum is expanded, thrown backwards, and raise >y
the muscles adapted to perform these motions, so that it
closes the posterior nostrils, and acting as a valve, prevents,
any portion of what is swallowed from passing either into
those cavities or into the eustachian tubes. The bolus is
thus directed towards the oesophagus, being earned thither
by the peristaltic motion of the pharynx, while the root ot
the tongue being at the same time depressed, the epiglottis
is turned backwards, and being applied to the glottis, accu¬
rately closes its aperture, so that no part of the alimentary
matter can pass into the larynx. The mass of food being
now arrived at the upper part of the oesophagus, is propelled
towards the stomach by the successive contractions of its
circular fibres. The mucus, which is secreted in abundance
by all the surfaces along which it passes, and continually lu¬
bricates them, very much facilitates its descent. 1 he longi¬
tudinal fibres of the muscular coat of the oesophagus contri¬
bute their share in this action, by shortening and dilating
those portions of the canal into which the food is about to
enter. Dumas distinguishes four stages m this process ; first,
that by which the aliment is propelled towards the pharynx;
the second, consisting in the dilatation of that cavity, by
which it receives the bolus transmitted to it; the third, by
which the pharynx closes upon its contents, and propels it
downwards to the oesophagus ; and the fourth, in which, by
the action of the oesophagus, the food is propelled into the
St°('337.) When any impediment exists to the due perform¬
ance of these actions, fluids are swallowed with greater dif¬
ficulty than solids, because the particles of the former hav¬
ing a continual tendency to spread themselves, it requires a
closer and more exact application of the organs to prevent
their escape, while they are compressed in giving to the fluid
its proper direction. The action of suction performed by the
. tongue, with the assistance of the muscles of the cheeks and
lips, which remove the pressure of the atmosphere from the
surface of the fluid to which the mouth is applied, is also
very complex. The tongue acts here as a piston; and some¬
times the action is effected by the muscles of inspiration.
Sect. VI Digestion or Chymification.
(338.) The food has now passed from the oesophagus into
OifieeoT the stomach, through its cardiac orifice, which has so been
tie sto- named from its supposed sympathy with the heart, near which
m .ch. it is situated. The office of the stomach is to convert the
food which it receives into the soft pultaceous mass of a grey
colour, which has been denominated chyme? .These secre¬
tions do not proceed from any glands that admit of being
readily distinguished, their existence being rather inferred
from the presence of the secretion. The membranes compos¬
ing the coats of the stomach are capable of great distension,
so as to contain a large quantity of food, while at other times
that organ is contracted to a very small size, partly by the elas¬
ticity of its texture, but principally by the action of the cir¬
cular and longitudinal fibres which encompass its cavity, and
which constitute its muscular coat. These fibres are so dis¬
posed as to enable the different portions of the stomach to
act separately and successively on its contents, producing
what has been termed the peristaltic, or vermicular motion.
Two purposes are answered by these actions; in the first
place, the food contained in the stomach is agitated and
thoroughly mixed together, while it is at the same time ex¬
posed to the chemical action of the gastric juice ; and se¬
condly, the ultimate effect of this motion is to carry the mass
very gradually towards the pylorus, through which it is trans- Pbysiokr.
mitted into the beginning of the intestinal canal. v
(339-) While the food is thus rolled and agitated by the
peristaltic action of the muscles, it is at the same time sub¬
jected to a degree of pressure, the purpose of which seems
to be, to bring into closer approximation the solvent fluids
with the materials on which they are to act, and thereby in¬
crease the chemical power of the former, and also to repress
the evolution of gas, which has a tendency to be generated
during the species of fermentation which the aliment under¬
goes in the process of digestion.
(340.) The principal agent in effecting those changes Gastric
which constitute digestion, that is, which convert the ali-juico. j
ment into chyme, is the gastric juice. The important office
which this secretion performs has induced chemists to be¬
stow great pains in obtaining its correct analysis, and in exa¬
mining all its physical properties. When carefully collect¬
ed, it appears to be a transparent and colourless fluid, hav¬
ing a saline and somewhat bitter taste, occasionally possess¬
ing acid properties, but probably in its natural and healthy
condition being neither acid nor alkaline. It contains a small
proportion of albumen, together with a matter which is either
gelatin or mucus. But while it thus differs to all appearance
in so trifling a degree from many of the other secretions, it
yet possesses very extraordinary solvent powers over the sub¬
stances usually employed as food. Even when made to act
upon these substances in vessels out of the body, provided
they are kept in a temperature equal to that of the human
body, it will reduce them in a few hours to the state of a
soft pulp, producing apparently the very same change which
is induced upon the same species of aliment by the diges¬
tive process within the stomach. It is evident that the che¬
mical analysis of the gastric juice affords as yet no clue to
the explanation of this singular property. The power which
the gastric juice possesses of coagulating milk, and other al¬
buminous fluids, and of retarding the putrefaction of animal
and vegetable substances subjected to its action, and even
of counteracting this process when it has already commenc¬
ed, are equally involved in mystery, and baffle all our endea¬
vours to explain them on any of the hitherto known chemi¬
cal principles. . . .
(341.) There are three ways in which the gastric juice
has been observed to act on alimentary matter ; the first is
that of coagulation, which is exerted on all the fluid forms
of albumen, whether existing in the serum of the blood, or
the white of the egg, or in different secretions, more espe¬
cially milk. It is by means of this property, indeed, that
cheese is obtained from the coagulation of its albuminous
portion by the addition of rennet, which is an infusion of
the digestive stomach of a calf. The object of this coagu¬
lation appears to be to detain the substance for a longer
time in the stomach, and subject it more completely to the
solvent power of the same fluid, by previously acquiring a
solid form, which prevents its escape by the pylorus.
(342.) The second kind of action exerted on the food by
the gastric j uice is that of counteracting the tendency to putre¬
faction, and even to the ascescent fermentation. This effect
takes place in a remarkable degree in many carnivorous
animals, who frequently take their food in a half putrid state;
and in whom the first operation of the gastric juice is to re-
move from it all putrescence; shewing that this secretion
possesses the property not only of preventing putrefaction
from taking place, but also of suspending its further progress
when it has actually commenced.
(343.) The third species of chemical action exhibited by
the gastric-juice is that of solution. That this effect takes
place independently of any concurrent mechanical operation
2 The^o 1 derauthors made4no distinction between chyme and chyle, the latter substance being the product of the formation of the small
intestines.
PHYSIOLOGY. 629
Physiology, of the muscular powers ofthe stomach hasbeen very decisively
by the experiments of Reaumur, of Stevens, and of
Spallanzani. Those of Stevens in particular, are highly
valuable, from being made on the human subject. He was
fortunate enough to meet with a man who had been in the
habit of swallowing stones, which he could afterwards, by
a voluntary effort, reject by vomiting from his stomach.
Taking advantage of this power, Stevens induced him to
swallow hollow metallic spheres perforated with holes, and
filled with different kinds of alimentary substances, which,
after being allowed to remain a sufficient time in the sto¬
mach, were returned, and their contents examined. It was
invariably found that the food under these circumstances
of exposure to the gastric fluid alone, and protection from
external pressure of a mechanical nature, was more or less
completely dissolved, and reduced to the state of a pulp.
He afterwards pursued a similar train of experiments on
dogs, causing them to swallow the perforated spheres, and
after a certain time destroying the animals, and examining
the changes effected in their contents.
(344.) Spallanzani has also varied and multiplied experi¬
ments ofthiskindinamannerthatleaves no room to doubt the
truth of the conclusion deduced from them as to the solvent
power of the gastric secretion. Dense membranes and even
bones are reduced into a pulpy mass by this fluid in many ani¬
mals, while at the same time many bodies of comparatively deli¬
cate textures, such as the skins of fruits, and the fibres of
flax or cotton, are not in the slightest degree affected by it.
This difference of action on different substances is analo¬
gous to the operation of chemical affinity, and corroborates
the theory that digestion is effected principally by chemical
agency. The results of these experiments have been fully
confirmed by experiments made on the stomachs of persons,
who, in consequence of a wound, had a permanent opening
into that organ from the skin of the abdomen.
(345.) Portions of the stomach are sometimes found dis¬
solved after death. This takes place more especially when
death has occurred suddenly during the act of digestion.
This effect can never take place during life, because the
living structures resist the solvent power of the gastric juice,
which affects only dead animal matter. Thus it happens
that worms, and the larvae of insects live for a considerable
time in the stomach, without being acted upon by its se¬
cretions.
Evolution (346.) Gas is frequently evolved in tbe stomach during
of gas. thg process of digestion ; but this wTould appear to take
place only in a disturbed or morbid condition of that pro¬
cess, and by no means to be a necessary attendant upon
healthy digestion.
(347.) Acid is also frequently developed during imper¬
fect digestion; but it appears from the experiments of Dr.
Prout, which have been fully confirmed by other experimen¬
talists, that this effect is also attendant upon healthy diges¬
tion, and that it is principally the muriatic acid which is
thus disengaged from its combinations, and makes its ap¬
pearance in a free state. The lactic acid, an acid which
appears to be a modification of the acetic, also is present in
considerable quantity.
Evolution Professor Tiedemann and Gmelin, in an elaborate treatise
of acid. on Digestion lately published, found the acetic acid always
present in the gastric juice. They observe that water
alone, at the temperature of the human body, is capable of
dissolving many of the substances employed as food; and
of these many that are not soluble in water are so in the
diluted muriatic and acetic acids at a high temperature, and
they are inclined to ascribe to a chemical solution of this
kind the principal change effected by digestion.
(348.) Among the agents concerned in the digestion of
the aliment, the high temperature at which the contents of
the stomach and intestines is retained, must be considered Physiology,
as one of the most important. The heat of the body un-
questionably tends to promote the chemical action of the
secretions which effect these changes. While digestion is
taking place, both orifices of the stomach are closed, and there
often comes on a feeling of chilliness, especially in a weakly
constitution, in consequence of the demand which the sto¬
mach makes upon it for an additional supply of heat to as¬
sist in the process that is going on. There is also disincli¬
nation to exertion, and frequently a tendency to sleep while
digestion is performing. Yet the indulgence in this disposi¬
tion, as well as violent exercise immediately after a meal,
tend equally to retard the formation of chyme. The cir¬
cumstances most favourable to perfect digestion, are gentle
exercise, with cheerfulness, and moderate mental exertion
(349.) It appears from Dr. W. Philip’s experiments,
which were conducted chiefly on rabbits, that food recently
taken is always kept distinct and unmixed with that which
has remained for some time in the stomach, the former
being introduced into the centre ofthe mass previously pre¬
sent. The food is more digested the nearer it is to the
surface of the stomach, and is least digested in the small
curvature, more so at the larger end, and still more perfectly
at the middle of the great curvature. The state of the food
found in the cardiac portion is different from that found in
the pyloric portion of the stomach ; for in the latter it is
more uniform in its consistence, more dry and compact,
and apparently more thoroughly digested. Thus it would
appear that it is at the large end of the stomach where the
gastric juice is secreted in greatest abundance, that the
first and principal operations of digestion take place, and
that from this part the food is gradually propelled towards
the small end, becoming more completely changed during
its progress.
It appears from the experiments of De Beaumont on an
individual who lived many years with a fistulous opening
into the stomach, which allowed the contents of that organ
to be at all times examined, that the different kinds of ali¬
ment all require to undergo the chemical action of the gas¬
tric juice in order to be reduced to the state of chyle ; but
that the rapidity of this process differs considerably, accord¬
ing to the delicacy of the natural texture of the food, and
the extent of its previous mechanical division. Animal sub¬
stances are found to be more rapidly converted into chyme
than vegetable ; and oily substances, although containing a
large proportion of nutritious elements, are comparatively
difficult of digestion. Some curious evidence was afforded
by Dr. Roget and Dr. P. M. Latham, on the occasion of an
epidemic scurvy which prevailed in the years 1823 and
1824, among the prisoners in the Milbank Penitentiary,
that too liquid a diet, consisting of too large a proportion of
soups, although abundantly supplied, did not furnish suffi¬
cient nourishment for the preservation of health; probably
from their not being retained in contact with the coats of
the stomach during the time requisite for their undergoing
the process of digestion1.
(350.) A great number of hypotheses were devised by Theories
the older physiologists in order to explain the process of'ofdigestion
digestion. These we shall only briefly enumerate, without
engaging in any laboured refutation of what, in the present
advanced state of science, does not require much examina¬
tion to prove the fallacy. The ancients had generally adopt¬
ed the opinion of Hippocrates, which was enforced by Galen,
that the food was digested by what was called a process of
concoction. This, however, seems to be only another term
for digestion, instead of affording any explanation of its na¬
ture. Some physiologists considered digestion as resulting
from a degree of putrefaction ; a process which is in reality
of a totally opposite nature, although agreeing in some minor
1 See An Account of the disease lately prevalent in the General Penitentiary. By P. M. Latham, M.D. London, 1825.
630
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, points, such as the breaking down of the cohesion of the
particles, and the occasional disengagement of gas. Others,
reasoning from the analogy of the stomachs of granivorous
birds, which are provided with a strong muscular apparatus
for the purpose of grinding, conceived that a similar process
took place in the human stomach, and that digestion was
the effect of mechanical trituration. But the experiments
of Stevens and Spallanzani, the results of which have been
already stated, are alone sufficient to overturn this hypo¬
thesis.
(351.) The earlier chemical physiologists ascribed diges¬
tion to a species of fermentation. This term, however,
appears to have been misapplied, in as far as digestion is
conceived to be identical with either the acetous or vinous
fermentations; and if it were meant to convey the idea of
a peculiar species of chemical change taking place in the
stomach, and in no other situation, then nothing is gained
by the substitution of the term employed for that of di¬
gestion, which must express precisely the same idea. More
modern writers have imagined they were giving an expla¬
nation of the phenomena of digestion, by referring them
simply to the action of the vital principle, or the vital pow¬
ers, or the principle of life, or by whatever name they chose
to designate an imaginary agent which gave rise to all
those phenomena, not referable either to mechanical or
chemical principles. But after the remarks we have else¬
where made on this radical error of substituting final for
physical causes, and of prematurely generalizing the prin¬
ciples which actuate the living system, it is needless farther
to insist upon the fallacy of this mode of reasoning.
(352.) A doctrine has lately been advanced, with greater
semblance of truth, that digestion is essentially a nervous
function ; that is, one which is directly dependent on ner¬
vous power. A variety of facts unquestionably prove that
the functions of the stomach are very much influenced by
the states of the nervous system. The section of the par
vagum, or eighth pair of nerves, in the neck of an animal,
is followed by the almost total interruption of digestion;
whence we may infer that the influence conveyed by these
nerves is necessary both for the secretion of the gastric
juice, and perhaps also for the muscular actions of the sto¬
mach. It is exceedingly remarkable, however, that where
the galvanic influence is sent through the mutilated nerves,
by means of a voltaic battery, digestion may be renewed,
and goes on for a considerable time; whence it has been
inferred by Dr. W. Philip, that the nervous power, or the
agency which is conveyed through the nerves, and which
influences secretion, is itself identical with the electric or
galvanic fluid.
Function (353.) The pyloric orifice of the stomach is furnished
of the pylo-with a circular band of fibres, covered by a fold of the ner-
rus. vous coat; and acting as a sphincter muscle, which closes
the passage during the early stages of digestion, so as not
to suffer the escape of the food until it has undergone the
requisite changes which constitute its digestion. The ali¬
ment is conveyed to the pylorus in proportion as it has un¬
dergone these changes. There appears to exist in this
part of the stomach a peculiar and extremely delicate sen¬
sibility, and a power of selecting those portions of the food
that are properly digested, and of allowing them to pass,
while those which are undigested are retained in the stomach.
It would appear, however, from some recent experiments,
that a portion of aliment passes unchanged through the
pylorus along with the chyme. We observe, for instance,
that many hard substances, such as the stones of cherries
and plums, find their wray through the pylorus without
much difficulty. The seeds of many plants are only soft¬
ened by their detention in the stomach, and passing with
no other change through the intestinal canal, are prepared
for germination in the soil to which they may be transfer¬
red. Thus many species of plants and trees have been
known to grow at places very remote from each other in Physiolo?
consequence of their seeds having been conveyed by birds
that had swallowed them.
CHAP. VII CHYLIFICATION.
(354.) The aliment, now converted by the process of
digestion into chyme, after passing the pylorus, enters into
the duodenum, which is the first of the small intestines. In
the duodenum the chyme undergoes further changes, which
are quite as great and as essential to its proper assimilation,
as those which the food experienced in the stomach, and
they are at the same time involved in equal obscurity. Al¬
most all that is known respecting the nature of these
changes, is, that soon after the chyme has been received
into the intestines, it begins to separate into two parts ; the
one a white milky fluid, which is termed the chyle ; and
the other, residual matter, which afterwards becomes faces,
and is eventually ejected from the body.
(355.) Previously to our examining the processes by
which this separation is effected, it will be proper to con¬
sider the chemical properties of the chyle.
1. Properties of Chyle.
(356.) Chyle is the fluid which is prepared from the Propertu
food taken into the stomach, and which, being the last of chyle,
process of digestion, is formed in the intestinal canal. It
is only of late years that we have acquired any accurate
knowledge of its chemical properties. It is evident that
experiments on this fluid can only be instituted on quadru¬
peds, and that it is only by reasoning from analogy that
we can extend the knowledge so obtained to the human
economy. If chyle be taken from the thoracic duct of an
animal a few hours after it has taken food, it has very much
the appearance of cream, being a thick fluid of an opaque
white colour, without smell, and having a slightly acid taste,
accompanied by a perceptible sweetness. It restores the
blue colour of litmus, previously reddened by acetic acid;
and appears, therefore, to contain a predominance of alkali.
When subjected to microscopic examination, chyle is found
to contain a multitude of globules, of smaller diameter than
those of the blood, and corresponding in size and appear¬
ance to those of milk. In about ten minutes after it is re¬
moved from the thoracic duct, it coagulates into a stiff
jelly, which in the course of twenty-four hours separates
into two parts, producing a firm and contracted coagulum,
surrounded by a transparent colourless fluid.
(357.) The coagulated portion, according to Vauquelin,
is a substance of a nature intermediate between albumen
and perfect fibrin, marking the transition from the one to
the other. It has perhaps, indeed, a closer resemblance
to the caseous part of milk than to fibrin. It is rapidly
dissolved both by pure and sub-carbonated alkalies, form¬
ing pale brown compounds. Its solution in ammonia has
a reddish hue. The acids throw down a substance inter¬
mediate between fat and albumen, which an excess of ni¬
tric acid redissolves in the cold; and sulphuric, muriatic,
oxalic and acetic acids, by boiling for a short time, also
dissolve it. Diluted sulphuric acid also very readily effects
its solution. Very dilute nitric acid gradually converts it
into adipocire; when the acid is more concentrated, the
coagulum assumes the appearance of gelatin; and when
heat is applied, oxalic and carbonic acids are evolved. It
is insoluble either in alcohol or ether.
(358.) That portion of chyle which retains the liquid
form contains a portion of albumen, which may be coagu¬
lated by heat, alcohol, or acids. The clear liquid, reduced f
by evaporation to half its bulk, deposits crystals, which were
found by Mr. Brande to bear a strong resemblance to those
of sugar or milk.
(359-) A few saline bodies, similar to those existing in
PHYSIOLOGY.
631
Chylifiea-
tion.
Pancreatic
juice.
y most animal fluids, were found by Dr. Marcet, to be present
in chyle.
(360.) The principal ingredients in chyle are, therefore,
according to Vauquelin, 1st, a large proportion of albumen ;
2d, a smaller one of fibrin; 3d, a fatty substance which
gives to the chyle the appearance of milk; 4th, several
salts, such as carbonate of potass, muriate of potass, and
prophosphate of iron.
(361.) Berzelius is strongly inclined to distrust the sup¬
posed analogy between chyle and milk, as having but little
foundation in their real chemical nature.
(362.) It would be exceedingly interesting to ascertain
the differences which exist in the properties of chyle taken
from different orders of animals, that we might be able to
trace the influence of different kinds of food upon this fluid.
Dr. Marcet and Dr. Prout have made comparative experi¬
ments with this view upon the chyle taken from different
dogs, some of which were fed exclusively on animal, and
others on vegetable food. The chyle in the former case
was found to be much whiter, contained more solid mat¬
ter, and yielded more albumen than in the latter. The
general results of these experiments are contained in the
following table. Some faint traces of oily matter and of
sugar of milk were obtained, but in quantities too minute
to be estimated.
(363.) When both kinds of chyle were submitted to de¬
structive distillation, the vegetable chyle produced three
times as much carbon as the animal chyle ; the latter, there¬
fore, probably contained a greater proportion of hydrogen
and nitrogen. The chyle of a horse, derived of course from
vegetable food alone, was found by Vauquelin to be in a more
animalized state than that which Dr. Marcet procured from
dogs. Dr. Prout, also, comparing the chyle as prepared
from vegetable and from animal food, found the former to
contain more water and less albuminous matter, while the
fibrin and the salts were nearly the same in both, and both
exhibited traces of oily matter. On the whole, he states
the difference between the two kinds of chyle as being less
considerable than had been observed by Dr. Marcet. On
tracing the successive changes which the chyle undergoes
in its passage along the vessels, he found that its resem¬
blance to blood increases in each of these successive stages
of its progress.1
2. Functions of Intestines.
(364.) At the part of the duodenum where the separation
of the chyme into chyle and residual matter takes place, the
ducts from the pancreas and the liver terminate, so that the
chyme is subjected to the action of the secretions from these
two important glands, namely, \I\e pancreatic juice, and the
bile, which slowly distil into the duodenum. Sir Benjamin
Brodie concluded, from experiments which he made upon
living animals, that the formation of chyle is the immediate
result of the admixture of bile with the chyme. In study¬
ing the changes which occur in this process, it will be ne¬
cessary first to examine the chemical properties of these se¬
cretions.
(365.) The secretion from the pancreas, which flows in¬
to the intestine, and is mixed with the digested food almost
immediately on its exit from the stomach, has, no doubt, Physiology,
some share in the process of chylification ; but as it appears
to be exceedingly analogous, both in its sensible properties
and chemical composition, to the saliva, it is difficult to un¬
derstand the mode of its operation, independently of mere
dilution. As it is found, however, to contain a large quan¬
tity of albumen, a great portion of this substance may per¬
haps go to the formation of chyle.
3. Properties of Bile.
(366.) The bile, a secretion prepared by the liver, is Bile,
poured into the same part of the intestine as the pancreatic
juice. Its great importance in the animal economy induced
physiologists from the earliest times to pay much attention
to its chemical properties. Its analysis has been attempted
by Boyle, Boerhaave, and Baglivi, and more recently by
Fourcroy, Cadet, Thenard, and Berzelius. But it unfortu¬
nately happens, that in several important particulars the ac¬
counts given by these different chemists do not accord with
one another. These discrepancies, as Mr. Brande observes,
seem partly to arise from the extreme facility with which
chemical reagents react on this secretion, so that many of
the supposed educts, or component parts which have been
enumerated by different chemists, are probably products of
the different operations to which it has been submitted, or,
at all events, modifications of its true proximate elements.2
The bile of the ox, from the facility of preserving it, has
been that chiefly selected as the subject of experiment, and
made the standard of comparison with that of man and other
animals.
(367.) The substances to which this fluid owes its speci¬
fic properties are, according to Thenard, first, a peculiar in¬
flammable resin, soluble in alcohol; secondly, jufrrowc/, a
substance insoluble in water and in alcohol, incapable of be-
ing crystallized, but forming, with resin and a small portion
of soda, a triple compound which is soluble in water ; and
it is in this state that it exists in bile ; and, thirdly, a yel¬
low matter, distinct from either of the former. In addition
to the soda, which is combined with the resin and picromel,
bile contains a small quantity of phosphate, muriate and
sulphate of soda, as also phosphate of lime, and a minute
trace of iron.
(368.) Berzelius denies the correctness of the distinctions
which Thenard has endeavoured to draw between the three
animal ingredients of bile above mentioned. He gives to its
characteristic principle, the name of biliary matter; and
describes it as being of a resinous nature, and precipitable
by acids ; the precipitate, ox picromel, or the gallenstejf oi
Berzelius, being a compound of the acid employed and this
biliary matter. According to Thenard, human bile differs
from that of the ox chiefly in containing no picromel. M.
Raspail considers bile to be essentially a saponaceous sub¬
stance, with a trace of soda.
(369.) The peculiar matter of bile is found in the resi¬
dual matter, and does not enter into the composition of chyle.
The chief uses of the bile appear to be those of a chemical
agent, promoting the decomposition of the chyme, and also
stimulating the secretion of mucus, and the peristaltic mo¬
tion of the intestines. Digestion may, however, go on to a
certain degree, and imperfectly, although the flow of bile
into the intestines be entirely prevented.
4. Functions of the Small Intestines.
(370.) Professors Tiedemann and Gmelin found, from
their experiments, that the upper part of the small intes¬
tines contains a considerable quantity of uncombined acid,
which is principally the acetic, mixed with a little butyric,
and rarely with the muriatic On proceeding to the lower
parts of the small intestines, they found the fluids had alka-
1 Annals of Philosophy, xiii. 22.
Cyclopcedia of Anat. and Phys. art. Bile.
632
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, line instead of acid properties. This gradual disappearance
0f acid is probably in part the effect of its neutralization by
the free alkali contained in the bile. The following, ac¬
cording to these physiologists, are the changes which take
place in the contents of the small intestines. The chyme,
which is acid, mixes with the bile, the pancreatic juice, and
the mucous secretion from the coats of the intestine. 1 e
muriatic acid combines with the soda of the bile, and at the
same time disengages from it the acetic or carbonic acids
with which it had been previously united. It also separates
the mucus and cholesterine of the bile in the form ot white
flakes, which have often been mistaken for chyle, i he pan¬
creatic juice and the intestinal mucus contribute, in some
unknown manner, to this effect. Their chemical changes
are promoted, and the contents of the intestines successive¬
ly propelled forwards along the whole tract of the canal, by
the peristaltic actions of the muscular coat, the effects o
which are analogous to those we have already described as
taking place from a similar action in the stomach.
5. Function of the Spleen.
Function (371.) It is probable that the spleen is an organ subser-
of the vient to some purpose connected with digestion ; but what
spleen. that precise purpose can be is a question involved in great
obscurity. A vast number of hypotheses and conjectures
have been hazarded on this subject; but they are, for t e
most part, devoid of even the slightest probability. Any
theory that assigns a very important office to the spleen wi
be overturned by the fact, that in many animals the remo\a
of this organ, far from being fatal, or interrupting in any
sensible manner the continuance of the functions, seems to
be borne with perfect impunity. Sir E. Home has of late
years advanced an opinion, for which there appears to be
some probability, namely, that the spleen serves as a recep¬
tacle for any superfluous quantity of fluid taken into the
stomach, and which, if not removed, might interfere with
the regular process of digestion. This excess he supposes
is transmitted directly to the spleen by communicating ves¬
sels, and lodged there until it is gradually removed, partly
by the veins, and partly by the absorbents.
(372.) It appears, indeed, from the observations of Bi¬
chat, Leuret, Lassaigne, and others, that during digestion,
and even after copious draughts of liquids, the vessels of the
spleen become exceedingly turgid with blood. Hence the
opinion has arisen, that the chief use of the spleen is to re¬
lieve the stomach and intestines from that congestion which
would otherwise take place in their blood-vessels during di¬
gestion. The very vascular, approaching to a cellular struc¬
ture, of the spleen, which very readily admits of dilatation,
would seem to countenance this hypothesis.
6. Functions of the Large Intestines.
Functions (373.) The functions of the large intestines are not con-
the large fined to the mere conveyance and expulsion of feculent mat-
jntestines. although the exact nature of the changes which take
place in their contents, and the subserviency of those changes
to the object of nutrition, have never been clearly deter¬
mined. It would appear that some important changes are
effected in that enlarged portion of the canal which is term¬
ed the ccecum, and which has by some been regarded as a
kind of supplementary stomach, in which fresh chyme is
formed, and fresh nutriment extracted from the materials
that have passed through the small intestines. This chy¬
mous product is supposed to be converted, as in the former
case, into a species of chyle, which, from containing a greater
proportion of oil, bears a resemblance to fat, and is in this
state absorbed from the inner surface of the great intestines.
The capability of the great intestines to extract nourish¬
ment from their contents is proved by the fact, that nutri¬
tious matter injected into them has been known to support
life for a certain time, and also from their being able to ef¬
fect the coagulation of milk.
(374.) A certain quantity of gas is almost constantly pre- Physioto
sent in the intestinal canal, and often also in the stomach.
Magendie and Chevreul, who have analysed these gases,
found that what the stomach contained consisted of a mix¬
ture of oxygen and nitrogen ; but that in the lower intes¬
tines the oxygen had wholly disappeared, as also a great part
of the nitrogen, and that, instead of these, the component
parts of the gas were carbonic acid, hydrogen, carburetted
hydrogen, and a little sulphuretted hydrogen.
(375.) The time required for the completion of the pro¬
cesses we have described as taking place in the stomach, the
small, and the large intestines, varies much, not only accord¬
ing to the nature of the food, but according to the condi¬
tions of the organs and of the general health, and to con¬
stitutional peculiarities. The digestion of food in the sto¬
mach is usually considered as requiring three or four hours.
Animal food is longest retained, and undergoes the greatest
alteration in the stomach. Vegetable food, on the other
hand, passes more quickly and with less alteration, out of
the stomach, and undergoes more change in the intestines
than animal food.
Sect. VIII.—Lacteal Absorption.
(376.) The chyle, which has been prepared in the duo- Lacteal
denum, and along the whole course of the small intestines, system,
in the manner we have described, is received by absorption
into the lacteals, and by them conveyed to the thoracic duct,
which transmits it to the great veins in the vicinity of the
heart. The lacteal vessels may be considered as forming
part of the great system of absorbents which, as we shall
afterwards find, are extensively distributed throughout the
body. We shall therefore reserve their description until a
general account is given of this system, in treating of the
function of absorption generally.
(377.) The discovery of the lacteals was made in the year
1622 by Aselli, in the mesentery of a dog, which he had
killed a lew hours after the animal had made a plentiful meal.
Their termination in the thoracic duct was discovered by
Pecquet in 1651. They originate by open mouths from the
villi of the inner coat of the small intestines, in the form of
very minute tubes, which soon unite into one common ves¬
sel proceeding from each of the villi; and these vessels after¬
wards joining successively form larger and larger branches,
which ascend along the mesentery, generally following the
course of the veins, till they are collected at the root of the
mesentery, and, after passing through numerous glands, ter¬
minate at the lower end of the thoracic duct, where there
is an enlargement which has been called the receptaculum
chyli.
(378.) Since uncertainty, however, still exists respecting
the minute anatomy of the lacteals, at their origin from the
intestine, many anatomists having in vain sought for the ap¬
pearances above described. Their open orifices can only
be seen when the lacteals are distended with chyle, and they
are more readily detected in fishes where they have no valves,
and where therefore the branches admit of being injected
from their trunks. Their coats, although thin and perfectly
transparent, yet possess considerable strength, so as to allow
of being distended by injections without being ruptured;
and even afford decisive indications of having the power of
contracting and propelling forwards their contents. The uti¬
lity of the numerous valves with which they are provided
in every part of their course, in preventing any retrograde
motion of the fluid they transmit, is sufficiently obvious.
(379.) The power by which the chyle is made to enter
the open orifices of the lacteals, is by no means easily de¬
termined. It has been referred generally to capillary attrac¬
tion. But the application of the laws which govern the as¬
cent of fluids in rigid inorganic tubes, to the elastic vessels
of the living system, is liable to much fallacy. The pheno-
mena appear to indicate that the lacteals exercise* in the
PHYSIOLOGY.
.physiology, exclusive absorption of chyle, a power of selection somewhat
analogous to that of chemical or electric attraction. It has
been supposed, accordingly, that there is a specific attrac¬
tion between chyle and the lacteal vessels, which causes that
fluid to enter into them; while other fluids which are pre¬
sented to the same vessels are rejected. This obscure sub¬
ject has given rise to various speculations, which are more
curious and ingenious than leading to any satisfactory con¬
clusion. It is now generally agreed among physiologists,
that the power which the lacteals possess of admitting the
absorption of extraneous substances, if it exist at all, is ex¬
ceedingly limited, and is exerted only on rare occasions.
Various experiments made on animals fully warrant the
conclusion, that by far the greater portion of the nutritive
matter imparted to the system is conveyed into the blood¬
vessels through the channels we have been describing, name¬
ly, the lacteals and the thoracic duct. On the other hand,
there appears to be evidence that a large portion of the
thinner fluids received into the stomach passes at once into
the veins by the immediate absorption of these veins: for
they always disappear rapidly from the stomach, in what¬
ever quantity they are introduced. It is probable also, that
some admixture of the contents of the lacteals with those
of the blood-vessels takes place in the mesenteric glands,
and that part of the chyle finds its way into the mesenteric
veins by more direct channels than that of the general cir¬
culation.
(380.) An elaborate series of experiments was undertaken
by T. iedemann and Omelin, with a view to ascertain whether
there exists any direct communication between the diges¬
tive cavities and the blood-vessels, exclusive of the known
channel through the lacteals and thoracic duct. The expe-
liments consisted in mixing with the food of certain animals
various odorous, colouring, and saline materials, the pre¬
sence of which might be easily detected by their appearance,
odour, and other sensible or chemical properties; and in com¬
paring, after a proper interval of time, the state of the chyle
v ith that of the blood in the mesenteric veins. The odo¬
rous substances employed were camphor, musk, alcohol, oil
of turpentine, and assafcetida. These were generally disco¬
vered to have found their way into the system, by their be¬
ing detected in venous blood, in the urine, but not in the
chyle. The colouring matters were sap-green, gamboge,
madder, rhubarb, alkanet, and litmus ; these appeared, for
the most part, to be carried off without being absorbed ;
while the salts, namely potass, sulphuro-prussiate of potass,
muriate of barytes, muriate and sulphate of soda, acetate of
lead and of mercury, and prussiate of mercury, were less
uniform in their course. A considerable portion of them
seemed to be rejected, while many of them were found in
the urine, several in the venous blood, and a very few only
in the chyle. Hence the authors conclude, that the odo¬
rous and colouring substances never pass into the lacteals,
and that saline bodies do so occasionally only, or perhaps
incidentally; the whole of them are, however, found in the
secretions, and they must, therefore, have entered into the
circulation by some other channel than the lacteals.1
(381.) There appears not, as far as we know, to be any
thing specific in the action of the thoracic duct, which, as
it appears, transmits its contents into the subclavian vein,
as it receives it from the absorbents.
633
Sect. IX.—Sanguification.
‘ ' 'Cl (382.) The chyle consists, as we have seen, of alimentary
matter, reduced to a certain state, which may be regarded
its the first stage of animalization, having already made a
near approach to the nature of that blood into which it is
afterwards to be converted. This conversion of chyle into
blood takes place after its introduction into the sanguiferous Physiology,
system of vessels, and while it passes round in the course
of circulation. During this course, it necessarily traverses
the minute vessels of the lungs, where it is subjected to the
chemical action of atmospheric air, and its constituents gra¬
dually acquire the characteristic properties which they pos¬
sess as the ingredients of the blood. The chief changes ex¬
perienced are, first, that the fibrin of the chyle obtains a
greater cohesive tendency, and a power of spontaneous coa¬
gulation ; and, secondly, that the white globules of the chyle
receive an addition of red colouring matter, and are invested
with an external vesicle, by which their size is increased.
But in order correctly to estimate their changes, it will be
necessary to take a general review of the chemical and other
physical properties of the blood.
(383.) The nature and properties of the blood have at- Properties
ti acted a very large share of the attention of physiologists of blood,
in all ages; and immense labour has been devoted to the
investigation of its chemical constitution.
^ (384.) When examined immediately on its being drawn
from the vessels, the blood appears as a smooth and homo¬
geneous fluid, of an unctuous adhesive consistence, of a
slightly saline taste, and of a specific gravity somewhat ex¬
ceeding that of water. It exhales a vapour which has a
peculiar smell; but which, when condensed and collected,
alfords a liquor not differing sensibly from water. Much
importance was formerly ascribed to this vapour, which was
dignified with the name of Halitus. As the blood does not Halitus.
preserve the same consistence at different times, its density
is liable to variation. Haller states the specific gravity of
human blood to be at a medium, 1.0527. Dr. Milne Ed¬
wards says that it varies from 1.052 to 1.057. Dr. Davy
states that the specific gravity of arterial blood is 1.049,
and of venous blood, 1.051. Although it appears homoge¬
neous, it is found by microscopical examination to contain
a large proportion of minute globular particles, diffused
through a liquid.
(385.) In a few minutes after its removal from the body, Coagula-
a thin film appears on the surface, and after a short time,tion-
which on an average is about seven minutes, the whole mass
becomes cohesive, and what is termed its coagulation has
taken place. After it has remained for some time in this
gelatinous state, a separation of the mass into two distinct
parts gradually takes place. A yellowish liquid oozes out
from beneath the surface of the mass, and at length the
whole is resolved into a clot, or solid portion of a dark red
colour, which is called the crass amentum, or cruor, and con- Crassa-
sists chiefly of fibrin, and a yellowish liquid, called the serum.men^m
The proportion between these two parts has been variously and serum
estimated ; and does not indeed admit of accurate determi¬
nation, from its being variable in itself under different cir¬
cumstances. On an average, however, it may be stated, that
the crassamentum amounts to about one-third of the weight
of the serum. Dr. Scudamore and Mr. M^ood found, how¬
ever, by taking the mean of twelve experiments, that the
crassamentum amounted to 53.307 per cent. The period
at which coagulation begins and is completed, varies not
only with the condition of the blood itself, but also with the
circumstances in which it is placed. It commences sooner
as the vessel is more shallow; but on an average it may be said
to begin in about three or four minutes, and to be completed
in seven or eight. But the contraction of the coagulum
continues for a long time after, and sometimes does not cease
till the fourth day. It does not appear that the specific gra¬
vity of the blood is sensibly altered during its coagulation.
(386.) Great difference of opinion has existed as to the oc- Rjse of
currence of a change of temperature during this process of tempera-
coagulation. The analogy of other instances in which theture.
1 Eiin. Med. Journal, xviii. p. 455, &c.
logy, p. 617, note.
VOL. XVII.
The above analysis of these experiments is that given by Dr. Bostock in his work on Physio-
4 Ii
634
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, conversion of a fluid into a solid is accompanied with the
evolution of heat, has induced many to think that a similar
effect attends the coagulation of the blood. Fourcroy stated,
that a rise of temperature actually takes place ; but Hun er,
on the contrary, adduced facts leading to an opposite con¬
clusion. The result obtained by Fourcroy has, however,been
confirmed by the experiments of Dr. Gordon, who found
that the coagulating portion of a quantity of blood was
warmer than the rest by about six degrees. On repeating
the experiment on blood drawn from a patient labouring un¬
der inflammatory fever, the rise of the thermometer was no
less than twelve degrees. Subsequent researches by Dr.
John Davy, have, however, thrown considerable doubt upon
the accuracy of the above conclusion, by pointing out some
sources of fallacy in the investigation of Dr. Gordon. Dr.
Scudamore, on the other hand, found that heat was produce
during coagulation, but to a less degree. Vogel and Brande
have ascertained that carbonic acid gas is disengaged; and
this appeared to happen to an unusual extent in blood drawn
soon after a meal.
Conditions (387.) The coagulation of the blood is a phenomenon
for coagula- not strictly analagous to any other with which we are ac¬
tion. quainted, and has never been satisfactorily explained. Ine
operation of external agents upon it is not so well marke
as to enable us to refer it to any general operation of the
physical properties of matter. Moderate differences of tem¬
perature produce scarcely any perceptible difference in the
tendency which the blood has to coagulate. Within the
range of from 67° to 105°, blood coagulates in the same
time as at the usual temperature of 98°. Sir Humphry
Davy found that no difference in this respect takes place
when blood is exposed to nitrogen, nitrous, nitrous oxide,
carbonic acid, carborated hydrogen gases, or atmospheric
air, although the contrary had been asserted by Luzuriaga.
Blood, indeed, coagulates more quickly when placed in a
receiver from which the air is rapidly exhausted, when
slowly drawn into a shallow vessel, or when exposed to
atmospheric air, at a temperature of 120°. This process
is retarded by a very low temperature. Mr. Hewson
placed blood in oil at a temperature of 38°; at the ex¬
piration of six hours it continued fluid; but being then
allowed to attain a warmer temperature, it became coagu¬
lated in twenty-five minutes. The same physiologist froze
a portion of blood confined by ligatures in the jugular vein
of a rabbit; when thawed, the blood became liquified, and
coagulated. Admixture with certain neutral salts prevent¬
ed altogether coagulation from taking place. This hap¬
pened when half an ounce of sulphate of soda was mixed
with six ounces of fresh blood; but on the addition of a
double quantity of water coagulation took place. Dr. 1 ur •
ner states that the coagulation of the blood is prevented
by the admixture of saturated solutions of chloride of sodi¬
um, hydrochlorate of ammonia, nitre, and potass ; while, on
the contrary, alum, and the sulphates of the oxides of zinc
and copper, promote coagulation. Blood coagulates slowly
when drawn quickly into a deep vessel, or when detained
at rest in the vein of a living animal between two ligatures.
In the latter case, Mr. Hewson found the blood two-thirds
fluid after the lapse of three hours and a quarter. When
the experiment was varied by blowing air into the vein, the
blood was found to have coagulated in a quarter of an hour.
Blood extravasated through the rupture of vessels, and
retained in the cavities of the body, often preserves its flu¬
idity for a very considerable time. If the causes which are
capable of postponing coagulation have continued to operate
beyond a certain period, the blood is prevented from co
and Parmentier, that the coagulation of blood is not en- Physiology
tirely prevented by diluting it with water ; but Dr. Craw-
ford1 showed that this process is retarded for several hours
by the admixture of blood with twelve times its bulk of
Welter*
(388.) There are many conditions of the living system
that have a prodigious influence on the tendency of the
blood to coagulate, and that operate in a manner which it
is impossible to explain. Many causes of sudden death, as
a blow upon the stomach, or violent injury to the brain;
lightning and electricity; several animal poisons, as that of
venemous serpents ; narcotic vegetable principles, as cyan¬
ogen ; also excessive exercise, or even violent mental emo¬
tions, when they produce the sudden extinction of life, pre¬
vent the usual coagulation of the blood from taking place.
(389.) The doctrine maintained by Hunter, that the blood Vitality
possesses life, and that its coagulation is one of the acts ofblood-
this living principle, is but little calculated to remove the
difficulty ; for the operation of this principle in producing
coagulation would still be as much in need of explanation
as the phenomenon itself, which it professes to account for.
We must, in the present imperfect state of our knowledge,
content ourselves with referring this phenomenon to an in¬
herent disposition which the fibrin possesses to assume the
solid form, when no counteracting cause is present. Dr.
Bostock,2 observes, that as it is gradually added to the blood
particle by particle, while this fluid is in a state of agitation
in the vessels, it has no opportunity of concreting; but
when it is suffered to lie at rest, either within or without
the vessels, it is then able to exercise its natural tendency.
(390.) We have already stated that the crassamentum
consists chiefly of fibrin ; but it owes its dark colour to the
presence of what are called the red particles of the blood,
and which are entangled in it during its coagulation. The
serum, which is the part of the blood that remains fluid
after the coagulation of the fibrin, is itself coagulated by
heat, in consequence of the large proportion of albumen it
contains; the remaining portion which still continues fluid,
is termed the serosity. The following is therefore the ar¬
rangement of the principal proximate parts of the blood, in
the order of analysis. Analyse
^ , . / „ t f Fibrin blood.
Coagulated Crassamentum | Red particleSi
blood -s j Albumen,
consists of ^ Serum j ggrosity.
(391.) The crassamentum is a mass of a soft consistence, Crassa-
which easily bears cutting with a knife. Its mean specificmentum.
gravity is about 1*245. By long continued ablution in
water, it may be freed from the red particles which it con¬
tains, and which are soluble in water. This may conveni¬
ently be effected by enclosing the crassamentum in a linen
bag, immersing it repeatedly in water, and at the same time
pressing it gently ; or by allowing a stream of water to tall
upon it, till the water runs off colourless. There remains a
white, solid, fibrous, and elastic substance, which has all
the properties of fibrin, and is almost exactly similar to the
basis of muscular flesh obtained by long boiling. It may
also be procured directly from recent blood, by stirring it
as it flows from the vessel, with a bunch of twigs ; or receiv¬
ing it into a bottle, and shaking it during its coagulation.
When formed under these circumstances, it exhibits a fib¬
rous appearance, and the whole is converted into an irre¬
gular net-work of dense fibres. Fibrin was formerly known
under the name of coagulable lymph, or gluten. . _ , ,
(392.) The red particles or globules, contained in tneKedg
blood, and enveloped in the fibrin during its coagulation, es-
. . j    c fmmthe
beyond a certain period, me Diood is prevemeu irom co- uiouu, ... the
agulating ; thus recent blood remains permanently fluid if have long attracted the attention °f physi S ’ hich
it be constantly stirred for some minutes. It has been irregularity of their appearance, and the imPort^ t^h
proved by the experiments of Hewson, Hunter, Deyeux, was supposed to attac i to t em. e rs  
* On Animal Heat, p. 248.
2 Physiology, p. 271.
Physiology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
685
'heir form
- after the introduction of the use of the microscope. They
were soon afterwards examined with great care and mi¬
nuteness by the indefatigable Leeuwenhoek, whose name
stands foremost among those who made observations with
this instrument. They soon became the subject of much
speculation, and laid the foundation of many fanciful hypo¬
theses which were current at the time, but are now con¬
signed to deserved neglect. Leeuwenhoek himself was led
by his imagination to the belief that these red globules
were each composed of a series of globular bodies of differ¬
ent orders descending in regular gradations. He supposed
each to be made up of six particles of serum ; each particle
of serum of six particles of lymph, and so on in succession.
This strange hypothesis, visionary as it now appears, was
so accordant with the prevailing taste for mathematical dis¬
quisitions, that it was very generally adopted, and held a
powerful sway over the opinions and reasonings of the phy¬
sicians of that age. It forms a leading feature in the pa¬
thological speculations of Boerhaave ; and although its fu¬
tility was sufficiently exposed by Lancisi and Senae, it
maintained its ground even to the time of Haller.
. (393.) But a better spirit began at length to prevail; the
illusive dreams of fancy were superseded by the sober and
attentive observation of nature; and truth was sought by
the judicious cultivation of experimental inquiry, the only le¬
gitimate path by which it can be approached. About the
middle of the eighteenth century, the Abbe de la Torre,
employing microscopes of considerable power, obtained the
appearance of flattened annular bodies, with a perforation in
the centre. Hewson, who observed them with still greater
attention to accuracy, states them to be hollow vesicles of
ot so unequivocal a form, as at once to set aside the idea ofv
a simple homogeneous substance. They are oval and de¬
pressed, like an almond, but less pointed, and a little flat¬
ter. Each of them contains a round nucleus which is wholly
independent in its appearance of the figure of the whole
disc, being sometimes a little irregular in its form, seldom
deviating from its central situation, but often remaining dis¬
tinctly visible, whilst the oval part is scarcely perceptible.
This nucleus is about the size of a whole particle of human
blood, the whole oval being about twice as wide, and not
quite three times as long. The nucleus is very transpa¬
rent, and forms a distinct image of any large object which
intercepts a part of the light by which it is seen, but exhi¬
bits no inequalities of light and shade that could lead to any
mistake respecting its form. But if we place some parti-
cles of human blood under similar circumstances, near the
confines of light and shade, although they are little, if at all
less transparent, we immediately see an annular shade on
the disc, which is most marked on the side of the centre on
which the marginal part appears the brightest, and conse¬
quently indicates a depression in the centre, which De la
Torre mistook for a perforation. It is most observable when
the drop is dying away, so that the particles rest on the
glass; and when a smaller particle is viewed, it has merely
a dark central spot, without any lighter central space. Dr.
Monro had represented the globules of the blood as being
of an exceedingly flattened shape, or, as he expresses it,
“ as flat as a guinea.” But Dr. Young never saw them of
this shape, although he states their axis as being sometimes
not more than one-third, or one-fourth of their greatest di¬
ameter. He also states that they do not seem, as Hewson
a flanened shape, and containing astnaller, solid, and sphe- assertei to have thdr ZeSs much ScSd bT*e
rical particle, which was freely moveable within them, or, as fluid in which they are suspended, since they mav easflv he
he cotnpares “hke a pea in a bladder.” He asserted, spread thin on glL, andVied ^hou. ZchXnge'in
it. into H (Tin. 1*
that by adding water, these particles swell out into a glo
bular shape, and afterwards burst and disappear, in conse¬
quence of their being dissolved in the water; but if moist¬
ened with an aqueous solution of any neutral salt, they pre¬
serve their natural flat shape. Cavallo describes them as
much more irregular in their form than Hewson represent¬
ed them ; and he was led from his observations to the con¬
clusion that the appearance either of a perforation, or of a
central particle, is in reality an optical deception, arisingfrom
the refraction of the light by which the objects are viewed,
as it passes through the convex surfaces of the globules.
He also endeavours to explain the appearance which led
Hewson to believe that the central nucleus is moveable
within the external vesicle, by some apparent change in the
position of the luminous image, in consequence of accidental
variations in the direction in which the light is viewed,
their magnitude, at least in the direction of the surface to
which they adhere ; and they remain distinct as long as the
access of moist air is completely excluded. When they
have been kept for some time in water, and a little solution
of salt is added, their form and structure, as Hewson ob¬
served, are more easily examined, and appear to resemble
those of a soft substance, with a denser nucleus; but the
comparison which he makes of their being like a pea in a
bladder, Dr. Young thinks is quite inapplicable.
(395.) It has commonly been asserted, and especially
by Hewson, that these particles are readily soluble in water ;
but Dr. Young has shewn that this opinion is erroneous,
and depends partly on their passing readily through the fil¬
tering paper, a circumstance observed by Berzelius, and
partly on the extraction of a great part of their colouring
matter, together with which they lose much of their specific
Very small artificial globules of solid glass which he con-' gravity^S^
structed for the purpose, presented under the microscope pended in the fluid. Their presence mly stilt however, be
h?nLnear J l 6 S£T aPPe?rf <res as the globules of the detected by a careful examination ; and they seem in this
swr’ an ienCe 6 COncluded’that1the1 ,at^ notwith- state to have recovered in some measure their original form,
standing these appearances were nearly globular and com- which they had lost when first immersed in the water. A
ti, • v. , , . carious observation on the influence of circumstances on
(394.) Notwithstanding the ingenuity displayed in this the form of the globules, has been made by Mr. Bauer. He
reasoning, the more profound examination which the sub- remarks that in the skate they are oval during the life of tlie
ject has received from Dr. Young, induces us to revert, to a
certain extent, to the opinion of Hewson. He observes that
in such examinations it is only necessary to employ a full
and unlimited light, in order to obtain a very distinct out¬
line of what appears manifestly to be a very simple sub¬
stance. But we should remember that where the substances
to be examined are perfectly transparent, it is only in a con¬
fined and diversified light that we can gain a correct idea
of their structure. The eye is best prepared for the inves¬
tigation by beginning with the blood of a skate, of which
animal, but become flattened after its death. This circum¬
stance may perhaps tend to reconcile some of the discord¬
ant statements which have been made on this subject.
(396.) 3 he size of the red globules has also been very Their size,
differently estimated by different observers. These discre¬
pancies receive some explanation by the circumstance which
Dr. Milne Edwards appears to have established, of the glo¬
bules differing considerably in their size in the same indi¬
vidual.1 The most accurate measurements appear to be
those of Dr. Young, and of Captain Kater, who both agree
1 Cyclopaedia of Anat., art. Blood.
630 P H Y S I
Physiology, that the particles of human blood are between the four-
thousandth and the six-thousandth of an inch in their dia¬
meter ; and they may therefore be taken at a medium at
the five-thousandth of an inch. Mr. Bauer has stated them
to be considerably larger, even as much as the one thou¬
sand-seven-hundredth of an inch in their entire state, and
that the central part is the two-thousandth of an inch in di¬
ameter. But the observations of Dr. \ oung are more pro¬
bably correct, from their coincidence with those of Captain
Kater, which were conducted in a different manner.
Their co- (397.) The difficulty of procuring the red particles in a
louring separate state, unmixed with serum, is so great as to pre¬
matter. dude us from obtaining any distinct knowledge of their che¬
mical composition and properties. The colouring matter of
the blood has been termed hematine, or hematosine. But
according to M. Lecanu, the substance usually termed he¬
matine is in reality a combination of albumen and the pure
colouring matter of the blood, which he proposes to desig¬
nate globulins. Although it appears from Dr. If oung s ob¬
servations, that the globules themselves do not dissolve in
water, yet they impart to it the whole of their colouring
matter. The watery solution turns syrup of violets green ;
and after some time deposits a flocculent precipitate, proba¬
bly from the coagulation of albumen, the presence of which
is indicated also by the effect of boiling the solution. Hence
it has been concluded that the colouring matter consists of
albumen, dissolved by an excess of pure soda. When eva¬
porated and calcined in a crucible, a residuum is obtained,
amounting to about one-thousandth of the weight of solid
matter, and composed, according to Fourcroy and Vau-
quelin, chiefly of subphosphate of iron.
Presence of (398.) Berzelius,1 who has made minute inquiry into this
non. subject, informs us that the colouring matter of the blood,
separated from the other part, leaves one-eightieth of an in-^
combustible residuum, of which rather more than one-half
is an oxide of iron. The existence of iron in the blood was
first discovered by Menghini; but its amount was much
over-rated both by himself and many of the earlier chemists
who succeeded him. It is difficult to determine in what
state this iron exists in the blood. It would appear not to
be in the state of any of the known salts of this metal; be¬
cause before the blood has been calcined, the iron escapes
detection by any of the tests which usually indicate its pre¬
sence in solutions ; and yet the solubility of the colouring
matter in the serum would, on the other hand, appear to
support the opinion of its possessing saline properties. Ber¬
zelius has been able to deduce from his numerous experi¬
ments on this point, merely the negative conclusion, that
no salt of iron which he tried was capable of being combin¬
ed with the serum, so as to produce a compound similar to
the colouring matter of the blood ; thus refuting the alleg¬
ed synthetic proof adduced by Fourcroy, who had stated
that subphosphate of iron dissolves in albumen, and imparts
to it a bright red colour, resembling that of blood.2 *
(399.) It has long been the prevailing opinion that the
blood derives its red colour from the iron it contains; but
the truth of this opinion has been called in question by many
writers of high authority, and in particular by Dr. Wells5 and
by Mr. Brande.4 The experiments of Dr. Wells, however,
as is remarked by Dr. Bostock, seem only to prove that the
colour of the blood is not occasioned by any salt of iron, or
by iron in such a state as to be affected by the ordinary tests.
Mr. Brande procured the colouring matter from venous blood
in a detached state, by removing the fibrin from it by agi¬
tation while it was coagulating, and suffering the red glo¬
bules ito subside in the serum, from which they could be ob¬
tained in a concentrated form. Examining this portion by
1 Medico-Chirurgical Transactions, vol. iii p. 213.
J Phil. Trans, lor 1797, p. 410.
5 Annales de Chimie et de Physique, i. 9.
O L O G Y.
means of different reagents, he arrived at the conclusion, Physiology
that the colouring principle of the blood is an animal sub-v'—l"V'o®*
stance of a peculiar nature, susceptible, like the colouring
matter from vegetables, of uniting with bases, or mordants,
and therefore admitting of being applied in the art of dye¬
ing. The most effectual mordants for the colouring matter
of"the blood are the salts of mercury, especially the nitrate
and bichloride, or corrosive sublimate. On examining the
colouring matter distinct from the crassamentum, Mr. Brande
did not discover a greater proportion of iron than exists in
the other principles of blood. These results, in as far as
they relate to the quantity of iron, are at variance with the
later and apparently more elaborate experiments of Berze¬
lius, who still maintains that the colouring matter of the blood
contains iron, not indeed discoverable by reagents, but de¬
cisively proved to exist in its ashes. In every respect, ex¬
cept in containing that metal, the colouring matter agrees
with fibrin and albumen; and he seems disposed to believe
that its colour, though not depending on the presence mere¬
ly of an oxide of iron, may be produced by a compound of
which the oxide is an essential part.
Vauquelin’s experiments5 may in some respects be deemed
to corroborate those of Brande, inasmuch as they show that
iron cannot be detected by liquid tests in solutions of the
colouring matter ; but they at the same time show that this
metal is readily detected by these tests in the fluid from
which the colouring matter has subsided.
(400.) The changes in the colour of the blood produced Lymph
by its exposure to different gases, are probably owing to their globules,
action on the red globules. Arterial blood is blackened, and
venous blood rendered darker, by nitrogen, or carbonic acid
gases ; but its bright florid hue is restored by exposure to
oxygen gas. We shall have occasion to revert to this sub¬
ject in treating of respiration.
(401.) Besides the ordinary red globules, others of a much
smaller size have been detected by Mr. Bauer floating in the
serum, and even apparently generated while the fluid is
under examination. To these Sir Everard Home gave the
name of lymph globules.6
(402.) The serum of the blood, or the fluid part which is Serum,
left after the separation of the crassamentum, is a transpar¬
ent and apparently homogeneous liquid, of a yellowish and
sometimes greenish colour, of a saline taste, and adhesive
consistence. Its specific gravity is variable, but maybe taken,
on an average, at about 1*025. When exposed to a tem¬
perature of 160°, the whole is converted into a firm white
mass, perfectly analogous to the white of an egg which nas
been hardened by boiling. It may, in fact, be regarded as
identical with coagulated albumen, the chemical properties
of which we have already described.
(403.) Although the whole of the mass of serum appears -erosi y.
to be rendered solid by the process of coagulation, yet if
this coagulum be cut into slices, and subjected to genJe
pressure, or if it be placed on the mouth of a funnel, a small
quantity of a slightly opaque liquor drains from it, which is
called the serosity. It has a saline taste, and a, peculiar
odour, and consists of several ingredients. Its existence as
a substance distinct from the albumen was first pointed out
by Dr. Butt in 1760, and its properties were farther ex¬
amined by Dr. Cullen, who speaks of it as a solution of fibrin
in water. Hewson believed it to be of a mucous nature.
Parmentier and Deyeux published, in 1790, an elaborate set
of experiments which they made upon it, from which they
drew the conclusion, that the animal substance contained in
the serosity was gelatin. This statement seemed so satis¬
factory, from the apparent accuracy of the investigation,
that it was generally acquiesced in. Not only was jelly con-
2 Systtme de Connais. Chymiques, vol. ix p. 207, 208*
4 Phil Trans, for 1812, p. 80.
* Ibid for 1819, p. 2.
PHYSIOLOGY.
siology-sidered as one of the constituents of the blood, but means
were pointed out for ascertaining its proportion; and its
supposed agency in the economy was made the foundation
of many physiological speculations. But Dr. Bostock has
since proved that this opinion is not founded in fact. He
was unable to detect the smallest quantity of jelly either in
the serosity of the blood, or in any other of the albuminous
fluids. In this conclusion he is fully supported by the tes¬
timonies of Berzelius, Marcet, and Brande.
(404.) It may be inferred from the experiments of Mr.
Brande, that serosity consists of a small quantity of albu¬
men, still retained in solution by a large proportion of al¬
kali. According to Berzelius, the serosity contains no sul¬
phuric acid, and only a vestige of the phosphoric, and con¬
sists chiefly of water, with some pure soda holding albumen
in solution, of muriates of soda and of potass, of lactate of
soda, and a peculiar animal matter which always accom¬
panies the lactate. Dr. Bostock found the amount of solid
contents to vary from the forty-sixth to the seventieth part
of its weight, or, on an average, about the fiftieth. It has
been a matter of dispute which of the mineral alkalies exists
in serum in an uncombined form. Dr. Pearson maintained
that it was potass ; but Drs. Bostock, l\£arcet, and Berze¬
lius, with much greater appearance of correctness, allege
that it is soda.
(405.) The component parts of human serum, according
to the analysis of Dr. Marcet, are—
Water,  900-
Albumen,  Sb-S
637
Muriates of potass and soda,.
Muco-extractive matter, 
Subcarbonate of soda, 
Sulphate of potass, 
Earthy phosphates, 
6-6
4-
1-65
•35
•6
U,
1000-
(406.) This analysis coincides very nearly with that of
Berzelius, who considers the substance termed by Dr. Marcet
muco-extractive matter to be impure lactate of soda. But
Dr. Bostock is led by his experiments to the conclusion, that
a peculiar animal substance exists in the serosity, not co-
agulable by heat, or by any other means ; not affected by
corrosive sublimate, or by tannin, which are the appropriate
tests of albumen and of jelly respectively, but copiously pre¬
cipitated by muriate of tin, and still more readily by the ace¬
tate of lead ; and he thinks this substance is quite independ¬
ent of the lactate of soda, which may exist at the same time
in the blood.
wme (407.) Wienholt discovered that the serosity contained
a small quantity of the peculiar substance which exists in
greatest abundance in the flesh of animals, and was first no¬
ticed as a distinct proximate principle by Rouelle. It was
subsequently termed ozmazome by Thenard, who examined
its properties more minutely. This substance is of a yel¬
lowish brown colour ; it is soluble both in water and in al¬
cohol, and is precipitated by infusion of nutgalls, nitrate of
mercury, and by the acetate and nitrate of lead. It is still
a matter of uncertainty what connexion exists between this
substance and the muco-extractive matter above mentioned.
There is also another proximate principle, namely, urea, of
which we shall afterwards have occasion to speak, which is
found in small quantity in the blood, when that fluid is in its
natural state, but which is abundantly found in the blood
of animals from which the kidneys have been removed. Be¬
sides these, Dr. B. Babington discovered the presence in
the blood of an oily substance, separable from the other parts
by means of ether. Lecanu, in addition to this oily mat¬
ter, found a crystallizable fatty matter in the blood ; and
similar observations have been made by Chevreul. Manga¬
nese is said to have been detected in the blood by Wurzer.
M. Boudet has also lately discovered a new substance in the Physiology,
serum, which he has termed uroline. This is a white, slight-'
ly opalescent substance, fusible at 94° Fahrenheit, not form¬
ing an emulsion with water, soluble in alcohol, not saponk
fiable, and apparently containing nitrogen.
CHAP. VII. CIRCULATION.
Sect. I—Apparatus for Circulation.
(408.) The object of the function of circulation is two- Purposes
fold. The first is to distribute to all the organs that due answered
share of nutritive fluid which they require for the perform- *:^.e c’r*
ance of their respective offices, for the maintenance of their eil'at'on-
temperature, and for nutrition, and to keep up a constant
supply of this fluid. The second, and no less important ob¬
ject, is to expose every portion in succession of this fluid,
which is the blood, to the influence of atmospheric air in an
organ appropriated to this particular purpose ; the continual
renewal of the action of the oxygen contained in the air
upon the blood, being necessary for the maintenance of its
salutary qualities, and indispensable to the preservation of
life. The organs in which this process is carried on are the
lungs; and the function by which it is accomplished is in¬
spiration. The great agent for the distribution of the blood
both generally to the organs of the body, and specially to
the lungs, is the heart; the pipes through which it is con¬
veyed to those parts are the arteries ; those through which
it is brought back to the heart, the veins. A set of finer
vessels interposed between the minute extremities of the
arteries,^.nd the minute beginnings of the veins, are called
the capillaries. The structure and distribution of all these
parts, have already been described in the treatise on Ana¬
tomy, to which we of course refer for the descriptive de¬
tails. The following brief recapitulation, however, of the
structure of the heart will assist us in understanding the
physiology of its action.
1. Cardiac Apparatus.
(409-) The heart is a hollow muscle, of a conical shape, Heart,
occupying the central and inferior part of the cavity of the
thorax, having its basis turned towards the right side, and
its point or apex towards the left, nearly opposite to the
space between the sixth and seventh ribs. Its lower sur¬
face is somewhat flattened, where it lies upon the diaph¬
ragm. Its basis, with which the great vessels are connect¬
ed, is covered with fat. The whole heart, and the roots of
the large blood-vessels at its basis, are protected by a gene¬
ral investment of membrane, which is a reflected produc¬
tion of an extended serous membrane, forming a cavity for
its reception, and for allowing it considerable freedom of
motion. This membrane, which is remarkable for its strength,
is called the pericardium, and is situated between the lami¬
nae of the mediastinum, which are separated in order to
contain it.
(410.) The heart is principally made up of muscular Its cavities,
fibres, the course of which is extremely complex ; some ex¬
tending longitudinally from the basis to the apex, others
taking an oblique or spiral course; and a third running in
a more transverse direction. There are two considerable
cavities, called ventricles, distinguished, according to their
situation, into the right and left ventricle. The former has
also been called, in reference to its functions, the pulmonic,
and the latter the systemic ventricle. They are separated
by a strong and thick partition, called the septum ventricu-
lorum, which is composed of fleshy and tendinous fibres.
Attached to these, at the basis of the heart, are two hollow
and fleshy projecting appendages, called the auricles, the
cavities of which are also separated from each other by a
partition, distinguished by the name otseptum auriculorum,
and they open into those of the ventricles. The right au¬
ricle, which, together with the right ventricle, is placed
638
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, more in front, receives the blood from the venae cavae, and
transmits it to the right ventricle, by which it is propelled
into the trunk of the pulmonary artery. The left auricle,
in like manner, collects the blood from the four trunks o
the pulmonary veins, and transfers it into the left ventricle,
by which it is forcibly driven into the aorta, or main trunk
of the arterial system of the body at large Themembiane
which lines the cavities of the heart, and the great vessels
Its valves, just mentioned, is produced so as to form valves at the two
orifices of both the ventricles; that is, where the aurtcles
open into them, and also at the origin of the arterial trunks
which arise from the ventricles. The valves placed between
the right auricle and ventricle, are usually three in number,
and are called valvulce tricuspides ; but in the left ventricle
there are only two, and these are named the valvules mitrales.
The membranes which form these valves are attached so
as to project somewhat forward in each of these cavities,
and are connected with tendinous strings, called chorda
tendinecc, which arise from detached and projecting portions
of the muscular substance of the heart, named from their
cylindrical form, carnece columns.
(411.) The valves at the origin both of the pulmonary
artery and of the aorta, are three in number, and are called
the valvules semilunares, from their semicircular figure;
their convexities are turned towards the ventricle ; they are
concave next to the cavity of the artery ; and in the middle
of their loose edge is found a small hard triangular substance
called corpus aurantianum, and sometimes corpusculurn
Morgagni, or sesamoideum. When these valves are made
to approach each other, by the pressure of the blood in the
artery in the direction of the ventricle, they unite so as
completely to close the passage, and prevent any of the
blood from returning. Opposite to the semilunar valves,
the artery bulges out and forms three projections, which
have corresponding pits or depressions within, and are call¬
ed, from their discoverer, sinus Valsalvae.
(412.) Where the two venae cavae meet, there is a small
angular projection, which has been called the tuberculum
Loweri. The term auricula more properly applies to the
jagged portions which project from the sidesofthe base of the
heart, like the ears of a dog from its head; whilst the expand¬
ed cavity where the venous tubes enter is called the sinus
venosus. On the side next to the auricula, there is a re¬
markable semilunar fold, projecting within the cavity, be¬
tween the vein and auricle, so as to be convex next to the vein,
and concave next to the auricle. This doubling has been
called the Eustachian valve. Between the concave part of
this fold, and the opening into the ventricle, is the orifice
of the coronary vein, which returns the blood that has cir¬
culated through the substance of the heart itself, and which
is provided, at this point, with its proper valves. In the
septum auriculorum is seen a depression, the fossa ovalis,
which is the remains of a passage of communication be¬
tween the right and left auricles that had existed in the foetal
state. The sides of the fossa ovalis are strong and thick,
and have received the name of isthmus Vicussenii, or colum-
nes, or annulus fosses ovalis.
of the body, which constitutes the greater circulation. For Physiolo,
effecting this lesser circulation, a distinct set of blood-ves-
sels, namely, the pulmonary vessels, is provided.
(414.) Thus, there are two separate systems of blood¬
vessels, which have no communication with each other, ex¬
cept through the medium of the heart, which is the com¬
mon origin and termination of both. The aortic system, or,
as some modern anatomists have chosen to designate it, the
systemic system, is that which, taking its rise from the left
ventricle of the heart, begins with the aorta, or main trunk
of the arteries which transmit the blood to the body at large,
and is completed by the veins which are collected into two
trunks, called vena? caves ; which trunks, again, terminate
in the right auricle of the heart. The pulmonary system,
on the other hand, comprises the pulmonary arteries, which
arise by a single trunk from the right ventricle of the heart,
and after circulating the blood through the lungs, are con¬
tinued into the pulmonary veins, and terminate by four large
trunks in the left auricle of the heart.
(415.) All these vessels, whether arteries or veins, may Coats o
be comprehended under the following general description.Ae vess*
They are flexible and elastic tubes, for the most part of a
cylindrical shape, and composed principally of a membra¬
nous or fibrous structure formed into distinct layers, and
composing what are called the coats of these vessels. The
number of these coats has been differently estimated by dif¬
ferent anatomists ; but it is now generally agreed that those
proper to the vessels themselves are principally three : the
external, the internal, and the middle, or what has been
called the muscular coat. Besides these tunics, each ves¬
sel is surrounded by aloose and flocculent cellular substance,
which connects it with the parts through which it passes,
and accompanies it in its whole course ; but this substance,
being merely a continuation of the cellular substance which
fills up all the vacuities of the body, is common to the ves¬
sel and to other parts, ought not properly to be considered
as belonging to the former, but as adventitious; although
some anatomists have dignified it with the title of the cel¬
lular coat.
(416.) The first proper coat of the vessel is the external
coat, which is thicker than the rest, and formed of a mem¬
branous structure, in which are intermixed a few filaments
of fibro-cellular substance, disposed obliquely with respect
to the course of the vessel, and interwoven with the mem¬
branous fibres. The innermost membrane is thinner than
the former, of a whiter colour, more or less pellucid, and
presenting a more uniform homogeneous structure. Its
inner surface is perfectly smooth, and much resembles in ap¬
pearance the serous membranes. Between these membra¬
nous coats, there exists a layer of fibres, which have been
generally supposed to be muscular, constituting what has
been accordingly called the muscular coat. Compared with
the diameters of the vessels, these coats are proportionably
thicker in the smaller than in the larger vessels.
(417.) After giving this general description of the struc¬
ture of the blood-vessels, we proceed to notice some of the
peculiarities which distinguish each class of blood-vessels.
2. Sanguiferous System in general.
Sanguifer- (413.) The blood-vessels, consisting of arteries, veins, and
ous system, capillaries, compose by their assemblage what is termed the
Double sangUj^erous system ; and the channels which they form
culation. ^or t^e transmission 0f the blood constitute a double cir¬
cuit. The principal circuit consists of that through which
the blood is distributed to all parts of the body indiscrimi¬
nately, and which includes therefore the whole system. But
there is also another circuit of lesser extent, which is per¬
formed by the blood, by its being sent from the heart to the
lungs, and again returned to the heart, after circulating
through those organs. This is termed the lesser circulation,
by way of contrast with the circulation through all the rest
3. Arterial System.
(418.) Each of the great arterial trunks, belonging re-Stmctur
spectively to the aortic, and to the pulmonic systems, are°f ar^r
furnished, at their origin from the ventricles of the heart,
with valves of a semilunar shape, adhering by one of their
sides to the margin of the aperture of the ventricle, or mouth
of the artery, and having their loose edges turned towards
the axis of the artery. These valves are formed by a du-
plicature of the internal coat, which contains between their
folds a thin layer of ligamentous fibres, giving them consi¬
derable strength. No valves are found in any other part of
the arterial system.
(419.) The external coat of an artery is formed by a
,
PH YSI
■Biology- dense tissue of fibres, which are interwoven together in dif-
I'-Y'^'ferent directions, generally very obliquely with regard to the
length of the vessel. This texture becomes more compact
as we trace it towards the interior, so that the individual
fibres can with difficulty be distinguished, unless by a forci¬
ble tearing asunder of the substance they compose. Hence
the older anatomists have distinguished this inner layer of
the external coat, as forming a separate tunic, to which they
have given the name of the nervous coat, implying thereby
a participation in the structure of tendons which were not
at that time distinguished from nerves. The division of the
external coat into these two layers, is well marked in the
larger arteries ; but in proportion as we examine the smaller
branches, we find a more uniform appearance, the whole as¬
suming the firm and compact texture of fibrous membranes.
This portion of the arterial structure is exceedingly strong
and elastic, both with respect to a force stretching it in the
direction of its length, and also transversely, or in that of
its diameter. Its toughness is such that it is not easily cut
asunder by a thread employed as a ligature upon the vessel.
(420.) The intermediate, or muscular membrane, is of
considerable thickness, has a yellow colour, and is composed
of fibres, all of which are arranged circularly ; that is, in the
circumference of the cylinder. In the large arterial trunks,
these fibres form a distinct layer or tunic ; but the mem¬
brane acquires a still greater proportional thickness in the
smaller branches, and then admits of subdivision, by dissec¬
tion, into several layers. The exterior layers are less dense
than the interior; and those which are innermost are the
densest of all. The elasticity and firmness of this coat is
chiefly in the direction of the circular fibres of which it con¬
sists ; so that it opposes considerable resistance to any force
which tends to dilate the vessel, but yields readily to any
power applied for its elongation. It may be considered as
partaking of the properties of muscular and ligamentous
structures.
(421.) The internal membrane of arteries, which has also
been called the nervous, arachnoid, or common coat, is the
thinnest of the three ; although still, in the larger arteries,
it admits of division into two or more layers. The inner¬
most of these is extremely thin and transparent, and its sur¬
face is smooth and highly polished, in order that no resist¬
ance may be opposed to the motion of the blood. The
outer portions are white and opaque, and pass gradually in¬
to the substance of the muscular tunic with which it is con¬
nected. Its elasticity is very small, and its power of resist¬
ance is limited, so that a ligature applied on the vessel ge¬
nerally produces a laceration of the internal coat,
ribu- (422.) The general form of the arterial system, if it were
of the isolated from all other parts, would resemble two trees, the
ncs, trunks of which would be constituted by the aorta, and by
the pulmonary artery, and which divides and subdivides suc¬
cessively into smaller and smaller branches, till they arrive
at an extreme degree of tenuity. Each portion which in¬
tervenes between these divisions preserves the same uni¬
form diameter, and is therefore exactly cylindrical. Each
branch is of course smaller than the trunk from which it
arises; but the sum of the areas of all the branches into
which an artery divides itself, is in general greater than the
area of that artery ; and consequently the total capacity of
the arterial system is progressively increasing in proportion
to the number of subdivisions which take place. Hence the
whole system may in reality be considered as composing a
conical cavity, of which the aorta is the apex, and the ul¬
timate subdivisions the base. The number of subdivi¬
sions in the whole course of an artery scarcely ever exceeds
twenty, according to the estimate of Haller, who took pains
to ascertain this point. The most usual mode of ramifica¬
tion is that of bifurcation, or division of a trunk into two
branches, which generally form between them an acute
angle. In some instances, especially among the larger ar-
O L O G Y. 639
teries, we meet with a branch sent off at right angles from Physiology,
the main trunk, or still more rarely at an obtuse angle.
(423.) Arteries have numerous communications among Anasto-
their different branches. These communications, or anasto- moses.
moses, as they are called, are effected sometimes by the re¬
union of two arteries of nearly equal size, which happen to
be proceeding in similar directions, so as to compose one
common trunk, which proceeds in an intermediate direction,
sometimes by collateral branches proceeding obliquely from
the one to the other; while on other occasions, arteries
unite from greater distances, so as to form a wide arch, in
which each appears to be continuousone with the other ; and
from the convex side of which, branches are again sent off,
which are distributed in minuter ramifications. In some
parts the anastomoses are so frequent and numerous, as to
resemble a net-work, or plexus of vessels.
(424.) The principal arteries of the limbs are generally
found running in situations where they are best protected
from injury, and where they are most secure from pressure
during the actions of the muscles. Hence they are chiefly
met with in the hollow spaces formed on the inner side of
the flexures of the joints.
4. Venous System.
(425.) The chief peculiarities in the structure of the Veins,
veins, as distinguished from that of the arteries, consist in
the greater thinness, and diminished density of their coats,
the tenuity or absence of the muscular tunic, and the nu¬
merous valves which occur in different parts of their course.
The outer coat resembles that of the arteries, but does not
present so dense or so line a texture of fibres ; and it pos¬
sesses less absolute strength. The middle coat is formed of
fibres which are more extensile and flexible than those of
arteries; and their direction, instead of being transverse, is
principally longitudinal. These fibres are not constantly
met with in all the parts ot the venous system, but vary
much in their proportion to the rest of the structure in dif¬
ferent veins, as well as in their directions and thickness. It
is only in the large veins, near the heart, that this coat pre¬
sents any appearance of muscular fibres. The inner coat
is thin and transparent, like that of the arteries ; but dif¬
fers from the latter in being more extensible, less easily
torn, and in its containing a certain proportion of ligamen¬
tous fibres in its composition. Some of the veins, such as
those within the cranium, which are called sinuses, as well
as the veins which traverse the bones, being protected by
the surrounding parts, appear to consist altogether of this
inner coat, and are unprovided with either the muscular or
the cellular coats.
(426.) The large veins follow in general the course of
the arteries, but are usually twice as numerous; so that
where we meet with an artery, we generally find it accom¬
panied by two veins. Their general disposition is arbor¬
escent, like the arterial system ; but with reference to the
function they perform, they may be more aptly compared
to the roots than to the branches of a tree ; for in following
the course of the blood in its circulation, they may be said
to take their rise from the minutest vessels, and successive¬
ly uniting into larger and larger tubes, to terminate by one
or two main trunks in the heart. The total capacity of the
venous system is at least twice as great as that of the arte¬
rial system. The distribution and general mode of ramifi¬
cation of the veins, correspond very exactly to that of the
arteries, presenting the same ramified appearance, and the
same frequent anastomoses. These collateral communica¬
tions are exceedingly numerous in the superficial veins, and
wherever they are liable to partial obstruction from exter¬
nal pressure. It is in these situations also, that we meet
with a great number of valves in the course of the veins.
The veins of the deep-seated organs are generally unpro¬
vided with valves in any part of their course. The arte-
C40
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, ries, as we have already seen, have no valves except at their
commencement. .
Portal (427.) Besides the two venous systems appropriated to
system. the greater and lesser circulations, the former uniting in t ic
venae cavae, and the latter in the pulmonary veins, and there¬
fore corresponding to the two arterial systems, there is also
another, and more partial system of veins, peculiar to the
circulation in the liver, and other viscera of the abdomen.
This particular system, which is that of the vena portce, as
it is called, is complete within itself; that is, it constitutes
a tree, having a common stem, with its proper roots and
branches, the whole of which is placed as an intermediate
system between the ultimate branches of the gastric, intes¬
tinal, and splenic arteries, of which the roots of the vena
portm may be considered as the continuations, and first ra¬
dicles of the proper hepatic veins, which are the continua¬
tions of the ultimate ramifications of the vena portae. By
this arrangement, the blood which has circulated through
the stomach, the intestines, and the spleen, is distributed
bv a new set of veins, throughout the substance oi the liver,
and is returned to the general mass ot blood in the venae
cavae, after circulating through that organ. _
To this peculiar venous system there is no corresponding
arterial system.
5. Capillary System.
Capillaries. (428.) The ultimate ramifications of the arteries, as well
as the beginnings of the veins, are, in almost every part of
the body, vessels of such extreme tenuity, as to be imper¬
ceptible without the assistance of the microscope ; and they
cannot even then be discerned, unless the part be artifici¬
ally prepared by the injection of some coloured substance
into the vessels, or unless they have been accidentally en¬
larged by disease, so as to have received the colouring mat¬
ter of the blood. Hence the ancients, who were ignorant
both of the art of injecting, and of the power of the micro¬
scope, were precluded from a knowledge of the existence
of these minute vessels. They believed that a substance,
which they termed parenchyma, and which they conceived
to be of a spongy texture, was interposed between the ter¬
minal branches of the arteries, and the beginning of the
veins ; and this opinion was adopted almost universally by
anatomists before the epoch of the discovery of the circula¬
tion, and was entertained even after this period, by a great
number of eminent anatomists, down to the present day.
But the injections of Ent, and the microscopical observa¬
tions of Malpighi and of Leewenhoek, have sufficiently de¬
monstrated the continuity of the canals by which the blood
is made to pass from the arteries into the veins. The re¬
searches of modern anatomists, indeed, by shewing the ama¬
zing extent to which the minute division of the vascular
system is carried, and in which they pervade every part
of the frame, have finally exploded the hypothesis of the
existence of interposed parenchyma, and have given rise to
another hypothesis of an opposite kind, namely, of all the
textures of the body being ultimately resolvable into vessels.
(429.) The name of capillary vessels is given to those
minute branches of either arteries or veins, whose diameter
is finer than a hair, and which can therefore scarcely be dis¬
tinguished by the unassisted eye. Authors have endea¬
voured to establish three gradations of size in this class of
vessels ; the largest being those which can be but just per¬
ceived by the eye without a magnifying glass; the next,
those which require the aid of the microscope for their de¬
tection ; and the third, those which are capable of admitting
only a single red globule of blood, and of which the calibre
must consequently be only a very little larger than these
globules.
(430.) The larger capillaries undergo several subdivisions
in their course, before they arrive at this extreme degree of
tenuity ; and indeed, their lateral branches of communica¬
tion are so multiplied as they proceed, that the whole forms Physiol,:
a general and extensive net-work of vessels. The total ca-v^*y-f /
pacity of the capillary system far surpasses that of the ar¬
teries and veins ; and they contain therefore by much the
greatest portion of the blood in the natural and healthy
state of the circulation.
(431.) The vascular branches which form the channels
of communication between the arteries and the veins, are,
with but very few exceptions, referable to the class of ca¬
pillary vessels. In this continuous course it is scarcely pos¬
sible to mark with precision, at what point the arterial por¬
tion may be said to terminate, and the venous portion to
commence. Neither the limit of size, nor the change of
direction, is sufficient to lay the foundations of such a dis¬
tinction ; for the alteration of diameter is gradual, and the
inflexions are various, and frequently tortuous, so that no
determinate criterion can be assumed as characteristic of
either artery or vein. Hence arises the propriety of con¬
stituting a distinct class of capillary vessels.
(432.) The texture of the capillaries, from the minute¬
ness of their size, scarcely admits of accurate observation.
Their coats are thin, soft, pellucid, and therefore invisible
to the naked eye, and hardly discernible with the micro¬
scope. It is most probable that they are formed, in every
instance, by a prolongation of the internal coats of the larger
arteries and veins with which they are continuous.
(433.) As the capability of admitting coloured substances Serous
is apparently an indispensable condition for their being vi-capillar
sible, the existence of vessels of still smaller diameter, con¬
taining only colourless fluids, must more or less be matter
of conjecture. A very great number of anatomists and
physiologists, however, among whom may be enumerated
Boerhaave, Yieussens, Farrienus, Haller, Soemmerring, Bi¬
chat, Bleuland, Chaussier, have admitted the existence of
another order of capillaries, or serous vessels, as they have
termed them, of which the diameter is too small to admit
even a single red globule, and which therefore circulate only
the serous part of the blood. On the other hand, the re¬
ality of these pretended vessels is contested by Prochaska,
Mascagni, Richerand, and others. Beclard, in his Anato¬
mic Generate, has given a review of the arguments employ¬
ed on both sides in this controversy, which is by no means
as yet set at rest, and which will probably have to be de¬
cided, more by considerations of a physiological than of an
anatomical nature.
(434.) In speaking of the communications between the ar- Erectile
teriesandthe veins, it remains only tobenoticed, that in manytlsslies>
parts of the body there appears to be interposed between the
extreme branches of each, a spongy or cellular structure, into
which the arteries occasionally pour out blood, so as to dis¬
tend these cells, and from which the veins arise by open
orifices, and absorb the blood, in order to unload the cells,
and remove the accumulation which has taken place. Such
a structure has been denominated the erectile tissue. It is
exemplified on a large scale, in the spleen, and in some of
the sexual organs. We shall notice this structure afterwards.
(435.) The different parts and textures of the body are Vajcua
supplied with vessels in very different proportions. _
organ which ranks first in respect to its vascularity, is the
lungs ; after which come the integuments, the pia mater,
and choroid coat of the eye ; next the glands, the glandu¬
lar follicles, the lymphatic glands, the cortical substance of
the brain, the nervous ganglions. To these will succeed in
the order of vascularity, the muscles, the periosteum, the
adipose tissue, the medullary nervous substance, the bones,
and the serous membranes. The tendons and ligaments are
amongst the least vascular parts. Still less so are the carti¬
lages, and the arachnoid membrane of the brain ; and lastly,
the epidermis, and its appendages, as the nails and hair, to¬
gether with the enamel of the teeth, may be considered as
parts entirely devoid of vessels.
’hysiotogy- (436.) The actual mass of blood which the organs of the cir-
eolation have to move through the channels we have just point-
Snod7 ed 0Uti,aS been variously estimated by different physiolo-
11 * gists. The lowest computation is that of Muller and Abeild-
gaard, who made it out to be only eight pounds. Borelli
estimated it at twenty pounds; Planche at twenty-eight;
Haller at thirty ; Dr. Young at forty ; Hamberger at eighty;
and Keill at one hundred. Blumenbach states the propor¬
tion in an adult healthy man to be one-fifth of the entire
weight of the body ; but Dr. Good, who has collected these
authorities, is disposed to place but little reliance on the
latter mode of estimation, on account of the great diversity
in point of weight and bulk of adults, whose aggregate quan¬
tity of blood would appear to be nearly the same. He thinks
the mean of the above numbers, which is between thirty
and forty pounds, may safely be taken as nearest to the truth.
The proportion of the whole mass of blood which is contain¬
ed in different parts of the vascular system, varies accord¬
ing to age. In early life, there is nearly an equal quantity
contained in the arteries as in the veins. In the adult, one-
fourth only is contained in the arterial, and three-fourths in
the venous system ; and the disproportion is greater as age
• advances.
Sect. II—Phenomena of the Circulation.
1* Course of the Blood in its Circulation.
ourse of (437.) Having premised this general outline of the course
16 b which the blood takes during its circulation, we shall now
follow the several steps more in detail, examining, as we
proceed, the evidence afforded us that such is its real course ;
and we shall lastly inquire into the several powers concern¬
ed in its propulsion.
heart. . (4.380 We shail, for this purpose, begin at that part of
its circuit at which the blood is brought back from the lungs,
after receiving the vivifying influence of the air, and being
thereby arterialized, as it has been called. The pulmonary
veins, which convey it in this state to the heart, are collect¬
ed into four great trunks, which open into the left auricle
of the heart. As soon as the auricle is distended beyond a
certain degree by this flow of blood into it, it contracts and
pours the whole of its contents at once into the left ventri¬
cle. The constant stream of blood which is flowing towards
the auricle from the lungs, prevents any portion of the blood
of the auricle from flowing back into them when the auricle
contracts. No sooner has the ventricle received this blood,
which has passed into it by a sudden influx, than it is sti^
mulated to a vigorous contraction of its muscular fibres,
which, surrounding the cavity in a spiral direction, contract
its cavity, and, exerting a powerful pressure on the contain¬
ed fluid, propels it with prodigious force into the aorta. The
contraction of the ventricle is attended with the raising of
the mitral valve, interposed between it and the auricle,"and
the sides of that valve being closely applied to the aperture
by which the blood had entered the ventricle, all return of
the blood into the auricle is thereby prevented. The whole
of it rushes, therefore, as an impetuous torrent into the aorta,
or main trunk of the arterial system. The blood which has
entered the artery is again prevented from flowing back into
the ventricle, by a valvular apparatus of the same kind as
that which occurs between the auricle and the ventricle.
These valves, placed at the entrance of the aorta, are call¬
ed the sigmoid, or semilunar valves. They are three in
number, each being attached by its convex edge to the
coats of the artery, to which it is closely applied when the
stream of blood is flowing in a direction from the heart, but
which is immediately raised, and the three loose edgesjoin-
ing together, form a complete barrier to the passage of the
blood when moving in the contrary direction,
tonic (439.) The blood, having passed into the aorta, is con-
i°n veyed through its branches and ramifications to all the parts
PHYSIOLOGY.
641
VOL. XVII.
where these ramifications extend, till it reaches the capilla-Physiology,
nes, where it moves more slowly, yet still proceeds on its v—-vw
course, supplying every part with the materials necessary
for the maintenance of their nutrition and vital powers.
From the capillaries the blood is brought back by the mi¬
nuter branches of the veins, which, uniting successively
to form larger and larger trunks, are at length collected
into the two venae cavae, the one descending from the head
and superior parts of the body, and the other ascending from
the inferior parts, and both joining at the right auricle of the
heart. The same process now takes place in the right ca-Puim0narv
vities m the heart, which was described as occurring in the circulation,
left. I he right auricle is filled with blood from the veme
cavae ; it contracts and pours its contents into the cavity of
the right ventricle, which, being in its turn stimulated to
contract, propels the blood it had received from the auricle
into the trunk of the pulmonary artery ; which artery like¬
wise distributes it, by a similar system of ramifications, to
the membrane lining the air vesicles of the lungs. All re¬
trograde motion of the blood is prevented as effectually in
this case as in the former, by the interposition of the tri¬
cuspid valves between the auricle and ventricle, and by the
semilunar valves placed at the entrance of the pulmonary
artery. r J
(440.) From the ultimate ramifications of the pulmonary
artery the blood is conducted into the capillary vessels, which
are spread over the membrane of the air-cells of the lungs,
where it undergoes the change of quality from venous to
arterial, consequent upon its exposure to the chemical ac¬
tion of the oxygen which is contained in the atmospheric
air admitted into those cells. From these capillaries it is
collected by the pulmonary veins, and returned, as before
stated, to the heart, to be again distributed to every part of
the body. J r
(441.) While one portion of the blood is circulating in Systole and
the system, another portion is circulating in the lungs. Bothdiast°Je.
auricles are filled at the same moment, and contract toge¬
ther ; each sending its blood into the corresponding ventri¬
cle. In like manner, the two ventricles contract simulta¬
neously, and propel their contents into their respective ar¬
terial trunks. The contraction of the heart is called the
systole ; its relaxation the diastole.
2. Proofs of the Circulation.
(442.) The discovery of the course which the blood takes Discovery
in its circulation, a discovery of such vast magnitude, that of the cif-
almost the whole of the present doctrines of physiology andculafi°n*
pathology are either directly founded on it, or are more or
less immediately related to it, was made in the beginning of
the seventeenth century. It was one of the earliest fruits
of that active spirit of inquiry, and rational process of inves¬
tigation, which, since the era of Bacon, was beginning to
diffuse itself in Europe. It was an honour reserved for our
illustrious countryman Harvey, whose fame must live as
long as science is cherished among men. WFile it is the
fate of other discoveries, that their authors are either soon
forgotten, or only known to a small class of those who de¬
vote their attention peculiarly to the subject to which they
relate, the name of Harvey is become familiar to all who
have any acquaintance with general literature, or pretensions
to a liberal education. However firmly the truth of his
great discovery be established in the present time, it was,
in its first promulgation, keenly contested by many contem¬
porary physiologists. To us who have no such prejudices
to warp our judgment, and who are furnished with so large
a body of evidence on the subject, the controversy appears
exceedingly frivolous and absurd. Yet we must recollect
that in every subject of human opinion, it requires a consi¬
derable time to wean mankind from errors which have been
long and deeply rooted in their minds, however palpable
such errors may appear to the eyes of those who have not
4 M
PHYSIOLOGY.
642
Physiology, been so blinded. As it may still, however, be
vJL^ 'to know the grounds upon which the doctrine is founded,
' we shall briefly enumerate the leading facts and arguments
v f f tha(443.)bThe most striking proofs that the course of the
]-roofs of ^ art pries is from the heart towards the extre-
the CirCUla^S»^^S^d along the veins in the contrary
direction, are obtained from ligatures on those vessels. If
anv of the larger arterial branches be tied, that portion of
Te IS t&h is ^ated between AeHgamrea^
tion.
1. Liga
tares-
at one time very common, but they have long ceased to ex- Physiology
cite curiosity, and are now rarely practised.
That the blood moves with great rapidity and force 6. Wound:!
through the larger vessels, is proved by the immense quantity of vessels,
that is quickly lost if any great artery or vein be wounded.
Sect. III. Powers concerned in the Circulation.
(448.) We have next to enquire into the nature and
magnitude of the forces by which the blood is impelled in
its course, the resistance opposed to its progress, and the
the vessel which is situated be w^e , A ■ h blood general laws by which its movements are regulated
heart, immediately swells, becomes ^ & (449.) The subject will naturally divide itself into four
and exhibits ^"gPb STushet out v iolenc , “d pits gamely, as 'relating to the powers of the heart, ofthe
thf “ °fthe Capil,arieS’ and °f 11,6 VemS'
lig^ure, on the ofter
2. Valves.
or that farthest from the heart, is flaccid and empty, and af¬
fords no blood when divided; it is also void ot pulsation.
Phenomena precisely the reverse of these are exhibit¬
ed when similar experiments are made on the veins; m
them, the part most distant from the heart becomes turgid,
while the nearer part is empty. This last experiment is one
that is made every time a person undergoes the operation
of blood-letting. A ligature is applied round the arm, from
the pressure of which on the subcutaneous veins they are
made to swell every where below the ligature, that is, a -
ther from the heart; while all the veins above the ligature
are empty, the blood having been propelled onwards m its
course towards the heart. Those parts which are swelled
pour out their blood profusely on being punctured, and
when the bandage is removed, the flow is stopped, in con¬
sequence ofthe blood finding a ready passage to the heart.
(444.) In the veins, we have additional evidence, from
the structure of the valves, that the blood can move only m
one direction, namely, towards the heart. The valves at
the entrance ofthe ventricles and arterial trunks, which al¬
low of motion only in a particular course, lead to a similar
conclusion with respect to the direction of the current m its
passage through the heart. It is impossible by artificial
means to force fluid injections through the heart, in a course
contrary to that in which the blood moves ; and the same
insuperable resistance is experienced in the attempt to pass
injections in other parts ofthe circulating system, when in
opposition to the natural course taken by the blood, win e
the same fluids readily find their way from the arteries into
the veins, when thrown in that direction. . .
(445.) Ocular demonstration ofthe course of tne blood
while circulating in the smaller arterial and venous branches,
and also in the capillaries, is afforded by the microscope,
when a very thin and transparent membrane in which such
vessels are distributed is placed in the field ot a good micros¬
cope. The web between the toes of a frog, the surface ot
its vesicular lungs, the mesentery, the membrane m the'tail
of small fishes, are all of them capable of exhibiting these
phenomena, and present, indeed, a spectacle of the highest
interest. . .
4. View of (446.) The successive action of the cavities ot the heart,
tie heart. in the order above enumerated, may also be seen when the
hearts of living creatures are exposed to view ; and this spec¬
tacle may be afforded without pain to the animal, if, after
its head has been completely separated from the body, re¬
spiration be kept up by artificial means.
(447.) The transfusion of the blood of one animal into
the vessels of another is a curious illustration of the doctrine
of the circulation. In this operation, the artery ot one ani¬
mal is connected by a tube with the vein ot another ani¬
mal ; the consequence of which is that the first is gradually
emptied of its blood, while the vessels ot the other are in a
state of repletion. If an opening be made at the same time
in the veins of this second animal, the blood originally be¬
longing to it will escape, and thus the whole massol its circu¬
lating fluid will be changed. Experiments ot this kind were
3. Ulicro-
sropic ob¬
servation.
5 Trans-
fu'ion of
bl od.
1. Action of the Heart.
(450.) The intention and purpose of the auricles, which Action 0 ’
are placed as ante-chambers to the ventricles, is to receive the heart
the blood in a constant stream from the veins, which fill it
gradually and equably, so that when the distension has
reached a certain degree, the auricle may contract and dis¬
charge the whole of its contents, with a sudden impetus, in¬
to the ventricle. The thickness and muscular force ofthe
auricles are very inferior to those of the ventricles, which
being destined to propel the blood with considerable mo¬
mentum into the arterial system, are exceedingly powerful,
but seem to require the stimulus of a sudden and forci¬
ble distension, in order to excite them to a sufficiently en¬
ergetic action. It appears, indeed, that this mechanical dis¬
tension and separation of their sides from the influx ot fluid,
is the natural stimulus that excites them to contraction ; foi
they are not affected by any of the causes which produce
contractions in the voluntary muscles, such as irritation oi
the nerves which supply the heart. On the other hand,
the mere introduction of warm water into these cavities,
when previously emptied of blood, is sufficient to renew the
action of the heart.
(451.) It is exceedingly difficult to form any probable Absolute
estimate ofthe absolute force exerted by the heart, and force <>b
more particularly by the left ventricle, in propelling its con¬
tents. No inquiry in physiology was pursued with more ar¬
dour, has been the subject of more various controversy, or
has given rise to so many voluminous and elaboiate calcu¬
lations. .
(452.) It will be quite evident that a very considerable
power is required, in order to enable the heart to propel the
blood through the arteries, when w e consider the enormous
resistances opposed to its progress, and when we also take
into account the great velocity given to it in its motion.
The column of blood already contained in the arterial sys¬
tem, must have its velocity accelerated, in order to admit ot
the passage of fresh blood into the aorta. The arteries re¬
quire also to be distended for the admission of this addi¬
tional quantity of blood, every time that the ventricle con¬
tracts. The angles and flexures which the blood is obliged
to follow in its course through the vessels, must be causes
of retardation, and must be productive of a loss ot force,
which the muscular power of the heart is ultimately called
upon to supply. The operation of all these retarding causes
is so complicated, that we need not be surprised at t e
problem ofthe force exerted by the heart, having baffled the
skill of the best mathematicians, and their calculations be¬
ing so widely different from one another. Thus, while
Keil estimated the power of the left ventricle at only hve
ounces, Borelli calculated that its force could not be less
than one hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Dr. Hales
computes it to be exactly fiffy-one pounds and a halt;
while Tabor concludes its amount to be one hundred ana
fifty pounds. Such irreconcilable results sufficiently show
the futility of most of the reasonings on which they are
founded, and the impossibility of making any satisfactory
PHYSIOLOGY.
hysiotocy- approach towards the solution of the problem. We should,
on the whole, be more disposed to place confidence in the
estimate of Hales, who moreover states, that the velocity
with which the blood passes into the aorta, is about one hun¬
dred and fifty feet per minute, or two feet and a half per
second ; and that the quantity of blood passing through the
heart during each hour, is about twenty times the whole
mass of blood contained in the body ; or, in other words,
that the whole mass completes twenty entire circulations in
an hour. The great velocity of the blood in the vessels is
exemplified by the fact, that a fluid introduced into one of
the jugular veins of a horse, has been detected in the oppo¬
site vein, and even in the vena saphena of the leg, in the
course of half a minute.
(453.) It has been keenly disputed whether the heart is
able completely to empty its cavities at each contraction ;
and the question, which is not one of any real importance,
is hardly yet decided.
(454.) Another subject of controversy which was much
agitated among the French physiologists in the middle of
the last century, is, whether the heart is shortened or elon¬
gated during its systole ; that is, whether the apex ap¬
proaches the base during the contraction of the ventricle, or
recedes from it. From the numerous observations of Spal¬
lanzani, as well as of other experimentalists, there seems to
be no doubt that during the systole all the parts are brought
nearer to the tendinous ring surrounding the auriculo-ven-
tricular orifices, which may be regarded as the fixed pivot
of its movements, and consequently the length, as well
as the other diameters of the heart, is shortened. Du¬
ring this action, however, the curvature being suddenly
straightened, the apex is projected forwards, and produces
that striking against the ribs which is felt by the hand ap¬
plied externally to the chest,
ipacities (455.) 4 he right ventricle having only to perform the
the lighter task of circulating the blood through the lungs, is
"tnces much inferior in thickness and strength to the left ventri¬
cle, which has to propel the blood through the whole aortic
system, forming a course of much greater magnitude than
that of the pulmonary vessels. But, on the other hand, the
capacities of the two ventricles are nearly equal, as might
be expected, when it is considered that the same quantity
of blood which is forced out from the one, must, in the
course of circulation, pass through the other ; and that both
the ventricles contract the same number of times in a given
interval. The quantity of blood expelled by the heart at
each contraction, is estimated by Blumenbach at two ounces.
So that, reckoning the whole mass of blood at thirty-five
pounds, or four hundred and twenty ounces, and the con¬
tractions to be repeated seventy-five times in a minute, the
whole of the blood will have passed through the heart in
about three minutes ; thus agreeing very nearly with the
estimate of Hales already stated, (§ 452.)
stability ^ (456.) It has been supposed that the heart exerts some
™e force in the diastole as well as systole ; and that the recoil
of the muscles when they spring back, after they have per¬
formed their contraction, creates a force of suction, which
promotes the flow of blood in the great veins towards the
heart. But the truth of this proposition is exceedingly du¬
bious.
(457.) The movements of the heart are completely in¬
voluntary ; that is, are entirely beyond the control of the
will. Nor are its natural actions accompanied by any sen¬
sations. They are, generally speaking, totally independent
of the nervous system; for they may be maintained after
the destruction of the brain and spinal cord, and even after
all the nerves which supply the heart have been divided.
Yet these movements are capable of being influenced, often
very suddenly, by an impression made upon any consider¬
able portion of the nervous system. The regular contrac¬
tions of the heart appear to be excited simply by the sti-
643
mulus of distension from the periodical influx of blood into Physiology,
its cavities. This organ is evidently endowed with a very1
high degree, and a very peculiar kind of irritability, not
subject, like that of the voluntary muscles, to exhaustion,
by the most powerful exertions, reiterated for an indefinite
time.
2. Actions of the Arteries.
(458.) Whatever be the velocity with which the blood Action of
is projected from the heart into the aorta, that velocity is the arteries,
soon retarded, in the course of its progress from the larger
to the smaller branches of that arterial trunk. This is am¬
ply illustrated by the observation of the effects which follow
the division or wounds of arteries in different parts of their
course. A wound of the carotid artery is almost instantly
fatal, from the deluge of blood which rushes out from the
opening. 1 he division of the other large arterial trunks is
no less certainly fatal, if means be not at hand to stop the
torrent that gushes out with resistless impetuosity. In the
smaller arteries, such as those in which the motion of the
blood can be viewed with the microscope, the current is
very languid and feeble. It is, in reality, however, much
slower than it appears to be ; for it should be recollected,
that in viewing the magnified image of an object, its motion
is magnified in the same proportion as its dimensions.
(459.) Ihe cause of this continual retardation of the Retarding
blood is to be traced in the structure of the arterial system forces,
itself. The velocity of a fluid passing through a tube of
unequal diameter in different parts, must be inversely as the
area of the tube at each respective point of its length ; that
is, inversely as the square of the diameter. Accordingly,
it we suppose two cylinders of different diameters joined to¬
gether, and that a fluid is passing from one end to the other,
it must evidently move with less velocity in the wider than
in the narrower part; for if it did not, it would leave be¬
hind it a vacant space. But a vacuum of this kind can
never take place in the living body, in which, with what¬
ever other properties they may be endowed, the fluids are
still obedient to the laws of hydraulics. The arterial sys¬
tem consists of an assemblage of tubes, which, though they
continually diminish in their diameter as they divide into
branches, yet as the united area of the branches is always
greater than that of the trunk out of which they arose, they
constitute, when taken as a whole, a system of channels of
continually increasing capacity, as we follow them from the
heart to the extremities. The whole cavity through which
the blood moves, may therefore be represented by a cone,
having its apex at the heart, and its base at the termination
of the minutest arterial ramifications. The beginning of
the aorta is, in reality, the narrowest part of the whole chan¬
nel, considered with reference to the united areas of the
successive order of branches as they divide. The sum of all
the areas of the minutest ramifications of the arteries exist¬
ing in the body, comprising myriads of myriads of vessels, if
they could be collected together, would form an area of im¬
mense extent. No wonder, therefore, that the motion of
the blood, when it arrives at this part of the circulation,
should be so prodigiously retarded as actual observation
shews us that it is.
(460.) Notwithstanding this great difference in the velo¬
city of the blood in different parts of its arterial circulation,
it would appear from the experiments of Poiseuille, that the
pressure exerted by the blood, as measured by the column
of mercury it will support at different distances from the
heart, is not very different.
(461.) The arteries being always full of blood, and their Elastic
coats distended by its presence, the elasticity of these coats power of
is always exerted, and produces a constant pressure 0narteries’
the blood, independently of any force that may urge it for¬
wards. The entry of a fresh quantity of blood forced into
them by the action of the heart, produces a slight additional
644
Physiology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
distention of their coats, and a consequent reaction of their
elasticity. This reaction of the arteries in each interval ot
the heart’s pulsation, tends much to equalize the motion ot
the blood ; and has the effect also of propagating the im¬
pulse originally given to it by the heart very quickly to t le
remoter parts of the arterial system. The velocity with
which this impulse is transmitted, is much greater than the
actual motion of the blood, and partakes of the nature of a
wave, which, as is well known, advances with incomparably
greater rapidity than the progressive motion of the fluid it¬
self. It is the impulse given to the sides of the artery by
this wave, as it may be called, which constitutes the pulse,
and which is more particulary rendered sensible on com¬
pressing the artery with the finger.
Theirmus- (462.) It has been a much disputed question, both here
cular ac- and on the continent, whether the arteries assist the circula¬
tion. tion by exerting any contractile power of their own. 1 ie
evidence in favour of their exerting such an action is very
strong, and apparently irresistible. The power of the heart,
however enormous we may suppose it to be, would appear
to be quite inadequate to drive the whole mass of the blood
through the infinite number of narrow and contorted chan¬
nels through which it actually moves, were it not assisted
by some additional force, derived from the contractions of
the arteries themselves. Many facts prove that variations in
the impetus of the blood, and in the quantity which circu¬
lates in particular parts, occur at different times, quite inc e-
pendently of any general alteration of the circulation, or of
any corresponding change in the action of the heart. 1 e
only assignable cause for such differences is a variation in
the extent of action of the arteries. Numerous experiments
show that stimuli applied to the smaller arteries occasion in
them a temporary constriction at the points where irntation
has been excited ; which, after a certain time, goes off spon¬
taneously. Various other facts also prove that the arteries
have a power of spontaneous contraction ; this power is ex¬
hibited in the most unequivocal manner when an artery has
been cut across ; the consequent hasmorrhage being, aftei
some time, stopped by this action of the coats of the artery.
This contractile force of arteries is probably derived from
muscularity, although the muscular structure is not distinct¬
ly perceptible. It is considerably greater m the smaller
than in the larger arteries; and it is probably greatest ot
all in the capillaries.
(463.) Notwithstanding the facts above stated, tne mus¬
cularity of the arteries is denied by some of the most emi¬
nent of the continental physiologists; and among others,
Magendie, Broussais, Adelon, Alard, Rolando, and Muller.
3. Action of the Capillaries.
Action of (464.) The particular agents by which the circulation is
the capil- carried on in the capillary vessels cannot be very precisely de-
laries. termined; and the subject hasgiven rise to much controversy
among physiologists. The action ot these vessels is evi¬
dently of the greatest importance in relation to every other
function, and more especially to the production of every
permanent change which may take place in the form or
composition of the organs, fhe variable state of the cir¬
culation in different organs at different times, must be oc¬
casioned principally by diversities in the actions ot the ca¬
pillaries. It appears from the experiments of Hunter, that
while the larger arteries possess a greater proportion of elas¬
tic power, the smaller arteries have a comparatively greater
muscular contractility ; and this reasoning may, with great
appearance of probability, be extended to the capillaries. It
would appear, indeed, from various observations on the in¬
ferior animals, and in particular from those made by Dr. M .
Philip, that the circulation in the capillaries may be kept
up for some time after the pulsation of the heart has entire- Physiolog;
ly ceased, and even when that organ has been altogether
removed from the body. In many cases, indeed, the ca¬
pillaries, when viewed with the microscope, have been seen
to contract on the application to them of stimuli, which, in
other cases, excite contractions in the muscular fibre. The
pulsatory motion of the blood given to it in the arteries by
the periodical contractions of the heart, is scarcely sensible
in the smaller arteries, and is totally lost in the capillaiies,
where we find the blood moving in a uniform stream. Phis is
anecessary consequence of the tortuous course of the channels
through which it passes, and of the numerous communica¬
tions among these vessels, which equalize the effects of the
original impulse, and extend them over the whole period of
time that intervenes between one pulsation and the next.
4. Action of the Veins.
(465.) The blood which is returned from every part of Action of
the system by the veins, is gradually accelerated in its pro-veins
gress towards the heart, fora similar reason that it was re¬
tarded in its transmission through the arteries, namely, that
the capacity of the channel through which this fluid is pass¬
ing is continually diminishing ; for the united area ot the
beginnings of the veins is incomparably smaller than the
conjoined area of the two venae cavae. The office of the
veins generally appears, on the whole, to partake more of a
mechanical action than that of the ai teries, though it is
probable that the smaller veins may derive from their struc¬
ture powers analogous to those of the capillaries. The
power which impels the blood forwards in the veins is chiefly
the impulse it has already received, and the pressure exert¬
ed on it from behind, or wrhat has been technically teimed
the vis a tergo. This force is assisted also in many situa¬
tions by the pressure made on the veins by the action of
the neighbouring muscles, which, in consequence of the
valves placed in the course of the veins, preventing all re¬
trograde motion in the blood, must contribute to force it
onwards towards the heart. It is probable, however, that
the veins are not altogether destitute of a power of contrac¬
tion, though less considerable than that possessed by the ar¬
teries ; and that the exertion of this power has some share
in accelerating the motion of the blood in the venous sys¬
tem. Whatever power may arise from the force of dilata¬
tion exerted by the auricles of the heart during their dias¬
tole, which, however, we have reason to believe is very tri¬
fling, must be added to the account of the forces that tend
to promote the motion of the blood towards those cavities.
Some have supposed that a similar power is derived from
the expansion of the chest in the act of inspiration; but
this, if it exist at all, is of very inconsiderable amount. The
venm cavae near their termination in the auricles, are fur¬
nished with a distinct layer of muscular fibres, apparently
for the purpose of enabling them to resist the retrograde
impulse communicated to the blood by the contraction of
the auricles.
5. Pulmonary Circulation.
(466.) There is nothing very different in the circuktion Putmona
through the pulmonary arteries, capillaries, and veins, from
what takes place in the corresponding vessels of the syste¬
mic circulation, excepting that junctions are occasionally
formed between the smaller branches of the branchial arte¬
ries which have their origin from the aorta, and the branches
of the pulmonary artery. The phenomena which occur in
asphyxia, or death from suffocation, prove that the pulmo¬
nary capillaries have a distinct action of their own in carry*
ing on the circulation. The beautiful net-work formed by
the inosculating branches of the pulmonary capillaries was
1 See Milligan’s Translation of Magendie, and Bostock's Physiology, p- 244.
PHYSIOLOGY.
lysiology- first observed by Malpighi, and has received the name of
Hete miralnle Malpighi. 1 he pulmonary veins are wholly
destitute of valves, not being exposed to variations of pres¬
sure from the actions of the surrounding muscles. They
are furnished, like the venae cavae, with a reinforcement of
muscular fibres, in the neighbourhood of the left auricle in
which they terminate.
(467.) In one respect, the vessels of the pulmonary cir¬
culation differ from those of the systemic, namely, that the
arteries are carrying dark-coloured blood, and the veins flo¬
rid blood; the former being termed venous, from having the
qualities of that which is returned by the veins of the sys¬
tem ; the latter being termed arterial, because it has the
qualities of that which circulates in the systemic arteries.
G4g
CHAP. VIII RESPIRATION.
Ibjects of (468.) The object of the function of respiration is the
spiration. conversion of venous into arterial blood, by its exposure to
the chemical influence of atmospheric air received into the
lungs. This arterialization of the blood is a process more
essential to the continuance of life than even the assimila¬
tion of aliment. The necessity for air is more imperious
than the demand for food ; and the interruption to its sup¬
ply cannot be continued for a few minutes without being
fatal to life. In comparing the extent to which this func¬
tion is carried on in the different classes of animals, we shall
find that in general the intensity of all the vital actions is
nearly in proportion to the perfection in which the objects
of this function are accomplished.
(469.) The consideration of the function of respiration,
then, comprises an inquiry into the three following objects;
first, the mechanical means by which the air is alternately
admitted and discharged from the lungs ; secondly, the pro¬
vision made for bringing the blood to the lungs, and expos¬
ing it to the action of the air; and, lastly, the chemical
changes which are produced on the blood by the action of
the air in that organ. The means of fulfilling the second
of these objects has already been sufficiently explained in
the account we have just given of the circulation. It re¬
mains, therefore, that we consider the first and third branches
of the inquiry.
Sect. I—Mechanism of Respiration.
chanism . (470.) The anatomical structure of the organs of respira-
| espira- tion, namely, the lungs with its air passages, including the
trachea, bronchiae, and air cells, together with the general
conical cavity of the thorax, bounded by the sternum in
front, the spine behind, and the ribs on every other side,
while its lower side, or basis of the cone, is closed by the
diaphragm, have already been fully detailed in the treatise
on Anatomy, to which it is only necessary here to refer.
(471.) The mechanical act of respiration is divisible into
two periods, that of inspiration, during which air is drawn
into the lungs, so as to distend their vesicles, and expira¬
tion, during which the air which had been so received is
expelled.
’iration. (472.) Inspiration is accomplished by enlarging the ca¬
pacity of the thorax in all its dimensions. This is effected
by the action of different sets of muscles. The principal
muscle of inspiration is the diaphragm, which has an arched
form, the convexity being towards the chest. Its attach¬
ments by radiating fibres arising from a central tendinous
portion, and inserted into the ribs which form the lower
margin of the chest, are such, that when they contract they
draw down the middle tendon, and render the diaphragm
wore flat than it was before. Hence the space above is
enlarged. The flattening of the diaphragm takes place
chiefly in the fleshy lateral portions, but the middle tendon
is also slightly depressed.
(473.) The second set of muscles employed in inspiration PhysioWy.
are those which elevate the ribs ; and the principal of these
are the two layers of intercostal muscles. Each rib is ca¬
pable of a small degree of motion on the extremity by which
it is articulated with the vertebr®. This motion is chiefly an
upward and a downward motion. But since the ribs, as they
advance from the spine towards the sternum, bend down-
wards in their course, the effect of the vertical motion just
described will be that of raising the sternum, and increas¬
ing its distance from the spine; enlarging, consequently,
the capacity of the chest. The intercostal muscles are dis¬
posed in two layers, each passing obliquely, but with oppo¬
site inclinations, from one rib to the adjacent rib. Hence
they act with the advantage of oblique muscles on the prin¬
ciples formerly explained.
(474.) Thus there are two ways in which the chest may
be dilated ; first, by the diaphragm, and, secondly, by the
muscles which elevate the ribs. In general, when the re¬
spiration is natural and unconstrained, we chiefly breathe
by means of the diaphragm ; but we also employ the in¬
tercostal muscles when the respiration is quickened or im¬
peded by any cause. If respiration should be rendered dif¬
ficult several other muscles are called into play in aid of the
intercostals ; namely, the great muscles situated in the back
and sides, which connect the ribs to the spine and to the
scapula ; and several of the muscles of the neck are also
thrown into action as auxiliaries on these occasions, when
the respiration becomes laborious.
(475.) The glottis is kept open, during inspiration, by the
muscles of the larynx which perform that office ; and when
a forcible inspiration is made, the nostrils are expanded,
the lower jaw depressed, and every action which can in the
remotest degree concur in the effect of removing all ob¬
struction to the passage of the air into the trachea, is ex¬
erted.
(476.) Having thus shown how the cavity of the thorax
is dilated, let us next trace the effect of this expansion upon
the lungs. It is obvious, that if when, by the descent of
the diaphragm and elevation of the ribs, the cavity of the
chest is enlarged, the lungs were to remain in their origi¬
nal situation, an empty space would be left between them
and the sides of the chest. But no vacuum can ever take
place in the living body ; the air already present in the air-
cells of the lungs must, by its elasticity, expand these or¬
gans ; and the external air, having access to them by means
of the trachea, will rush in through that tube in order to
restore the equilibrium. This, then, is inspiration.
(477.) The expulsion of the air from the lungs consti- FxHraHnn
tutes expiration. This takes place as soon as the air which
had been inspired has lost a certain portion of its oxygen,
and received in return a certain quantity of carbonic acid
gas and of watery vapour, by having had communication
with the blood in the pulmonary capillaries. When thus
contaminated it excites an uneasy sensation in the chest, and
the intercostal muscles relaxing, the ribs fall into their ori¬
ginal situation, and the relaxed diaphragm is pushed upwards
by the action of the_ abdominal muscles. The lungs, being
compressed, expel the air they had received, and" this air
escapes through the trachea. The movements of inspira¬
tion are in like manner prompted by an uneasy sensation
consequent upon the presence of venous blood in the pul¬
monary system.
(478.) Thus the lungs are merely passive agents in the
mechanism of respiration ; for it does not appear that they
have, as was at one time supposed, any inherent power of
extension or contraction, if we except only that arising from
the elasticity which they possess in common with all mem¬
branous textures. Hence, if an opening be made in the
sides of the chest, the lung on that side immediately col¬
lapses, in consequence of the internal pressure of the air
against its air-cells, which kept the lung expanded, being
646
Physiology'
Quantity
of air re¬
spired.
Chemial
effects.
1. On the
air respired
PHYSIOLOGY.
PfLo otmnsnhprp which excellent summary of the results which have been arrived Physiolqi
balanced by the external pressure of the at P ^ b dlfferent experimentalists, with critical remarks on'—
has been admitted on the outer surface rxniration their respective values, will be found in Dr. Destock’s Ele-
(479.) The alternations fof Physioh^ _ ^ _
which together constitute one act of g’ j tiJns of (483.) Much difference of opinion has prevailed with re¬
in ordinary health, about once spect to the absorption or evolution of nitrogen during re-
the heart; and as both are gent y d instates spiration. From the accurate experiments on this subject
same proportion, the same rule usually hoi b ' I^ade by Dr> Edwards, it appears that on some occasions
of disease. „ . , . _ at parL there is a small increase, and in others a diminution of the
(480.) The quantity of air taken ^to the lu g » nitro of the air respired. But the limits within which
inspiration has been very variously estl™*te^ J. differ_ we „fust COnfine ourselves in this treatise, forbid our enter-
ent person^and indifferent sfeites of the system! but from ing into the experimental details from which this conclusion
G— ^pnrrpnt. testimony of the most accurate expenmen- i- c ^ quantity Gf water exhaled from the lungs in
the course of a day, has been estimated by Dr. Thomson at
nineteen ounces, and by Dr. Dalton at twenty-four.
(485.) It should be observed, however, that the quantity
of carbonic acid thrown off from the lungs, is liable to great
variation from several causes ; it has been found by Dr.
appear that the lungs are capable o. con,.n-ng, wnne u, lit ta “ y“uth *an
their most expanded state, after or niaiymspn-a^io , idd] a„e . and that it is diminished by causes which m-
three hundred and thirty cubic inches of air. One eighth ’ or ]esgen the yital energie8.
of the whole contents of the lungs, t icre ore,1 » /qyg We have next to inquire what changes have, m2. On
each respiration. If we suppose that we respire twenty tie ( m l b effected in the blood by the action ofblood.
each minute, the quantity of an- resptreddunng twenty-four the been subjected in lungs. A vi-
hours will amount to six hundred am i y - gjb|e aiteration in the first place, is produced in its cojour,
cFCT l\—Chemical Effects of Respiration. which, from being of a dark purple, nearly approaching to
(481.) Before we inquire into the changes produced on black, •
the blood by its exposure to the ^deJgoes by blood when brought back totheheartby the pulmonary veins.
proper to notice the changes which the an u g J In other respects, however, its sensible qualities do not appear
Ihii process. The air of the atmosphere is found byjh^ ^ ^ any’material chinge. Judging from
mical analysis to consist of seventy-nine pe ent changes produced on the air which has beeaun contact
gem twenty of oxygen, and one^carbomc^td.^ When “^“w^nted in the inference that it has parted
with a certain quantity of carbonic acid and of water, and
that it has in return acquired a certain proportion of oxy¬
gen. Since it has been found that the quantity of oxygen
absorbed, is greater than that which enters into the (tom-
“e concurrent testimony of the most accurate experimen.
talists the average quantity appears to be about forty cubic
inches By a forcible expiration there may be expelled, in
addition to * this quantity, about a hundred and seventy in¬
ches more. But even after this effort has been made, there
still remain about a hundred and twenty cubic inches in the
lungs; so that, adding all these quantities together, it will
appear that the lungs are capable of containing, whde in
expired, the principal Change which has taken place in it
is the substitution of a certain quantity, which, on an aver¬
age, is about seven and a half per cent, of carbonic acid
o-as for a nearly equal quantity of oxygen gas, and the ad¬
dition of a quantity of aqueous vapour. Air which has
1.1 1 41- _ 1   IT S\Y-%r*CA 5c in
p^cnd0tL™rWsTlToncea&ab|o"fsupport. “^“^ty^nTdTrtcUy^absoAed by^e
of the oxygen consumed in the air resp.red m the course of l,a Pf °' di ted whether the combi-
a day, will be found to — *o >b<>ut two pounds a„d a J^.^-bee^muc^d osy
quarter avoirdupois, or neaily 15,500 grams, occupy g rarbon furnished by the blood, occurs dur-
Us gaseous state a volume a n^he^ S^lT^dlakel plac-e in the air celisof
more than 2b cubic feet. Ihe quantity ot caroo c & whether it takes place in the course of circu-
expelled from the lungs is somewhat less than us ; i ° On the first hypothesis^the chemical process would
total balk in the tweng.four hours amo,m.mg on an ave - Utrom On first hypo ^ of charc0!ll)
age only to 40,000 cubic inches, or -.3 2 cubic • i • i . Uo r>nneeived tn lie contained in the venous
total weight is 18,600 grains, or 2-86 pounds avoirdupois, w.nci ‘“ay^ excccdi„„ly divided and ready tocom-
ammudrf carbonic ackUs'^OS or very nearly three bine witljjbe; “^ScteriSc dark “cotmTS arterial
disappearance of diis oxygen is, by supposing .« to have
1482 fThe numbers given above are, of course, to be to which it is subjected for supplying the organs w.thtte
taken as imperfect approximations to the truth, being de- materials required in the exeicise ° ™increas.
dtedtsZ mean o'Ahe best authenticated observations, tions, **
in which, however, there exist such great discrepancies as ed, ^othby ared by the organs
to render any accurate appreciations nearly hopeless. An the addition of nutritive mateiials prepared oy
i See Bostoek on Respiration, and also bis Physiology, 3d edition, pages 321 and 361. in atmospheric air is even
* The recent experiments of De Saussure tend to show that the proportional quantity of ca.borne acid gas l
less than this. He estimates it at only four parts by volume in a million volumes cl air.
* We refer particularly to the 3d section of chap. vii. p. 336—362.
Uutioa
heat.
jysiol^y- of digestion. The oxygen which had been absorbed by the
blood m the lungs, now combines with the redundant car¬
bon, and forms with it either oxide of carbon, or carbonic
acid, which is exhaled during a subsequent exposure to the
air in the lungs. Many facts tend strongly to confirm our
belief in the latter of these hypotheses.
(488.)^ It appears from a multitude of experiments, as
well as from observations of the phenomena which take
place in asphyxia, (that is, in the suspension of the vital
actions from an interruption to respiration, as in hanging
or drowning, or immersion in any gas not fitted for respira¬
tion,) that if the blood be not arterialized, and if, retaining
its venous character, it be circulated in that state thromdi
the arteries of the system, it will act as a poison to the or¬
gans to which it is sent, destroying both the nervous and
sensorial powers, and impairing the irritability of the mus¬
cles ; and that this is the cause of the rapidity with which
death ensues under these circumstances. It thus appears
that respiration requires to be constantly kept up in order
to free the blood from the continual additions of carbon
which are made to it by the various processes of assimila¬
tion and absorption. It is also a principal agent in perfect¬
ing the animalization of the chyle, which is added to the
blood, and in converting it into fibrin.
Sect. III.—Animal Temperature.
(489.) Since we find that the human body, as well as
those of all warm-blooded animals, is constantly maintained
during life at a temperature higher than that of the sur¬
rounding medium, at least in temperate climates, it becomes
interesting to inquire into the sources whence this heat is
evolved. The union of carbon and oxygen which takes
place in consequence of respiration, is the most obvious of
these sources ; and suggests that the evolution of animal
heat takes place in a manner somewhat analogous to the
ordinary combustion of carbonaceous fuel. The circum¬
stance of the equable heat of every part of the body, ex¬
cepting the immediate surface where it is cooled by the
contact of the air, and by cutaneous perspiration, would be
in perfect accordance with the theory of Dr. Crawford
already explained ; for if the combination of oxygen with
carbon take place gradually in the course of the circulation,
it will follow that the evolution of heat will also take place
at the same time, and in the vessels employed in the circu¬
lation. Or even if the combination took place in the lungs,
if it could be shewn, as Dr. Crawford endeavoured to prove,
that arterial blood has a greater capacity for caloric than
venous blood, all the heat that would have been evolved in
the pulmonary vessels would be absorbed by the arterial
blood, and given out in the course of its circulation, during
its gradual conversion into venous blood, which has a less
capacity for caloric.
(490.) It would appear, however, from some recent ex¬
periments of Dulong and Despretz,1 that only three-fourths
of the whole quantity of caloric produced by the living sys¬
tem can be explained by the combination of oxygen with
carbon in respiration. Probably, therefore, several of the
other chemical changes induced on the blood by the pro¬
cesses of secretion and nutrition, contribute to the further
evolution of caloric, and to the maintenance of the animal
temperature. This evolution appears, although primarily
dependent on respiration, to be in a great measure con¬
trolled by the action of the nervous powers; and to be re¬
gulated by a variety of circumstances in the condition of
the other functions, especially that of the circulation, which
are very imperfectly known ; and the inquiry into which
would lead us into a field of discussion far too extensive
for the limits within which we must confine ourselves in
the present treatise. We must content ourselves, there-
PHYSIOLOGY.
64?
fore, with again referring to the work of Dr. Bostock for Physiology,
more ample information on these subjects. s**
CHAP. IX SECRETION.
(191.) Secretion is that function by which various sub- Object oi
stances are either separated from the blood or formed from secretion.'
it, m order to be applied to some useful purpose in the eco¬
nomy. We have noticed, in the course of the preceding
inquiries, several instances of fluids prepared from the blood,
and rendered subservient to different uses in the economy,
r he saliva, the gastric and pancreatic juices, the bile, and
the mucus lubricating the surface of the alimentary canal,
are all examples of secretions subservient to digestion and
assimilation.
(492.) Such being the general purpose answered by this
function, we have first to examine the apparatus provided
for its performance ; secondly, the nature of the effects
obtained ; and, thirdly, the peculiar powers which are con¬
cerned in their production.
Sect. I—Apparatus for Secretion.
(493.) The apparatus employed by nature for the per- Organs of
.or^?5.nce secrefi°ii varies considerably in its structure, secretion,
in different instances, according to the nature of the pro¬
duct which is to result from the operation ; and according
as that product is merely separated from the blood, in which
it may already have existed, or is formed by the combina¬
tion of certain elements and proximate principles furnished
by that fluid. In the simplest cases, where that product is
principally aqueous, and apparently consists of nothing more
than the serous portion of the blood separated from it by
mere transudation, we find no other organs requisite than
those smooth membranous surfaces which we have already
described under the name of the serous membranes. The mu¬
cous secretions proceed, in like manner, from the modified,
yet still simple action of a membranous surface, of a rather
more refined structure, namely, the mucous membranes.
The more elaborate products of secretion, on the other hand,
which are apparently formed by combinations of pre-exist¬
ing elements, are obtained by the agency of organs of a more
complicated structure, which are denominated glands.
Sect. II.— Glandular Apparatus.
. (494.) d he essential part of the structure of a gland con- Glands,
sists in a collection of tubes, more or less convoluted, unit¬
ed by cellular substance into masses of a rounded form,
constituting a lobule. Each lobule has a separate invest¬
ment of membrane ; and the whole aggregate of lobules is
furnished with a general membranous envelope, or capsule.
In every gland we meet with a complex arrangement of
numerous arteries, veins, nerves, and lymphatics, provided
with ramified excretory ducts, which conduct awav the se¬
creted matter that has been prepared in the substance of
the gland.
(495.) The above description of a gland does not include Conglobate
those organs, which, although resembling the proper glands glands,
in their general appearance, perform no distinct office of secre¬
tion, and are therefore unprovided with any excretory duct.
This is the case with those bodies belonging to the absor¬
bent system, which bear improperly the title of lymphatic
or conglobate glands. The spleen, the renal capsules, the
pineal gland, the thyroid gland, and the thymus, are, in like
manner, improperly included in the class of glands ; for we
have no evidence of their secreting any fluid, and indeed
know nothing of their real functions.
(496.) The catalogue of glands, strictly answering to the Glandular
definition, will comprise the following organs, namely, the system,
liver, pancreas, and kidneys; the salivary, lacrymal, and
1 See Mid er's Physiology, by Baly, p. 83.
C48
Physiology
PHYSIOLOGY.
Texture
of glands.
Conglo¬
merate
glands.
Acini.
meibomian glands ; the tonsils, the eeniminous glands
of the ear, and the sebaceous glands of the face , t
mammae, the prostate, the testicle, Cowper s g a ’
glandulae odorifene, and the extensive system of mucous
glands about the head and trunk. These parts, although
differing widely from each other in many respects, agree
in a sufficient number of particulars to allow of being class¬
ed together in one organic system, which Bichat has term
ed the qlandular system. . .
f497.) Most of the glands are arranged in pairs, as t
kidneys, testicles, salivary and lacrymal glands, while
others are single, as the liver and the pancreas.
f498.) The organization of the glandular system is ex¬
ceedingly complex, and cannot be unravelled without great
difficulty. The tissue of which they are composed presents
us with no regular arrangement of fibres, such as we see in
the muscles, ligaments, nerves, or bones ; but t ic w 10 e
structure is made up of a congeries of vessels and cells
having no very firm cohesion amongst themselves, and hence
admitting very readily of being separated by slight mecha¬
nical causes. While organs which have a more extensive
fibrous organization possess considerable powers of resist-
t . J.  1C ClITTlPlf^nt tO
mencement of the excretory ducts. Two opinions have Physioloy
long divided anatomists on this subject. Malpighi, whov-p‘\^
was one of the first who investigated the minute anatomy
of glands, asserted that the acini invariably contain a cen¬
tral cavity, or follicle^ as it was termed, on the inner sur¬
face of which the arteries are distributed, while the secreted
fluid is collected in the follicle, and conveyed away by the
branch of the excretory duct which arises from the follicle.
He considered the mucous glands of the alimentary canal,
which undoubtedly present a structure of this kind, as the
most simple forms of glandular structure ; the larger glands
beino1 only aggregations of these simpler structures.
(503.) The theory of Ruysch, who also bestowed ex¬
traordinary care in the examination of glandular structures,
is founded on the supposed continuity of the extremities
of the arteries with the commencements of the excretory
duct. This theory is so far opposed to that of Malpighi,
that it pre-supposes all the glands to consist merely of an
assemblage of vessels and of cellular substance, without
any membranous cavities interposed between the arteries
and excretory ducts. The opportunities of dissection which
Ruysch enjoyed, and his unrivalled skill in the arts of in-
irganization possess considerable powers o • the vessels, and tracing their modes of distribution,
ance, a vary moderate degree of v.olence is sufficien o jectmg h ve se ^ ^ ^ seemed to be j
tear asunder the texture o a 8 deductions from what he saw, and had established
the latter case is owing solely to the cohesion of the cellu- mediate aeaucuo injection to
lar tissue which connects their parts and which differs in blood-vessels into the 'excretory
its density and strength in different glands. 1 ^ kidneys and liver. After these organs
(499.) There are three different ^ ^ en |ene^ have been accurately injected, they may be resolved, by
dular tissue, or parenchyma of glands, as it ha g bseauent maceration, into small clusters of blood-vessels;
nerally termed, is disposed. In those glan Is w what ^alpighi had represented as hollow acini, seemed to
been called conglomerate, a term which, as ve ’ iitv roinDosed of a congeries of these minute ves-
has been used in contradistinction to sel" ThlslppTto the evidence of the senses, and the
lymphatic glands, the organ is made up of PorHon^, rations which supported it, brought over
connected together by a laige quantity of lo , ,, anatomists of that time to the opinion of
tissue, iu the intervals of which the vessels an Ruysch • anil Boerhaave himself, who had been a zealous
situated. These larger lobes are again made up of smaller Kuysch, anuuoe ’ d ; t in rt
^es united in the same way. By -~ d,vision we ^"Xctd to Kpt the views of RuyS.
obtain smaller and smaller component portions, t il ' TWs controversy was sustained for a great many
rive at last at very small bodies still visible . . cr.v,nnl« nf medicine • and the opinions of anato-
eve, and which L called by anatomists S be dhrtded
These successive lobules are firmer in proportion as } Prnhablv both these opinions may in part be
are smaller, being surrounded and connected with the a join- ns su j • to different glands though not univer-
lobes may easily be followed with the scalpel, i . ^ parenchyma,ofacellular or more intricate organic apparatus,
fhrther divisible^into^maller' Portias, b^w^en^which are
powers, we do not find that we can reacn men ninn. j. c , , . „ i mup tprrn acinus has
above description is particularly applicable to the salivary, bags, P 499) ' Colula are merely su-
“700) “heTecondmldification of glandular structure perfleial hollows from the suriheerf
occurs in the liver and the kidneys, in which it is impossi- poured forth A ‘|a ?.fab“dSb3fbut
hie to trace these successive divisions into lobules, after we not completely surrounded a ^nded
have distinguished the primary lobes which they present, by bmhng or niaceratio i. ’ is
Their structure exhibits an uniform and even tissue, made to the extremity of the duct, into wh ch th^
up of glandular acini, closely united together into one sub- made, and from which it is earned °ft by the ^
stance The connecting cellular substance, if any such are little sacs, opening largely into certain passages, an
exist, is very short and small in quantity , and hence these to which '
Structure
of glands.
organs mav be torn asunder with great ease, and their rup
tured surfaces present the appearance of granulations.
(501.) The third description of glands applies to the pros¬
tate, to the tonsils, and in general to all the mucous glands.
(502.) On examining the course of the blood-vessels,
the small arteries which enter into a gland are found to
wnicn geiitiany t Fxcretc
(506.) The excretory ducts, whatever may be their exact ^
origin, consist at first of an infinite number of capillary
tubes, which, like the veins, soon unite together into more con¬
siderable tubes. These generally pursue a straight course
through the glandular tissue, unite with one another, ana
form at last one or more large tubes. The only exception
the small arteries which enter into a gland are found to mrm ai .ast one m u.u . . du‘ts 0f
ramify in various ways through a mass of cellular texture, to this genera proposi ion tru-mous course before
But it is a matter of great uncertainty what specific struc- the testicle, which pursue a singularly tortuou
ture intervenes between the secreting arteries and the com- they unite into the vas deferens on each side.
PHYSIOLOGY.
I^Stionf with regirdTo SrexcretoiyTc^of'gllndf '“in'tTe fdTT’ a'1',l°US’ T'1'"1''5'’ m',C0US’ adiPose anlJ serousi' plyMology
j a . : j ui yianus. in tne
first case, the ducts unite into several distinct tubes, which
open separately, and without any previous communication.
Sometimes these separate apertures are met with in a more
or less distinct prominence, as in the breasts, the prostate,
and the sublingual glands. At other times, the orifices are
found in a depression, or kind of cul-de-sac, as in the ton¬
sils, and in the foramen ccecum of the tongue. In the se
cond case, which includes the greater number of glands,
their fluids are poured out by a single tube, having a simple
orifice. In the third case, some glands deposit the produce
of their secretion in a reservoir, where it is retained, in order
mucous, unctuous, and sebaceous.5
• t51!^ Dr‘ Bostock6 distributes the secretions under the
eight heads of the aqueous, the albuminous, the mucous,
the gelatinous, the fibrinous, the oleaginous, the resinous,
and the saline; an arrangement which, in a chemical point
ot view, is the clearest and most natural that has yet been
devised. We shall briefly notice these several classes in
the order above stated.
1. The Aqueous Secretions.
to be expelled at particular times: as is exemplifiedfoThe , ^512^ Thf aqueous secretions are those which consist a
kidneys, liver, and testicles. In this case there must be a m?t ent!rely of water> and of which the properties de-.^cretiW
two excretory tubes ; one to convey the secretion from the Pfend PnnciPally on its watery part; any other ingredientSecretlons-
gland to the reservoir, and the other to transmit it to its ll maJ cor1ltain being in too small a quantity to give it any
final destination. The size of the excretory ducts will, of sP<rclbc characters. The two secretions which are refer-
course, be regulated very much by their number: when a , ,t0. t l1* c ass are tbe cutaneous perspiration, and the
several are produced from one gland, they are very small exna*atlon from the lungs.
and sometimes scarcely perceptible. Those which are single , ^ith regard to the fluid of perspiration, it seems
are longer with reference to the size of the gland, and |e- whether lt contains any ingredients that are con-
nerally pass for some distance, after quitting the gland. In stantly Present m it, or that are essential to its nature. It
the pancreas, however, this is not the case, the common ^PPfarS ^ dlffer’ indeed, considerably in different indivi-
/Loe\ng^0nCealed in the substance of the gland. duT ; and vanes even in the same individual, according
(508.) Whatever the arrangement of the excretory ducts T? *tate ofJthe system. Its analysis was attempted by
may be, they all pour their fluids, either on the surface of Bei;t,loPet> and afterwards by Fourcroy ; but the most com-
the body, or on the surface of some of the mucous mem- plfte exauunation into its properties is that of Thenard,
branes. In no instance do they terminate on serous or Ih° considers it to be essentially acid, and that acid to be
synovial surfaces, or in the common cellular membrane. f acetlC- . He found in it, also, an appreciable quantity
All the excretory ducts are themselves, indeed, provided ° u muriates of soda and of potass, with traces of the
with an internal mucous membrane, which is a continuation earthy PhosPhates and of oxide of iron, together with a
" Vlry ™inufe qu^tity of animal matter. Berzelius, on the
Tiny of
M&ir.
Arrse-
with an internal mucous membrane, which is a continuation
of the cutaneous, or mucous surface on which they termi¬
nate. In addition to this they are furnished with an exte-
nor coat, formed of a dense and compact membranous and
fibrous substance. Every excretory duct may therefore be
considered as made up of these two coats, namely the ex¬
ternal one, which is membranous, and the internal one,
which is mucous.
(509.) Among the latest theories relating to the struc¬
ture of the organs of secretion, is that adopted by Muller i
who conceives that the glandular organization consists es¬
sentially of a modification of the excretory duct, the re-
ZlSTSf "“S’” that, T“ distant from the
- i -—j — .iiatLci. Ajerzenus, on tne
other hand, who has examined this fluid still more recently,
nds the free acid to be the lactic, accompanied with the lac¬
tate of soda. An elaborate analysis of the fluid of perspi¬
ration in a person labouring under disease, has also been
made by Dr. Bostock.7 The aqueous exhalations from the
ungs appears to be so perfectly similar to that from the skin,
as not to require further notice.
2. The Albuminous Secretions.
(514.) fhe albuminous class of secretions are numerous, aii.
"v~~ ^ ^ V”*1;11’ ^ uiai 111081 actant from the and comprehend both solid and fluid substanpp<5 Wp A buml"
hih-ginJ’ onfioe’ 18 closed ; and the particles of which already seen that all membranous and fibrous textures butrrT ^
tt„b la,heDL“^°fcr>miTe- blrdTSSelS’ especially‘he latter, are
nturTlKc/itfeift'1’rto the cr> or"hich brr’(See v65)- But
subdivided; and its trunk lnd™„7fibetVar'0US ye1V‘ded and " "‘' 'i C°Tm f "'' ProPortions of this ingredient in an un¬
contorted and co?vo™edTndXeCf'°nS mayA;e Va,'lr,sly COa«ula‘„ed’ or 1,llu'd state; such as the secretion which
pvpr   d ? cases’ wlthout, how- exudes from serous membranes, and also occupies the in¬
terstices of the cellular texture, apd which has been termed
the liquid of surfaces, (See § 135). This fluid also con-
ains, besides coagulable albumen, an animal matter similar
to that which is found in the serosity of the blood, and a
small quantity of the usual saline matters which enter into
the composition of almost all animal products.
    u.ncicm, cases, witnout, now-
sftucti^re". ltUting any materiaI difference in bs essential
Sect. HI—Arrangement and Properties of the Secretions.
^ fiheari n!,0^ class,fication of the various secretions which
fcrifns. f ^ ? I" the system has been attempted by different
physiologists, but great difficulty has presented itself in fix¬
ing on a principle susceptible of being practically applied
to substmices of such different chemical and mechanical
aH'!!!e2WJhld’are,t0 be.the «**<*>of‘his
3. Mucous Secretions.
(515.) The mucous secretions are characterised by the Mucous
presence of a substance which does not pre-exist m thesecretbn.
arrangement. Haller,2 adopting for his basis their chemirJ S > t ®ubstance which does not pre-exist in tb
qualities, distributed them under the four classes of aoueous 1 ^ whl<S,18 PrePared by a proper secretory or glan-
mucous, gelatinous, and oily. Fourcroy arranged them un’ dular act,on; Phe Properties of this substance, or mucus,
der eight heads; namely, the hydrogenated ftie^oxype^ted" ^ve been already noticed, (§ 301). To the head of the
the carbonated, the azotated, the fcid, the saline the phos’ solivT^tL601'61^”8’ Bostock 18 incbned to refer also the
phated, and the mixed.5 Richerand adopts the six classes semen. ^ ^ and pancreatic jUices’ the tears> a°d the
De Glandularum Secernrntium Stratum, &c.
Systeme des Conniss. Chym. ix- ] 59
6 Physiology, p 480.
VOL. XVII.
P pi • ’. 2 Pie merit a Physiolngice v. b. 2.
Physwbgie.J 88. v. 035 > Med. Lit p.109.
Medico Chirurgic.il Transaction ■, xiv\ 424.
4 N
PHYSIOLOGY.
650
Physiology. 4> Gelatinous Secretions.
(516.) The gelatinous secretions denvethdr e^tialcha-
f,S f°,r itS »f Mn^tche™e^
ofcon ™rting albumen into gelatin by digestion m diluted
nitrir Icid during which the albumen combines with an ad¬
ditional quantity of oxygen, that some change analogous to
this is effected in the living body during the process ot it
secretion. The characteristic properties of gelatin have al
ready been noticed, (§ 279-)
5. The Fibrinous Secretions.
7 \ qq... fibrinous secretions compose the fifth class,
secretions, and are so named from their correspondence m chemcal pro-
nerties to the fibrin of the blood, which fibrin is probably tne
source from whence these secretions derive this mgredmnt.
Thev constitute the organic products most completely am-
mabzed°iti their chemical constitution ; and they at the same
time retain, in their physical properties, the peculiar cohe¬
sive tendency and fibrous character ot the substance from
which thev are produced. The muscular fibre is the princi¬
pal if not'the only substance which comes under this head.
the remaining fluid by the ordinary means of coagulation, Physiolog
and constitutes curd, which, as is well known, is the basis ofs-*~Y^«
cheese. The clarified liquor which remains, yields, by evapo¬
ration, a saccharine substance capable of being crystallized,
and which is known under the name of sugar of milk. It
differs from common sugar by being less soluble in water,
and by its total insolubility in alcohol. Milk contains, be¬
sides these ingredients, several saline substances, as the mu¬
riate and sulphate of potass, the phosphates of lime and of
iron, and also a peculiar animal matter, which yields a pre¬
cipitate with infusion of galls. Milk is found to differ from
the blood, and from most of the animal fluids, by the base of
its salts being potass instead of soda. A peculiar acid, call¬
ed the lactic, is formed by the fermentation of nnlk, and even
alcohol may be obtained during this process. By the action
of nitric acid on the lactic acid, a new acid is produced, term¬
ed the saccholactic or mucic acid, which unites readily with
alkaline or earthy bases, and forms a peculiar class of salts.
f520 'l The substance of the brain bears a considerable Cerebra
analogy to the oleaginous secretions, more especially to that substance
of milk; for it consists of albumen intimately combined with
a peculiar oily ingredient. Rather more than one-fourth of
its solid substance consists, according to Vauquehn, of a
fatty substance, and nearly one-third of albumen; the remain¬
der being composed of osmazome, phosphorus, acids, salts,
and sulphur.
