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THE 


SOTJTHEEN  EEVIEW, 


VOL.  V. 


BALTIMORE: 

ALBERT  TAYLOR  BLEDSOE,  LL.D. 
1869. 


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THE  NEW  York] 
PUBLIC  LIBRARY 

ATTOfl,  LENOX  AND 
TK.DEN  pri-JOATIONe. 

H  1807  L 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Confer  ess,  In  the  year  1869,  by 

ALBERT  TAYLOR  BLEDSOE,  LL.  D., 

Id  thb  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Maryland. 


Innbs  &  Company,  Book  Printers  and  Binders, 
Baltimorb,  Md. 


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*    1 


CONTENTS  OF  No.  IX. 


XxT.  Page. 

I.  The  Great  Error  op  the  Eighteenth  Century.    .        1 
The  Old  Eegime.     By  Alexis  De  Tocqueville. 

11.  The  Nature  and  Laws  of  Light 18 

1.  E^pertoire  d*Optique  Moderne.  Par  TAbbe 
Moigno. 

2.  (Euvres  de  Fran9ois  Arago. 

3.  Familiar  Lectures  on  Scientific  Subjects.  By 
Sir  John  F.  W.  Herschel. 

4.  Faraday  as  a  Discoverer.    By  John  Tyndall. 

III.  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.    ...      36 

History  of  the  Life  of  Arthur,  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton.   By  M.  Brialmont. 

IV.  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.     ...      64 

'Christopher  North';  a  Memoir  of  John  Wilson. 
By  Mrs.  Gordon. 

V.  The  Study  op  Sanskrit 94 

1.  Lexicon  Comparativum  Linquavum  Indoger- 
manicarum.     Von  L.  Diefenbach. 

2.  Garnett's  Linguistic  Essays.     By  his  Son. 

3.  Charakteristik  der  Hauptsachlichsten  Typen 
des  Sprachbaues.    Von  H.  Steinthal. 

4.  Hebraisches  und  Chaldaisches  Handworter- 
bnch  iiber  das  alte  Testament.     Von  J.  Fiirst. 

5.  Deutsche  Grammatik.     Von  J.  Grimm. 

VI.  The  Early  History  op  Maryland 118 

1.  An  Historical  View  of  the  Government  of 
Maryland  from  its  Colonization  to  the  Present  Day. 
By  John  V.  L.  McMahon. 

2.  The  History  of  Maryland  from  its  first  Settle- 
ment in  1633  to  the  Eestoration  in  1660.  By  John 
Leeds  Bozman. 

3.  The  Landholder's  Assistant.    By  John  Kilty. 

4.  A  History  of  Maryland,  from  1634  to  1848.  By 
James  McSherry. 


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IV  CONTENTS. 

5.  The  Day-Star  of  American  freedom,  or  the 
Birth  and  Early  Growth  of  Toleration  in  the  Prov- 
ince of  Maryland.    By  George  Lynn-Lachlan  Davis. 

6.  Terra  Alarise,  or  Threads  of  Maryland  Colonial 
History.     By  Edward  D.  Neill. 

VII.  The  Progress  op  Astronomy US- 

1.  History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences.  By  Wil- 
liam Whewell,  D.  D. 

2.  Histoire  de  TAstronomie  Ancienne. 

3.  Histoire  de  I'Astronomie  au  Moyen  Age.  By 
J.  B.  J.  Delambre. 

4.  Histoire  de  I'Astronomie  Moderne.  By  J.  B.  J. 
Delambre. 

5.  Histoire  de  TAstronomie  on  dix-huitifeme  Siecle. 
By  J.  B.  J  Delambre. 

6.  Histoire  de  TAstronomie  Ancienne,  depuis  son 
origin  jusqu'k  Testablissment  de  I'ecole  d*Alexandrie. 
By  Jean  Sylv.  Bailly. 

7.  Histoire  de  TAstronomie  Moderne,  depuis  la 
foundation  de  Tecole  d'Alexandrie  jusqu'k  Tepoque 
1782.     By  Jean  Sylv.  Bailly. 

8.  An  Historical  Survey  of  the  Astronomy  of  the 
Ancients.     By  Sir  George  Cornwall  Lewis. 

9.  The  Recent  Progress  of  Astronomy;  especially 
in  the  United  States. 

VIII.  The  Seven  Weeks'  War 184 

The  Seven  Weeks*  War;  its  Antecedents  and  its 
Incidents.    By  H.  M.  Hozier. 

IX.  The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.    .    208 
The  Sumter  and  the  Alabama ;  or  Memoirs  of  his 
Services  Afloat  during  the  War  between  the  States. 
By  Admiral  Eaphael  Semmes. 

X.  Northern  Geographies 229 

1.  A  Comprehensive  Geography,  combining  Math- 
ematical, Physical,  and  Political  Geography,  with 
Important  Historical  Facts,  designed  to  promote  the 
Moral  Growth  of  the  Intellect.  By  Benj.  F.  Shaw 
and  Fordyce  A.  Allen. 

2.  The  Common-School  Geography;  an  Elementary 
Treatise  on  Mathematics,  Physical,  and  Political 
Geography.     By  D.  M.  Worren. 

XI. — ^Notices  of  Books 238 

Man  and  Woman,  238. — A  New  Practical  Hebrew  Grammar,  240. — A  Historj  of 
Maryland  upon  the  Basis  of  McSberry,  240. — Richmond  during  the  War,  240. — 
Davies'  Arithmetical  Series,  Raj's  Arithmetical  Series,  Venuble's  Arithmetical 
Series,  Felter's  Arithmetical  Series,  Robinson's  Arithmetical  Series,  242.^-Cash 
and  Credit,  245. 


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I 


CONTENTS  OF  No.  X. 


^ET.  •  Page. 

I.  What  is  Liberty? 249 

On  Liberty.     By  John  Stuart  Mill. 

IL  Recent  Eesearches  in  Geography 275 

Geographiches  Jahrbuch.     II  Band.     Gotha. 
Justus  Perthes. 

III.  Women  Artists 299 

1.  Die  Franen  in  Kunsts^esehichte.  Von  Ernest 
Guhl. 

2.  Life,  Letters,  and  Posthumous  Works  of  Fred- 
rika  Bremer.     Edited  by  her  sister. 

3.  A  Commonplace  Book  of  Thoughts,  Memo- 
ries, and  Fancies. 

IV.  The  Legal  Profession 322 

1.  Hortensius ;  or  the  Advocate.  B.  William 
Forsyth,  Esq.,  M.  A.,  Barrister-at-Law. 

2.  The  Relation  of  the  Legal  Profession  to  So- 
ciety. A  Lecture  delivered  before  the  Maryland 
Institute,  March  9th,  1868,  by  Geo.  Wm.  Brown. 

V.  Positivism  in  England 341 

1.  Cours  de  Philosophic  Positive.  Par  M. 
Auguste  Comte. 

2.  History  of  Civilization    in    England.      By 
,  Henry  Thomas  Buckle. 

3.  A  System  oF  Logic,  Ratiocinative  and  Induc- 
tive.    By  John  Stuart  Mill. 

4.  An  Historical  and  Critical  View  of  the  Spec- 
ulative Philosophy  of  Europe  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century.     By  J.  D.  Morell,  A.  M. 


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IV.  CONTENTS. 

VI.  The  Atmosphere  and  the  Ocean.  *       ....     381 

1.  Memoirs  of  Service  Afloat,  during  the  War 
between  the  States.  By  Admiral  Raphael  Semmes. 

2.  A  Lecture  delivered  by  Silas  Bent,  before 
the  Missouri  Historical  Society  of  St.  Louis. 

VII.  American  and  English  Law 403 

The  practice  in  Courts  of  Justice  in  England 
and  the  United  States.     By  Conway  Eobinson. 

VIII.  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg 419 

1.  Campaigns  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 
By  William  Swinton. 

2.  The  Twelve  Decisive  Battles  of  tlie  War. 
By  William  Swinton. 

3.  Notes  on  the  Kebel  Invasion  of  Maryland 
and  Pennsylvania,  and  the  Battle  of  Gettysburg. 
By  M.  Jacobs. 

4.  The  Rebellion  Eecord.     By  Frank  Moore. 

5.  Report  of  the  Joint  Committee  on  the  Con- 
duct of  the  War,  at  the  Second  Session,  38th 
Congress. 

6.  Address  of  Hon.  Edward  Everett  at  the 
Consecration  of  the  National  Cemetery  at  Gettys- 
burg. 

7.  Southern  History  of  the  War.  By  Edward 
A.  Pollard. 

8.  Lee  and  his  Licutenantj?.  By  Edward  A. 
Pollard. 

9.  The  Great  Rebellion.     By  J.  T.  Ileadley. 

IX.  The  Sun 44^] 

1.  Familiar  Lectures  on  Scientific  Subjects.  By 
Sir  John  F.  W.  Herschel. 

2.  Popular  Astronomy.  By  Franfois  Arago, 
Perpetual  Secretary,  &c. 

Alcyone;  a  Poem 4()7 

X.  XoTicKs  OF  Books 462 

*  This  is  the  proper  title  of  Article  VI. 


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THE  SOUTHERN  REVIEW. 

No.  IX. 


JANUAEY,   1869. 


Art.  I. —  The  Old  Regime  and  Revolution.  By  Alexis  De 
Tocqueville,  of  the  Academie  Fran9aise,  Author  of  Democracy 
in  America.  Translated  by  John  Bonner.  New  York: 
1856. 

We  believe  in  the  value  of  criticism ;  otherwise  this  Review 
had  never  seen  the  light  of  day.  But  if  criticism  be  good  for 
others,  it  is  also  good  for  ourselves ;  and  we  neither  expect,  nor 
desire,  to  escape  its  sharp  inquisitorial  processes.  But  we  do 
ask,  that  those  who  favor  us  with  their  critical  judgments  would, 
in  some  small  degree  at  least,  imitate  the  conscientious  care 
which  we  bestow  on  the  formation  of  our  own  views  and  opinions. 
For  hasty,  crUvle,  inconsiderate  judgments  —  such  as  the  world 
swarms  with  —  are  of  no  value  to  any  one,  and  least  of  all  to  the 
critic  himself. 

One  learned  critic  assures  us,  that  the  article  on  The  Education 
of  the  Worldy  which  appeared  in  the  first  number  of  our  Re- 
view, was  *not  complete.'  ^It  is  well  written',  says  he,  *but 
the  subject  is  not  exhausted.'  What !  who  could  hope  to  exhibit 
a  complete  view  of  The  Education  of  the  World,  or  The  Philo- 
sophy of  History,  in  one  short  article  ?  It  was  not  intended 
to  be  complete.  No  one  was,  indeed,  more  profoundly  sensible 
than  ourselves,  that  the  subject  was  not  exhausted  by  the  paper 
in  question.  The  object  of  .that  first  article  of  The  Southern 
Review  was,  as  we  supposed  every  reader  would  perceive, 
1 


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2  The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.        [Jan. 

merely  to  preface  our  Journal  with  a  brief  outline  of  the  reli- 
gious, political,  and  philosophical  views  of  its  editors.  A  dozen 
volumes  at  least,  if  not  more,  would  be  necessary  to  the  com- 
plete, or  adequate,  discussion  of  the  great  themes,  or  topics, 
broached  in  that  prefatory  article,  or  introduction  to  The  South- 
ern Review. 

That  article,  indeed,  contains  merely  the  germs  of  great 
thoughts  respecting  the  conditions  and  the  laws  of  human  pro- 
gress. Each  and  every  one  of  those  germs  must  be  developed 
and  illuminated,  by  the  discussions  of  philosophy,  by  the  illus- 
trations of  history,  and  by  the  divine  lights  ot  religion,  ere  any 
thing  bearing  even  a  remote  approximation  to  a  complete  view  of 
the  Education  of  the  World,  can  result  from  our  labors.  It  is  our 
design,  in  the  present  paper,  to  develope  and  illuminate,  by  the 
means  above  mentioned,  one  of  the  germs  of  the  article  in  ques- 
tion. 

But  why  discuss,  or  consider.  The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century?  Is  that  error  anything  to  us?  It  is,  indeed,  by 
that  error  that  the  South  now  lies  crushed  and  bleeding  at  every 
pore,  and  that  the  North  is  smitten  with  blindness  as  to  the 
things  which  make  for  her  peace,  her  prosperity,  her  greatness, 
and  her  glory.  That  error,  then,  concerns  us  more  —  infinitely 
more  —  than  our  shops,  or  trades,  or  professions,  concern  us. 
No  plague,  indeed,  comes  more  directly  home  to  our  '  business 
and  bosoms',  than  does  the  error  in  question.  Already  has  it 
visited  us  in  the  terrible  shapes  of  war,  pestilence,  and  famine; 
and  in  like  forms  of  desolation  and  death  will  it  visit  us  again 
and  again,  unless  it  be  exorcised  from  the  mind  of  America, 
and  cast  from  us. 

Let  us,  then,  examine  this  error,  and  see  how  it  desolates  the 
world.  It  is  thus  stated,  in  the  paper  on  The  Education  of  the 
World:  *In  the  second  volume  of  his  work,  [Guizot's  History 
of  Civilization],  he  refers  to  what  he  calls  "  the  dominant  idea 
of  the  last  century  ",  namely,  "that  governments  and  institutions 
make  the  people."  That  notion  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  great 
errors  of  France  [as  well  as  of  America]  during  the  last  cen- 
tury.' (p.  11.)  The  men  of  1789  had,  as  M.  De  Tocqueville 
says,  'a  robust  faith  in  man's  perfectHniUy  and  power  ;  they  were 


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1869.]      The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  CerUury.  3 

eager  for  his  glory,  and  trustful  in  his  virtue  J  (p.  1 3.)  So  great, 
indeed,  "was  their  faith  in  man's  perfectibility,  and  power,  and  wr- 
iue,  and  intdligenee,  if  only  emancipated  from  the  shackles  of 
fidse  l^slation,  that  ^they  had  no  doubt,'  as  De  Tocqueville 
says,  that  *  they  were  appointed  to  transform  society  and  regeneraie 
the  human  race  \  (p.  13.)  Such  was  The  Great  Error  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century,  It  was  the  hope  of  that  age;  it  is  the 
scourge  of  this.  It  filled  the  two  great  nations  then,  America 
and  France,  with  intoxicating,  maddening  schemes  of  reform ; 
it  has  since  covered  them  with  scenes  of  desolation  and  despair. 
Let  ns,  then,  proceed  to  dissect,  anatomize,  and  examine  this 
monstrous,  world-devouring  error,  in  the  combined  lights  of 
history,  philosophy,  and  religion. 

We  call  this  the  Error  of  the  last  Century,  not  because  it  was 
peculiar  to  that  age  or  era,  but  because  it  then  reached  its  maxi- 
mum, and  revealed  its  malignity.  '  It  may  be  reasonably 
doubted',  says  Bishop  Thirlwell,  in  his  History  of  Greece, 
'whether  the  history  of  the  world  furnishes  any  instance  of  a 
political  creation  such  as  that  ascribed  to  Minos  or  Lycurgus.' 
A  belief  in  the  reality  of  such  creations,  he  says,  has  arisen  from 
'  the  fiJse  notion  of  ihe  omnipotence  of  legislators^  which  has  been 
always  prevalent  among  philosophers,  but  has  never  been  con- 
firmed by  experience.'  Though  always  prevalent  among  men, 
this  fidse  notion  had  never  reached  the  highest  pitch  of  insanity, 
till  it  was  embraced  by  the  ardent  and  enthusiastic  philosophers 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  They  believed,  indeed,  that  the 
world  might  easily  be  regenerated,  and  restored  to  perfect  order 
and  beauty,  by  the  omnipotence  of  legislation  alone.  Legisla- 
tion was,  in  the  estimation  of  those  illuminati,  the  universal 
specific  for  social  ills,  the  panacea  in  politics,  the  one  and  all- 
sufficient  remedy  for  the  intellectual  and  moral  diseases  incident 
to  the  nature  of  man.  Alas !  how  little  they  knew  respecting 
the  nature,  the  source,  or  the  inveteracy  of  such  disorders ! 

'Without  rhetorical  exaggeration,'  says  Hegel,  'a  simply 
truthful  combination  of  the  miseries  that  have  overwhelmed  the 
noblest  of  nations  and  polities,  and  the  finest  examples  of  private 
virtue,  forms  a  picture  of  the  most  fearful  aspect,  and  excites 
emotions  of  the  profoundest  and  most  hopeless  sadness,  counter- 


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4  The  Cheat  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.        [Jan. 

balanced  by  no  consolatory  result.  "We  endure  in  beholding  it 
a  mental  torture,  and  at  last  draw  back  from  the  intolerable  dis- 
gust with  which  these  sorrowful  reflections  threaten  us,  into  the 
more  agreeable  environment  of  our  individual  life;  the  present 
formed  by  .our  private  aims  and  interest.  In  short,  we  retreat 
into  the  selfishness  that  stands  on  the  quiet  shore,  and  thence 
enjoy  in  safety  the  distant  spectacle  of  "wrecks  confusedly 
hurled."  ^  * '  Regarding  history  as  the  slaughter-bench  at  which 
the  happiness  of  peoples,  the  wisdom  of  States,  and  the  virtue  of  in- 
dividuals, have  been  victimized  ^ ;  they  turn  from  the  insuflera- 
ble  horrors  of  the  hopeless  spectacle,  and  meanly  seek  their  own 
private  ends  and  ease.  No  such  emotions,  however,  afflicted 
the  legislators  of  1789;  who,  in  spite  of  the  world's  awful  his- 
tory, insanely  believied  that  they  were  ^  appointed  to  regenerate 
the  human  race,'  and  to  glorify  the  hitherto  debased  and  sad 
estate  of  man.  Why  should  they  mourn,  indeed,  who  had  short 
and  easy  methods  to  render  the  future  as  bright  and  beautiful, 
as  the  past  had  been  dark  and  dreadful  ?  Oo  the  contrary,  why 
should  they  not  rejoice,  as  they  did,  with  an  exceeding  great  joy, 
at  the  contemplation  of  the  glorious  work  before  them  ? 

We  shun,  and  we  despise,  both  extremes.  Both  the  course  of 
those  cowardly,  selfish  souls,  who  forsake  the  vessel  of  humanity 
in  despair,  in  quest  of  their  own  private,  personal  enjoyment ; 
and  of  those  exalted  heroes  of  reform,  who  expect  to  regenerate 
the  world,  and  restore  it  to  its  pristine  glory  and  perfection. 
Having  learned  to  say,  even  amid  the  deepest  darkness  of  the 
world,  *  The  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth,  let  the  whole  world 
rejoice^ ;  we  neither  desert  His  banner,  nor  erect  a  hostile  one  of 
our  own. 

If,  however,  we  would  not  sail  under  false  colors,  or  bear 
down  on  the  rocks  that  have  wrecked  former  polities  and  states, 
it  behooves  us  to  see  to  our  course  and  bearing.  It  behooves  us 
to  consider  the  dangers  by  which  we  are  surrounded,  as  well  as 
the  real  grounds  of  our  hope.  It  behooves  us,  above  all  things, 
to  be  honest  with  ourselves,  and  humble  before  the  Most  High; 
shunning  all  those  manifold  delusions  and  lies  which,  however 
pleasant  and  flattering  to  human  pride,  only  conduct  individuals 
and  states  into  the  whirlpools  of  destruction. 
}  Historj  of  Philoeophj,  p.  22. 


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1869.]       The  Great  Error  cf  the  Eighteenth  Century.  5 

The  first  question,  then,  relates  to  the  cause  of  danger,  or  the 
source  of  the  great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  The 
physician  is  guided,^not  so  much  by  the  nature,  as  by  the  cause 
of  the  disease  he  aims  to  cure.  In  vain  will  he  combat  the  dis- 
ease, whatever  may  be  its  nature,  if  its  cause  be  left  in  active 
operation.  The  very  greatest  blunder  he  can  make,  indeed,  is 
to  mistake  the  cause,  or  the  source,  of  the  disease  he  seeks  to 
remedy.  Nor  is  it  otherwise  with  the  disorders  of  the  body 
politic.  Especially  is  it  all-important  to  grasp  and  comprehend, 
first  of  all,  the  real  cause  of  social  disorders  and  calamities,  if 
we  would  cure  them.  It  is,  then,  the  first  duty  of  the  statesman 
and  the  legislator  to  ascertain  the  real  cause  and  source  of  the 
disorders  by  which  society  is  so  often  convulsed,  and  the  brightest 
hopes  of  mankind  overcast  with  clouds  and  darkness.  Yet  has 
this  first  duty,  perhaps,  been  more  sadly  neglected  than  any  other, 
by  the  so-called  rulers  of  the  world.  Hence  it  is,  that  their 
remedies  are  so  frequently  misconceived ;  that  the  conditions  of 
human  progress  are  ignored ;  and  that  political  quackery,  in  all 
its  forms,  does  such  infinite  mischief,  even  when  it  designs  to  do 
most  good. 

The  cause  in  question  is  not  far  from  any  one  of  us.  The 
word  is  on  our  lips,  and  the  thing  is  in  our  hearts.  But  the 
human  heart,  so  prone  to  look  on  itself  with  complacency,  as- 
cribes the  disorders  of  the  world  to  any  thing,  or  to  any  cause, 
rather  than  to  itself.  Hence,  if  we  would  be  truly  wise,  we 
must  shun  this  inexhaustible  fountain  of  self-delusion ;  uay,  if 
we  would  not  be  incurably  blind,  we  must  reverse  the  usual  style 
of  thought,  and  sternly  bar  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the  soul 
against  the  flood  of  self-flattering  lies  by  which  it  is  generally 
defiled  and  laid  waste.  We  must,  in  short,  ascribe  the  evils  and 
disorders  of  society,  not  to  external  causes  or  conditions  merely^ 
but  to  the  nature  of  man  himself.  That  is,  to  the  nature  of  man, 
not  as  he  came  from  God,  but  as  he  now  exists  in  the  world 
around  us.  For  in  all  the  universe  of  God,  as  it  sprang  fresh 
from  the  plastic  hand  of  his  power,  there  was  not  the  least  im- 
press or  overshadowing  of  evil.  All  was  perfection  and  beauty 
and  joy.  Peace  reigned  within,  and  Paradise  bloomed  without. 
But  the  Father  of  Lies,  having  turned  philanthropist,  cheated 


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S  The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Centu/ry.        [Jan. 

OUT  kind  with  a  scheme  of  equality,  and  brought  down  its  pri- 
meval glory  to  the  dust. 

'Forth-reaching  to  the  fruit,  she  plucked;  she  ate. 
'Earth  fislt  the  wound,  and  Nature,  from  her  seat, 
*  Sighing  through  all  her  works,  gaye  signs  of  woe, 
'That  all  was  lost' 

Woe  betide  the  nation,  whether  guided  by  philosophers  or 
fools,  that  proceeds  as  if  this  were  a  dream  of  the  poet,  or  a  fable 
of  the  heathen  mythology !  It  is,  indeed,  the  saddest  and  real- 
est  fitct  in  all  man's  history.  But  if  it  be  a  fact,  as  most  assuredly 
it  is,  then  it  can  not  but  be  fraught  with  the  most  tremendous 
consequences  to  society  and  the  world.  Hence  to  speculate,  as 
so  many  do,  and  especially  as  did  the  legislators  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, about  Hhe  regeneration  of  the  human  race',  without  the 
recognition  of  this  great  fundamental  fact,  is  to  dream  merely, 
and  to  reform  madly.  It  is,  in  truth,  to  ignore  the  great  Cause 
of  causes,  by  which  the  whole  history  of  man  has  been  so  deeply 
colored,  and  his  destiny  so  fearfully  deranged  and  debased.  It 
is,  in  one  word,  to  overlook  the  great  disturbing  force,  which 
has  sported  with  the  schemes  and  falsified  the  predictions  of  the 
sanguine  projectors  of  all  ages.  If  philosophers,  and  philan- 
thropists, and  reformers,  and  statesmen,  and  legislators,  had  not 
disregarded  this  great  disturbing  force,  this  great  Cav^a  causans 
o£  social  disorders ;  then  had  the  world  been  delivered  from  an 
infinite  legion  of  wild  and  visionary  schemes  for  '  the  regenera- 
tion of  the  human  race,'  which  have  only  terminated  in  the  ruin 
of  states.  History,  with  all  her  unuttered  and  unutterable  woes, 
rises  up  in  solemn  and  everlasting  protest  against  the  madness  of 
all  such  infidel  delusions. 

Precisely  such,  as  we  shall  now  proceed  to  show,  was  the  root 
of  the  great  error  of  the  philosophers  and  l^islators  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  two  great  schools  or  sects,  namely,  the 
economists  and  philosophers  of  France,  by  whom  the  Revolution 
of  1789  was  introduced,  unanimously  denied  the  fall  of  man, 
and  poured  scorn  and  contempt  on  the  divine  method  for  his  re- 
storation. Yet  each  of  these  sects,  (not  to  say  each  individual 
of  it,)  had  a  scheme  of  its  own  *to  transform  society  an^  regen- 
erate the  human  race'.    Starting  from  the  common  r^rptj  that 


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1869.]       The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  7 

man  is  inherently  pure,  is  such  as  Grod  made  him,  and  only  re- 
quires to  be  delivered  from  bad  laws  and  bad  organizations  of 
society ;  they  developed  a  swarm  of  Utopias  the  most  wonderful 
the  world  has  ever  seen.  That  is  to  say,  the  most  wonderful, 
considering  the  vast  erudition  and  the  great  intellectual  power 
of  the  men  by  whom  they  were  created,  and  recommended  to 
the  world.  It  almost  seems,  indeed,  as  if  the  Almighty  had  per- 
mitted the  experiment  to  be  made,  in  order  to  show  how  blinder 
than  ignorance  and  folly  themselves,  even  in  great  minds,  may 
become  this  conceit  of  the  inborn  goodness  of  the  human  race. 
It  is  certain,  that  if  we  fell  to  study  their  works,  or  to  compre- 
hend their  great  error  in  its  source,  as  well  as  in  its  results,  we 
shall  lose  some  of  the  most  instructive  lessons  of  history  ever 
written  for  the  warning  and  instruction  of  mankmd. 

Believing,  as  they  did,  that  man  is  good  in  himself,  they  as- 
cribed all  the  disorders  and  evils  of  society  to  external  causes, 
or  to  bad  institutions,  and  not  to  the  tendencies  of  his  nature. 
Hence,  in  order  to  remove  all  such  evils,  and  renew  the  face  of 
society,  nothing  was  needed,  as  they  fondly  imagined,  but  to  re- 
model the  State,  and  bring  mankind  under  the  influence  of  better 
external  causes.  Nothing  seemed  more  easy  to  their  minds. 
Hence,  to  begin  with  the  economists,  they  could  only  wonder  at 
the  blindness  and  folly  of  all  former  legislation  and  laws. 
'  Their  contempt  for  the  past  \  says  De  Tocqueville,  '  was  un- 
bounded ^  'The  nation  ^,  cried  Letronne, '  is  governed  on  wrong 
principles;  every  thing  seems  to  have  been  left  to  chance.' 
Starting  from  this  idea,  from  this  boundless  contempt  of  the 
past,  'they  set  to  work  \  as  De  Tocqueville  says,  '  to  demand  the 
demolition  of  every  institution,  however  old  and  time-honored, 
which  seemed  inconsistent  with  the  symmetry  of  their  plans. 
Forty  years  before  the  Constituent  Assembly  divided  France 
into  departments,  one  of  the  economists  suggested  the  alteration 
of  all  existing  territorial  divisions,  and  of  the  names  of  all  the 
provinces.' 

If  any  Uiing  could  be  more  wonderful  than  their  gloomy  views 
respecting  the  folly  of  the  past,  it  was  their  glowing  hopes  and 
expectations  in  regard  to  the  future.  The  entire  face  of  society 
was  about  to  be  suddenly  transformed  and  illuminated  by  them; 


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8  The  Great  Error 'of  the  Eighteenth  Century,        [Jan. 

and,  at  last,  after  the  weary  revolution  of  so  many  dark,  groan- 
ing ages,  the  people  were  to  be  delivered  from  all  their  vices  and 
their  woes,  from  all  their  ignorance,  degradation,  and  misery. 
All  this  was  to  be  achieved,  too,  not  by  the  power  of  the  Al- 
mighty, but  by  the  omnipotence  of  their  own  beneficent  schemes. 

Even  Turgot,  ^  the  god-like  Turgot  \  as  he  is  called  by  Aus- 
tin i^  his  Province  of  Jurisprudence,  had  this  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  the  efficacy  of  his  method  for  the  regeneration  of 
France.  ^  I  will  venture  to  answer^,  said  he  to  the  king,  whose 
illustrious  minister  he  was,  'that  in  ten  years  the  nation  will  be 
so  thoroughly  altered  that  you  shall  not  know  it,  and  that,  in 
point  of  enlightenment,  morality,  loyalty,  and  patriotism,  it  will 
surpass  every  other  nation  in  the  world.  Children  now  ten 
years  old  will  -then  be  men,  trained  in  ideas  of  love  for  their 
country,  submissive  to  authority  from  conviction,  not  from  fear, 
charitable  to  their  fellow  countrymen,  habituated  to  obey  and 
respect  the  voice  of  justice.'  The  people  of  France,  however, 
refused  to  be  so  suddenly  transformed  into  angels ;  and,  in  little 
more  than  ten  years,  they  were  devouring  each  other  in  right 
good  earnest. 

Quesnay,  the  founder  of  the  sect,  had  as  great  confidence  as 
Turgot  himself,  or  as  the  other  economists,  in  the  transforming 
power  of  knowledge.  Believing,  with  Plato,  that  no  one  is  ever 
knowingly  in  the  wrong,  these  reformers  deemed  knowledge  an 
all-sufficient  remedy  for  the  evils  of  society.  Political  guaran- 
tees, or  checks  and  counter-checks  on  power,  such  as  all  sensible 
men,  from  Aristotle  down  to  Austin,  have  deemed  essential  to 
freedom  in  such  a  world  as  ours,  they  rejected  as  '  fetal  features 
in  government.'  As  the  State  had  done  all  the  mischief  in  times 
past,  so  the  State,  with  the  sublime  instrument  of  public  instruc- 
tion, must  do  all  the  good  in  the  future.  '  The  State ',  says  one 
of  the  great  lights  of  this  school,  '  moulds  men  into  whatever 
shape  it  pleases  \  In  all  former  ages,  it  had,  unfortunately, 
moulded  them  into  bad  shapes ;  it  must  now  mould  them  into 
good  shapes.  Having  created  all  the  inequalities  among  men, 
either  by  its  sins  of  omission  or  commission,  the  State  must  now 
redress  such  frightful  wrongs,  and  restore  all  men  to  a  perfect 
and  more  than  angelic  equality.    A  task  so  great,  and  so  glorious, 


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1869.]       The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  9 

and,  at  the  same  time,  so  easy,  must  be  perfotmed  by  the  State 
without  delay. 

With  these  wonderful  illuminati,  free  institutions  were  *  chi- 
merical speculations/  Aristotle  himself,  if  he  had  found  a  place 
among  them,  would  have  been  deemed  a  dotard  and  a  dreamer. 
Equality  was  their  one  political  idea,  and  the  hatred  of  inequality 
their  one  political  passion.  All  power  in  the  hands  of  one  man, 
with  knowledge  alone  as  the  safeguard  against  the  injustice  of 
the  monarch  or  the  masses,  was  their  ideal  of  a  government  for 
equal  citizens.  ^I  do  not  exaggerate,'  says  De  Tocqueville, 
'  when  I  affirm  that  every  one  of  them  wrote  in  some  place  or 
other  an  emphatic  eulc^ium  on  China.  One  is  sure  to  find  at 
least  that  in  their  books ;  [a  statement  which  we  have  taken  the 
pains  to  verify  for  ourselves.]  .  .  .  They  wanted  all  the  nations 
of  the  world  to  set  up  exact  copies  of  that  barbarous  and  imbe- 
cile government,  which  a  handful  of  Europeans  master  when- 
ever they  please.  .  .  .  They  were  transported  with  emotions  of 
delight  at  the  contemplation  of  a  goverment  wielded  by  an  ab- 
solute but  unprejudiced  sovereign,  who  honored  the  useful  arts 
by  ploughing  once  a  year  with  his  own  hands ;  of  a  nation 
whose  only  religion  was  philosophy,  whose  only  aristocracy 
were  men  of  letters,  whose  public  offices  were  awarded  to  the 
victors  at  literary  tournaments.' 

Such  were  the  economists.  Though  it  numbered  many  learned 
men  in  its  ranks,  Turgot  was  unquestionably  the  chief  pillar 
and  glory  of  the  sect.  Profoundly  versed  in  all  human  lore, — in 
Bciences,  in  languages,  in  literature,  in  history,  and  in  philosophy 
—  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  mere  child  and  dreamer  in  regard  to 
man's  social  condition  and  destiny ;  just  because  he  ignored  the 
real  source  of  this  world's  manifold  disorders.  Blind  amid  the 
very  blaze  of  noon,  he  hoped  to  convert  France  into  a  Paradise 
in  ten  years,  and  he  only  helped  to  convert  it  into  a  Pandse- 
xnonium.  The  high  position  he  occupied,  as  the  ruling  minister 
of  France,  had  long  been  the  object  of  his  lofty  ambition ;  and 
when,  at  last,  the  great  troubles  began  '  to  cast  their  shadows 
before',  all  eyes  turned  to  him  for  guidance  and  instruction. 
*  No  man ',  says  his  great  admirer,  Voltaire,  *  ever  came  into 
ibe  ministry  better  announced  by  the  public  voice.'    Infinite 


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10  The  Or  eat  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.        [Jan. 

expectations  were  founded  on  his  wisdom  as  a  statesman.  He 
was,  in  one  word,  the  Madison  of  France.  Malesherbes,  his 
illustrious  co-minister  and  friend,  did  not  hesitate  to  express  the 
opinion,  that  he  united  ^  the  heart  of  a  L'Hopital  with  the  head 
of  a  Bacon  \  But  Malesherbes  lived  to  correct  this  mistake. 
*  M.  Turgot  and  myself^,  said  he, '  were  very  honest  men,  very 
well  informed,  and  passionate  for  the  public  good.  Who  would 
have  thought  that  they  could  have  done  better  than  to  choose 
us  ?  However  we  knew  men  only  from  books ;  and,  wanting 
skill  in  afiairs,  we  administered  badly.  Without  wishing  it, 
without  knowing  it,  we  have  contributed  to  the  Revolution.' 