7. The Resinous Secretions.
Resinon
secretior
6. The Oleaginous Secretions,
Oleaginous (518.) The oleaginous secretions derive their essential
secretions, character from the presence of an oily mgredien . ^ iey
compose a numerous and varied class, comprehending those
in which the oil forms the greatest part of the substance, and
those in which it is more or less mixed with a large propor¬
tion of other animal principles. The fat is the principal se¬
cretion included in the first division ; a ^bstance ^hich,
from its being extensively deposited in various parts of t e
body, must evidently be formed by some peculiar action o
the capillary system of vessels. As it consists almost who -
ly of hydrogen and carbon, we must conclude that its for¬
mation'is effected by the exclusion of nitrogen and oxygen
from the proximate elements of the blood, and the conse¬
quent intimate combinations of their carbon and hydrogen.
It is well known that the formation of tat, by whatever che¬
mical operation it may be effected, often proceeds with great
rapidity, whenever circumstances favour its production. 1 .
marrow, as was formerly observed, belongs also to tine class
of secretions. Dr. Bostock is disposed to refer to the same
head the substance termed cholestenne, which forms the
basis of biliary calculi. . . , , .
Milk. (519.) Milk is a secretion owing its principal charactt
to the oil which it contains, and which is combined with al¬
bumen, so as to form a kind of natural emulsion. When col¬
lected in a separate mass, it forms the well-known substance
termed butter. The oily particles are, however, in the ori¬
ginal state of milk, merely diffused by mechanical mixture
throughout the watery fluid, as is evident from the ap¬
pearance of milk under the microscope, when it exhibits a
multitude of extremely minute globules, swimming inatrans-
parent liquor. The size of these globules has been various¬
ly estimated by different observers, and indeed appears to be
by no means uniform, varying in different instances from the
10,000th to the 5000th of an inch in diameter. These oily
globules have a tendency to adhere together when the milk
is allowed to rest, and in the course of a few hours collect at
the surface in the form of cream, and by further coalescence
they compose butter. The albumen may be obtained fiom
(521.) The resinous secretions, which compose the se¬
venth class, derive their specific characters from an ingre¬
dient which is soluble in alcohol, and is analogous to resin.
Of these the most remarkable is the substance which consti¬
tutes the basis, or specific ingredient, of bile. (See § 3bb.) J
(522.) In connexion with the process of secretion which Ci cul, >
takes place in the liver, we have here to notice the remark->n tne in ■
able peculiarity which occurs in the mode in which the blood
is circulated through that organ. The liver is supplied, like
the other organs, with arterial blood, by the hepatic arteries,
which are branches from the aorta. But it likewise receives
a still larger quantity of venous blood, which is distributed
through its substance by a separate set of vessels derived from
the venous system. The veins which collect the blood that
has circulated in the usual manner through the abdominal
viscera unite together into a large trunk, termed the am*
portec; and this vein, on entering the liver, ramifies like an
artery, and ultimately terminates in the branches of the he¬
patic veins, which transmit the blood in the ordinary course
of circulation to the venae cavae.
(523.) This complex arrangement of the vessels which
compose the hepatic system has lately been unravelled with
singular felicity by Mr. Kiernan, who in a paper contained
in the Philosophical Transactions, gives an account ot his
valuable discoveries, of which we shall present the following
abstract. The hepatic veins, together with the lobules which
surround them, resemble in their arrangement the branches
and leaves of a tree, the substance of the lobules being dis¬
posed around the minute branches of the veins like the pa¬
renchyma of a leaf around its fibres. The hepatic veins may
be divided into two classes, namely, those contained in the
lobules, and those contained in canals formed by the lobules.
The first class is composed of interlobular branches, one ot
which occupies the centre of each lobule, and receives the
blood from a plexus formed in the lobule by the porta vein,
and the second class of hepatic veins is composed of all hose
vessels contained in canals formed by the lobu es, and in¬
cluding numerous small branches, as well as the large trunk
terminating in the inferior cava. The external surfac
every lobule is covered by an expansion of Dhssons cap
sule, by which it is connected to, as well as separated >
1 Annates de Chimie, Ixxxi. p. 37.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Etiology- the contiguous lobules, and in which branches of the hepa-
tic duct, portal veins, and hepatic artery, ramify. The ulti¬
mate branches of the hepatic artery terminate in the branches
of the portal vein, where the blood they respectively contain
is mixed together, and from which mixed blood the bile is
secreted by the lobules, and conveyed away by the hepatic
ducts which accompany the portal veins in their principal
ramifications. The remaining blood is returned to the heart
by the hepatic veins, the beginnings of which occupy the
centre of each lobule, and when collected into trunks, pour
their contents into the inferior cava. Hence the blood
which has circulated through the liver, and has thereby lost
its arterial character, is, in common with that which is re¬
turning from the other abdominal viscera, poured into the
vena portae, and contributes its share in furnishing materials
for the biliary secretion.
(524.) The general conclusion which Mr. Kiernan draws
from his anatomical researches is, that the hepatic artery is
destined solely for the nutrition of the liver, and has no di¬
rect connexions, except with the branches of the vena
portae, after its own blood has become venalized.
rea. (525.) Urea is another substance of a resinous nature,
which may be ranked among the secretions, and which con¬
stitutes the peculiar or specific ingredient in urine. It is re¬
markable for containing a very large proportion of nitrogen,
which is by this channel discharged from the system. This
substance has been found in the blood of animals from whom
the kidneys had been removed.
;mazome. (526.) The peculiar proximate animal principle, termed
;rumen. by Thenard osmazome, is referred by Dr. Bostock to the
class of resinous secretions. It was procured originally from
the muscular fibre, of which it forms one of the component
parts; and it appears to be the ingredient in which the pe¬
culiar flavour and odour of the flesh of animals principally
depends. It is found, however, in most of the component
parts of the body, as well solids as fluids. The cerumen, or
ear-wax, appears also from the analysis of Vauquelin, to have
a relation to the resinous secretions.
8. The Saline Secretions.
inese- (527.) This class comprehends all those fluids in which
tions. sa]ine ingredients predominate ; they are very numerous,
are dispersed over every part of the system, and are more
or less mixed with its constituents. They consist of acids,
alkalies, and neutral and earthy salts. The following are
the acids entering into the composition of animal substances,
and which are, for the most part, united with alkaline or
earthy bases ; namely, the phosphoric, muriatic, sulphuric,
fluoric, lithic, lactic, benzoic, carbonic, and oxalic acids ;
and perhaps also the rosacic and the amniotic. Soda, pot¬
ass, and ammonia, are found in almost all animal fluids ; but
only the first of these is met with in an uncombined state.
Of the earths, lime is by far the most abundant; magnesia
| is found in small quantity, and also silex.
(428.) With reference to their saline qualities, Dr. Bostock
proposes a division of the secretions into four classes. 1.
Those which are nearly without any admixture of salts. 2.
Those which possess a definite quantity of salts, and these
salts different from those which exist in the blood. 3. Those
containing salts similar both in their nature and quantity to
those of the blood. And, 4. Such as contain salts different
from those in the blood, and which are also variable in quan¬
tity. The fat, the saliva, the liquor of surfaces, and the
urine, may be given as examples of each of these divisions.
Sect. IV—Theory of Secretion.
eory of (529.) The nature of the powers and processes by which
etion. the products of secretion are prepared, is a subject involved
in the greatest obscurity. There is scarcely any question in
physiology, indeed, the investigation of which presents
greater difficulties. At the very outset of the inquiry we
651
are embarrassed by the very imperfect state in which the Physiology,
science of organized chemistry still remains ; and it follows
as a necessary consequence, that the precise nature of the
chemical changes effected during secretion cannot be pro¬
perly understood. That the operations themselves are of a
chemical nature, must be inferred from their results, con¬
sisting of substances which differ in most instances very con¬
siderably from the constituents of the blood, whence their
elements are obtained. The blood is evidently the great
reservoir of nutriment, and the fountain whence all the ma¬
terials of the secretions are derived. In a few instances,
as we have seen, the process of secretion appears to con¬
sist simply of the separation of some of the proximate prin¬
ciples of the blood. The operation is, in that case, more
of a mechanical than of a chemical nature, and is analogous
to mere transudation or filtration, subject, however, to a cer¬
tain power of selection exercised by the secreting organ.
In the greater number of instances, however, the product of
secretion appears to be a new formation, differing entirely
from any of the proximate principles contained in the blood,
and resulting therefore from a new combination of its ele¬
ments.
(530.) Scarcely any light has been thrown on this mys¬
terious subject by the anatomical investigation of the or7
gans of secretion. Their intimate structure is generally so
minute and complicated, as to elude the severest scrutiny
of the anatomist, even when assisted by the best optical in¬
struments. What increases the difficulty of finding any clue
to the labyrinth, is, that we often see parts having apparent¬
ly very different structures giving rise to secretions which
are nearly identical in their qualities ; and conversely, we
see substances having very different properties produced by
organs very closely resembling each other in their struc¬
ture.
(531.) Sometimes we find no distinct secretory apparatus,
the whole process appearing to be conducted in the capil¬
lary vessels, out of the sides of which the product seems to
transude. In other instances, the secreted fluid exudes from
the smooth surface of a membrane, as is the case with the
serous secretions in all the closed cavities of the body, such
as those of the peritoneum, pleura, pericardium, and pia
mater. The matter of perspiration finds its way through
the skin and cuticle without any visible ducts or even pores,
appearing simply to transude through the bibulous substance
of the latter.
(532.) In other cases we find the secreting membrane
furnished with minute processes, or villi, from the extended
surface of which the secretion is produced. At other times,
there are follicles, or crypts, as they are called, into which
the secreted fluid is poured, and where it is collected pre¬
viously to its discharge by its appropriate channels. These
minute cavities are occasionally grouped together, and co¬
vered with a denser investing membrane common to the
whole assemblage, constituting the masses which are called
glands. But no practical advantage has arisen from the
technical or anatomical classification of glands, neither has
any information of value been gathered from the examina¬
tion of the mode in which the blood-vessels are distributed
in those organs; although this mode of distribution is ap¬
parently very different in different cases, each seeming to
be intended for the application of some definite but unknown
principle of action. Being wholly in the dark with regard
to the specific objects intended to be answered, we can
form no rational conjecture as to the designs of nature in
the contrivances she has adopted. We see, in some in¬
stances, the smaller arteries divide suddenly, as soon as they
have reached the gland, into very numerous minuter bran¬
ches, like the fibres of a hair pencil. This has been called
the pencillated structure. The arrangement in other cases
is somewhat different, though similar in its principle ; the
minuter branches spreading out from their origin, like rays
652
physiology.
I hvsiology. from a centre, and forming a stellated structure. Sometimes
'~^N~we observe the arteries of the secreting organ much twist¬
ed and contracted in their course, and collectec Jnto sP|ra
coils, before they terminate. AH the varieties of secreting
organs, as Mr. Mayo observes, appear to be only contriv¬
ances for conveniently packing a large extent o vascu ai
surface into a small compass. So intricate, indeed, are those
complex arrangements, that it is impossible to attempt to
unravel them with any prospect of success. In a word, no¬
thing hitherto known relative to the structure of glands has
explained the mode in which they act, or has thrown any
light upon the nature of the substances they produce.
Hypothesis (533.) In this, as in other subjects, where facts are want-
of fermen- ing for its elucidation, we find numberless hypotheses pro-
tation. po&sed in their stead. Secretion was formerly pronounced
Of organic be a speCies of fermentation, by those who could attach
tutranon. no ;dea tQ the term they employed. Others sought
to explain secretion by various mechanical hypotheses, sup¬
posing it to be the result of a mere organic filtration of par¬
ticles already existing in the blood ; they racked their ima¬
ginations for the invention of forms of apertures and chan¬
nels capable of admitting particles having corresponding
figures, and of refusing a passage to the rest. Leibnitz com-
rared the glands to filters, of which the pores were original¬
ly impregnated with a particular fluid, which fluid would
therefore be allowed to pass, to the exclusion of all other
fluids, in the same manner as a paper impregnated with oil
prevents the passage of water, but allows oil to be transmitted.
This unchemical theory proceeded on the hypothesis that
all the secreted matters pre-exist ready formed in the blood,
and require only to be separated by the glands ; a supposi¬
tion of which the later improvements in animal chemistry
have sufficiently exposed the falsehood.
(534.) But even admitting the operation of the secretory
organs to be wholly of a chemical nature, we are still com¬
pletely in the dark as to the means which nature employs
in the hidden laboratories of organization ; nor do they ap¬
pear in any way reconcileable to the ordinary laws of che¬
mical affinities to which inorganic substances are obedient.
The means employed are superior to mere chemical agency,
in the same degree as the operations of chemical affinities
transcend those of mechanism. All that we can conceive
to be the office of the different series of vessels, which, by
ramifying into smaller and smaller tubes, have the effect of
subdividing the blood, as by a strainer, to certain degrees
of tenuity, is that merely of preparing it for the changes it
is to undergo in that stage of the process in which the es¬
sential conversion consists. Farther than this we cannot
venture to speculate, knowing, as we do, so impei fectly ei¬
ther the changes produced, or the means by which these
changes can be effected; unless, indeed, we endeavour to
call to our assistance the power of galvanism, which has
been, in modern times, proved to be so important and power¬
ful an agent in effecting changes of chemical composition.
But the analogy is yet too vague to serve as the basis of
any solid theory.
Influenceof (535.) There is no doubt that in many cases the process
the nerves. 0p secretion is considerably influenced by the condition of
the nervous powers. Thus the section of the par vagum is
invariably followed by the diminution or total suppression^
of the gastric juice, and by the increase of the secretion of
bronchial mucus. Under these circumstances, the secre-^
tions of the stomach are restored by directing a stream of
galvanic electricity through the nerves that have been di¬
vided; a fact which is explicable only in one of two ways,
namely, either by supposing that the galvanic influence is
the same as the influence derived from the nerves, or that
galvanism excites a fresh exertion of the nervous influence,
in the portion of the nerve on which its action is directed.
- (536.) On the whole, as it appears impossible to refer the
phenomena of secretion to any of the other known laws of
matter, whether chemical or mechanical, it becomes us to Physiology
acknowledge our ignorance of the real causes that produce
them, and to ascribe them to the agency of those powers to
which we have given the name of the organic affinities; by
which term, however, we are far from wishing to imply that
these affinities essentially differ in their kind from the ordi¬
nary chemical affinities which regulate the combinations of
the same elements in unorganized bodies; but only that
their operation is modified by the peculiarity of the circum¬
stances in which they are placed. One of the principal
causes of this peculiarity appears to be the influence of the
nervous poiver ; a power carefully to be distinguished fiom Nervous
the sensorial powers, hereafter to be considered, and wholly power,
of a physical character, exercised by the nervous system,
and controlling the actions of the blood-vessels, and more
especially of the capillaries, and also those chemical changes
which produce the evolution of animal heat, regulating in a
particular manner the processes of secretion, and in some in¬
stances producing the contractions of the muscles in a way
directed to some beneficial purpose, and in cases where the
interference of the mind does not take place. But of this
latter exercise of the nervous power we shall have to speak
more at large when we come to treat of the involuntary mo¬
tions.
Organic af¬
finities.
CHAP. X. ABSORPTION.
(537.) The objects of the function of absorption are, Objects
first, the removal of those materials which have become un-absorption
serviceable and noxious from the situations where their pre¬
sence is injurious ; and, secondly, their transmission into
the general mass of circulating fluids. The lymphatic ves¬
sels are appropriated to this office, and form, with the lac-
teals, which perform a similar service with respect to the
chyle, one extensive system of vessels denominated the ab¬
sorbents.
Sect. I Structure of the Absorbent Si/stem.
(538.) The absorbent system, then, is understood to com- Lacteais
prehend two sets of vessels, distinguished only by a certain
difference in the office which they perform, but agreeing in
their structure and general functions. 1 he first ai e the
lacteais, which, as we have seen, are appropriated to the con¬
veyance of the chyle, or nutritious fluid prepared in the in¬
testines, into the general reservoir of nutriment, the san¬
guiferous system. The second are the lymphatics, which
perform a similar office with regard to the materials of the
body itself, that have become either useless or noxious, or
with respect to foreign substances applied to the external
surface, or introduced into any part of the body. The same
general description, as to structure, will apply to both these
systems of vessels.
(539.) Absorbent vessels are met with in almost every Distnbu-j
part of the body. They may be regarded as analogous, or j.on on
even supplementary in their office, to the veins; and ac¬
cordingly, their structure and mode of distribution are very
similar to that portion of the sanguiferous system. The ab¬
sorbents arise from the various surfaces of the body, exter¬
nal as well as internal, by very minute branches ; but whe¬
ther these branches commence by open orifices, or imbibe
the fluids they receive through the medium of their coats,
we have hitherto no certain knowledge. The lesser branch¬
es of the lymphatics, like those of the veins, join together
to form larger branches; while these again successively unite
into larger and larger trunks, till they conduct their contents
into the veins, into which they open. They communicate
with one another freely in their course ; and these connex¬
ions are frequently so numerous and intricate, as to form an
extensive net-work, or plexus of lymphatic vessels. 1 hey
are furnished with numerous valves, which, like those of the
veins, are of a semilunar or parabolic form, disposed in pairs,
PHYSIOLOGY.
ysiology-and placed so as to prevent any retrograde motion of thecon-
tents of the vessels.
ieir (540.) Like the veins, the absorbents have thin and trans-
^ parent coats, which are possessed of considerable strength,
so as to admit of being distended much beyond their natu¬
ral size without being ruptured, by injected fluids urged in¬
to them with considerable force. When they are thus en¬
larged by injection, they resemble a string of beads ; an ap¬
pearance arising from the numerous valves they contain, and
which occur at short, but generally unequal intervals.
(541.) The absorbent vessels are formed of two coats,
which in the principal trunks are very distinct from each
other. The external coat is the one which constitutes the
chief bulk of the vessel, and gives it its general form. It
is of a membranous structure, and is connected with the sur¬
rounding parts by a loose tissue of cellular substance. It
exhibits, where it joins the inner coat, more or less of a fi¬
brous structure ; and some anatomists have pretended even
to have perceived traces of muscular fibres at this part. The
interior membrane which lines the former, is more thin and
delicate ; and it is by duplicatures of this membrane that the
valves are formed. These valves are remarkable for their
strength, not being ruptured without the greatest difficulty.
mphatic (542.) The continuity of the course of the absorbents is
interrupted in a variety of places, by small rounded bodies,
which have been called lymphatic or conglobate glands, and
which are situated on the track both of the lacteals and lym¬
phatics. They seem to have a similar relation to the absorb¬
ents which the ganglia have to the nerves ; and they have,
on that account, been sometimes called the lymphatic gan-
lia. They are of various sizes; the smaller being placed
near the origin, and the larger on the more considerable
trunks of these vessels. Those of greatest magnitude are
situated at the root of the mesentery, in the course of the
lacteals, and are denominated the mesenteric glands. These
glands are sometimes detached, and sometimes in groups
or clusters, and generally of an oblong rounded shape, and
somewhat flattened, bearing some general resemblance to
an almond. Their colour is a whitish red, of more or less
intensity, according as they are situated more externally.
Those of the mesentery are nearly white ; those of the
spleen brown ; and those belonging to the lungs are of a
very dark, or almost black hue. Each gland is enveloped
in a thin, fibrous, and very vascular membrane, surrounded
with dense cellular tissue, which sends down processes into
the substance of the gland, dividing it into numerous com¬
partments.
a (543.) It would appear from the extensive researches of
entia. Mascagni, that every absorbent vessel, during its course,
passes through one or more of these glands. Previous to
their penetrating into the gland, each absorbent trunk
branches out suddenly into numerous subdivisions, distin¬
guished by the name of vasa inferentia. These vessels are
distributed on the surface of the gland in a radiating form,
so as to surround it with a kind of net-work. After they
have entered the gland, their course becomes extremely
difficult to unravel, from their numerous and minute ramifi¬
cations, their tortuous course, and their frequent communi¬
cations. It would appear, however, that while some acquire
and retain an extreme degree of tenuity, others become di¬
lated, and form cells, somewhat resembling the erectile tis¬
sue formerly described. That portion of the vessels which
is destined again to collect the fluid, and conduct it for¬
wards on its course, appears to have a similar structure,
presenting a congeries of minute ramifications, and of dila¬
tations or cells.
^1 (544.) By the successive reunion of these branches, they
1 are all collected into a certain number of trunks which
653
emerge from the gland, under the name of the vasa Physiology.
entia. The total capacity of the vasa efferentia is, in ge-
neral, less than that of the vasa inferentia. Large clusters
of lymphatic glands exist in the neck, the groin, the axilla,
as well as in the course of the greater trunks, not far from
their termination in the thoracic duct.
(545.) The great trunks of the lymphatics occupy two Thoracic
principal situations ; the one near the surface, and the other duct,
more deeply seated; and for the most part they follow the
course of the veins. The main branches are finally reduc¬
ed to three or four great trunks, which terminate for the
most part in the thoracic duct. This is a vessel of consid¬
erable size, passing upwards close to the spine, in a some¬
what tortuous course, to about half an inch above the trunk
of the left subclavian vein. It then bends downwards, and
opens into that vein, nearly at its junction with the jugular
vein. Another similar, but shorter trunk, is found on the
opposite side, which pours its contents into the right sub¬
clavian vein.
(546.) The nature of the lymph, or fluid contained in the Lymph,
lymphatic vessels, is but imperfectly known, in consequence
of the difficulty of collecting it in sufficient quantity for ex¬
amination. When viewed under the microscope it is seen
to contain a number of colourless globules, much smaller
and less numerous than the red particles of the blood.1 Mr.
Brande separated a small quantity of albumen from it by
the application of voltaic electricity : he found that it also
contained some muriate of soda. Berzelius states that the
lactates are likewise present in it, derived, as he supposes,
from the decomposed substance of different parts of the
body, which is taken up by the absorbents. Reuss, Em-
mert, and Lassaigne obtained fibrin from the lymph of the
horse, and Nasse and Midler2 obtained some also from hu¬
man lymph. When removed from the body, this fluid fibrin
coagulates in less than ten minutes. Besides the above
ingredients, Tiedemann and Gmelin state that the lymph
contains salivary matter, osmazome, carbonates, sulphates,
muriates, and acetates of soda and potass, with phosphate of
potass.
Sect. II.—Function of the Absorbents.
(547.) While the office of the lacteals is confined to the Office
absorption of a particular kind of fluid, namely, the chyle,of the
the power of the lymphatics extends to the removal of every
species of matter which enters into the composition of the
body, as occasion may require, as also various extraneous
substances that may happen to be placed in contact with
their mouths. Whether the lymphatics have the power of tak¬
ing up solid materials of the body without their being previ¬
ously liquified, is a point which is yet far from being deter¬
mined. We are certain that the hardest and densest struc¬
tures, such as the bones, are liable to absorption, in various
instances, not only during the natural processes of their
formation and growth, but also on occasions when they are
subjected to extraneous pressure. We find that the bones
are modelled by the pressure even of soft living parts, dur¬
ing their natural growth, or morbid enlargement. The ra¬
pid disappearance of the red tinge which the use of madder
in the food had communicated to the bones, when that
food is discontinued, has been supposed to warrant the con¬
clusion that the particles of bones are at all times under¬
going a quick periodical renovation. But it appears from
more recent inquiries, that this inference has been too has¬
tily drawn : the change of colour being the result of the
disappearance of the colouring particles of the madder only,
without its being at all necessary to suppose that the earthy
particles of the bone are themselves changed, or succes¬
sively absorbed and deposited along with the madder.3
1 Muller's Elements of Physiology, by Baly, p. 258. 2 Ibid. p. 259.
3 See a paper on this subject by Mr. Gibson, in the Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester. Second series, i. 146
654. PHYSIO
Physiology. (548.) The nature of the process by which the particles
t0 be absorbed are prepared for being taken up by the
Powers of lymphatics;—the mode in which they are conveyed to t e
absorption, orifices of these vessels, if indeed they take their rise like
the lacteals, by open orifices;—and the power by which they
find their way into these vessels, and are conveyed onwards
to their termination in the thoracic duct, are all subjects in¬
volved in the greatest obscurity. Capillary attraction is the
only power to which the rise of the lymph in the lymphatic
vessels appears to bear any near resemblance ; but the an¬
alogy is far too vague and remote to be of much assistance
to us in the solution of the difficulty. How far the powers
recently discovered, and which have been termed endos-
mose and exosmose, whereby membranous substances allow
the transmission in a certain direction, of particular fluids
only, to the exclusion of others, are concerned in the phe¬
nomena, remains a subject for future investigation. It seems
likely, however, to throw some light on the processes both
of secretion and absorption ; and perhaps may furnish an
explanation of the selection evinced by the lymphatics in
absorbing certain materials in preference to others. Ab¬
sorption takes place with great facility from the mucous
surfaces, and also from those formed by ulceration. It also
takes place from the surface of serous membranes, though
with less activity. From the external surface of the skin,
absorption takes place with great difficulty, and only under
particular circumstances, as when substances are forcibly
pressed through the cuticle. Considerable absorption often
occurs from the interior of the pulmonary air-cells. Ab¬
sorption from the surface of the body is diminished, or even
suspended, by greatly diminishing the pressure of the at¬
mosphere on the part, as by the application of a cupping-
glass.
Sect. Ill Venous Absorption.
Venous (549.) Soon after the discovery of the lymphatic absorbents,
absorption, a keen controversy arose as to whether absorption was per¬
formed exclusively by these vessels: for it was contended
by many that the veins assisted in this process, and occa¬
sionally acted as absorbing vessels. The arguments and
reasonings of Hunter and Monro, founded on numerous ex¬
periments, appeared to have completely decided the ques¬
tion, and established the exclusive agency of the lymphatics
in the performance of this function. Of late years, however,
the ancient opinion has been revived by Magendieand others,
who seem to have satisfactorily proved that absorption is
occasionally carried on by the veins themselves; and that
many of the lesser lymphatic vessels terminate in the small
veins, instead of proceeding to the thoracic duct. It has
been ascertained, for instance, that where the great lym¬
phatic trunks are tied in animals, substances injected into
the stomach quickly find their way into the general mass
of circulating blood, and may be detected in the urine.
Poison introduced into a portion of intestine, completely
isolated from the rest of the body, with the exception only
of the artery and the vein, produces its effect upon the sys¬
tem nearly in the same time as if the natural connexions
had been preserved. The same result takes place when a
limb is separated from the body, by dividing every part ex¬
cepting the artery and the vein, and the poison is intro¬
duced under the skin. It proves fatal in the usual time, al¬
though the only medium through which its influence can
be supposed to be transmitted is the circulating blood,
which must therefore, it is concluded, have received the
poison by venous absorption.
(550.) The subject of venous absorption, and of the con¬
nexion between the lymphatic and sanguiferous systems, has
of late years much occupied the attention of physiologists.
Great labour has been bestowed on its investigation by
Fohmann, Lauth, and Panizza, on the continent ; and re¬
cently in this country by Dr. Flodgkin, who was appointed,
LOGY.
with others, to form a committee for conducting this inquiry, Physiol'. |
by the British Association for the advancement of science. [
A short provisional report by this gentleman is published in
the report of the sixth meeting of that association, in vol. v.
p. 289, to which we must refer our readers, as containing
the latest information on this important branch of physio¬
logy. Many facts render it exceedingly probable that the
contents, both of the lacteals and of the lymphatics, are in¬
termixed with that of the veins in the lymphatic glands.
Sect. IV Effects of Absorption.
(551.) The absorbents have a powerful influence in mo- Effects. I
difying the fluid secretions, as well as the solid materials ofabsorpt.
the body. Their agency in assisting the arteries and ca¬
pillaries which effect the growth and nutrition of the body
is beautifully exemplified in the processes of ossification
and of dentition, where the changes can more easily be fol¬
lowed than in the progressive modifications of softer organs.
All these facts lead to the conclusion that the absorbent
vessels possess very extensive powers in modelling the or¬
ganization of the body in all its parts. In the progress of
life, various changes are effected in the size and form of
different parts, either in the natural course, or from the ef¬
fects of disease. We see various organs diminish in size, 1
sometimes with great rapidity, from the general absorption
of their substance, or, as it has been termed, from intersti¬
tial absorption; and in other instances from causes external
to the organ affected, such as pressure or ulceration; in
which cases the process is denominated absorp¬
tion. In some structures, especially those which are but
scantily furnished with vessels, the renewal of particles is
much slower than in more vascular parts ; but even these
are in a certain degree subject to a constant absorption and
renewed of their particles.
Sect. V. Function of the Lymphatic Glands.
(552.) Of the offices performed by the lymphatic glands, Office o
which are so numerously interspersed in the course of thethelym-
vessels, we are still.in profound ignorance; an ignorance
which is little to be wondered at, when it is considered that^
we,are but imperfectly acquainted with their structure, and
the course which the branches of the absorbents take in the
interior of those bodies, and that we are also very much in
the dark with regard to the nature of glandular action, and
of the changes which it induces on the fluids subjected to its
influence. These glands may either be proper secreting
organs, intended to prepare a peculiar substance, which is
to be mixed with the chyle and lymph, in order to assimi¬
late them more and more to the nature of the blood with
which they are to be united ; or they may, by their tortu¬
ous passages, offer a mechanical obstruction to the progress
of these fluids, and thus occasion in them spontaneous
changes in the arrangement of their constituent parts. This
latter view of the uses of the glands vras taken by Mascag¬
ni, and he endeavoured to confirm it by pointing out differ¬
ences in the nature of the lymph before and after it had
passed through a gland ; but this fact, if established, would
be equally explicable on either hypothesis. The greatei
size and vascularity of these glands in youth, when the
growth of the organs is most rapid, would lead to the belief
that their functions are of importance in the elaboration of
nutritive matter to meet the greater demand for the ma¬
terials of growth at that period of life.
CHAP. XI EXCRETION.
(553.) The expulsion from the system of those materials ^xcreti
which are useless or noxious, is the office of excretion ; and
the organs or channels by wliich it is performed are calle
the excretory organs. They consist of the lungs, the skin,
the kidneys, and probably also the liver.
PH YS]
hysiology. Sect. I—Excretory Function of the Lungs.
' Bv the . (55.4') 0f’the office of the lungs in purifying the blood
' ngs_ trom its redundant carbonaceous matter, we have already
fully treated. Besides carbon, or rather carbonic acid, a
large quantity of water is also exhaled by means of the lungs.
As, however, there is reason to believe that considerable
absorption of water also takes place from the same surface,
the amount of loss sustained by the united operation of these
two functions is only the excess of the exhalation over the
absorption.
Sect. II—Excretory Function of the Skin.
By the (555.) We have already given the results of the chemi-
j dn. cal analysis of the matter of perspiration, in our account of
the aqueous secretions, (§ 514). The chief ingredient is
unquestionably water; and the average amount of water
which escapes from the body through the channel of the
skin, has been very variously estimated by different physi¬
ologists ; for, indeed, it is hardly possible to arrive at any
definite conclusion on this subject, from the great variations
that occur even in the same individual at different times,
especially according to the variable states of atmospheric
temperature and humidity, and also according to differences
in the activity of the circulation. The only satisfactory in¬
formation we can hope to attain is, as to the aggregate loss
by exhalation from the skin and the lungs. The daily loss
of weight from these two sources taken together is stated
by Haller1 to vary from thirty ounces in the colder climates
of Europe, to sixty in the warmer, and is estimated by La¬
voisier and Seguin2 at forty-five ounces in the climate of
Paris. But this quantity is, of course, from the causes al¬
ready mentioned, liable to extreme variation. It has been
estimated that, of the whole quantity thus exhaled from the
skin and from the lungs, about two-thirds are derived from
the former source, and one-third from the latter.
Sect. Ill—Excretory Function of the Kidneys.
fy fre (556.) A considerable proportion of fluid is also carried
i™?8- off from the system by the kidneys; the peculiar office of
which, however, appears to be to eliminate more especially
the saline materials, which are to be thrown off; and, in
particular, the peculiar substance termed urea, which, as we
have already remarked, partakes much of the character of
resinous bodies. As urea contains a very large proportion
of nitrogen, it is probable that the kidneys are the channels
provided in the economy for the removal of any excess of
this element which takes place in the system,
alysis of (557.) The chemical analysis of the urine has engaged
le- the attention of a great number of physicians and philoso¬
phers, not only from its supposed connexion with various
states of the body in health and disease, but also from its
containing a great multitude of constituents, some of which
have very peculiar properties. Above twenty different sub¬
stances have been detected as entering into its composition ;
and almost every year is adding to the list of newly disco¬
vered ingredients. The existence of phosphorus in this
fluid has long been known ; and the urine was, till lately,
the only source whence this elementary substance could
be procured in any quantity. Scheele discovered the uric
or lithic acid, which is one of the most remarkable of the
animal products. The labours of Fourcroy and Vauquelin
led to the knowledge of the exact composition of many of
the neutral salts contained in the urine. This analysis was
carried still farther by Cruickshank in England, and by Proust
in Spain, but has been brought to its present state of per¬
fection chiefly by the labours of Berzelius3 in Sweden.
(558.) The daily quantity voided, as well as the sensible
OLOGY. 655
qualities of this secretion, is greatly modified by circum- Physiology,
stances. The former has been estimated at an average as
being about two pounds avoirdupois. Its mean specific gra¬
vity has been fixed at 1*03. In a healthy state it generally
exhibits acid properties, arising from the presence of un¬
combined phosphoric, lactic, uric, benzoic, and carbonic
acids. These acids, together with the muriatic and fluoric
acids, also exist in combination with several earthy and al¬
kaline bases, comprising ammonia, lime, magnesia, potass,
and soda ; the principal compounds thus formed being the
phosphates of lime and magnesia, ammonia and soda, the
sulphates of potass and of soda, the lactate of ammonia, the
muriate of soda, and the fluate of lime. There exist, be¬
sides, a large proportion of urea, (composing nearly one-
thirteenth of the whole quantity of urine, and about one half
of its solid ingredients), mucus, gelatin, albumen, and a small
portion of unacidified sulphur. The presence of a minute
quantity of silica has also been detected by Berzelius, amount¬
ing to about the 220th part of the solid matter contained
in the urine. The weight of the solid ingredients ob¬
tained by evaporation, is one-fifteenth of the whole fluid,
the rest being water. T he several ingredients above men¬
tioned may each be rendered evident by the application of
appropriate tests.
(559.) Urea is a peculiar animal product, which is pro- Urea,
cured from urine evaporated to the consistence of a syrup
and allowed to crystallize ; after which alcohol is added,
which dissol ves the urea, whence that substance is obtained
by evaporation. It then appears in the form of crystalline
plates, and has a light yellow colour, a smell resembling
garlic, and a strong acrid taste. It is chiefly characterised
by the bulky flaky compound which it forms with nitric
acid. By distillation it yields about two-thirds of its weight
of carbonate of ammonia ; and by spontaneous decomposi¬
tion it is resolved into ammonia and acetic acid. It posses¬
ses the very remarkable property of changing the form of
the crystals of common salt or muriate of soda, which, as is
well known, usually crystallize in cubical crystals ; but
which, when mixed with a small quantity of urea, assume
the form of octohedrons. What adds to the singularity of
this effect is, that its operation is precisely the reverse on
muiiate of ammonia, or sal ammoniac ; the ordinary form
of the crystals of this salt are octohedrons, but when urea
is present, they take the form of cubes. Urea contains a
much larger proportion of nitrogen than any other animal
principle. This substance has been found in the blood,
after its separation by the kidneys has been prevented, by
the extirpation of those glands. Berzelius has advanced
an opinion, that urea is furnished by the animal matter of
the serosity of the blood, from the similarity of some of its
properties, and also from the circumstance, that after the
kidneys have been removed, the animal matter of the sero¬
sity is first increased in quantity, and afterwards assumes
the character of urea. It appears probable that the princi¬
pal function of the kidney is the separation from the blood
of the excess of nitrogen which it may contain, and its ex¬
cretion in the form of urea ; thus performing an operation
with respect to this element analogous to that of the lungs
with regard to the superfluous carbon of the blood.4
Sect. IV—Excretory Function of the Liver.
(560.) Cholesterine, or the peculiar matter found in the 4. Excre-
bile, and which composes about eight per cent of that fluid, bon by the
contains a large proportion of nitrogen. Whatever may be Bar¬
its uses in contributing to the formation of chyle, it is ul¬
timately rejected from the body, and may therefore be
classed among the excrementitious substances. We have
already noticed the singular circumstance regarding the
1 Elementa Physiologic., xii. 2, 11.
Annals of Physiology, ii. 428.
2 Memoires de I'Academie des Sciences, pour 1790, p. 601.
4 See Berard, Annales de Chemie et de Physique, v. 296.
656
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, mode of its preparation, in being formed from venous in-
stead of arterial blood, as is the case with all the other known
secretions.
(561.) It is doubtful how far these two peculiar substan¬
ces, urea and cholesterine, may be considered as pre-exist¬
ing in the blood, or as formed by the organs which respec¬
tively secrete them. It has been ascertained by the ex¬
periments of Prevost and Dumas, that in animals in whom
the secretion of urine is suppressed by the removal of the
kidneys, urea may, after some time, be detected in the
blood; and Dr. Bostock ascertained that a similar substance
makes its appearance in the human blood, in cases where
the secretion of urine had been much obstructed by disease
of the kidneys. The secretion from the liver is not liable
to so much variation in its amount, as that from the other
excernent organs ; it is, however, diminished during febrile
excitement and inflammatory conditions of the circulation,
and increased by moderate exercise, and by external warmth.
Both the liver and the kidneys, accordingly, may be ranked
among the compensating organs, or those which have their
actions occasionally increased in order to supply deficien¬
cies in the functions of others. The excretion of watery
fluid from the skin and lungs is evidently made to alternate
with that from the kidneys, each of these organs being ca¬
pable of occasionally supplying the office of the others.
The chemical properties of the urine are very much influ¬
enced by the condition of the digestive functions. But
the necessity of the excretion of urea is apparent from the
rapidly fatal consequences which ensue from its accumla- membrane
.• • .i   i— iw,m tVip L-irlnpvs is nuires erei
been established with regard to the succession of phenomena Physiolo*
in this function, is. that the enlargement of any organ ap-
pears to depend essentially on the state of the circulation
in that part, and on the supply of blood by its arteries. The
increased growth of a part at any period, compared with that
of neighbouring parts, is always preceded and accompanied
by a marked enlargement of the arteries which furnish it
with blood; and this is invariably observed, whether that
growth be natural or morbid. A theory has been advanced,
that nutrition is effected by the direct union of the red par¬
ticles of the blood, or of their nuclei, with the tissues. This
theory is successfully combated by Muller.1
(564.) Although we are unable to trace the exact nature
of the processes of nutrition, yet much curious information
may be collected by observing the succession of phenomena
in the case of the formation of particular structures. Those
which we shall select for the purpose of illustration aie the
bones and the teeth, in which the several stages of growth
admit of being observed.
Sect. I Ossification.
(565.) The process of ossification is particularly interest- Ossifica
ing, from its exhibiting the operations of nature in thecom-tion.
pletion of an elaborate structure of such great importance m
its mechanical relations to the system, as the osseous fabric.
In the early periods of the fcetal state, we can but just trace
the figures of some of the larger bones, which appear to be
modelled in a soft gelatinous matter contained in a delicate
This substance, as well as its membrane, ac-
JJutrition.
tion in the system, when the secretion from the kidneys is
suppressed, and which would lead to the conclusion, that
this substance, when present in sufficient quantity, speedily
acts on the nervous system as a virulent poison.
CHAT. XII.—NUTRITION.
(562.) Nutrition consists in the appropriation of the ma¬
terials furnished by the blood in the course of circulation,
and modified by the processes of secretion, to the purposes
of growth, and to the repair of that waste which is continu¬
ally experienced by the solid structures of the body, in con¬
sequence of the exercise of their respective offices. We un¬
derstand as little what are the particular processes by which
these purposes are accomplished as we do respecting those
of secretion. No mechanical or chemical hypothesis which
can be devised appears at all adequate to the solution of this
mysterious problem. The analogy of crystallization, im¬
plied in the celebrated definitions of Linnaeus, in which the
three kingdoms of nature are contrasted, is, in a philosophi¬
cal point of view, utterly fallacious. According to this great
naturalist, “ minerals grow, vegetables grow and live, ani¬
mals grow, live, and feel.” It requires no lengthened argu¬
ment to show that the growth of an animal, or of a plant, is
a phenomenon belonging to a class entirely different from
the increase of a mineral body. The latter is effected by
the successive accretion of new layers of materials, which
merely augment the volume of the body, without adding to
it any new property ; so that the separation of its parts de¬
stroys only the form of the aggregate, and not any of its
essential qualities. But organized bodies are nourished from
internal resources, and the materials which are incorporated
with their substance have undergone a slow and gradual
elaboration in the organs themselves, and have been assi¬
milated to the qualities of the body of which they are to
form a component part. We may consider them as the re-
Pependent suit of the operation of the organic affinities, to which we
osi the cir- have already referred the phenomena of secretion,
culation. (563.) The only general fact of importance which has
quires greater density, and the former assumes more the ap¬
pearance of cartilage. In process of time, opaque white
spots are perceived on different parts of its surface, which,
when examined by the microscope, exhibit a fibrous appear¬
ance. These lines increase in number and extent; and af-
4 ter a time, red points are seen dispersed throughout the fu¬
ture bone, in consequence of the enlargement of the vessels
which now admit the red globules of the blood. Soon after
this, we find the earthy matter deposited in great abundance,
imparting hardness and rigidity to the structure. In the
Ion a- bones of the extremities, the osseous substance forms
at first a short hollow cylinder, as if it were deposited from
the vessels of the investing membrane, or periosteum. In
the flat bones of the cranium, ossification commences from
a few central points, and spreads on all sides, the fibres tak¬
ing a radiating direction. In proportion as the bony mate¬
rial extends, the cartilage is removed by the absorbent ves¬
sels, in order to make room for the extension of the bone.
After a certain time, in the cylindrical bones, a cavity is
formed in the middle, in consequence of the absorption of
central portions of cartilage and of bone which had occu¬
pied that situation. These two opposite processes of ab¬
sorption and deposition continue during the whole of the
future growth of the bone, the interior parts being removed
in proportion as fresh bonv layers are added at the exterior
surface. Thus, when the'outer part of the bone is compact
and hard, the interior is either formed into a complete ca¬
vity, or into the cancellated structure formerly described.
(566.) Such are the few well ascertained known facts re- Theoru
lative to ossification ; but numberless have been the specu¬
lations to which they have given rise. Most of the opinions
of the ancients on this subject were extremely vague and
hypothetical, and have been fully refuted by modern phy¬
siologists. Many of the hypotheses of the latter haye un-
dero-one a similar fate. The one which has acquired most
celebrity is that of Duhamel, who, following the analogy ot
the growth of trees, conceived that the bones were forme
of concentric rings, or lamina;, deposited from the P^108"'
teum. Hd endeavoured to adduce in support of his theory
1 Elements of Physiology, translated by Baly, p. 359.
iiysiology. the results of experiments in which bones acquired a red
tinge, when madder was given with the food. He alleged
that when the madder was occasionally intermitted and
again resumed, many times in succession, the bones of the
animal exhibited alternate rings of a red and white colour
rnrrpsnnnr inrr tl-i^  i  .1 . , , . _ ’
PHYSIOLOGY.
rehtionToT hrC presents itflf’ of great importance with Physiolo
relation o our knowledge of the nature of the vital powers,
cnltipi W T? S0YWXi18 attended with the greatest diffi-
culties. It is this : how far, it may be asked, are the powers
o secretion exerted in merely separating from the blood
those oriramr nrndnrta  jr.   .
657
itself been absorbed. The deposition of phosphate of lime
then takes place within this cartilage, which is either re¬
moved or adapted to its reception, and thus the ends of the
bone are cemented together, and the limb rendered as firm
as before the accident.
2. Dentition.
corresponding to the period when the an « ^tion exerted in merely separating from the b oo
madder, andliad intermitted it. It has sfrce been shown e edinSr,151;0^^ ^ ^ ^ Contained ** --
however, that his imagination in this instance must have Hip Int 1 f that fluid’and how far d<> they also extend to
misled him ; for no such result takes place under the cir what reason0^ °/ n,ew1/)roxiaiate elements ; and next,
cumstances he describes. 1 * \ reason is there to believe that the vital powers are
(567.) The reparation of fractured bones by the powers orKnlllv ^ ^ TateriaIs Presented t0 them>
a kind of lymph, which coagulates, and is either araduallv prodnppd cnl l i secretions, may very possibly be
converted into cartilage, Replaced by cLi age after U hal Ee“ It Sel*^ a°f chemM •«-
itself hppn ahfiprKprl mia^ r 1 b. alter u nas nines, it lias been found, indeed, that we are able bv cer¬
tain chemical processes, to form from the blood, out of the
body, substances similar to many of the secretions ; and we
S m •th,e suPP°sition that operations
°£?.eSameKk!nd are carried on by the secreting organs
m ithm the body. It is interesting, however, to trace the
origin of many of the products of secretion, from the in-
toon. (568.) No less curious and interesting is the process em- MaiWrom^11^ £ the c£°d itSelf' °n this subJect
ployed in the formation of the teeth. The rudiments of re™arks’tliat some of the proximate elements of'the
every tooth, when examined in the fmtus, consuls of a Se men whfrf m Part.ready formed « the blood. The albu-
latinous pulp, which is extremely vascular, enclosed in a dands and of m? int.°, thefcomPosition of the brain and
double investment of membrane. The outer membrane is difiod i * y othfr. stractures, m a more or less mo-
soft and spongy, and is apparently desdtute of vessels mtclefand ^ " the bl°od 5 the fibrin ^
while the inner one is firmer, and extremely vascular. The dissolved in , strac[ores is the coagulable matter
first depositions are those of bony matter, which take place contains n > ^mPb and blood; the fatty matter, which
on the exterior surface of the vasadar pulp Ini chiefly on Se a o ised andTho’, ^ State in the cbyle ^
the upper part, but within the membranous coverings al- and nerves eidsK ?d u? °F tbe brain
ready noticed. The shell of bone thus formed has the shane hnmFF 1 • ‘he blood combined with the fibrin, al-
of the future tooth, and acquires thickness from successive grum Lnd cryTtVlline li '6 •ir01? °f the hair’P^mentum ni-
deposits of bone in its inner surface, which are still made hv thn eiiv iJ fet ne lens> 18 also contained in the blood ;
the outer surface of the vascular pu p When the osriBo/ ,1 S,? T °f the hair, and the floor and calci-
tion is sufficiently advanced, the p^whil h“ fhus 8erVed teeted ^“d Ifhff'T n0t hit!’erto Oe-
as a mould for the tooth, divides itself into two or more very sm.lMronortton T 7 frofn; the‘r ^^"g in it in but
parts, corresponding to the intended number of frno-o c P 0P?rtl10f‘ ^be matters here enumerated are
that the ossific matter is now depositeHn tL fnrS attrac;ted from be Wood by particles of the organs analo-
many tubes round these portions of the nuln and r • aS t,°USi ° ,le™seb'es> partly in the state in which they after-
rtke^tetror^^™^ tsisfr rts oezst tisr “4°™ b^s ^ *S:
capsule of the tooth, and thTm“teriajTdeMsM d® “‘T °f “f”’ aIbTen’ t’and »sm“z»tee, other perfectlv
smmm spp£I§
Sect. Ill—Nutrition of the Softer Textures. solved in the blood and the albumen is, that the former co-
, (569-) Greater difficulty exists in following the succes- Sf Se^ttTrfn ^ is.withdravvn from the aibmal body,
ston of changes which attend the growth and nutrition of quires a he7t offmm™58^fi7oVPh0ntaneOUSly’ n" •re'
the softer textures, than of those we have now rrmcirW™] 4 * & v 0t 15y t0 Pahr., or some chemical
because the materials employed in their con-truction are mmS’ ll'1Ci h “clds’olacf‘tmt<:d soiutions of fixed alkali,
less distinguishable by the eye from the other animal sub! ''l ! “1 the fibrin of m,uscle “ lts chemical
stances, and their changes are less easily traced than those fibrin ti ^ las ®carce^ a greater analogy with coagulated
txhibited bythe caicareous deposits of^S^ ^1=^-
Physiology, SfC. p. 361.
4 o
VOX.. XVII.
658
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, of nervous substance, again, with the fatty matter contem-
ing nitrogen and phosphorus, is only justihecl by the picse
imperfect state of organic chemistry. , ti10
The blood, as Dr. Bostock1 observes, is a substance, the
composition of which is peculiarly well adapted to undergo
the changes necessary for the processes both of secretion
and of nutrition, as it consists of a number of ingredients,
which are held together by a weak affinity, liable to be dis¬
turbed by a variety even of what might appear the slightest
causes. As examples of the facility with which these chan¬
ges may be effected, we may cite the numerous reagents
which have the power of coagulating albumen ; the action
upon it and upon fibrin of dilute nitric acid, which converts
these substances respectively into adipose matter and je y,
changes which are probably the result of the addition oi
oxyo-en to the fibrin and to the albumen ; and there is some
reason to believe that by applying the same reagent to the
red particles, we may obtain a substance nearly resembling
With regard to the formation of the saline secretions,2
and of those substances, the elements of which are not to
be found in the blood, or at least not in sufficient quantity
to account for the great accumulation that takes place in
certain parts of the system, and of which the source is not
apparent, we must confess that the present state of the
science affords no means of explaining the phenomena. 1 o
suppose,” as Dr. Bostock justly remarks, “ that we are af¬
fording any real explanation by ascribing it to the opera¬
tion of the vital principle, or to any vital affinities, which is
merely a less simple mode of expressing the fact, is one of
those delusive attempts to substitute words for ideas, which
have so much tended to retard the progress of physiological
science.”
Sect. IV General Phenomena of Nutrition.
(570.) The instances we have above given of the pro¬
cesses employed in ossification and dentition, together with
the varied operations concerned in the formation and nu¬
trition of all the softer textures of the body, forcibly illus¬
trate the beneficent care displayed in the construction of
every part of the frame, and the admirable adjustment of
the long series of means which have been provided foi the
attainment of these diversified and frequently remote ob¬
jects of the animal economy. Every part undergoes a con¬
tinued and progressive change of the particles which com¬
pose it, even though it remain to all outward appearance
the same. The materials which had been united together
by the powers of nutrition, and fashioned into the seveial
organs, are themselves severally and successively removed
and replaced by others, which again are in their turn dis¬
carded, and new ones substituted in their place, until, in
process of time, scarcely any portion of the substance ori¬
ginally constituting the organs remains as their component
part.
Renewal of (571.) We see from the examples of the bones, that this
materials, continual renovation of the materials of the body takes place
in the most solid, as well as in the softest textures ; and so
great is the total amount of these changes, that doubts may
reasonably be entertained as to the identity of any part of
the body at different epochs of its existence. The ancients
assigned a period of seven years as the time requiied for the
complete renovation of all the materials of the system, but
perhaps this entire change may take place during a shorter
interval.3
Balance of (572.) The two functions we have been considering,
powers. namely, nutrition and absorption, may be regarded as an¬
tagonist powers, each continually counteracting the effects
of the other. In the early periods of life, though both are
in full activity, the former predominates; all the organs Pbysiola
enlarging in their dimensions by the addition of fresh ma-
terials in greater quantity than the losses by absorption, the
whole body is in a state of growth. In the course of time,
the frame having attained its prescribed dimensions, these
opposite processes of reparation and decay approach nearer
to an equality; and at length are exactly balanced. The
parts then cease to grow, and the system may be said to
have reached its state of maturity. This is the condition
of the adult, in which the equilibrium of the functions is
maintained for a great number of years. At length, how¬
ever, the period arrives when the balance, hitherto so evenly
kept, begins to incline, the renovating powers of the system
are less equal to the demands made upon them, and the
waste of the body exceeds the supply. It contracts in its
dimensions ", it has attained its period of declension, which
marks the progress of age, and ultimately leads to decrepi¬
tude. The fabric then betrays unequivocal symptoms of
decay, the functions are imperfectly performed, the vigour
of the circulation flags, the flame flickers in the socket, and
is finally extinguished in death. I bus is the whole dura¬
tion of life, from the first developement of the germ to the
period of its dissolution, occupied by a series of actions and
reactions, perpetually varying, yet constantly tending to de¬
finite and salutary ends.
(573.) We have now concluded the account we propos¬
ed to give of the long series of functions which maintain the
various organs of the system in that mechanical condition
and chemical composition fitting them for the exercise of
their several offices in the economy. We have next to enter
into the consideration of the higher order of functions con¬
nected with the nervous system.
CHAP. XIII THE SENSORIAL FUNCTIONS.
Sect. I General Views.
(574.) The functions we have hitherto considered, how- Objects
ever admh'ably contrived, and beautifully adjusted, are cal- sensoria
culated only for the maintenance of a simply vital existence.tunctU)I1
All that is obtained by their means is a mass of organized
materials, which lives, which is nourished, which grows,
which declines, and which perishes in a certain definite
period, by its mere internal mechanism. But these can never
be the real ends of animal existence. Sensation, voluntary
motion, pleasure and pain, together with all the intellectual
operations to which they lead, these must be the proper ob¬
jects of animal life ; these the purposes for which the ani¬
mal was created. In man we find the extension of these
latter faculties to an extraordinary degree, and the addition
of moral attributes which elevate him so far above the brute
creation, and place him one step nearer to that divine es¬
sence after whose likeness he was made.
(575.) The functions of sensation, of voluntary motion,
and of thought, are those which establish our mental con¬
nexions wfith the external world ; which enable us to acquire
a knowledge of the existence and properties of the material
objects that surround us; which awaken in us the operations
of our own minds ; which bring us in communication with
other intellectual and sentient beings, and which enables us
to react on matter, to exercise over it the dominion of the
will, and to influence the condition of those other beings
which like us have received the gift of life, of sensation, and
of intellect. _ , . j
(576.) Throughout the whole of the inquiries in which Distmc
we are about to engage it is important to keep steadily in
view the essential and fundamental distinction betv)'een aI1(j mii
mind and matter. Of the existence of our own sensations,
ideas, thoughts, and volitions, we have the highest de-
1 Elementary System of Physiology, p. 518.
3 See the article Age, in the Cyclopcedia of Practical Medicine, vol. i. p. 34.
2 Ibid. p. 532.
PHYSIOLOGY.
siology-grce of evidence that human knowledge can admit of, that
of our own consciousness. Of the existence of matter,
that is, of causes foreign to our own mind, but acting on it,
and giving rise to sensations, which are strictly mental affec¬
tions, we have merely a strong presumption ; still, however,
the belief in the existence of those causes, however irresis¬
tibly it may operate in producing in us convictions, and in¬
fluencing our actions, is yet but an inference from the re¬
gularity in the succession of our sensations. We are not
! justified in saying that it is impossible we can be deceived
in this belief; whereas in the consciousness of our mental
existence we cannot possibly be mistaken, because that con¬
sciousness implies the very fact of our existence,
inexion (577.) It is, however, most true, that notwithstanding
.veen our ideas of mind and matter are such as wholly to exclude
p- our conceiving any property to belong to both of them in
common; yet some inscrutable link of connexion has, in
our present state of existence, been established between
them, so that each may, under certain circumstances, be
affected by the other. External matter acts on our bodily
organs, which are still mere matter ; but our bodily organs
act on our minds; and our minds in turn react on our bodily
organs, and occasion movements, whicli enable us to act on
extraneous objects. Moreover, it is impossible for us in
our present state to carry on any intellectual operation, but
by the instrumentality of our material organs ; we can
neither feel, nor think, nor will, without the healthy condi¬
tion of the brain, and all the other physical conditions which
such a state implies. Disturbance of the physiological
functions of the brain is invariably attended by a disturbance
of the mental operations connected with those functions.
Both are excited by certain states of the circulation in the
brain; both are instantly suspended by pressure upon that
organ ; both are restored by the removal of the pressure, or
other disturbing cause.
pner (578.) The nervous system is the name given to that as-
s sys- semblage of organs which perform the important functions
of which we are now speaking. The primary office of the
fibres composing that system appears to be to transmit cer¬
tain affections, which we may call impressions, from one part
of that system to another ; and more particularly to convey
them both to and from that particular part of the brain, the
affections of which give rise to sensation, and accompany our
mental operations. In the one case, the impression made
on one extremity of a nervous fibril, adapted to receive such
impression, in a part called an organ ofsetise, is propagated
to the part of the brain above described, and to which the
name of sensorium has been given, and thereby producing
a certain physical effect, the nature of which is wholly un¬
known ; sensation, which is a mental effect, ensues. In
another case, the fibres of the brain are by their action in¬
strumental in retracing, in combining, in modifying these
impressions, and forming them into ideas, which are linked
together by the laws of association. Again, the mental act
we term volition, and of which we are always conscious,
affects some particular fibres or portion of the sensorium,
the impression made upon which is followed by an affection
of certain nervous filaments proceeding from those parts of
the brain, and conveying an influence, (which for want of
a more specific term we may also call irritation'), to the
muscles in which these nerves terminate 5 and this is im¬
mediately followed by the contraction of those muscles.
This constitutes voluntary motion.
(579.) But the office of the nerves extends yet farther.
Various muscles subservient to many of the vital functions,
such as the heart, the stomach, and the intestines, act with¬
out any interference, or even control of the will. They
compose the class of involuntary muscles; yet these mus¬
cles are supplied with nerves, and have a certain dependence
659
on the nervous system, which is of a very peculiar kind, and Physiology,
will be considered afterwards. These nerves supplying the
involuntary muscles, appear to have the office of establish¬
ing connexions between tlfe actions of these muscles, and
of uniting the various organs of the different functions into
one connected harmonious whole.
(580.) Thus the various phenomena which relate to the Series of
nervous system in the performance of the functions we are actions,
considering, will arrange themselves under the following
heads, according to the natural order of their sequence:
First, the impressions made by external objects on the
sentient extremities of the nerves distributed to the organs
of sense, through the medium of those organs.
Secondly, the transmission of the impressions so made to
the sensorium, through the medium of the nerves of sen¬
sation.
Thirdly, the physical changes made on the sensorium.
Fourthly, the mental change consequent on this physical
change in the sensorium; w'hich mental change is termed
sensation ; and in experiencing which the mind is wholly
passive.
Fifthly, the recurrence, associations, and combinations of
the physical changes originally induced in the sensorium,
but probably extended through various parts of the sub¬
stance of the brain, and simultaneous with various mental
operations, in exercising which the mind is partly passive
and partly active.
Sixthly, the mental act denominated volition, which is ac¬
companied with consciousness, and in which the mind is
wholly active.
Seventhly, the corresponding change induced by volition
on the sensorium, or origin of the nerves of voluntary motion.
Eighthly, the transmission ofthe impression so received by
the nerves of voluntary motion, to the muscles on which
they are distributed.
Ninthly, the contractions of these muscles, constituting
voluntary motion.
Tenthly, the influence of the nerves on the muscles of
involuntary motion, and on various functions apparently de¬
pending on involuntary actions.1
Sect. II—Organization of the Nervous System.
(581.) The nervous system comprises organs of a curious Division of
and complicated structure, and w’hich are of the highest the nervous
importance in the animal economy. Their study is exceed- system,
ingly interesting, whether they be viewed as instruments of
sensation, as sources of action, or as the medium of connex¬
ion between the body and the mind. This system is com¬
posed of a considerable mass of a soft pulpy substance call¬
ed the brain, which occupies the cavity of the skull; a •
prolongation of this substance filling the canal ofthe spine,
and called the spinal cord, or spinal marrow; and of various
processes in the form of cords, called nerves, which extend
from the brain and spinal cord, to almost all parts of the
body. There are found also interspersed in various parts
along the course of the nerves, small rounded or flattened
bodies, called ganglia, which also belong to this system of
organs. All the parts of this system are intimately related
to each other, and although they differ considerably in their
general appearance, they possess many characters in common.
In point of structure they present us with three different
modifications; the first comprehending the substance of the
central masses, which include the brain and spinal cord; the
second, the nerves ; and the third, the ganglia. We shall
proceed to consider each of these in the above order.
1. Organization of the Brain and Spinal Cord.
(582.) The brain, or general mass which fills the cavity Qf^ture
of the skull, is composed of a number of parts of various brain!
1 See Bridgewater Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology, vol. ii. p. 535, note.
660
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, shapes, the particular forms and dispositions of which be¬
long properly to descriptive anatomy. It will be sumcient
for our present purpose to state, that it is divided into three
masses, distinguished by the names ot cerebrum, which is
by far the largest portion, and which occupies the whole of
the upper and fore part of the cavity of the skull; the cere¬
bellum, or lesser brain, which is situated at the hinder and
lower part of the cerebrum ; and the medulla oblongata,
which lies at the central part of the base, or inner surface
of the cerebrum, and connects it with the cerebellum, and
with the spinal cord. All these parts, as well as the spinal
cord itself, are formed of two kinds of substance ; the cin-
eritious, or ash-coloured substance, which has also been
called the cortical substance ; and the white, or medullary
substance. These two substances are variously intermixed,
sometimes forming strata of different thickness, and some¬
times the one enveloping separate portions of the other, in
different parts of the whole mass. There is a layer of cor¬
tical substance placed on the outside of the cerebrum; it
does not, however, form a smooth uniform plane, but is
moulded into convolutions. In the cerebellum there is a
similar superficial stratum formed into concentric laminm.
The convolutions are of considerable depth ; and if any of
them be cut through, it is seen to consist of both cortical
and medullary substance. I'he cortical forms a layer ot con¬
siderable thickness ; and on looking attentively on its divid¬
ed ed^e, a very nai’row lamina of medullary substance will
be perceived passing through it, and following it thiough
all its windings. This fact has been particulary noticed by
Dr. Baillie. The concentric lamina; on the surface of the
cerebellum, are composed also of cortical and medullary
matter. By this arrangement, the quantity of cortical sub¬
stance, as well as the extent of its surface on the outer part
of the brain, is very much increased.
(583.) In the interior of the brain we find cavities ofcon-
siderable size, termed ventricles, and bodies of regular, but
various shapes, presenting many different mixtures of two
species of matter. Where these bodies appear, from their
outside, to be formed of cortical substance only, on cutting
into this, there is found a considerable mixture of medul¬
lary matter ; and where they seem, from their outside, to be
formed of medullary matter alone, they are discovered, on
dividing them, to contain some cortical substance in the
interior. Thus, there is no particular part of the brain com¬
posed purely of the one kind ot substance or the other ; al¬
though the proportions of each in the various parts may be
very different. A similar intermixture of cortical and me¬
dullary matter exists in the spinal cord; but contrary to
what takes place in the large mass of the brain, the cortical
part is placed in the interior, and is enveloped by the me¬
dullary.
(584.) The medullary substance has generally been con¬
sidered as constituting the most perfect state ot nervous
matter, or that which more especially exercises the func¬
tions of the nervous system. Some physiologists, on the
contrary, consider the grey substance as the seat or origin
of nervous power; while the fibres of the white substance
act merely the part of conductors of nervous influence from
one part to another. This medullary portion is obviously
of a firmer consistence than the cortical part, and contains
fewer blood-vessels interspersed throughout its substance.
Both the one and the other are almost perfectly homogene¬
ous in their appearance. Ruysch had fancied that the cor¬
tical substance was entirely composed of blood-vessels, con¬
nected by cellular membrane ; and in this opinion he was
for a long time generally followed, although the pulpy con¬
sistence it exhibits is scarcely compatible with such a no¬
tion. Malpighi supposed that he had detected in it a glan¬
dular structure ; but this must also be regarded as a mere Physiols
hypothesis, unsupported by any substantial evidence. The^V^
medullary matter presents traces of a fibrous structure ; a
fact which was first observed by Malpighi, and which is
particularly insisted on by Drs. Gall and Spurzheim ; and
notwithstanding the existence of such a structure is denied
by other eminent anatomists, it appears to have been suffi¬
ciently established by the elaborate researches of Reil, a
detailed account of which has been given by Mr. Mayo.1
(585.) Anatomists are far from being agreed as to the Micro,
minute and ultimate structure of nervous matter. De lascopic i
Torre asserts that it consists of a mass of innumerable trans-structure?
parent globules immersed in a transparent fluid ; and that
these globules are larger in the brain than in the spinal
marrow. Prochaska describes the same globular structure,
which he represents as united by a transparent elastic cel¬
lular membrane disposed in fibres. Monro,2 in his first in¬
quiries, thought that these fibres were convoluted, but af¬
terwards acknowledged that he had been misled by an op¬
tical fallacy, incident to the employment of high magnify¬
ing powers. The Wenzells3 also recognised the globular
composition of the nervous substance, and considered the
globules themselves to be vesicles filled with a material either
of a medullary or cineritious appearance, according to the
portion examined. Bauer4 states that the globules are of
about the same diameter as the central particles of the glo¬
bules of the blood, some, however, being still smaller ; and
that they are of a gelatinous consistence, and soluble in
water. The cineritious substance, he finds, is composeu
chiefly of the smallest globules, surrounded by a large pro¬
portion of a gelatinous and serous fluid. I he medullary
substance, on the other hand, is formed principally by the
larger and more distinct globules which adhere together in
lines, and have a smaller proportion of fluid, that fluid be¬
ing more viscid than in the cineritious substance. Dr. Ed¬
wards5 has confirmed by his observations, these results, as
far as the general globular composition of nervous matter is
concerned. He asserts the diameter of the globules to be
one three-hundredth of a millimetre, which is equivalent to
the seven thousand six hundred part of an inch ; and that
these globules are arranged in linear series, constituting the
primary linear fibres. Beclard states that he has veiified
these observations.6
2. The Nerves.
(586.) The nerves are white cords extending from dif-Nerves,
ferent parts of the brain and spinal cord, to different parts
of the body, and more especially to the muscles, the integ¬
uments, and other organs of sense, and to the viscera and
blood-vessels. Their general form is cylindrical; but they
divide, in their course, into a great number of branches,
many of which again reunite, or are joined with the branches
of other nerves, so as to form in many parts a complicated
nervous net-work, or plexus, as it has been termed by ana¬
tomists. The nerves are usually spoken of as originating
in the brain or spinal cord, and as proceeding from thence
to their termination in other, and generally distant parts.
As the united branches would form a cord of much larger
diameter than the trunk from which they arise, it is evident
that the total quantity of nervous matter they contain is
augmented as they proceed in their course. When exam¬
ined with the microscope, their surface presents a number,
of transverse lines or wrinkles, which are evidently for the
purpose of admitting ot flexion ; and thus accommodating
them to the different movements of the parts with which
they are connected.
(587.) The nerves appear to consist of filaments of me-Neunien
dullary substance, enclosed in a tough cellular membrane.
1 In his Anatomical and Physical Commentaries.
* Philosophical Transactions for 1818, and 18il-
2 On the Nervous System.
5 Sur la Structure eU'mentaire.
3 /Je Structura Cerebri.
See his Anatomic Gen 'i ale-
PHYSIOLOGY.
jsiology. At their origin from the central organ, whether it be the
brain or the spinal cord, they consist of detached fibrils,
sometimes isolated, but in general arranged so as to consti¬
tute flat bands. There are two such bands, namely, an an¬
terior and a posterior fasciculus, which unite to form each
of the nerves arising from the spinal cord. Some nerves
are composed of pure medullary matter, as the optic nerve ;
but in the greater number this matter is so enveloped in a
tough cellular membrane, which has been termed by anato¬
mists the neurilema, that it cannot distinctly be perceived.
In the olfactory nerves there is an evident junction of cor¬
tical with medullary matter, but in most others we find no¬
thing but filaments of medullary matter, each of which is
contained in a separate envelope of neurilema, that forms
tubes for their reception.
(588.) Many anatomists have attempted the investigation
of the minute structure of nervous fibrils by means of the
microscope. De la Torre1 perceived in them globules si¬
milar to those of which the matter of the brain is composed.
Monro2 and Fontana describe the nervous filaments as being
connected by cellular substance, much in the same way as
the muscular fibres, and arranged like them in fasciculi of
various sizes. They represent the ultimate fibril as being
twelve times greater than the muscular fibre, having a ser¬
pentine or tortuous form, and being composed of a cylindri¬
cal canal, containing a viscid pulpy matter, evidently diffe¬
rent from the substance of the canal itself. Reil has pur¬
sued this investigation with still greater care and minuteness,
and states that the ultimate filaments differ in thickness from
that of a hair to the finest fibre of silk. Their arrangement
into larger and larger fasciculi is analogous to what we ob¬
serve in the structure of muscles, but with this difference,
that the nervous fibres in their course along the nerve, fre¬
quently divide and subdivide, and are again variously united
and conjoined, so as to produce an extensive connexion among
all the parts of the same nerve. The membranous neurile¬
ma, besides giving support to each individual filament of
nerve, and uniting them into fasciculi, furnishes also a ge¬
neral covering to the whole nerve.
(589.) What has now been stated must be understood as
applicable to nerves in general. Many differences have been
pointed out in the structure of different nerves ; but it is
not necessary to descend into these minute particulars in the
general view we are now giving.
Rlia.
3. Ganglia.
(590.) Ganglia are small rounded nodules, which are
placed in different situations in the course of nerves, some¬
times in the trunk of a single nerve, and sometimes where
two nerves unite. They are most numerous on those nerves
which are distributed to the viscera, and to the muscles of
involuntary motion. Their appearance is very different from
that of a mere dilatation of a nerve, being of a reddish-brown
colour, having a minute fibrous texture, a firmer consistence,
and a greater number of blood-vessels than ordinary nerves.
The nerves which pass out from a ganglion are generally of
a larger size than those which entered into it, as if they had
received, in their passage through it, an additional quantity
of matter. It would appear, from numerous observations,
that the filaments of the different nerves which join the gan¬
glion proceed through it individually without interruption,
but are, at the same time, involved and twisted together in
a very complicated manner; the result being, that filaments
from many different nerves are united in the formation of a
new nerve ; so that the parts to which the nerve is distri¬
buted receive a supply of filaments from many different
sources, and are in very extensive communication with va-
661
rious parts of the brain, spinal cord, and indeed the whole Physiology-
nervous system. ^ ^
(591.) Besides this junction and intertexture of nervous
filaments, the ganglia contain a soft semi-fluid matter, which
appears to be analogous to the proper substance of the brain,
and like the latter, may be distinguished into cineretious
and medullary portions. It would appear, therefore, that
the ganglia have some peculiar office with regard to the
nerves which traverse them, and that they do not serve the
purpose only of a plexus of filaments, establishing mere me¬
chanical connexions between them, as some anatomists have
alleged.
CHAP. XIV THE EXTERNAL SENSES.
(592.) The external senses have usually been reckoned External
five in number, namely, touch, taste, smell, hearing, and senses,
sight; but this arrangement has reference more to the or¬
gans by which they are exercised than to the nature of the
sensations they excite in the mind. A variety of sensations
have been referred to the sense of touch, which are wholly
different in their kind, and which are received by means of
impressions made on the skin, and also others which are con¬
veyed by nerves in other parts of the body, without any con¬
nexion with the skin. These we shall notice after we have
considered the sensations more peculiarly belonging to the
sense of touch.
Sect. I.—Touch.
1. Sensation of Pressure.
(593.) Every part of the surface of the body is exposed Touch,
to the contact of foreign bodies ; and in most parts of the
skin very slight pressure made by those bodies gives occa¬
sion to the primary sensation of touch, which is in fact simply
that of resistance to the part of the skin on which it presses.
This sensation is quite specific, and distinguishable from all
other sensations. It may be conveyed, though less perfect¬
ly, by several of the internal surfaces of the body, as those
of the mouth and pharynx. Certain parts of the skin pos¬
sess, however, a more peculiar delicacy of nervous sensibi¬
lity to the impressions of touch, and are therefore to be con¬
sidered as more especially the organs of this sense. In man
the points of the fingers are particularly employed for re¬
ceiving the finer impressions of touch, and for distinguish¬
ing the qualities of external objects, of which this sense is
fitted to convey us information. The greater vascularity of
the skin of the fingers, and greater developement of its pa¬
pillary structure, have been assigned as the causes of the
apparent increase of sensibility with which they have been
endowed. There is no doubt, however, that much depends
on the education given to the ends of the fingers, by their
constant employment in this office; for we find that the
toes and other parts of the body may, by use, be trained to
the acquisition of an equal degree of sensibility ; of this we
see examples in individuals who have been born without
hands. Parts where the epidermis is very thin, such as the
lips, are also endowed with considerable sensibility to the
impressions of touch, and with the power of discriminating
differences in those impressions which cannot be felt or ap¬
preciated by means of the fingers.
(594) Professor Weber of Leipsig4 has made a series of
very interesting experiments on the relative sensibilities of
the skin in different parts of the body, with reference more
particularly to its power of conveying to the mind accurate
perceptions of mechanical impressions made upon it. He
found this power possessed' in the highest degree by the
tip of the tongue and ends of the fingers, the sensibility of
Philosophical Transactions for 17G9. 2 On the Nervous System.
3 An account of these researches is contained in the Edinburgh Medical Journal, xl. p. 89.
662
PHYSIOLOGY
Phvsiology. which he estimated at eighty times greater than that of the
skin of other parts of the body. He observed, also, that
‘even the skin in different parts of the face, when touched
with the points of a pair of compasses opened to a small dis¬
tance, shewed the greatest diversity in their powei of con¬
veying distinct perceptions of touch as to the object in
contact being single or double, and as to the distance be¬
tween the points, when they were perceived to be double.
2. Sensations of Temperature.
Sense of (595.) The same organs which, when pressed by an ex¬
heat and ternal body, convey the impression of resistance, communi-
coid- cate also sensations of heat and cold, and nearly in the same
relative proportion. Thus the fingers are more sensible to
variations of temperature in the bodies they touch than
other parts of the skin less accustomed to discriminate them.
The lips are still more sensible than the fingers to the dif¬
ferences of temperature in the bodies to which they aie ap¬
plied. This peculiar sensibility affords a ready mode of dis¬
tinguishing genuine diamonds and other precious stones from
such as are counterfeit; for the former, being better con¬
ductors of heat, produce a more lasting impression of cold¬
ness when applied to the lips or to the tongue.
The sensations of heat and cold are, however, far from
being in exact proportion either to the actual temperatures
of the bodies which are in contact with the skin, or even to
the differences between their temperature and that of the
skin. The actual condition of the sensibility of the skin at
the time, which depends on a multitude of causes hereafter
to be noticed, has a very considerable influence on the sen¬
sations. The difference which is observable in the sensibi¬
lities of the same part to the impression of resistance, and
to that of heat or cold, suggests a doubt whether a different
set of nerves may not be employed to transmit to the brain
these different kinds of impressions. We find in certain
states of disease, that the general sensibility of the surface
of the body may be much impaired, and yet it may preserve
its sensitiveness with regard to heat and cold ; and it is also
certain, that differences of temperature produce sensations
in parts, the stomach for instance, which are wholly disqua¬
lified from communicating the feeling of resistance.
3. Anomalous Sensations.
Hunger (596.) Hunger and thirst are sensations referred to the
ana thirst, mouth, throat, and stomach, which are also quite specific in
their nature, though generally referred to the sense of touch.
Peculiar (597-) The same observation applies to a variety of pe-
sensations. culiar sensations, many of which are common to the whole
surface of the body, and may even be felt in some internal
parts, but which it would be difficult to class, or even com¬
pletely enumerate. The sense of tingling and of itching
are examples of this species of sensations. The feeling of
nausea is an undefinable sensation referred to the stomach.
4. Sensation of Pain.
Pain. (598.) Every sensation thus referred to the sense of touch,
when it rises beyond a certain degree, is accompanied with
the additional feeling of pain, which, if considerable, engross¬
es the whole attention, and effaces all marks of discrimina¬
tion as to its origin. Pain is generally readily referred to
a particular part of the body, as being the origin, or as it is
commonly called, the seat of pain, especially when the part
is external. But in internal parts, this specific reference is
often extremely vague and imperfect; and there frequently
exists a general feeling of uneasiness, often more intolerable
than any other, and to which it is impossible to assign any
particular locality. It may also be observed, that in gene¬
ral the actual sensibility bears no relation to the capacity for
feeling pain.
(599) A vast number of experiments wrere made by Hal¬
ler, with a view to ascertain the comparative sensibilities of
the different textures and organs of the body. In general, Plmioloi;
those which have but a small degree of vascularity, such as
the cartilages, tendons, ligaments, fibrous membranes, and
bones, and even the simple cellular texture, and serous
membranes, in a state of health, have a very obscure degree
of sensibility, when cut across, pricked with a pointed in¬
strument, or burned by a hot iron. Yet many of these tex¬
tures, though deficient in sensibility to these stimuli, are yet
extremely sensible to injuries of another kind, namely, for¬
cible stretching, when applied suddenly and in a degree
which endangers the integrity of their structure. This is
sufficiently illustrated by the acute pain attendant on a
sprain. Bones, also, though scarcely communicating any
feeling of pain when sawn through in the living body, yet
feel acutely the concussion produced by violent blows, as
any one may be convinced of who has suffered a blow on the
knee. It is also remarkable that all those parts, which are
apparently so incapable of sensation under ordinary circum¬
stances, become highly sensible when in a state of inflam¬
mation.
(600.) The internal parts of most of the glands and other
solid organs, have but little sensibility ; and the chief source
of pain, wdien they are attacked with inflammation, arises
from the affection spreading to the membranes which invest
them. Inflammation of the mucous membranes does not
occasion any proportionate degree of pain. Those parts of
the body which receive no blood-vessels, as the cuticle and
its appendages, the nails and the hair, are absolutely insen¬
sible. The cuticle consequently is well adapted to protect
the highly sensitive organ w'hich it covers, and to blunt its
sensibility.
(601.) Pain often arises from internal causes; from pres¬
sure, or distension, or other mechanical or chemical irrita¬
tion applied to nerves; or from some changes taking place
in the texture of the nerve itself. It will appear evident,
on a general review of the sensibility allotted to the diffe¬
rent organs of the body, that each has received from nature
that particular kind and degree which is most needed, and
which best accords with the relative importance of its func¬
tions, and the dangers to which, in the ordinary course of
events, it is exposed.
5. The Muscular Sense.
(602.) Avery important class of sensations has been re-Musculai
ferred to the sense of touch, which require to be particular- sense,
ly distinguished from the rest; they are those attending the
contractions of the voluntary muscles, which render us sen¬
sible of the movements of our limbs, and of other parts
which are voluntarily moved. These are the feelings which
give rise to the idea of extension, and which, combined with
the feeling of resistance, communicate to us a knowledge of
the forms, magnitudes, and relative positions of external ob¬
jects. Thus, by moving the hand over the surfaces of bo¬
dies, we gain the ideas of their tangible extension together
withmost of their mechanical properties, such as theirrough-
ness, hardness, weight, texture, and dimensions. In these
examinations we avail ourselves of the admirable properties
of the hand, an instrument which, by the number and variety
of its parts, and the motions of which they are capable, is
exquisitely fitted for procuring us this useful kind of know¬
ledge. By the perceptions we acquire in infancy trom the
active employment of the limbs in various kinds of progres¬
sive motion, our sphere of knowledge of the material world
is prodigiously extended ; and these perceptions are an im¬
portant source of gratification, in consequence of the feel¬
ings of pleasure with which, by the beneficent ordination or
nature, the active exercise of the voluntary muscles is ac¬
companied.
(603.) The sense of touch, in the comprehensive view
which we have now taken of it, is unquestionably the most
important of all our external senses, bringing us more im-
PHYSIOLOGY.
biology, mediately acquainted with the essential qualities of the ma-
kv—' terial world, and laying the great foundations of all the know¬
ledge which the other senses supply, by a reference to the
ideas derived from touch.
G63
•te.
Ians of
] gue.
Sect. II—Taste.
(604.) It was the fashion among the French metaphysi¬
cians to resolve all the senses into that of touch ; so that in
speaking of vision, for instance, they would allege that we
see by means of the light which touches the retina. But
this is a mere refinement not warranted by facts, and in
which the real distinctions existing among the sensations
themselves are overlooked.
(605.) If any of the senses could be considered as a finer
sense of touch, it would be that of taste, by which we re¬
ceive impressions of a peculiar kind from the sapid qualities
of bodies in contact with the upper surface of the tongue.
This sense is manifestly intended to guide us in the choice
of our food, and it is accordingly placed at the entrance of
the alimentary canal.
1. Organs of Taste.
(606.) The principal organ of taste is the tongue, but se¬
veral of the neighbouring organs are auxiliaries in the exer¬
cise of this sense. The soft parts of the mouth consist of
the lips and cheeks, the gums, the soft palate, the velum,
uvula, tongue, the membranous lining of the mouth, and
the salivary glands. The osseous parts are the upper and
lower maxillary bones, the teeth, and the palate bones.
(607.) The lips and cheeks are principally composed of
muscles ; they are covered on the outside by the common
integuments, and lined within by the membrane of the
mouth, in which are situated numerous mucous glands. The
membrane of the mouth is covered with fine villi, which are
most conspicuous on the edges of the lips. A small dou¬
bling of this membrane is met with in the middle of both
the upper and under lips, which fixes them more closely to
the jaws. They have been termed the frcena labiorum.
The union of the lips at the corners of the mouth form what
has been called the commissures of the lips.
(608.) The gums, which surround, and firmly adhere to
the collar of the teeth, are very vascular, and composed of
a dense and compact cellular substance.
(609.) The palate is divided into the palatum durum, and
palatum molle. The former is composed of the palate plates
of the upper jawr, covered by periosteum, and by the mem¬
brane of the mouth, which here forms numerous rugae. The
soft palate, or velum pendulum palati, is the name of that
membranous curtain which hangs from the posterior edge of
the ossa palati, and pterygoid processes, and forms a flexible
partition between the mouth and throat. It serves to con¬
duct the fluids of the nose downwards, and at the same time
acts as a valve in preventing the passage into the nostril i
of what is swallowed. In the middle of the edge of the
velum, a conical papilla, termed the uvula, is met with, and
in the relaxed state hangs pendulous over the root of the
tongue.
(610.) The tongue is a complex organ, principally con¬
sisting of a mass of muscular fibres, irregularly disposed, and
crossing each other in a great variety of directions, and be¬
ing also intermixed with a soft kind of fat. It is invest¬
ed by a mucous membrane, being a continuation of that
which lines the mouth generally, and which here presents
large and numerous papillce. These papillae are distinguish¬
ed by anatomists into three kinds, according to their size,
form, and situation. The first class of these, called papillce
maximce, lenticulares, or capitatce, are by much the largest,
have a lenticular form, with round heads and short stems.
They are placed at the base of the tongue, in superficial
fossulae. They have been regarded as auxiliary salivary
glands, and have each a perforation in the middle of their
convex surface for the excretion of mucus. The second Physiology,
class, ovpapillce rnedice, or semi-lenticidares, are much small- - y
er than the former, and are scattered over the upper surface
of the tongue, at some distance from each other ; their form
is cylindric, while some are terminated by a round, but not
dilated extremity. Others are more or less tuberculated at
the summit. The third class, or papillce minimce, which
have also been termed conicae, or villosce, are exceedingly
numerous, but of very minute size. They cover almost the
whole of the upper surface of the tongue, but are most abun¬
dant towards the tip, where the sense of taste is most
acute.
(611.) The membrane covering the root of the tongue
abounds with mucous follicles. At the root of the tongue,
and behind the papillae maximae, there is a hole or deep de¬
pression, called the foramen ccecum Morgagni, which pene¬
trates only a small way into the substance of the tongue,
and receives the mouths of several excretory ducts that
open into it. A line is also observable running forwards
along the middle of the tongue, from the foramen ccecum ;
this is the linea lingiue mediana. The tongue is somewhat
restrained in its motions by the frcenum linguce, which is
formed by a duplicature of membrane at its under part, con¬
necting it with the jaw.
(612.) All sapid substances require, in order to produce Salivary
an impression ol taste, to be applied in a state of solution to glands,
the nerves of that sense. Nature has accordingly provided
a fluid secretion for the purpose of effecting their solution,
and diffusing them over a sufficient extent of the surface of
the tongue. This secretion, which is the saliva, is prepared
by the salivary glands, which consist of three large glands
on each side of the face, namely, the parotid, the submax-
illary, and the sublingual. The parotid is the largest of
the three, and occupies the whole space between the ear
and the angle of the lower jaw ; its excretory duct, called
Stem’s salivary duct, passes off from the upper and fore part
of the gland, and perforates the buccinator muscle, so as to
open in the inside of the cheeks, opposite to the second or
third molar tooth of the upper jaw. The submaxillary, or
inferior maxillary gland, is situated on the inside of the an¬
gle of the lower jaw ; its duct is called the ductus Whartonii,
and it terminates by a small orifice on the surface of a pa¬
pilla on the side of the fraenum lingua?. The sublingual gland
is still smaller, and is under the anterior portion of the
tongue above the duct of Wharton, and its ducts open by se¬
veral orifices arranged in a line near the gums, a little to the
outside of the framum. The smaller salivary glands of the
mouth are very numerous, and are named from their situa¬
tion, buccales, labialcs, palatines, and linguales.
2. Function of Taste.
(613 ) Attempts have often been made, but with no great Classifica
success, to establish a classification of tastes. The general d°n of
characters of the tastes denominated acid, sweet, bitter,tastesi'
saline, alkaline, aromatic, astringent, acrid, and spirituous,
are sufficiently known, but their combinations are endless; •
and there exists besides these, a greater number of other
tastes, which it would be impossible to reduce to any of the
above classes.
(614.) The principle on which sapid bodies act upon the
tongue is probably resolvable in all cases into chemical ac¬
tion. It is observed, accordingly, that substances which are
in a solid form, and absolutely insoluble in the saliva, are
invariably tasteless ; just as in chemistry it is an established
axiom that bodies do not act chemically unless they are
either in a liquid or gaseous state. Mr. Mayo observes, that
the sensations of taste are not perfect until the mouth is
closed, and the tongue pressed against the palate, by which
means the sapid liquid is brought into more exact contact
with the surface of the tongue, and perhaps forced into the
texture of its mucous membrane.
PHYSIOLOGY.
664
Physiology. (615.) The organ of taste appears to be exclusively the
upper and papillated surface of the tongue; for although
Seat of the t]ie impressions of this sense are often referred to the pa-
sense. jate mside of the cheeks and gums, accurate discrimina¬
tion shows that this reference to the parts against which
the sapid body is pressed by the tongue, is deceptive, that
the real seat of the sense is confined to the tongue itself,
and that its immediate organs are the papillae, and more
particularly those denominated conica or villosa, which are
highly vascular and erectile, being observed to rise above
the surface of the tongue when any sapid substance is ap¬
plied to it. On the other hand, no papillae are discoverable
on the palate. .
Some substances, such as peppermint, produce a pungent
impression on the back of the fauces; and others, again, such
as mezereon, excite in the same part a peculiar sense of ir¬
ritation, which appears to proceed more from a generally
acrimonious property, affecting particularly the nervous sur¬
faces, than from any real sapidity ; indeed, if the impres¬
sions made on the organs of smell be excluded from con¬
sideration, it will be found that the extent of the part of the
tongue which really receives impressions of taste, is very
limited. Mr. Mayo1 states that salt, aloes, sugar, or acids,
which excite the most acute sensation when applied to the
tip or edge of the tongue,^produce none at the fore or up¬
per part of the organ, or on the hard palate. But at the
back of the tongue they again excite sensation enough to
be distinguishable, and they are still more perfectly tasted
on the middle of the soft palate and uvula. The participa¬
tion of the soft palate in the sense of taste has been recently
pointed out by MM. Guyot and Admyrauld, and has been
carefully verified by Mr. Wheatstone and Mr. Mayo. These
latter gentlemen did not find that one taste was perceived
more distinctly than another, at any point of the tongue or
soft palate.
There is no circumstance more remarkable, with relation
to this sense, than its intimate connexion with that of smell,
of w hich we are next to speak.
Sect. III.—Smell.
Smell.
Organs of
smell.
(616.) The purpose answered by the sense of smell is
apparently to guard against the introduction into the lungs
of injurious effluvia, as that of taste is to w^atch over the qua¬
lities of the substances introduced into the stomach. Its
seat is the Schneiderian membrane lining the cavity of the
nostrils; and more particularly the turbinated bones, which
are placed so as to catch the odorous effluvia directly as these
enter the nostrils, and which, together with the cavities or
sinuses in the contiguous bones, contribute to extend con¬
siderably the surfaces on which the impression of these ef¬
fluvia is made.
1. Organs of Smell.
(617.) The organ of smell may be divided into the ex¬
ternal and internal parts.
The external part, or nose, properly so called, consists
principally of an upper bony portion commonly called the
bridge of the 7iose, composed of the ossa nasi, supported by
a vertical process from the gethmoid bone, together with the
vomer, and an inferior cartilaginous portion, of which the
middle prominence is called the dorsum ; the rounded por¬
tions below are the alee nasi, or wings ; and the cartilage
forming the partition between the nostrils is termed the
columna nasi. These cartilages have a degree of elasticity
which preserves the form of the organ.
The internal parts are contained in the cavities of the
nostrils, which are divided by the septum narium into two
lateral passages. In the upper part of each nostril, a spongy
bone of a lengthened but irregular shape, the os turbinatum
superius, which belongs to the sethmoid bone. Below this Pbysiola
extends the inferior turbinated bone, so that the general
cavity is divided by these bones into three passages for the
air, running from before backwards; they have been re¬
spectively named by Haller the meatus narium superior,
medius, and inferior.
(618.) The extent of the cavities belonging to the nose
is much increased by their communicating with various sin¬
uses, or cavities in the neighbouring bones, namely, the
frontal, sphenoidal, and maxillary sinuses. Posteriorly the
nostrils open into the pharynx, by two orifices, termed the
posterior nares. All these cavities, together with the sin¬
uses with w hich they communicate, are lined with a sensible
and delicate mucous membrane, termed the pituitary mem¬
brane, or sometimes, from the anatomist who first accurately
described it, the membrana Schneideriana. The lower
part of the lacrymal sac becoming somewhat narrower, but
without forming any valve, passes into the nose, under the
name of lacrymal duct, canalis nasalis, or ductus ad nasum.
At the posterior part of the nares is the opening of the Eus-
tachion tube, leading to the tympanic cavity of the ear/
2. Function of Smell.
(619.) The impressions made on the two senses of taste Connex .1
and smell, have not only a great affinity to each other, but with tas ;
also an intimate connexion ; inasmuch as many of those re¬
ferred to the organ of taste are in reality made on the or¬
gan of smell, and are not perceived at all if the nostrils be
closed, and the odorous effluvia arising from the substance
placed on the tongue be consequently prevented from ascend¬
ing, and acting on the sentient membrane lining their cavity.
When the Schneiderian membrane is inflamed, the taste of
all those substances, of which the flavour consists in their
scent alone, is altogether lost; and as this is the case with
by far the greater number of substances employed as food,
the sense of taste appears, under these circumstances, to be
very imperfect. Both these senses, but particularly that of
smell, are possessed by man in a degree very inferior to that
in which they exist in the lower animals.
(620.) It is essential to the exercise of this sense, that
the membrane of the nostrils should be in a moist state;
for when it happens to be dry from a deficiency of secre¬
tion, the extremities of the olfactory nerves are unfitted for
the reception of the impression of odours. It is also neces¬
sary for smelling that the air charged with the odorous ef¬
fluvia should impinge with some degree of force against the
Schneiderian membrane.
The seat of greatest sensibility to odours is the upper
part of the nostrils ; and the form of the nose and of its
apertures are obviously adapted to direct the stream of ajr
towards those parts. It is found, accordingly, that when
the nose has been destroyed by disease, the smell is greatly
impaired, if not altogether lost.
(621.) Odours as well as tastes have been attempted to be
classed. Linnaeus distributed them into seven classes: 1 •
ambrosial, of which the smell of the rose and musk are ex¬
amples ; 1. fragrant, as the smell of the lily, of the jas¬
min, and of saffron; these are more evanescent than the
former ; 3d. aromatic, as the smell of the laurel; 4. alli¬
aceous, partaking of the odour of garlic; 5. fetid, exem¬
plified in valerian and mushrooms ; 6. virous, or narcotic,
as in the smell of opium ; 7. nauseous, as that of the gourd,
melon, and cucumber. But this classification is obviously
incomplete, as it omits several very distinct classes of odours,
such as that of alcohol, of aether, of camphor, of ammonia,
of chlorine, &c.
(622.) Any very acrid or stimulating vapour admitted to
the nostrils, instead of producing the sensation of smell, gives
1 Outlines of Human Physiology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
j ysiology. rise to mere painful irritation, which excites sneezing, and
a copious secretion of mucus.
Sect. IV.—Hearing.
1. Acoustic Principles.
aring. (623.) The object of the sense of hearing is to convey to
us certain impressions made on the nerves of the ear by'the
vibrations of the air; which vibrations are the result of some
mechanical impulse communicated to it by the motion of a
body at a distance. Other media besides air are also ca¬
pable of transmitting sonorous vibrations to the organ of
hearing ; thus water is known to convey sounds to great dis¬
tances ; and solid bodies possess the same power in a de¬
gree proportioned to their molecular elasticity. If the body
which is the source of sound be insulated from any such
medium, its vibrations cannot be communicated, and no
sound is heard. Thus if a bell be placed in the receiver of
an air-pump, in proportion as the air is exhausted the sound
it produces when struck becomes more and more faint, till
at length, when the rarefaction has been carried a certain
length, it is quite inaudible. If the same bell be placed
in a vessel of condensed air, the sound it gives out will be
louder than in air of the ordinary density.
(624.) The velocity with which sound is transmitted in
air of the same density is uniform at all distances, and for
all sounds whatsoever. As the air of the atmosphere varies
in its density, and also in its degrees of humidity, the velo¬
city of sound is not constantly the same. It may be taken
at an average as being 1100 feet in a second, or nearly thir-
■ teen miles in a minute.
2. Organ of Hearing.
lucture (625.) The organ of hearing is divided into the external
|'he ear. and the internal ear.
(626.) The external ear, comprehends the auricula, or
ear, properly so called, and the meatus auditorius externus.
ncula. (627.) The auricula is chiefly composed of an elastic car¬
tilage bent into various folds and hollows, and covered with
a thin layer of common integuments, the lower fold of which,
enlarged by the addition of cellular substance, forms the
depending part called the lobe of the ear. The cartilagi¬
nous portion is termed the pinna, or ala. Its outer circle,
or prominent margin, is called, from its winding direction,
the helix. The semicircular ridge within this is the anti-
helix ; and the small protuberance, in which the helix ap¬
pears to terminate below at its inner edge, is called the tra¬
gus, from its being frequently covered with hair. Another
eminence, nearly opposite to this, below the anterior extre¬
mity of the antihelix, and projecting outwards over the hol¬
low of the ear, is called the antitragus. Between the helix
and antihelix, is the cavity called the scaphus, or fossa na-
vicularis.
ratus (628.) The concha is a large depression under the anti-
jutcriiis. helix, and divided into two parts by the helix. The lower
of these leads to the meatus auditorius, a passage which at
its commencement is composed of cartilage, and farther on
is joined to the orifice of the same name in the temporal
bone. The cartilaginous tube is lined by a soft membrane,
giving rise to hairs, and containing small glands, the glan¬
dular ceruminosce, which secrete the wax of the ear. This
cartilaginous portion of the ear is attached to the temporal
bone by several ligaments and muscles; the effects of which
in moving the different parts of the external ear are in ge¬
neral very little sensible.
(629.) The membrane lining the meatus is continued
along the osseous portion of the canal, which is closed by
the drum of the ear, or membrana tgmpani. This is a firm,
oval, and almost transparent membrane, fixed in an osseous
groove at the bottom of the meatus, across which it lies in
an oblique position. It is slightly concave on the external
VOL. XVII.
665
side ; and is capable of being stretched or relaxed by the Physiology,
action of particular muscles. " ^ ,— , —^
(630.) The membrane of the tympanum divides the ex- Tympanic
ternal from the internal ear. Behind it we find an irregu-cavity-
lar cavity, called the tympanic cavity, or cavity of the tym¬
panum, which is filled with air ; it is about seven or eight
lines wide, and about half that space in breadth ; and is
every where lined by a fine membrane. It has four open¬
ings ; the first is the small orifice of a passage of communi¬
cation with the back of the cavity of the nostrils, which is
called the Eustachian tube, and is shaped like a trumpet, ex¬
panding as it approaches the fauces. The second aperture
leads to a number of irregular cells, formed in the mastoid
process of the temporal bone, and called the mastoid cells.
At the back part of the tympanum we find an oval opening,
called the fenestra ovalis, and below this a round perfora¬
tion, termed the fenestra rotunda. Between these fenes-
trae, is a bony eminence, called the promontory.
(631.) Within the cavity of the tympanum are contained Ossicula.
four small bones, the ossicula auditus, placed in a series or
chain extending across from the membrana tympani to the
fenestra ovalis. The malleus, or hammer, is the first of these
bones ; a long pointed process from which, namely, the pro¬
cessus brevis, or handle, is fixed to the membrana' tympani.
It is articulated by its round head with the next bone, the
incus, or anvil, which much resembles in its shape a molar
tooth, having a body and two unequal crura. With the long¬
est of these processes is articulated the os orbicularis, of a
rounded figure, and smaller than a grain of mustard seed.
It forms the medium of connexion between the incus and
the stapes, which is the last bone in the series, and is so
named from its striking resemblance in form to a stirrup.
The base of the stapes is fixed to the margin of the fenes¬
tra ovalis, which it accurately closes. The articulations of
these minute bones are furnished with capsular ligaments,
and all the apparatus of the larger joints ; appropriate mus¬
cles being also provided for their movements. Between
the malleus and the incus, there passes a small nervous cord,
which crosses the tympanum, and is accordingly named the
chorda tympani.
(632.) The principal cavity of the organ of hearing is Labyrinth,
situated still more internally, and from the intricacy of its
winding sinuosities it has received the general name of the
labyrinth. All its cavities and passages are lined with a
very delicate periosteum, and filled with a watery fluid, and
within them is suspended apulpy membrane ofa similar shape,
on which are distributed various nervous filaments presently
to be described. This saccular-shaped membrane is termed
by Breschet the membranous labyrinth, in order to distin¬
guish it from the osseous labyrinth, in which it is contained.
It forms one continuous closed sac extending within the
vestibule and canals, excepting those of the cochlea; and
contains a fluid, perfectly similar to the perilymph, and term¬
ed by ^\sLm.\rW\e,vitrineauditive, which, intervening between
it and the osseous parietes of the labyrinth, surrounds it on
all sides, and prevents its coming in contact with those bones.
The central cavity, in which all these passages meet, is
termed the vestibule; it is of an oval figure, and is situated
nearly in the centre of the os petrosum, and at the inner
side of the fenestra ovalis. On the side of the vestibule next
to the mastoid process, there are five orifices leading to the
three semicircular canals, as they are called, or passages
formed within the substance of the bone. The extremities
of two of these canals unite, and terminate by a common
opening; hence there appear in the vestibule only five open¬
ings, instead of six. These canals are distinguished by the
names of the superior, or vertical, the posterior, or oblique, and
t(ie exterior, or horizontal. They each form a curvature of
more than three-fourths ofa circle, and have an enlargement,
termed ampulla, or cavitas elliptica, at one end, the other ex¬
tremity being nearly of the same size as the rest of the canal.
4 v
666
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology. (633.) The cochlea, which is the third division of the laby-
— 'rinth, has a conical shape, and is situated at the anterior
part of the os petrosum, and at the fore-part of the vesti¬
bule, with its base towards the meatus auditorms internus,
and its apex in the opposite direction ; that is, facing out¬
wards. It contains a double spiral passage, wmding round
like the shell of a snail. This passage begins by a round
hole from the vestibule, and after forming two turns and a
half, becomes suddenly smaller on arriving at the apex,
where it communicates with a similar tube which takes its
rise at the base of the cochlea from the fenestra rotun¬
da, formerly noticed as one of the apertures of the cavity
of the tympanum; but which is closed by a membrane.
The partition which divides these two winding passages is
called the lamina spiralis, or septum scaler; for the pas¬
sages themselves are known by the name of the scalee co-
chleeB; that which communicates with the vestibule being
distinguished as the scala vestibuli, and the other, from its
connexion with the tympanum, the scala tympam. I he
central bony pillar, around which these turns are mac e has
a horizontal direction, and is called the modiolus. It has t le
shape of a cone, at the apex of which is situated another
hollow cone in a reverse position termed the infundibulum,
which, however, is an imperfect funnel, having a common
apex with the modiolus, and its base being covered by t e
apex of the cochlea, which is called the cupola.
(634.) It has been supposed that when the fluid in these
cavities is in too great a quantity, the superfluous portion is
carried off by two minute canals or aqueducts, discovered
by Cotunnius, and bearing his name. One of these opens
into the bottom of the vestibule, and the other into the co¬
chlea, near the fenestra rotunda. They bear the names re¬
spectively of aqueeductus vestibuli and aquecductus cochlece.
They both pass through the os petrosum, and communicate
with the cavity of the cranium.
The form of that part of the membranous labyrinth which
occupies the cavity of the vestibule, and which has accoid-
ino-ly received the name of the membi'anous vestibule, though
having a general resemblance to that of the cavity itself,
yet differs from it in some degree, being composed of two
sacs opening into each other. One of these sacs is termed
the utricle; and the other the sacculus. Each sac contains
in its interior a small mass of white calcareous matter re¬
sembling powdered chalk, and which seems to be suspended
signed to collect the aerial undulations, and increase their Physioli
intensity by concentrating them into a smaller space; or v'f
according as they contain the expanded nerves on which the
impression is ultimately made. It appears that the medium
by which this last effect is produced, is the perilymph, or
fluid filling the cavities of the labyrinth, and containing the
exquisitely delicate membrane and cretaceous bodies on
which the extreme fibrils of the auditory nerve are expand¬
ed. This fluid is put in motion by the air in the cavity of
the tympanum, and thrown into corresponding undulations.
(637.) The accessory parts of the organ of hearing may
therefore be divided into three parts. There is, first, the
external ear, which is an elastic cartilaginous appendage to
the organ, curiously grooved, so as to form a series of para¬
bolic curves, adapted to receive the undulations of the air,
and convey them into the passage of the meatus externus,
serving apparently an office similar to that of the expanded
part of a trumpet. The sonorous undulations are thus
made to strike against the membrane of the tympanum, or
ear-drum, which is stretched across, and closes the passage.
The cavity behind this membrane is filled with air, which
is next thrown into undulations by the medium of the ear¬
drum, the vibrations of which have been excited by those
of the external air. In order to preserve an equilibrium
between the air in the cavity of the tympanum and the ex¬
ternal air, so that the membrane may not sustain a greater
pressure on one side than on the other, a communication
is kept open with the back part of the throat by means of
the Eustachian tube. Hearing is always much impaired, if
from any cause the Eustachian tube is obstructed, as it some¬
times is by a common cold, which then produces a tempo¬
rary deafness. . .
(638.) The cavity of the tympanum is of a very singular
form, extending into the mastoid process of the temporal
bone, which has a cellular structure. A chain of minute
bones, the ossicula auditus, extends, as we have seen, across
the cavity, terminating at the fenestra ovalis, or aperture
leading to the vestibule ; while another aperture, the fenes¬
tra rotunda, also closed by membrane, leads to one of the
spiral turns of the cochlea. Thus, the fluid in the labyrinth
receives from the impulses made on these two membranes,
which are situated in two different planes, a double undula¬
tion ; and these two undulations, the one circulating along
the semicircular canals, the other through the spiral turns
sembling powdered chalk, and winch seems to ne suspenueu ^ ~bab unlte at some ,bcal Sp„t, like the
in the fluid contents of the ^ tettog rf two S waves, and increase the efect produc-
nervous filaments, derived from the acoustic nerves, a ^ TShese undulations must of course be variously modi-
which they appear to be the ultimate ramifications. - 1 * *1 1 --- -r
  v k rr , . i ~
(635.) Through an opening at the base of the modiolus,
a branch of the auditory nerve, which has entered by the
meatus auditorius internus, passes into the funnel-shaped
cavity, and is thence extended through the spiial canals ;
while another branch passes backwards through the vesti¬
bule, and dividing into several branches, enters the orifices of
the semicircular canals. The minute branches peifoiate a
part of the bone, which has been termed from its appear¬
ance, the cribriform plate.
Functions
of the
several
part
ear.
fied, according to their frequency, and the order of then-
succession, and the impressions made on the nerve must
undergo corresponding modifications. But we are so com¬
pletely in the dark as to the real office of the several parts
of this elaborately constructed organ, that it is exceeding y
difficult to prosecute the physiology of this sense with such
imperfect data. We are unable even to form a rational
conjecture as to the offices of the delicate muscles provided
for directing the movements of those ossicula, which are ar¬
ticulated with such great nicety, and which seem calculat¬
ed to alter the tension of the membrana tympam, and bring
it into a state capable of vibrating in unison with the sono¬
rous undulations that impinge upon it. What adds m no
3. Function of Hearing.
(636.) We thus see that the ear is an organ extremely
comolicated in its structure, evidently intended to convey iuu» — r-o- -r— . we
several the sonorous undulations of the air, after they are collected small degree to our embanassment^is the h_
parts of the^ t^e move external parts of the organ, to the branches of have acquired of the pout c R ^ ,•• p_
Se audtey nerve, which are spreaf over the membranes on, apparent dtmmuUo^ whejadje
lining the different cavities of the labyrinth, and the creta- paiatus of bones, i J accident or dis-
ceous bodies suspended within those membranes. We may the ear-drum lt^lt’h^be^feft^ Mr Mayo3 re-
therefore distinguish the several parts of the apparatus em- ease. It should be observed, howe e , “ h ne
p^ed for thisgpurpose, according as they are merely -de- marks, that the stapes is so strictly apphedtothemerto
i The most accurate and complete description of the anatomy of the ear, is that given by Breschet, Sur les Oganes de l
appeared in the Annates des Sciences Naturelles, xxix. 129- A compendious account is contained in ZM Roget sBndyewata Treatise,*
* See two papers by Sir Astley Cooper, in the Philosophical Transactions for 1800, p. 151; and tor 1801, p. 4J7.
3 Outlines of Human Physiology, 3d edition, p. 221, note.
PHYSIOLOGY.
vsiology. of the fenestra ovalis, that the loss of this bone necessarily
Produces incurable deafness, by the attendant injury of the
labyrinth.
(639.) Sir Everard Home imagined that the muscular
structure of the membrana tympani, enabling it to contract
or relax according to circumstances, so as to vibrate in uni¬
son with the musical notes which reached the ear, conferred
the power of distinguishing musical tones. But this inge-
j nious hypothesis is completely overturned by the fact above
stated, of the integrity of the membrane of the tympanum
not being necessary for the perfect accuracy of the sense of
hearing, even with relation to the distinction of musical
sounds. Dr. Young thinks it probable that the semicircu¬
lar canals which are disposed in a remarkable manner in
three orthogonal planes, corresponding to the three dimen¬
sions of space, enable us to estimate the acuteness or pitch
of a sound ; and that the cochlea serves the office of a mi¬
crometer of sound.1 But the grounds of these opinions are
too vague and conjectural to inspire us with any confidence
in their solidity. When the external passages are totally
obstructed, sonorous vibrations may still be transmitted to
the auditory nerves by means of the bones of the head.
Thus, the sound of a tuning fork applied to the teeth, or
even to other parts of the head, is perfectly audible under
these circumstances. We thus possess a criterion for de¬
termining, in cases of deafness, whether the disease consists
in the insensibility of the nerves to these impressions, or is
seated in the passages leading to the labyrinth.
Sect. V—Vision.
ision. (640.) The physiology of the eye is more interesting than
that of any of the other organs of the senses ; because, from
the knowledge we possess of the laws of optics, to which it
is so admirably adapted, we can understand the offices of its
several parts, and the mode in which they concur in the
production of the resulting effect. The study of the eye
has been said to be the best cure for atheism ; and it fur¬
nishes, indeed, the most striking and unequivocal proofs of
the existence of design and intelligence in the construction
of the animal fabric. These proofs have accordingly been
always among those most prominently adduced by philoso¬
phers in support of the arguments of natural theology.
(641.) The organs subservient to vision are lodged se¬
curely in the bony cavities of the orbits, where the sur¬
rounding bones protect them on every side, excepting in
front. They may be divided into the internal and the ex¬
ternal parts ; the former consisting of the spherical bodies
denominated the globes of the eye, or eye-balls ; and the lat¬
ter comprising parts which give motion to the globe, and
otherwise assist it in its functions.
1. Internal parts of the Eye.
s hall, (642.) The eye-ball is composed of segments of two un¬
equal spheres ; one of which, constituting about four-fifths
of the whole, forms the portion which is within the orbit;
while the other fifth is that part which is seen in front, and
which, being a portion of a smaller sphere, is more protu¬
berant. The diameter of the eye-ball, from behind for¬
wards, is accordingly longer than its transverse diameter ;
the proportion being that of twenty-five to twenty-three.
(643.) The eye-ball is made up of coats and humors.
The former consist of the sclerotica, cornea, choroides, and
retina, together with the conjunctiva. Of the latter there
are three, viz. the vitreous, crystalline, and aqueous humors.
(644.) The sclerotica, which is the exterior coat, is, from
its compact fibrous texture, the densest and strongest, as
well as the thickest of the tunics of the eye, and the one
from which the other parts of the eye-ball derive their prin¬
cipal support. It covers all that portion of the globe of the
667
eye, which has already been pointed out as constituting its Physiology,
largest segment. At its anterior edge it is joined to the
more convex tunic, which completes the figure, and is nam¬
ed the cornea, from its being composed of a great number
of concentric laminae, of a horny elastic texture. Some au¬
thors have given it the name of the cornea lucida, from its
perfect transparency, and by way of contrast to the sclero¬
tica, which they had named the cornea, opaca.
(645.) The choroid coat, or tunica choroides, lies imme¬
diately within the sclerotica, and is composed of a congeries
of blood-vessels connected together by membrane. It has
been distinguished into two layers, the innermost of which
has been termed the tunica Ruyschiana. At the middle of
the choroid coat are observed numerous vessels convoluted
into a spiral form. These have been termed the vence vor-
ticoscc. The internal surface of the tunica Ruyschiana, or
tapetum, as it has been called, seems, from its villous or
fleecy appearance, to be a secreting surface. It is every¬
where lined with a black or deep-brown mucous substance,
included in a fine cellular tissue. This is the pigmentum
nigrum, which forms a layer, separating the choroides from
the next coat, or retina. This latter tunic is an expansion
of the pulpy substance of the optic nerve, spread over a
fine membrane. The optic nerve, from which this medul¬
lary matter is derived, enters the eye at its back part, at a
point nearer to the nose than the centre, or axis of the eye,
and perforates the sclerotic and choroid coats.
(646.) From the inner margin of the junction of the cor¬
nea and sclerotica, there extends across the fore part of the
globe of the eye a membranous partition, called, from the va¬
riety of its colour, the iris; it is perforated in the centre by
an aperture, called the pupil, because, as it is said, it repre¬
sents objects no larger than a pupilla, or puppet. The struc¬
ture of the iris is exceedingly peculiar; it appears to be
made up of a number of fibres, which pass from the inner
to the outer margin in a radiated direction, together with
others which run circularly. These fibres have been pre¬
sumed to be of a muscular structure ; but doubts are still
entertained with regard to this point. The posterior sur¬
face of the iris is lined with a pigment similar to that which
is found within the choroid coat. It has been called the
uvea, from its fancied resemblance in colour to the grape.
(647.) The iris is connected with the choroid coat by an
intermediate structure, called the ciliary ligament, ciliary
circle, or orbiculus ciliaris, which is a circular belt, more
than a line in breadth, made up of a soft and pulpy tissue,
and of a whitish colour. It is also at this part that the cho¬
roides adheres firmly to the sclerotica. From this part, also,
there extends inwards a dark coloured ring, which is a con¬
tinuation of the choroides, and is termed the corpus ciliare.
It is about the sixth part of an inch in breadth towards the
temple, but somewhat narrower towards the nose. It is co¬
vered in every part by the pigmentum nigrum. It is mark¬
ed by radiated strise at its inner part, but they are somewhat
obscured by the pigmentum nigrum. At the outer part
these striae become gradually broader and more elevated, and
appear like folds, only the intervals between them being co¬
vered with the pigment. These folds are termed the cili¬
ary processes. Each of these processes is of an irregular
triangular figure, with the base outwards, or at the ciliary
circle, and its apex inwards, or towards the axis of the eye.
Their number is generally about sixty, and they are alter¬
nately longer and shorter.
(648.) About three-fourths of the globe of the eye, with- Humors,
in these several tunics, is filled by a very transparent and
gelatinous humor, which, from its supposed resemblance
to melted glass, has been termed the vitreous humor. It
is nearly of the consistence of the white of an egg, and con¬
sists of a fluid substance contained in the cells of a very fine
1 Medical Literature, p. 98; and Lectures, vol. i. p. 387.
668
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, and delicate cellular tissue, called the hyaloid membrane.
' It is invested by a transparent membrane, termed the tunica
vitrea, or capsule of the vitreous humor. The anterior
surface of the vitreous humour is depressed, for the lodg¬
ment of the crystalline lens, or humor, which is a dense
body, perfectly transparent, and has the shape of a double
convex lens, of which the posterior surface has a greater
convexity than the anterior surface. The lens is composed
of a great number of concentric laminae, which become more
and more dense towards the centre, and each lamina is made
up of very distinct parallel fibres. It is enclosed in its own
peculiar capsule, in which it appears to float loosely, a wa¬
tery fluid, called the liquor Morgagni, being interposed.
(■649.) The fore part of the eye-ball, between the crys¬
talline lens and the cornea, is filled by a watery fluid, called
the aqueous humor, in the middle of which the his is sus¬
pended, thus dividing the space into what are called the ara-
terior and posterior chambers of the aqueous humor. The
aqueous humor, like the other humors, is contained with¬
in a delicate membrane, which lines the inside of the cor¬
nea, and passes over the crystalline lens and the convex
margin of the vitreous humor.
(650.) The capsule of the lens adheres closely to the tu¬
nica vitrea. Behind the edge of the former, and between
the margin of the ciliary zone and capsule of the vitreous
humor, a triangular passage is formed, called from its dis¬
coverer, the circle of Petit, or canalis Petitianus. When air
is blown into this passage, it passes freely round the edge of
the lens. , . , . . ^ i • .i
(651.) At that part of the retina which is situated m the
axis of the eye, there is a small circle, where the retina is
transparent, giving rise to the appearance of a hole, as it
tli^ retina were deficient in that part* It was discoveied oy
Soemmerring, and bears the name of the foramen centrale
of Soemmerring. It is surrounded by a yellow circle, about
a line in diameter. The fibres of the optic nerve, in passing
to form the retina, perforate a thin plate of membrane which
is extended from the sclerotica, and which is termed the
lamina cribrosa- 1 he centre of the optic nerve is perfo¬
rated by the arteria centralis retince, forming an aperture
which has been called the porus opticus.
into two lobes. There is also a chain of smaller glands ly- Physiolo*
2. External parts of the Eye.
(652.) The orbit is a conical cavity, in the fore part of
daSesTo which the globe of the eye is situated, the remaining space
the eye- behind the globe being chiefly filled with fat, which sur-
ball. rounds the optic nerve, and intervenes between it and the
straight muscles that extend between the margin of the
foramen opticum, through which the optic nerve passes out
of the skull and the fore part of the sclerotic coat, where
they are inserted by broad and flat tendons. I hese ten¬
dinous expansions have been improperly considered as com¬
posing one of the tunics of the eye, which being of a white
colour, has received the name of tunica albuginea.
(653.) The globe of the eye is covered at the fore part
by two eye-lids, or palpebrce, which are composed of mus¬
cular fibres, covered by the common integuments, support¬
ed at their edge by a cartilage called the tarsus, and fur¬
nished with a row of hairs, termed cilia, or eye-lashes. At
the roots of the eye-lashes are sebaceous follicles, named
from the anatomist who first observed them, the glandulce
Meibomii, and which secrete a glutinous liniment. The
eye-lids are lined on their interior surface by a very fine and
smooth serous membrane, which is reflected over the ante¬
rior part of the globe of the eye, and even over the surface
of the cornea. This membrane is called the tunica conjunc¬
tiva.
Lacrymal (654.) Between the ball of the eye and the upper vault
apparatus, of the orbit, on the temporal side, lies the lacrymal gland,^
which secretes the tears. It is composed of a number of
small, whitish, granular bodies, which are collected together
mg between the principal gland and upper eye-lid, and con-
necting them together. The excretory ducts from all these
glands are exceedingly minute, and terminate in the inner
surface of the upper eye-lid, near the outer angle of the eye.
After moistening the surface of the eye, the tears are again
collected by two"small orifices, called the jfuncta lacrymalia,
placed on a small eminence in each eye-hd, near the inner
angle of the eye, at the extremity of the tarsus. They are
the beginnings of two small canals that run in the direction
of the edo-es of the eye-lids, towards the side of the nose,
where they approach each other, and terminate together in
the lacrymal sac, which is a membranous bag situated on
the os unguis, and leading to a passage into the cavity of
the nostrils. The puncta are kept separate by the interpo¬
sition of a small reddish body, called the caruncula lacry-
malis, situated between the inner angle of the eye-lids and
the ball of the eye. Minute hairs are found upon the sur¬
face of this body, which serve to entangle small objects
which might otherwise get into the eye. There is also a
reduplication of the tunica conjunctiva, shaped like a cres¬
cent, and hence termed the valvula semilunaris, the points
of which are directed towards the puncta, and which assists
the caruncle in directing the tears to the puncta.
Having thus described the apparatus for vision, we shall
now proceed to consider the mode in which that function
is performed.
3. Optical Principles.
(655.) The object of this sense is to convey to us a know- Laws of
led«-e of the existence and visible qualities of distant objects, light,
by means of the light which they send to the eye. This
is accomplished by altering the natural diiect course of these
rays, so that they may form a distinct image of these objects
on the retina. That such images are actually formed on
the retina may be easily shewm in the eye of an animal le-
cently killed, by carefully removing the opaque sclerotic and
choroid coats, together with the black pigment from the back
of the eye, so as to expose the retina. The objects on the
other side, in front of the cornea, will then be seen beauti¬
fully depicted on the retina, their images being inverted ;
precisely in the same "way, and on the same principles as
they are seen in a simple camera obscura.
(656.) In order to understand and trace the operation of
the principles concerned in these phenomena, it will be ne¬
cessary to refer to the laws of optics.
The rays of light in traversing any medium of uniform Refiactii
density, move always in straight lines; but when the den¬
sity changes they deviate somewhat from this rectilinear
course, according to the direction of the ray with respect to
the planes in which the change of density occurs. Thus a
ray from the sun, or other celestial body, traversing obliquely
through our atmosphere, the different strata of which are
of increasing density as they come nearer to the earth, is
gradually bent in its course, and arrives at the surface of
the earth in a direction somewhat nearer to a perpendicular
line than if there had been no atmosphere. This deflexion
from a straight line is termed refraction. Refraction takes
place suddenly, if the ray passes abruptly from one medium
to another, which sensibly differs from it in its density ; the
direction of the deflexion being always towards the denser
medium ; or, to speak more accurately, towards a line drawn
perpendicular to the surface common to the two media, and
situated in the denser medium.
(657.) In the case of the passage of a ray through the Reflexn
surface of a new medium of very different density from the
first, another phenomenon takes place; the ray is decom¬
posed, part being transmitted and refracted, while another
portion is turned completely back into the medium it was
already traversing. This is termed reflexion. Objectswhici
are not luminous in their own nature are rendered vism
rysiology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
only by the reflexion from their surfaces of the light which
they receive from other bodies. The law in this case is,
that the angle of reflexion, by which is meant the an«-le
which the course of the reflected ray makes with a line per¬
pendicular to the surface, is equal to the angle of incidence,
or the angle which the incident ray makes with that same
perpendicular ; and also, that it is in the same plane with
the incident ray, and the perpendicular line.
(658.) The law of refraction is, that the course of the re¬
fracted ray is deflected towards that part of the perpendicu¬
lar which is situated in the denser medium, and that the
sine of the angle of refraction, (or the angle it makes with
the perpendicular) has to the sine of the angle of incidence
the same constant ratio. This ratio increases in proportion
to the difference there is between the two media in respect
of density.
669
4. Formation of Images in the Eye.
-mation
images.
ist-
is.
(659-) It follows as a consequence of the above laws, that
a pencil of rays proceeding through the air, and falling on
the convex spherical surface of a medium of greater density
than the aii, (as is the case with the cornea of the eye,) is
so refracted as to be collected, after proceeding a certain
distance, into one and the same point. This will readily
appear when we consider that those rays fall with more ob¬
liquity on the cornea, according as they are more distant
from the central ray of the pencil, or that which may be
conceived to fall perpendicularly on its surface. These more
oblique rays are consequently more refracted ; that is, more
bent from their original course ; and this law being observed
throughout the whole pencil, all the rays will tend after re¬
fraction to the same point, which point is called the focus
of that pencil of rays.
(660.) The same process taking place with regard to all
the other pencils of rays proceeding respectively from the
several points of the objects viewed, and each being col¬
lected into separate points in different parts of the retina
which receives them, images of those objects will be deli¬
neated on that membrane ; for it is evident that all the focal
points will have, with respect to one another, the same re¬
lative positions as the points of the external objects from
which each pencil of rays proceeds, when referred to the
sphere of vision. The impression thus made on each re¬
spective point of the retina, is transmitted to the sensorium,
where it makes a distinct impression, and gives rise to the
sensation ot light and colour ; and in conjunction with the
experience gradually gathered from the sense of touch, im¬
parts to us a knowledge of the existence, relative situation,
form, magnitude, distance, and colour of the objects before
us. This, then, is vision.
(661.) Such is the general outline of the mode in which
vision is accomplished ; but there are a thousand beautiful
contrivances and adjustments provided for ensuring; the ac¬
curacy with which this picture of the surrounding scene is
portrayed on the retina, ffhe perfection of vision is en¬
tirely dependent on the distinctness, the vividness, and the
fidelity of this picture ; and the whole apparatus of the eye
is calculated to obtain these qualities.
(662.) 1 he purposes served by the apparatus external to
the globe of the eye, are sufficiently obvious. The effectual
protection given to the eye by the arched form of the bones
which compose the orbit,—the provision of a soft cushion in
the fat which occupies the bottom of the cavity,—the beau¬
tiful contrivance of the eye-lids, which, on the least appear¬
ance of danger, are ever ready to close upon the organs they
are appointed to guard,—and even the direction of the eye¬
brows, intended to divert the course of the perspiration from
the forehead, are all calculated to call forth our admiration,
because the end to be answered being obvious, we can
judge of the fitness of the means for the accomplishment of
those ends. A still further proof of exquisite design offers
itself in the lacrymal apparatus, which provides the means Physiology.
of preserving the surface of the cornea always clean and
transparent, and fitted for its office of regularly refracting
the rays of light. b
(663.) The humors of the eye, through which the light Function
passes before arriving at the retina, have different degrees of the iris,
of density, and consequently have different degrees of re¬
fractive power. The first and greatest refraction of the
rays takes place at the outer surface of the cornea; the
next is at the inner surface, where the rays meet with the
aqueous humor. Now this humor is rather less dense than
the cornea, and consequently the rays already refracted, and
rendered convergent by the cornea, have their convergence
slightly diminished, when they traverse the aqueous humor.
These, in fact, are converging towards points at some dis¬
tance beyond the retina. The iris is interposed in the course
of the rays while they are passing through the aqueous hu¬
mor ; the circular aperture of this membrane, the pupil,
admitting only the more central portion of each pencil of
rays. By intercepting the extreme rays, which, in conse¬
quence ot a peculiarity in the law of spherical refraction,
hereafter to be explained, would, if allowed to reach the re-
tina, somewhat confuse the image, greater clearness of that
image is obtained, at the sacrifice, indeed, of a portion of
biighiiiess. It serves, accordingly, the same purpose with
regard to the eye, which the circular ring, placed in the in¬
terior of a telescope, effects in contracting the aperture of
the instrument; rendering the image more distinct, though
less illuminated than it would otherwise be. But the iris has
this great superiority over the circle in the telescope, inas¬
much fis it is capable by its contractile power of enlarging
or diminishing the aperture of the pupil, as occasion requires’.
Thus, when the object viewed is but faintly illuminated, the
Pupil is enlarged, and admits more light, thus giving greater
brightness to the picture ; an advantage which more than
compensates for the slight indistinctness of the fainter
images composing that picture. When, on the contrary, an
object is too bright, so that its image would produce too
vivid an impression on the retina, the pupil immediately con¬
tracts, so as to reduce the quantity of light admitted into
the interior of the eye, and to prevent any injurious effect
upon the retina.
5. Adjustments for the Correction of Aberration.
(664.) That part of the converging pencil of rays, which Aberration
is admitted through the pupil, falls upon the anterior con-of spheri
vex surface of the crystalline lens, which being denser thancitT
the aqueous humor, occasions a new refraction of the rays,
and gives them an increased degree of convergence, so that
they now tend to foci nearer to the retina than before, though
still somewhat beyond it.
(665.) An exquisite provision is found in the peculiar
structure ot the lens for correcting what is termed the sphe¬
rical aberration. It is a necessary consequence of the ma¬
thematical law of retraction, that in a pencil of rays falling
on the convex spherical surface of a denser medium, those
rays which are farthesf from the central ray, will be bent
somewhat more than is requisite to bring them to the same
focal point as the rays which are nearer to the centre of the
pencil; hence all the rays can never be collected accurately
into the same point; although in ordinary optical instru¬
ments, such as common telescopes, and camera obscura, the
aberration thus resulting is confined within such narrow
limits as not to produce any very great inconvenience. But
in the eye even this minute defect of ordinary optical in¬
struments is remedied. The lens is composed of successive
laminm, increasing in their density and refractive power, in
proportion as they approach the centre; that central part
being the hardest and densest of the whole. The central
rays of each pencil, therefore, are subjected to a greater re¬
fractive action than the more exterior rays, and the whole.,
670
PHYSIOLOGY.
the lens somewhat forwards, and of increasing the convexity Physiok
of its surfaces, while the convexity of the cornea will also
be increased* Any cause which produces the contraction
of the pupil, such as a bright light, enables the eye to adjust
itself more rapidly to vision at a shorter distance , and on
the contrary, the suspension of this power of contraction of
the circular fibres of the iris, occasioned by belladonna, is
accompanied by the total but temporary loss of this power
of adjustment. Those who, by frequent practice in experi¬
menting on their own eyes, have acquired a considerable
voluntary power of changing the refracting condition of the
eye, even although there be no object before the field of
vision requiring such change, when they exert this power,
also contract the pupil, which by this means indirectly
acquires the character of a voluntary muscle ; although in
other respects, and with other persons, it is strictly to be
ranked in the class of the involuntary muscles. The writer
of this treatise possesses this power, and has given an ac¬
count of the circumstances attending its exertion in a letter
to Mr. Travers.3
(670.) The same gradation of density in the successive Chroma
laminae of the crystalline lens, and the consequent successive abeir«-'
refractions of the rays effected by the several humors of the
Physiology, are brought accurately to convergence at the same focal
P°(666.) After passing through the crystalline lens, the rays
enter the vitreous humor, where, again, there is a change o
density in the medium. The density of the vitreous hu¬
mor is less than that of the lens ; and were its surface con¬
vex, the convergence of the rays would be diminished by
the refraction they would then experience ; but the surface
being concave, the refraction contributes still farther to in¬
crease the convergence of the rays, whidi now traverse the
aqueous humor, and are collected accurately into their re¬
spective foci on the retina itself.
Aberration (667.) Rays proceeding from objects at different distances
of parallax, from the eye, will arrive at the cornea with different degrees
of divergence, and the same refractive powers of the humors
would cause them to converge at different distances; in
order, therefore, to obtain distinct images of these objects
on the retina, either the distance of that membrane from
the cornea must be altered, or the refractive power of the
humors must be changed. Thus, if the power of the ej e
at any one time be suited to distinct vision of distant ob¬
jects, near objects will appear confused, from the indistinct¬
ness of their images olllccts’is farther eye,"have ako the *effect of correcting the dispersion of light,
vergence ofthe rays pioceeding from those objects is tar e > , ^ ^ difference in refrangibility of the differ-
SL^he axis of the°eye, tlmretir'could be removed to ently coloured rays. The eye, in addition to its other per-
gatmg the a* s m the eye, r e e refractive fections, has the properties of an achromatic optical instru-
rnt’ cKectin?‘he confusion of coloiir in ges
gent than before, we should again obtain dlst,net images of fa™™ Alfextraneous light, which might be reflected
to these the contrary changes are required to be made in the retina, is absorbed by means ot theptgmentum mgrum
L eve to tUse alreLv m Now, it is found that which is placed immediately behind the retina which lines
0t 7669 1 The effort bv which the eye changes its internal of the eye as it is called, immediately opposite to the pupil,
sutf so accommodlS now^ to tlj vision of near being by far the most sensible part. We accordingly see
oWects after hTng viewed those more distant, is always most distinctly those objects, the images of which are formed
at ended whh a contraction of the pupil; and the exclusion on that spot. Hence, whenever we pay attention to an ob-
of the remoter rays, consequent upon this diminution of ject, we immediately direct both eyes towards it in sue
a,enure must paX contribute to the greater distinctness manner as that the centre of both retinas may receive ‘
of the images, by excluding the rays near the circumference image. It is very remarkable that there is a mmu e
of each nencil But it is certain that the refractive powers space situated exactly in the axis of the eye, where t e
rfthe eve Se alfolncreased • and it is a question if con- tina seems to be deficient, so as to produce the appearance
siderable difficulty to determine the manner in which this of a perforation at the very point where vision is mos
toiase is effected. Sir Everard Home- supposed that it tinct. No satisfactory explanation of this curious circum-
was accomplished by the joint actions of the straight mus- stance has yet been given. nf distinct vision
cles which surround the bail of the eye, and which, by com- (673.) W hen the eye is at rest, the fie^.of ™CtY™n
pressing it all round its sides, might elongate its axis and is very hrmted; it exteiids, howtJ"’“
overturned by the fact discovered by Dr. Young,2 that when
the effect of any change in the curvature of the cornea is
n me lormta uiacchuu, ^ o* —
It extends downwards 70 degrees, and only
50 degrees upwards. T •
(674.) Mariotte4 of the French Academy of Sciences,
the effect of any change in the curvature ot the cornea is "lariout ui me * ^ , nf thP rptinasPotin
removed bv placing the eye under water, the eye still re- made the curious discovery that there is a pa . retina,
tains its power of accommodation to the vision of objects at situated at the termination of the optic nerve ^ i
different ^distances, by changes which take place in its re- sensible to light; so that when the image ^
frar Hvp nnwers upon that precise spot, it is no longer seen. The conclu
(669.)P The'most probable supposition relative to this sion which he drew from this fact was, that t e seat o vision
operation is, that the ciliary ligament has the power of con- is not the retina, but the choroid coat 5 for Pof the
tracting at the same time with the sphincter of the iris; choroid coat is wanting, being peiforate better
a change which will be attended with the effect of bringing passage of the optic nerve. But the phenomen ^
i See Philosophical Transactions for 1794, p. 21; 1795, p. 1; 1796, p i; 1797, p. 1. 2 » Jr 1793 p J for JOl P.^
3 Contained in the sketch of the Physiology of the Eye, prefixed to Mr. Travers’ Synopsis ofthe Diseases E-!^ fl“2<
mmt, p. 72. 4 PM Trans, for 1668, vol. in. No. 35, p. 668; and also M&mnres del Acad. i. 68) and HW
PHYSIOLOGY.
lysiology. accounted for by the consideration that there is present at
that spot the central artery of the retina, which here divides
itself into a number of radiating branches, and excludes the
presence of nervous matter, in which, judging from the an¬
alogy of all the other senses, the power of communicating
sensation exclusively resides. This defect in vision, if we
may so term it, is seldom perceived when both eyes are
used, because the optic nerve enters each eye obliquely,
and on different sides of the centre of the retina; so that
they can never both receive the image of the same object
at the same time.
fopiaand (675.) The defects of the eyes of some persons with re-
isbyopia. spect to their refractive powers produce what is called long¬
sightedness, when these powers are deficient; and short¬
sightedness, when too great. The source of former imper¬
fection, which constitutes the presbyopic eye, may often be
traced to the effects of age, which produces a flattening of
the cornea; and probably also impairs that voluntary power
by which the refractions may be increased when near ob¬
jects are viewed. The short-sighted, or myopic eye, has
generally an excessive convexity of the cornea, which may
be diminished, but is very seldom materially so, by the pro¬
gress of age. The remedies for these defects are obvious;
namely, the use of convex spectacles for the presbyopic, and
of concave spectacles for the myopic eye; the former sup¬
plying the deficiency in the power of refraction; the latter
correcting its excess.
(676.) Such then are the means employed for producing
certain impressions on each retina, which it is the office of
the optic nerves to transmit to the sensorium, where these
give rise to corresponding sensations. The inquiry into the
perceptions arising in the mind in consequence of these sen¬
sations belongs to another branch of the subject hereafter
to be considered. It will be sufficient in this place to point
out the general fact relating to the physiology of the eye,
that the impression made upon each point of the retina, pro¬
duces in the sensorium a distinct impression, suggesting to
the mind a distinct sensation.
671
light, as was pretended in the case in the celebrated im- Physiology,
posture of Miss M‘Avoy of Liverpool, who endeavoured to
persuade people that she could see with the tips of her
fingers: or in the more elaborate delusions of animal magne¬
tism, in which persons are stated to be able to read a piece
of writing applied to the pit of the stomach, or nape of the
neck, by optical impressions made on different parts of the
skin.1
(679.) That the optic nerves are incapable of exciting by
their action any other sensations than those of light, is far¬
ther rendered probable by the circumstance that these sen¬
sations may be produced by other causes than those which
usually give rise to them ; such as impressions of a mecha¬
nical nature. A blow in the eye, producing sudden pres¬
sure on the retina, excites the sensation of a flash of light.
I he appearance of brilliant spangles in the field of vision is
often the result of too active a state of circulation in the
vessels of the retina, which excites in the fibres of the nerves
actions similar to those produced by the presence of light,
ihe galvanic influence affecting the same, or even neigh¬
bouring nerves, produces, in like manner, the sensation of a
flash of light. Analogous facts have been noticed with re¬
gard to other senses. The well-known sensations of sing¬
ing in the ears is the consequence of an action of the audi¬
tory nerves, excited by the state of the circulation in the
organ of hearing, and is probably totally unconnected with
any real sonorous vibrations communicated to that organ.
CHAP. XV. PHYSIOLOGICAL LAWS OF SENSATION.
Sect. I.—Phenomena of Sensation.
(677.) Having examined the different modes in which
impressions are made upon the extremities of the nerves si¬
tuated in the respective organs of sense, we have next to
direct our attention to the physiological phenomena which
ensue on those impressions being received.
1. Specific Endowments of the Nerves of Sensation.
:ificen- (678.) The extremities of the nerves intended to receive
ments these impressions appear in general to be expanded over a
erves- certain extent of surface, and to be of a softer texture than
the nerves themselves. This difference appears to arise from
their being divested of the membranous covering which
closely binds together the filaments composing the nerves,
while they are pursuing their course from one part to ano¬
ther. Such expansions are noticed in the optic, auditory,
and olfactory nerves, and probably also in those distributed
to the papillae of the tongue, and the cutis. The nerve of
each particular sense appears to have different specific en¬
dowments. Thus the optic nerve and retina are peculiarly
adapted to be affected by the impressions of light; and are
not fitted to convey any other impressions. There are ex¬
periments recorded which tend to shew that irritation of
these nerves do not communicate pain, as is the case with
that of nerves sent to other parts of the body. On the other
hand no other nerve in the body is capable of exciting,, by
any change that can be induced upon it, the sensation of
2. Modifications of Impressions.
(680.) In order that an impression made upon the senti- Duration
ent extremity of a nerve may excite sensation, it must beof impres-
applied for a certain time ; for if it be of too transient a du- si°ns*
ration, no effect, as far as regards sensation, is produced.
This is well exemplified in the case of vision ; we lose sight
of an object in very rapid motion, because the impression
made by its image on the different points of the retina on
which it is successively formed, is of too transient a nature
to excite those actions which produce sensation.
(681.) On the other hand, when a distinct impression has yjsua] i]iu.
been made on the nerve, that impression has a certain du- sions.
ration, independently of the continuance of the cause which
excited it; for the sensation produced is, to a certain ex¬
tent, permanent. This is also shewn, in the case of vision,
by several experiments familiar to all, such as whirling ra¬
pidly with a circular motion, an object brightly illuminated,
which gives rise, as is well known, to the appearance of a
continuous circle of light. Many optical deceptions are
founded on the same principle, such as that of the Thauma-
trope, of the Phantascope, or Phenikisticope, and the curved
appearance of the spokes of a revolving wheel when viewed
through parallel bars, of which last phenomena the theory
has been elsewhere given by the writer of this treatise ;2
and also the appearance of a similar kind noticed by Mr.
Faraday.3
(682.) One of the consequences of the law of the perma- Coales-
nence of sensations is, that impressions which rapidly sue- cences of
ceed one another in the same nerve, are not distinguishable impies-
as separate impressions, but produce a blending together, si°lls«
or coalescence into one sensation. Thus if a circle painted
in different parts of the circumference with different colours,
be rapidly whirled round its centre, the colours are blended
together into one tint; and if the different prismatic colours
of the spectrum be properly adjusted as to their relative pro¬
portions, the effect of this coalescence of the sensations ex¬
cited by the whole is that of a white colour. The thauma-
trope may also be made to illustrate this principle ; for the
pictures on the two sides of the card appear, by the rapid
revolution of the card, to coalesce into one.
1 See Magnetism, Animal.
3 Journal of the Royal Institution, vol. i. p. 205.
2 Philosophical Transactions for 1815.
See also Dr, Roget’s Bridgewater Treatise, vol. ii- p. 524.
672
PHYSIOLOGY.
Modifica¬
tions of
Physiology. (683.) The most remarkable and complete illustration of
the same principle is afforded by musical sounds, whic ),
thousb they appear continuous, are, in fact, composed of
separate impulses, repeated at very short, but regular inter¬
vals of time. . .
(684.) Another law of sensation, is that when a nerve has
Hons of received a strong impression, that nerve is proportiona y
sensibility weakened for a certain time after, and is less susceptible of
by previous a similar impression from the application of the same cause,
impressions Thg eye? after being dazzled by a strong light, has its sen¬
sibility diminished to the impressions of a weaker light.
Different parts of the retina thus acquire different degrees
of susceptibility of being affected by the same quantities of
light. Thus, if the eyes be directed steadily to a bright
object for a certain length of time, and be then transfened
to a white sheet of paper, a dark spot, having the figure of
that object will be seen on the paper, in consequence of that
portion of the retina, on which the luminous image had been
impressed, being fatigued, and rendered less excitable than
those parts of the retina which did not receive that image.
The light from the paper which arrives at that part of the
retina which had received the impressions of the bright ob¬
ject, will produce less effect on that part, tnan the lignt of
equal intensity from other parts of the paper does on the
other parts of the retina. rI hose parts of the paper which at e
Ocular
spectra.
The
complete division of a nerve in any part, necessaiil) pic-
vents this transmission, and destroys the function of the
nerve. c.
(689.) Irritations applied to the nerve in any part of its
course, produce sensation, provided the communication of
that part with the brain be uninterrupted by any of the
causes above specified. Thus, if a nerve be tied or divided
OlLUClLCVA ow cvo uvj  O'' - *
the retina appear darker, therefore, than the rest; and hence
arises the appearance of a dark image.. The experiment
may be reversed by fixing the eyes attentively for some time
on a dark object on a white ground, and then transfening
it to some other part of the white ground; when immedi¬
ately a brighter spot, corresponding in size and figure to the
^MsrXhese appearances, which imitate those of real oh- at “t^y iiota'C hritations applied below the ligature or dm-
also found to be affected in the same manner, when any one .s here said applies more Xto the in-
of them has been strongly impressed. Thus the spectrum buted to various parts of the body, and especially to the in
of a coloured object, while it has the same dimensions and teguments ; Jns^ oSit,1 of hcar-
figures as the object, will at the same time have an opposite sense of pain. The situated as hardly to ad-
Ihe o^ecUtSf! thatl ItwaUiTve that Unt which results cide.the question as to what kinds of sensation w-ould be ex
from the admixture of all the colours composing white light,
when the latter colour is left out. Thus red and green, yel¬
low and purple, blue and orange, being complementaiy co¬
lours respectively to each other, the ocular spectium of a
red object will be green, that of a green object red, and so
with all the others.’
cited by irritations directly applied to them ; and whether
these sensations wrould be similar to those they usually con¬
vey from impressions made upon their extremities.. Analogy
would undoubtedly be in favour of such similarity. Per¬
sons who have lost a limb by amputation, experience sensa¬
tions not only of pain, but also of touch, and of muscular
(686.) We may here observe, that the appearances of motion, exactly similar to those which they ^rmerlj de
spectra above described, are mer’ely temporarV; for the se- rived from the parts o^ These
veral parts of the retina soon regain their natural state of sensations arise from imitations taking place, eid
equable sensibility. ^wev extremities of the nerves
(687.) Illustrations of this law readily present themselves and which remain in the stump, or in biain it.ei
when we search for its application with regard to all the (690.) The most remarkable circumstance at^^^
other senses. Sounds which are too loud produce temper- communication of irritations along the nerves of sensat ,
ary deafness, or at least impair for a time the sensibility of is the celerity of the transmission. It appears, mdeed
the ear to weaker sounds. Similar phenomena are observ- be instantaneous, and can be ^ 1 Y
ed as to odours and tastes, with reference to their appropri- of the electric fluid passing along a conductin& body
ate senses. The sensibility of the skin to different tempera¬
tures varies considerably according to the previous impres¬
sions which have been made upon it. Thus the same body
their appropriate sensations, is dependent on certain condi- PliysioW,
tions of the organ. These conditions are principally thev 
following, hirst, it is necessary that the oigan iecei\e a
proper supply of arterial blood by the vessels circulating
through it, and particularly through that part on which the
nerves are distributed. Secondly, it is requiied that the ex¬
pansion of the nerve belonging to the organ should be ex¬
empt from excessive pressure. Compression of a nerve in
any part of its course immediately puts a stop to all its func¬
tions ; and consequently its power of receiving and convey¬
ing impressions is suspended as long as the piessure is con¬
tinued. On the removal of the pressure, provided it has not
been too violent, or too long continued, the nerve after a cer¬
tain time, generally recovers its powers. Thirdly, a certain
temperature is requisite for the maintenance of sensibility in
the nerves. The benumbing effect of cold is well known,
and extends generally to all the functions of the nervous sys¬
tem. It is very probable that this operation of cold is re¬
ferable to its retarding or arresting the circulation in the ca¬
pillary vessels ; and it might, therefore, perhaps, be includ¬
ed in the causes which influence the first of the conditions
here enumerated. Lastly, the office of every nerve being
to transmit impressions from one of their extremities to the
other, it is necessary for the due performance of this func¬
tion, that an uninterrupted continuity of their filaments
Sect. Ill Theories of Sensation.
(691 ■) We are completelyignorant of the nature of tlmt Tteon
sions which have been made upon it. J Hus the same Doay (oy i ) v e axe . tion sensati(
may appear either hot or cold, according to the previous power by which the nerves effect this rapid com
temperature of the hand which is applied to it. along the lines of their fibres, and even of the changes wh^
takeBplace in the nerve while it is performing this function.
Several hypotheses have been proposed with a view to sup-
Sect. II—Conditions necessary for Sensation. several xiypuuxe^st^v^   
Conditions (688) The sensibiiity 0f the sentient extremities of nerves, ply this chasm in our knowledge. The ol^st ^ the®e’ ^
^ensa- or their capability of receiving such impressions as lead to that which maintained its ground for many centuiies, isA^
1 For more ample details on this subject, the reader may be referred to an Essay on Ocular Spectra, by Dr. Charles Darwin, pub¬
lished in the 76th volume of the Philosophical Transactions, and reprinted in Dr. Darwin’s Zoononaa.
is-v
ysiology. the brain and nerves are furnished with
PHYSIOLOGY.
, . i „ r L ~ — a certain fluid,
which was called the amma/ and was the medium
of communication between the different parts of the nervous
system. Traces of this theory may be found in the writ-
En HipPocrates; but it derived its principal support
from Descartes, who reduced it to a regular form, and power¬
fully recommended it by the force of his authority. Ac¬
cording to the views of those who espouse this theory, the
brain is considered as an organ whose principal office it is to
secrete the animal spirits, which are of a very subtile and
PmPrpal rmtnro orvrl 4*^   * .t J _
673
nerve is connected, communicates by an Physiology,
interrupted continuity of substance with the brain. Thev
division of the spinal cord near the foramen magnum, in-
ann™Lr„ Sn 6 Tl,ole 5°^ insensibie = i‘ does not
appear so immediately to deprive the parts about the face
as lonTh' G;’ f°r "T6 degree 0f aPPears to be retained
as long as the circulation continues. The injury, indeed
soon becomes fate], by the circulation ceasing inconsequence
the interruption to the function of respiration. The ef-
ethereal nature, and^o suppi; ihem to aeddent^f™8- ‘° ‘l!? «?<* occurring to men from
were considered to be the natural excretory ducts’ of the factor tl aff0rd ample confirmation of the
brain. The existence of this fluid was, for a very W Pe- press ten m H ^i'116 general Centre t0 which a!1 i™-
nod, universally admitted by physiologists, and thedocteines Ltefp th ^ Up°n he nerves must ult™ately be brought
founded upon it were more or less mixed up with afl the leQT^
reasonings of physicians respecting the causes and pheno- of iensiot flnexf beon^11 t0 be-the iTmediate °rgan
mena of diseases, and the effects of remedies. Traces of ticular mrt nf i • • .1168 a ffuestl0.n> wIlether any par-
tiie influence of this doctrine may be found in the popular the exercise of m G more e8Pecia,1y appropriated to
language of medicine even in the present day, when die by- sine k to exi f t t ^ n' ? 18 t0 Such a Part’ SUPP0*
nnthpsia fmrw w-ii^P u j ■ i ■'i. - - - y S n to exist, that the name of sensorium has be°n appli¬
ed. There are two modes of conducting this inquiry ; the
fiistis by tracing very carefully, the filaments V all the
endeavmirino- tn
P „   111 present uay, wlien the hy¬
pothesis from which it is derived is deservedly exploded as
fhp,sper/^ g“s and devoid of any just foundation.
,othesis (692.) Another hypothesis invented to account for the
nnn era firm   ^ ni
propagation of impressions along the fibres of nerves^ was endeavourin^te j“IIledia.tfely connected with the brain, and
! “ ° « periodical £T
■trical
iry.
;i 1 j r ..— g mt; nuies oi nerves, wras
that of their depending on vibrations or periodical oscilla¬
tions of their particles, analogous to those of the strings
°f a harpsichord when producing musical notes. The great
champion of this doctrine wus Hartley,1 who embellished
it by his beautiful applications to a great variety of pheno¬
mena relating to sensations, and even to the intellectual
operations. It afforded a happy explanation of many of the
p ienomena of ocular spectra, and of those depending on
the permanence of sensations. It is needless to remark,
that this hypothesis is equally visionary and destitute of any
solid basis as the former J
seat" oflenst^ ^ be SUPP0^ "o beTe
Si"b,atl0cn 5 0r’ In other ™-ds, the sensorium. The
anToneTa^ the object, is to as^rtein if
any one pait of the brain can be discovered, on which im¬
pressions directly made, are invariably productive of sensa-
(698.) The fibrous substance of the spinal cord, being di¬
rectly continuous with the medulla oblongata, may be fun-
posed to terminate in that part of the brain ; so that vlw-
g tbe fPina] c°rd as a collection of all the fibres of the
nerves of sensation continued along its whole length, these
(693.) All these mechanical theories are overturned hv nerv^ctb Sl'nbal‘'m continued along its whole length, these
the fact that no tabular structure can be discovered, on the and havin-^il temln'Aon1181 Tr'5 a8 [’ollowinSt}lis course,
minutest anatomical scrutiny, to exist in the filaments which narticularl v in !• erminat!°n' 1 hfse 6bres are found more
compose the nerves; nor can the slightest modoTbe' de- anfc™1 ceX^N^Tht^ C0^T^nnnl
tected m any of their parts, while they are actively trans- very snot with whteh thn ’ - pPe"s that this 18 also the
mitting the impressions of sensation. am^'n I, ri a tbe 1?ei^es of 6ie senses, whose organs
(694.) The latest hypothesis as to the nature of nervous are Ire pSaTyt’nnected T”th> “’“f*'!'1’ ‘“f’
power is, that it is identical with electricity. It is sunnort lain tevLif ) A A,n"ected; Xt appears also, from the
eil principally by the experiments we hare already men- of die bra lh 'T °‘thefVe"ch Pby*logists, that no part
boned, in which, after the par vagum was divided soks en mrt whare.^Sf ih 1311 t.lle„corPora qnailrigemina, and no
tirely to intercept its action in promoting the secretSn "f reltion for it is i'sessl;nti?% “"“rued in
the gastric fluid, secretion was restored by transmitting tbp s-itinn rpm • 0l!nd t llat in animals the power of sen-
galvanic fluid along the lower portion o/the nerve. °The brain or olAeAw11,1 the parts ofthe
experiment, indeed, applies only to a particular office of the * , . * cerebellum, higher than this spot. The
nervous power, namely! that of promSg se^on ta . X C1 !“ 'TT froni ^ 4>crimen,s
Of transmitting those impressions which give rise to Lsa-
CHAP. xyi. FUNCTIONS OF THE SENSORIUM.
ity
Sect. I.—Locality of the Sensorium.
(695.) If we except the nerves appropriated to the or-
‘Itium. fT.te the,sPe?al se;nses cf sight, hearing, smell, and taste,
nt those distributed on the face, and other neighbouring
parts, all the nerves subservient to sensation appear to ter°
mmate in the spinal cord. We are then, in the first place,
to determine whether the impressions which these nerves
convey to that organ, are transmitted to any other part of
/ifrfewv SySt.Gm’ Preyiously to sensation being produced,
(ojb.) Experiments in all the animals whose structure,
as far as regards this part of the nervous system, is analo¬
gous to the human, have established the general fact, that
sensation does not take place, unless the part of the spinal
1 1 • piouauie inac tnese
corpoieal changes immediately connected with sensation,
are confined to a single point in the brain, which might em¬
phatically be termed the seat of the soul, as Descartes ex-
piessed it, when he boldly pronounced the pineal gland to
DG tuclt Spot.
Sect. XL-
-Rcqmsite conditions of the Sensor ium.
, (^99.) A multitude ol facts tend to confirm the view of Conditions
the suoject which has here been taken. The same condi-of tlie
tions as those which are required for the exercise of thesensoriltn,'•
functions of the nerves in every part of their course, are
equally necessary for the performance of those of the brain.
It is indispensable that the circulation in the brain should be
in a healthy state, and that arterial blood be supplied bv its
vessels. It is indispensable that a proper temperature" be
preserved ; and it is likewise indispensable that the brain be
not compressed by any considerable force. A failure in any
vou. XVII,
On Man. A full account of Hartley’s theory is given by Dr. Priestley in a separate work bearing that title.
4 Q
■Or- i
v) i 4
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, one of these conditions, produces total deprivation of the
power of sensation, as well as of all the othei functions o
the brain. This effect is found to result more particularly
when pressure is made in the direction of the medulla ob¬
longata ; for in that case complete insensibility takes place ;
and on the removal of the pressure, the faculty of sensation
slowly returns ; but if any considerable injury has been in¬
flicted on that part, the power of sensation is irrecoverably
1OS(700.) It is probable that most of the laws which regu¬
late the functions of the nerves with respect to sensation,
apply with equal truth to the sensorium itself; but with re-
gard to several of the phenomena, it is difficult to determine
whether they depend on affections of the sensorium, or of
the extremities of the nerves, situated in the organ of sense.
We must despair of being able to resolve this question, be¬
cause the changes which take place in both these parts, ap¬
pear to be simultaneous. The impaired power, for exam¬
ple, which is the result of a strong impression from an ob¬
ject of sense, may arise equally, from the exhaustion of that
part of the sensorium to which the impression is communi¬
cated, as of that of the sentient extremity of the nerve ;
and we have no means of discriminating between them.
(701.) Another point of resemblance is, that irritations
applied to the sensorium, from other sources than the nerves
themselves, give rise to the same train of sensations as im¬
pressions communicated through the nerves. These irrita¬
tions may be given by the pressure of blood circulating in
the arteries of the sensorium ; and this is probably the
source of many of those sensations generally ascribed to at-
fections of the nerves, or of the organs of sense. _ Tains,
and other sensations in various parts of the body, arise from
affections of the brain. The same origin may often be as¬
signed to sensations which arise in dreams, and likewise to
guage of metaphysics, the corresponding mental affections Physiology
are termed ideas, in order to distinguish them from the si- '
milar and more vivid affection excited by the primitive im¬
pression, and to which the term sensation is more particu¬
larly appropriated.
(704.) The second law which regulates the unknown Law of
affections of the brain connected with the passive pheno- association
mena of mind, is that of association, or the law by which
impressions, and consequently the corresponding ideas, re¬
cur in the same order of sequence as that in which they were
originally excited. I he phenomena of disease, and the ope¬
ration of different agents which modify the state of circula¬
tion in the brain, and the conditions of the nervous powers,
afford ample evidence that the modes of association, and of
the sequence of impressions and ideas, are dependent on
the physical condition of the brain, and result from certain
changes taking place in that organ.
(705.) The views here presented, far from being favour¬
able to the doctrine of materialism, are directly opposed to
it; since they necessarily imply the existence of an essen¬
tial distinction between mind and matter, and aim only at
tracing the connexions which have been established between
them by the divine Author of our existence.
(706.) Such, then, being the physiological connexions
which exist between the physical changes taking place in
the brain, and the passive phenomena of the mind, it is not
an unreasonable supposition, that the voluminous mass of
cerebral substance which, in the human brain especially, has
been superadded to the medulla oblongata, or to the imme¬
diate physical seat of sensation, is in some way subservient
to that astonishing range of intellect and combination of
mental faculties which are found in man. We may conjec¬
ture also, with much appearance of probability, that in the
lower animals, the intellectual endowments which mark se-
veral oTlhe intelligent races are connected wid. stai-
1 , j conco In ifpli- lav. thoup-h inferior, expansions of cerebral substance.
vo-l ivycAO I,* X*/*    . A ^ Til*
and aware of their being deceptions of the sense. In uen-
rium and insanity, the sensations from this cause assume a
fearful degree of intensity, and are accompanied by a fixed
belief in their reality.
Sect. III.
-Laivs of Recurrence, and of the Association
of Impressions.
(702.) With regard to all the subsequent changes and
recurrence operations which take place when sensation has been excit-
ed, it is extremely difficult to pronounce how much of the
phenomena are purely mental, and how much are strictly
the result of corporeal changes connected and associated
together bv physical laws. In other words, it is difficult to
determine what are the operations in which the mind is
purely passive, and dependent on the actions of its boddy
organs, and what are those in which it exerts a spontane¬
ous power of action, and thereby reacts upon those oigans,
and produces in them a series of changes which lead to the
most important results. 1 he distinction we are attempting
to draw, is founded upon this essential difference in the or-
lar, though inferior, expansions of cerebral substance.
(707.) All the mental phenomena in which the mind is
passive have been referred by metaphysicians to the prin-
ciple of association, and consequently may, in as far as this
principle is concerned, be connected with the physical changes
above noticed. Hence we find the memory, which is the
direct result of that law, is more especially liable to be im¬
paired by certain physical states of the brain, such as those
induced by severe concussion, by fevers, and by the pro¬
gress of age. j * o
(708.) As scarcely any thing is known with regard to tne
physical changes which take place in the brain in the rela¬
tions which they bear to mental phenomena, the further con¬
sideration of these phenomena belongs properly to psych¬
ology rather than to the subject of this treatise. _ Ihe in¬
quiry must here be taken up by the metaphysician, w ose
province it becomes not the physiologist to invade.
Sect. IV Volition and Voluntary Motion.
(709.) Leaving, therefore, to the metaphysician the ana-
^ / Kjy-) -LiCctv mg, v., uvr vxxv, —~—r~~j , i na conse
to ofsequmcTof the phenomena, that in the one the or- lysis of those mental phenomena, ,
ganic change precedes the mental change, and in the other -t they m^hefor
SU(703) The two principal physiological laws relating to those of physiology, and lead to results very remote from any
the former of these physical changes, namely, those which conceivable laws of material agency ; we nmy resume‘he
precede1 the mental Affections, are, first, the" lav, of spon- subject at the point when, m oonsequence of the mental
^taneous recurrence. Whenever an impression of a certain acts of volition, by which term we here mea P
ffitenshy has been made upon the organs of sense, the sen- endeavour to produce certain specific ^
sation which is produced bv it, after disappearing for a cer- body, new changes are again produce , Th
tain>time,1 recurs without the presence of the cause which — n.w irfunS of nhvsical phenomena succeed, lha
originally excited it; and this happens repeatedly, and v ith-
out any corresponding effort of the mind, and often in op¬
position to any effort which can be made to counteract the
tendency. This spontaneous recurrence of sensations is
probably the result of the repetition of those changes in the
sensorium which originally gave rise to them. In the lan-
Lavv of
spontane¬
ous recur¬
rence.
body, new cnanges are again piuuuceu m ~
gans, and new trains of physical phenomena succeed, inai
this mental effort of volition constitutes a distinct step in t e
series of phenomena, is proved by the instances ol paraly¬
sis, in which the patient is conscious of making the ettort
move the palsied limb, yet no motion, or even se]jsa.tl0” ”
motion, ensues. Another illustration of the same distinc i
is derivable from a different disease affecting the limbs, name 1},
hysiology. anesthesia, which consists of the loss of sensation only, while
the power of voluntary motion remains ; and in which the
voluntary act so exerted produces the intended muscular
contractions, unattended, however, with the feelings which
usually accompany them. The same complete ignorance in
which we are with regard to the changes which take place
in sensation, pervades our notions of those which attend vo¬
lition, in as far as they occur in the brain. A few facts, in¬
deed, have been collected with regard to those parts of the
brain which are impressed, if such a term may be used, an¬
tecedently to the voluntary motions of the limbs. They ap¬
pear to be chiefly the crura of the cerebellum, and the ad¬
jacent parts of the medulla oblongata.
(710.) All the physical conditions which are necessary in
order^that sensations may be felt, are equally necessary for
rendering the cerebral organs capable of receiving from the
mind those impressions which lead to voluntary motion.
The mental stimulus of volition produces a certain effect
on the origin of the nerves, leading to the muscles employ¬
ed in these motions, which impression, being propagated
along the course of those nerves, excites these muscles to
contraction. The transmission of those impressions is made
with the same celerity, and probably by the same agency,
as those which produce sensation ; but they are made in the
contrary direction, namely, from the brain, instead of to-
PHYSIOLOGY.
675
Of the muscles which act when a nerve distributed through Physiology,
them is mechanically irritated, it may be remarked:
1. That they admit of being thrown into action bv an
effort of the will. J
. 2* That with sufficient attention and resolution, their ac¬
tion may be refrained from.
3. That their action is attended with a conscious effort
and is guided by sensation.
4. 1 hat if divided, the separate parts retract instantan¬
eously to a certain distance, and subsequently undergo no
farther permanent shortening.
5. That when mechanically irritated, a single and mo¬
mentary action of their fibres alone ensues.
6. That they remain relaxed, unless excited by special
impressions, both in the living body, and before the loss of
irritability after death.
7. That their action in the living body habitually results
from an influence transmitted from the brain or spinal cord
through the nerves.
(714.) The exceptions to be made against this statement,
if applied generally, are, that the three first affections are
not easily brought home to the muscular fibres of the oeso¬
phagus, or of the lower part of the pharynx; but it deserves
at the same time to be considered, that the lower part of
the pharynx and the oesophagus are in the peculiar situa-
are essential reeuisi.es in both eases : anH „e„ thine thj wWch
apparently removed from the control of the will.
are essential requisites in both cases ; and every thing that
has been said with regard to the former, is also applicable
to the latter. Mechanical irritations, applied either at those
parts of the brain which adjoin the origin of the nerves, or
to the nerves themselves, either at their origin, or in any
part of their course, whether that portion of the nerve situ¬
ated between the point to which the irritation is applied be
entire or divided, or compressed by a ligature, are found to
produce the same muscular contractions as those which are
the result of volition.
iscles of (711.) Mr. Mayo1 ascertained, that after any nerve which
donfy suPP3ies a voluntary muscle is cut through, either in a living
animal, or immediately after death, mechanical irritation of
the part of the nerve disconnected with the brain, as for in¬
stance the pinching it with a forceps, causes a single sudden
action of the muscle or muscles it supplies. On the other
hand, a like effect cannot be produced by irritating mecha¬
nically the nerves distributed to those muscles over which
the will has indisputably no influence. “ It must be ad¬
mitted, however,” he remarks, “ that this phenomenon is not
exclusively confined to those muscles which are allowed on
all hands to be voluntary ; nor, indeed, is it shewn in all the
muscles which seem at first sight to be directly under the
controul of the will.” But it is not easy, in various instances,
to determine whether muscular actions are voluntary or not;
while the point of distinction proposed by Mr. Mayo has the
recommendation of being easily verifiable. Setting aside,
therefore, in the first instance, the question of the influence
of the will, let us be satisfied with observing what muscles
act when a divided nerve that enters their substance is me¬
chanically irritated, and what do not. We may afterwards
trace the collateral differences of the two classes of muscles
which are thus distinguished.
(712.) The parts which are susceptible of this mode of
excitement, are the muscles of the trunk, head, and limbs,
of the tongue, of the soft palate, of the larynx, of the pha¬
rynx, and oesophagus, and of the lower outlet of the pelvis.
The opposite class comprehends the heart, the stomach, the
small and great intestines, and the bladder.
(713.) The collateral differences which characterize either
class are, with exceptions afterwards to be adverted to, the
following:—
(; 1°.) Muscles of the preceding class, if we except the
fasciculi belonging to the pharynx, and oesophagus, and
uretnra, are so disposed as to extend from one piece to ano¬
ther of the solid frame-work of the body; they enlarge or
stiaighten the cavities of the trunk; they produce the'phe-
nomena of the voice ; they close the excretory passages ;
the greater number are employed to move the limbs on the
trunk and the frame on the ground. Muscles of the second
class are used, like the exceptions in the preceding, as tu¬
nics to the hollow viscera, the cavities of which they dimi¬
nish in their action, and thus serve to give motion to their
contents. The oesophagus, indeed, appears to partake of
the nature of both classes of muscles; when the nervi va<ri
are pinched, one sudden action ensues in its fibres, and pre¬
sently after a second of a slower character may be observed
to take place.
, (716.) Of the muscles which do not act on the mecha¬
nical irritation of any nerve distributed through them, it may
be remarked, J
T That the will cannot instantaneously or directly pro¬
duce action in them. 1
2. That the resolution to abstain from their action is in¬
sufficient to repress it.
3. That their action is not attended with a conscious ef¬
fort, and seldom has reference to sensation.
. 4. That if divided, the retraction which follows is in most
instances slow and gradual.
5. That if they are mechanically irritated, not one, but a
series of actions ensues.
. their natural state, in the absence of external
impressions, is not continued relaxation. When the heart
and bowels are removed from the body of an animal imme¬
diately after death, they continue for a time alternately to
contract and to dilate.
7. lhat an impression transmitted through the nerves
does not appear the usual stimulus to their action.
(717.) From the experiments of the French physiologists
it would appear, that in an animal deprived of all the upper
poitions of the brain, but in which the medulla oblongata is
preserved, all indications of the more complex operations of
1 Outlines of Human Physiology, third edition, p. 39 to 42.
676
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, thought disappear, but the animal still remains capab e
' executing such voluntary motions as are ot an instinctive
character, as, for example, swallowing. Animals deprive
of the cerebellum, provided the medulla oblongata remains,
and is free from compression, not only appear to be capab e
of sensation, but give all the usual indications of intelligence,
and evidently exert volitions, which occasion the action o
many voluntary muscles. But they have lost the power of
regulating the contractions of those muscles so as to execute
any definite voluntary action, excepting those which are in¬
stinctive. All the other voluntary movements of the body
and limbs are performed in so irregular a manner, that they
are generally ineffective for the purposes for which they are
intended; and most of the usual complex movements re¬
quired for progressive motion cannot be performed at all.
This has been explained by the supposition that the animal
has lost all recollection or association of those trains ot mus¬
cular sensations which used to accompany and to guide
these movements, in consequence of the loss of the cerebral
organs which are instrumental in furnishing those associa¬
tions. One of the inferences drawn from these facts (which
themselves require more ample confirmation before they can
be regarded as established) is, that the recollection of those
associations connected with voluntary motion depends ont le
cerebellum, in the same way in which the associations of
sensations and ideas depend on the hemispheres of the brain.
(718.) It is a remarkable circumstance that injuries or
diseases occurring in the hemispheres either of the cerebrum
or cerebellum produce paralysis, that is, destroy the power
of voluntary motion, of the muscles situated on the opposite
side of the body. This has been endeavoured to be ex¬
plained bv the alleged decussation or crossing of the nervous
fibres of the lower part of the corpora pyramidaha on each
side. But in order to account for all the phenomena of this
kind, we must suppose the decussation to take place between
the fibres which compose the posterior and the anterior co¬
lumns of the spinal cord.
(719.) Although the function of the nerves in transmit¬
ting impressions from the organs of sense to the brain, which
give rise to sensation, and in transmitting impressions of vo¬
lition from the brain to the muscles of voluntary motion,
which give rise to the contraction of those muscles, appear
to be of the same kind, and to differ only in the direction in
which the impression is transmitted, the question has often
been asked, whether the same nervous filaments which trans¬
mit the one class of impressions are employed to transmit
the other likewise; or whether different portions of the nerve
are appropriated to these different offices. The truth ot the
last of these propositions may now be considered as being
firmly established.
Decussa¬
tion of
nerves.
Nerves of
sense and
of motion.
(721.) It results from this discovery that tne transmission Physiolog:
of impressions in opposite directions, that is, in the one case'
from the extremities to the brain, and in the other from the
brain to the muscles, is effected by different nerves, or at
least by different sets of nervous filaments, and that no fila¬
ment is capable of transmitting impressions both ways in¬
discriminately, but alw ays in one particular direction. These
two kinds of filaments are, it is true, conjoined together in¬
to one nerve ; but the object ot this union is not commu¬
nity of function, but convenience of distribution, the two
kinds of filaments still remaining distinct in their functions
as they are likewise distinct in their origins. We know that
all the nerves connected with the spinal cord have a double
origin ; that is, are composed of two nerves, the one pro¬
ceeding from the anterior, and the other from the posterior
columns of the spinal cord. It is found that an injury done
to the anterior roots of those nerves excites convulsions in
the muscles which they supply, but does not appear to ex¬
cite any sensation of pain in the animal on which the ex¬
periment is made ; and the division of those nei ves is follow¬
ed by the immediate paralysis of those muscles, that is, by
their incapability of being excited to contract by any volun¬
tary efforts. On the contrary, the irritation of the poste¬
rior roots of the same nerve is attended with no contractions
of muscles, but calls forth expressions of violent pain. The
section of these nerves is followed by insensibility of the
parts which those nerves supply, while the power of volun¬
tary muscular contraction remains.
(722.) From the symmetrical situation of these nerves Symmetr
with regard to the spinal cord, Sir Charles Bell has given cal systea
them the name of the original, or symmetrical nerves, e t" .
They comprehend, of course, all the spinal nerves which
arise by double roots, the posterior of which has invariably
a ganglion near its origin, while the anterior branch has no
such appendage. These spinal nerves are distributed later¬
ally to the two halves of the body; those of the one side
having no connexion with those of the other. Sir Charles
Bell ranks the fifth pair of the cranial nerves in the same
class as the spinal nerves ; considering its two roots as com¬
posed of filaments, appropriated the one to sensation, the
other to motion ; the former being provided with a gangli¬
on near its origin, and the latter having no ganglion. He
regards the third, probably the fourth, the anterior branch
of the fifth, the sixth, the portio dura of the seventh, and
the ninth, as being exclusively motor nerves, distributed to
the muscles of the eye-ball, lower jaw, face, and tongue,
and placing these muscles under the control of the will.
The ganglionic portion of the fifth pair, on the other hand,
he regards as the great sentient nerve of the head; which
gives exclusively sensibility to the face, eye-ball, mucous
mo!) The observations which first suggested the idea of membrane of the nose, mouth, and tongue
r-  £i in pfimmuniration with the postenoi coin
there being two sets of nervous filaments, the one subservient
to sensation, and the other to volition, were those in which
a limb was only partially paralysed, the power of motion
being retained, while that of feeling was lost. Experiments
had also been made in which nerves that had been divided,
and had afterwards spontaneously united, were found to have
recovered the power of placing the muscles to which they
were distributed under the command of the will, but yet had
no power of conveying sensitive impressions. Erasistratus
and Herophilus had long ago taught the doctrine of there
being two species of nerves respectively appropriated to these
opposite functions; and Galen was inclined to the same opi¬
nion from observing that both the tongue and the eye aie
supplied with two separate sets of nerves, the one apparent¬
ly subservient to sensation, the other to motion. But it is
to Sir Charles Bell and to Magendie that the merit belongs
of bringing forward decisive proofs of the reality of this dis¬
tinction between nerves for sensation and nerves for motion,
the idea having before been only loosely thrown out by spe¬
culative physiologists as a plausible conjecture.
— 7 O Th*8 nerVe
in communication with the posterior column of the spinal
cord; whilst the motor nerves, above enumerated, appear to
communicate with the anterior column. An exception to
this rule, however, occurs in the case of the fourth pair,
which has never been proved to communicate with the an¬
terior column of the spinal cord. It would appear also that
the larger portions of" the eighth pair, which seem to be
more connected with the posterior than with the anterior
columns, are nerves both of sensation and of motion; so that
the exclusive appropriation of the nervous filaments, orgi-
nating from the different surfaces of the spinal cord, to mo¬
tion or to sensation, is perhaps not yet rigidly demonstrated.
(723.) It is remarkable that the peculiar sensations con¬
veyed by the optic, the olfactory, and the auditory nerves,
have been found by Magendie to be much impaired, or
even entirely lost, by injuring the branches ot the fifth pair
of nerves, which also supply the respective organs to whicn
the above nerves appear to be particularly appropriated.
The cause of this anomaly has not yet been satisfactorily
explained.
PHYSIOLOGY.
67?
biology. (724.) Sir Charles Bell has distinguished another class of
nerves, which he conceives to be altogether subservient to
piratory the function of respiration, and to be distributed to the mus-
ws* cles concerned in that function. These he terms the irre¬
gular, or the superadded, or the respiratory nerves. They
arise by single roots ; they pass from one organ to another
in various directions, and pursue a very irregular and intri¬
cate course, passing across the nerves belonging to the sym¬
metric system, occasionally uniting with them, and connect¬
ing together the two halves of the body. These nerves,
according to Sir Charles Bell, are not under the control of
the will, and are not capable of exciting sensations; their
only office being that of transmitting impressions from one
part to the other. The nerves which strictly belong to this
class are the eighth pair, the spinial accessory nerves, the
phrenic, the external respiratory nerve of Sir Charles Bell,
and the great sympathetics.
(725.) The first pair, or the olfactory nerves, the second,
or the optic, and the portio mollis of the seventh pair, are
wholly nerves of sensation ; and from the special nature of
the impression they convey, may be considered as forming
a separate class of nerves.
jiglia. (726.) Most nerves pass through ganglia, or are inter¬
woven with others in plexuses before they reach their des¬
tination. The purposes answered by this intermixture of
filaments, which, in either case, appears to take place, is to
provide extensive connexions between the parts supplied
with nerves and different portions of the spinal cord, or me¬
dulla oblongata, from which the several fibres originate.
Thus the sensative and the motory filaments are intimately
united in the same nervous cord, which is thus rendered
capable of performing all the functions of nerves. Many
hypothetical uses have been assigned to the ganglia, which
appear to be unsupported by facts. Drs. Gall and Spurz-
heim suppose that they contribute to increase the nervous
power in those nerves on which they are placed; but there
does not seem to be any solid foundation for this opinion,
ssifica- (727.) Muscular contractions, then, may be distinguish-
cula e^’re^'erence t° the nervous power which excites them,
ar into four classes; namely, 1. The purely voluntary motions;
[ 2. The automatic motions ; 3. The instinctive motions; 4.
The involuntary motions. We have now fully considered
the first ol these classes, the purely voluntary motions,
which may be defined to be those consequent on an effort
ol volition of which the mind is conscious, and which is ac¬
companied by a distinct idea of the end intended to be ac¬
complished. No examples or illustrations are necessary of
motions belonging to this class, as they are those with which
vve are most familiar. We pass on then to the other classes in
the order in which we have enumerated them.
Sect. Y.—Automatic Motions.
tomatic (728.) Automatic motions are those which consist of a
ions, series ol actions, each of which was originally the object of
a distinct volition ; but which by habit, that is, by repeated
association, have become linked together in such a manner,
that a simple act of volition is sufficient, apparently, to re¬
new the whole series, without requiring any separate effort
ot attention to each. Most of the actions which we daily
perform, such as walking, speaking, writing, or playing up¬
on a musical instrument, afford examples of automatic mo¬
tions, being linked together by associations which, far from
requiring any conscious acts of volition, follow one another
in a regular order of sequence that cannot be broken unless
by the exertion of a separate effort of atttention. All these
movements, however, are still voluntary, inasmuch as they
remain under the control of the will, which commands their
commencement, can regulate their course, and can stop
them at pleasure.
(729.) The muscular actions required for respiration may
probably be classed under this head. The immediate ex¬
citing cause of the act of inspiration is a sensation felt in Physiology
the chest from the presence of venous blood in the capil-
lary vessels of the lungs ; and this sensation, if not speedily
relieved, increases rapidly to one of extreme distress, and
even agony. The influence of this sensation in exciting the
very complicated actions which are necessary to relieve it
by drawing air into the lungs, and which, indeed, are con¬
tinued during sleep, and even when sensibility to all other
impressions appear suspended, as in the state of apoplexy,
is rendered manifest by the increased frequency and energy
with which these actions are performed whenever any cause
exists obstructing the free acces of air into the lungs, and
thus augmenting the intensity of the sensation.
(730.) Since the actions of respiration are caused, in the
first instance, by sensations, they must be dependent on the
sentient nerves of the lungs, and especially on those that esta¬
blish the most direct communication between them and the
medulla oblongata, namely, the eighth pair of nerves. We
find, accordingly, that after the section of those nerves the
actions of respiration are performed more slowly and less
perfectly than when entire. They, nevertheless, continue,
probably by means of the other communications which the
lungs have with the brain, through the branches of the
great sympathetic proceeding from the spinal cord. When
the part of the medulla oblongata from which these nerves
originate is injured, all attempts at inspiration are finally ar¬
rested, because a final stop is put to the sensation which
prompts them. The section of the phrenic nerves, or an in¬
jury to the spinal cord at any part above the origin of those
nerves, paralyses all the respiratory movements of the chest,
and thus occasions asphyxia and sudden death.
(731.) When the sensation which prompts inspiration,
is intense and long continued, all the muscles performing
movements auxiliary to this act, such as those which assist
the intercostals in elevating the ribs, which hold the glottis
open, which raise the velum pendulum, which open the
mouth, and which expand the nostrils, are called into si¬
multaneous action, and the movements themselves are per¬
formed in concert, and with perfect precision. These ac¬
tions are under the control of the will, as respects their
force, their rapidity, and their frequency, and they may even
be performed at pleasure, either separately or in conjunc¬
tion ; unless, indeed, the sensation which prompts them be
unusually intense; in which case they cease to be voluntary
and automatic, and pass into the class of instinctive motions
we are next to describe. Sir Charles Bell supposes that the
nerves of all the muscles employed in these auxiliary actions
have peculiar connexions among themselves at their origin
from the lateral columns of the spinal cord, from which the
eighth pair, which is the great sentient nerve of the lungs,
also arises; and that these connexions are the principal
cause of their conjunction of action, whenever the sensa¬
tion imperiously demands that they should act in concert.
Yet, on other occasions, we find that all the muscles con¬
cerned in these actions, are strictly voluntary muscles, and
are perfectly obedient to the will.
Sect. VI.—Instinctive Motions.
(732.) It is the essential character of motions which are Instinctive
strictly voluntary, that they are accompanied not only by amotions*
consciousness of their being performed, but also by a con¬
viction that we may, or may not perform them, as we please ;
or, to speak more philosophically, according as there exists
or not, a sufficient motive for their performance. But there
are also, in the healthy state, many muscles, of the actions
of which we are always conscious, and which, under ordi¬
nary circumstances, are perfectly obedient to the will, but
whose actions we have, on other occasions, no direct power
of controlling by any effort of the will. They occasionally
seem even to be rebellious to its authority, and as if they
were transferred to the agency of some other power. They
578 P H Y S I
Physiology- are always preceded by some sensation, as in the case of
coughing, sneezing, and vomiting ; or some internal affec¬
tion of the mind, which has been termed emotion, as in the
case of laughing and weeping ; and they take place without
any previous conception of the object they are calculated
to attain, and therefore without the previous existence or
operation of a motive. A very large proportion of the ac¬
tions of brute animals appear to belong to this class ; being
characterized by the absence of that train of mental opera¬
tions, which imply the agency of motives, and the previous
knowledge of the consequences resulting from such actions ;
operations which are comprehended under the term reason,
as contradistinguished from instinct, or blind and inexpli¬
cable impulse derived from other sources.
(733.) Instinctive motions are distinguished by Dr. Ali¬
son into two kinds, the one comprising such as are not only
prompted by an act of which we are conscious, but are also
directed without our being aware of it at the time, to an
end which we desire ; the other, those in which our actions
are consequent indeed on a sensation, but are prompted by
a blind impulse, the consequences which are to flow from
the action being either unknown or disregarded; as, for
instance, in gratifying the appetites, guarding the eyes from
danger by closing the eyelids, or the body from falling by
throwing out the hands. Dr. Alison, in his Outlines of
Physiology, to which we are indebted for several of the
preceding remarks and illustrations, has very clearly treated
of the whole subject of the functions relating to muscular
motion. He farther remarks that the instinctive actions
are closely connected with the motions which proceed
directly from sensations on the one hand, and with the
strictly voluntary motions on the other. In the adult hu¬
man being, it is hardly possible to distinguish them from
movements which have been prompted by reason, and be¬
come habitual; but in the infant, and in the lower animals,
they are easily recognised, being distinguishable by two
marks ; first, that they are always performed in the very
same way ; wdiereas actions which are strictly voluntary,
and prompted by reason, although directed to the same
ends, vary considerably in different individuals ; and, se¬
condly, that, however complicated the movements may be,
the truly instinctive actions are performed equally well the
first time as the last; whereas even the simplest of the
strictly voluntary movements require education. The com¬
plex acts of sucking and deglutition performed by a new¬
born infant, may be given as examples of strictly instinc¬
tive motions.
( 734.) It is important, however, in the consideration of
this subject, that we bear in mind, that these actions, al¬
though in themselves instinctive, are yet performed by
muscles which are at other times voluntary, and whose
nervous connexions with the sensorium, render it necessary
for the performance of these actions, that the muscles them¬
selves should communicate by their respective nerves with
the sensorium. We may fairly presume, therefore, that
such actions are immediately dependent on a change tak¬
ing place in the sensorium, through the medium of which
alone the impression which is the occasion of the actions,
becomes effective in their production.
Sympathe- (735.) The same remark applies also to those sensations
tic actions, which arise from sympathy, as it is termed ; that is, which
are referred to a part of the body very different to that
to which the actual irritation is applied. Of this kind is
the pain of the shoulder accompanying inflammation of the
liver; pain of the knee from disease of the hip-joint;
and itching of the nose from irritations in the bowels. These
sympathetic sensations may perhaps be explained by the
nerves of those corresponding parts having their origins
O L O G Y.
from the same parts of the brain; but much yet remains Physiolo'
to be done towards establishing the truth of this hypothesis. v^‘y4
Sect. VII—Involuntary Motions.
(736.) Under the head of the involuntary motions, we
mean to comprehend all those muscular contractions which
are performed without the intervention of any change in
the sensorium, and consequently without being attended with
either sensation, consciousness, or any other mental change.
The most unequivocal examples of this class of motions are
those in which muscular actions are excited by irritations
applied directly to the motor nerves which are sent to the
muscles themselves ; for although, in the living body, such
irritations are usually accompanied with the sensation of
pain, that sensation must be regarded as an accidental con¬
comitant, and not a necessary part of the phenomenon ; as
is proved by the absence of all sensation, when the nerve
has been divided between the brain and the part to which
the irritation is applied, and yet the muscles in which the
nerve terminates, exhibit the same involuntary contractions
as before. The same phenomenon, indeed, may be repro¬
duced after the death of the animal, or when the brain or
head has been removed.
(737.) Other cases are met with of a more complex and
dubious character ; namely, those in which muscles usually
under the influence of the will, exhibit contractions in con¬
sequence of irritations applied, not to their own nerves, but
to some more distant part, which receives other nerves. It
is manifest that in these instances, the irritation of these
latter nerves produces an impression which is propagated
along their course towards the central parts of the nervous
system, and is from thence again transmitted along the
course of the nerves supplying the muscles, in which they
excite contractions of the same kind as those originating in
volition. Yet these motions may take place wholly inde¬
pendently of the sensorium, and are found to occur, indeed,
when all communication with the brain is intercepted. For
if, a few seconds after an animal has been deprived of life,
the spinal cord be divided in the middle of the neck, and
also in the middle of the back, upon irritating either by a
mechanical or chemical stimulus, or by the application of
heat, any sensitive portion of the body connected by nerves
with either of these isolated segments, the muscles of that
portion of the limb, so connected with the spine, are thrown
into action. If, for instance, the sole of the foot be pricked,
the foot is suddenly retracted, with the same gesture as it
would have been during life, and of course with the same
apparent indication of suffering.1 It is evident that here
an irritation applied to a nerve, the usual office of which
during life was to transmit impressions to the sensorium
productive of sensations of pain, has now produced an im¬
pression which is conveyed to the spinal cord only; but
which yet is followed by the contractions of those very same
muscles, which, during life, obeyed the determinations of the
will, and produced a motion of the limb directed to its re¬
moval from the cause of injury.
(738.) Phenomena of this description may be observed
more readily, and are exhibited in a manner still more
marked, according as the animal on which the experiment
is made, occupies a lower place in the scale. Among ver-
tebrated animals, the motions just described, and others of
a similar character, indicative of sensation and volition, are
most easily produced in reptiles, as in the turtle, the ser¬
pent, and the frog; in which we find that isolated portions
of the spinal cord perform functions analogous to those of
the brain, as far as relates to the receiving of impressions
from a certain set of nervous filaments, and the transmit-
1 See Mayo's Outlines of Human Physiology, p. 231.
PHYSIOLOGY. 679
biology-ting of impressions to other nervous filaments, which pro-
’-v^^ceed from the same part of the spinal cord, and are distri¬
buted to the muscles. These two sets of nerves correspond
in their functions to the sensory and motor nerves by which
sensorial phenomena are produced, (see § 721.) In arti¬
culated animals, whose spinal cord consists of a series of
nodules of nervous matter, resembling ganglia, connected
by two longitudinal cords, and severally giving origin to
their respective bundles of nerves, which radiate on each
side from these ganglia, as from so many centres, the capa¬
bility of each ganglion to perform this double function is
still more susceptible of demonstration; and each segment
of a worm or an insect, for example, appears, in consequence,
to enjoy a separate life, and exhibits the semblance of pos¬
sessing powers of sensation and voluntary motion independ¬
ently of the rest.
(739-) The question now arises whether these indications
of sensorial powers actually proceed from the exercise of
those faculties; that is, whether they are accompanied by
actual feeling and actual volition, of both of which conscious¬
ness is the essence ; or whether they exist in appearance
only, and without any real consciousness on the part of the
individual percipient being. This question, taken in all its
generality, it is extremely difficult, perhaps impossible, to
decide; and its solution involves that of another problem,
equally obscure, which is presently to come under our no¬
tice : namely, as to the locality and extent of the senso-
rium in all the classes of the animal kingdom. The plan
of structure, and the vital constitution of articulated ani¬
mals, are so different from what occurs in the system of
animals of the vertebrate type, that whatever may be the
conclusions we may form with regard to the sensorial powers
and the organs which exercise them in the former class,
we are not warranted in extending the same conclusions to
the latter class of beings, in all of which we cannot fail to
recognise the most decided character of individuality. It
is hardly possible to conceive the co-existence of two sepa¬
rate centres of sensation and volition in any vertebrate ani¬
mal, because we find it impossible to understand how con¬
sciousness can be subdivided into portions corresponding to
the different segments into which the spinal cord may be di¬
vided. If, therefore, we regard the sensorium as occupying
any portion of the brain, or rather of the encephalon, such
as the medulla oblongata, we cannot admit the existence of
a separate or accessary sensorium, situate in any part of
the spinal cord, and capable of exercising the sensorial func¬
tions independently, when all nervous communication with
the principal sensorium is cut off. If the power of sensa¬
tion could ever be retained, even for a second, after the
head has been severed from the body, we must suppose
that the seat of that faculty is still in the head, and not in
the trunk, the movements of which, when excited by gal¬
vanism, however they may resemble those which were per¬
formed during life in obedience to volition, in conformity
to the design, and prompted by motives arising from bodily
sensations, must be regarded as purely mechanical, or ra¬
ther as the result of mere nervous irritation, and without
the existence of either sensation or volition of any kind. We
have decisive proofs that in the human system phenomena
of this kind occur without any participation of the mind, that
is, without either sensation, perception, or volition, in cases
where, from accident, the spinal cord has been divided or
compressed in the neck, or back, and where the muscles of
the trunk that receive their nerves from that part of the spi¬
nal cord, which is situated below the injury, are affected with
involuntary movements. We are therefore fairly entitled
to extend the analogy to other animals whose construction
does not materially differ from that of man, however ap¬
pearances may seem to countenance the hypothesis of the
sensibility of the trunk, after its communication with the
brain has been intercepted.
(740.) Great confusion has been introduced into this Physiology,
subject by the inaccurate language employed by physiolo-
gists in theorizing on these phenomena ; and in using which
language they have lost sight of the essential distinction
which should ever be kept in view between psychological
and physical phenomena. The term sensibility should be
strictly confined to such properties as are immediately con¬
nected with the mental changes which are denominated
sensations, and which are characterized by attendant con¬
sciousness : all other corporeal properties or phenomena
which do not produce these mental changes, are simply of
a physical nature, and belong to another class to which the
same appellation ought never to be applied. Bichat has
committed this great error in employing the term organic
sensibility to denote phenomena of this latter kind; and the
introduction of this terra has led to an interminable confu¬
sion of ideas among those who have adopted his system, and
who have been thereby led, from this misapplication of
terms, to some vague notion of a peculiar but obscure kind
of actual sensation, which they attributed to portions of the
nervous system unconnected with the sensorium, indepen¬
dent of all percipience, and partaking of the mystical doc¬
trines of Stahl and Von Helmont as to the operations of
their supposed anima and archceus. (See § 101.)
For the dissipation of these clouds which have too long
obscured the ideas and perplexed the reasonings of physio¬
logists, we need only direct on the subject the searching
light of philosophical analysis, which will render its outlines
clear and distinct, and enable us to follow their various
flexures and crossings, and obtain more correct views of the
landscape in all its details.
(741.) The power exercised in the instances we have de¬
scribed by the central parts of the nervous system, inde¬
pendently of all sensorial phenomena, is that power which
we have already distinguished by the term nervous porver,
in contradistinction to the sensorial poiver exercised by the
same system. (See § 96, 536, 537.) To Dr. Wilson
Philip belongs the merit of having first clearly pointed out
the distinction between these two orders of functions, and
of having given them specific appellations. Dr. Mar¬
shal Hall has lately introduced a new term, that of re¬
flex function, to designate the series of phenomena consist¬
ing of the transmission of impressions by certain nerves to
the central parts of the nervous system, (which he limits
to the spinal cord,) and the consequent transmission of an
action by the muscular nerves, which is followed by the
contractions of muscles. To the whole system concerned
in this function he gives the name of the excito-motory sys¬
tem; the nerves receiving the impression he calls the inci¬
dent nerves ; and those conveying it to the muscles, the
reflex nerves.
(742.) It would appear from what has been already no¬
ticed, (§ 711?) that every muscle the action of which is ca¬
pable of being brought under the dominion of the will, and
which is therefore entitled to be classed among the volun¬
tary muscles, may occasionally be made to act by other
causes, applied either directly to their own fibres, to the
nerves distributed to them, or to other parts connected with
them only by the medium of portions of the brain, spinal
cord, or the ganglia of the sympathetic: and it has been
conjectured that the sets of nervous fibrils which are in¬
strumental in the performance of these latter functions, are
different from those which are employed to transmit the
impressions of sensation and volition. This latter view is
the one adopted by Dr. W. Philip, who observes that, “ how¬
ever blended the organs of the sensorial and nervous powers
may appear to be, we are assured that they are distinct or¬
gans by the fact, that while the organs of the nervous power
evidently reside equally in the brain and spinal marrow,
those of the sensorial power appear to be almost wholly in
man, and chiefly in all the more perfect animals, confined
680
PHYSIOLOGY.
Involun¬
tary mo¬
tion.
Physiology to the former.”1 It does not, however, appear that we as
yet possess any direct means of either establishing or dis¬
proving the truth of this supposition.
(743.) There yet exists another class of muscles, com¬
prehending those which never, under any circumstances,
become voluntary. T o this class belong the heart and
blood-vessels; the muscular fibres of the excretory ducts, and
other parts of the organs of secretion ; and the coats of the
stomach and of the intestines. As the influence of the nci -
vous system on those muscles is of a vei y peculai kind, and
as their motions are governed by different laws from those
which regulate the voluntary muscles, it will be necessary
to bestow on them a separate consideration. ^
(744.) M. Le Gallois, in a work entitled, Experiences
stir le Principe de la Vie, notamment sur celui des Mouve-
mens du Cttur, et sur le Siige de ce Principe, thought he
had proved that the muscular power of the heart is derived
altogether from the spinal cord, and not from the brain.
He found that on injuring the spinal cord, the heart is so
enfeebled as no longer to be capable of propelling the blood;
but that the contractility of the heart may continue unim¬
paired when the brain, and even the whole head, is remov¬
ed, provided respiration be kept up by artificial inflation of
the lungs. He conceived, therefore, that the use of the
cardiac nerves is to establish the connexion between the
spinal cord and the heart; and that whenever the heart is
affected by passions and emotions of the mind, which pro¬
duce their first changes on the brain, it is influenced through
the medium of the spinal cord, which is itself affected by
the brain. Dr. Wilson Philip has shewn the fallacy of this
conclusion ; and has completely established, by direct ex¬
periment, that under similar circumstances, the brain has
just as much influence on the motions of the heart as the
spinal cord. The motion of the heart is no more affected
by the removal of the spinal cord than by that of the brain,
if the same precautions be taken in either case, of effecting
the removal slowly, and with as little disturbance to the re¬
maining parts of the system as possible. If, on the other
hand, either the brain or the spinal cord be suddenly crush¬
ed by a blow, which at once destroys its texture, the heart
is instantly paralysed, and its motions cease. Although the
muscular fibres of these organs are not excited to contrac¬
tion by irritations of any kind applied to their nerves, nor
their contractions arrested by the section of those nerves,
yet these actions are immediately accelerated by the appli¬
cation of chemical stimulants, such as alcohol, either to the
brain or to the spinal cord ; and retarded by the application
of opium, tobacco, or other narcotic agents, to the same
parts.
(745.) It would appear, therefore, that although there is
no essential difference between the real nature of the irri¬
tability of the involuntary, and that of the voluntary mus¬
cles, yet that each is influenced by different kinds of stimuli,
and by stimuli applied through a different medium. Me¬
chanical stimuli, such as punctures or partial divisions of
the fibres of the muscles of voluntary motion, act on them
only through the medium of their nerves ; and if applied to
the parts of the brain whence these nerves originate, will
throw those muscles into the most violent spasmodic con¬
tractions. The heart, on the contrary, is but slightly dis¬
turbed in its movements by the same kind of injury done to
the brain or spinal cord, provided the injury be confined to
a small portion of those organs. That important organ ap¬
pears to be affected only in proportion to the extent of the
parts that have suffered injury, and to the suddenness with
which that injury has been inflicted; as is exemplified by
wounding the brain rapidly in many directions. Chemical
stimuli, on the contrary, applied to any part of the brain or
spinal cord, produce considerable and immediate increase of
the action of the heart; while the voluntary muscles con- Physi0jft
tinue all the while unaffected; and the animal betrays no
sense of pain. Accordingly the heart, having no direct de¬
pendence on any part of the nefvous system, may continue
its action w hen the brain and spinal cord are destroyed, and
even when it is itself removed from the body. The nerves
with which it is supplied, however, render it capable of being
influenced through those causes, as, for example, by the pas¬
sions, and by various poisons, which affect a considerable
portion of the nervous system.
(746.) The contractile powers of the other parts of the Ganglbi
vascular system, and most of the secreting organs, as well system,
as the irritability of the stomach and intestines, are, like
those of the heart, independent of the nervous system, yet
capable of receiving an influence through the medium of the
nerves ; and the same law appears to extend generally to all
the involuntary muscles. The extensive nervous commu¬
nications which are naturally established between the whole
system of involuntary muscles, and the organs in which they
enter, seem to be necessary in order that any one set of these
organs should be subjected to the influence of all the others.
This purpose is effected by that complex arrangement of
nerves, which has been termed the ganglionic system, from
the great number of ganglia annexed to them. The great
sympathetic nerve forms the principal connecting nerve
in this system between all the muscles of involuntary mo¬
tion ; which, through the medium of filaments from the ex¬
tensive chain of ganglia belonging to this nerve, are placed
in connexion with every part of the brain and spinal cord.
Each ganglion belonging to the sympathetic system has been
considered as a secondary centre of nervous influence, re¬
ceiving supplies from all the latter parts, and conveying to
the former organs the united influence of the nervous sys¬
tem in general. The muscles of voluntary motion, on the
other hand, are subjected to the influence of only small por¬
tions of these central parts of the nervous system, and re¬
ceive their nerves directly from these parts; and usually
without the intervention of ganglia, and with comparatively
few intermixtures of nervous filaments ; such intermixtures
being designed for the purpose of effecting combinations
writh the nerves of sensation, and especially with those which
convey impressions relative to muscular motion.
(747.) The ganglia of the sympathetic system have, ac¬
cordingly, been considered by many physiologists as per¬
forming functions similar to those of the portions of the spinal
cord exercising mere nervous power; that is, in the lan¬
guage of Dr. Marshall Hall, performing reflex functions, and
belonging, together with the branches of the sympathetic
nerve, to the excito-motory system.2
Sect. VIII Psychological relations of the Sensorium.
(748.) In treating of the functions of the nervous system pSyChol(|
which involve operations both of the body and of the mind, gical relaj
it is very difficult to draw the strict line of distinction be- tions.
tween them, and avoid treating of subjects which properly
belong to metaphysics. We have endeavoured, in the pre¬
ceding account of the physiology of man, to confine ourselves
strictly to the consideration of the corporeal changes which
accompany the different mental affections, and to avoid, as
much as possible, encroaching upon the province of the
metaphysician. That certain physical changes take place
in some” portion or other of the cerebral mass in connexion
with various mental changes, we have the clearest evidence :
but of the nature of these physical changes we are wholly
ignorant; nor does the present state of our information af¬
ford a shadow of hope that we shall ever gain any moie pre¬
cise knowledge of them. The mental changes, on the other
hand, constitute a distin ct and separate branch of science;
to the knowledge of which we arrive by channels totally
Quarterly Journal of Science, xiv. 93.
See Grainger’s Observations on the Structure and Functions of the Spinal Chord.
-.ysiology-
inctions
the brain
different from those which instruct us relatively to the for¬
mer ; namely, by consciousness, and by reflexion on the se¬
ries of phenomena furnished to us by consciousness. These
two subjects of study, the material and the immaterial, how¬
ever numerous may be the subtle and inscrutable links that
connect them, constitute two worlds, which in our concep¬
tion must for ever remain totally distinct; nor is it even
possible for us to conceive how any knowledge which we
can obtain with relation to any physical changes in our cor¬
poreal fi'ame, or any physiological laws that may regulate
the succession of those changes, can in the smallest degree
assist us in understanding the phenomena of intellect, and
the affections of the soul.
(749.) The brain has been very justly regarded as the
organ of the mind ; that is, the corporeal instrument inva¬
riably employed in the operations of the mind. This is a
necessary corollary from the proposition that no mental
opeiation can take place without the co-existence of some
physical change in the brain. But a second proposition, the
converse of the former, has been advanced; namely, that
the mental operations are the “functions of the brain.”
But this latter proposition would be true only on the sup¬
position that the physical change in the brain, and the cor¬
responding mental change of which we are conscious, are
one and the same thing. Until this fundamental doctrine
of materialism, namely, the identity of matter and mind, be
proved, we cannot include under the functions of the brain,
both the mental changes and the corporeal changes. The
physiological office, or function of the brain is the produc¬
tion of certain corporeal changes, connected in some inex¬
plicable manner with certain mental changes ; which two
classes of changes are in their nature, as far as we are ca¬
pable of forming any conceptions of them, radically and es¬
sentially different from each other.
(750.) The ambiguity of ordinary language is, indeed, a
frequent source of confusion of ideas on this subject. We
speak correctly when we say that the eye is the organ of
vision, because it is an instrument without which vision could
not be exercised ; but were we to regard vision as the func¬
tion of the eye alone, we should evidently be guilty of in¬
accuracy in extending too far the purpose of that instru¬
ment. The function of the eye is to produce certain im¬
pressions upon the retina, which impressions are but links
in the series of changes, of which only the last constitutes
vision. These impressions made on the retina are followed
by changes in the course of the optic nerves, and these again
by changes in the sensorium. The function of the optic
nerves, and of that part of the sensorium in which they ter¬
minate, is the production of these physical changes. Vision,
an affection of the mind, is undoubtedly the effect of these
physical changes, but is not properly the function of any of
these organs, except the term function be used in that loose
and popular sense, in which it is made to embrace all the
remote consequences of the phenomena, in the production
of which the organ in question is concerned. In this sense,
indeed, vision, and all the mental affections consequent upon
vision, might certainly be said to be functions of the eye;
but in the strict philosophical sense, the function of the eye
is limited to the formation of images on the retina, and
the impressions thereby received by the retina; and, in like
manner, the proper function of the brain is the production
of certain physical changes in the fabric of the brain, conse¬
quent upon certain impressions made on the nerves by ex-
lernal causes, and consequent also upon certain internal
affections of the mind, which are capable of exerting on it
this influence.
(751) The affections of the mind are very various and
complicated ; a great multitude of ideas and associations
are treasured up in it, and constitute a variety of powers, of
faculties, of propensities, of instincts, and of passions. The
conformation of the brain, which is the organ of the mind,
VOL. XVII.
PHYSIOLOGY.
681
is also very complex, and appears to consist of an assem-Physiology,
blage of different parts, constructed evidently with extreme
refinement, and arranged with great care, and with very ela-
borate design. The idea naturally suggests itself, that these
different portions recognised by the anatomist may, perhaps,
have some correspondence with the several faculties into
which the phenomena of the mind have been analyzed by
the metaphysician. This question has indeed been often
started, and is quite distinct from that of the materiality or
immateriality of the soul; for it is perfectly conceivable
that if the immaterial soul acts by means of material organs,
and receives impressions from those organs, its different
operations may require different organs. But this subject,
together with the theories to which it has given rise, having
been aheady amply discussed under the Treatise on Phren¬
ology, we need pursue the subject no farther in this place.
Sect. IX—Sleep.
(752.) Whilst the functions which have for their object Sleep,
the reparation of the state of the body, and which include
assimilation, absorption, circulation, respiration, secretion
and nutrition, continue in constant activity, all those con¬
nected with sensation and volition require intervals of re¬
pose, and cannot be maintained beyond a certain time with¬
out great exhaustion of the nervous power. These periodi¬
cal intermissions in the activity of the animal functions, so
necessary for the renovation of the power on which they
are dependent, constitute sleep. The eye-lids close to pro¬
tect the eye from injury, and the eye-ball is turned upwards;
the external senses and all the active intellectual operations
are suspended; the voluntary muscles are relaxed ; and we
become insensible to all external impressions. The move¬
ment of the involuntary muscles continue, though with some¬
what less energy than during our waking hours. The heart
beats with diminished force and frequency, and the muscles
of respiration act more slowly ; but the inspirations are more
full and deep, and the secretions are in general less abun¬
dant ; but digestion and absorption are carried on with great
activity. The power of sensation, though blunted, is not
altogether lost during sleep, as is proved by the continuance
of that part of the movements of the muscles of respiration,
which depend on sensation. Instinctive movements of the
limbs, producing a change of posture, frequently take place
from an obscure sensation of constraint at their continuing
long in the same position. Any unusual impressions made
on the organs of the senses are felt during sleep, and even
remembered; and, if the impression be sufficiently vivid, will
interrupt sleep.
753. Neither is the mind wholly inactive during sleep ; Dreamin:
it is still occupied with a succession of ideas, which is often
more rapid than when we are awake ; the imagination is
even more vividly exerted, and the images that pass before
the mind are considered as realities. This constitutes dream¬
ing, a state which is characterized also by the peculiar cir¬
cumstance of the want of all voluntary power of directing
the succession of ideas. Trains of ideas and images com¬
mence and follow one another, being indissolubly linked to¬
gether by those laws of association which are independent
of volition.
(754.) An extraordinary modification of dreaming occurs Somnara
in what is called somnambulism, or sleep-walking; where bulism
the will recovers a certain degree of power over the mental
operations, and over the voluntary muscles both of speech
and of motion, while the body is still less capable of receiv¬
ing external impressions than in ordinary sleep. In this
peculiar kind of sleep, the insensibility to most external im¬
pressions is so profound, that it is scarcely possible to awaken
the person without employing a considerable degree of vio¬
lence. When at length he does awake, which often hap¬
pens as suddenly as from natural sleep, he usually retains
4 R
PHYSIOLOGY.
n,y«olo»v. little or no recollection of what happened to him, or of what epiglottis. The thyroid, which is also called the Muh/orm, Physiolo,
> r' nut. or no.recollection U1, , _ 11 . il-e rcrt ap-e. s n aced at the unner and fore-nart ^
J2t:
' he did while in this singular state.
(755.) A state very similar to that of natural somnam¬
bulism, is induced in some nervous constitutions, especially
those of young females, by certain manipulations which pro¬
duce a long-continued reiteration ol impressions maue on
the senses, and which probably act through the medium o
the mind. These have been ascribed to a special agency,
termed animal magnetism, or mesmerism. For an account
of these effects, we must refer our readers to the article
Magnetism, Animal.
CHAP. XVII THE VOICE.
The voice. (756.) The function of the voice, and of its modulation
into articulated sounds, by which it is rendered subservient
to speech, has been already pointed out as an important pai t
of the animal economy of a being designed, as man evidently
is, to hold extensive communion with his fellow creatures,
and effect the rapid interchange of ideas and feelings,
through the medium of the sense of hearing, (§ 24.)
Acoustic (757.) In order to understand the mode in which articu-
principles. late sounds are produced, it will be necessary again to ad¬
vert to the principles of acoustics, of which a brief account
was given in introducing the subject of the physiology of
hearing, (§ 623.) The object to be accomplished in the
function of the voice is the production, not so much of single
sounds, (such as those which result from single impulses
given to the air,) but of continued sounds, composed of re¬
iterated vibrations, repeated at short and equal intervals,
and constituting a musical note. There are two principal
modes in which such sounds are produced; the one, that
which is practised in stringed musical instruments, in which
the impulses are given to the air by the vibrations of solid
bodies, which are generally chords having different degrees
of tension ; and the other, such as is adopted in wind instru¬
ments, where the air is thrown into undulations at regular
intervals, by alternations of expansion and condensation,
generally taking placing during the passage of a stream of
air through a cavity in which it suffers certain reflexions
and reverberations, alternately impeding and promoting its
progress. In many cases the effect is obtained by a com¬
bination of both these means, as in a hautboy, where an
elastic plate, or reed, is placed in the course of the air which
is passing along a tube, capable by its form of producing a
musical note, independently of such addition.
Organs of (758.) In the construction of the vocal organs of man,
the voice nature has resorted to combinations of this kind. Advan¬
tage is taken of the function of respiration to convert the
passages through which the air is admitted to, and expelled
from the lungs, into a sounding instrument; by adapting
to the upper part of the trachea, a curious mechanism,
consisting of a frame-work of elastic cartilages, with an
apparatus of ligaments, muscles, membranes, and mucous
glands, the assemblage of which is termed the larynx. The
aperture through which the air passes is denominated the
glottis. Here it is that the breath is vocalised; that is, ren¬
dered not only sonorous, but also modulated in its pitch, so
as to give rise to a musical sound. Modifications are sub¬
sequently impressed on these sounds, by the changes which
the undulations are made to undergo in the cavities of the
pharynx, of the nostrils, and of the mouth, according to the
various forms and dimensions given to those cavities by the
motions of the muscles of the pharynx, the velum pendu¬
lum, the uvula, the tongue, the cheeks, and the lips ; and
according to the obstacles placed in the way of the passage
of the air by the movements of these parts, and the appli¬
cation, in particular, of the tongue and of the bps to the pa¬
late and to the teeth.
(759.) The cartilages of the larynx are five in number,
namely, the thyroid, the ci'icoid, the two artenoid, and the
or shield-like cartilage, is placed at the upper and fore-part
of the larynx, and is the largest of the whole. It consists
of two lateral wings of a quadrangular form, uniting in front
in a longitudinal angle, which is felt projecting in the fore¬
part of the throat, and has obtained the name of the pomum
adami. From the posterior corners, four processes project,
called its cornua, distinguished into two superior, and two
inferior. The cricoid, annular, or ring-like cartilage, is
placed below and behind the former ; and it has four arti¬
cular surfaces, two below, for its connexion with the infe¬
rior cornua of the thyroid cartilage, and two above, for the
articulation of the arytenoid cartilages, which are bodies of
a pyramidal shape, much smaller than the rest, and placed
one on each side, upon the upper posterior and lateral parts
of the cricoid cartilages. They give attachment to liga¬
ments, and compose a part of the sides of the opening call¬
ed the glottis. The whole passage is lined internally by a
delicate mucous membrane.
(760.) The epiglottis is a cartilaginous lid, which has a.
pointed shape, resembling the leaf of an artichoke. It is
fixed at its base to the os hyoides, to the thyroid cartilage,
and to the root of the tongue ; and hangs obliquely back¬
wards over the opening of the glottis, which extends in a
line from behind forwards, and is formed by the approxima¬
tion of the vocal ligaments, or chordce vocales. These liga¬
ments, which consist of fibres endowed with a high degree
of elasticity, are covered with the fine membrane which in¬
vests the whole of this delicate apparatus, and extends down
the trachea into the lungs, and above to the posterior fauces.
These are attached together in front to the thyroid carti¬
lage, and behind to the arytenoid cartilages, where, in the
relaxed condition of the organ, they are at some distance
from each other, so as to leave a triangular opening for the
passage of the air. The effort to speak, or to utter a vocal
sound, commences with the action of certain muscles, more
particularly the crico-thyroidcei, which stretch the vocal li¬
gaments, and the crico-arytcenoidei laterales, and the ary-
tcenoidei transversi and obliqui, which conspire to make the
arytenoid cartilages approximate. By these combined ac¬
tions, the vocal ligaments are brought near to each other,
in parallel directions, so that the interval between them or
rima glottidis, as it is called, is reduced to a mere narrow
linear fissure.
(761.) When, therefore, the air is forcibly propelled from Formntio
the lungs through the glottis, while the vocal chords are inofvoou
this approximated position, different vocal sounds will besoun
produced, according to the degree of tension which is given
to the chordae vocales. The greater the tension of these
ligaments, the more frequent will be their vibrations, and
the higher the pitch of the note they produce. The loud¬
ness of the sound emitted is proportioned, not to the fre¬
quency of the vibrations, but to their extent, or the magni¬
tude of the excursions made by the vocal chords in vibrat¬
ing. The varied degrees of tension which can be imparted
at will, and instantaneously, to the vibrating ligament of the
larynx, by the finely regulated actions of their different mus¬
cles, constitute the chief source of superiority in the vocal
organ to any instrument of human invention.
(762.) The muscles above enumerated as giving tension
to the vocal ligaments, and dossing the glottis by the ap¬
proximation of the arytenoid cartilages, are opposed by their
antagonists the thyreo-aryteenoidei, which relax the vocal
ligaments, and place them in the vocalizing position, and by
the crico-arytcenoidei postici, which separate the arytenoid
cartilages, and thereby open the glottis. . ^ jll|s t^ie instru
ment we are considering is capable of an infinite number ot
changes of form, and susceptible of the finest modulation.
(763.) It should be stated, however, that many physio¬
logists have maintained that the musical tones of the voice
depend, not merely on the tension of the vocal hgamen.s,
Physiology, but also on the size and form of the aperture through which
PHYSIOLOGY
Os;
the stream ot air is propelled, and that the larynx partakes
as much of the pioperties of a wind as of a stringed instru¬
ment. The principal advocate of this opinion was Dodart,
whose first paper1 contains a historical account of the views
on this subject taken by the earlier physiologists. His chief
antagonist in this controversy was Ferrein,2 who compares
the larynx to a violin, or harpsichord, and conceives that
the voice is produced by the vibrations of the edges of the
ligaments of the glottis; and compares the action of the air
to that of a bow setting these parts into vibration. The
hypothesis of Dodart has been adopted by Blumenbach, who
conceives the action of the larynx to be analogous to that
of the flute. But the generality of physiologists consider
the action of the ligaments of the glottis to be vibration, and
similar to that of strings resounding by their tension alone.
Such is the view taken of the subject by Dr. Youno-,3 Soem-
merring,4 Magendie,5 Willis,6 and Mayo,7 who all maintain
that the voice depends on the vibrations of the chords ; the
frequency of which must, according to all acoustic principles,
be regulated solely by the tension of the chords.
(764.) Dr. Willis observes that, for the production of
laryngeal sounds, something more is requisite than a defin¬
ite tension of the vocal ligaments. He has shown, by ex¬
pel iment, that in order that the edges of two membranes,
such as those made of leather or of Indian rubber, opposed
to each other with a narrow interval, may vibrate, the parts
of the membrane near their edges must be brought parallel
to each other. Comparing this disposition of membrane in
his experiment with the parts of the larynx, he supposes that
the latter will not vocalize, unless some change, independ¬
ent of, and superadded to, the tension of the ligaments, be
produced in their relative position.
(765.) The experimental proof on which Mr. Willis founds
his conclusion that some change in the relative position of
the vocal chords is necessary to produce an audible vocal
sound, is the following. If the finger be placed upon the
membrane which intervenes between the thyroid and cri¬
coid cartilages, their approximation or increased remoteness
may readily be felt. Now their approximation being pro¬
duced by the action of the crico-thyroid muscles, involves
an increased tension of the ligaments. But it is possible by
an effort to keep these cartilages approximated, while some¬
thing is still wanting in the internal arrangement of the
larynx, to fit it for the production of sound. When the thy¬
roid and cricoid cartilages are thus approximated, and the
ligaments thus shewn to be in a state of tension, if air be
impelled through the larynx, sound does not necessarily fol¬
low ; the ligaments have still, Mr. Willis concludes, to be
placed in the vocalizing position.8
twice of (766.) There are still other parts of the vocal apparatus
irachea. connected with the sounds produced at the larynx, which
require to be adverted to. Among these the varying con¬
ditions of the trachea appear to have the greatest influence
on those sounds, and of this influence Mr. Wheatstone pro¬
poses the following theory :9
“ Such a vibrating apparatus as we have described the
ligaments of the glottis to compose, is by itself capable,
from the varying tension of those ligaments, of producing
all those sounds of which we find the voice to be suscepti¬
ble. But the intervention of a tube between the lungs and
tile larynx, must necessarily exercise an important influence
on the voice, though it has never yet been taken into con¬
sideration. For, if we unite such an apparatus, or a free
reed, which may serve as a substitute for it, with a tube
(supposing it for the moment fixed to a determinate degree
of pitch), it is found, that, unless the column of air in the Physiology,
tube is of such a length as to be separately capable of pro-
ducing the same number of vibrations, the sound cannot be
obtained in its greatest force and purity, and that when the
tube is half this length, the discordance between the tube
and the reed is so great, as to prevent the production of
the sound : between these limits the sound is intermediate
m intensity and quality. This influence of the tube is by
experiment found to be the same, whether the tube be
placed after the reed, as in several wind instruments, or be-
foie it, as in the vocal organ. We will now suppose the
tube to be unalterable in its length, and the reed neces¬
sarily to undergo all its varying modifications of pitch ; the
sounds, instead of being of even quality, will be irregular
in intensity, and require different degrees of effort to pro¬
duce them, while, in some parts of the scale, they will be
totally extinguished. All this may be prevented, and the
utmost regularity obtained, by shortening the tube, in pro¬
portion as the vibrations of the reed increase in frequency.
I he trachea is obviously incapable of changing its length
within limits sufficiently considerable to serve this purpose ;
but Savart’s experiments have shown, that a tube of con¬
stant length may be made to produce a great range of sounds,
by 'making it of elastic sides susceptible of variable tension.
1 he analogy between such a tube and the trachea is perfect.”
. C767.) One mode of giving increased tension to the wind¬
pipe is the action of the transverse muscular fibres which
bind the ends of its cartilages together. Another is the
elevation ot the larynx, which follows in so remarkable a
uegree the elevation of the pitch of the voice. Practice in
singing improves the voice, partly by giving us a more ready
command over the tension of the trachea, and partly by
enabling us to regulate and vary the opening of the glottis
while we preserve the tension of the vocal chords.
('68.) Such being the mode in which vocal sounds are Formation
produced in the larynx, the next step in the inquiry will ofar6culate
relate to modifications they receive from the shape of the
cavities of the pharynx and mouth, through which the ex¬
pired air has yet to pass. When thus modified they be¬
come not merely vocal, but articulate sounds, and consti¬
tute the elements of speech.
(769.) I his branch of the subject has been ably investi¬
gated by Sir Charles Bell,10 who has traced the influence
which the changes produced by the muscular actions of the
tongue and fauces, on the shape of the cavities of the mouth
and pharynx, have on the resulting articulate sounds. He
has examined the succession of actions which must be per¬
formed before a word can be uttered, and which he finds
to consist in the compression of the thorax, as well as the
adjustment of the glottis, the elevation and depression of
the larynx, and the contraction of the pharynx.
(770.) J he elementary articulate sounds of a language Frormncia-
consist of vowels and consonants. Vowels are continuedtion of
sounds, produced when the passage of the air through thevowels
fauces is uninterrupted, the fauces being only more or less
narrowed. Each vowel requires a different elevation of the
tongue or contraction of the lips. Thus the sound of the
broadest pronunciation of the letter a, which occurs in the
word awe, results from the lowest position of the tongue,
giving its greatest depth to the cavity of the mouth. The
ordinary sound of a, as in the word age, is produced by a
certain elevation of the tongue, reducing considerably the
capacity of the mouth. The vowel e, pronounced as in eve,
is sounded by raising the tongue still more, so as to leave
a more contracted channel for the exit of the air. The
positions for o and oo, are obtained by placing the fauces
3 244 17°,7’ P‘ 66, 8lbid- P°,ir 17^'> PP- 409, 416, 422.
6 f;; /’ !’■ 4U b n"d PhuosoPh[cal Transactions for 1800, 141. 4 De Corporis Humani Fabrica, vi 93.
s iff M > 'kf s r, Cambridge Philosophical Transactions, iii. 231. 7 Human Phijsiology, 3d edit. p. 350.
9 Ih d A 9°v> °U lneS °fIluman Physiology, 3d edition, p. 350, 351, fiom which the above account of Willis’s theory is extracted.
1 ' P' ' 10 Philosophical Transactions for 1832, p. 299.
684
Physiology-
PHYSIOLOGY.
Pitch of
in the position first described, nameiy, that for au, and then
approximating the lips. . „ . ,, .
■ (771.) The pronunciation of consonants is effected by in¬
terruptions to the passage of the air in some part of t le
cavity of the mouth, by various motions of the tongue and
lips, which, when applied to the palate or the teeth, narrow
or close the channel for its exit. _ i ^ ii/r
(772.) The following experiment is mentioned by Mr.
Mayo1 as having been made by M. Deleau, demonstrating
that the articulation of vocal sounds takes place in the lan¬
ces. He introduced through the nostrils into the pharynx
a flexible tube, and, by means of a gum bottle, impelled
air through it into the fauces ; then, closing the larynx, he
threw the fauces into the different positions requisite for
producing articulate sounds, when the air impelled from the
•nun bottle became an audible whisper. Dr. Bennati re¬
peated this experiment, allowing at the same time laryng¬
eal sounds to pass into the fauces, when each articulated
letter was heard double, in a voice at once, and in a whisper.
(773.) Consonantal sounds may be divided, first, into
aspirates and sonants, or, secondly, into continuous and
^(774.) The aspirates are those which may be rendered
audible without a vocal sound, as is the case with p, t, k, h,
f tk, s, and sh. The sonants are those which, without any
appreciable difference in the shape of the fauces from the
form required for the pronunciation of the preceding to
which they are allied, are not heard without a vowel sound,
either previously uttered, as in b, d, g, v, z, and l, or sub¬
sequently, as in g, or in conjunction with it, as in r.
(775.) Continuous consonants are pronounced when the
vocalized air passes through some part of the organ, previ¬
ously rendered very narrow. Explosive consonants are
those which are produced by the interruption to the current
of air occasioned by the entire closing of the passage, and
its being allowed to burst out with some force by the sud¬
den opening of the same passage.
(776.) The nasal consonants, m, n, and g, are distinguish¬
ed from the rest by the peculiar character of their articu¬
lation arising from the breath being allowed to pass throng ;i
the nostrils ; while in the pronunciation of the otheis, tuc
soft palate being raised closes the posterior nostrils, and
prevents the sound from diffusing itself in that diiection.
(777.) We refrain from entering into any further details
with regard to the position of the fauces, tongue, and lips,
in the pronunciation of the different consonants, having al¬
ready treated of this subject at some length, in the article
Deaf and Dumb, to which we shall therefore refer our
readers.2
the (778-) The l°w Pitcl1 of the voices of men compared with
those of women and boys, arises both from the greater ge¬
neral size of the larynx, and also the greater length of the
chordae vocales, which has been found to measure nearly
double that of the latter. In attempting to utter high notes,
voices, naturally grave, assume the character of \he falsetto.
This, Mr. Willis supposes, may result from the shortening
of the vocal chords ; but Mr. Wheatstone is disposed to as¬
cribe it to the tension given to the windpipe being such as
to reinforce the laryngeal sounds by subdivisions.
(779.) Some curious observations on the mechanism of
the voice during singing have lately been given by Dr.
Bennati,3 who states, that the compass of his own voice ex¬
tends to three octaves. He concludes from his inquiries,
that it is not merely the muscles of the larynx which mo¬
dulate the sounds, but those also of the os hyoides, and the
other neighbouring parts. He mentions that, on removing
part of the tonsils, the operation was followed by the rais¬
ing of the voice half an octave, without altering its compass. Physioloet
Mr. Mayo supposes this effect to result from the cicatrix
stretching the mucous membrane of the larynx, and thus
giving increased tension to its inner surface.
CHAP. XVIII. GENERATION.
Sect. I.—General Views.
(780.) As far as we are permitted to scan the designs of Generate
the Almighty Creator in the formation of organized beings,
they appear destined to a mode of existence characterized
by perpetual mutation. Their living state is made to con¬
sist of a perpetual series of actions and reactions, in which
nothing is intended to be permanent, not even the materials
of which the combinations constitute the substance and or¬
gans of the body. All is subject to displacement, alteration,
renewal, and renovation, during a certain definite period,
which varies in each species, according to the primordial law
of its constitution ; and all must bend, when that period is
exceeded, to the imperative law of mortality, to which every
individual endowed with life is subjected.
(781.) But the same counsels which prescribed these li¬
mits, and decreed the extinction of life, and the dissolution
of the frame in which it had resided, have providently or¬
dained most ample means for the continuance of the race,
and the indefinite multiplication of its numbers. Individuals
perish, but the species is preserved in endless perpetuity by
means of Generation ; a function of paramount importance
in the economy of nature, and for which the most ample
provision has been made, and the greatest solicitude mani¬
fested to secure the accomplishment of its purposes. Nu¬
trition and generation, indeed, constitute the only functions
which can be said to be universally exercised by all organ¬
ized beings, whether belonging to the vegetable or the ani¬
mal kingdom, or whatever rank, from the lowest to the high¬
est, they may occupy in the scale of nature.
(782.) But although the purpose is thus manifest, and the
provisions for its execution thus effective and even exuber¬
ant, the immediate agency by which one living being is ren¬
dered capable of giving rise to another similar to itself, is
enveloped in the most profound and most hopeless obscurity.
No means within the compass of our understanding, no com¬
bination of the powers of matter which we can possibly con¬
ceive, no process of which the utmost stretch of human ima¬
gination can give us the most remote idea, has ever made
the least approach towards the solution of this most inexpli¬
cable of all enigmas,—the production, nay, the apparent cre¬
ation, of a living plant or animal by powers inherent in the
organization of a similar being. We must content ourselves,
in studying this inscrutable mystery, to observe and gene¬
ralize the phenomena, in silent astonishment at the marvel¬
lous manifestation of design and of power exhibited in this
department of the wonderful works of the Almighty.
(783.) Various plans of reproduction are exhibited in the piansof
different classes of animals, but they are all reducible toproductk
three general heads, which may be designated by the titles
of Jissiparous, gemmiparous, and sexual reproduction. Many
physiologists, however, have been disposed to admit the ex¬
istence of a fourth mode of reproduction, which they have
termed spontaneous, or equivocal generation. It is contend¬
ed by the advocates of this hypothesis, that in many of the
lower tribes, instances occur of the formation of animals
without the intervention of any parents, and produced by
the spontaneous union of certain elements, which might for¬
tuitously be found in juxtaposition, in collections of the de¬
composing materials of other organized structures, after the
1 Outlines of Human Physioloqy, p. -tod. , „ ,T
? See also Haller’s Element a de Physiologies, ix. i; Dr. Young’s Lectures, ii. 276; and the work of Mr. Mayo, ahead) q
3 Annales dee Sciences Naturelles, xxiii. 32.
P H Y S I
physiology- extinction of their life. Although this opinion was at one
period the generally prevailing doctrine, it is now, in con¬
sequence of the more extensive knowledge which has been
obtained of the procedure of nature in the multiplication of
animals, very generally exploded. The principal arguments
in its favour were, in the first place, those drawn from the
existence of intestinal worms, and other parasitic entozoa,
in the bodies of animals, the germs of which appear neither
to be introduced into the system from without, nor to have
any assignable origin from within ; secondly, those derived
from the rapid appearance of infusory animalcules in all in¬
fusions of decaying animal or vegetable matter that are ex¬
posed for a short time to the air. But the analogy of every
other department of the animal and vegetable kingdoms is
directly opposed to the supposition that any living being can
arise, unless it has originally sprung from an individual of
the same species as itself, and of which it once formed a part.
The difficulty which the hypothesis of the spontaneous pro¬
duction of infusory animalcules professes to remove, consists
m our inability to trace the pre-existence of the germs in
the fluid where these animalcules are found to arise, and to
follow the operations of nature in these regions of infinite
minuteness. But the recent discoveries of Ehrenberg re¬
lative to the complete organization of these beings, in which
he in many instances detected the presence of generative
organs, has very much diminished the difficulty of conceiv¬
ing the possibility of their ova, so minute as to be wholly
imperceptible, existing in great numbers in the fluid, or even
in the atmosphere, and giving rise to all the observed phe¬
nomena.1
issipa- (784.) Fissiparous generation, the simplest of all possi-
iis gene- ble modes in which the species can be multiplied, consists
don. jn the spontaneous and gradual division of the body of an
individual animal into two or more parts, which, when the
division is completed, separate, and each soon assumes the
form, and grows to the size of the parent, and becomes ca¬
pable of performing all the functions which originally be¬
longed to the undivided animal. The most common form
of this mode of generation is met with in some of the sim¬
pler of the infusoria, as the monas, the gonium, the cycli-
dium, the vorticellae, and the volvox. In the instance of
the volvox, however, we find an approach to the next order;
for the young are seen forming within the body of the pa¬
rent, which is, in course of time, reduced to a mere mem¬
branous vesicle, and then bursts, and is torn into shreds, set¬
ting free the enclosed young, each of which immediately
begins to execute its independent movements in the fluid.
! emmipa- (785.) Gemmiparous generation occurs when a new in-
I us gene- dividual grows from the parent as a bud or sprout; at first
tion- exhibiting but little resemblance in shape or structure to
the parent animal, but gradually assuming that form while
still adhering to it, and being afterwards detached to com¬
mence an independent existence. Numerous examples oc¬
cur of this mode of reproduction among the lower orders of
zoophytes, such as animals belonging to the tribe of polypi,
of which the hydra viridis, rendered celebrated by the re¬
searches of Trembley, may be taken as the type. Some¬
times, as happens in the sponge, the actinia, and some of
the lower orders of mollusca, the young are formed from
small detached masses after they are separated from tfie
body of the parent. These bodies, which are called spores,
sporules, or gemmules, are generally of a rounded form and
homogeneous structure ; and the w hole substance of which
they are composed is converted during their developement
into the new animal. Hence they may be regarded as buds
formed in the parent body, but detached from it before the
evolution of the new animal begins. In some species these
gemmules are formed in all parts of the body indiscrimin-
O L O G Y. 685
ately; but in most others there is a particular generative Physiology,
organ provided for their formation.
(786.) In by far the greater number of organized beings Sexual ge-
no reproduction takes place except by the co-operation ofneration.
two kinds of generative organs; laying the foundation of
the distinctions of sex, and constituting sexual generation.
As characterising the female, there is, in the first place, an
organ, termed the ovary, of which the office is to form the
ova, or eggs. These are organized bodies of a determinate
shape, within wrhich we first find the earliest rudiments, or
germ, of the future animal contained in a fluid, which is it¬
self enclosed in a vesicle. But the ovum, or, more properly
speaking, the ovulum, thus formed exclusively by the fe¬
male organs, never advances in its developement beyond this
stage, and can never give rise to a new animal, unless it re¬
ceive a certain vivifying impression given to it by the con¬
tact of a peculiar fluid, denominated the semen, which has
been prepared by a totally distinct apparatus, constituting
the male organs.
(787.) The nature of the impression thus made by the Feeunda-
seminal fluid on the ovulum, or immature ovum, and which tion.
constitutes its fecundation, and awakening in it a power of
reproduction, which had before remained dormant, is whol¬
ly unknown ; nor is it accompanied with any immediate al¬
teration in its appearance or structure. None of the parts
of the new animal can yet be discerned in the fluid contents
of the ovulum, the great mass of which consists of a fluid
holding in suspension granules of albuminous or oily mat¬
ter ; and a certain time must elapse, even in the most fa¬
vourable circumstances, before the formative process exhi¬
bits its effects. The form of the egg is given by the exter¬
nal coverings, and there is in every egg a determinate part,
at which the minute rudimental germ of the embryo is first
visible. It is to this germ that the power of independent
life and developement appears more immediately to belong,
the granular fluid serving only as nutriment laid up in store
for the supply of materials for growth.
(788.) Thus the processes essential to sexual reproduc-Essential
tion consist, first, in the formation of an ovulum by the fe- processes,
male organs; second, in the secretion of the seminal fluid
by the male apparatus; third, in the application of the se¬
minal fluid to the ovulum so as to confer on it fecundity.
(789-) The mode in w hich this application is made differs Varieties,
according as the male and female organs are both contained
in the system of the same individual, (as occurs in monoe¬
cious plants and hermaphrodite animals,) or exist separate¬
ly in different individuals, (as in dioecious plants, and all the
higher classes of animals.) In the former case, self-impreg¬
nation may take place, either by the required seminal access
being effected internally in each individual independently
of any other ; or, in other cases, by the concurrence of two
individuals in sexual union which reciprocally impregnate
one another, (as is exemplified in the leech, the earth-worm,
and the snail.) In the second division, where the male, or
fertilizing organs, are possessed exclusively by one indi¬
vidual, and the female organs, or those producing the germ,
by another, impregnation of the ova may take place either
after their exclusion from the body of the female parent, by
their contact with the male semen ejected on them when
thus excluded, (as happens in the case of fishes and batra-
chian reptiles,} or within the body of the female ; for which
latter purpose, a new function, that of copulation, becomes
necessary. This last mode of procedure is had recourse to
by nature in by far the largest portion of the animal king¬
dom, including all the tribes of insects, nearly all the mol¬
lusca, and all warm-blooded vertebrated animals. Modes of
(790.) All the subsequent phenomena relate to the deve-jevej0pe.
lopement of the embryo thus brought into existence; to thement.
1 See Bridgewater Treatise, on Animal and Vegetable Physiology, vol. ii. p. 591, note.
686
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, supply of nourishment for its growth ; and to the advantages
of situation, of warmth, and ot protection, which are neces¬
sary for the favourable procedure ot the vital powers in tne
progress of this developement.
Oviparous. (791.) Various plans are resorted to for conducting these
processes of developement of the fecundated ovum In that
which is termed oviparous generation, the ovum, during its
passage through the oviduct, receives the addition of a con¬
siderable quantity of nutritious matter, sufficient tor the sup¬
ply of all the materials requisite for its growth, until the
period when it is capable of procuring food for itselt; and it
also acquires a capsule, or substantial coveiing, frequently
of a calcareous nature, fitted for its protection undei the cii-
cumstances in which it is to be placed. V hen thus foimed
it constitutes an egg, or complete ovurn ; and in this form
it is either excluded from the body of the female parent,
and hatched, if already fecundated, by the influence of ex¬
ternal warmth ; or if not previously fecundated, this change
is accomplished by the seminal fluid of the male being shed
upon it. The former case, which implies sexual congress,
is exemplified in all insects and birds: the lattei, which ie-
quires no such congress, obtains in fishes, and many ot the
reptilia. Both are comprehended under the term oviparous
CLYliwittls*
(792.) In a few instances the eggs, previously fecundated
within the body of the female, instead of being expelled, re¬
main in the oviducts until they are spontaneously hatched,
and the young are then brought forth alive. This pheno¬
menon, which is exhibited by many cartilaginous, and a few
osseous fishes, by several reptiles, and by some gasteropodous
mollusca, insects, annelida, and entozoa, has been called ovo-
viviparous generation.
(793.) In mammiferous generation, on the other hand,
the ovum, which is not perfected in the same degiee as in
r a.
i part
<
s
X
w
r/}
%
o
£
K
Mammife-
I'OUS.
A. The parent splits into two or more Physiologr
ts each part becoming a new animal.
1. By transverse fissure.
2. By longitudinal fissure.
3. Irregularly.
B. The parent bursts, and the included
young are discharged.
f A. Buds sprouting from the parent
| stock.
•J B. Gemma, or Sporules, formed—
1. In all the parts of the body.
[_ 2. In one part only,
r Both sexual organs contained in the
) same individual,
y 1. By self impregnation.
(. 2- By mutual impregnation,
f A. Oviparous; eggs laid, and after.
I wards hatched.
I 1. Eggs fecundated externally.
2 Eggs fecundated internally-
B. Ovo-viviparous; eggs hatched with-
j in the maternal body.
I Mammiferous ; the parent suckling the
Lyoung by mammae.
1. Monotrematous.
2. Marsupial.
3. Placental, or strictly viviparous.
(795.) A wide range of inquiry is here opened to us, com¬
prehending, if we were to include in its field the whole of
the animal kingdom, an immense multitude of facts, to the
complete study of which the labours of a whole life would
be inadequate.” We are, however, to confine ourselves, at
present, to the view of human physiology ; but even here
the great extent of the subject obliges us to reduce within
a narrow compass the account we have to give of this im¬
portant and interesting department of the science. For this
purpose, after a short description of the circumstances relat¬
ing to the unimpregnated ovum, we shall proceed to the
[ Fispasirous, . j
|
L Gemndparous, .
f Monoecious,
or
I Hermaphrodite,
Dioecious, . ■]
2; us nisiuiy cue  _-
ovum. Tins latter subject will lead us to consider some ot
the most celebrated theories of generation ; after which we
shall briefly consider the phenomena of utero-gestation and
iccessive cnangea avLcuuiug ^  
jutaua. Of these latter changes, relating to the system ot
the new individual, it will be more convenient to give the
history separately.
Sect. II Ifnimpregnated Ovum.
(796.) Much difficulty is necessarily experienced in ob¬
taining direct evidence of the early changes occurring in the
the two former cases, remains within the female, and is at- nig ^ mA^Ynd female' systems respectively,
tached, by the medium of a substance called the placenta, physio ogy period of the fecundation of the
to the inner surface of an organ termed the uterus, where bnngingu s ^ _ Y -n n(
it receives nourishment from the maternal system, and where
it remains until it is capable of independent life, and it is
s.w«jtisasasi2S£
Stfaa«::.w43*s=!5a
the mother, continue to derive from her a ceitain quantity foetus,
of sustenance in the form oi milk, which is a secietion from
certain glands termed mammee, the possession of which is
the characteristic feature of this class of animals. An ex¬
ception occurs in the case of marsupiate animals, in whom
the young leaves the uterus at a very early period of its for¬
mation, while it is vet of a very small size, and its organs taming mm-   :~
are comparatively imperfectly formed. On being born it process of human generation, from the sc y pp
h introduced by the mother into a pouch, termed the mar- allowed us of direct observation of thoS®Cfi ’^g instructive
rm)ium formed by a folding of the integuments of the our being precluded from resorting to the most instructive
lower part of the belly; and a short time after it has been fountain of knowledge, namely, experimen a j
deposited there, it is found attached by its mouth to one of While, therefore, we obtain occasional views of the acfti^
the nipples of the mamma:, which are conceal ed within the phenomena which occur in man, we must conte
rnarsupium, and there receives its nourishment until it has with filling up the chasms in the continuous ^ory ot his
acquired sufficient size and strength to quit its habitation, generation, by the observation of those w ic < _ I\ ^
Monotrematous generation, which is peculiar to the ornitho-
rynchus and echidna, is not yet perfectly understood. The
generative organs, and the ova within the ovaries, in these
animals, partake in a great degree of the oviparous type ;
but they are also combined with the presence of mammary
glands, which perform the office ot lactation, as in the sti ici¬
ly viviparous class of animals.
(794.) The following table, which is nearly that given
by Dr. Allen Thomson,1 exhibits a synoptical view of the m uvh., ^ a™.—- —~—-7— , , , iio.aments
various forms of the reproductive process occurring in dit- m the fold of the peritoneum, fornim thc e
ferent classes of animals    of the uterus. They are composed of a "hite and_l^
I CVfcpWia ipAnatmy and FhfUbfl, by Dr. Toild, article Generation, p. 438, to which article we are largely indebted in the com
pilation of this chapter.
with tilling up tne cnabiiib m me j
generation, by the observation of those which are presented
Fu the lower animals that most resemble him in the mode
in which this function is conducted, and by remoter analo¬
gies derived from other classes. 5.,,.-,...
(797.) It is well established, from these conibinedsource aIld func.
of information, that the essential part of the fema e s\ s em tions of tb
concerned in generation is the avian/, or ovarium, ot wiucn ovarhim,
there is one, situated on each side, in the cavity of the pel- Graafiau
vis. The ovaries are small capsular bodies, of an oblong, vesicles,
or oval, and somewhat flattened shape, which are enveloped
PHYSIOLOGY. 687
•siology- cellular texture, in which we discover several minute vesi-
cles, or cysts, tilled with a transparent fluid, and termed,
from the name of De Graaf, who first observed them, the
Graafian vesicles. Their number is generally from fifteen
to twenty in each ovarium, and they vary in size, the largest
being about one-third of an inch in its longest diameter.
The fluid which is contained in these vesicles is slightly
viscid and albuminous, inclining to a yellow colour in the
most turgid vesicles, containing numerous granules of an ir¬
regular shape, and a few globules of oil, but being other¬
wise pellucid.
(709.) Besides the peritoneal covering already described,
the ovarium has a cellular coat proper to itself. Each of
the Graafian vesicles has a double investment; the outer
coat consisting of a close filamentous texture ; and the in¬
ternal layer being thicker, softer, and more opaque than the
outer, from which it is readily separable after maceration,
and having a slightly villous inner surface. The membrane
immediately containing the granular fluid above described,
also exhibits the appearance of being studded with granules,
and is on that account styled the membrana granulosa.
Within the granular fluid is found a body, composed of close¬
ly coherent granules, which has been denominated by its
discoverer, Baer, the discus proligerus, and which he repre¬
sented as having a flattened or discoid form, and as form¬
ing the bed in which is placed the minute vesicle of the
ovulum, or germ of the unimpregnated ovum. The later
researches of Dr. Martin Barry, of which he has given an
account in a paper communicated'to the Royal Society of
I London, have thrown further light on this branch of Zoo¬
logy. The following is a summary of the principal conclu¬
sions at which he has arrived on this subject,
lulum. ( 800.) The ovulum of all vertebrated animals, and of many
of the invertebrata also, is contained in a vesicle, called by
some authors the chorion, but which Dr. Barry thinks it de¬
sirable, wherever found, to call an ovisac. He considers
the Graafian vesicle of the mammalia, and also the capsule,
or calyx of oviparous vertebrata, as an ovisac which has ac¬
quired a covering; which covering is the “ couche externe”
of the “ capsule de la vesicule de Graaf ^ of Baer. The ptr-
fect Graafian vesicle of the mammalia has been shewn by
preceding physiologists to be analogous to the perfect cap-
sula, or calyx of the bird ; but the analogy is found by Dr.
Barry to be much more remarkable between the ovisacs of
these two classes of animals, before these additional cover¬
ings have been acquired ; and this analogy may also be ex¬
tended to those of amphibia and fishes, so that, in fact, the
surfaces of all the vertebrata are in their original structure
essentially the same ; a conclusion which Dr. Barry is dis¬
posed to extend also to the ovisacs of many of the inverte¬
brata.
(801.) The ovisac, being originally an independent struc¬
ture, can be better studied in this state than at a later pe¬
riod, when it has become the lining membrane of the Graaf¬
ian vesicle or calyx. Thus, while the perfect Graafian ve¬
sicle of the mammal, and the perfect capsule of the bird, are
obviously corresponding structures, there yet exists this dif¬
ference, that there is a space, filled with a large quantity of
fluid in the former, not present in the latter ; a difference
which does not exist in the early stages of formation, when
ovisacs in general appear in this respect to be essentially the
same. The structure of the ovisac may be examined, in
some mammalia, when it does not exceed in length the
600th, or even 1200th part of an inch ; so that in the latter
case, a cubic inch would contain 1728,000,000.
(802.) The ovisac of the vertebrata, and perhaps of other
animals, is at first of an elliptical form. In the mammalia
and birds, myriads of ovisacs and ovula are formed, which
never reach maturity. Many of these are formed in the
substance of the proper membrane of larger ovisacs, and are
therefore termed by Dr. Barry parasitic ovisacs.
(803.) The ovisac is formed in a cavity proper to itself, Physiology
with which it does not appear to have any organic connex-
ion. The granules found in the fluid of the ovisac are very
characteristic in their appearance, and imply the presence
of albumen in a concentrated form. A stratum of these gran¬
ules, found on the internal surface of the proper membrane
of the ovisac, constitutes, as Baer remarks, a distinct mem¬
brane. But the mass of granules described by that anato¬
mist as being discoid, is believed by Dr. Barry to be of a
spherical form. This latter observer finds that the ovulum
of vertebrated animals is, when first formed, situated in the
centre of the fluid of the ovisac, and more or less obviously
held there by a flake of granules; and has at first no pro¬
per envelope of granules. In the mammalia, there forms
around the ovulum a granulous covering of a spherical form,
which Dr. Barry terms the tunica granulosa ; but it has no
discoid mass of granules proper to it. At a certain peri¬
od, the ovulum of the mammalia passes from the centre
of the ovum to the periphery ; and there, while invested
by its granulous tunic, it penetrates the membrana gran¬
ulosa, leaving behind it a flake of granules. Here it lies
quite in contact with the proper membrane of the ovisac,
is more or less imbedded in the membrana granulosa, and
is supported behind by a mass of granules, sometimes pre¬
senting the appearance denominated by Baer the cumulus.
But this cumulus does not belong to the proper granulous
covering, or tunica granulosa, of the ovulum; for it may
in some animals be separated from this covering, in the form
of what Dr Barry calls the petasiolus granulosus.
(804.) After the ovulum has reached the periphery, its
tunica granulosa may, at least in some animals, by contact
with the membrane of the ovisac, become attenuated, or
may even disappear at one side; which circumstance, to¬
gether with the great transparency of this tunic, may have
been the cause of Baer’s assigning to it a discoid form. This
approximation of the ovulum to the exterior surface of the
ovisac, is doubtless for the purpose of exposing it to the ac¬
tion oi the fecundating seminal fluid, which reaches it while
it is in this situation, and still in the ovary. The next step
being now the application of this fluid, we are brought to
the next stage of our inquiry, namely, into the series of ap¬
paratus and of functions provided for the preparation of the
semen, its introduction into the female organs, and its trans¬
mission to the surface of the ovulum.
Sect. III.—The Male System.
(805.) The preparation of the seminal fluid is the office Male or-
of the two glandular bodies called the testicles, or testes, g*1118 of
They are suspended in a portion of common integumentgeneratloa‘
having the form of a sac, termed the scrotum, by a round
band, called the spermatic cord, which pursues a very ser¬
pentine course ; a plexus of veins, the assemblage of which
has received the name of corpus pampyrifonne ; consisting
of the spermatic artery, a plexus of absorbents, a plexus of
nerves ; and lastly, the vas deferens, or excretory duct; and
they are farther supported by a sub-cutaneous layer of mus¬
cular fibres, termed the dartos. The scrotum is divided
into two chambers, one testis being lodged in each, by a
membranous partition, or septum. Each testicle is loosely
contained in a sac, formed by an external serous membrane,
the tunica vaginalis, derived from the peritoneum, which
forms a cavity for its reception similar to that of other serous
membranes. This tunic is reflected, like those of other ca¬
vities, over the body of the organ ; and the reflected por¬
tion, which is called, from its white colour, the tunica al¬
buginea, forms the proper capsule of the testis. When this
latter tunic is divided, the testis is found to consist of a flat¬
tened oval substance, to the upper, outer, and back part of
which a narrow and flat slip of substance, called the epidi¬
dymis, is found adherent.
PHYSIOLOGY.
688
Physiology (806.) The substance of the testicle is extremely yascu-
lar, and the ultimate branches of its spermatic arteries aie
collected into small bundles of fine convoluted vessels, se¬
parated from one another by septula, or membranous par¬
titions. From these the vasa semmifera, or beginnings of the
excretory ducts, take their rise, and gradually unite to form a
smaller number of canals of larger dia.meter, but exceedingly
tortuous in their course. On arriving at the surface and
back part of the testicle, they suddenly become straight, as¬
suming the name of the vasa recta ; they, however, again
subdivide, and their branches have very numerous commu¬
nications with one another, composing the net-work of tubes
called the corpus highmorianum, or the rete testis, from
the rete testis arise the ducts denominated the vasa effer-
entia, which, after being again contorted into numerous con¬
volutions, form the conical bodies called com vasculosi; these
again, alternately join to form the epididymis, already men¬
tioned, and which consists of one slender tube, of enormous
length, coiled upon itself into a small compass.1 The epi¬
didymis at length emerges, in the form of a tube of larger
diameter, which is the vas deferens, and which ascends along
the spermatic cord towards the abdomen. On tracing these
ducts into the pelvis, we find them passing up by a circui¬
tous route through the spermatic passage, and on reaching
the pelvis, again descending by the lower side of the bla
der, to the under part of its cervix. Each duct is here con¬
nected with an oblong membranous bag, called the vesicula
seminalis ; which is a long blind sac, folded many times up¬
on itself; its open extremity entering the vas deferens at
an acute angle. These sacs are supposed to be recepta¬
cles for the retention and accumulation of semen, until the
time when it is required to be expelled. . But Hunter re¬
marked that the fluid contained in them is somewhat difler-
ent from that obtained from the seminal ducts of the tes¬
ticle itself; and he therefore supposed that these vesicles
secrete a peculiar fluid which may perhaps dilute and add
to the bulk of the semen. He even contended that the pro¬
per office of these cavities is not that of reservoirs of semen ;
supporting his opinion by arguments derived fiom compa¬
rative anatomy, which furnishes many examples where no
direct communication exists between them and the vas de¬
ferens, and others where these vesicles are entirely absent.
Notwithstanding these analogies, the prevailing opinion is
in favour of the vesiculse seminales in man being reservoirs
of the seminal secretion.
(807.) From the vesiculse seminales and the vas deferens,
the semen is occasionally discharged through a duct com¬
mon to both, and about half an inch in length, which per¬
forates a body called the prostate gland, and then opens on
each side into a canal, termed the urethra, which is con¬
tinued from the urinary bladder, close to a small eminence
in that canal, termed the verumontanum, or caput gallina-
ginis. The prostate gland is of the size of a small chesnut;
in shape it resembles a heart, with the apex directed for¬
wards. Its texture is firm and tough ; it is divided into two
lateral lobes, and one anterior lobe, and contains a great
number of follicles, into which a white opaque viscid fluid
is secreted. This secretion is discharged by ten or twelve
excretory ducts opening obliquely into the urethra, in a fur¬
row at the side of the verumontanum.
(808.) The urethra is a canal, lined by a mucous mem¬
brane, serving the double purpose of discharging the urine
and the semen. As it proceeds forwards from the neck of the
bladder, it passes through the prostate gland, on emerging
from which it becomes more contracted in its diameter, and
passes under the symphysis pubis. At this part, for the
length of about an inch, it is supported only by firm cellular Physiologf,
and ligamentous membranes; this part of the canal is term-
ed the membranous portion of the urethra. It is then di¬
lated into what is called the bulb, or sinus of the urethra ;
and it afterwards receives the ducts of several mucous glands,
which have been denominated the glands of Coicper, and
which are generally very minute, but sometimes have the
size of peas. One of these is placed on each side of the
membranous portion of the urethra, below which they are
united by an isthmus ; and the duct of each, about three
inches in length, opens by perforating the mucous membrane
lining the spongy body of the penis. Mucus is also furnished
to various parts of the canal by lacuna provided for that
purpose. At its bulbous part, the urethra takes a consider¬
able curve forwards, and is surrounded in the rest of its
course by a peculiar erectile texture, denominated the cor¬
pus spongiosum urethra. This substance is expanded, at
the extremity of the penis, into what is termed the glans,
which is covered by a fold of the skin called the prepuce.
The corpora cavernosa are the cylindrical bodies which com¬
pose the chief bulk of the penis. They arise by two crura,
one from each ascending ramus of the os ischii, and are
chiefly composed of the peculiar structure, termed the erec¬
tile tissue, (see § 434.) At its extremity, the urethra is
considerably narrower than where it passes along the cor¬
pus spongiosum.
(809.) These parts, namely, the glans and corpora caver¬
nosa penis, and the corpus spongiosum urethrae, consist prin¬
cipally of large convoluted veins, which in the last named
part are particularly dilated and branched, and are bound to¬
gether and crossed in various directions by ligamentous bands
and fibres. This arrangement, by obscuring the connexions
which the veins have with one another, as well as their tor¬
tuous course, has led to the mistake that has so long pre¬
vailed among anatomists, of ascribing to these bodies a
cellular structure. These bands appear to be provided
for the purpose of limiting the distention of the vessels,
and adding to the rigidity occasioned by the accumulation
of blood in the venous convolutions during erection. The
means by which the blood is made to pass from the small
arteries into these convoluted veins, is not clearly under¬
stood. Professor Muller2 has lately discovered a remarkable
set of minute dilated and ramified branches, which he terms
arteria helicina, and which are appended to the terminal twigs
of the arteries distributed on the sides and interspaces of the
venous cavities in the penis of man and several animals, and
which he represents as projecting into the interior of the veins,
and pouring their blood into them; a mechanism which
must doubtless have some direct relation with the pro¬
cess of erection. Dr. Houston3 has described some muscles,
under the name of compressores vena dorsalis penis, to the
contraction of which, and the consequent impediment to the
return of the blood from the penis, he attributes the erec¬
tion of that organ. It is more probable, however, that this
effect is produced principally by an altered action of the
blood-vessels themselves, and is analogous to the turgid state
of the vessels which occurs in blushing, than is owing to any
mechanical cause. The purpose served by the dilatation,
elongation, and rigidity of the male organ, effected by this
vascular action, is obviously that of enabling it to penetrate
to a sufficient distance into the female organs during coition,
for the conveyance of the semen to those parts of the latter
whose office it is to carry it on to the ovulum which it is in¬
tended to fecundate. With this view, the secretions from
the testes, vesiculm seminales, prostate gland, and the glands
of Cowper, are poured together into the bulb of the ure-
1 The whole length of the excretory vessels of the testes is very extraordinary. Their diameter has been stated to be no greater than
the 200th part of an inch ; and it has been estimated that the total length of the vessels which compose one of the testes amounts to more
than 500 feet. .7 • , t, i
* Archiv.fiir Physiol fyc. 1835. pp. *27 and 2*20. 3 Dublin Hospital Reports, vol. v.
Lysiology* thra, and thence expelled with force by the action of the
muscles called the ejaculatores seminis.
Lesemen, (810.) The seminal fluid, which acts so important a
jits ani.part in the process of generation, has at all times attract-
IJcules. e(j much attention. It is found to be considerably heavier
than water, to have a peculiar odour, which increases
on keeping; to exhibit alkaline properties, and to give
off ammonia when heated. From the analysis of Vauque-
lin, it appears that human semen contains six per cent,
of animal mucus, three of phosphate of lime, and one of
uncombined soda; the rest being water. The phosphate
of lime is deposited in crystals when the fluid is at rest.
But the most remarkable circumstance in its composi¬
tion is, the constant presence of an immense number of
microscopic animalcules, the form, appearances, and size of
which are different in almost every different animal; but in
each species of the more perfect animals, the kind of animal¬
cules, like that of the entozoa, is constant and determinate.
Leeuwenhoek claims the merit of having first discovered
them; but the priority of this discovery is assigned by Haller
to Ludwig Hamm, who, when a student at Leyden, is said
to have observed them in the year 1677. Another claimant
of the discovery is Hartsoeker,1 but apparently on no good
grounds. An account of the controversy that arose on this
subject, is given by Dr. Bostock.2 Doubts were at one time
entertained of the fidelity of the representations of these
singular beings given by Leeuwenhoek; but they have been
wholly removed by the later researches of Spallanzani, and
the still more recent inquiries of Prevost and Dumas. These
animalcules have a definite figure, consisting of a flattish
rounded head, from which proceeds a long tail, exhibiting
constant undulatory movements. They are accordingly class¬
ed by naturalists under the title o£spermatozoa, as a species
of the genus cercaria, among the infusoria.
(811.) It would appear from the elaborate researches of
Prevost and Dumas, that these spermatic animalcules are
found, at one time or other, in the semen of almost all the ani¬
mals in which they have been sought for; butat that period of
their life, and in that season of the year only, when the ani¬
mals in which they exist are fit for procreation. They are
almost always present in the fluid secreted by the testicles,
and very often in that of the vesiculse seminales, into which
they have doubtless been introduced along with the fluid
derived from the testicles. Hence it has been concluded,
that their presence is intimately connected with the power
of propagation ; and may even be essential to that process.
Wagner infers from his observations, that these animalcules
are subject to remarkable changes of form at different pe¬
riods, and that they even go through a regular gradation of
developement; and phenomena leading to the same conclu¬
sion have been observed by Dr. Allen Thomson.'’
jibertyin (812.) It is not until the period of puberty that the ge-
!; male, nerative organs are fully developed, and become capable in
either sex, of exercising their proper functions. Prior to
this period, the physical character of the two sexes is nearly
the same : there is the same delicacy of complexion, the
same high pitch of the voice, and the same slightness of fi¬
gure. But the developement of the sexual organs appears
to exercise a peculiar and specific influence over the system
at large, affecting the growth of the rest of the frame, and
modifying both its physical and mental powers. The at¬
tainment of this condition is more tardy, by two or three
years, in the male than in the female ; and the age at which
it takes place, differs in different climates, and in persons of
different temperaments, modes of life, and circumstances of
physical and moral education. It occurs at an earlier age
in southern than in northern climates ; in this country gene-
689
rally appearing in the male between the ages of fifteen and Physiology,
eighteen years ; and in the female from that of thirteen to
sixteen ; but in the hottest regions of the great continents,
girls are said to arrive at puberty at ten, or even at nine
years of age ; and in the northernmost parts of Europe, not
till that of from fifteen to eighteen. The arrival of this pe¬
riod is retarded by habits of active bodily exertion.
(813.) The characteristic changes induced by puberty
in the male besides the developement of the genitals, and
the secretion of the seminal fluid, are the enlargement of
the larynx, which changes the quality of the voice ; the
growth of the beard on the chin, upper lip, and cheek, and
of an increased quantity of hair on the rest of the body, and
especially on the pubes ; the enlargement of the chest and
shoulders ; an increase of physical activity and power ;
a greater capability of enduring fatigue; an exaltation of
the active powers of the mind, and of the qualities of cou¬
rage and resolution.
(814.) The act of sexual union is prompted by instinctive
feelings, experienced by both sexes, and which generally de¬
pend on the condition of the body, and of the genital organs
in particular, which are then in a state of high excitement.
This mental feeling, and the local affection appear to be in¬
timately associated together, and mutually produce one an¬
other. According to the doctrines of phrenology, the cere¬
bellum is supposed to be that particular part of the ence¬
phalon which presides over the sexual function ; and to be,
in a word, the sensorium commune of the feelings relating
to it; that is, the part to which impressions of a sexual kind
proceed, and from which all sexual desire emanates; and
to be the source of that power by which the generative or¬
gans execute their appropriate functions. Dr. Allen Thom¬
son, after enumerating the proofs alleged in favour of this
hypothesis,4 observes, that he is not inclined to adopt it as
established on sufficiently accurate and extensive data ; and
remarks, that the comparative anatomy of the brain, (in which,
rather than in experiments on animals, he would be dispos¬
ed to place much reliance, from the acknowledged difficulty
of making correct deductions as to function, from the effects
of morbid alteration or artificial injury of the encephalon,)
affords very few arguments in favour of the phrenological
doctrine, and furnishes several facts which militate strongly
against it. (See the article Phrenology.)
Sect. IV.—The Female System.
(815.) The female generative system of organs, having Female
to perform the offices of receiving, conducting, and applying generative
to the ovulum the seminal fluid, of conveying the ovum in- organs*
to a situation where it can be evolved and properly nou¬
rished, and of bringing it forth at the appointed period into
the world, is necessarily much more complicated and elabo¬
rate than the male system. The part performed by the male
is quickly accomplished, while the female has to execute a
long series of processes, which require a considerable time,
and are connected with important changes in the economy.
(816.) The ovaria, of which we have already described
the structure and offices, are connected with a hollow mus¬
cular organ, termed the uterus, matrix, or tvomb, by two
ducts, called, from the name of the anatomist who first de¬
scribed them correctly, the Fallopian tubes. They com¬
mence by a trumpet-shaped mouth, opening from the abdo¬
minal cavity, and of which the edges are fringed or jagged
with irregular filaments, or Jimbrice, as they are termed.5
The mouth of the Fallopian tubes are endowed with the
power, on certain occasions of venereal excitement, of at¬
taching itself to the adjacent ovarium, and of firmly grasping
it. The tubes, each of which is about five inches long, in
Essai de Dioptrique, art. 88, p. 227. a Elementary System of Physiology, p. 642, note.
3 Cydopcedia of Anatomy and Physiology, art. Generation, p. 460. ■* Cyclopaedia, fyc. p. 444.
5 This part has also been termed the morsus diaboli.
VOL. XVII. 4 g
PHYSIOLOGY.
600
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, their progress towards the uterus, soon contract in their dia-
- ' meter, and become exceedingly narrow at their termination
in the upper and lateral corner of the triangular cavity of
that organ. They are enclosed in the folds of the perito¬
neum which form the broad ligaments of the uterus.
(817.) The uterus itself is a compact, dense, membranous,
and fleshy organ, provided with a copious supply of blood¬
vessels, lymphatics, and nerves. It has the shape of a flat¬
tened pear, and is situated in the pelvis, between the rectum
and the urinary bladder. The outer surface of the uterus
is covered with a reflected portion of the peritoneum, which,
in passing from the sides of the uterus to the sides of the
pelvis, forms the broad ligaments already mentioned, or the
Ala Vespertilionis, as they have been called. It is also pro¬
vided with round ligaments, connecting it with the external
parts of the pubes. The inner surface of the uterus is lined
with a mucous membrane. The existence of muscular fibres
in its substance has been called in question by many anato¬
mists, and it is certainly difficult to demonstrate their pre¬
sence ; yet the extraordinary mechanical force which this
Oro-an exerts during parturition can scarcely be ascribed to
anv power but a muscular one.1 The parts of the uterus
are distinguished into the fundus, which is the bioad end
turned towards the abdomen, the body and the cervix, or
narrow end. The channel of the cervix uteri, which pro¬
ceeds from the lower angle of its triangular cavity, leads into
the vagina, which is an elastic membranous canal, opening
externally, and surrounding at its upper part the cervix uteri,
which forms a protuberance in its cavity, called the os uteri,
or os tincce, from its supposed resemblance to the mouth of
a tench. . . .
The membrane which lines the vaginal cavity is conti¬
nued from the mucous membrane of the uterus, but is thrown
into numerous folds and wrinkles, admitting of occasional^
dilatation of the canal. This is surrounded by a tissue, of
an erectile structure, termed plexus restiformis, or corpus
cavernosum vagince. .
(818.) The external parts are the mons veneris, which is
formed by an accumulation of adipose substance on the up¬
per part of the symphysis pubis. Below this are the labia pu-
ldendi, forming in their progress towards theanus, from which
they are divided by the perinceum, what was called by the
French anatomists fourchette. Between the labia is the
fossa magna, in the upper part of which is lodged the clito¬
ris, a small, round, and spongy organ, which is analogous
to the penis in its erectile structure, being composed of two
corpora cavernosa, arising from the tuberosities of the os
ischii, and terminating in an impervious glans, furnished with
a prepuce. The meatus urinarius, or orifice of the urethra,
which in the female is very short, opens immediately below'
the clitoris. From this part, on each side of the fossa, ex¬
tends the nymphee, or labia minora, which are membranous
and spongy folds. The vulva, or orifice of the os externum,
is in part closed by a transverse membrane, of a crescentic
form, called the hymen, the remains of which, after it has
been lacerated, compose the folds called carunculce myrti-
formes.
(819.) The changes which the female system undergoes
at the period of puberty are on the whole as considerable as
those of the male, although many of the external characte¬
ristics of the state of childhood are still retained, such as the
delicate texture and inferior developement of the general
frame, the large proportion of subcutaneous fat, smooth skin,
and want of prominence in the muscles of the trunk and
limbs. But the genital system undergoes a considerable and
rapid developement at this period, the breasts enlarge, the
pelvis becomes more capacious, and a peculiar periodical se¬
cretion, from the inner surface of the uterus, consisting of
a certain quantity of sanguineous fluid, is established. This Physiologj
process, which is termed menstruation, recurs at periods
nearly equal to a lunar month, and continues, with certain
intermissions, determined by the occurrence of pregnancy,
and the performance of the function of lactation, as long as
the organs are capable of bearing progeny, which is, on an
average, a term of thirty years. The fluid thus discharged
is generally believed to contain less fibrin than blood, and
to be less prone to putrefaction; it evidently contains a large
proportion of the colouring particles of the blood, and is very
seldom found to coagulate. The secretion amounts, on an
average, to six or eight ounces, and usually continues for
about four or five days, beginning and leaving off gradually,
and being most abundant towards the middle of the period.
The discharge in general takes place slowly, or drop by drop.
(820.) The effectual fecundation of the ovulum, which is Concep-
by this change converted into an ovum, and its removal to a tion.
situation where the embryo, then first brought into exist¬
ence, can be perfectly developed, constitute the process of
conception; but the exact nature of this process, as well as
the precise circumstances which must concur for its success¬
ful accomplishment, have been but very imperfectly ascer¬
tained. The investigation of these phenomena in the lower
animals, however, has rendered it extremely probable that
Graafian vesicles are continually being produced in the ova¬
rium, and come forwards at intervals, during the whole pe¬
riod of female fertility, and that they burst in succession,
and shed the contained ovula, whether sexual intercourse
take place or not, although there is reason to believe that
their maturity is hastened by this act. The consequence of
the bursting of one of these vesicles is the escape of the ovu¬
lum or ovum, as the case may be, and its passage down the
Fallopian tube into the cavity of the uterus. The lacerated
membrane of the vesicle closes, leaving a scar ; the inteinal
coat becomes thickened, and a yellow substance is deposit¬
ed in its cavity, giving rise to the appearance which has been
termed a corpus luteum. The presence of this substance is Corpus It
* r-prtnin indication of the previous bursting of a Graafian teum.
a certain indication of the previous bursting of a Graafian teum,
vesicle*
(821.) Much discussion has arisen on the question as to the
precise time when, and place where, the ovulum is impregnat¬
ed. There seems now, however, little reason to doubt that
the semen, immediatelv on its reception into the uterus, is
conveyed by the Fallopian tubes to the ovarium itself, and
then comes in contact with the exposed ovulum, which is
ready for fecundation. On the bursting of the vesicle, the
ovum is conveyed down the Fallopian tube, and anives at the
uterus, where the changes it next undergoes will be the sub¬
ject of future inquiry.
s
Puberty
and men¬
struation.
Sect. V.—Theories of Generation.
(822.) Having thus stated the provisions which have Hypodv
been made by nature for the fecundation of the ovulum, byses-
the concurrent offices of the two sexes, we may here exa¬
mine various speculations and opinions which, from time to
time, have been entertained relative to the nature of this
marvellous and mysterious process ; speculations which, al¬
though for the most part exceedingly hypothetical, and often
completely visionary, have been dignified with the appella¬
tion of theories of generation. This it is our intention to do
very briefly, and to notice only the more important of these
theories ; for the total number of hypotheses which have
been advanced on this subject is so great, that their mere
enumeration might occupy many pages. Drelmcourt, who
lived in the latter part of the seventeenth century, collect¬
ed from the writings of his predecessors as many as two
hundred and sixty-two “ groundless hypotheses” concerning
generation ; and nothing is more certain, observes u
Dr. Bostock lias given in bis Physiology an enumeration of the authors who have written on both sides in this contiovers), p. 648,
P H Y S I
.psiology. menbach, “ that Drelincourt’s own theory formed the two
hundred and sixty-third”
(823.) These theories may be arranged according as they
relate to the action of the parent organs, or to the changes
in the egg occurring during the formation of the new ani¬
mal ; and Haller divided the first of these classes into three
divisions, according as the offspring is supposed to proceed;
first, exclusively from the organs of the male parent, which
is the theory of the Spermatists; or, secondly, entirely from
those of the female, which is that of the Ovists; or, thirdly,
from the union of the male and female products, which is
the theory of Syngenesis. The second class, again, may
be arranged under two heads, according as the new animal
is supposed, first, to have its parts rendered visible, by their
being expanded, unfolded, or evolved from a previously ex¬
isting though imperceptible condition of the germ, which is
the theory of evolution ; or secondly, to be newly formed
from amorphous materials at the time when it makes its ap¬
pearance in the ovum, which constitutes the theory of Epi¬
genesis.
Of the (824.) The theory of the Spermatists regarded the male
erma- semen as furnishing all the vital parts of the new animal,
the female organs merely affording the offspring a fit recep¬
tacle and suitable materials for its nourishment, until it could
exist by the independent exercise of its own functions. One
of the earliest supporters of this hypothesis was Galen ; but
its modern revival dates from the period of the discovery of
the seminal animalcules, which were regarded by Leewen-
hoek as the proper rudiments of the foetus. They were even
considered by some to be miniature representations of men,
and were styled homunculi ; one author going so far as to
delineate in each, the body, limbs, features, and all the parts
of the grown human body. Even Leewenhoek describes
minutely the manner in which they gain the interior of the
ovum, and are retained after their entrance by a valvular
apparatus.
Of the (825.) The Ovists, comprising some of the older philoso-
■ists. phers, such as Pythagoras and Aristotle, maintained that the
female parent affords all the materials necessary for the for¬
mation of the offspring, the office of the male being merely
to awaken the dormant formative powers residing in the fe¬
male products. Malpighi and Harvey asserted that the ru¬
diments -of the foetus are derived principally from the female
ovum ; an opinion which was also elaborately defended by
Vallisneri.1
1 Of Syn- (826.) The theory of Syngenesis, or of the simultaneous
I ltSb. combination of products derived from both sexes, which af¬
ter sexual intercourse, are supposed to unite together to form
the germ, is also of very ancient date. In connexion with
this theory may be mentioned that modification of it which
may be termed the theory of metamorphosis, according to
which a formative substance is held to exist, but is allowed
to change its form, in order to be converted into the new
being; as also the hypothesis of Buffon, which was eagerly
adopted by Needham, who conceived that certain molecules
which they termed organic, and which they believed univer¬
sally to pervade plants and animals, were all endowed with
productive powers, which enabled them, when placed in
suitable situations, to attract one another, and to compose
by their union living organized bodies. They imagined, that
in the process of generation the superabundant portion of
these organic molecules were accumulated in the genera¬
tive organs, and there constituted the rudiments of the off¬
spring.
Ofevo- (827.) The hypothesis of evolution, or of pre-existing
t;on. germs, coincides with that of the Ovists, in considering the
foetus as solely the production of the female ; but it farther
O L O G Y. 691
assumes that it already exists, with all its organs, in some Bhysiulutry
part of the female system, previous to the sexual inter-
course ; and that it receives no proper addition from the
male semen, the action of which is merely that of exciting
the powers of the foetus, and of endowing it with vitality.
The observations of Haller with respect to the gradual en¬
largement or evolution of the chick during the process of
incubation, were conceived to lend great support to the ad¬
vocates of this theory, of whom the most strenuous and en¬
thusiastic was Bonnet. This naturalist, so celebrated for
the boldness of his speculations, contended, not only that
the whole of the parts of the foetus pre-exist in the ovum,
before they actually make their appearance, but that the
germs of all the animals which are in future to be born, also
pre-exist in the female parent; so that the ovaries of the
first parents of any species of animal, contained the germs
of all their posterity, included the one within the other, like
a nest of boxes; from which comparison he termed his the¬
ory that of “ emboitement? This extravagant notion was
adopted by many physiologists, principally from its afford¬
ing some kind of explanation of what no other theory seem¬
ed in the least adequate to solve. Spallanzani, in particu¬
lar, was a zealous defender of the hypothesis of pre-existing
germs. It appears, however, to be totally irreconcileable
with the phenomena of hybrid productions, and of the re¬
semblance which, in so many instances, the offspring bears
to its male parent.
(828.) We have already mentioned that Harvey and Mai- 5. Of Epi-
pighi ascribed the formation of the foetus principally to the geiicsiB.
powers of the female. This opinion gave origin to the mo¬
dern theory of Epigenesis, first clearly promulgated by Cas¬
par Frederick Wolff,2 3 who not only described a successive
production of organs, of the previous formation of which
there existed no trace ; but showed also, that after parts are
first formed, they undergo many important changes in their
shape and structure, before arriving at their finished state.
The more recent researches, aided by delicate microscopi¬
cal observation, of Meckel, Pander, Baer, Rathke, Oken,
Purkinje, and Valentin ; Serres, Rolando, Dutrochet, Pre-
vost and Dumas, Coste, and others, have demonstrated that
the theory of Epigenesis, or superformation of parts, is much
more consistent with the observed phenomena than that of
evolution. The facts which have thus been brought to
light, are of peculiar interest with reference to the plans of
nature, into which they give us a more extended insight,
by exhibiting new and unexpected affinities between remote
families and classes of animals; by showing that at one pe¬
riod the type of their formation is nearly the same, and by
explaining the seeming caprice of nature in instances of
monstrous and defective formation. But to attempt adduc ¬
ing the proofs and illustrations of these positions, would en¬
gage us into details requiring an extensive survey of the
whole animal creation, to enter into which would occupy more
space than is compatible with the limits of the present treat¬
ise. We must, therefore, content ourselves with referring,
for more ample elucidation of this subject, to the Bridge-
water Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology.5
Sect. VI.^-litero- Gestation.
(829-) On the arrival of the ovum in the cavity of the Utero-ges-
uterus, to which we have traced it in a preceding chapter, tation.
the first object of nature is to effect its attachment to a
portion of the inner surface of that organ. A provision for
this purpose has already been made, even while the ovum
w as contained in the ovarium. A vesicle, first noticed and
described by Dr. Barry, is formed around the ovum ; the
granules of the tunica granulosa become less densely ag-
1 T)eUa Generazione, part 2.
2 In his inaugural dissertation, entitled Theoria Generationis, published at Berlin in 1759.
3 Part iv. chap. ii. on Organic Eevelopemcnt; and chap. iv. on Unity of Design. Vol. ii. pp. 599, 625.
692 P H Y S I
PhysioJogy. gregated together, and gradually pass into the state of fluid
albumen; oil globules appearing for the first time to take
their place on the surface of the ovum. rlhis fluid he sup¬
poses to correspond to the yolk of the eggs of birds; and
the membranous vesicle above mentioned, in which it is
enclosed, and which thus forms after impregnation, he con¬
siders as the rudimental chorion, by which the ovum is af-
terwards attached to the uterus.
(830.) It results from these views, that mammalia differ
from oviparous animals in the circumstance, that those parts
of their ovum which are last formed, have a more internal
origin ; thus, the first portion of the albumen and the cho¬
rion of the ovum in mammalia, originate, not in the oviduct,
but in the ovary ; for which purpose, chiefly, there is pro¬
vided the very large quantity of albuminous fluid in the
Graafian vesicle ; a provision which may be presumed to
have especial reference to the developement of the embryo
within the body of the mother. The chorion, being form¬
ed in the ovary, it is an ovum, and not an ovulum, that is
expelled from that organ in mammalia. On the other
hand, in birds it is an ovulum, and not an ovum, that leaves
their ovary ; and it becomes an ovum, and receives an ad¬
dition of the albumen, or yolk, and the shell membrane in
their oviduct, and then becomes analagous in all its parts to
the ovum of the mammal when the latter leaves the ovari¬
um. The albumen, in the form of granules, lines the ovi¬
sac, constituting the membrana granulosa ; and in the form
of the Jlake it supports the ovulum in the centre of the fluid
of the ovisac, and afterwards supports it at the periphery of
the latter, sometimes in the form of the petasiolus granulo¬
sus, or cumulus of Baer. It closely invests the ovulum in
the form of the tunica granulosa ; it forms, in the rabbit
at least, and probably in other mammalia, two bands or
ligaments, termed the chalazce, which are conspicuous in
birds ; and finally, it also provides the granulous bands by
which, in some instances, too sudden a discharge of the
ovum of the Graafian vesicle is prevented.
(831.) Dr. Barry finds that the ova of the rabbit of five
or six days, when in the uterus, are in bulk about eight
thousand times that of the ovulum in the ovary, and have
three concentric membranes ; namely, first, an outer vesi¬
cle, (the villous chorion,) originating in the ovary ; second¬
ly, the primitive membrane of the yolk, distended so as to
fill the chorion; and, thirdly, an inner vesicle, or mem¬
brane, which has been called the blastoderma, or germinal
membrane, presenting in its substance a central spot, which
is the germinal spot, or embryo. Dr. Allen Thomson has
seen this spot very evident in the ova of a rabbit, on the
sixth day after impregnation. It corresponds exactly with
the part called the cicatricula in the egg of a bird, which
there lies immediately on the surface of the yolk, imbed¬
ded in a disc of granules. In the centre of the cicatricula,
a dark round spot is seen, termed the colliquamentum, which
contains a minute vesicle, discovered by Purkinje, and which
bears his name. This vesicle, which is seen in the ovulum,
afterwards bursts, and leaves in its place a thin and tender
transparent membrane. In the centre of this transparent
spot, may be perceived, seven or eight hours after the com¬
mencement of incubation, with* the aid of a magnifying
glass, a small dark line. This line, or primitive trace, as it
has been termed, is swollen at one extremity, and is plac¬
ed in the direction of the transverse axis of the egg. The
rounded end is towards the left, when the small end of the
egg is turned from us.
(832.) Having traced thus far the changes occurring in
the ovum before it becomes attached to the uterus, we shall
defer the consideration of the subsequent stages of its evo¬
lution to a future section, and here attend to the changes
O L O G Y.
which have in the mean time taken place in the uterus, with Physioloi? ' ^
a view to prepare it for the office it has now to perform. r/
(833.) A change has already taken place in the uterus, Placenta,
preparatory to the reception of the ovum, and before its ar¬
rival in that cavity. An increased flow of blood is direct¬
ed towards that organ. A substance consisting of lymph,
or organizable fibrin, exudes from its interior surface, fur¬
nishing it with a soft flaky lining, wffiich, when the ovum is
received, is reflected over that body, so as to give it a double
covering. These two folds, the one being in contact with
the uterus, and the other with the ovum, constitute the two
layers of the membrana decidua ; the former portion being
termed the decidua vera, and the latter, the decidua re-
fiexa. This membrane soon becomes organized, and high¬
ly vascular. The vessels in the progress of growth, are in
some parts much dilated, so as to form sinuses, which are
ultimately intermingled, though by no means continuous,
with the blood-vessels of the foetus. These latter blood¬
vessels, consisting of the umbilical arteries and veins, of
which the trunks are collected in the umbilical cord, have
passed to the chorion, which by the end of the first, and du¬
ring the second month of pregnancy, has acquired a villous
external surface. At the end of this period, the branches
of these vessels penetrate and ramify in these villi, which be¬
come thoroughly vascular ; and this thickening and vascu¬
larity is concentrated on one side of the chorion, generally
on that which is adjacent to the fundus of the uterus, form¬
ing the body called the placenta. This body is of a flat¬
tened oval shape, from six to eight inches in breadth, and
from an inch to an inch and a quarter in thickness at the
middle part, becoming thinner towards the edges. It oc¬
cupies about a fourth part of the chorion, and at birth is
about a pound in weight. In ruminant quadrupeds, the
substance corresponding to the human placenta, is confined
to a number of circular and spongy elevations, varying in
number from thirty to one hundred, which are termed coty¬
ledons. The human placenta is evidently formed of a
structure essentially the same, composed of many lobes con¬
solidated by contact into one organ. It has been very ge¬
nerally supposed that the placenta is of a cellular struc¬
ture, and that the arteries and veins of the uterus commu¬
nicate with its cells; but the late researches of Dr. Ro¬
bert Lee,1 renders it very doubtful if these inter-placental
cells really exist.
(834.) In proportion as the foetus grows, the uterus en¬
larges, and about the fifth month it rises out of the pelvis,
and rests against the front of the abdomen. As it enlarges,
the distinction between the body and the cervix is lost;
the os tincse is flattened, and forms only a small rugous hole,
not easily discernible ; and it is closed by a tough glutin¬
ous matter, which is fixed in the irregularities of the sur¬
face.
Sect. VII.—Parturition.
(835.) The ordinary period of utero-gestation is forty Parturi-
weeks ; on the expiration of which the uterus takes on itself1100-
a new kind of action ; its contractility, which had lain dor¬
mant for so long a time, is now suddenly and powerfully ex¬
cited. A mucous discharge takes place from the vagina, the
external passage is relaxed, and slight pains are felt in the
back and loins, which usher in the real pains of labour. These
are occasioned by powerful contraction of the uterus, accom¬
panied by a strong action of the diaphragm and abdominal
muscles ; and they are repeated at short intervals. Impell¬
ed by this pressure, the membranes of the foetus project into
the vagina, and dilate the os tincae ; on their bursting, the
liquor amnii escapes, and at the next pain the pressure of
the uterus falls directly on the foetus. The head of the
Philosophical Transactions for 1832.
PHYSIOLOGY.
■siology. foetus gradually descends, urged on by succeeding spasms,
•■V^the occiput foremost, the long axis of the head being dis¬
posed obliquely across the lesser basin of the pelvis. The
occiput, as the external parts yield, glides off the inclined
surface of the ischium, presenting at the orifice of the vul¬
va, and bringing at the same time the long diameter of the
shoulders to correspond with the greatest breadth of the pel¬
vis, and the head being thus disengaged, the trunk follows.
After a short time, fresh pains return, and the placenta and
membranes being detached from the uterus, comes away.
In the majority of natural births, labour is completed in from
four to six hours. The uterus then very slowly and insen¬
sibly contracts, so as to diminish the ample cavity which has
been rendered vacant, and at the same time its volume is re¬
duced by absorption. During the return of the uterus to
its former state, a discharge, at first tinged with blood, and
afterwards of a whitish colour, termed the lochia, ensues,
which lasts for several days.1
Sect. VIII.—Lactation.
Nation. (836.) The function by which nourishment is prepared,
of a nature suited to the early periods of infant life, belongs
to the reproductive class of functions. The fluid provided
for this purpose is the Milk, of which we have already ex¬
amined the chemical properties, and noticed the qualities
which peculiarly fit it for the purpose it is intended to serve.
The organs which prepare it are the mammce, which are
glands consisting of the union of a great number of lobes,
intermixed with adipose substance, and remarkable for the
whiteness and fineness of their texture. The numerous ex¬
cretory tubes from these lobules unite in forming ducts,
which open separately in the folds of the integuments of the
nipple. A remarkable sympathy is observed between this
gland and the uterus ; for it often enlarges and becomes ten¬
der for a few days before each monthly period. It enlarges
during the latter months of pregnancy, and the brown circle
surrounding the nipple, or areola, as it is called, assumes a
darker colour. The secretion of milk would naturally con¬
tinue until the middle of the second year, if the child were
retained at the breast as long as it was supplied. During
the period of suckling, the menstrual discharge is not re¬
newed, but pregnancy may, however, again take place, be¬
fore its recurrence.
Sect. IX.—Foetal Evolution.
al evo- (837.) In judging of the changes which take place in the
1 n. human embryo from the period when its evolution commen¬
ces, we must be guided principally by those which, oc¬
curring in the developement of that of the chick, furnish
the best means of following the whole succession of pheno-
ena. Commencing the inquiry, then, from the appearance
of the primitive trace in the blastoderma, or cicatricula, al¬
ready described, (§ 831,) we find this part gradually dilat¬
ing in bulk, and occupying a situation between the two lay¬
ers, namely, the outer and the inner, into which, towards the
twelfth or fourteenth hour of incubation, this cicatricula has
divided itself. The outer of these layers is called by Pan¬
der the serous layer ; and it subsequently gives rise to the
nervous, the muscular, the osseous, cartilaginous, and tegu¬
mentary systems of the body. The innermost, which is
situated in contact with the yolk, is the mucous foyer, whence
are derived the alimentary canal, and the glandular and pul¬
monary systems. A third layer, (the vascular layer,) is af¬
terwards formed in the interval between the two former, and
693
is the origin of the sanguiferous system of the foetus, includ- Physiology,
ing the heart and all the blood-vessels. The respiratoryv y
system is the product of the combined changes which this,
together with the last mentioned layer, undergoes.
(838.) The series of phenomena wliich present themselves
in following the succession of changes occurring during the
formation of the vital organs, are highly curious, and afford
the most splendid instances of that refined intelligence and
that provident adjustment of a long series of means for the
effectual accomplishment of future and far distant ends, which
strike us with profound astonishment when we penetrate' into
the remoter regions of physiology, removed from ordinary
observation. It would far exceed the limits within which
we must confine ourselves in the present treatise, to give
the detailed history of these organic changes. We must
content ourselves, therefore, with a brief outline of the prin¬
cipal phenomena, and with referring to works professedly
treating on this subject, for more copious information on this
highly curious department of physiology.2
(839.) On the outer surface of the serous layer, or that
most distant from the yolk, there are raised two parallel rid¬
ges, which, joining along their upper margins, form a canal; in
this canal, according to Baer and Serres, a semi-fluid mat¬
ter is deposited ; this matter, acquiring consistence, becomes
the spinal chord, with a pyriform extremity, which last is
the rudiment of the future head. Roland, Prevost, and Du¬
mas, on the other hand, suppose that the primitive trace is
itself the spinal cord and brain, in their rudimental state.
(840.) When the layers of the germinal membrane have Rudimen-
so far expanded as to cover nearly one-third of the yolk,tal intes-
they no longer retain their flat and uniform appearance, but1'116*
begin to exhibit various folds, which afterwards become the
difr'erent cavities of the body. Those of the mucous layer
turn downwards, and whilst its remote expansion includes
within it the yolk, as in a sac, the inner folds close inwards,
and by the union of their margins form two tubular cavities,
one at each end of the embryo, communicating in the mid¬
dle with each other, and also, by a common opening, with the
cavity of the yolk. This tube is the nascent alimentary canal.
(841.) rlhe first rudiment of the heart is perceptible at Vasculnr
the anterior part of the vascular layer, which, as we have al- area> and
ready stated, is developed between the serous and mucous
layers. In the mean time, the surrounding disc of the cica¬
tricula, which continues to expand, exhibits, in the circum¬
ference of the transparent area, which now becomes thicker
and more spongy, numerous irregular points and lines of a
dark yellow colour. These lines gradually extend, unite to¬
gether, first into small groups, and then into one net-work,
which composes the vascular area. The space they occu¬
py is terminated, on each side, by a circular vessel, of larger
size than the rest, the sinus or vena terminalis, into which
the smaller ramifications of the vessels open at the circum¬
ference, whilst towards the central part they unite into a ves¬
sel on each side, the two omphalo-meseraic arteries, which
penetrate into the vascular layer of the embryo.
(842.) Simultaneously with these changes, all the import- Of the
ant organs of the body are formed in rapid succession. The sPinal cor4
spinal cord and brain, of which we have noticed the firstan<^ hraiii.
traces, are quickly developed ; the former, appearing first
as a membranous tube, the latter, as three vesicular bodies;
and both being gradually filled with opaque nervous sub¬
stances of two kinds, the one being uniform, the other fila¬
mentous. The nerves next appear, but whether they are
generally formed in their entire length at once, or are
1 The above account of parturition is for the most part extracted from Mr. Mayo’s Outlines of Human Physiology, as presenting a very
clear and compendious account of the phenomena.
2 The reader will meet with much instruction on these subjects, in Dr. Allen Thomson’s papers on Embryology in the Edinburgh New
Philosophical Journal; in the Cyclopaedia of Anatomy and Physiology, by Dr. Todd ; and also in Mr. Mayo’s Outlines of Human Physiology,
chap. xv. sect. ii. We would also beg to refer to the summary contained in the Bridgewater Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology,
vol. ii. p. 599. The greater part of the summary given in the present article is abridged from Mr. Mayo’s work.
694
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, growths from the brain or spinal cord, or are first produce
at their farthest extremity, and afterwards extended towau s
the central organ, are points not yet determined, borne,
however, as the optic, auditory, and olfactory neives, aie
certainly productions from the cerebrum. The muscles be¬
come visible in the human embryo at the third month ; they
are then soft and gelatinous, transparent, of a light yellow
tint, and not distinguishable from their tendons. Each mus¬
cle is formed at once in its whole length, with its attach¬
ments perfect. The eyes are formed at a very early per¬
iod, and their growth is rapid ; they are situated at first at
the sides of the head, as in quadrupeds, and subsequently
move forwards. The iris has no central aperture, the place
of the pupil being occupied by the membrana piqnllams,
which disappears completely before birth, i he organ of
hearing is formed soon after the eye. The substance of the
bones is at first an homogeneous jeUy, enclosed in a mem¬
brane, and exhibiting no divisions into joints.
gradually becomes cartilaginous, the conversion taking place
from the surface inwards. It is gradually replaced by ossi-
fic matter, which grovrs from the interior, resembling a pro¬
cess of crystallization. Ossification begins in the human
embryo in the seventh week.
Of the skin (843.) The integument is the outermost fcetal product
and limbs, of the serous layer, which gradually spreads like, a mantle
over all the other structures, and does not acquire proper
strength till the middle of the fcetal period. At the end of
the fifth month the body is covered with short, whitish, and
silky down, which, however, disappears in the seventh month.
The hair of the head and of the eye-brows, and the nails,
are formed in the sixth month. About the fifth month thcie
appears on the body a yellowish-white greasy substance, at
first thinly, and afterwards more thickly spread, and termed
the vernix caseosa. The limbs are formed originally below
the skin, which they reach, pushing out like little globulai
shoots, in the sixth week. They originally grow straight out
from the trunk. The upper arm is next laid against the
breast, the fore-arm drawn upwards ; the thigh is bent, up
to the belly, the leg drawn backwards towards the thigh,
and the feet turned in, and crossed, with the soles turned
inwards. When the fingers are first formed, they are con¬
tained in a common mitten of skin, which, gradually be¬
coming thinner between them, forms a web, which is finally
absorbed. ,
Amnios. (844.) Another product of the serous layer is one still
more external than the integument of the foetus, and con¬
sisting of a sac formed by a membrane reflected from the
sides and from either extremity of the embryo, so as to en¬
close a space behind its body, This is the amnios, which
forms a loose bag filled with a liquid (the liquor amnii) in
which the fcetus floats, suspended by the umbilical cord. As
the walls of the trunk close in front, the circular edge by
which the amnios is attached to the body of the embryo be¬
comes proportionably contracted ; and it is finally limited
to the umbilical opening, hereafter to be noticed.
The communication which we described as being left be¬
tween the intestinal tube and the cavity of the yolk bag, or
vitelline sac, and which in birds continues open, soon be¬
comes closed in mammalia, the sac assuming the form of the
intestinal vesicle, discovered as such by Bojanus in the ovum
of the sheep ; though it had been before seen and known
by the name of vesicula alba ; it disappears by the third
month.
Glands. (845.) The glandular organs which communicate with the
alimentary canal are formed by the extension oi its mucous
membrane in the form of tubular productions, shooting into
small masses of matter lodged in its neighbourhood; the
blind ends of the tubes being often dilated into spherical
pouches. The gall bladder is, in like manner, formed by
the extension of a tube, which not being received into a
mass of elementary matter, enlarges into a simple sac.
(846.) The lungs are regarded as another expansion ofPbysiolog
the mucous layer of the germinal membrane, growing from
the back part of the oesophagus, and gradually advancing bungs,
on either side of the aorta, so as at length to surround it.
(847.) The kidneys are preceded in the embryo by a Kidneys,
substance first noticed by Wolff, and called after him the
Wolffian bodies, or false kidneys, which originally extend
the whole length of the spine, from the heart to the end of
the intestines ; but they become afterwards shorter, and,
after a time, diminishing by absorption, wholly disappear.
They appear to be subservient to the developement both of
the true kidneys and of the testes and ovaria. The bladder
and urethra, on the other hand, together with the external
genitals, are formed partly out of a developement of the
extremity of the intestine, and partly by fissure and folding
of the integument, in the following manner. ,
(848.) There is first the production of a bag of consider- AllantoiJ
able length, called the allantois, from the intestine, or that
part of it which may be considered as the cloaca ; subse¬
quent contractions of the sides of this sac, at different parts,
next divides it into two cavities, the proper allantois and the
urinary bladder ; and the lower contraction is elongated into
the canal of the urethra. The separation between the two
former afterwards closes, and the coalesced membrane forms
the ligament termed the urachus. The urethral tube never
closes. |
(849.) The testes and ovaries appear in mammalia about Genitals
the same time at the inner and fore part of the Wolffian bo¬
dies, attached to them by a fold of the peritoneum. From
each testis or ovary there descends to the internal ring a
membranous process, which in the male is called the guber-
naculum, and in the female constitutes the round ligament.