Thus,  with  all  his  learning,  so  profound  was  Turgot's  ignor- 
ance of  men  as  iJiey  are^  that  he  imagined  that  all  abuses,  and 
all  obstacles,  would  readily  yield  to  the  magic  of  his  methods. 
Hence,  with  the  force  of  a  Hercules,  he  threw  himself  against 
France.  But  France  had  notions,  and  prejudices,  and  passions, 
and  customs,  and  habits,  and  rights,  of  her  own,  which  proved 
too  much  for  M.  Turgot.  The  past  was  a  mere  circumstance 
with  Turgot ;  it  was  a  great  fact  with  France.  Hence,  finding 
the  reaction  equal  to  the  action,  and  France  being  the  greater  of 
the  two,  the  giant  was  hurled  from  the  seat  of  power,  and  per- 
ished, with  all  his  fine  schemes,  in  the  dark  abyss  of  disappointed 
ambition.  Turgot,  no  doubt,  intended  great  good ;  he  certainly 
accomplished  great  evil.  He  sincerely  wished  to  transform 
France  into  a  Paradise.  He  only  caused  a  contemporary  to  say, 
that  ^of  aU  the  ahuaea  of  a  great  TuUioUy  the  greatest  is  when, 
urithotU  a  missioUy  men  come  to  reform  abuses,^ 

Turgot,  like  all  the  French  statesmen  of  his  time,  was  too 
impatient  to  be  wise.  Having  neither  sounded  the  depths,  nor 
measured  the  extent,  nor  comprehended  the  rooted  obstinacy,  of 
the  evils,  around  him ;  he  imagined  that  they  were  merely  the 
transient  effects  of  bad  social  laws,  which  might  be  easily  removed 
by  good  social  laws.  Hence,  in  hot  haste,  he  -set  to  work  with 
his  remedies.  He  could  not,  like  a  truly  wise  statesman,  con- 
sent to  work  in  one  age,  and  contemplate  the  fruits  of  his  labor 
in  another  age.  He  must,  at  the  very  farthest,  do  all  in  ten 
years.  Reproached  by  one  of  his  friends  with  having  proceeded 
with  too  great  precipitation,  he  replied:  'How  can  you  offer 


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1869.]       The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  CerUury.  11 

that  reproach?  Yoa  know  the  need  of  the  people,  and  that  in 
my  fiimily  we  die  of  the  gout  at  fifty/  Thus,  he  feared  that  he 
should  soon  die,  and  then  it  would  all  be  over  with  the  poor 
people.  That  is  to  say,  he  must  make  haste  to  regenerate  the 
people,  lest  the  gout  should  overtake  him,  and  his  great  work 
remain  unfinished.  A  patriotic  reflection  truly,  no  doubt,  and 
a  wise  one,  too;  provided  the  Almighty  had  resigned  the  govern- 
ment of  the  universe  in  favor  of  M.  Turgot.  Such  were  the 
economists  and  their  great  chief. 

The  other  school  of  reformers,  or  Hhe  philosophers^,  as  they 
are  called,  next  claim  our  attention.  A  certain  class  of  historians 
—  such  as  Macaulay,  Schlosser,  and  others — are  accustomed 
to  represent  these  men  as  having  embarked  in  the  '  ardent  strug- 
gle for  freedom '.  Not  one  of  them,  in  fact,  had  the  most  dis- 
tant idea  or  conception  of  freedom,  except  Rousseau  toward  the 
close  of  his  life.  Voltaire,  the  intellectual  chief  of  the  sect,  as 
well  as  of  the  nation,  may  be  fiiirly  taken  to  represent  the  whole 
school  or  sect.  He  insists  that  all  crimes  and  disorders  proceed, 
not  from  any  tendency  to  evil  in  man's  nature,  but,  to  use  his 
own  words,  ^  from  education,  example,  and  the  government  in 
which  he  finds  himself  cast.'  Hence,  his  method  for  the  regen- 
eration of  the  human  race  is  short  and  easy.  It  is  merely  to 
have  a  better  education,  a  better  example,  and  a  better  govern- 
ment. But  his  views  of  education  and  government  were,  if  pos- 
sible, as  wretched  as  his  example.  The  first  step  in  his  system 
of  education  is  to  banish  Christianity  from  the  face  of  the  earth; 
and  the  next  is  to  elevate,  enlighten,  and  purify  the  masses, 
by  means  of  ^divine  philosophy'!  This  done,  no  diflBculty 
about  government  remains.  For  no  political  guarantees,  no  con- 
stitutions, and  no  checks  on  power,  such  as  depraved  Christian 
States  find  necessary,  will  be  needed  by  a  nation  of  philosophers  I 
Hence,  in  all  sober  earnestness,  and  in  a  work  which  has  been 
most  absurdly  styled  a  ^  philosophy  of  history ',  he  holds  up  the 
Chinese  empire  as  the  most  perfect  model  of  a  nation  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  'The  disciples  of -Confucius',  says  he,  *  were  a 
people  of  brothers.  The  most  happy  and  the  most  respectable 
time  ever  seen  upon  earth,  was  that  in  which  they  followed  his 
laws.'    Especially  is  the  philosopher  ravished  and  transported 


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12  The  Great  Error  of  the  MghteerUh  Century,        [Jan. 

with  their  '  religion  of  letters/  '  We  have  calumniated  the 
Chinese  \  says  he,  '  merely  because  their  metaphysic  is  not  ours. 
We  should  have  admired  in  them  two  merits,  which  condemn 
the  superstition^  of  the  Pagans,  and  the  morals  of  the  Christians. 
Never  was  their  religion  of  letters  dishonored  by  fables,  nor 
stained  by  quarrels  and  civil  wars/  No  writer  on  the  philosophy 
of  history  has,  so  far  as  we  know,  even  attempted  to  illustrate, 
from  the  annals  of  China,  the  great  lessons  they  seem  so  well 
adapted  to  impress  on  the  human  mind.  But  it  is  certainly  bet- 
ter to  remain  silent,  with  Vico,  and  Hegel,  and  other  writers, 
than  to  utter  the  sheer  nonsense  of  Voltaire.  We  thank  him 
for  his  nonsense,  however,  since  it  serves  to  illustrate  and  enforce 
the  great  truth,  that  no  man,  however  great  his  learning  or  his 
genius,  who  ignores  the  real  internal  causes  which  debase  and 
desolate  the  world,  can  either  comprehend  the  conditions  of 
human  progress,  or  the  circumstances  on  which  civil  liberty  de- 
pends. Voltaire,  it  is  certain,  knew  nothing  of  such  liberty, 
either  in  itself,  or  in  its  causes  and  conditions.  He  merely 
sought  equality;  and  he  sought  it,  too,  in  the  bosom  of  a  despi- 
cable Cljinese  despotism.  No  matter  though  all  be  slaves,  pro- 
vided that  all,  except  one,  are  equal. 

Voltaire,  in  reality,  hated  liberty  as  much  as  he  admired 
equality.  Hence  when,  in  1771,  the  king  swept  away  the  Par- 
liament, Voltaire  applauded.  ^  The  king  is  right,'  said  he,  '  if 
one  must  serve,  I  hold  it  better  to  serve  a  well-bred  lion,  who 
is  naturally  stronger  than  I  am,  than  two  hundred  rats  of  my 
own  breed  \  We  should,  indeed,  have  most  profoundly  sympa- 
thized with  Voltaire  in  the  above  sentiment,  if  the  rats,  which 
he  so  intensely  abhorred,  had  only  been  radicals.  But  they  were 
not  radicals;  and  besides,  Louis  XV.,  that  vile  epitome  of 
meanness,  was  Voltaire's  lion !  Even  his  will  may  be  the  law, 
provided  all  are  equal  under  the  shadow  of  his  despotic  mean- 
ness. This  arch-advocate  of  civil  despotism  has,  no  doubt,  been 
regarded  as  the  ardent  friend  of  liberty,  by  superficial  thinkers, 
only  because  he  hated  inequality. 

In  this  respect,  Voltaire  represented  the  French  people  of  his 
time;  and  this  explains  the  apparent  anomaly,  that  after  a 
crusade  against  inequality,  supposed  to  be  a  crusade  in  favor  of 


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1869.]       The  Great  Error  of  {he  Eighteenth  CerUury.  13 

liberty,  the  nation  so  quietly  settled  down  under  the  absolute 
despotism  of  one  man,  and  rejoiced  in  their  equality.  There  is^ 
indeed,  but  one  step  between  the  hatred  of  inequality  and  the 
love  of  despotism.  It  was,  then,  no  very  wonderful  change, 
when  the  French  people  took  that  step. 

It  is  the  great  fundamental  doctrine  of  Bousseau,  that  man  is 
naturally  and  positively  good,  and  that,  in  all  former  ages,  he 
has  been  '  depraved  by  society  and  civilization.'  Little  faith 
bad  he  in  the  efficacy  of  knowledge.  Indeed,  from  all  he  had 
seen  of  the  Voltaires,  the  Diderots,  the  Grimms,  the  D'Albachs, 
the  Raynals,  and  the  other  philosophers,  he  concluded  that 
philosophy  and  letters  corrupt  the  human  heart.  He  should 
have  only  concluded,  that  something  more  than  philosophy  and 
letters,  is  necessary  to  keep  it  from  becoming  corrupt.  Hence  his 
method,  for  the  regeneration  of  the  world,  is  different  from  that 
of  the  other  philosophers.  A  disciple  of  Plato,  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  he  found  the  great  source  of  social  evils  in  the  institu- 
tion of  property ;  and,  accordingly,  he  preached  a  crusade  against 
the  accursed  words  mine  and  thine,  ^  The  savage ',  said  he, 
'  when  he  has  dined,  is  at  peace  with  all  nature,  and  the  friend 
of  all  bis  kind.'  See  to  it,  then,  that  all  the  savages  of  earth, 
and  especially  all  the  civilized  savages,  are  well  fed,  if  you 
would  have  a  glorious  and  a  perpetual  peace.  See  to  it,  more- 
over, that  they  are  fed  from  the  public  crib,  and  that  no  man  be 
allowed  to  call  any  thing  his  own ;  since,  ^  according  to  the  axiom 
of  the  sage  Locke,  there  will  be  no  injury  when  there  is  no  prop- 
erty:  ^ 

The  celebrated  Code  of  Nature,  ^  which  played  so  terrible  a 
part  in  the  French  Revolution,  is  built  on  this  platform  of  Rous- 
seau. *This  Code,  like  the  Republic  of  Plato,  inculcates,  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  the  doctrine  of  a  community  of  goods,  or 
an  equality  of  riches,  substituted  for  the  grand  scourge  of  prop- 
er^/ *  Nothing ',  says  the  first  article  of  that  Code,  '  belongs 
wholly  to  any  one.  Property  is  detestable,  and  any  one  who 
attempts  to  re-establish  it  shall  be  imprisoned  for  life,  as  a  dan- 
gerous madman,  and  an  enemy  to  the  human  race.'     There  has 

s  There  is  no  such  axiom  in  Locke.   Roossean  deriyed  it  from  his  master,  Plato. 

'  Laharpe,  in  Cour$  de  LiUeraturt^  vol.  zviii.,  giyes  an  elaborate  criticism  on 
this  Code,  under  the  felse  impression  that  it  was  the  work  of  Diderot.  It  was,  in 
fact,  written  by  Morelly. 


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14  The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Ceitdury.        [Jan. 

been,  says  its  author,  one  first  error  of  all  legislators,  namely, 
^  that  which  maintains  that  the  vices  and  passions  of  human 
nature  render  the  social  state  impossible  without  co-ercive  laws/ 
He  would  abolish  all  such  laws ;  and  never  more  seek  '  to  pro- 
tect the  right  against  usurpation  ^,  or  ^  property  against  violence '. 
The  world  should  be  governed  on  far  better,  on  far  more  humane, 
principles.  ^  Men  \  says  he,  ^  exempt  from  the  fears  of  indigence, 
would  have  only  a  sole  object  of  their  hopes,  a  sole  motive  of 
their  actions,  the  common  goodJ  Only  banish  property,  and 
substitute  *  an  equality  of  riches'  for  that  'grand  scourge '  of  the 
human  race,  and  all  selfishness,  all  vice,  all  crime,  and  all  evil, 
will  disappear  from  the  world,  and  the  universe  put  on  a  new 
face! 

We  might  fill  a  volume  with  such  short  and  easy  methods  for 
the  regeneration  of  mankind.  But  we  must  forbear.  When  we 
consider  the  learning,  the  ability,  and  the  genius,  of  the  men,  by 
whom  such  schemes  are  set  before  us,  we  are  lost  in  wonder 
and  amazement.  If  they  were  produced,  like  the  Republic  of 
Plato,  merely  as  abstract  Visions  of  justice',  we  should  still 
wonder  at  such  aberrations  of  the  human  mind.  But  they  are 
actually  and  earnestly  recommended,  by  their  authors,  as  schemes 
for  the  practical  adoption  of  mankind.  What,  then,  shall  we 
think  of  them?  Shall  we  not  suspect,  indeed,  that  our  own 
reason  labors  under  some  strange  hallucination,  rather  than  that 
such  men  are  as  insane  as  they  appear  to  us  ?  This  would,  per- 
haps, be  the  proper  inference,  if  these  philosophers,  as  they  are 
called,  had  not  arraigned  all  past  ages  on  the  charge  of  downright 
stupidity  and  folly.  The  age,  which  despises  the  past,  has  no 
claim  to  the  respect  of  the  future. 

We  have  not,  as  yet,  contemplated  the  dark  abyss  of  the  great 
Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  We  have  merely  caught  a 
glimpse  of  its  philosophy,  and  a  few  of  its  wonderful  Utopias. 
The  practical  workings  of  its  philanthropy  remains  to  be  consid- 
ered. The  bitter  invectives,  which  those  lovers  of  despotism, 
launched  at  every  species  and  variety  of  inequality,  as  well  as 
other  appeals  to  the  malignant  passions  of  mankind,  we  have, 
thus  &r,  passed  over  in  silence.  Of  all  the  passions  of  the  Revo- 
lution of  1789,  'the  deepest  and  the  most  solidly  rooted',  says 


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1869.]       The  OreaJt  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  15 

De  Tocqueville, '  was  a  violent  and  unquenchable  hatred  of  in- 
eqnality/  Hence  it  was  that  Baynal^  the  prophet  of  this  new 
religion  of  hate,  exclaimed  :  *  When  will  the  angel  of  Extermi- 
nation come  to  beat  down  all  that  elevates  itself,  and  reduce  all 
to  one  level/  The  prayer  of  Raynal,  or  rather  his  diabolical 
imprecation,  which  was  that  of  France  herself,  was  soon  answer- 
ed. The  angel  of  Extermination  appeared  in  the  year  1789, 
That  Revolution  was,  perhaps,  the  most  magnificent  illusion  by 
which  the  world  has  ever  been  deceived.  The  friends  of  free- 
dom, as  they  are  called,  hailed  that  tremendous  explosion  of  hate 
as  the  sublime  outburst  of  philanthropy  and  good  will  to  man. 
With  acclamations  of  joy  and  delight,  wild  and  enthusiastic, 
they  hailed  the  angel  of  Extermination  as  the  angel  of  deliver- 
ance, and  mercy,  and  life.  For  they  beheld,  as  they  imagined, 
a  great  nation  rising  in  its  might,  with  the  resistless  determina- 
tion to  shake  off  the  accumulated  wrongs  and  abuses  of  the  past, 
and  establish,  in  their  stead,  the  everlasting  principles  of  right. 
Tlie  glory  of  the  cause,  or  rather  the  glory  of  the  illusion,  cast 
a  deceptive  lustre  over  the  spirit  of  the  age  and  nation.  France 
desired  eqaality  ;  she  knew  nothing  of  liberty.  She  had,  indeed, 
neither  learned  the  first  lesson,  nor  inhaled  the  first  breath,  of  a 
rational  freedom.  She  had  sworn  eternal  hostility  to  tyrants,  not 
eternal  fidelity  to  man.  Her  prophets,  her  teachers,  her  guides, 
were  inspired  by  hate,  and  not  by  love.  It  was  the  heat  from 
below,  and  not  the  light  from  above,  which  had  set  them  in  mo- 
tion, and  wrapped  them  in  flames.  Their  ruling  passion  was, 
indeed,  i^  wild,  dark,  fierce,  maddened  spirit  of  resentment,  di- 
rected against  *  all  that  elevates  itself,  or  rises  above  the  com- 
mon level ;  and  was  neither  enlightened  by  wisdom,  nor  con- 
trolled by  goodness.  Hence  it  was  as  impotent  to  construct  as 
it  was  mighty  to  destroy.  The  very  work  of  death  itself  was 
their  grim  delight  and  chiefest  joy.  The  Christian  prayer, 
which  invokes  the  angel  of  Mercy  to  elevate  all  that  debases 
itself,  was  then  unknown  to  France. 

The  infidel  philosopher  was  at  the  helm.  As  he  had  intro- 
duced, so  he  undertook  to  conduct,  the  Revolution.  Believing^ 
as  he  did,  in  the  '  inherent  purity  and  the  indefinite  perfectibility 
of  man/  be  imagined  that  all  the  evils  around  him  were  exclu- 


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16  The  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Ce/nkwry.        [Jan. 

sively  due  to  the  institutions  of  society.  Hence,  to  demolish 
these,  and  substitute  others  in  their  place,  would  be,  as  he  fondly 
imagined,  to  restore  the  people  to  their  ^  inherent  rectitude,'  and 
set  them  forward  in  a  glorious  career  of  'indefinite  perfectibility.' 
Accordingly,  the  heads  of  his  rulers  are  taken  off;  the  new 
regime  is  introduced ;  and  he  looks  for  the  great  day  of  emanci- 
pation to  dawn.  But  instead  of  this,  the  reign  of  terror  sets  in, 
with  night,  and  death,  and  hell,  and  the  guillotine,  in  its  train. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scenes  which  followed. 
If  we  had  the  genius  of  a  Dante,  we  might  produce  a  counter- 
part to  the  InfernOj  in  which  guilty  men,  transformed  to  demons, 
are  the  torturers  of  guilty  men.  Or,  if  we  had  the  grand  pic- 
torial imagination  of  a  Chaucer,  we  might  build  some  great 
house  of  death  close  by  the  gates  of  hell,  and  fill  it  with  images 
of  horror  from  the  infernal  regions  of  the  French  Revolution. 
A  mob  of  women,  frantic  with  despair  and  wild  with  vengeance, 
crying  for  bread;  and  mothers,  with  uplifted  knives,  releasing 
their  children  from  the  world  as  regenerated  by  the  philosophers, 
should  be  sculptured  on  its  walls,  or  emblazoned  on  its  tabla- 
tures.  And  a  philanthropist,  plying  the  guillotine,  with  eyes 
gleaming  and  gloating  over  the  work,  while  his  tongue,  ever  and 
anon,  laps  the  blood  flowing  at  his  feet,  should  likewise  be  con- 
spicuous among  its  imagery.  Nay,  if  we  had  the  taste  and  tal- 
ent for  such  things,  every  niche,  every  nook,  every  panel,  and 
every  corner,  of  the  building,  should  have  its  memento  of  that 
great  carnival  of  death  and  depravity.  But  as  it  is,  we  shall 
simply  let  the  curtain  drop,  and  hide  from  view  th§t  Inferno  of 
philosophers  and  reformers;  leaving  all  their  victims  behind 
the  scenes  to  lift  up  their  eyes,  as  it  were,  in  hell,  being  in 
torments,  and  cursing  the  very  day  and  hour  when  first  they 
dreamed  of  the  'inherent  purity  of  man'. 

That  dream  of  madness,  so  fatal  then,  was  not  confined  to  France 
alone.  It  was  also  dreamed  in  America.  We  have  said  that  M. 
Turgot  was  the  Madison  of  France.  On  the  other  hand,  Madi- 
son, '  the  father  of  the  Constitution,'  was  the  Turgot  of  America. 
Hence,  *  without  wishing  it,  without  knowing  it ',  he '  contributed 
to  the  Revolution '  of  1861.  As  Turgot,  by  his  doctrines  and 
his  measures,  was  the  forerunner  of  the  angel  of  Extermination, 


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1869.]       the  Great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  17 

which  visited  France  in  1789  ;  so  Madison,  the  great  legislator 
of  1787,  prepared  the  way  for  the  angel  of  Extermination,  which, 
in  1861,  visited  the  South.  But  the  demonstration  of  this  truth 
must  be  reserved  for  some  future  number  of  The  Southern  Re- 
view.* 

More  than  once,  in  the  course  of  the  preceding  reflections,  have 
the  eloquent  words  of  a  great  writer  occurred  to  our  minds;  cover- 
ing the  whole  ground  we  have  so  feebly  occupied,  and  far  more. 
The  words  in  question  being,  in  fiwst,  as  pertinent  to  the  present 
discussion  as  they  are  eloquent,  we  shall  here  introduce  them. 
'All  the  speculations  and  schemes  of  the  sanguine  projectors  of 
all  ages',  says  John  Foster,  'have  left  the  world  still  a  prey  to 
infinite  legions  of  vices  and  miseries ;  an  immortal  band,  which 
has  trampled  in  scorn  on  the  monuments  and  dust  of  self-idoliz- 
ing men  who  dreamed,  each  in  his  day,  that  they  were  born  to 
chase  these  evils  out  of  the  earth.  If  these  vain  demi-gods  of 
an  hour,  who  trusted  to  change  the  world,  and  who  perhaps 
wished  to  change  it  only  to  make  it  a  temple  to  their  fame,  could 
be  awakened  from  the  unmarked  graves  into  which  they  sunk,  to 
look  a  little  around  the  world  for  somfe  traces  of  the  success  of 
their  projects,  would  they  not  be  eager  to  retire  again  into  the 
chamber  of  death,  to  hide  the  shame  of  their  remembered  pre- 
samption  ?  Hitherto  the  fatal  cause  of  these  evils,  the  corruption 
of  the  human  heart,  has  sported  with  the  weakness,  or  seduced 
the  strength,  of  all  human  contrivances  to  subdue  them.  Nor  do 
I  perceive  any  signs,  as  yet,  that  we  are  comn^pncing  a  better 
era,  in  which  the  means  that  have  failed  before,  or  the  expedients 
of  some  new  and  happy  invention,  shall  become  irresistible,  like 
the  sword  of  Michael,  in  our  hands.  The  nature  of  man, ''  Still 
cast  ominous  conjecture  on  the  whole  success."  While  that  is 
corrupt,  it  will  pervert  the  very  schemes  and  operations  by  which 
the  world  should  be  improved,  though  their  first  principles  be 
as  pure  as  heaven ;  and  revolutions,  great  discoveries,  augmented 
science,  and  new  forms  of  polity,  will  become  in  effect  what  may 
be  called  the  sublime  mechanics  of  depravity.' 

*  The  iotelligent  reader  will,  of  coarse,  bear  it  in  mind,  that  Tnrgot  and  Madi- 
ion  are  selected  as  the  sabjects  of  onr  remarks,  because  ihej  were  '  representatire 
Ben',  and  because  tbejr  were  among  the  most  influential  of  those  hj  whom  the 
great  Error  of  the  Eighteenth  Centurj  was  embraced  and  reduced  to  practice,  or 
embodied  in  institations. 

2  '. 


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18  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

There  is,  it  must  be  admitted,  one  difference  between  the 
French  Revolution  of  1789  and  the  American  Revolution  of 
1861.  The  one  was  instigated  by  infidel  philosophers;  the 
other,  by  professedly  religious  preachers.  This  difference  is, 
however,  more  nominal  than  real.  For  the  preachers,  having 
adopted  the  political  maxims  of  the  philosophers,  were  animated 
by  the  same  spirit  of  revolt  against  the  eternal  laws  of  heaven 
and  earth.  In  open  defiance  of  their  own  creeds,  as  well  as  in 
proud  contempt  of  the  principles  of  the  Bible,  with  respect  to 
the  nature  of  man,  they  embraced  the  anarchic  maxims  of  the 
infidel  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  proceeded  to 
set  the  New  World  on  fire.  Hence  both  Revolutions  had  their 
roots  in  the  same  great  error,  were  nourished  by  the  same  fell 
spirit,  and  brought  forth  the  same  fruits  of  desolation  and  death. 
It  was  precisely  the  same  virus  which  convulsed  and  devoured 
France  in  1789  and  America  in  1861.  It  was  not  as  Christian 
divines,  but  as  infidel  dreamers  and  reformers,  that  the  Beechers, 
the  Tyngs,  the  Cheevers,  and  the  Mcllvaines,  of  the  North,  trod 
in  the  &tal  footsteps  of  the  Voltaires,  the  Rousseaus,  and  the 
Raynals,  of  France. .  Heaven  have  mercy  on  their  poor  deluded 
souls !  But  we  shall  not  spare  their  errors.  On  the  contrary, 
we  shall,  in  some  future  number  of  this  Review,  expose  the  rad- 
ical opposition  to  their  political  maxims  to  the  principles  and  the 
spirit  of  the  religion  which  they  profess,  and  upon  which  they 
have,  by  their  "Worse  than  infidiel  practice,  brought  such  infinite 
and  ineffacabl^  disgrace. 


Abt.    II. — 1.    Bepertoire  cPOptique   Moderne.     Par  I'Abb^ 
Moigno.     Paris:  A.  Franck.     1847. 

2,  (Euvrea  de  Francois  Arago.    Publics  d'apris  son  ordre  sous 
la  direction  de  M.  J.  A.  Barral.    Paris :  Gide,  Iditeqr.  1858. 


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1869.]  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  LighL  19 

3.  Familiar  Lectures  on  Sderdijic  Subjects.  By  Sir  John  F, 
W.  Herscbel,  Bart.^  K.  H.,  M.  A.,  etc.  London :  Alexander 
Strahan.     1867. 

4.  Faraday  as  a  Discoverer.  By  John  Tyndall.  New  York : 
D.  Appleton  &  Co.     1868. 

A  fool  can  ask  more  questions  than  a  wise  man  can  answer. 
However  far  we  may  analyse  any  fundamental  subject,  we  are 
compelled  to  pause  at  those  outer  limits  which  may  be  called  the 
corner- posts  of  nature.  The  unsatisfactory  results  of  many 
philosophical  systems  may  doubtless  be  traced  to  the  effort  made 
to  define  those  primitive  elements  of  all  definitions  which  can 
not,  in  the  natui^  of  things,  be  subject  to  limitations.  Seneca 
well  contrasts  some  of  the  dismal  conclusions  thus  reached.  ^  If '^ 
says  he,  *  I  believe  Protagoras,  there  is  nothing  in  nature  but 
doubt ;  if  Nausiphanes,  this  thing  only  is  certain,  t1iat  nothing 
is  certain ;  if  Parmenides,  every  thing  is  but  one  thing ;  if  Zeno, 
every  thing  is  nothing.'  Nothing  approaches,  in  august  origin 
and  abstruse  nature,  more  nearly  to  the  elemental  mystery  of  life 
itself,  than  light,  the  ^  first-born  of  Heaven ',  —  offspring,  indeed^ 
of  the  earliest  recorded  utterance  of  the  creative  Power.  *  What 
is  light?'  is  a  question  to  which  we  may  frankly  reply,  as  to  a 
thousand  similar  ones  touching  the  primitive  mysteries  of  the 
universe,  that  we  do  not  know.  Yet  there  is  a  great  deal  about 
light  which  we  do  know, —  many  most  wonderful  facts,  out  of 
which  and  for  the  explanation  of  which  the  mind  strives  to  build 
np  a  reasonable  theory  of  the  nature  of  light.  To  define  it  as 
an  agency  subject  to  certain  laws  and  producing  such  and  such 
results,  by  no  means  satisfies  the  inquiring  understanding.  As 
yet,  however,  we  can  scarcely  do  more. 

Three  fundamental  laws  of  light  are  as  follows : 

1^.  Itself  invisible,  it  renders  all  material  objects  within  its 
sphere  of  action  visible. 

2**.  For  any  given  medium  it  acts  in  right  lines,  in  all  direc- 
tions from  the  luminous  body. 

3®.     This  action  proceeds  at  an  enormous  velocity. 

The  invisibility  of  light  may  strike  one,  at  first,  as  a  thesis 
oat  of  Anazagoras,  who,  according  to  Cicero,  proved  to  the  sat- 
isfiiction  of  his  own  senses  that  snow  is '  black.    Nevertheless,  it 


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20  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light  [Jan. 

is  true.  Take  a  box  the  inner  walls  of  which  are,  like  the  cham- 
ber of  a  camera,  thoroughly  blackened.  In  one  face  puncture  a 
pin-hole  and  admit  a  ray  of  light.  If,  through  a  blackened 
tube  inserted  in  the  upper  side  immediately  over  the  line  of  the 
ray,  we  gaze  down  into  the  chamber,  all  is  darkness.  The  light 
is  there,  however ;  for,  on  lowering  by  a  thread  through  the  tube 
a  silvered  bead  into  the  line  of  the  ray,  its  star-like  reflection 
will  instantly  spring  into  view.  ^  A  sunbeam,  indeed,'  says  Sir 
John  Herschel,  ^  is  said  to  be^een  when  it  traverses  a  dark  room 
through  a  hole  in  the  shutter,  or  when  in  a  partially  clouded  sky- 
luminous  bands  or  rays  are  observed  as  if  darted  through  open- 
ings in  the  clouds,  diverging  from  the  (unseen)  place  of  the  sun 
as  the  vanishing  point  of  thefr  parallel  lines  seen  in  perspective. 
But  the  thing  seen  in  such  cases  iis  not  the  light,  but  the  innumer- 
able particles  of  floating  dust  or  smoky  vapor,  which  catch 
and  reflect  a  small  portion  of  it,  as  when  in  a  thick  fog  the  bulPs- 
eye  of  a  lanthorn  seems  to  throw  out  a  broad,  diverging  lumin- 
ous cone,  consisting  in  reality  of  the  whole  illuminated  portion 
of  the  fog.'     (pp.  223-4.) 

The  rectilinear  transmission  of  light  is  also  proved  by  the 
phenomena  here  mentioned  by  Sir  John,  as  well  as  by  observa- 
tions too  familiar  to  need  recital.  We  ascertain  the  rapidity  of 
its  transmission  from  more  abstruse  considerations.  Ordinary 
terrestrial  phenomena  indicate  that  the  communication  of  light 
is  instantaneous,  and  for  what  we  name  ^practical  purposes'  this 
is  so.  As  a  fact,  however,  it  requires  time  and  is  subject  to  a 
definite  velocity.- 

Around  the  planet  Jupiter,  four  satellites  revolve  in  different 
orbits,  nearly  circular.  The  periodical  times  of  their  revolu- 
tions, as  well  as  the  dimensions  and  positions  of  both  the  satel-- 
lites  and  their  orbits,  have  been  carefully  and  accurately  deter- 
mined. The  three  nearest  to  the  planet  move  in  orbits  lying 
nearly  in  the  plane  of  the  path  of  the  latter  round  the  sun. 
Consequently,  they  suffer  eclipse  by  the  interposition  of  the  body 
of  the  planet  at  every  revolution.  The  observation  of  these 
eclipses  being  useful  in  the  determination  of  longitudes  of  places 
on  the  earth's  sur&ce,  the  periods  of  their  occurrence  are  now 
r^ularly  calculated  beforehand.    But  the  times  thus  predicted. 


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1869.]  The  Nature  and  the  Law$  of  Light  21 

upon  data  so  thoroughly  ascertained,  were  found  to  vary  from 
the  observed  times, —  being  some  times  earlier,  some  times  later, 
by  a  regular  gradation  of  differences.  In  1676,  Roemer,  a  Dan- 
ish astronomer,  traced  these  discrepancies  to  their  true  cause. 
The  eclipses  took  place  too  soon  at  the  periods  when  the  earth  in 
its  annual  course  came  nearest  to  Jupiter,  too  late  when  it  receded 
£irthest.  The  total  variation,  amounting  to  sixteen  minutes  and 
twenty-six  seconds,  or  not  quite  one  thousand  seconds,  indicated, 
therefore,  the  time  consumed  by  the  light  from  the  satellites  in 
•crossing  the  diameter  of  the  earth's  orbit.  This  diameter,  here- 
tofore taken  at  one  hundred  and  ninety  millions  of  miles,  is  now 
considered  (from  late  observations  upon  the  distance  between  the 
orbits  of  Mars  and  the  earth)  as  more  probably  being  about  one 
hundred  and  eighty-four  millions  of  miles  in  length.  From 
these  data  the  velocity  of  light  appears  to  be  about  one  hundred 
and  eighty-six  thousand,  five  hundred  miles  per  second. 

The  discovery  of  the  aberration  of  light  by  Dr.  Bradley,  in 
1727,  afforded  a  means  of  confirming  this  almost  incredible  re- 
salt.  Though  we  can  not  here  enter  upon  a  full  explanation  of 
this  phenomenon,  a  conception  of  it  may  be  had  by  considering 
the  case  of  two  men  moving  with  rapidity  in  opposite  directions 
daring  a  shower  of  rain  falling  perpendicularly.  The  rain-drops 
will  fall  upon  the  faces  of  the  two  men  as  if  proceeding  in  in- 
clined lines  from  points  in  front  of  their  respective  zeniths.  The 
rain-drops  represent  the  rays  of  light  in  the  astronomical  phenom- 
enon, and  the  opposing  motions  of  the  observer  are  those  of  the 
earth  at  the  opposite  sides  of  its  orbit.  The  inclination  of  the  rays  is 
the  result  of  the  motion  of  light  combined  with  the  earth's  orbital 
movement.  The  latter  is  known  and  the  angle  of  inclination 
can  be  measured,  and  these  data  furnish,  by  an  extremely  simple 
calculation,  an  estimate  of  the  velocity  of  light. 

But  the  velocity  of  light  has  also  been  measured  by  means  of 
mechanism,  the  principle  of  wliose  action  may  be  said  to  be  the 
subdivision  of  a  second  of  time  into  very  minute  parts, —  in  a 
word,  the  atomizing  of  time.  M .  Fizeau,  of  the  French  Acade- 
my of  Sciences,  effected  this  by  means  of  a  toothed  wheel,  in 
which  the  teeth  were  precisely  of  the  same  size  as  the  intervals 
between  them.    The  light  of  a  lamp  was  directed  through  an 


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22  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

aperture  in  a  screen  so  as  to  cross  one  of  these  intervals  and  fall 
upon  a  reflector  placed  at  a  known  and  considerable  distance 
from  the  wheel.  The  reflector  was  so  arranged  as  to  throw  back 
the  beam  through  the  notch  in  the  wheel  exactly  opposite  to  that 
through  which  it  first  passed.  Through  this  notch  could  be 
perceived  the  reflected  ray,  which  had  traversed  a  distance  dou- 
ble that  of  the  reflector  from  the  wheel.  When,  now,  the  wheel 
was  revolved  with  increasing  velocity,  the  reflection  at  first  seen 
continuously,  gradually  became  feebler  and  presently  entirely 
disappeared.  This  occurred  when  the  velocity  of  the  wheel  was 
such  that  the  light  transmitted  through  the  notch  on  one  side 
was  intercepted  by  the  tooth  adjacent  to  the  opposite  aperture  on 
its  return ;  that  is,  when  the  velocity  of  rotation  carried  a  tooth 
over  its  own  breadth  whilst  the  ray  was  going  and  returning. 
This  velocity  is  readily  measured ;  indeed,  it  may  be  registered 
by  the  mechanism  used  to  drive  the  wheel.  If  the  wheel,  as 
was  actually  the  case,  makes  twelve  and  six-tenths  revolutions  in 
a  second  and  has  fourteen  hundred  and  forty  divisions  (teeth  and 
notches),  the  time  of  the  passage  of  a  tooth  across  its  own  breadth 
is  found  by  taking  the  reciprocal  of  the  product  of  these  num- 
bers. In  this  fraction  of  a  second  the  ray  has  traversed  twice 
the  distance  between  the  mirror  and  the  wheel, —  which  amounted 
in  M.  Fizeau's  experiments  to  eighteen  thousand,  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  eighty  yards.  But  this  total  distance  measured  or  di- 
vided by  the' time,  will  give  tlie  distance  gone  over  in  a  second, 
or,  in  other  words,  the  velocity  of  the  ray.  The  mean  results  of 
the  experiments  established  a  velocity  of  one  hundred  and  ninety 
six  thousand  miles. 

The  far  more  refined  and  delicate  method  of  M.  Foucault  has 
shown,  however,  that  this  result  is  too  great.  This  method  is 
essentially  that  first  used  by  Arago,  in  an  experiment  determin- 
ing the  relative  velocities  of  light  in  air  and  water.  A  horizon- 
tal ray  of  light  is  admitted  into  a  darkened  chamber,  and  falls 
upon  a  mirror  arranged  to  revolve  on  a  vertical  axis  lying  in  its 
own  plane.  As  the  mirror  turns,  the  reflected  ray  will  move,  of 
course,  in  a  horizontal  plane  passing  through  the  point  of  inci- 
dence and  the  aperture  of  admission,  and  by  an  easy  geometri- 
cal consideration  its  angular  velocity  is  known  to  be  double  that 


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1869.]  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  23 

of  the  mirror.  In  this  horizontal  plane,  a  second  mirror  is 
placed  perpendicular  to  a  line  itself  drawn  perpendicular  from 
tiie  centre  of  the  last  to  the  axis  of  the  first ; —  placed,  in  other 
words,  so  as  to  return  a  ray  to  the  first  mirror  upon  the  same 
path  in  which  it  is  first  reflected  from  it.  If,  now,  the  revolv- 
ing mirror  be  supposed  at  rest  and  be  so  arranged  as  to  reflect 
the  ray  (received  through  the  aperture)  upon  the  second  mirror, 
the  ray  will  manifestly  be  returned  by  the  latter  upon  the  same 
path,  and  will  be  again  reflected  by  the  first  directly  towards  the 
aperture.  But  if,  whilst  the  ray  has  been  passing  between  the 
mirrors,  the  first  has  revolved  through  a  small  angle,  the  ray  in 
passing  back  towards  the  aperture  will  deviate  from  its  original 
path  by  an  angle  double  that  described  by  the  mirror.  This 
angle  is  readily  measured  ;  and  the  fraction  of  a  second  required 
by  the  light  to  traverse  the  distance  between  the  mirrors,  to  and 
firo,  mnltiplied  by  the  angle  described  by  the  mirror  in  any 
small  fraction  of  a  second  taken  as  a  unit,  will  give  a  product 
equal  to  one-half  this  measured  angle.  But  the  number  of  ro- 
tations in  a  second  being  registered,  the  unit  angle  may  be  readily 
deduced  from  the  unit  of  time.  The  product  and  one  factor  of 
it  being  thus  known,  we  derive  the  other  factor,  or  the  time  of 
the  ray ;  this,  with  the  space  passed  over  —  the  double  distance 
between  the  mirrors  —  affords  one  factor  of  another  known  pro- 
duct; so  that  finally  dividing  the  space  by  the  time  we  obtain 
the  velocity. 

We  may  here  mention,  in  passing,  that  by  the  interposition 
of  a  column  of  water  between  the  mirrors,  through  which  the 
ray  is  passed,  we  have  the  means  of  ascertaining  the  velocity  of 
the  propagation  of  light  through  water,  and  that  this  is  found 
to  be  less  than  its  velocity  in  air. 

The  result  of  M.  Foucault's  experiments  was  a  velocity  of 
185,172  miles;  so  that  taking  all  the  methods  into  considera- 
tion,—  neglecting  only  M .  Fizeau's  as  subject  to  important  errors 
fix)m  mechanical  imperfections, —  we  may  conclude  that  the  velo- 
city of  light  in  interplanetary  and  cosmical  space  is  about  one 
hundred  and  etghty-six  thousand  miles  in  a  second  t 

This  enormous  velocity  takes  hold  upon  the  infinite,  and  is 
beyond  ^ny  adequate  comprehension.     The  greatest  speed  we 


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24 


The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light. 


[Jan, 


can  generate  in  a  body  moving  through  the  air  or  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth,  is  a  mere  bagatelle  to  a  velocity  which  will 
belt  the  globe  in  the  eighth  part  of  a  second.  Yet  it  is  some 
consolation  to  know  that  we  can  always  halt  one  immensity; 
however  overbearing,  with  the  qui  va  la  of  another.  Space,  in 
fact,  is  infinite,  and  we  can,  by  bringing  it  face  to  face  with  this 
vast  velocity,  not  only  reduce  the  scale  of  numbers  upon  which 
the  latter  plumes  itself,  but  even  turn  the  tables  upon  it  and  ob- 
tain tremendous  results  in  the  opposite  direction,  so  as  to  leave 
the  impression  that,  after  all,  light  is  really  slow !  To  achieve 
this  desirable  result,  we  count  off  space  in  units  of  this  velocity. 
We  thus  find  that  light  will  reach  us  from  the  moon  in  about 
one  second  and  a  quarter ;  from  the  sun,  in  eight  minutes  and 
thirteen  seconds ;  from  the  fixed  star.  Alpha  Centauri,  in  about 
three  years;  from  61  Cygni,  in  nine  years;  from  Alpha  Lyrse, 
in  twelve  years;  whilst  from  the  remotest  nebulae,  as  surmised 
by  Sir  Wm.  Herschel,  it  will  require  not  less  than  two  million 
years !  These  facts  develop  a  singular  field  of  contemplation. 
When  we  view,  in  an  unclouded  night,  the  starry  dome,  we  are 
really  looking  upon  a  historical  chart  reaching  back  into  the 
far-distant  ages  of  the  past.  The  rays  that  reach  our  eyes 
started  upon  their  journey,  some  an  hour,  some  a  day,  some 
years,  some  centuries,  ago  from  the  stellar  bodies  in  our  field  of 
vision.  This  light  may  be  partially  that  reflected  by  these  bodies 
from  rays  which  left  the  earth  just  twice  those  periods  past.  So 
that  the  whole  history  of  our  earth  may  now  be  illustrated  on 
the  vault  of  heaven. 

The  two  leading  theories  of  light  are  known  as  the  corpuscu- 
lar, emission,  or  Newtonian,  and  the  wave  or  undulatory  theory. 
The  first  seems  to  be  attributed  to  Newton  on  insufficient  grounds. 
He,  indeed,  advanced  it  as  a  means  of  comprehending  certain 
phenomena  of  light,  but  he  explicitly  says :  ^  'Tis  true  that  from 
my  theory  I  argue  the  corporeity  of  light ;  but  I  do  it  without 
any  absolute  positiveness  as  the  word  *'  perhaps ''  intimates ; 
and  make  it  at  most  but  a  very  plausible  consequence  of  the 
doctrine,  and  not  a  fundamental  supposition,  nor  so  much  as  any 
part  of  it.^  ^  Newton,  indeed,  whilst  urging  objections  against 
^  Phil.  Trans.    Vol.  x.  p.  6086  :  quoted  by  Prof.  Badea  Powell. 


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1869.]  The  NaJtwre  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  25 

the  nndulatory  theory,  still  held  a  particular  hypothesis  of  un- 
dalationSy  consentaDeous  with  corpuscular  emission,  as  possible. 
In  fiw^,  however,  he  adopted  positively  no  hypothesis.  ^  Were 
I  *,  says  he,  '  to  assume  an  hypothesis,  it  should  be  this,  if  pro- 
pounded more  generally,  so  as  not  to  determine  wkat  light  is,  fur- 
ther than  that  it  is  something  or  other  capable  of  exciting  vibra- 
tions in  the  ether ;  for  thus  it  will  become  so  general  and  com- 
prehensive of  other  hypotheses  as  to  leave  little  room  for  new 
ones  to  be  invented.' ' 

The  corpuscular  theory  assumes  that  a  luminous  body  projects 
or  emits,  in  all  directions,  extremely  minute  particles,  which 
filing  upon  the  retina  of  the  eye  produce  the  sensation  of  light, 
just  as  minute  particles  of  any  perfume  excite  sensation  in  the 
organs  of  smell.  A  leading  objection  to  this  view  arises  from 
the  extreme  velocity  under  which  these  particles  must  move. 
*If  each  luminous  molecule',  says  PAbbS  Moigno,  *  should 
weigh  a  grain,  its  momentum,  endowed  as  it  is  with  so  excessive 
a  velocity,  would  equal  that  of  a  ball  of  seventy-five  kilogram- 
mes (165  pounds  avoirdupois)  traversing  more  than  one  thous- 
and feet  a. second.  The  weight  of  the  luminous  molecule  must 
be,  in  reality,  some  millions  of  times  less  than  we  have  sup- 
posed it ;  but  as,  on  the  other  hand,  we  can  make  efficient  at  the 
same  moment  several  millions  of  these  molecules  collected  in 
the  focus  of  a  lens,  the  mechanical  effect  produced  by  the  sum  of 
their  momenta  ought  to  be  rendered  sensible, —  which  result  it 
has  been  impossible  to  obtain  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
stances/ (Vol.  i:  p.  71.)  This  negative  evidence  is,  however, 
not  conclusive.  It  is  a  part  of  this  theory, —  in  its  explanation 
of  the  passage  of  light  from  air  into  water  or  glass, —  that  the 
laminous  molecules  which  escape  reflection  from  the  surface  of 
the  second  medium,  advancing  still  more  closely  to  the  particles 
of  water  or  glass,  reach  the  sphere  of  their  attraction,  and  then 
enter  the  substance.  This  entrance  is  made  with  the  original 
velocity  increased  by  the  powerful  attraction  of  the  particles  of 
water  or  glass.  The  undulatory  theory,  on  the  contrary,  in  its 
explanation  of  the  same  phenomenon,  holds  that  light  traverses 
the  new  medium,  if  denser  than  that  from  which  it  is  received, 
'  FbU.  Trans,  x.  6089. 


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26  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

under  a  diminished  velocity.  Here  is  then,  as  between  these 
theories,  the  crucial  test.  First  applied  by  Arago,  the  result 
has  already  been  mentioned  as  obtained  by  Foucault's  apparatus. 
A  diminished  velocity  in  the  denser  medium  is  established  by 
experiment;  and  the  corpuscular  theory,  without  essential  mod- 
ification, must  be  abandoned. 

The  wave  theory  of  light  assumes  the  existence  of  a  fluid  of 
great  tenuity  pervading  cosmical  space,  which  is  called  the  ether. 
The  luminous  body  is  supposed  to  put  the  ether  into  vibration, 
as  a  sonorous  body  excites  vibrations  in  the  air.  The  lumini- 
ferous  waves  travel  forward,  as  waves  raised  upon  a  surface  of 
water,  with  the  velocity  we  have  already  established.  There  is 
no  transmission  of  the  ethereal  particles ;  each,  after  suffering 
the  vibratory  motions  necessary  to  carry  it  through  all  the 
phases  of  the  wave,  subsides  to  its  former  position.  Light  is, 
therefore,  upon  this  theory,  a  property^  a  mere  vibration  of  an 
assumed  highly  elastic  fluid  having  a  fixed  relation  to  our  organs 
of  sight,  just  as  sound  is  a  vibration  of  sensible  matter  commu- 
nicated to  the  auditory  organs. 

The  vibration  of  the  air  caused  by  a  sonorous  body  proceeds 
by  alternate  compression  and  expansion  along  the  lines  of  com- 
munication ;  in  other  words,  it  is  lonffitudinal,  like  that  propa- 
gated by  expansion  and  contraction  along  the  length  of  an  elas- 
tic cord.  Waves  excited  upon  the  surface  of  water  are,  on  the 
other  hand,  transversal,  the  vibration  of  each  particle  of  water 
being  perpendicular  to  the  rectilinear  advance  of  any  face  of  the 
wave.  Now,  certain  phenomena  of  light  plainly  show  that  the 
vibrations  of  the  ethereal  molecules  must  be  regarded  as  of  the 
latter  class,  with,  however,  this  remarkable  difference,  that  there 
must  be  simultaneous  vibration  of  particles  of  the  luminiferous 
ether  in  all  directions  at  right  angles  to  the  lines  of  progression  ; 
that  is,  alternate  expansion  and  contraction  transverse  to  the 
line  of  the  ray.  Each  particle  may  be  considered  as  vibrating 
under  two  forces  acting  in  lines  perpendicular  to  each  other. 
If,  then,  the  force  along  one  line  is  separated  in  its  action  by  an 
interval  from  that  along  the  other,  curvilinear  motion  will  re- 
sult ;  circular,  if  the  interval  be  just  one-fourth  of  a  vibration  ; 
elliptical,  if  it  be  any  other  amount.    These  results,  theoretically 


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1869.]  The  Naiwre  md  ihe  Lam  of  Light.  27 

ftDticipated  as  possible^  are  established  as  probable  by  the  expla- 
nation they  afford  to  certain  actual  phenomena  of  light. 

The  explanation  of  the  aberration  of  light,  as  well  as  of  other 
phenomena,  upon  the  undulatory  hypothesis,  seems  to  require 
the  particles  of  ether  to  be  regarded  as  fixed,  except  for  their 
vibratory  movements,  and  not  subject  to  any  participation  in 
the  motion  of  the  earth.  Consequently,  Sir  John  Herschel  ad- 
vances a  third  theory  of  light  as  one  worthy  of  consideration. 
'  Still  retaining  the  idea  of  an  ethereal  medium,'  he  says,  '  its 
constitution  may  be  conceived  as  an  indefinite  number  of  regu- 
larly airanged  equidistant  points  absolutely  fixed  and  immovable 
in  space,  upon  which,  as  on  central  pivots,  the  molecules  of  the 
ether,  supposed  polar  in  their  constitution,  like  little  magnets 
(but  each  with  three  pairs  of  poles,  at  the  extremities  of  three 
axes  at  right  angles  to  each  other),  should  be  capable  of  oscilla- 
ting freely,  as  a  compass-needle  on  its  centre,  but  in  all  direc- 
tions. Any  one  who  will  be  at  the  trouble  of  arranging  half  a 
dozen  small  magnetic  bars  on  pivots  in  a  linear  arrangement, 
will  at  once  perceive  how  any  vibratory  movement  given  to  one, 
will  run  on,  wave-fashion,  both  ways  through  its  whole  length. 
And  he  will  not  fail  to  notice  that  the  bodily  movement  of  each 
vibrating  element  will  be  transverse  to  the  direction  of  the  prop- 
agated wave.  As  this  hypothesis,  however,  has  hitherto  re- 
ceived no  discussion,  and  is  here  suggested  only  as  one  not  un- 
worthy of  consideration,  however  strange  its  postulates,  we  shall 
not  dwell  on  it;  remarking  only  that  every  phenomenon  of  light 
points  strongly  to  the  conception  of  a  solid  rather  than  a  fluid 
constitution  of  the  luminiferous  ether,  in  this  sense — thai  none 
of  its  elementary  moleculea  are  to  be  supposed  capable  of  inter- 
changing places,  or  of  bodily  transfer  to  any  measurable  dis- 
tance from  their  own  special  and  assigned  localities  in  the  uni- 
verse. *  *  *  This  would  go  to  realize  (in  however  unexpected 
a  form)  the  ancient  idea  of  a  crystalline  orb.'     (pp.  284r-6.) 

A  ray  fistlling  upon  a  transparent  body,  as  a  plate  of  glass,  does 
not  pass  on  in  the  same  line,  but  is  bent  or  refracted.  The  wave 
is  retarded  in  its  progress  among  the  particles  of  the  denser  me- 
dium, and  its  front  is  changed  in  direction.  A  ray  passing  from  air 
into  glass  is  bent  towards  the  perpendicular  drawn  to  the  surface 


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28  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

at  the  point  of  incidence ;  and  there  is  a  fixed  ratio  for  each  sub- 
stance,—  called  its  refractive  index, —  between  the  sines  of  the 
angles  of  incidence  and  of  refraction ;  the  angles,  namely,  under 
which,  as  measured  to  the  perpendicular,  the  ray  first  strikes  and 
then  enters  the  medium.  If,  now,  a  piece  of  glass  having  two 
plane  surfaces  inclined  to  each  other  at  an  acute  angle, —  the  sim- 
plest form  being  that  of  a  triangular  prism, —  be  flo  arranged 
that  a  circular  pencil  of  light  may  fall  upon  one  of  these  surfaces, 
it  enters  the  glass  with  the  usual  change  of  course,  strikes  the 
adjacent  side,  and  passes  out  from  the  denser  into  the  rarer  me- 
dium of  the  air  with  its  line  of  progression  still  further  bent  in  the 
same  direction.  If  a  screen  of  white  paper  is  held  in  the  trans- 
mitted pencil,  a  surprising  change  in  its  character  will  be  ob- 
served. It  is  found  projected  on  the  paper  in  an  elongated  form 
and  to  be  no  longer  white,  but  colored  in  transverse  bands  with  all 
the  familiar  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Commencing  at  the  end  of 
the  image,  or  spectrum,  least  removed  from  the  original  course  of 
the  rays,  we  find  a  band  of  red,  then  orange,  next  yellow,  green, 
blue,  indigo,  and  lastly  violet.  Under  fiivorable  circumstances 
it  is  possible  to  detect  beyond  the  violet  a  faint  shade  of  color 
best  described  as  lavender.  To  the  young  student  the  names  of 
these  colors  of  the  Newtonian  spectrum  in  their  due  order, 
occasionally  prove  such  a  burden  to  the  memory,  that  some  inge- 
nious teacher,  moved  to  pity,  has  combined  their  initials  into  a 
name,  which  always  sounds  to  us  like  the  name  of  some  youth 
of  great  promise  suddenly  and  mysteriously  cut  off, —  the  name 
of  Roy  G.  Biv. 

The  spectrum  affords  us  an  analysis  of  light,  by  which  it  is 
shown  that  undulations  of  white  light  are  compounded  of  waves 
of  colored  lights.  But  not  all  these  colors  are  considered  to 
be  primitive.  It  is  supposed  that  the  primary  colors  are  but 
three  in  number,  that  the  union  of  these  will  make  white  light, 
and  that  by  their  varying  dispersion  over  the  area  of  the  spec- 
trum and  admixture  in  different  proportions,  the  other  colors 
are  produced.  The  three  primitives  were  long  taken  as  red,  yel- 
low, and  blue ;  it  being  held,  in  accordance  with  the  experience 
of  artists  in  the  mixing  of  their  colors,  that  a  union  of  the 
prismatic  yellow  and  blue  would  afford  green.    But  M.  Helm- 


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1869.]  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  29 

holz's  and  Sir  John  Herschel's  experiments  have  shown  that  the 
*  direct  mixture  of  the  prismatic  yellow  and  blue,  in  whatever 
proportions,  can  no-how  be  made  to  produce  green  ;  while  that 
of  the  prismatic  green  Mid  red  does  produce  yellow/  Therefore 
red,  green,  and  blue, —  the  initials  of  which  are  exactly  the  ini- 
tials of  the  three  names  of  the  above-mentioned  Mr.  Biv,  afford- 
ing a  coincidence  largely  to  the  credit  of  the  inventor  of  Mr. 
B., —  are  now  held  as  the  three  primitive  colors,  the  remainder 
being  compound. 

.  If  the  colored  rays  of  the  spectrum  be  collected,  by  contrary 
refraction,  into  a  single  pencil  again,  it  will  prove  to  be  white 
light.  If  a  portion  of  the  colored  rays  be  collected  into  one 
compound <x>lor,  and  the  remainder  of  the  spectrum  into  anoth- 
er, the  tints  so  produced  are  said  to  be  complementary  to  each 
other.  They  bear  a  striking  relation  to  each  other,  causing 
either  to  contrast  with  the  other  with  softness  and  power,  and  to 
the  greatest  advantage. 

Color  is,  however,  not  produced  solely  by  refraction.  It  is 
caused  also  by  the  ^  interferences '  of  light  from  which  arise  many 
of  the  colors  of  the  clouds,  and  the  scintillations  of  the  stars. 
Two  equal  waves  on  the  surface  of  water  meeting  in  the  same  * 
phase  of  undulatian,  crest  upon  crest,  combine  into  a  wave  of 
double  their  own  amplitude.  If,  however,  their  phases  are  pre- 
dsely  opposed,  if  the  crest  of  one  be  exactly  superposed  upon 
the  trough  of  the  other,  the  result  will  be  total  interference  and 
mutual  destruction.  If  they  meet  in  any  discordance  of  phases, 
lying  between  these  extremes,  the  results  will  be  waves  of  differ- 
&kt  intensities,  less  than  that  of  the  original  waves.  These  inter- 
ferences are  exemplified  in  the  case  of  the  spring  and  n^ap  tides ; 
the  wave  in  the  former  case  being  the  sum,  in  the  latter  the  dif- 
ference, of  the  waves  due  to  the  a^^tion  of  the  sun  and  the  moon. 
In  the  port  of  Batsha,  at  particular  seasons  when  the  morning 
and  evening  tides  are  equal,  there  is  no  tide  at  all,  in  consequence 
of  the  interference  of  the  tidal  waves  which  approach  through 
two  channels  of  unequal  length,  whereby  one  is.  kept  behind  the 
other  just  six  hours.  Thus  the  low  water  of  the  morning  tide 
approaching  through  the  longer  channel,  meets  the  high  water 
of  the  evening  tide  coming  in  through  the  shorter,  and  com- 


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30  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

pletely  neutralizes  it.  A  similar  interference  of  tidal  'waves 
takes  place  at  a  point  in  the  North  Sea^  midway  between  Low- 
estoft and  the  coast  of  Holland. 

These  interferences  of  waves  of  water  find  their  counterpart 
in  the  case  of  light-waves.  Two  lights  will  sometimes  produce 
darkness  ;  or,  as  the  first  observer  of  the  phenomenon,  Father 
Grimaldi  of  Bologna,  expresses  it,  ^an  illuminated  body  may  be 
made  darker  by  the  addition  of  Kght.'  By  the  junction  of 
interfering  waves  of  light  in  opposite  phases,  the  vibration 
of  the  ethereal  molecules  is  arrested.  This  phenomenon  and 
that  of  partial  discordance  resulting  in  waves  of  colored  light, 
are  displayed  in  the  colors  of  thin  plates,  first  investigated  by- 
Boyle  and  Hooke.  They  are  shown  whenever  transparent  bod- 
ies are  reduced  to  films  of  excessive  tenuity;  as,  for  instance,  in 
the  familiar  film  of  the  soap-bubble.  If  we  take  up  from  the 
usual  soapy  liquid,  a  film  upon  the  mouth  of  a  wine-glass,  and 
hold  it  in  a  vertical  position,  it  will  appear  uniformly  white  at 
first;  but  growing  thinner  at  the  top  by  the  descent  of  the  fluid 
particles,  colors  will  soon  be  exhibited  there.  These  colors 
will  arrange  themselves  in  horizontal  rings  and  constantly  move 
downwards  to  give  place  to  others  of  increased  brilliancy,  as  the 
film  grows  more  and  more  thin.  Presently  the  uppermost  ring 
becomes  black;  shortly  after  which  the  bubble  bursts  from  its 
extreme  tenuity  at  the  black  point.  The  colors  vary  with  the 
thickness,  and  are  due  to  the  interference  of  the  waves  of  light 
reflected  from  the  upper  and  the  under  surface  of  the  film.  They 
are  also  produced  when,  as  in  Newton's  experiment,  a  convex 
lens  of  considerable  radius  is  pressed  upon  a  flat  surface  of  glass. 
The  distances  of  the  various  points  in  the  convex  surface  from 
the  plane  below  being  readily  calculated,  a  means  is  bed  for 
measuring  the  length  of  the  light-waves  of  various .  colors. 
These  lengths  being  ascertained  and  the  velocity  of  light  known, 
we  obtain  at  once  the  number  of  vibrations  made  by  a  ray  of 
any  color  in  a  second.  For  the  extreme  red  of  the  spectrum, 
the  wave-length  is  found  to  be  a  little  more  than  one  thirty-four- 
thousandth  of  an  inch  and  the  wave-period  about  one  four-hun- 
dred-trillionth  of  a  second ;  for  the  extreme  violet,  the  wave- 
length is  one  seventy-thousandth  of  an  inch  and  the  number  of 


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1869.]  The  Nature  and  ihe  Laws  of  Light.  31 

vibrations  in  a  second  more  than  eight  hundred  million  of  mil- 
lions. 

A  most  remarkable  circumstance  connected  with  the  spectrum 
remains  to  be  mentioned.  The  whole  length  of  it  is  traversed 
by  dark  lines.  Wollaston  observed  six ;  Fraunhofer,  nearly  six 
handred ;  and  Sir  David  Brewster  enlarged  the  number  to  two 
thousand.  Singularly  enough,  spectra  formed  by  the  light  of 
the  fixed  stars  are  crossed  by  dark  lines  in  different  arrangement 
—  showing  some  difference  in  the  rays.  Again,  when  the  light 
from  white  flames  is  used,  the  spectrum  is  fgund  to  be  crossed 
with  bright  lines ;  and  minerals  thrown  into  these  flames  devel- 
opy  each  its  own  system  of  bright  lines.  The  spectroacopey  as  the 
instrument  is  named  with  which  these  effects  are  best  observed, 
is  DO  doubt  destined  to  important  uses  in  chemical  analysis  and 
to  further  triumphs.  Already,  after  having  measured  and 
weighed  the  sun,  through  this  means  we  know  something  of  his 
oaineral  constitution. 

'  What  is  polarized  light  ? '  is  one  of  the  questions  with  which 
the  populace  vex  the  souls  of  philosophers.  And  the  inquiring 
populace  are  generally  dissatisfied  with  the  explanation  tendered 
them.  The^  feel  a  void,  a  vagueness,  a  desire  further  to  inter- 
rogate because  no  categorical  definition  (to  use  the  word  very 
loosely), —  as  when  we  say  *  Lead  ?  why,  lead  is  a  metal,' —  can 
be  furnished  them.  If  they  could  be  told  that  polarized  light  is 
blue  light,  they  would  go  away  satisfied  because  everybody  feels 
qaite  strong  in  his  knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  color ;  but  tell 
tbem  that  it  is  flat  or  plane  light,  and  they  retire  reasonably  dis- 
contented. 

The  briefest  explanation  of  polarized  light  is  negative  in 
diaracter,  and  derived  from  what  it  does  and  not  from  what  it 
is.  Thus:  polarized  light  is  not  capable  of  reflection  at  oblique 
angles  of  incidence  in  every  position  of  the  reflector,  like  com- 
mon light,  but  in  certain  positions  only ;  it  penetrates  a  plate  of 
tourmaUnef' cut  parallel  to  the  axis  of  the  crystal,  in  some  posi- 
tions, but  in  others,  unlike  common  light,  is  intercepted  ;  and  in 
c^iain  positions,  it  does  not  suffer  double  refraction  by  Iceland 
spar. 

The  term  dotible  refraction  indicates  the  nature  of  the  phe- 


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32  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

nomenon  it  names.  An  object  seen  through  a  doubly  refracting 
body  in  proper  directions  appears  double.  The  ray  from  it  is 
split  into  two,  one  of  which  takes  nearly  the  ordinary  course, 
and  is  hence  called  the  ordinary  ray,  whilst  the  extraordinary 
ray  diverges  considerably.  If,  for  instance,  through  a  rhombo- 
hedral  crystal  of  Iceland  spar,  we  look  at  any  illuminated  point, 
the  image  will  be  duplicated,  in  all  positions  of  the  crystal  save 
one, — namely,  when  the  ray  is  transmitted  along  the  optic  axis 
of  the  crystal.  This  axis  is  called,  strangely  enough  but  by  au- 
thority of  usage,  the  aada  of  double  refraction.  It  is  really  the 
axis  of  no  double  refraction. 

If,  now,  the  two  images  be  viewed  through  a  tourmaline  plate 
an  extraordinary  result  is  displayed.  The  two  will  appear  with 
difPerent  amounts  of  distinctness,  and,  as  the  plate  of  tourmaline 
is  turned  round,  one  will  gradually  fade  whilst  the  other  grows 
stronger.  The  revolution  of  the  plate  being  continued,  present- 
ly the  fading  image  wholly  disappears,  and  the  other  attains  a 
maximum  of  illumination.  Revolve  the  plate  still  further,  and 
the  order  of  these  changes  is  reversed ;  the  lost  image  reappears 
and  grows  more  and  more  conspicuous,  as  the  other  diminishes 
in  brightness  until  it,  in  turn,  goes  out.  It  is  pldn,  therefore, 
that  each  ray  traversing  the  spar  has  become  endowed  with  cer- 
tain properties,  which  we  express  by  the  term  polarized.  All 
doubly  refracting  bodies  polarize  light ;  and  polarization  may 
also  be  effected  by  reflection  at  certain  angles.  Theoretically, 
it  is  presumed  that  the  molecular  arrangement  of  the  spar  is  such 
as  to  separate  the  series  of  undulations  constituting  the  ray  of 
common  light,  into  two,  in  one  of  which  all  the  transverse  vi- 
brations have  ceased  except  those  in  one  plane, —  or,  we  should 
prefer  to  say,  all  the  vibrations  parallel  to  some  one  plane  have 
ceased,  while  in  the  other,  all  have  ceased  which  were  perpenr 
dicular  to  the  same  plane.  The  tourmaline  has  such  a  structure 
that  the  plane-polarized  ray  can  penetrate  as  it  were  through 
slits  in  its  substance  parallel  to  its  long  axis ;  if  the  ordinary 
ray  hold  this  position,  the  extraordinary  vibrating  at  right  angles 
to  the  former  will  be  intercepted. 

Tourmaline  is  itself  a  polarizer.  If  a  second  plate  of  the 
same  substance  (in  this  connection  called  the  a/nalysing  plate)  be 


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1869.]  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  33 

placed  with  its  long  axis  perpendicular  to  that  of  the  former 
(called  the  polarizing  plate),  it  will  completely  intercept  a  ray 
passing  through  the  first. 

Polarization  is  also  effected,  as  we  have  said,  by  reflection 
under  certain  angles.  The  polarizing  angle  was  found  by  Sir 
David  Brewster  to  be  connected  with  the  refractive  index  of  the 
reflecting  body  through  a  simple  and  invariable  law, —  the  latter 
being  the  tangent  of  the  former, —  or,  what  is  easily  shown  to 
be  the  same  thing,  the  polarized  ray  is  perpendicular  to  the  re-* 
fracted  ray.  The  angle  of  polarization  for  water  is  53°  11'; 
for  glass,  56°  45'.  But  these  should  be  called  the  angles  of 
maximum  polarization ;  for  light  falling  at  other  angles  upon 
these  media,  is  more  or  less  partially  polarized.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  polarized  light  in  the  blue  light  of  the  sty,  and  in  the 
glare  from  the  sur&ce  of  water.  If  in  the  latter  case  the  polar- 
ized light  be  intercepted  by  a  plate  of  tourmaline,  the  glai*e  will 
be  so  diminished  that  the  eye  can  detect  the  bottom  of  a  clear 
stream,  or  rocks  below  the  surface  of  the  sea,  otherwise  wholly 
invisible  from  the  point  of  observation. 

A  plate  of  any  crystalline  structure,  except  the  tessular,  in- 
troduced between  the  polarizing  and  analysing  plates,  produces 
colors,  from  the  interference  of  the  polarized  waves;  and  there 
are  many  substances  which  produce  chromatic  illumination  pass- 
ing, on  the  rotation  of  the  body,  through  ail  the  colors  of  the 
spectrum  in  regular  order.  On  the  rotation  of  the  substance 
under  examination  from  right  to  left,  the  changes  proceed  from 
red  to  blue,  which  is  called  right-handed,  or  from  blue  to  red, 
which  is  called  left-handed,  circular  or  elliptical  polarization. 
There  is  thus  afforded,  through  one  of  the  most  delicate  and 
immaterial  of  natural  agents,  a  means  of  prying  into  the  ob- 
scure molecular  arrangement  of  transparent  bodies.  .  Already 
useful  results  have  been  obtaii^ed.  Starch,  dextrine,  and  grape- 
sugar,  all  possess  the  property  of  circular  polarization ;  but  the 
two  former  polarize  to  the  right  (whence  the  name  dextrine),  the 
latter  towards^he  left.  Thus  we  can  judge  through  a  polarizing 
apparatus  of  the  changes  in  an  infusion  of  malt  undergoing  fer- 
mentation. Again,  cane-sugar  polarizes  to  the  right,  and  it 
alone  of  the  sugars  has  value  as  an  article  of  commerce;  yet  it 
3 


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34  The  Nature  and  the  Laws  of  Light.  [Jan. 

degenerates  rapidly,  under  certain  circumstances,  into  grape- 
mignr,  which  will  not  crystallize.  A  polarizing  apparatus  enables 
us  to  detect  this  change,  of  which  neither  taste,  color,  nor  specific 
gravity,  would  give  us  warning. 

The  recondite  relations  between  the  mysterious  agencies  of 
nature,  were  never  so  finely  illustrated  as  by  one  of  Faraday's 
surj>rising  developments.  He  experimented  with  magnetism 
upon  light.  The  plane-polarized  ray  from  a  lamp  was  shut  off 
hy  tlie  analysing  plate.  In  this  position  he  subjected  it  to  the 
force  developed  by  a  current  through  the  coils  of  an  electro- 
magnet, when  instantly  the  ray  was  partially  transmitted  through 
the  analyzer  and  the  lamp-flame  became  visible.  He  had  mag- 
neligcdthe  light!  'His  magnet',  says  Prof.  Tyndall,  turned 
the  plane  of  polarization  through  a  certain  angle,  and  thus  ena- 
bled it  to  get  through  the  analyser ;  so  that  "  the  magnetisation 
of  light  and  the  illumination  of  the  magnetic  lines  offeree" 
beeojncs,  when  expressed  in  the  language  of  modem  theory,  the 
rotation  of  the  plane  of  polarization.' 