It passes, in either sex, along the spermatic passage to the
filamentous tissue of the scrotum or labium. The ovaries
descend to the brim of the pelvis ; the testes pass through
the ring into the scrotum.
(850.) Every organ begins to be formed without either B ood-ve
blood, or blood-vessels; the circulation in them being esta-sels.
blished solely for the purpose of subsequent growth and
perfection. Even the heart is formed and shaped, and its
texture has acquired some degree ot consistency, and it dis¬
plays an undulatory motion, before the blood has reached
it. We have already described the formation of vessels and
of blood in the vascular area; but the blood is at first mo¬
tionless. It afterwards finds its way from thence by the
omphalo-mesenteric veins to the heart, whence it is expell¬
ed along the aorta, and thence again carried into the vas¬
cular area ; thus establishing a simple circulation. In a few
days arterial branches extend from the aorta, and vena; cava;
are formed, establishing the systematic circulation. . Five
pair of branchial vessels are formed from the aorta in the
neck, the oesophagus being between the branches on each
side, and there are also four openings in the neck of the
embryo on each side. This single heart, branchial arches,
and openings, are permanent parts of the structure in fishes.
In the mammalia, these branchial clefts soon, close ; the
heart becomes separated by the growth of partitions in cac i
ventricle and auricle, into two separate cavities, and t e
artery is divided, in like manner, into an aorta and pulmo¬
nary'artery. Some of the arches then disappear; others
become permanent aortic, and others permanent pulmonary
branches ; and the fcetus is becoming prepared for pulmo¬
nary respiration. , tt IT,
(851.) The amnios, closing upon the shrunk urachus, Umbiiic
forms with the umbilical artery and veins, and a connect-cor •
ing gelatinous tissue, the umbilical cord, or navel-string,
connecting the foetus with the placenta, which, as we have
before seen, is formed by a thickened portion of the c on-
The umbilical vein distributes part of its blood to tne
on.
liver, and then, under the name of the ductus venosus, joins
the inferior cava, through which the mixed blood ot the p a
PHYSIOLOGY.
ysiology. centa and of the inferior part of the body is carried into the
right auricle of the heart. Part of this blood passes direct¬
ly from the right to the left auricle through the foramen
ovale, which is an aperture in the yet imperfect septum of
the auricles ; the remainder, with the exception of the small
quantity transmitted to the yet imperfectly developed lungs,
passes from the pulmonary artery, through the ductus ar¬
teriosus directly into the aorta. The offices of the placenta
are supposed to be those^ first, of introducing nourishment,
transmitted by imbibition from the maternal to the fcetal
blood, through the membranes of the interjacent vessels of
the mother and the fetus; and, secondly, of oxygenating
the blood of the fetus by imparting to it oxygen from the
same source. It has been supposed by many that the fetus
derives sustenance from the liquor amnii which surrounds
it, and which might be introduced through the mouth into
the stomach ; but this opinion is now very generally aban¬
doned. It is true, however, that the stomach of the fetus
usually contains a considerable quantity of ropy mucus,
but without albumen. This last substance is found in the
contents of the duodenum,1 and the great intestines contain
a green matter termed meconium, which has the appearance
of being the refuse of a kind of digestion. It has been con¬
jectured that the thymus gland has some relation to the
function of fetal assimilation.
695
CHAP. XIX.
-PROGRESSIVE CHANGES IN THE ANIMAL
ECONOMY.
anges in
progress
ife.
(852.) We have now traced the history of the changes
which the human system undergoes, from the earliest rudi-
mental state in which it exists in the embryo, through the
period of its fetal life, to the epoch of its birth ; when it is
ushered into the world, with organs fitted for maintaining
a comparatively independent existence, yet still requiring
the most tender offices and most fostering care of that pa¬
rent, of whose system it had so long formed a part, and
from which it has been so recently dissevered. To follow
the narrative of the successive alterations which take place
during the growth of the system, the proportional develope-
ment of its several organs, and the acquisition of its various
powers, both corporeal and mental, during all the subse¬
quent epochs, filling up the interval between the cradle and
the grave, composes a long chapter in human physiology,
and would occupy too large a space for the present treatise.
All that we can pretend to attempt must be a faint sketch
of the outlines of this “ strange eventful history.”
(853.) The greatest of all the changes which occur in
the animal existence of every human being, is its emerg¬
ence from the state in which it was dependent for its im¬
mediate supply of nourishment and of oxygen on the blood
which is circulating in the vessels of its parent. On its
birth, which cuts off the placental circulation, all these ties
are at once dissevered. A new element surrounds it, from
which it is in future to derive the principle that maintains
its vital energies. The placental supply is superseded by
respiration; and the first gasp of air received by an in¬
stinctive effort into its lungs alters at once the whole cha¬
racter of its organic constitution. It is now a breathing ani¬
mal ; and all the channels and passages, which had till then
been adapted to a different mode of being, have now be¬
come useless, or rather worse than useless, and they must
give way to a new order of processes, and a new mechan¬
ism of the hydraulic functions. The ductus venosus, the
foramen ovale, and the ductus arteriosus are superseded in
their functions, and must be speedily closed and obliterat¬
ed, in order to give place to new courses of circulation and
a new order of functions.
(854.) Besides these changes, which, being consequent
on the sudden exercise of the new function of respiration, Physiology,
are immediate, the whole organization rapidly conforms1 — — '
itself to the great alteration of the circumstances in which
it is now placed. As the growth of the fetus had been
progressively becoming more and more rapid in proportion
as the term approached when it was to be ushered into the
world; so, on the other hand, the growth of the body is
greatest in the earliest periods of its extra-uterine life, and
becomes more and more slow in proportion as it advances
to the full dimensions it is destined to attain. The princi¬
pal anatomical changes which follow birth, besides those
already stated, are the gradual obliteration of the thymus
gland, and of the renal capsules.
(855.) The natural term of lactation is succeeded by that
of teething; the first set of teeth, or the milk teeth, being
furnished by nature as temporary structures, until instru¬
ments of greater dimensions can be constructed in the en¬
larged jaws. The appearance of the teeth is an intimation
that the organs of assimilation are prepared for the diges¬
tion of solid food ; and that the proper period for weaning
is arrived. &
(856.) From this period an accurate observer may per¬
ceive that the intellectual education keeps pace with the phy¬
sical : whilst the active exercise of the limbs consolidates
the bones, and gives firmness to the muscles, that of the
senses is continually adding to the store of ideas, and call¬
ing forth the latent powers of the understanding. The mo¬
ral faculties are developed much earlier than is generally
imagined; and the future character of the individual often
receives a permanent impress from the events of infancy.
INIo one can have watched its varying aspect at this tender
age, without recognising how early its affections are called
forth towards its protector and fosterer ; how quick is the
distinction it makes between kind and unkind treatment,
and how keen is its sense of the least injustice which it may
have either to bear or to witness.
(857.) To the periods of infancy and childhood succeeds
that of puberty, which we have seen is attended in either
sex with remarkable changes, both physical and moral.
During the period of increase the powers of assimilation
are in full activity in furnishing a sufficiency of materials for
growth ; the circulation is vigorously employed in applying
them to that purpose; and the supply is even more abun¬
dant than the consumption. When, however, the fabric has
attained its prescribed dimensions, the total quantity of
nourishment furnished and expended being nearly balanced,
the vital powers are chiefly exerted in consolidating and per-
ecting the organization of every part, and qualifying them
for the continued exercise, during a long succession of years,
of those functions of which we have given the history in the
preceding part of this treatise.
(858.) But, in the mean time, the process of consolidation,
begun from the earliest period of developement, is still ad¬
vancing, and is producing in the fluids both greater thick¬
ness, and a diminution of their total quantity. By the gra¬
dual conversion of their gelatin into albumen, all the textures
acquire increasing solidity ; the cellular substance becomes
firmer and moie condensed, and the solid structures more
rigid and inelastic. The contractile power of the muscles
is also impaiied ; and the limbs no longer retain the elastic
spring of youth. All these progressive modifications of
structure tend slowly, but inevitably, to disqualify the or¬
gans for the due performance of their functions. Their
vascularity gradually diminishes ; for a large proportion of
the arteries which had been actively employed in building
the fabric, being now thrown out of employment, contract,
and, becoming impervious, disappear. The parts of the
body, having acquired greater rigidity, oppose a gradually
increasing resistance to the propelling force of the heart,
See a paper by Dr. Robert Lee, in the Philosophical Transactions for 1829.
696
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, which is itself, in common with all the other vital powers,
slowly diminishing. The absorbents are now active in re¬
moving the parts which have become useless or superfluous.
Old age steals on by slow and imperceptible degrees, which,
even when obvious to others, are unknown to ourselves.
But nature kindly smooths the path along which we descend
the vale of years, and conducts us by easy stages to our
destined place of repose. When death is the simple conse-
quence of old age, we may perceive that the extinction of
the powers of life observe an order the reverse of that which
was followed in their evolution. The sensorial functions,
which were the last perfected, are the first which decay ;
and their decline is found to commence with those mental
faculties more immediately dependent on the physical con¬
ditions of the sensorium, and more especially with the me¬
mory, which is often much impaired whilst the judgment
remains in vigour. The heart, the pulsations of which gave
the first indications of life in the embryo, generally retains
its vitality longer than any other organ ; but its powers be¬
ing dependent on the constant oxidation of the blood in the
lungs, cannot survive the interruption of this function, and
on the heart ceasing to throb, the death of every part of the
system may then be considered as complete.1
temperaments in conformity with this arrangement, in whichPhysiok,
these functions were conceived respectively to predominate. f
CHAP. XX. TEMPERAMENTS.
Tk'finition
of tempera,
ment.
(859.) In the natural and healthy condition of the system,
• all its functions are nicely adjusted and proportioned to
each other, so as to produce the most perfect harmony.
Yet within the limits of health variations are admissible in
this balance of functions, according as some predominate
over others in regard to energy and activity ; or rather, ac¬
cording as there prevails a tendency to such predominance,
which, though it does not actually overset, may yet endan¬
ger the preservation of that balance which constitutes health,
and may thus give at least a proneness to disease. This
peculiar state of the system, depending on the relation be¬
tween its different capacities and functions, by which it
acquires a tendency to certain modes of action, is called its
Temperament.
(860.) Much attention was paid by the ancients to the
subject of temperaments ; and the nomenclature they esta¬
blished to express the various combinations of peculiarities
in the constitution, corresponding with the definition above
given, has continued in general use even to the present day.
They described four temperaments, corresponding to the
four qualities of hot, cold, moist, and dry, ascribed to the
human frame by Hippocrates, and which were supposed to
confer the specific characters to the four ingredients of which
the blood was thought to be composed ; namely, the red
part, the phlegm, the yellow, and the black bile respectively ;
and hence were derived the names of the sanguine, the
phlegmatic, the choleric, and the melancholic temperaments,
as indicating an excess of each of these principles..
(861.) In modern times the ancient doctrine of tempera¬
ments was adapted to the humoral pathology, by which all
the deviations from the standard of health were attempted
to be explained. Boerhaave, reasoning on these principles,
and considering the several temperaments as being formed
by different combinations of the four cardinal qualities, in¬
creased their number to the eight following: namely, the
warm, cold, moist, dry, bilious, sanguine, phlegmatic, and
(862.) Most of the modern physiologists, however, fol¬
lowing the example of Cullen, have adopted the four tem¬
peraments of Hippocrates, which are characterized by the
following peculiarities:
(863.) The Sanguine temperament is distinguished by Sanguin
a full habit and relaxed frame of body; by a greater vas¬
cularity, softness and delicacy of skin, in which the veins
are of considerable size, and are particularly conspicuous by
their blue colour, as seen through the thin layers of the skin.
The surface of the body generally, and more especially the
face, exhibits a florid and ruddy colour. The hair is gene¬
rally of a light brown; but has often a yellow, and some¬
times a reddish hue. Persons endowed with a sanguine
temperament are acutely sensitive, and highly irritable :
their pulse is frequent, indicating the general rapidity and
energy of the circulation. Both the secretions and excre¬
tions" are abundant, and little liable to obstruction. The
disposition is free and open; the temper cheerful, and ra¬
ther disposed to levity.
(864.) A remarkable contrast to the temperament just MelancJ
described is presented by the melancholic temperament,'k.
which is marked by a firm and robust frame, and a spare
habit of body ; by an integument of greater thickness, and
of a brown and swarthy hue ; and by an abundance of dark
or black hair, which being particularly conspicuous in the
eye-brows and beard, and being conjoined with a black co¬
lour of the iris, imparts to the countenance a stern and
sombre aspect. In persons endowed with this temperament
the pulse is habitually slower than the average condition ;
the blood is thicker and more sluggish ; the secretions and
the excretions are less copious, and more apt to be morbidly
deficient than with the generality of men. The nervous
system is, on the whole, less sensitive and excitable ; but
the mind, although not readily moved, when once set in
motion, is remarkably retentive of its impressions, and tena¬
cious of its purposes ; persevering and indefatigable in ac¬
tion, ardent and constant in its affections; possessing great
capacity of understanding, with a fondness for contempla¬
tion, and for speculative inquiries demanding profound
thought. The temper is naturally grave, and often gloomy;
the fancy imaginative, and of a poetic turn, but tinctured
w ith melancholy, and betraying a proclivity to madness;
when happily tempered, it exhibits that fortunate combina¬
tion of genius and industry from which have resulted the
noblest achievements of the human intellect.
(865.) The Choleric temperament would seem to occupy Choleri.
a place intermediate between the two former, as partaking
of some of the qualities of both. The frame is more re¬
laxed, the senses more excitable, and the mind more irras-
cible than in the melancholic temperament. The complexion
is less ruddy than in the sanguine temperament, and the
pulse stronger and more frequent; the secretions are more
copious, and the skin fairer and less hairy than in the me¬
lancholic temperament.
(866.) The Phlegmatic temperament is denoted by a re- Phlegm
laxed and feeble frame, prone to obesity; a pallid com¬
plexion, a smooth integument, with but few hairs, that on
the head being of a light colour. The circulation generally
is languid, the pulse slow and weak, the blood-vessels less
capacious, the fluids more bland and watery. The functions
atrabilious. Darwin, endeavouring to found his doctrine of of digestion, secretion and excretion, are performed slowly,
temperaments on varieties, in the vital actions of the system, and are liable to frequent impediments. The mind is dull,
which he had classified as referring to the four heads of sluggish, disposed to indulge in sleep; not easily moved,
irritation, sensation, volition, and association, formed four timid, inclined to fear, and prone to avarice.
1 For more ample details on the subject of the changes which take place in the progress of age, see the article Age in the Cyclopadia oj
•acticul Medicine, and also the chapter on the Decline of the System in the Bridgewater Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology,
i a Gin
Practical
vol. ii. p. 619.
PHYSIOLOGY. 697
bysiology. (867.) Dr. Gregory has added to these four tempera-
naents a fifth, which he denominates the nervous tempera-
ervous raent, and which owes its peculiarities to the sensibility of
mpera' the nervous system existing in an undue proportion to the
contractility of the muscles ; conjoining the qualities of ex¬
citability and of debility. Such an union of qualities, how¬
ever, is compatible with the characteristics of other tem¬
peraments, but occurs more commonly in the sanguine,
whether existing in its purest form, or blended with the
phlegmatic ; and it is found exemplified chiefly among those
whose occupations are sedentary, and who lead a life of
ease and luxury.
(868.) These several temperaments are found variously
modified by occasional intermixture in different degrees
with one another. Thus, the phlegmatic is often conjoined
with the sanguine, and sometimes with the melancholic
temperaments; and observation will readily suggest exam¬
ples of other similar combinations. The predominance of
each of these temperaments varies at different periods of
life. At an early age the system inclines more to the san¬
guine; in middle life, to the choleric; and at a more ad¬
vanced age, to the melancholic temperament. They admit
also of being variously influenced and modified by climate,
habits, and education ; and accordingly each is found to pre¬
vail amongst particular tribes and nations, and in particular
regions of the globe.
CHAP. XXI. VARIETIES OF THE HUMAN SPECIES.
ingleness (869.) It has been a question much agitated amongst na-
ithehu- turalists, whether the differences observable in the com-
anspe- p]exion? features, and the intellectual and moral endow¬
ments of different tribes and nations which are found scat¬
tered over the surface of the globe, are sufficiently great to
mark an original diversity of species, or whether they cor¬
respond merely to the character of varieties taking place in
a single original race, analogous to those we behold in many
domesticated animals, such as the dog, the horse, and the
sheep, and therefore affording no objection to the hypothesis
that every individual composing the human race belongs
really to one and the same species. To Blumenbach be¬
longs the merit of being the first who entered with a philo¬
sophical spirit into the investigation of this great problem.
The generally prevailing opinion at present is, that all man¬
kind are the descendants of the same original stock; and
are therefore to be considered as members of the same family.
| arieties. (870.) It is a matter of considerable difficulty to establish
an accurate classification of the different varieties into which
the human race should be divided. Blumenbach, who, from
having devoted to it much labour and attention, is justly
considered as the highest authority on this subject, has fix¬
ed the number of these varieties at five ; though, as Mr.
Lawrence observes, these five races ought perhaps rather
to be considered as principal divisions, each of them includ¬
ing several subordinate varieties. M. Bory de St. Vincent,
in his Treatise on Man, extends the number of primitive va¬
rieties to fifteen. Cuvier, on the other hand, is inclined to
refer all the varieties in the race to three principal heads,
considering the others as merely modifications of these.
(871.) The five varieties which Blumenbach has pointed
out, are designated by the terms Caucasian, Mongolian,
Ethiopian, American, and Malay. He regards the Cau¬
casian race as the primitive stock, or as the standard and
type of the rest. It appears, indeed, to occupy an interme¬
diate place between the Mongolian race, on the one side,
and the Ethiopian on the other, which latter races are the
most widely different from each other. The American va¬
riety has been considered as intermediate between the Cau¬
casian and the Mongolian ; and the Malay race as interme¬
diate between the Caucasian and the Ethiopian. The various
intermixtures which have taken place between these seve-
vou. XVII.
ral races, in different parts of the world, render it very diffi- Physiology
cult, at the present day, to draw those precise lines of dis-
tinction which have probably, in remoter times, character¬
ized the primitive races now enumerated. Thus, in Asia,
we find considerable mixtures of the Caucasian with the
Mongolian races; whilst in Africa, the Caucasian race has
in various instances been blended with the Ethiopian.
(872.) The following are the circumstances by which i. Cauca-
these several varieties are characterized:—1. The Cauca- siaa.
sian races are distinguished by the general whiteness of the
skin ; the fairer complexions exhibiting a roseate tint, par¬
ticularly conspicuous in the cheeks, and derived from the
abundance of blood circulating in the vessels, and the darker
races inclining to a brown, and by the abundance and soft¬
ness of the hair, which is either black, or of a lighter ches-
nut colour, occasionally inclining to red. The cranium is
large and oval, and developed especially about the fore¬
head ; the face comparatively small, and falling perpendi¬
cularly underneath the forehead. The features are distinct
from each other; the nose narrow, and frequently aqui¬
line ; the mouth small; the front teeth in both jaws have a
perpendicular direction; the lips, particularly the lower
one, are gently turned outwards; the chin is full and
rounded, and the general contour of the face has an oval
form, and is broader in the upper than in the lower portion.
This is the race in which the moral and intellectual ener¬
gies of man have risen to a higher degree of excellence
than in any other; and it is the race which has at all times
been the most susceptible of cultivation and improvement.
The hope may indeed be entertained that it is yet far from
having arrived at the highest point in these respects which
it is destined to attain.
(873.) 2. The Mongolian races are characterized by a 2. Mongo-
complexion approaching to an olive colour; the eyes being ha“-
black ; the hair also black, strong, and straight; the beard
thin and scanty ; and the head of a form somewhat square ;
the cheek bones large and prominent; the forehead low ;
the face broad; the features flattened, and running toge¬
ther ; the nose small and flat; the aperture of the eye¬
lids narrow, and the orbits situated obliquely; the lips
thick; the chin slightly projecting; the ears large. The
stature of most of the nations belonging to this race is, in
general, inferior to that of Europeans.
(874.) 3. The Ethiopian or negro race is marked by the 3. Ethio-
lateral compression of the skull, which is elongated for- pian.
wards ; by the prominence of the cheek bones, the narrow¬
ness and projection of the jaws, and the recession of the
chin. The forehead is low, and vei*y slanting; the eyes
prominent; the nose broad, thick, and flat; the lips, the
upper one especially, thick; the upper front teeth ai'e ob¬
lique ; the hair black and woolly; the legs are long and
slender; the calf especially is small, and the knees are bent
inwards ; the arms are longer than in the other races.
(875.) 4. The Aboriginal American race is remarkable 4. Ameri-
for the red colour of the skin, the strong and straight black riean.
hair, the scanty beard, and low forehead, the deeply sunk
eyes, and the round and prominent cheek bones. The mouth
is large, the lips thick, and the face in general broad and
square; characters which assimilate this race with the Mon¬
golian, from which, however, it is sufficiently distinguished
by the colour of the skin, and the projection of the features,
especially of the nose.
(876.) 5. The Malay variety of the human species varies 5. Malay,
considerably in the colour of the skin, from a light tawny
brown, to one approaching to black. The head is narrow ;
the bones of the face are large and prominent; the mouth
large ; the nose full and broad at the point. The hair is
black, and more or less curling.
The following account of the filiation of the different races, Their dis¬
and of their distribution over the globe, is given by Cuvier, tribution.
(877.) The Caucasian race has been so named from its
4 T
698
PHSYIOLOGY.
Physiology presumed origin in the western part of Asia, in the neigh-
' bourhood of the Caucasian chain of mountains, which are
situated between the Caspian and the Black Seas ; whence
it has spread as from a centre to the adjacent parts of the
Asiatic, European, and African continents. T.he present
inhabitants of these regions, namely, the Circassians and
the Georgians, are reputed to be still the handsomest race
on earth. The principal ramifications from the primitive
stock, may be most satisfactorily traced by following the
analogies of the languages of the nations which have pro¬
ceeded from it. Thus, the Armenian, or Syrian branch,
proceeded southwards, and gave rise to the Assyrian and
Chaldean nations ; and also to the Arabians, who, after the
era of Mahomet, aspired to the empire of the world. The
Phoenicians, Jews, and Abyssinians maybe regarded as Arab
colonies, to which class also the Egyptians may probably be
referred.
(878.) The branch giving origin to the Indian, Germa¬
nic, and Pelasgic tribes was far more widely spread, and
became subdivided at a much remoter period of antiquity.
Among the four principal languages which prevailed among
the nations composing these races, namely, the Sanscrit, the
ancient Pelasgic, the Gothic or Teutonic, and the Sclavo¬
nic, we may trace the most multiplied affinities. The pri¬
mitive Sanscrit is still preserved as the sacred language of
the Hindoos, and is the model on which all the existing lan¬
guages of Hindostan have been formed. The Pelasgic is
the primitive source of the Greek, of the Latin, and of many
other tongues now extinct, but from which most of the
present languages of the south of Europe have been deiiv-
ed. The Teutonic has given rise to the languages of the
northern and the western nations of Europe, such as the
German, the Dutch, the English, the Danish, the Swedish,
together with their various dialects. From the Sclavonic
tongue are derived those of the north-east of Europe,
namely, the Russ, Polish, the Bohemian, and the Vendean.
(879.) It is amongst this latter extensive race that philo¬
sophy, sciences, and the arts, have been most assiduously
cherished, and have been carried to their highest states of
perfection. This race had, in Europe, been preceded by
the Celtic tribes, which originally came from the north, and
were formerly widely spread, but which are now confined
to very narrow spaces in the west of Europe and Africa, and
are nearly effaced by continued intermixture with the nu¬
merous races which have supplanted them.
(880.) The ancient Persians have a similar origin with
the Indians ; and their descendants at the present time,
bear the strongest marks of affinity to the modern Europe¬
an nations.
(881.) The Scythian or Tartaric branch, first directed
itself towards the north and north-east, and composed the
wandering tribes which traversed the immense plains of
Tartary. In later times, become more numerous, they re¬
turned to spread devastation amongst the flourishing esta¬
blishments of their more civilized brethren. The irrup¬
tions of the Scythians in Upper Asia, of the Parthians, who
overthrew the domination of the Greeks and Romans in
those regions; of the Turks, who destroyed that of the Arabs,
and reduced to subjection the miserable remnant of the
Greek nations in Europe ; all proceeded from the overflow¬
ings of the northern swarms from this common race. The
Finlanders and the Hungarians, which belong to this race,
may be regarded as stragglers from these swarms, amidst
Sclavonic and Teutonic tribes. On the northern and east¬
ern coasts of the Caspian Sea, the original cradle of these
races, there are still found tribes which have the same com¬
mon origin with the former, and which speak a similar lan¬
guage ; but they are variously intermixed with a great num¬
ber of other smaller tribes, differing from them both in lan¬
guage and in origin.
(882.) The Tartarian tribes have remained more free
from mixture, along the whole of that extensive tract whence Physiologr
they long defied the power of Russia, but to which they
have at length been forced to submit; namely, from the
mouths of the Danube, to the countries beyond those of the
Irtish. But the conquests of the Mongols have led to con¬
siderable blending of the two races among the Tartarian
nations.
(883.) The Mongolian race inhabits the remoter regions
of Asia, extending from the eastern parts of the continent,
where the Tartar branch of the Caucasian race terminates,
to the Eastern Ocean. The different branches of this Mon¬
golian race, such as the Calmuc Tartars, and the Kalkas,
have no settled residence, but are wandering tribes over the
extensive deserts of Eastern Asia. Thrice have their an¬
cestors carried far and wide the terror of their arms ; first,
under Attila ; next under Genghis Khan ; and, lastly, under
Tamerlane. The Chinese are an ancient branch of this
family, which was very early trained to a high degree of
civilization ; at a period, indeed, apparently more remote
than that to which our most ancient histories extend. The
Manchew Tartars, who have recently achieved the conquest
of China, are a third branch of the same Mongolian race.
The Japanese, the Coreans, and almost all the hordes which
extend to the north-east of Siberia, under the dominion of
Russia, belong also to the same division of the human spe¬
cies.
The original seat of this widely-spread race appears to be
the chain of the Altai mountains, the central ridge of Asia;
in the same way that the race to which we belong was de¬
rived from the inhabitants of mount Caucasus; but it is
quite impossible to unravel the complicated filiation of these
various tribes. The history of these wandering people is
as evanescent as their establishments ; and even that of the
Chinese, confined as it is to the limits of their empire, sup¬
plies only brief and unconnected notices of the surrounding
nations. The affinities of their languages are too imper¬
fectly known to afford any clue for our guidance in this
mighty labyrinth.
(884.) The languages of the north of the Indian penin¬
sula, beyond the Ganges, as well as that of Thibet, have
some relations with the Chinese language ; at least they re¬
semble it in their monosyllabic structure. There is also a
general resemblance of features among all these Mongolian
tribes. But the southern division of the same peninsula is
inhabited by a different race, namely, Malays, distinguish¬
ed from the former by their greater symmetry of form, and
by a peculiar language. This race is spread over the coasts
and islands of the Indian Archipelago, as well as those of
the Southern Pacific. In the largest of the Indian Islands,
however, we meet with a much more barbarous race of men,
with dark woolly hair, with black skins, and with the negro
features, and savage and ferocious in their dispositions.
They are known by the name of Papuans, and are princi¬
pally met with in the Islands of New Guinea, and the New
Hebrides. It has been conjectured that this singular tribe
was descended from negroes accidentally cast on the shores
of these remote islands.
(885.) The inhabitants of the northernmost regions both
of the old and new continent, comprising the Samoides, the
Laplanders, and the Esquimaux, possess many peculiar fea¬
tures, and have been classed by some naturalists under the
Mongolian races, but are considered by others as degene¬
rated scions from the Scythian and Tartaric branches of the
Caucasian race.
(886.) The aboriginal American Indians have never been
satisfactorily assimilated to any one of the races of the an¬
cient continent; yet they scarcely possess any precise or
well marked distinctive characters, which may entitle them
to be regarded as one of the primitive races of mankind. The
copper hue of their skin is certainly not of itself sufficient
to establish such a distinction. Their dark hair and scanty
PH YSI
jysiology. beard would incline us to refer them to the Mongolian race,
were it not that their well defined features, and prominent
nose, are opposed to such a classification. Their languages
are as diversified as their tribes are numerous ; and no an¬
alogy has yet been traced either amongst one another, or with
any of those of the old world.
(887.) The analogy of what we observe in the inferior
animals, affords the strongest grounds for believing that na¬
tural causes are perfectly adequate to explain the diversi¬
ties which occur in the several varieties of the human race,
on the supposition of their having originated from a com¬
mon stock. The variations in size, colour, and even forms,
which take place amongst different kinds of dogs, characters
which are transmitted from the parent to the offspring with
as much constancy as those of the human race, are no less
considerable than the differences observable between the
European and the negro, and yet are admitted by natural¬
ists to be perfectly compatible with the unity of the spe¬
cies, and with a community of source. Of the causes which
originally produced the peculiarities in the several varieties
of the race, and which have become permanent, we can have
no certain knowledge ; nor can we even supply the want of
precise information by any rational conjecture. The com¬
mon hypothesis which ascribes the black colour of the ne¬
gro to the more powerful influence of the solar rays in tro¬
pical climates, •will not bear the test of close examination ;
no permanent effect of that kind having ever been produc¬
ed by the same cause operating for any length of time on
the complexion of Europeans. Different opinions have been
entertained with regard to the natural and original com¬
plexion of the human race. Dr. Prichard contends that it
was black, and that the Ethiopian form was the primitive
type of the race; the successive changes produced being
that from the imperfect to the more perfect form, and from
barbarism to refinement; terminating at length in the Cau¬
casian race, in which it has attained the greatest state of
improvement compatible with its nature, accompanied by
the highest degree of capability of civilization, and of in¬
tellectual and moral excellence.1
(888.) In opposition to the doctrine of the unity of spe¬
cies in all human races, it has been contended by Rudolphi,
Vircy, Desmoulins, Bory St. Vincent, and others, in the
most positive manner, that these races wTere originally dif¬
ferent. The arguments on each side of the question are
fully discussed in the work of Dr. Prichard referred to.
CHAP. XXII. COMPARATIVE PHYSIOLOGY.
(889.) We purpose, in giving an account of the most im¬
portant facts relating to the physiology of the animal crea¬
tion, to take as the standard of comparison the mode in
which the functions of the human body are conducted. The
history we have given of the animal economy in man will
easily enable us to refer all the facts relating to comparative
physiology to this standard type; and this view of the sub¬
ject, besides the interest which naturally attaches to it, will
have the further advantage of reflecting light on various sub¬
jects of human physiology, which, as we formerly remarked,
must ever receive important elucidation from a comparison
with that of the lower animals.
(890.) Conformably with this design we shall take a re¬
view of the different divisions of the animal kingdom ; first
pointing out the general characters of organization and of
function which are common to each class and order; and
noticing, in the next place, the peculiarities that are most
worthy of remark in the several species included in those
divisions. By thus following the logical order of descending
from generals to particulars, we shall avoid the numerous re-
pititions that would otherwise be requisite, and comprise in
O L O G Y. 699
the smallest space the greater number of particular facts re- Physiology,
lating to the science.
Sect. I—Comparative Physiology of Mammalia.
1. Peculiarities in the Human Conformation.
(891.) Since man, in his zoological relations, must be Peculiari-
comprehended in the class of mammalia, it is evident that ties of the
the general characters of this class must consist of those pos- human
sessed by the human species in common with quadrupeds, struci:ure5
and even with the other families of mammalia still farther
removed from man in their external conformation. While
the points of resemblance are so numerous, the easiest
mode of instituting a comparison between them will evident¬
ly be by pointing out, not the features which they possess
in common, but those in which they differ. We shall be¬
gin then with an account of the peculiarities which distin¬
guish the human structure from that of the lower animals,
and more especially from that of the quadrumanous tribes,
which approach the nearest to him in their conformation.
(892.) The great distinctive features which characterize referable to
the human conformation, as compared with that of all other mental en-
mammalia, have reference to the superiority of his intellec-^ovvmeIlt;Si
tual powers, and to his maintenance of the erect position.
In the number and excellence of his mental faculties, and
in his capabilities of improvement, he leaves all other ani¬
mals behind by an immeasurable distance. The faculty of
speech is a consequence of this developement of intellectual
power, which is favoured, indeed, by the conformation of
the larynx; but the organization requisite for the uttering
of articulate sounds would have been in vain conferred un¬
less it had been placed under the guidance of the mental fa¬
culties ; thus to the parrot the gift of the organs of articu¬
lation, without the mind which is to use them as expressions
of thought, becomes a comparatively unprofitable boon.
(893.) The superiority of the human intellect is accom¬
panied by a much greater developement of the cerebral
hemispheres than is found in any other animal. Hence also
the great magnitude of the cavity in which it is contained,
together with that part of the skull which protects it, when
compared with the face, which is composed of the organs of
the principal senses, and ofthe apparatus for mastication. The
mass of the brain bears also a large proportion to the size of
the cerebral nerves. The cerebellum is entirely covered by
the hemispheres of the brain. The forehead in man is par¬
ticularly distinguished by its elevation, and the beauty of
its convex arch. The shortness of the lower jaw, and the
prominence of its mental portion, are particularly remark¬
able. The elephant is the only quadruped in which the
lower jaw is equally short in proportion to the size of the
head; but this animal is still deficient in the projection of its
lowest point, so that the possession of a chin seems to be
peculiar to the human race.
(894.) In every particular connected with the mechanism Adaptation
of the fabric, man enjoys the most decided advantage over to the erect
those mammalia which are most nearly allied to him in their Position.
physical conformation. Man is the only species amongst the
mammalia whose body can maintain itself for any length of
time in an erect position, and in whom the office of sup¬
porting the trunk is entrusted solely to the lower extremi¬
ties. We find that every part of the osseous fabric, as well
as the disposition of the principal organs of sense, are in ob¬
vious conformity with this design. The lower limbs, being
the great instruments of support and progression, are larger,
and of greater strength, compared with the body, than in
most quadrupeds, the only exceptions being met with among
those which are formed expressly for leaping, as the hare,
the jerboa, and the kangaroo. In the monkey tribes the
lower limbs are comparatively much weaker than in man ;
1 See his Researches on the Physical History of Mankind. Third edition. London, 1806.
TOO
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, and in other quadrupeds the disproportion is still greater,
— ' the thigh bone being short, and almost concealed by the
muscles which connect it with the trunk of the body, while
the rest of the limb is very slender, and not covered by any
considerable mass of muscle. In man the articular surfaces
of the knee-joint are very broad, and admit of greater ex¬
tent of motion than in quadrupeds, and the two portions of
the limb can be brought into the same straight line, thus
constituting firm perpendicular columns of support for the
body. The long neck of the thigh bone allows of more com¬
plete rotation of the limb at the hip-joint; and this, toge¬
ther with the greater breadth of the pelvis, which affords an
ample basis for sustaining the trunk, are circumstances pe¬
culiar to the human frame. The heel in man forms a greater
projection than in other animals; and by its being extend¬
ed so as to touch the ground, it forms, as we have seen, one
of the points of support, by which, in conjunction with the
toes, a much larger base is comprehended. The muscles
which raise the heel, and which compose the calf of the leg,
are of greater size and strength than in monkeys, besides
acting with the mechanical advantage arising from the long
lever which the heel affords for the insertion of their united
tendons 5 and by the direction of the foot, which forms a
right angle with the leg.
(895.) The form of the chest exhibits similar differences.
In quadrupeds the thorax is compressed laterally, and is
deepest from the spine to the sternum ; a structure which
allows the front legs to come nearer together, and to sup¬
port with more effect the front part of the trunk. But in
man the thorax is flattened anteriorly and extends more in
width, that is, from side to side, thus throwing out the
shoulders, and giving a more extensive range to the motions
of the arms.
(896.) That the erect posture is natural to man is strong¬
ly indicated by the position of the head with respect to its
articulation with the spine, wThich takes place at the middle
of its basis ; and thus, by the great extension of the occi¬
put, its weight is more nearly balanced than it is in the
monkey. The cervical vertebrae of the monkey have very
long and prominent spinous processes, evidently adapted to
give greater purchase to the muscles sustaining the head,
of which the front part considerably preponderates, in con¬
sequence of the elongation of the jaws, and the backward
position of the centre of motion.
(897.) The same design may be traced in the position
of the eyes, the mouth, and the face in general; and is so
obvious as to have been noticed by Ovid, while describing
the formation of man, in the following celebrated lines :
“ Pronaque cum spectant animalia caetera terrain,
Os bomini sublime dedit: ccelumque tueri
Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus.”
(898.) All the internal organs have been regulated by
the same intention. The human heart is placed obliquely
in the chest, and rests by a flat surface on the diaphragm,
to which its investing membrane, the pericardium, is firmly
attached. In quadrupeds, no such attachment exists 5 but
the heart is situated more perpendicularly with the apex di¬
rectly downwards, and cannot be felt, as in man, striking on
the left side of the ribs at each contraction of the ventricles.
Arm and (899-) The fore legs of quadrupeds are in general appro-
band. priated solely to the support and progressive motion of the
body. In some instances, indeed, they are employed, be¬
sides, in other actions ; such as seizing and securing their
prev, raking and digging up the earth, or climbing and lay¬
ing hold of the branches of trees; but it is only in a few
species, and chiefly among the monkey tribes, wdiich 1 esem-
ble man in their form, that they are instrumental in carry¬
ing food to the mouth, or even in grasping weapons of of¬
fence. But in man the superior extremity being entirely
released from the office of maintaining any portion of the
weight of the trunk, is at liberty to be employed for a great
variety of purposes; and the exquisite structure of the hu- Physiolojs
man hand, which has already been noticed, renders this ex-
emption of still greater value, and constitutes unquestion¬
ably one of the great perfections which mark the human
structure, as compared with that of the brute creation. The
arm and head are thus rendered an organ at once of prehen¬
sion and of touch, for both of which purposes it is admirably
adapted by the great latitude and variety of movements it
is capable of executing. One of the chief sources of per¬
fection in the hands is the structure of the thumb, which is
furnished with muscles of so great a power, compared with
those of the fingers, as to enable it to oppose and balance
their united strength. Hence it is enabled to grasp a sphe¬
rical body, and to retain firm hold of many objects, which
otherwise could not have been held without the united efforts
of both hands. This conformation is peculiar to man ; for
the paw of a monkey cannot exercise the same force and
readiness of prehension, in consequence of the thumb being
inferior in strength to the other fingers.
(900.) The great perfection of the organs which modu- Vocal Di¬
late the voice and produce so great a variety of articulate gans.
sounds, is another striking instance of the high destination
to which the human structure has been adapted. In those
tribes of monkeys which come nearest to the human con¬
formation, the power of uttering articulate sounds is prevent¬
ed by the interposition of two sacs connected with the larynx,
which receive part of the air when the animal uses any ef¬
fort to expel it from the lungs.
(901.) The structure of the digestive organs in the hu-Man omij
man species is similar to that of many quadrupeds, and has'orous.
generally been regarded as intermediate between that of the
carnivorous tribes, and of those that live altogether on ve¬
getable food. Man may very justly, and almost exclusively
be entitled to the appellation of an omnivorous animal; being
equally capable of subsisting on different kinds of aliment;
and also of using at the same time a great mixture of differ¬
ent sorts of food. No other animal is capable of so great a
versatility of powers in this respect. It has also been re¬
marked, amongst the characteristic circumstances of the hu¬
man race, that whilst other animals are contented with food
in the state in which nature offers it, man alone employs ar¬
tificial processes for improving its flavour, and rendering it
more fit for digestion. Man is the only animal that is known
to practise the art of cookery ; an art which indeed appears
necessary to enable the stomach to extract from his usual
food all the nutriment it is capable of yielding.
(902.) The teeth of man are distinguished from those of
all the other mammalia by their being arranged in either
jaw, in a uniform unbroken series ; and also by the circum¬
stance of their being all of the same length. The cuspidati,
or eye-teeth, as they are called, which correspond to the
canine teeth in quadrupeds, are, perhaps, at first a little lon¬
ger than the others, but their sharp points are soon worn
down to a level with the rest. In all the monkey tribes,
these teeth are long and prominent, and are separated by an
interval from the neighbouring teeth. The cutting teeth
in the lower jaws slant backwards in the monkey, and the
jaw itself has the same direction ; but in man these teeth
are perpendicular, and in a line with the front of the jaw,
which descends to form the prominence of the chin, a part
of the face which does not exist even in the orang utan.
The tubercles on the surface of the grinders are different
in their shape, both from the ridges of enamel on the crowns
of the teeth of herbivorous animals, and from the sharp-point¬
ed eminences on the grinders of carnivorous animals.
(903.) The human brain is not only larger in its relative Encepha
proportion to the body than in any other of the mammalia, Ion.
but its absolute size is greater, if we except only that of the
elephant, and of the whale. With these few exceptions, all the
larger animals with which we are more commonly acquaint¬
ed, have brains absolutely, and even considerably smaller
PHYSIOLOGY.
hysiology. than that of man. Besides the prodigious expansion of the
hemispheres, we may remark in the human brain a more ela¬
borate structure, and a more complete developement of all
its minuter parts. There is no part of the brain found in
any animal, which does not exist also in man ; whilst seve¬
ral of those which are found in man are either extremely
small, or altogether absent in the brains of the lower ani¬
mals. Soemmerring has enumerated no less than fifteen vi¬
sible and material anatomical differences between the hu¬
man brain and that of the ape. The proportion of medul¬
lary to cortical substance is greater in the human brain than
in that of other animals.
(904.) Although the negro race is a branch of the great
family of man, and although the peculiarities which distin¬
guish the conformation of that race rank only as varieties
in the species, it yet cannot be denied, that in almost every
one of the circumstances in which it differs from the type
of the Caucasian race, it exhibits an approach to the struc¬
ture of the monkey or quadrumanous tribe of animals. In
nothing is this approximation more remarkable, than in the
proportion between the size of the face as compared with
that of the brain. One of the most convenient methods of
roughly estimating this proportion is that invented by Pro¬
fessor Camper. Drawing a line from the most prominent
part of the frontal bone, to the anterior point of the upper
jaw bone, just at the roots of the incisor teeth, which is call¬
ed the facial line, it is to be intersected by another line,
drawn from the external orifice of the ear to the inferior edge
of the aperture of the nostrils. The angle formed by these
two lines is the facial angle of Camper, which determines
by its magnitude the degree of preponderance of the bones
of the cranium, in which the brain is contained, over those
of the face, which contain the organs of sense.
(905.) In man the facial angle is greater than in other
animals ; it differs, however, in different varieties of the hu¬
man race, and appears to indicate with tolerable exactness
the comparative degree of intellectual excellence appertain¬
ing to each variety. In the Caucasian variety the facial
angle is between 80° and 90° ; in the Mongolian, 75° ; in
the American Indian, 73£°; in the Negro it is only 70°.
Pursuing the application of this test to the lower mammalia,
we find it in the orang utan reduced to 65° ; in the baboon,
45° ; in the mandrill, one of the most ferocious of that tribe,
only 30°. The mastiff has a facial angle of 41°, the bull¬
dog of 35°. In the feline tribe it is still farther diminish¬
ed; being only 28° in the leopard. In the sheep and hare
it is 30, in the horse it is only 23°.
(906.) The varieties in the magnitude of the facial angle
have thus been traced through a number of gradations amongst
different tribes of mammalia and also of birds, till we arrive
at its almost total obliteration in the snipe and the wood¬
cock, animals which are reputed to be extremely deficient
in intelligence.
(907.) The projection of the bones of the face, which
tends to diminish the facial angle, is universally considered
as expressive of stupidity or ferocity. An ample and pro¬
jecting forehead, on the contrary, is associated in our minds
with the idea of superior intelligence. It was probably for
that reason that the owl was selected by the Athenians as
the emblem of wisdom. In the statues of their divinities,
the Greek sculptors have exaggerated the facial angle, mak¬
ing it as much as 100°, which is considerably greater than it
is ever found in the human form. The Italian painters, also,
in their representation of saints, have often given them a
facial angle of 95°.
(908.) But in applying this method to some of the most
sagacious species of animals, such as the horse, which, as we
have seen, has a very small facial angle, we meet with great
and striking exceptions. We arrive at more correct deter-
701
mination of the proportional developement of the face and Physiology,
brain, by comparing, as proposed by Cuvier, the areas re-
spectively occupied by each in a longitudinal vertical sec¬
tion of the head. But in the elephant all these criteria,
but especially the admeasurement by the facial angle, fail,
in consequence of the great projection of the frontal bones,
which are raised to a considerable distance from the brain
by the interposition of large cells, or frontal sinuses, and
which give an undue proportion to the size of the forehead.
(909.) Daubenton proposed, for the comparison of differ- Occipital
ent skulls with one another, what he called his occipital
lines; the one passing from the posterior margin of the great
occipital foramen through the lower edge of the orbit; the
other, taking the direction of the opening itself, beginning
at its posterior edge, and touching the articular surface of
the condyles. The angle formed by the intersection of
these lines is his occipital angle. But the variations of this
angle are too inconsiderable to furnish sufficient criteria of
the character of the head.
2. Pecuharities in the Conformation of other Mammalia.
(910.) The bones of quadrupeds appear, as Blumenbach Mammalia
observes, to possess a less fine and delicate texture than those in general,
of man. Their fibres are more easily loosened by macera¬
tion, and are of a coarser grain ; this is more particularly
observable in the jaw-bones and the ribs.
(911.) The spine is formed of the same classes of verte- Spine,
brae as in man, namely the cervical, dorsal, lumbar, and
sacral. In all quadrupeds belonging to the class of mam¬
malia, the number of cervical vertebrae is constantly seven,
as in man. The length or shortness of the neck has no in¬
fluence on their number, though it has a material one, of
course, on the comparative length of each individual verte¬
brae. The cameleopard, whose neck is extended to so great
a length, and the mole, in which it is so short, have each of
them seven cervical vertebrae. An apparent exception to
this general rule occurs in the three-toed sloth, in which
Cuvier found nine vertebrae of the neck instead of seven ;
but it has since been found that the two last of the cervical
vertebrae, which appeared to be supernumerary, ought pro¬
perly to be classed amongst the dorsal vertebrae, of which they
possess the distinctive characters.1
(912.) The number of dorsal vertebrae depends princi¬
pally upon that of the ribs, which differ in different quad¬
rupeds, and are usually more numerous than in man. Their
transverse and spinous processes are generally longer than
in man, for the purpose of affording a broader surface of at¬
tachment to the powerful muscles which support the head
and neck.
The number of the lumbar vertebrae is various in differ¬
ent quadrupeds. There are only three in the elephant;
five in the ass ; six in the horse; and seven in the camel.
Still greater differences are met with in the number of com¬
ponent parts of the sacrum.
(913.) Most quadrupeds have & prolongation of that part Caudal
of the skeleton which corresponds to the os coccygis of man, vertebrae,
and which in them composes the tail, and consists of a great
number of imperfectly formed vertebrae.
(914.) The thorax of quadrupeds is, as we have already Skeleton,
noticed, more compressed laterally, but deeper from the
spine to the sternum, than it is in the human skeleton. The
scapula is constantly found; but in most tribes there is no
clavicle whatever, and in others only a short rudiment of that
bone, connected merely with the muscles. In other respects
the number and connexions of the bones of the extremities
are generally very similar to the human conformation ; we
may observe, however, that the os femoris is usually much
shorter than the tibia, and being covered by the large mus¬
cles which attach it to the trunk, appears to belong to that
1 See a paper by Mr. Thomas Bell, Philosophical Magazine, third series, iii. 376.
702
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, division of the body. The bones of the carpus and tarsus,
together with those of the fingers, are in many cases exceed¬
ingly compressed, and some of them are so consolidate to¬
gether, as not to be distinguishable as separate bones.
Intermaxil- (915.) In all the mammalia we find a peculiar bone, call-
lary bone. ed the intermaxillary bone, interposed between the two
upper jaw-bones, and locked in betvveen them ; its office
appears to be to contain the upper incisor teeth, when these
teeth exist; but it is also met with when there are no in-
cisor teeth.
Teeth. (916.) The number, form, and internal structure of the
teeth is exceedingly diversified in the different tribes ; and
afford excellent characters for the distinction of orders and
genera of the class mammalia. As these characters have a
strict relation to zoological classification, we shall abstain
from entering here into the details of this subject.
(917.) In proceeding to notice the peculiarities of struc¬
ture in the mammalia, we shall next examine the organs
of the functions of assimilation, to which that part of the
skeleton we have just adverted to, namely, the jaws and
teeth, are subservient.
TWstivp (918.) The tongue of quadrupeds is, for the most part,
organs. more narrow, long, and slender than that of man. Except
in the genus simia, we do not meet with any structure cor¬
responding to the uvula. The oesophagus has two layers of
muscular fibres, which have a spiral course, and cross one
another. This structure gives it greater power of propel¬
ling its contents into the stomach; a power which is t ic
more required, inasmuch as the food has often to ascend
considerably in passing along this canal.
(919.) The conformation of the stomach presents very
considerable diversities, apparently determined by the habit
of the animal and the nature of its food. From the simple
structure it exhibits in the purely carnivorous tribes, we
may observe a gradually increasing complication as we pass
to those that feed on fish, and on vegetable aliment. In the
latter orders of mammalia, and especially in the ruminants,
we meet with a very complicated apparatus for digestion.
But these diversities will come more properly to be noticed
in the examination of the orders and families to which they
relate. It will be sufficient here to remark, that the sto¬
mach is often divided into several distinct portions, such as
the cardiac and pyloric; and often presents several inter¬
mediate subdivisions, and expansions into separate pouches,
so as to exhibit the appearance of a multiplicity of cavities
or stomachs. They differ also considerably as to the degi ee
in which the glandular structures attached to their coats are
developed in different parts.
(920.) Similar varieties are met with in the structure of
the intestines of different mammalia. As a general rule, to
which, however, there are several exceptions, it may be
remarked, that the intestinal canal is much shorter, and more
contracted in its diameter, in carnivorous animals than in
those which feed on vegetables. This probably depends
on the more rapid assimilation of animal than of vegetable
materials ; the latter requiring a more complicated appara¬
tus, more capacious cavities, and a more extensive surface
both for secretion and absorption. It has been observed
that the canal of the intestines is longer in the domesticat¬
ed breed than in the wild animal of the same species. Thus,
in the wild boar, the length of the intestines is to that of the
body in the proportion of nine to one ; but in the tame ani¬
mal the proportion is as thirteen to one. In the domestic
cat it is as five to one ; in the wild cat as three to one. It
may also be remarked that in the class mammalia, the com¬
parative length of the intestinal canal is greater than in any
of the other vertebrated classes; and diminishes succes¬
sively as we compare it in birds, reptiles, and fishes.
(921.) The liver in the mammalia generally, is divided
into a greater number of lobes, and the divisions penetrate
deeper into its substance, than in man. In a great many
instances, as in the horse and the goat, there is no gall- Pbysiologj;
bladder, the bile being carried at once by the hepatic ducts v—*—
into the intestine. Occasionally when the gall-bladder is
present, there exist also hepato-cystic ducts which convey
the bile directly from the liver into the gall-bladder, and
not by a retrograde course, as in man.
The mammalia is the only class of animals provided with
omentum, which, in some, as in the racoon, is particularly
large and stored with fat.
The kidney generally presents a lobulated appearance ; Kidney,
sometimes to such a remarkable degree, as to bear a re¬
semblance to a bunch of grapes, being composed of numer¬
ous small and distinct portions, connected together by their
blood-vessels and excretory ducts. The urinary bladder is
more capacious in herbivorous than in carnivorous quad¬
rupeds. . u
The heart of the mammalia corresponds in every essen- Heart.
tial particular of its structure with the human conformation;
but it differs in its position with regard to the other organs,
being situated more longitudinally, and resting on the ster¬
num, which is below it, and not on the diaphragm, as in
man. Hence, also, the direction of its axis is not so oblique,
and it is placed more in the centre of the chest; and
the pericardium is scarcely at all connected with the dia¬
phragm. . 1 • J
(922.) In many quadrupeds the thoracic duct is double,
and forms more distinctly than in man the enlargement
which has been termed the receptaculum chyli. The me¬
senteric glands are frequently collected into a considerable
mass, called the pancreas of Asellius.
(923.) From the consideration of the organs of nutrition Sensorial
we pass on to those of the sensorial functions, and shall for functions,
this purpose revert to the osteology, in as far as relates to
the bones which protect the brain and principal organs of
the senses*
(924.) The divisions of the cranium of quadrupeds into
separate bones, differs but little from that of the human
skull. The os frontis is frequently found divided into two
lateral portions by the prolongation of the sagittal suture
forwards to the root of the nose. Sometimes, again, the
sagittal suture is obliterated by the consolidation of the two
parietals into a single bone ; in other cases, these bones are
united with the occipital. We often find, also, a bone, dis¬
tinct from the temporal, termed the tympanic bone, provid¬
ed for containing the tympanum of the ear. But it may
be observed, in general, that the sutures present fewer in¬
dentations, and less irregularity in their course in the skulls
of quadrupeds than in man, a circumstance which is natur¬
ally explicable by the smaller developement of the brain,
and consequent diminution of the general size of the cra¬
nium. From the position of the head in the quadruped the
occipital foramen is situated less anteriorly in the basis ol
the skull than in man, and is for the most part nearly ver¬
tical in its position. The tentorium sometimes contains
within the laminae of the dura mater which compose it, se¬
veral strong plates of bone, and the same thing has also been
observed in the falx.
(925.) The brain of quadrupeds is considerably smaller,
when compared with the size either ot the spinal cor or
the cranial nerves, than in man. The cerebral hemispheres
are also much smaller compared with the cerebellum. I his
arises in a great measure from the absence of the posterior
lobes of the brain, which, in man, when viewed from above,
conceals the cerebellum ; whereas in quadrupeds the cere¬
bellum is brought immediately into view in removing the
upper bones of the skull. In the proper quadrupeds the
anterior lobes of the brain extend forwards into two large
processes, called the processus mamillares, which give ori¬
gin to the olfactory nerves, and which contains a cavity on
each side, communicating with the lateral ventricle, being
in fact its anterior prolongation. On the other hand, tnu
PH YSIOLOG\.
)rgaris of
-11.
’"fearing.
'bysiology. ventricle has no posterior prolongation, there being no pos-
terior lobe.
(926.) Every part of the organ of smell is developed in
quadrupeds in a degree corresponding to the greater extent
and acuteness in which they enjoy this sense, compared
with man. The mthmoid bone is much more complicated
in its structure, as well as larger in its dimensions ; the tur¬
binated bones are considerably larger, more intricate in their
formation, and present a much more extensive surface, be¬
ing composed either of a great multitude of arborescent la¬
minae, or of numerous spiral convolutions. The internal
nasal cavities are also generally enlarged, and particularly
the frontal sinuses.
(927.) The organ of hearing also frequently presents a
greater complication of structure than in man. A cavity,
called by Soemmerring, the bulla os sea, communicates with
that of the tympanum, and corresponds with the mastoid
cells in the human subject. In the aquatic mammalia the
external meatus is furnished with a valve for the purpose
of excluding water from the passage. In these animals, al¬
so, as well as in those that live under ground, the external
ear is altogether wanting. The structure of the internal
parts of the organ agree in all essential points with those of
the human ear. The cochlea sometimes makes an addi¬
tional turn in its spiral convolution.
(928.) The eyes of mammalia exhibit considerable va¬
riety as to the position of their axes with respect to the ge¬
neral direction of the head. They are generally separated
to a greater distance, and directed laterally. The figure of
the globe is nearly spherical, as in man; but in several
quadrupeds the sclerotic coat is much thicker and firmer at
its posterior than at its anterior part. The choroid coat is
distinctly divisible into two layers, of which the internal
bears the name of the tunica Ruyschiana, and which often
exhibits at the back of the eye the most brilliant colours.
This coloured portion of the choroid is known by the name
of the tapetum.
(929.) Several quadrupeds have an additional lacrymal
gland, besides that which corresponds to the one in man;
and also another gland, situated near the nose, and termed
the glandula Harderi. The globe of the eye in quadrupeds
is also provided with an additional muscle, the suspe?isorius
oculi, for the purpose of supporting its weight. Many
quadrupeds also possess a third, or internal eye-lid, called
the nictitating membrane, which is very large and moveable
in the cat, and all the animals belonging to the same genus.
(930.) The panniculus carnosus is a muscular expan¬
sion, situated immediately under the skin, and subservient
to the movements of the integuments, which it suddenly
corrugates and throws into wrinkles, thereby driving off in¬
sects, or shaking away any other offensive matter, is pe¬
culiar to quadrupeds, not being found in man; unless the
platysma myoides of the neck be considered as a muscle
having an analogous function with relation to the skin of
the neck.
(931.) In many quadrupeds some of the sebaceous glands
of the integuments are very much developed. In some pre¬
dacious animals, a gland exists in the orbit, described by
Nuck, and of which the excretory duct opens near the last
tooth of the upper jaw. It appears referable to the class of
salivary glands. Another gland, particularly noticed by
Professor Jacobson, and of which the use is wholly unknown,
is generally met with in the anterior and lower part of the
cavity of the nostrils : this he has called the nasal gland of
Steno.
70S
l :egu
I nts-
adru-
'ia.
3. Quadrumana.
(932.) We have already had occasion, when describing
the distinctive marks by which the human structure is cha¬
racterized, when compared with that of the monkey, to point
out several circumstances which are deserving of notice in
the anatomy of this tribe of mammalia. Of all the animals Physiology,
of the family of the quadrumana, the orang-utan (simia
satyrus, Geoff.) is that species which makes the nearest ap¬
proach to the human conformation. This approximation
is observable in the position of the great occipital foramen
of the skull, which is placed farther forwards than in other
kinds of apes ; in the distinctness and serrated form of the
sutures of the cranial bones; in the absence of the inter¬
maxillary bone; in the eyes being directed forwards; in
the smallness of the os coccygis, composed, as in man, of
five imperforated bones; in the possession both of a coecum
and an appendix vermiformis; and in the oblique position
of the heart with respect to the cavity of the thorax.
(933.) A still more remarkable peculiarity of structure
in the orang-utan is that discovered and described by Cam¬
per ; namely, two membranous sacs, which communicate
with the glottis, and deprives the animal of the power of
giving utterance to sounds.
(934.) In other species of this order we trace still fur¬
ther deviations from the human structure. The laryngeal
sacs are found in many species of baboons ; these are either
single or double, and communicate with the larynx by open¬
ings between the os hyoides and the thyroid cartilage. The
simia seniculus, and the simia beelzebub, have a large dila¬
tation of the middle of the body of the os hyoides, which is
expanded into a spherical bony cavity. This cavity, instead
of interfering with the sonorous vibrations, adds to their
strength, and gives the power of producing those loud in¬
tonations which are peculiar to this tribe, and from which
they have obtained the name of howling apes.
(935.) The mandrill baboon has seven instead of five
lumbar vertebrae. The appendix vermiformis bf the ccecum
is not met with in many species of apes. The crest of the
occipital bone, though very large in the baboon of Borneo,
is scarcely perceptible in most monkeys. The central fo¬
ramen of the retina discovered in the human eye by Soem¬
merring, has been seen in the eyes of many animals of this
order.
(936.) In the lemur tardigradus, and in the sloth, a singu¬
lar structure has been observed by Sir Anthony Carlisle,
with regard to the distribution of the arteries of the limbs.
The trunks of these arteries suddenly subdivide as they
enter the limb into a great number of parallel branches,
which are again re-united when they arrive at the remote
end of the first division of the limb ; that is, about the joints
corresponding to the elbow and the knee in man. After
their re-union into single trunks, these arteries proceed to
ramify in the usual manner.
4. Chiroptera.
(937.) In the bat tribe we have to notice the strictly Chiroptera.
hinge-like nature of the articulation of the lower jaw with
the skull, which limits its motion to mere opening and shut¬
ting, and excludes all lateral movements. The zygomatic
arches are expanded and raised, so as to allow room for the
large and powerful muscles which close the jaw. The pa¬
rietal bones are united into a single bone. The sacrum is
composed of four bones consolidated together. Four cla¬
vicles are met with, and they are of extraordinary length.
I he ulna is deficient in the fore-arm, or exists only in a
rudimental state, as a slender sharp-pointed process of the
radius. The phalanges of the anterior extremities are en¬
ormously lengthened for the purpose of supporting the thin
membrane which is stretched between them, and which
serves the office of wings. The tongue of the bat is cover¬
ed with sharp-pointed horny papillae.
(938.) The vespertilio noctula is remarkable for the short- Vampire
ness of the intestinal canal, which is only twice the length bat.
of the animal’s body. In the vampire bat, on the contrary,
and in the vespertilio caninus it is seven times as long. In
all bats, not only is the appendix coed vermiformis want-
704
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology ing, but also the coecum itself. The epiglottis is also want-
s^^y^w'ing in most of the animals of this tribe. In many the
tongue is slender, and prolonged into an organ of suction.
The pectoral muscles are of enormous size ; and the ster¬
num has a prominent crest for the purpose of affording an
extensive surface for their attachment. The eye is remark¬
ably small; but the imperfections which probably exist in
the sense of sight are amply compensated by the singular
acuteness of that of hearing, the organ of which is exceed¬
ingly developed ; and also by the extreme sensibility of the
expanded membranes of the wings, which is such as to en¬
able the bat to direct its flight through the most intricate
passages without the aid of the sight, and without striking
against obstacles purposely placed in its way.
5. Insectivora.
Insectivora. (939.) Among the animals arranged by Cuvier in this fa-
Mole. mi]y5 the mole presents the most remarkable peculiarities of
conformation, both as regards the skeleton and the internal
organs. The sternum has the same crested process as in the
bat, and apparently with the same design of enlarging the
surface of attachment to the powerful muscles employed in
digging. But the anterior extremity of this crest is still
farther prolonged into a sharp process, having the figure of a
plough-share, which is situated under the cervical vertebrae,
and resembles the keel-like projection we shall have occasion
to notice in the sternum in birds. The cervical vertebrae are
remarkable for having no spinous processes. The ligamen-
tum nuchee is particularly strong, and is almost wholly ossified.
The clavicle is of a singular shape, being nearly cubical. The
humerus is very slender in the middle, and remarkably ex¬
panded at bolh its extremities. The fore-paw is provided
with a bone of a peculiar shape, called the falciform bone,
placed at the end of the radius. The phalanges have nu¬
merous processes, and are furnished with sesamoid bones ;
structures which, by giving considerable mechanical advan¬
tage to the muscles that move them, contribute greatly to
increase their power. The great muscles of the trunk, the
pectoralis major, the latissimus dorsi, and the teres major,
are of great size, and give the animal great facility in dig¬
ging the ground, and throwing up the earth as it proceeds.
(940.) The aethmoid bone is of very complicated forma¬
tion in the mole, especially in the numerous convolutions of
its turbinated processes, by which a very large surface is
given to the Schneiderian membrane which lines every por¬
tion. This structure indicates the possession of a very acute
sense of smell. The remarkable developement of the inter¬
nal parts of the ears, is also conclusive evidence of the de¬
licacy of the sense of hearing in this animal, although it has
no external ear whatever. The eye is so minute, that even
the existence of that organ has been denied by some natu¬
ralists ; it is, in fact, not larger than the head of a pin. The
cavities in which they are placed are so very superficial, as
scarcely to deserve the name of orbits. The zygoma is not
arched, but straight, and as slender as a thread.
6: Plantigrada.
Plantigra- (941.) Animals of the plantigrade family have a long but
da. narrow intestinal canal, unprovided with any ccecum or ap¬
pendix, and consequently not presenting any marked dis¬
tinction between the small and the large intestines.
Bear. (942.) To this family belongs the bear, remarkable for
possessing supernumerary canine teeth, which are small, and
situated behind the principal ones. The stomach is divid¬
ed into two portions by a slight contraction in the middle;
the intestines are furnished with remarkably long and nu¬
merous villi; the kidneys are conglomerated; the tento¬
rium is bony ; the nasal cartilages are extremely mobile.
Racoon. (943.) In the racoon, another animal of this tribe, the
valve of the colon is wanting, and the omentum is very large,
consisting of innumerable lines of fat, disposed in a reticu¬
lar form, and connected by an extremely delicate membrane Physiology,
having the appearance of a spider’s web. The skin of the r
neck is very loosely connected by cellular substance with
the subjacent muscles.
7. Digitigrada.
(944.) The ccecum is wanting in the greater number ofDigiigra-
the animals of this tribe. It is met with, however, in the da.
ichneumon. Many have anal glands and follicles, which
prepare a strongly odoriferous secretion. This is the case
with the skunk, pole-cat, and several others. When these
animals are pursued, they pour out this fetid matter, the 11
odour of which is so offensive as to deter their pursuers from
approaching them. The civet has also similar glands that
secrete the peculiar perfume which derives its name from
that animal.
(945.) The stomach, in the weasel tribe, is a simple cy- Weasel. |
lindrical canal, having no expanded extremity to the left of
the cardia; but the oesophagus enters at one end, and the
intestine proceeds from the other, so that the food may pass
quickly through it. In the stomach of the sea otter, Sir
Edward Home describes a remarkable glandular structure
near the pylorus. The receptaculum chyli, in this animal,
sends two trunks to form the thoracic duct, which have
frequent communications, so that there are sometimes three,
frequently four, and never fewer than two branches of this
duct, running parallel to one another. In two instances the
foramen ovale of the heart was found open, but the ductus
arteriosus was closed.
(946.) In the dog a row of mucous glands, corresponding Dog.
to the labiales and buccales in man, is found opposite to the
molar teeth, having several small openings into the mouth.
A large salivary gland also exists under the arch of the zy¬
goma, covered by the masseter muscle. Its duct is nearly
equal in size to that of the parotid, and opens at the poste¬
rior extremity of the alveolar margin of the upper jaw.
What is called the worm in the dog’s tongue, is merely a
packet of tendinous fibres, passing longitudinally the whole
length of its tongue, and lying loose in a membranous sheath,
unconnected with any of the muscles. It has been suppos¬
ed to assist in lapping up fluids in the peculiar way in which
dogs are observed to drink. There is a popular, but wholly
unfounded idea, that the extirpation of this pretended worm,
is a preservation against hydrophobia. The anal glands are
of considerable size.
(947.) The thoracic duct is double in the dog, and forms
a large receptaculum chyli. The crista occipitalis varies
considerably in its degree of prominence in the different
breeds of dogs. In all, the tympanic bone is distinct from
the temporal bone, being separated from it by a suture. The
urethra passes along a groove in a cylindrical bone. In the
hyaena, however, which in other respects is very similar to
the dog, this bone is not found. The extremities of the
rings of the trachea, in the hyaena, overlap one another,
and admit of being much compressed; a circumstance which
has been considered as connected with the shrill and peirc-
ing cry which this animal is capable of uttering.
(948.) The genus felis, of which the lion affords the Lion,
most remarkable example, resembles the dog in many cir¬
cumstances of conformation. We find the same set of mu¬
cous glands about the mouth, and at the extremity of the
rectum. The tongue is beset with sharp prickles, the points
of which are directed backwards ; they are of such strength
as to tear off the skin from any part which the lion may lick.
The stomach is divided by a slight middle contraction, into
a cardiac and a pyloric portion. The ductus choledochus
forms a pouch between the coats of the intestine for receiv¬
ing the pancreatic duct. In all animals of this genus the
tentorium is bony. The zygoma is arched, and very large
and prominent. The long bristly hairs which constitute the
whiskers, receive very considerable nervous filaments, and
PHYSIOLOGY.
iysio!ogy. appear subservient to the sense of touch in a very remarkable
degree. Two delicate membranes are met with lying un¬
der the ligaments of the glottis, and are probably the cause
of the piercing sound peculiar to animals of this tribe. The
retraction of the claws into a sheath is matter of familiar
observation in the cat. The pupil of the lion is circular,
but that of the cat has the form of a vertical slit when closed;
and the motions of the iris appear to be partly voluntary.
• 8. Amphibia.
I mphibia. (949-) Whiskers having the same properties are likewise
aal. found in the seal, an animal of aquatic habits, and whose
conformation is modified with reference to the element it is
intended to inhabit. The feet act as fins, adapted for swim¬
ming ; the radius and ulna are flattened ; the spine is very
flexible ; the pelvis very narrow. The bones have no me¬
dullary cavities. Neither the parotid nor the sublingual
glands are met with in this or any other animal of the order
of amphibia, belonging to the class mammalia; and the
teeth are adapted chiefly to the seizing and detention of
objects, and are scarcely capable of serving the purpose of
mastication. The stomach is a straight cylinder, having no
cardiac expansion. The intestinal canal is of great length,
thus forming an exception to the general rule of its being
comparatively short in carnivorous animals. The renal veins
forma kind of net-work, the reticulations of which intersect
the furrows between the mammary processes on the outer sur¬
face of the kidneys. The proportional size of the brain of
the seal is greater than in most mammalia.
(950.) The eye of the Greenland seal is peculiarly formed,
having, according to Blumenbach, the anterior segment of
the sclerotica, or that immediately behind its junction with
the cornea, thick and firm; its middle circle thin and flexi¬
ble ; and its posterior part very thick and almost cartilagi¬
nous, while the cornea itself is thin and yielding. The
whole eye-ball is surrounded by very strong muscles capa¬
ble of shortening the axis of the eye, and of adapting it, ac¬
cording to circumstances, to distinct vision in air ; while in
their ordinary state of relaxation, the axis of the eye being
lengthened, the animal when under water is still enabled
to see objects distinctly.
alrus. (951.) The walrus, another animal of this order, is re¬
markable for the form of its teeth and tusks, part being ex¬
ternal ;but these fell more within the province of the natural¬
ist. The zootomist may notice in this animal the smallness of
the intermaxillary bone, and the total absence of the gall
bladder.
9. Marsupialia.
larsii- (952.) The marsupial family of mammalia compose an
11 la’ interesting group of animals, which present many remark¬
able singularitiesin their internal conformation and economy.
The principal of these is the apparently premature birth of
their young, which come into the world at a period of their
developement corresponding to that to which the foetuses of
mammalia have arrived only a few days after conception.
Nearly the whole extent of the integument of the fore part
of the abdomen forms a kind of sac or pouch tor the recep¬
tion of the foetuses in their early state, and whilst they present
only a shapeless mass, destitute of external members, and
totally incapable oflocomotion. They become attached to
the nipples of the mammary glands, situated under the inte¬
gument of the pouch next to the abdomen of the mother;
and they remain in this situation for a long time, imbibing
nourishment from these glands, until they acquire a growth
equal to that which the young of other animals attain in the
uterus before birth. Two bones, peculiar to these animals,
and therefore called the marsupial bones, are expressly pro¬
vided for the protection of the abdominal viscera, lying in
the horizontal position of the trunk above this extraordinary
pouch, which performs the function of a supplementary ute-
VOIi. XVII.
705
rus. It is farther remarkable, that the same bones occur in Physioogy.
the skeleton of the males, where, of course, there are no
pouches; and also in those species where the fold forming
the pouch is scarcely perceptible. The uterus communicates
with the vagina, not by a single opening, but by two curved
lateral tubes. This has been called the uterus anfractuosus,
to distinguish it from the ordinary form, which is the uterus
simplex ; the uterus bicornis, which has two horns, either
straight or convoluted ; and the double uterus, or uterus du¬
plex, which has the appearance of two horns opening laterally
into the vagina, as in the mole, the hare, and the rabbit. The
Fallopian tubes, in marsupial animals, are much enlarged at
their extremities.
(953.) In the oppossum, the cardiac and the pyloric open- Opossum,
ings of the stomach are placed very near one another. The
anal glands are large. The tongue is covered with pointed
processes.
(954.) The kangaroo has a stomach composed of three Kangaroo,
pouches, but in consequence of the power which different
portions of it possess of contracting separately, it is occa¬
sionally divided into a much greater number of portions.
(955.) The phascolome, a species of rat from Australia, Phasco-
which possesses an abdominal pouch, is remarkable for pos- feme,
sessing, in common only with man, and the orang-utan, both
a coecum and an appendix vermiformis.
10. Ilodentia.
(956.) In this order of mammalia, we find the incisor teeth Rodentia.
furnished with enamel only in front; the frontal sinuses are
absent; the os frontis is divided into two bones by a middle
longitudinal suture, and the tympanic bone is distinct from
the temporal. The brain presents no appearance of convo¬
lutions on its surface ; the eyes are placed on the side of the
head, so that the direction of their axes is completely late¬
ral ; and the orbits are not separated from the temporal fossae;
the ccecum, in particular, is exceedingly voluminous, so as of¬
ten to exceed the stomach in size. The dormouse, indeed,
presents an exception to this rule, being destitute of any
coecum.
(957.) The beaver has a remarkably strong and promi- Beaver,
nent zygoma. A peculiar glandular body is found near the
upper orifice of the stomach, full of cavities, apparently for
the purpose of secreting mucus. The urethra terminates
in the rectum, thus constituting a kind of cloaca ; a struc¬
ture which, as we shall find, prevails universally in birds.
The direction of the axes of the orbits is upwards.
(958.) The common rat has no coecum ; its zygoma has Rat.
its convexity turned downwards ; the testes are capable of
being retracted within the abdomen. A similar circumstance
occurs in the hamster, the squirrel, and the guinea-pig.
(959.) The mus typhlus is remarkable for having its eye Mus
covered over with the common integumentof the face, which, typhlus.
together with the hair growing on it, completely intercept
light, and must destroy the use of the eye as an organ of
vision.
(960.) Cheek pouches are met with in many species ofHamster
this genus; as in the case of the hamster and marmot. In Marmot,
the ear of the latter of these animals, a portion of bone is
described by Cuvier as passing between the crura of the
stapes, from one side of the fenestra ovalis to the other, the
use of which conformation is entirely unknown.
(961.) In the hare, the following peculiarities are met Hare,
with. The coronoid process of the lower jaw is almost en¬
tirely wanting. The transverse processes ot the lumbar ver¬
tebrae are remarkably large. The stomach may be distin¬
guished into two portions, differing in the structure of their
coats ; the cardiac portion being lined with cuticle, and the
pyloric division having the usual villous and secreting sur¬
face. The former may be regarded as a reservoir for the
food, while the latter is the part which performs the function
of digestion. The undigested state in which the contents of
PHYSIOLOGY.
706
Physiology, the stomach is found in the former, and its altered appear-
ance in the latter, corroborate this view of the different of¬
fices of these two portions of the stomach. The rabbit agrees
with the hare in this conformation. The coecum is of enor¬
mous size ; it extends to a length which is greater than that
of the whole animal; it is curiously convoluted, and is lined
internally with a peculiar spiral fold or valve. The urinary
bladder is peculiarly large in the hare
(962.) The retina exhibits very distinct and beautiful me¬
dullary striae, which pass, for the most part, in a transverse
direction. The glandula Harderi is found in these animals,
and unites itself with the proper lacrymal gland, but is dis¬
tinguishable by its whiter colour. Both the hare and the
rabbit have a slit, opening into the lacrymal canal, which
serves as a substitute for the puncta lacrymalia. Seba¬
ceous sinuses exist on the outer side of the upper jaw, near
the nasal bones ; whence a large quantity of a viscid adipose
substance is secreted. Cavities are also formed in the groins,
called by Pallas, antra inguinalia, which contain a strongly
odorous substance prepared by the neighbouring subcuta¬
neous glands.
11. Tardigrada.
Tardigrada. (963.) The tardigrade mammalia are distinguishedby hav¬
ing the same peculiar distribution of the arteries of the limbs
which we have already noticed in the lemur tardigradus.
They possess neither coecum nor gall-bladder. The stomach
of the sloth is complicated in its structure, being divided in¬
to several pouches ; the intestinal canal is very short; there
is also at its extremity an approach to the structure of the
cloaca of birds, inasmuch as the rectum and urethra have a
common termination. The zygoma is furnished with a large
descending process, which comes from the os malae.
Sloth. (964.) The two-toed sloth (bradypus didactylus) has
twenty-three ribs on each side. We have already noticed
the apparent anomaly presented by the three-toed sloth, (the
bradypus tridactylus) in its seeming to possess nine instead
of seven cervical vertebrae ; this appearance being given to
the two last of these vertebrae, which are, in fact, dorsal, by
the ribs which are attached to them being very short, and
rudimental in their conformation, (see §911.) In the ant-
eater and manis, which belong to Cuvier’s family of the
edentata, the six last vertebrae of the neck are anchylosed
or united so as to form only one bone.
12. Monotremata.
Monotre- (965.) The singular animals which compose this family
mata. 0f mammalia, instituted by M. Geofiroy, are all inhabitants
of the continent of Australia, so fertile in extraordinary pro¬
ductions in every department of natural history. They are
included in the genus ornithorhyncus, and are distinguished
into the three species of paradoxus, histrix, and setosus.
Ornitiio- (966.) Although they are not furnished with abdominal
rhyncus. pouches like the kangaroo and other marsupial animals, yet
they are provided with two bones corresponding in their
position to the marsupial bones, already described (§ 952),
as attached to the bones of the pubis, and supporting the
abdominal viscera. The number of ribs in the ornithorhyn¬
cus is seventeen. Pouches exist in the cheek of the ani¬
mal. The bill, shaped like that of the duck, is abundantly
furnished with nerves, chiefly from the second branch of the
fifth pair. Its teeth have no fangs which sink into the jaw,
as in most quadrupeds, but are merely imbedded in the gum,
and are very peculiar in their shape. In the ornithorhyn¬
cus paradoxus, there is one on each side of either jaw; it
consists of a horny substance of an oblong shape, flattened
at the surface, and adhering to the gum. There are like¬
wise two horny processes at the back of the tongue, which
are directed forwards, and prevent the food from passing
into the throat before it has been sufficiently masticated. Physiology
The tongue is very short, not an inch long, and the move-
able portion not half an inch ; its surface is beset with long
conical papillae. The ornithorhyncus hystrix has six trans¬
verse rows of pointed horny processes at the back of the
palate, and about twenty similar teeth on the corresponding
part of the tongue. The intermaxillary bones are of a very
singular shape, consisting of two hooked pieces joined to¬
gether at their bases.
The stomach of the ornithorhyncus hystrix is lined with
cuticle, furnished at the pyloric extremity with sharp horny
papillae. There is no valve of the colon, nor is there any
ccecum, although we find an appendix vermiformis. They
possess a cloaca at the termination of the rectum, as in birds.
(967.) Sir Everard Home denied the existence of mam¬
mae in the female ornithorhyncus; but these glands have
been distinctly delineated by Meckel, and described by him as
being largely developed. In a paper since read to the Royal
Society, Sir Everard Home again asserted that further inquiry
had convinced him of the non-existence of these glands;
but in a paper subsequently read to that learned body,1
Mr. Griffin describes the mammae of the ornithorhyncus
paradoxus as considerable glands, which occupy the greater
part of the under surface of the animal, and have numerous
excretory ducts perforating the skin in two circumscribed
places, but not forming any elevations analogous to nipples.
This subject has, since that period, been investigated with
great care by Mr. Owen,2 who found the structure to cor¬
respond very exactly with the account given by Meckel,
and he is accordingly led to regard them as real mammae.
The falx, as well as the tentorium, contains a plate of bone.
The external auditory passage is very long and tortuous,
and there are only two ossicula in the internal ear. A sin¬
gular kind of clavicle is found in the skeleton of these ani¬
mals, common to both the fore extremities, and situated in
front of the ordinary clavicles, bearing some analogy to the
furcular bone of birds. The conformation of the ribs also
exhibits an approach to that of birds. Each rib consists of
two pieces of bone; a longer one joined to the spine, and a
shorter connected with the sternum ; the two being united
by an intermediate cartilage.
13. Pachydermata.
(968.) In this natural family of animals, which was es- Pacbyder-
tablished by Storr, in his Prodromus Methodi Animalium, mata.
the elephant first claims our notice. In addition to the Elepta11'
thick integument common to all the animals of this tribe,
we find that remarkable organ, the proboscis, which is a
prolongation of the nose, formed of a double cylindrical
tube, extremely flexible in all directions, endowed with ex¬
quisite sensibility, and terminating in an appendix very much
resembling a finger, all the functions of which it is capable
of performing. The motions of this admirable organ are
executed by an infinite number of muscular fibres, collected
into small bundles, which pass in a great variety of direc¬
tions, and are continually interlaced with one another, so as
to be adapted to the performance of every kind of move¬
ment. The enormous tusks which are given to the animal
as formidable weapons of offence, are merely developements
of incisor teeth, proceeding from the inter-maxillary bones
in the upper jaw, and which on issuing from the mouth are
incurvated upwards.
(969.) That part of the cranium which corresponds to
the frontal sinuses is enormously enlarged ; the two tables
of the skull being separated to a considerable distance from
one another, the intermediate space being occupied by a
vast number of cells, which are full of air, and communicat¬
ing with the throat by means of the Eustachian tube. Cam¬
per has very ably pointed out the advantages resulting from
1 December 15, 1831.
2 Philosophical Transactions for 1832, p. 517. See also his paper in the Transactions for 1834, p. 333.
PHYSIOLOGY.
hysiology. this structure, by the increase of surface it affords for the
attachment of the great muscles of the lower jaw, neck, and
proboscis, and for the augmentation of their mechanical
power. The frontal and parietal bones become united at
a very early period with all the other parts of the cranium,
so as to form a bony cavity in which no trace of sutures can
be discerned. The tympanic bone, however, is distinct
from the temporal. The optic foramina commence from a
single canal, which receives the two optic nerves. A rudi¬
ment only of the nasal bones is observable ; and the same
remark is also applicable to the ossa unguis, or lacrymal
bones ; neither can we trace the existence of any lacrymal
gland, or lacrymal sac, or any passage for the tears into the
nose. The foramen ovale in the base of the cranium is
very large. Between the arched sides of the upper part of
the cranium, a broad and deep depression is met with, hav¬
ing a small longitudinal crest in the bottom.
(970.) Between the eye and the orifice of the external
ear, a gland of large size is situated, occasionally secreting
a brown fluid, which oozes out through an opening in the
skin. There are twenty ribs on each side ; and there ap¬
pear to be only three lumbar vertebrae. The ligamentum
nuchae is of great size and strength, for it has to support the
enormous weight of the head with its ponderous tusks and
proboscis. The articulation of the thigh bone with the
pelvis, is destitute of the ligamentum teres, which is found
in almost all other quadrupeds. The toes are five in num¬
ber, but they are almost concealed by the thickness of the
skin of the foot in which they are encased. The condyles
of the lower jaw are simply rounded eminences. The form
and structure of the teeth are very peculiar, and afford dis¬
tinctive characters of the different species of elephants,
which belong more properly to natural history. In addition
to the usual component parts of bones and of enamel, a third
is superadded, called the crusta petrosa, which fills up the
interstices left by the duplications of the enamel. The
ivory which composes the tusks is exceedingly dense, and
differs considerably in its structure from the ordinary bone
of other teeth. It is distinguished by the curved lines which
pass in different directions from the centre of the tusk, form¬
ing by their decussation, a regular arrangement of curvili¬
near lozenges. The tusk is constructed by the successive
deposition of osseous matter from within, being secreted from
the outer surface of the vascular pulp, which occupies the
central part of the growing tusk. Hence, iron balls, fired
at the animal, have been known to penetrate the latter soft
portion, and to remain fixed in the interior of the tusk, till
they were completely covered over, and imbedded in the
successive depositions of ivory.
(971.) The stomach is simple in its structure ; the in¬
testines are voluminous, the ccecum of great size, and the
colon large, long, and divided into cellular compartments.
There is no gall-bladder. The ductus choledochus forms
a pouch between the coats of the intestine, as it does in the
cat, for the reception of the pancreatic duct.
Tapir. (972.) The snout of the tapir bears a slight resemblance
to the proboscis of the elephant; being, although much
shorter, extremely mobile, and provided with a very com¬
plex arrangement of muscles.
! Rhinoceros (973.) The rhinoceros is furnished with a rough and
slightly elevated surface of the large nasal bones, consoli¬
dated into one bone, for the attachment of the horn which
is supported upon it. Such, at least, is the structure in the
one-horned rhinoceros ; in the two-horned species it is the
front horn to which this description applies ; for the poste¬
rior horn rests on a similar process of the os frontis. Like
the elephant, the rhinoceros has no gall-bladder.
Hog. (9^4.) In the hog we also meet with a considerable de-
velopement of the frontal sinuses. The molar glands are
large, and their openings very conspicuous. There are two
considerable membranous bags in the throat, situated above
707
and in front of the ligaments of the glottis. Two small flat Physiology,
bones are found at the base of the heart, at the origin of the
aorta from the left ventricle. Their use has been supposed
to be that of giving support to the valves of the aorta.
(975.) The peccari, or Mexican musk-hog, has a remark- Peccari.
able gland situated in the back, near the sacrum ; it is com¬
posed of several lobules, the ducts of which unite into one
canal, which passes through the skin, and pours out a secre¬
tion having a scent similar to musk. A singular dilatation
is often met with in the aorta of this animal, as if it were
affected with aneurism.
14. Solipeda.
(976.) This family comprehends the horse, ass, zebra, and Solipeda.
quagga. The great interest attached to all that relates to
the horse, from its utility to man, has occasioned its anato¬
my, the study of which is the foundation of the veterinary
art, to be cultivated with peculiar zeal. The principal cir¬
cumstances worthy of notice in the osteology of this animal
are the following. As is the case with most quadrupeds
whose necks are very long, the cervical vertebrae have very
short spinous processes. The dorsal vertebrae, the number of
which of course corresponds with that of the ribs, being eigh¬
teen, and sometimes nineteen, have, on the contrary, very large
and broad spinous processes. The space from the first to
the eighth vertebra, is called the withers, against which the
upper part of the shoulder rests. There are six lumbar ver¬
tebrae, having strong spinous, and also broad and long trans¬
verse processes. Large lateral processes also extend from
the sacrum, which is composed of five consolidated portions;
and the united spinous processes of these are likewise ex¬
ceedingly prominent. The tail is formed of eighteen cylin¬
drical pieces, which, towards the extremity, have nearly the
softness of cartilage.
(977.) The true ribs are, on each side, eight in number,
the remaining ten or eleven being joined to the sternum by
cartilage. The sternum is composed originally of seven
pieces of bone united into one. Its anterior extremity is
sharp-pointed, like the prow or keel of a ship. In the pel¬
vis of the horse, denominated the haunch, we find the ilium,
or hip-bone, extended jn three directions, above, below, and
behind, forming three large processes, for the attachment of
the strong muscles which surround the hip joint. The
ischium is much extended, forming a strong process poster¬
iorly for a similar purpose. This elongation of the ischium
has been termed, from its figure, the processus triquetrus
ischii. By removing the point of attachment of the mus¬
cles to a greater distance from the axis of motion, it gives
them the mechanical advantage of acting by a long lever.
The symphysis of the pubis (or the junction of the bones
of that name) is remarkable for its depth, thus affording an
extensive surface for the attachment of muscles.
(978.) The bones of the extremities of the horse are con¬
structed on the same general model as the human, though
varying much in the details of their form and relative pro¬
portions ; and some parts only appearing in an imperfect or
rudimental state. The scapula is of an oblong triangular
shape, considerably narrower and longer than the same bone
in the human skeleton, and exhibiting only faint traces of
the acromion and coracoid processes. Its axis is nearly in the
same line with the os humeri, which latter bone is very short,
and scarcely descends below the line of the chest, and pos¬
sesses scarcely any rotatory motion on the scapula. The
radius and ulna are consolidated together; the olecranon
is much elongated. The carpus, or as it is vulgarly call¬
ed, the knee, of the horse, is composed of seven, or some¬
times eight, small bones, disposed as in the human carpus,
in two rows; though with respect to their individual form,
they have but little resemblance to the latter.
(979-) That part of the skeleton which corresponds to the
metacarpus is, in the horse, consolidated into a single bone
708 PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, termed the shank, or caiion hone, to which are united be-
hind, and on the side, two much shorter and very slender
bones, called the styloid, or splint bones, frequently found
consolidated with the canon bone by ossific union. It is
only the latter, or principal bone, that is articulated with the
next, or pastern hone, which corresponds with the first pha¬
langes of the fingers, and may be regarded as the consolida¬
tion of these five bones into one. In like manner, the se¬
cond phalanges are consolidated in the horse into the next
bone of the foot, which is termed the coronet hone, and which
is articulated by a divided condyle with the coffin bone, of
which we shall presently speak. Before proceeding, how¬
ever, we must notice two or three small rounded bones
placed at the back of the pastern joint, (between that and
the shank bone) which correspond in their office to sesa¬
moid bones, and which have accordingly received that ap¬
pellation.
(980.) The coffin bone corresponds in situation to the
third phalanx of the fingers. It supports the single hoof;
from which this family of mammalia derive their character¬
istic name. Connected with this is a small bone, called the
shuttle hone.
(981.) In the posterior extremity we find a very similar
arrangement of bones. The thigh bone is unusually short,
scarcely extending beyond the trunk of the body, when sur¬
rounded by its muscles. The glutei muscles, and especi¬
ally the gluteus medius, are particularly powerful in their
action for extending the thigh backwards, and performing
the motion necessary for kicking. There is a process in this
bone of the horse which is not observed at all in the human
os femoris ; it is a strong curved spine, situated on the out¬
side, opposite to the lesser trochanter. It has been termed
the processus recurvatus femoris.
(982.) The patella of the horse is large, thick, and very
prominent. From the tibia there arises a small spinous pro¬
cess, which may be considered as the rudiment of a fibula.
The tarsus, or hock, is composed of six or seven bones, and
forms a very obtuse angle with the tibia, when the horse has
his foot to the ground. The astragalus differs from the hu¬
man bone of that name, by having two very large and pro¬
minent condyles. The metatarsal bo^es correspond in every
respect with those of the carpus already described.
(983.) In the skull of the horse we may observe that the
temporal bone is divided by a suture into the squamous and
tympanic portions. The occipital bone has a deep depres¬
sion in the middle, where the cervical ligament is attached.
The antrum maxillare and turbinated bones are of great
size. The lower jaw-bone is also very large, and presents
a very extended surface for the attachment of muscles.
The horse is provided with a large salivary apparatus of
glands. Its stomach is divided into two portions; the first
of which, next to the oesophagus, is lined with a cuticular
membrane which terminates in a loose expansion, supposed
to have the office of a valve, and to prevent the possibility
of the animal's vomiting. There are generally found ad¬
hering to its coats a great number of the larvae of the oes¬
trus equi, and the oestrus haemorrhoidalis, called in common
language, hotts. The intestinal canal is of great length, the
large intestine alone being twenty-four feet in length. The
colon is very capacious, and divided into cellular compart¬
ments. The liver is large, divided by deep indentations into
lobes, and unprovided with a gall-bladder.
(984.) The peculiar sound produced in neighing is as¬
cribed to the presence in the trachea of a delicate mem¬
brane, attached by its middle to the thyroid cartilage, and
of which the two extremities pass along the external mar¬
gins of the rima glottidis. The Eustachian tube opens, not
immediately over the larynx, but into a sac peculiar to this
tribe of animals, situated on the lateral parts of the lower
jaw; and these cavities then open by a long fissure, furnish¬
ed with a cartilaginous valve, into the pharynx.
(985.) The eye of the horse presents a remarkably beau- PhysioloJ ^
tiful and delicate structure in the folds of the internal mem-
brane of the corpus ciliare. The pupil is oblong, the supe¬
rior margin of the iris having a fringed appearance.
15. JRuminantia.
(986.) The anatomy of the ruminant family of quadrupeds, Rumi-
which comprises so many of those animals that man has do- nantia.
mesticated and rendered subservient to his most urgent wants,
has also very strong claims on our attention.
(987.) In their skeleton they correspond very closely with
the horse, of which we have already given so detailed a de¬
scription. The principal differences are observable in the
terminal bones of the extremities, each limb presenting us
with two hoofs, instead of one, and a corresponding division
of the metatarsal bones and phalanges into two. On the
other hand, the slender traces of a fibula met with in the
horse, disappear in the ox and other animals of this tribe.
(988.) The whole track of the alimentary canal in these Digestive
animals presents us with objects of interest. The tongue organs,
is covered with a thick cuticle, provided with pointed papil¬
lae, which, being directed backwards, are fitted for laying
firm hold of the grass, and tearing it up from the roots. The
salivary glands are extremely large ; the coats of the oeso¬
phagus particularly strong and muscular, in subservience to
the function of rumination peculiar to this tribe. The or¬
gans provided for digestion are more complicated than in any
of the animals we have yet considered. There are no less
than four cavities which have been regarded as performing
the office of stomachs. The first is the paunch, which is a
capacious reservoir, abundantly supplied with secretion from
its coats, which are beset with numerous flattened papillae.
The second is .the honey-comb stomach, so named from the
reticulated appearance of its inner membrane, the folds of
which are disposed in polygonal lines, somewdiat resembling
the hexagonal margins of the cells of the honey-comb. The
third stomach, which is the smallest, is termed the manyplies,
and contains a great number of broad folds, or duplicatures
of its inner membrane, which have been compared to the
leaves of a book. The fourth, or the reed, has a pyriform
shape, an internal villous coat, and a structure altogether
analogous to that of the simple stomachs of carnivorous ani¬
mals. It terminates in the beginning of the intestinal canal.
A groove extends from the termination of the oesophagus
along the edge of the three first stomachs, at the part where
they communicate together; the edges of this groove are
thick, so as to admit, when brought into close contact, of
forming a canal for the direct communication of fne oeso¬
phagus with any one of these four stomachs.
(989-) The grass which the animal takes into the mouth Process of
undergoes but a small degree of mastication, and passes, on rumination,
being swallowed, into the paunch, where it undergoes ma¬
ceration, and is transferred, by small portions at a time, into
the honey-comb, or second stomach, which serves to perform
an auxiliary office to the first. Thence it is sent up again
directly through the oesophagus into the mouth, for the pur¬
pose of undergoing a second and more deliberate mastica¬
tion, which the animal performs when reposing, and from
which it appears to enjoy considerable pleasure. After being
thus ruminated it is again swallowed, and the sides of the
groove being brought into contact, so as to constitute a canal,
and exclude all passage into the first or second stomachs, it
passes directly into the third stomach; whence, after hav¬
ing been subjected to the further action of the secretions of
that organ, it is transferred to the fourth or last stomach,
where the process of digestion is completed. Liquids drunk
by the animal pass at once into the second stomach, and
assist in the maceration of its contents. But the milk taken
by the calf, requiring to be neither macerated nor ruminated,
is conveyed directly from the oesophagus into the fourth
stomach.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Camel.
Physiology. _ (990.) The biliary organs present us, in horned cattle,
with numerous hepato-cystic ducts, conveying the bile im¬
mediately fiom the liver to the gall-bladder, which cyst is
found in all the animals of this order, though it is absent in
the horse. The urinary bladder is particularly large. In
like manner, as we found in the pig, two small bones are
met with also in ruminants, at the origin of the aorta; and
the same purpose has been assigned to them as in the former
instance. In the stag, these have been called the bones of
the heart.
(991.) The internal carotid artery, at its entrance into
the cranium, is suddenly subdivided into numerous branches,
which are variously contorted, and afterwards re-united at the
basis of the brain. The intention of this curious structure,
which has been termed the rete mirabile, appears to be to
diminish the impetus with which the blood would otherwise
be forced into the arteries distributed to the brain; a force
which would be increased by the effect of gravity when the
animal stooped in grazing. The frontal sinus, and other parts
connected with the sense of smell, are much developed. The
lacrymal bones and ossa nasi are of considerable size. The
tapetum is particularly conspicuous in the eyes of ruminants.
One or two additional small bones are found among the os-
sicula auditus. The mastoid cells are numerous, and in the
arrangement of their compartments somewhat resemble a
ripe poppy head. In the ox and the sheep, the superior li¬
gament of the glottis, as well as the ventricles of the larynx,
are absent.
^ (992.) Ruminant animals are distinguished into two tribes,
t .e first consisting of those which are without horns; the
second, of those provided with horns. Of the former, the
camel is remarkable for the great expansion of the hoof,
which adapts it for treading upon sand. It has seven lum¬
bar vertebrae. A peculiar moveable bag, glandular in its
structure, exists behind the palate, probably designed for
the lubrication of the throat: it has received the name of
bursa faucium. Connected with the paunch is a large re¬
ceptacle divided into numerous cells, for the purpose of
holding water, as in a natural reservoir. Hence, when a
camel dies in the desert, the Arabs open the stomach, and
quench their thirst with the water it contains, which is found
to be pure and wholesome. Like the horse, it has no gall¬
bladder. It has no fibula; but this latter bone is met with
in the musk, which is also a hornless ruminant.
(993.) The horned ruminants have an eminence on the
os frontis for supporting the horn. This process is in the
stag a real bone, remarkable for the rapidity of its growth,
which is annual, and for its death and separation from the
skull at certain periodic intervals. Che osseous bases of the
horns of the ox, the sheep, the goat, and the antelope, on
the contrary, are permanent, and are invested with a horny
covering, which has a structure very different from bone.
The cameleopard, or giraffe, on the other hand, has two os¬
seous prominences, which remain permanently covered with
the integuments, and are even surmounted by a tuft of hair.
But the details relating to organs so external as the horns
fall more properly within the province of natural history.
(994.) The rein deer has, like several of the baboon tribe,
large laryngeal sacs on the front of the neck, communicat¬
ing with the larynx.
(995.) In the ox and sheep the spleen is remarkable for
being of a distinctly cellular structure. In these animals we
find a great developement of the salivary glands, and more
particularly of the submaxillary gland, which extends along
tne side of the larynx quite to the back of the pharynx.
709
lorns.
'ameleo-
i iein deer.
*x and
ieep.
etacee.
16. Cetacea.
(996.) From the consideration of the quadrupeds of the
class mammalia, wre pass now to that of a tribe of animals
which, although warm-blooded and mammiferous, are form¬
ed on a model adapting them for inhabiting the water ; na¬
ture having bereft them even of the rudiments of hinder Physiology,
extremities. The bones of the spine are continued, with¬
out being interrupted by an interposed pelvis, into the ver¬
tebrae of the tail, which terminates in a horizontal fin. The
head and trunk are united by a neck, so short as to exhibit
scarcely any diminution of diameter, and containing cervi¬
cal vertebrae, which are extremely compressed, and the
greater number of which are consolidated together by a bony
union. The superior extremities are supported by bones,
which have no medullary cavities, and which, compared
with the analogous bones of quadrupeds, are much shorten¬
ed and compressed. They do not admit of motion amongst
themselves, and being enveloped by a tendinous membrane,
are reduced to the office of fins. The internal organs cor¬
respond, however, with that of other mammalia. Cetacea
breathe by means of lungs, their circulation is double, and
they are warm-blooded. The females are viviparous, and
are provided with mammae for the nourishment of their
young.
(997.) The necessity of occasionally receiving air into
the lungs, whilst the animal is generally immersed in water,
renders it requisite that a provision should be made for their
readily rising to the surface in order to breathe. Hence
the movements of the tail are from above downwards ; hence
in the cachalot and other kinds of whale, a large quantity
of oil is accumulated round the head, which gives greater
buoyancy to this part of the body. Hence, also, when the
animal, in seizing its prey, takes into the mouth a large
quantity of water, there is a necessity of getting rid of it,
which is effected by its transmission into a sac placed at
the external orifice of the nasal cavity, whence it is expelled
with great force, by the contraction of powerful muscles,
through a passage which conducts it to the top of the head.
In this way are produced the enormous spouts of water that
mark the track of the whale on the surface of the sea.
(998.) The olfactory organs are not adapted to the pos¬
session of any accurate sense of smell, being furnished neither
with tuibinated bones nor with any considerable nerves.
The larynx rises in a pyramidal form into the posterior part
of the nostrils, in order to receive the air from those pas¬
sages, and convey it to the lungs, without its being neces¬
sary for the animal to extend more than the end of the
snout above the surface of the water. The glottis is sim¬
ple, and is not interrupted by any projecting membranes.
(999.) The stomach is composed of as many as five, or
sometimes even of seven distinct pouches. There is no
coecum or appendix vermiformis; and the gall-bladder is
absent in the greater number. The spleen is divided into
a number of small globular lobes. The kidneys are con¬
glomerate. The brain is large, and its hemispheres much
developed. The tympanic bone is separated from the rest
of the cranium, adhering to it only by ligamentous con¬
nexions. There is no external ear; the stapes is nearly
solid ; in the walrus it exhibits no perforation. The ossi-
cula, semicircular canals, and other parts of the labyrinth
of the internal ear are remarkably small. The external
meatus is cartilaginous, and so small, that its external orifice
in the dolphin will only just admit a pin. It pursues a
winding course through the fat, which is of great thickness,
until it reaches the tympanum. The Eustachian tube opens
at the blowing hole, and is furnished with a valve prevent¬
ing the admission of the water which the animal expels
through that passage. The lacrymal organs are entirely
wanting ; the sclerotic coat of the eye is very thick at its
posterior part, so that although the eye-ball has exteriorly
a spherical form, the figure of the vitreous humor is very
different; its structure at the back of the eye has the hard¬
ness of cartilage.
(1000.) In many parts of the arterial system of the ce¬
tacea, we find reticular plexuses, or convolutions of the
vessels, the purpose of which is probably to serve as reser-»
710 P H Y S 11
Physiology, voirs of arterial blood, for the use of the system, when the
>«^V animal is long under water.
(1001.) In the trichecus manatus borealis, or manati, a
gland of the size of the human head is found between the
coats of the stomach, near the oesophagus, discharging, on
pressure, a fluid resembling the pancreatic juice.
Whale. (1002.) The whale is remarkable for having, in place of
teeth, an apparatus apparently intended for filtration, and
consisting of plates of the substance called whalebone, de¬
scending vertically into the mouth from the lower surface
of the upper jaw, into which they are fixed by a ligamen¬
tous substance. On each side their number amounts to
three or four hundred. The inner edge of each plate has
its fibres detached so as to form a kind of fringe, which re¬
tains the small fishes and mollusca on which the animal
feeds. The lower jaw is unprovided with any similar ap¬
pendages. Although there are no teeth in the upper jaw,
yet an intermaxillary bone is still present. Rudiments of
teeth exist in the interior of the lower jaw before birth,
lodged in deep sockets, and forming a row on each side.
The developement of these imperfect teeth, however, pro¬
ceeds no farther," and they disappear at an early period.
The tongue, which is supported by an os hyoides of singu¬
lar shape, is very thick and fleshy. The oesophagus is ex¬
ceedingly narrow. The stomach is complicated in its struc¬
ture. The intestinal canal is of considerable length, and
contains a great number of longitudinal folds. There is a
short ccecum. The mesenteric glands contain large sphe¬
rical cavities, into which the trunks of the lacteals open,
and where the chyle is probably blended with secretions
proper to those cavities. The eye is extremely small in
comparison with the size of the animal; and it occupies
but a small portion of the orbit.
Sect. II.—Comparative Physiology of Birds.
1. General Description.
Birds. (1003.) The whole of this class of animals exhibits great
uniformity in its comparative anatomy; insomuch that the
whole may easily be comprised in one general description.
The structure of every part of the frame of birds is adapted
to facilitate rapid progression through the air; for which
purpose the anterior extremities are converted into wings,
and are not employed in any other action. The support of
the body when the animal is not flying, is entrusted solely
to the posterior extremities ; so that birds are, strictly speak¬
ing, bipeds. Hence we may trace some degree of approxi¬
mation to the human structure in the conformation of the
skeleton.
Skeleton. (1004.) The bones are dense in their texture, but are
at the same time rendered light by having large cavities,
occupied, not with marrow, as in the mammalia, but with
air. There is a smaller proportion of cartilaginous to osse¬
ous structure in the skeleton of birds than in that of quad¬
rupeds.
(1005.) The neck of birds being required to be very
flexible, we find the cervical vertebrae very numerous, and
freely moveable upon one another. The swan has twenty-
three cervical vertebrae. Those of the back, on the other
hand, are perfectly fixed and immoveable, their spinous
processes being large and often united by osseous substance,
so as to preclude the possibility of any relative motion. As
the ribs occupy the whole of the sides of the trunk, there
are properly no lumbar vertebrae. The os coccygis is short
and compressed ; and can scarcely be regarded as a proper
tail, although it affords support to the long feathers which
constitute what is usually called the tail of birds. The pel¬
vis consists almost entirely of a broad os innominatum, the
lateral portions of which are widely separated, in order to
admit of space for the developement of the eggs ; and for
the same reason the two ossa pubis do not join to form a
3 L O G Y.
symphysis, but are at a considerable distance from one an- Physiology,
other. The exceptions to this general rule will be noticed
afterwards.
(1005.) The number of true ribs never exceeds ten pair;
the false ribs are numerous, and directed forwards. Those
which occupy the middle of the body are distinguished by
a flat process, directed upwards and backwards. The ster¬
num is composed of five pieces, and is of great size and
strength. From the middle of its lower surface there rises
a sharp process, or spine, resembling the keel of a ship, and
evidently adapted to accommodate the large and powerful
pectoral muscles, which take their rise from this part of the
chest, and which act in depressing the wings. The bones
which connect the wings to the trunk are apparently three
in number; the coracoid process of each scapula being dis¬
tinct and largely developed bones, having the semblance of
ordinary clavicles, whilst the real clavicles are consolidated
into a single bone, denominated \he furcular bone, from its
resemblance to a fork, and which in the fowl is better known
by the name of the merry-thought. Its extremities rest on
two strong processes of the scapula. Many anatomists, con¬
sidering the coracoid as the true clavicles, have regarded
the furcular bone as an additional, or supplementary clavicle,
corresponding to the coracoid apophysis.
(1006.) The bones of the wing are analogous in their di¬
visions and distribution to those of the upper extremity in
man : there being a humerus, radius, and ulna ; two carpal
bones; and two metacarpal bones, generally consolidated
into one ; one bone corresponding to that of the thumb and
two fingers ; that next to the thumb consisting of two pha¬
langes, and the outer one, of a single bone.
(1007.) In the legs we find a femur and a tibia, to which
there adheres a very slender fibula, (which is, indeed, often
wanting;) one metatarsal bone, and the phalanges of the
toes. The patella is often supplied by a process from the
tibia.
(1008.) The muscles possess a high degree of irritability, Provision
and contract with great quickness and force. Many of the for roost-
tendons become ossified in the progress of age. A remark-ing-
able arrangement exists in the tendons of the flexor muscles
of the toes, by which the flexion of the knee and heel puts
them on the stretch, and thus mechanically bending the
toes, enables the bird to lay firm hold of the branch of
a tree or perch whilst roosting. This is effected by the
flexor tendons passing round over the outer side of the
angle formed by each of these joints. Thus a bird, while
roosting, supports itself on one leg only, by the mere effect
of the weight of the body producing the necessary flexion
of the toes, to enable it to preserve its hold. This remark¬
able provision of nature was long ago observed, and well
explained by Borelli; and though the fact has been contro¬
verted by Vicq. D’Azyr, it appears to be well established.
In order to give great latitude of motion to the head, the
articulation of the os occipitis with the atlas is performed
by a single condyle only, which procures it the advantages
of a ball and socket joint. This condyle is situated at the
anterior margin of the great occipital foramen. The proper
bones of the cranium are not joined by sutures, but are con¬
solidated into a single piece. The orbits for the eyes are
very large, and are frequently found to communicate later¬
ally in the skeleton, being separated, in the living animal,
only by a thin membranous partition. The ossa unguis are
generally very large. The upper jaw is almost always move-
able upon the other bones of the head. To this bone is
joined the bill, the structure of which is horny, and thus
supplies the place of teeth, occupying the situation of the
palate. The functions of the teeth, indeed, are not wanted,
for the animal swallows its food without any mastication.
The lower jaw is connected with the skull by the interme¬
dium of a peculiar bone of irregular form, called the os qua-
dratum. Another small bone resting against the palate is
connected with it.
PHYSIOLOGY.
physiology. (1009.) The energy of the digestive functions in birds
corresponds with that of respiration, and muscular irritabi-
' ^ans^6 The stornacl1 may be considered as consisting of three
"ga ‘ cavities ; the first of which, termed the crop, is rather a di¬
latation of the oesophagus, furnished with numerous glands
disposed in a regular arrangement of rows ; the second is
the ventriculus succenturiatus, or pro-ventriculus, situated
lower down, and just at the entrance of the proper stomach.
It is furnished with a still more complex glandular appara¬
tus ; and hence has been termed the bulbus glandulosus.
Its form and structure vary much in different genera of
birds. The third is the proper stomach, which resembles
in the structure of its coats the simple stomachs of the
mammalia, being thin and membranous in those birds which
feed on insects and flesh. But in all granivorous birds the
coats of this stomach are farther armed with a thick cuti-
cular lining, of nearly the density of horn, which is sur¬
rounded by four immensely thick and powerful muscles,
capable of exerting a strong compression on the contents
of the stomach, and a slight degree of lateral motion, and
thus performing the office of trituration. Such is the struc¬
ture of what is called a gizzard. Between these opposite
structures there exists, in different species of birds, a great
number of intermediate gradations, corresponding to the
peculiar nature of the food to which nature has adapted
their organization. The trituration of the grain is assisted
by small stones voluntarily swallowed by the animal, and in
the selection of which the animal is directed by a principle of
instinct.
(1010.) The intestinal canal of birds is much shorter
than in most of the mammalia; but a similar disparity is
also noticed in the former, with regard to the greater length
of the canal in birds consuming vegetable food, when com¬
pared with that of the carnivorous tribes. There is scarcely
any distinction in point of size between the small and large
intestines; though the division between them is generally
marked by the presence of two cceca. The rectum termi¬
nates in an expansion, termed the cloaca, in which the
ureter terminates, and which therefore performs the func¬
tion of the urinary bladder. Connected with the cloaca,
there is an oval glandular bag termed the bursa fabricii, and
opening into it by a narrow longitudinal aperture. The ovi¬
duct in the female also opens into the same cavity. Two
blind pouches, opening into the rectum, are found near to
its termination.
(1011.) The liver of birds is usually divided into two
lobes ; but in some birds there is in addition a third smaller
lobe. Two ducts proceed from the liver ; the one is the
hepato-cystic duct, the other the hepatic duct. The former
conveys the bile into the gall bladder, the latter into the
duodenum. Thus the bile is conducted into the duodenum
by one hepatic duct distinct from the cystic duct, and these
two alternately with two or three ducts from the pancreas,
which is large, and generally consists of two distinct glands;
the spleen, on the other hand, is usually round, and of small
size. The gall-bladder is situated under the right lobe of
the liver; but some birds have no gall-bladder. There is
no omentum. The chyle is transparent ; there are no
glands in the mesentery; the thoracic duct is double. Ma-
gendiehas denied the existence of lymphatic vessels in birds;
but they have been distinctly seen by others.' The kidneys
form a double row of conglobate glands, connected together,
and situated on the sides of the lumbar vertebra;, in the
hollows of the ossa innominata. There is no cavity corres¬
ponding to the pelvis of the kidneys of the mammalia; but
renal capsules, similar to those of mammalia, are found also
in birds.
art (1012.) The heart of birds is furnished, as in the mam¬
malia, with a double set of cavities ; the one subservient to
the general or systemic, and the other to the pulmonary
circulation. The valves of the right ventricle are supplied
by a strong triangular muscle, which gives additional im- Phys
petus to the blood propelled into the pulmonary artery.
Jacobson has discovered a singular distribution in the abdo¬
minal veins ; those returning the blood from the hinder ex¬
tremities being ramified through the kidneys and liver, pre¬
viously to their termination in the vena cava.
(1013.) The lungs are not divided into lobes, and are Lung
fixed in their situation, being tightly braced in the cavity
formed by the ribs, on each side, by a membrane, which is
perforated by a number of holes. These apertures are the
terminations of collateral branches of the bronchiae, through
which the air received into the chest passes out, and circu¬
lates through a multitude of cells interspersed through va¬
rious parts of the body, and communicating ultimately with
the central cavities of the bones. An immense surface is
thus exposed to the influence of the air, which, having ac¬
cess to every part of the body, acts very extensively on the
blood circulating in the vessels lining these air-cells and
cavities. Hence the energy of the function of respiration
is greater, and the temperature higher, than in any of the
mammalia. There is properly no diaphragm in birds ; a
few muscular fibres only surround the larger air-cells, and
assist in expelling the air from them back again into the
lungs. The trachea is supported by a series of cartilages,
which form entire rings, and overlap each other at their
upper and lower margins, so as to preserve the tube open
amidst the violent bendings and twistings of the neck. It
is provided, at its bifurcation, with a peculiar set of muscles,
which, aided by a second rima glottidis, enable this part to
perform the functions of a second larynx, and to give rise
tn sounds ; and, indeed, to be apparently the principal organ
of the voice. In many aquatic birds, as in the male swan,
the trachea makes a large circumvolution, which is con¬
tained in the hollow of the sternum. In other birds it is
not enclosed in this bone; but there is a bony structure
surrounding the inferior larynx, which tends to strengthen
the voice. These convolutions and bony cells of the tra¬
chea, have been compared in their office to the turns of the
French-horn, or the divisions of a basoon. This great de-
velopement of the vocal organs is peculiar to the male bird.
(1014.) The brain of birds is characterized by the small-Brain,
ness of the hemispheres, which are not united by any cor¬
pus callosum. There is no appearance of convolutions on
its surface. The optic thalami are voluminous, and are si¬
tuated behind and below the hemispheres ; a cavity is found
in each. The crura of the cerebellum do not form any emi¬
nence at their junction with the medulla oblongata, corres¬
ponding to the pons varolii. The cerebellum is compara¬
tively large, but has no lateral lobes, being almost wholly
constituted by the processus vermiformis. The total bulk
of the brain, compared with the size or weight of the body,
is generally greater than in the mammalia.
(1015.) The eyes of birds are very large, in proportion Eyes,
to the size of the head, and appear to be adapted to a great
range of vision. The adjustment of the position of the lens
appears to be effected by means of a vascular and plicated
membrane, called the marsupium, extending obliquely from
the bottom of the retina, through the vitreous humor, to
the edge of the crystalline. Its figure is trapezoidal; its
surface is covered with the pigmentum nigrum, which of
course absorbs all the rays of light that fall upon it. The
anterior part of the eye-ball is, in many carnivorous birds,
strengthened by a circle of bony plates, lying close upon
the sclerotica, and overlapping each other. Besides the
two external eye-lids, birds are always provided with a strong-
nictitating membrane, proceeding from the internal corner
of the eye, and drawn over the cornea by a special muscu¬
lar apparatus. In some birds the lower eye-lid is the most
moveable, and in others it is the upper.
(1016.) There is no cartilaginous external ear ; what has £Hr
this appearance in the owl is formed only by the feathers ; ar”
712
PHYSIOLOGY.
Nostrils.
Tongue.
Incuba¬
tion.
Physiology, the cavity of the tympanum contains only one ossiculum
■ ' auditus, and communicates with the air-cells of the skull.
The Eustachian tubes have a common opening over the
arch of the palate. The part corresponding to the cochlea
has the figure of a cone, with scarcely any curvature, but
with two scalae. The semicircular canals are large, and
project from the bone. .
(T017.) The nasal organs are unprovided with an getli-
moid bone ; the olfactory nerves passing to them through
the orbits, and being distributed upon the bulks turbinates,
which are oftener cartilaginous than osseous in their struc-
^TlOlS.) The tongue is thick and fleshy, covered with a
thick cuticle, and therefore not adapted to be an organ of
taste. It is supported by an os hyoides of a singular shape,
having besides the anterior and posterior processes, and the
cornua, with their appendices, another bone jointed to it an¬
teriorly, and moveable on it. This last bone, which supports
the tongue, is called the lingual bone -
/1019.) The evolution of the chicu; from the egg being
a subject of great interest, has long engaged the attention
of physiologists. The following is an outline of the history
of these changes in the common fowl. The ovulum, or first
rudiment of the egg, is formed in the ovary, and consists sim¬
ply of a bag containing the yolk ; this afterwards becomes
covered in its progress along the oviduct, by successive
layers of albuminous substance, which composes the white
of the egg, so called from the colour it assumes when coa¬
gulated. The white of the egg is invested with a firm mem¬
brane, which is easily divisible into two layers ; and there
are also other membranes dividing the mass of albumen into
concentric layers. The membrane of the yolk, the mem-
brana vitelli, or yolk-bag, is connected with that of the
white, or the membrana albuminis, by a kind of ligament,
which extends from the two ends or sides of the yolk, to
those of the white ; these, when partially stretched and torn
by the motion of the yolk, have a flocculent appearance,
and form what are called the chalazce. They appear to act
as ligaments to the yolk, keeping that surface uppermost in
which the chick is situated, so that it may receive warmth
from the hen during incubation. In the lower part of the
oviduct the egg acquires a calcareous covering or shell,
which is secreted by the inner membrane of that canal, and
liver, and intestines. Then a vascular membrane, the al- Physiology-,
lantois, is rapidly formed, having the form of a bladder com-
municating with the cloaca. It soon extends over nearly
the whole of the internal membrane of the shell, and is co¬
vered with numerous ramifications of arterial and venous
vessels, derived from the internal iliacs of the chick ; the
former contain carbonized blood, and are therefore dark co¬
loured ; the latter, which conduct back the same blood af¬
ter it has received the influence of the air at the suiface,
have a bright scarlet hue, and unite in forming the umbili¬
cal vein of the chick. Hence it is evident that this mem¬
brane performs a function analogous to that of the placenta
in mammalia, and to that of the future air-cells of the lungs,
or, in other words, that it is the organ of embryonic respira¬
tion. The chick is nourished by the matter of the yolk,
which is partly absorbed by yellow vessels (vasa vitelli lu-
tea) having a fringed appearance, and flocculent extremi¬
ties, floating in the yolk, and partly by the direct passage of ,
this matter into the intestine by means of a canal of com¬
munication, called the ductus vitello-intestinalis. The white
of the egg also gradually disappears, being absorbed into,
and mixed with the yolk. Towards the latter periods of in¬
cubation, the whole of the yolk-bag is taken into the abdo¬
men, and soon disappears. On the twenty-first day °f in¬
cubation, the chick, being fully formed, breaks the shell
which confines it, and enters into the world ; for which tem¬
porary purpose it is provided with a hard beak, which is
afterwards lost.
2. Peculiarities in 'particular Families and Genera
of Birds.
(1021.) The shades of difference in the anatomy of each
organ in individual genera and species of birds, are exceed¬
ingly numerous, and to enter into their detail would far ex¬
ceed the limits within which we are obliged to confine our¬
selves in this treatise. We must not, however, pass over
some of the most remarkable differences which offer them¬
selves to our notice in a few families of birds. Amongst these
none are more singular than those presented by the tribe of
the brevipennes of Cuvier, comprehending the ostnch andBrevi.
the cassowary. These birds not being intended for flight, pen^-
have very imperfectly formed wings ", the sternum exhibits
no carinated figure, but presents a plane and uniform sur-
which is secreted by the inner membrane ot mat canai,anu destitute of an inferior spine ; the pectoral mus
cles’of the hinder extremity, on the contrary, are very larg,
— ^  i   ^ small
IIICIII11I1& UVILIVJU r   Yin n
Between the two membranes which line the shell, a small
quantity of air is contained at the larger end of the egg.
(1020.) A small, round, milk-white spot, called the ctca-
tricula, is formed on the surface of the yolk-bag during in¬
cubation. It is surrounded by two or three concentric cir¬
cles, called the halones. Previously to the appearance of
the embryo, a small shining spot of an elongated form, with
rounded ends, but contracted in the middle, is seen within
the cicatricula. This is called the areola pelluctda. In
the centre of this may be discerned, on the second day, a
gelatinous filament, bent into a curve. This is the primitive
trace, or earliest perceptible rudiment of the chick, in which
the first organs that can be discovered are the two lobes of
the brain, and the primitive filaments of the spinal cord, with
the caudal dilatation. Vessels begin to appear on the sur¬
face of the yolk-bag, being spread on a separate membrane,
and presenting what has been called thefigura venosa, or
area vasculosa, the marginal vessel at the remotest part be¬
ing termed the vena terminalis. These veins correspond
to the mesenteric veins; they are collected together, and
form the vena portae, whilst the arteries are derived from the
mesenteric artery of the chick. The heart may next be per¬
ceived, as three red pulsating points, constituting \hepunc-
tum saliens. These points are the rudiments of the auric e,
ventricle, and aorta. Next, the separate vertebrae may be
distinguished, then the eyes, and afterwards the stomach,
and powerful. The furcular bone exists only in a rudimen-
tal state. The pelvis of the ostrich differs from that of all
other birds in being closed below by the complete junction
of the ossa pubis. The cceca in this bird are furnished with
a remarkable spiral valve. The feathers are also exceed¬
ingly peculiar; but as this subject belongs rather to the
external characters, we cannot dwell upon it here.
(1022.) The same consideration prevents us from dilating^
on the varieties in the structure of the bill, and of the toes,
which offer to the naturalist abundant topics of interesting
inquiry. We shall only remark that the cellular bills, which
are of such enormous size in the levirostres, have free com¬
munications with the air cells subservient to respiration, and
may therefore be auxiliary to that function.
(1023.) The tongue of the woodpecker is provided wlt.h '
a singular apparatus for darting it forwards with great rapi-P
dity ; this is effected by a long cartilaginous band, which
passes completely over the top of the cranium, and is hxea
to a groove on the right side of the upper jaw.
Sect. III.—Comparative Physiology of Reptiles*
1. Reptiles in General.
(1024.) The class of reptiles comprehends all those ver- Rephk-
tebrated animals which breathe atmospheric air by means
of lungs, but which are cold-blooded. This latter quali y
PHYSIOLOG Y.
lysiology. is a consequence of the partial extent of their respiration, the
heart being so constructed as to transmit to the lungs only
a portion of the circulating blood, and the remaining part
being again sent into the arterial system of the body with¬
out having been exposed to the action of the air. Reptiles
are distinguished by the negative characters of being desti¬
tute of either hair or feathers, and having no mammae, or¬
gans for which there appears to be no occasion, in conse¬
quence of these animals being oviparous. The limited de¬
gree in which their blood is oxygenated appears to have a
considerable influence on the whole condition of their vital
functions. Not only is the temperature of the blood scarce¬
ly different from that of the surrounding medium,1 the ac¬
tions of life seem to be more sluggish and torpid, and the
muscular powers less energetic ; their sensations are more
obtuse, and in cold climates they pass the winter in a state
of torpor. The comparative smallness of the pulmonary
system of vessels, and the less extent of the surfaces of the
air-cells of the lungs, render them less dependent on respi¬
ration than warm-blooded animals ; hence they bear sub¬
mersion under water for a considerable time with impunity,
although, if the interruption to respiration be too long con¬
tinued, they ultimately perish, with as much certainty as any
of the mammalia woidd do under similar circumstances.
There is ground for believing, according to Geoffroi St.
Hilaire, that crocodiles and turtles possess, in addition to
the ordinary pulmonary respiration, a partial aquatic abdo¬
minal respiration, effected by means of two channels of com¬
munication which have been found to exist between the
cavity of the abdomen and the external surface of the body,
and also that some analogy maybe traced between this aqua¬
tic respiration in reptiles, by these peritoneal canals, and
the supposed function of the swimming bladder of fishes,
hereafter to be described, in subserviency to a species of
aerial respiration.
(1025.) As their vital functions do not require for their
performance any elevated temperature, so we find reptiles des¬
titute of those appendages to the integuments, such as hair,
wool, or feathers, which in the other classes retain the
warmth of the body. Their brain is very small compared
with the rest of the nervous system, being less necessary for
the exercise of the vital actions. The parts immediately in¬
strumental in sensation are less concentrated in a particular
spot, but would appear to be more diffused over the spinal
cord and ganglia. Thus they not only continue to live, but
even exhibit motions which have the semblance of being
voluntary, though probably not so in reality, long after the
loss of the brain, or even of the entire head. In like man¬
ner the irritability of their muscles is retained for a much
longer time, after they have been separated from the body,
than in the case of warm-blooded animals. The heart, when
removed from the body, still continues to beat for several
hours ; and the body, thus deprived of its heart, may still
possess the power of voluntary motion, in consequence of
the continuance of a species of obscure circulation, which
is carried on in the capillary system of vessels.
^ers (1026.) Reptiles present a much greater variety of forms
'1 es' and of structures than is met with in any other class of ver-
tebrata. The characters of the orders are derived princi¬
pally from the form of their organs of progressive motion.
These orders are four in number, namely, chelonia, sauria,
ophidia, and batrachia.
2. Chelonia.
iclonia. (1027.) This order comprehends turtles and tortoises,
animals whose skeleton presents a trunk composed of two
large plates of bone, the one derived from an expansion of
713
the dorsal vertebrae and ribs, the other from a corresponding Physiology,
expansion of the sternum ; these are united at the edges,
and form a complete case for the thoracic and abdominal
viscera, leaving apertures in front for the head and neck,
together with the fore legs, and behind for the hind legs and
tail. This arrangement produces a singular reversal of
the positions of the scapula, the pelvis, and the muscles at¬
tached to these bones, all of which, instead of being placed
externally, are situated in the interior of the ribs. The hu¬
merus is remarkably curved, especially in the tortoise, where
it has nearly the form of a semicircle. The radius and ulna
are distinct from each other; the carpus and phalanges are
short and stunted, forming a compressed sort of hand. The
vertebrae of the neck and tail are the only parts of the spinal
column which are moveable upon one another.
(1028.) The cavity in which the brain is contained is
very small compared with the size of the skull, the greater
part of which consists of the bones surrounding the orbit,
and giving attachment to the large muscles that move the
jaw. There are no teeth, and the horny coverings of the
jaws has some resemblance to a horse’s hoof in the mode of
its connexion with the bones. The tongue is short, and
covered with villi, which extend also down the oesophagus ;
their points are all directed towards the stomach, so as to
prevent the return of the food when it is once swallowed.
The stomach is simple in its structure ; the intestinal canal
of moderate length ; its inner membrane presenting only
longitudinal folds, together with innumerable villi, which
are more thickly set in the upper part of the canal than in
the lower ; there is no coecum, but occasionally small pro¬
cesses, or appendices epiploicae, are attached to the outer
membrane. The urinary bladder is exceedingly capacious.
The lungs are voluminous, and are contained in the same
cavity as the abdominal viscera. The air-cells are very
large, and the general texture of the lungs is loose. Res¬
piration is performed entirely by the muscles of deglutition;
the animal in fact closes its mouth, and swallows the air re¬
ceived from the nostrils, which is thus poured down into the
trachea, the os hyoides being alternately raised and depress¬
ed. The liver is divided into two round irregularly-shaped
masses.
(1029.) The heart has two auricles, separated by a com¬
plete septum, the one receiving the blood from the venae
cavae, the other from the pulmonary veins. The ventricle
into which these veins pour their contents is single, but has
two chambers of unequal size, which communicate together,
so that the blood received from the lungs is more or less
mixed with that returning from the body in the systemic
circulation ; and it is this mixed blood which is sent through
the aorta. The pulmonary artery is merely a branch of the
aortic system.
(1030.) In the internal ear, we find a tympanum, Eusta¬
chian tube, and semicircular canals, together with ossicula,
and also stony concretions in the vestibule. The eye has
a bony ring at the anterior part of the sclerotica, as in birds.
There are large lacrymal glands, and a very moveable mem-
brana nictitans.
3. Sauria.
(1031.) The various animals included in this order, or Sauria.
the tribe of lizards, have a heart with two auricles, with ge¬
nerally four feet, and a scaly integument. They are al¬
ways provided with teeth, and with nails; there is invariably
a tail. The ribs are very moveable, and their motions are
subservient to respiration. The lungs are long and vesicu¬
lar, extending far into the abdominal cavity.
(1032.) The crocodile may be taken as an example of Crocodile.
1 The temperature of animals of this class has been shewn by the experiments of Dr. Davy, Tiedemann, Czermqick, and Wilford, to
be in general two or three degrees higher than that of the surrounding medium. It partakes, however, of the vicissitudes in the tem¬
perature of that medium.
VOL. XVII. 4 X
14
PHYSIOLOGY.
Chameleon.
Physiology, this order. Its jaws are of immense size. The upper jaw
'consists of a large intermaxillary bone, which is immove-
ably joined with the skull, although the animal, in opening the
mouth, appears to raise it independently, a circumstance
which misled the older naturalists into the belief, that it
was really moveable. There is an os quadrature as in birds.
The sternum extends to the abdomen, and consists of seven
pair of cartilaginous arches, to which ten ribs, not however
reaching to the spine, are attached. There are no clavi¬
cles. The tongue is thick and flat, and attached very near
its edges to the jaws, so as not to be easily perceived.
The teeth are of the simple conical kind chiefly adapted
to the prehension and retention of the food; and each tooth
when worn, is replaced by a fresh one, which grows under¬
neath it; a succession which takes place several times dur¬
ing the life of the animal.
The (esophagus has the shape of a funnel, and leads to a
stomach which resembles thatofgranivorousbirds,in the thick¬
ness of its coats, and the approximation of its two apertures.
The liver has two distinct lobes. There is no urinary blad¬
der. The single ventricle of the heart is divided into three
compartments, which communicate together ; there is one
cavity belonging to each auricle, and an intermediate cavi¬
ty, into which the blood from the two others is poured, and
where the intermixture of the carbonized and oxygenated
portions is made. There is an external meatus of the ear,
which may be voluntarily closed by a species of lips. Ossi-
cula auditus are found, as well as stony concretions in the
vestibule. In the other kinds of lizards, the tympanum is
on a level with the integuments, and there is no external
meatus. A membrana nictitans is found in the eye.
The area of the section of the cavity containing the brain
does not occupy the one-twentieth part of that of the whole
head.
(1033.) The chameleon has comparatively a large head;
but its brain is only of the size of a pea. Its lungs have
numerous projecting processes. The tongue is constructed
in a manner which bears some analogy to that of the wood¬
pecker in the mechanism by which it is darted forwards to
a considerable distance from the head, and suddenly retract¬
ed. It terminates in a sort of club, which is moistened with
a glutinous secretion, for seizing flies and other insects, and
its upper surface is hollowed. The eyes project consider¬
ably from the head, and admit of being turned very freely
in their orbits. The most singular circumstance in the con¬
stitution of this animal, is the change of colour of its skin
under various circumstances of temperature or excitement.
These changes appear to be connected with the variable
activity of respiration, which quickly influences the colour
of the blood circulating under the very transparent skin ;
and which is visible to a greater depth, in consequence of
the ample extension of the lungs along the sides of the ab¬
domen : when the lungs are inflated, indeed, the whole bo¬
dy appears as if it were semi-transparent.
(1034.) The draco volans is a remarkable instance, in
this tribe, of the subserviency of the ribs, which are expand¬
ed on each side so as to support a thin membrane resem¬
bling a wing, to the purposes of progressive motion.
4. Ophidia.
(1035.) Serpents, being wholly without feet, are con¬
strained to crawl upon the surface of the earth, and are,
therefore, more especially entitled to the appellation of rep¬
tiles.
(1036.) Their skeleton presents us with the simplest pos¬
sible condition of the vertebral type ; for it consists merely
of a simple spinal column descending from the head, and
furnished only with ribs. There appears, at first sight, to
be no vestige either of sternum, of scapula, or of pelvis ; the
body of each vertebra is articulated by a convex surface,
which is received into a concave surface of the next. The
Draco vo-
lans.
Opliidia.
number of vertebrae is often exceedingly great; being some-Physiology,
times as many as three hundred. The number of the ribs^^Y-^
corresponds with that of the vertebrae, and when acted
upon by their muscles, they assist in the progressive motion
of the animal, by pressing on the ground, in succession,
like imperfect feet. In the rattle-snake, the last vertebrae
of the tail are broad and covered with the hollow pieces
which compose the rattle. Obscure rudiments of pelvic
bones were found by Mayer to exist in the anguis fragilis,
the anguis ventralis, and the typhlops crocotatus ; and it is
probable that they may be discovered in most reptiles of
this order. Some serpents have external claws, which may¬
be considered as rudiments of feet. In others they exist
concealed under the skin ; and in others, again, there are
cartilaginous filaments which Mayer regards as rudimental
claws, connected with a series of small bones, which appear
to be the rudiments of the bones of the lower extremities.
(1037.) The upper jaw-bone is detached from the rest of
the skull, and admits of great latitude of motion. In most
species of serpents, the jaws are so constructed as to ren¬
der the mouth capable of great dilatation, and to enable it to
receive objects even larger than the animal itself, and a cor¬
responding power of dilatation exists also in the oesophagus.
(1038.) Serpents that are not venomous have usually Teeth,
four maxillary bones in the upper jaw, beset with small
teeth, placed in two rows, widely separated from one an¬
other. The external row is not found in venomous ser¬
pents, but in their place large tubular fangs are met with,
which are the terminations of the ducts from the poison
bags, and which convey the venom into the wound inflict¬
ed by the tooth. This poison is secreted by glands, situa¬
ted below the eyes, and surrounded by very strong muscles.
(1039.) The stomach of serpents can scarcely be distin¬
guished from the lower extremity of the oesophagus, and
is very short, compared with the great length of that canal.
There is no urinary bladder, the ureters opening at once
into the cloaca.
(1040.) The heart has generally two auricles, though in
some genera only one is met with ; the ventricle is always
single. The lungs consist of a membranous cavity, on the
sides of which there are cells ; their form is exceedingly
elongated. The lung on one side is often much smaller than
the other. The tongue is long and slender, and forked at
the extremity; its root is contained in a kind of sheath,
whence it can be protruded and retracted at pleasure.
There is properly no tympanum belonging to the ear ; but
the long process of an ossiculum is found under the skin,
and is connected with a tympanic bone.
5. Batrachia.
(1041.) The batrachia, (so termed from the Greek name Batrachta.
of the frog, which may be assumed as a type of this order,)
have a heart consisting of only a single auricle and ventri¬
cle ; when arrived at maturity, they are possessed of two
lungs ; but in the earlier stages of their growth, they are
wholly aquatic animals, and breathe like fishes by means of
gills, which are affixed to the sides of the neck, by cartila¬
ginous arches connected with the os hyoides. Such is the
condition of the tadpole, which is the young of the frog.
The aorta, on its exit from the heart, sends branches to
each of the gills ; whence the blood is collected by corres¬
ponding veins, that unite near the back to form a single
arterial trunk, which again ramifies and distributes the
blood to every part of the body, including the rudimental
lungs, which are not yet developed In the process of the
transformation of the tadpole into the frog, though these
branchial arteries become obliterated, yet the vessels which
supply the lungs remain, and are afterwards the channels of
pulmonary respiration.
(1042.) In the skeleton of the frog, in place of ribs, small
slender cartilages affixed to the extremities of the trans-
Physiology- verse processes of some of the vertebra, which in the dorsal
vertebra are very broad. The spine is short, and termi-
nates behind in a straight sacrum, which is impacted into
the fork-shaped or innominatum. The scapula is thin and
flat; and, together with the clavicles, are united to the
sternum ; but as there are no ribs, these, with the bones of
the anterior extremities, are detached from the rest of the
skeleton. _ There are properly no teeth ; but the margin of
the jaws is serrated. The urinary bladder exists, and is
even sometimes double.
(1042.) The lungs do not collapse on opening the chest;
this arises from the power which the frog possesses of dis¬
tending them by the muscles of the mouth ; the respiration
being conducted on a plan similar to the one which has been
already described in the tortoise, (§ 1027). Many species,
as the pipa, have the vocal organs much developed. The
tongue is of great length, and doubled back in the mouth ;
it is thrust forwards to a considerable distance in seizing its
prey, and retracted with great rapidity. There is no exter¬
nal meatus to the ear ; but the membrana tympani is ex¬
ternal, and appears as part of the integument. The Eusta¬
chian tube opens at the fauces by an expanded mouth,
ihere are two ossiculaauditus ; and the vestibulum contains
rudiments of the calcareous bodies met with in other rep¬
tiles, and still more remarkably in fishes. The eye has two
fleshy eye-lids, and also an internal nictitating membrane,
which is transparent and horizontal in its direction.
(1043.) The salamander is constructed on the same mo¬
del as the frog, with regard to all its internal organs; but
it is provided with a tail. Its ear has no tympanum; but
there is merely a cartilaginous plate laid over the fenestra
ovale ; there is no third eye-lid. The skeleton presents
small ludimental ribs, but no sternum. This animal is re¬
markable for the power it possesses of reproducing the parts
which have been mutilated, such as entire limbs ; and even
the eyes. In the newt, or aquatic salamander, the lungs
have numerous processes, as in the chameleon, which ter¬
minate behind in an elongated bladder.
Muller has lately discovered that the frog, and several
other animals of the same family, are provided with large
receptacles for the lymph, situated immediately under the
skin, and exhibiting distinct and regular pulsations, like the
heart. The use of these lymphatic hearts is evidently to
propel tlm lymph in its proper course along the lymphatic
vessels. Their pulsations do not correspond in time with
those of the sanguiferous heart; nor do those of the right
and left sides take place at the same moment; but they°of-
ten alternate in an irregular manner.
(1044.) The proteus anguinus, the siren, and the am-
phiuma, are remarkable for possessing both gills, like the
tadpole, and lungs like the frog. They are, accordingly,
adapted for living both in water and in air; and are the on¬
ly animals that can strictly be said to be amphibious. The
eye^of the proteus is completely covered by the integu¬
ments, as it is in the mus typhlus.
PHYSIOLOGY.
715
daman-
roteus
shes.
Sect. IV—Comparative Physiology of Fishes.
(1045.) Fishes are vertebrated animals with red blood,
breathing by means of water applied to the gills, or branchice,
which in them supply the office of respiratory organs. Their
powers of motion are adapted to progression through the
medium they inhabit. This design is conspicuous in the
form of their bodies, the great muscularity of the tail, the
shortness of their members, which are expanded into fins,
and the coverings of the body, which are smooth and scaly.
The oxygenation of the blood, being effected solely by means
of the atmospheric air contained in the water they respire,
takes place only to a small extent; hence the temperature
of the body in fishes is not sensibly raised above that of the
surrounding medium, and these animals display little energy
either in their vital or their sensitive powers. The brain,
accordingly, is of small size, and the organs of the external Physiology,
senses but little developed ; they scarcely possess any or-
gans calculated to convey accurate impressions of touch.
Nature has denied them any vocal organs. The circum¬
stances in which they are placed would appear to give little
exercise to the sense of hearing; and the deep recesses of
the ocean, where darkness eternally reigns, afford as little
to that of sight. No lacrymal organs are wanted by ani¬
mals immersed in a liquid medium. The voracity with
which fishes devour their prey, leaves them scarcely any
opportunity of discriminating its taste ; and their tongue is
not adapted by its structure for receiving the impressions
of this sense. Neither can the sense of smell be exercised
in the same degree as in animals respiring atmospheric air,
through which odorous emanations are so extensively and
so rapidly diffused. Exclusively occupied in the two great
objects of animal desire, that of food and of progeny, all
their movements appear exclusively directed to these ends ;
they appear insusceptible of attachment, and incapable of
any but the lowest degree of intellectual developement.
(104b.) The osteology of fishes presents a very comp]i-skeleton
cated subject of study, not only from the great number of
peices of which their skeleton is composed ; but also from
the great variety of forms exhibited in the different genera
and species of this class. Fishes, with regard to their ske¬
leton, admit of a great primary division into the cartilagin¬
ous and osseous. The former, or the chondropterygii, pos¬
sess no real bones, but merely cartilages, having the form
of bones, of a homogeneous and semitransparent substance,
sometimes, however, as in the rays and sharks, presenting
on its surface small calcareous granules, very closely com¬
pacted together. In a few fishes arranged under this divi¬
sion, as the sturgeon, and the chimera, we meet with seve¬
ral true bones in the head and shoulder, while the rest of
the skeleton is cartilaginous. Even among the strictly os¬
seous fishes, the density of the bones of some species is in-
fei ior to that of others, the calcareous substance, or phos¬
phate of lime, being deposited in fibres, or layers, in the
cartilage which serves as the basis of the bone. The truly
osseous fishes have bones as hard and as dense as other
vertebrated animals; they are even more homogeneous in
their texture, and present no appearance of pores or of fibres,
as are seen in the bones of the mammalia. We never find
in them any medullary cavities.
(1047.) The spinal column consists of dorsal and caudal
veitebra only, those of the neck and sacrum being absent.
I he bodies of vertebra have always a conical depression on
both tl>eir surfaces; the double cone thus left by the junc¬
tion of their margins being filled with a gelatinous fluid.
I hese cavities generally, indeed, communicate together
throughout the whole spinal column by apertures in the
centre of each vertebra, at the apices of the cones. In the
lamprey this opening is so wide, as to reduce the vertebral
column to a mere series of rings, traversed from one end to
the other by a ligament. The spinous processes are usual¬
ly very long, and their roots form a canal for the passage of
toe spinal cord. Spinous processes are also frequently found
on the opposite or abdominal side of the vertebra ; and
these also form a canal for the protection of the aorta, which
i» admitted through it. The ribs are attached each to a
single vertebra, and are frequently furnished with appen¬
dices adhering to them at one end, whilst the other end is
imbedded in the muscles.
(1048.) The fins of fishes do not present much analogy
with the bones of the extremities of quadrupeds, although
such analogies have been sought with much eagerness. The
fins are composed of parallel bones called rays, which are
connected with others, called by Cuvier, interspinal bones,
and by Meckel, accessory spinal apophyses. The sternum,
where it exists, is composed of a series of bones, of various
figures in different fishes ; but which unite the lower ex-
716
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, tremities of the ribs. In the pectoral fin, or anterior ex-
' tremity, are found bones somewhat analogous to the two
bones which compose the scapula of reptiles ; a styloid bone
composed of two pieces, analogous perhaps to the clavicle
and coracoid bone. The two bones corresponding to the
radius and ulna are connected with a row of ossicula repre¬
senting the carpus, and which support the rays of the fin
(1049.) The posterior extremity, or base of the ventral
fin, is composed of four bones, which may be considered as
a pelvis ; but these support the rays, without the interpo¬
sition of any bones comparable to the femur, tibia, or
tarsus.
(1050.) The bones of the head are exceedingly com¬
plex, and the mere enumeration of them would require a
more lengthened discussion than can here be afforded. The
bones composing the jaws, namely, the maxillary and inter¬
maxillary, are not only moveable on the skull, but also on
each other, The palatine, the pterygoid, and the tympa¬
nic bones, have also independent motions. A row of sub-
orbitar bones also exists, different from what is met with
in any other class. To the bones of the skull are join¬
ed also the opercular system of bones, which protect the
gills, and are subservient to the motions which open and
close them during respiration. The proper bones of the
skull are placed in the midst of these four systems, and are
very similar to those of reptiles, containing a receptacle for
the brain, another for the labyrinth of the ear, and others
for the eyes, and for the nasal cavities. The os frontis is
composed of six pieces ; the parietal of three ; the occipital
of five ; each temporal of two ; and the sphenoidal of five.
Much ingenuity has been lavished in the attempt to dis¬
cover analogies between these bones and the parts which
compose the skeleton in the other classes of animals. Thus
the opercular bones have been supposed to correspond to
the ossicula auditus of mammalia ; a notion which, although
ably supported by Geoffrey St. Hilaire, may perhaps at first
sight appear extremely fanciful and hypothetical, and which
Cuvier represents as utterly unfounded.
(1051.) The teeth of fishes exhibit almost every possible
variety in form, number, and situation, d hey may be dis¬
tinguished, according to their position, into intermaxillary,
maxillary, mandibular, vomerian, palatine, pterygoid, lin¬
gual, branchial, and superior and inferior pharyngean. Some
fish have almost all these denominations of teeth; others a
smaller number, and a few genera of fishes are entirely des¬
titute of teeth. The teeth are generally of a conical and
incurvated form, like so many hooks ; sometimes the points
are so small and united as to resemble a brush or file;
others are round, or club-shaped ; others present more flat
surfaces, like a mosaic pavement. Their structure is always
simple, being formed by a single pulpy membrane, which
afterwards ossifies ; and is, in process of time, replaced by
a new tooth. This successive renewal of the teeth of fishes
is continued during the whole period of their lives. The
degree of mastication given to the food depends, of course,
on the form and situation of the teeth.