It  13  a  favorite  figure  of  speech  with  some  writers  and  speak- 
ers, who  have  a  weakness  for  bathos,  to  inform  their  read- 
ers or  hearers  what  emotion  is  suitable  to  certain  emergen- 
cies in  their  discourse.  When  we  are  told  that  fthe  heart 
which  has  no  tears  to  shed  at  the  recital  of  this  moving 
Btory^  must  be  hard  indeed,'  we  make  it  a  point  of  honor  not 
to  weep.  When  we  are  assured  that  *  it  is  the  best  evidence  of 
an  indurated  bosom  and  a  seared  conscience,  not  to  be  ready  to 
go  into  flagrant  indignation  at  the  outrage,'  we  endeavor  to  be 
unusually  calm;  and  when  it  is  emphatically  announced  to  us 
that  '  no  man  with  the  least  sense  of  beauty  or  sentiment  of 
character  could  fail  to  love  her,'  we  confess  to  such  a  revolt  at 
the  Buperb  impudence  which  dares  to  guage  our  emotions  by  its 
own,  that  we  enter  at  once  upon  a  hearty  hatred  of  her.  Not- 
withstanding our  feeling  upon  this  subject,  we  venture  to  affirm 
that  every  mind  must  approach  the  study  of  the  stupendous 
forces  0^  nature  revealed  to  us  by  the  phenomena  of  light,  with 
something  of  awe.  For  we  tread  consciously  near  the  outer 
boundaries  of  the  material  and  close  upon  the  invisible  thres- 
hold of  the  spiritual. 


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1869.]  The  NaJbire  and  ihe  Laws  of  Light.  35 

Knowing  the  velocity  of  sound,  and  that  of  light,  we  can 
readily  calculate  the  increased  elastic  force  with  which  it  would 
be  necessary  to  endow  the  air,  in  order  to  make  the  velocity  of 
the  former  equal  to  that  of  the  latter.  This  enables  us,  in  the 
next  place«  to  deduce  the  bursting  power  of  the  ether  when  so 
much  of  it  is  enclosed  in  a  cube  of  an  inch  in  the  side,  as  is 
equal  in  quantity  of  matter  to  that  existing  in  a  cubic  inch  of 
air.  It  will  be  found  to  be  more  than  twelve  trillion  pounds  on 
each  face  of  the  cube.  In  dealing  with  the  phenomena  of  light, 
'we  cannot  escape',  says  Sir  John  Herschei,  ^from  the  concep- 
tion of  enormous  force  in  perpetual  exertion  at  every  point 
through  all  the  immensity  of  space.'  If  we  trace  the  vibra- 
tions of  the  ethereal  molecules  to  their  source,  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  suppose  that  the  material  particle,  which  gives  rise  by 
combustion  or  otherwise  to  these  vibrations,  does  not  itself  un- 
dergo the  same  phases  of  undulation.  Now,  if  the  force  neces- 
sary to  drive  thii^  particle  through  its  total  excursion  from  its 
point  of  repose,  within  the  brief  period  of  (one-fourth  of)  an 
undulation,  be  calculated, —  by  assigning  as  the  smallest  length 
of  such  an  excursion  under  which  the  retina  may  still  be  sen- 
able  to  the  vibration,  only  one  quintillionth  of  an  inch, —  it  is 
found  to  exceed  the  force  of  gravity  more  than  thirty-five  thous- 
and millions  to  one!  Thus,  light,  in  the  length  of  its  waves 
and  the  rapidity  of  their  transmission,  in  the  excursions  of  the  ' 
ethereal  particles  necessary  to  propagate  it  and  in  the  force 
requisite  to  generate  these  excursions,  in  the  minuteness  of  its 
penetration  and  the  vastness  of  its  dispersion, — stretches  almost 
across  the  finite,  and  links  the  infinitely  little  with  the  infinitely 
great.  Bacon  complains  that '  the  manner  in  which  Light  and 
its  causes  are  handled  in  Physics,  is  somewhat  superstitious,  as 
if  it  were  a  thing  half-way  between  things  divine  and  things 
natural;'  and  the  manner  probably  remains  to  this  day.  But 
Bacon  himself  confesses  that  light  '  hath  a  relation  and  corres- 
pondence in  nature  and  corporal  things,  to  knowledge  in  spirits 
and  ittcorporal  things.' 


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36  Walerho — JS/apoleon  and  WeUinffton.  [Jan. 


Art.  III. — 1.  History  of  the  Life  of  Arthur ^  Duke  of  Weir 
lington.  From  the  French  of  M.  Brialmout;  Captain  of  the 
Staff  of  the  Belgian  Army ;  with  Emendations  and  Additions 
by  the  Rev.  G.  II.  Gleig,  M.  A.,  Captain-Greneral  to  the  For- 
ces and  Prebendary  of  St.  Paul's.  In  Four  Volumes.  Lon- 
don :  Longman^  Green^  Longman^  and  Brothers.     1860. 

The  work  of  Greneral  Brialmont  has  hardly  received,  from 
the  press  of  this  country,  the  degree  of  attention  to  which  it  is 
fairly  entitled  as  the  most  authentic  account  of  a  man  who  occu- 
pied so  large  a  space,  for  so  long  a  time,  in  the  eyes  of  Europe, 
as  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  It  was  published  at  a  time  not  at 
all  favorable  to  a  large  American  circulation.  It  was  on  the  eve 
of  the  war,  when  the  public  mind  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in 
contemplation  of  the  approaching  crisis,  to  \>q  diverted  into 
other  channels  of  less  immediate  interest.  Apart,  moreover, 
from  the  fact  that  the  exploits  of  Wellington  had  been  perform- 
•  ed  in  support  of  a  cause  which  is  peculiarly  distasteful  to  Amer- 
icans of  all  classes,  and  every  shade  of  political  opinion,  the 
most  striking  portion  of  them  had  already,  many  years  since, 
been  narrated  by  a  military  writer  of  surpassing  ability,  whose 
fiiscinating  pages  find  no  rival  in  the  work  of  de  Brialmont. 
We  allude,  of  course,  to  Colonel  Napier,  and  his  great  history  of 
the  Peninsular  War.  Though  doubtless  possessed  of  great  tal- 
ents, and  many  of  those  high  qualities  which  are  always  found 
associated  with  brilliant  achievement,  there  seems  to  have  been 
nothing  in  the  character  or  conduct  of  Wellington  calculated  to 
excite  the  admiration  or  enthusiasm  of  a  people  supposed  to  be 
peculiarly  attached  to  a  republican  form  of  government.  He 
was  the  most  haughty  noble  of  an  age  in  which  haughtiness  and 
nobility  were  far  more  closely  allied  than  they  are  at  present, 
and  he  seems  to  have  had  quite  as  great  a  contempt  for  the  vul- 
gar herd  as  Coriolanus,  or  any  other  Roman  of  them  all.  The 
earlier  years  of  his  military  service  had  been  devoted  to  the 
overthrow  of  ancient  thrones,  and  the  extinction  of  ancient  dyn- 
asties, in  India,  where  he  had  already  become  a  highly  useful 


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1869.]  Waterloo— Napoleon  and  Wellington.  37 

agent  in  extending  the  most  tremendous  system  of  conquest  of 
which  the  world  has  afforded  an  example  since  the  destruction 
of  the  Roman  Empire^  when  he  was  recalled  to  assist  in  restor- 
ing effete  dynasties,  propping  ancient  thrones,  reviving  abuses 
grown  hoary  with  age,  and  resisting  a  system  of  conquest,  which 
although  right  enough  in  India,  was  thought  not  to  be  exactly 
the  thing  in  Europe.  There  may  appear  to  be  some  incon- 
gruity between  the  nature  of  his  employment  in  India,  and  the 
nature  of  his  employment  in  Europe.  But  there  is  one  recon- 
ciling feature  which  stands  out  conspicuously  in  both.  In  each 
instance  he  acted  in  utter  disregard  of  the  wishes  of  the  conquered 
people;  in  each  he  forced  upon  them  a  government  they  utterly  ab- 
horred. Few  men  can  be  found  at  this  day,  bold  enough  to  main- 
tain that  the  French  people  entertained  a  very  great  affection  for 
the  Bourbons,  and  since  the  events  of  1857,  the  world  has  learned 
pretty  well  what  to  think  of  that  deep  attachment  to  the 
British  Government  which  English  writers  used  to  tell  us  the 
Hindoo0  universally  felt.  These  remarks  are  merely  designed 
to  explain  the  reason  why,  in  our  opinion,  the  work  of  Brial- 
mont  has  received  so  little  notice  from  the  press,  and  not  as  the 
commencement  of  an  extended  commentary.  Having  noticed, 
in  the  author's  account  of  the  campaign  of  Waterloo,  several 
incidents  which  place  the  conduct  of  Wellington  on  that  occa- 
sion in  a  different  light  from  any  in  which  we  had  hitherto  seen 
it,  we  use  the  title  of  his  book  merely  as  an  introduction  to  our 
main  subject,  which  is  the  campaign  in  question. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  is  never  spoken  of,  by  English 
writers  of  any  class,  but  in  terms  of  the  most  extravagant  eulo- 
gy. That  he  did  great  things  is  true,  but  we  can  conceive  of  noth- 
ing which  a  mere  mortal  could  do,  sufficiently  great  to  justify  the 
hyperboles  of  which  he  has  constantly  been  the  subject.  Upon 
comparing  the  catalogue  of  his  exploits  with  those  of  other  gen- 
erals, such  as  Turenne,  Eugene,  Marlborough,  and  the  great 
Frederic,  we  fail  to  see  the  enormous  superiority  which  we  are 
told  is  so  very  apparent.  Before  the  campaign  of  Waterloo, 
most  assuredly,  his  achievements  bore  no  comparison  whatever 
to  those  of  Napoleon.  As  compared  with  those  of  Greneral  Lee, 
they  seem,  including  even  Waterloo,  absolutely  insignificant. 


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38  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

General  Lee,  with  a  force  not  so  large  as  the  Anglo-Portuguese 
regular  army  which  Wellington  had  under  him  when  he  encoun- 
tered Massena  in  1809  —  not  half  so  large  as  his  whole  force  if 
the  Portuguese  militia  be  taken  into  the  account  —  in  the  space 
of  twenty-eight  days,  in  three  battles,  killed  and  wounded  more 
men  than  Wellington  ever  killed  and  wounded  during  his  whole 
career,  from  Assaye  to  Waterloo,  both  inclusive.  In  one  of 
these  battles  Lee  killed  and  wounded  more  men  by  9000,  than 
the  French  army  lost,  including  prisoners,  in  the  whole  cam- 
paign of  Waterloo,  and  the  pursuit  to  the  gates  of  Paris.  In 
the  same  battle  he  killed  and  wounded  more  men  than  Welling- 
ton, Blucher,  and  Napoleon,  all  three  together,  lost  in  killed  and 
wounded  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  by  5000  men.  In  the  second 
of  these  battles  he  killed  and  wounded  the  same  number  that 
both  the  opposing  armies  lost  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo ;  and  in 
the  third  he  killed  and  wounded  more  by  7000  than  the  French 
alone  lost  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  In  the  three  battles  to- 
gether, Lee  killed  and  wounded  more  men,  by  at  least  30,000, 
than  the  Allies  and  French  lost  in  the  whole  campaign,  includ- 
ing prisoners.  The  force  with  which  Lee  operated  never 
amounted,  at  one  time,  to  50,000  men ;  the  force  with  which 
Wellington  and  Blucher  acted  was,  even  according  to  English 
estimates,  190,000  strong.  The  force  to  which  Lee  was  opposed 
was,  from  first  to  last,  240,000  strong ;  the  force  to  which  Wel- 
lington and  Blucher  were  opposed  was  but  122,000  strong. 
When  Massena  invaded  Portugal  in  1810,  Wellington  had 
30,000  British  troops,  and  25,000  Portuguese  regulars,  who,  in 
the  battle  of  Busaco,  according  to  Wellington's  own  account, 
*  proved  themselves  worthy  to  fight  side  by  side  with  the  British 
veterans,'  besides  40,000  admirable  Portuguese  militia.  He  had 
Lisbon  for  his  base,  with  a  British  war  fieet  riding  at  anchor,  and 
innumerable  vessels  of  other  descriptions  plying  between  the 
port  and  England,  and  bringing  the  most  abundant  supplies  of 
arms,  provisions,  and  munitions  of  war.  He  had  surrounded  the 
port  with  the  most  tremendous  system  of  fortifications  known  in 
modern  times,  and  his  task  was  to  defend  the  strongest  country 
in  Europe.  In  Lee's  case,  his  enemy  had  possession  of  the  sea, 
and  could  and  did  land  a  powerful  army  to  attack  the  very  basis 


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1869.]  Waterloo— Napoleon  and  WtUington.  39 

of  his  operations^  while  he  was  fighting  another  of  still  greater 
strength  in  front  It  is  probably  not  altogether  just  to  Welling- 
ton to  institute  this  comparison.  If  his  deeds  look  but  common- 
place beside  the  achievements  of  this  campaign,  so  do  all  others. 
The  history  of  the  world  cannot  exhibit  such  a  campaign  as  that 
of  Lee  in  1864. 

Wellington's  deeds  will  always  be  a  subject  of  pride  and  exult- 
ation at  home;  but  abroad,  the  only  title  to  popular  remembrance 
his  name  will  enjoy,  will  be  derived  from  its  association  with 
that  of  Napoleon,  in  the  last  act  of  his  military  life.  His  deeds 
in  the  Peninsula  and  in  India,  have  already  begun  to  be  remem- 
bered with  that  faint  sort  of  recollection  which  is  bestowed  upon 
the  deeds  of  Marlborough  and  Turenne;  but  the  name  of  Napo- 
leon keeps  the  memory  of  Waterloo  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the 
whole  race  of  mankind.  There  are  few  of  our  readers  who  do 
not  recollect  the  noble  apostrophe  of  Byron  to  the  fallen  mon- 
arch in  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold. 

*  Gonqueror  and  CAptive  of  the  earth  art  thou, 
She  trembles  at  thee  still,  and  thj  wild  name 
Was  ne'er  more  braited  in  men's  minds  than  now, 
That  thon  art  nothing  bnt  the  jest  of  Fame,'  kc. 

These  lines,  written  during  the  first  year  of  Napoleon^s  short 
but  painful  captivity  in  St.  Helena,  are  singularly  expressive  of 
the  contemporary  sentiment  with  regard  to  him.  He  had  burst 
upon  the  world  amidst  the  throes  of  a  revolution,  which  had 
had  no  parallel  in  the  records  of  the  past,  as  a  volcano  is  thrown 
to  the  surface  of  the  ocean  by  the  convulsions  of  an  earthquake. 
Like  that  grandest  and  most  appalling  of  material  phenomena, 
as  long  as  he  continued  in  full  activity,  he  had  attracted  the  un- 
divided gaze  of  all  who  were  within  the  range  of  vision,  com- 
prehending in  his  case  the  inhabitants  of  the  whole  civilized 
world.  When  his  career  had  closed  forever,  and  he  remained 
a  helpless  captive  in  the  hands  of  his  implacable  foes,  as  if  to 
complete  the  parallel,  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  they 
bad  selected  fbr  his  prison  the  summit  of  an  extinguished  vol- 
cano, the  aptest  type  of  his  own  wretched  and  ruined  fortunes. 
Though  escape  was  next  to  impossible,  it  was  natural  that  the 
nations,  to  whom  his  name  had  been  so  long  a  terror,  should 


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40  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

'  hold  their  breath  for  a  time/  and  that  he  should  become  more 
constantly  the  subject  of  their  thoughts  and  conversation,  than 
he  had  been  in  the  day  of  his  most  prosperous  fortunes.     Long 
before  his  death,  the  change  in  European  sentiment  with  regard 
to  him,  had  already  become  so  great  as  to  attract  the  attention 
of  statesmen.     Chateaubriand,  alluding  to  it,  said,  that  his  grey 
coat  and  cocked  hat,  hung  up  in  any  quarter  of  Europe,  would 
produce  a  revolution.     Surely  no  human  being,  of  whom  we 
have  any  account,  ever  so  profoundly  affected  the  imagination  of 
mankind.     This  was  the  fact  while  he  was  among  the  living, 
and  is  still  more  emphatically  the  fact  now  that  he  is  dead.     It 
was  proved,  while  he  was  living,  by  the  desire,  amounting  in 
many  cases  almost  to  madness,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  person  ; 
by  the  frantic  haste  with  which  travellers  from  all  parts  of  the 
continent  rushed  to  Paris,  at  the  imminent  risk,  as  they  sup- 
posed, of  being  detained  in  captivity,  as  soon  as  they  learned 
that  he  had  returned  from  Elba ;  by  the  crowds  from  the  most 
remote  parts  of  England,  Scotland,  Wales,  and  Ireland,  that 
swarmed  into  Portsmouth,  when  it  became  known  that  he  was 
a  prisoner  there  on  board  the  Bellerophon ;  by  the  appearance 
presented  in  the  harbor,  literally  paved  with  boats  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  space  between  the  shore  and  the  ship^  which  lay 
a  mile  off,  could  be  passed  over  dry-shod ;  by  the  pertinacity 
with  which  strangers  who  landed  at  St.  Helena,  and  the  sailors 
belonging  to  the  men-of-war  which  cruised  around  the  island, 
constantly  endeavored,  in  spite  of  the  severe  penalties  annexed, 
to  evade  the  regulations  that  they  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  him 
from  the  garden  walls,  when  he  was  taking  his  evening  walk. 
Since  his  death,  by  the  unbounded  circulation  of  cheap  prints 
and  statuettes  of  him  among  the  lower  classes  throughout  Eu- 
rope, and  to  a  great  extent  in  America ;  by  the  eagerness  with 
which  every  man  who  ever  saw  him,  or  heard  the  tones  of  his 
voice,  is  listened  to  by  all  descriptions  of  persons  when  he  speaks 
of  the  feet ;  by  the  devotion  with  which  the  slightest  memorial 
of  him  is  treasured  up  by  those  who  are  so  happy  as  to  possess 
it;  but,  above  all,  by  the  prodigious  number  of  books  which 
have  been  published  about  him,  and  the  readiness  with  which 
the  booksellers  find  purchasers  for  them  all.     We  have  seen  the 


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1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellingtons  41 

Domber  of  these  books  estimated  as  high  as  ten  thousand^  and 
although  this  is  a  manifest  exaggeration,  it  at  least  in  some  de- 
gree proves  to  what  a  prodigious  extent  he  is  the  hero  of  the 
popular  imagination.  The  merit  of  these  works  is  as  various  as 
the  character  and  occupations  of  their  authors.  They  are  writ- 
ten for  every  conceivable  purpose,  and  under  the  inspiration  of 
every  possible  motive.  And  yet  they  all  seem  to  be  received 
with  the  same  degree  of  favor  by  the  public.  The  mere  name 
of  Napoleon  in  the  title  page  is  enough  to  sell  the  worst  book, 
and  temporarily  to  rescue  from  oblivion  the  most  transcendent 
blockhead  of  an  author. 

It  is  entirely,  we  are  disposed  to  think,  from  its  association 
with  the  last  act  of  Napoleon's  amazing  career,  that  Waterloo  is 
at  this  moment,  to  the  majority  of  mankind,  the  most  interesting 
spot  upon  the  &ce  of  the  earth.  The  plain  of  Marathon,  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's,  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  the  city  of  Jerusa- 
lem, the  very  site  upon  which  it  is  supposed  that  once  stood  the 
Temple  of  Solomon  and  its  successor,  far  less  deeply  affect  the 
imagination  or  move  the  interest  of  the  general  traveller.  It  is 
not  merely  because  it  was  the  scene  of  a  great  battle,  where 
thousands  were  slaughtered;  for  were  that  all,  there  are  within  a 
circuit  of  fifty  miles,  taking  this  as  a  centre,  quite  as  many  fields 
as  full  of  interest  as  Waterloo.  Flanders,  indeed,  is  covered  with 
fields  of  battle ;  it  has  been  for  centuries  the  *  cockpit  of  Europe.* 
'No  matter  where  they  quarrel,'  say  the  Belgians,  *they  always 
come  here  to  fight  it  out.'  If  the  skeletons  of  those  who  fell  in 
battle,  and  are  buried  beneath  the  soil  of  Belgium,  from  the 
time  when  it  was  invaded  by  tlie  *  first  bald  Ccesar,'  to  its  last 
invasion  by  Napoleon  —  could  be  dug  up,  a  solid  pavement  for 
the  whole  country  might  be  made  of  the  bones ;  could  their 
skulls  be  arranged  in  the  form  of  a  pyramid,  the  pile  would 
overtop  the  loftiest  spire  of  the  loftiest  church  in  Brussels  or 
Antwerp.  Could  the  blood  that  has  been  shed  in  that  terrible  ^ 
neighborhood  be  collected  into  a  lake,  it  would  float  the  proud-  * 
est  navy  of  modern  times.  Within  a  few  hours'  journey  of  Wa- 
terloo, lie  Senef,  and  Ramilies,  and  Oudenarde,  and  Malplaquet, 
and  Genappe,  and  Fleurus.  But  the  traveller  cares  for  none  of 
these  things.     The  world  knows  little  and  cares  less  for  the 


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42  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

great  CondS  and  Dutch  William.  It  has  grown  *dull  to  the  great 
Marlborough^s  skill  in  giving  knocks.'  Eugene  and  Villare  are 
remembered  by  it  very  faintly  indeed.  It  has  already  forgotten 
Jourdan  and  Clairsait,  and  is  hastening,  as  fast  as  it  can,  to  for- 
get Dumouriez  and  Louis  Philippe.  But  Waterloo,  and  the  man 
who  fell  there,  can  never  be  forgotten.  Its  memory  is  still  as 
green  as  were  its  fields  the  next  summer,  when  their  extraordi- 
nary verdure  led  the  contemplative  Childe  Harold  to  exclaim, 

'  How  this  red  rain  has  made  the  harvest  grow  t  * 

Every  traveller  makes  a  pilgrimage  to  the  spot,  as  the  devotee 
of  old  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  his  patron  saint.  It 
is  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  same  enthusiasm  is  not  felt  with 
r^ard  to  any  other  of  his  numerous  fields  of  battle.  Few  trav- 
ellers from  Genoa  to  Milan,  leave  the  main  track  to  visit  Maren- 
go. A  railway  track  runs  through  the  field  of  Austerlitz,  and 
hundreds  pass  along  it  every  day  without  dreaming  of  the  ce- 
lebrity of  the  spots  lying  to  the  right  hand  and  to  the  left.  Of  the 
thousands  who  annually  pass  through  Vienna,  how  many  take 
tho  trouble  to  cross  the  bridge,  that  they  may  tread  upon  ground 
so  celebrated  as  that  of  Essling  and  Wagram?  Of  the  thous- 
ands of  students  educated  at  Jena,  how  many  know  that  the 
town  gave  name  to  a  battle  which  once  levelled  the  Prussian 
monarchy  in  the  dust?  Of  the  thousands  of  travellers  who  an- 
nually visit  the  fair  of  Leipsic,  how  many  are  aware  that  they 
are  treading  upon  ground  made  memorable  by  the  mightiest  con- 
flict that  occurred  in  Europe  during  the  long  interval  that  sep- 
parated  the  era  of  Actius  and  Attilla  from  the  era  of  Swartzen- 
burg  and  Napoleon.  Waterloo  alone,  where  the  sun  set  forever 
on  the  fortunes  of  Napoleon,  is  still  remembered  and  still  visited 
with  a  reverence  approaching  superstition.  The  tomb  of  the 
martyr  becomes  the  shrine  of  the  saint.  The  field  of  his  labor 
is  passed  by  with  indifference. 

And  yet,  notwithstanding  the  celebrity  which  it  enjoys,  we 
are  constrained  to  believe,  that  few  campaigns  recorded  in  his- 
tory exhibit  stronger  evidences  of  the  entire  absence  of  all  mil- 
itary skill  in  the  conduct,  and  more  certain  marks  of  the  supe- 
riority of  good  fortune  to  all  human  arrangements,  than  may- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  43 

be  fonnd  in  that  of  Waterloo.  It  appears  to  us  to  have  been  a 
tissue  of  blunders  from  one  end  to  the  other;  on  the  part  of 
Napoleon,  we  see,  after  the  first  rush  across  the  Danube,  nothing 
but  languor,  hesitation,  delay,  and  a  total  disregard  of  the  oppor- 
tunities which  fortune  repeatedly  threw  in  his  way  ;  on  the  part 
of  Wellington,  an  utter  incapacity  to  penetrate  the  object  of  his 
adversary,  and  an  obstinate  adherence  to  a  preconceived  opinion, 
which  led  to  the  most  fearful  mistakes,  and  but  for  the  incon- 
ceivable weakness  of  that  adversary,  must  have  resulted  in  his 
entire  destruction.  These  are  unusual  opinions,  boldly  but 
honestly  expressed,  and  as  they  are  somewhat  calculated  to 
startle  our  readers,  it  is  proper  that  we  should  point  out  our 
reasons  for  entertaining  them.  In  order  to  do  so,  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  ask  attention  to  a  concise  narrative  of  the  campaign, 
wherein  we  shall  endeavor  to  show  that  the  battle  of  Waterloo 
nevi?r  ought  to  have  been  fought,  and  that  had  Napoleon  been 
the  man  he  had  been  a  few  years  before,  it  never  would  have 
been  fought. 

Let  us  premise  that  the  allies  (Blucher  and  Wellington)  had 
a  vast  superiority  of  force  when  the  campaign  commenced ; 
that  by  keeping  that  force  united,  success  to  Napoleon  was  so 
utterly  impossible,  that  he  has  told  us  himself  he  would  not,  in 
that  case,  have  ventured  to  attack  them ;  that  his  only  hope  lay 
in  separating  them,  and  attacking  them  in  detail.  The  problem 
for  them  to  solve  was  concentration ;  the  problem  for  him  to 
solve  was  the  attack  in  detail.  Did  they  pursue  the  best  policy 
to  ensure  concentration  ?  Did  he  pursue  the  most  certain  plan 
to  produce  a  separation  ?  We  will  endeavor  to  decide  these  ques- 
tions, with  the  lights  before  us. 

We  pass  over  the  spring  of  1815,  and  come  to  the  month  of 
June,  when  Napoleon  had  assembled  an  army  of  122,400  men 
for  the  invasion  of  Flanders,  defended  at  that  time  by  the  com- 
bined English  and  Prussian  armies,  under  the  command,  respec- 
tively, of  Wellington  and  Blucher.  What  the  real  amount  of 
that  force  was,  we  cannot  learn  with  any  degree  of  accuracy. 
Plotho,  upon  whose  authority  Alison  relies,  tells  us  that  Blucher 
had  141,000  men,  divided  into  four  corps,  averaging,  of  course, 
about  39,000  each.    But  Alison  does  not  admit  that  more  than 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


44  WcUerloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

112,000  Prussians  fought  in  this  campaign^  and  does  not  tell  us 
where  the  remaining  29,000  were  while  active  operations  were 
in  progress.  In  order  not  to  be  above  the  mark  we  are  content 
to  adopt  his  figures,  though  Siborne,  who  is  in  general  much 
more  accurate,  says  Blucher's  force  was  117,000,  and  Napoleon 
calls  it,  in  round  numbers,  120,000.  Wellington's  army  is  set 
down  by  Alison  at  106,000,  of  which,  however,  4000  from  Ham- 
burg and  12,000  Danes  had  not  arrived.  His  whole  force,  then, 
in  Flanders,  was  90,000,  of  which  85,000  were  actively  engaged ; 
that  is  to  say,  73,000  fought  at  Waterloo,  and  7000  were  detached 
at  Halle.  To  this  add  5,700  killed  and  wounded  at  Quartre- 
Bras.  In  all  then,  197,000  men  belonging  to  the  commands  of 
Wellington  and  Blucher  were  actually  engaged  in  this  campaign, 
according  to  English  statements. 

Upon  consulting  on  a  plan  for  the  campaign  which  was  soon 
to  ensue,  the  allied  generals  agreeing  in  the  opinion  that  it  was 
of  the  last  importance  to  preserve  Brussels  from  the  hands  of 
the  enefiay,  fell  upon  a  scheme  which  we  conceive  to  have  consti- 
tuted their  first  grea^t  blunder,  and  which  bore  within  itself  the 
germ  of  all  the  others  which  they  committed  during  the  opera- 
tions. Three  great  roads  led  across  the  frontier  from  the  French 
fortresses,  directly  to  the  city  in  question ;  the  first  from  Sau- 
mur  by  Ath,  Mons,  and  Tournay,  directly  upon  the  Duke  of 
Wellington's  communications.  The  second  by  Charleroi  where 
it  crossed  the  Sambre,  and  thence  due  north  to  Brussels,  which 
is  thirty-three  miles  from  Charleroi;  the  route  across  the 
Meuse,  which  was  so  low  down  as  to  be  considered  out  of  the 
question.  The  attention  of  the  Allies,  therefore,  was  divided 
between  the  other  two,  Wellington  undertaking  to  guard  the 
Tournay  route,  and  Blucher  that  by  Charleroi.  In  order  to 
effect  his  purpose,  Wellington  extended  his  line  from  the  Scheldt 
to  Quatre-Bras,  a  distance  of  fifty  miles.  His  head-quarters 
were  at  Brussels,  where  also  was  his  reserve;  the  large  majority 
of  his  English  troops  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ath,  Tour- 
nay, Mons,  Ac,  on  the  extreme  right  of  his  line,  and  considera- 
bly in  advance.  On  his  extreme  left,  at  Quatre-Bras,  twelve 
miles  from  Charleroi,  and  twenty-one  from  Brussels,  he  left  but 
wo  thousand  Dutch-Belgian  troops  to  keep  open  the  communica- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  Waterloo — Napolec-n  and  Wdlington.  45 

tion  with  the  Prussians.  There  were,  however,  five  thousand  more 
at  Nivelles,  which  is  seven  miles  off,  at  the  intersection  of  the 
road  leading  from  Nivelles  to  Brussels,  and  that  leading  through 
Nivelles  to  Namur.  Between  Quatre-Bras  and  Brussels,  so  far 
as  we  have  been  able  to  discover,  there  was  not  so  much  as  a 
regiment  of  any  description  whatever.  Blucher  undertook  to 
guard  the  Charleroi  route ;  his  head-quarters  were  at  Namur, 
his  extreme  right,  under  Zieten,  at  Fleurus,  holding  Charleroi 
by  a  detachment,  and  extending  its  piquets  beyond  the  Sambre, 
his  second  corps  at  Binche,  his  third  at  Namur,  and  his  fourth 
beyond  Li^e.  The  first  three  corps  covered  thirty  miles ;  it  is 
fifteen  miles  from  Fleurus  to  Binche,  and  fifteen  from  Binche  to 
Namur,  and  thirty  from  Namur  to  Liege.  Blucher's  line  was 
thus  60  miles  long,  and  as  Wellington's  was  50,  the  allied  line 
was  110  miles  long,  from  the  Scheldt  to  Li^**.  It  formed  two 
sides  of  a  right-angled  triangle,  the  right  angle  being  at  Fleu- 
rus. It  would  be  impossible,  we  submit,  to  make  a  more  dan- 
gerous disposition  of  troops,  in  the  expectation  of  an  attack  from 
and  almost  in  the  presence  of,  such  an  enemy  as  Napoleon,  with 
his  whole  force  concentrated  and  prepared  for  immediate  action. 
It  combined  all  the  defects  which  ^lad  so  often  led  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  large  armies  of  his  enemies  in  detail ;  which,  in  his  first 
campaign,  had  caused  the  overthrow  of  Beaulieu,  with  forces 
double  his  own;  which  subsequenjily  brought  on  the  ruin  succes- 
sively of  Wurmser  and  Alvinzi,  before  the  walls  of  Mantua ; 
which  handed  over  Zurack  and  his  whole  army  to  capture  at 
XJlm ;  which  proved  fatal  to  the  Arch-Duke  Charles,  in  the  cam- 
paign of  1809,  before  Ratisbon.  Every  writer  upon  military 
subjects,  impresses  upon  the  reader  the  extreme  danger  of  double 
bases  ci  operation.  As  if  on  purpose  to  set  at  defiance  all  the 
rules  of  war,  no  matter  how  long  sanctioned  by  the  experience  of 
the  greatest  masters,  or  how  oftien  the  violation  of  them  had  proved 
fetal ;  the  Allies  established  two  different  and  opposite  bases  of 
operation,  the  distance  between  which  was  at  least  one  hundred 
miles.  Wellington  received  his  supplies  from  Ostend  and  Ant- 
werp, Blucher  from  Cologne  and  the  Rhine.  With  their  armies 
thus  scattered,  the  allied  generals  lay  motionless  in  their  canton- 
ments, until  the  morning  of  the  15th  June,  although  Welling- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


46  Waterho — Napoleon  and  WeUvngton.  [Jan. 

ton  knew  as  early  as  the  6th  that  an  immense  number  of  troops 
was  already  collected  in  Maubeuge,  and  had  received  intelligence, 
(falsely  as  it  proved,)  that  Napoleon  was  among  them  on  the 
10th.  The  English  writers,  finding  it  impossible  to  pass  over 
this  unheard-of  apathy  on  the  part?  of  Wellington,  endeavor  to 
explain  it  by  saying  that  he  was  waiting  intelligence  from 
Fouch^,  who  had  promised  to  furnish  him  with  an  exact  plan  of 
the  campaign,  before  he  concentrated  his  forces.  We  shall  see 
presently  that  there  was  no  truth  in  this  suggestion.  The  fisujt 
is,  the  whole  scheme  for  the  defence  of  Brussels  was  a  blunder, 
and  a  gross  and  palpable  one.  The  enemy  could  break  in  at 
any  point,  and,  getting  within  the  line,  prevent  the  scattered  de- 
tachments from  rallying,  and  uniting  for  a  general  battle. 

Napoleon,  in  the  ninth  volume  of  his  memoirs,  criticises  this 
plan  with  great  severity.  He  said  the  allied  generals  ought  to 
have  concentrated  their  forces  in  rear  of  Brussels,  before  the  10th 
of  June,  and  that  had  they  done  so,  with  his  inferior  forces,  he 
either  never  would  have  ventured  to  attack  them,  or,  if  he  had, 
must  have  been  destroyed.  The  plan  pointed  out  by  Napoleon 
involving  the  abandonment  of  Brussels,  and  the  retention  of 
that  capital  being  a  great  point  in  the  defence. made  for  Wel- 
lington by  his  admirers,  why  then  did  not  he  and  Blucher  con- 
centrate their  armies  in  front  of  Brussels,  and  await  the  attack 
of  Napoleon,  or  become  the  assailants  and  march  against  him  in 
one  body?  Alison  treats  with  scorn  the  suggestion  that  the 
armies  thus  concentrated  could  not  have  been  subsisted.  *  Men', 
he  says,  Mo  not  eat  more  when  brought  together,  than  when 
scattered  over  a  hundred  hiiles.'  Moreover,  he  tells  us  that, 
after  the  campaign  actually  commenced,  190,000  men  were 
brought  together,  and  very  comfortably  subsisted  for  days.  As 
for  the  country  not  being  able  to  afford  supplies,  he  calls  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  Marlborough  and  Eugene  had  subsisted  for 
weeks  together  100,000  men  one  hundred  years  before,  in  the 
same  country,  which  it  was  now  said  could  not  support  200,000 
men  for  a  few  days,  although  it  was  more  than  double  as  pro- 
ductive in  1814  as  it  was  in  1709. 

Napoleon  having  determined  to  pursue  the  route  by  Char- 
leroi,  took  measures  to  deceive  his  enemies  with  regard  to  his 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  47 

intention  to  the  last  moment.  By  marching  national  guards 
into  the  fortresses^  he  relieved  the  regular  troops ;  and  tripling 
the  line  of  sentinels  along  the  frontier^  and  forbidding  any  one 
to  pass  the  boundary  on  pain  of  death,  he  was  enabled  to  con- 
centrate his  troops,  without  giving  alarm  to  the  enemy,  close  to 
the  Sambre.  It  is  now  said  that  the  Prussian  officers  beyond  the 
river  had  a  dim  vision  of  these  movements,  and  reported  not 
only  the  march  of  troops,  but  the  direction  in  which  they  were 
moving.  Be  that  as  it  may,  their  reports  did  not  in  the  least 
disturb  the  profound  security  in  which  both  Wellington  and 
Blocher  were  indulging,  or  produce  the  slightest  change  in  any 
of  their  dispositions.  At  night,  on  the  14th  of  June,  1815,  they 
were  distributed  just  as  they  had  been  for  a  month  before,  while 
a  few  miles  from  their  centre  lay  the  whole  French  army,  with 
the  Emperor  in  the  midst  of  them,  who  issued  one  of  those  stir- 
ring proclamations  which  have  become  so  celebrated,  reminding 
them  that  it  was  the  anniversary  of  Marengo,  and  calling  on 
them  to  emulate  the  glory  of  that  immortal  day,  in  the  conflict 
that  was  approaching.  At  daybreak  they  began  to  move  in 
three  columns,  driving  the  Prussian  cavalry  piquets  before  them, 
and  crossed  the  Sambre,  the  right  at  Chatelet,  the  centre  at 
Charleroi,  and  the  left  at  Marchiennes.  By  ten  o'clock  the 
whole  army  was  over  the  river,  the  Prussians  under  Zieten  hav- 
ing fallen  back,  fighting  along  the  paved  road  to  Fleurus,  where 
was  their  rallying  ground,  and  having  lost  1500  men  out  of  27,- 
000  in  the  operation.  Napoleon  now  gave  the  command  of  the 
left  wing,  42,000  strong,  to  Marshal  Ney,  to  whom  was  assigned 
the  task  of  attacking  Les  Matre  Bras,  twelve  miles  distant,  at 
the  intersection  of  the  roads  from  Nivelles  to  Namur,  and  from 
Charleroi  to  Brussels,  a  point  of  the  utmost  importance,  since 
upon  it  depended  the  communication  between  the  head-quarters 
of  Wellington  -at  Brussels,  and  those  of  Bluchcr  at  Namur. 
It  was  at  that  time  held  by  a  Dutch-Belgian  force  only  2,000 
Btrong ;  Ney  was  twelve  miles  from  it  with  42,000 ;  and  its 
nearest  socoor  was  the  5,000  troops  in  Nivelles.  (In  order  that 
the  reado*  may  understand  what  follows  with  accuracy,  we  ask 
him  to  ascertain  the  places  mentioned,  the  roads,  <&c.,  on  the 
small  sketch  of  the  country  around  Charleroi,  which  he  will  find 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


48  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wdlingixm.  [Jan. 

annexed.)  It  was  the  intention  of  Napoleon  to  attack^  in  per- 
son, the  Prussian  rallying  point  at  Fleurus,  at  the  same  time 
that  Ney  attacked  the  English  position  at  Quatre-Bras,  with 
an  overwhelming  force,  and  thus  effectually  destroying  the  com- 
munication, to  deal  with  them  separately  with  his  whole  force, 
being  superior  to  either  taken  in  detail. 

Napoleon  was  now  in  a  position  quite  as  &vorable  as  he  could 
have  desired.  By  a  march  of  only  three  miles  that  morning, 
he  had  come  into  the  very  midst  of  his  enemies ;  he  had  sur- 
prised them  so  completely,  that  had  he  fallen  among  them  from 
the  skies  their  confusion  and  consternation  could  hardly  have 
been  greater;  he  had  it  in  his- power  to  carry  out  the  object  of 
his  previous  combinations,  which  was  to  separate  the  two  armies, 
to  prevent  their  reunion,  and  to  attack  them  in  detail.  In  order 
to  accomplish  this,  and  to  secure  the  success  which  must  inevita- 
bly have  followed  such  accomplishment,  it  was  necessary  to  use 
the  utmost  vigor,  promptitude,  and  despatch.  But  it  is  evident 
to  any  one  who  reads  the  details  of  this  campaign,  that  although 
he  could  still  plan  a  campaign  as  ably  as  ever,  his  power  of  ex- 
ecution was  already  gone,  never  to  return.  None  of  his  cam- 
paigns was  planned  with  higher  wisdom,  in  none  did  he  succeed 
more  completely  in  concealing  his  initiatory  movements  from 
his  enemy,  and  in  none  did  he  so  completely  fail  to  carry  out  the 
designs  he  had  conceived.  The  Napoleon  of  1809,  or  of  1814, 
would  never  have  halted  an  instant  at  Charleroi.  He  would 
have  pushed  directly  after  Zieten  to  Fleurus ;  he  would  have 
ordered  his  right  to  march  from  Chatelet,  and  thrown  itself 
30,000  strong  between  his  corps  and  that  of  Kleitz,  which  was 
at  Binche,  fifteen  miles  off;  with  his  centre  50,000  strong,  he 
would  have  attacked  the  front  and  left  flank  of  Zieten,  while 
his  right  assailed  his  left;  and  by  three  o'clock  on  the  15th, 
that  corps,  aft.er  its  losses  of  the  morning  still  25,000  strong, 
would  have  been  killed,  captured,  or  dispersed.  He  was,  at 
Charleroi,  only  eight  miles  from  Fleurus,  while  it  is  fifteen 
miles  to  Binche,  where  was  the  corps  of  Kleitz.  That  corps 
hastened  to  Fleurus  as  soon  as  it  received  the  intellig^ice  that 
the  French  had  crossed.  It  was  but  28,000  strong,  and  it  could 
only  have  arrived  in  time  to  share  in  the  destruction  of  Zieten. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellinffton.  49 

If  it  had  &llen  back  on  Thielman's  corps,  with  which  Blucher 
was,  still  Napoleon  would  have  been  superior  to  the  two  com- 
bmed,  by  25  or  26,000  men.    If  it  had  arrived  after  the  destruc- 
tion of  Zieten's  corps,  it  must  itself  have  been  destroyed  that 
day,  or  if  it  had  fallen  back  upon  Blucher  instead  of  coming  di- 
rectly forward  that  day,  the  two  must  have  been  destroyed. 
Bulow's  corps,  being  sixty  miles  from  Fleurus,  did  not  join 
until  the  evening  of  the  17th.     Wellington  would  have  been 
unable  to  avert  this  catastrophe,  for  none  of  his  troops  as  it 
tamed  out,  arrived  to  reinforce  the  detachment  at  Quatre-Bras 
until  noon  the  next  day,  although  that  position  was  left  perfectly 
quiet  the  whole  day  before,  and  there  was  nothing  to  stop  him. 
Bift  if  Napoleon  had  been  the  man  he  was  in  1809  or  '14,  there 
would  have  been  a  very  serious  impediment  in  his  way.     For  he 
would  have  ordered  Ney  to  march  instantly  on  Quatre-Bras,  and 
take  possession  of  it, — it  could  have  offered  no  resistance, — and  to 
occupy  the  defiles  of  Genappe,  with  his  42,000  men,  until  he 
himself  had  finished  with  Blucher.     Wellington,  with  the  force 
which  he  brought  up  on  the  16th  could  not  have  forced  that  de- 
file, for  he  had  no  artillery,  and  by  the  time  the  rest  of  his 
troops  assembled.  Napoleon,  having  destroyed  Blucher,  would 
have  been  on  his  flank  (see  the  map)  with  his  whole  army.     Or, 
Ney  taking  possession  of  Quatre-Bras,  might  have  continued 
his  march  along  the  Charleroi  road  in  the  direction  of  Brussels. 
On  the  way,  the  next  morning,  he  would  have  met  the  troops  of 
Wellington  repairing  to  Quatre  Bras,  in  scattered  detachments, 
without  artillery  or  cavalry,  marching  without  any  sort  of  order, 
by  brigades,  regiments,  and  companies.     What  effect  the  appear- 
ance of  42,000  men,  with  five  thousand  cavalry  and  100  pieces 
artillery,  all  concentrated,  in  the  midst  of  troops  thus  scattered, 
might  have  produced,  we  leave  it  to  tacticians  to  say.     To  our 
simple  apprehension,  it  seems  that  they  must  have  been  picked 
up  by  raiments  as  they  came  on.     If  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
however,  hearing  that  Quatre-Bras  was  captured,  and  Blucher 
overwhelmed,  had  declined  to  march  to  Quatre-Bras,  he  would 
have  &llen  back  from  Brussels,  and  concentrating  beyond  that 
city,  the  final  battle  would  never  have  been  fought  at  Waterloo. 
That  such  might  have  been  the  issue,  had  Napoleon  made  such 
4 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


( 


50  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  WeUingixm.  [Jan. 

use  of  the  15th  June  as  he  was  wont  in  his  better  days  to  make 
of  his  time  and  opportunity^  is  not  our  opinion  alone.  We  de- 
rive it  from  a  work  well  known  to  the  world ;  the  most  minute 
and  accurate  that  has  been  published  of  this  campaign,  written 
by  an  English  officer,  (Capt.  Siborne),  and  published  more  than 
thirty  years  ago.  But  the  exertion  he  had  already  made,  seemed 
to  have  exhausted  the  cfnergy  of  Napoleon.  He  remained  the 
whole  day  at  Charleroi,  while  Blucher  was  making  the  most 
gigantic  exertions  to  concentrate  his  army  upon  Fleurus ;  suc- 
ceeding at  last  in  bringing  together  three  of  his  corps,  only  so 
late  as  twelve  o'clock  on  the  16th,  more  than  twenty-four  hours 
after  the  French  had  crossed  the  Sambre ;  an  incontestable  proof 
that  Napoleon,  by  the  exercise  of  even  ordinary  enei^,  might 
have  either  crushed  all  three  in  detail,  or  dispersed  them  so  com- 
pletely that  they  could  never  have  re-united.  The  Prussians, 
be  it  observed,  showed  a  remarkable  alacrity  in  disbanding 
throughout  this  campaign.  Bulow,  who  commanded  the  4th 
corps,  was  sixty  miles  off,  and  could  not  be  expected  to  take  part 
in  the  approaching  battle;  in  fact,  he  did  not  join  until  the  evening 
of  the  17th,  so  that  Blucher  could  depend  on  only  three  corps, 
forming  in  the  aggregate  a  little  more  than  80,000  men,  while 
Napoleon  himself  remained  at  Charleroi  the  whole  day  on  the 
15th ;  his  troops  lay  in  loose  array,  occupying  the  space  between 
that  town  and  the  position  of  Ligny,  which  the  Prussians  had 
occupied,  and  where  every  moment  of  the  afternoon  and  night, 
and  until  noon  the  next  day,  they  were  receiving  reinforcements, 
never  attempting  further  than,  by  a  little  light  skirmishing,  to 
interrupt  their  proceedings.  In  the  same  manner  the  left  wing 
under  Ney,  was  scattered  all  the  way  from  the  river  to  within 
two  miles  of  Quatre-Bras,  where  there  were  only  2000  troope, 
without  once  attempting  to  tnke  possession  of  that  vital  point, 
apparently  waiting  until  the  Duke  of  Wellington  should  rein- 
force it  so  strongly  that  it  could  not  be  carried  but  at  an  im- 
mense expense  of  life.  Wellington,  in  the  meantime,  appeared 
to  be  quite  as  anxious  that  Ney  should  take  it  without  loss,  for 
he  gave  him  twenty-four  hours  to  do  it  in,  not  a  man  arriving 
to  support  the  garrison  until  twelve  o'clock  on  the  16th.  Ney 
slept  that  night  at  Gosselies,  and  Wellington  danced  that  night 
at  Brussels,  at  the  Duchess  of  Richmond's  ball.    Ney's  conduct 


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1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  51 

was  excusable,  for  he  had  received  no  orders,  but  English  inge* 
ouity  has  been  exerted  to  the  utmost  to  apologise  for  the  apathy 
of  Wellington. 

Information  had  been  despatched  to  Wellington  of  the  French 
advance  in  great  force,  as  soon  as  they  crossed  the  river ;  but 
bom  some  strange  neglect  in  the  intermediate  stages  between 
Charleroi  and  Brussels,  it  did  not  reach  him  until  three  o'clock. 
He  made  very  liitle  of  it,  (taking  the  affair  for  a  mere  feint) ; 
80  little,  indeed,  that  he  actually  sent  orders  to  the  ofiScer  com- 
manding at  Quatre-Bras  to  evacuate  that  post,  and  fall  back  on 
Nivelles,  where  he  proposed  to  concentrate  the  army.  Fortun- 
ately for  him,  the  officer  in  command  disobeyed  the  order,  and 
afterwards  received  the  approbation  of  his  chief,  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  for  doing  so.  The  most  fatal  consequences  must  have 
ensued  from  obedience,  as  the  reader  will  see  by  casting  his  eye 
over  our  little  map.  From  Fleurus,  where  Blucher's  extreme 
right  lay,  to  Quatre-Bras,  where  lay  Wellington's  extreme  left, 
the  distance  is  seven  miles,  and  from  Quatre-Bras  to  Nivelles, 
it  is  seven  miles  more.  The  execution  of  this  movement,  there- 
fore, would  have  made  a  gap  of  fourteen  miles  between  the 
English  army  and  the  Prussian,  and  Ney  was  in  presence,  ready 
to  throw  himself  into  it,  sure  to  be  followed  by  Napoleon  and 
his  whole  force.  Or  Ney  having  no  enemy  before  him,  would 
have  marched  his  whole  force  on  the  rear  of  Blucher,  who,  at- 
tacked at  the  same  time  in  front,  by  a  force  equal  to  his  own, 
must  inevitably  have  lost  his  whole  army  before  Wellington 
could  have  relieved  him.  It  seems  never  to  have  occurred  to 
Wellington  to  mount  his  horse  and  take  an  evening  ride  of 
twenty-one  miles,  over  a  splendid  paved  road,  and  through  the 
most  fertile  country  in  Europe,  waving  with  rich  corn-fields, 
and  teeming  with  all  the  promise  of  a  glorious  harvest,  to  Qua- 
tre-Bras, there  to  see,  with  his  own  eyes,  how  large  was  the 
scale  upon  which  the  irruption  was  conducted.  Possibly 
he  thought  of  the  coming  ball,  and  the  pleasure  he  should 
miss  by  leaving  town  at  such  ah  inconvenient  season ;  for  it 
seems  he  was  all  his  life  passionately  fond  of  fashionable  society, 
and  spentliis  last  days  amid  its  incense,  almost  to  the  entire  ex- 
clusion of  such  company  as  his  old  military  friends  could  afford. 


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52  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellinffton.  [Jaa. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  after  issuing  orders  for  the  troops  to  hold 
themselves  in  readiness  for  an  early  march  on  the  morrow,  he 
rested  quiet  until  half-past  seven ;  when,  while  he  was  at  dinner 
in  the  midst  of  his  officers,  another  courier  arrived,  bearing  in- 
telligence that  the  French  had  captured  Charleroi,  and  beaten 
back  the  Prussians,  and  were  at  that  moment  threatening  both 
Quatre-Bras  and  Fleurus,  with  an  enormous  force,  estimated  ut 
not  less  than  160,000  men.  This  was  surely  enough  to  move 
an  ordinary  man ;  but  the  Prince  Regent,  and  the  Parliament, 
had  voted  the  Duke  no  ordinary  man,  and  the  latter  had  voted 
him  no  ordinary  sum  of  money.  Besides,  the  ball  was  no  or- 
dinary ball ;  kings  and  princes,  and  ambassadors,  were  to  be  the 
company.  The  Duke  could  not  miss  the  opportunity  of  show- 
ing his  orders,  come  what  might.  Accordingly  he  went ;  and  re- 
ceiving, about  ten,  a  still  more  urgent  dispatch,  he  answered 
it  by  reiterating  his  order  to  evacuate  Quatre-Bras  and  fall  back 
on  Nivelles,  which  was  again  disobeyed. 

We  have  read  many  histories,  both  English  and  French,  of 
the  campaign  under  consideration ;  but  we  do  not  recollect  that 
we  ever  saw  this  extraordinary  order  even  so  much  as  alluded 
to,  before  we  met  with  it  in  Brialmont's  book.  Yet  that  it  was 
given,  and  exists  to  this  day,  is  certain.  No  doubt  it  is  to  be 
found  recorded  in  Gierwood's  publication,  but  if  so,  it  has  been 
strangely  overlooked  ;  we  say  strangely,  because  it  is  impossible 
to  over-estimate  the  importance  of  the  consequences  it  would 
have  carried  with  it  had  it  been  r^ularly  obeyed,  as  the  Duke, 
of  course,  had  every  reason  to  suppose  it  would  be.  We  should 
hav^  supposed  that  the  omission  arose  from  the  anxiety  of  his 
friends  to  protect  his  military  reputation,  so  deeply  affected  by 
this  order,  had  we  not  reflected  that  his  enemies,  also,  have  had 
the  telling  of  the  story.  One  part  of  the  Duke's  military  con- 
duct was,  however,  so  notorious  to  the  whole  world,  that  it  was 
impossible,  even  for  the  most  enthusiastic  of  his  admirers,  to 
pass  it  over  in  silence;  that  is  to  say,  his  having  neglected,  from 
three  o'clock  on  the  15th,  when  he  first  heard  that  the  French 
had  opened  the  campaign  in  great  force,  to  day-break  on  the  16th, 
to  order  succors  to  the  all-important  outpost  of  Quatre-Bras. 
They  have  attempted  to  apologise  for  that  neglect,  and  for  the 


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1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  WeUington.  53 

extraordinary  torpor  of  the  allied  generals^  when  Napoleon  was 
manoeuvring  within  a  few  miles  of  them  for  days,  and  they  knew 
the  fact,  by  insisting  that  they  were  all  the  time  regulating  their 
movements  by  reports  from  Fouche,  who  was  playing  the  double 
spy  at  Paris.  But,  on  the  authority  of  Lord  Ellgmere,  Brial- 
mont  puts  an  extinguisher  upon  that  apology,  if  apology  itcould 
be  called.  The  Duke  of  Wellington,  long  before  the  campaign 
actually  commenced,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Napoleon 
would  open  it  by  advancing  along  the  Tournay  and  Mons  route, 
and  endeavoring  to  cut  off  his  communications.  It  was  always 
his  belief  that  such  was  the  route  he  ought  to  have  taken,  and  he 
stated  it  to  be  such  in  certain  remarks  written  upon  the  works  of 
a  foreign  officer  many  years  ago.  In  Raikea'  Journal,  or 
Roger^s  Table-Talk^  or  perhaps  in  both,  he  is  introduced  as  ex- 
pressing himself  to  the  same  effect;  and  we  are  now  told  that  he 
persisted  in  maintaining  that  opinion  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
He  was  influenced  in  forming  it  by  his  own  judgment  alone,  and 
not  by  any  report  received  from  Paris,  or  any  extraneous  intel- 
ligence whatever.  When,  therefore,  he  heard  that  the  post  at 
Quatre-Bras  was  threatened,  he  refused  to  regard  the  invasion 
by  the  Charleroi  route  as  any  thing  more  than  a  feint,  and  an 
afiair  of  outposts,  having  already  made  up  his  mind  to  expect 
the  real  tug  of  war  from  a  different  and  opposite  quarter.  The 
Duke  of  Wellington  assigned  no  reason  for  the  opinion  in  which 
he  so  obstinately  persisted,  and  we  are  unable  to  see  what  reason 
it  would  have  been  possible  to  assign.  In  order  to  advance  upon 
hi«  rear,  and  intercept  his  communications.  Napoleon  would  have 
been  compelled  to  capture  Mons,  Tournay  and  Ath,  three  strong- 
ly-fortified and  well-garrisoned  towns,  which  lay  directly  in  his 
line  of  march;  or  to  mask  them,  by  leaving  before  them  a  con- 
siderable body  of  men.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  do  either  of 
these  things,  for  he  was  already  inferior  to  the  allied  armies  by 
nearly  80,000  men.  Supposing  these  obstacles  successfully  re- 
moved, by  attacking  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  rear,  he  com- 
pelled a  junction  with  Blucher,  the  very  thing  it  was  most  im- 
portant for  him  to  prevent,  and  the  very  thing  which  actually 
occasioned  his  defeat  at  Waterloo.  Wellington  standing  fast, 
and  Blucher  wheeling  upon  his  left,  they  would  have  thrown 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


54  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

197,000  men  upon  Napoleon,  cut  him  off  from  France,  thrown 
him  back  on  the  sea,  and  killed  or  captured  himself  aud  bis 
whole  army.  On  the  contrary,  the  route  by  Charleroi  offered 
no  obstacle  to  an  advance  in  the  shape  of  a  fortified  town ;  it 
opened  directly  on  the  centre  of  the  allies,  very  badly  supported ; 
it  offered  an  opportunity,  if  despatch  were  used,  to  separate  the 
arm'ies  with  ease  and  certainty.  In  a  word,  Wellington  not  only 
utterly  failed  to  penetrate  the  real  design  of  his  adversary,  but 
ascribed  to  him  a  design  which  he  never  for  a  single  moment 
entertained. 

The  admirers  of  Wellington,  with  very  bad  judgment,  as  we 
should  think,  have  converted  even  his  gravest  mistakes  into  sub- 
jects of  adulation.  To  a  disinterested  man  it  would  seem  that 
they  should  pass  over  the  presence  of  the  Duke  at  the  ball,  on 
the  night  of  the  15th,  as  lightly  as  possible.  To  tell  the  world 
that  the  Duke  appeared  calm  and  serene  in  the  midst  of  the  fes- 
tivities, while  twenty-one  miles  off  his  communications  with  his 
ally  were  threatened  every  moment  by  40,000  men,  necessarily 
provokes  the  question,  *  Why  was  he  not  at  his  outpost,  instead 
of  being  here  at  this  ball  ? '  Those  who  defend  him  by  saying 
that  the  example  he  gave  was  necessary  to  keep  the  population 
of  Brussels  calm,  ought  first  to  ascertain  whether  it  was  more 
important  to  keep  the  population  quiet^  than  to  keep  up  his 
communication  with  the  Prussians.  The  point  lay  not  in  Wel- 
lington's attending  the  ball,  (since  he  had  determined  to  remain 
at  Brussels,  he  might  as  well  have  been  in  the  ball-room  as  any 
where  else  in  the  city,)  but  that  he  should  not  have  been  at  Qua- 
tre-Bras,  with  reinforcements  to  defend  his  communications. 
To  attempt  to  defend  this  part  of  the  Duke's  conduct  is  ridicu- 
lous, for  it  admits  of  no  defence.  To  attempt  to  convert  it  into 
something  laudable  is  to  set  common  sense  at  defiance.  The 
only  real  excuse  for  him  is,  that  he  was  perfectly  ignorant,  be- 
cause he  would  not  see.  Had  he  known  the  true  state  of  the 
case,  he  would  have  been  guilty  of  an  exceeding  grave  military 
offence. 

We  have  sought  in  vain  for  the  occasion  of  that  cannonade 

*  which  Byron  tells  us  was  heard  in  the  ball-room,  and  upon 

which  he  constructs  some  of  the  most  magnificent  poetry  ever 


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1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington^  55 

published  in  the  English  tongue.  There  was  no  firing  at  that 
Boar  of  the  nighty  so  far  at  least  as  we  can  discover,  either  be- 
fore Ligny  or  Quatre-Bras. 

Od  the  morning  of  the  16tli,  by  day-break,  the  British  troops, 
io  pursuance  of  orders  issued  the  night  before,  began  their  tardy 
march  to  Quatre-Bras,  which  ought  already  to  have  been  in  the 
possession  of  Ney  twelve  hours  before;  and  Wellington  preced- 
ed them  along  the  Charleroi  road.  Arrived  at  Quatre-Bras,  he 
saw  before  him  only  the  head  of  Ney's  long  and  loose  column, 
and  concluding  there  was  no  danger  of  an  immediate  attack,  he 
took  a  cross  road  and  rode  over  to  Blucher's  head-quarters,  in 
front  of  Ligny,  where  he  found  him  already  in  battle  array, 
confronting  Napoleon,  who  was  also  in  order  of  battle.  So  lit- 
tle, even  then,  did  Wellington  understand  the  situation,  that  he 
offered  to  lead  the  troops  which  were  following  him  from  Brus- 
sels, along  the  road  by  which  he  had  come  from  Quatre-Bras,  to 
attack  the  left  wing  of  Napoleon  when  he  should  advance 
against  Blucher,  although  Ney  was  in  front  of  his  position  with 
40,000  men.  In  fact,  he  had  scarcely  arrived  at  Quatre-Bras  on 
his  return,  when  it  was  attacked  by  Ney.  Napoleon  had  direct- 
ed that  this  position  should  be  carried  early  in  the  morning  of 
the  16th,  which  might  even  then  have  been  done,  for  it  had  not 
been  reinforced.  Believing  Ney  to  be  in  possession  of  the  place, 
he  sent  him  an  order  to  send  D'Erlon's  corps  to  attack  Blucher 
in  the  rear,  and  waiting  to  hear  D'Erlon's  cannon  in  the  rear,  he 
consumed  the  whole  day  until  four  o'clock,  before  he  attacked 
Blucher  in  front.  In  the  meantime,  Ney  having  sent  the  corps, 
about  twelve  o'clock  commenced  a  feeble  assault  upon  Quatre- 
Bras,  a  most  fortunate  circumstance  for  Wellington,  since  his 
reinforcements  had  not  begun  to  arrive.  At  last,  however,  the 
Dutch-Belgian  Division  from  Nivelles,  five  thousand  strong, 
arrived,  and  a  number  of  English  divisions  soon  after  the  latter, 
without  either  cavalry  or  artillery,  and  by  detachments  in  such 
a  manner  that,  had  Ney  even  that  morning  taken  Quatre-Bras, 
by  merely  marching  along  the  road  towards  Brussels,  he  must 
have  killed  or  dispersed  the  greater  part  of  them.  At  last,  by 
two  o'clock,  31,000  men  were  assembled,  and  Ney,  whose  whole 
force  after  D'Erlon's  corps  had  left  him,  was  not  more  than  20,- 


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56  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

000,  had  a  furious  battle  instead  of  a  mere  skirmish.  The  Eng- 
lish force  finally  amounting  to  36,000  men,  but  with  no  cannon 
except  that  already  at  Quatre-Bras  and  that  brought  from  Ni- 
velles,  slept  on  the  field  of  battle.  Ney  fell  back  one  mile  to 
Frasne,  where,  after  the  battle  was  over,  he  was  rejoined  by  IV- 
Erlon.  In  the  meantime.  Napoleon,  hearing  a  furious  cannon- 
ade on  his  left,  concluded  that  Ney  was  seriously  engaged,  and 
that  it  was  too  late  to  expect  assistance  from  him.  He  attacked 
Blucher  about  four,  and  shortly  after  D'Erlon  came  up  on  this 
left,  and  attacked  the  right  of  Blucher.  Had  he  continued  this 
attack,  he  would  have  decided  the  fete  of  Blucher ;  but  in  the 
height  of  the  engagement  he  received  peremptory  orders  from 
Ney,  who  was  himself  hard  pressed,  to  return.  He  did  so,  and 
thus  had  the  satisfaction  to  know  tha;t  he  had  rendered  no  service 
to  either  party,  while  his  aid  to  either  would  have  been  decisive* 
In  the  meantime.  Napoleon  defeated  Blucher  on  the  right,  and 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  killed,  captured  or  dispersed  his 
whole  army,  but  for  the  intervention  of  night.  This  is  evident, 
from  the  fact  acknowledged  by  the  English,  that  Blucher  lost  on 
the  occasion  15,000  men,  killed,  wounded,  and  prisoners,  and 
10,000  disbanded.  The  rout  was  so  complete  that  it  deceived 
Napoleon  as  to  the  condition  of  Blucher,  whom  he  supposed  to 
be  much  worse  beaten  than  he  was.  Had  it  occurred  early  in 
the  day,  that  General  would  have  been  pursued  until  his  army 
had  been  annihilated. 

Scornfully  as  Napoleon  had  rejected  the  advances  of  Fortune 
since  the  opening  of  this  campaign,  she  seemed  reluctant  to  aban- 
don him  forever.  The  last  offer  she  made  him  was,  indeed,  the 
most  splendid  of  all.  The  larger  part  of  Wellington's  army  had 
joined  him  in  the  night,  and  he  was  now  at  Quatre-Bras  with 
about  60,000  men.  In  his  front  was  Ney  with  an  army  still 
40,000  strong,  baffled,  but  neither  conquered,  nor  even  disheart- 
ened. Seven  miles  on  his  left  lay  Napoleon  with  a  victorious 
army  of  74,000  men,  which  could  reach  his  flank  by  a  paved 
road,  the  same  over  which  he  had  himself  passed  to  Blucher's 
head-quarters  the  day  before.  In  his  rear,  lay  the  defile  of  Ge- 
nappe,  consisting  of  long  and  narrow  streets,  and  a  single  bridge, 
likewise  long  and  narrow,  over  a  broad  and  deep  stream.     If 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  57 

Napoleon  had  seized  the  bridge,  and  attacked  Wellington  in 
flank  and  rear,  while  Ney  assailed  him  in  front,  he  must  have 
been  lost  A  force  of  60,000  men,  of  whom  not  one-half  were 
British,  assailed  by  112,000  French  veterans,  with  Napoleon  at 
their  head,  in  a  field  where  they  had  no  advantage  of  position, 
as  they  had  afterwards  at  Waterloo,  must  inevitably  have  been 
destroyed ;  for  Blucher  was  too  far  off,  and  too  much  bruised  and 
battered  by  the  mishap  of  the  day  before,  when  two  squadrons 
of  cavalry  rode  over  him  in  coming  to  his  relief.  But  Napoleon 
bad  again  subsided  into  listlessness  and  apathy.  He  saw  the 
chauce,  but  had  not  energy  enough  left  to  take  advantage  of  it, 
and  fortune  abandoned  him  forever.  All  writers  have  taken 
notice  of  this  strange  omission,  but  none  have  explained  the 
cause  of  it.  In  the  meantime,  Napoleon,  having  wasted  the 
morning  in  reviewing  troops,  distributing  crosses,  and  talking 
with  his  officers  about  the  news  from  Paris,  sent  Grouchy  about 
3  o'clock,  in  pursuit  of  Blucher,  who  had  already  gained  eight 
or  ten  hours  the  start,  and  he  himself,  with  the  rest  of  the  army, 
fell  in  with  Ney,  who  was  pursuing  Wellington  to  Waterloo. 
He  left  at  Ligny  Girard^s  corps,  8,000  strong,  to  ^  guard  the  field 
of  battle,'  as  Gt)urgand  says;  but,  as  we  suspect,  this  corps  was 
simply  overlooked,  its  commander  having  been  killed  the  day 
before.  This  blunder  was  quite  as  stupid  as  that  of  Wellington, 
who,  after  the  armies  were  actually  drawn  out  for  battle  at 
Waterloo,  sent  General  Hill,  with  seven  thousand  of  his  best 
troops,  to  Halle,  to  protect  his  communications,  although  they 
had  never  been  threatened ;  and  to  reach  them  it  would  have 
been  necessary  to  make  a  flank  march  in  front  of  the  whole  army 
of  Wellington,  drawn  up  in  order  of  battle,  and  about  to  en- 
gage. No  doubt,  when  he  was  praying  for  the  arrival  of  either 
'night  or  Blucher,'  he  must  have  terribly  felt  the  want  of  these 
veteran  battalions. 

We  had  intended,  when  we  commenced  this  article,  not  to 
make  any  remarks  upon  the  battle  of  Waterloo ;  except  to  show, 
as  we  think  we  have  succeeded  in  doing,  that  if  Napoleon  had 
not  thrown  away  a  succession  of  great  opportunities  in  a  man- 
ner 80  apathetic  and  so  wonderful,  that  that  battle  would  never 
have  been  fought.    He  had,  by  his  own  want  of  energy,  failed  to 


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58  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

solve  tbe  great  problem  of  the  campaign^  the  separation  of  the 
allies^  and  the  keeping  of  them  separate.  Yet  he  believed  that 
he  had  done  so^  and  that  the  detachment  of  34,000  men  sent  in 
pursuit  of  them  under  Grouchy,  was  suflScient  to  keep  the  Prus- 
sians from  joining  the  English.  That  he  greatly  overrated  the 
magnitude  of  his  victory  over  Blucher  we  think  certain ;  other- 
wise he  would  not  have  divided  his  army.  Had  he  kept  Grou- 
chy with  him,  and  attacked  Wellington  early  in  the  morning, 
we  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  would  have  swept  him  from 
the  field, —  if  not  before  Bulow  made  his  appearance,  which  was 
at  twelve,  at  least  before  he  commenced  his  attack,  which  was 
not  until  four,  and  certainly  long  before  Blucher  came  up,  which 
was  not  until  half-past  seven.  Grouchy's  movements  do  not 
appear  to  have  delayed  the  movements  of  Bulow,  for  that  Gen- 
eral started  from  Wavre  by  day-break,  his  troops  being  fresh ;  nor 
those  of  Blucher,  whose  troops  were  greatly  fatigued  from  the  battle 
and  the  retreat,  and  consequently  did  not  leave  Wavre  until  much 
later.  Both  these  corps  evidently  got  to  Waterloo  as  early  as  they 
would  have  done,  had  Grouchy  remained  with  Napoleon ;  nobody 
but  a  Briton  will  doubt  that  his  force  of  34,000,  added  to  the 
force  which  actually  attacked  Wellington,  would  have  decided 
the  day,  before  they  could  have  reached  the  field  of  battle.  Na- 
poleon, as  we  have  said,  thought  Blucher  much  worse  beaten 
than  he  actually  was,  and  believed  he  was  falling  back  upon 
Bulow,  in  the  direction  of  Liege;  whereas,  on  the  evening  of  the 
17th,  Bulow  joined  Blucher,  whose  whole  army  united  at  day- 
break at  Wavre,  on  the  right  fiank  of  Napoleon,  and  only  twelve 
miles  off,  was  87,000  strong.  It  was  evidently  too  strong  to  be 
kept  back  by  Grouchy's  34,000  men.  In  fact,  the  corps  of 
Thielman  alone  kept  Grouchy  busy,  while  the  other  three 
marched  upon  Waterloo. 