(1052.) Deglutition is assisted by means of a membran¬
ous velum placed behind the anterior teeth. There is no
appearance of salivary organs; unless we regard as such a
soft and highly vascular organ found in the palate of the
carp. This organ is highly irritable, and swells in a re¬
markable manner on the application of any stimulus; it
perhaps performs the function of an organ of taste.
(1053.) The oesophagus is generally very short and ca¬
pacious ; it is continued into the stomach without any mark¬
ed line of separation ; and part of the food is often retained
in the oesophagus undigested, until room can be made for
it in the stomach. In a few fishes, the parietes of the sto¬
mach are muscular, so as to entitle it to be considered as a
gizzard. The intestinal canal is generally very short; its in-
Teeth.
Digestive
organs.
ternal coat is more or less villous; there is never any ccecum; Physiology,,
the only distinction between the different portions of the^V'^-'1
canal is formed by a valve near its extremity; but this is
not succeded by any dilatation.
(1054.) A remarkable structure is met witn in the intes¬
tines of rays, sharks, and sturgeons; which present a spiral
valve, or duplicature of the inner coat, running nearly the
whole length of the canal. A great number of blind pouches,
or appendices pyloricce, as they are called, from their being
more numerous in the beginning of the intestine, are ge¬
nerally found ; their office appears to be to secrete a quan¬
tity of mucous fluid, probably analogous to saliva, or to the
pancreatic secretion. In the sturgeon, these are short and
united by vessels and cellular substance into one mass,
which union becomes more close and compact in the rays
and the sharks, constituting a real conglomerate gland, hav¬
ing a single excretory duct.
(1055.) In many fishes, namely, in the ray, shark, stur¬
geon, lamprey, and salmon, there are two passages opening
outwards from the general cavity of the abdomen, at the
sides of the termination of the intestine. The use of these
passages is unknown.
(1056.) The liver is of considerable size, and placed more
on the left side ; great variety exists with regard to its shape
and the number of its lobes in different fishes ; its texture
is softer than in quadrupeds and birds, and it contains a
large quantity of oil. There is almost always a gall-bladder
of greater or smaller size. The hepatic ducts are sometimes
very numerous, and are successively joined to the cystic
ducts. The mesentery is incomplete; and is often pro¬
longed into folds containing fat, which folds may perhaps
be considered as corresponding to an omentum. Although
the lacteals are numerous, there are no lymphatic glands in
the mesentery.
(1057.') The lymphatic vessels are very distinct in other
parts of the body. Fohman has succeeded in injecting
them in the gills. Several fishes have a urinary bladder,
which is situated behind the rectum; in other instances
there is merely a common cloaca, into which the ureters
terminate. The kidneys are more voluminous than in any
of the preceding classes, and are often joined together pos¬
teriorly ; there are no suprarenal glands. The spleen is
constantly present, and occupies various situations in the
abdomen.
(1058.) The circulation in fishes is conducted upon a Circula.
very different plan from what it is in reptiles. There is, as Aon.
in warm-blooded animals, one complete circulation for the
body in general, or a systemic circulation ; and another for
the organs of respiration ; and besides this, a partial circu¬
lation for the hepatic system of organs ; but what more par¬
ticularly characterizes this mode of accomplishing that func¬
tion is, that branchial circulation is the only one which is ef¬
fected by a muscular apparatus, that is, by a heart. The
systemic circulation has no such organ for communicating
to it a mechanical impulse.
(1059.) The muscular apparatus for carrying on the cir¬
culation in fishes consists of four cavities, namely, the sinus
venosus, the auricle, the ventricle, and the bulbus arteri¬
osus ; the three latter are inclosed in the pericardium, and
may be said to constitute the heart, which is situated un¬
derneath the pharyngeal bones, and between the bronchial
arches. The blood returning from the veins of the body and
head, is collected in the sinus venosus, which transmits it
by a single opening into the auricle, valves being interpos¬
ed at the entrance. The auricle discharges its contents into
the ventricle, which again propels it into the bulbus arteriosus,
whence it proceeds along the bronchial arteries to be dis¬
tributed on the gills. Thence it is returned by the bron¬
chial veins, which unite near the spine to form a single
arterial trunk corresponding in its office to the aorta, and
distributing the blood, by a succession of ramifications, to
ft
PHYSIOLOGY.
717
Eespira-*
ion.
Ur blad-
hysiology. every part of the body The veins from the digestive or¬
gans are collected into the vena portae, which as usual ra¬
mifies through the liver; and there appears also, from the
observations of Mr. Jacobson, to be in addition a lesser ve¬
nal circulation, independent of either of the former, and
analogous to what has already been observed in birds.
(1060.) The vivifying influence of the air contained in
the water which is applied to the gills of fishes, is quite as
necessary for the continuance of their vital functions, as that
of atmospheric air is to animals of the preceding classes ;
and fishes perish with equal rapidity as mammalia, when their
natural element is withdrawn. This happens whether the
water has been deprived of its air by boiling, or whether the
absorption of air from the atmosphere is prevented by a
body capable of intercepting it, placed on the surface of the
water. It appears from the researches of Mr. Ehrmann,
that some fishes, as the cobitis, swallow air, which passes
along the intestinal tube, where it loses oxygen and acquires
carbonic acid. Fishes taken out of the water are killed not
so much from the want of oxygen, as in consequence of
the drying of the branchiae, which impedes the circulation
of the blood through them. The water is taken in at the
mouth, and after acting on the gills, which are filamentous
organs, affixed in rows to the branchial arches, and protected
by the operculum, is discharged through the branchial open¬
ings below. In the cartilaginous fishes there are several
openings provided for the outlet of the water, at the side of
the head.
(1061.) Most fishes possess a large bladder full of air,
called the swimming bladder, placed immediately under¬
neath the spinal column; it communicates with the (Eso¬
phagus, and sometimes with the stomach, by a canal, called
the ductus pneumaticus. In the carp, there are valves in
this canal which only allow of the passage of air out of the
bladder. In many fishes, especially in flat fish, no such air-
bladder exists. Its figure is very various; its cavity is ge¬
nerally simple ; but it is sometimes divided by a number of
partitions. A glandular body is met with in the coats of
this bladder, which probably secretes the air. The obvious
intention of this instrument is to give greater buoyancy to
the fish when this air is present, and to allow of a sudden in¬
crease of specific gravity by its escape. In by far the greater
number of fishes, however, the air-bladder has no outlet
whatever. In many fishes it is called the sound, and fur¬
nishes the best kind of jelly. Isinglass is the product of
the air-bladder of the sturgeon. The air it contains is usu¬
ally nitrogen gas, with a small proportion of oxygen and
carbonic acid gases. The swimming bladder of fishes is
regarded by many of the German physiologists as having
some relations with the function of respiration ; and as being
the rudiment of the pulmonary cavity of land animals; the
passage of communication with the oesophagus being con¬
ceived to represent the trachea. (See § 1022.)
(1062.) The brain of fishes is remarkable for the small¬
ness of its size, not only as compared with the total bulk of
the animal, or with that of the nerves connected with it,
but also with the cavity of the cranium, which it does not
by any means fill, the space left being occupied by an oily
secretion, and by loose cellular texture. The disparity is
less observable in young fish ; for it would appear that the
growth of the brain does not keep pace with that of the rest
of the body.
(1063.) The several parts which compose the brain of
fishes are more detached from one another than in the high¬
er classes, and are placed in a consecutive series. The fore¬
most lobules give rise to the olfactory nerves, or rather ap¬
pear as the bulbous enlargements of the origin of these
nerves. The next in succession are solid lobes, which give
origin to the optic nerves; behind these we find larger
lobes containing a ventricle, with a striated eminence, at
the back part of which are four smaller tubercles corres¬
ervous
■stem.
ponding to the corposa quadrigemina. Behind these is the Physiology.
single lobule of the cerebellum, and below are two infe-
rior lobes. The optic nerves pass before these lobes, and
always decussate in their course to the orbits. Between
these nerves, and in front of the inferior lobes, is the pineal
gland. Behind the cerebellum are also two lobes, which
may be termed the posterior lobes. There is, however,
much difference of opinion as to the parts in the human
brain to which these several portions of the brain of fishes
are analogous.
(1064.) Great variety is met with in the size, position, Eyes,
and direction of the eyes of fishes. In general, however,
they are large. There are neither eye-lids nor lacrymal or¬
gans, and’ the globe of the eye has but little mobility. In
the ray and shark tribes, it is supported on the end of a
moveable cartilaginous pedicle, articulated with the bottom
of the orbit. The anabliss has the cornea divided into two
by an opaque line, and two perforations exist in the iris, but
there is only one crystalline lens, vetreous humor, and re¬
tina. The crystalline lens is completely spherical, and of
great size, so as to leave but little space for the vitreous hu¬
mor. It is composed of concentric laminae, which are of
greater density as they approach the centre. A falciform
ligament, commencing at the entrance of the optic nerve,
following its curvature downwards, and containing vessels
and nervous filaments, is observable ; its extremity is at¬
tached to the capsule of the crystalline lens. In some fish
this ligament has a black colour, like the marsupium of
birds. The sclerotica is often supported by osseous or car¬
tilaginous plates, as in birds. The pupil is incapable of al¬
tering its dimensions; in the rays and flat fish, its border
is fringed with palmated processes. The cornea is nearly
flat, and there is but little aqueous humor.
(1065.) There is found in the eyes of fishes a peculiar
body, the membrana vasculosa Halleri, having the shape
of a horse-shoe, situated between the internal layer of the
choroid coat, or tunica Ruyschiana, and the middle layer;
it gives origin to a vascular membrane, called the campa¬
nula, which proceeds towards the lens, and has some ana¬
logy with the marsupium.
(1066.) The gastrobranchus appears to be wholly desti¬
tute of any organ of vision. In the blind murena, no trace
of an eye can be perceived externally, but a rudimental or¬
gan exists beneath the skin.
(1067.) The ear of fishes consists only of the parts be-Ear.
longing to the labyrinth ; and these organs are generally
suspended in a cavity of the cranium, which is a part of that
in which the encephalon is contained. The two vertical
semi-circular canals are suspended to the top of the skull
by a vertical ligament. The oily or macilaginous fluid
which surrounds the brain has free access to the cavities
which surround the membranous labyrinth. The three se¬
micircular canals are dilated into ampullae, which receive
the filaments of the auditory nerve. There is an appendix
to the sinus medianus, or principal vestibular sac, termed
the utricle, and a smaller one termed the cysticule. The
hard calcareous bodies consist of one in each of these cavi¬
ties, being three in number. There is no part correspond¬
ing to the cochlea.
(1068.) In the ray there is a spiral tube, wholly within
the skin* which terminates in a kind of finestra ovale, and
appears to be the rudiment of an external meatus.
(1069.) Many fishes present the extraordinary phenomena Electrical
of the developement and accumulation of electricity in large or£fU''s-
quantities, which they have the power of discharging at
pleasure, so as to give strong shocks to animals coming in
electric contact with them, or forming part of the circuit of
the discharge. This effect is often so powerful as to be¬
numb and paralyse their assailants. The electric fishes
which are known to possess this power in a high degree are
the electric ray (raia torpedo), the electric eel, (gymnotus
PHYSIOLOGY.
718
Physiology, electricus), and the silurus electricus, or malapterurus elec-
tricus. The first of these are met with principally in the
Mediterranean Sea; the second in several rivers in South
America ; and the last in the Nile and Senegal rivers.
Other fishes, however, are known to be electrical, although
they have been less studied than those already mentioned,
such as the rhinobatus electricus, trichinus electricus, and
tetrodon electricus.
(1070.) The electrical organs of the torpedo consist of a
great number of five or six-sided prisms, placed on each
side of the head perpendicularly to the surface, and occupy¬
ing the whole thickness of the animal. Each prism con¬
sists of a tube, with membranous sides, surrounded with
nerves and blood-vessels, and containing a vast number
of extremely thin plates, parallel to one another, but in
a transverse position; the intervals are filled with a gelati¬
nous fluid. Three large branches of the par vagum, and
one branch of the fifth pair of nerves, are distributed to
these organs on each side. The electrical apparatus of the
gymnotus and silurus are disposed somewhat differently;
they are two in number on each side, and extend the whole
length of the fish from the head to the tail. One of these
is situated deeply, and the other superficially ; the. two be¬
ing separated by a membranous partition, and each being
formed of horizontal plates, distant one-third of a line from
one another, with septa passing perpendicularly between
them, and directed from within outwards, and a fluid occu¬
pies the intervening spaces. Their nerves are derived from
the intercostals, and are 224 in number.
(1071.) The identity of the agent called into play by
these organs with electricity is beyond all doubt. The same
bodies which conduct or intercept the transmission of the
latter, have the same property with regard to the former;
and shocks are propagated through a chain of several per¬
sons, when those at the extremities of the chain touch the
fish. Electric sparks have been obtained by Walsh from
the discharge of the gymnotus when passed through a strip
of tin foil gummed to a piece of glass and cut through in
the middle. Dr. John Davy1 has obtained electro-magne¬
tic effects from the torpedo, by the test of the galvanome¬
ter ; and has also rendered needles magnetic by the electri¬
cal discharge from the fish.
(1072.) It appears that the power of producing these elec¬
trical discharges is quite voluntary, and dependent on the
nervous influence; for it does not take place every time that
the fish is touched, and it wholly ceases on the destruction
of the brain, or the division of the nerves. The animal ap¬
pears to have the power also of determining the direction
of the discharges ; and often, when irritated, it refrains from
giving shocks. The destruction of the electric organ on one
side does not interrupt the action of the opposite organ.
Dr. Davy states, that the dorsal surface is charged with
positive, and the ventral surface with negative electricity,
and that unless both surfaces be simultaneously touched, no
shock is felt; and Matteuci and Colladon2 arrived at the
same conclusion by experiments made with the galvanome¬
ter, as to the direction of the electric currents. Electric
fishes, when vigorous, exert this power as strongly in the
air as in the water. Wq are quite in the dark with regard
to the theory of these phenomena. Matteuci imagines that
the source of electric power in these fishes is in the brain ;
and that the purpose served by the complex arrangement
of parallel plates, with intervening fluid, which composes
the structure of the electric organs, is that of mere accu¬
mulation, analogous to the property of the Leyden phial.
Nasal eavi- (1073.) What may be called the nasal cavities or nostrils
ties. of fishes, are placed generally in front of the head, and their
openings are a valvular membrane or partition; behind this
is found an elegantly plaited membrane, disposed in semi¬
circular folds, on which the ramifications of the olfactory Physiology,
nerves terminate.
Sect. V Comparative Physiology of Mollusca.
(1074.) The class mollusca comprehends all the variety Mollusca.
of what are commonly called shell-fish, together with the
animals, such as the slug, which resemble them in their
anatomical character, but which are not furnished with shells.
Their comparative anatomy has been studied with great
care and diligence by Cuvier, whom chiefly we shall follow
in our general description of this class.
(1075.) The mollusca have neither articulated skeleton
nor vertebral canal. Their nervous system does not pre¬
sent a central spinal cord, but merely a certain number of
medullary masses, dispersed in different situations in the
body, and of which the largest, which may be designated
the brain, is placed near the oesophagus, where it is con¬
nected with a collar of nerves that embraces that tube. The
circulation is aWays double, like that of fishes, that is to
say, the pulmonary circulation is always complete in itself,
as well as the systemic. But the muscular ventricle, or
heart, is not, as in fishes, placed at the commencement of
the former, but of the latter ; it impels the blood not into
the branchial arteries, but into the aorta. The blood is
either white or of a bluish colour ; and it contains less fibrin
than that of vertebrated animals. The veins probably per¬
form the office of absorbents.
(1076.) The muscles are endowed with great irritability,
and retain this property long after they are divided. They
are attached to different points of the skin, which is smooth
and moistened with a viscid liquor. The muscular actions
produce contractions and inflexions of the different parts,
and elongations of others, by means of which the animal is
enabled to accomplish different kinds of progressive motion,
whether in water or on land, without the aid of articulated
members, or the advantage of solid unyielding structures,
like the bones of the vertebrated classes. These movements,
however, are necessarily less rapid and energetic, and less
perfectly executed.
(1077.) A leading characteristic of the structure of the
mollusca, consists in a muscular expansion, connected with
the integument, which envelopes all the viscera, and is
hence denominated the cloak or mantle. It assumes vari¬
ous forms in the different genera, being sometimes contract¬
ed into a flat disc, at other times being folded into a tube,
or doubled into a sac, or expanded into the form of fins or
oars. Most frequently we find a calcareous secretion form¬
ed on different parts of one or both of the surfaces of the
mantle, which hardens and forms a layer of shell. Succes¬
sive depositions take place, occasioning the enlargement of
the shell in different directions ; when the shell is wholly
external to the animal, it serves for its habitation and pro¬
tection ; this is the case with the testaceous mollusca ; in
others, which have no such covering, (or the naked mollus¬
ca,) there frequently takes place an internal deposition of
the same material, forming an internal shell. The calcar¬
eous matter is always intermixed, when deposited, with ani¬
mal matter, which is sometimes in the form of a distinct
membrane, and which has frequently a shining or irridescent
appearance, constituting the substance known by the name
of mother-of-pearl.
(1078.) Great variety exists in the organs of the diges¬
tive functions, as wall be seen by the examples we shall give
in speaking of the different orders established in this class
by Cuvier.
1. Cephalopoda.
(1079.) The various genera of sepise or cuttle-fish, areCephalo-
comprehended in this order. poda.
1 Phil. Trans, for 1832 and 1834.
2 Seances de l'Acad, des Sciences, Oct. 1836.
P II Y S I
"iiysiology. Jn these animals, the mantle is toldecl so as to form a sac
enveloping all the viscera ; its sides being more or less ex-
‘■P’3* tended into fins. The head alone protrudes from the sac ;
its form is round, furnished with large eyes, and with long
processes or tentacula, flexible in every direction, endowed
with great muscular power, and having on the surface a great
number of suckers, by which they are capable of adhering
with great force to the objects to which they may apply them.
These tentacula, or feet, are employed by the animal in walk¬
ing, which it does with the head downwards; in swimming,
which it executes with the head turned backwards; and also
in seizing hold of bodies, for which action they are well
adapted. Between the basis of the feet is placed the mouth,
containing strong horny mandibles, resembling in their form
the beak of a parrot. The excretions pass out by a funnel-
shaped aperture, situated at the mouth of the sac, and near
the head.
(1080.j The pulmonary organs consist of two branchiae
situated within the sac, one on each side, and having the
figure of a fern leaf. The great vena cava, on arriving near
them, divides into two trunks, terminating in two muscular
ventricles placed at the base of the branchiae, for the evi¬
dent purpose of propelling the blood with more force into
the bi'anchial arteries. 1 he branchial veins corresponding
to these arteries, unite in a third ventricle situated near the
bottom of the sac, and which sends the blood forwards
through the aortic system as usual. Thus there may be
said to be three separate hearts in the cuttle-fish, one aor¬
tic and two branchial. The water respired enters at the
open margin of the mouth and passes out by the funnel-
shaped aperture already described.
.(1081.). There is found a tongue, of which the surface is
bristled with sharp horny points ; the oesophagus is dilated
into a crop, and terminates afterwards in a gizzard, equally
muscular with that of a granivorous bird. To this succeeds
a third stomach, which is membranous, coiled into a spiral
form, and receives the bile by two ducts from the liver.
ik. (1082.) A singular secretion is prepared by a gland in
this animal, of a deep black colour, resembling ink, which,
when effused, darkens the surrounding water to a conside¬
rable distance, and gives the animal an opportunity of es¬
caping from its pursuers. The brain is large ; a nervous
ganglion surrounds the oesophagus. The optic ganglions
are very large ; and the nerves form plexuses in the abdo¬
men and in other parts. The eye is similar in its confor-
mation to that of the higher classes of animals ; but the ear
VS constructed in a still simpler manner than that of fishes,
having neither semicircular canals nor external meatus, but
consisting merely of a membranous sac lodged in a cavity
near the brain, in which a small cretaceous body is con¬
tained.
2. Gasteropoda.
astero. _ (1083.) The mollusca which have a shell consisting of a
'da. single valve, compose a numerous order, a familiar example
of which occurs in the snail. The slug, on the other hand,
belongs likewise to this order, although it has no external
shell. Mollusca of this description are termed gasteropo-
dous, because they crawl on a flat disc placed under the
belly ; the back is covered with the mantle, wdiich is of
greater or less extent, and secretes the shell. The head
comes out more or less from the mantle, under which it is
occasionally retracted, so as to be both concealed from view,
and protected from injury. A small number of tentacula,
from two to six, appear above the mouth, but do not sur¬
round it. The eyes are exceedingly small, and sometimes
adhere to the head, sometimes to the base, or the side, or
the extremity of the tentacula ; but occasionally none are
found. The position and structure of their respiratory or¬
gans varies in the different families of this order; and they
are always situated under the last turn of the shell when this
O L O G Y. 719
latter has, as is generally the case, a spiral form ; and they Physiology,
receive the water either by a broad opening under the
mantle, or by a narrower aperture, and often through a tube
formed by the prolongation of the mantle, which is frequent¬
ly protected by an indentation or tubular process of the shell.
A further protection is often afforded by a flat, horny, or
calcareous plate, which closes the shell when the animal has
retired within it, and which is termed an operculum.
(1084.) Instead of branchias, the pulmonary gasteropoda
are provided with cavities for the admission of atmospheric
air, which they respire in its gaseous form. These cavities
are opened and closed at the pleasure of the animal, the me¬
chanism of their respiration consisting in these movements.
The stomach and intestinal canal are of very various
strhcture in the different genera. In some, as the scyllaea,
we find cutting teeth implanted in the coats of the stomach
itself; in the pleurobranchus there are four stomachs, like
those of ruminant quadrupeds. The aplysia is provided with
a very capacious crop, which leads to a muscular gizzard,
armed, moreover, with a number of cartilages of a pyrami¬
dal shape ; a third stomach succeeds to this, having its in¬
ner coat lined with sharp hooks ; and a fourth, shaped like
a coecum ; and the intestines are, besides, exceedingly vo¬
luminous.
Many of the gasteropodous mollusca present the curious
phenomena of the double hermaphrodite generation for¬
merly adverted to, (§781.) Impregnation of the ova re¬
quires the union of two individuals, the female organs of
each receiving the male organs of the other, and the fecun¬
dation being mutual. This is the case with the helix and
the lymneus.
3. Acephala.
(1085.) The acephalous mollusca, so named from their Acephala.
having no head, have all the vital organs enclosed in the
two folds of the mantle, which shuts like a portfolio, leaving
apparent only the orifice of the mouth ; but in some cases
the mouth is here prolonged in the form of a tube. In al¬
most every case each of the two sides of the mantle is co¬
vered by a valve of shell, so as to constitute a bivalve mol¬
luscous animal; in another tribe the shell is multivalve.
The brain is situated immediately over the mouth, and con¬
sists of a certain number of small ganglions. The branchiae
have almost always a laminated form, the plates, generally
four in number, being covered with a net-work of blood¬
vessels. The mollusca of this order are unprovided with
teeth, the food brought by the water being received into
the mouth, and swallowed in its original state, whence it
passes into the stomach ; sometimes there are two succes¬
sive cavities performing the functions of the stomach ; the
intestine is of various length. The liver surrounds the sto¬
mach, and pours its secretion directly into the cavity by se¬
veral apertures.
(1086.) A large fleshy process, resembling in appearance Foot
a tongue, and which has been compared to a foot, projects
from the body, and by the varied movements of which it is
capable, enables the animal to perform a slow progressive
motion. Muscles are also provided for closing the shell,
and they generally pass directly from one valve to the other;
sometimes there are two muscles, but commonly only one.
The valves are separated by the force of an elastic ligament
placed at the extremity of the hinge, which is called into ac¬
tion when the muscles that close the shell are relaxed.
(1087.) The threads, or byssus, spun by many acepha- Bysms.
lous mollusca in order to attach themselves to rocks, as a
ship is moored by her cables, is another peculiarity in these
animals, and particularly of the genera mytilus and pinna.
(1088.) In many mollusca of this order the rectum passes
through the cavity of the heart, and this latter organ re¬
ceives the blood from the veins by means of two auricles.
Some acephala are hermaphrodite ; but the union of the
720
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, sexual organs necessary for fecundation takes place in a
single individual. This occurs in the holothuria.
Ascidia. (1089.) One of the most singularly constructed of the
animals referred to this division of mollusca is the ascidia.
The mantle and its envelope, which is a thick and cartila¬
ginous tunic, form together a sac, everywhere closed, ex¬
cepting at two orifices, the one corresponding to the termi¬
nation of the intestine, the other leading into a cavity, of
which the sides are the branchiae, and at the bottom of
which is placed the mouth, the principal viscera subservient
to nutrition occupying a second cavity, and the heart being
lodged in a third." The principal nervous ganglion is situ¬
ated between the two external orifices of the sac.
Sect. VI Comparative Physiology of Articulata.
Articulata. (1090.) This great division of the animal kingdom com-
’ prises all those tribes possessing what may properly be call¬
ed an external skeleton ; that is, a series of rings or hollow
cases, of a hard texture, which enclose all the important
organs of the body, and which, by their muscular connex¬
ions, allow of various kinds of movements, at the same time
that they afford protection to all the softer tissues of which
those organs are composed. The best idea that can be
formed of this mechanical construction may be obtained by
examining the body and the limbs of a lobster, in which it
will be seen, that contrary to what obtains in vertebrated ani¬
mals, the harder parts are external, and the muscles are
within them, a construction allowing of very free movements
of the limbs.
Nervous (1091.) A remarkable degree of uniformity prevails with
system. regard to the distribution of the nervous system in all these
animals. The brain, which is situated above the oesopha¬
gus, but is still in the head, as in the higher classes of animals,
is exceedingly small; and after sending out filaments of
nerves to the different parts about the head, is connected
with a double nervous cord, which encircles the oesophagus,
and runs along the under side of the animal, being joined
at intervals by nodules or ganglia, from w hich, as from new
centres, other nervous threads radiate, and are variously dis¬
tributed to the different vital organs, and to the limbs. Each
of these nervous ganglia appears to perform the office of a
subordinate brain in relation to the system of nerves which
proceeds from it, and to the parts of the body supplied by
those nerves, so that when the animal is divided into seve¬
ral portions, each portion seems to possess its own indepen¬
dent vitality. The form and structure of the digestive or¬
gans is very various ; but jaws are always found, and their
motion is lateral instead of vertical, as in vertebrated animals.
1. Annelida.
Annelida. (1092.) The first class of articulated animals are the an-
nelida, or worm-shaped animals. They are remarkable for
possessing red blood, which circulates in a double system of
complicated vessels, without any heart, or muscular ventri¬
cles. The body is soft, more or less elongated, and com¬
posed of a great number of segments. The foremost of
these, which may be regarded as the head, contains the largest
of the ganglia, or brain, the mouth, and the principal organs
of the senses. The branchiae are generally external, and
sometimes uniformly spread on the surface of the body;
and at other times are confined to the anterior divisions.
Tufts of hair or bristles supply the place of feet. The mouth
is either furnished with hard jaws, or else extended in the
form of a tube.
(1093.) The leech, which is referable to this class, has a
very capacious stomach, nearly of the size of the whole body,
or rather a series of pouches, or dilatations proceeding from
each side of the central cavity.1 Tentacula situated on the
head, are their principal organs of touch ; and the small Physiology,
black points, observable in some tribes, have been regarded
as organs of an imperfect kind of vision. The earth-worm
has a remarkably complicated apparatus for circulation, con¬
sisting of a great number of dilatations of the dorsal vessel,
forming a series of hearts.2
2. Crustacea.
(1094.) The articulated form is more perfectly developed Crustacea,
in the Crustacea than in the annelida. Their blood is white,
and is circulated by the aid of a muscular ventricle, or heart,
situated in the back, propelling it through an arterial sys¬
tem ; whence it returns by a system of veins, which collect
in a trunk passing along the lower part of the abdomen. In
some species the heart assumes a very elongated shape.
There are always organs termed antennce, or feelers, situ¬
ated in front of the head ; and these are generally four in
number. The jaws are of complicated structure. It is on¬
ly in a few species that an internal ear is met with, and it
then consists of a sac full of fluid, in which a calcareous con¬
cretion is contained. The eyes are generally two in num¬
ber, often placed at the end of pedicles, and consisting of a
great number of facets, each provided wdth a separate cor¬
nea, retina, and branch of the optic nerve ; and the whole
constituting what is termed a composite eye. The branchiae
are of a pyramidal form, composed of plates, or filaments,
or feathery tufts, generally situated at the base of the legs.
(1095.) The larger genera of this class, as the lobster, Lobster,
have a horny stomach, wdth strong teeth implanted in its
coats, for the evident purpose of breaking and bruising the
shells that are swallowed. All these animals cast off' their
shells several times in the progress of their growth, a new
shell being successively formed of larger dimensions than
the preceding, and adapted to the increased size of the ani¬
mal.
3. Arachnida.
(1096.) The third class of articulated animals, or the Arachnida.
arachnida, have been separated from that of insects with
which they had been before associated ; being distinguish¬
ed by the following peculiarities in their contbrmation and
economy. They have a distinct circulation of the blood by
means of an elongated dorsal vessel performing .the office
of a heart, propelling its blood into a system of arteries, and
receiving it back again from a system of veins. They are
without antennae, but are provided with palpi. They have
pulmonary cavities subservient to the respiration of atmos¬
pheric air. The head is united with the trunk without the
intervention of any neck. The mouth is armed with jaws ;
and there are several simple eyes situated on the upper part
of the head.
4. Insects.
(1097.) Nothing can exceed the endless variety of forms Insects,
displayed by this class of the animal creation. Their in¬
ternal anatomy and economy, how ever, present many points
which are common to the wTiole class. 1 here is no other
trace of a heart, than a long cylindrical tube extending along
the back, and termed the dorsal vessel; but which seems
to be closed on all sides, and neither to give out, nor to re¬
ceive communicating branches of any sort. This vessel
appears to contain a fluid, which is irregularly undulated
backwards and forwards, by a kind of pulsation, or occasional
contraction of one part ol the canal, and dilatation of ano¬
ther. It had been supposed, in the absence of any visible
blood-vessels, that nutrition in insects is performed by a
kind of gradual transudation, or imbibition, as it has been
termed. Professor Cams, however, has lately made the
discovery of a distinct circulation in the vessels of the larvae
«!
it
1 See a description and delineation of this structure in the Bridgewater Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology, 11. 103.
21 Ibid. ii. 255. ,
PHYSIOLOGY.
721
hysiology. of several insects, and other observers have found a system
of partial circulation in even later periods of insect life.
But, in general, in the last stage of transformation, all these
vessels, excepting the dorsal vessel, become obliterated.1
There being neither branchiae nor pulmonary organs where
the nutritious fluids could receive the vivifying influence
of the air, a complex mode of respiration is resorted to.
Apertures are found in different parts, generally along the
sides of the body, and which are called spiracles or stigma¬
ta. These are the commencements of elastic tubes, which
remain continually open, and which are subdivided and ra¬
mified like the blood-vessels of other animals, for the pur¬
pose of conveying air to every part of the system. These
tubes are termed trachecc.
(1098.) Insects are unprovided with glands for effecting
secretions; that purpose being answered by means of long
spongy vessels, which appear capable of absorbing the mate¬
rials they require from the general cavity in which they float.
(1099.J The temperature of insects, like that of other
animals said to be cold-blooded, varies with that of the sur¬
rounding medium ; but is generally one or two degrees higher.
In bee-hives and ant-hills, a much higher temperature pre¬
vails. This is proved by an elaborate series of experiments
made on the temperature of insects, and its connexion with
the functions of respiration and circulation, by Mr. New¬
port.2
(1100.) Their nervous system is formed upon the gene¬
ral model already described, (§ 1091.) The digestive or¬
gans admit of the greatest possible variety, according to the
habits and particular kinds of food consumed. To specify
all these diversities wuuld far exceed the limits assigned to
us in this work. The external organs connected with the
limbs, the antennae, the mouth, and the different functions
of sense, fall more properly under the consideration of the
naturalist, inasmuch as they furnish the best characters for
the distinction of genera and species, and for perfecting
their systematic classification. The subject is rendered in¬
finitely more complex in consequence of the metamorphoses
which the same insect undergoes in passing through the dif¬
ferent stages of its existence, from the egg to the larva, the
nympha and the imago, or the perfect insect. But for the
history of these changes, we must again refer to the natural¬
ist, to whose province it more strictly belongs to record them.
We must content ourselves with mentioning in this place a
few of the more striking peculiarities of internal conforma¬
tion which are observable in some of the insect tribes.
Jigestive (1101.) The first that we shall point out is, the remark-
ftunvinant a^e structure of the digestive organs of the orthoptera, an
itomachs. order of insects which comprehend the blatta, or cockroach,
and the mantis or leaf insect, the ear-wig, the locust, the
grasshopper, and the cricket. Their stomachs bear some
analogy to those of ruminant quadrupeds, in complication
at least, if not in office. The first stomach, or crop, is mem¬
branous ; to this succeeds a muscular stomach, or gizzard,
the internal surface of which is armed either with scales, or
with horny teeth. Around the pylorus there extend two or
more blind pouches, furnished at their extremities with nu¬
merous vessels conveying bile. Many similar biliary ducts
are inserted in the course of the intestinal canal. It has been
strongly suspected that the insects in which these complex
stomachs are found, actually possess the power of ruminat¬
ing their food.
(1102.) The abdominal cavity of the working bee presents
us with two stomachs, together with the intestine and the
poison bladder. The anterior stomach in which the oeso¬
phagus opens, is the receptacle for the honey, which is oc¬
casionally returned into the mouth in order to be stored in Physiology
the honey-cells, as a magazine of food for the winter. The
next stomach is destined to contain the pollen, or material
gathered from the antennae of flowers. Its inner coat has a
great number of circular folds. Wax is a secretion of a
peculiar kind from the bee.
(1103.) The alimentary canal of the caterpillar, before
transformation, consists of a straight and capacious tube, of
which the anterior portion is somewhat dilated into what
may be considered as the stomach ; and of which the pos¬
terior portions forms a cloaca ; the biliary vessels, which are
four in number, and very long, are inserted very far behind.
When the caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly, this ali¬
mentary canal is much diminished, both in its diameter and
length ; the first stomach, or crop, is situated on the side of
the tube; there is next a second stomach full of irregular
dilatations, a slender butlong intestine, and a coecum near the
cloaca.3
(1104.) The nervous system undergoes corresponding
changes during the transformations of insects, the ganglia
uniting in several places, so that their number is much di¬
minished.4 The externa] senses of insects have for the most
part a considerable range of action. Organs of vision are
almost constantly present, but those of the other senses are
but imperfectly known. The principal organs of touch are
the antennce, which probably also perform other offices re¬
lating to sensation, of which we have no certain knowledge.
Sect. VII.—Comparative Physiology of Zoophytes.
(1105.) The animals which occupy the lowest division Zoophytes,
in the scale of life, and constitute an approach to veget¬
able, namely, the class of zoophytes, present us with much
simpler forms of organization than any of those which have
passed under our review. Yet amongst these we may trace
gradations in the mode in which the more refined organs of
the animal economy successively disappear, and their func¬
tions are supplied by other parts, and also in the gradual
simplification of those functions, till we appear to arrive at
an approximation to mere vegetative existence. The great
characteristic of the more perfect animals, the circulation
of the fluids in vessels which distribute them to every part
for the purposes of nutrition and secretion, is wanting in
zoophytes; or if any traces of a circulation can be discover¬
ed, it is exceedingly partial and limited in degree. There
is a well marked disposition in all the organs to assume a
symmetrical arrangement about a common centre ; being
either disposed in radii proceeding from that centre, or ar¬
ranged in a uniform manner round the circumference of a
circle. In those instances in which a nervous system can
be traced, which is the case only among the higher order o*
echinodermata, the disposition to assume this radiating form
is particularly observable.
(1106.) Many amongst the lowest orders present us with
the singular spectacle of compound animals, associated in
great numbers for the purposes of a common defence and
habitation, and having even nutrition in common. These
more particularly constitute an approach to the vegetable
kingdom.
1. Echinodermata.
(1107.) The zoophytes arranged in this division, which
are chiefly the asterias, or star-fish, the echinus, and the
holothuria, present us with some appearance of an external
skeleton, or hard encasement, consisting of parts which are
often articulated together, an imperfect vascular system, and
the appearance of a system of nerves.
1 The dorsal vessel of the sphinx ligustri is delineated in the Bridgewater Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology, ii. 245.
2 Philosophical Transactions for 1837, p. 25.
s These successive conformations of the digestive organs, in the sphynx ligustri, or privet hawkmoth, are delineated in the Bridgewater
Treatise on Animal and Vegetable Physiology, ii. 217. 4 Ibid, ii, 547.
VOL. XVII. 4 Y
722
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology. (1108.) The rays of the asterias are composed of numerous
pieces, which have been compared to vertebrae, are slightly
Asterias. moveable upon one another, and allow of a slow flexion of the
entire ray. It is hollowed below into a longitudinal groove,
abounding in perforations for the passage of numerous rows
of short tentacula, which perform the office of feet, for the
progressive motion of the animal, and w hich also absorb wa¬
ter, and convey it into the general internal cavity for the pur¬
pose of respiration. The centre of the star is occupied by
a large stomach, the entrance to which, or the mouth, is
below, and which sends out two prolongations, or cceca, to
each ray ; these are ultimately ramified into minute vessels,
suspended by a membrane which performs the office of a
mesentery.
Echinus. (1109.) The structure of the echinus is still more com¬
plicated. The calcareous covering of the body has a glo¬
bular shape, but is composed of several angular pieces joined
together, and perforated by rows of lobes, through which the
short feet, or tentacula, protrude. Besides these, there are
a multitude of spines articulated to the surface of the shell,
and subservient to voluntary motion. The mouth is armed
with five teeth, inserted in a complicated apparatus of jaws,
resembling a pentagonal lantern, provided with numerous
muscles, and suspended over the great opening in the centre
of the lower surface of the shell. The intestinal canal is of
great length, and forms a spiral tube attached to the interior
of the shell by a mesentery. A double vascular system ex¬
tends the whole length of this canal, and is partly spread over
the mesentery.
Holothuria (1110.) The holothuria resembles in its structure the
echinus, but it has a cylindrical instead of a globular form.
The respiratory organ is ramified like the branches of a
tree, and fills and empties itself at the pleasure of the ani¬
mal. The mouth has no teeth, and is only protected by a
circle of calcareous plates. The intestine is very long,
and makes many folds, being also attached to the sides by
a mesentery. A partial circulation takes place in a double
system of a very complicated arrangement of vessels, which
has relation exclusively to the intestinal canal, and of which
some of the branches are interlaced with the arborescent res¬
piratory tubes already described.
2. Entozoa.
(1112.) Very little is known concerning the physiology
of intestinal worms ; the information that has been collect¬
ed being chiefly of a negative kind. They have no visible
respiratory organs, and no apparent nervous system or organs
of sensation; and still less can we discover any traces of a
circulation. The only very distinct organs are those belong¬
ing to the functions of nutrition and of reproduction. Some
naturalists, indeed, allege that they have detected some fila¬
ments of nerves ; but the real nature of these filaments is
still very doubtful.
(1113.) The alimentary canal may in most intestinal worms
be recognised without much difficulty ; it is sometimes en¬
closed in an abdominal cavity, but at other times apparently
passes through the solid parenchyma of the body. In some,
as in the taenia, or tape-worm, we may discern ramified ves¬
sels for the distribution of the nourishment; but these are
not seen in others. The simplest animal of this tribe is the
globular hydatid, which consists altogether of a vesicular sac
filled with a transparent fluid, and with an indistinct mouth ;
but without any other apparent external organ. This tribe
of entozoa exhibit the simplest example of the gemmiparous
mode of reproduction; the young appearing as gemmae, or
buds, which at certain periods spout from the homogeneous
parenchyma composing the body of the parent, and by a sort
of vegetative growth, gradually assume the form of the ori¬
ginal animal, and are detached when capable of exercising
an independent life.
Some of the entozoa, as the taenia, or tape-worm, are ca¬
pable of being multiplied like plants, by division ; each seg- Physiology
ment resulting from the division being converted into an in-s—
dependent animal, acquiring whatever parts may have been
deficient, and after a time admitting of further subdivision,
with a repetition of the same phenomena.
3. Acalepha.
(1114.) These are either fixed on rocks, or float in the Acalepha.
sea ; they exhibit more or less of a fibrous texture, and con¬
tain vessels which are excavated out of the substance of the
body itself, and are not contained in any distinct cavity.
(1115.) The actinia, or sea anemone, is provided with Actinia,
numerous hollow tentacula surrounding the mouth and sto¬
mach. The space between the stomach and the outer skin
is divided into compartments by vertical partitions, and the
fluid contained in these compartments may be projected
into the tentacula so as to render them turgid.
(1116.) The medusa has a hemispherical form, and a Medusa,
gelatinous consistence. The mouth, which is situated in
the centre of the flat disc below, is surrounded by fringed
tentacula. It leads into a singularly-shaped cavity, which
is the stomach, formed of four arches proceeding like radii
from the centre, and terminating in tubes which are vari¬
ously divided, and the branches derived from them freely
communicating with one another by anastomoses. These
are apparently for distributing the nourishment which has
been prepared by the stomach, but not for any real circu¬
lation. There are four large cavities in the body which
appear to be subservient to respiration.
(1117.) In some species, forming the genus rhizostoma Rhizos-
of Cuvier, there is no central mouth, but a canal commen- toma.
ces by an open orifice from the extremity of each of the
fringe-like processes of the tentacula, and these, uniting
with others in their course upwards, form at length a single
tube or oesophagus, which terminates in the central stomach
already described.
Most of the animals of this order, which are found fixed
on rocks, are propagated by means of spores or gemmules,
constituting one of the modes by which the gemmiparous
form of reproduction is effected. These gemmules are mi¬
nute bodies, formed either on the surface or in some special
internal organ of the parent, and which are immediately
detached and swim with a spontaneous and independent
motion in the circumambient fluid, by means of cilia or
short filaments, which are in rapid and incessant vibration.
They pursue these motions for a certain time till they find
a convenient place for their future habitation, where, when
they are once fixed, they generally remain ever after, grow¬
ing to the dimensions and exercising all the functions of the
parent animal. In the acalepha, which are not stationary,
the gemmules retain their liberty of moving during the whole
period of their existence.
4. Polypi.
(1118.) The organization of this numerous order of zoo-Polypi,
phytes, presents, in every essential particular, great unifor¬
mity, and bears a great analogy to that of the actinia. The
gelatinous sac or tube, constituting the digestive cavity, is
closed at one end, the opening at the other end being the
mouth, which is surrounded by a circle of tentacula; and
the nutritive fluid passing by imbibition through the coats
of the general sac or stomach for the purpose of nourish¬
ment. The hydra may be taken as the type of this tribe
of animals. It consists of a mere stomach provided with
flexible tentacula for catching food and for progression.
This sac may be inverted or turned inside out, without de¬
triment to the animal, digestion being then performed by
the new cavity, which is the result of the operation. These
animals present the simplest examples of gemmiparous ge¬
neration, (§ 777).
No further discovery can be made respecting the orgam-
PHYSIOLOGY.
hysiology. zation of these animals, even by applying the microscope,
which shews only a semitransparent substance interspersed
with opaque grains. Tire greater number secrete on their
outer surface a calcareous or a horny substance, which serves
for their mechanical support, but at the same time fixes
them on the spot to which they adhere.
aggregate (Hiq.) The most remarkable feature in their history is
“'yP1- their disposition to congregate together in vast numbers, so
as to compose by their united architecture whole rocks and
even submarine mountains, rising from the bottom of the
ocean. Some of these animal republics exhibit amongst the
individuals thus associated together communications of nu¬
tritious vessels, so that the materials for the sustenance of
each passes into the bodies of the neighbouring polypi, and
is applied to the purposes of their economy. All these fixed
polypi are propagated by spores or gemmules in the man¬
ner already described in our account of the stationary aca-
lepha.
5. Infusoria.
Infusoria. (1120.) These being all microscopic animalcules of ex¬
treme minuteness, it is scarcely possible to arrive at any
exact knowledge of their internal organization or economy.
Many, and probably all, are possessed of distinct organs for
the reception of food, for reproduction, and for voluntary
motion ; but conjecture alone can fill up the imperfect out¬
line, or suggest any plausible hypothesis as to their powers
of sensation, which, however, we are unwilling to refuse to
any being which appears to possess the properties and at¬
tributes of animality, especially since the splendid discover¬
ies of Ehrenberg have made us acquainted with the complex
organization observable in some of the minutest of this pro¬
digiously diversified tribe of beings. It is remarkable, in¬
deed, that those very animalcules, as the monads, which
had been ranked by naturalists among the agastrica, or
beings totally without alimentary cavities, are now found
to have a very considerable number of stomachs, and to be
entitled accordingly to the title ofpolygastrica.
It is chiefly amongst the various tribes of infusoria that
the simpler modes of generation, such as that termed fissi-
parous, are exemplified. In the monas, for instance, a
groove is seen to form around the equator of their globular
bodies, which groove, gradually deepening, changes their
form to that of an hour-glass, and the connecting ligament
of the two portions being soon broken, the segments move
away from one another, each commencing its independent
existence, and being capable of performing all the functions
of the undivided monad. In the bell-shaped vorticella, the
division commences at the mouth or wide extremity of the
bell, and gradually extends in a longitudinal direction to¬
wards the insertion of the stem, dividing the body into two
equal portions, each being now a distinct and individual
animal. The gonium divides itself into four instead of two
portions, each portion being again subdivided into four
others, the new animalcules assuming rapidly the dimen¬
sions and appearance of the one of which they originally
formed a part. Other species are propagated by means of
gemmules; and some of the infusoria are apparently ovi¬
parous.
CHAP. XXIII. HISTORY OF PHYSIOLOGY.
iHistory. (1121.) The study of the history of any science furnishes
to the mind a body of knowledge not merely ornamental or
superfluous, but one that is fraught with instruction and uti¬
lity, and is conducive to the just comprehension oi the sub¬
ject to which it relates. It is scarcely ever necessary, in¬
deed, for the understanding of any proposition, that the
student should follow the same laborious course and travel
through the same tortuous mazes by which the discovery
had originally been achieved; for the acquisition of any
723
body of knowledge already systematized by the labours of Physiology
our predecessors, is in general most readily attained by the
synthetic method. But as soon as this point has been
reached we can conceive no course of study more calculat¬
ed to improve that knowledge, and to invigorate the facul¬
ties by which it may be extended and perfected, than re¬
verting to the analytic process, and following the series of
discoveries in the order in which they have actually occurred.
From an historical survey of the successive steps by which
science has proceeded from a rude origin to its present state
of advancement, and which mark its varied progress and
even occasional retrogressions at different periods, accord¬
ing to the prevailing disposition of the age, either to a ser¬
vile submission to authority or to the hasty adoption of crude
and visionary theories, we are enabled to derive most im¬
portant rules for the conduct of the understanding in the
search after truth.
The history of each particular branch of science may,
indeed, be regarded as a separate chapter in the history of
the human mind. It indicates the sources of its activity
and of its strength, and also of its weakness’ and fallibility ;
it holds out the most powerful incentives to exertion ; it
exhibits much to admire and to emulate, and, at the same
time, discloses enough to check pride and teach humility.
(1122.) The history of physiology must necessarily com¬
prise a large portion of the history of anatomy, which con¬
sists in the mere knowledge of the organs and minute struc¬
ture of the body, such knowledge being, in fact, the foun¬
dation on which the higher science of the philosophy of life
is built. It is scarcely possible, indeed, to study mere or¬
ganization, without extending our views to the functions
that we see performed, and to the energies that are exerted
by the living organs. Our object will therefore be in the
present place, to inquire how far these higher qualities of
mind have been displayed by the cultivators of this depart¬
ment of knowledge at different periods, so as to mark the
progress of the philosophy of life, as contradistinguished
from the more mechanical, though equally useful labours of
the mere anatomist.
(1123.) The phenomena which constitute the subjects of Earliest
physiological inquiry must, indeed, have attracted the atten- periods,
tion of mankind long before any accurate knowledge had
been acquired of the structure of the organs whose actions
give rise to these phenomena. Life in its different forms
must have been familiar to all; and every savage and war¬
like people must have been conversant with the diversified
aspects of death, which they inflicted in such various modes.
Speculations on the nature of the vital principle, and the
physiological conditions on which it is dependent for its ori¬
gin, maintenance, and decay, must have been formed and
pursued in every state of society, removed bvjt one degree
from barbarism ; and such speculations must have stimulat¬
ed inquiry into the internal mechanism with which that prin¬
ciple is associated, and the hidden springs which regulate
its course.
(1124.) Opportunities must frequently have occurred in
the rudest ages, of observing the different parts of the struc¬
ture of the bodies both of men and animals. The curiosity
even of the savage could not fail to be attracted by the re¬
markable appearance of the internal organs, in the animals
which he slaughtered for food, or prepared for sacrifice. Al¬
though deterred from the actual examination of the human
body, by an instinctive repugnance, or superstitious terror,
various casualties occurring in battle, or arising from acci¬
dents, would occasionally afford an insight into the human
frame. Human bones, and sometimes entire skeletons,
would often present themselves to those who revisited the
fields of carnage.. Thus would the principal bones, and the
most conspicuous viscera of the human body, soon become
known, and they would be designated by particular names.
Evidence to this effect may be collected from the rudest and
724
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology, most ancient languages 5 from which we may infer that a centric manners) as well as penetrating genius* and. undis*
certain progress must have been made in this kind of know- guised contempt for the follies of mankind* have procured
ledge lono^before it had been so arranged and methodized him so much celebrity. He is said to have devoted consi-
tians.
as to deserve the name of a science
Amongst (\ 125.) The prevailing custom amongst most of the ancient
the Egyp- naijonS) Gf consigning all dead bodies to destruction by fire,
was one of the greatest obstacles to the advancement oi ana¬
tomical and physiological knowledge. But opportunities
were on the other hand afforded of learning the structure of
certain animals, by the religious rites, during the celebra¬
tion of which these animals were sacrificed, and especially
by the examinations which were made by the priests of the
yet palpitating entrails of their victims, for the purpose of
prognosticating future events. Inferences were thus drawn
by analogy as to the organization and functions of the hu¬
man body. The Egyptians, indeed, who composed the most
ancient nation of whose manners and customs we possess
any authentic records, were supposed to have acquired con¬
siderable knowledge of the human structure from the prac¬
tice of embalming the dead. This operation was perform¬
ed by a particular class of men, and consisted in taking out
a portion of the viscera, washing them with antiseptic fluids,
and filling the cavities with aromatic substances. But as
this process appears to have been conducted in the rudest
manner, it required no skill in anatomy, and was but little
derable time to the dissection of animals, especially with a
view to discover the origin and course of the bile. His
fondness for seclusion, and his perseverance in a pursuit
which appeared to his countrymen to be without any ra¬
tional object, led them to suspect the soundness of his in¬
tellects ; and Hippocrates was sent to visit him in his soli¬
tary abode. He found the philosopher seated on a stone,
under the ample shade of a plane tree, with a number of
books arranged on each side, one on his knee, a pencil in
his hand, and several animals which he had been dissecting
lying before him. His complexion was pale, his countenance
thoughtful; at times he laughed, at times shook his head,
mused for a while, and then wrote, then rose up and walk¬
ed, inspected the animals, sat down, and wrote again. Hip¬
pocrates, who perceived the nature of his inquiries, observ¬
ed him for some time in silent admiration, proclaimed to the
bystanders the importance of his researches, and declared
to them his regret that want of leisure from his owp pro¬
fessional employments did not allow him to engage in simi¬
lar pursuits.
(1128.) But it was only from men whose minds are ca-Hippo-
pable of enlarged views, and can perceive the bearings andcrates‘
calculated to improve the science. It was in the hands of connexions of the several parts of the subjects they em
a few persons only ; and such was the contempt and abhor
rence in which these persons were held by their country¬
men, that whatever knowledge they might have acquired
by the practice of their art, was not likely to be communi¬
cated to others. .
TbeGreeks (1126.) Whatever splendour may have attended the
brace, that a powerful impulse is given to science, such as
to make it almost the creation of their hands, that it is rais¬
ed to its proper rank among the departments of human
knowledge. Such was the vigorous mind of Hippocrates ;
and so great was the improvement which medicine derived
from his genius, that the foundation was thus laid for the
pride of power or extent of empire in these rude and un- more rapid progress of all the sciences connected with it in
enlightened ages, the dawn of science was coeval only with succeeding times. Hippocrates was born in the island of
that of liberty. The same energies by which man had Cos, in the first year of the 80th olympiad, or 460 years
thrown off the yoke of tyranny, animated them likewise with before Christ; an aera which is therefore remarkable in the
the desire of knowledge ; and nations had no sooner eman- history of medical science. It appears that at that period
cipated themselves from despotism, than they began to
emerge from barbarism and ignorance. The Greeks, who
were the most free, were also the most polished of all the
nations of antiquity, and far excelled them in every species
of science and of art. So great was the ardour of their phi¬
losophers in the pursuit of knowledge, that they frequently
travelled into distant countries to collect useful informa¬
tion, and impart it to their pupils. Even in the time of
a knowledge of medicine had been in a great measure he¬
reditary in certain families, amongst whom the information
which had descended from the successive generations was
thus retained and augmented. This was the case in the
family of Hippocrates, who is said to have been the four¬
teenth descendant from Esculapius, on his father’s side;
while his maternal ancestry could be traced to Hercules.
He had been instructed in all the learning of those times;
Pythago-
Democri-
tus.
Homer, the Greeks seem to have possessed much general but particularly dedicated himselt to the cultivation of nie-
knowledge both of anatomy and physiology, as may be col- dicine, which he formed into a distinct science, collecting
lected from the writings of that poet. He relates that the and arranging all the information on the subject that was
stone which was hurled at iEneas by Diomed, not only crush- then known. Not satisfied with the knowledge which he
ed the thigh-bone, but also tore the ligament of the aceta- could acquire in his native place, he travelled for several
bulum. Merion is represented as being wounded in one of years through different parts of Greece and Asia Minor,
the large veins which return the blood to the heart, or venae He visited the temple of Diana at Ephesus, and was at the
cavae ; and Ulysses aimed a blow at the Cyclops at the part pains of transcribing and arranging the records of cases and
of successful methods of cure, wrhich it was the custom to
deposit on tablets in these temples. On retiring to his na¬
tive island, after the laborious proofs he had given of his
diligence and ardour, he continued to exercise his profes¬
sion, and enjoyed the highest and most extensive reputa¬
tion. Such was the estimation in which his talents were
held, that even princes were solicitous to allure him to their
courts ; but he was so strongly attached to his native coun¬
try, that he resisted every temptation which the splendour
or the favour of monarchs could hold out.
(1129.) Excepting one or two particular treatises, which
bear his name, but the authenticity of which is dubious,
the writings of Hippocrates are to be regarded rather as
medical than physiological; but he seems to have been the
first who formed a clear conception of the value of anatomy
and physiology as the basis of medical reasoning. Origi¬
nality of thought, combined with accuracy of observation,
where the liver adheres to the diaphragm. It has even been
supposed that Homer has purposely often wounded his he¬
roes that he might have opportunities of displaying by the
minuteness of his descriptions, his accurate acquaintance
with anatomy.
(1127.) But though curiosity was roused, and a multi¬
tude of detached facts had been observed and collected, it
was long before the proper methods of investigation were
known, and the true principles of inquiry established. Al¬
though it appears that the studies of anatomy and physio¬
logy were prosecuted with considerable ardour in the school
of Pythagoras, yet as they were regarded merely as a part
of natural history, the information relating to these sub¬
jects was not sufficiently connected or concentrated to be
embodied in one science. Alcmeon and Empedocles, who
cultivated anatomy, belonged to this school; but the most
remarkable of the pupils of Pythagoras, belonging to the ^ ^ . .
Eleatic sect, was Democritus of Abdera, a man whose -ec- forms the characteristic feature of his writings ; which con~
PHYSIOLOGY.
725
physiology-tain, however, many traces of the Pythagorean philosophy,
with which he seems to have been early imbued. He form¬
ed the bold conception of the existence of a principle, which
he calls Qvo-is, or nature, exercising a general direction and
superintendence over all the actions and movements of the
body, and endowed tor that purpose with a species of intel¬
ligence directed to beneficial ends. As subservient to this
great and piime agent, he imagined that the functions were
carried on by means of other subordinate powers or facul¬
ties; and also that they were subjected to the influence of
the stars. He regarded the body as being composed of
three kinds of substances, namely, solids, fluids, and spirits,
and ultimately resolvable into the four primary elements of
earth, water, air, and fire, the predominance of each of which
in particular individuals gave rise to the prevailinec temper¬
aments, characterised by the peculiar combinations of the
four qualities of dry, moist, cold, and hot. Hence arose
his doctrine of temperaments, already noticed, (§ 862). The
anatomical details which are interspersed throughout his
works are numerous, but do not exhibit any profound know¬
ledge of the subject, besides being in many instances in¬
correct. The confession which he made on his visit to De¬
mocritus shews that he had not devoted any considerable
portion of his time either to physiology or to practical ana¬
tomy. It is very apparent, indeed, that he never dissected
a human body ; and much could not be learned from the
occasional dissection of brutes. So far was he from having
any idea of the real nature of the circulation of the blood,
which some have done him the honour to suppose he had
discovered, that he seems to have imagined that the arte¬
ries contained air, and he was at a loss to determine whe¬
ther the veins took their origin in the liver, the heart, or
the brain. He includes under the same name the ligaments,
the tendons, and the nerves, and makes no distinction be¬
tween their respective offices in the economy. But these
imperfections were more to be imputed to the unavoidable
disadvantages of the times, than to his own deficiency ei¬
ther of industry or of talent; for wherever he had oppor¬
tunities of displaying these qualities, and of exerting the
whole force of his original mind, he far surpassed all his
cotemporaries. Hippocrates must indeed be regarded as
the father of physiology, as well as of medicine; and his
name will ever be cherished by posterity, as one of the most
illustrious in the annals of science,
derates. (1130.) Amongst the Athenian philosophers who paid at¬
tention to physiology, Socrates must not be passed over in
silence; since he cultivated the science with a view to es¬
tablish upon it, as upon the most solid foundation, the prin-
j’lato. ciples of natural theology. Plato, the friend and pupil of
Socrates, likewise devoted a portion of his time to the study
of animal structures, and indulged in a variety of fanciful
speculations concerning the uses and functions of the vital
organs.
bistotle. (1131.) Aristotle, the tutor of Alexander the Great, whose
transcendant genius embraced the whole domain of human
science, prosecuted this, as well as every other branch of
the history of nature, with an ardour and perseverance that
have rarely been equalled, and never surpassed. Gifted
with a mind of extraordinary acuteness and comprehension,
he appears to have concentrated within it all the learning
of his age, which, moulded and transformed by the power
of his genius, assumed new forms of arrangement, yielded
new products of generalization, and spread its luminous ir¬
radiation over every department of human knowledge. At
the request of his pupil he undertook an extensive treatise
on the natural history of animals ; he was liberally furnished
with specimens of all kinds, and empowered to command
the services of numerous assistants, from every part of the
vast empire of Alexander. He spared no labour in the
prosecution of this undertaking, and in making the most
profitable use of the resources thus placed at his disposal;
and contributed in no small degree to the advancement of Physiology,
our knowledge of the animal economy in the diversified
forms of life presented by nature. Yet with all the ad¬
vantages he possessed, it would appear that his knowledge
of human anatomy was exceedingly imperfect. He even
acknowledges that the internal parts of the human body are
but little known; and points out the probable advantages
that might result from the examination of animals which
have the nearest resemblance to the human species, for sup-
plying these deficiences. But his work on the history of
animals, irepl fcocov laropias, is unrivalled by the magnitude
of the field which it embraces, and by the vast information
it contains. To him belongs the merit of arranging the
facts in the order, not of their zoological, but their physio¬
logical relations ; referring every organ to the functions it
performs in the animal economy, and thus anticipating the
very principle on which, in recent times, Hunter, Blumen-
bach and Cuvier have founded their more rational and phi¬
losophical views of comparative physiology.
(1132.) The encouragement given by the Ptolemies, the The Ptole-
successors of Alexander in Egypt, to every kind of learning, mies.
tended greatly to the advancement of anatomy and physio¬
logy. Permission was granted by these monarchs to dis¬
sect the human body, which none would otherwise have
dared to attempt, in opposition to the prejudices of the
Egyptians, which were no less violent against dissection than
those of the Greeks.
(1133.) One of the earliest of the physiologists of this Erasistra-
period was Erasistratus, the grandson of Aristotle, and the tus.
pupil of Chrysippus. Under the patronage of Nicanor, king
of Sicily, he enjoyed frequent permission to dissect the
bodies of those who were executed, and is even reported by
Celsus to have had criminals delivered to him for the pur¬
pose of their being opened while alive, in order that the na¬
tural living state of the internal organs might be examined.
This account, however, deserves to be regarded rather as a
popular tale, which has no other foundation than irrational
prejudices against dissection, and was propagated by idle
credulity, and a passion for exaggerated scenes of horror.
The works of Erasistratus are now lost; but from the quo¬
tations of later authors, he appears to have greatly advanc¬
ed the knowledge of the structure of the human body, more
especially by pointing out the circumstances in which it dif¬
fers from that of other animals, whose anatomy had been
previously studied as making the nearest approach to the
organization of man.
(1134.) Another no less distinguished anatomist of the Herophilus.
same period was Herophilus of Chalcedon, who also flou¬
rished at Alexandria. He was the disciple of Praxagoras,
and was considered as the founder of the medical school at
Alexandria. He was much occupied in the dissection ol
human bodies, and directed his attention particularly to the
nervous system. One of the sinuses of the brain, which he
is said to have more particularly described, bears to this day
the name of the torcular of Herophilus. He is stated to
have been the first anatomist who taught osteology from the
human skeleton. He distinguished the nerves from tendons
and ligaments, with which they had, before his time, been
confounded. He also paid minute attention to the varieties
of the pulse, and thus laid a foundation for a knowledge of
the important function of the circulation.
(1135.) Few physiologists of any note are recorded as
having flourished from the time of Herophilus to that of
Galen. The names of Lycus of Macedonia; of Marinus, who
lived in the reign of Nero, have been transmitted to us as the
author of some elaborate treatises on the muscles; and also
of Bufus Ephesius, who wrote a work entitled Onomasia,
which was considered as the best system of anatomical know¬
ledge extant at that period.
(1136.) Galen, the most celebrated and indeed the last of GaJen.
the physiologists of Greece, was born at Pergamos, in Asia
*2,6
PHYSIOLOGY.
Physiology. Minor, about 131 vears before the Christian era. His fa-
ther was imbued With the love of letters, and was anxious
that bis son should receive the benefit of a learned educa¬
tion, which the early promise he gave of superior talents
shewed that he was well qualified to turn to advantage. He
was placed under the tuition of the best philosophers of the
time; and studied in all the schools with extraordinary dili¬
gence. His father died long before he could forrn any pro¬
bable anticipation of the future fame of his son. It was two
years after this event, that young Galen, who was now in
his nineteenth year, first turned his attention to medical
pursuits, of which he soon became passionately fond. As
Alexandria was still the most celebrated school of medicine
in the world, he travelled thither with a view of prosecut¬
ing his studies; in order to reap every advantage which
foreign countries could afford, he visited in succession dif¬
ferent parts of Asia Minor and the islands in the /Egean
Sea. Anatomy was ever his favourite pursuit; but being
debarred from the advantage of examining human bodies,
the dissection of which had then been prohibited, even at
Alexandria, he had recourse to that of such animals as were
supposed to have the greatest resemblance m their struc¬
ture to man. He has written very fully on every part ot
anatomy ; so that his works may be considered as a system,
6x111^^0^ every thing which was known on the subject m
his time.° He was much impressed with the importance of
anatomy as the basis of medicine and surgery, and enforces
his opinion with singular acuteness and energy, ibis is
evinced by the following passage in his second book ot
Academical Administrations:
“ What can be more useful in wounds which are receiv¬
ed in battle, in the extraction of darts, excision of bones, the
reduction of luxations, the opening of fistula;, than to be
well acquainted with the anatomy of the limbs ? It is ot
more use to be acquainted with the exterior than the inte¬
rior parts of the body, as the shoulders, back, breast, the
ribs, the belly, and the outward covering of the neck and
head ; for we are often required to cut into abscesses and
sinuses. In the excision of bones it is necessary to cut and
dissect; and if we do not know where the artery, vein, or
nerve may be, we are more likely to be the cause ot death
than of health to the patient.” .
(1137.) Galen is entitled to great praise for having ap¬
plied himself to the investigation of physiology in connex¬
ion with anatomy ; so little had hitherto been known on
this subject, that we cannot be surprised at the mixture of
error which his works exhibit; but although he may often
have proceeded on false principles and fallacious hypotheses,
yet the reasonings themselves which he employs are always
clear and conclusive. His account of the uses of the Hand,
for example, is remarkably perspicuous and correct. He
succeeded in establishing by experiment the fact that arte¬
ries contain blood, and thus refuted the doctrines of the
Alexandrian school that they are merely filled with air,
which they serve to distribute throughout the body. It is
interesting also to trace the effect which these subjects of
contemplation produced on Galen’s mind. After reviewing
the structure of the hand and foot, and their adaptation to
their respective functions, he breaks out into the following
apostrophe, admirably characteristic of a mind imbued with
the genuine spirt of piety :
“ I esteem myself as composing a solemn hymn to the
author of our bodily frame, and in this I think there is more
true piety than in sacrificing to him hecatombs of oxen, or
burnt-offerings of the most costly perfumes ; for I first en¬
deavour to know him myself, and afterwards to shew him to
others, to inform them how great is his wisdom, his virtue,
his goodness.” < . ,
(1138.) The great reputation which Galen had acquired,
instead of promoting, tended rather to impede the progress
of anatomy and physiology during several succeeding cen¬
turies. Where no hope was entertained of emulating the Physiology ,
fame of one who was regarded as an infallible oracle, all
motive to exertion was repressed. But other causes of aDarkages.
political nature also contributed to the decline of anatomy, as
well as of other branches of learning, from the time of Galen
to the downfall of the Roman empire, and during the ages
of intellectual darkness which followed. Learning, however,
still continued to be cultivated at Alexandria, until the cap¬
ture of that city by the Saracens, in the year 640, when its
magnificent library was burnt.
(1139.) Anatomy and physiology began slowly to re-TheAra-
vive among the Arabians ; but no addition seems to have Mans,
been made by them to the knowledge which the Greeks
had possessed on these subjects. The Arabian physicians
were satisfied with what Galen had taught them ; and as
the rites of the Mahometan religion prohibited all contact
with a dead body, an effectual bar was opposed to all im¬
provement in anatomical or physiological knowledge. The
work of Avicenna on anatomy is merely a compilation from Avicenna.
Galen and other Greek authors ; and whenever he ven¬
tures to differ from his authorities he is generally wrong.
For more than a thousand years after the time of Galen,
anatomical and physiological science may be considered as
nearly stationary ; for scarcely any discovery of the least
importance was made during the whole of that period.
(1140.) The expeditions of the crusaders were the means Mundinus
of introducing into Europe some knowledge of the litera¬
ture of the Arabians ; and the light of science, after a long
period of darkness and ignorance, began at length to dawn.
In the fourteenth century, anatomy was revived by Mun¬
dinus, a Milanese, who had become acquainted with the
writings of Galen through an Arabian translation, and who
published a system of anatomy in 1315.
(1141.) The destruction of the Greek empire by theThefif-
Turks, in the succeeding century, tended to diffuse through- teenth cen
out the west of Europe, whatever portion had remained oft1111) •
the literature of the east. The learned of every profession
fled from Constantinople, which had fallen into the hands
of barbarians, and sought an asylum in Italy, where they
disseminated the seeds of knowledge. The writings of Ga¬
len and of the ancients, could now be read in the original;
their superiority to the Arabian authors was soon discover¬
ed ; and such implicit deference was paid to their opinions,
that for many ages no one would venture upon the slightest
innovation. The improvement of anatomy was therefore
exceedingly slow. It was promoted, however, by the ex¬
ertions of eminent painters, such as Raphael, Albert Durer,
Titian, and above all, Leonardo da Vinci, whose drawings
evince considerable knowledge in that study.
(1142.) The sixteenth century was more auspicious to 1
the progress of anatomy, which was beginning to be culti-
vated with ardour in Germany and France, as well as in
Italy. Berengarius of Carpi, professor at Bononia, acquii-
ed such reputation by his skill in dissection, that he was re¬
garded as the restorer of this science. The structure of the
ligaments and bones was successfully studied by Charles
Stephens ; that of the blood-vessels by Fernelius ; and that
of the muscles by Andernach. Sylvius was also at this
time celebrated as a teacher of anatomy.
(1143) But the extravagant veneration of antiquity, that Vesaim ,
spell which has for so many ages held the medical world in
thraldom, was at length broken by Vesalius, who boldly
ventured to call in question the authority of Galen, inis
extraordinary man was born at Brussels in 1514, of a family
which had for a long time cultivated medicine. He united
to remarkable talents, a degree of ardour and perseverance
which enabled him to overcome every difficulty ; and ms
progress in the study of anatomy, for which he had very
early shewn a partiality, was commensurate with these great
qualities. He commenced his studies at Louvain, and pro¬
secuted them in Italy. In a short time lie made himsell
PHYSIOLOGY.
727
■i?bysioogy-master of the Hebrew, GreeK:, and Arabic languages; so
'"^v^^that before he had attained his twentieth year, he had al¬
ready read the works of Galen and Avicenna in the origi¬
nal. Such was his zeal for anatomy, that it is reported he
used to rob the gibbets, and dissect the bodies in his bed¬
chamber. In a few years he excelled his teachers, Ferne-
lius and Sylvius, who were esteemed the first anatomists of
their time. He soon detected many errors in Galen, some
of whose descriptions of parts had been taken from quadru¬
peds, and applied to man. These errors he ventured to
disclose and to correct in his publications ; but his boldness
in appealing to nature from the authority of Galen, drew
upon him the enmity of all the admirers of that great mas¬
ter. He was assailed from all quarters with the bitterest
invectives; and Sylvius himself has not scrupled, in the
heat of controversy, to brand him with the epithet of Ves-
anus, or madman, in allusion to his real name. The criti¬
cism which Vesalius had passed on Galen, was retorted by
his enemies upon himself; and it must be confessed that
in the plates which Vesalius published, some errors of the
same kind were detected. But still their general accuracy
was undeniable. The work of Vesalius was soon acknow¬
ledged to be unrivalled, and its author eventually enjoyed
a complete triumph over all his opponents.
His fame reached the ears of Charles V., who appointed
him his physician; but after being raised to that distin¬
guished station, he was soon doomed to experience the in¬
constancy of fortune. Having obtained permission to ex¬
amine the body of a Spanish gentleman, whom he had at¬
tended in his last illness, he began to lay open the chest,
when the bystanders imagined they perceived a tremulous
motion of the heart. This circumstance soon got wind,
and probably with much exaggeration, reached the ears of
the relations of the deceased, who, seized with horror, de¬
nounced Vesalius as a murderer; and coupling this charge
with that of impiety, arraigned him at the tribunal of the
Inquisition. Where superiority of knowledge was esteem¬
ed a crime, Vesalius, however unjustly he might be accus¬
ed, was certain of condemnation. By the influence, how¬
ever, of Philip II., who had then succeeded to his father
Charles V., Vesalius was permitted to commute his pun¬
ishment to a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the merit of
which, it was thought, might sufficiently atone for the hei¬
nousness of any crime. This journey he was accordingly
obliged to perform ; and on his return he was invited by
the senate of Venice to teach anatomy, but he perished by
shipwreck before he reached that city, when he was about
fifty years of age.
(1144.) The impulse which had been given by Vesalius
to the progress of anatomy, continued to operate ; and
many were the inquirers who pressed forward in the path
in which he had so nobly led the way. The barriers to in¬
vestigation had been removed; nature was open to in¬
quiry ; and men had only to observe and to think for them¬
selves. Every year was now adding some new discovery ;
and it becomes no longer easy to trace the order of their
succession, or to ascribe each to their proper authors. We
shall endeavour, however, briefly to enumerate those which
are most worthy of being noted.
rallopius. (1145.) In the year 1561, Fallopius published, in Italy,
his Observationes Anatomicce, a work of much merit, and
the fruit of great industry. About the same period also,
justachius Eustachius arrived at great eminence as an anatomist, and
published a set of plates, which he himself engraved ; their
beauty and accuracy excite astonishment even in the pre¬
sent day.
abricius. (1146.) Fabricius ab Aquapendente, a professor of ana¬
tomy at Padua, was also one of the most distinguished ana¬
tomists and physiologists of that period. He published a
splendid volume on the formation of the foetus, and bestow¬
ed much pains in investigating the mechanism of the mo¬
tions of animals. He was the first who delineated and drew Physiology,
the attention of the public to the valves of the veins, which
had, indeed, been imperfctly seen by Stephens, Sylvius,
and Vesalius, and the existence of which had been denied
by Fallopius and Eustachius. It was this discovery, per¬
haps, more than any other, which paved the way for that of
the real course of the blood in its circulation; a discovery
which was reserved for the illustrious Harvey; and which
has justly rendered his name immortal. As it may be in¬
teresting to review the steps which led to this important
physiological discovery, we shall retrace its history to a pe¬
riod somewhat more remote.
(1147.) It is perfectly well ascertained, from an exami-Discovery
nation of the works of Galen, and of others who have copied of the
from him, that the ancients had not the most distant notion circulation,
of the real nature of the circulation. The blood was be¬
lieved by them to have its origin in the liver, and to be un¬
dulated alternately in opposite directions in the veins ; they
imagined that the finer part of it transuded through the
septum, or partition separating the cavities of the heart,
from the right to the left side, where it mingled with
the air received into the lungs, and forming a vital spirit,
was moved by a sort of flux and reflux along the arte¬
ries.
(1148.) On the revival of anatomy in Europe some vague
notions of the pulmonary circulation appear to have sug¬
gested themselves to many eminent men. Vesalius demon¬
strated that the blood could not possibly pass from the right
to the left ventricle through the septum of the heart. Real-
dus Columbus, who was professor of anatomy at Padua, and
had been a pupil of Vesalius, distinctly traced the passage
of the blood through the vessels of the lungs. The same
fact had, however, been already discovered by Michael Ser-
vetus,whowas born in Aragon in 1509, and who is more cele¬
brated as a theologian than as a physiologist. Further pro¬
gress was made by Andrew Ccesalpinus, an Italian physician, Coesalpimis
who speaks of a communication existing between the veins
and arteries at their remote extremities, and notices the effect
of the valves of the arteries and of the auricles as calculat¬
ed to prevent a reflux of the blood ; but he is quite at a
loss to reconcile this observation with the common notions,
which he had imbibed, and to which he still adhered, of the
functions of these vessels. But notwithstanding these ap¬
parent approximations to the truth, it is probable that
many ages would have elapsed before the complete disco¬
very of the circulation, if some bold and penetrating genius,
such as that of Harvey, had not arisen.
(1149.) This illustrious man was born in the year 1578 ; jjal.vev
and the circumstances of his family gave him the advan- y
tage of a liberal education. After six years spent at Cam¬
bridge, where he was instructed in all the philosophy of the
times ; finding that the university furnished but very im¬
perfect means of studying either anatomy or medicine, he
repaired, at the age of twenty-one, to Padua. Here he
became the pupil of Fabricius, who was at the time demon¬
strating to his students, with all the enthusiasm of a disco¬
verer, the newly .observed valvular structure of the veins.
The attention of Harvey being thus directed to this remark¬
able conformation, he became anxious, on his return to
England, to prosecute the inquiry into the purposes which
were accomplished by it. Fie was obliged, for this purpose,
to make many experiments on living animals ; and these
revealed to him the real course of the blood in its circulation;
a discovery which ranks unquestionably as the noblest and
most important ever made in Physiology. Harvey taught
this new doctrine in his lectures about the year 1616 ; but
did not publish any account of it till the year 1628. On its be¬
ing made known to the world, it met with the most violent
opposition; and so inveterate were the prejudices of the pub¬
lic, that the practice of Harvey was considerably diminished
in consequence of his discovery. It was remarked that no
lTj
28
PHYSIOLOGY.
h,oology, physician who had passed the age of forty would admit the in these researches; the one was the microscope, the other Physiology
' truth of a doctrine so much at variance with all the systems the practice of injections. .. . . aT/V
in which he had been educated. Envious of his growing (1153.) The microscope was first applied tothe purposes Malpighi,
reputation, many of his cotemporaries had recourse to all of anatomical inquiry about the year 1661, by Malpighi, who
klndsofsopidstry with the view of detracting from his mer- was born near Bologna, in the year 1638. He examined by
it They at first vehemently contested the truth of the doe- the aid of this instrument, the minute organisation of ail the
trine bm afterwlhs, when forced to admit it by the deci- vital parts; and more particularly the glands. These re-
sivtf evidence adduced in its support, they changed their searches into the intimate texture of the various parts of
Tound of "tact and alleged that the merit of the discovery animals were prosecuted with great ardour by Leeuwenhoek, Leew...
did not belong to Harvey, the circulation having been known a Dutch anatomist, about the year 1680. In exploring ttns hoek
even to the ancients. But vain were all the efforts of envy
and detraction to lessen that fame, which will command the
admiration of all future ages. The physiological researches
of Harvey were not confined to the function of circulation ;
A.sselli.
Pecquet.
Hudbeck.
Bartholin.
but extended also to that of generation, and to the evolu¬
tion of the ovum, on which he made a series of very valua¬
ble observations.
(1150.) The beginning of the seventeenth century was
an important era in anatomy, for it was also marked by an¬
other brilliant discovery, namely, that of the lacteals by
Asselli in 1622. It appears, from the testimony of Galen,
that Erasistratus had noticed white vessels on the mesentery
of kids ; but the observation was not followed up, and these
vessels were supposed to have been merely veins. Asselli
was born at Cremona, and was professor of medicine at Pa¬
via. He observed on the mesentery of a dog numerous
vessels, filled with a white fluid ; he was immediately con¬
vinced that he had made an important discovery, and ut¬
tered in the fullness of his feelings, the exclamation “ Eu-
pjjKa.” Perceiving similar vessels upon the surface ol the
liver, and entertaining some theoretical views concerning
the functions of that organ, he too hastily concluded that
the lacteals terminated in the liver. Asselli published an
account of his discovery with coloured prints in 1627.
(1151.) It was not till about thirty years after this disco¬
very of Asselli, that the lacteals were traced by Pecquet, a
French anatomist, into the receptaculum chyli, and thence
into the thoracic duct, which he also followed to its termi¬
nation in the great veins near the heart. These observa¬
tions were published in the year 1651. All these discoveries
were made in brutes ; and it remained to be shewn, that si¬
milar structures existed in man. This was accomplished
by Veslingius, who had already demonstrated the human
lacteal vessels, in the year 1634; and the human thoracic duct
in 1649. These parts were afterwards more fully investi¬
gated by Peirish and Vanhorne. Shortly afterwards, the
general absorbents of the body were discovered by Olaus
Rudbeck, a Swede, who was born at Avosa,^ in the year
1630. This discovery was also claimed by Thomas Bar¬
tholin, who was born at Copenhagen in the year 1616 ; but
by his own account he had not seen these lymphatic ves¬
sels till December 1651, whilst Rudbeck liad not only ob¬
served them, but had distinguished their peculiarities the
year before; Rudbeck had also traced them to the thoracic
duct, which Bartholin had failed to do. Dr.Joliffe, an Eng¬
lish physician, has also contended for the honour of this
discovery ; but from a comparison of dates, the priority is
clearly in favour of the Swedish anatomist. When we con¬
sider the minuteness of these vessels and the transparency of
new field of inquiry, which opened views so remote from
common apprehension, his enthusiasm has often carried him
beyond what was real, both in the power of the instrument,
and in the results it afforded. But still much has been ef¬
fected, and the boundaries of the science have been greatly
enlarged by the skilful employment of the microscope.
(1154.) The arts of preserving the parts of animals when Vanhorne.
dissected, by drying and varnishing them, and by other
modes of preparation, had long been practised ; and in these
Vanhorne is said to have attained superior excellence. But
the most valuable invention of this kind was that of inject¬
ing into the vessels certain fluids which would, after a time,
become solid, and admit of the course of these vessels being
easily traced. The injecting syringe used for this purpose
was invented by De Graaf, a Dutch anatomist, about the De Graaf
middle of the seventeenth century ; and soon after, the pro¬
per materials for injection were discovered by Swammerdam. Swammer-
The art of injection was carried to a very high degree of dam.
perfection by Ruysch ; but with a degree of selfish illiberal- Ruyscb.
ity which cannot be too strongly condemned, he kept secret
the methods he employed.
(1155.) The advancement of Physiology was greatlypro-
moted both by the practice of this art, and by the dexterous
employment of the microscope ; and discoveries in this
science have succeeded one another so rapidly from the pe¬
riod of their invention, that in giving an account of them,
it is scarcely possible to preserve an unbroken narration ;
and it would be impossible, in this sketch, to recount the
numerous minor improvements which have been made in
our knowledge of this department of science from the epoch
down to which we have now brought its history. Much
error was still mingled with the acquisition of real know¬
ledge on these subjects ; and it has required the exertion of
the more severe and scrutinizing spirit of inquiry which
characterizes the philosophers of a later period, to winnow
the grain from the chaff, and refine the pure metal from the
superfluous ore which had been dug up along with it from
the mine. Physiologists were slow in recognising the pecu¬
liarities which appertain to the vital powers, and those ot the
beginning of the eighteenth century long persisted in as¬
cribing the phenomena of lile to the operation of the same
laws which regulate those of inanimate nature. Hence the
history of physiology is occupied at that period, chiefly by
the contentions which arose between the rival sects ot che¬
mists and mathematicians ; each striving to apply to phy¬
siology the principles and methods of investigation which
prevailed in their respective sciences. Much ingenuity w'as
wasted in these unprofitable researches; for although some
important fact was occasionally brought to light by the pro-
sider the minuteness ot tnese vessels anu me uan&paienvy ui ^ - — . — . . ^ ~ ,q0” lir; fn
their coats, we are able to appreciate the difficulty of de- secution of elaborate inquiries, prompted by endeavours to
tectino- their existence, and our surprise must cease at their support each favourite speculation, yet not one of these y
Snf remained unknown for so many ages. potheses could long maintain its ground, nor con d it be said
(1152.) No discovery of equal importance to those we that a single general principle had been estabhshe .
have mentioned has been made in anatomy since that pe- (1156.) A new light was now thrown on he subject of
riod. Many parts of the body, which were unknown m physiology, which tended to^dissipate^ the co nfywl|
Harvey’s time, have indeed been brought to light; but the
principal improvement has consisted in a more accurate
knowdedge of the composition and minute structure of the
several organs. For this we are chiefly indebted to the in¬
vention of new anatomical processes both of investigation
and of demonstration. Two principal means were employed
which it had been obscured by the dogmatical tenets ot botn
the chemical and the mechanical sects ; and to effect a com¬
plete renovation in the science. The new doctrine which gtaLl,
thus superseded the former, originated in Stahl; who, al- Hoffman,
though educated in the school of the chemists, soon shook and
off the trammels of his instructors, and with the vigour of
PHYSIOLOGY.
729
bysiology. native genius began to reflect for himself. He perceived
the futility of their doctrines, and strongly impressed with
the wide differences observable between the phenomena
presented by organized beings, and those which the same
bodies exhibit when devoid of vitality, conceived that they
were governed by some agency opposed to the ordinary phy¬
sical powers of matter ; and to this agent he gave the name
of anima, (see §. 101), ascribing to it endowments allied to
intelligence, which controlled all the changes in the system,
and ot which the operations were always directed to salu¬
tary ends. This hypothesis, gratuitous and unphilosophical
as it was, had the beneficial effect of directing the attention
of physiologists to the phenomena which peculiarly charac¬
terise the living state, and prepared them for the study of
the laws of these vital phenomena. Much praise is also due
to Hoffmann, who, although too hasty in his conclusions to
inspire confidence in their correctness, appears to have been
amongst the earliest of the followers of Stahl, who entertained
proper views of the principles and objects of physiology.
Boerhaave was celebrated at this time for the extent of his
information, the soundness of his judgment, and his talent
in the art of instruction. His doctrines had extensive in¬
fluence in the schools of medicine ; but being destitute of
the solid support of facts, they did not long survive their
propounder.
(1157.) But the great founder of modern physiology is
unquestionably Haller, whose labours in this field of inquiry
are so prodigious in extent, and so fruitful in results, that
the publication of his Elements, to which it may be per-
laller.
ceived we have had occasion in the course of this treatise Physiology,
perpetually to refer, must be considered as forming an im-
portant era in the history of the science.
(1158.) The attention of physiologists was beginning to
be more particularly directed to the functions of the ner¬
vous system ; and the labours of Whytt at this period had Whytt,
tended much to give it this impulse. Amongst the host of^ullen’
names which claim our notice as having contributed their
share in the rapid progress of discovery, since this time, we &,!* 1<u’
can point out only a few of the most illustrious. William
Hunter, the Monros, and Cullen, are amongst those most
eminent for the services wdfich they have rendered to phy¬
siology ; but perhaps the largest contributor to the mass of
facts collected in modern times was John Hunter. The
merits of Bichat were also of the first order ; and consider¬
ing how early his career was cut short by the hand of death,
the additions which he has made to the stock of facts, and
the influence which his opinions have had on the progress
of the science, must excite astonishment. Germany and
Italy, as well as France, have been prolific in ardent devo¬
tees and successful cultivators of physiology ; and although
it might be invidious to point out particular names, we
should be sorry to omit those of Spallanzani, Blumenbach,
Soemmerring, Meckel, Gmelin, and Muller; nor should the
justly earned fame of Cuvier be passed over in silence, even
in this brief and imperfect retrospect of the benefactors of
our race, for such we must esteem all those who enlarge
the sphere of human knowledge, and thereby confer the
most solid accession to the power and happiness of man.
(y.)
INDEX.
N. B.—The numbers refer to the paragraph
Abeildgaard, 436.
Aberration, chromatic, 670.
  parallactic, 667.
 spherical, 665.
Absorbent system, 539.
Absorption, interstitial, 551.
 lacteal, 38, 40, 538.
 lymphatic, 45.
Abstinence, effects of, 324.
Acalepha, 1114.
Acephala, 1085
Acid, lactic, 519-
 in stomach, 347.
Acini, 499, 505.
Acoustics, 623, 757.
Actinia, 1115.
Adelon, 84.
Adipose texture, 122.
Admyrauld, 615.
^Ethmoid bone, 617, 940.
Agastrica, 1120.
Age, 570, 858,
Air bladder, 1061.
Alar ligaments, 170.
Albinos, 113, 178.
Albugineous fibre, 114, 165.
Albumen, 285, 517.
Albuminous secretions, 514.
Alison, 86.
Allantois, 848, 1020-
American race, 875.
Ammonia, formation of, 270.
Amnios, 844, 851.
Amphiuma, 1044-
Amphibia, 949.
Ampulla, 632.
Anaesthesia, 709.
Analysis, ultimate, 272.
Anastomoses, 423.
Anatomy, 56.
Animal kingdom, 2.
Animal food, 313.
Animalcules, spermatic, 810.
Annelida, 1092.
Annulus ovalis, 412.
VOL. XVII.
Antagonist powers, 570.
Antennae, 1094, 1104.
Antiquity of man, 72.
Antiseptic power, 342.
Antitragus, 627.
Antra inguinalia, 962.
Aponeuroses, 156, 161.
Appendices pyloricae, 1054.
Applications of Physiology, 57.
Aqueous secretions, 512, 513.
 exhalations, 484.
 humor of the eye, 649.
Arabians, 1139.
Arachnoid, 133.
Arachnida, 1096.
Archaeus, 7, 101.
Area vasculosa, 1020.
Areola, 828.
Areola pellucida, 1020.
Aristotle, 1131.
Arrangement of functions, 77.
 ancient, 81.
 Adelon, Beclard, &c. 84.
—— Bichat, 83.
 Bostock, 85.
—— Cuvier, 84.
 Dumas, 83.
  Haller, 82.
 Mayo, 87.
  Richerand, 82.
  Roget, 88.
 Vicq. D’Azyr, 82.
Arteries, 42.
Arteriae helicinae, 809.
Arterial system, 418.
Arterial action, 458.
Articulate sounds, 768.
Articulata, 68, 1090.
Articulations, 167, 244.
Arytaenoid, 759.
Ascidia, 1089.
Aselli, 377, 1150.
Asterias, 1108.
Assimilation, 39, 307.
Association, 702, 704.
Attraction, 107.
 of Iffe, 223.
Automatic motions, 728.
Auricle, 412.
Avicenna, 1139.
Babington, Dr. B. 407.
Baer, 803, 804.
Baillie, 582.
Balance of affinities, 265-
Barry, Dr. M. 799, 800.
Bartholin, 1151.
Base of support, 250.
Bat, 937.
Batrachia, 1041.
Bauer, 199, 395, 401, 585.
Bear, 942.
Beaver, 957.
Beclard, 84, 117, 199, 585.
Bee, 1102.
Bell, Sir Charles, 720, 724,
731, 769.
Bennati, 772.
Benson, 143.
Berzelius, passim.
Bichat, passim.
Bile, 40, 864.
Biology, 1.
Birds, 1003.
Bivalves, 1085.
Blainville, 73.
Blane, 208.
Blastoderma, 831.
Blood, 42, 383.
Blumenbach, passim.
Boerhaave, 113, 392, 504,
1156.
Bones, 30, 35, 137, 565.
Bonnet, 69.
Borelli, 198, 436, 1008.
Bostock, passim.
Botany, 2.
Botts, 983.
Boudet, 407.
Bourdon, 84.
Brain, 14, 173, 521, 581, 749,
1014.
Branchiae, 1045, 1060.
Brande,287, 303,386,399, 404.
Brevipennes, 1021.
Brown, 100.
Buffon, 818.
Bulbus arteriosus, 1059.
Bulbus glandulosus 1009.
Bulla ossea, 829
Bullae turbinatae, 1017.
Bursa faucium, 992.
Bursa Fabricii, 1010.
Bursae mucosae, 170.
Butt, 403.
Butter, 522.
Byssus, 1087.
CiESALPINUS, 1148.
Callus, 567-
Camel, 992.
Cameleopard, 993.
Campanula, 1065.
Camper, 904.
Canals, 131.
Canalis Petitianus, 650.
Cancelli, 139.
Canon bone, 879.
Capillaries, 428, 429, 464.
Capsules, 156, 159.
Capsule of the lens, 650.
 joints, 170.
 vitreous humor, 648.
Capsular ligament, 171.
Caput Gallinaginis, 807.
Carbon, 49, 271.
Carbonic acid, 481.
Carlisle, 198, 936.
Cameae columnae, 410-
Carpenter, 103, note.
Cartilages, 147.
  articular, or diarthrodial,
151, 169.
 interarticular, 152.
—— interosseal, 150.
4 z
730
Physiology.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Cartilages, membraniform, 149.
 temporary, 148.
 semilunar, 171.
 of larynx, 761.
Caruncula lacrymalis, 654.
Carunculae myrtiformes, 818.
Cassowary, 1021.
Cauus, 1097.
Cat, 948.
Caterpillar, 1103.
Caucausian race, 872.
Cavallo, 393.
Cellular texture, 32, 118.
Centre of gravity, 252.
Cephalopoda, 1079.
Cerebellum, 582, 925.
Cerebral substance, 520.
Cerebrum, 582.
Ceruminous glands, 628.
Cetacea, 996.
Chalazse, 821, 1019.
Chameleon, 1033.
Chaussier, 114, 165, 179, 181,
Cheeks, 607.
Cheek pouches, 960.
Cheese, 519.
Chiroptera, 937.
Chelonia, 1027.
Chemical functions, 38, 307.
Chemical conditions of organized
matter, 263.
Cheselden, 178.
Chevalier, 183.
Chevreul, 407.
Choleric temperament, 865.
Cbolesterine, 518.
Chondropterygii, 1046.
Chordae tendineae, 410.
Chorda tympani, 631.
Chordae vocales, 761.
Choroid coat, 645.
Chorion of teeth, 568.
Chorion, 792, 830.
Chromatic aberration, 670.
Chyle, 40, 356.
Chylification, 40, 354.
Chyme, 39-
Chymification, 338.
Cicatricula, 823, 1020.
Cilia, 653.
Ciliary circle, 647.
  ligament, 647, 669.
  processes, 647-
Cineritious substance, 582.
Circle of Petit, 650.
Circulation, 38, 42, 102, 408.
. proofs of, 443.
Classification, zoological, 60, 64.
    of tastes, 613.
 of odours, 621.
 of Cuvier, 67.
Claviculi of bone, 143.
Clitoris, 818.
Cloaca, 848.
Cloak, 1077.
Coagulable lymph, 391.
Coagulation of albumen, 286.
-— of blood, 387.
 by gastric juice, 342.
Coalescence of impressions, 682.
Coats of blood-vessels, 415.
Cochlea, 633.
Coffin bone, 979, 980.
Colliquameritum, 831.
Columna nasi, 617.
Colon, 40.
Complementary colours, 685.
Complexity of organized mat¬
ter, 263.
Conception, 820.
Concha, 628.
Concoction, 350.
Condiments, 320.
Conglobate glands, 495-
Conglomerate glands, 499.
Coni vasculosi, 798.
Connexions, mechanical, 167.
Consonants, 771.
Contractility, 93, 201.
Constituents, animal, 268.
Continuous gradation, theory of,
69.
Convolutions, 582.
Cowper, 198.
Corion, 177.
Cornea, 644.
Coronet bone, 979.
Corpus aurantianum. 411.
 cavernosum, 818.
  ciliare, 647.
 - luteum, 820.
 papillare, 178.
    spongiosum, 808.
Corpusculum Morgagni, 411.
Corrugation, cellular, 121, 226.
Cortical substance, 582.
Cotulse, 506.
Cotunnius, 634.
Cotyledons, 833.
Cowper’s glands, 800.
Cranium, 229.
Crassamentum, 385, 391.
Crawford, 387, 489.
Cribriform plate of ear, 635.
Cricoid, 762.
Crocodile, 1032.
Crop, 1009,1081.
Crucial ligaments, 172.
Cruickshank, 179, 181, 556.
Cruor, 385.
Crura corporis spongiosi urethrae,
808.
Crusta petrosa, 970.
Crustacea, 1094.
Crypts, 188.
Crystalline lens, 648.
Cullen, 101, 317, 1158.
Cumulus, 803.
Cupola, 633.
Cuticle, 180.
Cuttle-fish, 1079.
Cuvier, 67, 71, 73, 84, &c.
Cyanogen, 270.
Cysticule, 1067.
Dalton, 484.
Dartos, 805.
Darwin, Charles, 861.
Davy, John, 142, 386.
Death, 37, 858.
Decidua, 833.
Decline, 570.
Decussation of nerves, 718.
Deer genus, 68.
Defecation, 40.
Deglutition, 39, 336.
De Graaf, 797, 1154.
De la Torre, 393, 585, 588.
Deleau, 764.
Delirium, 701.
Democritus, 1127.
Dentition, 568.
Derham, 75.
Descartes, 691, 698.
Design, 79.
Developement, 51.
Deyeux, 387, 403.
Diaphragm, 472.
Diastole, 441.
Digestion, 39, 102, 338.
Digitigrada, 944.
Discus proligerus, 799.
Diploe, 139.
Dodart, 763.
Dog, 946.
Dorsal vessel, 1097.
Draco volans, 1034.
Dreaming, 753.
Drelincourt, 822.
Duct, 131.
Ductus arteriosus, 851, 853.
. .— pneumaticus, 1061.
 venosus, 851, 853.
 vitello-intestinalis, 1020.
Duhamel, 143, 566.
Dumas, 199, 222, 336.
Dumeril, 66.
Duodenum, 40, 364, 851.
Dura mater, 133, 158.
Duration of impressions, 680.
Dutrochet, 199.
Ear, 626, 1016.
Ear-drum, 629.
Echinus, 1109.
Echinodermata, 1107.
Education, 856.
Edwards, 116,199, 585.
Edwards, Milne, 396.
Egyptians, 1125.
Ehrenberg, 785.
Ejaculatores seminis, 809-
Elasticity, 120.
Elasticity of arteries, 461.
Electiical fishes, 1069.
Elemental material, 112.
Elements, animal, 268, 275.
Elephant, 968.
Elongation, 210.
Emboitement, theory of, 827.
Emphysema, 119.
Emotions, 732.
Emunctories, 48.
Endosmose, 548.
Ent, 428.
Entozoa, 1112.
Epididymis, 805,
Epidermis, 180.
Epidermoid substance, 114.
Epigenesis, 828.
Epiglottis, 760.
Erasistratus, 1133.
Erect position, 894.
Erectile tissue, 434, 800, 801.
Ethiopian race, 874.
Eustachian tube, 630.
Eustachian valve, 412.
Eustachius, 1145.
Evolution, 50.
■ — theory of, 827.
   fetal, 837.
Excito-motory system, 741.
Excretion, 48, 553.
Excretory duct, 43, 506.
Exhaustion, 209.
Expiration, 477.
Eye-ball, 641, 642.
Eye-lids, 653.
Fabricius, 1146.
Face, bones of the, 234.
Facial angle, 904,905.
Falciform bones, 941.
Fallopian tubes, 821.
Fallopius, 1145.
Falsetto voice, 770.
Faraday, 681.
Farina, 315.
Fasciae, 34, 156.
Fascicular ligaments, 172.
Fasciculi of muscular fibres, 194.
Fat, 47, 122, 519.
Fecundation, 50, 789.
Fermentation, 351, 533.
Ferrien, 755.
Fibrin, 294.
Fibrinous secretions, 517.
Fibro-cartilaginous textures, 153.
Fibrous tissues, 34, 155, 164.
Fibrous membranes, 158.
Fibrous capsules, 159.
Figura vasculosa, 1020.
Filtration, 534.
Fimbriae, 816.
Final causes, 8, 78-
Fingers, 258.
Fishes, 1045.
Fluids and solids, proportion of,
111.
Focal adjustment, 659.
Fohman, 1057.
Follicles, 188, 502, 533.
Fontana, 198,588.
Food, 311.
 , animal, 313.
 , vegetable, 314.
Foot, 250, 1086.
Foot of mollusca, 1086.
Foramen coecum Morgagni, 611.
Foramen centrale of Soemmer-
ring, 651.
Foramen ovale et rotundum, 851.
Fordyce, 317.
Fossa ovalis, 412.
Fossil remains, 71.
Fourcroy, 386, 398, 511, &c
Fractured bones,
Fraenum labiorum, 607.
 linguae, 611.
Frog, 1041.
Fuel necessary for vitality, 261.
Functions, gradation of, 11.
 animal, 81.
 chemical, 38.
 mechanical, 30.
—— natural, 81-
—— sensorial, 13.
  vital, 81.
Furcular bone, 1005.
Gagliardi, 143.
Galen, 722, 1136.
Gall, 584, 725.
Gallendorff, 368-
Ganglia, 581, 590, 726, 747.
Ganglia, lymphatic, 543.
Gas, 346, 374.
Gasteropoda, 1083.
Gastric juice, 39, 323, 340.
Gelatin, 279.
Gelatinous secretions, 516.
Gemmules, 784, 11.13, 1117.
Generation, 50, 780.
Geology, 71.
Germ, 786.
Gestation, 50.
Gibson, 547.
Gills, 1045, 1060.
Giraffe, 993.
Gizzard, 1009.
Glands, 43, 494, 845.
  , lymphatic, 543, 552.
Glandulse ceruminosse, 653.
  Harderi, 929.
 Meibomii, 653.
Glandular system, 496.
Gians, 800.
Glisson, 93, 203.
Globules of milk, 520.
 of blood, 392.
Globular tissue, 115.
Globuline, 397.
Glottis, 760.
Glue, 279.
Gluten, 314, 391.
Gmelin, 348, 370, 380.
Good, 436.
Gordon, 179, 386.
Graafian vehicle, 797, 820, 829.
Gradation of functions, 11.
    of powers, 98.
Granular tissue, 115.
Greeks, 1126.
Growth, 46, 262,570.
Gubernaculum, 849.
Gums, 608.
Physiology.
hysiology. Gymnotus, 1070.
^ Guyot, 615.
Hair, 181.
Hales, 452.
Halitus, 135, 384.
Hall, 741, 747.
Haller, 112, 1157, et passim.
Hamberger, 436.
Hamster, 960.
Hand, 256, 260, 899.
Hare, 961.
Hartley, 692.
Hartsoeker, 810-
Harvey, 442, 820, 1149.
Hatchett, 289.
Havers, canals of, 140.
Hearing, 18, 623, 636, 927.
Heart,41,409,459,744,841,920.
Heat, animal, 489.
 sense of, 595.
Helix of ear, 627.
Hematine, 397.
Hematosine, 397.
Henry, 290.
Herissant, 141.
Herophilus, 720, 1134.
Hewson, 387, 393.
Hippocrates, 691, 1128.
History of Physiology, 1121.
Hock bone, 982.
Hooke, 198.
Hodgkin, 116, 200.
Hoffmann, 101, 1156.
Hog, 974.
Holothuria, 1110.
Home, 371,639, 668.
Honey-comb stomach, 989.
Horns, 993.
Horse, 978.
Houston, 809.
Howship, 140.
Human peculiarities, 891.
Hunger, 321, 596.
Hunter, Wm. 113,118,169,181.
Hunter, John, 1158, et passim.
Hybernation, 47.
Hydrogen, 271.
Hygrometric property, 129.
Hymen, 818.
Ideas, 703.
Ileum, 40.
Illusions, visual, 681.
Images in the eye, 659.
Imbibition, 1097.
Impressions, 94, 578.
Incident nerves, 741.
Incubation, 1019.
Incus, 631.
Induction, 78.
Infundibulum, 633.
Infusoria, 1120.
Ink of Sepia. 1082.
Insanity, 701.
Insalivation, 331.
Insects, 1097.
Insectivora, 939, 940.
Inspiration, 471, 472.
Instinct, 732.
Instinctive motions, 733.
Integument, 176, 930.
Intention in organization, 9.
Intercostal muscles, 473.
Intermaxillary bone, 915-
Interspinal bones, 1048.
Interstitial absorption, 551.
Intervertebral ligament, 238.
 substance, 154.
Intestines, 40, 370.
 large, 373.
Involuntary motions, 736.
• muscles, 579.
Iris, 646, 663, 669.
PHYSIOLOGY.
731
Iron in the blood, 398.
Irritability, 93.
 of heart, 456.
Irritation, 94, 578-
Isthmus Vicussenii, 412.
Itching, 597.
Jacobson’s gland, 931.
Jejunum, 40.
Jelly, 280.
Joints, 168, 244.
Kangaroo, 954.
Kater, 396.
Keill, 436.
Kidney, 556, 847, 926.
Kiernan, 524.
Labyrinth of the ear, 632-
Lacerti, 194.
Lacrymal duct, 618.
 gland and sac, 654.
Lactation, 50, 836.
Lacteals, 40, 538.
Lacteal absorption, 376.
Lactic acid, 520.
Laws of nature, 89.
Lacunae, 506, 800.
Lamina cribrosa, 651.
 spiralis, 633.
Lancisi, 392.
Larva, 1100
Larynx, 764. «
Lassaigne, 372.
Lavoisier, 555.
Laws of vitality, 86, 103.
Lecanu, 397, 407.
Lee, Robert, 825.
Leeuwenhoek, 182, 183, 195,
392, 428, 824, 1153.
Lemur tardigradus, 936.
Lens, 648.
Leuret, 372.
Levirostres, 1022.
Ligaments, 30, 34, 155.
 alar, 170.
 articular, 245.
 capsular, 172.
 crucial, 172.
 fascicular, 172.
 lateral, 172.
 round, 849.
 vocal, 762.
Ligatures on vessels, 443.
Light, 655.
Limbs in general, 241,843.
Lingual bone, 1018.
Linnjeus, 62, 562.
Lion, 948.
Lips, 607.
Liquid of surfaces, 135.
Liquor amnii, 844.
Liquor Morgagni, 648.
Lister, 116, 200.
Liver, 40, 522, 524, 560.
Lizard, 1032.
Lochia, 835.
Locomotion, 28.
Loculi, 505.
Lobster, 1095.
Lower extremities, 246.
Lungs, 49, 408, 554, 846, 1013.
Luzuriaga, 387.
Lymph, 546.
Lymph globules, 400.
Lymphatics, 539, 547.
Lymphatic absorption, 45.
Lymphatic glands, 495,542,552.
Lymphatic hearts, 1043.
Macavoy, Miss, 678.
Macleay, 70.
Magendie, 319, 374, 549, 720,
722, 755.
Magnetism, animal, 755.
Malay race, 876.
Male system, 805.
Malleus, 631.
Malpighi, 141, 178, 179, 392,
428, 502, 584, 1153.
Mammalia, 891, 910.
Mammse, 793, 826.
Manati, 1001.
Mandril, 935.
Manganese in the blood, 407.
Mantle of mollusca, 1077.
Manyplies stomach, 988.
Marcet, 359, 405.
Mariotte, 674.
Marmot, 960.
Marrow, 125.
Marsupium, 785.
Mascagni, 113, 165, 543.
Mastication, 39, 327.
Mastoid cells, 630.
Materialism, 576, 705.
Marrow, 145.
Marsupialia, 952.
Marsupium, 1015.
Mayo, 87,615,638,711,737,755.
Meatus auditorius, 628.
Mechanical functions, 30, 36.
Mechanism of respiration, 470.
Meckel, 116.
Meconium, 851.
Medicine, 58.
Medulla oblongata, 582, 730.
Medullary substance, 14.
Medusa, 1116.
Melancholic temperament, 864.
Membrana granulosa, 790.
 nictitans, 930.
 papillaris, 841.
 tympani, 629.
 vascularis Halleri, 1065.
 vitelli, 1019-
Membrane, 33, 127.
Menghini, 398.
Menstruation, 819.
Merry-thought, 1005.
Mesenteric glands, 543.
Mesmerism, 755.
Metaphysics, 4.
Microscopical observation, 116,
449.
Milk, 318, 520, 828.
Milk teeth, 855.
Mind distinct from matter, 576,
577, 705.
Mole, 939.
Mollusca, 68, 1074.
Mongolian race, 873.
Monotremata, 965.
Monro, 143, 242, 394, 585,
588.
Morgagni, 611, 648.
Motion, voluntary, 23.
Motor nerves, 719.
Movements, animal, 27.
Mucous follicles, 611.
 layer, 837.
 membranes, 185, 493.
 secretions, 187, 515.
Mucus, 302.
Muller, 436,509,563,569,801.
Multivalves, 1085.
Mundinus, 1140.
Mus typhlus, 959.
Muscles, 26.
Muscular action, 201, 202.
 power, 26, 93, 219-
 structure, 193.
 sense, 602.
Muscularity of arteries, 462.
Musical note, 757.
Muys, 196.
Myopia, 675.
Nails, 184.
Natural methods of classification, Physiology.
Natural Philosophy, 1, 2.
Natural history, 72.
Nausea, 621.
Needham, 826.
Negro race, 874.
Neighing, 984.
Nerves, 14, 581, 586.
 motor, 25.
 sensiferous, 25.
 influence on digestion, 352.
  influence on temperature,
490.
— influence on secretion, 535.
Nervous substance, 14.
Nervous system, 14, 578, 581,
1062, 1091.
 , types of, 68.
Nervous temperament, 867.
Neurilema, 587.
Newport, 1099.
Nictitating membrane, 929.
Nitrogen, 270.
 absorption of, 483.
Nutrition, 37, 38, 46, 562.
Nutritious principle, 317.
Nutritive matter required, 261.
Nymphae, 818, 1100.
Obliquity of muscular fibres, 217.
Occipital angle, 909.
Ocular spectra, 684,685.
CEsophagus, 715, 1061.
Oil, 319.
Oily matter in blood, 407.
Oleaginous secretions, 518.
Omphalo-mesenteric vessels,841.
Operculum, 1083.
Ophidia, 1035.
Opossum, 953.
Optical laws, 655.
Orang Utan, 905, 932, 933.
Orbicular bone, 631.
Orbiculus ciliaris, 647.
Organic affinities, 86,92,103,536.
 molecules, 826.
—— phenomena, 6.
Organization, 110.
Ornithorhyncus, 966.
Orthoptera, 1101.
Os quadratum, 1008.
Os tincse, 817.
Osseous fabric, 35, 137.
Ossicula auditus, 631.
Ossification, 565.
Osmazome, 407, 526.
Ostrich, 1021.
Ovary, 797-
Ovisac, 801, 802. 803.
Ovists, 823, 825.
Ovulum et ovum, 800.
Ox, 995-
Oxygen in respiration, 481.
Pachydermata, 968.
Package of organs, 173.
Palate, 609.
Paley, 75.
Palpebrse, 653.
Pain, 598.
Pancreas, 40.
Pancreas Asellii, 922.
Pancreatic secretion, 40, 365.
Panniculus carnosus, 930.
Papillae, cutaneous, 178.
 of tongue, 610.
Parallactic aberration, 667.
Parenchyma, animal, 112, 428,
Parmentier, 385, 401.
Parturition, 50, 735.
Pastern bone, 979.
Pathology, 55.
Paunch, 988.
Peccari, 975.
732
Physiology. Pecora, 64.
' Pecquet, 377, 1151.
Pelvis, *240.
Pencillated structure, 532.
Penis, 808.
Penniform muscle, 215.
Perception, 13.
Pericardium, 133, 409.
Perichondrium, 147.
Perilymph, 632.
Periosteum, 144, 146.
Peristaltic action, 338.
Peritoneum, 133.
Perspiration, 512, 555.
Petasiolus granulosus, 803, 830.
Petit, circle of, 650.
Phantascope, 681.
Phascolame, 955.
Phenikisticope, 681.
Philip, 96, 352, 464, 741, 742,
744.
Philosophy of mind and matter ,21.
Phlegmatic temperament, 866.
Phosphorus, 268.
Phrenology, 814.
Physical and vital laws, 89.
Physical sciences, 1, 2, 21.
Physiology, general views, 1.
 object of, 10.
 applications of, 57.
 to medicine, 58.
. — to zoology, 60.
 to geology, 71.
 to natural theology, 74.
Phytology, 4.
Pia mater, 133.
Picromel, 367.
Pineal gland, 495, 698-
Pigmentum nigrum, 671.
Pituitary membrane, 618.
Placenta, 833.
Plan of animal creation, 73.
Planch, 436.
Plantigrada, 941.
Plato, 1139.
Pleurae, 133.
Plexus, 586.
Poison-teeth, 1038*
Poiseuille, 460.
Polygastrica, 1120.
Polypi, 1118.
Pomum Adami, 759.
Pores in cuticle, 183.
Portal system, 427, 523, 524.
Porterfield, 242.
Porus opticus, 651.
Powers, vital, 98.
Prehension, 29.
Presbyopia, 675.
Pressure, 593.
Prevost, 199, 222.
Prichard, 887.
Priestley, 692, note.
Primitive trace, 831, 1020.
Proboscis of elephant, 968.
Processus mammillares, 925.
Prochaska, 197, 585.
Promontory of ear, 630.
Proteus anguinus, 1044.
Proust, 557.
Prout, 318, 362, 485.
Proximate animal principles,
272, 277.
Prussic acid, 270.
Psychology, 21.
Psychological relations of senso-
rium, 748.
Ptolemies, 1132.
Puberty in the male, 812.
  female, 812, 819.
Pulmonary circulation, 439,466.
  exhalation, 484.
Pulse, 461.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Puncta lachrymalia, 654.
Punctum saliens, 1020.
Pylorus, 353.
Pythagoras, 1127.
Quadrumana, 932.
•86 «isIIbH to sttAfif pc'/
Racoon, 943.
Racornissement, 226.
Radiata, 68.
Raspail, 368.
Rat, 958.
Reason, 732.
Reaumur, 343.
Receptaculum chyli, 377.
Recipient organs, 131.
Recurrence of impressions, 702.
Red globules, 392.
Reed of ruminants, 988.
Rees, 142.
Reflex function, 741.
Reflexion of light, 657.
Refraction of light, 656.
Reil, 584, 588.
Rein-deer, 994.
Relaxation, muscular, 207.
Renal capsules, 495.
Renewal of materials, 44, 570.
Reparation, 46, 262.
Reparatory functions, 307.
Reproduction, 50, 783.
Reptiles, 1024.
Resinous secretions, 521:
Respiration, 38, 49, 468, 1060.
Respiratory muscles, 728
 nerves, 723.
Rete Malpighiamim, 179.
  mirabile, 991.
  mirabile Malpighii, 466.
—— mucosum, 179.
 testis, 806.
Retina, 645.
Rhinoceros, 973.
Rhizostoma, 1117.
Richerand, 82.
Rodentia, 956.
Roget, 88, 349, 668,681.
Roosting, 1008.
Rouelle 407.
Rudbeck, 1151.
Rudolphi, 179,888.
Rugae palati, 609.
Ruminants, 986, 1101.
Rumination, 989.
Ruysch, 113, 178, 503,
1154.
Ruyschian tunic, 645, 928.
Saccharine principle, 316.
Saccholactic acid, 519.
Sacculus, 634.
St.Hilaire,Geoffroy,73, 1050.
Salamander, 1043.
Saline secretions, 527.
Saliva, 39, 332.
Salivary glands, 612.
Sanguification, 41, 382.
Sanguiferous system, 413.
Sanguine temperament, 863.
Sauria, 1031.
Savigny, 72.
Scalae cochleae, 633.
Scaphus, 627.
Scheele, 556.
Schneiderian membrane, 618.
Sclerotica, 644.
Scrotum, 805.
Scudamore. 386.
Seal, 949.
Seat of the soul, 698.
Sebaceous glands and follicles,
189 931.
Secretion, 38, 43, 491.
Secretion, theory of, 529.
Secretions, 513.
 albuminous, 514.
 aqueous, 512.
 gelatinous, 516.
 fibrinous, 517.
 oleaginous, 518,
 resinous, 521.
 saline, 527.
Seguin, 555.
Semen, 810.
Semicircular canals, 632.
Senac, 390.
Sensation, 13, 21, 95, 578.
 laws of, 677.
 theories of, 691.
Senses, external, 16, 592.
Sensibility, organic, 740.
Sensiferous nerves, 25, 719.
Sensorial functions, 13, 574, 923.
Sensorial power, 96.
Sensorium, 578, 695, 697, 699.
Sepia, 1079.
Septum narium, 617.
 ventriculorum, 407.
Serosity, 403.
 cellular, 120.
  of the blood, 390.
Serous capillaries, 433.
 layer, 829.
—— membranes, 133, 493.
SdTpents, 1035.
Sleep, 995.
Shoulder joint, 255.
Sight, 17.
Silurus electricus, 1070.
Simple bodies, 275.
Sinus medianus, 1067.
  terminalis, 842.
  valsalvae, 410.
 venosus, 410.
Sinuses, 425.
 nasal, 616.
Siren, 1044.
Skeleton, 30, 137, 227.
Skey, 200.
Skin, 176, 843-
 excretion by, 555.
Skull, 229.
Sleep, 752.
Sloth, 964.
Smell, 19, 616,619,926.
Socrates, 1130.
SOEMMERRING, 651.
534^ foramen of, 651.
Solids and fluids, 111.
Solipeda, 976.
Solvent power of gastric juice,343
Somatology, 21.
Somnambulism, 754.
Sound, 623.
Sound of fishes, 1061.
Spallanzani, 343, 454, 819.
Specific gravity of muscles, 208
Spectra, ocular, 684.
Speech, 24.
Spermatic animalcules, 810.
— cord, 797.
Spermatists, theory of, 82.
Spermatozoa, 810.
Spherical aberration, 664, 666.
Sphincters, 212.
Spinal cord, 581, 842.
Spine, 236, 911.
Spiracles, 1097.
Spirit of animation, 7.
Spirits, animal, 691.
Spleen, 371,495.
Splint bone, 979.
Sporules, 785
Spurzheim, 584, 725.
Stahl, 1156-
Standing, 247.
Stapes, 631. Physiologr
Stark, 319.
Stellated structure, 533.
Steno’s duct, 612.
Stevens, 343.
Stigmata, 1097.
Stimuli, 93, 203.
Stomach, 39, 338.
Straight muscles of the eye, 668.
Stuart, 198.
Sublingual gland, 612-
Submaxillary gland, 612.
Sugar, 316.
Sugar of milk, 520.
Sulphur, 270.
Surfaces, liquid of, 515.
Sutures, 233. , 7
Swammerdam, 198,1154.
Swimming bladder, 1061.
Symmetrical system of nerves,
722.
Sympathetic nerves, 747. n;.- #
Sympathy, 735.
Syngenesis, 823, 826.
Synovia, 170.
Systemic circulation, 439.
Systole of the heart, 441.
Tabula vitrea, 231.
Tannin, test of gelatin, 28*2.
Tapetum, 928.
Tapir, 972.
Tardigrada, 963.
Tarsus, 653.
Taste, 20, 604, 613.
Teeth, 328, 568, 962, 916.
Temperaments, 52, 859.
Temperature, animal, 489.
   sensation of, 595.
 influence on digestion, 348,
386.
 requisite for sensation, 688.
Tendons, 34, 35, 156, 163,
213.
Tendinous sheaths, 160.
Testes, 805, 849.
Thaumatrope, 681.
Thenard, 367, 407.
Theology, natural, 74.
Thirst, 325, 596- .
Thomson, A. 794.
Thomson, 287.
Thoracic duct, 545.
Thorax, bones of, 235.
Thumb, 258.
Thymus, 495, 851.
Thyroid gland, 495, 761.
. Tiedemann, 347, 368, 378.
Tingling, 597.
Touch, 16, 593.
Tone, 175-
Tongue, 329, 606, 610, 1018.
Tonicity, 175, 224.
. Torpedo, 1070.
Tortoise, 1027.
Tracheae, 766,1097.
Tragus, 626.
Transfusion of blood, 447.
Travers, 669.
Tremulous action of muscles,
225.
Treviranus, 1.
Tuberculum Loweri, 412.
Tunica albuginea, 652, 797.
  conjunctiva 653.
  granulosa, 804.
  Ruyschiana, 928.
 vaginalis, 797.
Turbinated bones, 617.
Turner, 387.
Turtle, 1027.
Tympanic bone, 924.
Tympanum, 629, 630.
iology- Umbilical cord, 851.
Upper extremities, 254.
Urachus, 848.
Urea, 407, 525,559.
Urethra, 808.
Urine, 556, 557.
Uroline, 407.
Uterus, 816, 817.
Utero-gestation, 785,829.
Utricle, 634, 1067.
Utricali, 505.
Uvea, 646;.
Uvula, 609.
Vagina, 817.
Vallisneri, 817.
Valves, 438, 444.
 of heart, 410, 411.
 of laCteals, 378,
Valvulae mitrales, 410.
Valvulee semilunares, 411.
Vampire bat, 938.
Van Helmont, 101.
Vanhorne, 1154-
Varieties in human race, 53,
869.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Vas deferens, 797.
Vasa inferentia, 543.
Vascular area, 841, 850.
Vascular layer, 837.
Vascularity, 113,435.
Vauquelin, 399, 520.
Vegetable food, 314.
Velum pendulum palati, 609.
Veins, 42, 425.
Velocity of sound, 624.
Vena portse, 427.
Vena terminalis, 1020.
Venous absorption, 549.
 system, 425.
Ventricles, 409.
 of the brain, 583.
   of the heart, 455.
Ventriculus succenturiatus, 1009.
Vernix caseosa, 843.
Vertebra, 236.
Vertebrata, 68.
Verumontanum, 807.
Vesalius, 1143.
Vesicula alba, 844.
 intestinalis, 847.
 seminal is, 811.
Vessels, 131.
Vestibule, 632.
Vibrations, 692.
Vicq. D’Azyr, 82.
Villi, 187, 532.
Vis a tergo, 465.
Vis insita of Haller, 93-
Vis medicatrix, 101.
Vision, 17, 640, 660.
Vital powers, 89, 92, 103.
Vital principle, 86, 100, 106.
Vitality of the blood, 389.
Vitelline sac, 844.
Vitreous humor, 648.
Vitrine auditive, 632.
Vocal ligaments, 762.
 organs, 900.
Vogel, 386.
Voice, 24, 756.
Volition, 577, 709.
Voluntary motion, 13 23, 25,
378, 709.
Vomer, 617.
Vowel sounds, 770.
Walking, 251.
733
Walrus, 951.
Weasel, 945.
Weber, 594.
Weinholt, 407.
Wells, 399.
Wenzell, 585.
Whale, 1002.
Wharton’s duct, 612.
Wheatstone, 615, 757.
Whytt, 1158.
Willis, 764.
Withers, 976.
Wolff, 847.
Wolffian bodies, 847.
Wollaston, 225.
Woodpecker, 1023.
Worms, 1092, 1112.
Wounds of arteries, 447.
Wrist, 256.
Wurzer, 407.
Physiology.
Young, 395, 396, 397, 436, 511,
639, 668, 755.
Zoology, 3, 5, 60.
Zoophytes, 1105.
PHYTOLOGY, a discourse concerning the growth, the
kind, and the virtues of plants.
PIALAPORE, a town of Bengal, in the district of Dac¬
ca, famous for its manufactures of earthenware. Long.
90. 8. E. Lat. 23. 35. N.
PIALNY, a town of the south of India, in the district
of Dindigul. Long. 77. 37. E. Lat. 10. 28. N.
PIA Mater, a thin membrane which covers the brain,
and is in immediate contact with it. See Anatomy.
PIACENZA. See Piazenza.
PIANO-FORTE, a well-known modern instrument, in
which the immediate sonorous bodies are wires of brass
and steel. It has completely usurped the place of the old
harpsichord, upon which it is a great improvement. Of
late it has undergone many modifications, which are too
numerous to be noticed here. The merit of its invention
is disputed by the Italians and the Germans. Count G. R.
Carli, in his works printed at Milan in 1784-1794, states
(in vol. xiv. p, 405), that the piano-forte was invented in
1718, by Bartolommeo Cristofori of Padua, during his stay
in Florence. The count speaks indignantly of the forget¬
fulness of the Italians regarding their own inventions:
“ Della quale inventione ci siamo scordati a segno, che 1’ab-
biam creduta una nuova cosa, allorche ci venne dalla Ger¬
mania e dall’ Inghilterra, accogliendola come una singo-
lare produzione di quelle felici regioni, destinate ad illumi-
narci con i lumi presi dagl’ Italiani.” On the other hand,
the Germans assert that it was invented about the year
1717, by C. A. Schrceter, a German organist, and that it
was afterwards improved by Silbermann, G. A. Stein, and
others. The English makers have, of late years, gained
great repute by their excellent piano-fortes. Amongst the
best may be mentioned those made by the Broadwoods,
and by Clementi, Erard, and Collard. Those of Broad-
wood are distinguished by a rich soft tone, well suited for
accompanying the voice. Erard’s possess a more power¬
ful and brilliant tone, and are better suited for the public
performer of piano-forte sonatas, concertos, &c. The ho¬
rizontal piano-fortes are those most used, as being the best.
The origin of the vertical piano-forte may be found in Pere
Mersenne’s Harmonicorum libri xii. 1652, folio ; in which
there is an engraving of a similarly formed instrument of
an ancient date. We consider the modern extreme ex¬
tension of the compass of the piano-forte, both grave and
acute, as detrimental to the best effects of the instrument.
On this subject, and as to the true powers of the piano¬
forte, see the article Music, vol. xv. pp. 644, 645. An Ita¬
lian writer informs us, that in the beginning of the present
century he had played upon many piano-fortes of a com¬
pass of six octaves and a half, made by Antonio Gherardi
of Parma.
PIAS, or Bias, a town of Asiatic Turkey, supposed to
be the site of the ancient Issus, near which was fought the
celebrated battle that decided the fate of the Persian em¬
pire. Not many years since it was the residence of a power¬
ful and warlike chief, who rebelled against the grand signior,
plundered caravans, and laid the neighbouring countries
under contribution. The Turkish ruler, provoked by these
outrages, fitted out a fleet, which took the town of Pias,
and reduced it to a heap of ruins.
PIASANSKOI, Verschnei, a village of Asiatic Rus¬
sia, in the government of Tobolsk, near the Frozen Sea.
There is another village of the same name, twenty-eight
miles to the north of it, and four hundred and sixty miles
north of Turuchansk.
PIASTUS, a native of Poland, was originally a wheel¬
wright, and the son of Cossisco, a citizen of Cruswitz. He
flourished in the year 830, when, on the extinction of the
family of Popiel, great disputes arose about his successor,
and Cracow was afflicted with a severe famine. During
this extremity, when the people were dying in the streets,
the credulous historians of the time relate that two pilgrims,
or two angels in human form, having been hospitably enter¬
tained by Piastus, they promised him the crown of Poland ;
and being ordered by the pilgrims to distribute among the
multitude his only remaining little cask of the common liquor
of the country, he piously obeyed their instructions, and
the cask was found inexhaustible. The people in aston¬
ishment cried out, “ a miracle and as it appeared to the
electors that this was a declaration of Heaven in favour of
Piastus, they resolved on elevating him to the vacant
throne.
Though we make but little account of the marvellous means
by which it is said that the hospitable wheelwright ascended
the ducal throneof Poland, it would be presumptuous entire¬
ly to omit a fact attested by all the writers upon this subject.
It seemed proper therefore to take notice of it, but we leave
it to the reader’s judgment to attach what faith he pleases,
or none at all, to the story. Being now raised to the supreme
dignity, he was not intoxicated with his prosperity. His
natural charity, benevolence, and sweetness of disposition,
remained ; nothing being altered but his power of doing
good. He was truly called the father of his people ; the
injured never returned unredressed, nor merit unreward-
734
P I
Piauhv.
Piatnitzka ed. Piastus wiped the tear from the eyes of the widow;
II and was himself the guardian of the orphan, the general
patron of the poor and distressed. His excellent inclina¬
tions served him instead of great abilities; and the happi¬
ness which his people enjoyed made them forget that their
prince was not born a statesman and a warrior. Several
intestine commotions arose during his administration, all
which he quelled by the mildness and clemency of his na¬
ture ; for his nobility were ashamed of rebelling against a
sovereign who devoted his whole life to render his people
happy. He removed the court from Cruswitz, a city which
he detested, because it was the scene of Popiel’s crimes
and tragical end, and fixed his residence at Gnesna, where
he died*beloved, esteemed, and even adored, by his sub¬
jects. It is in memory of this excellent prince that all the
natives of Poland who have since been promoted to the
ducal or regal dignity were called Piastes, in contradis¬
tinction to the foreigners.
PIATNITZKA, a village of Asiatic Russia, in the go¬
vernment of Tobolsk, twenty-eight miles north-north-west
of Eniseisk.
PIAUHY, a large province of Brazil, is bounded on the
east by the Serra Hibiappaba, which separates it from the
province of Seara; on the south by the Serra of Piauhy,
which separates it from Pernambuco; on the north by the At¬
lantic Ocean ; and on the west it is separated from Maran-
ham by the river Parnahiba. Although classed amongst
the inland provinces, it has about eighteen leagues of
coast, its form being almost triangular, whilst on the south¬
ern side, where it borders on Pernambuco and Goyaz, it
expands to upwards of one hundred leagues in width. It
stretches from the Atlantic Ocean inland, that is, from
north to south, about one hundred and twenty leagues ; so
that if we estimate its average breadth at fifty leagues, its
area will be equal to that of England and Wales. Ori¬
ginally it formed a comarca of Maranham; but in the
year 1718 it was erected into a separate province, although
it did not receive resident governors until forty years al¬
ter that period. Originally Piauhy was explored and sub¬
dued on account its pastures, and not for the sake of slaves
or from its possessing mines of the precious minerals or
metals, for in these it appears to be deficient. Domingos
Affonso, its conqueror, was the most extensive grazier in
Pernambuco, and at his death bequeathed thirty of his
large fazendas to the Jesuits, in trust for specified objects
of charity; but on the expulsion of the order the trust
fell into the hands of the crown. These estates, with
three others added by the Jesuits, continue to be adminis¬
tered by government for the purpose intended by the ori¬
ginal donor. The number of fazendas in the province is
very great; as early as the year 1724 the}7 amounted to no
less than four hundred. It is to Piauhy that the neigh¬
bouring provinces of Pernambuco, Maranham, Bahia, and
Minas Geraes look chiefly for their supply of cattle. A
flourishing fazenda produces annually nearly one thousand
calves; but after deductions for tithes and herdsmen, it
is only able to export from two hundred and fifty to three
hundred oxen. The cows are always reserved for breed¬
ing and home consumption ; the rest are accounted for by
the plague of flies, vampire-bats (from which the folds
afford no security), jaguars, snakes, poisonous herbs (of
which there are many kinds), and, above all, by drought,
which frequently converts all the grass in the country into
standing hay ; and when that is consumed, the cattle pe¬
rish by thousands.
Piauhy occasionally suffers greatly from drought, but
the evils consequent thereupon are much ameliorated by
the presence of several trees which yield abundance of
grateful and wholesome juices. Travellers have some¬
times owed their lives to the imbazeiro, a remarkable tree,
which is found in the most arid regions of Brazil. “ Bulbs, ’
P I A
says Southey, “ about a palm in diameter, and full of wa- Piauhy.
ter, are attached to its shallow roots. Arruda names thisN—
tree spondia tuberosa. Its fruit is smaller than a hen’s
egg, and, under a tough skin, contains a succulent pulp of
a grateful flavour, at once acid and sweet. The Brazilians
make a dainty of its juice with curds and sugar. The
people of Piauhy make a beverage from the buriti, one of
the loftiest and most beautiful of the palm tribe, but which
grows only in moist or swampy places. Its fruit is about
the size and shape of a hen’s egg, covered with red scales
arranged spirally ; under these is an oily pulp of the same
vermilion colour. The liquor which they prepare from it
is said to be nutritious and palatable ; but if drunk in ex¬
cess it has the singular property of tinging the skin and
the white of the eyes, without appearing to affect the ge¬
neral health.” Another tree of great importance to a
country like Piauhy, where drought is the great evil, is
the piqui, which prospers in a dry and sandy soil, and pro¬
duces abundantly a wholesome oily fruit, the size of an
orange, to which the inhabitants are very partial. It grows
to the height of fifty feet, having a proportional girth;
and the timber is useful for ship-building. Some parts of
the country have been redeemed from a desert state by
tanks being formed on the rivers which dry up in summer.
By thus laying in a store of water during the season when
the streams are at the fullest, the herdsmen were enabled
to establish fazendas, where otherwise it would have been
certain destruction to the cattle to allow them to range.
The capital of this province, which, till the year 1762,
bore the name of Mocha, received from king Joze, along
with the title of city, the appellation of Oeyras, in honour
of the great minister, the first count of that name. It is
situated on a small stream, wdiich, three miles lower down,
falls into the Caninde, a confluent of the great Parnahiba,
with which it unites twenty miles below. The town is
small, and only remarkable from its being the capital of
the province. * It contains a church and two chapels; and
the houses, although not numerous, are said to be com-
modiously and even elegantly constructed. The greater
part of the inhabitants are Europeans, and, including the
surrounding district, amount to fourteen or fifteen thou¬
sand.
A larger and much more important town than the capi¬
tal, is St Joam da Barra da Parnahiba, situated seventy-five
leagues north of Oeyras. It is built on sandy ground, five
leagues from the sea, on the right bank of the eastern and
largest branch of the river from which it takes its name.
This is the seaport of the province, but the river, although
navigable for barks of considerable tonnage more than a
hundred leagues up, has diminished in depth so much near
its embouchure, that vessels which used to ascend to the
town are now under the necessity of mooring two leagues
below it. The entrance is besides rendered dangerous by
shoals and a heavy surf. Parnahiba contains some houses
of one story above the ground floor, which are not seen in
any other town in the province. This place is badly sup¬
plied with water, and fevers prevail to some extent; but its
advantageous position on the great stream which traverses
the western limits of the province, as well as its being the
only seaport, secures it a considerable trade, and it is a
great depot for cotton and hides. The surrounding coun¬
try produces also excellent melons, and the tobacco raised
in the south-western part of the province is preferred even
to that of Bahia. There are several other towns, the prin¬
cipal of which is Piracuruca, situated on a river of the same
name, and lying on the line of road from Villa Vicoza to
Pernambuco. It carries on a considerable trade in cotton,
and mandioc is cultivated to some extent. The river
Piauhy, from which the province derives its name, origi¬
nates in the southern frontier, and, running northward
through pasture lands, enters the Caninde fifty miles below
P I c
P I c
735
Piazenza
II
Pica.
the capital, after a course of 140 miles. There are no serras
of any consequence, nor any large forests, in this province.
It consists, indeed, of vast grassy plains, little wooded, but
in which numerous tall herbs attest the bounty of the sun.
The population maybe estimated at 50,000. (r.r.r.)
PIAZENZA, Placentia, or Plaisance, one of the
four districts composing the duchy of Parma, in Italy, and
which contains ten cantons. The capital is the city of the
same name. It stands on the right bank of the Po, about a
furlong from the stream. It is the see of a bishop, is situ¬
ated in a rich and beautiful district, is surrounded by walls,
which are rather adapted for promenades than for defence,
and has a citadel, garrisoned by Austrian troops. The streets
are straight and long, especially the one called the Stra-
done, which is very magnificent. The cathedral is a fine
specimen of Gothic architecture, and has a gilded cupola.
The city contains 2000 houses, two hundred of which are
called palaces, and 16,500 inhabitants, whose chief occupa¬
tion consists in preparing silk and weaving it, and trading in
wine, oil, and cheese. Long. 9. 37. 12. E. Lat. 45. 2. 4. N.
PIAZIDA, a river of Asiatic Russia, which rises in the
government of Tomsk, and falls into the Frozen Ocean after
a course of 300 miles. Long. 87. 14. E. Lat. 73. 30. N.
PIAZINSKOI, a lake of Asiatic Russia, in the govern¬
ment of Tobolsk, 252 miles north of Turuchansk.
PIAZZA, a town of the island of Sicily, in the inten¬
dancy of Calatanisetta and district of Noto. It is a fine
town, situated on a hill, in a healthy situation, 100 miles
from Palermo, the Plutia of Diodorus. It contains 2424
houses, with 13,000 inhabitants, who cultivate the fertile
soil near them, and carry on a great trade in its production.
Near to it is the Lake of Pergusa, the scene of the rape
of Proserpine.
Piazza, in building, popularly called piache, an Italian
name for a portico, or covered walk, supported by arches.
The word literally signifies a broad open place or square ;
and hence it was also applied to the walks or porticoes
around them.
PIBROCH, says Dr Beattie, in his Essay on Music, is a
species of tune peculiar to the Highlands and Western
Isles of Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, and differs
totally from all other music. Its rhythm is so irregular, and
its notes, especially in the quick movement, so mixed and
huddled together, that a stranger finds it almost impos¬
sible to reconcile his ear to it, so as to perceive its modu¬
lation. Some of these pibrochs, being intended to repre¬
sent a battle, begin with a grave motion resembling a march,
then gradually quicken into the onset; run off with noisy
confusion and turbulent rapidity, to imitate the conflict
and pursuit; then swell into a few flourishes of triumphant
joy; and perhaps close with the wild and slow wailings of
a funeral procession.
PIC DE L’ETOILE, Le, a small island in the South
Pacific Ocean, so named by M. Bougainville in 1768, from
its shape. It is one of the group called by Cook the New
Hebrides. Long. 169. E. Lat. 14. 29. S.
PICA, or Pye, had formerly the same sense as ordinal,
meaning a table or directory, pointing out the order in
which the devotional services appointed for different occa¬
sions were to be performed. Accordingly we are told it
is derived from cn, a contraction of fl7va2;, a table ; and by
others from litera picata, a great black letter at the begin¬
ning of some new order in the prayer. 'Ihe term was used
in a similar sense by officers of civil courts, who called their
calendars or alphabetical catalogues, directing to the names
and things contained in the rolls and records of their courts,
the pyes.
Pica, or Pious, John, prince of Mirandola and Concor¬
dia, was born in the year 1463, under the pontificate of
Pius II. He was the youngest son ot John Francis of
Mirandola, and Julia, a lady of the noble family of Boiardo.
Some of the credulous historians of the time have related, Pica,
that at his birth a globe of fire was seen to rest upon his s—•“v-*
mother’s bed; portending, say they, by its shape the per¬
fection of his genius, and by its element the celestial turn
of his mind. As soon as he was capable of receiving in¬
struction, he was placed by his mother’s care under the
most able masters, and very early distinguished himself by
the vigour of his application, and the strength of his me¬
mory, of which such prodigies are related as would be
very difficult to credit, were we not assured, by some mo¬
dern instances, of the perfection to which that faculty may
be carried. At the age of fourteen he was, by the direc¬
tion of his mother, who was desirous that he should assume
the clerical functions, sent to Bologna, at that time the
principal resort of those who studied the pontifical law.
After spending two years there, he became disgusted with
this pursuit; although such was his industry, even at that
early age, that he compiled an epitome of the pontifical
epistles or decretals. His disposition, however, led him
strongly to the pursuit of philosophy, and excited an eager
curiosity to penetrate the secrets of nature and science.
With this view he travelled over Italy and France, visited
the most celebrated schools of each, and studied under the
most famous teachers of both countries.
After seven years spent in this course of instruction,
and at the age of twenty-three, he went to Rome, and, af¬
ter the fashion of the scholars of that time, brought him¬
self into notice by publicly proposing literary questions for
disputation. This sort of challenge was very common in
that age, and, when printing was scarcely practised, and
the name of a man of learning less rapidly extended than
it is now, was almost the only method that a person of
superior attainments could adopt to make himself known.
Mirandola proposed nine hundred questions, or, as they
were called, Conclusiones, in dialectics, mathematics, na¬
tural philosophy, and divinity ; drawn not only from the
stores of the Latin and Greek, but from the mysteries of
the Hebrews and the arcana of the Chaldeans and Ara¬
bians. In addition to the endless topics of metaphysics,
theology, and the ordinary subjects of disputation, into
which he entered very profoundly, the Conclusiones involv¬
ed the ancient and obscure philosophy of Pythagoras, Tris-
megistus, and Orpheus; the doctrines of the Cabbala, or
mystical interpretation of the sacred writings, according to
the Hebrews, taught by Origen and Hilarius ; and the ex¬
tent, uses, and learning of natural magic, which was vindi¬
cated from the vulgar reproach of impiety and necromancy.
Seventy-two new physical and metaphysical dogmas of
the author’s invention were likewise proposed and defend¬
ed. These propositions, according to the ostentatious
practice on these occasions, were fixed in the most public
places in Rome; and the proposer engaged to defray the
expenses of any one who should come from a distance for
the purpose of disputing with him. This challenge did
not bring forward any disputants, but exposed Mirandola
to much envy and jealousy, particularly from the professors
of science at Rome, who felt the reflection that would be
thrown upon their credit by their declining a competition
which they durst not encounter.
Unable to injure his fame as a scholar, they made a
much more dangerous attack upon the soundness of his
faith. Thirteen questions were selected, which were
charged with the terrible suspicion of heresy, and con¬
tempt of the ordinances of the church; a suspicion very
readily listened to by the church when directed against
great learning, which the increasing influence of philoso¬
phy and letters began to make her watch with extreme
jealousy. Mirandola repelled this attack by publishing his
Apologia, or Defence of the accused propositions, which,
if he did not effectually clear away the suspicions he had
incurred, tended to confirm his enemies in their dread of
736
P I C
Pica.
his learning and powers; and it must be owned that, over-
’ looking the misapplication of talents to such subjects, the
Apologia exhibits a command of profound and well-digest¬
ed learning and keen argument, truly astonishing at the age
of twenty*three. This work, and the discussions it con¬
tained of certain delicate points, added to some hints of the
limit of pontifical control in matters of faith, were so dis¬
agreeable to Pope Innocent VIII. that he interdicted the
reading both of the Apology and the disputed questions.
The love of glory, however, was not Mirandola’s only pas¬
sion. His youth, splendid accomplishments, and the graces
of his person, for which he is said to have been remark¬
able, attracted the admiration and caresses of many dis¬
tinguished Roman ladies, who united the love of letters to
that of pleasure, a taste very common amongst the Italian
ladies of that age. The young philosopher yielded to the
force of these allurements, or rather, according to the ac¬
count of his nephew and biographer, Francisco di Miran-
dola, eagerly followed the bent of his disposition, naturally
inclined to obey the attractions of beauty.
But this life of pleasure, however suitable to his condi¬
tion and inclinations, was of a short continuance. Irritated
by the restless persecutions of his enemies, and obliged per¬
petually to defend himself against the imputation of he¬
resy, the most formidable calumny which in that age any
man could have to contend with, he detached himselt from
vicious pleasures, and regulated his manner of life by ri-
o-idly observing the laws of abstinence imposed by Christi¬
anity ; for being a firm adherent of the Christian doctrines,
the charge of infidelity and the vigilance of his enemies
made him the more solicitous to guard against the appear¬
ance of disobeying them. From this time becoming wholly
devoted to learning, he soon acquired such celebrity that
the most eminent scholars from all parts of Italy came to
visit him for conversation or instruction. As a proof of
the sincerity of his reformation, he committed to the flames
five books of elegiac poetry which he had composed upon
the subject of his amours, together with numerous pieces
in Tuscan verse, which had been addressed to his various
mistresses. There is perhaps reason to lament that the
zeal of the new convert could not be satisfied without this
sacrifice. It must, however, be considered that the spirit
of religion at that period exacted many sacrifices from the
professors of Christianity, which the lenient temper of these
times does not call for. An example of this severity is to
be met with amongst the works which still remain of Miran-
dola, and at the end of which, in the folio edition published
by his nephew, we find a learned and entertaining com¬
ment, in the Italian language, upon a composition of his
friend Girolamo Benivieni, entitled Una Canzone de Amove
secundo la mente et opinione de Platonici, a poetical trea¬
tise upon love, explaining the doctrines of the Platonists.
The author, Girolamo, informs the reader, in a short pre¬
face, that he had determined to suppress this poem and
comment, out of regard to his friend s character and his
own, deeming it unbecoming a professor of Christianity,
in treating of celestial and divine love, “ to treat of it as
a Platonist, and not as a Christian but that having lent
it to some of his friends for their perusal, an imperfect and
erroneous copy was printed, which obliged him, but not
until after the death of Mirandola, to publish it correctly.
He takes care to allege, in excuse ofhimself, however, that
he has apprised the reader of his plan by the title of the
poem, and warned him, in all places where Plato s opinions
depart from those of Christ, that the doctrines of a Gen¬
tile and a heathen are not entitled to the least weight com¬
pared with the reasonings of the Christian theologists,
P I c
“ and particularly the irrefragable arguments of the angelic
doctor St Thomas of Aquino.”
The first fruit of Mirandola’s devotion to sacred litera¬
ture was the Heptaplus, or Comment upon the Six Days
of the first chapter of Genesis, which was written in 1491.
Two years afterwards he published a treatise in tep chap¬
ters, De Ente et Uno ; the object of which was to recon¬
cile the doctrines of Plato and Aristotle, and to demon¬
strate that the disputes of their respective followers origi-,
nated in a misconception of the opinions of these philoso¬
phers relative to the Ens and the Unum, at that time a sub¬
ject of mighty strife amongst the learned. This treatise
was held in high estimation by both sides. It was the last
work of consequence,which the author lived to complete;
but he had laid the plan of a vast and comprehensive
work, of which his early death prevented the execution.