It  has  long  been,  and  still  continues  to  be,  a  subject  of  dispute 
between  French  and  English  writers,  what  effect  upon  the  result 
the  arrival  of  Grouchy  at  Waterloo  would  have  produced.  That 
depends,  we  suspect,  entirely  upon  the  time  at  which  he  might 
have  happened  to  arrive.  If,  at  sunrise  on  the  18th,  finding  he 
had  lost  all  traces  of  Blucher,  whom  he  had  been  ordered  to  fol- 
low, and  concluding  that  he  was  making  the  best  of  his  way  to 


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1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  WeUington.  59 

Wellington,  he  had  determined  to  seek  for  him  in  that  direction, 
and  had  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Napoleon,  he  would  have 
arrived  there  by  eight  o'clock  at  the  farthest, — ^that  is,  three  hours 
and  a  half  before  the  attack  upon  the  Chateau  Hougoumont, 
which  was  the  commencement  of  the  battle.  His  presence 
would  certainly  have  ensured  the  victory  over  Wellington  before 
the  arrival  of  Bulow,  or  at  least  before  his  attack,  and  Blucher 
did  not  arrive  until  three  hours  and  a  half  after  Bulow  had 
opened  his  fire.  It  is  true.  Grouchy  would  have  disobeyed  his 
orders  by  making  this  march,  but  it  would  have  been  a  disobe- 
dience for  which  he  would  have  been  readily  pardoned,  since  it 
would  have  saved  the  army.  The  orders  were  given  in  ignor- 
ance of  the  circumstances ;  and  surely  every  general,  in  such 
case,  is,  or  ought  to  be,  allowed  a  considerable  discretion. 

We  have  seen  that  the  Dutch  General  who  commanded  at 
Quatre-Bras  on  the  night  of  the  15th,  disobeyed  two  positive 
orders  from  Wellington,  to  evacuate  that  post,  and  fall  back  on 
Nivelles ;  that  he  thereby  saved  both  the  allied  armies  from  de- 
struction, and  that  he  was  applauded  for  his  disobedience  by  his 
superior,  the  Prince  of  Orange.  That  man  was  a  man  of  sense, 
and  knew  the  difference  betwen  an  order  given  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances,  and  one  issued  without  the 
possession  of  such  knowledge.  Grouchy,  a  good  soldier,  seems 
to  have  been  a  mere  man  of  routine,  obeying  orders  strictly,  even 
where  they  lead  to  destruction.  A  Dessaix  or  a  Kleber,  would 
have  marched  at  once  to  Waterloo,  and  not  only  reinforced  Na- 
poleon, but  enabled  him  to  attack  four  hours  sooner;  for  the  de- 
lay until  half  past  eleven  was  occasioned  by  the  desire  to  hear 
from  Grouchy  before  commencing  the  attack.  Especially  when 
the  tremendous  firing,  in  the  attack  upon  Hougoumont,  induced 
Excelmans  to  implore  Grouchy  to  march  *  in  the  direction  of 
that  fire.'  Dessaix  or  Kleber  would  not  have  hesitated.  The 
way  was  clear  to  Grouchy  ;  he  had  not  become  entangled  with 
the  Pmssiane ;  his  manoeuvres  were  perfectly  at  his  own  com- 
mand ;  he  oonid  have  passed  over  his  whole  army  without  dis- 
turljance  from  Blucher;  and  Gembloux  being,  by  the  paved 
road  he  would  have  taken,  only  nine  miles  from  the  field  of 
battle,  he  would  have  arrived  on  Bulow's  flank  by  three  o'clock ; 


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60  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

that  is,  at  least  one  hour  before  he  opened  fire  upon  Lobau^  who 
fronted  him  with  13,000  men.  Ee-uniting  himself  with  Lobau, 
and  attacking  Bulow  in  front  and  flank,  he  would  have  routed 
him  in  two  hours,  and  the  whole  47,000  sweeping  on  and  falling 
upon  the  flank  of  Wellington,  who  was  evidently  keeping  his 
ground  with  great  diflSculty,  would  have  destroyed  his  army  be- 
fore Blucher  could  possibly  have  arrived ;  for  as  it  was,  he  did 
not  get  up  until  7J  o'clock,  and  the  utter  rout  of  Bulow  would 
assuredly  have  retarded  his  march  very  seriously,  if  it  had  not 
stopped  it. 

English  writers  insist  that  Grouchy's  arrival  would  not  have 
altered  the  result,  because  Thielman  would  have  arrived  along 
with  him,  &c.  That  would  have  been  so,  if  Grouchy  had  not 
arrived  until  late  in  the  evening,  after  he  had  become  engaged 
with  the  Prussians.  But  all  the  morning  the  way  was  open  to 
him.  The  problem  to  be  solved  was  to  get  to  Waterloo,  and 
rout  Wellington  before  Blucher  could  come  up.  That  he  could 
easily  have  done,  since  so  late  as  twelve  he  did  not  even  know 
where  Blucher  was,  as  is  evident  from  the  language  used  by 
General  Excelmans  in  expostulating  with  Grouchy:  'Your 
order',  says  Excelmans,  *  required  you  to  be  yesterday  at  Gem- 
bloux,  and  not  to-day.'  And  again,  *  Blucher  was  yesterday  at 
Gembloux,  but  who  knows  where  he  is  now  ?  If  he  is  on  the 
field  of  battle,  your  orders  will  have  been  literally  obeyed.  If 
not,  our  arrival  will  decide  the  battle,  and  then,  what  can  Blu- 
cher do,  who  has  already  been  beaten  ? ' 

But  let  us  return  from  speculations  to  facts,  and  dismiss  the 
subject  in  as  few  words  as  possible.  English  writers  all  repre- 
sent Wellington's  army  as  opposing  overwhelming  numbers 
with  superhuman  valor.  That  they  fought  very  bravely,  nobody- 
has  ever  denied ;  but  it  is  not  true,  that  they  fought  against  over- 
whelming numbers.  Had  such  been  the  fact,  it  would  have 
been  a  lasting  stigma  upon  the  military  reputation  of  Welling- 
ton ;  that  is,  if  it  be  true,  (as  undoubtedly  it  is),  that  he  is  the  best 
general  who,  with  the  smallest  number  of  men,  on  the  whole,  can 
i/ bring  the  largest  number  to  bear  upon  a  given  point ;  for  he 
and  Blucher  certainly  had,  on  the  whole,  an  enormous  superi- 
ority of  force.    The  best  point  in  Wellington's  campaign,  as  everj 


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1869.]  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  61 

military  man  admits^  is  his  having  led  Napoleon  into  a  situation 
m  which  he  could  throw  an  overwhelming  force  upon  him. 
Wellington,  the  English  writers  say,  had  72,780  men,  (in  round 
numbers  73,000).  Napoleon  had,  as  he  says  himself,  only 
68,650,  (in  round  numbers  69,000).  English  writers  say  he 
had  80,000 ;  as  we  have  not  room  to  dispute  the  ground  of  this 
aaBertion,  so  let  it  go.  Wellington  had  the  strongest  position  in  ^ 
Flanders,  but  they  say  only  60,000  of  his  troops  were  reliable. 
The  unreliable  troops  lost  nearly  as  many  men  in  proportion 
as  their  reliable  neighbors.  Let  that,  too,  pass.  Here,  then, 
were  80,000  French  troops  drawn  out  to  attack  60,000  reliable 
and  13,000  unreliable  allies,  holding  the  strongest  ground  in  all  ^ 
Flanders.  Before  the  battle  had  begun,  except  at  Hougoumont, 
the  heads  of  Bulow's  columns  made  their  appearance  on  Napo- 
leon's right,  and  he  sent  first  3000  light  cavalry,  under  Dumont 
and  Suberire,  and  immediately  after  Lobau's  division,  10,000 
strong,  to  oppose  them ;  so  that  only  67,000  French  were  left 
to  oppose  60,000  reliable  and  13,000  unreliable  allies.  During 
the  battle,  Morand  and  Friant,  with  4000  men  each,  and  Du- 
hesme,  with  2000,  were  sent  to  reinforce  Lobau,  leaving  57,000 
French  to  fight  60,000  reliable  and  13,000  unreliable  allies. 
Again,  Napoleon  had  242  pieces  of  cannon,  English  writers 
saj  Wellington  had  only  186.  This  is  manifestly  false,  as  is 
proved  by  the  following  fact.  In  one  of  the  tables  at  the  end 
of  Alison's  4th  volume.  Napoleon  is  credited  with  the  242  guns, 
and  with  4,680  cannoneers,  or  about  twenty  men  to  a  gun.  In 
the  British  artillery,  and  that  of  the  King's  German  Legion,  in 
the  next  page,  it  is  said  there  were  124  guns  and  5,536  can- 
noneers ;  that  is  nearly  45  men  to  a  gun,  although  the  English 
and  Grermans  are  larger  and  stronger  men  in  general  than  the 
French.  This  is  altogether  incredible.  Napoleon  says  Wel- 
lington had  250  guns,  and  that,  we  suspect,  is  very  near  the 
truth.  However,  be  that  as  it  may,  Lobau  carried  off  thirty 
guns  to  meet  Bulow,  and  Morand,  Friant,  and  Duhesme,  30 
more ;  so  that  the  guns  playing  on  Wellington  were  not  more 
numerous  than  his  own.  Bulow  had  96  guns ;  so  that  allowing 
the  English  statement  to  be  true,  the  allies  had  282  guns  against 
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62  Waterloo — Napoleon  and  Wellington.  [Jan. 

Accounts  differ  as  to  the  moment  when  the  rout  of  the  French 
took  place.  The  English  say  the  Imperial  Guard  was  repulsed 
before  Blucher  came  up ;  Wellington  says  it  was  at  the  same 
moment  with  the  attack  of  Blucher;  Gneisenau^  who  wrote 
Blucher's  dispatches  for  him,  says  he  attacked  the  right  flank  of 
the  French,  broke  their  line  in  several  places,  and  that  then  the 
whole  array  gave  way  in  a  panic.  Napoleon  says  that  the  flight 
was  occasioned  by  this  attack,  and  that  the  Guard,  ordered  for- 
ward to  arrest  it,  advanced,  but  was  unable  todeploy,  because  2,000 
Scotch  cavalry  had  penetrated  between  them  and  General  Reille 
on  their  left,  and  because  they  were  inundated  by  fugitives  on 
their  right.  Being  thus  attacked,  and  being  unable  to  deploy, 
they  gave  way.  The  French  and  the  Prussian  statements  corres- 
pond pretty  accurately  with  each  other. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Waterloo  —  undoubtedly  one  of  the 
*  great  decisive  battles  of  the  world,'  or  great  turning  points  in 
the  stream  of  human  history.  The  English,  we  are  sure,  have 
boasted  more  of  this  battle  than  the  Romans  ever  boasted  of  all 
their  military  successes,  from  Romulus  to  Julius  Csesar.  Yet, 
after  all,  it  amounts  to  this  only:  —  One  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  men  were,  after  a  desperate  and  doubtful  struggle, 
foiled,  in  an  invasion,  by  two  hundred  thousand  men.  Really, 
it  does  appear  to  us,  that  this  was  no  very  superhuman  feat  sSter 
all.  Indeed,  if  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case  be  calmly  and 
dispassionately  considered,  we  can  hardly  discover  sufficient 
grounds  or  reasons  for  those  outbursts  of  self-gratulation  which 
have  so  often  shaken  the  British  Isles.  But  when  we  consider 
the  magnitude  of  the  stakes  at  issue,  and  the  force  of  the  feelings 
enlisted  in  the  contest,  we  can  at  least  fully  comprehend,  if  we 
cannot  wholly  approve,  such  tremendous  explosions  of  British 
pride  and  passion.  How  differently  had  been  the  result,  if  Na- 
poleon, the  greatest  warrior  that  ever  lived,  had  not  let  down  in 
the  race  of  glory !  How  different,  especially,  had  been  the  fete 
of  England  and  the  fame  of  Wellington ! 


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64  The  Life  and  WrUinga  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 


Art  IV. — *  Christopher  Norih^;  A  Memoir  of  John  TFt&on,  late 
Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  Tjniversity  of  Edin- 
burgh^ compiled  from  family  papers  and  other  sources.  By 
his  aaughter,  Mrs.  Gordon.  Complete  in  one  volume.  New 
York  :  W.  I.  Widdleton.    1863. 

The  celebrated  saying  of  Buffon, '  the  style  is  the  man ',  has 
seldom,  if  ever,  been  more  strikingly  illustrated,  than  in  the  case 
of  John  Wilson.  His  fulness  of  life,  his  exuberance  of  animal 
spirits,  his  wild,  rollicking  joyousness  of  disposition,  exulting 
alike  in  sunshine  and  in  storm,  are  all  as  perfectly  reflected  in 
his  writings  as  in  his  personal  existence.  Indeed,  he  is  so  per- 
sonally present  in  his  writings,  that  he  was  a  familiar  acquain- 
tance of  ours  even  before  we  read  his  Life  by  Lady  Gordon.  No 
hypocricies  concealed,  and  no  conventionalities  disguised,  either 
the  beauties  and  sublimities  of  his  noble  character,  or  its  deformi- 
ties. *  The  style  is  the  man ',  and  the  man  is  the  style.  And  a 
more  pleasing  study  than  the  man  John  Wilson,  or  the  writer 
Christopher  North,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  among  the  biog- 
raphies of  modern  men  of  genius. 

'  The  many-sided  character  of  the  man ',  says  I^ady  Gordon, 
'  I  have  not  attempted  to  unfold ;  nor  have  I  presumed  to  give  a 
critical  estimate  of  his  works, —  they  must  [and  they  will]  speak 
for  themselves.  Now  and  then,  in  the  course  of  the  narrative, 
when  letters  are  introduced  referring  to  literary  subjects,  I  have 
made  a  few  observations  on  his  writings ;  but  in  no  other  way, 
with  the  exception  of  those  chapters  devoted  to  Blackwood's 
Magazine  and  the  Moral  Philosophy  chair,  have  I  departed  from 
my  original  intention  of  giving  a  simple  domestic  memoir.  If 
I  have  in  any  way  done  justice  to  my  father's  memory  in  this 
respect,  I  am  rewarded.'  This,  as  the  reader  will  no  doubt  say, 
was  well  and  wisely  done ;  for  who  that  has  seen  John  Wilson 
in  his  writings,  would  desire  *a  critical  estimate  of  his  works' 
from  the  pen  of  his  daughter.  All,  however,  will  thank  her  for 
the  admirable  '  domestic  memoir,'  in  which  all  may  see  the  man 
as  he  was  in  himself,  as  well  as  in  his  relation  to  others. 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  WrUinga  of  John  Wilson.  66 

.  John  Wilson  was,  in  fiu5t,  one  of  a  group  of  very  remarkable 
men ;  '  a  bright  particular  star  ^  of  a  magnificent  constellation  of 
writers.  '  The  glimpses  of  his  contemporaries',  says  Mackenzie, 
'  afforded  by  Mrs.  Gordon,  show  us  Lockhart  and  De  Quinoey, 
Jefl&ey  and  Scott,  Hartley  Coleridge  and  "  Delta,''  and,  above  all, 
that  singular  "  wild  boar  of  the  forest,"  James  Hogg,  the  Et- 
trick  Shepherd,  the  redoubtable  hero  of  the  "  Noctes,"  and  Wil- 
liam Blackwood,  the  astute  publisher.'  These,  no  doubt,  give 
additional  fascination  to  the  pages  of  Lady  Gordon's  memoir  of 
her  &ther ;  but  there  are  other  glimpses  of  men  of  genius  in  the 
same  volume,  which,  in  our  estimation,  very  greatly  enhance  its 
value  and  its  interest.  Her  Memoir  is,  indeed,  all  ablaze  with 
glimpses  of  such  men  as  Alison  and  Macaulay,  Aytoun  and 
Brown,  Mackintosh  and  Bentham,  Brewster  and  Brougham, 
Byron  and  Moore,  Wordsworth  and  Southey,  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge  and  Carlyle,  Hallam  and  Sir  William  Hamilton,  not 
to  mention  a  hundred  other  names  of  less  note  in  the  world  of 
letters.  Such  reading  is  good  for  the  young.  It  suggests  many 
valuable  lessons.  Especially  this :  that  great  men  become  great, 
and  bright  men  become  bright,  only  by  prolonged  study  and 
patient  meditation.  '  From  the  wild  mirth,'  says  Mr,  Macken- 
lie, '  which  he  delighted  to  throw  into  the  immortal  "  Noctes," 
the  world,  [the  unthinking  world],  fancied  that  Wilson  was  as 
reckless,  humorsome,  and  jovial,  as  he  represented  their  heroes 
to  be.  Mrs.  Gordon's  plain  record  shows  that  these  very  remark- 
able dialc^es  were  written  with  prolonged  toil, 

and  upon  no  stronger  inspiration  than  a  chicken  for  dinner, 
aad  tea  or  cold  water  as  a  beverage  to  follow ! '  Not  so  with 
poor  Maginn,  however,  whose  name  we  miss  in  Lady  Gordon's 
mention  of  Wilson's  contemporaries.  Though  equal  to  Wilson 
in  genius,  and  more  than  equal  to  him,  or  to  Lockhart,  or  to 
Hogg,  or  to  any  other  contributor  to  Blackwood,  in  early  prom- 
ise, bb  'sun  went  down  while  it  was  yet  day ',  and  it  went  down 
tmid  clouds  and  darkness  and  disgrace.  If  he,  too,  had  drawn 
his  inspiration  from  '  tea  or  cold  water,'  he  would,  in  all  proba- 
bility, have  shone  forever,  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude,  in 
the  grand  constellation  of  Wilson's  contemporaries.  As  it  is, 
however,  we  miss  him  from  that  bright  array  of  immortal  lu- 
6 


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66  The  Life  and  WrUinga  of  John  WUson.  [ Jan« 

minaries,  and  mourn  him  as  we  do  *  the  lost  Pliad  \  How 
sweet,  how  bright,  how  beautiful,  how  glorious  the  opening  of 
Maginn's  life  !  How  dark,  how  troubled,  and  how  inglorious 
its  close !  ' 

It  was  otherwise — far  otherwise — with  John  Wilson,  We 
can  not  infer,  however,  from  his  writings  alone,  that  he  was  al- 
ways happy,  or  jubilant,  at  heart.  It  is  a  well-known  and  often- 
quoted  fact,  that  the  very  men  who  convulse  the  world  with 
laughter,  are  themselves  the  victims  of  a  terrible  melancholy. 
This  is  the  case,  however,  only  when  there  is  something  morbid 
in  their  nature.  In  Wilson  ther^  was  nothing  morbid.  His 
moments  of  exaltation  and  gladness,  were,  it  is  true,  sometimes 
followed  by  hours  of  depression  and  gloom.  But  melancholy, 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  never  preyed  upon  his  mind.  At 
one  time,  indeed,  under  the  stress  of  bitter  trial  and  great  temp- 
tation, he  showed  what  looked  a  good  deal  like  melancholy. 
But  his  great,  strong,  healthy  nature,  soon  threw  off  the  incubus, 
and  righted  itself.  Many  writers  open  only  the  ante-chambers 
of  their  real  being  to  the  world,  while  all  that  is  deepest  and 
truest  lies  hidden  within ;  but  the  man,  who  does  not  write 
truly  from  his  own  heart,  can  never  lay  hold  of  the  hearts  of 
his  readers.  This  was  the  secret  of  Wilson's  success,  that  he 
projected  his  heart,  his  whole  heart,  and  nothing  but  his  heart, 
into  his  writings.  Frank,  free,  genial,  and  open  as  the  day  in 
his  disposition,  he  neither  concealed  his  capacity  for  strong 
tender  love,  nor  his  propensity  to  vehement  dislike.  But  always 
honorable  and  magnanimous  in  his  enmities,  he  was  ever  ready 
for  any  battle,  however  stern,  in  the  cause  of  truth,  or  justice,  or 
mercy,  without  one  particle  of  that  sensitive,  timid  shrinking 
from  contact  with  the  world,  which  is  supposed  to  characterijEe 
the  poet. 

Much  of  all  this  was,  no  doubt,  due  to  his  fine  physique.  No 
man  was  ever  more  perfectly  formed.  Marvellous  stories  are, 
indeed,  told  with  respect  to  his  dexterity,  skill,  and  muscular 
force,  in  all  manner  of  gymnastic  sports,  into  which  he  usually 
threw  himself  with  ardor.  As  a  wrestler,  as  a  boxer,  as  a  leaper, 
and,  above  all,  as  a  pedestrian,  his  feats  were  prodigious.  One 
morning,  for  example,  he  walks,  we  are  told,  fifty  miles  to  a 


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Bums'  dinner ;  and  yet,  once  there,  he  is  the  freshest,  the  blith- 
est, and  the  most  jubilant  spirit  at  the  feast.     Others,  feeling 
their  wine,  may  be  inclined  to  sleep,  or  to  doze  away  their  dull- 
ness.   He  springs  upon  the  massive  table,  dances  a  pas  aetU  among 
tumblers,  wine-glasses,  and  decanters,  and  then  leaps  upon  the  ^ 
floor  again,  to  the  astonishment  and  delight  of  all  present.     His 
leap,  too,  is  like  the  leap  of  the  wild  panther,  or  the  cat  ©'moun- 
tain ;  clearing  no  less  than  twenty-three  feet  on  a  dead  level  I  ^ 
the  longest  leap  of  any  biped  of  his  day  in  all  England,    (p.  48.) 
Surely,  a  mind  lodged  in  such  a  body,  has  a  great  advantage 
over  other  minds,  and  is  far  more  easily  educated.     For,  as  an 
ingenious  writer  says,  mens  sana  in  oorpore  sano,  is  the  grand  ; 
aim  and  object  of  all  education. 

The  circumstances,  too,  attending  his  childhood  and  youth, 
were  most  favorable  to  the  formation  of  his  character.  His 
home,  always  so  bright  and  cheerful,  surrounded  him  with  an 
atmosphere  of  love  and  tenderness  and  freedom.  Every  thing, 
indeed,  from  his  earliest  infancy,  conspired  to  produce  a  health- 
ful activity,  a  genuine  growth,  in  the  bright  and  beautiful  boy. 
We  can  hardly  find,  in  all  biographical  literature,  another  in- 
stance of  circumstances  so  favorable  to  the  development  of  genius. 
Accordingly,  in  becoming,  as  he  did,  not  a  miserable  sham, 
or  perverted  specimen  of  humanity,  but  a  glorious  reality;  he 
owed  no  less  to  his  good  fortune,  than  to  his  noble  and  ^  high 
endeavor.' 

Among  the  many  circumstances,  which  so  powerfully  contribu- 
ted to  the  formation  of  his  genius,  there  was  one  of  such  trans- 
oendant  importance  as  to  demand  a  special  notice.  We  allude 
to  the  choice  of  his  teachers.  This  was  singularly  judicious  and 
happy.  There  were,  in  those  days,  as  well  as  in  our  own,  a 
class  of  teachers  who  labored  under  the  conviction  that  small 
boys  were  made  for  the  Latin  grammar,  and  that  the  whole  art 
of  teaching  consisted  in  forcing  into  their  small  pericraniums  as 
krge  an  amount  of  that  very  useful  commodity  as  they  could  be 
made  to  accommodate.  The  men  to  whom  the  instruction  of 
young  Wilson  was  entrusted,  possessed  not  only  the  capacity 
to  teach  and  to  train  their  pupils,  but  also  the  far  more 
mioommon   gift  of  knowing  when  to   desbt   from   teaching 


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68  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 

and  training  and  boring  their  minds.  Hence  they  never  edu- 
cated their  young  and  tender  pupils  into  a  disgust  with  their 
studies ;  but,  allowing  them  to  mingle  out-of-door  ^ports  with 
the  brain-work  of  the  closet,  they  made  both  an  equal  delight 
to  them,  and  each  a  support  and  encouragement  to  the  other. 
By  this  means,  their  bodies  were  developed  and  improved  as 
well  as  their  minds,  and,  consequently,  they  became  men  as  well  as 
scholars,  and  not  merely  walking,  coughing,  attenuated,  dream- 
ing encyclopaedias  of  useless  lore.  'A  pleasant  idea',  says  Lady 
Gordon,  ^  of  the  relatiou  in  M'hich  the  kind  minister  of  the  Meams 
stood  to  his  pupils,  is  given  in  a  note  from  Sir  John  Maxwell 
Pollok,  who  was  a  school-fellow  of  my  father :  "  He  was  above 
me  in  the  ranks  of  the  school,  in  stature,  and  in  mental  acquire- 
ments. I  may  mention,  as  an  illustration  of  the  energy,  activ- 
ity, and  vivacity  of  his  character,  that  one  morning,  I  having 
been  permitted  to  go  and  fish  iu  the  burn  near  the  kirk,  and 
having  caught  a  fine  trout,  was  so  pleased,  that  I  repaired  to  th^ 
minister's  study  to  exhibit  my  prize  to  Dr.  M'Latchie,  who  was 
then  reading  Greek  with  him.  He,  seeing  my  trout,  started  up; 
and,  addressing  his  reverend  teacher,  said,  "  I  must  go  now  to 
fish.'''  Now,  what  did  the  good  minister  do?  Did  he  drive 
the  little  Sir  John  from  his  presence,  or  knock  the  young  rebel, 
Wilson,  on  the  head,  with  angry  directions  to  mind  his  Greek? 
Did  he  repress  the  fine  enthusiasm  of  the  boy,  declaring,  in  the 
presence  of  'his  revered  teacher,'  *  I  must  go  now  to  fish'  ?  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  '  Leave  was  granted,'  says  Sir  John,  *  and  I  willing- 
ly resigned  to  him  my  rod  and  line ;  and  before  dinner  he  re- 
appeared with  a  large  dish  of  fish,  on  which  he  and  his  com- 
panions feasted,  not  without  that  admiration  of  his  achievement 
which  youth  delights  to  express  and  always  feels.'  By  pursuing 
the  method  of  some  teachers,  and,  strange  to  say,  of  some  parents 
too,  the  boy  John  Wilson, '  as  beautiful  and  animated  a  creature 
as  ever  played  in  the  sunshine',  might  have  been  developed  into 
as  ugly  and  perverse  a  character  as  ever  cursed  a  happy  land. 

*  The  kindness  and  partiality ',  says  his  biographer,  *  with 
which  he  loved  to  speak  of  his  friends  in  Paisley,  may  be  seen 
in  the  words  he  made  use  of  in  reference  to  his  did  friend,  (t.  c. 
his  former  teacher,  Mr.  Peddie,)  as  he  was  taking  leave  of  duties 


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he  had  followed  for  upwards  of  half  a  century.  They  are,  (es- 
pecially after  so  long  an  interval,)  honorable  alike  to  master  and 
pupil :  "  It  was  his  method  rather  to  persuade  than  enforce, 
and  they  all  saw,  even  amidst  the  thoughtlessness  of  boyhood, 
that  their  teacher  was  a  good  man ;  and  therefore  it  was  their 
delight  and  pride  to  please  him.  Sometimes  a  cloud  would 
overshadow  his  brow,  but  it  was  succeeded  by  a  smile  of  pleasure 
as  gracious  and  benign  as  the  summer  sky.  In  his  seminary, 
children  of  all  ranks  sat  on  the  same  form.  In  that  school  there 
was  no  distinction,  except  what  was  created  by  superior  merit 
and  industry,  by  the  love  of  truth,  and  by  ability.  The  son  of 
the  poor  man  was  there  on  the  same  form  with  the  sons 
of  the  rich,  and  nothing  could  ever  drive  him  from  his 
rightful  status  but  misconduct  or  disobedience.  No  person 
would  deny  that  the  oflSce  of  a  teacher  of  youth  was  one  of  the 
most  important  in  this  world's  affairs.  A  surly  or  ignorant 
master  might  scathe  those  blossoms,  which  a  man  of  sense  and 
reflection  by  his  fostering  care,  would  rear  up  till  they  became 
bright  consummate  flowers  of  knowledge  and  virtue.'' ' 

In  relation  to  these  two  teachers  of  young  Wilson,  Peddie  and 
M'Latchie,  Lady  Gordon  has  beautifully  said :  *  It  is  impossible 
to  overrate  the  influence  of  such  a  training  as  young  Wilson 
had,  daring  these  happy  years,  in  forming  that  singular  charac- 
ter, in  virtue  of  which  he  stands  out  as  unique  and  inimitable 
among  British  men  of  genius,  as  Jean  Paul,  Der  Einzigcy  among 
his  countrymen.  In  no  other  writings  do  we  find  so  inexhausti- 
ble and  vivid  a  reminiscence  of  the  feelings  of  boyhood.  There 
was  in  that  heart  of  his,  a  perpetual  well-spring  of  youthful 
emotion.  In  contact  with  him,  we  are  made  to  feel  as  if  this 
man  were  in  himself  the  type,  never  to  grow  old,  of  all  the 
glorious  bright-eyed  youths  that  we  have  known  in  the  world  ; 
capable  of  entering  with  perfect  luxury  of  abandonment,  into 
their  wildest  frolics,  but  also  of  transfiguring  their  pastimes  into 
mirrors  of  things  more  sublime  —  of  rising  without  strain  or 
artifice,  from  the  level  of  common  and  material  objects  into  the 
supreme  heights  of  poetic,  philosophic,  and  religious  contem- 
plation.' 

Beautiful,  also^  exceedingly  beautiful,  is  the  tribute  which 


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70  The  Life  and  WrUinga  of  John  WtUon.  [Jan. 

Wilson,  in  after  years,  paid  to  two  other  of  his  teachers.  Lady 
Gordon  says :  *  Of  the  various  professors  under  whom  he 
studied,  there  were  two  who  won  his  special  love  and  life-long 
veneration :  these  were  Jardine  and  Young. 

*  When  the  relationship  between  pupil  and  teacher  has  been 
cemented  by  feelings  of  respect  and  affection,  the  influence  ob- 
tained over  the  young  mind  is  one  that  does  not  die  with  the 
breaking  of  the  ties  that  formally  bound  them.  Of  this  Wilson's 
experience  as  a  professor  afforded  him  many  a  delightful  illus- 
tration. To  Jardine,  in  the  first  place,  as  not  only  his  teacher, 
but  his  private  monitor  and  friend,  he  owed,  as  he  himself  said, 
a  deep  debt  of  gratitude.  He  is  represented  as  having  been  ''a 
person  who,  by  the  singular  felicity  of  his  tact  in  watching 
youthful  minds,  had  done  more  good  to  a  whole  host  of  individ- 
uals, and  gifted  individuals  too,  than  their  utmost  gratitude 
<K)uld  ever  adequately  repay.  They  spoke  of  him  as  a  kind  of 
intellectual  father,  to  whom  they  were  proud  of  acknowledging 
the  eternal  obligations  of  their  intellectual  being.  He  has 
created  for  himself  a  mighty  family  among  whom  his  memory 
will  long  survive;  by  whom,  all  that  he  said  and  did — his 
words  of  kind  praise  and  kind  censure  —  his  gravity  and  his 
graciousness,  will  no  doubt  be  dwelt  upon  with  warm  and  tender 
words  and  looks,  long  after  his  earthly  labors  shall  have  been 
brought  to  a  close.' 

He  thus  speaks  of  the  other  :  *  I  own  I  was  quite  thunder- 
struck to  find  him  passing  from  a  transport  of  sheer  verbal 
ecstasy  about  the  particle  dpa,  into  an  ecstasy  quite  as  vehe- 
ment, and  a  thousand  times  more  noble,  about  the  deep  pathetic 
beauty  of  one  of  Homer's  conceptions  in  the  expression  of  which 
that  particle  happens  to  occur.  Such  was  the  burst  of  his  en- 
thusiasm, and  the  enriched  mellow  swell  of  his  expanding  voice, 
when  hQ  began  to  touch  upon  this  more  majestic  key,  that  I 
dropped  for  a  moment  all  my  notions  of  the  sharp  philologer, 
and  gazed  on  him  with  a  higher  delight,  as  a  genuine  lover  of 
the  soul  and  spirit  which  has  been  clothed  in  the  words  of  an- 
tiquity. 

*At  the  close  of  one  of  his  fine  excursions  into  this  brighter 
field,  the  feelings  of  the  man  seemed  to  be  ra})t  up  to  a  pitch  I 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  71 

never  before  beheld  exemplified  in  any  orator  of  the  Chair. 
The  tears  gashed  from  his  eyes  amidst  their  fervid  sparklings^ 
and  I  was  more  than  delighted  when  I  looked  round  and  found 
that  the  fire  of  the  Professor  had  kindled  answering  flames  in 
the  eyes  of  not  a  few  of  his  disciples/ 

'We  have  sat/  he  says,  'at  the  knees  of  Professor  Young, 
looking  up  to  his  kindling  or  shaded  countenance,  while  that 
old  man  eloquent  gave  life  to  every  line,  till  Hector  and  Andro- 
mache seemed  to  our  imagination  standing  side*  by  side  beneath 
a  radiant  rainbow  glorious  on  a  showery  heaven ;  such,  during  his 
inspiration,  was  the  creative  power  of  the  majesty  and  the  beauty 
of  their  smiles  and  tears.' 

Lady  Gordon  adds,  from  another  source,  the  following  ao- 
coont  of  Professor  Young :  '  It  may  be  seen ',  says  she, '  from 
these  sketches  what  manner  of  men  had  the  moulding  of  that  young 
taste  in  its  perceptions  of  the  good  and  the  beautiful.  Nor  could 
his  mind  fail  to  have  been  ennobled  by  such  training.'  True.  It 
is  mind  that  wakes  up  mind,  and  reveals  its  powers  to  itself.  The 
kmdling  enthusiasm  of  a  Jardine,  or  a  Younsr,  rapt  with  visions 
of  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good,  and  burning  with  a  de- 
sire to  impart  their  views  to  others,  could  hardly  fail  to  wake 
up  minds,  not  incurably  dull,  to  a  consciousness  of  their  powers 
and  to  a  new  *  intellectual  being ';  which  could  find  its  rest  only 

in —  ^ 

'The  high  endeavor  and  the  glad  Boccess.' 