This was no less than to confound the seven enemies of
the Christian church, by examining and refuting all their
errors. In the prosecution of this design, he had, before
his death, composed and perfected twelve books against
astrology, the most popular and the most pernicious su¬
perstition which then infested the world. Paulus Jovius,^
bishop of Nocera, has left a testimony to the merits of
this work, which is above all other encomiums. “ In this
excellent though unfinished work, Mirandola attacked the
astrologers with such erudition and keenness, and so ably
exposed the absurdity and vanity of the whole art of divi¬
nation, that he seems to have deterred the professors of
the occult scienqes from writing.”1
This great design, as well as many others which Miran¬
dola had formed, particularly that of a more complete es¬
say towards reconciling the opinions of Plato and Aristotle,
was frustrated by his death. From tne time that he left
Home, which was soon after the publication of the Apolo¬
gia, Mirandola generally resided either at Ferrara or at
Florence. The friendship of the Prince of Ferrara, and its
vicinity to his paternal seat, attracted him to the former
place ; but Florence was the most agreeable to him, on
account of the society of literary men which it afforded,
and particularly that of Politian and Lorenzo de Medici,
with whom he entertained a close friendship. Besides these
two illustrious men, his society was cultivated by other
eminent scholars, amongst whom was the learned and un¬
fortunate Hieronymus Savanarola, and Hermolaus Barba¬
ras. Petrus Crinitus, the pupil of Politian,2 mentions him
as excelling all his companions in the erudition and elo¬
quence of his conversation. The same author has left us
an account of Pica’s laborious studies ; for when Politian
had expressed in his presence high admiration of his great
genius and learning, Mirandola with singular modesty an¬
swered, that he deserved no praise except for his assidu¬
ous application: “ Gratulandum potius, intelligite. assi-
duis vigiliis atque lucubrationibus, quam nostio ingenio
plaudendum.”3
His library is likewise celebrated by the same writer,
and is said by Francisco di Mirandola to have cost seven
thousand pieces of gold. His accomplishments were not
confined to subjects of abstruse literature ; in his youth
he was much attached to music, in which he acquired
such skill, that some of his melodies were publicly re¬
ceived, and held in great esteem. It miglft also be con¬
cluded, from an anecdote related by Petrus Crinitus, that
he was not unacquainted with physic; for, according to
that author, when Hermolaus Barbarus wras seized at
Rome with a dangerous fever, Mirandola sent him from
Florence a medicine prepared by himself. No man ever
testified a more sincere devotion for learning and philoso-
Pica.
Paulus Jovius, Elog. Doct. Vir. p. 92.
P. Crinitus De Ilonesta DlscijpUtia, lib. hi. c. 2, lib. v. c. 1, and lib. ii. c. 2.
3 Ibid. lib. ii. c. 2.
P I c
card, phy, to the contempt of all other qualifications, than the
■'v'"—'' Prince of Mirandola. He possessed a very large estate,
which he bestowed almost entirely upon works of charity,
except what was spent in collecting books, and entertain¬
ing and providing for literary men. At length, however,
about three years before his death, he made over to his
nephew Francisco his principality and possessions in Mi¬
randola, and obtained a confirmation of the grant from
Maximilian, the Roman emperor, to whom that principa¬
lity was subject. He reserved to himself only enough to
purchase a small estate near Ferrara, where he spent the
remainder of his life, except when he resided at Florence,
in elegant and learned retirement. His mother, under
whose care he received his education, had destined him
for the church ; and he was often urged by his friends to
embrace the sacred profession, with the certainty of the
highest honours and emoluments; but nothing could in¬
duce him to quit the life which he had chosen for himself.
He died of a fever, at Florence, in the year 1494, in the
thirty-first year of his age, on the same day that Charles
IX. of hranee entered the city on his famous expedition
into Italy. That monarch, hearing of Mirandola’s illness
as he approached the city, sent two of his own physicians
to his assistance ; but, in spite of their aid, the violence of
his disorder put an end to his existence in thirteen days.
With respect to the works of this author, something has
already been said, and little more remains to be observed.
The Conclusiones afford a very complete specimen of the
learning of the age, and of what were deemed the most
valuable purposes to which learning could be applied.
However useless and unprofitable these purposes may ap¬
pear to us, it will not be denied by any one who has the
curiosity to look into the Conclusiones, that the mass of
learning possessed by the proposer of them must have been
prodigious, when it is recollected, that at the time he pro¬
posed them, he was no more than twenty-three years of age.
For there is not the least reason to suppose, that a person
whose works prove him to have been a man of profound
learning, and who, in an age and nation distinguished by
some of the brightest scholars that ever appeared, was
• ranked by their unanimous judgment amongst the first,
should have challenged the discussion of any of the pro¬
posed subjects, without being well provided with the know¬
ledge necessary for such a debate. The manner in which
the questions were propounded leaves little room to doubt
that the author was deeply versed in the respective sub¬
jects they embrace ; and the Apology for the accused pro¬
positions, particularly those de Salute Origenis and de Magia
atque Cabbala, discover familiarity with the writings of the
Fathers, as well as with the Greek and Hebrew classics.
John Pica di Mirandola has been represented by some
writers, whose ideas are taken from the encomiums of his
contemporaries, as a mighty prodigy of learning and ge¬
nius. The distaste which the present times entertain to¬
wards the subjects upon which he wrote renders it very
difficult, upon a review of his works, to believe these en¬
comiums well founded. But, making allowance for this
change of opinion, it may be fairly concluded that he was,
in reality, a man of very extraordinary powers.
PICARD, John, an able mathematician, and one of the
most learned astronomers of the seventeenth century, was
born at Fleche, and became priest and prior of Rillie in
Anjou. Going to Paris, he was in 1666 received into the
Academy of Sciences in quality of astronomer. In 1671,
he was sent, by order of the king, to the castle of Urani-
burg, built by Tycho Brahe, in Denmark, in order to make
astronomical observations there ; and thence he brought
the original manuscripts written by Tycho Brahe, which
are of the greater value as they differ in many places from
the printed copies, and contain a book more than has yet
appeared. He made important discoveries in astronomy,
VOL. XVII.
PIC 737
and was the first who travelled through several parts of Picards.
France to measure a degree of the meridian. Plis works''—'^-*-''
are, 1. A Treatise on Levelling; 2. Fragments of Dioptrics;
3. Experimenta circa Aquas effluentes : 4. De Mensuris;
5. De Mensura Liquidorum et Aridorum; 6. A Voyage
to Uraniburg, or astronomical observations made in Den¬
mark ; and, 7. Astronomical Observations made in several
parts ol France. These, and some other of his pieces, are
contained in the sixth and seventh volumes of the Memoirs
of the Academy of Sciences.
PICARDS, a religious sect which arose in Bohemia in
the fifteenth century. Picard, the author of this sect, and
from whom it has derived its name, drew after him, as has
been generally said, a number of men and women, pre¬
tending that he would restore them to the primitive state
ot innocence in which man was created ; and accordingly
he assumed the title of the New Adam. With this pretence
he taught his followers to give themselves up to all im-
purity, saying that therein consisted the liberty of the
sons of God ; and that all those not of their sect were in
state of bondage. He first published his notions in
Germany and the Low Countries, and, persuading many
people to go naked, he gave them the name of Adamites.
After this he seized upon an island in the river Lausnecz,
some leagues from Thabor, the head-quarters of Zisca,
where he fixed himself and his followers. His women
were common, but none were allowed to enjoy them with¬
out his permission ; so that when any man desired a par¬
ticular woman, he carried her to Picard, who gave him
leave in these words, “ Go, increase, multiply, and fill the
earth.” At length, however, Zisca, general of the Hus¬
sites, scandalized at their abominations, marched against
them, made himself master of their island, and put them
all to death except two, whom he spared that he might
learn their doctrine. Such is the account which various
writers, relying on the authorities of TEneas Sylyius and
Varillas, have given of the Picards, who appear to have
been a party of the Vaudois, who fled from persecution in
their own country, and sought refuge in Bohemia. It
is indeed doubtful whether a sect of this denomination^
chargeable with such wild principles and such licentious
conduct, ever existed ; and it is certainly astonishing that
Mr Bayle should adopt the reproachful representations of
the writers just mentioned; for it appears probable, at
least, that the whole is a calumny invented and propa¬
gated in order to disgrace the Picards, merely because
they deserted the communion and protested against the
errors of the church of Rome. Lasitius informs us, that
Picard, together with forty other persons, besides women
and children, settled in Bohemia in the year 1418. Bal-
binus the Jesuit, in his Epitome Rerum Bohemicarum (lib.
ii.), gives a similar account, and charges against the Picards
none of the extravagances or crimes ascribed to them by
Sylvius. Schlecta, secretary of Ladislaus, king of Bo¬
hemia, in his letters to Erasmus, in which he gives a par¬
ticular account of the Picards, says that they considered
the pope, cardinals, and bishops of Rome, as the true An¬
tichrists, and the adorers of the consecrated elements in
the eucharist as downright idolaters; that they denied
the corporeal presence of Christ in this sacrament; that
they condemned the worship of saints, prayers for the
dead, auricular confession, the penance imposed by priests,
the feasts and vigils observed in the Catholic church;
and that they confined themselves to the observance of
the Sabbath, and of the two great feasts of Christmas and
Pentecost. From this account it would appear that they
were no other than the Vaudois ; and M. de Beausobre has
clearly shown that they were both of the same sect, though
under different denominations. Besides, it is certain that
the Vaudois were settled in Bohemia in the year 1178,
where some of them adopted the rites of the Greek, and
5 A
738
Piccolo.
mini
II
Picket.
P I c
others those of the Latin church. The former were pretty
generally adhered to till the middle of the fourteenth cen¬
tury, when the establishment of the Latin rites caused
. great disturbance. Upon the commencement ot the na¬
tional troubles in Bohemia, on account of the opposition to
the papal power, the Picards more publicly avowed and
defended their religious opinions ; and they formed a con¬
siderable body in an island by the river Laumtz or Laus-
necz, in the district of Bechin, and, recurring to arms, were
defeated by Zisca. c d ^
PICCOLOMINI, Alexander, archbishop ot 1 a trass,
was a native of Sienna, where he was born about the year
1508 being descended of an ancient and illustrious family,
which came originally from Rome, but afterwards settled
at Sienna. He composed with success for the theatre ; but
he was more distinguished for his genius, than for the purity
of his manners, and his regard to virtue. His charity was
great, and chiefly exerted in relieving the necessities ot
men of letters. He left behind him a number of works in
Italian, the most remarkable of which are, 1. Various Dra¬
matic Pieces, which laid the first foundation of his
racter as a writer; 2. A Treatise on the Sphere ; 3. A
Theory of the Planets; 4. A Translation of Aristotle s
Art of Rhetoric and Poetry, in 4to; and, 5. A System of
Morality, published at Venice, 1575, in 4to, translated
into French by Peter de Larivey, and printed at Pans,
1581, in 4to. These, with a variety of other works, prove
his extensive knowledge in natural philosophy, mathe¬
matics, and theology. He was the first who made use ot
the Italian language in writing upon ‘ ^ub‘
jects. He died at Sienna on the 12th of March Id/8, at
the age of seventy.
Piccolomint, Francis, of the same family with the pre¬
ceding, was born in the year 1520, and taught philosophy
with success for the space of twenty-two years, in the most
celebrated universities of Italy, and afterwards retired to
Sienna, where he died in 1604, at the age of eighty-four.
This city went into mourning on the occasion of his death.
His works are, 1. Some Commentaries upon Aristotle, print¬
ed at Mayence, 1608, in 4to ; and, 2. Universa Philosophia
de Moribus, printed at Venice, 1583, in folio. He laboured
to revive the doctrine of Plato, and endeavoured also to
imitate the manners of that philosopher. He had as his
principal rival the famous James Zabarella, whom he ex-
celled in facility of expression and neatness of discourse,
but to whom he was much inferior in point of argument,
because he did not examine matters to the bottom as the
other did, passing too rapidly from one proposition to an¬
other. .
Piccolo mini, James, whose proper name was Amma-
nati, took that of Piccolomini in honour of his patron Pius
II. He was born in a village near Lucca, in 1422. He
became Bishop of Massa, and afterwards of Frescati; was
made a cardinal in 1461, under the name of Cardinal of
Pavia; and died in 1479, at the age of fifty-seven, of an
indigestion, occasioned by eating too freely of figs.
works, which consist of some Letters, and a history of his
own time, were printed at Milan in 1521, in folio. His
history, entitled Commentaries, commences with the 14th of
June 1464, and ends with the 6th of December 1469. They
may very properly be considered as a secjuel to the Com¬
mentaries of Pope Pius II., which end with the yeai 1463.
PICKERING, a market-town of the north riding of
the county of York, 222 miles from London, and six from
York. It is situated in a mountainous district, and it had
formerly a castle. The church is very large. There is
a good market, which is held on Monday. 1 he population
amounted in 1801 to 1994, in 1811 to 2332, in 1821 to
2746, and in 1831 to 2555.
PICKET, an out-guard posted in advance of an army,
to give notice of the approach of an enemy.
PIC
Picket, a kind of punishment so called, where a sol¬
dier stands with one foot upon a sharp-pointed stake ; the
time of his standing being limited according to the nature
of the offence of which he has been found guilty.
PICKETS, in fortification, are stakes sharpened at one
end, and sometimes shod with iron, being used in laying out
the ground. They are about three feet in length, but when
used for pinning the fascines of a battery they are made
from three to five feet in length.
Pickets, in artillery, are about five or six feet in length,
and shod with iron, being used to pin the lines, in laying
out the boundaries of the park.
Pickets, in the camp, are also stakes of about six or
eight inches in length, being used to fasten the tent cords
in pitching the tents ; also stakes of about four or five feet
in length, driven into the ground near the tents of the ca¬
valry, to tie the horses to.
PICO, one of the Azores, is so called from some lofty
mountains on the island; or rather from one very high
mountain, terminating, like Teneriffe, in a peak, and re¬
puted by some writers to be equal to it in height. See
Azores.
PICTET, Benedict, a celebrated divine, descended of
a distinguished family. He was born at Geneva in 1655;
prosecuted his studies with great success; and after hav¬
ing travelled into Holland and England, he taught theo-
logy in his own country, with an extraordinary reputation.
The university of Leyden, after the death of Spantreina,
solicited him to come and fill the place of that eminent
person ; but he thought that his own country had the best
right to his services, and for this generosity on his part he
received its thanks through the members of council. A lan¬
guishing disorder, occasioned by excessive fatigue, hasten¬
ed his death, which happened on the 9th of June 1724, at
the age of sixty-nine years. This minister had much sweet¬
ness and affability in his manner; and the pool found in him
a comforter and a friend. He published in Latin and French
a great number of works, which are much esteemed in Pro¬
testant countries. T-he principal of these are, 1. A System
of Christian Theology, in Latin, in three vols. 4to, the best
edition of which is that of 1721; 2. Christian Morality,
printed at Geneva, 1710, in eight vols. 12mo ; 3. the His¬
tory of the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries, intended as a
sequel to that of Sueur, printed in 1713, in two vols. 4to;
4. Several controversial treatises; 5. A great number of
tracts on morality and piety, amongst which we must dis¬
tinguish the Art of Living and Dying Well, published at
Geneva, 1705, in 12mo ; 6. Some Letters; 7. Sermons,
from 1697 to 1721, in four vols. 8vo ; with a vast number
of other pieces, the names of which it would be tedious to
mention, but which, as M. Sennebier says, “ all show evi¬
dent marks of piety and good sense. ’
PICTOU. See Nova Scotia.
PICTS, the name of one of those nations who anciently
possessed the north of Britain. It is believed by some wri¬
ters that they were so called from their custom of painting
their bodies ; an opinion which Camden supports with con¬
siderable erudition. It is certainly liable, however, to
many objections; for as this custom prevailed amongst
the other ancient inhabitants of Britain, who used the
qlastum of Pliny and the vitrum of Mela for the same pur¬
pose, it may be asked why the name of Picti was con¬
fined by the Romans to only one tribe, wdien it was equal¬
ly applicable to many others ? Why should they designate
them only by an epithet, without ever annexing their pro¬
per name ; or why should they impose a new name upon
this people alone, when they gave their proper names to
all the other tribes which they had occasion to speak ot.
As these questions cannot be answered in any satisfactory
manner, it is plain that we must look for some other deri¬
vation of the name.
P I c
Piets. The Highlanders of Scotland express the name of this
'•V"*-'' once famous nation by the term Pictich ; a word familiar
to the ears of the most illiterate, who could never have
derived it from the Roman authors. But the word Pic¬
tich signifies pilferers or plunderers ; and the appellation
was probably imposed upon this people by their neigh¬
bours, or assumed by themselves, some time after the
reign of Caracalla, when the unguarded state of the Ro¬
man province, on which they bordered, afforded them fre¬
quent opportunities of making incursions, and committing
depredations therein. Accordingly the name appears to
have been unknown until the end of the third century.
Eumenius the Panegyrist is the first Roman author who
mentions this people under their new name of Pictich, or,
with a Latin termination, Picti. But when we say that
this name may have probably been assumed for the rea¬
son just now mentioned, we must observe, that, in those
days of violence, the character of robber was not attended
with any disgrace. If a person of this description had the
address to lay his schemes well, and to execute them suc¬
cessfully, he was rather praised than blamed for his con¬
duct, providing he made no encroachments upon the pro¬
perty of his own tribe, or that of any of its allies. Nor is
this any peculiar stigma upon the Piets; for other nations
of antiquity, in the same rude state, thought and acted as
they did in such circumstances.1
Concerning the origin of the Piets, authors are very much
divided in opinion. Boethius derives them from the Aga-
thyrsians, Pomponius Laetus from the Germans, Bede from
the Scythians, Camden and Father Innes from the ancient
Britons, Stillingfleet from a people inhabiting the Cim-
brica Chersonesus, and Keating and O’Flaherty, on the
authority of the Cashel Psalter, from the Thracians. But
the most probable opinion is, that they were the descen¬
dants of the ancient Caledonians. Several very cogent
reasons have been urged in support of this opinion by Pin¬
kerton and others; and the words of Eumenius, “ Cale-
donum, aliorumque Pictorum, silvas,” plainly imply that
the Piets and Caledonians were one and the same people.
But the question arises here, Of what race were the ancient
Caledonians ? Were they of Celtic origin, or were they of
northern or Scythian descent, a branch of that great fa¬
mily which everywhere overran and occupied the territo¬
ries possessed by the Celts? Each of these opinions has
found its advocates, and has been supported by much eru¬
dition and ingenuity ; but, without entering into the dis¬
cussion of a subject so little interesting to the generality
of readers, it may be sufficient to state, that the prepon¬
derance of evidence and authority is clearly in favour of
■the latter hypothesis, which Pinkerton has rendered as
clear as any matter of this kind can be expected to be
made.
As there has been great difference of opinion about the
origin of the Piets, so there has likewise been much dis¬
pute about their language. There are several reasons which,
according to some, make it plain that their tongue was
the Gaelic or Celtic ; and these reasons are considered as
a further confirmation of their having been of Caledonian
origin. Through the eastern and north-eastern coasts of
Scotland, which were possessed by the Piets, we meet
with an innumerable list of names of places, rivers, moun¬
tains, and other natural objects, which, it is said, are ma¬
nifestly Gaelic. From a very old register of the priory of
St Andrews,2 it appears, that in the da}'s of Hungus, the
last Pictish king of that name, St Andrews was called Muk-
ross; and that the town now called Queensferry had then
the name of Ardchinneachan. But both these words are
claimed as Gaelic. The former, we are told, signifies the
PIC 739
heath or promontory of boars; and the latter, the height Piets,
or peninsula of Kenneth. In the list of Pictish kings pub-
lished by Father Innes, most of the names are apparently
Gaelic, and in many instances the same with the names
in the list of Scottish or Caledonian kings published by
the same author. But Innes understood nothing of that
language, and certainly his nomenclature is as little to be
relied on as some of his etymologies. Besides, he forgets
that the predominance of the Celts at a period long ante¬
rior to the settlement of the Piets, and the traces of their
language still to be found in the names of places and na¬
tural objects, are points which, as far as we know, have
never been seriously disputed. This, however, does not
prove that the Piets were a branch of the great Celtic
family, and there is no good evidence to show that they
ever spoke the language of that people. On the con¬
trary, it seems highly probable that they were of Ger¬
man or Scandinavian origin; and although almost no re¬
mains of their language now exist, it may be proved nega¬
tively, as indeed Pinkerton has done, that it could not
have been Celtic.
The Piets of the earliest ages, as appears from the joint
testimony of all writers who have examined the subject,
possessed only the eastern and north-eastern coast of Scot¬
land. On one side, the ancient Drumalbin, or that ridge
of mountains reaching from Lochlomond, near Dumbarton,
to the Moray Frith, was the boundary of the Pictish do¬
minions. Accordingly we find in the life of St Columba,
that, in journeying to the palace of Brudius, king of the
Piets, he travelled over Drumalbin, the Dorsum Britan-
nice of Adomnan. On the other side, the territory of the
Piets was bounded by the Roman province. After Bri¬
tain was abandoned by the Emperor Honorius, the Piets
and the Saxons were by turns masters of those countries
which lie between the Frith of Forth and the river Tweed.
We learn from Bede, that when he finished his Ecclesias¬
tical History, the Saxons were masters of Galloway. The
Piets, however, soon afterwards made a conquest of that
country ; so that, before the extinction of their monarchy,
all the territories bounded on the one side by the Forth
and the Clyde, and on the other by the Tweed and the
Solway Frith, fell into their hands.
The history of the Piets, as well as that of all the other an¬
cient inhabitants of Britain, is involved in great obscurity.
The Irish historians give us a long list of Pictish kings,
who reigned over Pictavia for the space of twelve or thir¬
teen centuries before the Christian era. After them, In¬
nes, in his Critical Essay, gives us a list of above fifty, of
whom no less than five are said to have swayed the sceptre,
each for a whole century. It is probable that these wri¬
ters confounded the history of the Piets with that of their
ancestors the ancient Caledonians. In any other view, their
accounts of this people are highly fabulous, and undeserving
of serious attention. The Piets, as has already been ob¬
served, were probably not known by that name before the
third century ; at least the first mention of them is made
by Eumenius the Panegyrist, in the passage already re¬
ferred to. Further, Adomnan, abbot of Iona, is the first
author who expressly mentions any Pictish king; and the
next after him is the Venerable Bede. We are informed
by these two writers that St Columba converted Brudius,
king of the Piets, to the Christian faith. But St Columba
landed in Britain in the year of our era 565. Before that
period we have no general record from which to ascertain
so much as the name of any Pictish king. The history of
Drust or Drosl, who is said to have reigned over the Piets
in the beginning of the fifth century, when St Ninian first
preached the gospel to that nation, has all the appearance
1 See Thucydides, lib. iii. p. 3; and Virgil, JEn. vii. 745 and 749.
Dalrymple’s Collections, p. 122.
740
P I C
Piets.
of fiction.1 His having reigned a hundred years, and his
putting an end to a hundred wars, are stories which ex¬
ceed all the bounds of probability.
Brudius, the contemporary of St Columba, is therefore
the first Pictish king mentioned by any writer of authority.
But what figure his ancestors made, or who Were his suc¬
cessors on the throne of Pictavia, cannot be ascertained.
Bede informs us, that, during the reign of one of them,
the Piets killed in battle Egfred, king of Northumberland,
and destroyed, the greater part of his army. The same
author mentions another of their kings called Naitan, for
whom he had a particular regard. It was to this Naitan
that Ceolfrid, abbot of Wiremouth, wrote his famous let¬
ter concerning Easter and the Tonsure ;2 a letter in which
Bede himself is supposed to have had a principal hand.
Roger Hoveden and Simon of Durham mention two other
Pictish kings, Onnust and Kinoth ; the former of whom
died in 761, whilst the latter flourished about the year
744, and gave an asylum to Alfred of Northumberland, who
about that time was expelled from his kingdom, 'ihe ac¬
counts given by the Scottish historians, of several other
Pictish kings, cannot be depended on; nor are the stories
told by the British historians, Geoffroy of Monmouth and
the author of the Eulogium Britamiice, worthy of much
greater credit.
Towards the close of the ninth century, the Pictish na¬
tion was totally subdued by, or rather amalgamated with,
the Scots, in the reign of Kenneth Macalpin. Since that
time their name has been lost in that of the conquerors,
with whom they were incorporated ; but they seem to have
been treated by the Scottish kings with great lenity, so that
for some ages afterwards they commanded great respect.
The prior of Hogulstead, an old English historian, re¬
lates, that they made a considerable figure in the army of
David the Saint, in his disputes with Stephen the king of
England. In a battle fought in the year 1186, by the
English on one side, and the Scots and Piets on the other,
the latter insisted on their hereditary right of leading the
van of the Scottish army, and were indulged in that demand
by the king.
The principal seat of the Pictish kings was at Aber-
nethy. Brudius, however, as appears from the accounts
given by Adomnan, in his life of St Columba, had a pa¬
lace at Inverness, which was probably near the extremi¬
ty of his territory in that quarter; for there is no good
reason to believe, with Camden, that this king had any
property in the Western Isles, or that he made a gift of
Iona to St Columba when he visited the saint in that
island.
With respect to the manners and customs of the Piets,
there is no reason to suppose that they were any other than
those of the ancient Caledonians, of which many particu¬
lars are related by the Greek and Roman writers who have
occasion to speak of those nations. Upon the decline of
the Roman empire, cohorts of barbarians were raised, and
Piets were invited to enter the service by Honorius; and
when peace was everywhere restored, they were named
Honoriaci. Those of them who served under Constantine
opened the passes of the Pyrenean mountains, and let the
barbarous nations into Spain. From this period may be
dated the civilization of their manners, which happened
after they had, first by themselves, and afterwards With the
assistance of tl>e Scots, ravaged the Roman province. This
P I E
brought them in contact with civilization, and they pro- Piets’
fited by the collision.
Picts' Wall, in Antiquity, a wall begun by the Emperor p.^
Hadrian, on the northern boundaries of England, to pre-
vent the incursions of the Picts and Scots. It wras at first
made only of turf strengthened with palisades, but the Em¬
peror Severusi coming in person into Britain, built it of
solid stone. This wall, part of which still remains, began
at the entrance of the Solway Frith, in Cumberland, and
running north-eastward, extended to the German Ocean.
PICTURE, a piece of painting, or a subject represented
in colours, on wood, canvass, paper, or some other substance.
See Painting.
PICTURESQUE literally signifies that which is capable
of, or fitted for, pictural delineation. Picturesque beauty,
says an able writer on that subject, refers to such beautiful
objects as are suited to the pencil. This epithet is chiefly
applied to the works of nature, though it will often apply also
to works of art. Those objects are most properly denomi¬
nated picturesque which are disposed by the hand of nature
with a mixture of varied rudeness, simplicity, and grandeur.
A plain neat garden, with little variation in its plan, and no
striking grandeur in its position, displays too much ot art,
design, and uniformity, to be called picturesque. “ Ihe
ideas of neat and smooth,” says Mr Gilpin, “ instead of be¬
ing picturesque, in fact disqualify the object in which they
reside from any pretensions to picturesque beauty. Nay,
farther, we do not scruple to assert, that roughness forms
the most essential point of difference between the beauti¬
ful and the picturesque ; as it seems to be that particular
quality which makes objects chiefly pleasing in painting.
1 use the general term roiighness ; but, properly speaking,
roughness relates only to the surfaces of bodies i when
we speak of their delineation, we use the word rugged-
ness. Both ideas, however, equally enter into the pic¬
turesque, and both are observable in the smaller as well
as in the larger parts of nature ; in the outline and bark
of a tree, as in the rude summit and craggy sides ot a
mountain.”
PICUMNUS and Pilumnus were two Roman deities,
who presided over the auspices required before the cele¬
bration of nuptials. Pilumnus was supposed to patronize
children, as his name seems in some manner to indicate,
“ quod pellat mala infantim.” The manuring of the land
was first invented by Picumnus, for which reason he is also
called Sterquilinius. Pilumnus was also invoked as the god
of bakers and millers, because he w7as said to have first in¬
vented the art of grinding corn. . .
PIEDMONT, or Piemont, a principality and principal
province of the continental states of the Sardinian monar¬
chy, forming the north-western portion of Italy. It was se¬
parated from Sardinia by the French in the year 1798, and
in 1802 incorporated with France. On the fall of Napo¬
leon in 1814 it was restored to the king of Sardinia, and
the duchies of Milan and Montferrat have been annexed
to it. It is now divided into twenty-six districts. Pied¬
mont, in a narrower sense, borders on the Valais and Sa¬
voy to the north, on France to the west, on Nice and Ge¬
noa to the south, and on the Sardinian Milanese and
Montferrat to the east. These limits comprise an area of
6575 square miles, and contain a population ot 1,400,UUU
souls. If we include the Sardinian Milanese and Mont¬
ferrat, its superficial extent is above 12,000 square miles,
* According to Camden, this conversion happened about the year 630, in the southern Pictish provinces; whilst the northern, which
were separated by mountains, were converted by St Columba. ^ UfUwppn the 14th and 20th of
2 We are told by some authors that St Columba taught the Picts to celebrate Easter a way * f crown This occasioned
March, audio observe a different method of tonsure from the Romans leaving a.n imperfeyt ap^Mance pt a c n fim e t0 Home,
much dispute, till Naitan at length brought his subjects to the Catholic rule. In that age many of the 1 lets W P C|urch< Ai.
according to the custom of the times; and amongst the rest We find two persons mentioned m the Antiquities of a ~
terius, count of the Picts, and Syra, with some of his countrymen, performed their vow.
P I E
I’dmonte and the inhabitants amount to 2,322,000. It forms a con-
11. tinuation of the plain of Lombardy, somewhat narrowed,
'iV^a and'*nore closely bounded by the mightiest ranges of the
Alps and Apennines; the former on the north and west, the
latter on the south. The principal river is the Po, which
runs through its centre, dividing it into two nearly equal
parts; and it receives here nearly all its early tributaries,
which, from being in the vicinity of their mountain sources,
are liable to sudden and destructive inundations. The cli¬
mate, of course, varies according to the elevation of the
surface. In the mountainous regions in the north and
west the snow and ice remain during a great portion of
the year. In the plains the climate is temperate during
winter, and the excessive heats of summer are tempered
by the vicinity of the Alps. The soil generally is very
fertile, the plains traversed by the Po being particularly
prolific, and in a high state of cultivation. They yield in
abundance corn, wine, oil, fruits, rice, and hemp. But the
staple product is silk, the breeding of the silk-worm being
nowhere in Italy carried to the same extent; and the pro¬
duce is also reckoned the finest in quality. It produces
yearly 22,000,000 lire worth of silk, most of which is ex¬
ported in the raw state. Another important branch of in¬
dustry is the breeding of cattle, the pastures being both
extensive and rich. The hills are in general covered with
vineyards, the produce of which is very abundant, but ge¬
nerally of inferior quality. Olives, almonds, chestnuts, and
in smaller quantities figs, oranges, and lemons, are raised
here. The northern, western, and southern districts sup¬
ply the central region with wood. The Piedmontese are
industrious and frugal, and are all Catholics, with the ex¬
ception of about 20,000 Waldenses and a lew Jews. They
have some silk, linen, and woollen manufactures, and thou¬
sands of them are seen travelling about Italy, France, and
Germany as pedlars. The capital of Piedmont is Turin.
This province derives its name from its situation at the
foot of the mountains.
PIEDMONTE, a town of Italy, in the province Terra
di Lavoro, and the kingdom of Naples. It is situated at
the foot of the mountain Matese, and has wide streets,
well-built houses, seven churches, a hospital, and 4640 in¬
habitants, who make woollen cloths, paper, and iron ware.
PIER, in building, denotes a mass of stone, opposed by
way of fortress to the force of the sea or a great river, for
the security of ships which lie at harbour in any haven.
PIERCY Island, a small island near the east coast of
New Zealand, a little to the east of Cape Brett.
PIERHEAD, a promontory on the north-east coast of
New Holland, and the west point of Thirsty Sound.
PIERIDES, in fabulous history, the daughters of Pie-
rus, a Macedonian prince, who, presuming to dispute with
the muses for the prize of poetry, were turned into magpies.
The name of Pierides was also given to the muses, from
Mount Pieris in Thessaly, which was consecrated to them ;
or, according to others, from Pieris, a Thessalian poet, who
was the first who sacrificed to them.
PIERINO delVaga, an eminent Italian painter, the son
of poor parents, and a native of Tuscanjr, was born about
the year 1500. He was placed apprentice with a grocer in
Florence, and got some instructions from the painters to
whom he was sent with colours and pencils; but an artist
named Vaga taking him to Rome, he was called Del Vaga,
from living with him, his real name being Buonacorsi. He
studied anatomy and the other sciences necessary for his
profession, and had somewhat of everything that was good
in his compositions. After Raffaelle’s death, he united with
Julio Romano and Francisco Penni in finishing the works
in the Vatican which were left imperfect by their common
master; and, to confirm their friendship, he married Pen-
ni’s sister. He gained the highest reputation by his per¬
formances in the palace of Prince Doria at Genoa; but the
P I L 741
multiplicity of his occupations, and the vivacity of his ima- Pietists
gination, exhausted his spirits in the flower of his age ; and . II
he died in the year 1547. Pilate^ ^
PIETISTS, a religious sect which sprung up amongst v
the Protestants of Germany, being a kind of mean be¬
tween the Quakers of England and the Quietists of the
Catholic church. They despised all sorts of ecclesiastical
polity, all scholastic divinity, and all forms and ceremonies,
and gave themselves up to contemplation and a mystic
theolog)'. Many gross errors are charged on the Pietists,
in a book entitled Manipulus Observationum Antipietisti-
carum; but these have much of the air of polemical exag¬
geration, and are certainly not at all just. Indeed there
are Pietists of various kinds ; some running into gross illu¬
sions, and carrying their errors to the overturning of the
greater part of Christian doctrine, whilst others are only
visionaries, and a few are very honest and good, though
perhaps misguided, people. Having become disgusted with
the coldness and formality of other churches, they were
charmed with the fervent piety of the Pietists, and attached
to their party, without giving in to the grossest of their errors.
PIETRA Mala, a market-town of Italy, in the vica¬
riate of Firenzuolo, and the grand duchy of Tuscany. It
stands on the great road from Florence to Bologna, twen¬
ty-four miles to the north-west of the former city. It is
remarkable from its vicinity, to the mountain Raticosa, from
which there issues constantly, on some parts of its surface,
a flame, which does not produce those effects that com¬
monly arise from volcanic eruptions. It burns both clear
and bright, rises several feet above the earth, and is visi¬
ble at a considerable distance. Various opinions and con¬
jectures have been formed by naturahsts concerning the
causes and nature of this phenomenon, but none has been
considered as satisfactory.
PIETRA Pjercia, a town of the island of Sicily, in
the intendancy of Calatinata, and district of Noto. It is
situated on a steep inland mountain, near the river Salso,
seventy-four miles from Palermo, and is a healthy place,
containing 8290 inhabitants.
PIETRI de Fusi, a town of Italy, in the province Prin-
cipato Ulteriore, and the kingdom of Naples. It contains
4890 inhabitants, who grow some excellent wine.
PIETY is a virtue which denotes veneration for the
Deity, and love and tenderness to our friends. This dis¬
tinguished virtue, like many others, received amongst the
Romans divine honours, and was made one of their gods.
Acilius Glabrio first erected a temple to this divinity,
which he built upon the spot on which a woman had fed
with her own milk her aged father, who had been impri¬
soned by order of the senate, and deprived of all aliments.
PIGEON. See Ornithology.
Pigeon Island, in Dusky Bay, New Zealand, a little to
the south of Facile Harbour. This is also the name of an¬
other island in the Eastern Seas, near the coast of Canara.
Long. 74. 5. E. Lat. 14. 2. N.
PIKE. See Ichthyology.
PILATE, or Pontius Pilate, was governor of Judaea
when our Lord was crucified. Of his family or country
we know little, though it is believed that he was a native
of Rome, or at least of Italy. He was sent to govern Ju¬
daea in the room of Gratus, in the year 26 or 27 of the
common era, and he governed this province for ten years,
that is, from the twelfth or thirteenth to the twenty-second
or twenty-third year of Tiberius. He is represented, both
by Philo and by Josephus, as a man of an impetuous and ob¬
stinate temper, and, as a judge, accustomed to sell justice,
and to pronounce any sentence that was desired, provided
he' was paid for it. The same authors mention his rapines,
his injuries, his murders, the torments he inflicted upon
the innocent, and the persons he put to death without any
form of process. Philo, in particular, describes him as a
742
P I L
Pilate, man who exercised excessive cruelty during the whole
time of his government, disturbed the repose of Judaea, and
gave occasion to the troubles and revolt which followed.
St Luke (xiii. 1, 2, et seq.) acquaints us that Pilate had
mingled the blood of the Galileans with their sacrifices,
and that the matter having been related to our Lord, he
said, “ Suppose ye that these Galileans were sinners above
all the Galileans, because they suffered such things ? I
tell you, nay; but except ye repent, ye shall all like¬
wise perish.” It is not known upon what particular occa¬
sion Pilate caused these Galileans to be slain in the temple
whilst they were sacrificing; for this is the meaning of
the expression about mingling their blood with their sa¬
crifices. Some think they were disciples of Judas the Gau-
lonite, who taught that the Jews ought not to pay tribute
to foreign princes, and that Pilate had put some of them
to death even in the temple ; but there is no proof of this
fact. Others are of opinion that these Galileans were Sa¬
maritans, whom Pilate cut to pieces in the village of Tira-
taba,1 as they were preparing to go up to Mount Gerizim,
where a certain impostor had promised to discover to them
treasures; but this event did not happen before the year
35 of the common era, and consequently two years after
the death of Jesus Christ. At the time of our Saviour’s
passion, Pilate made some faint endeavours to rescue him
out of the hands of the vindictive Jews. He knew that
they had delivered him up, and pursued his life with so
much violence, solely out of malice and envy (Matt, xxvii.
18). His wife, also, who had been disturbed the night
before with frightful dreams, sent to tell him that she
desired him not to meddle in the affair of that just per¬
son (ibid. 19). He attempted to appease the wrath of the
Jews, and to give them some satisfaction, by scourging
our Lord (John, xix. 1 ; Matt, xxvii. 26). He also tried to
take him out of their hands by proposing to deliver him or
Barabbas, on the day of the festival of the passover. Last¬
ly, he had a mind to discharge himself from pronouncing
judgment against him by sending him to Herod king of
Galilee (Luke, xxiii. 7, 8). But when he saw that all this
would not satisfy the Jews, and that they even in a man¬
ner threatened him, saying he could be no friend to the
emperor if he let him go (John, xix. 12, 15), he caused
water to be brought, and having washed his hands before
all the people, publicly declared himself innocent of the
blood of Jesus, in whom he found no fault (Matt, xxvii.
23, 24) ; though at the same time this miserable juggler
with conscience delivered him up to his soldiers that they
might crucify him. His conduct, however, was sufficient
to justify Jesus Christ, as Calmet observes, and to show
that the governor held him to be innocent; but it was not
enough to vindicate the conscience and integrity of a
judge, whose duty it was to assert the cause of oppressed
innocence, as well as to punish the guilty and criminal. He
ordered to be inscribed on our Saviour’s cross an abstract
as it were of his sentence, and the motive of his condem¬
nation, “ Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews,” which was
written in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Some of the Jews
found fault with it, and remonstrated with Pilate, alleging
that he ought to have written “ Jesus of Nazareth, who
pretended to be king of the Jews.” But Pilate could not
be prevailed on to alter it, and gave them this peremptory
answer, that what he had written he had written.
Towards evening, he was applied to for leave to take
down the bodies from the cross, that they might not con¬
tinue there the following day, which was the passover and
the sabbath-day (John, xix. 31). This he allowed, and
granted the body of Jesus to Joseph of Arimathea, that
he might pay to it his last duties (ibid. 33). Lastly, when
P I L
the priests, who had solicited the death of our Saviour, Pilatre
came to desire him to set a watch upon the sepulchre, lest ^Qzier
his disciples should steal him away by night, he answered
them, that they had a guard, and might place it there
themselves (Matt, xxvii. 65). This is the substance of
what the gospel tells us concerning Pontius Pilate.
Justin Martyr, Tertullian, Eusebius, and several other
succeeding writers, both ancient and modern, assure us
that it was formerly the custom for Roman magistrates to
prepare copies of all verbal processes and judicial acts
which took place in their several provinces, and to send
these to the emperor. Pilate, therefore, in compliance
with this custom, having sent intelligence to Tiberius of
what had passed relating to Jesus Christ, the emperor
wrote an account of it to the senate, in a manner which
gave reason to infer that he thought favourably of the re¬
ligion of Jesus Christ, and showed that he had no §erious
objection to their decreeing him divine honours. But the
senate was not of the same opinion, and so the matter
dropped. It appears, from what Justin says of these acts,
that the miracles of Jesus Christ were mentioned there,
including even the circumstance of the soldiers having di¬
vided his garments amongst them. Eusebius insinuates
that they spoke of his resurrection and ascension. Ter¬
tullian and Justin refer to these acts with so much confi¬
dence, that we cannot suppose them to have written with¬
out authority. However, neither Eusebius nor St Jerome,
who were both inquisitive and intelligent persons, nor any
other author who wrote afterwards, seems to have seen
these acts, at least not the true and original acts ; for as
to those which we have now in great number, they are not
authentic, being neither ancient nor uniform. There are
also some pretended letters of Pilate to Tiberius, giving a
history of our Saviour; but they are universally allowed to
be spurious.
Pilate being a man who, by his excessive cruelties and
rapine, had disturbed the peace of Judaea during the whole
time of his government, was at length deposed by Vitellius,
-the proconsul of Syria, in the 36th year of Jesus Christ,
and sent to Rome to give an account -of his conduct to
the emperor. But though Tiberius died before Pilate ar¬
rived at Rome, yet his successor Caligula banished him to
Vienne in Gaul, where he was reduced to such extremity
that he put himself to death with his own hands. The
Evangelists call him governor, although in reality he was
only procurator of Judaea.
With regard to Pilate’s wife, the general tradition is,
that she was named Claudia Procula or Proscula; and in
relation to her dream, some are of opinion, that as she had
intelligence of our Lord’s apprehension, and knew by his
character that he was a righteous person, her imagination,
being struck with these ideas, had naturally produced the
dream we read of; but others think that this dream was
sent to her providentially, for the clearer manifestation of
our Lord’s innocence.
PILATRE de Rozier, Francis, was born at Metz on
the 30th of March 1756. He was first apprentice to an
apothecary there, and afterwards went to Paris in quest of
further improvement. He applied himself to the study
of natural history and physics, and had already acquired
some reputation, when the discovery ol Montgolfier asto¬
nished the learned world. On the 25th of October 1783,
he attempted an aerial voyage, accompanied by the Marquis
of Arlande. He performed several other excursions in this
way with brilliant success, in the presence of the royal family
of France, of the king of Sweden, and of Prince Henry of
Prussia. He then resolved to pass into England by means
of his aerial vehicle, and for that purpose he repaired to
1 Josephus, Antiy. Jud. lib. xviii. c. 5.
P I L
Boulogne, whence he rose about seven o’clock in the morn¬
ing on the 15th of June 1785; but in half an hour after
he set out, the balloon took fire, and the aeronaut, with
his companion M. Romaine, were crushed to death by the
fall of the machine. See Aeronautics.
PILCHARD. See Ichthyology.
PILE, in Heraldry, an ordinary in the form of a wedge,
contracting from the chief, and terminating in a point to¬
wards the bottom of the shield.
Pile, amongst the Greeks and Romans, was a pyramid
built of wood, upon which were laid the bodies of the de¬
ceased, to be burned. It was partly in the form of an altar,
and differed in height according to the quality of the per¬
son to be consumed. Probably it might originally have been
considered as an altar, upon which the dead were consumed
as a burnt-offering to the infernal deities. The trees made
use of m the erection of a funeral pile were such as abound¬
ed in pitch or rosin, and consequently were most com¬
bustible ; if they used any other wood, it was split that it
might the more easily catch fire. Round the pile were
placed cypress boughs, to prevent the noisome smell.
Pile, in building, means a large stake rammed into the
ground in the bottom of rivers, or in marshy land, for a
foundation to build upon.
Pile is also a term amongst architects, signifying a mass
of building.
PiLE-Engine, a machine for driving the piles upon which
the piers of bridges are founded. See Mechanics.
PILE US, in Roman antiquity, was the ordinary cap or
hat worn by the freedmen at public shows and sacrifices.
It was one of the common rewards assigned to such gla¬
diators as were slaves, in token of their obtaining freedom.
PILGRIM, one who travels through foreign countries
to visit holy places, and to pay his devotion to the relics
of saints. The word is formed from the Flemish pelgrim,
or the Italian pelegrino, which signifies the same ; and
these were originally formed from the Latin peregrinus, a
stranger or traveller.
PILGRIMAGE, a kind of religious discipline, which
consists in taking a journey to some holy place in order to
pray before the relics of some saint. Pilgrimages began
to be made about the middle ages of the church ; but they
were most in vogue after the end of the eleventh century,
when every one was smitten with a desire of visiting places
of devotion, not excepting kings and princes themselves ;
and even bishops made no difficulty of being absent from
their churches on the same account.1
Dr Johnson, in his Easselas, gives us some observations
on pilgrimage, which are so much to the purpose that we
think we cannot do better than lay them before our read¬
ers. “ Pilgrimage, like many other acts of piety, may be
reasonable or superstitious according to the principles upon
which it is performed. Long journeys in search of truth
are not commanded. Truth, such as is necessary to the
regulation of life, is always found where it is honestly
sought: change of place is no natural cause of the increase
of piety, for it inevitably produces dissipation of mind.
Yet since men go every day to view the fields where great
actions have been performed, and return with stronger im¬
pressions of the event, curiosity of the same kind may na¬
turally dispose us to view that country where our religion
had its beginning; and I believe no man curveys those
awful scenes.without some confirmation of holy resolutions,
lhat the Supreme Being may be more easily propitiated
P I L
*743
Pillars.
in one place than in another, is the dream of idle super- Pilkallen
stition ; but that some places may operate upon our own
minds in an uncommon manner, is an opinion which hour-,
ly experience will justify. He who supposes that his vices
may be more successfully combated in Palestine, will per¬
haps find himself mistaken; yet he may go thither with¬
out folly: he who thinks they will be more freely pardon¬
ed, dishonours at once his reason and religion.”
PILKALLEN, a town of the province of East Prussia,
and the capital of a circle of the same name, which ex¬
tends over 410 square miles, and, in two cities and seven
parishes, contains 22,100 inhabitants. The town is situated
on a small river, and has 120 houses, with 1490 inhabitants.
Long. 22. 54. 57. E. Lat. 54. 45. 19. N.
PILKINGTON, Lastitia, a sprightly and once noted
writer, was the daughter of Dr Van Lewin, a physician of
Dublin, where she was born in the year 1712. She was
married when very young to the Rev. Matthew Pilkington,
a poet of no inconsiderable merit; and the two wits, as is
often the case, lived very unhappily together, and were at
length totally separated. The story is told at large in her
Memoirs. Atter this separation, Mrs Pilkington came to
London, and lived for some time on the productions of her
pen. She was, however, thrown into the Marshalsea for
debt; and being set at liberty, opened a pamphlet shop.
She at length raised a handsome subscription for her Me¬
moirs, which are WTitten with great sprightliness and wit;
containing several anecdotes of Dean Swift, with whom
she was intimate, as well as many pretty little pieces of
her own poetry. This ingenious person died at Dublin in
1750.
Pilkington, a township in the parish of Prestwick, of
the hundred of Salford, in Lancashire, 180 miles from
London and four from Manchester. It is chiefly inhabit¬
ed by cotton manufacturers. The population amounted in
1801 to 5786, in 1811 to 7353, in 1821 to 8976, and in
1831 to 11,006.
PILLAR, Cape, a high cape on the south-east coast of
Van Diemen’s Land, on the north-eastern shore of Storm
Bay. Long. 148. 8. E. Lat. 43. 12. S.
PILLARS, in antiquarian topography, are large single
stones set up perpendicularly. Those of them which are
found in this country were the work of the Druids; but as
they are the most simple of all monuments, they are un¬
questionably more ancient than even Druidism itself. They
were placed as memorials recording different events; as re¬
markable instances of God’s mercies, of contracts, singular
victories, boundaries, and sometimes sepulchres. Various
instances of these monuments erected by the patriarchs oc¬
cur in the Old Testament. Such was that raised by Jacob
at Luz, afterwards by him named Bethel; and such also was
the pillar placed by him over the grave of Rachel. They
were likewise marks of execrations and magical talismans.
These stones, from having long been considered as objects
of veneration, were at length idolatrously worshipped by
the ignorant and superstitious ; wherefore, after the intro¬
duction of Christianity, some had crosses cut upon them,
which was considered as taking them out of the category
of works devoted to the service of the devil. Vulgar su¬
perstition of a later date has led the common people to
regard them as persons transformed into stone for the
punishment of some crime, generally that of sabbath-break¬
ing. This notion, however, is not confined to single stones,
but is also told of whole circles ; as the monuments called
It deserves to be remarked here, that in the year 1428, under the reign of Henry VI. abundance of licenses were granted by
the crown of England to captains of English ships, for carrying numbers of devout persons to the shrine of St James of Compostella,
m Spain ; provided, however, that those pilgrims should first take an oath nbt to carry with them any thing prejudicial to England,
nor to reveal any of its secrets, nor to take out with them any more gold or silver than what should be sufficient for their reasonable
expenses. In this year there went out from England, on the same pilgrimage, from London 280, Bristol 200, Weymouth 122, Dart¬
mouth 00, Yarmouth 60, Jersey 60, Plymouth 40, Exeter 30, Poole 24, Ipswich 20; in all 926 persons.
744
V I L
PIN
Pillau
the hurlers in Cornwall, and Rolloric stones in Waivvick-
11 shire. The former are by the vulgar supposed to have once
Pilwara. been men> wll0 were thus transformed as a punishment for
v playing on the Lord’s day at a game called hurling; the lat¬
ter are believed to consist of a pagan king and his army.
PILLAU, a city of the province of East Prussia, in the
circle of Fischausen. It stands on a tongue of land on the
bank of a strait by which the Frisch Haft is connected
with the Baltic Sea. It is regularly fortified, and defend¬
ed by a fortress. The harbour is secure, and admits ships
of 200 tons burden, and about 1000 vessels yearly enter
and depart. It contains about 200 very large and ancient¬
ly-fashioned houses, with 3600 inhabitants. . It has con¬
siderable trade in ship-building, in the fishery, in distilleries
and breweries, in corn, and in timber. Long. 19. 48. 21.
E. Lat. 54. 38. 18. N. t
PILLERE, a small town of Hindustan, m the district
of Gurrumcundah, ninety-five miles west-north-west from
Madras. Long. 79. 5. E. Lat. 13. 32. N.
PILLIBEET, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Delhi, and district of Bareily. It was a great emporium of
commerce in the time of Hafiz Rehmut. After the Rohilla
country was laid waste by the nabob of Oude, its com¬
merce was annihilated; but since its cession to the Bii-
tish it has greatly revived.
PILLORY (collistrigium, that is, collum stnngens; pit-
loria, from the French pilleur, meaning depeculator; or
pelori, derived from the Greek wuhn, janua, a door, because
one standing on the pillory puts his head as it were through
a door, and igaw, video) is an engine made of wood, to pu¬
nish offenders, by exposing them to public view, and ren¬
dering them infamous.
PILOT, an officer who superintends the navigation of a
ship, squadron, or fleet, either upon the sea-coast or upon
the main ocean. It is, however, more particularly applied
by our mariners to the person charged with the direction
of a ship’s course on or near the sea-coast, and. into the
roads, bays, rivers, havens, and creeks, within his respec¬
tive district.
P1LSEN, a city of the Austrian kingdom of bohemia,
the capital of a circle of the same name, which extends
over 1474 square miles, comprehending fifteen cities, four¬
teen towns, 669 villages, and 28,500 houses. The city
stands at the junction of the rivers Bradawta and Be-
raunta, and contains 546 houses, and about 8000 inhabi¬
tants, who conduct some cloth manufactories, and consider¬
able internal trade in hardware made from mines of iron in
its neighbourhood. Near to them are also extensive alum
works, both belonging to the city. The place is one of his¬
torical celebrity, from having been the scene of the insurrec¬
tion of Wallenstein against the imperial government in the
Thirty Years’War. Long. 13.18. 45. E. Lat. 49.44.38. N.
PILUM, a missive weapon used by the Roman soldiers,
and in a charge hurled against the enemy. Its point, we
are told by Polybius, was so long and small, that after the
first discharge it was generally so bent as to be rendered
useless. The legionary soldiers made use of the pilum,
and each man carried two. The pilum underwent many
alterations and improvements, insomuch that it is impos¬
sible to describe it with any precision. Julius Scaliger
laboured much to give an accurate account of it, and would
have esteemed success on this head amongst the greatest
blessings of his life. Marius made a material improvement
on the pilum; for during the Cimbrian war, he so contriv¬
ed it, that when it stuck in the enemy’s shield it bent
down at an angle in the part where the wood was connected
with the iron, and thus became useless to the person who
received it.
PILWARA, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Ajmere, and district of Oudipore, belonging to the ranah.
Long. 74. 25. E. Lat. 25. 19. N.
Pin.
PIMENTO, Jamaica Pepper, or Allspice, a species of Pimento
myrtus. The pimento trees grow spontaneously, and in 11
great abundance, in many parts of Jamaica, but more par-^
ticularly on hilly situations near the sea, on the northern
side of that island, where they form the most delicious
groves that can possibly be imagined.
“ This tree is purely a child of nature, and seems to mock
all the labours of man in his endeavours to extend or im¬
prove its growth ; not one attempt in fifty to propagate the
young plants, or to raise them from the seeds, in parts of
the country where it is not found growing spontaneously,
having succeeded. The usual method of forming a new
pimento plantation (in Jamaica it is called a walk), is no¬
thing more than to appropriate a piece of woodland, in the
neighbourhood of a plantation already existing, or in a coun¬
try where the scattered trees are found in a native state,
the woods of which being fallen, the trees are suffered to
remain on the ground till they become rotten and peiish.
In the course of twelve months after the first season, abun¬
dance of young pimento plants will be found growing vi¬
gorously in all parts of the land, being without doubt pro¬
duced from ripe berries scattered there by the birds, whilst
the fallen trees, &c. afford them both shelter and shade.
At the end of two years it will be proper to give the land
a thorough cleansing, leaving such only of the pimento
trees as have a good appearance, which will then soon form
such groves as those already described, and, except perhaps
for the first four or five years, require very little attention
afterwards.
“ Soon after the trees are in blossom, the berries become
fit for gathering; the fruit not being suffered to ripen on
the tree, as the pulp in that state, being moist and gluti¬
nous, is difficult to cure, and when dry becomes black and
tasteless. It is impossible, however, to prevent some of
the ripe berries from mixing with the rest; but if the pro¬
portion of them be great, the price of the commodity is
considerably injured.
“ It is gathered by the hand ; one labourer on the tree,
employed in gathering the small branches, will give em¬
ployment to three below, who are generally women and
children, in picking the berries; and an industrious picker
will fill a bag of 70 lbs. in the day.
“ The returns from a pimento walk in a favourable sea¬
son are prodigious. A single tree has been known to yield
150 lbs. of the raw fruit, or one hundredweight of the dried
spice, there being commonly a loss in weight of one third
in curing; but this, like many other of the minor produc¬
tions, is exceedingly uncertain, and perhaps a very plen¬
tiful crop occurs but once in five years.
PIN, in commerce, a little necessary instrument made
of brass-wire, and chiefly used by women in fastening and
adjusting their dress. In the year 1543, by statute 34 and
35 of Henry VIII. c. 6, it was enacted, “ That no person
shall put to sale any pinnes but only such as shall be double
headed, and have the heads soldered fast to the shank of
the pins, well smoothed, the shank well shapen, the points
well and round filed, cauted, and sharpened.” From the
above extract it should appear that the art of pin-making
was then but of recent invention, being probably introduced
from France; and consequently our manufactories must
since that period have wonderfully improved.
Though pins are apparently simple, their manufacture
is, however, not a little curious and complex.^ When the
brass wire of which the pins are formed is first received
at the manufactory, it is generally too thick for the pur¬
pose of being cut into pins. The first operation, there¬
fore, is that of winding it off from one wheel to another
with great velocity, and causing it to pass between the two,
through a circle in a piece of iron of smaller diameter.
The wire being thus reduced to its proper dimensions, is
straightened by drawing it between iron pins fixed on a
?ii®
finds
P I N
'inacia board in a zigzag manner, but so as to leave a straight line
indar between Afterwards it is cut into lengths of three
^ y Pr four yards, and then into smaller ones, every length be¬
ing sufficient to make six pins; and each end of these is
then ground to a point. When the wire is thus pointed,
a pin is taken off from each end, and this is repeated until
it has been cut into six pieces. The next operation is that
of forming the heads, or, as they term it, head spinning ;
which is done by means of a spinning-wheel, one piece of
wire being thus with astonishing rapidity wound round an¬
other, and the interior one being drawn out, leaving a hol¬
low tube between the circumvolutions. It is then cut with
shears, every two circumvolutions or turns of the wire form¬
ing one head; and these are softened by throwing them
into iron pans, and placing them in a furnace until they are
red hot. As soon as they are cold, they are distributed to
children, who sit with anvils and hammers before them,
which they work with their feet by means of a lathe, and
taking up one of the lengths, they thrust the blunt end
into a quantity of the heads which lie before them, and
catching one at the extremity, they apply them immediate¬
ly to the anvil and hammer, and by a motion or two of the
foot the point and the head are fixed together in much less
time than it can be described, and with a dexterity only
to be acquired by practice ; the spectator being in continual
apprehension for the safety of their finger-ends. The pin
is now finished as to its form, but still it is merely brass.
It is therefore thrown into a copper containing a solution
of tin and the lees of wine. Here it remains for some
time, and when taken out assumes a white though dull ap¬
pearance. In order, therefore, to give it a polish, it is put
into a tub containing a quantity of bran, which is set in
motion by turning a shaft that runs through its centre, and
thus by means of friction it becomes perfectly bright. The
pin being complete, nothing remains but to separate it from
the bran, which is performed by a mode exactly similar to
the winnowing of corn ; the bran flying off and leaving the
pin behind fit for immediate sale.
PINACIA, amongst the Athenians, were tablets of brass
inscribed with the names of all those citizens in each tribe
who were duly qualified and willing to become judges of
the court of Areopagus. These tablets were cast into a
vessel provided for the purpose, and the same number of
beans, a hundred being white and all the rest black, w^ere
thrown into another. Then the names of the candidates
and the beans were drawn out one by one, and they whose
names were drawn out together with the white beans were
elected judges or senators. In Solon’s time there were only
four tribes, each of which chose a hundred senators ; but
the number of tribes being afterw'ards increased, that of
senators and judges was also increased to so many hundreds
more.
PIN AGRA, a town and fortress of the south of India,
in the district of Baramahal, ninety-five miles east by south
from Seringapatam. Long. 78. 8. E. Lat. 12. 6. N.
PINCHBECK, a factitious metallic substance, or an al¬
loy of three parts of zinc and four of copper.
PINDAR, the most celebrated lyric poet that Greece
produced, was a native of Thebes in Boeotia, and born b. c.
518, forty years before the expedition of Xerxes. He was
the contemporary of Aeschylus, but younger than Simoni¬
des, and somewhat older than Bacchylides. It was scarcely
to be expected thattheearly years of such a distinguished
poet should pass without some extraordinary event taking
place, and it is accordingly stated that he was exposed on
a desert mountain, and that he was fed by bees. Whether
his father’s name was Diophantus or Scopelinus is uncer¬
tain, but he was of the humble profession of a player on
the flute, which he at first intended that his son should
pursue. Finding, however, that his talents entitled him
to occupy a higher position in the drama of life, he placed
VOL. XVII.
PIN 745
him under Lasus of Hermione, a poet who then enjoyed a Pindar,
high reputation. Although he lived in one of the most
eventful periods of Grecian history, it does not appear that
he took any active part in the political struggles of his coun¬
try. It has been even doubted whether his feelings in fa¬
vour of the liberty of Greece were so ardent as to induce
him to oppose the progress of the Persians. Before the
battle of Plataea a seditious movement had taken place in
I hebes, and a strong party had joined the Persians. In a
passage of the poet written at this period, Polybius ima¬
gines he can satisfactorily discover that Pindar was the ad¬
vocate of this step, and of course visits him with not un¬
merited reproach. Stobaeus, however, gives this same pas¬
sage more fully, and it there appears that the poet recom¬
mends peace, not in reference to the Persians, but to his
fellow-citizens, who were tearing one another to pieces in
civil broils. But a still stronger proof that Polybius had
taken a prejudiced view of his character, is found in the
circumstance that the poet wrote a dithyrambic poem after
the battle of Plataea, in which he spoke so warmly in admira¬
tion of Athens, that the prevailing party amongst his coun¬
trymen took umbrage at it, and visited him with punish¬
ment. The Athenians, on the other hand, erected a sta¬
tue to his honour. Again we find him comparing the vic¬
tories of Hiero at Cumae and Himera to the most illus¬
trious engagements of the Greeks against the Persians.
It is impossible, therefore, to doubt that he joined heart¬
ily in support of Greek independence, though he does not
seem to have thought that a monarchical government,
justly and mildly administered, was unworthy of respect.
Of his private history nothing farther is known, except
that he died at an advanced age, probably about the year
B. c. 439. According to one tradition, he died whilst he
was resting on the bosom of his young disciple Theoxenus,
after he had taken part in the active exercises of the gym¬
nasium. He was the writer of many poems, but they have
all perished except some fragments, and those hymns which
he composed in honour of the conquerors at the solemn
games of Greece. They are divided into four books, of
which the first contains those who had conquered at the
Olympic games, and consists of fourteen odes ; the second,
addressed to the conquerors of the Pythian games, contains
twelve odes ; the third, addressed to the Nemean con¬
querors, contains eleven odes; and the fourth, celebrating
the Isthmian conquerors, contains eight odes. It is difficult
to believe that the reputation of Pindar was founded upon
the poetry which has come down to us, and indeed his
dithyrambic hymns are spoken of as his finest productions.
He is no doubt distinguished by a warm and enthusiastic
genius, and by bold and figurative expressions; but the ab¬
ruptness of his transitions, and the numerous allusions to
persons and things now altogether unknown, and which, if
known, would not interest the reader, very much diminish
the pleasure with which his poetry is read. Still the opi¬
nion of Horace must for ever place him in the foremost
rank of lyric poets.
Fiery, immense, profound he flowes
As from a mountaine tumbling goes
A torrent fed with showers, fives o’er
The well-knowne limits of the shore.
A polio’s bayes are due to him,
Whether new words swolne to the brim,
He (bold) through dithyrambics throw,
Where every new word doth loosely flow;
Whether gods, kings, or gods’ allies
He chant, who by a just surprise,
The Centaurs vanquish’d, and supprest
Chimffira’s dreadful flaming crest.
Hawkins’ Translation, 1C35.
The oldest edition of this poet is that of Aldus, Venice,
1513, in 8vo. The best editions are those by Erasmus
Schmid, Wittenburg, 1616, in 4to; by Heyne, Gottingen,
5 B
746
P I N
PIN
Pindar
River
Pinet.
1773; by Aug. Bockh, Leipzig, 1811-1822, particularly
valuable for criticism and metre ; by Thiersch, with a Ger¬
man translation, Leipzig, 1820, in 8vo; Pindari Carmina
, commentario perpetuo illustravit L. Dissen, Goth., 183 ,
in 8vo ; Schneider de Vita et Scriptis Pindari, Strasburg,
1774, in 8vo. T , TT. ,
PINDAR River, a small river of Northern Hindus¬
tan, in the province of Serinagur, which atterwards joins
the Alcananda. .
PINDTARUK, a small village of Hindustan, in the
Gujerat peninsula, situated in a sandy plain. There is a
spring of pink-coloured water in the vicinity, which is cele¬
brated amongst the natives as a place of pilgrimage.
PINEDA^ John, an historian of some note, was de¬
scended of a noble family, and born at Seville. He en¬
tered into the society of the Jesuits in 15/2, and taught
philosophy and divinity in several colleges, but devoted
his time chiefly to the study of the Holy Scriptures. That
he might render this study the more easy, he made himself
master of the oriental languages. Of his writings we have,
1. Commentaries upon the book of Job, two vols. in folio;
2. Commentaries upon Ecclesiastes; 3. A general History
of the Church, in Spanish, four vols. in folio ; and, 4. A His¬
tory of Ferdinand HI. in the same language, in folio. He
died in 1637, much regretted by the members of his socie¬
ty, and by the public in general.
PINEROLO, one of the provinces into which the con¬
tinental part of the kingdom of Sardinia, in Italy, is divided.
It is bounded on the north and north-west by Susa, on
the east by Turin, on the south by Saluzzo, and on the
west by France. It extends over 550 square miles^ and
contains one city, forty-six towns and villages, with 125,000
inhabitants. A portion of the Cottian Alps is comprehend¬
ed in this province, in which are found the four valleys of
Lucerna, Perosa, San Martino, and Pragelato, which were
inhabited by the Waldenses. The district is well watered
by several streams, the principal of which, the Clusone, re¬
ceives the other river. Though for the most part mountain¬
ous, the valleys are productive, and there is sufficient corn
raised for the consumption of the inhabitants, wdiilst silk,
chestnuts, and turpentine serve the purpose of exchange
for the few foreign commodities that are needed. The ca¬
pital of the province is the city of the same name. It is
situated at the foot of the Alps, and is the see of a bishop,
whose sumptuous cathedral, with six monasteries and five
nunneries, are the most distinguished objects. It contains
11,500 inhabitants, who spin wool and silk, manufacture
goods of both materials, and trade also in corn, wine, cat¬
tle, and charcoal. It was formerly the residence of the
Dukes of Savoy, most of whom were buried in it. Long.
7. 8. E. Lat. 44. 53. N.
PINES, Island of, in the South Pacific Ocean, near
the southern point of New Caledonia. It is about eighteen
leagues in circumference. Long. 167.32. E. Lat. 22.38. S.
PINET, Antony du, an ecclesiastical writer, who lived
in the sixteenth century, and was a native of Besan^on, in
France. He was strongly attached to the Protestant reli¬
gion, and a bitter enemy to the church of Rome. His
book, entitled La Conformite des Eglises Reformees de
France et de 1’Eglise Primitive, printed at Lyons, 1564,
in 8vo, and the notes which he added to the French
translation of the Fees of the Pope’s Chancery, which
was printed at Lyons in 8vo, 1564, and reprinted at Am¬
sterdam in 1700, in 12mo, plainly discover his sentiments.
The last-mentioned work he published under the title of
La Boutique du Pape, in Latin and French, with some
notes taken from decrees, councils, and canons, in order
to ascertain the discipline anciently observed in the church.
In the epistle dedicatory he assumes the tone of a declared
enemy of the court of Rome. His translation of Pliny’s Na¬
tural History, printed at Lyons in two vols. folio, 1566,
and at Paris, 1608, was formerly much read. Though itTing-Lian{<
contains many errors, it is nevertheless very useful, espe
cially for those who do not-understand the Latin, on ac-
count of the translator’s researches, and a great number of
marginal notes. Pinet also published at Lyons, 1564, in
folio, Plans of the principal Fortresses in the World.
PING-L1ANG, a city of China, of the first rank, in
Shensee, in a fruitful and well-watered district. Long.
106. 18. E. Lat. 35. 35. N.
-PINGLO, a city of China, of the first rank, in the pro¬
vince of Quangsee, situated amongst mountains, and on a
river which is scarcely navigable from the number of wa¬
terfalls which interrupt its course. Long. 110. 4. E. Lat.'
24. 22. N.
PINION, in Mechanics, an arbor or spindle, having in
the body of it several notches, which catch the teeth of a
wheel that serves to turn it round; or it is a lesser wheel
that plays in the teeth of a larger. • .
PINNACE, a small vessel navigated with oars and sails,
and having generally two masts, which are rigged like
those of a schooner.
PINNACLE, in Architecture, the top or i-oof of a house, -
terminating in a point. This kind of roof amongst the an¬
cients was appropriated to temples ; their ordinary roofs
being all flat, or made in the platform fashion.
PINOS, an island of the Atlantic, situated near the
south coast of Cuba, from which it is separated by a chan¬
nel sixteen leagues in length by six in breadth. It abounds
in pastures, which are covered with herds of goats and
other animals; and it is likewise noted for the size of its
trees. Although Pinos possesses several very secure and^
well-sheltered roads, and is of tolerable size, being forty-
two miles in length and thirty-four in breadth, yet it is only
inhabited by a few fishermen. Long. 82. 45. W. Lat. 21.,
38 N
PINSK, a city of Russia, in the government of Minsk,
the capital of a circle of its own name. It is situated on
the river Pina, surrounded with deep morasses, and is
built in the style of all the old Polish towns. It contains
several Greek and Catholic churches, and had a very laige
collegiate establishment of the Jesuits. It contains 4500
inhabitants, of whom many are Jews, and carries on a con¬
siderable trade in the finest red leather. It is 767 miles
from St Petersburg. Long. 25. 45. E. Lat. 52. 8. N.
PINTOR, Peter, a physician, was born at Valentia in'
Spain, in the year 1420, and became physician to Alex¬
ander VI. whom he followed to Rome, where he practised
with great success. He left behind him two works of con¬
siderable merit; 1. Aggregator Sententiarum Doctorum
de Curatione in Pestilentia, printed at Rome in 1499,folio;
and, 2. De Morbo Fcedo et Occulto his Temporibus Afffi-
genti, printed at Rome in 1500, 4to, black letter, a book
extremely scarce, and which traces the lues venerea to the
year 1496. Pintor died at Rome in the year 1503, aged
eighty-three.
PINUS, the Pine-tree, was one well known to the
ancients, and has been described and celebrated both by
their philosophers and their poets. Pliny enumerates no less
than six species of trees of this genus; and it is men¬
tioned by Virgil in his Eclogues, his Georgies, and his
jEneid; by Horace in his Odes, by Ovid in his Meta¬
morphoses, by Statius, and by Catullus. #
There are generally reckoned fourteen species of this
genus, of which the most remarkable are the following :
1. The pinea, pineastcr, or wild pine, which grows natu¬
rally on the mountains in Italy and the south of France. It
grows to the size of a large tree ; the branches extend to a
considerable distance ; and whilst the trees are young, they
are fully garnished with leaves, especially where they are
not so close as to exclude the air from those within; but
as they advance in age, the branches appear naked, and
Pinus.
PIN
till those which are situated below become unsightly in a
few years; for which reason they are now much less es¬
teemed than formerly.
2. The pinus pinea, or stone pine, is a tall evergreen
tree, a native of Italy and Spain. It delights in a sandy
loam, although, like most others, it will grow well in almost
any land. Respecting the uses of this species, Hanbury
tells us that the kernels are eatable, and by many prefer¬
red to almonds.
. 3. The rubra, commonly called the Scotch fir or pine,
is common throughout Scotland, whence its name ; though
it is also found in most of the other countries of Europe.
* M. Duhamel mentions his having received some seeds of
it from St Domingo in the West Indies ; and thence con¬
cludes, that it grows indifferently in the temperate, frigid,
and torrid zones. The wood of this tree is the red or
yellow deal, which is the most durable of any of the kinds
yet known
4. The pinus picea, or yew-leaved fir, is a tall ever¬
green, and a native of Scotland, Sweden, and Germany.
This species includes the silver fir and the balm of Gilead
- fir. The first of these is a noble upright tree. The balm
of'Gilead fir has of all the sorts been most coveted, on ac¬
count of the great fragrance of its leaves ; though this is
not its only good property ; for it is a very beautiful tree,
naturally of an upright growth, and the branches are so
ornamented with their balmy leaves, as to exceed any of
the other sorts in beauty. The silver fir is very hardy,
and will grow in any soil or situation ; but it always makes
the greatest progress in rich loamy earth. The balm of
' Gilead fir must be planted in deep, rich, good earth ; nor
“‘will it live long in any other. The soil may be a black
mould, or of a sandy nature, if it be deep enough, and if
the roots have room enough to strike freely.
5. The pinus abies, or European spruce fir, a native of
the northern parts of Europe and of Asia, includes the
Norway spruce and long-coned Cornish fir. The former
of these is a tree of as much beauty whilst growing, as
its timber is valuable when propagated on that account.
6. The pinus Canadensis, or American and Newfound¬
land spruce fir, a native of Canada, Pennsylvania, and
other parts of North America, includes three varieties ; the
white Newfoundland spruce, the red Newfoundland spruce,
and the black Newfoundland spruce. These, however, dif¬
fer so little, that one description may serve for them all.
They are of an upright growth, though they do not shoot
so freely or grow so fast with us as the Norway spruce.
The leaves are of the same green, and garnish the branches
in the same beautiful manner, as those of that species;
only they are narrower, shorter, and stand closer. The
greatest difference is observable in the cones; for these
are no more than about an inch in length, and the scales
• are closely placed. In the cones, indeed, consists the dif¬
ference of these three sorts ; those of the white species
are of a very light brown colour, those of the red species
more of a nut-brown or reddish colour, and those of the
black species of a dark or blackish colour.
7. The pinus balsamea, or hemlock fir, a native of Vir¬
ginia and Canada, possesses as little beauty as any of the
fir tribe ; though, being rather scarce in proportion, it is
deemed valuable. It is called by some the yew-leaved fir,
from the resemblance of the leaves to those of the yew-
tree. It is a tree of low growth, with but few branches ; and
these are long and slender, spreading abroad without order.
8. The pinus orientalis, or oriental fir, a native of the
East, is a low but elegant tree. The leaves are very short,
and nearly square. The fruit is exceedingly small, and hangs
downward ; and the whole tree makes an agreeable variety
with the other kinds.
9. The strobus, or North American white pine. This
grows sometimes to the height of a hundred feet and up-
P I N
747
wards, and is highly valued on account of its beauty. The Pinus.
bark of the tree is very smooth and delicate, especially
when young; the leaves are long and slender, five grow¬
ing out of one sheath ; and the branches are pretty closely
garnished with them, thus making a fine appearance.
10. The pinus tceda, or swamp-pine, is a tall evergreen
tree, being a native of the swamps of Virginia and Canada.
There are several varieties of this genus.
11. The pinus cedrus, ranked by Tournefort and others
under larix, and famous for its duration, is that popularly
called by us the cedar of Lebanon, by the ancients cedrus
magna or the great cedar ; also cedrelate, xeSgsXarjj; and
sometimes the Phoenician or Syrian cedar, from the coun¬
try where it grows in its greatest perfection. It is a co¬
niferous evergreen, of the larger sort, bearing roundish
cones of smooth scales, standing erect, the leaves being
small, narrow, and thickly set. They sometimes counterfeit
cedar by dyeing wood of a reddish hue ; but the smell dis¬
covers the cheat, that of true cedar being very aromatic.
In some places the wood of the cajou tree passes under
the name of cedar, on account of its reddish colour and its
aromatic smell, which somewhat resemble those of sandal.
Cedar-wood is reputed almost immortal and incorruptible ;
a prerogative which it owes chiefly to its bitter taste, which
the worms cannot endure. For this reason it was that the
ancients used cedar tablets to write upon, especially for
things of importance, as appears from the expression of
Persius, Et cedra digna locutus. A juice alluded to by
Horace was also drawn from cedar, with which the ancients
smeared their books and writings, or other matters, to pre¬
serve them from rotting; and by means of which it was
thatNuma’s books, written on papyrus, w^ere preserved en¬
tire to the year 535, as we are informed by Pliny.
Solomon’s temple, as well as his palace, were both con¬
structed with this wood. That prince gave Hiram, king
of Tyre, several cities for the cedars he had furnished on
these occasions. Cortes is said to have erected a palace at
Mexico, in which were 7000 beams of cedar, most of them
120 feet in length and twelve feet in circumference, as we
are informed by Herrera. Some tell us of a cedar felled
in Cyprus 130 feet in length and eighteen in diameter.
It was used for the mainmast in the galley of King Deme¬
trius. Le Bruyn assures us, that the two largest he saw
upon Mount Lebanon measured, one of them fifty-seven
palms, and the other forty-seven, in circumference. In
the temple of Apollo at Utica there were cedar-trees near
two thousand years old ; which yet were nothing to the
beam in an oratory of Diana at Saguntum in Spain, said
to have been brought thither two hundred years before the
destruction of Troy. Cedar is of so dry a nature that it
will not endure to be fastened with iron nails, from which
it usually shrinks; so that they commonly fasten it with
pins of the same wood.
It is remarkable that, as far as has yet been discovered,
this tree is not to be found as a native in any other part of
the world than Mount Libanus. What we find mentioned
in Scripture of the lofty cedars can be nowise applicable
to the common growth of this tree ; since, from the expe¬
rience we have of those now growing in England, as also
from the testimony of several travellers who have visited
the few trees remaining on Mount Libanus, they are not
inclined to grow very lofty, but, on the contrary, extend
their branches very far; a circumstance with which the
allusion made by the Psalmist agrees very well, when,
describing the flourishing state of the people, he says,
“ They shall spread their branches like the cedar-tree.”
12. There is another species, namely, the larch-tree,
which the old botanists ranked under larix, with deciduous
leaves and oval obtuse cones. It grows naturally upon
the Alps and Apennines, and of late has been very much
propagated in Britain. See Plantation.
748 PIP
Piombino PIOMBINO, an ancient principality in Italy, now one
.11 of the provinces of the grand duchy of Tuscany. It is 136
v Pip6, square miles in extent, and contains one city and eleven vil-
'”v~'^lages, with 13,900 inhabitants. The princely house, though
mediatized, continues to hold the proprietorship, as before
1815. It is a marshy and very unhealthy tract of country.
The capital is the city of the same name, situated on the
Bay of Fullonica. It is slightly fortified towards the sea
only, and contains 1200 inhabitants, mostly occupied in the
fisheries. Long. 10. 25. 42. E. Lat. 42. 55. 27. N.
PIONEERS, in the art of war, are persons who are or¬
dered in from the country, to march with an army, for the
purpose of mending the roads, working on intrenchments
and fortifications, and forming mines and approaches.
PIOVE di Sacco, a town of Austrian Italy, in the
province of Milan and delegation of Padua. It is situated
on the Canal of Fiumecello, and contains 790 houses, and
5640 inhabitants, engaged in making silk goods and tanning
leather. Long. 11. 57. 11. E. Lat. 45. 17. 21. N.
PIP, or Pep, a disease amongst poultry, consisting of a
white thin skin or film, which grows under the tip of the
tongue, and hinders their feeding. It usually arises from
want of water, or from drinking puddle-water, and eating
filthy meat. It is cured by pulling off the film with the
fingers, and rubbing the tongue with salt. Hawks are par¬
ticularly liable to this disease, from their feeding on stink¬
ing flesh. # .
PIPE, a musical instrument, various in kind. (8ee the
articles Music and Organ.) Without entering into use¬
less details regarding the ancient dcuXo/ and tibia, we may
mention that Strutt, in his Sports and Pastimes of the
People of England, gives representations of the pipe and
tabor, as used in England in the fourteenth century to ac¬
company a dancing dog, a cock on stilts, a horse rearing,
&c. From the drawings we cannot ascertain the nature
of the pipe represented. We may, however, suppose it to
have been similar to the galoubet used in France, along
with the tabor, from a very remote period. This galoubet
is a small instrument of the flageolet kind. Its use, for more
than the last two centuries, has been confined to Provence.
It has only three finger-holes, and is played with the left
hand, whilst the right beats the tabor, which is attached to
the performer. The compass of the galoubet is two oc¬
taves and a tone from D on the third line of the tiebleclef
up to E in altissimo. Great skill is required to bring out
all the sounds of its compass. Some of the players on this
small and imperfect instrument are said to be so dexterous
as to be able to perform upon it very difficult pieces of
music composed for other instruments, such as the violin,
&c. It is always accompanied by the tabor, which is a
small drum of a cylindrical form, and rather longer and
narrower in its relative proportions than the common
drum.
Pipe, in building and other employments or arts, a ca¬
nal, or conduit, for the conveyance of water and other li¬
quids. Pipes for water, w'ater-engines, and the like, are
usually of lead, iron, earth, or wood; the latter being usu¬
ally made of oak or elder. Those of iron are cast in f orges,
and their usual length is about two feet and a half; seve¬
ral of these being commonly fastened together by means
of four screws at each end, with leather or old hat between
them to stop the water. Those of earth are made by the
potters, and are fitted into one another, one end being al¬
ways made wider than the other. To join them the closer,
and prevent their breaking, they are covered with tow and
pitch; their length being usually about that of the iron
pipes. The wooden pipes are trees bored with large iron
augres, of different sizes, beginning with a less, and then
proceeding with a larger successively; the first being
pointed, the rest being formed like spoons, increasing in
diameter from one to six inches and more. See Boring.
P I P
Pipe, Pipa, in Law, is a roll in the exchequer, called Pipe-Offi )
also the great roll. II
Pipe-Office is an office in which a person, called the. lper3- ^
clerk of the pipe, makes out leases of crown-lands, by war- v^‘,|
rant from the lord-treasurer, or commissioners of the trea¬
sury, or the chancellor of the exchequer. The clerk of the
pipe also makes out all accounts of sheriffs, &c. and gives
the accountants their quietus est.
Piper, Peppier, a genus of plants belonging to the dian-
dria class. There are twenty species of piper, of which
the most remarkable is the siriboa, with oval, heart-shaped,
nerved leaves, and reflexed spikes. This is the plant which
produces the pepper so much used in food. It is a shrub, the
root of which is small, fibrous, and flexible ; and it rises into
a stem, which requires a tree or prop to support it. Its wood
has the same sort of knots as the vine; and when it is dry,
it exactly resembles the vine-branch. The leaves, which
have a strong smell and a pungent taste, are of an oval
shape ; but they diminish towards the extremity, and ter¬
minate in a point. From the flower-buds, which are white,
and are sometimes placed in the middle and sometimes at
the extremity of the branches, are produced small berries
resembling those of the currant-tree. Each of these con¬
tains between twenty and thirty corns of pepper. They are
commonly gathered in October, and exposed to the sun
seven or eight days. The fruit, which was green at first,
and afterwards red, when stripped of its covering assumes
the appearance it has when we see it. The largest, hea¬
viest, and least shrivelled, is the best.
The pepper plant flourishes in the islands of Java, Su¬
matra, and Ceylon, and more particularly on the Malabar
coast. It is not sown, but planted; and great nicety is
required in the choice of the shoots. It produces no fruit
until the end of three years ; but bears so plentifully the
three succeeding years, that some plants yield between six
and seven pounds of pepper. The bark then begins to
shrink ; and the shrub declines so fast that in twelve years’
time it ceases bearing.
The culture of pepper is not difficult. It is sufficient to
plant it in a rich soil, and carefully to pull up the weeds
that grow in great abundance round its roots, especially
the first three years. As the sun is highly necessary to
the growth of the pepper plant, when it is ready to bear,
the trees that support it must be lopped, to pie vent their
shade from injuring the fruit. When the season is over,
it is proper to crop the head of the plant. Without this
precaution there would be too much wood, and little fruit.
The piper amalago, or black pepper, and the piper ine-
quale, or long pepper of Jamaica, with some other species,
are indigenous, and known by the names of joint-wood, or
peppery elders. The first bears a small spike, on which are
attached a number of small seeds of the size of mustard.
The whole of the plant has the exact taste of the East In¬
dia black pepper. The long-pepper bush grows taller than
the amalago. The leaves are broad, smooth, and shining;
and the fruit is similar to the long pepper of the shops, but
smaller. The common people in Jamaica season their
messes with the black pepper. To preserve both, the fruit
may be slightly scalded when green, then dried, and wrap¬
ped in paper.
PIPERS, a musical term, now applied to performers on
the bagpipe. Thus we have Northumbrian pipers, Irish
pipers, Calabrian pipers, Scottish pipers, &c. The bag¬
pipe seems to be one of the most ancient of musical instru¬
ments. It had various names in ancient times and in dif¬
ferent countries. Boccacio introduces it as a fashionable
instrument in his Decameron; and, from the accounts of
the household expenses of our British monarchs, we find
that the bagpiper was a court-musician in the olden time.
In Strutt’s Sports and Pastimes of the People of England,
we find a bagpipe player on stilts, from an illuminated
P I Q
ipley manuscript of the thirteenth century, in the reign of Henry
II III.; and another bagpiper of the same century, with a girl
que ^ y dancing upon his shoulders. Some of the most curious
representations of bagpipers and their instruments (chori
or cori) are given by Gerbert De Cantu et Musica Sacra,
plates thirty-three and thirty-four of the second volume.
PIPLEY, a small town of Hindustan, in the province of
Orissa and district of Mohurbunge. It is situated on the
eastern bank of the Subanreeka River, about ten miles
from the sea. It was with this port, which was considered
one of the best in Bengal, that the English were permitted
to trade by Shah Jehan ; but the trade was afterwards
transferred to the Hooghly River. The floods have now
washed away part of the town, and formed a dangerous bar
in the river, in consequence of which the merchants have
removed to Ballasore. Pipley is twenty-two miles north¬
east from Ballasore. Long. 87. 25. E. Lat. 21. 42. N.
Pipley, a town in the province of Orissa and district of
Cuttack, thirty miles south from Cuttack. Long. 86. 8. E.
Lat. 20. 8. N.
PIPLOUD, a town and large mud fort of the Mahratta
territories, in the province of Khandesh, thirty-one miles
north-east from Boorhanpoor. Long. 76. 35. E. Lat. 21.
44. N.
PIQUET, or Picket, a celebrated game at cards, much
in use throughout the polite world. It is played between
two persons, with only thirty-two cards; the deuces, threes,
fours, fives, and sixes, being set aside.
In reckoning at this game, every card goes for the num¬
ber it bears, as a ten for ten, only all court cards go for
ten, and the ace for eleven; and the usual game is one
hundred up. In playing, the ace wins the king, the king
the queen, and so down.
Twelve cards are dealt round, usually by two and two ;
which done, the remainder are laid in the middle. If one
of the gamesters finds he has not a court card in his hand,
he is to declare he has carte-blanche, and tell how many
cards he will lay out, and desire the other to discard, that
he may show his game, and satisfy his antagonist that the
carte-blanche is real; for which he reckons ten.
Each person discards, or lays aside a certain number of
his cards, and takes in a like number from the stock. The
first of the eight cards may take three, four, or five; the
dealer all the remainder, if he pleases. After discarding,
the eldest hand examines what suite he has most cards of;
and reckoning how many points he has in that suite, if the
other have not so many in that or any other suite, he tells
one for every ten of that suite. He who thus reckons most
is said to win the point.
The point being over, each examines what sequences he
has of the same suite, that is, how many tierces, or sequences
of threes, quartes or fours, quintes or fives, sixiemes or
sixes, and so on. For a tierce they reckon three points,
for a quarte four, for a quinte fifteen, for a sixieme sixteen,
and so forth. And the several sequences are distinguished
in dignity by the cards they begin from. Thus ace, king,
and queen are called tierce major; king, queen, and knave,
tierce to a king; knave, ten, and nine, tierce to a knave, &c.;
and the best tierce, quarte, or quinte, in other words, that
which takes its descent from the best card, prevails, so as
to make all the others in that hand good, and destroy all
those in the other hand. In like manner, a quarte in one
hand sets aside a tierce in the other.
The sequences being over, the players proceed to ex¬
amine how many aces, kings, queens, knaves, and tens, each
holds, reckoning for every three of any sort, three; but
here, too, as in sequences, he that with the same number of
threes has one that is higher than any the other has, for
instance, three aces, has all his others made good thereby,
and his adversary’s all set aside. But four of any sort,
which is called a quatorze, always sets aside three.
P I R 74
All the game in hand being thus reckoned, the eldest Pir®us
proceeds to play, reckoning one for every card he plays P°rtus.
above a nine, and the other follows him in the suite; and
the highest card of the suite wins the trick. However, un¬
less a trick be won with a card above a nine (except the
last trick), nothing is reckoned for it, though the trick
serves afterwards towards winning the cards; and he who
plays last does not reckon for his cards unless he wins the
trick,
The cards being played out, he who has most tricks
reckons ten for winning the cards. If they have tricks
alike, neither reckons anything. The deal being finished,
and each player having marked up his game, they proceed
to deal again as before, cutting afresh each time for the
deal. If both parties be within a few points of being up,
the carte-blanche is the first thing that reckons, then the
point, then the sequences, then the quatorzes or threes,
then the tenth cards.
He who can reckon thirty in hand by carte-blanche,
points, quintes, &c. without playing, before the other has
reckoned anything, reckons ninety for them; and this
is called a repique. If he reckons above thirty, he reck¬
ons so many above ninety. If he can make up thirty,
part in hand and part play, ere the other has told any
thing, he reckons for them sixty. And this is called a
pique ; whence the name of the game. He who wins all
the tricks, instead of ten, which is his right for winning
the cards, reckons forty ; and this is called a capot.
Mr Demoivre, who has made this game the object of
mathematical investigation, has proposed and solved the
following problems. 1. To find at piquet the probability
which the dealer has for taking one ace or more in three
cards, he having none in his hand. He concludes from
his computation, that it is twenty-nine to twenty-eight
that the dealer takes one ace or more. 2. To find at pi¬
quet the probability which the eldest has of taking an ace
or more in five cards, he having no ace in his hand; the
answer is two hundred and thirty-two to ninety-one, or
five to two nearly. 3. To find at piquet the probability
which the eldest hand has of taking an ace and a king in
five cards, he having none in his hand; the answer is,
the odds against the eldest hand taking an ace and a
king are three hundred and thirty-one to three hundred
and fifteen, or twenty-one to twenty nearly. 4. To find
at piquet the probability of having twelve cards dealt to,
without king, queen, or knaves, which case is commonly
called cartes-blanches ; the odds against cartes-blanches are
seventeen hundred and ninety-one to one nearly. 5. To
find how many different sets, essentially different from
one another, one may have at piquet before taking in ; the
answer is, 28,967,278. This number falls short of the
sum of ail the distinct combinations, by which twelve
cards may be taken out of thirty-two, this number being
225,792,840; but it must be considered that in that num¬
ber several sets of the same import, but differing in suite,
might be taken, which would not introduce an essential
difference amongst the sets.
PIRyEUS Portus, in Ancient Geography, a celebrat¬
ed port to the west of Athens, consisting naturally of
three harbours or basins, which lay neglected till The-
mistocles put the Athenians on making it a commodious
port; the Phalerus, a small port, and not far from the city,
being what they used before that time.
The Piraeus, as Athens flourished, became the common
emporium of all Greece. Hippodamus, an architect, cele¬
brated as the inventor of many improvements in house¬
building, besides other monuments of his genius, w'as em¬
ployed to lay out the ground. Five porticoes, which, com¬
municating with one another, formed the Long Portico,
were erected by the ports. Here was an agora or market¬
place, and, farther from the sea, anotlier called hippoda-
750 P I R
Pirano mia. Beside the vessels were dwellings for the mariners.
II A theatre was opened, temples were raised, and the Piraeus,
Piromam.^ surpassecl the city in utility, began to equal it in
^ v dignity. The cavities and windings of Munychia, natural
and artificial, were filled with houses ; and the whole set¬
tlement, comprehending Phalerus and the ports of the
Piraeus, with the arsenals, the storehouses, the famous
armoury of which Philo was the architect, and the sheds
for three hundred, and afterwards four hundred, triremes,
resembled the city of Rhodes, which had been planned by
the same Hippodamus. The ports, on the commencement
of the Peloponnesian war, were secured with chains. Cen-
tinels were stationed, and the Piraeus was carefully guarded.
The Piraeus was reduced with great difficulty by Sylla,
who demolished the walls, and set fire to the armoury and
the arsenals. In the civil war it was in a defenceless con¬
dition. Calenus, lieutenant of Caesar, seized it, invested
Athens, and ravaged the territory of the state. Strabo, who
lived under the Emperors Augustus and Tiberius, observes,
that the many wars had destroyed the long walls, with the
fortress of Munychia, and had contracted the Piraeus into
a small settlement by the ports and the temple of Jupiter
Saviour. See Athens.
PIRANO, a city of the Austrian government of Trieste,
in the district of Capo d’Istria. It stands on a tongue of
land in the Bay of Trieste, and contains 895 houses, with
6800 inhabitants, who are chiefly employed in the fish¬
eries, or in making salt on the lagunes in their vicinity.
Long. 13. 29. 4. E. Lat. 45. 29. 22. N.
PIRATE, wsigarris, a sea-robber, or an armed ship which
roams the seas without any legal commission, and seizes
or plunders every vessel she meets indiscriminately, whe¬
ther friends or enemies.
PIRHALA, a town of Plindustan, in Lahore, tributary
to the Afghan sovereigns of Caubul. It lies fifty-five miles
east from the Indus. Long. 71.48. E. Lat. 32. 25. N.
PIRN A, a city of the kingdom of Saxony, in the circle
of Meissen, and the capital of a bailiwick of its own name,
which comprehends eleven cities and towns, and 170 vil¬
lages, with 36,250 inhabitants. The city is situated upon
the banks of the Elbe, is surrounded with walls, and con¬
tains three churches, an orphan-house, an hospital, and
500 houses, with about 6000 inhabitants. It suffered
much in the campaign of 1813, when it was the centre
of the operations between the French and the allied ar¬
mies ; but it rapidly recovered, and is now the seat of con¬
siderable manufactures of cotton goods, and has a good
trade on the river Elbe, both in building vessels and in
conveying goods. A little above the city is the fine cas¬
tle of Sonnenstein, now occupied as a lunatic asylum.
PIROMALLI, Paul, a Dominican of Calabria, was sent
as a missionary to the East. He remained a long time in
Armenia, where he had the happiness to bring back to the
church many schismatics and Eutychians, and even the
patriarch himself, who had before thrown every obstacle in
his way. He afterwards passed into Georgia and Persia,
then into Poland, in quality of nuncio to Pope Urban VIII.,
in order to appease the disturbances which had been occa¬
sioned there by the disputes of the Armenians, who were
very numerous in that country. Piromalli united them in
the profession of the same faith, and the observance of the
same ceremonies. On his return to Italy he was taken
by some corsairs, who carried him prisoner to Tunis. As
soon as he was ransomed he went to Rome, and gave an
account of his mission to the pope, who conferred upon
him some signal marks of his esteem. His holiness in¬
trusted him with the revisal of an Armenian bible, and
sent him again into the East, where he was promoted, in
1655, to the bishopric of Nashirvan. After having go¬
verned that church for nine years, he returned to Italy,
and took charge of the church of Bassignano, where he
PIS
died three years afterwards, in 1667. His charity, zeal, Piron
and other virtues, did honour to the episcopal office. There II
are extant of his writings, 1. Some works of Controversy v ^’3a»
and Theology ; 2. Two Dictionaries, the one a Latin-Per- Y‘"*
sian, and the other an Armenian-Latin; 3. An Armenian
Grammar; and, 4. A Directory, which is of great use in
correcting Armenian books.
PIRON, Alexis, a French poet, was born at Dijon in
July 1689, where his father was an apothecary, and where
he passed more than thirty years in idle and destructive
dissipation. He was at length obliged to quit the place of
his nativity, in order to avoid the reproaches of his fellow-
citizens, on account of an ode which he had written, and
which gave them great offence. His relations not being
able to give him much assistance, he supported himself at
Paris by means of his pen, the strokes of which were as
beautiful and fair as those of an engraver. He lived in the
house of M. de Belleisle as his secretary, and afterwards
with a financier, who, however, did not know that he had a
man of genius under his roof. His reputation as a writer
commenced with some pieces which he published for the
entertainment of the populace, and which showed strong
marks of original invention ; but what fully established his
character in this way was his comedy entitled Metromanie,
which was the best that had appeared in France since
Regnard’s Gamester. This performance, in five acts, well
conducted, and replete with genius, wit, and humour, was
acted with the greatest success upon the French stage in
1738. Piron, however, had a sufficient stock of self-conceit;
and what helped to increase it, and make him fancy himself
superior to the most celebrated of his contemporaries, was
the circumstance that, on account of his original humour,
of which he had an uncommon share, his company was
more courted than that of Voltaire, who was otherwise too
lively, captious, and crabbed. Piron’s mischievous inge¬
nuity was partly the cause which excluded him from the
French Academy. “ I could not,” said he, “ make thirty-
nine people think as I do, and I could less think as thirty-
nine do.” He called that celebrated society “ les invalides
du bel esprit,” and yet he often endeavoured to become
one of those invalids. He died on the 21st of January
1773, at the age of eighty-three. He had prepared for
himself the following characteristic epitaph :
Ci git Piron, qui ne fut rien,
Pas meme academicien.
A collection of his works appeared in 1776, in seven
vols. 8vo and nine vols. 12mo. The principal pieces are,
The School of Fathers, a comedy acted in 1728 under the
title of Ungrateful Sons ; Callisthenes, a tragedy, the sub¬
ject of which is taken from Justin ; The Mysterious Lover,
a comedy ; Gustavus and Ferdinand Cortez, two trage¬
dies, some scenes of which discover an original genius, but
the versification neither pleases the ear nor affects the
heart; Metromanie, a comedy; The Courses of Tempe,
an ingenious pastoral, in which the manners both of the
town and country are pleasantly drawn; with some odes,
poems, fables, and epigrams. In this last kind of poetry
he was very successful, and he may be placed after Marot
and Rousseau; but there was no occasion for loading the
public with seven volumes of his works. The half of that
number might have sufficed; for, excepting Metromanie,
Gustavus, the Courses of Tempe, some odes, about twenty
epigrams, three or four fables, and some epistles, the rest
are but indifferent, and have no claim to any extraordinary
merit.
PISA, a portion of Italy, once an independent state, but
now one of the provinces of the grand duchy of Tuscany.
It forms the north-west portion of that duchy, except a
small part of Arovalle, and the whole sea-coast to the cape
of the Apennines, which divides it from Maremma. In it
is included also the Isle of Elba with its dependencies, and
PIS
scadore the ancient duchy of Piombino. It extends over 2614)
.11 square miles, is divided into three districts, and contains
iisto us. 34^000 inhabitants. The capital is the city of the same
r"v'~™’r name, situated near the mouth of the river Arno, in a
marshy and unhealthy district, arising from its being en¬
closed on all sides by the moisture of Paduli del Lupo,
Paduli di Stagno, and of the water of the Serchio. It is
surrounded with thick walls, now converted into prome¬
nades, for which purpose they are better adapted than for
defence. It is the see of an archbishop, whose cathedral
and palace are magnificent structures; the tower of the
former has attracted much attention, and been called the
hanging tower, because it considerably declines from the
perpendicular. There is a university, founded in 1309,
which at present is resorted to by about 300 students, and
has a library of 60,000 volumes. It is frequented by in¬
valids, on account of some warm baths on Monte Giuliano,
near the city. Pisa contains 2000 houses, and about
18,000 inhabitants, who make some linen and woollen
cloths, some silk goods, with glass, paper, white lead, vi¬
triol, and alabaster articles, but depend mostly on the in¬
valid visitors. Long. 10. 18. 10. E. Lat. 43. 43. 7. N.
PISCADORE or Ponghou Islands, a cluster of small
islands in the North Pacific Ocean, in the channel of For¬
mosa, about six leagues from the west coast of that island.
According to Perouse, they are a heap of rocks, which as¬
sume all kinds of shapes, and are totally barren, but have
a good and sheltered harbour. The Chinese maintain a
garrison here. They are situated between the island ot
Formosa and the port of the island of Emouy, and extend
from 23. 10. to 23. 40. N., about twenty-four miles; the
westernmost is in 119. 27. E. long.
PISCINA, in Antiquity, a large basin in a public place
or square, where the Roman youth learned to swim, and
which was surrounded with a high wall, to prevent filth
from being thrown into it. This word is also used for a
lavatory amongst the Turks, placed in the middle court of
a mosque or temple, where the Mussulmans wash them¬
selves before they offer their prayers.
PISISTRATUS, the son of Hippocrates, was descended
from one of the most illustrious families of Athens, which
claimed to derive their origin from Codrus, and through
him traced their pedigree to Nestor and the Pylian kings.
At the time that he began to take part in the political af¬
fairs of his country, there were three factions struggling
for power; those of the Lowlands, Highlands, and Coast.
Megacles, chief of the great family of the Alcmaeonidae,
took the lead of the Coast party, whilst Pisistratus headed
the democratical faction of the Highlanders. Solon had
tried to calm their passions by the wisdom of his laws, but
the contending parties had refused to submit; and when
he returned, after an absence of several years, he found
much confusion, and everything tending towards a state
of anarchy. Pisistratus was determined to secure to him¬
self the chief authority in the government; and by pre¬
tending to the people that he was in danger of his life,
he obtained a guard for the security of his person, and it
was not long before he made himself master of the cita¬
del. He thus became what was afterwards called iyrant
of Athens, b. c. 560; though Herodotus expressly states,
that all the laws continued in force, and that the consti¬
tutional powers of the magistrates were not in the least
restricted. Solon used to say, that were it not for his am¬
bition, there would not be a man better disposed, or a more
worthy citizen, in Athens. Though Solon was no doubt
deeply mortified that his countrymen were unable to main¬
tain the political constitution which he had formed for
them, it does not appear that he broke off all connection
with Pisistratus. He took the wiser course of trying to
direct his measures for the benefit of his country, and as¬
sisted him in the administration of the commonwealth.
PIS 751
How long Pisistratus continued to maintain himself in Piso
power is not stated, but he was at last driven into exile, ll .
by the two parties of Megacles and Lycurgus uniting their v ^
strength. A dispute between the victors induced Me¬
gacles to propose an accommodation with Pisistratus, upon
condition that he should marry his daughter; and this was
at once acceded to. A quarrel, however, with Megacles
again took place, and Pisistratus was obliged to retire to
Eretria in Euboea. Here he continued to increase his in¬
fluence, till a favourable opportunity presented itself of re¬
gaining his former position. It was in the eleventh year
of his second banishment that he returned, when the Athe¬
nians flocked to his standard, and, in the words of Hero¬
dotus, preferred tyranny to liberty. He defeated the Alc-
maeonidae, and entered Athens, promising safety to all who
returned quietly to their homes. Some of the leaders
were of course banished, but the great body of the people
seem to have benefited by the change. He was kind to
the poor, and introduced many laws and regulations which
were highly advantageous to his country. He was a lover
of learning, and is said to have been the first who arrang¬
ed the poems of Homer as we now have them. Cicero
speaks of his eloquence in the highest terms. He con¬
tinued to direct the administration of Athens till his death,
b. c. 527, thirty-three years after his first usurpation, of
which time he ruled seventeen years. He left two sons,
Hippias and Hipparchus, who succeeded to his power.
PISMIRES, or Ants. See Ants.
PISO, Lucius Calpurnius, surnamed the Frugal, on
account of his parsimony, was descended of the illustrious
family of the Pisos, which gave so many great men to the
Roman republic. He was tribune of the people in the
year 149 before Christ, and afterwards consul. During his
tribuneship he published a law against the crime of con¬
cussion or extortion, entitled Lex Calpurnia de pecuniis
repetundis. He happily ended the war in Sicily. To re¬
ward the services of one of his sons, who had distinguish¬
ed himself in that expedition, he left him by his will a
golden crown, weighing twenty pounds. Piso joined to
the qualities of a good citizen the talents of a lawyer, an
orator, and an historian.
PISSASPHALTUM, or Asphaltum, Earth-pitch, a
fluid, opaque, mineral body, of a thick consistence, strong
smell, readily inflammable, but leaving a residuum of gray¬
ish ashes after burning. It arises out of the cracks of the
rocks in several parts of the island of Sumatra, and some
other places in the East Indies, where it is much esteemed
in paralytic disorders. There is a remarkable mine of it
in the island of Bua.
PISSEL.<EUM Indicum, Barbadoes Tar, a mineral fluid
of the nature of the thicker bitumens, and of all others
that which most approaches, in appearance, colour, and
consistence, to the true pissasphaltum, though it differs
from it in other respects. It frequently occurs in many
parts of America, where it is found trickling down the
sides of mountains in large quantities, and sometimes float¬
ing on the surface of the waters. It has been greatly re¬
commended internally in coughs and other disorders of the
breast and lungs.
PISTACIA, Turpentine-tree,PwtacAia-rcw/andT/as-
tich-tree, a genus of plants belonging to the dicecia class.
Pistachia-nuts are moderately large, containing a kernel
of a pale greenish colour, covered with a reddish skin.
They have a pleasant, sweet, unctuous taste, resembling
that of almonds; and they abound with a sweet and well-
tasted oil, which they yield in great abundance on being
pressed after bruising them. They are reckoned amongst
the analeptics, are wholesome and nutritive, and are by
some esteemed very proper to be prescribed by way of
restoratives, eaten in small quantity, to people emaciated
by long illness.
752
Pistil
II
Pitcairne.
P I T
PISTIL, amongst botanists, the little upright column
which is generally found in the centre of every flower.
According to the Linnsean system, it is the female part of
generation, the office of which is to receive and secrete the
pollen, and produce the fruit. It consists of three parts ;
the germen, stylus, and stigma. See Botany.
PISTOJA, a city of the duchy of Tuscany, in Italy,
the capital of a district, called a vicariate, of the same
name, in the circle of Florence. It stands on the river Om-
brone, and is defended by walls and ditches. It is the see
of a bishop, whose cathedral is abundantly furnished with
holy relics. It contains many churches and monasteries,
and 1100 houses, with 9160 inhabitants, who make some
woollen cloth, some ironmongery and fire-arms. Long. 10.
32. 45. E. Lat. 45. 47. N.
PISTON, in pump-work, is a short cylinder of metal
or other solid substance, fitted exactly to the cavity of the
barrel or body of the pump. See Hydrodynamics.
PISUM, Pease, a genus of plants belonging to the dia-
delphia class. See Horticulture.
PITCAIRNE, Archibald, a physician of great emi¬
nence, was born at Edinburgh on the 25th of December
1652. His father, Alexander Pitcairne, who was engaged
in trade, and became one of tbe city magistrates, derived
his lineage from the ancient family of Pitcairne of Pit¬
cairne in the county of Fife. His mother, whose name
was Sydserf, belonged to a good family in the county of
Haddington, descended from Sydserf of Ruthlaw. After
having been initiated in classical learning at Dalkeith
school, he was sent to the university of Edinburgh in 1668,
being then sixteen years of age. In 1671 he took the de¬
gree of A. M. It was the wish of his family that he
should devote himself to the study of divinity : but for
the office of a minister he seems to have had no vocation;
and his father, not without some degree of reluctance, per¬
mitted him to direct his next views to the profession of
law. To this new pursuit he betook himself with all the
ardour of a young and ambitious mind ; but his intensity
of application produced such an effect upon his health,
that the physicians, apprehensive of his being visited with
consumption, advised him to try the effect of a residence
in the south of France.
On his arrival at Paris, he found his health so much
improved, that he judged it unnecessary to visit Montpel¬
lier ; and after having formed some pleasant acquaintances
among his young countrymen engaged in the study of
physic, he determined to prosecute his own studies with¬
out seeking for any other school. They however persuad¬
ed him that Paris could not boast of any able professors of
law; and he was easily induced to listen to their advice
of relinquishing all thoughts of the bar.
Scire potestates herbarum usumque medendi
Maluit, et mutas agitare inglorius artes.
After he had for several months attended the hospitals,
bis father deemed it expedient to recall his wandering
footsteps. He accordingly returned to Scotland; and
being in this state of preparation for any one of the learn¬
ed professions, divinity, law, or physic, he continued to
enlarge his fund of knowledge, and to cultivate his excel¬
lent talents. The mathematical sciences were however
his favourite pursuit; and this propensity is supposed to
have been fostered by his intimacy with David Gregory,
who became professor of mathematics at Edinburgh, and
P I T
afterwards Savilian professor of astronomy at Oxford, Of Pifcafe
his learned friend Dr Gregory, who belonged to a very '"-■"■V'*
remarkable family, he has made honourable mention in his
works. In this department of study, we are informed,
“ he made a great progress in a short time; and meeting
with the lately invented method of infinite series, he made
some improvements thereon, which were afterwards pub¬
lished by Dr Wallis.”1 He is further said to have perceiv¬
ed the necessary connexion between physic and geometry,
and thus to have fixed his choice unalterably upon that
profession.
He now applied himself to the study of botany, phar¬
macy, and materia medica, in which branches he could at
that time receive no public instruction in Edinburgh. It
appears to have been the usual method to attend the pri¬
vate instructions of some established practitioner. In the
year 1675 he returned to Paris ; and having prosecuted his
studies with great ardour and success, he took the degree
of M. D. at Reims on the 13th of August 1680. He en¬
tered upon his professional career in his native city ; and
of the Royal College of Physicians, incorporated by a
charter bearing date the 29th of November 1681, he was
one of the original fellows. His talents and learning were
such as could not fail to attract the attention of those
among whom he lived. He was a scholar and a wit, as
well as a man of science ; and he so completely deserted
the beaten track of medical speculation, that he was soon
regarded as no ordinary character.
After his first settlement in Edinburgh, he married
Margaret the daughter of Colonel James Hay of Pitfour.
She bore him a son and a daughter; but the mother and
her children did not long survive, and he devoted an ele¬
giac poem to her memory. He continued to rise in pro¬
fessional reputation ; and this was greatly encreased by
the publication of his “ Solutio Problematis de Inventori-
bus,” which was printed at Edinburgh in 1688, and again
at Leyden in 1693. The object of this tract is to vindicate
to Harvey the honour of having discovered the circulation
of the blood ; an honour of which many attempts had been
made to deprive him. According to the notion of Vander
Linden, and various other writers, this great fact in the
animal economy was known to Hippocrates; but their
opinion is very scientifically refuted by Dr Pitcairne.
There seems to be much more reason to believe that the
unfortunate Servetus “ had imperfect glimmerings of that
light which afterwards Dr Harvey communicated with so
bright a lustre to the learned world.”2
An attempt to found a medical school in the university
had been made in the year 1685. The first professor in
that faculty was Sir Robert Sibbald, who was appointed on
the 24th of March. Dr Halket and Dr Pitcairne were ap¬
pointed on the 9th of September ; but it has not been as¬
certained that they read any lectures. Of the estimation
in which Pitcairne was held, we find a more striking proof
in the circumstance of his being invited by the curators of
the university of Leyden to accept a professorship of phy¬
sic. Of this invitation he did not hesitate to avail him¬
self; and his inaugural oration was delivered on the 26th
of April 1692.3 The oration, we are informed, was high¬
ly applauded, and the ordinary salary of his professorship
was augmented by one half. We however learn from a
passage in Bayle’s correspondence, that his lectures were
too abstruse, and contained too large an infusion of geome¬
try, to be altogether popular.4 In this university “ he con-
1 Biographia Britannica, vol. v. p. 33G0.
2 See Dr Wotton’s .Reflections upon Ancient and Modern Learning, p. xxiii. 210. 3d edit. Lond. 1705, 8vo. _ ; .
3 Archibald Pitcarnii, M. D. et Regii Collegii Medicorum Edinburgensiutn Socii, Oratio, qua ostenditur Medicinam ab omni Phi-
losophoruni Secta esse liberam, habita Lugduni Batavorum die 26 Aprilis CIDIOCXCII. cum ordinariam Facultatis Medicae Praxe-
osque docendae Professionem solenniter auspicaretur. Lugd. Bat. 1692, 4to. This oration was reprinted in 1695, and again in 1696.
He inserted it in both editions of his Dissertationes Medicae.
4 CEuvres Diverses de Bayle, tom< iv. p. 732
P I T C A I R N E.
753
xairne. tinued little more than a year, during which he read lectures
,'~v^^on the works of Bellini, such as were then published.
While he was professor here, he printed several disserta¬
tions which were drawn from his lectures : in these he at¬
tempts to explain the circulation of the blood, and some
of the principal parts of the animal oeconomy mechanical¬
ly, as had been done by Bellini, whom he places next to
Harvey upon the bench of inventors of physic.” Lorenzo
Bellini, who was a professor in the university of Pisa, tes¬
tified his gratitude by dedicating to Pitcairne a collection
of his Opuscula.1 One of his pupils at Leyden was Dr
Mead, who always retained the highest regard.for his
master.
Before he quitted Edinburgh, he had made an engage¬
ment to marry a daughter of Sir Archibald Stevenson, one
of the king’s physicians. In the course of the year 1693
he accordingly returned, with the intention of fulfilling his
promise, and immediately resuming his academical duties;
but the reluctance of the parents to part with their daugh¬
ter, placed him in a situation of embarrassment, as he was
neither disposed to relinquish the professorship nor the
young lady. He however adopted the former alternative ;
and having married Elizabeth Stevenson, he resigned his
chair, and finally settled in Edinburgh, where he speedily
found himself engaged in very extensive practice. He ac¬
quired the reputation of a very skilful practitioner, and in¬
deed his name became more celebrated than that of any
other physician then residing in Great Britain. In addi¬
tion to his more ordinary employment, he received fre¬
quent consultations from England, and even from Holland.
With this extensive practice his time was so much oc¬
cupied, that it did not leave him any abundant leisure for
other pursuits. He however continued to gratify his taste
by the composition of Latin verses, which were alike cal¬
culated to please his friends, and to expose his enemies.
His satirical propensities, added to his unrivalled success
in a lucrative profession, rendered his enemies somewhat
numerous. The violence of his prejudices as a Jacobite
and an episcopalian must have had no tendency to recom¬
mend him to the best supporters of the existing govern¬
ment. But his friends were likewise numerous ; and he
pursued his career with great alacrity, and apparently with
a great disregard of persona! animadversion.
He was fiercely attacked in a little volume, published
under the title of “ Apollo Mathematicus; or the Art of
Curing Diseases by the Mathematicks, according to the
Principles of Dr Pitcairn : a work both profitable and plea¬
sant, and never published in English before. To which is
subjoined a Discourse of Certainty, according to the Prin¬
ciples of the same Author.”. Printed in the year 1695,
8vo. This sarcastic work, according to the statement of
Dr Oliphant, was the production of Dr, afterwards Sir Ed¬
ward Eyzat.2 It was speedily followed by “ Tarrugo Un¬
masked ; or an Answer to a late Pamphlet intituled Apol¬
lo Mathematicus, by George Hepburn, M.D. and Member
of the Colledge of Phisicians at Edinburgh. To which is
added by Doctor Pitcairne, the Theory of the internal Dis- Pitcairne.
eases of the Eye demonstrated mathematically.” Edinb. v—
1695, 4to. This title bears an allusion to “ Tarugo’s Wiles,
or the Coffee-House, a Comedy,” written by Thomas Syd-
serf, or St Serfe, and printed at London in the year 1668.
The author of the first tract escaped without any censure
from the College of Physicians, of which he was likewise
a fellow ; but Dr Hepburn, who had been Pitcairne’s pu¬
pil, and who then resided in Haddington, was not treated
with the same degree of forbearance. On the 7th of No¬
vember a committee was appointed to examine his pamph¬
let, and on the 3d of December he was suspended from
the exercise of his right to sit and vote as a fellow. The
proceedings against him appear to have been very arbitrary
and irregular : “ though a day was allowed him to answer
a libel to be given him, and six free days to see it, yet be¬
fore any libel was given him, or the day of compearance
come,” they hastened to pass a vote of suspension. Du¬
ring the interval, namely on the 18th of November, Dr Pit¬
cairne had tendered a protest against the admission of cer¬
tain fellows, one of whom was Eyzat, as having been con¬
ducted in an irregular manner. It was then referred to a
committee, who on the 22d delivered a report, “ that the
protestation given in and subscribed by Dr Pitcairn was a
calumnious, scandalous, false, and arrogant paperand
the meeting having unanimously approved of this report,
did thereupon suspend him “ from voting in the college,
or sitting in any meeting thereof.” It was even proposed
to prohibit him from the practice of physic. At the meet¬
ing which suspended Dr Hepburn, four fellows, Melville,
Eccles, Oliphant, and Smelholme, were ordered “ to com¬
pear next day, to hear and see themselves suspended, for
adhering to the protestation presented by Dr Pitcairn.”
The object of all this indecent violence was to deprive
them of the right of voting at the ensuing election ; “ but
they having presented a bill of advocation, and obtained
a sist for some days, in which the day of election was in¬
cluded, that project was baulked.” A double election en¬
sued : Dr Trotter was re-elected president by his adhe¬
rents, while the opposite party elected Sir Archibald
Stevenson. The meeting was attended by one of the
bailies; and Pitcairne was removed by the town-officers,
after having protested against this unwarrantable inter¬
ference. He and his friends withdrew to Stevenson’s
house, and there elected the president and other office¬
bearers for the ensuing year. These violent animosities
produced several applications to the privycouncil and the
court of session. Another fierce contention arose from
the question of publishing a Dispensatory, which had
been prepared under the sanction of the college. Ste¬
venson’s party opposed its publication, on the ground of
its being “ barely a transcript of the London one, ill co¬
pied, and worse explained.” Dr Pitcairne was attacked
in a virulent pamphlet, which charged him with the in¬
consistency of having written a commendatory preface to
a book which he afterwards represented as worthless.3 On
1 Laurentii Bellini Opuscula aliquot, ad Archibaldum Pitcamium, Professorem Lugduno-Batavum, in quibus pnecipue agitur de
Motu Cordis, &c. Lugd. Bat. 1737, 4to. There are several editions of an earlier date. A long and remarkable dedication, “ Viro
meritissimo Archibaldo Pitcarnio,” is dated at Florence on the 20th of INI arch 1693. It commences thus: “ llapiunt me mores tui,
vir meritissime; tua enim ilia te gerendi ratio, qua me per literas compellare voluisti, ad omnem optimi et magni viri speciem est ita
comparata, ut per universum vitae meae spatium vix quicquam mihi contigerit, quod fuerit tam apte factum ad genium meum.” In
this dedication he introduces Pitcairne’s letter, dated at .Leyden on the 22d of June 1092.
2 Oliphant’s Short Discourse to prove the Usefulness of Vomiting in Fevers, pref. Edinb. 1699, 8vo. See likewise Melius Inqui¬
rendum, or, an Answer to Dr Olyphant’s Discourse of the Usefulness of Vomiting in Fevers, p. 18. Edinb. 1699, 8vo. Here the
authorship of Apollo Mathematicus is not denied by the answerer, who is sufficiently known to have been Dr Eyzat. He is desig.
nated in the title of Dr Andrew Brown’s Epilogue to the five Papers lately past betwixt the two Physicians, Dr O. and Dr. E. con¬
taining some Remarks, pleasant and profitable, concerning the Debate, and the Usefulness ot Vomiting and Purging in l evers.
Edinb. 1699, 8vo. He is more directly mentioned in a facetious letter from a London physician, inserted in An Answer to the pre¬
tended Refutation of Dr Olyphant’s Defence. Edinb. 1699, 8vo. “ I have seen the Melius Inquirendum, and am too well acquainted
with the stile and spelling, not to know that it is Dr Eyzat’s.”
3 Information for Dr Archibald Pitcairn, against the abdicate Professor; or, a Mathematical Demonstration that Liars should
have good Memories : whereby the Colledge of Physicians is vindicat from the Calumnies contain’d in Dr Stevenson’s last Tnforma-
VOL. XVII. ^ C
754 P I T C A I R N E.
Pitcairne. the Blst of January 1700 an overture towards reconcilia- Sibbald, who is thus styled Cyphianus in allusion to his PHcairne
tion was made to him and other six fellows who had been villa of Kipps, was a man of too much candour and mode- ^V^-'
suspended. Another pacific resolution was passed on the ration to approve of all the violent measures which brought
7th of January 1703 ; but only three of the seven were so much discredit on the College of Physicians; and
disposed to avail themselves of this second opportunity, when the president, Dr Sinclair, and only five fellows, had
On the 4th of January 1704 an act of oblivion was pro- in a very summary manner suspended Stevenson and several
posed by the president, Dr Dundas, and was received others, he concurred with Sir Thomas Burnet in preparing a
with unanimous approbation. It was confirmed at two formal declaration against such unwarrantable proceedings,
subsequent meetings, held on the 11th and 12th of the It is dated on the 20th of November 1699. In the year
same month. After this period Pitcairne resumed his 1684 he had published a folio volume entitled “ Scotia II-
seat in the college; but after the 6th of March 1706 he lustrata, sive Prodromus Historiai Naturalis.” This work
was not present at any of their meetings, and was repeat- was attacked, with sufficient violence, in a tract of nearly a
edly fined for non-attendance.1 " hundred pages, “ Archibald! Pitcarnii Dissertatio de Legi-
Other learned bodies had treated him with more respect, bus Historic Naturalis.” Edinb. 1696, 8vo. As this title
On the 7th of August 1699 the university of Aberdeen includes the author’s name at length, it is not easy to ex-
conferred upon him the degree of M. D. On the 16th of plain the origin of Dr Webster’s statement that the work
October 1701 the College of Surgeons admitted him a was published anonymously. Charges of plagiarism, igno-
fellow. This last honour, which was unsolicited, had never ranee, and something little short of stupidity, are plenti-
been bestowed upon any other physician. He was grati- fully scattered through the dissertation. Nor is the knight
fied by so unusual a mark of respect, and attended the of Kipps the only individual who is here subjected to his
meetings of the college. He appears to have retained animadversion: he has likewise bestowed some castigation
his station as a professor in the university. After the on Dr Cockburn, of whose treatise on the animal economy
appointment of Carstares to the office of principal, which he avers, that it contains nothing new but what the author
took place in the year 1703, he was regular in his attend- has either borrowed from Bellini or himself, although he
ance when the Latin oration was annually delivered at has never mentioned the name of the one or of the other.
the opening of the session. Between the principal and After a long interval appeared “ A Letter from Sir R 
the professor there was no sympathy of political feeling; S  to Dr Archibald Pitcairn.” Edinb. 1709, 8vo.
but Pitcairne “ used to observe that when Mr Carstares be- The author, whoever he may have been, attacks various
o-an to address his audience, he could not help fancying him- positions in the medical dissertations of his antagonist,
self transported to the forum in the days of antient Rome.”2 This publication was speedily followed by “ A Letter from
Sir Robert Sibbald was one of those who chiefly felt Dr James Walkinshaw to Sir Robert Sibbald.” Lond.
the edge of his sarcastic humour. He was a man consi- 1709, 8vo. The writer’s name is known to be suppositi-
derable for his learning, and is still remembered as an in- tious; and, according to a contemporary notice preserved
dustrious labourer in the department of Scotish antiqui- in a copy of the pamphlet, it was understood to be written
ties : but he was neither conspicuous for the strength of by Dr Bower with the assistance of Dr Pitcairne. The in-
his judgment nor the elegance of his taste ; and with the ternal evidence is sufficient to convince us that the other
weapons of wit and sarcasm he was but an unequal match tract was not written by Sibbald, of whose name it exhi-
for Dr Pitcairne. He was a member of the committee bits the initials. This answer ascribes it in the most une-
which prepared so strong a report against the protest; quivocal terms to Dr Cockburn, of whose reputation as a
and he incurred the suspicion of having had some concern medical writer it indeed contains a zealous defence. Both
in the publication of Apollo Mathematicus. In the pre- tracts include various topics of mathematical controversy,
face to Dr Hepburn’s answer, he is designated in a man- Sibbald at length interfered in the controversy, by pub-
ner sufficiently intelligible: “ Whoever Tarrugo be, yet lishing “ Vindiciae Scotiae Illustratae, sive Prodromi Natu-
it’s known that the papers which I call Tarrugo’s were ralis Historiae Scotiae, contra Prodromomastiges, sub larva
revised, corrected, and approven by one who twice in Libelli de Legibus Historiae Naturalis latentes.” Edinb.
one year changed his religion, upon how honest and reli- 1710, fob According to a statement contained in this
gious principles, I doe not determine.” During the reign work, Dr Pitcairne’s dissertation had been so carefully sup-
of the late popish king, Sibbald had been induced by the pressed, that for twelve years after its first impression, his
earl of Perth, lord chancellor, to change his religion; but antagonist was unable to procure a copy either for love or
having more maturely studied the controversy between money. He mentions it as the joint production of seve-
the two churches, he returned to the profession of the ral individuals; and moreover avers, what is pointedly de¬
faith which he had renounced.3 To this passage of his nied in a private letter,4 that Pitcairne disavowed being the
personal history Pitcairne makes the following allusion: author; “ nihil unquam a se editum fuisse in meum His-
Dum procul a Geneva se summovet inclyta Roma, toriae Naturalis Prodromum.” If indeed the printed co-
Quod quam sit longum scit Cyphianus iter. pies were carefully withheld from circulation, he might
tion, relating to the Dispensatory. Printed in the year 16!)6, 4to. The writer alludes to a folio paper of six pages, printed for the
privy council, under the title of “ Information for Sir Archibald Stevinson, and other Physitians who adhere to him, against Doctor
Trotter and others.”
1 To the kindness of Richard Poole, M. D. we are indebted for ample materials for the history thofe College of Physicians, so far
as it is connected with the personal history of Pitcairne.
2 Maccormick’s Life of Carstares, p. 70. prefixed to his State-Papers. Edinb. 1774, 4to.
* Burnet’s Hist, of his own Time, vol. iii. p. 108. Cunningham’s Hist, of Great Britain, vol. i. p. 66. Fountainhall’s Historical
Notices, vol. i. p. 220. Autobiography of Sir Robert Sibbald, p. 85. Edinb. 1833, 8vn. On Sibbald’s conversion, an English poem
of Dr Pitcairne may be found in the Scotish Pasquils, b. iii. p. 62.
■» This letter accompanied a copy of Sibbaid's Yindicioe, sent to Dr Gray of London: “ Sir, you know the bearer : he brings you
the rarest piece of lies and nonsense I ever saw. £ Scribit et in tergo, necdum finivit.’ The author gave me 3 copies in a com¬
pliment, of which I send one to you, and one to Dr Arbuthnot as an answer to his modest examination. The author told me that
by my telling him I was not author of the Dissertatio de Legibus Historiae Naturalis (which he tels indeed, and lyes), he meant, in
alledging this upon me, onlie to hinder me from answering him, since he in his Vindiciae had commended me so much: an excellent
reasoning, and which made me smile in place of being angrie. He told me he would let no body else see it till he had got the appro¬
bation of all the learned to it. My papers are in the press on the first of this year. Your
“ Edr. 6 Jan. 1711.
A. PlTCAIENE.
P I T C A I R N E. 755
tcairne. with a safe conscience aver that he had published no such signed the address, and himselfe among the rest; and, bv Pitcairne.
‘*"Y worK. It however suited his adversary’s plan to consider Jove, it would, produce a nationall and universall 
this as the work of some person or persons unknown ; and This blank, it is subsequently stated, “ cannot from such
that plan he even carried so far as to prefix a parenetic ode, premisses be construed to have a less import then a na-
not very poetical, in which the talents of Pitcairne are men- tionall and universall overturning.” On the 25th of Ja-
tioned in terms of no parcimonious commendation. nuary 1700 he appeared before the board, attended by
. Pitcairne had published seven medical dissertations David Dalrymple, David Cunningham, and James Na-
in a separate form ; and to these he added another, and smyth, his counsel learned in the law. The lord advocate
collected thern into a volume, bearing the title of u Archi- and solicitor general were likewise present* A petition
baldi PitcarniiDissei tationes Medicas. Koterodami, 1 /OI, was presented by the defendant, “ acknowledging his fault
4to. The volume, dedicated to Bellini, was inaccurately and folly in writing the letter lybelled upon, and declar-
piinted in consequence of the authors distance from the ing it was in cups, and without any design either against
press. Not long afterwards it was assailed in a “ Disser- his Majesty or the government, and absolutely submitting
tatio de Salute quam ferunt iEgrotantibus Dissertationes to the privy councill.” He received a reprimand from the
Archibald! Pitcarnii. Bdinb. 1/02, fol. Jhis anony- lord chancellor; and having recovered the bond which he
mous dissertation, it was sufficiently ascertained, was the had previously given for his peaceable behaviour, and for
production of Dr Oliphant, whom he had formerly ranked his appearance, whenever he should be required, before the
among his friends. An answer, written in English, was privy council, under the penalty of two hundred pounds
immediately published by some individual, who conceals sterling, he escaped from any further consequences of this
his name, and exhibits the initials J. J. The author of frivolous prosecution.
the dissertation replied without delay, nor did his adver- In another action he appeared in the character of plain-
sary leave him in possession of the field.1 This adversary, tiff. James Webster, one of the ministers of Edinburgh,
we are inclined to believe, was Dr Bower. In a letter which and Robert Freebairn, an eminent printer and bookseller’
Dr Drummond addressed to him soon after the death of “ being accidentally in company of the magistrates, Mr
Pitcairne, we find the subsequent passage: “ I cannot but Webster complained that Freebairn in his auctions ’sold
admire and applaud your steady and constant adherence to wicked and prohibited books, and particularly Philostra-
him in his greatest difficulties, and in the weakness and tus’s life of Apollonius Tyanseus, wherein that vile im-
infirmities of old age. What excellent things you have postor and magician is equalised, if not preferred to our
done in his defence, are particularly known to me; and if blessed Saviour and his miracles, and which were greedily
they are as well understood by the learned world, they bought up by atheists and deists ; and Mr Freebairn bid-
would certainly set your true merits in a clear light, and ding him condescend, Mr Webster answered, Such as
eternally recommend your unspotted fidelity and friend- Doctor Pitcairn, who is known to be a professed deist; and
ship.” These expressions are evidently applicable to un- for farther proof of it, in that same auction, many striving
avowed services, and they appear too strong to be merely for that infamous book, one regretted that there were none
applicable to his pamphlet against Cockburn. The two bidding for the Bible, the doctor scoffingly answered, that
tracts in controversy with Oliphant bear internal evidence it was no wonder it stuck in their hands, for ‘ verbum Dei
of having been written by a mathematician. On the same manet in seternum which was a direct ridiculing the
occasion, another tract was written by Dr Cheyne, who scriptures, and the Christian religion.” When the book-
afterwards rose to great eminence in the profession.2 He seller communicated this information to Pitcairne, he lost
had been a pupil of Pitcairne, of whom he always retained no time in bringing an action against Webster before the
a high admiration; and he now defended his master with sheriff, “ for the redress of that atrocious injury, as tend-
a degree of violence, which, at more mature age, he had ing to make him odious to all who own a God and revealed
himself the candour to condemn.3 religion, and to ruin and break his employment.” The
About this period of his life, he was involved in pro- action was removed by advocation to the court of session;
ceedings of a different nature. In a private letter addres- and on the 18th of July 1712, “ the Lords considered this
sed to his friend Dr Gray, a physician in London, he had process was managed with much zeal [apparently meaning
testified his Jacobitical zeal by giving a highly-coloured heat, or animosity], and that Mr Webster was willing to
and exaggerated statement of some transactions connected give reasonable satisfaction ; therefore, they recommend to
with a petition for assembling a parliament. This letter the Justice Clerk, ordinary in the cause, to endeavour to
appears to have been intercepted, and to have been trans- settle the parties amicably.”4
mitted to the crown lawyers, who prosecuted the writer be- These judicial records furnish sufficient confirmation of
fore that anomalous tribunal the privy council, on a charge the traditionary account, which imputes to Pitcairne the
of “ leising making.” According to the record, “ he false- character of a profane jester. Dr Hutcheson has thought
ly represents that the said address for the parliament goes proper to supply us with another example of his indecent
on unanimously throw the whole nation, and that only a levity. “ Many an orthodox Scotch presbyterian, which
few courtiers and presbyterian ministers oppose it, but in sect few accuse of disregard for the holy scriptures, has
vain, and that twice so many have signed since the procla- been put to it to preserve his gravity, upon hearing the
mation anent petitioning as signed it before; and bids him application of scripture made by his countryman Dr Pit-
take notice that there is one sent to court with a title dif- cairn, as he observed a croud in the streets about a mason,
ferent, to beguile the elect of the court, if it were possible; who had fallen along with his scaffold, and was over-whelm-
and that all the corporationes and all the gentlemen have ed with the ruins of the chimney which he had been build-
1 A short Answer to a late Pamphlet against Doctor Pitcairn’s Dissertations. By J. J. M-D. Edinb. 1702, 8vo. A Refutation
of the Short Answer to the Examination of Dr Pitcairn’s Dissertations. Edinb. 1702, 8vo. A Reply to Dr Oliphant’s Refutation
of the Short Answer, &c. By J. J. M.D. Edinb. 1702, 8vo.
2 Remarks on two late Pamphlets written by Dr Oliphant, against Dr Pitcairn’s Dissertations, and The new Theory of Fevers :
wherein, besides an Explication of C. O. and his Interpreters, several other surprising Appearances of Nature are mechanically ac¬
counted for. By George Cheyne, M. D. and Fellow of the Royal Society. Edinb. 1702, 8vo. Dr Cheyne’s previous work was
published without the author’s name : tc A new Theory of Continu’d Fevers,” &c. Edinb. 1701, 8vo.
3 Cheyne’s Essay of Health and long Life, p. vii. 4th edit. Lond. 1725, 8vo.
* Fountainhall’s Decisions, vol. ii. p. 756.
56
P I T C A I R N E.
itcairne. ing, and which fell immediately after the fall of the poor
’ mason; ‘ Blessed are the dead which die io the Lord, for
they rest from their labours, and their works follow them.’ ”1
Such a story as this reflects but little credit on him who
made, or who thus repeats the jest. “ For the honour of
the learned physician's memory,” says Dr Beattie, “ I hope
the story is not true. Such wantonness of impiety, and
such barbarity of insult, is no object of laughter, but of
horror. And I confess, I should have no good opinion of
any presbyterian, or of any person, who could find it diffi¬
cult to preserve his gravity on hearing it.”2
From these unedifying details, we return to the prose¬
cution of his literary history. His next publication was an
ingenious lucubration, bearing the title of “ Epistola Ar-
chimedis ad Regem Gelonem, Albse Grsecae reperta anno
Eeree Christianas 1688.” This tract, consisting of 48 pages
in octavo, has no imprint; but a copy belonging to the
library of the College of Physicians contains in manuscript,
“ Amstelodami, typis Georgii Gallet, 1706.” After this
period he occupied himself with the preparation of a new
edition of his dissertations ; but before he could finish his
task, his health was so much impaired, that he found him¬
self incapable of effecting all that he intended. The edi¬
tion was however published a few months before his deatli:
“ Archibald! Pitcarnii Scoti Dissertationes Medicae, qua-
rum multae nunc primum prodeunt. Subjuncta est Ihomae
Boeri, M. D. ad Archibaldum Pitcarnium Epistola, qua re-
spondetur Libello Astrucii Franci.” Edinb. 1713, 4to.
This volume contains fourteen dissertations. Prefixed is
a dedication which the Jacobites must doubtless have con¬
strued in their own way: “ Deo suo et Principi opus hoc
consecrat Archibaldus Pitcarnius Scotus.” The author’s
speculations on the subject of digestion had been contro¬
verted by Astruc ; and here he receives an elaborate an¬
swer from Dr Bower, professor of mathematics in Ring s
College, Aberdeen. The writer was evidently a man of
learning, and Pitcairne has mentioned him in terms of
particular friendship. The preface to the volume contains
an extract of a letter from the second James Gregory, re¬
lating to the subject of contraction and compression, as
discussed by Astruc. Of these dissertations an English
translation was soon afterwards published by Dr Sewell
and Dr Desaguliers.3
Dr Pitcairne died on Friday the 20th of October 1/13,
in the sixty-first year of his age. His remains were in¬
terred in Greyfriars churchyard, where his monument, a
plain stone, was repaired in 1800. By his second wife,
who survived till the year 1734, he left a son and four
daughters. Before he attained the age of majority, the son
engaged in the rebellion of 1715; and having been impri¬
soned in the Tower, he obtained his release in consequence
of Dr Mead’s very earnest intercession with Walpole. His
letter, which mentions the father in terms of high admira¬
tion and gratitude, appears to have been entrusted to the
distressed mother. Her son entered into the Dutch ser¬
vice; and, “ on account of his own merit, and the memory
of his father, he would probably have arrived at great pro¬
motion, had he not died soon after.”4 5 The second daugh¬
ter, Janet, was married on the 12th of October 1731, to^
Alexander fifth earl of Kelly. She died on the 7th of
June 1775. Two of her sons, Thomas Alexander and
Archibald, succeeded to the title. The former was very PitcajJ
eminent for his skill in music, and some of his compositions '"““V'v
have very recently been published by Mr Sharpe.5 His
youngest brother, Andrew Erskine, was known as a man
of wit and literature. All the three died unmarried ; and
the earldom of Kelly is now conjoined with that of Mar.
Four years after the death of the author, appeared
“ Archibalds, Pitcarnii Medici celeberrimi Scoto-Britan-
ni, Elementa Medicinm physico-mathematica, libris duo-
bus, quorum prior Theoriam, posterior Praxim exhibet, in
Medicina? Studiosorum gratiam delineata. Nunc primum
in lucem edita.” Lond. 1717, 8vo. Hagse Com. 1718,
4to. Of the first book the concluding chapter had al¬
ready been printed at the end of the Praxis Medica Boer-
haaveana. The entire volume was “ printed from a copy
compiled out of the notes that had been taken by some of
his pupils, together with some rough draughts taken from
his papers, which, as they were never revised by him, he
was always very careful to suppress during his life-time.’"
It is therefore evident that this work was produced under
very unfavourable circumstances. A collection of all his
works in Latin prose, with the addition of a few poems,
was afterwards published, under the title of “ Archibald!
Pitcarnii, Medici celeberrimi Scoto-Britanni, Opera omnia
Medica.” Lugd. Bat. 1737, 4to.6
A posthumous production of a different class is com¬
monly ascribed to the same learned author: “ The As¬
sembly; a Comedy. By a Scots Gentleman.” Lond. 1722,
8vo. After an interval of many years, the same drama
was again printed, and without any reference to a former
edition: “ The Assembly ; or, Scotch Reformation; a Co¬
medy, as it was acted by the Persons in the Drama. Done
from the original manuscript, written in the year 1692.”
Edinb. 1766, 12mo. This edition contains a long preface,
omitted in the first. Of the two editions, the Biographia
Dramatica, vol. ii. p. 40, has made two distinct comedies.
The preface represents this comedy as the composition of
more than one author. “ This play was begun just after
the king of France took Mons, as is clearly intimated in
the first scene ; but, by reason of some gentlemens going
to the country, who were concerned in it, it lay dormant
four months ; then it was set about again, and was very
soon compleated. We confess it was hastily huddled to¬
gether ; for we were not a fortnight about the whole work,
by reason of multitude of business the authors were en¬
tangled in.” According to this account, Pitcairne is only
entitled to a share in the honour or discredit of such a pro¬
duction. It is a rabid effusion of Jacobitism, less remark¬
able for wit and humour than for ribaldry and profanity.
He is likewise supposed to be the author of another work,
which has recently been edited by Mr Kinloch : “ Babell;
a Satirical Poem, on the Proceedings of the General As¬
sembly in the year m.dc.xcii.” Edinb. 1830, 4to. The
manuscript copies, of which several have been preserved,
bear the initials of his name. The poem relates to the
same subject as the comedy, and it evinces the same spi¬
rit of animosity to the Whigs and presbyterians. The au¬
thor’s rhymes are sufficiently familiar and negligent.
As a writer of Latin verses, he appears to much more
advantage. Many of his poems were printed in a fugitive
form, but not published by himself. There is however a
Glasgow, 1750, 12mo.
1 Hutcheson’s Reflections upon Laughter, and Remarks upon the Fable of the Bees, p. 9.
3 Thfwhole WOTks of Dr Archibald^itcairn, published by himself: wherein are discovered the true Foundation and Principles
of the Art of Physic • with Cases and Observations upon most Distempers and Medicines. Done from the Latin ongina , g
SewellM. D and L £ Desaguliers, LI, D. & F. R. S. With some account of the author. The second edition. Lond. 1727, *0.
* Webster’s Account of the Life and Writings of Dr Archibald Pitcairne, p. 34. Khnb. Dai, 8vo.
5 Minuets &c. composed by the Right Honourable Thomas Earl of Kelly. Ldinb. 183b, 4to. . „ . 17f,>
Biogm^SicL, tom. vi. p. 428, other editions of Pitcaime’s works are mentioned ; “ Opera omma. \ en.se, 1798,
In 4°. Leyde, 1797, in 4o.”
P I T C A I R N E.
cairne. collection of his “ Poeraata Selecta,” consisting of four-
Lr-y-vr' teen pages in folio, but without a d^te, and without any
formal title. An edition was afterwards published by
lluddiman with whom he had accidentally become ac¬
quainted at Laurencekirk, and whom he had liberally en¬
couraged to transfer his residence to Edinburgh. On the
death of his friend and benefactor the editor has inserted
an elegy, which concludes with this distich :
Er^o vale, lux Scotigenum, prineepsque medentum,
Musarum columen deliciseque, vale.
The Latin poems of Pitcairne have been extravagantly
extolled by some of his countrymen.1 2 They are chiefly
to be commended for their epigrammatic merit, their point
and pungency. Many of his verses are elegantly turned;
but they are frequently rendered obscure by his allusions
to circumstances of too private a nature to admit of easy
explanation, after an interval of more than a century.
Some of the allusions are explained by himself, in a curi¬
ous paper which has recently been printed for the first
time ; others by Lord Hailes, in an article communicated
to a periodical work.3 This eminent person, whose ex¬
tensive learning was founded on very accurate and critical
scholarship, entertained the design of publishing an edi¬
tion of Pitcairne's Latin poems, with annotations ; and
some of the materials which he collected have fortunately
been preserved in this form. Several of those poems were
written in the name of Walter Danistone, who appears to
have been one of the author’s friends. His epitaph on
Viscount Dundee was translated by Dryden. Another of
his poems became very conspicuously known by the easy
and elegant paraphrase of Prior, whom Dr Drummond has
described as his old comrade. It commences with these
verses:
Studious the busy moments to deceive,
That fleet between the cradle and the grave,
I credit what the Grecian dictates say,
And Samian sounds o’er Scotia’s hills convey.4
The personal character of Dr Pitcairne has been vari¬
ously represented. That he was a man of a liberal and
benevolent disposition, is sufficiently established by the
testimony of his contemporaries. “ In the business of his
profession,” says Dr Sewell, “ he was always ready to
serve every one to the utmost of his power, and even to
contribute to their health at the danger of his own. He
was a man of too good sense to be a humourist in physic,
or refuse attendance out of pique, or prejudice, or affecta¬
tion : he understood the value of life too well to sacrifice
it to caprice and humour. There is one thing more re¬
markable of him; that he was not at all concerned about
fees, and frighted from his duty by the sight of poverty in
his patient; nay, he went with greater chearfulness to those
from whom he could expect nothing but good will, than to
persons of the highest condition. Besides, in cases which
seemed to require that assistance, he not only gave away
his skill and medicines, but extended his generosity for the
provision of other conveniences for the sick, and left the
marks of his charity, as well as of the liberality of his art,
behind him. The virtue of charity was really so much his
own, in the use of it, that he contrived a most secret and
757
decent manner of conveying his benevolence, and relieved Pitcairne.
many who knew not their benefactor. In short, he was
one of the greatest and most useful men in his profession
this age has produced ; of a free and universal genius, a
good orator, poet, and philosopher. He was of a pleasant,
engaging humour. Life sate very easy upon him in all its
circumstances. He despised many, but hated none. He
loved his friends, and laughed at his enemies.” This cha¬
racteristic account, written in 1715, is confirmed by Dr
Drummond, who soon after the death of Pitcairne wrote in
the following terms to their mutual friend Dr Bower:
“ Though he got much money by his extraordinary skill
and practice in physic, yet he did not hoard up riches, but
dealt liberally to his poor friends and relations, and also
gave frankly and generously to young men of good spirits,
who were in narrow circumstances. So he was not only a
learned man, but a Maecenas too, and an encourager of
learning through the whole course of his life. His great
care and commiseration of the poor ought not to he omit¬
ted. He not only gave them medicine freely, but money
too, for their relief and support; and this kind of charity
is one of the best effects of pure and undefiled religion.
Besides, he did not spend all his money on his pleasure
and freaks, but erected a most noble library, which, for the
great variety and excellent collection of books, is one of
the finest I have seen belonging to any private man in the
kingdom.”5 After his death, his library was purchased by
the czar of Muscovy. In his personal habits, he appears
to have been somewhat inclined to jovially. At that pe¬
riod, professional men were more accustomed to frequent
taverns than they are at present; and his poems contain va¬
rious allusions to his social haunts and companions. Of the
levity of his conversational wit we have already seen more
than one specimen. His profane jests exposed him to the
most injurious imputations, and he was very frequently re¬
presented as a professed unbeliever. But whatever doubts
might be entertained as to the soundness of his creed, they
are completely removed by his verses written on Christ-
mas-day ; and Dr Drummond has stated that, during his
last illness, he continued in the greatest tranquillity of mind,
and evinced just apprehensions of God and religion. His
political sentiments do not here seem to require much no¬
tice. It is not easy to admire the political wisdom or moral
perception of a man whose heroes were King James, Vis¬
count Dundee, and Sir George Mackenzie.
As a medical practitioner, he attained to much more ex¬
tensive and lucrative employment than any former physi¬
cian resident in Scotland. He left behind him a reputa¬
tion which was not confined to his native country. He
belongs to the mathematical and mechanical school of phy¬
sic ; and, in the annals of medicine, his name is honourably
mentioned with those of Borelli, Bellini, and other great
masters of the -mathematico-medical art.6 They all con¬
tended for the application of mathematical reasoning and
demonstration to subjects of anatomy and physiology. John
Bernoulli, who belonged to a very distinguished family, not
only adopted their method in his treatise De Motu Muscu¬
lorum, but he even maintained in verse the cause of the
mathematical physicians.
1 Selecta Poemata Archibaldi Pitcarnii, Med. Doctoris, Gulielmi Scot aThirlestane, Equitis, Thomse Kincadii, civis Edinburgen-
sis, et aliorum. Edinb. 1727, 12mo. Sir William Scott, Bart, was the ancestor of Lord Napier in the male line. (Wood’s Peerage
of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 299.) Thomas Kincaid was a surgeon in Edinburgh.
* “ Ipsum equidem ego existimo ingenti adeo ingenio, et labore non poenitendo, versus fecisse, ut non verear eum anteterre om¬
nibus lyricis, qui ab Horatii temporibus ad nostrum usque sevum vixere.” (Dissertatio de Scriptis Pitcarniams, auctore^ Roberto
Hepburnio, Scoto, J. C. Lond. 8vo.) The dedication to Joseph Addison is dated at Amsterdam on the 1st of March 171o.
3 Edinburgh Magazine and Review, vol. i. p. 235.
4 Prior’s Poems on several Occasions, p. 297- Lond. 1713, fob
4 Dr Drummond’s letter may be found in Mr Kinloch’s preface to Babell, p. iv. . , . , . ,.
6 See Petri Antonii Michelotti Tridentini de Separatione Fluidorum in Corpore Animah Dissertatio physico-mechamco-medica,
p. 13. Venetiis, 1721, 4to.
758
P I T
P I T
Pitch
Pithou.
Nunc eat indoctus, doctoque is suadeat orbi,
Nullam arti medicse ferre mathesin opem :
Scilicet ut vulpes, caudam quse amiserat, ilia
Ne pudibunda foret syrmate sola carens.
Vestrum, ait, O socise, deponite inutile membrum !
Ast abiit salsis exagitata jocis.
Dr Pitcairne seems to have improved both the theory and
the practice of physic. He made some advances in com¬
pleting Harvey’s speculations on the circulation of the
blood, and in explaining the process of secretion. He la¬
boured with great energy to explode the errors of former
writers, who maintained the chemical doctrines of a cor¬
rosive menstruum in the stomach, and a certain acidity in
the blood that required to be corrected by an alkali. If he
relied too much on the aid of mathematics as an instrument
of medical science, he at least contributed, by his conspi¬
cuous example, to recommend a clear and concise mode
of reasoning, to which preceding writers did not usually
attain. Boerhaave, the most illustrious of his successors
in the chair at Leyden, bestowed very high commendation
on his first collection of dissertations;1 and Dr Mead, whose
name stood unrivalled in his own age and nation, evidently
regarded his works as exhibiting a model of disquisition
in their own department of science.2 (x.)
PITCH, a tenacious oily substance, drawn chiefly from
pines and firs, and used in shipping, medicine, and various
arts ; or it is more properly tar inspissated by boiling it
over a slow fire.
PITCHING, in naval affairs, maybe defined the verti¬
cal vibration which the length of a ship makes about her
centre of gravity; or the movement by which she plunges
her head and after-part alternately into the hollow of the
This motion may proceed from two causes ; the waves
which agitate the vessel, and the wind upon the sails, which
makes her stoop to every blast. The one depends abso¬
lutely upon the agitation of the sea, and is not susceptible
of inquiry; the other is occasioned by the inclination of
the masts, and may be submitted to certain established
maxims.
PITHIVIERS, an arrondissement of the department of
the Loiret, in France, extending over 475 square miles.
It comprehends five cantons, divided into 108 communes,
and contains 56,800 inhabitants. The capital is the city of
terature early showed itself, and his father cultivated it to
the utmost. He first studied at Troyes, and was subse- v
quently sent to Paris, where he became the scholar and
friend of Turnebus. Having finished his pursuits in lan¬
guages and the belles lettres, he was removed to Bourges,
and placed under Cujacius to study the civil law. His fa¬
ther was well skilled in his profession, and has left a fa¬
vourable specimen of his judgment in the advice he gave to
his son as to the best method of acquiring a knowledge of
law; which was, not to spend his time and labour upon
commentators, but to confine his reading chiefly to original
writers. The latter made so rapid a progress, that at,the
age of seventeen he was able to speak extempore upon the
most difficult questions ; and his master was not ashamed to
own, that even he himself had learned some things of his
pupil. Cujacius afterwards removed to Valence, whither
Pithou followed him, and continued to profit by his lectures
until the year 1560. He then returned to Paris, and fre¬
quented the bar of the parliament there, in order to com¬
bine a knowledge of practical forms and usages with his
theoretical acquisitions.
In 1563, being then only twenty-four, Pithou published
his Adversaria Subcesiva, a work highly applauded by Tur¬
nebus, Lipsius, and other learned men, and which laid thd
foundation of that extensive fame which he subsequently
acquired. Soon after this, Henry III. advanced him to
some considerable posts, in which, as well as at the bar, he
acquitted himself most creditably. Pithou, being a Cal¬
vinist, narrowly escaped being involved in the massacre of
St Bartholomew in 1572; for he was in Paris when this
tragedy took place, and in the same lodgings with several
Huguenots, who were all killed. It seems indeed to have
frightened him out of his religion, which he soon afterwards
abjured, at the same time openly embracing the Catholic
faith. At a subsequent period, he attended the Duke of
Montmorency into England ; and upon his return, his great
sagacity, invincible good nature, and amiable manners, ren¬
dered him a kind of oracle to his countrymen, and even to
foreigners, who consulted him upon all important occasions.
An instance of this we have in the conduct of Ferdinand,
the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who not only consulted him,
but even submitted to his determination in a point con¬
trary to his interests. Henry III. and Henry IV. were
Pithou.
, fitist11
Jl,
the same name, situated in a fertile district, watered by the greatly indebted to him for combating the League in the
River Deuf. It contains 720 houses, with 3430 inhabit- most intrepid manner, and for many other services, in
ants, who deal largely in wine, brandy, and other products which he had recourse to his pen as well as to other means.
Long. 2. 10. 4. E. Lat. 48.
of the surrounding country
10. 26. N.
PITHO, in fabulous history, the goddess of persuasion
amongst the Romans. She was supposed to be the daughter
of Mercury and Venus, and was represented with a diadem
on her head, to intimate the influence she exercised over
Pithou died upon his birth-day in the year 1596, leav¬
ing a wife, whom he had married in 1579, and several chil¬
dren. De Thou says he was the most excellent and ac¬
complished man of the age in which he lived ; and all the
learned have concurred in speaking well of him. He col¬
lected a very valuable library, containing a variety of rare
the hearts of men. One of her arms appeared raised in manuscripts, as well as printed books ; and he took many
the attitude of an orator haranguing a public assembly; precautions, but in vain, to prevent its being dispersed al¬
and in the other she held a thunderbolt and fetters, made ter his death. He published a great number of works upon
with flowers, to signify the powers of reasoning and the law, history, and classical literature ; and he gave seveial
attractions of eloquence. A caduceus, as a symbol of new and correct editions of ancient wi iters. He was t e
persuasion, appeared at her feet, and beside it were the first who made the world acquainted with the Fables o
writings of Demosthenes and Cicero, the two most cele- Phsedrus, which were utterly unknown till they weie pub-
brated orators amongst the ancients. lished from a manuscript in his possession. Hisnumeious
PITHOU, Peter, a Frenchman of great literary emi- works belong to the civil and the canon law, to history,
nence, was descended from an ancient and noble family in and to literature properly so called. a jurisconsult,
Normandy, and born at Troyes in 1539. His taste for li- Lefebvre observed of him, “ Cujacius discipulo piaenpuit
1 “ H*c
mum tract;
Amst. 1751,
liotiijjca Anatomica, tom. i. p. 761- Lugd. Bat. 1774-7, 2 tom. 4to.) „ .
2 The Dissertations of Dr Pitcairne, the honour of the profession of Scotland, are a convincing proof of the advantage ot sucn a
mechanical way of reasoning ; nor could malice itself deny this, were not ignorance in confederacy with it, which will secure any one
from being benefited by the most useful demonstrations.” (Mead’s Mechanical Account of Poisons, p. xvii.)
P I T
mscus ne primis jurisconsultus esset; ille praeceptori ne solus.”
II He was closely connected in friendship with Cujacius, and,
_ ’ , after the death of the latter, he published his master’s Ob¬
servations on the Roman Law, accompanied with Remarks
and Annotations oi his own. We are also indebted to him
for the discovery of the laws of the Visigoths, which he
published in 1579.
His principal writings on the canon law are, J. Corpus
Juris Canonici, 1687, in two vols. folio ; 2. Codex Canonum
vetus ecclesiasticum, in folio; 3. Gallicae Ecclesiaein schis-
mate Status, in 8vo ; and, 4. A Treatise on the Liberties of
the Gallican Church. Pithou also published an edition of
the Capitularies, which has since been surpassed by that
of Balzuc ; a series of French annalists, from the eighth to
the thirteenth century; Memoirs of the Counts de'Cham-
pagne and de Brie; the Historical Fragments of St Hila-
rius, containing curious particulars respecting the Council
of Rimini; and the writings of several ancient doctors of
the Gallican Church, of which several had until then re¬
mained inedited. We are likewise indebted to him for
editions, from the best manuscripts, of several ancient geo-
• graphers, the Itinerary from Bordeaux to Jerusalem, the
works of Salvian, the Declamations of the Roman rhetori¬
cians, Juvenal and Persius, Petronius, and the moral Dis-
tichs attributed to Cato. He enriched literature, as already
mentioned, with the Fables of Phaedrus, the manuscript of
which had been discovered by his brother, and also with
the Pervigilium Veneris, both previously unknown. Lastly,
he amused himself with paying court to the Latin muses ;
bu£ his poetry, like his eloquence, had no other ornament
than it derived from the thoughts.
PITISCUS, Samuel, a learned philologist, was born at
Zutphen, in Dutch Gueldres, and became rector of the col¬
lege of that city, and afterwards of St Jerome at Utrecht,
where he died on the 1st of February 1717, at the age of
ninety. He wrote, 1. Lexicon Latino-Belgicum, 1704, in
4to ; 2. Lexicon Antiquitatum Romanarum, in quo ritus et
antiquitates, turn Graecis et Romanis communes, turn Roma¬
nis particulares exponuntur, Leeuwarden, 1713, in two vols.
folio; and he published good editions, with prefaces and
notes, of Quintus Curtius, Polyhistor, Solinus, with the
Observations of Salmasius on Pliny, Suetonius, Aurelius
Victor, the Pantheon Mythicum, and the Antiquitates Ro¬
mance of Rosini. In 1685, Pitiscus announced a Lexicon
Ctttullo-Tibullo-Propertianum; but this work, which his
friends regarded as a mine of erudition, never appeared.
PITKEATHLY, or Pitcaithly, a rural watering-
place, much resorted to, in Perthshire.
PI TOT, Henry, descended of a noble family of Lan¬
guedoc, was born at Aramont, in the diocese of Usez, on
the 29th of May 1695, and died there on the 27th of De¬
cember 1771, aged seventy-six. He studied the mathe¬
matics without a master, and went to Paris in 1718, where
he formed a close friendship with the illustrious Reaumur.
In 1724 he was admitted a member of the Royal Academy
ol Sciences at Paris, and in a few years he rose to the rank
of pensioner. Besides a great number of Memoirs printed
in the collection of that society, he published in 1731 the
Theory of the Working of Ships, in one volume 4to; a
work of considerable merit, which was translated into Eng¬
lish, and caused the author to be admitted into the Royal
Society of London. In the year 1740, the states-general
of Languedoc made choice of him as their chief engineer,
and at the same time gave him the appointment of inspec¬
tor-general of the canal which unites the two seas. That
province is also indebted to him for several monuments of
his genius, vrhich will transmit his name with lustre to pos¬
terity. The city of Montpellier being in want of water,
Pitot brought from a distance of three leagues the water of
two springs, which furnish a plentiful supply of that ne¬
cessary article. The water is brought to the magnificent
P I T
759
Place du Peyron, and thence distributed throughout the Pits
city. This work is the admiration of all strangers. The II
celebrated Marshal de Saxe was the great patron and friend Pitt-
of Pitot, who had taught him the mathematics. In 1754
he was honoured with the order of St Michael. In the
year 1735 he married Marie Leonine Pharambier de Sab-
balloua, descended of a very ancient noble family of Na¬
val re; but by this marriage he had only one son, who be¬
came advocate-general of the court of accounts, aids, and
finances of Montpellier. Pitot was a practical philosopher,
and a man of uncommon probity and candour. He was also
a member of the Royal Society of Sciences of Montpellier,
before which his eloge was pronounced in 1772, by M. de
Ratte, perpetual secretary, in presence of the states of Lan¬
guedoc ; and, in the Royal Academy of Sciences of Paris,
the same honour was done him by the Abbe de Fouche,
who was then secretary.
PITS, John, the biographer, was born in 1560, at Aul-
ton, in Hampshire, and educated at Wykeham’s school,
near Winchester, where he remained until he was about
eighteen years of age, when he was sent to New College,
Oxford, and admitted a probationer fellow. Having conti¬
nued in that university not quite two years, he left the
kingdom as a voluntary exile, and retired to Douay, whence
he proceeded to the English college at Rheims, where he
remained about a year, and then went to Rome, where he
continued a member of the English college nearly seven
yeais, at the expiration of which he was ordained priest.
In 1589 he returned to Rheims, where, during two years,
he taught rhetoric and the Greek language. He then
quitted Rheims^on account of the civil war in France, and
retired to Pont-a-Mousson, in Lorraine, where he took the
degrees of master of arts and bachelor in divinity. From
this he travelled into Germany, and resided a year and a
half at Triers, where he commenced licentiate in his faculty.
He then visited several of the principal cities in Germany,
and, continuing three years at Ingoldstadt, in Bavaria, took
the degree of doctor in divinity. Having made the tour of
Italy, he returned once more to Lorraine, where he was
patronised by the cardinal of that duchy, who preferred
him to a canonry of Verdun; and about two years after¬
wards he became confessor to the Duchess of Cleves,
daughter of the Duke of Lorraine. During the leisure he
enjoyed in this employment, he wrote in Latin the lives of
the kings, bishops, apostolical men, and writers of England.
1 he last of these, commonly known and quoted by the title
of De illustribus Anglice scriptoribus, was published after his
death. The three others still remain in manuscript amongst
the archives of the collegiate church of Liverdun. The
Duke of Cleves having died about twelve years after Pits
had been confessor to the duchess, the latter returned to
Lorraine, attended by our author, who was promoted to the
deanery of Liverdun, which, with a canonry and official-
ship, he enjoyed till the close of his life. He died in 1616,
and was buried in the collegiate church. Pits was un¬
doubtedly a scholar, and not an inelegant writer; but he
is justly accused of ingratitude to Bale, from whom he bor¬
rowed his materials, without acknowledgment. He quotes
Leland with great familiarity, without ever having seen
his book; his errors are innumerable, and his partiality to
the Catholic writers is obvious; nevertheless we are in¬
debted to him for his account of several Catholic authors
who lived abroad at the beginning of the Reformation.
PITT, Christopher, an English poet, celebrated for
his translation of Virgil’s JSneid, was born in the year 1699.
Having studied four years at New College, Oxford, he was
presented to the living of Pimperne, in Dorsetshire, which
he held during the remainder of his life. He had so poe¬
tical a turn, that whilst he was a school-boy he wrote two
large folios of manuscript poems, one of which contained
an entire translation of Lucan. He was much esteemed
i60
P I T
ntt.
while at the university, particularly by the celebrated Dr
' Young, who used familiarly to call him his son. Next to
his translation of Virgil, Mr Pitt gained the greatest repu¬
tation by his excellent English version ot \ ida s Art of
Poetry. ‘ This amiable poet died in the year 1748, with¬
out leaving, it is said, one enemy behind him.
Pitt, William, first Earl of Chatham, a celebrated British
statesman and orator, was born on the 15 th of November
1708. He was the youngest son of Mr Robert Pitt of
Boconnock, in Cornwall, and grandson of Mr Thomas Pitt,
governor of Fort St George in the East Indies in the reign
of Queen Anne, who sold an extraordinary diamond to the
kimr of France for L.135,000, and thus obtained the name
of Diamond Pitt. The subject of this notice was educat¬
ed at Eton, whence, in January 1726, he was removed to
Trinity College, Oxford, which he entered as a gentleman
commoner. Here the superiority of his mind soon attract¬
ed notice, and he was also remarked for his powers of elo¬
cution ; but, at the age of sixteen, he experienced the first
attacks of an hereditary and incurable gout, which conti¬
nued at intervals to torment him during the remainder of
his life. He quitted the university without taking a de¬
gree, and visited France and Italy, whence he returned
without having received much benefit from his excursion.
• His father was now dead, and as he had left very little to
the younger children, it became necessary that William
should choose a profession. He decided for the army, and
a cornet’s commission was procured for him in the Blues.
But, small as his fortune was, his family had the power and
the inclination to serve him. At the general election of
1734, his elder brother Thomas was chosen both for Old
Sarum and for Oakhampton. When parliament met in
1735, Thomas made his election for Oakhampton, and Wil¬
liam was returned for Old Sarum. At the time when he
obtained a seat in parliament he was not quite twenty-one
years of age. The intention of bringing him thus early in¬
to parliament was to oppose Sir Robert Walpole, who had
now been fourteen years at the head of affairs. In fact, his
abilities soon attracted notice, and he spoke with great ve¬
hemence against the Spanish convention in 1738. It was on
the occasion of the bill for registering seamen in 1740, which
he opposed as arbitrary and unjustifiable, that he is said to
have made his celebrated reply to Mr Walpole, who had
taunted him on account of his youth ; but the language of
that reply, as it now stands, is not the diction of Pitt, who
may have said something like what is ascribed to him, but
of Dr Johnson, who then reported, or rather wrote, the de¬
bates for the Gentleman’s Magazine. In 1746 Pitt was
appointed joint vice-treasurer of Ireland, and in the same
year treasurer and paymaster-general of the army, and a
privy-councillor. The office of paymaster he discharged
with such inflexible integrity, even refusing many of the or¬
dinary perquisites of office, that his bitterest enemies could
lay nothing to his charge, and he soon became the darling
of the people. At this time he was poor enough ; but Hea¬
ven directed to him a portion of wealth altogether unex¬
pected. The old Duchess of Marlborough, who carried to
the grave the reputation of being decidedly the best hater
of her time, and who most cordially detested Walpole and
his associates, left him a legacy of L. 10,000, in considera¬
tion of “ the noble defence he had made for the support of
the laws of England, and to prevent the ruin of his coun¬
try.” In the year 1755, Mr Pitt, deeming it necessary
to offer a strong opposition to the continental connections
then formed by the ministry, resigned his places, and re¬
mained some time out of office. But his resignation hav¬
ing alarmed the people, he was, in December 1756, called
to fill a higher office, and appointed secretary of state. In
this situation, however, he was more successful in obtain¬
ing the confidence of the public than in conciliating the
favour of the king, some of whose predilections he had
P I T
conceived himself bound to oppose. The consequence
was, that soon afterwards Mr Pitt was removed from office,
whilst Mr Legge, with some others of his friends, were at
the same time dismissed. But the nation had a mind not
to be deprived of his services. The most exalted notion
had been formed of him throughout the country ; his pa¬
triotism was believed to be as pure and disinterested as
his abilities and eloquence were confessedly transcendent;
and his colleagues shared in the same general favour. In
a word, the opinion of the country was so strongly express¬
ed, both directly and indirectly, that the king thought it
prudent to yield; and, on the 25th of June 1757, Mr Pitt
was again appointed secretary of state, Mr Legge became
chancellor of the exchequer, and the other arrangements
were made conformably to his wishes. Mr Pitt was now
in effect prime minister ; and the change which soon took
place in the aspect of public affairs evinced the ability of
his measures, and the vigour of his administration. His
spirit animated the whole nation; and his activity per¬
vaded every department of the public service. His plans
were ably conceived, and promptly executed ; and the de¬
pression, which had been occasioned by want of energy in
the cabinet, and ill success in the field, was followed by
exertion, confidence, and triumph. The whole fortune of
the war was changed. In every quarter of the globe suc¬
cess attended our arms. The boldest attempts were made
both by land and by sea, and almost every attempt proved
fortunate. In America, the French lost Quebec; in Afri¬
ca, they were deprived of their principal settlements; their
power was abridged in the East Indies ; in Europe their
armies were defeated; and, to render their humiliation more
complete, their navy, their commerce, and their finances
were almost ruined. Amidst this full tide of success George
II. died, on the 25th of October 1760, and was succeeded
by George III., who ascended the throne at a time when
the French court had just succeeded in obtaining the co¬
operation of Spain.
The treaty commonly called family compact had been
secretly concluded ; but the English minister, correctly in¬
formed of the hostile intentions of Spain, determined to anti¬
cipate that power, and strike a blow before this new enemy
should be fully prepared for action. He therefore proposed
in the council an immediate declaration of war against
Spain ; urging forcibly that the present was the favourable
moment for humbling the whole house of Bourbon. But
when he stated this opinion in the privy council, the other
ministers, averse to so bold a measure, opposed the propo¬
sition of the premier, alleging the necessity of mature de¬
liberation before declaring war against so powerful a state.
Irritated by the unexpected opposition of his colleagues, Pitt
replied, “ I will not give them leave to think ; this is the
time, let us crush the whole house of Bourbon. But if the
members of this board are of a different opinion, this is the
last time I shall ever mix in its councils. I was called into
the ministry by the voice of the people, and to them I hold
myself answerable for my conduct. I am to thank the mi¬
nisters of the late king for their support; I have served my
country with success ; but I will not be responsible for the
conduct of the war any longer than while 1 have the direc¬
tion of it.” To this declaration the president of the council
answered, “ I find the gentleman is determined to leave us;
nor can I say that I am sorry for it, since he would otherwise
have certainly compelled us to leave him. But if he is re¬
solved to assume the right of advising his majesty, and di¬
recting the operations of the war, to what purpose are we
called to this council ? When he talks of being responsible
to the people, he talks the language of the House of Com¬
mons, and forgets that at this board he is responsible only
to the king. However, though he may possibly have con¬
vinced himself of his infallibility, still it rertlains that we
should be equally convinced before we can resign our un-
PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.
761
derstandings to his direction, or join with him in the mea¬
sure he proposes.” The opposition he thus encountered the
nation attributed to the growing influence of Lord Bute.
But however this may have been, Mr Pitt was a man of
too high, not to say imperious a temper, to remain as the
nominal head of a cabinet which he was no longer able to
direct. Accordingly, on the 5th of October 1761, he re¬
signed all his appointments; and, as some' rewrard for his
services, his wife was created Baroness Chatham in her
own right, whilst a pension of L.3000 a year was settled
on the lives of himself, his lady, and his eldest son.
No fallen minister, if fallen he could be called, ever
carried with him more completely the confidence and re¬
gret of the nation, whose affairs he had so successfully
administered. But at this time the king was also popu¬
lar ; and the war being continued by his new ministers
with vigour and success, no discontent appeared until af¬
ter the conclusion of the peace. The impulse given by Mr
Pitt had carried them forward in the same direction which
he had pursued; but they were equally incapable of pro¬
fiting by the advantages which had been already gained,
or of prosecuting the war until the objects for which it was
originally undertaken should be accomplished. The vic¬
tories gained over France and Spain having greatly elated
the nation, the feeling which almost universally prevailed
amongst the people w^as, that we should either dictate
peace as conquerors, or continue the war until our adver¬
saries wrere more effectually humbled. This was like¬
wise Mr Pitt’s opinion. Accordingly, when the prelimi¬
naries of peace came to be discussed in parliament, he
went down to the House of Commons, though suffering
severely from an attack of the gout, and spoke for nearly
three hours in the debate ; giving his opinion on each arti¬
cle of the treaty in succession, and, upon the whole, main¬
taining that it was inadequate to the conquests of our
arms, and the just expectations of the country. Peace
was, however, concluded on the 10th of February 1763,
and Mr Pitt continued unemployed.
After his resignation in 1761, Mr Pitt conducted him¬
self in a manner worthy of his high character. So far from
giving a vexatious and undiscriminating opposition to the
ministry which had succeeded his own, he maintained his
popularity in dignified retirement, and came forward only
when questions of great importance were to be discussed.
One of these occurred in 1764, on the subject of general
warrants, the illegality of which he denounced with all
the energy and vigour of his eloquence. Another occa¬
sion, when he came forward in all his strength, was the con¬
sideration of the discontents which had arisen on account
of the stamp-act. In March 1766, the repeal of that act
having been proposed by the Rockingham ministry, Mr
Pitt, though not connected with them, ably supported the
measure, which was carried, but whether prudently or the
contrary is still a matter of dispute. About this time Mr
Pitt had devised to him by will a considerable estate in
Somersetshire, the property of Sir William Pynsent of
Burton-Pynsent in that county, who, from admiration of
his public character, disinherited his own relations, in order
to bequeath to him the bulk of his fortune. After the dis¬
solution of the Rockingham ministry, a new administra¬
tion was formed, and, in 1766, Mr Pitt was appointed lord
privy seal. At the same time he was created a peer by
the titles of Viscount Pitt of Burton-Pynsent in the county
of Somerset, and Earl of Chatham in the county of Kent.
Whatever might be his motives in accepting a peerage,
it is certain that it proved very prejudicial to his charac¬
ter, and that in consequence he sank as much in popula¬
rity as he rose in nominal dignity. The great commoner,
as he was sometimes called, had formed a rank for himself,
on the basis of his talents and exertions, which titular ho¬
nours might obscure, but could not illustrate; and, with
VOL. XVII.
the example of Pulteney before him, he should have been Pitt,
careful to preserve it untarnished by empty distinctions,
shared by the mean and the worthless as well as by the
great, the gifted, and the good. Lord Chatham, however,
did not long continue in office after being elevated to the
peerage. On the 2d of November 1768, he resigned
the place of lord privy seal, and never afterwards held
any public employment; nor does he appear to have been
at all desirous of returning to office. He was now sixty,
and the gout, by which he had so long been afflicted, dis¬
abled him, by its frequent and violent attacks, for close
and regular application to business. In the intervals of
his disorder, however, he failed not to exert himself upon
questions of great magnitude; and, in 1775, 1776, and
1777, he most strenuously opposed the measures pursued
by the ministers in the contest with America. His last
appearance in the House of Lords was on the 2d of April
1778. He was then very ill, and much debilitated ; but
the question was important, being a motion of the Duke
of Richmond to address his majesty to remove the minis¬
ters, and to make peace with America on any terms. His
lordship made a long speech, in which he summoned up
all his remaining strength to pour out his disapprobation
of a measure so inglorious. But the effort overcame him,
for in attempting to rise a second time, he fell down in
a convulsive fit; and though he recovered for the time,
his disorder continued to increase until the 11th of May,
when he expired at his seat at Hayes. His death was la¬
mented as a national loss. As soon as the news reached
the House of Commons, which was then sitting, Colonel
Barre made a motion, that an address should be presented
to his majesty, requesting that the Earl of Chatham should
be buried at the public expense. But Mr Rigby having
proposed the erection of a statue to his memory, as more
likely to perpetuate the sense of his great merits enter¬
tained by the public, this was unanimously agreed to. A
bill was soon afterwards passed, by which L.4000 a year
was settled upon John, now Earl of Chatham, and the
heirs of the late earl to whom that title might descend.
His lordship was married in 1754 to Lady Hester, sister
of Earl Temple, by whom he had three sons and two
daughters.
The principal outlines of Pitt’s character have been va¬
riously sketched, sometimes with, and sometimes without,
any depth of shadow. The truth is, that there scarcely
ever lived a person who had less claim to be painted alto¬
gether enbeau, or who so little merited unsparing censure.
“ That lie was a great man cannot for a moment be doubt¬
ed ; but; his was not a complete and well-proportioned
greatness. The public life of Hampden or of Somers re¬
sembles a regular drama, which can be criticised as a
whole, and every scene of which is to be viewed in con¬
nection with the main action. The public life of Pitt, on
the other hand, is a rude though striking piece, abounding
in incongruities, and without any unity of plan, but re¬
deemed by some noble passages, the effect of which is in¬
creased by the tameness or extravagance of what precedes
and of what follows. His opinions were unfixed ; and his
conduct, at some of the most important conjunctures of his
life, was evidently determined by pride and resentment.
He had one fault, which of all human faults is most rarely
found in company with true greatness. He was extreme¬
ly affected. He was an almost solitary instance of a man
of real genius, and of a brave, lofty, and commanding spi¬
rit, without simplicity of character. He was an actor
in the closet, an actor in the council, an actor in parlia¬
ment ; and even in private society he could not lay aside
his theatrical tones and attitudes. We know that one of
the most distinguished of his partisans often complained
that he could never obtain admittance to Lord Chatham’s
room till everything was ready for the representation;
5 D
762
PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.
Pitt. till the light was thrown with Rembrandt-like effect on
’"'V""-'' the head of the illustrious performer; till the flannels
had been arranged with the air of Grecian drapery, and
the crutch placed as gracefully as that of Belisarius or
Lear.”1 Yet, with all his faults and affectations, he possess¬
ed, in a very extraordinary degree, many of the elements
of true greatness. He had splendid talents, strong pas¬
sions, quick sensibility, and vehement enthusiasm for the
grand and the beautiful. There was something about him
which ennobled even tergiversation itself. He often went
wrong, very far wrong ^ but, amidst the abasement of ei-
ror, he still retained what he had received from nature,
“ an intense and glowing mind.” In an age of low and
despicable prostitution, the age of Dodington and Sandys,
it was something to have a man who might perhaps, under
some strong excitement, have been tempted to ruin his
country, but who never would have stooped to pilfer from
her ; a man whose errors arose, not from a sordid desire of
gain, but from a fierce thirst of power, glory, and ven¬
geance. “ History owes him this attestation, that, at a time
when anything short of direct embezzlement of the pub¬
lic money was considered as quite fair in public men, he
showed the most scrupulous disinterestedness ; that, at a
time when it seemed to be generally taken for granted
that government could be upheld only by the basest and
most immoral arts, he appealed to the better and nobler
parts of human nature; that he made a brave and splendid
attempt to do, by means of public opinion, what no other
statesman of his day thought it possible to do except by
means of corruption; that he looked for support, not, like
the Pelhams, to a strong aristocratical connection, not, like
Bute, to the personal favour of the sovereign, but to the
middle class of Englishmen ; that he inspired that class
with a firm confidence in his integrity and ability; that,
backed by them, he forced an unwilling court and an un¬
willing oligarchy to admit him to an ample share of power;
and that he used his power in such a manner as clearly
proved that he had sought it, not for the sake of profit or
patronage, but from a wish to establish for himself a great
and durable reputation by means of eminent services ren¬
dered to the state."2
A great many unmeaning phrases have been employed,
and much rhetorical exaggeration has been expended, in at¬
tempts to characterize Lord Chatham’s style of eloquence.
The following estimate by Mr Macaulay, from whom we
have borrowed some of the foregoing observations, is at
once deep, discriminating, and brilliant.
“ In our time the audience of a member of parliament
is the nation. The three or four hundred persons who
may be present when a speech is delivered, may be pleased
or disgusted by the voice and action of the orator ; but in
the reports which are read the next day by hundreds of
thousands, the difference between the noblest and the
meanest figure, between the richest and the shrillest tones,
between the most graceful and the most uncouth gesture,
altogether vanishes. A hundred years ago, scarcely any
report of what passed within the walls of the House of
Commons was suffered to get abroad. In those times,
therefore, the impression which a speaker might make
on the persons who actually heard him was everything.
The impression out of doors was hardly worth a thought.
In the parliaments of that time, therefore, as in the an¬
cient commonwealths, those qualifications which enhance
the immediate effect of a speech were far more important
ingredients in the composition of an orator than they would
appear to be in our time. All those qualifications Pitt
possessed in the highest degree. On the stage, he would
have been the finest Brutus or Coriolanus ever seen. Those
who saw him in his decay, when his health was broken, Pitt, j Pitt
when his mind w^as jangled, when he had been removed
from that stormy assembly of which he thoroughly knew
the temper, and over which he possessed unbounded in¬
fluence, to a small, a torpid, and an unfriendly audience,
say that his speaking was then, for the most part, a low
monotonous muttering, audible only to those who sate
close to him; that, when violently excited, he sometimes
raised his voice for a few minutes, hut that it soon sank
again into an unintelligible murmur. Such was the Earl
of Chatham ; but such was not William Pitt. His figure,
when he first appeared in parliament, was strikingly grace¬
ful and commanding, his features high and noble, his eye
full of fire. His voice, even when it sank to a whisper, was
heard to the remotest benches; when he strained it to its
full extent, the sound rose like the swell of the organ of a
great cathedral, shook the house with its peal, and was
heard through lobbies and down stair-cases, to the court of
requests and the precincts of Westminster Hall. He culti¬
vated all these eminent advantages with the most assiduous
care. His action is described by a very malignant ob¬
server as equal to that of Garrick. His play of counte¬
nance was wonderful; he frequently disconcerted a hostile
orator by a single glance of indignation or scorn. Every
tone, from the impassioned cry to the thrilling aside, was
perfectly at his command. It is by no means improbable,
that the pains which he took to improve his great per¬
sonal advantages had, in some respects, a prejudicial ope¬
ration, and tended to nourish in him that passion for thea¬
trical effect which was one of the most conspicuous ble¬
mishes in his character.
•“ But it was not solely or principally to outward ac*
complishments that Pitt owed the vast influence which,
during nearly thirty years, he exercised over the House
of Commons. He was undoubtedly a great orator; and
from the descriptions of his contemporaries, and the frag¬
ments of his speeches which still remain, it is not diffi¬
cult to discover the nature and extent of his oratorical
powers.
“ He was no speaker of set speeches. His few prepar¬
ed discourses were complete failures. The elaborate pane¬
gyric which he pronounced on General Wolfe was consi¬
dered as the very worst of all his performances. ‘ No
man,’ says a critic, who had often heard him, ‘ ever knew
so little what he was going to say.’ Indeed, his facility
amounted to a vice ; he was not the master, but the slave
of his own speech. So little self-command had he when
once he felt the impulse, that he did not like to take part
in a debate when his mind was full of an important secret
of state. ‘ I must sit still,’ he once said to Lord Shel¬
burne on such an occasion, ‘ for when once I am up, every¬
thing that is in my mind comes out.’
“ Yet he was not a great debater. That he should not
have been so when he first entered the House of Com¬
mons, is not strange ; scarcely any person has ever become
so without long practice and many failures. It was by
slow degrees, as Burke said, that Mr Fox became the most
brilliant and powerful debater that parliament ever saw.
Mr Fox himself attributed his own success to the resolu¬
tion which he formed when very young, of speaking, well
or ill, at least once every night. ‘ During five whole ses¬
sions,’ he used to say, ‘ I spoke every night but one; and
I regret only that I did not speak that night too.’ Indeed
it would be difficult to name any great debater who has
not made himself a master of his art at the expense of his
audience.
“ But as this art is one which even the ablest men have
seldom acquired without long practice, so it is one which
1 Edinburgh Review, vol. lix. pp. 509, 510.
8 Edinburgh Review, ubi supra.
PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.
Pitt, men of respectable abilities, with assiduous and intrepid
practice, seldom fail to acquire. It is singular that, iu
such an art, Pitt, a man of splendid talents, great fluency,
and dauntless boldness, whose whole life was passed in
parliamentary conflict, and who, during several years, was
the leading minister of the crown In the House of Com¬
mons, should never have attained to high excellence. He
spoke without premeditation ; but his speech followed the
course of his own thoughts, and not that of the previous
discussion. He could, indeed, treasure up in his memory
some detached expression of an hostile orator, and make
it the text for sparkling ridicule or burning invective.
Some of the most celebrated bursts of his eloquence w ere
called forth by an unguarded word, a laugh, or a cheer.
But this was the only sort of reply in which he appears to
have excelled. He was perhaps the only great English ora¬
tor who did not think it an advantage to have the last word,
and who generally spoke by choice before his most formid¬
able opponents. His merit was almost entirely rhetorical.
He did not succeed either in exposition or refutation ; but
his speeches abounded with lively illustrations, striking
apophthegms, well-told anecdotes, happy allusions, pas¬
sionate appeals. His invective and sarcasm w ere tremen¬
dous. Perhaps no English orator was ever so much feared.
“ But that which gave most effect to his declamation*
wTas the air of sincerity, of vehement feeling, or moral ele¬
vation, which belonged to all that he said. His style was
not always in the purest taste. Several contemporary
judges pronounced it too florid. Walpole, in the midst of
the rapturous eulogy which he pronounces on one of Pitt’s
greatest orations, owns that some of the metaphors were
too forced. The quotations and classical stories of the
orator are sometimes too trite for a clever school boy. But
these were niceties for which the audience cared little.
The enthusiasm of the orator infected all who were near
him; his ardour and his noble bearing put fire into the
most frigid conceit, and gave dignity to the most puerile
allusion.”1
Such is the character of this great statesman and orator,
as drawn by one masterly hand. It may perhaps both in¬
struct and interest our readers, if we present another, de¬
lineated by an artist equally distinguished for the vigour,
judgment, and fidelity with which he paints such grand
pieces for the gallery of history. The preceding, as wre
have already said, is from the pen of Mr Macaulay: the
following is understood to be from that of Lord Brougham.
“ The first place among the great qualities which dis¬
tinguished Lord Chatham, is unquestionably due to firm¬
ness of purpose, resolute determination in the pursuit of
his objects. This was the characteristic of the younger
Brutus, as he said, who had spared his life to fall by his
hand,— Quicquid vult, id valde vult; and although ex¬
tremely apt to be showTi in excess, it must be admitted to
be the foundation of all true greatness of character. Every¬
thing, however, depends upon the endowments in whose
company it is found ; and in Lord Chatham these were of
a very high order. The quickness with which he could
ascertain his object, and discover his road to it, was fully
commensurate with his perseverance and his boldness in
pursuing it; the firmness of grasp wdth which he held his
advantage w'as fully equalled by the rapidity of the glance
with which he discovered it. Add to this a mind emi¬
nently fertile in resources, a courage which nothing could
daunt in the choice of his means, a resolution equally in¬
domitable in their application, a genius, in short, original
and daring, which bounded over the petty obstacles raised
by ordinary men,—their squeamishness, and their prece¬
dents, and their forms, and their regularities,—and forced
away its path through the entanglements of this base un- Pitt,
dergrowth to the worthy object ever in his view, the pros-v—
perity and the renown of his country. Far superior to
the paltry objects of a grovelling ambition, and regardless
alike of party and of personal considerations, he constant¬
ly set before his eyes the highest duty of a public man, to
further the interests of his species. In pursuing his course
towards that goal, he disregarded alike the frowns of
power and the gales of popular applause ; exposed himself
undaunted to the vengeance of the court, while he battled
against its corruptions, and confronted, unabashed, the
rudest shocks of public indignation, while he resisted the
dictates of pernicious agitators ; and could conscientiously
exclaim, with an illustrious statesman of antiquity, ‘ Ego
hoc animo semper fui ut invidiam virtute partam, gloriam
non invidiam putarem.’
“ Nothing could be more entangled than the foreign po¬
licy of this county at the time when he took the supreme
direction of her affairs ; nothing could be more disastrous
than the aspect of her fortunes in every quarter of the
globe. With a single ally in Europe, the king of Prussia,
and him beset by a combination of all the continental
powers in unnatural union to effect his destruction; wuth
an army of insignificant amount, and commanded by men
only desirous of grasping at the emoluments, without do¬
ing the duties or incurring the risks of their profession ;
with a navy that could hardly keep the sea, and whose
chiefs vied with their comrades on shore in earning the
character given them by the new minister, of being utter¬
ly unfit to be trusted in any enterprise accompanied with
‘ the least appearance of danger with a generally pre¬
vailing dislike of both services, which at once repressed
all desire of joining either, and damped all public spirit in
the country, by extinguishing all hope of success, and
even all love of glory ; it was hardly possible for a nation
to be placed in circumstances more inauspicious to mili¬
tary exertions ; and yet war raged in every quarter of the
world where our dominion extended, while the territories
of our only ally, as well as those of our own sovereign in
Germany, w^ere invaded by France, and her forces by sea
and land menaced our shores. In the distant possessions
of the crown the same want of enterprise and of spirit
prevailed. Armies in the West were paralysed by the in¬
action of a captain who would hardly take the pains to
write a despatch recording the nonentity of his operations;
and in the East, while frightful disasters were brought
upon our settlements by barbarian powers, the only mili¬
tary capacity that appeared in their defence was the acci¬
dental display of genius and valour by a merchant’s clerk,
who thus raised himself to celebrity.2 In this forlorn
state of affairs, rendering it as impossible to think of peace,
as it seemed hopeless to continue the yet inevitable war,
the base and sordid views of politicians kept pace with
the mean spirit of the military caste ; and parties were split
or united, not upon any difference or agreement of public
principle, but upon mere questions of patronage, and share
in the public spoil, while all seemed alike actuated by one
only passion, the thirst alternately of power and of gain.
“ As soon as Mr Pitt took the helm, the steadiness of
the hand that held it came to be felt in every motion of
the vessel. There was no more of wavering councils, of tor¬
pid inaction, of listless expectancy, of abject despondency.
His firmness gave confidence, his spirit roused courage,
his vigilance secured exertion, in every department under
his sway. Each man, from the first lord of the admiralty
down to the most humble clerk in the victualling office ;
each soldier, from the commander-in-chief to the most
obscure contractor or commissary ; now felt assured that
1 Edinburgh Review', ubi spur a.
£ Mr Clive, afterwards Lord Clive.
PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.
he was acting or indolent under the eye of one who knew nature} and trained by his habits> to be an accomplished ^ Pitt,
his duties and his means as well as his own, and who ‘ pilot in extremity, and whose inclinations carry him
would very certainly make all defaulters, whether through forth to seek the deep when the waves run high, may be
misfeasance or through nonfeasance, accountable for what- found, it not { to steer too near the shore, yet to despise
ever detriment the commonwealth might sustain at their the sunken rocks which they that can only be trusted m
hands. Over his immediate coadjutors," his influence swift- calm weather would have more surely avoided. To this
ly obtained an ascendant which it ever after retained un- rule it cannot be said that Lord Chatham afforded any ex-
interrupted. Upon his first proposition for changing the ception ; and although a plot had certainly been formed
conduct of the war, he stood single among his colleagues, to eject him from the ministry, leaving the chief control
and tendered his resignation should they persist in their of affairs in the feeble hands of Lord Bute, whose only
dissent; they at once succumbed, and from that hour support was court favour, and whose only talent lay in an
ceased to have an opinion of their own upon any branch expertness at intrigue, yet there can be little doubt that
of the public affairs. Nay, so absolutely was he deter- this scheme was only rendered practicable by the hostih-
mined to have the control of those measures, of which he ty which the great minister’s unbending habits, his con-
knew the responsibility rested upon him alone, that he tempt of ordinary men, and his neglect of everyday mat-
insisted upon the first lord of the admiralty not having ters, had raised against him among all the creatures both
the correspondence of his own department; and no less of Downing Street and St James s. In fact, his colleagues,
eminent a naval character ,than Lord Anson, with his ju- who necessarily felt humbled by his superiority, were
nior lords, were obliged to sign the orders issued by Mr needlessly mortified by the constant display of it; and it
Pitt, while the writing was covered over from their eyes, would have betokened a still higher reach of understand-
<< The effects of this change in the whole management ing, as well as a purer fabric of patriotism, if he whose
of the public business, and in all the plans of the govern- great capacity threw those subordinates into the shade,
ment, as well as in their execution, were speedily made and before whose vigour in action they were sufficiently
manifest to all the world. The German troops were sent willing to yield, had united a little suavity in his demea-
home, and a well-regulated militia being established to de- nour with his extraordinary powers, nor made it always
fend the country, a large disposable force was distributed necessary for them to acknowledge as well as to feel their
over the various points whence the enemy might be an- inferiority. It is certain that the insulting arrangement
noyed. France, attacked on some points and menaced of the admiralty, to which reference has been already
on others, was compelled to retire from Germany, soon made, while it lowered that department in the public opi-
afterwards suffered the most disastrous defeats, and, in- nion, rendered all connected with him his personal ene-
stead of threatening England and her allies with invasion, mies; and, indeed, though there have, since his days, been
had to defend herself against attack, suffering severely in prime ministers whom he would never have suffered to sit
several of her most important naval stations. No less than even as puny lords at his boards, yet were one like him-
sixteen islands, and settlements, and fortresses of impor- self again to govern the country, the admiralty chief who
tance were taken from her in America, and Asia, and might be far inferior to Lord Anson wou d never submit
Africa, including all her West Indian colonies except St to the humiliation inflicted upon that gallant and skilful
Domingo, and all her settlements in the East. The whole captain. Mr Pitt’s policy seemed formed upon the as-
important province of Canada was likewise conquered ; sumption that either each public funcdonaiy was equa to
and the Havannah was taken from Spain. Beside this, himself in boldness, activity, and resource, or that he was
the seas were swept clear of the fleets that had so lately to preside over and animate each department in person ;
been insulting all our colonies, and even all our coasts, and his confidence was such in his own powers, that he
Many general actions were fought and gained ; one among reversed the maxim of governing, never to force your way
them the most decisive that had ever been fought by our where you can win it; and always disdained to insinuate
navy. Thirty-six sail of the line were taken or destroy- where he could dash in, or to persuade where he could
ed, fifty frigates, forty-five sloops of war. So brilliant a command. It thus happened that his colleagues were but
course of uninterrupted success had never, in modern nominally coadjutors, and though they durst not t wart
times, attended the arms of any nation carrying on war him, yet rendered no heart-service to aid his schemes,
with other states equal to it in civilization, and nearl}' a Indeed it has clearly appeared since his time, that they
match in power. But it is a more glorious feature in this were chiefly induced to yield him implicit obedience,
unexampled administration which history has to record, and leave the undivided direction of all operations m his
when it adds, that all public distress had disappeared; all hands, by the expectation that the failure of what they
discontent in any quarter, both of the colonies and parent were wont to sneer at as ‘Mr Pitts visions, would turn
state, had ceased ; that no oppression was anywhere prac- the tide of public opinion against him, and prepare his
tised, no abuse suffered to prevail; that no encroachments downfall from a height of which they felt that there was no
were made upon the rights of the subject, no malversa- one but himself able to dispossess him.
tions tolerated in the possessors of power ; and that Eng- The same powerful writer, having thus sketched the cha-
land, for the first time and for the last time, presented racter of the statesman, proceeds next to delineate thatoi
the astonishing picture of a nation supporting without the orator, as far as this can now be done from die ex¬
murmur a widely extended and costly war, and a people, tremely scanty and imperfect materials which have been
hitherto torn with conflicting parties, so united in the preserved. 1 he fame of Lord Chatham s eloquence is, in
service of the commonwealth that the voice of faction truth, almost wholly traditional.
had ceased in the land, and any discordant whisper was “ There is indeed hardly any eloquence, of ancient or o
heard no more. ‘ These,’ said the son of* his first and modern times, of which so little that can be relied on as
most formidable adversary, Walpole, when informing his authentic has been preserved; unless perhaps that of re¬
correspondent abroad, that the session, as usual, had end- rides, Julius Caesar, and Lord Bolingbroke. Ot the ac-
ed without any kind of opposition, or even of debate, tions of the two first we have sufficient records, as we have
< These are the doings of Mr Pitt, and they are wondrous of Lord Chatham’s; ot their speeches we have little that
in our eyes.’ can be regarded as genuine ; although, by unquestionable
“ To genius irregularity is incident, and the greatest tradition, we know that each of them was second only to
genius is often marked by eccentricity, as if it disdained to the greatest orator of their respective countries, w n e o
move in the vulgar orbit. Hence he who is fitted by his Bolingbroke we only know, from Dean Swift, that he was
PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.
765
the most accomplished speaker of his time; and it is re¬
lated of Mr Pitt (the younger), that when the conversa¬
tion rolled upon lost works, and some said they should pre¬
fer restoring the books of Livy, some of Tacitus, and some
a Latin tragedy, he at once decided for a speech of Bol-
ingbroke. What we know of his own father’s oratory is
much more to be gleaned from contemporary panegyrics,
and accounts of its effects, than from the scanty, and for
the most part doubtful, remains which have reached us.
“ All accounts, however, concur in representing those
effects to have been prodigious. The spirit and vehemence
which animated its greater passages, their perfect applica¬
tion to the subject-matter of debate, the appositeness of
his invective to the individual assailed, the boldness of the
feats which he ventured upon, the grandeur of the ideas
which he unfolded, the heart-stirring nature of his appeals,
are all confessed by the united testimony of all his contem¬
poraries ; and the fragments which remain bear out to a
considerable extent such representations ; nor are we likely
to be misled by those fragments, for the more striking por¬
tions were certainly the ones least likely to be either for¬
gotten or fabricated. To these mighty attractions was
added the imposing, the animating, the commanding power
of a countenance singularly expressive ; an eye so piercing
that hardly any one could stand its glare; and a manner
altogether singularly striking, original, and characteristic,
notwithstanding a peculiarly defective and even awkward
action. Latterly, indeed, his infirmities precluded all ac¬
tion ; and he is described as standing in the House of
Lords, leaning upon his crutch, and speaking for ten
minutes together in an under-tone of voice scarcely au¬
dible, but raising his notes to their full pitch when he
broke out into one of his grand bursts of invective or ex¬
clamation. But in his earlier time, his whole manner is
represented as having been beyond conception animated
and imposing. Indeed the things which he effected by
it principally, or at least which nothing but a most striking
and commanding tone could have made it possible to at¬
tempt, almost exceed belief. Some of these sallies are in¬
deed examples of that approach made to the ludicrous by
the sublime, which has been charged upon him as a pre¬
vailing fault, and represented under the name of charla-
tanerie,—a favourite phrase with his adversaries, as it in
later times has been with the ignorant undervaluers of
Lord Erskine. It is related, that once in the House of
Commons he began a speech with the words, ‘ Sugar, Mr
Speaker,’—and then, observing a smile to prevail in the
audience, he paused, looking fiercely around, and with a
loud voice, rising in its notes, and swelling into vehement
anger, he is said to have pronounced again the word ‘ Su¬
gar !’ three times,—and having thus quelled the house, and
extinguished every appearance of levity or laughter, turned
round and disdainfully asked, ‘ Who will laugh at sugar
now ?’ We have this anecdote on good traditional autho¬
rity ; that it was believed by those who had the best means
of knowing Lord Chatham, is certain; and this of itself
shows their sense of the extraordinary powers of his man¬
ner, and the reach of his audacity in trusting to those
powers.
“ There can be no doubt that of reasoning,—of sustained
and close argument,—his speeches had but little. His
statements w^re desultory, though striking, perhaps not
very distinct, certainly not at all detailed, and as certainly
every way inferior to those of his celebrated son. If he
did not reason cogently, he assuredly did not compress his
matter vigorously. He was anything rather than a con¬
cise or a short speaker; not that his great passages were
at all diffuse, or in the least degree loaded with superfluous
words; but he was prolix in the whole texture of his dis¬
course, and he was certainly the first who introduced into Pitt,
our senate the practice, adopted in the American war by
Mr Burke, and continued by others, of long speeches,—
speeches of two and three hours, by which oratory has
gained little, and business less. His discourse was, how¬
ever, fully informed with matter—his allusions to ana¬
logous subjects, and his reference to the history of past
events, were frequent—his expression of his own opinions
was copious and free, and stood very generally in the place
of any elaborate reasoning in their support. A noble state¬
ment of enlarged views, a generous avowal of dignified
sentiments, a manly and somewhat severe contempt for all
petty or mean views, whether their baseness proceeded
from narrow understanding or from corrupt bias, always
pervaded his whole discourse; and, more than any other
orator since Demosthenes, he was distinguished by the
nobleness of feeling with which he regarded, and the am¬
plitude of survey which he cast upon, the subject-matters
of debate. His invective was unsparing, and hard to be
endured, although he was a less eminent master of sar¬
casm than his son, and rather overwhelmed his antagonist
with the burst of words and vehement indignation, than
wounded him by the edge of ridicule, or tortured him with
the gall of bitter scorn, or fixed his arrow in the wound by
the barb of epigram. These things seemed, as it were, to be¬
token too much labour and too much art, more labour than
was consistent with absolute scorn, more art than could stand
with heartfelt rage, or entire contempt inspired by the occa¬
sion, at the moment, and on the spot. But his great passa¬
ges, those by which he has come down to us, those which
gave his eloquence its peculiar character, and to which its
dazzling success was owing, were as sudden and unexpected
as they were natural. Every one was taken by surprise
when they rolled forth; every one felt them to be so na¬
tural, that he could hardly understand why he had not
thought of them himself although into no one’s imagina¬
tion had they ever entered. If the quality of being na¬
tural without being obvious is a pretty correct description
of felicitous expression, or what is called fine writing, it is
a yet more accurate representation of fine passages, or fe¬
licitous /rifs in speaking. In these all popular assemblies
take boundless delight; by these, above all others, are the
minds of an audience at pleasure moved or controlled.
They form the grand charm of Lord Chatham’s oratory;
they were the distinguishing excellence of his great pre¬
decessor, and gave him at will to wield the fierce demo-
craty of Athens, and to fulmine over Greece.”1
Many years ago, a small volume was published by Lord
Grenville, containingletters written by the Earl of Chatham
to his nephew, Thomas Pitt, Lord Camelford. They are
replete with excellent advice, conveyed in an easy, affec¬
tionate, and not inelegant style, having all of them been
penned evidently without effort, under the simple impulse
of the kindly feelings and anxious interest which they ma¬
nifest throughout. At the same time they might have
been written by a person vastly inferior to Lord Chatham ;
and indeed one can scarcely avoid surprise at the absence
of every trace of that genius, power, and originality, for
which the writer was so greatly distinguished. We may
add, that amidst the different conjectures which have at
various times been entertained and abandoned, respecting
the authorship of Junius, Lord Chatham has once and
again been pointed to as the writer of these celebrated
and still unclaimed letters; nor can it be doubted by one
who has made himself master of the question, that there
are circumstances of a very striking kind which appear to
give a certain colour of probability to this supposition.
Indeed it would not be difficult, we think, to make out as
strong a case in his favour as any that has yet been offered
1 Edinburgh Review, vol. Ixviii. p. 438, et seq.
766
PITT, WILLIAM.
Pitt, to the public in behalf of others, none of whom had his
“ motive and cue for action.” But as time, the great re-
vealer of all mysteries, will most likely, ere long, remove
the veil by which this is covered, we shall not add to the
mass of doubtful speculation by reviving a discussion which,
by a sort of tacit consent, has for some time been aban¬
doned as unprofitable and nugatory. (a.)
Pitt, William, the second son of the preceding, and his
legitimate successor in talents and celebrity as a statesman
and orator, was born on the 28th of May 1 / .59. His father,
having confided the care of his eldest and youngest sons
to others, took William under his own inspection ; and the
rapid progress of the son cheered the solitude and bright¬
ened the declining days of this illustrious statesman. The
school exercises of the youth were performed under the di¬
rection of a private tutor well qualified for the task assigned
him ; whilst his father, finding in him a capacity above his
years, embraced every opportunity of conversing freely
with him upon topics of interest, calculated to expand his
mind and mature his judgment. It is even said that he
also made him declaim from a chair or table ; well knowing
the importance of an easy, natural, and dignified elocution,
which, in his own case, had helped to supply the deficien¬
cies of fortune. The proficiency of the youth was such that,
at the age of fourteen, he was found qualified for being sent
to the university ; and Cambridge was preferred to Oxford,
from a decided opinion entertained by many, that the po¬
litical doctrines inculcated at the former place were more
liberal than those usually promulgated at the latter. He
was accordingly entered at Pembroke Hall, where he was
placed under the tuition of Dr Turner; whilst Dr Pretty-
man, afterwards Tomline, and successively bishop of Lin¬
coln and of Winchester, officiated as his private instructor.
During his residence at Cambridge, Mr Pitt was distin¬
guished alike for the assiduity of his application, and the
success that attended his efforts to acquire those branches
of knowledge to which his studies were more particularly
directed; nor have many young men of rank ever passed
through the ordeal of an university, exposed to the conta¬
minating influence of seductive example, with a higher cha¬
racter for morals, abilities, industry, and regularity. Here
young Pitt took his bachelor’s degree, and also that of
master of arts, both in a creditable manner; and acquired
a reputation for talents, diligence, and propriety of deport¬
ment, which proved eminently serviceable to him in after
life. Being intended by his father for the bar and the se¬
nate. his education was regulated so as to embrace both
these objects; and it is certain that his early acquisitions
in various branches of knowledge must have far exceeded
those of almost any of his contemporaries.
After quitting the university, he went to the Continent,
and passed a short time at Ilheims, the capital of Cham¬
pagne. The death of his father, however, whilst he was
only in his nineteenth year, could scarcely fail to throw a
cloud over the prospects of the younger son ; but the foun¬
dation of future distinction had been firmly laid, and it
only remained for him to clear the path to eminence by
his own exertions. He had already entered himself a stu¬
dent of Lincoln’s Inn; and as soon as he came of age he
was called to the bar, having received some favour on ac¬
count of his degree. He made choice of the western cir¬
cuit, and appeared in several causes as junior counsel; in
which capacity, of course, he had few or no opportunities
of distinguishing himself. The result of this short expe¬
riment, however, was thought sufficient to encourage him
to pursue the career of the law, and rendered it almost cer¬
tain that he would ultimately attain a high rank in his pro¬
fession ; but a seat in parliament, which he soon afterwards
obtained, gave his ambition its proper direction, and placed
him in the arena where he was best calculated to excel. At
the general election in 1780, he had been induced to offer
himself as a candidate for the representation of the univer- Pitt. fitt'
sity of Cambridge ; but finding that, from want of sufficient ^
influence, he had no chance of success, he declined the con¬
test, and in the following year was returned for the borough
of Appleby, through the interest of Sir James Lowther,
afterwards Earl of Lonsdale.
This, be it observed, was during the period of most vio¬
lent political opposition to the American war; which, it
may be supposed, Mr Pitt regarded with hereditary aver¬
sion, and reprobated as one of the most disgraceful and
ruinous contests in which the country could have engaged.
He was also ardently attached to the cause of political re¬
form, particularly in the representation of the people ; which
he conceived to be the best safeguard of constitutional li¬
berty, and the only security against the recurrence of such
wars as that which he so much deplored and condemned.
On the 26th of February 1781, Mr Pitt made his first speech
in the British senate. At the commencement of the ses¬
sion Mr Burke had brought forward his bill for effecting
great retrenchments in the civil list; and it was in refe¬
rence to this measure that Mr Pitt made his debut in the
House of Commons. The attention of the house was na¬
turally fixed upon the son of the great Chatham ; but in a
few moments the regards of the audience were directed to
him on his own account. Unembarrassed by the novelty
of his position, and master alike of his feelings and his sub¬
ject, he delivered himself with an ease and grace, a rich¬
ness of expression, a closeness of argument, and a classi¬
cal precision of language, which not only answered, but
exceeded all the expectations that had been formed of
him, and elicited great applause from both sides of the
house. During the same and the subsequent session, he
spoke several limes, particularly in favour of parliamentary
reform, of which, as we have just stated, he was a zealous
advocate ; and, from his talents as a public speaker, it soon
became evident that he was destined to perform a promi¬
nent part upon the political stage.
But although, for the most part, he ostensibly went along
with the party in opposition to Lord North, yet he had not
formed any decided connection with them ; and hence,
when his lordship was driven from power, and a new ad¬
ministration formed, with the Marquis of Rockingham at its
head, Mr Pitt’s name was not included in the list. This
cabinet, however, was of short endurance. Lord Rocking¬
ham died suddenly; and his death having occasioned a
fatal difference as to the choice of a new head, the Earl of
Shelburne, profiting by the circumstance, formed a junction
with several members of the former cabinet, and having (in
July 1782) been appointed first lord of the treasury, asso¬
ciated with himself Mr Pitt, who had just completed his
twenty-third year, as chancellor of the exchequer. A gene¬
ral peace with America, and the powers in alliance with the
Transatlantic republic, followed soon afterwards ; but this
having been made a ground of severe censure by a powerful
opposition, a coalition was formed between Lord North and
Mr Fox, and, in April 1783, the Shelburne administration
was forced to give way to this extraordinary confederacy,
which had in some measure dictated its own terms to the
sovereign. During his continuance in office, Mr Pitt had
found but little opportunity of distinguishing himself, ex¬
cept as an able defender of the measures of administration,
and a vigorous assailant of the principles and conduct of
his antagonists. But a circumstance soon occurred which
constitutes an important era in his life, and not only proved
the eventual cause of his return to office, but secured to
him a degree of authority with the king, and of popularity
with the nation, which has seldom fallen to the lot of any
minister, and which he preserved with but little diminution
till the close of his life.
The coalition ministry was, both in its formation and in its
character, odious to the country at large. It was regarded
PITT, WILLIAM.
767
as an unprincipled combination for purposes purely selfish ;
in its formation all the old landmarks and distinctions of
party had been thrown down ; and as its composition was
such as to afford no hopes of future benefit to the nation,
its proceedings were watched with the jealous vigilance
of suspicion and hatred. Whilst matters were in this
state, Mr Fox introduced his bill for regulating the affairs
of India. The leading provision of this famous project was
to vest the whole management of Indian affairs in seven
commissioners named in the bill, and to be appointed by
the ministry; or, in other words, to transfer the whole pa¬
tronage of India from the Crown and the Company, to the
administration for the time being. In vain was it repre¬
sented that this measure would prove alike advantageous to
the Company and the nation; that itwould introduce respon¬
sibility where there was none, or next to none; and that it
would serve to prevent abuses, which were described as
equally flagrant and notorious. The public generally con¬
sidered it as trenching too much upon the prerogative, as
creating a mass of ministerial influence which would be irre¬
sistible, and as rendering the ministry too strong for the
cfown. In opposing it, therefore, Mr Pitt had rather to
follow than to lead public opinion, to obey the impulse al¬
ready given, than to endeavour to excite and stimulate op¬
position ; and this he did with so much skill and ability, that
although the bill passed the House of Commons, it was
thrown out in the Lords. This defeat decided the fate of
the coalition ministry. For although it were true, as the
partisans of the ministers alleged, that the rejection of
the bill had been caused by secret intrigue and undue in¬
fluence, this made no difference in regard to public opi¬
nion, which was decidedly adverse to the measure; and
hence the country was not disposed to find fault with the
means by which the end desired had been obtained. The
ministry therefore resigned, and in the new arrangement
Mr Pitt was made first lord of the treasury and chancellor
of the exchequer.
Having thus become prime minister at the early age of
twenty-four, Mr Pitt’s appearance in that high and diffi¬
cult station was greatly applauded by his friends, and at
the same time ridiculed by his opponents, who represented
it as the arrpgant assumption of a stripling, indebted to ac¬
cident or intrigue for a position from which he would be
driven in a few months, perhaps even sooner. And at
first it seemed by no means improbable that this prognos¬
tication would be fulfilled. In the House of Commons,
the adherents of the coalition ministry were still so nume¬
rous, that, when Mr Pitt introduced his bill for the regu¬
lation of Indian affairs, it was rejected by a majority of
eight (222 to 214); and in this state matters remained for
some months. In the mean time several meetings were
held by the leading men of both parties, and various pro¬
jects of accommodation discussed ; but Mr Pitt’s previous
resignation being demanded as a conditio sine qua non, all
these attempts failed. Resolved to stand by the sovereign
who confided in, and the people who supported him, Mr
Pitt now took a step, the very boldness of which, perhaps,
conduced to his success, we mean, dissolving parliament.
This took place in March 1784, and was speedily followed
by a general election, in which thirty coalitionists, includ¬
ing some of the leading men of the party, lost their seats;
so that the minister was enabled to meet the new par¬
liament with a decided majority, and an opposition more
weakened in talent than in numbers. His India bill, which
the last parliament had thrown out, was now re-introduced
and passed; an addition was made to the window-tax, in
order to supply the deficiency occasioned by a reduction
of the principal duties upon tea; and various plans were
proposed for the more effectual prevention of smuggling.
At this period, indeed, the grand object of Mr Pitt’s am¬
bition seems to have been, to acquire the reputation of
an able and successful minister of finance. In 1786, he Pitt,
brought in and carried through a bill for establishing his fa- ~y—
mous sinking fund, upon a plan which, it seems, had been
suggested to him by Dr Richard Price, and which, as mo¬
dified in the bill, was long regarded by his friends and par¬
tisans as the ne plus ultra of financial skill and ingenuity.
But all this ignorant admiration was at length dissipated
by the masterly work of Dr Hamilton ; and even Lord
Grenville, the friend and colleague of Mr Pitt, found him¬
self constrained to admit, in a pamphlet which he published
on the subject, after his retirement from public life, that the
whole scheme was bottomed upon delusion. In the year
1787, Mr Pitt concluded a commercial treaty with France;
and amongst the subsequent measures in which he was per¬
sonally concerned, may be mentioned his accession to the
impeachment of Warren Hastings, his opposing the repeal
of the corporation and test acts, his interference in be¬
half of the stadtholder, the affair of Oczakow, and the dis¬
pute with Spain respecting the fur-trade at Nootka Sound,
several of which were extremely unpopular.
But the most important epoch of Mr Pitt’s political life
was now approaching. His reforming and patriotic ^eal had
already been sensibly cooled. Instead of seeking to strength¬
en himself in the affections of the people, he began to
think only of establishing himself firmly in the favour of
the court; and, whilst pursuing this object, a circumstance
occurred which raised him to the summit of power, and en¬
abled him, as prime minister, to exercise every function of
his office without check or control. This was the illness of
the king, which took place in the autumn of 1788, and in¬
capacitated his majesty for the exercise of the royal func¬
tions. Parliament had been prorogued to the 20th of
November; and as the sovereign, by whom alone it could,
be further prorogued, was not in a condition to exercise
his prerogative, it became necessary that it should meet
upon that day. A question of great nicety and delicacy
now arose; namely, in whom the office of regent was to be
vested. The Prince of Wales being then connected with
the party in opposition, Mr Fox strenuously contended that
the regency devolved upon him as a matter of course, with¬
out restriction or limitation ; whilst Mr Pitt, on the other
hand, maintained that it belonged to the two remaining
branches of the legislature to fill up the office as they
should judge proper, and impose such restrictions as they
might deem necessary; at the same time admitting that,
under actual circumstances, no other person than the prince
could be thought of for the regency, thus limited by the
two houses of parliament. The view of the prime minister
prevailed, and a bill was in consequence passed, greatly re¬
stricting the power of the regent. But its provisions were
soon rendered inoperative, by the convalescence of his ma¬
jesty in the beginning of 1789. It is certain, however, that,
upon recovering the use of his reason, the king greatly ap¬
proved of the course which Mr Pitt had pursued ; and the
latter was in consequence established in power more firm¬
ly than ever. We may add, that on the recurrence of a si¬
milar visitation, with still more melancholy circumstances,
the precedent of 1788-1789 served as a guide to the mi¬
nister of the day, Mr Percival, and the Prince of Wales
became regent, subject to restrictions analogous to those
which had formerly been imposed by Mr Pitt.
The next great epoch in Mr Pitt’s political life, and
which, beyond all the preceding portions of his conduct,
will determine his character as a statesman %vith posterity,
was the French Revolution; taken in connection with the
policy which the government of this country, under the
sole guidance of Mr Pitt, pursued in reference to that
mighty convulsion, and the astounding events to which it
gave birth. But as Mr Pitt, considered individually, can¬
not be separated from the history of the long and sangui¬
nary war with France, in which, principally through his
PITT, WILLIAM.
means, the country became involved; and as the most am¬
ple details, both of the policy of this country, and the strange
vicissitudes of the contest, have already been given under
the article Britain, it is only necessary to refer the rea¬
der to that head for the fullest information on these points,
as well as respecting the most important domestic events
of Mr Pitt’s long administration, the rebellion in Ireland,
and the subsequent union ot that country with Great Bri¬
tain. Suffice it to say, that having held the reins of govern¬
ment for eighteen years, Mr Pitt, and all the members ot
his cabinet, retired from office in 1801. I he trench ar¬
mies had been victorious all over the continent; 1 russia
had, at an early period, prudently withdrawn from the con¬
test; Austria had been completely humbled; and a success¬
ful soldier, under the denomination of First Consul, had
assumed the reins of government in France. All Mr Pitt’s
plans for humbling that country, and, as it were, rolling
back the Revolution, had most signally failed ; the cry for
peace was now become general ; and a breathing-time, at
least, had become indispensably necessary. But it was left
to Mr Addington to make the experiment, and, under his
auspices, the°treaty of Amiens was concluded with the
French government.
But, as every reflecting person had foreseen, this armis¬
tice (for it was nothing more) proved of short duration. The
war broke out again in the year ISOo ; and Mi 1 itt, having
gradually withdrawn his support from the Addington ad¬
ministration, it fell to pieces from its own inherent fragility.
In 1804, Mr Pitt, having resumed the reins of government,
exerted all his ability to give a successful turn to the con¬
test, and organized a new coalition against France. But the
thunder-stroke of Austerlitz blasted all his hopes, again
placed Austria at the feet of the conqueror, and left Prus¬
sia exposed to that vengeance which soon afterwaids de¬
scended upon her as a just retribution for her treachery.
The prime minister was at this time in a state of health ill
calculated to bear up under such a blow. A gouty habit,
the predisposing causes of which appear to have been he¬
reditary, and a too liberal use of wine as part of his oroi-
narv regimen, undermined a constitution which had never
been very robust; and these, added to the cares and anxie¬
ties of office, at a period of so great excitement, brought
on a premature exhaustion of the vital powers. In Decem¬
ber 1805 he went to Bath; but the change afforded him
no permanent relief. On the 11th of January 1806, he re¬
turned to his seat at Putney, much debilitated, and there
lingered on till the 23d of the same month, when he ex¬
pired, in the forty-seventh year of his age. A public fune¬
ral was decreed to him by parliament, and forty thousand
pounds were voted to discharge those debts which he was
said to have incurred in the service of the state.
Though Mr Pitt possessed no particular advantages of
person or of physiognomy, yet as a speaker he was consi¬
dered by many as of surpassing eminence. Happy in the
choice of his words, judicious in the arrangement of his sub¬
ject, and gifted with a natural flow of eloquence, his wonder¬
ful powers were acknowledged even by those who dis¬
sented from his doctrines, and remained unmoved by his
arguments. When employed in a good cause, he was iire-
sistible ; in defending a bad one, he could dazzle the judg¬
ment, mislead the imagination, and seduce the heart, even
when he could not overcome the understanding. In state¬
ment or exposition he was clear, perspicuous, and singu¬
larly adroit, not to say artful; in sarcasm and invective he
was tremendous. But although ambition and the love of
power were his ruling passions, his mind was elevated above
the meanness of avarice ; his personal integrity remained
unimpeached ; and though he died involved in debts, these
are to be ascribed to negligence, and the demands of his
public station, rather than to extravagance, or any fond¬
ness for splendour and parade. Though his manner, in his^
public deportment, was distant and reserved, not to say
haughty, yet few men were ever more successful in fixing •
the attachment of their private and personal friends. By
all those who shared his intimacy he seems to have been
esteemed and beloved. “ They saw the all-powerful ener¬
gies of his character,” says Mr Rose, “ softened into the
most perfect complacency and sweetness of disposition
in the circles of private life, the pleasures of which no one
more cheerfully enjoyed, or more agreeably promoted,
when the paramount duties which he conceived himself to'
owe to the public admitted of his mixing in them. That
indignant severity with which he met and subdued what
he considered unfounded opposition, that keenness of sar¬
casm with which he expelled and withered, as it might he
said, the powers of most of his assailants in debate, were
exchanged, in the society of his intimate friends, for a kind¬
ness of heart, a gentleness of demeanour, and a playfulness
of good humour, which no one ever w itnessed without in¬
terest, or participated without delight.” Mr Wilberforce,
wTho knew him intimately, entertained the same opinion of
his social qualities, when he moved in the circle of his par¬
ticular friends. “ Though less formed for general populari¬
ty than Fox,” says he, “ Pitt, when free from shyness, and
amongst his intimate companions, was the very soul of mer¬
riment and conversation. He was the wittiest man I ever
knew, and, what was quite peculiar to himself, he had at all
times his wit under entire control. Others appeared struck
by the unwonted association of brilliant images ; but every
possible combination of ideas seemed always present to his
mind, and he could at once produce whatever he desired.
I was one of those who met to spend an evening in memory
of Shakspeare, at the Boar’s Head, East Cheape. Many
professed wits were present, but Pitt was the most amusing
of the party, and the readiest and most apt in the required
allusions.”1
This, it will be observed, applies to an early period of his
career, when his faculties were in all the freshness and vi¬
gour of youth. But from other accounts we learn, that amidst
all the anxieties and disappointments of his public life, he
retained to the last the reputation of being a most amiable
companion in the circle ot his private friends. The Mar¬
quis of Wellesley’s character of him, which we subjoin, is
perhaps a little overdrawn, and has something of a contro¬
versial character about it, having been written in refuta¬
tion of certain statements of Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, who,
amongst other things, had said that “ Pitt’s manners were
stiff, retired, and without unction or grace but, making
every allowance for the partialities of friendship, consider¬
able weight must be given to the deliberate estimate of
one who, himself a great statesman, an elegant scholar, and
an accomplished man, enjoyed the best opportunities ot
appreciating the character and attainments of his friend.
“ In attempting to convey to you my recollection of Mr
Pitt’s character in private society,” says his lordship, “ I
cannot separate those qualities which raised him to the
highest public eminence from those which rendered him a
most amiable companion. Both proceeded from the same
origin, and both were happily blended in the noble struc¬
ture of his temper and disposition.
“ Mr Pitt’s mind was naturally inaccessible to any ap¬
proach of dark, or low, or ignoble passion. His command¬
ing genius and magnanimous spirit were destined to move
in a region far above the reach of those jealousies, and sus¬
picions, and animosities, which disturb the course of ordi¬
nary life. Under the eye of his illustrious father he had
received that ‘ complete and generous education which
fits a man to perform justly, skilfully, and magnanimously,
1 Life of Wilberforce, vol. ii. p. 18.
PITT, WILLIAM.
’itt. kil-the offices, both private and public, of peace and war.’
Such an education, acting on such a natural disposition,
not only qualified him to adorn the most elevated stations
* in the counsels of his country, but furnished him with
abundant resources to sustain the tranquillity and cheer¬
fulness of his mind.
“ He had received regular and systematic instruction in
the principles of the Christian religion, and in the doctrine
and discipline of the Church of England, and in every branch
of general ecclesiastical history. His knowledge in those
subjects was accurate and extensive. He was completely
armed against all sceptical assaults, as well as against all
fanatical illusion; and, in truth, he was not merely a faith¬
ful and dutiful, but a learned member of our established
church ; to which he was most sincerely attached, with the
most charitable indulgence for all dissenting sects. No
doubt can exist in any rational mind that this early and
firm settlement of his religious opinions and principles was
a main cause of that cheerful equanimity which formed the
great characteristic of his social intercourse, and which was
never affected by adversities nor troubles.
“ He was perfectly accomplished in classical literature,
both Latin and Greek. The accuracy and strength of his
memory surpassed every example which I have observed ;
but the intrinsic vigour of his understanding carried him
far beyond the mere recollection of the great models of
antiquity in oratory, poetry, history, and philosophy; he
had drawn their essence into his own thoughts and lan¬
guage ; and, with astonishing facility, he applied the whole
spirit of ancient learning to his daily use.
“ Those studies were his constant delight and resort; at
Holwood, in Kent (his favourite residence), and at Wal-
mer Castle, his apartments wrere strewred with Latin and
Greek classics; and his conversation with those friends
who delighted in similar studies frequently turned on that
most attractive branch of literature ; but he was so adverse
to pedantry or affectation of superior knowledge, that he
carefully abstained from such topics in the presence of
those who could not take pleasure in them. In these pur¬
suits his constant and congenial companion was Lord Gren¬
ville, who has often declared to me that Mr Pitt was the
best Greek scholar he ever conversed with. Mr Pitt was
also as complete a master of all English literature as he
was undoubtedly of the English language. I have dwelt
on this branch of Mr Pitt’s accomplishments because I
know not any source from which more salutary assistance
can be derived, to chase from the spirits those clouds and
vapours which infest vacant minds, and, by self-weariness,
render retirement melancholy and intolerable.
“ But Mr Pitt amply possessed every resource which
could enliven retirement. No person had a more exqui¬
site sense of the beauties of the country. He took the
greatest delight in his residence at Holwood, which he
enlarged and improved (it may be truly said) with his own
hands. Often have I seen him working in his woods and
gardens with his labourers for whole days together, under¬
going considerable bodily fatigue, and with so much eager¬
ness and assiduity, that you would suppose the cultivation
of his villa to be the principal occupation of his life.
“ He was very fond of exercise on horseback, and when
in the country frequently joined the hounds of his neigh¬
bourhood, both at Holwood and Walmer Castle.
“ At the latter place he lived most hospitably, enter¬
taining all his neighbours, as well as the officers of the
neighbouring garrisons, and of the ships in the Downs ;
and he w'as most attentive to his duties of lord warden of
the cinque ports, which called him frequently to Dover,
and sometimes to the other ports.
“ But in all places, and at all times, his constant de¬
light was society. There he shone with a degree of calm
and steady lustre which often astonished me more than
VOL. XVII.
his most splendid efforts in parliament. His manners were Pitt,
perfectly plain, without any affectation ; not only was he
without presumption or arrogance, or any air of authority,
but he seemed utterly unconscious of his own superiority,
and much more disposed to listen than to talk. He never
betrayed any symptom of anxiety to usurp the lead or to
display his own powers, but rather inclined to draw forth
others, and to take merely an equal share in the general
conversation : then he plunged heedlessly into the mirth
of the hour, with no more care than to promote the gene¬
ral good humour and happiness of the company. His wit
was quick and ready, but it was rather lively than sharp,
and never envenomed with the least taint of malignity ;
so that, instead of exciting admiration or terror, it was an
additional ingredient in the common enjoyment. He was
endowed, beyond any man of his time whom I knew, with
a gay heart and a social spirit. With these qualities he
was the life and soul of his own society. His appearance
dispelled all care; his brow was never clouded, even in
the severest public trials ; and joy, and hope, and confi¬
dence beamed from his countenance in every crisis of
difficulty and danger.
“ He was a most affectionate, indulgent, and benevolent
friend, and so easy of access, that all his acquaintance, in
any embarrassment, would rather resort to him for advice
than to any person who might be supposed to have more
leisure. His heart was always at leisure to receive the
communications of his friends, and always open to give
the best advice in the most gentle and pleasant manner.
“ It is a melancholy but a grateful task to pay this tri¬
bute to the memory of my departed friend. ‘ Aut me
amor negotii suscepti fallit,’ or the character which I
have endeavoured to draw is not less just and true than it
is amiable and excellent; and I cannot resist the conclu¬
sion, that a pure and clear conscience must have been the
original source of such uniform cheerfulness and gaiety
of spirit. The truth which I have asserted I possessed
ample means of knowing. From the year 1783 to 1797
I lived in habits of the most confidential friendship with
Mr Pitt.
“ In the year 1797 I was appointed governor-general of
India, and in the month of September in that year I went
to Walmer Castle to meet Mr Pitt and Mr Dundas, and
to receive my last instructions. I found Mr Pitt in the
highest spirits, entertaining officers and country gentle¬
men with his usual hospitality. Amongst others, Admiral
Duncan was his constant and favourite guest. His fleet
was then in the Downs, preparing for the memorable vic¬
tory of Camperdown. The admiral was a lively and jovial
companion, and seemed to be quite delighted with Mr
Pitt’s society. I embarked for India early in the month
of November 1797, and I returned to England in January
1806.
“ Not wishing to state any thing beyond my own per¬
sonal knowledge, I will not attempt to relate the history
of Mr Pitt’s social habits during the period of my absence ;
but I cannot believe that, during that time, the whole
frame of his magnificent mind had been so broken and dis¬
jointed, that he could not endure the temporary loss of
power, nor reconcile himself to that retirement, and to
those recreations, which were his relief from the labour of
official business, and his consolation in the hour of politi¬
cal solicitude and care. But I know that the first sum¬
mer after his resignation was passed with Mr Addington
at Wimbledon, and that soon afterwards Mr Pitt was
closely occupied at Walmer Castle in forming a corps of
volunteer cavalry, living with his officers, and passing the
greater part of his time on horseback, under the firm ex¬
pectation of a French invasion. This does not well agree
with the story which represents him wrapped in sullen
seclusion, sunk in despondency, shunning all society, and
770
P I T
P I T
Pitt, yet unable to relieve the gloom of solitude by any mental
-v-—' resource.
“ On my arrival in England in January 1806, Mr Pitt
was at Bath ; I wrote to him, and I received from him a
very kind invitation to meet him at Putney Hill. I met
him accordingly, in the second week in January, and I
was received by him with his usual kindness and good
humour. His spirits appeared to be as high as 1 had
ever seen them, and his understanding quite as vigorous
and clear. _
“ Amongst other topics, he told mes with great kind¬
ness and feeling, that, since he had seen me, he had been
happy to become acquainted with my brother Arthur, of
whom he spoke in the warmest terms of commendation.
He said, ‘ I never met any military officer with whom it
was so satisfactory to converse. He states every difficulty
before he undertakes any service, but none after he has
undertaken it.’
“ But notwithstanding Mr Pitt’s kindness and cheer¬
fulness, I saw that the hand of death was fixed upon him.
This melancholy truth was not known nor believed by
either his friends or opponents. In the number ot the
latter, to my deep affliction, I found my highly respected
and esteemed friend Lord Grenville, and I collected that
measures of the utmost hostility to Mr Pitt were to be
proposed in both houses at the meeting of parliament. I
warned Lord Grenville of Mr Pitt’s approaching death.
He received the fatal intelligence with the utmost feeling,
. in an agony of tears, and immediately determined that all
hostility in parliament should be suspended. Mr Pitt’s
death soon followed.”
In a character of Lord Chatham,1 lately published, and
which is generally ascribed to Lord Brougham, that great
orator and powerful writer thus contrasts the elder and
younger Pitt as public men and ministers:
“ The true test of a great man,—that at least which
must determine his place among the highest order ot great
men,—is his having been in advance of his age. I his it
is which decides whether or not he has carried forward
the grand plan of human improvement, has conformed his
views, and adapted his conduct, to the existing circum¬
stances of society, or changed those so as to better its con¬
dition; has been one of the lights of the world, or only re¬
flected the borrowed rays of former luminaries, and sat in
the same shade at the same twilight or the same dawn
with the rest of his generation. Tried by this test, the
younger Pitt cannot certainly be said to have lived before
his time, or shed upon the age to which he belonged the
illumination of a more advanced civilization and more in¬
spired philosophy. He came far too early into public life,
and was too suddenly plunged into the pool ot office, to
give him time for the study and the reflection which can
alone open to any mind, how vigorous soever be its natu¬
ral constitution, the views of a deep and original wisdom.
Accordingly, it would be difficult to glean, from all his
measures and all his speeches, any thing like the fruits of
inventive genius ; or to mark any token of his mind hav¬
ing gone before the very ordinary routine of the day, as if
familiar with any ideas that did not pass through the most
vulgar understandings. His father’s intellect was of a
higher order.’’2
Lord Brougham’s opinion of the oratory of the younger
Pitt is recorded in the conclusion of the following passage :
“ Some have compared Mr Fox’s eloquence to that of Pitt’s i ^
Demosthenes ; but it resembled Lord Chatham’s just as Lland
much, if not more. It was incomparably more.argumen- piJK
tative than either the Greek or the English orator’s, net- s ^
ther of whom carried on chains of close reasoning as he *
did, though both kept close to their subject. It was, how¬
ever, exceedingly the reverse of the Attic oration, either
in method, in diction, or in conciseness. It had nothing
like arrangement of any kind. Except in the more vehe¬
ment passages, its diction was perhaps as slovenly, cer¬
tainly as careless, as possible,—-betokening indeed a con¬
tempt of all accurate composition. It was diffuse in the
highest degree, and abounded in repetitions. While the
Greek was concise, almost to being jejune, the Englishman
was diffuse, almost to being prolix. How the notion of
comparing the two together ever could have prevailed,
seems unaccountable, unless it be that men have suppos¬
ed them alike because they were both vehement, and both
kept the subject in view rather than run after ornament.
But that the most elaborate and artificial compositions in
the world should have been likened to the most careless,
and natural, and unprepared that ever were delivered in
public, would seem wholly incredible if it were not tiue.
The bursts of Mr Fox, however, though less tersely and
concisely composed, certainly have- some resemblance to
Lord Chatham’s,—only that they betray far less fancy,—
and, however vehement and fiery, are incomparably less
bold. Mr Pitt’s oratory, though admirably suited to its
purpose, and as perfect a business kind of speaking as ever
was heard, certainly resembled none of the three others
who have been named. In point of genius, unless perhaps
for sarcasm, he was greatly their inferior; although, from
the unbroken fluency of his appropriate language, and the
power of a most sonorous voice, he produced the most
prodigious effect.” (A*)
PITT’S Island, a small mountainous island in the South
Pacific Ocean, covered with wood. Long. 193.14. L. Lat.
n. so. s. - .. ,
Pitt’s Straits, in the Eastern Seas, separate the islands
of Salwatty and Battanta, at the western extremity of Pa¬
pua or New Guinea, and extend from west-south-west id
east-south-east about thirty miles, being about six in ave¬
rage breadth. No bottom is found in the middle with se¬
venty-five fathoms of line.
PITTACUS, a native of Mitylene, in Lesbos, was one
of the seven wise men of Greece. His father’s name was
Hyrradius. With the assistance of the sons of Alcaeus, he
delivered his country from the oppression of the tyrant
Melanchrus; and, in the war which the Athenians waged
against Lesbos, he appeared at the head of his countrymen,
and challenged to single combat Phrynon, the enemy’s ge¬
neral. As the event of the war seemed to depend upon
this combat, Pittacus had recourse to artifice, and, when
engaged, entangled his adversary in a net which he had
concealed under his shield, and easily despatched him. He
was amply rewarded for this victory ; and his countrymen,
sensible of his merit, unanimously appointed him governor
of their city, wfith unlimited authority. In this capacity, Pit¬
tacus behaved with the greatest moderation and prudence ;
and after he had governed his fellow-citizens with the
strictest justice, and enforced the most salutary laws, he
voluntarily resigned the sovereign power after having en¬
joyed it for ten years ; observing, that the virtues and inno-
1 See Edinburgh Review, vol. Ixviii. p. 436, et seq. , x- • . >.,1+ fnr a
2 “ Mr Pitt had foibles,” says Mr Wilberforce, “ and of course they were not diminished by a long continuance in omce ,
clear and comprehensive view of the most complicated subject in all its relations ; for that fairness of mind which disposes a+rnan^t -
low out, and, when overtaken, to recognise truth; for magnanimity, which made him ready to change his measures when he g ^
good of the country required it, though he knew he should be charged with inconsistency ; for willingness to give a fair he, g r
that could be urged against his own opinions, and to listen to the suggestions of other men, whose understandings he kne in
to his own ; for personal purity, disinterestedness, integrity, and a love of his country I have never known his equal. His strict
regard to truth was astonishing, considering the situation he had so long filled.” (Life of Wilberforce, vol. m. p. 4J, •)
P I u
cence of private life were incompatible with the power and
influence of a sovereign. His disinterestedness gained him
many admirers ; and when -the Mitylenians wished to re¬
ward his public services by presenting him with an im¬
mense tract of territory, he refused to accept more land
thari could be contained within the space to which a javelin
could be thrown. He died in the seventieth year of his
age, about 579 years before Christ, after he had spent the
last ten years of his life in literary ease and peaceful re¬
tirement.
PITTENWEEM, a royal burgh and seaport town on
the Frith of Forth, in the parish of the same name, and on
the east coast of Fifeshire. It is situated on gently-elevated
ground, which overhangs the harbour, and consists of an ir¬
regular main street, having the form of an oblong square,
from which a number of by-streets stretch out along the
public roads. The houses are chiefly of old date, with the
exception of a neat range of respectable cottages on the
north side of the town. In the main street are situated the
town-house, the parish church (an old ungainly structure,
with a turreted spire), and all that remains of the ancient
priory of Pittenweem. In addition to the ruins of the
priory, there is a quadrangular range of most antique houses,
which are stated to have been the residences of the prior
and other superior officers of the establishment. This an¬
cient edifice is now included within the private property
of a gentleman, who resides in a part of it. The town
derives its name from a spacious cave, called a weem, hol¬
lowed out, partly by the action of the waves, and partly
by art, from the rock on which stands the residence al¬
luded to. There is also a communication between the
prior’s house and the cave, by means of a spiral stair, the
orifice of which has, however, been lately built up. Be¬
sides the established church, there is an Episcopalian cha¬
pel, and one or two dissenting places of worship. Pitten¬
weem was erected into a royal burgh in the year 1542,
and, like all the other Fifeshire burghs, had a thriving
and extensive trade, which was carried on with success
till the time of the union, from which date its importance
and its trade have alike declined. It was also a great fishing
station, and much coal was once wrought here ; but both
are now considerably decreased. The harbour is very
much exposed to easterly winds but it has been improved
so far as the means of the town will allow, and is now ra¬
ther an extensive work. The revenue of the burgh amounts
to above L.550, and its expenditure to nearly the same
amount. In the year 1833, the town was in debt to the
amount of L.162I sterling. The burgh is governed by a
council, consisting of four bailies,-a treasurer, and nine¬
teen councillors ; and, with St Andrews, the two Anstruth-
ers, Crail, Cupar, and Kilrenny, it returns a member to par¬
liament. The population in 1821 amounted to 1200, and
in 1831 to 1317.
PIUS, a name of several pontiffs distinguished in the
history of the Catholic church.
Pius II. (j'Eneas Sylvius Piccolomini) was born on the
18th of October 1405, at Corsigni, in the Siennese, the
name of which he afterwards changed into that of Pienza.
vEneas was carefully educated, and made considerable pro¬
ficiency in the belles lettres. After having finished his stu¬
dies at Sienna, he in 1431 went to the council of Basil
with Cardinal Capranica, surnamed De Per mo, because he
was intrusted with the government of that church. Tineas,
who acted as his secretary, was then only twenty-six years
of age. He afterwards acted in the same capacity to some
other prelates, and to Cardinal Albergati. The council of
Basil honoured him with different commissions, in order to
recompense him for the zeal with which he had defended
that assembly against Pope Eugenius IV. He was after¬
wards secretary to Frederic III., who decreed to him the
poetical crown, and sent him as ambassador to Rome, Milan,
p I U 77i
Naples, Bohemia, and other places. Nicholas V. advanced Pius,
him to the bishopric of Trieste, which he quitted some time
afterwards for that of Sienna* At last, after having distin¬
guished himself as nuncio on various occasions, he was in¬
vested with the Roman purple by Calixtus III., whom he
succeeded two years afterwards, on the 27th of August
1458. Pius II., now advanced to the holy see, exemplified
the proverb, “ Honores mutant mores.” From the com¬
mencement of his pontificate he appeared to be jealous of
the papal prerogatives. In 1460 he issued a bull, declaring
appeals from the pope to a council to be null, erroneous,
detestable, and contrary to the sacred canons. That bull,
however, did not prevent the procurator-general of the par¬
liament of Paris from appealing to a council in defence of
the Pragmatic Sanction, which the pope had strenuously
opposed. Pius was then at Mantua, whither he had gone
to engage the Catholic princes to unite in a war against
the 1 urks. The greater part of them had agreed to fur¬
nish troops or money ; but others refused both, particularly
h ranee, which from that moment incurred his holiness’s
aversion. But his aversion abated under Louis XL, whom
in 1461 he persuaded to abolish the Pragmatic Sanction,
which the parliament of Paris had with so much vigour
supported.
I he following year, 1462, was rendered famous by a con¬
troversy which took place between the Cordeliers and Do¬
minicans, whether or not the blood of Jesus Christ was se¬
parated from his body whilst he lay in the sepulchre. It
was also made a question whether it was separated from his
divinity. The Cordeliers affirmed that it was, but the Do¬
minicans were of an opposite opinion. As usually happens
in such disputes, the disputants called each other heretics ;
and this obliged the pontiff to issue a bull, forbidding them,
under pain of censure, to brand one another with such odious
epithets. The bull which his holiness published on the
26th of April, retracting what he had written to the coun¬
cil of Basil when he was its secretary, if it somewhat im¬
peached his consistency, was at least highly honourable to
his frankness and candour. “ I am a man,” says he, “ and
as a man I have erred. I am far from denying that a great
many things which I have said and written may deserve
condemnation. Like Paul, I have preached through decep¬
tion, and I have persecuted the church of God through ig¬
norance. I imitate the blessed St Augustin, who having
suffered some erroneous sentiments to creep into his works,
retracted them. I do the Same thing; I frankly acknow¬
ledge my ignorance, from a fear lest what I have written
in my younger years should be the occasion of any error
that might afterwards be prejudicial to the interests of the
holy see. For if it be proper for any one to defend and sup¬
port the eminence and glory of the first throne of the church,
it is in a peculiar manner my duty, whom God, out of his
mercy and goodness alone, without any merit on my part,
has raised to the dignity of vicar of Jesus Christ. For all
these reasons, we exhort and admonish you in the Lord,
not to give credit to those writings of ours which tend in
any degree to hurt the authority of the apostolic see, and
which establish opinions that are not received by the Roman
church. If you find, then, any thing contrary to her doc¬
trine, either in our dialogues, in our letters, or in other of
our works, despise these opinions, reject them, and adopt
our present sentiments. Believe me rather now that I am
an old man, than when I addressed you in my earlier days.
Esteem a sovereign pontiff more than a private person ; ex¬
cept against TEneas Sylvius, but receive Pius II.” It might
perhaps be objected to his holiness, that it was his dignity
alone which had made him alter his opinion. He anticipates
that objection by giving a short account of his life and ac¬
tions, with the whole history of the council of Basil, to which
he went with Cardinal Capranica in 1431; “ but,” says he,
“ I was then a young man, and without any experience, like
772
P L A
P L A
Piv6t a bird just come from its nest.” In the mean time, the I urks
il . were threatening Christendom. Pius, ever zealous in the
Placentia. ,  n
defence of religion against the infidels, formed the resolu
tion of fitting out a fleet at the expense, of the church, a.nd
of passing over into Asia himself, to animate the Christian
princes by his example. He repaired to Ancona with a de¬
sign to embark; but he there fell sick from the fatigue o
the journey, and expired on the 16th of August 1464, aged
fifty-nine. Pius was one of the most learned men of his
time, and also one of the most zealous pontiffs ; but being
of an ambitious disposition, he sometimes sacrificed to that
weakness. His principal works are, 1. Memoirs of the
Council of Basil, from the Suspension of Lugenius to the
Election of Felix ; 2. The History of the Bohemians, from
their origin to the year 1458 ; 3. Two books on Cosmo¬
graphy ; 4. The History of Frederic III. (whose vice-
chancellor he had been), published in 1785, in folio ; 5. A
Treatise on the Education of Children; 6. A Poem upon
the Passion of Jesus Christ; 7. A Collection of four hun¬
dred and thirty-two Letters, printed at Milan, 1473, m
folio, in which are found some curious anecdotes ; 8. Ihe
Memoirs of Ms Own Life, published by John Gobelin Per-
sonne, his secretary, and printed at Rome in 1584, In 4to ;
9. Historia Rerum Ubicumque Geslarum, of which only
the first part was published at Venice in 1477, in folio. His
works were printed at Helmstadt in 1700, in folio, with a
life prefixed* ,
PIVOT, or Pivat, a foot or shoe of iron or other me¬
tal. usually conical or terminating in a point, whereby a
body, intended to turn round, bears upon another fixed at
rest, and performs its revolutions. The pivot usually bears
or turns round in a sole, or piece of iron or brass hollowed
to receive it*
PIZARRO, Francis, a celebrated Spanish general, the
discoverer and conqueror of Peru, in conjunction with Diego
Almagro, a famous Spanish navigator. They are both
charged with having committed horrid cruelties on the in¬
habitants; and they fell victims to their own ambition,
jealousv, and avarice. Almagro having revolted, was de¬
feated and beheaded by Pizarro, who again was assassi¬
nated by Almagro’s friends in 1541. See the article Peru.
PIZZO, a city of Italy, in the province of Calabria Ul-
teriore II., and kingdom of Naples. It is situated on a
promontory on the south side of the Gulf of Euphemia.
It was destroyed by the tremendous earthquake of 1783,
but has been “again rebuilt, and contains upwards of 5000
inhabitants, the most industrious of the population of Ca¬
labria. They have been freed from taxes on salt, and from
some other imposts, since 1815, when they resisted the at¬
tempt of Murat, who landed near it. This has promoted
the fishery, and especially the curing of fish. The coun¬
try around it is highly productive of corn, oil, figs, and
mulberry trees, and yields much silk.
PLACE, in Astronomy. The place of the sun, a planet,
or a star, denotes the sign and degree of the zodiac which
the luminary is in ; or the degree of the ecliptic, reckoning
from the beginning of Aries, which the planet’s or star’s
circle of longitude cuts ; and therefore coincides with the
longitude of die sun, planet, or star. As the sine of the sun’s
greatest declination, 23° 30', is to the sine of any present
declination given or observed, for instance, 23° 15'; so is
the radius 10 to the sine of its longitude, 81° 52'; which, if
the declination were north, would give 20° 52 of Gemini,
or, if south, 20° 52' of Capricorn, for the sun’s place.
PLACENTIA, a city of Spain, in the province of Estre-
madura, the capital of a partido of the same name, which
comprises two fruitful districts on the two sides ot the nvei
Vera. It is situated on the river Xerte, between two hills,
and has been fortified, but its defences have been neglect¬
ed. It has seven gates protected by towers, twenty-two
streets and squares, seven churches, as many monasteries,
five hospitals, two colleges, 950 houses, and 5200 inhabit- 1 ‘'Mary
ants, who are occupied in tanning leather, and in making H
hats and pottery ware. The district around produces much „
honey and bees’ wax, which adds to its trade, i he city
is supplied with water by means of a fine aqueduct or eighty
3.rdlGS«
PLAGIARY, the purloiner of another man’s works.
Amongst the Romans, plagiarius was properly a person
who bought, sold, or retained a freeman for a slave; and
was so called because, by the Flavian law, such persons
wrere condemned ad plagas, or to be whipped. Thomasius
has an express treatise a£pidgin Uterario, wherein he lays
down the laws and measures of the right which authors
have to use one another’s writings.
PLAGUE. The terms pest, pestilence, and plague,
were long employed in Great Britain, as were the cone-
sponding terms in other languages, both in ancient and in
modern times, to denote simply a disease attacking a great
number of persons simultaneously and in succession, and
destroying a large proportion of those whom it attacked;
in short, a widely-diffused and malignant epidemic. At
the present day these terms are restricted to signify a par¬
ticular form of disease, of frequent occurrence in the coun¬
tries bordering on the eastern extremity of the Mediter¬
ranean, the Levant and Archipelago, but occasionally ap¬
pearing also in countries more or less remote from these
regions. M
“The disease in question, the plague of the Levant, as Symptoms
it is often termed, exhibits, not in every individual ca^fc, by which
but in a large proportion of those affected in the progress
of its epidemic prevalence, two classes ot symptoms, th e terized.
constitutional and the local. Under the constitutional symp¬
toms may be comprehended those indicatory of fever ot a
malignant or typhoid character, with various concomitant
phenomena that are in wont to attend fever of this cha¬
racter in different regions of the globe; the local consist
chiefly of glandular swellings, or buboes as they are term¬
ed, and of malignant or gangrenous boils, or carbuncles.
These two classes of symptoms stand variously related Relations
to one another in different individual cases; and even,oJ J^2
ifiogitf
.✓V
there seems reason to believe, in different periods of the
same epidemic. Dr Patrick Russell, in his 1 realise of the symptoms.
Plague, in which he has given the results of his own exten- "
sive^observation of this disease during its epidemic preva¬
lence in Aleppo in the years 1760,1761, and 1762, mentions
one class of patients.who seldom or never had buboes or car¬
buncles ; and another class, in a few of whom, when the
disease proved quickly fatal, these symptoms were likewise
absent. “ These two eruptions,” he says, “ are equally diag¬
nostics of the true plague ; their presence, separately or m
conjunction, leaves the nature of the distemper unequivocal;
but fatal has been the error of rashly, from their absence,
pronouncing a distemper not to be the plague, which m
the sequel has depopulated regions, and which early pre¬
caution might probably have prevented from spreading.
Dr Louis Frank, also, mentions, that though the appearance
of buboes is the most constant and characteristic symptom ot
the plague, yet he has seen many affected with this disease,
in whom buboes were altogether wanting, or appeared only
at the period of death. As cases of this kind are particu¬
larly liable to occur at the commencement ot an epidemic,
a considerable number of persons may, it is obvious, come
to be affected, before the pestilential character of the dis¬
ease is ascertained, or even suspected, particularly in re¬
gions in which the plague is ot rare occurrence.
But as the constitutional symptoms of plague may oc¬
cur without the local, so the local may occur with little
fever or constitutional disturbance of any kind. Dr Rus¬
sell, under his fifth class of cases, to which he refers those
of slight infection, in which all the infected recovered, and
which, he says, “ was very numerous,” mentions, that in
PLAGUE.
773
igue. these the access was often attended with so little apparent
wy-—" disorder, that the eruptions gave the first alarm, “ the bu¬
boes were often the first symptom of infectionand the
fever, which came on afterwards, wras frequently so slight
as not to confine the sick to the house; others found them¬
selves indisposed for two or three days, but were not sen¬
sible of any febrile heat whatever. In these- eases, and in
some others in which the fever ran somewhat higher, but
without the concurrence of alarming symptoms, “all the
infected had buboes or carbuncles, and very often both
eruptions con'curred ip the same subject. Persons not
confined by indisposition were often, by the inguinal bu¬
boes, prevented from walking abroad.”
In cases of plague in which both the constitutional and
the local symptoms manifest themselves, there is consi¬
derable difference in the relative time of their appearance.
H In a very large proportion of the sick,” Dr Russell in¬
forms us, “ the buboes made their appearance in the
course of the first day; but in many instances they did
not appear before the second or third day, or even later.”
In the few remarks we purpose to offer relative to the
plague, we shall consider some points of its natural history,
as it presents itself, IsA in the countries in which it is of
frequent occurrence; and, 2d, in those countries in which
jjwccur- I. In the countries bordering on the Levant and Archipe-
ri on thelago, the plague is liable to present itself either in single,
b iers of orj as they are termed by medical men, sporadic cases,; or
# &c a 8reat riuml)er of cases simultaneously or in succession,
T’ ’ so as to constitute an epidemic.
Ittspora- It is stated, indeed, by Dr Patrick Russell, that “ in the
dlbccur- intervals between the plagues of Aleppo,” that is to say,
*p:e. between the successive epidemic prevalences of this dis¬
ease, “ the city remains absolutely free ; and the plague
is never sporadic there, except in its beginning and de¬
cline ; it never subsists for any length of time in a few
scattered cases without consequence.” But this statement
is not conformable w ith the reports of others. M. Pugnet,
who accompanied Bonaparte’s expedition to Egypt, affirms,
in his Memoire suf les Fievres du mauvais caractere du
Levant, that that country is seldom absolutely free from the
plague during several successive years ; and that in almost
every month of every year there occur a number of cases,
though these are not noted when they do not occasion its
epidemic prevalence. Sir James M‘Grigor, who had the me¬
dical charge of the army which was brought from India to
Egypt in 1801, in like manner expresses his belief that
“ the contagion of plague is seldom or never out of Egypt.”
Dr Murdoch Mackenzie, in his Letters concerning the
Plague at Constantinople, published in the Philosophical
Transactions, vol. xlvii. remarks, that during the twenty
years he had lived at Constantinople and Smyrna, there had
scarcely been a year, excepting three, in which the plague
did not threaten more or less, with little or no perceptible
difference in the character of the season to explain it. The
late Sir Thomas Maitland, w'ho had occasion, whilst gover¬
nor-general of Malta and the Ionian Islands, to apply his
vigorous mind to the investigation of the natural history
of the plague, came to the conclusion, that, though subject
to variations in respect of prevalence in the countries in
question, this disease is never wholly extinct in any of
them.' “ We find,” says Sir Thomas, “ that, whether it be
j - in Egypt, at Smyrna, or Constantinople, an effort has been
made to convince the wTorld that the plague stops in these
places at certain seasons, and commences at others, for
my own part, I can only say, that he would be a bold man
who would venture to assert that the plague ever is era¬
dicated at any season of the year, in any one of the three
places just mentioned; on the contrary, I hold nothing
more certain, than that it constantly exists in them all, Plague,
showing itself with greater violence at one time than at v'-*-"'
another, and hardly taken notice of till it arrives at such
a height as to be seriously alarming to the whole commu¬
nity.”1
Various estimates have been given of the frequency of Frequency
plague epidemics in the principal towns of Egypt, Syria, of its epi-
and Turkey. Prosper Alpinus, who resided in Egypt be- (‘eniic pre¬
tween 1580 and 1584, refers to a belief of its recurring in ' a‘eIlCe‘
that country every seventh year, but represents this belief
as being incorrect. Dr Alexander Russell mentions it as
the common opinion of the inhabitants of Aleppo, that they
are visited with the plague about once in ten years ; which
opinion, he observes, seems in some measure to be found¬
ed on experience. Dr Mackenzie, writing from Constan¬
tinople in 1763, says, that “ the plague is now more fre¬
quent in the Levant than it was when I first came into this
country, about thirty years ago; for then they were almost
strangers to it in Aleppo and Tripoli of Syria, and they
had it but seldom at Smyrna; whereas now they have it
frequently at Aleppo, and summer and winter in Smyrna,
which,” he adds, “ must be owing to the great communica¬
tion by commerce all over the Levant, and more extended
into the country villages than it used to be.”
When the plague assumes an epidemic character in the Disanpear-
countries in which it is common, the epidemic frequently ance dur.
continues for several years ; riot, however, uninterrupted-a part¬
ly, for in general it is observed, that for a part of the year cq'
the disease in a great measure or altogether disappears, '
breaking out again after an interval of various duration.
In the same way, in non-epidemic seasons, sporadic cases
of plague are seldom or never met with during a particular
portion of the year. It seems reasonable to conclude that
this disappearance of plague, or great abatement in its
prevalence, during a particular portion of the year, must
be connected with some peculiar condition of the weather
then prevailing, and consequently that the period must be
liable to variations, not only in different, countries, but also
to some extent in the same country in different years.
Dr L. Frank mentions his having been assured that at Season at
Cairo the time of year in which the operation of the plague- which this
poison is suspended uniformly commences with the summer occurs,
solstice (21st June), as stated by Prosper Alpinus with re¬
gard both to that city and to Egypt generally; but that
at Alexandria, Rosetta, and Damietta, that is, in the towns
along the coast, the plague terminates about the feast of
St John (24th June), though not uniformly every year, as
it sometimes continues till about the middle of July. In
respect to the period of the plague’s terminating at Cairo,
Dr P. Russell mentions, that several accounts which, on
making strict inquiry, he received from persons long resi¬
dent in that city, Europeans as well as natives, all concurred
in the fact of the plague’s declining rapidly in June, but not
ceasing entirely ; and he particularly refers to information
which he had received of the Europeans having remained,
in 1759, shut up till the middle of July, “ which was con¬
sidered as very extraordinary.” Dr Russell also remarks,
that in most places in the Levant, a popular tradition is to
be found of the extinction of the plague at a certain fixed
period, which varies, however, at different places. At Alep¬
po, he adds, it is fixed nearly a month later than at Cairo.
His brother, Dr A. Russell, states, that at Aleppo the plague
comes to its height in June, decreases greatly in July, and
certainly disappears in August. Mr Dawes, chaplain to the
factory at Aleppo, says, that in all the plagues with which
Aleppo had been visited in the eighteenth century up to
that of 1761, the contagion is said to have regularly and con¬
stantly ceased in August and September. But that which
prevailed in the year last mentioned proved the fallacy of
1 Dispatch to Earl Bathurst, of date the 8th April 1819; ordered to be printed the 17th June 1825.
774
PLAGUE.
Season of
its re-ap-
pearance.
Plague, general observations on this subject; for, from the end of
March 1761, to the middle of September 1762 (that is, for
a continued period of seventeen and a half months), scarcely
a day passed without some deaths or fresh attacks from the
distemper; and though its violence ceased in aututpn, yet
on an average he believes it was fatal to at least thirty
persons in every week, from that lime to the end of the
winter. Dr P. Russell, in reference to the same epidemic,
says, « The natives all agreed in declaring the plague had
never before been so formidable in the winter; and many
went so far as to affirm that it was the first instance of the
plague’s having been ever known at all at that season. Rut
what happened in the year 1742 was entirely forgotten;
and the cases in the present winter, however strongly
marked, will probably, in the course of a few years more,
be obliterated from the memory of the people of Aleppo,
leaving them as tenacious as before of a traditionary opinion,
that the city stands secure from the plague in the winter.”
At Smyrna, according to Mr Hayes, the virulence of the
disorder is almost invariably over by August. From the
statement of Dr Mackenzie, it appears that the plague be¬
gan at Constantinople in 1751 about the middle of May,
and continued uninterruptedly more than sixteen months,
that is, up to the latter end of September 1752. In 1753,
it began the last day of May, and continued uninterrupted¬
ly till the middle of September 1754.
Admitting that, in general, though certainly not univer¬
sally, plague disappears in Egypt soon after the 21st of
June, in Syria about a month later, and probably at a still
more advanced period of the year in Asia Minor and Tui-
key, is there any constancy in regard of its re-appearance?
Sir J. M‘Grigor mentions that the month of November, or
more usually of December, is the time of yeat in which
the plague is wont to re-appear in Egypt, and that, ac¬
cording to the observation of the natives, when it breaks
out before December, they have always a generally pre¬
vailing and very destructive disease. According to Pugnet,
there are three periods in the prevalence of the plague in
Egypt: its invasion, which occupies the months of De¬
cember, January, and February; its acme, which occupies
March, April, and May; and its extinction, which occur*
suddenly during the second halt of June, trank says,
that, according to the general accounts, the plague sel¬
dom occurs in Egypt in the months of September, Oc¬
tober, November, December, and January, but usually ap¬
pears in the months of February, March, and April; and he
adds, conformably with Sir J. M‘Grigor’s statement, that
“ it is well ascertained, that, when it begins in September
or October, it is more terrible than if it appears later, be¬
cause it then continues for a longer time, and is the cause
of greater mortality. Perhaps, also, the pestilential miasma
becomes more deadly.” At Aleppo, according to Dr A.
Russell, the plague is constantly moderated during the win¬
ter, and grows more violent as the spring advances. Mr
Hayes mentions the months of March and April as the pe¬
riod at w hich the plague usually begins at Smyrna. Timone
states in regard to the plague at Constantinople, that it is
pretty soundly lulled by the cold of winter, emitting, how¬
ever, here and there sparks during that season as well as in
spring; it increases in summer, and rages with the greatest
violence in August. Ihe spread of the infection is not
stopped by the coldish north winds blowing at stated times
of the summer; but if the south winds blow during that sea¬
son, constantly and of sufficient warmth, they suppress the
plague.
We shall presently have occasion to see the application
of these facts relative to the periods at which the plague
subsides and revives in Egypt, Syria, and I urkey, to the
explanations that have been proposed of the causes or
agencies by which this disease is produced.
Great difference of opinion has subsisted as to the na¬
ture of the agent which, by its operation on the animal Plague. ^ue
economy, produces this form of disease; whether the ^
plague is generated by a particular state of the atmo-^ature °f
sphere, itself the result of the reciprocal action of various e^?nt
concurrent agents, and which is sufficient to produce the it js })r^
disease in a large proportion of those who are exposed to duced.
its influence, as is the case in respect of ague or intermit¬
tent fever; or whether the disease is communicated from
person to person through the medium of some impalpable
effluvium from the body, as in the cases of measles and
scarlet fever ? Whether, in the language of 'medical men,
the plague depends on terrestrial or atmospheric miasm,
improperly named infection by some, or upon human con¬
tagion.
‘The laws of quarantine, so far as they refer to the The qua-
plague, obviously proceed on the supposition that this dis- rantine
ease is capable of being communicated by person to per-^aws<
son ; and also that the plague-poison is capable of being
imbibed by substances that have come in contact with
the bodies of those affected, or that have been exposed
to the air which they breathe; of remaining attached to
such substances for a considerable space of time, when
excluded from free ventilation ; of mixing with the at- •
mosphere when exposed to it, and infecting those who
breathe it; or of communicating the disease to persons
who touch or handle the articles to which it is attached.
The inconvenience with which the enforcement of the
quarantine laws is necessarily attended, particularly to ^en>
those engaged in commerce, has naturally rendered many
anxious for their repeal or modification. The grounds
upon which those who have represented them as unne¬
cessary have rested their case, may be referred to the
two following: ls£, That the plague always depends on
miasm, and consequently, where the circumstances ne¬
cessary for the production of plague-miasm concur, the
disease will happen in spite of all quarantine regulations;
and, 2d, that supposing the disease to be contagious, there
are climates in which its contagion cannot be received
and propagated, and consequently, as regards these, qua¬
rantine laws must be superfluous.
The evidence in favour of the contagious character ofDepend-
the plague in Egypt, Syria, Turkey, &c. and of its disse-ence or
. , .,i a i e~      i i j r contain
gis;
mination both by person and by fomites, as deduced from con.t^Tlon
satisf'actc-
the places and individuals that escape, as well as from rjjv egta_
the places and individuals that become affected, is so am-bffshed.
pie and complete, as to leave room for doubt only in
minds pre-occupied with theoretical dogmata, or conside¬
rations of personal advantage. Accordingly, the opinion ad¬
verse to the contagious character of plague in these coun¬
tries, seems to be now very generally abandoned by those
who can be regarded as impartial and competent judges of
the fact. When a select committee was appointed by the
House of Commons in 1819, to consider the validity of the
doctrine of contagion in the plague, all the medical men
examined, with the exception of two, were in favour of the
received doctrine, that the plague is a disease commu¬
nicable by contagion. One of these anti-contagionists
in plague was Dr Charles Maclean, the other Dr Mitchell.
Of the medical officers of the French and English armies
in Egypt between 1799 and 1802, who have published an
account of the diseases which presented themselves to
their observation during that campaign, Assalini seems to
have been the only one wfflo came to the conclusion that
the plague is not a truly contagious disease, and that it is
produced solely by local causes. *
By some, however, it has been supposed that both ter-Whether
restrial miasm and human contagion are concerned in also <te- ^
spreading the plague, the disease being first generated by
miasm, but subsequently diffusing itself, by contagion, both miasma.
in the districts in which the miasm is produced, and in
countries to which it does not extend, and in which it can-
PLAGUE.
775
■ I igue. not be supposed to be generated. Amongst those holding
'■>'-Y-"-''this doctrine, there has been a difference of opinion as to
the number of districts in which the supposed plague-miasm
may be produced. Some conceive that there is,, one parti¬
cular portion of the globe only in which the circumstances
essential for the development of plague-miasm occur in com¬
bination ; an opinion readily adopted by the different na¬
tions and provinces among whom the disease frequently
prevails, though they differ very much as to the parent soil,
each being desirous to transfer that odium from itself to its
neighbour. M. Fodere, who, though he had never person¬
ally seen the plague, had bestowed much pains in studying
its history, maintains that the plague is a production of the
soil of Lower Egypt alone ; that is to say, of the combina¬
tion of the waters of the Nile, and of the materials brought
down by that river, with the vegetable earth of the Delta,
when, after the inundation, the heat causes these waters to
be volatilized, and gives rise to the creation of an immense
multitude of insects and of reptiles. When the disease
has once been produced in the human body by this miasm,
he has no doubt as to its being capable of being communi¬
cated from person to person. He holds, therefore, that in
Lower Egypt, the plague is both an endemic and a con-
' tagious disease ; whilst, when it occurs in Upper Egypt, in
Syria, and the other countries of Turkey, and in Europe,
it is simply a contagious disease, being transported to them
from Lower Egypt.
Lien- Others, again, are of opinion, that in Egypt, as else-
d(t:e on where, the plague always requires a human effluvium for
aliDsphe- jjg production and communication ; but that the propaga-
riioncU- jjon jjjjg COntagious effluvium is greatly influenced by,
if not dependent upon, particular conditions of the atmo¬
sphere. This unknown condition of the atmosphere is
supposed either to cause the effluvia of non-pestilential
diseases to assume a pestilential character, or the plague-
effluvium to be generated of a peculiarly virulent charac¬
ter, or to render the human body more susceptible of its
action. The influence of the atmosphere in promoting
and in checking plague seems sufficiently established by
the circumstances already stated relative to the variations
in its prevalence in the different seasons of the year; but
in what manner or by what qualities the atmosphere exerts
this influence, is a matter of the greatest uncertainty,
ojtiem- Some authors have been of opinion, that it is simply
t p^ture; the temperature of the atmosphere which determines the
prevalence of plague in the countries along the shores
of the Mediterranean; that the atmosphere may be either
too hot or too cold for its propagation. Thus Dr A.
Russell mentions, that the season wherein the plague al¬
ways ceases at Aleppo, is that in which the heats are the
most excessive. “ Extreme heat,” he says, “ seems to
check the progress of the disease ; for though, during the
few first hot days, the mortality, as well as the number of
those newly infected, increase, yet a few days’ longer con¬
tinuance of that weather greatly diminishes the number of
the sick.” Mr Dawes, in mentioning August and Sep¬
tember as the months in which the plague usually, though
not constantly, ceases at Aleppo, notices them as being
the hottest months in the year. Conformably with the
same view, the occurrence of the hot winds is conceiv¬
ed by some to be the agent which puts a stop to the pre¬
valence of the plague in Egypt. From the statements of
Timone, and of several other authors, as we have already
seen, it appears that, at Constantinople, the cold of winter
generally exercises a great influence in suppressing or di¬
minishing the extension of this disease. Dr James Frank,
who was upon the expedition with Sir Ralph Abercromby
in the year 1800, and had the first establishment of the
Plague Hospital at Aboukir, says, in his evidence before
the committee of the House of Commons in 1819, “ the
great cold of Constantinople puts an end to it, and the
great heat of Cairo puts an end to it.” And to the same Plague,
effect Mr Edward Hayes, a native of Smyrna, and who^-^^*'^
had resided there nearly forty-four years, on being asked
by the committee, “ When does the plague generally sub¬
side in your country ?” replied, “ When the great cold or
the great heat destroys it.”
M. Pugnet, again, affirms that the prevalence of the heat
plague in Egypt is always proportional to the moisture ofan<* “els-
the atmosphere taken in connection with its heat, whether ^u^t.con'
the moisture shall depend on a greater than usual inunda¬
tion of the Nile, or on the fall of rain ; and explains by these
different sources of moisture the plague making its ap¬
pearance in different districts of Egypt in different years.
The circumstance of the heat bearing either a very great
or a very small proportion to the moisture of the atmo¬
sphere, is, according to Pugnet, unfavourable to the ex¬
tension of plague ; but at the same time he holds, that
besides moisture and heat, the germ of the disease, as he
terms the contagious principle, is requisite for its deve¬
lopment. In noticing that most of those who have travelled
in Egypt say the plague is brought there from Greece, and
those who have travelled in Greece pretend that that coun¬
try only receives it froiji Egypt, M. Pugnet remarks,—
“ I think that the defenders of Egypt and those of Greece
are equally in the right; the plague comes no less from
Egypt than from Greece, or from Greece than from Egypt.
It has established itself a durable focus in these two oppo¬
site points ; and when one of them seems to become ex¬
tinguished, the other revives it.”
Dr L. Frank, who, after sojourning with the French army Supposed
in Egypt, subsequently resided for a year in Tunis, and tra- connection
veiled for six years over the continent of Greece, princi-^^1^®
pally for the purpose of investigating everything connect-0f t}lf.
ed with the plague, is adverse to the idea of the produc-
tion of the pestilential poison being in any way connected
with the overflowing of the Nile. The Nile begins to de¬
crease in September, and in December all the waters dis¬
appear from the inundated surface. Consequently, he ar-
,gues, if the putrefaction of stagnant waters could produce
the plague, this disease should manifest itself chiefly in
the months of October, November, and December, whilst,
in fact, it very rarely occurs in these months. And as the
increase of the Nile in the month of June is very small, it
cannot be supposed to be the occasion of the extinction of
the plague which occurs at that season. Besides, the plague
occurs in some years when the increase of the river has
been small, and does not occur in other years when the in¬
crease has been considerable. Frank has no doubt that the
plague may be generated in Egypt; but in many instances
he thinks it is imported into it from other countries, just as
it is liable to be carried from it to other countries. He sug¬
gests, that when the plague manifests itself rapidly without
any other epidemic having preceded it, it has probably been
imported; but that when an epidemic, petechial, malignant,
or nervous fever has previously occurred, it is very probable
that these diseases have degenerated, and produced the con¬
tagious principle of the plague. Frank conceives, with Al-Repen-
pinus, that it is in the character of the winds that the cause ^ce^on
of the prevalence or cessation of the plague in Egypt is to^P1^'
be looked for ; the unhealthy season corresponding with the wjn(js_
part of the year during which the winds and weather are
variable, and the healthy season with the period during
which the north wind blows steadily, that is, from June to
September.
Those who, in admitting the contagious character of the Supposi-
plague, have argued in favour of the possibility of its poi- tion ot
son being engendered independently of human effluvia, P
and simply from the reciprocal action ot the atmosphere -ng repro.
and the earth upon one another, seem to have been led tOducedfrom
this view by their believing that the plague-poison is wholly time to
extinguished during a certain portion of the year, and con-time.
776
FLAG U E.
Plngut5.
sequently, that for the reproduction of the disease there
must be a reproduction, or generatio de novo, as medical
men term it, of the poison.
When by the return of the period of the year which is
unfavourable to its dissemination, the plague ceases, one
of two things may happen. It may remain absent from
the country or district for a succession of years, or it may
recur with the period of the year which is compatible with
its propagation. Now it does not appear to be necessary,
in either of these cases, to admit the supposition of a fresh
generation of pestilential poison from terrestrial miasmata.
In the case of the shorter interval, the epidemic may have
slumbered, but not died; in short, there may have occur¬
red sporadic cases of the disease, in sufficient number to
maintain the stock. When, again, a more considerable in¬
terval elapses between the cessation of the plague and its
re-appearance at a particular place, a fresh importation may
have taken place from regions in which it has been prevail¬
ing epidemically during its absence from the country under
observation.
Besides being maintained by sporadic cases during the
non-epidemic season of the year, the contagion of the plague
may also be maintained in the form of foniites, that is,
attached to substances that have been in contact with the
bodies of patients, or exposed to the air which they breathe.
Dr Russell mentions, that at Aleppo, in 1762, several in¬
stances occurred of the revival of plague in houses which
had suffered the year before, attended with circumstances
highly suspicious of the contagion having been preserved
several months for want of cleansing. It has very gene¬
rally been believed, also, that by fomites the contagion of
plague may be carried to regions very remote from that
in which these substances acquired it. When the articles
to which the pestiferous poison has attached itself are
freely exposed to ventilation, it does not seem to be re¬
tained for any considerable length of time ; but when, on
the contrary, they are excluded from open communication
with the air, there is good ground for suspecting that the
poison may remain attached to them for a long space of
time. Indeed we are not acquainted with any natural
limit to its continuance, besides that of the free exposure
of the fomites to the air.
In considering the plague to be capable, at least during
stances di- a certain portion of the year, of being diffused by conta-
rninishing gion, it is not necessarily inferred that all persons who
the proba- approach within a given distance of a person labouring
under the disease must become affected with it. There
seem to be a variety of circumstances that diminish the
probability of infection, with some of which we are more or
less acquainted, whilst of others we are entirely ignorant.
1st, It has been supposed that exposure during one pe¬
riod of the epidemic is attended with less risk of infection
than exposure during another. 2d, That exposure to a
mild case of plague is attended with less risk of infection
than exposure to one of a very malignant character. 3d,
That a person who is exposed to plague-contagion by de¬
grees, runs less risk of infection than one who is suddenly
brought within the sphere of its operation, ith, That per¬
sons possessing equanimity of mind, of temperate habits, &c.
run less risk than those who are in opposite circumstances.
Individual peculiarities in respect of the susceptibility
or non-susceptibility of plague-contagion are very singu¬
lar and unaccountable ; but not more so than are observed
in respect of other contagious diseases. A person whose
exposure to the affected has been slight and of short con¬
tinuance, may be seized with the disease; whilst another
w ho has undergone a very great degree of exposure re¬
mains free. And a person who has remained free during
close and long-continued exposure, may ultimately be¬
come affected, without any change of circumstances, ex¬
trinsic or intrinsic, which it is possible to detect.
Circu ni¬
hility of in¬
fection.
Dr L. Frank conceives that the proportion of persons
who pass their life in Egypt without experiencing an at-
tack of plague, is greater than the proportion of persons
who never experience an attack of small-pox, which he
reckons as scarcely one in ten thousand.
It has been much disputed whether having once passed Possibility
through plague renders a person unsusceptible of re-in-°1 recur-
X* 4. ?    _ • X* « «1 f1 r-i 1 X /-■» 1 •« i fWT 1 vx c> 10I1CG HI
fection ; and if it does not afford absolute security against
more than one attack, in what proportion of cases a 86—^^'
cond or more frequent recurrence takes place. Some au¬
thors have denied the reality, if not the possibility, of a
second attack of plague ; others have related, as very sin¬
gular events, single cases which had been noticed in parti¬
cular epidemics ; whilst others again represent such occur¬
rences as by no means rare. Dr Mackenzie mentions his
having been assured by the Greek Padre, who took care
of the Greek hospital at Smyrna for fifty years, that he
had had the plague twelve different times during that pe¬
riod ; and it is very certain, adds Dr Mackenzie, that he
died of it in 1736. The abbe who took care of the Frank
Hospital at Pera, assured Dr M. that he had had the dis¬
ease at Constantinople and at Smyrna four different times.
In various respects it is extremely desirable to know jjatent pu
what length of time may elapse between a person’s expo-riod of in.
sure to plague-poison, and the appearance of the disease, fection.
On the decision of this question, it is obvious, the dura¬
tion of personal quarantine should be founded. Dr P.
Russell mentions, that at Aleppo, he met with no instance
of the disease appearing later than the ninth or tenth day
after the day of shutting up, in those who adopted that
precaution. Sir J. M‘Grigor, in noticing that in different
people, and under different circumstances, there is the
greatest variety in respect of the time the matter of the
pestilential contagion takes before it comes into action,
mentions one case in which ten days seemed to be the
shortest period that could possibly have intervened; and
another in which a person continued well till the seven¬
teenth day after being placed in quarantine.
II. The few remarks which we have room to offer rela-in other
tiv<? to the plague, as occurring occasionally in other re-countries
gions than those bordering on the Levant and Archipelago, than those
must bear reference chiefly to the question, whether, admit-™™6 Le‘
ting the plague to be a contagious disease in the countries
we have hitherto alluded to, there is any reason to appre¬
hend the possibility of its being introduced into the Bri-Possibility
tish isles ; or whether the quarantine laws, as regards theofPlaSlie
plague, might be safely abolished. To justify such a mea-
sure, it would, it appears to us, be necessary to establish isjes_
the correctness of one or other of the following proposi¬
tions:— ls£, That it is impossible, in the nature of things,
that the plague should exist in the British isles; and that,
in point of fact, it never existed in them: 2d, That if
it ever existed in these islands, it was indigenous, not im¬
ported, and consequently could not have been prevented
by quarantine laws: or, 3d, That if it ever was imported
into these islands, it was under circumstances which cannot
iijci
1 V*V. Wil •
Is/, Our opinion, as to whether a particular disease can-
occur in any country, may rest upon two grounds; the
first, our belief as to the conditions on which its preva¬
lence in the countries it is known to infest may depend;
and the second, our knowledge as to whether it has ever
prevailed in the country in former times. These two con ¬
siderations may reflect mutual light on each other. If
we are very certain as to the conditions requisite for the
existence of the particular disease, and are told that it has
occurred in a country which we know not to fulfil these,
we will disbelieve the correctness of the statement. And,
conversely, if we are perfectly satisfied that the disease
has prevailed in a country which does not fulfil the condi¬
tions we are disposed to consider requisite for its exist-
PLAGUE.
Hague, ence, our opinion as to these conditions must be modified.
In respect of the plague, it is plain, from the discrepancies
which we have seen to prevail in the explanations given
of the causes by which it is produced and propagated in
Egypt, &c. that the reality of its existence is exposed to
much less dubiety than the explanation of the conditions
on which that existence depends.
The fact already mentioned, of the very wide significa¬
tion that used to be attached to the term plague or pest,
renders it necessary, indeed, that in judging whether a par¬
ticular epidemic was really plague or not, we should not
trust to the mere name which it received, but inquire into
the symptoms which it actually exhibited. But. with
symptoms so very characteristic as those that attend true
plague, or rather, as we have already said, a large propor¬
tion of the cases that occur in the course of a plague-
epidemic, a very slight description of a 'pestilence must suf¬
fice for determining as to its identity with genuine plague.
Accordingly, we have experienced considerable surprise,
in looking over the evidence taken by the committee of
the House of Commons in 1819, at the number of wit¬
nesses who either positively denied that the so-called
plague in London of 1665 (to omit previous epidemics to
which that title was applied) was really that disease, or ex¬
pressed much doubt on the subject. If the general state¬
ment of Sydenham to that effect left any room for doubt
on this head, the minute description of Dr Hodges, and
particularly the portion of it that relates to the more pe¬
culiar symptoms, including buboes, carbuncles, &c. is more
than sufficient, we should have thought, to remove all doubt
from the minds of the most sceptical,
lether 2c?, As to the plague of 1665 having been indigenous,
■ igenous and not imported, we have a very explicit statement of
! imPort- Dr Hodges as to its having been brought from Turkey to
Holland, and from Holland to England. Attempts have in¬
deed been made to point out discrepancies in his explana¬
tion of its first appearance and propagation in England;
but to us the objections appear inconclusive, and the de¬
ficiencies in the chain of proofs suctr as might occur in
tracing the diffusion of a disease universally recognised as
contagious. The non-recurrence of the plague in this coun¬
try since that period is certainly not more easy to explain,
on the supposition of the epidemic in question having been
indigenous, than on that of its having been imported.
2>d, The circumstances favourable to the reception and
dissemination of plague-contagion, which may be supposed
to have existed in 1665, but to be now extinct and inca¬
pable of recurring, may be of different kinds. The be¬
neficial change may be in the character of the climate, in
the condition of the soil, or in the habits of the people.
But if our immunity has depended on a change in the cli¬
mate, who can be responsible for the continuance of this
change? What the climate has been, it may, for any thing
we know, become again. And as to any immunity that
could be supposed to result from a change in the habits of
society, and particularly from the superior attention paid
to cleanliness and ventilation in our cities, from the intro¬
duction of public sewers, &c. to which much importance
has been attached, we must confess our apprehensions, that
any seeds of disease which depend for their development
upon filth, will not perish for want of a hot-bed in many
districts of the larger cities of the three kingdoms.
A recent occurrence in Egypt forcibly inculcates the
necessity of great caution in admitting, that in a country
in which plague is known to have occurred, any changes
have been effected, either in the soil or in the people, in¬
compatible with its recurrence. Mr Edward W. Lane, in
his Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern
Egyptians, written in Egypt during the years 1833, 1834,
and 1835, says, “ The climate of Upper Egypt is more
healthy, though hotter, than that of Lower Egypt. The
VOL xvn.
777
plague seldom ascends far above Cairo, the metropolis. It is Plague,
most common in the marshy parts of the country near the
Mediterranean. During the last ten years, the country hav¬
ing been better drained, and quarantine regulations adopt¬
ed to prevent or guard against the introduction of this dis¬
ease from other countries, very few plague cases have oc¬
curred, excepting in the parts above mentioned; and in
those parts the pestilence has not been severe.’’ But
in a note Mr Lane adds, “ This remark was written before
the terrible plague of the present year (1835), which was
certainly introduced from Turkey, and extended through¬
out the whole of Egypt, though its ravages were not great
in the southern parts. It has destroyed not less than
eighty thousand persons in Cairo, that is, one third of the
population ; and far more, I believe, than two hundred
thousand in all Egypt.”
If, from any of the circumstances alluded to, the British
isles can be supposed to be free from the risk of the im¬
portation of plague-contagion, or of its diffusion in the
event of importation, it is to be presumed that it does not
enjoy this as an exclusive privilege, but must share it with
other countries that are similarly circumstanced. It be¬
comes necessary, therefore, to inquire in what countries,
besides those immediately bordering on the Levant and
Archipelago, we have occasion to believe that the plague
has existed, or is capable of existing.
In the first place, of its liability to occur in the islands,
and along the coasts of the more western portions of the
Mediterranean, we presume no doubt can be entertained.
In two of the Greek islands now under British dominion,
viz. Corfu and Cephalonia, the plague occurred in 1816, in
a form which left no room for doubt as to its real nature.
In Italy, Malta, and the adjoining small island of Gozo, we
have equally unquestionable examples of the occurrence of
plague in recent times; witness that which occurred at
Noja in the kingdom of Naples in 1816, and of wdiich ac¬
counts have been published by Morea, Onofrio, and Schdn-
berg ; and that which occurred in Malta and Gozo in 1813,
of which accounts have been given by Calvert, Faulkner,
and Tully. Previously to 1813, Malta appears not to have
been infected with the plague for upwards of a hundred
and thirty years, that is, since 1675; a circumstance nor.
undeserving the consideration of those who are disposed
to consider non-occurrence as implying impossibility of oc¬
currence.
In Sicily, we are not aware of the plague having ap¬
peared in an epidemical form since the year 1743, when it
raged at Messina.
Along the African coast we have accounts of the oc¬
currence of the plague at Tunis in 1818, 1819, and 1820,
by Passeri; and of its occurrence so far to the west as Tan¬
gier in 1818 and 1819, an account has been published by
Graberg di Hemso.
Of the plague-epidemics that have occurred on the
northern shores of the western portion of the Mediterra¬
nean, that of which we possess the most circumstantial
account is the epidemic of Marseilles in 1720. The de¬
scriptions of that epidemic given in the works of Chicoy-
neau, and of Bertrand and Michel, .leave, we conceive, not
the smallest room for doubt as to the disease having been
genuine or Levant plague.
Of the extension of the plague from Turkey into more
northern latitudes, numerous examples might be adduced.
Between the years 1702 and 1711, it advanced by a gra¬
dual but steady course through the different provinces of
Poland and Prussia to Dantzig, and from thqnce extended
itself to Copenhagen. (See the accounts of this epidemic
by Gottwald, Chamberlayne.) Again, in the year 1769 and
1770, when the Russians and Turks were engaged in war¬
fare, the plague passed from the Turkish confines through
some of the Polish provinces, and thence into the Russian
5 F
778 P L A P L A
Plain territories, and ultimately reached the city of Moscow. (De
II Mertens, Orrgeus, -Samoilowitz.)
” ane > It has been generally considered as a well-established fact
""'"v in regard to the plague, that it had not been seen beyond
a certain degree of eastern longitude, Mecca being the
limit that has usually been assigned to its extension in
that direction. This fact has been supposed to confirm
and to be explained by the notion of its contagious poison
being rendered innocuous by a certain degree of atmo¬
spheric temperature. From recent communications from
India, however, there seems too much reason to apprehend
that the plague has at length made its appearance on the
confines of the north-western district of Hindustan. The
only accounts of the epidemic which has excited these
apprehensions that we have yet had an opportunity of
perusing, are contained in the first three numbers of the
Quarterly Journal of the Calcutta Medical and Physi¬
cal Society, published between the 1st January and the
21st July 1837. We are unable to lay extracts before our
readers, but we may refer to the communications of Mr
Maclean, Dr Irvine, and Dr Keir, therein contained, as
leaving little room to doubt that the epidemic in ques¬
tion was true plague, though not in its most aggravated
form. (L- L> f" L')
PLAIN, or Plane, in general, an appellation given to
whatever is smooth and even, or simple, obvious, and easy
to be understood; and, consequently, stands opposed to
rough, enriched, or laboured.
A plain figure, in Geometry, is an uniform surface, from
every point of the perimeter of which right lines may be
drawn to every other point in the same. A plain angle
is one contained under two lines or surfaces, in contradis¬
tinction to a solid angle. See Angle and Geometry. The
doctrine of plain triangles, as those included under three
right lines, is termed plain trigonometry. See the article
Trigonometry.
PLAN, in general, denotes the representation of some¬
thing drawn upon a plane, such as maps, charts, ichnogra-
phies, and the like. The term plan, however, is particularly
used for a draught of a building, such as it appears, or is
intended to appear, on the ground, showing the extent, di¬
vision, and distribution of its area or ground-plot into apart¬
ments, rooms, passages, &c. A geometrical plan is that in
which the solid and vacant parts are represented in their
natural proportions. The raised plan of a building is the
same with what is otherwise called an elevation or orthogra¬
phy. A perspective plan is that exhibited by degradations
or diminutions, according to the rules of perspective-
PLANE, in Geometry, denotes a plain surface, or one
that lies evenly between its bounding lines ; and as a right
line is the shortest extension from one point to another, so
a plane surface is the shortest extension from one line to
another. * ‘
In astronomy, conic sections, &c. the term plane is fre¬
quently used for an imaginary surface, supposed to cut and
pass through solid bodies; and on this foundation is built
the whole doctrine of conic sections. In mechanics, planes
are either horizontal, that is, parallel to the horizon, or in¬
clined thereto. The determining how far any given plane
deviates from an horizontal line, makes the whole business
of levelling. In optics, the planes of reflection and refrac¬
tion are those drawn through the incident and reflected or
refracted rays. In perspective we meet with the perspec¬
tive plane, which is supposed to be pellucid, and perpen¬
dicular to the horizon; the horizontal plane, supposed to
pass through the spectator’s eye, parallel to the horizon ;
and the geometrical plane, likewise parallel to the horizon,
in which the object to be represented is supposed to be
placed.
The plane of projection in the stereographic projection
of the sphere, is that on which the projection is made, cor- Plane
responding to the perspective plane. ||
Plane, in joinery, an edged tool or instrument for par- Hanter.
ing and shaving wood smooth. It consists of a piece of v S^P'
wood very smooth at bottom, as a stock or shaft, in the Y’'*“
midst of which is an aperture, through which passes a steel
edge, or chisel, placed obliquely ; and this being very sharp,
takes off the inequalities of the wood along which it slides.
PLANET, a celestial body, revolving round the sun as
a centre, and continually changing its position with re¬
spect to the fixed stars; wdience the name planet, which
is a Greek word signifying “ wanderer.” See Astronomy.
PLANETARIUM, an astronomical machine, so called
from its representing the motions and orbits of the planets,
agreeably to the Copernican system.
PLANETARY Days. Amongst the ancients, the week
was shared among the seven planets, each having its own
day. This we learn from Dion Cassius, and also from Plu¬
tarch (Sympos. lib. iv. q. 7). Herodotus adds, that it was
the Egyptians who first discovered wrhat god, that is, what
planet, presided over each day ; for amongst this people the
planets were directors. And hence it is that in most Eu¬
ropean languages the days of the week are still denominated
from the planets.
Planetary Years, the periods of time in which the seve¬
ral planets make their revolutions round the sun or earth.
As from the proper revolution of the sun the solar year
takes its origin, so from the proper revolutions of the rest
of the planets about the earth, several sorts of years arise ;
such are the Saturnian year, which is defined by twenty-
nine Egyptian years, 174 hours, fifty-eight minutes, equi¬
valent in a round number to thirty solar years ; the Jovial
year, containing 317 days, fourteen hours, fifty-nine mi¬
nutes ; and the Martial year, containing 321 days, twenty-
three hours, thirty-one minutes. With respect to Venus
and Mercury, as their years, when judged of wuth regard
to the earth, are almost equal to the solar year, so they
are more usually estimated from the sun, the true centre
of their motions; in which case the former is equal to 224
days, sixteen hours, forty minutes, and the latter to eighty-
seven days, twenty-three hours, fourteen minutes.
PLANIMETRY, that part of geometry which considers
lines and plain figures, without regard to their height or
depth.
PLANISPHERE signifies a projection of the sphere
and its various circles upon a plane; in which sense maps,
on which are exhibited the meridians and other circles of
the sphere, are planispheres.
PLANT is defined to be an inorganical body, destitute
of sense and spontaneous motion, adhering to another
body in such a manner as to draw from it its nourishment,
and having a power of propagating itself by seeds. See
Anatomy Vegetable, Botany, Physical Geography,
and Vegetable Physiology.
PLANTAGENET, the surname of the kings of Eng¬
land from Henry II. to Richard III. inclusive. Antiqua¬
ries are much at a loss to account for the origin of this
name; the best derivation they can find for it being,
that Fulk, the first Earl of Anjou of that name, stung with
remorse for some wicked action, went, as a work of atone¬
ment, in pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where, being soundly
scourged with broom twigs, which grew plentifully on the
spot, he afterwards took the surname of Plantagenet, which
was retained by his posterity.
PLANTERSHIP, in a general sense, is the business of
a planter. In the West Indies, plantership denotes the ma¬
nagement of a sugar plantation, including not only the
cultivation of the cane, but the care of the various process¬
es for the extraction of the sugar, together with the mak¬
ing of sugar-spirits.
779
PLANTING.
Planting, or the culture of trees, is a branch of agricul¬
ture necessarily of much more recent date than either the
culture of grain and herbage plants, or the breeding and
rearing of cattle. The culture of those plants which in
every country supply the food of mankind, whether direct¬
ly, or by nourishing the domestic animals used for food by
man, must have exclusively occupied his attention for many
ages; whilst the timber which was employed in houses,
ships, and machines, or for fuel, was found in the native
woods. Hence, though we hear of the culture of fruit-
trees, and occasionally also of ornamental trees and shrubs,
amongst the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, the cultiva¬
tion oi timber-trees on a large scale by art only took place
in modern times. In the days of Charlemagne, the greater
part of France and Germany was covered with immense
forests; and one of the benefits conferred on France by
that prince, was the rooting up of portions of these forests
here and there throughout the country, and substituting in
their room orchards or vineyards. Artificial plantations
appear to have been formed in Germany sooner than in
any other country, and apparently as early as the fifteenth
century. In Britain they took place, though but sparing-
ly, nearly a century afterwards. Planting, however, was
by no means general in England till the beginning of the
seventeenth century, when, in consequence of the exten¬
sive transfers of property which took place in the preced¬
ing century, on the seizure of the church-lands by Henry
\ III., much timber was sold by the new owners, in order
to make good their payments. The quantity of timber thus
thrown into the market lowered its price considerably, in¬
somuch, as Hollingshed informs us, that the builders of cot¬
tages, who had formerly employed willow, and other cheap
and common woods, now built them of as good oak as
their lords. The demand for timber thus constantly in¬
creasing, and a demand for an extended surface of farming
land going on at the same time, the natural forests became
everywhere greatly circumscribed, till at last timber for
naval purposes and house-building began to be imported,
and the proprietors of land to think, first of protecting their
native woods from the inroads of cattle ; afterwards of en¬
closing pieces of waste ground, and allowing them to be¬
come covered with young trees from seeds carried thither by
the wind or other accidental circumstances ; and ultimate¬
ly of sowing acorns and mast in such enclosures, or of fill¬
ing them with young plants collected in the woods ; a prac¬
tice which exists in Sussex, and some other parts of Eng¬
land, even at the present day. Planting received a great
stimulus in Britain soon after the breaking out of the late
general war, partly in consequence of a real or supposed
scarcity of timber fit for naval purposes, and partly owing
to the high price to which the article for general use rose,
in consequence of the increased expense of obtaining sup¬
plies from other countries. Since the peace, the rage for
planting, with a view to profit, has subsided ; but there is
still a universal taste for cultivating trees and shrubs, with
a combined view to ornament and use ; and there is also an
increased and increasing taste for the introduction of trees
and shrubs from foreign countries.