How  different  from  the  poor,  perfunctory  teacher,  who,  having  no 
enthusiasm  and  no  delight  in  his  work,  can  kindle  none  in  his  pu- 
pils, or  rather  in  his  victims !  His  intellectual  ofispring,  if  he  hap- 
pens to  have  any,  are,  like  himself,  poor  weaklings,  half  asleep 
when  they  are  awake,  and  half  awake  when  they  are  asleep,  not 
knowing  when,  nor  where,  nor  how,  they  were  born  into  the  world 
of  mind,  nor  to  whom  they  owe  so  very  doubtful  an  honor,  much 
lees  'acknowledging  the  eternal  obligations  of  their  intellectual 
being'  to  any  one.  It  is  a  Jardine  or  a  Young,  and  not  the 
fidae  or  the  feeble  teacher,  who  *  creates  for  himself  a  mighty 
fiunily  among  whom  his  memory  will  long  survive',  and  glad- 
den the  decay  of  life  with  all  its  precious  recollections  of  the 
past 


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72  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan, 

There  is  something  beautiful  in  the  free  growth  of  any 
things  but,  above  all,  in  the  free  growth  of  so  wonderful  a  thing 
as  the  human  mind.  To  help  forward  this  growth, —  both  in 
depth  and  breadth,  in  strength  of  grasp  and  in  delicacy  of  dis- 
crimination,—  is  the  high  office  of  the  teacher.  The  mere  trans- 
ference of  facts  from  book  to  brain,  is  not  the  thing  he  aims  at. 
To  cram  the  mind,  and  to  crush  or  cripple  its  faculties  with  a 
mass  of  undigested  knowledge  and  half  notions  of  things,  is  not 
to  educate  a  rational  and  accountable  being.  Education  is,  on 
the  contrary,  the  harmonious  and  perfect  development  of  his 
whole  nature  —  physical,  intellectual,  moral,  social,  religious,  and 
practical.  To  watch  over  this  development  and  growth  ;  to  see 
that  it  is  not  too  great  in  one  direction,  nor  too  small  in  another ; 
to  determine  how  far  the  student  should  be  helped  in  his  labors, 
and  how  far  he  should  be  made  to  rely  on  hb  own  exertions ;  to 
guard  his  mind  against  the  approaches  of  a  dark  self-distrust,  so 
deadening  to  all  his  faculties,  and  inspire  him  with  self-reliance, 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  to  ward  off  the  equally  fatal  effects  of  an 
irreverent  and  presumptuous  spirit;  to  study  the  mind  and  char- 
acter of  each  pupil,  so  as  to  be  able  to  select  the  proper  remedies 
for  his  individual  defects,  or  to  apply  the  proper  stimulants  to 
his  individual  talents ;  to  consider  the  capacity  of  each,  allowing 
no  one  to  go  beyond  his  strength,  or  to  lag  behind  the  healthy 
exertion  of  his  powers ;  —  these  are  a  few,  and  but  a  few,  of  the 
delicate  and  difficult  problems  with  which  the  teacher  has  to 
grapple.  They  require,  it  is  evident,  the  very  highest  order  of 
talent  and  education,  as  well  as  experience,  for  their  successful 
solution.  How  many,  nevertheless,  who  are  not  half  taught 
themselves,  rush  into  the  vocation  of  the  teacher;  seeming  to 
conclude  that  it  is  the  work  for  which  nature  intended  them, 
because  they  have  been  found  unfit  for  any  other !  Thus  it  is, 
that  the  most  important,  as  well  as  the  most  difficult,  of  all  labors, 
is  so  frequently  performed  by  miserably  incompetent  hands.  The 
truth  is,  that  the  dignity  of  the  office  of  the  teacher  is  so  imperfectly 
understood  by  the  world  in  general,  and  the  value  of  his  services 
is  so  poorly  appreciated  and  paid  for,  that  the  highest  order  of 
talent  and  education  usually  seek  other  spheres  of  activity  and 
usefulness.    Some  teachers,  it  is  true,  have  realized  fortunes,  and 


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thereby  won  the  respect  of  the  world  ;  but  then  it  will  be  found, 
perhaps,  that  in  the  most  of  such  cases,  they  have  been  paid  not 
80  much  for  their  teaching  as  for  other  things. 

We  offer  no  apology  for  this  digression  on  the  all-important 
subject  of  education.  It  was  naturally  suggested  by  the  life  of 
Wilson,  who  was  not  only  well  and  wisely  educated  himself,  but 
was  also  a  wise  and  good  educator  of  the  young.  His  powers, 
and  his  attainments,  were  equal  to  the  high  and  holy  work  of 
his  vocation  as  a  teacher.  We  can  not  but  think,  however^  that 
his  power  lay  in  the  intense  vitality  of  his  nature,  in  the  harmo- 
nious union  of  a  sound  mind  with  a  body  full  of  animal  life  and 
vigor,  rather  than  in  any  remarkable  pre-eminence  of  genius. 
An  activity  which  is  barred  in  many  directions,  and  forced  into 
some  one  channel,  may  be  deep  and  strong ;  it  is  rarely  health- 
ful. In  Wilson,  the  channels  were  all  free  and  open,  and  the 
flow  of  life  apparently  inexhaustible.  There  was  no  outward 
impediment,  and  no  inward  paucity.  It  is,  however,  the  weak- 
ness of  all  human  things,  that  they  continually  tend  to  excess. 
Wilson's  keen  enjoyment  of  sports,  and  his  enthusiastic  devotion 
to  them,  carried  him  sometimes,  perhaps,  beyond  the  line  of  pro- 
priety. His  passionate  devotion  to  *  cock-fighting  \  for  example, 
seems  to  us  more  than  questionable,  at  least  for  a  civilized  and 
Christian  gentleman.  The  best  apology  for  him  is,  that  cock- 
fighting  was  one  of  the  amusements  of  his  age,  and  formed  a 
part  of  his  education.  This  vice,  however,  appears  venial,  if 
not  beautiful,  when  set  by  the  side  of  some  lean  Cassius,  pale  and 
cadaverous  with  passion,  who  would  hold  up  hands  nf  holy  hor- 
ror at  the  cruelty  of  cock-fighting,  and  yet  joyfully  crush  a  whole 
people  for  an  honest  difference  of  opinion. 

Wrestling  and  boxing  he  considered  noble  sports.  Fishing 
was  a  passion  with  him  from  infancy.  At  only  three  years  of 
age,  he  went,  armed  with  line  and  pin,  to  a  ^  wee  burnie  \  a  good 
mile  irom  home,  with  what  splendid  success  we  find  thus  recor- 
ded in  Fytie  First  of  Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket: — *  A 
tug !  a  tug !  With  &ce  ten  times  flushed  and  pale  by  turns,  ere 
you  could  count  ten,  he  at  last  has  strength,  in  the  agitation 
of  his  fear  and  joy,  to  pull  away  at  the  monster,  and  there  he  lies 
in  his  beauty  among  the  gowans  and  the  greensward,  for  he  had 


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74  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 

whapped  him  right  over  his  head  and  far  away,  A  fish  a  quar- 
ter of  an  ounce  in  weight,  and  at  the  very  least  two  inches  long! 
Off  he  flies  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  his  father,  and  mother, 
and  sisters,  holding  his  fish  aloft  in  both  hands,  fearful  of  its 
escape.  He  carries,  up-stairs  and  down-stairs,  his  prey  upon  a 
plate;  he  will  not  wash  his  hands,  for  he  exults  in  the  silver 
scales  adhering  to  the  thumb-nail  that  scooped  the  pin  out  of 
the  "  baggy's  maw  ", '  Young  Wilson,  even  at  the  age  of  three 
years,  was,  it  is  evident,  among  the  very  livest  of  live  boys ;  and 
^  the  child  was  fether  of  the  man '.  His  intense  vitality,  we  re- 
peat, was  the  secret  of  his  strength,  as  well  as  the  source  of  his 
defects.  If  it  occasionally  betrayed  him,  as  it  did,  into  serious 
indiscretions  of  conduct;  this  was  because  his  sense  of  justice 
had  been  outraged.  An  amusing  instance  of  this,  is  thus  can- 
didly recorded  by  Lady  Grordon : 

'  About  a  year  after  he  had  entered  upon  his  new  duties,  the 
Professor  was  rambling  during  vacation-time  in  the  south  of 
Scotland,  having  for  a  while  exchanged  the  gown  for  the  old 
"Sporting  Jacket.''  On  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  he  was 
obliged  to  pass  through  Hawick,  where,  on  his  arrival,  finding 
it  to  be  fair-day,  he  readily  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity 
to  witness  the  amusements  going  on.  These  happened  to  include 
a  "little  mill"  between  two  members  of  the  local  "fancy." 
His  interest  in  pugilism  attracted  him  to  the  spot,  where  he 
soon  discovered  something  very  wrong,  and  a  degree  of  injustice 
being  perpetrated  which  he  could  not  stand.  It  was  the  work 
of  a  moment  to  espouse  the  weaker  side,  a  proceeding  which 
naturally  drew  down  upon  him  the  hostility  of  the  opposite 
party.  This  result  was  to  him,  however,  of  little  consequence. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  beat  or  be  beaten.  He  was  soon 
"  in  position ;"  and,  before  his  unknown  adversary  well  knew 
what  was  coming,  the  skilled  fist  of  the  Professor  had  planted 
such  a  "facer"  as  did  not  require  repetition.  Another  "round" 
was  not  called  for;  and  leaving  the  discomfited  champion  to  re- 
cover at  his  leisure,  the  Professor  walked  coolly  away  to  his  seat 
in  the  stage-coach,  about  to  start  for  Edinburgh.  He  just 
reached  it  in  time  to  secure  a  place  inside,  where  he  found  two 
young  men  already  seated.     As  a  matter  of  course  he  entered 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  WUsm.  75 

into  conversation  with  them,  and  before  the  journey  was  half 
over,  they  had  become  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  He  asked 
all  sorts  of  questions  about  their  plans  and  prospects,  and  was 
informed  they  were  going  to  attend  College  during  the  winter 
session.  Among  the  classes  mentioned  were  Leslie's,  Jameson's, 
Wilson^s,  and  some  others.  "  Oh  1  Wilson ;  he  is  a  queer  fel- 
low, I  am  told ;  rather  touched  here  "  (pointing  significantly  to 
his  head) ;  "  odd,  decidedly  odd."  The  lads,  somewhat  cautiously, 
after  the  manner  of  their  country,  said  they  had  heard  strange 
stories  reported  of  Professor  Wilson,  but  it  was  not  right  to  be- 
lieve every  thing ;  and  that  they  would  judge  for  themselves 
when  they  saw  him.  "Quite  right,  lads;  quite  right;  but  I 
assure  you  I  know  something  of  the  fellow  myself,  and  I  think 
he  is  a  queer  devil;  only  this  very  forenoon  at  Hawick  he  got 
into  a  row  with  a  great  lubberly  fellow  for  some  unknown  cause 
of  offence,  and  gave  him  such  a  taste  of  his  fist  as  won't  soon  be 
forgotten ;  the  whole  place  was  ringing  with  the  story ;  I  won- 
der you  did  not  hear  of  it."  "Well,"  rejoined  the  lads,  "we 
did  hear  something  of  the  sort,  but  it  seemed  so  incredible  that 
a  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  should  mix  himself  up  with  dis- 
reputable quarrels  at  a  fair,  we  did  not  believe  it."  Wilson 
looked  very  grave,  agreed  that  it  was  certainly  a  most  unbecom- 
ing position  for  a  Professor ;  yet  he  was  sorry  to  say  that  having 
heard  the  whole  story  from  an  eye-witness,  it  was  but  too  true. 
Dexterously  turning  the  subject,  he  very  soon  banished  all  fur- 
ther discussion  about  the  "  Professor,"  and  held  the  delighted 
lads  enchained  in  the  interest  of  his  conversation  until  they 
reached  the  end  of  the  journey.  On  getting  out  of  the  coach, 
they  politely  asked  him,  as  he  seemed  to  know  Edinburgh  well, 
if  he  would  direct  them  to  a  hotel.  "With  pleasure,  my  young 
friends ;  we  shall  all  go  to  a  hotel  together ;  no  doubt  you  are 
hungry  and  ready  for  dinner,  and  you  shall  dine  with  me."  A 
coach  was  called ;  Wilson  ordered  the  luggage  to  be  placed  out- 
side, and  gave  directions  to  the  driver,  who  in  a  short  time 
pulled  up  at  a  very  nice-looking  house,  with  a  small  garden  in 
front.  The  situation  was  rural,  and  there  was  so  little  of  the 
aspect  of  a  hotel  about  the  place,  that  on  alighting,  the  lads 
asked  once  or  twice,  if  they  had  come  to  the  right  place  ?    "  AU 


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76  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 

^^S^^y  gentlemen ;  walk  in ;  leave  your  trunks  in  the  lobby.  I 
have  settled  with  the  driver  and  now  I  shall  order  dinner.''  No 
time  was  lost,  and  very  soon  the  two  youths  were  conversing 
freely  with  their  unknown  friend,  and  enjoying  themselves  ex- 
tremely in  the  satisfactory  position  of  having  thus  accidentally 
fellen  into  such  good  company  and  good  quarters.  The  decep- 
tion, however,  could  not  be  kept  up  much  longer ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  Wilson  let  them  know  where  they  were, 
telling  them  that  they  could  now  judge  for  Ihemselves  what  sort 
of  a  fellow  "  the  Professor ''  was.' 

But  in  spite  of  all  such  irregularities,  not  to  say  eccentricities, 
of  character  and  conduct,  no  one  can  read  the  memoir  before  us, 
without  a  kindling  admiration  for  the  man.  John  Bull  had, 
we  fear,  set  John  Wilson  a  bad  example,  in  his  too  passionate 
love  of  sports.  The  limes  has  sarcastically  said,  that  the  Eng- 
lish people  seem  to  be  in  earnest  only  in  their  sports,  and  to 
amuse  themselves  with  the  serious  business  of  legislation.  It 
should  be  borne  ixx  mind,  however,  that  the  wisdom  of  English 
legislation  is,  in  part  at  least,  due  to  the  healthfulness  of  body 
and  mind  engendered  by  English  sports.  It  cannot  be  denied, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  the  passion  for  sports  has  become  excessive 
in  England.  It  is  no  reproach  to  her,  perhaps,  that  she  has  a 
Derby;  but  it  is,  it  seems  to  us,  a  shame  that  the  Derby  is  the 
greatest  of  all  the  days  in  her  calendar.  A  great  revolution, 
said  the  Times  in  1865,  has  been  going  on  in  America,  and  the 
conflict  of  mighty  armies  has  attracted  the  attention,  and  excited 
the  passions,  of  mankind ;  but  still  this  year  belongs  forever  to 

,  the  horse  that  had  just  won  at  the  Derby    We  must 

beg  the  reader's  pardon  for  having  forgotten  the  name  of  the 
Horse  to  whose  supreme  Highness  the  year  1865  forever  belongs. 
If  that  year  had  belonged  to  some  saint,  or  martyr,  or  hero,  not 
to  a  horse,  we  should  probably  have  remembered  the  name  of 
its  owner.  But  we  shall  never  forget  the  Derby  of  1865  itself. 
For,  on  that  ever-memorable  day,  the  universe  seemed  to  be 
turning  out,  and  rushing,  in  wild  torrents  of  immortal  bipeds, 
to  a  horse  race.  Hundreds  of  thousands  were  there.  Princes 
and  pickpockets,  ladies  and  loafers  and  lords,  royalty  and  raga- 
muffins, parsons  and  politicians  and  petticoats ;    all  these,  and 


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1869.]  TJ^  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wihon.  77 

all  other  sorts^  sizes^  and  descriptions^  of  people^  were  there  in 
wild  confhsion,  and  upon  terms  of  the  most  perfect  democratic 
equality.  Betting,  gambling,  racing,  whooping,  shouting,  drink- 
ing, stealing,  fighting,  swearing,  and  killing,  were  a  few  of  the 
incidents  which  gave  interest,  as  well  as  an  infinity  motlej  variety, 
to  that  great  day  of  days  with  the  populace  of  London.  We  were 
not  present  ourselves ;  still  we  can  never  forget  the  Derby  of  1865, 
partly  because  the  roarings  of  its  din  disturbed  our  quiet  lodg- 
ings in  Bedford  Square,  and  partly  because  we  read  one  or  two 
of  the  descriptions  of  that  wonderful  day  which,  next  morning, 
appeared  in  the  countless  newspapers  and  journals  of  London. 
We  can  well  imagine,  that  John  Wilson,  if  alive  and  well,  would 
have  delighted  in  the  Derby  of  1865 ;  for  he  was  a  pugilist  as 
well  as  a  philosopher. 

But  whatever  his  faults  or  foibles,  (and  he  was  certainly  far 
from  perfect)  there  was  in  the  deep,  strong  nature  of  Wilson,  an 
inexhaustible  fountain  of  pure,  warm,  tender  affection.  Hence, 
in  all  the  relations  of  domestic  life,  his  character  showed  its 
brightest  and  most  beautiful  sides.  In  his  wife  and  children, 
above  all  earthly  objects,  his  hopes,  and  joys,  and  desires,  all  cen- 
tred. His  letters  to  them  are,  at  once,  natural,  playful,  and  brim- 
foil  of  affection.  As  he  grew  older,  his  family  ties  grew  stronger 
and  stronger.  He  was,  at  the  loss  of  his  wife,  overwhelmed 
with  a  grief,  which  none  but  deep  natures  like  his  are  ever  called 
upon  to  experience.  This  great  sorrow  is  thus  described  by 
one  of  his  former  pupils :  '  I  attended  his  class  in  the  session  in 
1837-8.  It  was  the  session  immediately  succeeding  the  loss  of 
his  wife,  the  thought  of  which  was  ever  and  again  re-awakened 
by  allusions  in  lectures,  however  remote;  and  again  and  again  it 
shook  his  great  soul  with  an  agony  of  uncontrollable  grief,  the 
sight  of  which  was  sufficient  to  subdue  us  into  sympathy  with 
him.  On  such  occasions,  he  would  pause  for  a  moment  or  two 
in  his  lecture,  (struggling  in  vain  to  sustain  the  burden  of  his 
mighty  grief,)  then  fling  himself  forward  on  his  desk,  bury  his 
&ce  in  his  hands,  and,  while  his  frame  heaved  with  visible  emo- 
tion, he  would  weep  and  sob  like  a  very  child.'  *  Weak  old 
man '  I  exclaims  the  cold,  phl^matic  reader.  But,  no  I  he  wept 
aloud  and  sobbed,  just  because  he  was  still,  in  spite  of  the  frosts 


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78  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  WUson.  [Jan. 

of  more  than  fifty  winters,  a  strong  young  man  in  all  the  most 
glorious  attributes  of  manhood.  Though  the  glories  of  learning, 
and  literature,  and  fame,  encircled  the  brow  of  Wilson,  it  was, 
nevertheless,  the  very  chiefest  of  all  his  glories,  that  he  never 
ceased  to  be  a  child  at  heart. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  his  friendships  were  strong 
and  lasting.  His  two  most  especial  friends,  Alexander  Blair 
and  Robert  Findlay,  he  had  known  and  loved  from  his  boyhood. 
One  of  the  last  things  he  ever  wrote,  was  a  letter  to  Findlay, 
which  breathes  the  same  deep  affection  for  him  that  he  had  cher- 
ished for  more  than  fifty  years.  The  feeble  hand  which  traced 
the  lines  was  almost  powerless  with  disease,  but  the  love  which 
inspired  them  burned  as  strongly  and  as  clearly  as  ever. 

An  incident,  which  occurred  a  few  years  after  his  marriage, 
illustrated  the  magnanimity  of  his  nature.  His  career  opened 
with  the  most  brilliant  prospects.  A  beautiful  home  on  Lake 
Windermere,  and  an  income  amply  suflScient  for  all  the  wants  of 
his  family,  rendered  him  perfectly  independent.  But  an  uncle 
to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  and  in  whom  he  placed  unlim- 
ited confidence,  betrayed  the  trust  committed  to  him,  and  lost  all 
of  Wilson's  property.  As  *  in  ruining  others ',  however,  '  he 
also  ruined  himself,  Wilson  seemed  more  affected  by  his  uncle's 
loss  than  by  his  own.  For  he  not  only  bore  his  own  loss  with 
a  quiet,  manly,  uncomplaining  courage,  but  also  liberally  con- 
tributed to  the  support  of  his  uncle. 

One  of  the  last  acts  of  his  life,  and  one  very  characteristic  of 
the  man,  was  his  going,  with  great  effort,  to  Edinburgh,  to  vote 
for  Macaulay,  who  had  been  a  rather  bitter  political  antagonist; 
an  act  of  magnanimous  generosity,  and  gentle  courtesy,  which 
Macaulay  most  heartily  acknowledged. 

The  two  great  relations  of  Wilson's  literary  life  were,  first: 
his  connection  with  BlackwooiTa  Magazine ;  and,  secondly,  his 
occupancy  of  the  Chair  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University 
of  Edinburgh.  In  the  first,  he  made  known  his  abilities  as  a 
writer ;  in  the  last,  his  capacity  as  a  teacher.  The  briefest 
sketch  of  his  life  and  labors  would,  without  some  notice  of  him 
as  an  editor  and  as  a  professor,  be  disgracefully  deficient.  We 
shall,  therefore,  devote  a  few  moments  to  his  career  as  the  editor 
of  Blackwood  and  as  professor  of  moral  philosophy. 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  WrUings  of  John  Wilaon.  79 

There  is  nothing  in  the  account  of  Wilson's  boyhood,  which 
unmistakably  indicated  his  future  eminence  as  a  writer.  His 
intellectual  nature,  in  fact,  was  so  often  dragged  at  the  wheels  of 
his  physical  nature  during  boyhood,  that  no  one  could  predict 
his  future  career.  And  besides,  with  one  exception,  his  life  .was 
free  from  the  bitter  disappointments,  the  unsatisfied  longings, 
the  homelessness,  the  friendlessness,  and  the  poverty,  which,  at 
one  time  or  another,  usually  prepare  men,  'as  with  a  baptism  of 
fire,  to  become  famous  writers.  It  was  not  till  his  examination 
for  the  bachelor's  degree  at  Oxford,  that  he  first  distinguished 
himself,  and  gave  unmistakable  signs  of  his  subsequent  career. 
In  the  words  of  his  friend  Blair,  that  examination  was  '  the 
most  illustrious  within  the  memory  of  man.'  Sotheby,  who  was 
present,  declared  that  ^  it  was  worth  coming  from  London  to 
hear  him  translate  a  Greek  chorus.'  Another  of  his  examiners 
says  :  '  it  produced  such  an  impression  on  his  examiners  as  to 
call  forth  (a  distinction  very  rarely  conferred)  the  public  expres- 
sion of  our  approbation  and  thanks.' 

His  first  publication,  *  The  Isle  of  Palms,  and  other  Poems,^ 
appeared  in  1812,  and  was  very  favorably  received  by  the  pub- 
lic But  he  never  fully  made  his  mark  in  the  literary  world, 
until  Blackux)od^8  Magazine  made  its  appearance  in  October, 
1817.  It  is  impossible  to  read  his  contributions  to  that  maga- 
zine, without  perceiving  that,  like  his  great  friend.  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  his  best  poetry  is  to  be  found  in  his  prose  writings ;  and 
especially  in  his  immortal  Nodes  AmbrosiancB. 

He  was,  by  many  persons,  supposed  to  be  an  editor,  if  not  the 
sole  editor,  of  Blackwoody  and  was,  consequently,  made  to  bear 
the  brunt  of  all  the  scathing  criticisms  and  invectives  which, 
with  no  sparing  hand,  were  laid  on  by  his  political  opponents, 
fiut  Wilson  —  thanks  to  his  superb  physique  as  well  as  to  his 
brave  spirit !  —  only  laughed  such  castigations  to  scorn,  or  re- 
turned them  with  tenfold  severity.  In  the  first  feeble  struggle 
for  existence,  which  this  periodical  had  made  under  the  editor- 
ship of  Cleghorn  and  Pringle,  and  under  the  name  of  The 
Edinburgh  Monthly  Magazine,  Wilson  had  anonymously  con- 
tributed some  poems.  But  when,  as  his  biographer  says,  '  he 
was  relieved  from  the  editorial  incubus,  and  the  embarrassment  of 


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80  The  Life  and  Wriivags  of  John  Wihon.  [Jan. 

a  divided  responsibility,  the  genius  of  Wilson  found  free  scope. 
Like  a  strong  athlete  who  never  before  had  room  or  occasion  to 
display  his  powers,  he  was  revelling  in  their  exercise  in  an  arena 
where  the  competitors  were  abundant,  and  the  onlookers  eagerly 
interested.  Month  after  month,  he  poured  forth  the  current  of 
his  ideas  on  politics,  poetry,  philosophy,  religion,  art,  books, 
men,  and  nature,  with  a  freshness  and  force  which  seemed  inca- 
pable of  exhaustion,  and  regardless  of  obstacles.' 

We  should  err,  however,  if  we  should  infer  from  this  passage, 
that  he  was  the  real  editor  of  Blackwood;  for,  at  most,  he  was 
only  a  subordinate  editor.  *  The  public ',  says  Lady  Gordon, 
*  whether  pleased  or  angry,  inquired  with  wonder  where  all 
this  sudden  talent  had  Iain  hid  that  now  threatened  to  set  the 
Forth  on  fire.  Suspicions  were  rife ;  but  Mr.  Blackwood  could 
keep  a  secret,  and  knew  the  ppwpf  of  mystery.  Who  his  con- 
tributors were,  who  his  editor,  were  matters  on  which  neither 
he  nor  they  chose  to  give  more  information  than  was  necessary. 
It  might  suffice  for  the  public  to  know,  from  the  all^orical 
descriptions  of  the  Chaldee  MS.,  that  there  was  a  host  of  mighty 
creatures  in  the  service  of  the  "  man  in  plain  apparel,''  con- 
spicuous among  which  were  the  "beautiful  Leopard  from  the 
valley  of  the  Palm  trees,"  and  "the  Scorpion  which  delighteth  to 
sting  the  feces  of  men."  As  for  their  leader,  he  was  judiciously 
represented  as  a  veiled  personage,  whose  name  it  was  in  vain  to 
ask,  and  whose  personality  was  itself  a  mystery.  On  that  point  the 
public,  which  cannot  rest  satisfied  without  attributing  specific 
powers  to  specific  persons,  refused  after  a  time  to  acknowledge 
the  mystery,  and  insisted  on  recognizing  in  John  Wilson  the 
real  impersonation  of  Blackwood's  "  veiled  editor."  The  error 
has  been  often  emphatically  corrected :  let  it  once  again  be  re- 
peated, on  the  best  authority,  that  the  only  real  editor  Black- 
wood^s  Magazine  ever  had  was  Blackwood  himself.  Of  this  fact 
I  have  abundant  proofs.  Suffice  it  that  contributions  from  Wil- 
son's own  pen  have  been  altered,  cut  down,  and  kept  back^  in 
compliance  with  the  strong  will  of  the  man  whose  name  on  the 
title-page  of  the  Magazine  truly  indicated  with  whom  lay  the 
sole  responsibility  of  the  management.' 

John  Wilson,  alias  the  ^Leopard',  (and  a  strong,  wild,  beaa- 


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iT 


1869.]  The  Life  and  WrUmga  of  John  Wilson.  81 

tiful  Leopard  he  certainly  was,)  and  Lockhart,  the  Scorpion  — 
terrible  creature !  — '  which  delighteth  to  sting  the  faces  of  men  \ 
were  the  two  principal  contributors  to  Blackwood^ a  Magazine. 
In  Peter^B  Letters  by  Mr.  Lockhart,  the  appearance  of  Wilson 
is  thus  described : '  In  complexion  he  is  the  best  specimen  I  have 
ever  seen  of  the  ideal  Ooth.  His  hair  is  of  the  true  Sicambrian 
yellow ;  his  eyes  are  of  the  brightest,  and  at  the  same  time  of 
the  clearest,  blue,  and  the  blood  glows  in  his  cheek  with  as  firm 
a  fervor  as  it  did,  according  to  the  description  of  Jomandes,  in 
those  of  the  "  Bello  gaudentee,  pr»lio  ridentes  Teutones '  of  At- 
tila.'' '  Yet  even  this  brave  Groth,  if  we  may  believe  the  words 
which  he  himself,  in  one  of  his  'Noctes',  puts  into  the  mouth  of 
James  Hogg,  was  ^  a  wee  feared '  of  the  terrible  Scorpion.  In 
r^ard  to  him,  Lady  Gordon  says :  *  The  black-haired,  Spanish- 
looking  OxoQian,  with  that  uncanny  laugh  of  his,  was  a  very 
dangerous  person  to  encounter  in  the  field  of  letters.  "I've 
sometimes  thocht,  Mr.. North,''  says  the  Shepherd, "  that  ye  were 
a  wee  feard  for  him  yoursel',  and  psed  rather,  without  kennin  't, 
to  draw  in  your  horns."  Systematic,  cool,  and  circumspect,  when 
he  armed  himself  for  conflict  it  was  with  a  fell  and  deadly  de- 
termination. The  other  one  {i.  e,  Wilson)  rushed  into  the  com- 
bat rejoicingly,  like  the  Teutons ;  but  even  in  his  fiercest  mood, 
he  was  alive  to  pity,  tenderness,  and  humor.  When  he  impaled 
a  victim,  he  did  it,  as  Walton  recommends,  not  vindictively,  but 
as  if  he  loved  him.  Lockhart,  on  the  other  hand,  though  sus- 
oq>tible  of  deep  emotions,  and  gifted  with  a  most  playful  wit, 
had  no  scruple  in  wounding  to  the  very  quick,  and  no  thrill  of 
compassion  ever  held  back  his  hand  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  strike.  He  was  certainly  no  coward,  but  he  liked  to  fight  under 
cover,  and  keep  himself  unseen,  while  Wilson,  even  under  the 
^eld  of  anonymity,  was  rather  prone  to  exhibit  his  own  unmis- 
takable personality.  Such  were  the  two  principal  contributors  to 
Blackwood  when  it  broke  upon  the  startled  gaze  of  Edinburgh 
Whigdom,  like  a  fiery  comet  "  that  with  fear  of  change  perplexes 
monarchs."'. 

John  Wilson  and  John  Lockhart,  the  Leopard  and  the  Scor- 
pion, seemed  utterly  indifferent  as  to  consequences.     Wilson,  in 
the  full  flush  of  youthful  ardor,  enjoyed  attacks  on  men  and 
6 


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82  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  WUaon.  [Jan. 

things  usually  considered  unassailable ;  while  Lockhart  found 
free  scope  for  his  sardonic  wit  and  biting  satire.  He  spared  no 
one.  Friends  no  less  than  foes,  allies  and  co-contributors  to 
Blackwood  no  less  than  enemies  and  hostile  critics,  were  the  vio- 
tims  of  his  wicked  wit.  But  Hogg,  alias  '  The  wild  Boar  of 
the  forest ',  or  the  '  Ettrick  Shepherd ',  was,  perhaps,  the  person 
who  suflfered  most  from  the  Scorpion's  love  of  mischiefl  Speak- 
ing of  Lockhart,  he  says :  *  I  dreaded  his  eye  terribly,  and  it 
was  not  without  reason,  for  he  was  very  fond  of  playing  tricks 
on  me,  but  always  in  such  a  way  that  it  was  impossible  to  lose 
temper  with  him.  I  never  parted  company  with  him  that  my 
judgment  was  not  entirely  jumbled  with  regard  to  characters, 
books,  ftnd  literary  articles  of  every  description.'  He  (the 
Shepherd)  was  anxious  to  find  out  who  wrote  the  articles  which, 
from  month  to  month,  created  so  great  a  sensation.  Being  un- 
able to  extract  any  information  from  Wilson,  he  would  repair  to 
Lockhart,  who,  with  the  most  immovable  gravity,  would  father 
the  articles  upon  some  innocent  or  imaginary  personage.  ^  Then ', 
says  the  simple  Shepherd,  *away  I  flew  with  the  wonderful 
news  to  my  associates,  and  if  any  remained  incredulous,  I  swore 
the  facts  down  through  them,  so  that  before  I  left  Edinburgh  I 
was  accounted  the  greatest  liar  in  it  except  one.'  The  Shepherd, 
finding  that  the  conspirators  had  made  up  their  minds  to  act  on 
CyDoherty's  principle  —  never  to  disclaim  any  thing  they  had  not 
written,  and  never  to  acknowledge  any  thing  they  had  written 
—  and,  thinking  to  secure  himself  against  misrepresentation,  de- 
termined to  sign  his  name  to  every  piece  from  his  pen.  'But', 
says  he, '  as  soon  as  the  rascals  perceived  this,  they  signed  my 
name  as  fast  as  I  did.  They  then  continued  the  incomparable 
'^  Noctes  Ambrosianse"  for  the  sole  purpose  of  putting  all  the  sen- 
timents into  the  Shepherd's  mouth,  which  they  durst  not  avow-, 
edly  say  themselves,  and  these,  too,  oflen  applying  to  my  best 
friends.'  Hogg  was,  however,  secretly  delighted  with  '  the  &me 
thus  thrust  upon  him  in  addition  to  his  own  deserts.'  (p.  180.) 
But  Dr.  Scott,  or  the  '  Odontist ',  as  he  dubbed  himself,  was  ab- 
solutely carried  away  and  almost  crazed  by  the  fiime  thrust  upon 
him  by  Lockhart's  powers  of  mystification  and  mischief.  The 
amusing  story  is  thus  related  by  Lady  Grordon:    'The  doc- 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wtlaon.  83 

tor  was  a  dentist^  who  practised  both  in  Edinburgh  and  Glas- 
gow, but  resided  chiefly  in  the  latter  city, — a  fet,  bald,  queer- 
looking,  and  jolly  little  man,  fond  of  jokes  and  conviviality^ 
bot  with  no  more  pretensions  to  literary  or  poetic  skill  than 
tL  street  j>orter.  To  his  own  and  his  friends'  astonishment  he 
was  introduced  in  JBlachwood's  Magaaine  as  one  of  its  most  yal- 
aed  contributors,  and  as  the  author  of  a  variety  of  clever  verses. 
There  was  no  mistake  about  it,  ^'  Dr.  James  Scott,  7  Miller  street, 
Glasgow,"  was  a  name  and  address  as  well  known  as  that  of 
Mr.  Blackwood  himself.  The  ingenious  author  had  contrived  to 
introduce  so  many  of  the  Doctor's  peculiar  phrases,  and  refer- 
ences to  his  Saltmarket  acquaintances,  that  the  Doctor  himself 
gradually  began  to  believe  that  the  verses  were  really  his  own^ 
and  when  called  on  to  sing  one  of  his  songs  in  company,  he  as- 
sumed the  airs  of  authorship  with  perfect  complacency.  The 
^Odontist"  became  recognized  as  one  of  Blackwood's  leading 
eharacters,  and  so  fiur  was  the  joke  carried,  that  a  volume  of  his 
compositions  was  gravely  advertised  in  a  list  of  new  works,  pre- 
fixed to  the  Magazine,  as  '^  in  the  press."  Even  the  acute  pub- 
lisher, John  Ballantyne,  Hogg  relates,  was  so  convinced  of  the 
Odontist's  genius,  that  he  expressed  a  great  desire  to  be  intro- 
duced to  so  remarkable  a  man,  and  wished  to  have  the  honor  of 
being  his  publisher.  The  Doctor's  &me  went  &r  beyond  Edin- 
burgh. Happening  to  pay  a  visit  to  Liverpool,  he  was  immedi- 
ately welcomed  by  the  literary  society  of  the  town  as  the  "glo- 
rious Odontist "  of  Blackwood^ %  Magaaine^  and  received  a  com- 
plimentary dinner,  which  he  accepted  in  entire  good  faith,  reply- 
ing to  the  toast  of  the  evening  with  all  the  formality  that  be- 
came the  occasion.' 