Having in this slight manner noticed the origin of plant¬
ing, we shall next give a brief outline of its present prac¬
tice in Britain ; noticing in succession: 1. A general view
of the different properties possessed by trees; 2. selec¬
tions suitable for different purposes ; 3. the nursery culture
of trees; and, 4. the culture of trees in plantations.
It is necessary to premise, that in this article we confine
ourselves entirely to trees which are well known in Britain,
and quite hardy; and to the formation of such plantations v Plating*
as are made with a view to their timber-produce. Fruit- ^ v
trees and fruit-shrubs, flowering shrubs of every kind, and
ornamental plantations, we consider as belonging to gar¬
dening, and as already disposed of under the article Hor¬
ticulture.
E—General View of the different Properties possessed hy
Trees which may he cidtivated in Britain.
The sort of trees which it is desirable to plant, is neces¬
sarily the first point which a proprietor will take into con¬
sideration before he commences a plantation. Trees dif¬
fer from one another in many particulars : in magnitude ;
in slowness or rapidity of growth ; in their suitableness for
poor soils or rich soils, moist grounds or dry grounds, ele¬
vated exposed situations, or low and sheltered plains ; in
the texture, colour, and durability of their timber ; in their
delicacy or hardiness in any given climate ; in their being
difficult or easy to propagate and rear; in retaining their
leaves all the year, or dropping them every autumn ; in
producing showy flowers or fruits ; and in a great variety
of other particulars. In regard to magnitude, those trees
which, in the latitude of Britain, and in the same parallels
of latitude throughout the northern hemisphere, attain the
greatest height, are the spruce and silver fir, the larch, and
the Scotch pine; and these also are the trees which, in
most parts of Britain, produce the greatest quantity of tim¬
ber in their trunks relatively to that contained in their
branches, and that in the shortest time. The poplar, the
willow, and some species of elm, are rapid-growing trees,
and produce a great bulk of head in a short period ; but
the timber of these trees is not all contained in one straight
trunk, as in the case of the pines and firs, a considerable
portion of it being distributed among the branches. Hence,
where the speedy production of timber is the main object
of planting, the pines and firs above mentioned are de¬
cidedly the trees that ought to be preferred. The produc¬
tion of timber, however, is not always the sole object of
planting. Effect, or, in other words, the production of the
appearance of woodiness on an estate, is perhaps oftener
the object than mere timber. For this purpose the Scotch
and English elms, the white, black, and black Italian pop¬
lars, the Huntingdon willow, and in some situations the
birch, and in others, such as on the sea-shore, the syca¬
more, are the most desirable trees. Where the object is to
clothe a sterile surface of dry sand, the birch and the Scotch
pine are among the best trees that we have ; and if the situa¬
tion be exposed to the sea-breeze, the common and the Nor¬
way maple may be substituted for the birch and the pine ;
and, in the warmer parts of the island, the evergreen oak.
For moist soils which cannot be drained, there are trees that
have the remarkable property of sending their horizontal
roots along the surface of the ground ; among these are the
white, the trembling, and the Ontario poplars; and, for the
marshes of the warmer parts of the island, the deciduous
cypress. There are trees which will grow near water, in
situations where their roots can enter into it, but which will
not grow in undrained soil, such as the different species of
willow, and most of the poplars. It is a remarkable fact,
that there is no tree in any part of the world which is truly
aquatic ; that is, which will spring up from the bottom of a
pond or river. Had there been such trees created, there
could then have been neither rivers nor lakes, and the whole
of the terrestrial globe must necessarily have been either in
a state of marsh or mountain.
780
PLANTING.
Planting. In general it may be observed, that trees are not so ab-
s—"■'y""""'' solute in their choice of soils as for each species to require
one of a different nature ; on the contrary, on almost any
kind of soil not beyond the average in point of moisture,
dryness, or tenacity, all the known species of trees and
shrubs may be grown to a tolerably mature size and age.
In some soils, however, they will thrive better than in others ;
and the timber produced generally varies in quality accord¬
ing to the soil. Thus a rich soil, while it contributes to the
rapid growth of the pine and fir tribe, renders their timber
less durable ; and the same law holds good, more or less,
with regard to every other species of tree.
The influence of climate on trees is incomparably greater
than that of soil; for, whilst any tree may be said to grow on
any soil, every tree may be said to have its particular cli¬
mate ; that is, a climate in which, the soil and other cir¬
cumstances being suitable, it will attain its greatest bulk,
and its timber endure the longest. Hence, when we take
the geographical and physical range of any particular spe¬
cies of tree, the oak, for example, we shall find that there
is what may be called a central climate, where, when on
suitable soil, it attains its largest size ; and that as it recedes
from this climate, whether by latitude or elevation, either
into one which is colder, or one that is hotter, it gradually
diminishes in size, till it at last appears in the form of a
shrub. Thus the common oak, which in Britain attains its
largest size in Sussex and Hampshire, dwindles into a shrub
on the mountains of the Highlands of Scotland, and tilso in
the north of Africa; its degeneracy being occasioned in the
one case by extreme cold, and in the other by extreme heat.
Even within the range of the climate of Britain, the abso¬
lute character of trees, relatively to climate, is made obvi¬
ous. The English or narrow-leaved elm, which is suppos¬
ed to be a native of Asia Minor, and also of China, attains
a large size in the neighboui’hood of London, producing a
great bulk of timber in a short period, and ripening its
seeds ; while north of York it does not thrive, and in Scot¬
land it is considered only as an ornamental tree. The Lom¬
bardy poplar, which is known in the central counties of
England to attain 100 feet in height in forty or fifty years,
is nowhere seen of a timber-like size in Scotland; and it
may be observed of the sweet chestnut and the walnut, that
though they are grown both for their fruit and their timber
in many parts of England, yet that they cannot be profit¬
ably employed for either purpose north of Newcastle.
Climate, relatively to trees, may be considered in regard
to its average temperature throughout the year, to its tem¬
perature in summer and winter and in spring and autumn,
and to its degree of atmospheric moisture. A high average
temperature is no proof that a climate is suitable for trees ;
but a high summer temperature is suitable for many kinds,
though the temperature of the winter may be very low.
Thus the oaks and many other trees of North America, at¬
taining there a prodigious size, survive a winter as cold as
that of St Petersburg, where no native oaks of any kind
are ever found; but the oaks of North America enjoy a
very high temperature during summer, which rapidly de¬
velops their foliage and young shoots, and fully matures
the latter, so as to enable them to withstand the most rigo¬
rous frosts of winter. In England the average temperature
of the year is as gfeat as that of the oak countries of the
United States; but our summers are comparatively cold,
moist, and gloomy; and though our winters are so much
milder than those of America, yet the spongy, unripened,
young shoots are always more or less injured by the frost.
Another disadvantage of a country having a mild winter is,
that the trees of those countries which have a very severe
winter come into leaf earlier in the spring than the indige¬
nous trees of the mild climate; and frosts being more or
less prevalent at that season, they are proportionably liable
to injury from that cause.
Evergreen trees form a very important division of the Plantin
ligneous kingdom ; and of these there are two classes, very'J" v"
distinct relatively to climate and temperature. The first ot
these classes comprises the needle-leaved trees, such as the
pine and fir tribe, which will endure a degree of cold as
great as that in which any deciduous tree will thrive ; and
the second, the broad-leaved evergreen trees, such as the
holly, the box, the laurustinus, the laurel, the evergreen
oak, the cork-tree, and the evergreen mangolia, all of which
are trees of comparatively mild climates, and which are al¬
ways found in a natural state on islands, or on continents
at low elevations, and at no great distance from the sea:
hence the very considerable number of evergreen trees
which will endure the open air in Britain, compared with
those which stand through the winter in the same parallel
of latitude on the continent.
Of the trees cultivated in Great Britain, only a small pro¬
portion are indigenous. A considerable number are natives
of other parts of Europe, and about two thirds of the whole
are from North America. Of these North American trees
there is scarcely one that is worth cultivating in Britain for
its timber; and the reason seems to be, chiefly, that our cli¬
mate is not sufficiently hot and light in summer to bring
that timber to maturity. The truly useful timber-trees of
Britain are those which are indigenous, such as the oak,
the ash, the broad-leaved elm, the Scotch pine, &c.: or
those which are found in the same hemisphere and in the
same parallels of latitude, such as the larch, the spruce fir,
the silver fir, &c. Of all the trees which are cultivated in
Europe, that which is most to be depended on for the
strength and durability of its timber is the common oak;
and next, and perhaps equal to it, is the larch. 1 he trunk ot
the oak-tree, when freed from the soft or outer wood, and
thoroughly seasoned by exposure to the atmosphere, will
endure an unknown period of time in buildings and ma¬
chines ; and, even when split up into thin laminae, and put
up in the open air as fencing, without any painting or other
preparation, it has been known to last for upwards of a
century. The common European oak is found to be more
durable as timber than any of the American oaks, even
when grown in America, unless we except the live oak;
and there is perhaps no timber in the world equal to it for
ship-building, excepting the teak-wood of India. The most
generally useful timber grown in Britain is the Scotch pine;
but as this timber is also imported from the north of Eu¬
rope, and a substitute for it from North America in great
quantities, it is not planted in Britain nearly so extensively
as it otherwise would be. The timber of the larch is un¬
doubtedly of greater durability than that of the Scotch
pine ; but being apt to warp, and not being so easily work¬
ed, it is less convenient for the purposes of house-carpentry
and joinery. The timber of the common ash is valuable in
the construction of agricultural instruments and machines,
and it is one of the few woods which are almost as valu¬
able when young as when of mature age. The wood of
the broad-leaved elm is strong and durable, but that of
the English and Dutch elms is much less so. The wood of
the poplar, and that of the willow, when exposed to con¬
stant atmospherical changes, speedily decay ; but when
thoroughly seasoned, and afterwards kept perfectly dry,
they will last for centuries. In general, it may be ob¬
served, that every description of timber, when at matu¬
rity, if thoroughly seasoned, and preserved in an atmo¬
sphere tolerably uniform in point of dryness, will last a long
* The great majority of trees which are planted in Britain
may be considered as ornamental; for though the timber
of all of them is more or less useful, yefi if the mere pro¬
duction of timber were the main object of planting, all trees
except the oak, the larch, the Scotch pine, and two or
three others, would be rejected, either on account of their
PLANTING.
tSl
anting, slow growth, or of the inferior quality of the timber which
they produce in our climate. Trees may be considered as
ornamental, from their general shape, from their foliage,
from their flowers or fruit, or from their rarity. In order
that the shapes of trees may be displayed to advantage, it
is necessary that they should stand singly; and when this
is the case with some species of trees, such, for example, as
the different species of the pine and fir tribe, their shapes
become strikingly different from what they are when grown
in masses. The Scotch pine, when drawn up in close
forests, produces a clean, straight trunk, free from branches
for the greater part of its height; but when by chance or
design it stands singly, it throws out gigantic branches on
every side, and becomes one of the most irregular and pic¬
turesque-headed of trees. But of all the trees which as¬
sume ornamental shapes in consequence of standing singly
or nearly so, the most remarkable is the cedar of Lebanon.
When this tree is grown in masses, it shoots up with a straight,
clean trunk, and terminates in a small, spiry top; but when
planted alone, and allowed to spread its branches on every
side, it throws out its gigantic arms in successive tiers, and
forms an irregular pyramidal mass, unequalled for grandeur,
singularity, and picturesque beauty, by any other tree of
the temperate regions of either hemisphere. All trees in¬
deed become comparatively the same naked poles with
scanty tops when grown in masses, and all assume irregu¬
lar and picturesque forms when grown singly. Hence,
whenever trees are grown chiefly for the purpose of display¬
ing their shapes, they ought to be placed at such a distance
from each other as that their branches may not touch;
which in practice is effected by scattering them in groups
in parks or pleasure-grounds, or planting them in hedge¬
rows. Trees which are valued as ornamental chiefly for
their foliage, fruit, or flowers, will obviously display these
to the best advantage when standing singly ; but for such
an object isolation is much less necessary, as the ornamen¬
tal foliage will be displayed even when the plantation is in
masses, and seen at a distance ; and the flowers and fruits
by planting the trees in the margins of plantations of other
sorts.
II.—Selections of Trees for particular purposes.
The object of the preceding remarks is to communicate
some general ideas on the subject of selection, and on the
properties of particular species ; and we shall next pursue
the same subject more in detail, by giving the names of the
principal trees deserving of culture in Britain, thrown into
groups characterized by some property common to the
whole.
Needle-leaved or Resinous Trees are characterized by
straight erect trunks, regularly furnished with branches in
tiers, which never, except under particular circumstances,
acquire the size of timber. They never send up shoots
from the collar or stool when cut over by the surface. The
leaves are narrow, or needle-shaped, without veins, and they
are evergreen. The seeds are produced in cones, and the
whole plant is more or less resinous. They belong to the
Gymnosperms of the natural system, which form an order
intermediate between the Dicotyledoneae, and the Monoco-
tyledonese.
Larix Europaea, Dec., is the most valuable species for
its timber, which is of great durability, both in its young
and mature state. Young larches, five feet or six feet high,
and the spray of larcli-trees of any age, last a very long
period, when intertwined with larch stakes, so as to form a
dead fence. Young trees from ten feet to fifteen feet in
height are found, in the neighbourhood of harnham and
other places, to form the most durable hop-poles; and the
durability of the mature timber, in every department, both
in civil and naval architecture, has been placed beyond all
doubt, by the experience of John duke of Atholl, as re- Planting,
corded in the Transactions of the Highland Society of Scot-
land, vol.xi. p. 165 ; and Loudon’s Arboretum Britannicum,
vol. iv. p. 2387. The bark of the larch is also of consider¬
able value in tanning; and the leaves being deciduous, the
tree is more favourable to the growth of grass under its
shade, than any other species of pine or fir. The larch is
readily increased by seeds which are ripened in abundance
in Britain; and it prospers best in cool, argillaceous soil,
moist rather than dry, and placed at a considerable eleva¬
tion above the level of the sea. The larch is subject to
various diseases, and, in certain soils, to the decay of the
heart-wood; but very little is known at present, either of
the cause of these diseases, or of their prevention or cure.
The larch cultivated in Britain is a native of the Tyrol, and
of the Alps of Switzerland ; but there are some other-spe¬
cies or varieties, natives of Siberia and North America,
which, however, are considered as scarcely worth culture as
forest-trees.
The Scotch pine, Pinus sylvestris, L., is, next to the larch,
the most valuable needle-leaved tree grown in Britain. Its
timber forms the yellow deal of the Baltic and Norway;
and it is unequalled by any species of pine or fir timber
contained in any other part of Europe, or North America.
The best Scotch-pine timber grown in Britain is produced
in the native Highland forests; but there is reason to believe
that artificial plantations, on soils and situations as nearly
similar as practicable, would produce timber of nearly equal
value. It has been the practice for many years past to de¬
cry the Scotch pine grown in Britain as a timber-tree ;
and as we have now no difficulty in importing deal from
the north of Europe, this condemnation has been assent¬
ed to by many without due consideration. If, however,
we could import no pine or fir deal from any other country,
and were obliged to grow it ourselves, we would ask where
is the tree that would produce it in so short a time, and of
so good a quality, as the Scotch pine ? This tree is readily
increased from seeds, which, unfortunately, as is the case
with several other trees, are produced in the greatest abun¬
dance on stunted trees, or, at all events, on trees not re¬
markable for their large size, or the durability of their tim¬
ber. Hence it becomes desirable to select the seeds from
the best varieties, and this is now done systematically by
the principal Scotch nurserymen. The Highland variety,
with horizontal branches, P. sylvestris horizontalis, Arb.
Brit., is the variety at present of highest repute. The
Scotch pine is a native of the continent of Europe, but not
of any part of America.
The spruce fir, Abies excelsa, Dec., is, as a British tim¬
ber-tree, next in value to the Scotch pine. The young
plants and the spray are almost as durable as those of the
larch; the trunk grows straighter, more erect and slender,
than in that tree, and when used with the bark on, as poles
or as fence-wood, it is equally durable. The spruce makes
much better hop-poles than the larch ; but as the trunk of
full-grown trees seldom attains a diameter of above one or
two feet at the ground, even in countries where it is a na¬
tive, the trunk can very seldom be profitably sawn up into
boards. The great value of the tree is for poles of every
kind, from those fit for the hop, up to the masts for the
smaller ships. In most parts of Europe, all the poles used
in the scaffolding employed in erecting buildings are formed
of this tree. The spruce fir ripens seeds abundantly in
Britain, from which plants are as readily raised as in the
case of the Scotch pine and the larch. It prefers a soft soil,
rather moist, and only attains a great height in sheltered
situations; but it will grow to a size fit for hop- poles or fen¬
cing in a short time, and anywhere. Like the Scotch pine,
it is subject to few diseases. The spruce fir is a native of
the north of Germany, Sweden, Russia, and Norway, but
not of Britain or of North America. There are three or
782
PLANTING.
Planting, four species of spruce natives of the latter country, but they duced ; but half a century will be required to enable us to Planting. ■33(1
are of no value as timber-trees. judge of their suitableness for this country. The Califor-v'—-v^' ^
The pinaster, Pinus Pinaster, Ait., is by no means adapted nian spruce fir, Abies Douglasii, is the most promising
for general culture in Britain, and therefore scarcely merits needle-leaved tree that has been introduced from that
to be ranked among our needle-leaved timber-trees. In country ; but it remains to be proved whether we shall
some parts of England, however, particularly in Norfolk, ever be able to rank it with the common spruce. Of Ne-
considerable plantations of this tree have been raised; and paul pines there are two species, P. excelsa and P. Lam-
it is found in deep sandy soil to produce a considerable bulk bertiana, which resemble the Weymouth pine ; and there
of timber in a short time. It has also the advantage of is a spruce fir, Abies Smithiana, Arb. Brit., A. Morinda,
thriving better when exposed to the sea-breeze than any
other pine or fir. The wood is not so durable as that of
the Scotch pine; but it is of the same colour, and may be
employed in the joinery of ordinary apartments. In general,
however, it is by no means sufficiently strong for the roof¬
ing, joists, and other carpentry of dwelling-houses. A great
use of the tree in France, and particularly in the neighbour¬
hood of Bordeaux, where it is extensively grown on the
sandy wastes, is for the production of resin, tar, and pitch,
which are obtained by incisions made in the trunk, and by
subjecting the wood to the action of fire. Seeds of this
tree are ripened in England; but they may be obtained
in any quantity, at a very moderate rate, from Bordeaux.
The young plants require more care in transplanting than
those of most other pines and firs, being furnished with a
stronger tap-root than any of them. The pinaster is a na¬
tive of the south of Europe and north of Asia, but not of
America. It has been introduced, however, into most
countries, probably from the large size and handsome ap¬
pearance of the cones. Accordingly, specimens of this
tree have been sent home from China, New Zealand, St He¬
lena, North America, &c.; and the produce of the seeds
from these places are commonly, but improperly, treated by
nurserymen as varieties.
The silver fir, Picea pectinata, Arb. Brit., in favourable
soils and situations produces a great bulk of timber in a
comparatively short period; but the timber is much less
strong and durable than that of either the spruce fir or the
Scotch pine. The.tree is of slow growth for the first ten
or twelve years of its existence, and the leading shoot is at
that age very apt to be injured by spring frosts; never¬
theless, even in the north and west of Scotland it has been
known to attain to the height of 100 feet in sixty or seven¬
ty years. The timber is white, and makes excellent floor¬
ing for bed-rooms. The tree ripens seeds in Britain, though
more sparingly than the spruce fir, and plants are easily
raised. It is in general healthy, though the points of the
shoots are occasionally destroyed by frost or by insects.
The silver fir is a native of Central Germany, and of the
Alps of Italy and Spain ; but of no other country. There
are other species of Picea, natives of North America and
Nepaul; but relatively to Britain they can only be consi¬
dered as ornamental trees.
Other needle-leaved trees might be enumerated as at¬
taining a timber-like size in the climate of England ; but
there is not one of them that we think can be ranked in
value along with those already mentioned as timber-trees.
Of the American pines, that of which we have had most
experience in this country is the Weymouth pine, Pinus
Strobus, L., which furnishes the white pine-wood of Ame¬
rican commerce; but this wood, grown in any given situ¬
ation in Britain, is far inferior to that of the Scotch pine
grown in the same locality ; and there are only a few situ¬
ations in England where the Weymouth pine will produce
the same bulk of timber as the Scotch pine in the same pe¬
riod. The other American pines, as timber-trees adapted
for Britain, scarcely deserve notice. Pinus tacda, serotina,
and rigida, have attained a timber size in a few places in
England ; but the time they have required to do this, even
under the most favourable circumstances, precludes the
hope of their ever becoming British timber-trees. Seve¬
ral Californian species of pine have recently been intro-
Hort., which promises to be as hardy as the Norway spruce ;
but the other pines and firs of the Himalayas are all rather
tender. The cedar of Lebanon, if planted in masses, like
the larch or the Scotch pine, would, in good free soil, pro¬
duce abundance of timber, but of far inferior strength and
durability to what the Scotch pine would produce similarly
treated. However ornamental, therefore, this tree may be,
it cannot be recommended as fit to be cultivated for its
timber. There are some European pines and firs which
deserve to be noticed, as possibly containing some trees
among them that might be cultivated as timber. Among
these are the Corsican pine, Pinus laricio, Poir., includ¬
ing several varieties, among which, as we think, may be
reckoned the black pine of Austria, Pinus Austriaca, Boss,
as well as the Pyrenean pine, Pinus Pyrenaica, La Pey-
rouse, P. Hispanica, Cook. All these species or varieties
appear to thrive in the climate of London; and there is a
Corsican pine in the arboretum at Kew which is upwards
of eighty feet high. Whether the rate of growth, and the
strength and durability of the timber, will ultimately prove
equal to that of the Scotch pine, appears to us doubtful. We
think, however, that in point of bulk of timber, the Corsi¬
can pine would equal the Pinaster. The Cembrian pine,
P. Cembra, L., of which there are two varieties, one a na¬
tive of Switzerland and the other of Siberia, grows as ra¬
pidly even in Scotland as it does in its native localities;
but it is of extremely slow growth everywhere, and not
worth cultivating as a timber-tree. Specimens in the cli¬
mate of London, which have been nearly 100 years plant¬
ed, have trunks only forty or fifty feet high, and from a
foot to eighteen inches in diameter at the ground. The
yew-tree, Taxas baccata, L., though it attains its full per¬
fection in this country, being indigenous, yet, from its slow
growth, and the little demand for its timber, it cannot be
recommended to the planter whose main object is profit.
The arbor vitae, evergreen cypress, deciduous cypress,
and juniper, all belong to the needle-leaved division of
trees ; but none of them are worth cultivation with a view
to profit.
Broad-leaved Trees, in contradistinction to needle-leaved,
are classed, according to their timber, in two subdivisions,
hard-wooded trees, and soft-w ooded trees. They are charac¬
terized by large trunks and w idely-spreading woody branch¬
es, and broad leaves with branching veins; they send up
shoots from the collar or stool when cut over by the ground ;
and they are deciduous. They belong to the Dicotyledonese
of the natural system.
The hard-wooded Timber-trees of Britain are character¬
ized by the comparative hardness and durability of their
wood, and consist chiefly of the oak, ash, elm, beech, sw eet
chestnut, walnut, and locust or false acacia.
The British oak may be considered as including two
species or subspecies, the stalked fruited, or most common
oak, Quercus Robur pedunculata, Arb. Brit., and the stalk¬
less fruited, or less common oak, Quercus Robur sessiliflo-
ra, Arb. Brit. The latter species or subspecies is found
to grow more erect and more rapidly than the other, more
particularly if the soil be good and deep. The two sorts^
are found indiscriminately mixed together in many parts ot
England, as in Woburn Park, Bedfordshire, and in various
parts of Sussex; in other places one species exclusively
prevails, as at Tiberton Park, near Hereford, where there
PLANTING.
anting, are some of the largest oaks in England, on a deep, loamy
soil, and almost all Q. R. sessilillora. At Welbeck, in Not¬
tinghamshire, on the other hand, there are a great many
oaks, almost exclusively Q. R. pedunculata. In all the
places mentioned, the trees are the remains of native forests.
Though the wood of the oak is the strongest and most du¬
rable of that of all British timber-trees, the tree is not al¬
ways that which the planter would make choice of with a
view to profit, on account of the. slowness of its growth. It
has, however, this advantage, that as it bears a higher price
than any other British timber, so it will pay better at a dis¬
tance from the market; and thus, while oak will pay after
conveying it fifty or sixty miles to a seaport, elm will scarcely
pay at half that distance, and the soft woods at still less.
Oak plantations are also more valuable than others when in
a young state, on account of the value of their bark. From
the value of oak as ship-timber, the price of trees fit for
that purpose is always considerable ; though what is paid
for the largest trunks employed in naval architecture will
not remunerate any one for the number of years they must
have stood on the ground. Accordingly we find that the
governments both of France and England grow this de¬
scription of timber exclusively in national forests. The
wood of the oak has also the advantage of being applicable
to a greater number of uses than that of most other trees.
Houses, ships, furniture, and machines, may be formed al¬
most entirely of oak, and consequently there is a ready sale
for this kind of timber almost everywhere; hence the
oak may be more planted in Britain than any other hard-
wooded tree. It is easily raised from acorns, which ought to
be collected from the tallest and handsomest trees. The
British, or naval oak, as it may perhaps be more properly
called, is a native of Britain and most parts of Europe, but
not of Asia, Africa, or North America. There are several
subordinate varieties, but none worth notice as timber-trees,
excepting the kinds which we have noticed.
The ash, Fraxinus excelsior, Z., is in most parts of Bri¬
tain next in value as a timber-tree to the oak. The wood
is chiefly used in the manufacture of agricultural implements,
such as ploughs, handles to spades, mattocks, handles to car¬
penters’ implements, carts, waggons, threshing-machines, &c.
Young ash-trees, and ash poles and suckers, are also much
in demand for crate-ware, hoops, whip-handles, walking-
sticks, and especially for hop-poles. Before the general in¬
troduction of cast iron in machinery, ash-wood was much
more in demand than it is at present. The tree requires a
good, deep, loamy soil, dry rather than moist; and a situa¬
tion naturally sheltered, such as the steep banks of glens,
rivers, or lakes. As the value of the timber depends chiefly
on its toughness and elasticity, the tree is best grown in
groves or masses, in consequence of which, where the soil is
good, the growth is rapid, and the trunk is drawn up free
from large side-branches. The tree is easily propagated
from its seeds or keys. It is a native of Central Europe,
but of no other part of the world. There are Several species
of ash natives of North America, and one or two of Europe;
but these are of no value in this country, excepting as or¬
namental trees.
Of the elm there are two species, the English or narrow¬
leaved elm, Ulmus campestris, Z., and the Scotch or broad-
leaved elm, Ulmus montana, Z. Between these two species
there are several varieties, or hybrids, such as the Dutch
elm and the Huntingdon elm, the latter by far the most
valuable timber-tree of the genus. The narrow-leaved elm
can hardly be considered as a timber-tree in Scotland, but
in the central districts of England its rapid growth, straight
trunk, and ample spreading head, constitute it a magnifi¬
cent tree ; and the timber is useful for some important pur¬
poses in ship-building, as well as in the construction of ma¬
chines and agricultural buildings. The Scotch elm is a
hardy tree, of rapid growth; but, unless planted in masses, it
783
seldom produces a straight handsome trunk. Its timber is Planting.
much more durable than that of the English elm, or of any' y  
of the hybrids between the species. It was formerly much
used in agricultural carpentry, in rural machinery, and in
common household furniture. The Scotch elm produces
abundance of seeds, which, if sown as soon as they are ga¬
thered, often come up the same year; but the English elm
and the hybrids produce seeds very sparingly, and are al¬
most always propagated by layers, or by grafting on the
Scotch elm. One remarkable difference between the Eng¬
lish and Scotch elms it may be useful to notice, viz. that
the latter never throws up suckers from its roots; and it
is therefore peculiarly valuable as a stock for the English
elm, and for those varieties or hybrids between the species
which do throw up suckers. There are some other species
and varieties of European elms, and several kinds of Ame¬
rican elms, but none of them are deserving of culture in
Britain as timber-trees.
I he beech, Fagus sylvatica, Z., acquires a large size, par¬
ticularly on chalky or sandy soils. It is a very handsome
tree in every stage of its growth, but the timber is not re¬
markable either for strength or durability. It was formerly
much used in mill-work and turnery ; but its principal use
at present is in the manufacture of chairs, bedsteads, and
a variety of minor articles. It is a native of England, and
of various parts of the continent of Europe. There are
some varieties, particularly the purple beech ; and there are
one or two species natives of North America, but none of
them deserve notice as timber-trees. It is propagated by
its mast, which it produces plentifully in fine seasons.
The hornbeam, Carpinus Betulus, Z., is an indigenous
tree, which attains the same height, but not the same diame¬
ter ot trunk, as the beech, to which it bears a general resem¬
blance, but is in every respect greatly inferior. It is pro¬
pagated by its nuts, which it produces in abundance. This
tree and the beech were formerly highly valued for making
lofty hedges, on account of their retaining their leaves great
part of the winter.
The sweet chestnut, Castanea vesca, Gcertn., is gene¬
rally ranked next to the beech as a timber-tree; but in
that character it has little or no merit. The tree is mag¬
nificent in appearance, rivalling, when full grown, the Bri¬
tish oak ; but it differs essentially from that tree in its tim¬
ber not increasing in value as it increases in age. In Bri¬
tain, and also in France, it was formerly believed that the
roofs of the oldest cathedrals, and of Westminster Hall and
other buildings, were of chestnut; and it was thought, in
consequence, that the tree had formerly been more abun¬
dant, both in Britain and on the Continent, than it is at pre¬
sent. Subsequent inquiry, however, proves all this to he a
mistake; and Daubenton and various others have shown
that the timber called chestnut in old buildings is referable
to the chestnut oak, Quercus Robur sessiliflora, Arb. Brit.
It is worthy of remark, that some of the ancient writers de¬
scribe a grove of chestnuts as extending northwards from
London, and abounding in wild beasts; and that the re¬
mains of the indigenous woods at Hampstead, in the Earl
of Mansfield’s grounds, are of the chestnut oak. The timber
of the sweet chestnut, when not more than of forty or fifty
years’ growth, forms very durable posts for fences and gates;
being, according to some, more durable in this capacity than
oak itself; but whenever the trunk of the tree becomes of
larger dimensions than six or eight inches in diameter, the
timber is found to be shaky; and at eighteen inches or two
feet in diameter it has already begun to decay at the heart.
In a young state, when the stems are not above two inches
in diameter at the ground, the chestnut is found to make
durable hoops for casks and props for vines ; and of a larger
size it makes good hop-poles, though the stem tapers rather
too much for that purpose. It is a native of Asia, the north
of Africa, and of North America; and some think it a na-
784
PLANTING.
Planting, tive of Britain. In the south of England, in fine seasons,
  it ripens abundance of fruit, from which plants are easily
raised. There are a number of varieties, both in Britain
and on the Continent, which are highly valued for the
qualities of their fruit; but none of these, nor any of the
American kinds, are worthy of being cultivated for their
timber. .
The common sycamore, Acer Pseudo-Platanus, L., is a
tree of the second rank, seldom attaining the height of any
of those that have been hitherto mentioned. It has, how¬
ever, the merit of withstanding the sea and mountain breezes
better than most other timber-trees ; and its wood is valued
in turnery, and for a variety of minor purposes. It produces
abundance of seeds, which, like those of the ash, are called
keys, and it is easily raised in the nursery ; but it does little
good in plantations, unless the soil be good and tolerably
dry. It will neither thrive on very stiff clays, nor on dry
sands or chalks. There are several species of Acer, natives
of Europe and North America; and that which comes near¬
est to A. Pseudo-Platanus, as a timber-tree, appears to be
the A. obtusatum, Arb. Brit., a native of Hungary and
Calabria, but it has not yet been tried in plantations made
with a view to profit. The Norway maple, A. platandides,
L., is a hardy and very interesting tree ; but neither it, nor
any of the other species, either from America or Europe,
seem to deserve cultivation for their timber. If we made
any exception, it would be in favour of the common field-
maple, Acer campestre, L., which forms a very curious
wood for the cabinet-maker.
The common birch, Betula alba, L., is another tree of
the second rank, which is worthy of culture in inferior soils
and situations, more especially as coppice-wood. The spray,
in some parts of the country, is sold to the besom-maker,
and makes a valuable return. The tree seeds freely, and
is in every stage of its progress easy of management. There
are several species of birch, natives of North America, which
attain the size of timber-trees, and all of them have been
introduced into this country, and tried in British planta¬
tions ; but there is not one of them which can be consider¬
ed otherwise than as an ornamental object, or as one of bo¬
tanical interest.
The false acacia, or locust, Robinia Pseud-Acacia, L.,
may be placed amongst the timber-trees of the second rank.
It is of unquestionable beauty, and much has been said of
the value of its timber. When of a certain age, this is of
great hardness and durability, and it lasts a long time as
posts, or as trenails or wooden pins, for bolting together
ships’ timbers. For the latter purpose, however, iron and
copper are now generally used, both in Europe and Ame¬
rica. The false acacia has been much recommended by
Cobbett and a host of other writers for hop-poles and props
for vines ; but though it has been extensively tried in Eng¬
land for the former purpose, it is now utterly neglected,
being found rarely to grow straight and clean, and, when
used, being much less durable than the ash.
Amongst hard-wooded trees of the third rank, the timber
of which is of some use, are the mountain ash, Sorbus do-
mestica, L.; the white beam-tree, Sorbus Aria, L.; the
wild apple, wild pear, wild cherry, and wild plum, the haw¬
thorn, the holly, the laburnum, and perhaps one or two
others. We could hardly recommend a plantation to be
made solely of any of these trees ; but when a few are in¬
troduced by way of variety or ornament, it is useful to know
that their timber is of some value. The laburnum, the
holly, the yew (which last we have included under the
needle-leaved trees), are by far the most valuable of the
trees of the third rank. The heart-timber of the laburnum
is almost as dark and hard as that of ebony, and that of the
holly is of a beautiful white. The timber of the yew is
veined, and its beauty may be increased by judicious stain¬
ing. The roots of the thorn, the yew, and of most of the
third-rate trees, are often beautifully veined, and employed Planting
in cabinet-making and veneering.
Soft-wooded trees are distinguished by the comparative
rapidity of their growth, and the softness of their wood,
its whiteness, and its limited duration. The principal of
these worth cultivating in Britain as timber-trees, are the
poplar, the willow, the alder, the lime, and the horse-
chestnut.
The poplar, Populus, L. There are several species of
this tree, which well deserve culture with a view to their
timber, where the soil is good and deep, and where the
roots can reach water without being saturated by it. The
white and gray poplars, Populus alba, L., and P. canescens,
L., are hardy, of very rapid growth, attaining a height of thirty
or forty feet in most parts of Britain in ten or twelve years,
and producing a beautiful, smooth, compact, white timber,
well adapted for flooring bed-rooms, and for a great many
minor purposes, either in its native colour, or stained black
in imitation of ebony. The black Italian poplar, P. mo-
nilifera, Dec., is an equally rapid-growing tree with the
white poplar, and produces a beautiful pale-yellow timber.
The common black poplar, P. nigra, does not grow so ra¬
pidly as the last, and seldom produces a straight trunk ; but
its timber is homogeneous, of a yellowish white, and takes
a fine dye. The aspen, or trembling poplar, P. tremula ;
and the Athenian poplar, P. Grseca, are of slower grow th
than the white or black poplars, and they have a beautiful,
smooth, homogeneous, white wood. There are a number
of other species of poplar, chiefly natives of America, and
the Lombardy poplar, which is a native of Persia; but
none of these are worthy of being planted as timber-trees
in the climate of Britain.
The white willow, Salix alba, L., is a rapid-growing
tree, and produces a great bulk of timber in a short period.
The wood is white, soft, and sometimes slightly veined with
blue. When kept dry, and well ventilated, it will last a
long time, and has been found in buildings which have
existed upwards of a hundred years, in a perfectly sound
state. The Bedford willow, Salix Russelliana, L., grows
with about the same rapidity as the white or Huntingdon
willow, and its timber is of the same quality. The crack-
willow, Salix fragilis, L., is a tree of a smaller size, but
its timber is useful for a variety of purposes; and the bark
of this, and of most of the other species, may'be used in
tanning. There are a great many species and varieties of
willow natives of Europe, or of North America and Asia;
but, excepting the three above mentioned, we do not con¬
sider any of them as worth cultivating for timber.
The alder, Betula Alnus, L.; Alnus glutinosa, Dec., is
an indigenous tree, of smaller size and much lower growth
than the poplars, or tree-willows; but its timber is more
valuable from being more compact, less liable to twist, and
having a fine mahogany tinge. The tree is a native of
Britain, and of most parts of Europe, on moist soils by
rivers ; and it is readily propagated by seeds. There are
some other European species; and two, Alnus incana, and
Alnus cordifolia (the latter lately introduced from Naples),
may probably prove useful as timber-trees, as they both
grow on dry soils; but, from the experience which has yet
been had respecting them, they can only at present be re¬
commended as ornamental.
The lime-tree, Tilia Europaea, L., is a well-known soft-
wooded tree, of some value for its timber, which is used by
musical-instrument makers and carvers. It is a native of
Europe, and is generally propagated by layers. The blos¬
soms produce the whitest and most delicate honey in the
world. There are some American lime-trees, but they
scarcely attain the size of timber-trees in England.
The horse-chestnut, /Esculus Hippocastanum, D., is a
rapid-growing tree in good soil; but its timber is perhaps
the least valuable of the class to which it belongs, as it has
P L ANTI N G. 785
anting, little strength, and, unless kept dry, is far from being du-
 ' rable ; but it is useful for some husbandry purposes, such
as linings to carts, wheel-barrows, &e.; and it takes a ready
dye as a substitute for ebony.
The only soft- wooded trees that can be recommended
for culture with a view to profit, are the white, gray, black
Italian, and common black poplars, and the white and Bed¬
ford willows.
Hedge-trees and Shrubs—Plants which are useful for
forming hedges are of as great importance to the planter
as those which are valuable for their timber. Almost all
trees planted in rows, with the free admission of air and light
on every side, will become clothed with branches from the
ground upwards ; and if these are occasionally cut in, they
will form gigantic hedges, more or less compact; but some
trees are much better adapted for this purpose than others;
and among those of the first class, the best are the beech,
the hornbeam, the elm, the lime, the Lombardy poplar,
and the spruce fir. The best of the second class are per¬
haps the common birch, Sir Charles Wager’s maple (Acer
eriocarpum), and the evergreen oak; and the best of the
third class are the common thorn, the crab, the sloe, the
wild plum, the buckthorn, the barberry, the holly, and the
yew. By far the best of these for British field-hedges is
the common hawthorn, and the next best is the wild crab.
The sloe or black thorn makes an excellent hedge ; but it
throws up so many suckers, that it requires constant atten¬
tion to keep it within bounds. It forms, however, an ex¬
cellent barrier for picturesque plantations, where it is al¬
lowed to spread itself in every direction. The holly, were
it not for the slowness of its growth, would form the best
of all hedges, both for gardens and fields, as its leaves are
little liable to be injured by insects ; and, being an ever¬
green, it neither harbours weeds nor vermin at its roots.
Birds are also much less apt to build in it than they are in
deciduous hedges. It has only two disadvantages that we
are aware of, viz. the slowness of its growth, and its imper¬
viousness to wind in the winter season. On this last ac¬
count, when on damp clayey soil, it has a tendency to pre¬
vent the drying of arable lands in spring. Were holly
hedges occasionally introduced among those of the com¬
mon thorn, they would add very greatly to the beauty of
the country in the winter season ; and, on dry uplands,
they would form excellent shelter for stock. The common
furze sown on the top of a high bank forms an effective
hedge in a short period, but it is of no great duration. On
moist soils fences may be made for planting rows of wil¬
lows or poplars, and in situations exposed to the sea-
breeze the elder may be planted; but such fences can be
hardly considered as hedges, from their want of compact¬
ness and density of foliage.
Trees and Shrubs suitable for Coppice-wood and Under¬
growth.—One property required for all these plants is, that
they should stole or spring up from the collar or stool when
they are cut over ; and the true undergrowths are only to
be found among such shrubs as will grow under the shade
of trees. There are a great many woody plants which may
be cultivated as coppice-wood; indeed there are few of the
broad-leaved trees and shrubs which will not answer for
this purpose, but the locality must determine the preference.
In soft, wet soils, the birch, the alder, and the apple-leaved
willow, are amongst the most common and useful trees. In
drier soils, the ash forms a most valuable coppice-wood,
supplying handles for agricultural implements, stuff for
hurdles, hoops, wattles, and a great many other useful ar¬
ticles. In good, deep, loamy soil, the oak forms an excel¬
lent underwood ; and if the situation be at a distance fiom
a market, it is by far the most valuable that can be em¬
ployed, as the bark alone will produce a sufficient profit,
and, from its portable nature, it can be sent to a greater dis¬
tance than timber.
VOL. XVII.
Ornamental Trees and Shrubs include by far the greater Planting,
number of woody plants in cultivation ; though many, per- —■r'^-
haps the whole of them, produce wood which, when it can
be obtained of sufficient size, may be applied to some use¬
ful purpose. As already observed, we exclude altogether
from consideration in this article, flowering and fruit-bear¬
ing trees and shrubs. We also exclude all those that are
rather delicate, or require particular kinds of soil; and shall
confine ourselves to trees and shrubs which are considered
ornamental from their general form, and which may be in¬
troduced into the margins of ordinary plantations in most
parts of Britain. We shall arrange these under the heads
of evergreen and deciduous.
Evergreen ornamental Trees and Shrubs.—The most or¬
namental of these, and one which will thrive in every part
of Great Britain, is undoubtedly the cedar of Lebanon. It
is somewhat delicate when young; but, if brought forward
in pots, placed where it is finally to remain when of the
height of eighteen inches or two feet, and carefully plant¬
ed, and protected from cattle and vermin, it soon makes a
vigorous growth, and becomes a handsome tree, even in the
Highlands of Scotland. The seeds of the cedar of Leba¬
non, when left in the cones, retain their vitality for a num¬
ber of years ; the cones are sometimes imported from the
Levant, but more generally obtained from English trees.
Where proper care can be bestowed on the seeds and the
soil, it would be an improvement to sow them where they
are finally to remain ; because the cedar, and all the pine
and fir tribe, depending principally on their surface-roots,
suffer more from confinement in a pot, or transplanting from
the open nursery, than trees having powerful tap-roots.
1 he Deodar cedar differs in general aspect from the cedar
of Lebanon, in having foliage of a whitish or glaucous hue.
It appears to be as hardy as the other, and will probably
soon become as common. Cones are imported from the
Himalaya Mountains, where the tree is indigenous ; or it
may be grafted on the common cedar, or raised from cut¬
tings. All the pine and fir tribe may be described as high¬
ly ornamental, and a great many of them will endure the
open air in the coldest parts of Britain. The Weymouth
pine, Pinus Strobus, is a very hardy ornamental tree ; and
still more so is the Pinus Cembra, which is of slow and
erect growth, and retains the beauty of youth longer than
any other pine. The Pinus excelsa is a very hardy and
very ornamental species, but it is at present rare. Pinus
Banksiana, and P. inops, are curious and very ornamental
species. Some of the Californian pines, particularly P. pon-
derosa and P. Sabiniana, appear to be quite hardy. Among
the ornamental spruce firs may be mentioned Abies Smithi-
ana (A. Morinda, Hort.), a native of the Himalayas, which
closely resembles the common spruce, and is apparently as
hardy; it is readily propagated by cuttings, and by herba¬
ceous grafting on the common spruce ; and the trees al¬
ready planted v/ill probably very soon produce cones. The
largest tree of this species in Britain is probably that at
Hopetoun House, near Edinburgh. The Douglas fir, Abies
Douglasii, is a very handsome tree, apparently as hardy
as the common spruce, but differing in the dark-green
colour and somewhat two-rowed disposition of its leaves,
from which it appears intermediate between the common
spruce and the silver fir. It has already attained the height
of eighteen or twenty feet in different parts of Britain,
and has produced cones. The Cephalonian fir, Abies Ce-
phalonica, Arb. Brit, is a very handsome tree of the same
kind, and of recent introduction ; and which, having with¬
stood the winter of 1837-38, is probably hardy enough to
become an ornamental British tree. It is very readily
propagated by cuttings, and cones might doubtless be
imported from Cephalonia. The black and white spruces
of North America are well known ornaments in our shrub¬
beries ; and there are some Californian species, such as Abies
5 G
786
PLANTING.
Planting. Mcnziesii, which will probably soon be added to their num-
"■'v'-—^ her. The hemlock spruce (Abies Canadensis, Mich.) is one
of the most ornamental of fir-trees; it is very hardy, and
ripens seeds in different parts of England. One of the
finest specimens is at Strathfieldsaye, in Hampshire, tie
seat of the Duke of Wellington. Among the ornamental
silver firs, the first in point of grandeur is the Picea Web-
biana, Arb. Bril.; but, even in the climate of London, it
suffers so much from the spring frosts, that it is doubtful
whether it will ever become a very ornamental tree in Eng¬
land. Nevertheless, though the severe winter of 1837-d8
seriously injured this tree, it did not kill it; and probably,
as it increases in age, it may be later in protruding its young
shoots, and thus be more likely to escape the spring frosts.
Even the silver fir, which attains the height of 100 feet and
upwards in many parts of Britain, is yet frequently injured
bv frosts during the first twenty years of its growth. Picea
pichta Fraseri, and some other species and varieties, na¬
tives of Siberia or North America, are as hardy as the balm
of Gilead fir, Picea balsama, Arb. Brit. The Chili pine,
Araucaria imbricata, is a noble tree in its native country,
and appears to be much hardier in the climate of Britain
than has generally been imagined. Young plants which
have been two or three years established in. the open
•wound passed the severe winter of 1837-38 without any
injury, which renders it not improbable that it may ulti¬
mately prove as hardy as the common cedar. The ever¬
green oak, Quercus Hex, />., is a hardy evergreen tree, of
which there are several varieties. It is readily propagated
from its acorns, which are ripened in abundance in this
country, or may be imported from the Continent. It will
thrive in any deep dry soil, and forms excellent hedges, or
shelter to a dwelling-house. The cork-tree, Quercus Subef,
X., is of a corresponding character, but rather more tender.
The holly, the common yew, the Irish yew, and the box-
tree, are evergreens universally known and admired. They
are perfectly hardy in every part of Britain, and deserve a
place in every plantation.
The Portugal laurel and the common laurel form very
ornamental trees, or large shrubs; and, from their glossy
foliage, they are particularly beautiful in winter. The
alaternus and the phillyrea form large bodies very orna¬
mental. The arbor vitae, of which there are two species,
is very hardy, and forms a permanent fastigiate low tree.
The red cedar, Juniperus Yirginiana, L., the Phoenician ju¬
niper, and some other species of juniper, are at once hardy
and ornamental. The cedar of Goa, Cupressus lusitanica,
L., is a beautiful evergreen, with glaucous foliage, but
somewhat tender; nevertheless, in Ireland it has attained
a great size. The common cypress, Cupressus semper
virens, X., growrs vigorously in the central districts of Eng¬
land, but scarcely thrives in the northern counties. The
Arbutus is one of the handsomest of evergreens, and is
admired for its flowers and fruit, no less than for its foliage
and general form. There are several varieties and species
which endure the open air in the climate of London, but
which are found rather tender farther north. The sweet
bay, Laurus nobilis, X., forms a bushy low tree in the cli¬
mate of London, and in the south of England has attained
the height of sixty feet; but it suffered much from the
severe winter of 1837-38, and may be considered, on the
whole, as rather tender.
Sub-evergreens are trees which retain their leaves through
the winter in a green state, and drop them late in spring,
immediately before the development of the new leaves.
The principal British trees of this description are certain
varieties of the Turkey oak, and more especially the
Fulham oak, and the Lucombe oak. These are trees of
the first rank, and in the central districts of England be¬
come magnificent objects. Turner’s oak, Quercus 1 urneri,
is also sub-evergreen, and forms a handsome tree of the
second size. Quercus virens, the live oak of America, Planting
forms a sub-evergreen tree in the climate of London, but'—
farther north it is to be feared that it will be found rather
tender.
The common privet, especially when cultivated in good
soil, becomes a sub-evergreen bush, and, when trimmed to a
single stem, a handsome small tree; and to it might be
added some others, such as Crataegus Mexicana, Photinia
serrulata, Berberis aristata, Aristotelia Macqui, and Cotone
aster frigida, affinis, acuminata, and nummularia, all of
which are quite hardy in the climate of London, and also
in Ireland, but rather tender in the north of England, and
in some parts of Scotland.
Deciduous ornamental Trees and Shrubs.—Vi e shall
notice the hardiest of these in the order in which they oc¬
cur in the natural system. Magnolia acuminata is perhaps
the only species of Magnolia that can be considered truly
hardy in most parts of Britain; and, from its large leaves,
and curious greenish-blue flowers which afterwards change to
yellow, it well deserves a place either on the lawn, or in the
margin of plantations. M. cordata, tripetala, and conspi-
cua, are quite hardy in moderate climates; but M. conspi-
cua flowers so early that it is apt to be injured by spring
frosts. The tulip tree, Liriodendron Tulipifera, X., forms
a tree of the first rank in the climate of London, and at¬
tains a considerable size in the milder parts of Scotland;
for the beauty of its foliage, independently altogether of its
flowers, it deserves a place in every collection. The Hun¬
garian or white-leaved lime-tree, Tilia Europsea alba, Arb.
Brit., is a tree of the second rank, of very great beauty,
and nearly as hardy as the common lime-tree. From the
effect of its mass of white foliage among the green leaves
of other trees, it becomes useful for breaking formal lines,
directing attention to particular objects, or harmonizing
white buildings with verdant scenery. The red-wooded and
yellow-wooded lime-trees are very ornamental, and also the
cut-leaved variety. The American limes are sufficiently
hardy to attain the size of trees in the climate of London,
and, from their leaves being much larger than those of the
European limes, they are very ornamental. The maple,
Acer, X., is a genus which contains some of the finest or¬
namental trees that occur in British plantations. They are
all valuable for coming early into leaf and early into flower,
as well as for the many angled forms of their leaves, and
the beauty of their buds. The variegated leaved varieties
of the common sycamore form very ornamental objects, but,
like all variegated leaved trees, their greatest beauty is in
spring, when the leaves first expand. The variety with
white striped leaves is well known, and is very generally
planted; but the yellow-leaved variety, or Corstorphine plane,
though by far the most beautiful, is scarcely known, except
in the neighbourhood of the original tree. The purple¬
leaved variety is a very striking one, having the under sur¬
face of the leaves, more especially when they first come out
in spring, of a dark purple. The hairy fruited, or Sir
Charles Wager’s maple, Acer eriocarmm, is a very ele¬
gantly shaped tree, with beautifully cut leaves, and conspi¬
cuous reddish flowers, which appear in February; it ought
never to be omitted in plantations having the slightest pre¬
tensions to ornament. The red flowering or scarlet maple,
A. rubrum, resembles the last tree in foliage; but its floweis
are of a much darker red, and the tree is of less vigorous
growth. In autumn the leaves die off of an intensely deep
red, insomuch that the tree attracts attention even at the
distance of a mile or two. Where it thrives, it may cer¬
tainly be considered as the most ornamental of all the
maples. A. Tataricum and spicatum are low trees, the
first a native of Tartary, and the last of North America ;
they are remarkably hardy, come early into flower, and
their keys and leaves die off of a fine yellow or red. The
snake-barked maple, A. striatum, is a beautiful tree, whether
PLANTING.
lanting, we regard its leaves or its bark; it is a native of Pennsyl-
vania, and therefore quite hardy in Britain. A. macrophyl-
lum, the large-leaved maple, is a remarkably fine tree, with
leaves sometimes nearly a foot in diameter; it appears to
be as hardy as the common or the Norway maple, and its
growth when young is very rapid ; though, having been
only lately introduced from North America, it is as yet
scarcely known in Europe. The Norway maple, A. pla-
tanoides, is so hardy that it might almost be considered as
a timber-tree ; but being inferior in this respect to the com¬
mon maple, it, and its different varieties, are more general¬
ly to be ranked as ornamental. The sugar maple, A.
saccharinum, in Britain, is one of the most tender North
American maples ; it bears a close resemblance to the Nor¬
way maple, and, like it, its foliage dies off of a very rich
yellow. A. obtusatum, a native of Hungary and of Cala¬
bria, is a remarkably fine vigorous-growing tree, bearing
a considerable resemblance to the sycamore, Acer Pseu-
do-Platanus. A. Opalus is a very handsome small tree,
with round, coriaceous leaves, finely cut at the edges; this
tree is little known and seldom planted, though few ob¬
jects are better adapted for a small lawn. The round
plaited-leaved maple, A. circinatum, is a rare species from
North America; but one of great beauty of foliage, and
apparently quite hardy. A. Monspessulanum is a small tree
of great beauty, and in some situations sub-evergreen. The
common or field maple, A. campestre, is one of the hardiest
and most beautiful of small British trees: the most orna¬
mental tree of this species is the Austrian variety, A. cam¬
pestre Austriacum, Arb. Brit., which forms a beautiful single
object on a lawn, and also very good garden hedges. The
Negundo, or box-elder, Negundo fraxinifolium, Dec., a na¬
tive of North America, is a beautiful tree, with its leaves
cut in the manner of those of the ash, and a fine, smooth, dark-
green bark. The foliage, when it first appears, is of a fine
yellow, and when mature it is of a pale green. It is a de¬
sirable object, as a single tree, or in the margin of planta¬
tions. The different species or varieties of the horse-chest¬
nut are all trees remarkable for the beauty of their foliage,
but more especially for that of their flowers. The common
species is known to every one, but the scarlet and red
flowered varieties, and the yellow and pale flowered kinds,
all comparatively of recent introduction, only require to be
seen to be ardently desired by all lovers of trees. The
pavias, or smooth-fruited horse-chestnuts, are much smaller
trees than the rough-fruited kinds, and they are all ex¬
tremely beautiful. P. rubra, flava, discolor, hybrida, ne-
glecta, macrocarpa, and macrostachya, deserve to be in
every collection. Kcelreuteria paniculata, a native of Chi¬
na, is a hardy tree, very ornamental from its foliage as well
as its flowers. There are fine specimens both in England
and Ireland, yet the tree is not generally met with in plea¬
sure-grounds. The toothache-tree, Xanthoxylum fraxi-
neum, is a small tree or large shrub, a native of North
America, hardy and ornamental both from its foliage and
flowers. The same may be said of the shrubby trefoil,
Ptelea trifoliata. The ailanto, Ailantus glandulosa, is a
native of China, but perfectly hardy in most parts of Eng¬
land. It forms a stately tree of the first rank, with a straight
trunk, ample head, and magnificent foliage, the leaves,
which are compound, being sometimes three feet in length.
In some parts of France it is planted as a timber-tree, and
is found to thrive particularly well on chalky soils. The
bladder-nut tree, Staphylea, L., is a hardy bush, which
may be trained to a very handsome low tree, ornamental
from its foliage, its white flowers, and its curious blad¬
der-like capsules. There are two species, S. trifoliata and
S. pinnata, both deserving a place in the shrubbery. The
spindle-tree, Enonymus, L., is a genus of which there
are several species, quite hardy, and singularly ornamental
when in fruit. The common spindle-tree, E. Europaeus,
and the broad-leaved spindle-tree, E. latifolius, are the hand¬
somest hardy species of the genus, and, when trained up
to single trees on a deep loamy soil, with ample space,
they form in autumn, when their capsules are ripe, objects
altogether unique in the arboricultural world. Though
these species are commonly seen as shrubs drawn up among
others, or growing in hedges, and forming bushes perhaps
not more than six or eight feet in height, yet, when pro¬
perly treated, they will form trees thirty feet high, as may
be seen in some of the London gardens, and even as far
north as Forfarshire, where the spindle-tree produces a
timber much sought after by coopers. The different va¬
rieties of the common holly are so well known for the
beauty of their foliage, that the reader only requires to be
reminded of them. The Minorca holly, Ilex balearica,
and the opake-leaved holly, I. opaca, are very handsome
kinds, which ought not to be forgotten. The winter-berry,
Prinos, is a deciduous shrub, a native of North America,
which, like the holly, produces fine scarlet berries, and re¬
tains them through the winter. There are several species,
all quite hardy, and one or more of them deserve a place
in every collection. Christ’s thorn, Paliurus aculeatus, is
a native of Asia, and is used as a hedge-plant in the north
of Italy. It is altogether a most elegant bush or tree, there
being something quite unique in its branches, bark, and
thorns, which are very numerous ; and in its leaves, flowers,
and seeds. The buckthorn, Rhamnus, is a hardy genus of
shrubs or low trees, of which there are many species ; but
we shall confine ourselves to those which are decidedly
hardy. Rhamnus Alaternus is a well-known evergreen, of
which there are varieties having broad and narrow leaves,
and leaves blotched or variegated with yellow, and also
with white. R. hybridus, a native of France, is a sub¬
evergreen, resembling the alaternus. R. catharticus, the
purging buckthorn of Britain, and the white thorn of the
modern Greeks, forms a very hardy and handsome small
tree. R. alnifolius, alpinus, and frangula, are also very
handsome small trees ; and there are several other species
which, if they can be procured, well deserve a place in the
shrubbery. R. latifolius, a native of the Azores, is a very
handsome kind, and quite hardy both in the gardens of
London and Edinburgh. The different species of rhus are
very hardy and very ornamental. R. Cotinus is a particu¬
larly interesting object when its seeds are ripe. R. typhi-
na, viridiflora, and glabra, are curious from the stag’s-
horn appearance of the ends of the branches; and their
leaves, before they drop, assume a fine yellow, rich scarlet,
or dark-red hue. Sophora Japonica forms a splendid tree
in the climate of London, and there is a pendulous-branch-
ed variety which is very ornamental. One property of this
tree is, that in dry and warm seasons, when the leaves of
most other trees become of a paler green than usual, those of
this tree iissume a darker hue. Virgilia lutea is a North
American tree, with fine large foliage, hardy in most parts
of Britain ; and, in America, valued for the yellow colour
of its wood. The laburnum has already been mentioned
both as a useful and an ornamental tree. The purple la¬
burnum is a hybrid between the Scotch laburnum and the
Cytisus purpureus, of vigorous growth, but more curious
than beautiful. Robinia viscosa is a variety of the false
acacia, or locust-tree, with a glutinous bark, and flowers
slightly tinged with pink. It is a beautiful object, both in
foliage and when in blossom, and is as hardy as the com¬
mon robinia or locust. There are a number of other va¬
rieties of Robinia pseud-acacia, and in particular the pa¬
rasol-acacia, all of which are very ornamental. The rose-
acacia, Robinia hispida, of which there are several varieties,
is highly prized for its rose-coloured flowers. The Sibe¬
rian pea-tree, Caragana arborescens, and a number of other
varieties or species of Caragana, are all very ornamental,
and quite hardy; and the same may be said of the salt-
787
Planting'.
788 PLAN
Planting, tree, Halimodendron, and of the different species of Colu-
tea, or bladder-senna. The three-thorned Gleditschia, or
honey-locust, Gleditschia, L., is a genus of which there
are seven species in cultivation in British nurseries, besides
varieties. Some of the Gleditschias attain the size of trees
of the first rank, and others are middle-sized or small trees ;
but they are all deserving of culture, on account of the
beauty of their foliage, and their very remarkable spines.
The Kentucky coffee-tree, Gymnocladus Canadensis, is a
curious-looking object in winter ; but in summer it is cloth¬
ed with a magnificent foliage. It is a native of Canada,
easily propagated by cuttings of the roots, and consequently
hardy enough for any part of Great Britain ; though, strange
as it may appear, it is far from being common in collections.
The Judas trees, Cercis Siliquastrum and Canadensis, are
very handsome small trees, both when in leaf and in flower;
the flowers have an agreeable acid, and they are used in Pa¬
ris in salads, and fried in batter for fritters. The almond, the
peach, the apricot, the plum, and the cherry, in their single
or comparatively wild state, and also the varieties of these
species having double flowers, are fine ornamental objects
in plantations or on lawns, and are quite hardy. Cerasus
semperflorens and serrulata, the Allsaint, and Chinese double-
blossomed cherries, are very desirable ornamental trees.
The perfumed cherry, Cerasus mahaleb, is a most valuable
tree, coming early into flower, diffusing its odour in every
direction, and soon afterwards becoming covered with ber¬
ries, which are generally of a glossy black, but in some va¬
rieties yellow. The bird-cherry, Cerasus padus, is a na¬
tive of the woods both of Scotland and Sweden, and one
of the most ornamental of low trees when in flower. Its
beautiful spikes of white blossoms are succeeded by black
or red fruit, which is very ornamental while it remains on
the tree, but when ripe is soon devoured by birds, by whom
it is greedily sought after. The Cornwall bird-cherry, Ce¬
rasus padus rubra, and the pendulous branched bird-cherry,
Cerasus padus bracteosa, are interesting varieties. C. Vir-
giniana, serotina, and capollin, are species of bird-cherry
resembling one another, surpassing the European bird-cherry
in the smoothness and glossiness of their foliage, and equal¬
ing it in the beauty and profusion of their flowers. C. Yir-
giniana is so hardy, and produces fruit in such abundance,
that in some parts of England it may be considered as
naturalized, having come up in the native copses from
seeds carried thither by the birds from artificial planta¬
tions. There are about twenty other species of Cerasus,
all quite hardy; and though some of them are of vei’y
humble growth, and adapted for planting on the faces of
rocks, rather than amongst other shrubs, yet they are all
deserving of culture.
The genus Crataegus consists of twenty-eight species, and
about double that number of varieties, each of which forms
a beautiful small tree. There is not perhaps any other ge¬
nus of hardy ligneous plants in which so many beautiful
small trees are to be found. They are all remarkable for
having an irregular, picturesque character of outline, and
for assuming this character at the growth of even five or six
years. They all come into flower at an early age, produce
flowers profusely, and all ripen abundance of fruit. The
flowers are, for the most part, white and fragrant, but in
some varieties they are tinged with red and purple ; and in
one, the scarlet hawthorn, C. oxyacantha rosea, they are of
a fine rose colour. The flowers appear at various periods
from March till the middle of July; and one variety, the
Glastonbury thorn, often comes into bloom at Christmas.
The earliest flowering species are Crataegus purpurea and
nigra, and the latest C. cordifolia and Virginica. The colour
of the fruit is for the most part red, as in the common haw¬
thorn ; but in some it is yellow, as in C. Aronia; black, as
in C. nigra; or greenish-yellow, as in C. Mexicana. In C.
coccinea the fruit is large, and of a scarlet colour. In C.
TING.
Douglasii it is of rich glossy purple-black; and in C. orien- Planting ^
talis sanguinea, Arb. Brit., it is of an intensely deep port-1
wine colour. Of the common hawthorn of our hedges, C.
oxyacantha, X., there are no fewer than thirty recognised
varieties, each of which would form a very beautiful and
distinct tree. One of the varieties has the fruit white, an¬
other has double white flowers, another, C. oxyacantha
phcenicea flore pleno, double red, another a fine single pink.
One has black fruit, another yellow, and a third white. In
one the entire tree takes the upright narrow form of a cy¬
press, and in another the branches are pendulous, like those
of the weeping willow; one has leaves like those of the oak,
another leaves like those of the fern, and so on. All the
species of Crataegus may be readily propagated by grafting
them on the common thorn, by which means, when stocks
standard high are used, they become trees fit for planting
out where they are finally to remain, at the end of the third
season. The species may be propagated either by grafting,
by seeds, or by cuttings of the roots. Much ornament
might be conferred on the country, and especially on the
roads which pass through a hedged estate, if the proprietor
were to allow some thorns in his hedgerows to grow to the
average height of two or three feet above the top of the hedge,
and at that height to bud, or graft these with some of the
more tree-growing of the ornamental species. Cotoneaster
frigida, affinis, acuminata, and nummularia, are Nepaul small
trees of very great beauty, both on account of their foliage
and their fruit; so much so, that though we have already
mentioned them under the head of sub-evergreens, we have
here repeated their names. Amelanchier vulgaris, Botry-
apium, sanguinea, ovalis, and florida, are very beautiful low
trees, which bear a profusion of white flowers early in spring,
and are succeeded by brown or black berries, w hich, though
commonly left to the birds, are not disagreeable to eat.
The common medlar, and Smith’s medlar, Mespilus Smithii,
Bee., M. grandiflora, Hort., are ornamental trees : the former
is valued also for its fruit, and the latter for the profusion of
white blossoms with which it is covered in April. There are
a great many very ornamental species and varieties of the ge¬
nus Pyrus, which is now so far extended as to include species
formerly considered as belonging to Sorbus, Crataegus, Mes¬
pilus, &c. P. nivalis, sinaica, salicifolia, elaeagnifolia, and
amygdaliformis, may be considered as white woolly-leaved
varietiesof the common wild pear, and P. sinensis as a distinct
variety of the common cultivated pear. P Bollwylliana ap¬
pears to be a hybrid between the apple or crab, and Pyrus
Aria. P. variolosa, a native of Nepaul, is a remarkable tree,
with leaves sometimes like those of the common cultivated
pear, and at other times cut, like those of Pyrus spuria sambu-
cifolia. Pyrus prunifolia, baccata, and Astracanica, are crab-
apples with handsome blossoms and small beautiful fruit; and
there are a number of sub-varieties, which may be obtained in
the nurseries. Among these, the white astracan or transparent
crab of Moscow, the supreme crab, and Biggs’s everlasting
crab, deserve the preference. P. coronaria, and P. angus-
tifolia, are American wild apples, with sweet-scented flowers.
P. spectabilis, a native of China, but quite hardy, is remark¬
able for its showy pink and white blossoms, which are pro¬
duced in great profusion. P. Aria, the white-beam tree, and
all its varieties, deserve culture, as compact, low, or small
trees ; P. vestita, a native of Nepaul, is remarkable for its
large woolly foliage, which dies oft of a fine yellow. P. tor-
minalis, though indigenous, is a most ornamental tree. Py¬
rus Sorbus, and all its different varieties, are very ornamental.
Pyrus spuria, a native of Kamtschatka, forms a very beau¬
tiful little tree, with a profusion of white flowers and black
fruit; and Pyrus arbutifolia, Mespilus arbutifolia, X. with
its varieties, melanocarpa, floribunda, and depressa, are beau¬
tiful low shrubs, and, when grafted standard high on the
common thorn, form very ornamental objects, whether in
blossom, when covered with their fine dark fruit, or when
PLAN
nting. their leaves are dying off, and have become of an intensely
'v ' dark red, shaded with yellow and purple.
The common and Chinese quinces form handsome low
trees ; the former more particularly so when in flower and
fruit, and the latter when in full leaf. The Japan quince,
Cydonia Japonica (Pyrus Japonica, L.), is well known as
one of the most ornamental spring-flowering shrubs in cul¬
tivation. Hamamelis Virginica, the Wych hazel, is valu¬
able from its beginning to flower in November, and retain¬
ing its blossoms till February or March : though rarely seen
in collections, it is very hardy, and forms a very handsome
small tree. The different species of dogwood are ornamen¬
tal, and, with the exception of C. florida, quite hardy. C.
alba sibirica has the shoots of a fine scarlet colour, and is
singularly ornamental in the winter season. The common
elder, Sambucus nigra, will thrive, and form a handsome
low tree, in a variety of situations, where many other trees
and shrubs will scarcely grow : on a mountain side, and in
the coal-smoke of cities or factories. There is a very hand¬
some variety with cut leaves, one with white fruit, and ano¬
ther with green fruit. S. racemosa is a native of Spain,
which grows vigorously in this country. The leaves are
finely cut; and the fruit, with which it is generally pro¬
fusely covered, is of the most brilliant scarlet: being very
little known among gardeners, it is scarcely ever seen in
collections. The different species of Viburnum are hardy,
and all more or less ornamental, both when in flower and in
fruit. The leaves also die off of a fine yellow-red, some¬
times tinged with purple. V. Lentago, pyrifolium, prunifo-
lium, and nudum, when trained to a single stem, form com¬
pact-growing, neat, little trees. The common wayfaring
tree, V. Lantana, and the American wayfaring tree, V. lan-
tanoides, form very neat bushes. V. Opulus is well known
as the Guelder rose ; and the American variety, V. O. oxy-
coccos, has fruit as large as the cranberry, which is used
in America for the same purpose; as is the fruit of V. O.
edule, another American variety. The fly-honeysuckle,
Lonicera xylosteum, and the Alpine upright honeysuckle,
Lonicera alpigena, are the only two species which are suffi¬
ciently woody and large to be noticed in this selection ; the
other species belong to flowering shrubs. The snow-drop
tree, Halesia tetraptera, is one of the hardiest of North
American trees, and, when in flower, one of the most beau¬
tiful : it ripens abundance of seeds in this country, by which
it is readily propagated; so much so, that in some parts of
England it is, like the American bird-cherry, naturalized
in the copses. It is rarely to be met with in Scotland,
though few trees so well adapted for the climate of that
country are so ornamental. The date-plum, Diospyros Lo¬
tus, though it ripens fruit as a standard in the climate of
London, is perhaps rather tender for the northern coun¬
ties ; but where the climate is moderate, it forms a very
beautiful small tree. The Virginian snow-flower, or fringe-
tree, Chionanthus Virginica, is nearly as hardy as the snow¬
drop tree; and when planted in a moist soil, and trained to
a single stem, its head is ornamental from its large, deep-
green foliage, independently of the fine, white, fringe-like
flowers which are suspended from the axils of the leaves.
The common purple and the common white lilacs, Syringa
vulgaris, and S. vulgaris alba, are very hardy, and make
very neat small trees when trained to a single stem. rI he
common ash is the parent of several varieties which are
very ornamental. One of the oldest of these is the simple¬
leaved ash, of which there is a variety lately discovered in
Ireland, with the leaves variegated. The pendulous-
branched or weeping ash is a well-known variety, as are
the yellow barked and the striped barked. There are se¬
veral other varieties not in our opinion worth cultivating,
though from these we except F. excelsior parvifolia, F. e.
p. argentia, and F. e. p. oxycarpa. The lentiscus-leaved
ash, F. Lentiscifolia, is an elegant tree; and there is a pen-
T I N G. 789
dulous variety of it, which forms by far the most graceful Planting,
tree of the genus. There are several species or varieties of''~-*""v''—
American ash, very ornamental in their foliage, most of
them hardy in the climate of London, but few of them
adapted for the northern counties. The flowering ash, Or-
nus Europaca, is a very handsome tree, nearly as hardy as
the common ash, and it ought on no account to be omitted
in ornamental plantations. Few trees have a finer effect
when standing singly on a lawn. Catalpa syringaefolia is a
splendid tree when in flower: it attains the height of thirty
or forty feet, and sometimes ripens its seeds in the climate
of London; but in the northern counties it seldom does
much good. It is one of those trees which will bear an
immense deal of cold in winter, provided there has been
heat and bright sunshine enough in summer to ripen its
wood. The tupelo tree, Nyssa, is nearly as hardy as
the Diospyros Lotus, and is more beautiful than that tree
in autumn, when its leaves change to an intensely deep
rich scarlet. The Oleaster or wild olive, and the Hud¬
son’s Bay olive, Elaeagnus hortensis and argentea, are hand¬
some silvery-leaved low trees ; the former, however, rather
tender, and the latter rather shrubby. The sea-buckthorn
is a very handsome and a very hardy willow-leaved little tree,
which has the great advantage of standing the sea-breeze
without injury. Hippophae salicifolia, a native of the moun¬
tains of Nepaul, is of more vigorous growth than the Euro¬
pean sea-buckthorns, and appears to be nearly as hardy as
they are. Shepherdia argentea, the Missouri silver-tree, is
an elegant silvery-leaved tree, a native of North America,
where it produces an edible fruit: it forms a suitable com¬
panion to Hippophae and Elaeagnus, which are also more or
less silvery in their foliage. The black, the white, the red,
and the tartarian mulberries, are all ornamental trees, but
rather tender in the northern counties. The paper mul¬
berry, Broussonetia papyrifera, is an interesting object, but
more tender than the common mulberry. Maclura auran-
tiaca, the American bow-wood, or Osage orange, is a tree
of very vigorous growth in the climate of London; but as
it continues growing till late in the season, its wrood is
often not ripened so far as the points of the shoots, and
the tree is therefore probably unfit for those parts of the
island where the atmosphei'e is almost constantly charged
with fog. The elm comprises many ornamental species
and varieties. Of the English or narrow-leaved elm, those
which we prefer are U. campestris viminalis, U. c. foliis
variegatisj and U. c. virens. U. c. planifolia, and U. c. chi-
nensis, are very beautiful as elms, but difficult to procure.
Ulmus effusa is, in our opinion, by far the handsomest spe¬
cies of the European elms when it is in a young state ; but
it does not grow up to a handsome tree. The most beau¬
tiful variety of Scotch elm is the weeping elm, Ulmus
montana pendula, which is remarkable for the vigour of its
growth, and the picturesque manner in which its branches
are thrown about. There are some American elms which
are tolerably hardy in the climate of London, but which
cannot be recommended for colder districts. Planera Ri-
chardi is an Asiatic tree, and attains the first rank even in
the climate of London, where it sometimes ripens seeds;
it deserves a place along with the elms, and along with the
southern and eastern nettle-trees, Celtis australis and Tour-
nefortii. The common walnut-tree, Juglans regia, though
it becomes a tree of the first rank in the climate of Lon¬
don, and is cultivated for its fruit both there and in Devon¬
shire, yet in the north has generally the points of its young
shoots blackened by the spring frosts. Of the willow there
are a great many species and varieties, all of which are
highly ornamental when in flower. Of these we may re¬
commend the almond-leaved willow, S. amygdalina; the
sweet-scented bay-leaved willow, S. pentandra; the weep¬
ing willow, S. Babylonica; the golden willow, S. vitellina;
and the purple-barked willow, S. atropurpurea. The pop-
790 PLAN
Planting, lar genus contains several ornamental species. The first we
 ' shall mention is Populus tremula grandidentata, Arb. Brit.,
the North American large aspen, of which there is a pen¬
dulous branched variety. P. heterophylla is an American
poplar, little known and rarely met with in British nur¬
series. The balsam poplar, P. balsamifera, is one of the
earliest trees, which sends out its leaves in spring; and it
and the Lonicera Tatarica, in the climate of London, are
found clothed with leaves a week or a fortnight sooner
than any other tree or shrub whatever. The leaves of the
balsam poplar, when they first come out, are of a rich yel¬
low, and they perfume the air with their fragrance for
some distance around ; as the summer advances, they be¬
come darker, till in the autumn they are of a black or
bluish green. It may give some idea of the extreme har¬
diness of this tree to mention, that Captain Franklin found
it as far north as the Great Slave Lake ; and that the great¬
est part of the drift-timber which he observed on the shores
of the Arctic Sea was of this species. It is one of those
poplars that send up suckers, and it is consequently readily
propagated by cuttings of the roots. It prefers a moist soil,
and though the Cree name for this species means ugly pop¬
lar, yet when full grown on such a soil, it forms a very
massive round-headed tree, which at a distance might be
mistaken for an oak or a chestnut, as is proved by two fine
specimens in the grounds at Syon. The Ontario poplar,
P. candicans, bears a close general resemblance to the bal¬
sam poplar ; it has the rigid fastigiate habit of that tree,
the same habit of sending out its foliage before all other
poplars, its fine fragrance, and its property of throwing up
suckers from the roots; but it differs from the balsam
poplar in having very large heart-shaped leaves. It is ra¬
ther more difficult to propagate than the balsam poplar,
and, in British nurseries, is commonly raised from layers.
The genus Alnus, the alder, contains some very ornamen¬
tal trees. A. glutinosa laciniata has finely-cut foliage, and,
what is remarkable, is in general a more free-growing tree
than the species. A. cordifolia is a native of Calabria, and
by far the handsomest species of the genus. We have al¬
ready mentioned it as probably fit to be grown for its tim¬
ber. A. incana, the hoary-leaved alder, is a very handsome
tree, and has the advantage of preferring dry soil. A. oblon¬
gata, serrulata, undulata, and viridis, are low trees or large
shrubs, quite hardy, and deserving of introduction into col¬
lections. The birch is a genus of which the greater number
of species are natives of North America; and, though they
are valuable timber-trees there, none of them in this coun¬
try have yet proved anything more than ornamental. The
finest American species is B. nigra, distinguished by the
beautiful paper-white of its bark, which cracks, separates
into thin laminae, and rolls up, even when the tree is young
and only two or three inches in diameter. B. populifolia is
a handsome species, very much resembling the common
birch, and in our opinion only a variety of it, as are B. pu-
bescens, urticifolia, pontica, Darlecarlica, and others. There
is a cut-leaved, pendulous variety of the common birch, which
is very ornamental. The paper-birch, B. papyracea, is a
fine tree; as are B. glandulosa and B. Daurica. B. fruticosa,
pumila, and nana, are shrubs.
Of oaks there are upwards of forty species introduced
into British gardens; the greater number of them, with many
varieties, being purchasable in British nurseries. All these,
with the exception of the two varieties of the common
oak and the Turkey oak, may be considered as solely or
principally ornamental. Of the common oak, Q,. pedun-
culata, there are three varieties, very distinctly marked,
viz. the cypress oak, Q. p. fastigiata; the weeping oak, Q.
p. pendula; and the cut-leaved oak, Q,. p. heterophylla.
These three varieties often ripen acorns, and of the plants
raised from them a number are found to have the same
habit as the parent. There are several varieties of Q. ses-
T I N G.
siliflora, which differ in the size of the acorns, in the size Planting: ^
of the leaves, in the greater or lesser degree in which these
are cut, and in the presence or absence of pubescence ;
none of these varieties, however, have yet been propagated
by the nurseryman, excepting Q. s. pubescens. The Py-
renaean oak, Q. Pyrenaica, is a very handsome and distinct
species, of low growth. Q. Apennina is also a low tree. Q.
Esculus, the Italian oak, is a tree under the middle size,
which thrives well, and ripens its acorns in the climate of
London: there are fine specimens at Whitton Park. Of the
Turkey oak, Quercus Cerris, there are ten or twelve very
distinct varieties. The first of these is the pendulous va¬
riety, the next the Austrian, then the Ragnal, the Fulham,
and the Lucombe. Of the latter there are five very distinct
sub-varieties, all sub-evergreen, and all well deserving of
culture wherever the common Turkey oak will thrive.
Ouercus Agilops, the Velonia oak, thrives iff the climate of
London ; but is probably too tender for the northern coun¬
ties. The American oaks, which are deciduous, may be
classed as the white, red, black, and willow oaks. The white
oak best worth cultivating in Britain as an ornamental tree
is Q,. alba; but Q,. olivseformis and macrocarpa are remark¬
able for their fruit, and Q. obtusifolia and lyrata for their
leaves. The chestnut oak, Q. Prinus, and its several va¬
rieties, also deserve culture: the leaves of these oaks re¬
semble those of the sweet chestnut, and the species is to
the other deciduous American oaks what Q. sessiliflora is to
the deciduous oaks of Europe. Q. alba bears the closest
resemblance to Q.. pedunculata, and may be considered as
being the American form of that species. All the red oaks
are beautiful in the form and colour of their foliage; and
some of them attain the size of timber-trees in Britain,
though their wood is of little value either here or in Ame¬
rica. Q. rubra, and coccinea, and tinctoria (the Quercitron),
are perhaps the most ornamental; and Q. palustris is the
hardiest, the most rapid growing, and the handsomest in
point of general form. The black American oaks are all
remarkable trees. The black-jack oak, Q. nigra, L., is the
most extraordinary species, from the very singular form of
its leaves; and next to it is Q. aquatica. Q. illicifolia, he¬
terophylla, and agrifolia, belong to this division. The willow
oaks, Q. Phellos, imbricata, and laurifolia, have entire leaves,
which die off without changing colour; and this group may
be considered the least ornamental of the American oaks.
The American hornbeam, Carpinus Americana, and the
common and Virginian hop hornbeams, Ostyra vulgaris and
Virginica, deserve a place in collections, more especially the
hop hornbeams, from the singular appearance of their fruit.
Of the common hazel there are some ornamental varieties,
such as that with purple leaves, and another with cut leaves.
The Constantinople hazel, Corylus Colurna, forms a very
handsome middle-sized tree; and C. rostrata and Ameri¬
cana are hardy, and well deserving a place in ornamental
plantations. The oriental and occidental planes are highly
ornamental trees of the first rank, and Platanus Orientalis
acerifolia, Arb. Brit., and P. O. cuneata, Arb. Brit., are
fine varieties, the latter forming a curiously-twisted low tree.
The Liquidambar is a splendid' tree, remarkable for the
beauty of its foliage and its refreshing fragrance. Liquid¬
ambar imberbe is a small tree, also very ornamental. The
Ginkgo or maidenhair tree, Salisburia adiantifolia, Sm., is
remarkable for the singularity of its foliage : it is a native
of China, but is quite hardy in most parts of Britain ; and
it is propagated without difficulty by cuttings made in au¬
tumn. Of the larch there are some species and several
varieties, which are chiefly ornamental; those best deserv¬
ing of culture are L. Europsea pendula, L. Americana pen¬
dula, and L. Americana rubra. The deciduous cypress is
rather tender in the northern parts of the island ; but in the
climate of London, when planted where its roots are with¬
in reach of water, it forms a magnificent tree of the first rank.
PLAN
anting. III.— The Nursery Culture of Trees.
We have now gone through the whole of the hardy
trees and shrubs of Britain, and have indicated those which
we think best deserving of culture, where the objects are
either timber-produce or general effect, and where no ex¬
traordinary care is proposed to be bestowed on the soil.
The reader cannot fail to be surprised at the very small
number of species which merit to be planted for the sake
of their timber, and at the great number which we have
enumerated as ornamental. That number would have been
more than doubled had we included the flowering shrubs,
and such foreign trees and shrubs as will only thrive in the
southern parts of the island; but we have confined our¬
selves as much as possible to those which will thrive both
in the climate of London and in that of Edinburgh. It
must be recollected that all the ornamental trees produce
timber of some sort; and some of them, such as the box,
crab, common maple, &c., timber of considerable value.
Every ornamental tree, therefore, may be considered a
useful tree, even with respect to the wood which it pro¬
duces; though, from the length of time it takes to produce
that wood, it may not be a profitable tree to cultivate for
that purpose. Having treated on the trees worth cultivat¬
ing, we shall now enter on the subject of their cultivation.
The cultivation of trees and shrubs includes their propa¬
gation and rearing in the nursery, and their culture and
management in plantations.
Nursery Culture.—A nursery is any plot of ground de¬
voted to the propagation and rearing of trees and shrubs.
To be perfect, it ought to contain the principal kinds of
soil in which trees and shrubs grow, and to possess dif¬
ferent climates, according to the countries of v/hich the
plants are natives; but as these requisites cannot be al¬
ways obtained, particularly with respect to climate, all that
art can do is to make the nearest approach to them that
circumstances will admit. It may be laid down as a gene¬
ral principle, that all seeds will germinate, and all plants
grow, in any kind of soil whatever, provided it contain
some vegetable matter, be in a state of minute division,
and be retentive, to a certain extent, of water. All plants,
therefore, may be reared in a nursery containing only one
kind of soil; but in such a nursery all will not be equally
well reared ; for some plants, such as all those which have
hair-like roots (as the ericaceae, including the heaths, rho¬
dodendrons, arbutuses, &c.), and in general all that are
called peat-earth plants, will only thrive in a peaty-soil;
or a soil composed of a mixture of very fine sand, and
thoroughly decomposed leaves, or woody matter. Other
plants, such as all those which attain a large size, and have
strong tap-roots, will only thrive in deep loams or in deep
fertile sands, though they will grow for a time very well
in peat. A nursery, therefore, that contains the three lead¬
ing soils of sand, loam, and peat, wall suffice for all the
purposes for which the most extensive nursery can be re¬
quired ; and, for raising such trees and shrubs as have been
treated of in this article, a piece of ground containing sandy
loam in one place, and clayey loam in another, or even
sandy loam throughout, will be quite sufficient, as far as re¬
gards soil. With respect to climate, all the deficiencies
which can occur in Britain may be made up by glazed
frames, in which the more tender kinds can be raised ; and
in which those which are grown in pots can be kept through
the winter. A nursery may be considered in two points
of view: with reference to the nurserymen, and with re¬
ference to the climate and soil where the trees are finally
to be planted. As matters stand at present, it is the inte¬
rest of the nurseryman to have his nursery in a fine cli¬
mate, and in deep, fertile soil, in order that he may raise
large vigorous plants in the shortest possible period: but
it is the interest of the purchaser to have the plants reared
TING. 791
in a climate and soil inferior to that into which they are to Planting-,
be transplanted; because, when this is done, instead of
the plants receiving a check from the operation of trans¬
planting, as is usually the case, they will be improved by
it. It is the interest of the nurseryman to have his nur¬
sery trenched and manured to the depth of two or three
feet; in order that it may contain abundance of nourish¬
ment, and be retentive of moisture during the summer sea¬
son, so as to cause the plants to produce long and vigorous
shoots. On the other hand, it is the interest of the pur¬
chaser that the soil should not be cultivated to more than
eight or ten inches in depth, in order that the nourishment
and the moisture, and consequently the roots, may be con¬
centrated in a very limited space ; so that, when the plants
are taken up, the whole of the roots may be taken up with
them, which, where the ground has been trenched, is im¬
possible, from the great depth to which they will have pe¬
netrated. It is for the interest of the nurseryman that the
summer should be moist, in order that the shoots produced
may be long and strong; but it is for the interest of the
purchaser that the summer should be dry, in order that
the shoots may be short, and thoroughly ripened; and that
the roots should cease to grow early in the autumn, in
order that their spongioles, having had time to harden,
which they cannot do till they have ceased elongating,
may receive the less injury when the plants are taken up.
In short, it is the interest of the purchaser to concentrate
all the forces of the plant within such limits as he can tho¬
roughly command, that is, can take up and carry away.
The advantages of then sowing and planting to the planter, »
therefore, are obvious, though the reverse is for the inte¬
rest of the nurseryman ; as by thick planting the plants are
drawn up taller and straighter, and a greater number will
grow on a given surface. We are fully aware of the argu¬
ments which are opposed to this doctrine by nurserymen ;
viz. that the stronger a plant is, and the greater the num¬
ber of its fibrous roots, the more likely will it be to succeed
after being transplanted to a new situation; and that this
strength of shoot, and abundance of fibrous roots, can only
be produced in deep, rich soil. But we deny that this vi¬
gorous appearance in the shoots of plants is strength ; and
assert that, so far from a deep soil being favourable to the
production of fibrous roots, it is directly the reverse. The
strength of a plant, and its suitableness for being removed
from one situation to another, and for growing vigorously
after it is removed, consists in all its parts having arrived
at maturity, in the thorough ripening of its wood, and in
the completely dormant state of its fibrous roots ; and these
requisites, we assert, can only be obtained by concentrating
the nourishment contained in the soil into a limited space,
by the soil being compact, and by no more moisture being
admitted to the roots than what is absolutely necessary to
complete the growth of the season in sufficient time to allow
of the thorough ripening of the young wood. If by any
mode of culture these requisites can be obtained, together
with the long and thick shoots which are produced by
growing the plants in deep, rich soil, so much the better;
but we contend, that, in the climate of Britain, this is im¬
possible. If the purchasers of plants in nurseries will ob¬
serve what takes place in the case of layers, as in those of the
elm, the lime, the platanus, the white poplar, the vine, &c.
they will see the justice of our statement. Such layers made
in spring have generally at the end of the season shoots
of three or more feet in length, which have continued
growing till they were checked by frost; the consequence
of which is, that neither the wood nor the fibrous shoots
have ripened. The first year after removal, such plants
make scarcely any growth ; and if they survive the first
year, it requires two or three years more before they are
firmly established. Nearly the same thing may be said of
almost all one-year grafted or budded fruit-trees, which, hav-
792 PLAN TIN G.
Planting, ing seldom ripened their wood thoroughly, from being plant- According to some writers, plants which are raised from Plantm
's—ed in deeply trenched rich soil, and half of their roots hav- cuttings, or by any other mode than by seeds, are of lesss v'"
ing been left in the ground after they are taken up, are con- aurability than seminal plants ; but though this may be
sequently obliged to be cut in when planted. These conside- true, or appear so, in a few instances, it can never be
rations show, as a general principle, the advantage of grow- adopted as a general principle ; since, from all that we are
ing all plants that are to be transplanted, in such a manner taught by physiology, a bud contains as perfect an embryo
as" that they may thoroughly ripen their wood and roots, of a plant as a seed: the only difference being, that the
and so that the whole of the roots may be taken up with bud is more powerfully imbued with the peculiarities of
the plant. On a large scale, the only mode of effecting the individual which produced it than the seed is. This
this is by having the soil shallow and rich, but not too doctrine is confirmed by experience ; since the poplar, the
moist. On a small scale, the same end is attained in a willow, the vine, &c., have been propagated by cuttings
very complete manner by growing the plants in pots; and, from time immemorial, and, for any thing that is known
were it not for the expense, this would be the best mode to the contrary, possess respectively the same properties
of growing all nursery articles. The plants, however, should now that they did in the days of the Romans,
not be kept too long in pots, because, when so treated, Propagating by Seeds.—The seeds should be collected
many species, after a time, acquire a stunted habit, and the from the handsomest individuals of the species, when they
roots, when the tree is transplanted, instead of being in a are quite mature ; and they should either be sown imme-
state to allow of their being unwound from the ball, and diately, or preserved in a place where they will undergo
stretched out in lines radiating in every direction from the few changes in regard to heat or moisture, till the proper
stool, are so long and slender, and the circulation through sowing season, which, in almost every case, will be the fol-
them is so languid, that they require to be cut off or short- lowing spring. Nature, it may be observed, sows all her
ened. In general, it may be observed, that a weak plant, seeds soon after they are fully matured; that is, they drop
with the wood and roots thoroughly ripened, is much more from the tree upon the ground in autumn, or the beginning
likely to thrive when transplanted, than a strong one from of winter, or, in the case of some trees, such as the pines
which a great part of the roots have been cut off; and and firs, not till the following spring; but as, when seeds
hence, of two young Huntingdon elms, budded on the are thus left to chance, the greater part of them are de-
Scotch elm, one of which had been grown in a pot, and had stroyed by vermin, by being placed in a condition not fa¬
ils leading shoot only two feet long, and another which had vourable for germination, or by imperfect or premature
been grown in the free soil, and had its leading shoot five germination, only a moderate number of them produce
» or six feet long, as is often the case—the former, when plants. It is the business of art, therefore, to study what
transplanted where it was finally to remain, would far is favourable and unfavourable in nature’s mode of sowing
sooner attain the height of twenty or thirty feet than the seeds, and to imitate oply the former. The result of this
latter. We do not expect that all commercial nurserymen study is, that by far the greater number of seeds may be
will subscribe to these opinions, but private gentlemen kept with advantage from the time they ripen, till early in
who raise their own trees will find it their interest to at- the following spring, that is, till February or March, and
tend to them. Hence those who plant in mountainous then be committed to the soil. There are a few excep-
districts will always find it better to have their nurseries on tions, as in the case of poplar and willow seeds, which ripen
the sides of the mountains than in the valleys. early, and which, when sown immediately that they drop
Propagation.—Trees, like other plants, are chiefly pro- from the tree, often come up in the course of a few weeks ;
pagated by seeds ; but they are also increased by cuttings, whereas, if they are kept till the following spring, the great-
layers, budding, and grafting. The timber-trees of all er number do not come up at all; and also in the case of
countries are raised from seeds, with the exception of a seeds which lie two years in the ground before coming up,
very few, such as the poplar and the willow, which are such as those of the hawthorn, the holly, &c. and which
raised from cuttings ; and some species of elms, limes, and may be kept till the second spring after being ripened be-
a few others, which are raised from layers, or by grafting, fore they are sown. In order to show the treatment re-
The greater number of ornamental trees and shrubs are quired for the seeds of different kinds of trees, and the
raised by some of these artificial methods ; because in this plants raised from them in the nurseries, it will be conve-
country they seldom ripen seeds, and because varieties nient to throw them into groups; and these may be as
are always perpetuated by artificial modes. This, all the follow: the pine and fir tribe; the trees producing nuts,
American oaks are, or may be, grafted on the common acorns, masts, and keys; trees producing pomes with ker-
British oak. Most of the foreign acers and birches are nels, berries with stones, berries in capsules, small seeds,
raised by layers, most of the ornamental thorns by budding leguminous seeds, and cottony or papery seeds,
and grafting, and almost all the ornamental willows and The seeds of the pine and fir tribe ripen from October
poplars by cuttings. All plants which do not ripen seeds till January, and if the cones are allowed to remain on the
readily are propagated by some of these artificial modes ; tree throughout the winter, the seeds do not in general
and that mode is preferred by the nurseryman, which, ex- drop out till the following April or May ; soon after which,
perience has proved, will produce the largest and most vi- such of them as drop into a favourable soil, where there is
gorous-looking plants in the shortest time. Thus, though a certain degree of moisture and shade, come up in five or
more suitable plants for the planter would be produced by six weeks. The nurseryman collects the cones of each
raising the platanus and the white poplar from cuttings, species immediately after they are ripe (which, with the
because in that case nature would adjust the tops to the pinaster, and a few others, is as early as the month of Oc-
power of the roots ; yet,, as much larger plants are produ- tober), and he lays them by in a dry place till he has.lei-
ced by layers, that mode is everywhere preferred in the sure to extract the seeds. This he does by exposing the
commercial nurseries. The lime-tree ripens its seeds in cones to the heat of the sun under a glass case, by which
this country, and also the English elm ; bilt large plants are the heat is retained, and raised to a higher degree than
much more rapidly procured in the first case by layers, and it would be in the open air ; or he subjects them to ar-
in the second by grafting. We do not say that in every tificial heat before an open fire, or on a kiln. Ihe seeds,
case the mode by which the largest plants are most rapid- when taken out, are sown in April, in soil dug over, and
ly produced should give way to the slower mode ; but rendered fine by raking; and over them is laid a covering
merely that, in most cases, it would be advantageous to of soil, which, in general, need not be deeper than the
the purchaser that the slower mode should be adopted, thickness of the seed to be covered, where the soil is loamy ;
PLAN
Planting, but it may be twice that thickness where the soil is a
   coarse sand. In order to retain a uniform degree of mois¬
ture on the surface, the beds, after the sowing is completed,
should be shaded from the sun, by covering them slightly
with the branches of trees, and especially with those of
evergreens, such as the spruce fir. In cold moist climates,
such as that of Aberdeen, this shading may be dispensed
with ; but in the climate of London it is, in most seasons,
essentially necessary, and may be effected by hoops and
mats, by fronds of fern, by straw, or by pea haulm. For
greater convenience, the seeds are generally sown in beds,
a slight excavation being made in the beds by drawing
some of the earth to the sides ; and in order that the seeds
may be evenly deposited on a somewhat firm surface, the
bottom of this excavation is rolled with a light roller.
After the seeds are distributed over the beds, at such dis¬
tances as that the plants, after they have come up, and
have grown to the end of the season, may not touch each
other, the beds are again rolled, and afterwards the cover¬
ing of earth is thrown over them which was drawn off be¬
fore rolling and sowing. It may be observed here, that the
rolling in of the seeds, by bringing them in close contact
with comparatively firm soil, renders a much thinner co¬
vering of earth necessary than if the seeds had been sown
on a loose surface. It is also more favourable to the vege¬
tation of the seeds ; it being found that close contact with
the soil, both in the case of seeds, and the spongioles of
the roots, is a powerful stimulus to vegetation. Some of
the more tender species of pines and firs, such as the stone
pine, the cedar of Lebanon, the cypress, See. are commonly
sown in pots, or in flat earthen pans, for the convenience
of making them germinate under glass, and in order to
facilitate future transplantation; but the process of prepa¬
ration, sowing, and covering, is exactly the same as when
the seeds are raised in beds. The plants, after they have
come up, require nothing but the usual routine culture of
the nursery for two summers; at the end of which period
they should be taken up, and, if possible, transplanted where
they are finally to remain ; but as this cannot always be
done, the next best practice is to plant them in the nur¬
sery, either in lines, which is the most convenient mode, or
scattered over beds ; in either case keeping the plants so
far apart that there may be a clear space round each plant,
of from three to six inches, according to its height and the
length of its leaves. Thus, for the Scotch pine and the
spruce fir, which grow slowly when young, and have com¬
paratively short leaves, three inches will be sufficient; whilst
for the larch, which grows rapidly the second year, and for
the pinaster, which has long leaves, six inches will be re¬
quired. Here the plants may remain another two years,
and afterwards be transplanted on the same principle ; un¬
less they are in the mean time removed to where they are
finally to remain. Unless this has been the case, they will
have little chance of doing good as timber-trees; for expe¬
rience has proved, that after two years’ growth, or at most
four years’, all the pine and fir timber are materially checked
by transplanting ; and that this check is of a kind which
cannot, like that given to broad-leaved trees, in a similar
case, be counteracted by cutting them down to the ground ;
but, on the contrary, remains for many years, and materially
affects the future growth and habit of the tree.
Trees bearing Nuts, Acorns, Masts, Keys, fyc These,
on British timber-trees, ripen from October to December.
The greater part of oaks ripen their acorns in November;
but the beech, the horse-chestnut, the walnut, and the ha¬
zel, ripen their mast and nuts in October ; and most of the
sycamores and maples their keys in September. All these
seeds ought to be gathered as soon as they are ripe ; be¬
cause, as they form an important part of the food of wild
animals, the best are liable to be picked up by them as
soon as they drop. They may either be sown immediately
VOL. XVII
TING. 793
°mi kfpt tih February, as in neither case will they come up Planting,
tdl April or May. They should be sown in a sandy loam, '
in drills, the seeds being deposited at such a distance from
each other, that the leaves of the plants springing from them
may not touch at the end of the first season; they should
be trodden into the drill with the foot, or pressed down with
the back of a wooden rake ; and they may be covered to
the depth of twice or thrice the thickness of the seed. The
reason why drills are recommended for this description of
tiee-seeds is, that in the intervals between the rows, a
spade may be inserted obliquely, so as to cut through the
tap-roots of the plant, and force it to throw out lateral roots.
1 us operation is commonly performed early in the spring
o the second year : it does not prevent a second tap-root
being formed from the mutilated extremity of the first; but
it throws a greater proportion of the energies of the plant
into the lateral roots, which, by increasing these and their
bres, renders the tree better adapted for transplanting. At
the end of the second year, plants so treated may be taken
up, and either planted where they are finally to remain ; or,
their tap-roots being shortened, they may be transplanted
into nursery lines, at distances adjusted according to the
principles laid down for transplanting the pine and fir tribe.
In this situation they may remain two years longer, and
then be taken up and again replanted in the nursery; be¬
cause all broad-leaved tap-rooted trees differ from needle¬
leaved trees in this important particular, that the larger
and stronger they are, up to a certain point, before they
aie removed from the nursery, and planted where they are
finally to remain, the more vigorously will they grow there.
The point or limit to the size which they may be allowed
to attain in the nursery must be regulated by the condi¬
tion of the soil into which they are to be transplanted, re¬
latively to moisture. If this be abundant, so as to supply
all the fibrils with water during the first summer, even if
the removed plant has a stem an inch in diameter, so much
the better; it being clearly understood that it has been
transplanted in the nursery every two years, and is conse-
quently abundantly supplied with fibrous roots, and has all
its wood perfectly ripe. If, on the other hand, the soil
into which the plant is to be transplanted is naturally dry,
and perhaps also thin and poor, the plants should be re¬
moved from the nursery thither at the end of the second
year. The reason is sufficiently obvious; such plants, be¬
ing of small size, have few leaves to exhale moisture, and
before they grow large they will have adjusted their roots
and annual growths to the locality.
Trees producing Pomes with Kernels This class in¬
cludes the genera Pyrus, Cydonia,Amelanchier, Cotoneaster,
Viburnum, &c. The fruits of the different species of these
genera ripen at various periods from September to Novem¬
ber. 1 hey should be gathered when ripe, and each kind
should be mixed with sand, and laid up in a heap, in order
to rot away the pulp. This heap may be turned over se¬
veral times in the course of the winter; and in the month
of I ebruary it may be sifted, and the seeds separated
from it, and sown in beds, exactly in the same manner as
is done with the seeds of the pine and fir tribe. After
the plants have been two years in the seed-bed, they may
be transplanted into nursery lines, on the same general
principles as already described.
Berries having Slones.—This class includes the genera
Crataegus, Ilex, Taxus, Prunus, Cerasus, Rhamnus, and
some others. The fruit ripens from August (as is the case
with some species of Crataegus) to December. It should
be gathered as soon as it is thoroughly ripe; and after
having been mixed with sand or sandy soil, the mixture
should be laid up in moderate-sized heaps, exposed to the
weather, and turned over frequently for two years, after
which it may be taken, along with the sand, and sown in
beds ; and when the plants come up, and have grown two
& H
794
V L A N T I N G.
Planting;, years, they may be transplanted, and treated like the others;
-—n-'-"-^ In general, all the plants belonging to this class, which¬
ever way the seeds may be treated, whether they are
sown immediately that they are ripe, or kept in a rot-
heap two summers, will not come up till the spring of the
third year; but there are some positive and some acci¬
dental exceptions. Amongst the former are the yew, the
berries of which generally come up at the end of the first
year, and the wild cherry, which if sown in July, imme¬
diately after the fruit is ripe, will come up the following
snrin"; whereas, if kept till August before it is sown, it
will not come up for two years. As casual exceptions, we
may mention that the holly and hawthorn, when the ber¬
ries are macerated in water as soon as they are gathered,
and sown immediately afterwards, will, in some seasons,
come up the following spring in considerable numbers;
though the same treatment in other seasons, in the same
nursery, will not be attended with the same results. ^
Berries and Capsules having small Seeds. Ihia class
includes the elders, the privet, the spindle-tree, the bar¬
berries, and some others. The fruit may be treated like the
pomes; and great care should be taken, after it is rotten,
either that the seeds are completely separated from the
sand before they are sown, or that the sand and seed, when
sown together, should be so distributed over the bed as
that the plants may come up at regular distances, and su -
ficiently far apart. The covering of soil should be very
thin, more especially if the seeds are rolled in ; and he
beds should be shaded by branches or matting till the
plants are fairly above ground. At the end of the se¬
cond season they may be transplanted into nursery lines as
^Lequminous Seeds.—These include the genera Cytisus,
Rob ini a, Gleditschia, Caragana, &c. The pods general¬
ly ripen in September or October ; but some of them, such
as the Gleditschia, not till November or December. The
seeds may be kept in the pods till February, and then ta¬
ken out and sown in beds, on the principles before laid
down. At the end of two years the young trees may be
transplanted as before. . c , rp,
Cottony, Papery, Feathery, and other soft Seeds.—i hese
include the genera Populus, Sahx, Alnus, Betula, Uhnus,
&c The seeds ripen from May to November ; all the
poplars ripen their seeds in May; all the willows and elms
in June ; the alders in November ; and the birches in Oc¬
tober The seed of the alder and the birch may be kept
in a cool, dry, airy situation till the following spring, or it
may be sown immediately after it is gathered. In either
case it comes up in the May or June following; but it is
preferable that the seeds of the elm. the poplar, and the
willow, should be sown immediately, because m that case
they are much more certain of coming up. Many ot these
seeds will come up the same autumn, and the remainder
the following April and May. The seeds may be dried and
preserved in bags for a year; but in this case the great¬
er part of those of the poplars and willows will not vegetate.
The reason may be, that the seeds, when preserved, are
kept too warm; which must necessarily deprive them ot
their moisture, through the absorption of the cottony sub¬
stance with which they are enveloped. Poplar and willow
seeds require to be sown on a surface rendered quite even,
and slightly firm, by rolling. Afterwards the seeds should be
evenly distributed over it, and they should be covered with
very light, sandy soil, or peat or vegetable mould, if either
can be procured, no thicker than barely to conceal the seed
from the eye. After this the beds should be watered, and
effectually shaded, by being hooped over and matted; and
they should be kept in a uniform state of moisture, by oc¬
casional supplies of water, when the plants make their ap¬
pearance. Of all the seedling trees raised in British nur¬
series, none come up and grow with so much vigour, t e
first year, as the common broad-leaved elm ; and, there- Planting
fore, the seeds of this tree require to be placed at a greater Vl“~ V"’*1
distance from each other in the seed-bed than those of any
other kind. The seeds of the elm also keep much better
till the following spring than those of the poplar and willow-,
and they are generally so kept by Scotch nurserymen.
Iy The Culture of Trees in the Plantations. The Forma-
tion and Management of Plantations.
Whether plantations of forest-trees should be sown or
planted, is a question which has been agitated and discussed
by different writers. It is readily allowed, that sowing is
the natural mode ; but it is the business of art to improve
upon nature, and to attain the same ends which she does,
by more definite means. If this general principle be cor¬
rect, it affords at once a decisive answer as to the respective
eligibility of sowing or planting; unless, indeed, it can be
shown, which some have attempted to do, that the timbei
of transplanted trees is never so valuable as that of sown
ones. The only reason alleged for this is, that the trans¬
planted trees have lost their tap-roots ; and although a more
frivolous one could hardly be imagined, yet it has been
maintained by a number of writers, and is still insisted on
by a few. On examining the roots of full-grown trees,
however, either in natural forests or artificial plantations,
no tap-root is ever found ; on the contrary, those roots w hich
proceed either directly or obliquely downwards from the
base of the trunk, are uniformly found much smaller than
those w hich proceed from the base of the trunk horizontally,
at a few inches distance under the surface of the ground.
The tap-root, therefore, is chiefly of use to the tree whilst in
a young state ; and if we trace a seedling oak through the
first ten years of its progress, we shall find that, m the first
year, the tap-root is larger in proportion to the part ot the
plant above ground, than it is in any succeeding year; and
that as the top of the tree and the lateral roots increase m
size, the tap-root ceases to increase, till at last, even at so
short a period as ten or twelve years’ growth, it is found to
be the smallest of all the main roots of the tree. We as¬
sume it, therefore, as agreed on by the most intelligent
planters, that a transplanted tree, other circumstances being
the same, is in all respects as good as a seedling one. Hence
we conclude, that all artificial plantations ought to be made
by planting the trees, and for a similar reason we would
plant these in rows at regular distances ; and, in short, treat
them, as far as is practicable, like a crop of herbaceous ve¬
getables, when reared in the kitchen-garden or in the field.
We would prepare the soil, and even manure it for the
trees, with as great care as we would for a crop of turnips
or cabbages ; and we would stir the surface afterwards for
two or three years, till it began to be covered with the
branches of the trees; in which state we should leave it
during the whole period of the growth of the plantation,
only taking care to remove large weeds. Vv e admit, how¬
ever, that this kind of tree culture can only take place with
advantage on a tolerably even surface, and where the sod
is of the same nature throughout; but we think it right to
lay it down as a general principle of guidance, in so far as it
can be followed, for planters in all other soils and situations.
With the exception of the ground destined for orna
mental plantations about country houses, the great majo¬
rity of cases in which plantations are to be formed with a
view to profit must necessarily be on hilly and irregula
surfaces; and where there is probably a considerable variety
of soil, even in a very limited space. The only preparatioi
that in cases of this kind can be given, is under-draining ,
for to dig or trench the surface would render it liable to De
washed away by heavy rains and thawing ^ow. Flante-
tions under such circumstances must be formed by digging
pits for each particular tree, and by making use of sucn
PLANTING.
i’lanting^ kinds as are thought to be best adapted to the particular
'^Y " and situation. This will frequently occasion the use of
a considerable variety of trees in the same plantation; but
the effect will be as much more interesting in point of beauty,
as the result will be advantageous in point of timber pro¬
duce. We have already stated, that needle-leaved trees
should, if possible, be transplanted when they are not older
than two years; but that broad-leaved trees may be trans¬
planted at four, six, eight, or ten years’ growth; provided
they have been removed every two years in the nursery,
and that the soil in which they are placed is sufficiently
deep and moist to bring all the fibrous roots into full action
the first summer. In the planting of irregular surfaces,
which cannot be done by digging, when strong plants of
this kind are used they overcome the natural herbage im¬
mediately ; and, if carefully planted, not one in a score will
fail. Smaller plants, on the other hand, are apt to be choked
by the grass or herbage, and to have their leaves and young
shoots injured by the insects which never fail to abound in
such situations. When such surfaces have naturally a very
dry soil and subsoil, plants with such a mass of roots as
those which we have mentioned cannot subsist on them the
first year; and therefore smaller plants, or such as have been
only once transplanted, are preferable.
Notwithstanding these arguments in favour of planting
instead of sowing as a general practice, there are circum¬
stances under which sowing is either the preferable, or per¬
haps the only mode, that can be adopted. In every case of
making plantations of the pinaster, or of the cedar of Le¬
banon, unless we could procure a sufficient number of plants
of two years old in pots, we should prefer sowing a patch
of seeds in every place where a plant was intended finally
to remain. Three seeds in a patch would be sufficient;
and if more than one came up, the rest should be removed
the second or third year. In cases of this kind the plants
require to be looked over two or three times every year, to
prevent the surrounding herbage from choking them. When
steep rocky cliffs, or the sides of hills, consisting of loose
naked stones, are to be covered with wood, then sowing is
the only mode that can be resorted to. The kind of rock
having been ascertained, in order to discover the nature of
the debris or soil collected in its clefts, or under the loose
stones, the kinds of seeds to be sown may be selected ac¬
cordingly. Where the soil is good, acorns, ash-keys, maple
and sycamore keys, and beech mast, may be introduced ;
but where it is poor, the safer mode will be to sow seeds of
the Scotch pine, the larch, the birch, the mountain ash, the
white-beam tree, and the elder. Where there is no visible
soil, each seed, or two or three seeds, may be enveloped in
a composition of common green moss, cow-dung, and loam,
and these balls being deposited in clefts or crevices, or among
loose stones, and left to be acted upon by the rain, will swell
and burst, and the seeds which they contained will vege¬
tate, and find nourishment in the fragments of the ball in
which they were enveloped. When the object is to cover
drift sand with wood, the practice followed in the downs or
landes of Bordeaux may be adopted, with suitable variations.
A zone of the downs, or sandy surface, on that side from
which the prevalent winds blow, is first to be sheltered by a
fence of boards three or four feet in height. This will pro¬
tect a zone of twenty or thirty feet in width; that is, it
will prevent the drifting sands from covering this space to
any great thickness. On this zone the seeds of broom,
as being a plant that will grow on the poorest soil, are to be
sown ; and, among these, the seeds of the tree which is con¬
sidered the most suitable for the particular situation. Near
the sea this will generally be found to be the pinaster ; but
in the interior of the country, where the sands are not
deep, perhaps the bii'ch or the Scotch pine may be found
eligible.
Two of the most important points connected with the
formation of plantations, are the distance at which the trees
ought to be planted from each other, and the introduction
or non-introduction among them of nurse-trees. When
both these points were first settled by professional planters,
the important uses of the leaves of plants were not at all
understood by practical men. Hence they gave directions
for planting the trees at such distances as that they might
draw up one another ; without considering the loss of the
leaves on the sides of each plant which this drawing up will
produce. As the strength of every plant depends on the
number of its leaves, and on the full exposure of these to the
light, it follows that the strongest young trees will be those
which are clothed with branches and leaves from the ground
upwards, and which have their leaves fully exposed on every
side to the perpendicular light. In regard to the distance
fiom each other at which trees can be planted in a planta¬
tion, we should say, begin by planting at a greater or less
distance, according to the size of the plants and the nature
of the soil and situation; but do not neglect to cut down,
or thin out, the moment the lower branches of the plants
interfere with one another. Continue this practice year
after year, till the lower branches begin to show symptoms
of decay at their extremities; when, instead of thinning out
the trees, the process of pruning them may be commenced.
1 he lower tier of branches may then be cut off close to
the stem, it being understood that such pruning shall take
place before the branches are more than an inch in diame¬
ter at the point where they join the stem, even if the ex¬
tremities of the branches have not begun to decay. The
trees may then be left to grow, either till another tier of
branches begins to show symptoms of decay, when, of
course, that tier must be cut off immediately; or till the
points of the healthy branches interfere with those of the
healthy branches of the surrounding trees, in which case
thinning must be resorted to as before. In this way the
process of thinning and pruning ought to go hand in hand,
till the trees have attained their average height; by which
time the different species will be found standing at dis¬
tances differing according to the height of each tree and
the nature of its branches. Thus those trees which will
be found standing closest together when full grown, will
be the pine and fir tribe; because in them the branches
never attain a timber size, and the lower tiers begin to de¬
cay at their extremities sooner than in any other trees. On
the other hand, the oak has more widely-spreading and du¬
rable branches than any of the other broad-leaved trees;
and hence, when plantations of this tree are fully grown,
the individuals will be found at a greater distance apart
than those of any other species of broad-leaved tree what¬
ever. What this distance will be must depend on the soil
and situation; because in some localities the common Bri¬
tish oak will attain double the height and breadth of head
which it does in others. Our business here is to illustrate
a principle; and we shall leave it to planters who approve
of it, to deduce the rules from it which will apply to their
particular cases.
The next point which we have to discuss is the advan¬
tage or disadvantage of introducing nurse-plants into plan¬
tations. That these have a tendency to accelerate the
growth of trees in an upward direction for a number of
years after the plantation is made, there can be no doubt;
but this is always at the expense of the side-branches and
side-leaves, and consequently of the thickness of the trunk
of the tree to be nursed. The question, therefore, is, what
is gained by the nursing ? Is there any advantage in hav¬
ing a young tree with a tall, slender stem, and few or no
side-branches, rather than a tree of half the height, with a
short, stiff stem, clothed with branches and leaves from the
ground upwards ? We admit that evergreen nurses, such
as the Scotch pine and the spruce fir, considerably im¬
prove the climate of a plantation, by preventing the radia-
795
Planting.
796 P L A
Planudes tion of heat from the ground ; and that, provided they did
II not do injury in other respects, in this respect they would
P1.a(3tcr do good. The question as to nurses or no nurses may, we
. ° tU 1S' > think, be satisfactorily answered in the following manner :
Suppose we adopt the principle already laid down, that all
trees in plantations intended to produce timber should be
kept at such distances by thinning and pruning, as that the
extremities of their lowest branches should never interfere.
Then, having fixed on the kind of tree the growth of which
is to be the main object of the plantation, and the number
of these that, when full grown, can stand upon an acre, or
any given surface, plant them in their proper places, and fill
up the intervals with the trees intended to serve as nurses.
As the nurses increase in size, and their branches touch their
principals, let them be pruned or thinned; so as in no way
to prevent the principals from being clothed with branches
from the ground upwards on every side, or to prevent the
leaves on these branches from being fully exposed to the sun.
In this way the climate of a plantation will be improved
by evergreen nurses ; and the nurses will protect the trees
from high winds till they have attained to such a size and
vigour of growth, that the annual shoots produced on the
top of the tree will be so short that they can be ripened in
a colder climate than would be required to ripen a longer
shoot produced by a young tree. This mode of nursing
trees, it may be observed, is widely different from the prac¬
tice of letting nurses and principals draw up one another,
in which case both will be alike without side-branches; and
consequently, when the nurses are removed, the principals,
P L A
weakened by having their stems unprotected by branches Plaster oil
exposed to the cold in winter and to the heat in summer, v
will remain stationai’y a number of years; in some cases
dying away altogether, and in others making so little pro¬
gress, that nearly as much would be gained in the produce
of timber by cutting them down, and training up a single
shoot from the stools, or by trenching the ground and re¬
planting, as by letting them grow.
We have now taken a cursory glance at the principal
points which require to be considered in the culture of
trees, and in the formation and management of plantations ;
but the subject is of very great extent, and could not be
entered into in all the requisite details in even double or
treble the space which can be allotted to this article, Our
object in writing it has been rather to direct attention to
general principles, than to lay down specific rules; satisfied
as we are that, in every department of agriculture and gar¬
dening, too much deference is paid to routine practices,
and too little recourse is had to the principles on which
these practices are founded. Above all, planters do not
seem sufficiently aware of the important agency of leaves
and light, not only in the production of quantity of timber,
but of quality also.
It may be necessary to observe, that in this article the
botanic names are generally those adopted in Loudon’s Ar¬
boretum et Frulicetum Britannicum, to which work we would
refer for more ample information upon all the points which
have been here touched on, and on many others directly or
indirectly connected with the subject. (v. v. v. v.)
PLANUDES, Maximus, a Greek monk of Constanti¬
nople, who, towards the end of the fourteenth century, pub¬
lished a collection of epigrams entitled Anthologia ; a Greek
translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses; a Life of iEsop,
which is rather a romance than a history ; and some other
works. We know nothing more of him, than that he suf¬
fered some persecution on account of his attachment to the
Latin church.
PLASSEY, a town of Hindustan, in the province of
Bengal, and district of Nuddea, situated on the eastern bank
of the Bhaggarutty or Hoogly River. Here was fought, in
June 1757, between the British under Colonel Clive, and
the army of the Nabob Suraje-ud-Dowlah, the battle of
Plassey, which ultimately decided the fate ol Bengal. Long.
88. 15*. E. Lat. 23. 45. N.
PLASTER, or Emplaster, in Pharmacy, an external
application, of a harder consistence than an ointment, and
which is, according to the different circumstances of the
wound, place, or patient, spread either upon linen or upon
leather.
Plaster, or Plaister, in building, a composition of lime,
sometimes with sand, or other substance, to parget or co¬
ver the nudities of a building.
Plaster of Paris, a preparation of several species of
gypsum dug near Montmartre, a village in the neighbour¬
hood of Paris, and hence the name.
The best sort is hard, white, shining, and marbly, being
known by the name of plaster-stone or parget of Mont¬
martre. It will neither give fire with steel, nor ferment
with aquafortis ; but it calcines very freely and readily into
a fine plaster, the use of which in building and casting sta¬
tues is well known.
The method of representing a face truly in plaster of
Paris is this. The person whose figure is designed is laid on
his back, with any convenient thing to keep oft the hair.
Into each nostril is conveyed a conical piece of stiff paper,
open at both ends, to allow of respiration. These tubes
being anointed with oil, are supported by the hand of an
assistant; then the face is lightly oiled over, and the eyes
being kept shut, alabaster fresh calcined, and tempered to
a thinnish consistence with water, is by spoonfuls nimbly
thrown all over the face, till it lies near the thickness of an
inch. This matter grows sensibly hot, and in about a quar¬
ter of an hour hardens into a kind of stony concretion ;
which being gently taken off, represents, on its concave
surface, the minutest part of the original face. In this a
head of good clay may be moulded; and therein the eyes
are to be opened, and other necessary amendments made.
This second face being anointed with oil, a second mould
of calcined alabaster is made, consisting of two parts joined
lengthwise along the ridge of the nose; and herein may
be cast, with the same matter, a face extremely like the
original.
If finely powdered alabaster, or plaster of Paris, be put
into a basin over a fire, it will, when heated, assume the
appearance of a fluid, by rolling in waves, yielding to the
touch, and steaming, all which properties it again loses on
the departure of the heat; and being thrown upon paper,
it will not at all wet it, but immediately discover itself to
be as motionless as before it was set over the fire ; where¬
fore it appears, that a heap of such little bodies as are nei¬
ther spherical nor otherwise regularly shaped, nor small
enough to be below the discernment of the eye, may, with¬
out fusion, be made fluid by a sufficiently strong and va¬
rious agitation of the particles which compose it, and may
lose its fluidity when the agitation is discontinued. _
Two or three spoonfuls of burned alabaster, mixed up
thin with water, in a short time coagulate into a hard lump
at the bottom of a vessel full of water. Artificers observe,
that the coagulating property of burned alabaster will be very
much impaired or lost if the powder be kept too long, espe¬
cially in the open air, before it is made use of; and when it
has been once tempered with water, and suffered to grow
hard, they cannot, by any new burning or powdering of it,
make it serviceable for their purpose as before.
This matter, when wrought into vessels, or other forms,
is still of so loose and spongy a texture, that the air finds
an easy passage through it. Mr Boyle, in relating his expe-
P L A
1 Pisstic riments with the air-pump, gives an account of his prepar-
Waturc. ing a tube of this plaster, closed at one end and open at
“’“Y the other; and on applying the open end to the cement, as
is usually done with the receivers, it was found utterly
impossible to exhaust all the air out of it; for fresh air
from without pressed in as fast as the internal air was ex¬
hausted, although the sides of the tube were of consider¬
able thickness. A tube of iron was then put on the en¬
gine, so that being filled with water, the tube of plaster of
Paris was covered with it; and on using the pump, it was
immediately seen that the water passed through into it as
easily as the air had done when that was the ambient fluid.
After this, trying it with Venice turpentine instead of wa¬
ter, the thing succeeded very well; the tube might be per¬
fectly exhausted, and would remain in that state for seve¬
ral hours. But on pouring some hot oil upon the turpentine,
the case was much altered ; for the turpentine melting, be¬
came a thinner fluid, and in this state was capable of pass¬
ing like water into the pores of the plaster. On taking away
the tube, however, it was remarked that the turpentine,
which had pervaded and filled its pores, rendered it trans¬
parent, in the manner that water gives transparency to that
singular stone called oculus mundi. In this manner, the
weight of air, under proper management, becomes capable
of making several sorts of glues penetrate plaster of Paris;
and not only so, but also baked earth, wood, and all other
bodies porous enough to admit water.
PLASTIC denotes a thing endowed with a formative
power, or a faculty of forming or fashioning a mass of mat¬
ter after the likeness of a living being.
Plastic Nature, a certain power, by which, as an instru¬
ment, many philosophers, both ancient and modern, sup¬
posed that the great motions in the corporeal world, and the
various processes of generation and corruption, were perpe¬
tually carried on.
Amongst the philosophers of Greece, such a power was
almost universally admitted. It seems, indeed, to have
been rejected only by the followers of Democritus and
Epicurus, who talk as if they had thought gravity essential
to matter, and the fortuitous motion of atoms, which they
held to have been from eternity the source, not only of all
the regular motions in the universe, but also of the orga¬
nization of all corporeal systems, and even of sensation and
intellection in brutes and in men. It is needless to say,
that those men, whatever they might profess, were in rea¬
lity atheists; and Democritus, it is universally known,
avowed his disbelief of a God.
The greater part of the philosophers who held the exist¬
ence of a plastic nature, considered it not as an agent in
the strict sense of the word, but merely as an instrument
in the hand of the Deity; although even amongst them
there were some who held no superior power, and were of
course as gross atheists as Democritus himself. Such was
Strato of Lampsacus, a man originally of the peripatetic
school, over which he presided many years, with no small
degree of reputation for learning and eloquence. He was
the first and chief asserter of what has been termed Hylo-
zoic Atheism ; a system which admits of no power superior
to a certain natural or plastic life, essential, ungenerated,
and incorruptible, inherent in matter, but without sense
and consciousness. That such was his doctrine we learn
from Cicero, who makes Velleius the Epicurean say, “ Nec
audiendus Strato qui Physicus appellatur, qui omnem vim
divinam in Natura sitam esse censet, quae causas gignendi,
augendi, minuendive habeat, sed careat omni sensu.
That Strato, in admitting this plastic principle, differed very
widely from Democritus, is apparent from the following
P L A 797
account of him by the same author : “ Strato Lampsacenus Plastic
negat opera deorum se uti ad fabricandum mundum; quae- Nature,
cunque sint, docet omnia esse effecta naturae, nec ut file, qui
asperis, et levibus, et hamatis uncinatisque corporibus con-
creta hajc esse dicat, interjecta inani; somnia censet haec
esse Democriti, non docentis sed optantis.”2
That the rough and smooth, the hooked and crooked,
atoms of Democritus, wrere indeed dreams and dotages, is a
position which no man will controvert; but surely Strato
was himself as great a dreamer when he made sensation
and intelligence result from a certain plastic or spermatic
life in matter, which is itself devoid of sense and conscious¬
ness. To use the emphatic language of Cudworth, it is
indeed inconceivable “ how any one in his senses should
admit such a monstrous paradox as this, that every atom of
dust has in itself as much wisdom as the greatest politician
and most profound philosopher, and yet is neither con¬
scious nor intelligent.” It is likewise to be observed of
Strato, that though he attributed a certain kind of life to
matter, he by no means allowed of one common life as ru.-
ing over the whole material universe. He supposed the
several parts of matter to have so many several plastic lives
of their own, and appears3 to have attributed something to
chance in the production and preservation of the mundane
system.
In denying the existence of a God, perpetually directing
his plastic principle, and in supposing as many of these prin¬
ciples as there are atoms of matter, Strato deviated far from
the doctrine of Aristotle. The great founder of the peri¬
patetic school, as well as his apostate disciple, taught that
mundane things are not effected by fortuitous mechanism,
but by such a nature as acts regularly and artificially for cer¬
tain ends; yet he never considers this nature as the highest
principle, or supreme Numen, but as subordinate to a per¬
fect mind or intellect; and he expressly affirms, that “ mind,
together with nature, formed or fashioned this universe.”
He evidently considers mind as the principal and intelli¬
gent agent, and nature as the subservient and executive in¬
strument. Indeed, we are strongly inclined to adopt the
opinion of Mosheim, who thinks that by nature Aristotle
meant nothing more than that or animal
heat, to which he attributes immortality, and of which he
expressly says4 that all things are full. Be this as it may,
he always joins together God and nature, and affirms that
they do nothing in vain. The same doctrine was taught
before him by Plato, who affirms that “ nature, together
with reason, and according to it, orders all things.” It must
not, however, be concealed, that Plato seems to have at¬
tributed intelligence to the principle by which he supposed
the world to be animated ; for Chalcidius, commenting on
the Timceus,5 thus expresses himself: “ Haec est ilia ra-
tionabilis anima mundi, quae gemina juxta meliorem natu-
ram veneratione tutelam praebet inferioribus, divinis dispo-
sitionibus obsequens, providentiam nativis impertiens, aeter-
norum similitudine propter cognationem beata.” Apuleius,
too, tells us,6 “ Illam ccelestem animam, fontem animarum
omnium, optimam virtutum esse genetricem, subserviri etiam
Fabricatori Deo, et praesto esse ad omnia inventa ejus.”
The doctrine of Plato has been adopted by many moderns
of great emi nence both for genius and for learning. The cele¬
brated Berkeley, bishop of Cloyne, after describing Plato’s
anima mundi, thus recommends the study of his philosophy :7
“ If that philosopher himself was not read only, but studied
. also with care, and made his own interpreter, I believe the
prejudice that now lies against him would soon wear off, or be
even converted into high esteem, for those exalted notions,
and fine hints, that sparkle and shine throughout his writ-
Natiira Deorum, lib. i. cap. 13. 2 Qiiiest. Acad. lib. iv. cap^ 38.
4 De Generatioue Animatium, lib. iii. c. 11. 5 Sect 53.
3 Cudworth, Intellect. System, ed. Mosheim, lib. i. cap. 3.
6 De Dogmate Platonis. 7 Siris^ No. 338.
798 PLASTIC
Plastic ings; which seem to contain not only the most valuable
Nature, learning of Athens and Greece, but also a treasure of the
most remote traditions and early science of the east. ’ Cud-
worth, and the learned author of Ancient Metaphysics, are
likewise strenuous advocates for the Aristotelian doctrine
of a plastic nature diffused throughout the material world;
and a notion very similar occurred to a subsequent writer,
who does not appear to have borrowed it either from the
Lyceum or the Academy.
This writer is Mr Young, of whose active substance, and
its agency in moving bodies, some account has elsewhere
been given (see Motion). As a mere unconscious agent,
immaterial, and, as he expresses himself, immental, it bears
a striking resemblance to the plastic nature or vegetable
life of Cudworth. But the author holds it to be not only
the principle of motion, but also the basis or substratum of
matter itself; in the production of which, by certain mo¬
tions, it may be said to be more strictly plastic than the
hylarchical principle, or vis genitrix, of any other philoso¬
pher with whose writings we have any acquaintance. Though
this opinion be singular, yet as its author is evidently a man
who thinks for himself, unawed by the authority of celebrat¬
ed names, and as one great part of the utility of such works
as ours consists in their serving as indices to science and
literature, we shall lay before our readers a short abstract
of the reasonings by which Mr Young endeavours to sup¬
port his hypothesis, and we shall take the liberty of remark¬
ing upon those reasonings as we proceed.
The author, after a short introduction, enters upon his
work,1 in a chapter entitled Analysis of Matter in general.
In that chapter there is little novelty. He treats, as others
have done, of primary and secondary qualities, and adheres
too closely to the language of Locke, when he says, that
“ the nature of bodies signifies the aggregate of all those
ideas with which they furnish us, and by which they are
made known.” To say the best of it, this sentence is in¬
accurately expressed. An aggregate of ideas may be oc¬
casioned by the impulse of bodies on the organs of sense,
but the effect of impulse cannot be that which impels. We
should not have made this remark, which may perhaps be
deemed captious, were we not persuaded that the vague and
inaccurate use of terms is the source of those mistakes into
which we cannot help thinking that the very ingenious au¬
thor has sometimes fallen. Having justly observed that
we know nothing directly of bodies but their qualities, he
proceeds to investigate the nature of solidity.
“ Solidity,” he says, “ is the quality of body which prin¬
cipally requires our notice. It is that which fills extension,
and which resists other solids, occupying the place which
it occupies; thus making extension and figure real, and
different from mere space and vacuity. If the secondary
qualities of bodies, or their powers variously to affect our
senses, depend on their primary qualities, it is chiefly on
this of solidity; which is therefore the most important of
the primary qualities, and that in which the essence of body
NATURE.
is by some conceived to consist. This idea of solidity has Plastic ^
been judged to be incapable of any analysis ; but it appears Mature.
evident to me,” continues our author, “ that the idea of so-
lidity may be resolved into another idea, which is that of
the power of resisting within the extension of body. Hence
it becomes unnecessary, and even inadmissible, to suppose
that solidity in the body is at all a pattern or archetype of
our sensation.”
That solidity in the body, and we know nothing of soli¬
dity anywhere else, is no pattern of any sensation of ours,
is indeed most true, as we have shown at large in another
place (see Metaphysics) ; but to reconcile this with what
our author asserts immediately afterwards, that “ solidity
is no more in bodies than colours and flavours are, and that
it is equally with them a sensation and an idea,” would be
a task to which our ingenuity is by no means equal. He
affirms, indeed, that solidity, as it is said to be in bodies, is
utterly incomprehensible; that we can perfectly compre¬
hend it as a sensation in ourselves, but that in bodies no¬
thing more is required than a power of active resistance to
make upon our senses those impressions from which we
infer the reality of primary and secondary qualities. This
power of resistance, whether it ought to be called active or
passive, we apprehend to be that which all other philoso¬
phers have meant by the word solidity ; and though Locke,
who uses the words idea and notion indiscriminately, often
talks of the idea of solidity, we believe our author to be the
first writer who has thought of treating solidity as a sensa¬
tion in the mind.
Though it is wrong to innovate in language, when writing
on subjects which require much attention, we must, how¬
ever, acknowledge it to be unworthy of inquirers after truth
to dispute about the proper or improper use of terms, so
long as the meaning of him who employs them can be easily
discovered. We shall, therefore, follow our author in his
endeavours to ascertain what this power of resistance is
which is commonly known by the name of solidity. All
power he justly holds to be active ; and having, by an ar¬
gument2 of which we do not perceive the force, attempted
to prove that it is by an inward power, and not by its inertia,
that one body prevents another from occupying the same
place with itself, he naturally enough infers matter to be
essentially active. “ But the activity of matter is to be
considered in a certain limited sense, and its inertness is to
be regarded in another limited sense; so that these are
compatible within their respective limits. The activity of
body may be considered as belonging to the parts of a com¬
pound ; its inertia as the inertia formed of those parts. The
actions of the parts are everywhere opposed to each other,
and equal; and hence results the inactivity of the whole.”
Solidity alone of the primary qualities being positive, and
peculiar to bodies, and our author having resolved this into
action or power, it follows, by his analysis, that the essence
of body is reduced to power likewise. But, as he properly
observes, power is an idea of reflection, not acquired by the
1 An Essay on the Powers and Mechanism of Nature.
2 “ We can only conceive of solidity as being a resistance of the parts of any body, to a power which endeavours to separate them,
or to bring them nearer together. Now that which resists any power, and prevents its effect, is also a power. By resistance, I mean
here an active resistance, such as an animal can employ against an animal. If a horse pulls against a load, he draws it along; but if
he draws against another horse, he is put to a stand, and his endeavour is defeated. When any endeavour to change the situation
of the parts of any solid is in like manner prevented from taking effect, and the parts retain their situation, the situation has plainly
been preserved by an active resistance or power, equivalent to that which was fruitlessly exerted on them.”
Such is our author’s reasoning to prove that matter is essentially active, and that from this activity results our notion of its soli¬
dity ; but does he not here confound solidity with hardness, and impenetrability with cohesion ? He certainly does; for water is as
solid, in the proper sense of the word, as adamant, and the particles of air as the particles of iron. The parts of water are, indeed,
separated with ease, and those of adamant with difficulty ; but it is not because the latter have more solidity than the former, but
because the power of cohesion, whatever it may be, operates upon them with greater force. Solidity is an attribute of a whole ; fjan!'
ness and softness result from the cohesion of parts. We do not at all perceive the propriety of the simile of the horse pulling a loa ,
and afterwards pulling against another horse. Is it because both horses are active that one of them cannot prevail against the other,
and because the load is inactive that either of them may drag along a mass of iron of half a ton weight ? If so, double or triple the
mass, and a very strange phenomenon will be the result; for we shall have an active whole compounded of two or three inactive
parts, even though those parts should not be in contact.
PLASTIC NATURE. 799
[Plastic senses, but suggested by thought. Hence our knowledge
Nature. 0f reai existence in body must be such as is suggested to us
“''y''"—' fry our thoughts exercised about our sensations. “ We are
capable of acting and producing changes in appearances ;
and this faculty, which we experience to exist in ourselves,
we call power. We are conscious of the exertion of our
own power ; and, therefore, when we see action or change
happen without any exertion of ours, we refer this to other
powers without us, and necessarily conclude the power to
exist where the change begins or the action is exerted.
This power, then, referred to bodies, must exist in them,
or it can exist nowhere.”
In two chapters, which might easily have been com¬
pressed into one not so long as the shortest of them, our
author analyses atoms or the primary particles of matter,
and strenuously opposes their impenetrability. He allows
that there are atoms of matter not divisible by any known
force ; but as these, however small, must still be conceiv¬
ed as having extension, each of them must be composed
of parts held together by the same power which binds to¬
gether many atoms in the same body. This power, in¬
deed, he acknowledges to operate much more forcibly
when it cements the parts of a primary atom, than when
it makes many atoms cohere in one mass; but still it ope¬
rates in the same manner; and as the ideal analysis may
be carried on in infinitum, the only possible idea which is
suggested by atoms, or the parts of atoms, is the idea of a
resisting power. That this power of resistance, which
constitutes what is vulgarly called the solidity of bodies,
may not be absolutely impenetrable, he attempts to prove,
by showing that resistance does in fact take place in cases
where impenetrability, and even solidity, are not supposed
by any man.
“ Let us endeavour,” says he, “ to bring together two
like poles of a magnet, and we shall experience a resist¬
ance to their approximation. Why, then, may not a piece
of iron, which between our fingers resists their coming to¬
gether, resist by an efficacy perfectly similar, though more
strongly exerted ? If magnetism were to act upon our
bodies as upon iron, we should feel it; or were magnets
endowed with sensation, they would feel that which resists
their nearer approach. The resisting extension between
the two magnets is permeable to all the rays of light, and,
reflecting none, is therefore unseen ; but it is easy to con¬
ceive that the same power which resists the approach of
the iron might resist and reflect some rays of light. We
should then have a visible object interposed between the
two magnets, as we have before supposed it might be a
tangible one. It is likewise easy to conceive that which
is tangible and visible so applied to our organs of tasting,
of smelling, and of hearing, as to excite ideas of flavours,
odours, and sounds. Thus we see that an action, in
which no supposition of solidity or impenetrability is in¬
volved, may be conceived to assume all the qualities of
matter, by only supposing a familiar effect extended in its
operation.”
This reasoning is exceedingly ingenious, though perhaps
not original; but, what is of more importance, it does not
approach so near to demonstration as the author seems to
imagine. If magnets operate by means of a fluid issuing
from them (see Magnetism), those who hold the solidity
or impenetrability of matter will maintain, that each atom
of the magnetic fluid is solid and impenetrable. 1 hat we
do not see nor feel these atoms, will be considered as no
argument that they do not exist; for we do not see, nor in
a close room feel, the atoms of the surrounding atmo-,
sphere ; which yet Mr Young will acknowledge to have a
real existence, and to be capable of operating upon our
senses of hearing and smelling. Let us, however, suppose
that by this reasoning he has established the non-existence
of everything in the primary atoms of matter except active
powers of resistance, and let us see how he conceives the Plastic
actions of these powers to constitute what gives us the no- ^ature.
tion of inert and solid body; for that we have such a no- Y'~*
tion cannot be denied.
To act he allows to be an attribute, and justly observes,
that we cannot conceive an attribute to exist without a sub¬
stance. “ But,” says he, “ we have traced all phenomena
to action as to a generic idea, comprehending under it all
forms of matter and motion as species of that genus. By
this analysis, that complex idea we have usually denomi¬
nated matter, and considered as the substance or substra¬
tum to which motion appertained as an attribute, is found
to change its character, and to be itself an attribute of
a substance essentially active, of which one modification
of motion produces matter and another generates mo¬
tion.” The action of this substance Mr Young deter¬
mines to be motion; and he proceeds to inquire by what
kind of motion it produces matter, or inert and resisting
atoms.
“ Whatever portion of the active substance is given to
form an atom, the following things are necessary to be unit¬
ed in such portion of active substance. First, It must in
some respect continually move ; for otherwise it would lose
its nature, and cease to be active. Secondly, It must also
in some other respect be at rest, for otherwise it could not
form an inactive atom. Thirdly, It must preserve unity
within itself.” The author’s proof of the first of these po¬
sitions we have given elsewhere ; the second he holds to
be self-evident; and the third he thinks established by the
following reasoning. “ Solidity is the result of those ac¬
tions among the parts of any whole, whereby the unity of
the whole is preserved within itself. Several uncohering
things may be united by an external bond; this does not
constitute these one solid ; it may be one bundle ; but if
several things cohere, and have an unity preserved within
themselves, they become one solid. An atom is the least
and most simple solid.”
Having thus proved the necessity of these three requi¬
sites to the formation of an atom, he observes that “ the
two first can only be united in a rotation of the portion of
active substance about a centre or axis at rest. By such a
motion, all the parts successively occupy different places in
the orbit of rotation, and therefore move ; the centre round
which they revolve being at rest, the whole portion is also
at rest; and thus the portion is at once moving and quies¬
cent, as is required. The same kind of motion will also
fulfil the terms of the third requisite ; for a substance hav¬
ing a revolving motion around its own centre, preserves its
unity by reason of all the parts preserving the same relation
to the centre ; and further, a motion of the active substance
about a centre or axis will be an activity in the same orbit,
which will act upon and resist whatever shall interfere to
oppose its activity, or destroy the unity of the sphere, by
diverting the course of the revolving motions. The acti¬
vity or motion of a portion of active substance about a centre
will, therefore, give solidity to such portion ; for it will give
it unity and resistance, and in a manner tie together all the
parts, forming them into one mass about their common
centre ; for they move or are active, not towards the centre,
in which case they would be lost in non-extension; nor
from the centre, where they would dissipate in boundless
space; but about the centre, preserving the same limits
of extension. And being in this way active, they in this
wray resist any other activity opposed to them, that is,
they resist any action which tends to penetrate or divide
this sphere of revolving activity. Therefore, since any por¬
tion of active substance does, by revolving about a centre,
become an united, resisting, and quiescent whole, the small¬
est portions of the active substance which have such mo¬
tions will become atoms, or make the smallest portions of
matter.”
PLASTIC NATURE.
800
Plastic Having thus shown to his own satisfaction how atoms of
Nature matter are formed, he next explains, what at first he con-
^ Y --_j fesses may appear to be a paradox, “ how the active sub¬
stance, retaining its own nature and essential properties,
continuing immaterial, unsolid, and active, puts on at the
same time the form of matter, and becomes material, solid,
and inert. A sphere of revolving active substance, as it
revolves constantly about a centre, and as parts of the sub¬
stance are considered as successively passing through every
point in the orbit; considered thus in its parts, and in its
motions, it is active substance, immaterial, and unsolid; but
the whole sphere, considered unitically, collectively, and
as quiescent, is in this point of view a solid atom, material
and inert.”
Such is the active substance of Mr Young, and such his
theory of the formation of matter. That he has not with
servility copied from the ancients, every reader of his book, •
who is not an absolute stranger to Greek and Roman lite¬
rature, will readily acknowledge ; and yet, if his theory be
well founded, he has discovered a middle substance be¬
tween mind and matter, more properly plastic than Aris-.
totle or Plato, Cudworth or Berkeley, ever conceived. But
truth compels us to add, that to us his theory appears to
labour under insuperable objections. That there may be
in the universe a substance essentially active, and at the
same time not intelligent, is a proposition which we are by
no means inclined to controvert. Various phenomena, both
in vegetable and in animal life, lead us to suspect that there
is such a substance ; but it does not follow that we are in¬
clined to adopt our author’s doctrine respecting the forma¬
tion of matter. He conceives his proof indeed to be “ in
its nature not at all imperfect, or to fall short of demonstra¬
tion ; and if any one refuse it, he thinks it will be neces¬
sary for him to show, either that the explanation offered is
not sufficient, or that some other explanation will serve
equally well.”
To show that the explanation which this writer has of¬
fered is not sufficient, will not, we apprehend, be a very Plastic
arduous task; but we have ourselves no inclination to at- v Mature,
tempt another explanation, because we believe that of the Y'**
formation of matter no other account can be given than that
which resolves it into the fiat of the Creator. That it can¬
not be formed by the motion of an immaterial substance,
in the manner which our author has very clearly described,
seems to be a truth so evident as not to admit of proof; for
if motion, as he defines it, be a change of place, everything
that is moved must have the quality of extension. But all
the parts of this active substance which are given to form
an atom, move round a centre, and are expressly said to oc¬
cupy successively different places in the orbit of rotation.
Every one of these parts, therefore, is an extended being:
And since, according to our author, solidity is nothing but
an active power of resistance, and the parts of this active
substance, in their rotation round their centre, act upon and
resist whatever interferes to oppose their activity, it follows
that each of these parts is likewise a solid being. But, in the
opinion of Mr Young himself, and of all mankind, whatever
is extended and solid is material. This theory, therefore,
exhibits a process in which atoms are formed of a substance
which, though it is said to be active, immaterial, and un¬
solid, appears, when narrowly inspected, to be nothing else
than a collection of those very atoms of which the author
pretends to explain the formation. Mr Young, who exa¬
mines and very freely censures some of the doctrines of
Newton and others, can scarcely have expected that others
would refrain from stating objections to a theory which is
quite new, to a transformation which he himself acknow¬
ledges may to many “ appear not only problematical and dif¬
ficult to conceive, but wholly impossible, and implying con¬
tradictions absolutely and for ever irreconcileable.” Whe¬
ther this be a just character of it our readers must deter¬
mine ; but if we had not believed the author to be a man
of ingenuity, we should not have introduced him or his
work to the notice of the public.
END OF VOLUME SEVENTEENTH.
Printed by Thomas Allan & Co. and Balfour & Jack,
and Stereotyped by Thomas Allan & Co.
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PLATE CCCC1X.
EXEMPLUM IOMICARUM PMISCAKUM.
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