We  adorn  our  pages  with  Lady  Gordon's  account  of  the  con- 
tributors to  Blackwood^  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  the  admirable 
description  of  Lockhart,  with  which  it  concludes :  ^  The  staff 
of  contributors  whom  Mr.  Blackwood  had  contrived  to  rally 
round  his  standard  contained  many  distinguished  men.  "  The 
Great  Unknown,"  and  the  venerable  "Man  of  Feeling," 
were  enlisted  on  his  side,  and  gave  some  occasional  help. 
Dr.  M'Crie,  the  biographer  of  Knox,  and  Dr.  Andrew  Thom- 
son, were  solemnly  and  at  much  length  reproved  by  an  ortho- 


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84  The  Life  and  Writinga  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 

dox  pamphleteer^  styling  himself  Calvinus,  for  their  sup- 
posed association  with  the  wicked  authors  of  the  Chaldee  Man- 
uscript. Sir  David  Brewster  contributed  scientific  articles,  as 
did  also  Robert  Jameson  and  James  Wilson.  Among  the  other 
contributors,  actual  or  presumed,  were  De  Quincey,  Hogg,  Gil- 
lies, Fraser,  Tytler,  Kirkpatrick,  Sharpe,  Sir  William  Hamilton, 
and  his  brother,'  the  author  of  Chfril  Thornton.  But  though  all 
these  and  more  figured  in  the  list  of  Blackwood's  supporters, 
there  were  but  two  on  whom  he  placed  his  main  reliance,  the 
most  prolific  and  versatile  of  all  the  band,  who  between  them 
were  capable  at  any  time  of  providing  the  whole  contents  of  a 
Number.  These  were  John  Wilson  and  John  Gibson  Lock- 
hart.  Those  whose  only  knowledge  of  that  pair  of  briefless 
young  advocates  was  derived  from  seeing  them  pacing  the  Par- 
liament House,  or  lounging  carelessly  into  Blackwood's  saloon  to 
read  the  newspapers,'  and  pass  their  jokes  on  everybody,  includ- 
ing themselves,  could  have  little  idea  of  their  power  of  work,  or 
of  the  formidable  manner  in  which  it  was  being  exercised. 
That  blue-eyed  and  ruddy-cheeked  poet,  whose  time  seemed  to 
hang  lightly  enough  upon  his  hands,  did  not  quite  realize  one's 
idea  of  the  redoubtable  critic  whose  '^  crutch  "  was  to  become  so 
formidable  a  weapon.  Nor  did  his  jaunty-looking  companion, 
whose  leisure  seemed  to  be  wholly  occupied  in  drawing  carica- 
tures,' appear  a  likely  person,  when  he  sauntered  home  firom 

1  Thomas  Hamilton  wrote  seyeral  works  besides  OyrU  ThonUon  ;  among  otben, 
Annalto/the  Feninsular  Oampaign^  and  JtfSm  and  MtmnetM  m  Ammca,  He  died  in 
1842,  at  the  age  of  fifty-three. 

'  That  saloon  and  its  proprietor  are  thus  described  bj  Dr.  Peter  Morris : —  **Tben 
YOU  have  an  elegant  oval  saloon  lighted  from  the  roof,  where  yarioas  groups  of 
loungers  and  literary  dUeUanti  are  engaged  in  looking  at,  or  criticising  among 
themselves,  the  publications  jnst  arrived  by  that  day's  coach  from  town.  In  such  crit- 
ical colloquies,  the  voice  of  the  bookseller  may  ever  and  anon  be  heard  mingling  the 
broad  and  unadulterated  notes  of  its  Auld  Reekie  music ;  for  unless  occupied  in 
the  recesses  of  the  premises  with  some  other  busiuess,  it  is  here  that  he  has  his 
usual  station.  He  is  a  nimble,  active-looking  man  of  middle  age,  and  moves  about 
from  one  comer  to  another  with  great  alacrity,  and  apparently  under  the  influence  of 
high  animal  spirits.  His  complexion  is  very  sanguineous,  but  nothing  can  be  more 
intelligent,  keen,  and  sagacious  than  the  expression  or  his  whole  physiognomy : 
above  all,  the  gray  eyes  and  eyebrows,  as  full  of  locomotion  as  those  of  Gaulani.'' 
—  Feter^M  LeUerSj  vol.  ii,  pp.  187,  188. 

'  It  is  said,  with  what  truth  I  know  not,  that  clever  as  Mr.  Lockhart  was  with 
both  pen  and  pencil,  he  lacked  curiously  one  gift  without  which  no  man  can  be  a 
successfril  barrister ;  he  could  not,  like  many  other  able  writenk  make  a  speech. 
His  portfolios  show  that,  instead  of  taking  notes  during  a  trial,  hlB  pen  must  have 
been  busily  employed  in  photographing  all  the  parties  engaged— judge;  counsel,  and 
prisoner. 


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1869.]         The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wihon.  85 

PriDoes  street,  to  sit  down  to  a  translation  from  the  German,  or 
to  dash  off  at  a  sitting  "  oopy^ ''  enough  to  fill  a  sheet  of  Blach- 
wad's  Magazine.  The  striking  contrast  in  the  outward  aspect 
of  the  two  men  corresponded  truly  to  their  difference  of  charac- 
ter and  temperament  —  a  difference,  however,  which  proved  no 
obstacle  to  their  close  intimacy.  There  was  a  picturesque  con- 
trast between  them,  which  might  be  simply  defined  by  light  and 
shade;  but  there  was  a  more  striking  dissimilarity  than  that 
which  is  merely  the  result  of  coloring.  Mr.  Lockhart's  pale 
olive  complexion  had  something  of  a  Spanish  character  in  it, 
that  accorded  well  with  the  sombre  or  rather  melancholy  expres- 
Mon  of  his  coantenance ;  his  thin  lips,  compressed  beneath  a  smile 
of  habitual  sarcasm,  promised  no  genial  response  to  the  warmer 
emotions  of  the  heart.  His  compact,  finely-formed  head  indica- 
ted an  acute  and  refined  intellect.  Cold,  haughty,  supercilious 
in  manner,  he  seldom  won  love,  and  not  unfrequently  caused  his 
friends  to  distrust  it  in  him,  for  they  sometimes  found  the  warmth 
of  their  own  feelings  thrown  b^k  upon  them  in  presence  of  this 
cold  indifference.  Circumstances  afterwards  conferred  on  him  a 
hrilliant  position,  and  he  gave  way  to  the  weakness  which  seeks 
prestige  from  the  reflected  glory  found  in  rank.  The  gay  cote- 
ries of  London  society  injured  his  interest  in  the  old  friends 
who  had  worked  hand  in  hand  with  him  when  in  Edinburgh. 
He  was  well  depicted  by  his  friend  through  the  mouth  of  the 
Siepherd,  as  "  the  Oxford  collegian,  wi  a  pale  face  and  a  black 
toozy  head,  but  an  e'e  like  an  eagle's ;  and  a  sort  o'  lauch  about 
the  screwed-up  mouth  o'  him  that  fules  ca'ed  no  canny,  for  they 
oouldna'  tbole  the  meaning  o't."  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  be 
able  to  give  the  capital  likeness  on  page  185,  drawn  by  his  own 
hand,  in  which  the  satirist  who  spared  no  one,  has  most  assuredly 
not  been  flattering  to  himself.' 

An  outrageous  attack  upon  Professor  Playfair,  one  of  the 
most  highly  respected  men  in  Edinburgh,  caused  a  breach  in 
the  friendly  relations  of  Wilson  and  Jeffrey,  the  editor  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  In  honorable  and  manly  terms,  Jeffrey  re- 
fused to  ask  or  accept  any  favor  from  one  who  allowed  himself 
to  be  identified  with  the  authors  of  what  he  considered  false  and 
malignant  accusations.    Lady  Gordon  apologizes  for  her  father 


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88  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jaih 

on  the  ground,  that  he  was  not  the  author  of  such  attacks  ;  and 
that  Mr.  Blackwood,  not  Mr.  Wilson,  was  the  real  editor  of  the 
magazine.  Wilson,  it  is  true,  had  no  alternative  but  to  with- 
draw from  all  connection  with  the  magazine,  or  to  bear  his  share 
of  the  odium  justly  attaching  to  its  course.  In  permitting  him- 
self to  stand  before  the  world  as  the  editor  of  Blackwood^  Wil- 
son undoubtedly  occupied  a  false  position,  and  a  false  position  is 
always  unmanly.  It  is  one  in  which  a  man  is  neither  true  to  him- 
self nor  to  his  friends.  The.  true  course  for  him  was  to  resign  all 
connection  with  the  magazine,  at  whatever  pecuniary  sacrificei 
rather  than  permit  himself  to  be  identified  with  writers  who, 
with  the  utmost  virulence,  attacked  the  men  and  things  which 
be  approved,  while,  at  the  same  time,  he  occu{>ied  a  position  in 
wliich  he  could  express  no  disapprobation  of  the  course  pursued 
by  them ;  nor  even  disclaim  being  the  perpetrator  of  the  gross 
iujustice.  We  can  imagine,  however,  that  his  position  might,  in 
the  eyes  of  a  young  man,  appear  heroic  rather  than  otherwise. 
It  seems  so  like  what  is  truly  heroic  —  the  quiet  persistence  in 
a  course  of  duty,  unmoved  by  misapprehension  and  obloquy. 
Yet  the  distinction  is  clear.  A  man  has  no  right  to  be  mis- 
understood—  to  appear  to  condemn  what  he  really  approves. 
If  his  course  is  true,  if  his  eye  is  single  to  what  is  right,  if  he 
really  pleads  the  just  cause,  instead  of  remaining  silent  when  it 
13  assailed,  or  appeaHng  as  its  enemy,  and  then,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, the  world  attributes  false  motives  to  him,  the  world,  and 
not  himself,  is  in  &ult.  But  such  was  not  the  position  of  Wil- 
son. Both  by  his  position  as  reputed  editor  oi  Blackwoody  and  by 
his  silence,  he  appeared  before  the  public  as  the  perpetrator,  or 
at  least  the  approver,  of  the  most  flagitious  acts  of  injustice. 

An  article  upon  Leigh  Hunt,  for  example,  appeared  in  Black- 
v^ood,  not  only  criticising  his  writings  un&irly,  but  aspersing  his 
character  most  unjustly.  Nor  was  this  all ;  for  Sir  John  Dal- 
yell,  a  man  who,  as  a  Whig,  held  Blackwood  in  utter  detesta- 
tion, was  represented  as  the  author  of  that  unscrupulous  and 
outrageous  article.  Sir  John,  still  smarting  under  the  merciless 
ridicule  of  the  famous  Chaldee  Manuscript,  a  previous  contribu- 
tion to  Blackwood^  sued  the  publishers  for  the  liberty  taken  with 
Lis  name,  and  recovered  exemplary  damages.    This  suit,  and 


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1869.]         The  Life  and  WriUnga  of  John  Wilson.  87 

some  others,  restrained  the  license,  without  impairing  the  liberty, 

of  Mr.  Blackwood's  press.     Nay,  by  curbing  the  ferocity,  it  de-    /^ 

ddedly  improved  the  freedom,  of  his  celebrated  magazine. 

In  reading  the  Blackwood  of  that  day,  we  are  surprised,  at 
first,  that  it  should  have  produced  so  tremendous  a  sensation 
m  the  world  of  letters.  This  fiict  can  not  be  accounted  for  by 
the  merits  of  the  magazine  alone.  Several  other  causes,  even 
morejwwerful  than  its  intrinsic  merits,  contributed  to  the  im- 
pression it  made  on  the  public  mind.  In  the  first  place,  it  was 
something  new  under  the  sun ;  displaying  a  power  more  start- 
ling by  its  apparent  lawlessness,  than  by  its  inherent  magnitude. 
It  broke,  as  Lady  Gordon  says,  on  the  astonished  gaze  of  the 
world  like  a  comet,  which  with  '  fear  of  change  perplexes  mon- 
archs,'  as  well  as  fills  the  minds  of  common  people  with  fear  for 
their  personal  safety.  In  the  second  place,  the  violent  animosi- 
ties which  influenced  the  political  parties  of  that  day,  gave  a 
wonderful  zest,  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  profound  abhorrence,  on 
the  other,  to  the  raging  and  the  rancorous  petsonalities  of  the 
magazine  in  question.     The  violent  animosity  of  parties,  in  fact,  ^ 

then  divided  society  to  its  foundations,  and  convulsed  it  with 
passions  almost  equal  to  those  of  a  great  revolution.  It  is  no 
wonder,  then,  that  a  periodical  such  as  Blackwood's, — ^bold,  dar- 
ing, unscrupulous,  and  .vindictive, — should  have  acted  more  like 
an  ignited  magazine  for  powder,  than  one  for  letters  and  philo- 
sophy. Without  these  elements  of  success,  or  sources  of  sensa- 
tion, the  intrinsic  merits  of  the  magazine,  even  if  they  had  been 
twice  as  great,  would  not  have  produced  half  the  effect.  Its 
merits  were,  no  doubt,  as  great  as  they  were  motley ;  and  seem 
to  be  well  described  in  one  of  its  own  most  remarkable  articles, 
from  the  pen  of  that  prodigy  of  learning  and  genius,  poor  Ma- 
ginn,  aUas  Ensign  O'Doherty.  '  People  have  learnt,'  says  he, 
'the  great  lesson,  that  Reviews,  merely  qud  such,  are  nothing. 
They  take  in  his  book  ( Wilson's  Magajdne)  not  as  a  Review,  to 
pick  up  opinions  of  new  books  from  it,  nor  as  a  periodical,  to 
read  themselves  asleep  upon,  but  as  a  classical  work  which  hap- 
pens to  be  continued  from  month  to  month, — ^a  real  magazine  of 
mirth,  misanthropy,  wit,  wisdom,  folly,  fiction,  fun,  festivity, 
theology,  bruising,  and  thingumbob.     He  unites  all  the  best        ^y^ 


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88  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 

materials  of  the  Edinburgh^  the  Quarterly,  and  the  Sporting 
Magazine — ^the  literature  and  good  writing  of  the  first,  the  in- 
formation and  orthodoxy  of  the  second,  and  the  flash  and  trap 
of  the  third/  * 

The  Chair  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh becoming  vacant  on  the  death  of  Dr.  Thomas  Brown,  both 
Wilson  and  Sir  William  Hamilton  announced  themselves  as 
candidates  within  a  month*  They  were  personal  friends  at  the 
outset  of  the  contest,  and  so  they  remained  to  its  end.  Neither 
of  them  was  responsible  for  the  bitter  personalities  in  which  their 
respective  friends  so  freely  indulged.  The  whole  battle  was 
fought  upon  political,  and  not  upon  personal,  grounds ;  the  very 
personalities  introduced  proceeding  from  political  motives.  Wil- 
son was  abhorred,  by  the  Whigs,  as  the  editor  of  Blackwood; 
and  his  private  character  was  meanly  and  basely  aspersed  by  his 
political  opponents.  Sir  William  Hamilton,  though  a  whig,  had 
never  taken  an  active  part  in  politics ;  and  the  odium  of  Black- 
wood  did  not  interfere  with  his  prospects.  No  one  doubted  his 
pre-eminent  qualifications  for  the  Chair  in  question ;  for  be  had, 
with  great  labor  and  success,  devoted  his  life  to  the  study  of 
philosophy.  The  grave  philosopher,  it  is  true,  did  contribute 
one  verse  to  the  famous  Chaldee  Manuscript,  and  was  so  highly 
^  amused  at  his  own  wit,  that  he  rolled  from  his  chair  upon  the 
V  floor  in  a  fit  of  laughter.  His  comparatively  slight  connection 
with  Blackwood,  however,  was  either  not  known,  or  it  was  not 
deemed  an  unpardonable  ofience,  by  his  political  friends.  Both 
candidates  were  brilliant  Oxonians.  But  Hamilton,  as  Wilson 
himself  must  have  known,  possessed  claims  to  the  Chair  in  ques- 
tion superior  to  his  own.  By  his  intellectual  habits  and  tastes,  by 
his  profound  and  protracted  studies,  by  his  vast  erudition  and 
powerful  mind.  Sir  William  Hamilton  had,  indeed,  placed  him- 
self in  advance  of  the  very  front  rank  of  the  philosophers  of 
his  age  and  country.  Yet  John  Wilson,  the  brilliant  litterateur, — 
thanks  to  his  political  connections  and  to  his  party  services ! — 
carried  off^  the  palm  of  victory  fit)m  the  philosopher ;  who,  abso- 
lutely free  from  envy,  continued  to  enjoy  his  friendship  for  his 
successful  rivals  as  well  as  his  passion  for  the  study  of  philosophy. 

*NocU»  AmbronancBj  No.  lY.;  an  imaginary  dialogue  at  Pisa  between  Maginn 
and  Byron ;  npon  reading  which  his  Lordship  exclaimed,  *  Confound  the  follow  I 
he  undentandB  me  better  than  I  do  myself.' 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  WUaon.  89 

Political  influence  had^  as  we  have  seen^  raised  Wilson  to  the 
Chair  of  Moral  Phil^feophy^  but  it  could  not  enable  him  to  fill 
that  Chair  with  honor  to  himself  or  to  the  University.  This 
could  be  done  only  by  the  attributes  and  the  attainments  of  the 
man  himself.  It  is  evident  from  Wilson's  letters  to  his  friend 
Blair,  and  the  anxiety  they  manifest,  that  he  had  serious  mis- 
givings as  to  his  own  fitness  for  the  Chair  in  question.  His  ad- 
versaries more  than  doubted,  they  denied  and  poured  contempt 
(m,  his  qualifications  for  such  a  professorship ;  and  entered  into 
a  formidable  conspiracy  to  bring  him  into  irretrievable  disgrace. 
If  he  triumphed  over  his  enemies,  as  he  did  most  effectually, 
this  was  due  to  his  manhood,  not  to  his  moral  science.  The  con- 
spiracy, and  its  &te,  is  thus  described  by  an  eye  witness :  '  There 
was  a  fiirious  bitterness  of  feeling  against  him  among  the  classes 
of  which  probably  most  of  his  pupils  would  consist,  and  although 
I  had  no  prospect  of  being  among  them,  I  went  to  his  first  lec- 
ture prepared  to  join  in  a  cabal,  which  I  understood  was  formed 
to  put  him  down.  The  lecture  room  was  crowded  to  the  ceil- 
ing. Such  a  collection  of  hard-browed,  scowling  Scotchmen,  mut- 
tering over  their  knobsticks,  I  never  saw.'  Poor  chance,  surely, 
has  the  new  Professor  for  a  hearing  firom  that  audience  of  knob- 
sticks, hard-brows,  and  scowling  Scotchmen,  whose  mutterings 
of  hate,  scorn,  and  all  manner  of  uncharitableness,  are  ready 
and  eager  to  burst  into  a  furious  storm  of  disapprobation  I  But, 
nothbg  daunted,  the  Professor  '  enters  with  a  bold  step  amid 
profound  silence.  Every  one  expects  some  deprecatory  or  pro- 
pitiary  introduction  of  himself  and  his  subject,  upon  which  the  A>^ 
mass  (t.  e.  the  mob)  is  to  decide  against  him,  reason  or  no  rea- 
son,' and  overwhelm  him  with  a  storm  of  knobsticks  and  hissing 
Scotchmen.  But  he  disappoints  their  expectations.  He  ^  thun- 
ders right  into  the  matter  of  his  lecture,  and  keeps  up  unflinchingly 
and  unhesitatingly,  without  a  pause,  a  flow  of  rhetoric  such  as 
Dogald  Stewart  or  Thomas  Brown,  his  predecessors,  never  deliv- 
ered in  the  same  place.  Not  a  word,  not  a  murmur,  escapes 
his  activated,  his  conquered  audience;  and  at  the  end  they 
give  him  a  right-down  burst  of  unanimous  applause.  Those 
who  came  to  scoff  remain  to  praise.'  Knobsticks  said  not  a 
word,  and  even  hard-browed, '  scowling  Scotchmen ',  smiled, — 


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W  The  Life  cmd  Writings  of  John  Wihon.  [Jan. 

such  and  so  great  was  the  presence  of  the  man  and  the  power  of 
his  speech.  Beautiful,  too,  exceedingly  l)eautiful,  is  the  ind- 
dent,  that  Sir  William  Hamilton,  the  defeated  candidate,  listened 
entranced  to  the  first  lecture  of  the  new  Professor,  and,  at  the 
grand  final  burst  of  the  peroration,  out-clapped  the  most  enthusi- 
astic of  his  pupils. 

Yet,  after  all,  we  can  not  find  that  John  Wilson  was  a 
moral  philosopher.  Neither  from  the  Memoir  before  us,  nor 
from  any  other  source,  can  we  learn  that  he  ever  really  devoted 
his  mind,  in  right  good  earnest,  to  the  study  of  the  science. 
And  in  none  of  his  numerous*  writings,  is  there  a  discussion  of 
any  of  the  great  principles  of  moral  science,  or  even  a  distinct 
statement  of  them.  In  his  multifarious  contributions  to  Blach- 
woody  extending  over  a  long  period  of  literary  labor,  we  find  al- 
most every  thing  considered,  except  the  elements  of  moral  sci- 
ence. It  seems  truly  wonderful  indeed,  that  he  should  have 
devoted  so  large  a  portion  of  his  life  to  the  teaching  of  the  sci- 
ence, and  yet  leave  no  traces  of  his  studies  of  it  in  his  writings* 
He  did  elaborate,  as  we  are  assured  in  his  Memoir y  a  certain 
theory  respecting  the  origin  of  the  moral  sense,  or  the  conscience; 
but  that  was  a  theory  which  he  had  found  in  the  Progress  of 
Ethical  Philosophy  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  and  which  he 
ought  to  have  permitted  to  slumber  there  forever.  It  is  certain- 
ly the  most  questionable  portion  of  Mackintosh's  history  of  moral 
philosophy ;  and  might,  if  this  were  the  place  for  its  examina- 
tion, be  very  easily  refuted.  This  theory  resting,  as  it  does,  on 
vague  and  doubtful  analogies  for  its  support,  opened  a  fine  field 
for  the  excursions  of  Wilson's  imagination  and  eloquence.  But 
it  did  not  open  the  door  to  moral  philosophy.  His  teachings 
were,  no  doubt,  highly  beneficial  to  his  pupils,  in  rousing  their 
minds  to  activity,  and  inspiring  them  with  noble  sentiments  and 
glorious  resolves ;  but  then  they  were  not,  properly  speaking, 
instructions  in  the  science  of  morals.  They  seem  to  have  been 
any  thing  but  this.  •  The  fragments  of  his  lectures,  or  rather 
allusions  to  his  lectures,  which  are  given  in  the  Memoir,  are 
simply  flights  of  imagination  used  to  illustrate  some  moral  sen- 
timent or  emotion,  and  not  a  principle  or  law  of  moral  scienoe. 
They  only  profess,  indeed,  to  be  the  reproduction  of  impresaions 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  91 

made  upon  some  listener  or  other.  But  whatever  may  have 
been  his  deficiencies  as  a  moral  philosopher^  thej  were  concealed 
from  his  admiring  audience^  by  the  halo  which  his  eloquence  and 
wonderful  personal  presence  threw  around  his  metaphysical  pre- 
lections. The  man  who,  like  Wilflbn^  has  only  impressed  his 
hearers  deeply,  but  has  never  propounded  a  new  truth,  nor  ar- 
ranged, systematised,  and  organised  truths  already  known,  who, 
in  short,  leaves  the  world  without  having  added  one  thing,  either 
in  snbetance  or  in  form,  to  the  science  to  which  he  has  devoted 
his  life,  can  hardly  deserve  the  High  encomiums  bestowed  upon 
him  by  his  biographer. 

From  his  first  lecture,  Wilson  learned  that  he  could,  even 
under  the  most  trying  circumstances,  rely  on  his  manhood,  his 
learning,  and  his  eloquence,  without  much  aid  from  his  know- 
ledge of  moral  science ;  and  this  lesson  he  seems  to  have  carried 
with  him  to  his  grave.  One  of  his  pupils,  for  example,  gives 
the  following  beautiful  and  spirited  description  of  Wilson,  as  he 
appeared  in  his  lecture-room  in  the  last  year  of  his  professional 
life :  '  And  then  to  the  bewilderment  of  those  who  had  never 
heard  him  before,  he  looked  long  and  earnestly  out  of  the  north 
window  toward  the  spire  of  the  old  Tron  Kirk,  until  having 
at  last  got  his  idea,  he  feced  round  and  uttered  it  with  eye  and 
hand  and  voice  and  soul  and  spirit,  and  bore  the  class  along 
with  him.  As  he  spoke,  the  bright  blue  eye  looked  with  a 
strange  gaze  into  vacancy,  sometimes  sparkling  with  a  coming 
joke,  sometimes  darkening  before  a  rush  of  indignant  eloquence, 
the  tremulous  upper  lip  curving  with  every  wave  of  thought  or 
burst  of  passion,  and  the  golden  gray  hair  floating  on  the  old 
man^s  mighty  shoulders,  if  indeed  that  could  be  called  age 
which  seemed  but  the  immortality  of  a  more  majestic  youth. 
And  occasionally,  in  the  finer  frenzy  of  his  more  imaginative 
parages,  as  when  he  spoke  of  Alexander,  clay-cold  at  Babylon, 
with  the  world  lying  conquered  around  his  tomb,  or  of  the  High- 
knd  hills  that  pour  the  rage  of  cataracts  adown  their  riven  clifis, 
or  even  of  the  human  mind  with  its  primeval  granitic  truths, 
the  grand  old  face  flushed  with  the  proud  thought,  and  the  eyes 
grew  dim  with  tears,  and  the  magnificent  frame  quivered  with 
tiie  universal  emotion.' 


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92  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson.  [Jan. 

These  two  impressions  made  upon  two  difierent  minds,  at  the 
beginning  and  end  of  his  professional  career,  give  a  better  idea 
thaa  anything  we  could  say,  however  elaborate,  of  the  man  and 
the  professor.  The  utterance  of  such  moral  emotions,  however 
eloquent,  is  not  moral  scienft.  It  is  merely  the  lightning  of  the 
mind,  playing  among  the  branches  of  the  science,  which  leaves 
its  roots,  its  organic  structure,  and  its  vital  principle,  precisely 
where  it  found  them. 

AVe  now  take  a  reluctant  leave  of  Lady  Gordon's  Memoir  of 
her  father.  It  is  well-written' — uncommonly  well-written  for 
a  first  effort.  Yet,  in  all  the  earlier  portions  of  the  work,  there 
is  a  certain  stiffness  and  conventionality  of  style,  which  is  not 
pleasing.  We  do  not  feel  that  the  eulogium  of  the  American 
editor  is  fully  deserved.  We  do  not  think  it  can  be  classed  with 
'  the  master-biographies  of  English  literature.'  There  is  no  fed- 
]  ngj  especially  in  the  earlier  parts  of  the  book,  of  any  thorough  mas- 
tery of  the  subject.  The  fiewts  are  presented  in  too  bald  a  man- 
ner ;  and  tl^e  arrangement  is  somewhat  faulty.  The  same  mat- 
ter, better  arranged  and  systematized,  might  have  been  easily 
bompressed  within  two-thirds  of  the  space,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  have  been  presented  in  a  form  more  easily  retained  in  the 
memory.  Besides  occasional  letters,  which  could  not  have  been 
spared,  the  greater  part  of  which  are  to  his  wife  and  daughters, 
and  throw  much  light  upon  his  domestic  life  and  character, 
there  are  about  126  pages  devoted  exclusively  to  correspondence. 
Many  of  these  letters  are  of  an  utterly  trivial  character,  throw- 
ing no  light  upon  characters  or  the  times;  others  of  much  lit- 
erary interest,  are  from  his  distinguished  contemporaries,  but 
perfectly  irrelevant.  After  these  comes  the  only  genuine  bio- 
graphy of  the  book.  The  delineation  of  his  early  life  is  full, 
accurate,  and  honest,  but  the  breath  of  life  has  never  been 
breathed  into  it.  But  when  we  come  to  the  picture  of  the  old 
mao^  with  his  majestic  frame  shattered  and  brought  low,  while 
his  mind  was  yet  bright  and  clear,  even  the  old  zest  for  boyish 
sports  in  full  vigor,  the  old  scorn  of  all  that  was  unmanly  and 
mean  strong  as  in  his  youth,  then  we  see  the  man,  and  we  be- 
lieve in  him.  Before  he  was  only  a  myth.  It  is  natural  that 
his  daughter,  in  these  latter  years  of  his  life,  when  she  was  old 


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1869.]  The  Life  and  Writings  of  John  Wilson. 

enough  to  know  and  appreciate  him,  should,  into  her  picture  of 
him,  throw  a  life  and  a  power  which  she  could  not  give  to  her 
ideal  of  bis  youth  and  early  manhood. 

Mrs.  Grordon  is  evidently  a  truthful  writer.  We  have  sel- 
dom seen  such  honesty  of  purpose  in  a  biographer,  and  yet  in 
spite  of  her  steady  resolve  to  tell  only  the  truth,  her  filial  love 
has  made  her  take  a  view  of  her  father,  which  is  not  perhaps  the 
tmest  one.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  the  human  mind  entirely 
to  dispossess  itself  of  the  idea  that  the  object  around  which  its 
dearest  affections,  most  genuine  admiration,  and  almost  worship, 
cluster,  is  not,  in  some  sense,  the  centre  of  the  universe.  That, 
of  course,  is  a  strong  form  of  expression,  and  yet  it  symbolizes 
a  truth.  She  can  not  see  clearly  that  in  some  cases  he  was  wrong. 
We  believe  she  never  excuses  him  for  any  thing  she  sees  to  be 
80,  but  not  seeing  things  as  they  are,  is  a  subtle  form  of  untruth- 
fulness ;  though,  in  this  case,  far  from  discreditable  to  her  good- 
ness of  heart.  "VVe  believe  John  Wilson  was  too  noble  a  man 
to  desire  that  his  errors  should  be  smoothed  over,  or  apologised 
for.  The  truth,  after  all,  is  the  best  thing, —  not  only  truth  in 
speaking,  but  also  truth  in  seeing.  Biography  ceases  to  be  the 
most  intolerable  reading  in  the  world  only  when  the  truth,  from 
any  cause,  is  spoken.  Boswell,  who,  in  his  sheer  opacity  and 
conceit,  has  written  a  biography  which  has  yet  to  be  displaced 
from  its  seat  of  high  honor  in  that  class  of  literature,  and  Ir- 
ving, who,  with  his  artistic  eye  and  profound  study  of  the  sub- 
ject, forgot  to  be  a  partizan,  are  marked  instances.  Who  has 
not  had  that  unutterable  horror  forced  upon  him,  a  religious 
biography  from  which  all  that  was  not  considered  the  right 
thing  has  been  carefully  expunged,  and,  with  it,  all  the  life  of 
the  man  ?  Surely  the  life  of  a  good  man  should  be  more  inter- 
esting than  that  of  a  bad  one ;  and  it  would  be  so,  we  believe, 
if  the  whole  truth  were  only  told.  There  is  no  pleasure  in  fol- 
lowing the  mystery  of  crime  like  the  glow  of  delight,  and  the 
exaltation  of  the  moral  sense,  which  a  grand  sentiment,  or  a 
noble,  [pure,  disinterested  action,  can  inspire.  There  is  some- 
thing wonderfully  self-assertang  in  truth,  as  well  as  a  something 
wonderfully  beautiful  in  the  character  which  is,  at  all  times,  ren- 
dewd  perfectly  transparent  by  its  fearless  presence.  If  our  instincts 


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94  The  Study  of  SanshrU.  [Jan. 

were  only  pure  and  uncallous,  we  should  never  hesitate,  we  be- 
lieve, between  the  true  and  the  false;  the  very  atmosphere  sur- 
rounding each  being,  in  such  case,  amply  sufficient  to  reveal  its 
real  nature.  Hence  the  sublime  beatitude,  *  Blessed  are  the  pure 
in  lieart ;  ibr  they  shall  see  God  ' ;  having  their  eyes  opened  by 
the  natural  affinities,  by  the  mutual  sweet  attractions,  between 
truth  and  goodness.  It  was  indeed  the  presence  of  truth, —  not 
of  perfect  and  full-orbed  but  only  of  fragmentary  and  refracted 
truth, —  which  gave  so  wonderful  a  charm  to  the  manhood  of 
John  Wilson. 


Art*  V* —  1.  Leaneon  Comparativum  Linqtiavwm  Indogerma* 
nicarum.    Von.  L.  Diefenbach.     Frankfurt.     1846-51. 

2.  Garndi's  Linguidio  Essays.  The  PhUologioal  Essays  of  the 
late  JBeu,  Richard  Oarnett.  Edited,  with  a  Memoir,  by  his 
Sod.     London :     1869. 

3.  Charalieristik  der  Hauptsdohlichsten  Typen  des  Sprachbaues. 
Von  H,  Steinthal.     Berlin :     1860. 

4.  Hcbrdtsehes  und  Chalddisches  Hafidworterbuch  iiber  das  aUe 
TestaracTd.    Von  J.  Furat.     Leipzig :     1852-60. 

5.  Deutsche  Ghrammatik.  Von.  J.  Grimm.  Grottingen:  1822-40- 

Of  tlic  works,  whose  titles  we  have  placed  at  the  head  of  this 
article^  and  which  have  been  several  years  before  the  public,  we 
do  not  purpose  now  to  undertake  any  criticism ;  we  wish  rather  to 
oder  to  our  readers  certain  reflections  on  the  study  of  the  Sanskrit 
language,  which  have  been  naturally  suggested  by  their  examina- 
tion. Though  it  has  now  been  eighty-four  years  since  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Asiatic  Society  at  Calcutta,  the  Sanskrit  has  forced 
itself  to  a  very  small  extent  into  the  curricula  of  the  universi- 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  95 

ties  and  colleges  of  the  world.  In  England,  where  it  was  first 
made  the  subject  of  scientific  investigation,  the  interest  in  it  has 
always  been  largely  commercial.  The  East  India  Company  has 
established  professorships  in  the  colleges  in  which  its  cadets  are 
tramed  for  service  abroad,  and  where  they  are  expected  to  prepare 
themselves  to  hold  communication  with  the  natives,  learned  and 
unlearned,  but  where  it  is  not  regarded  as  of  special  importance 
that  they  should  make  themselves  acquainted  with  the  literature 
as  SQch,  or  enter  into  the  general  questions  of  ^  grammar  which 
the  Sanskrit  suggests.  Besides  these,  there  is  the  Boden  pro- 
fessorship at  Oxford,  where  Mr.  Monier  Williams  has  labored 
fiiithfully,  and  has  published  a  grammar.  Professor  Max  Miiller, 
a  German  by  birth,  and  a  scholar  of  acknowledged  merit,  has 
given  to  the  world,  besides  a  grammar,  editions  of  the  Hitopa- 
desa  and  the  Rig- Veda,  but  his  lectures  have  for  the  most  part 
had  reference  to  the  science  of  language,  which  supposes,  but 
does  not  give,  a  knowledge  of  Sanskrit.  In  India,  Messrs.  Hall, 
Cowell,  and  others,  have  trodden  worthily  in  the  footsteps  of 
their  predecessors,  Colebrooke,  Carey,  Wilkins,  Forster,  and  Wil- 
son. 

In  Germany,  provision  is  made  in  nearly  all  the  universities 
for  the  study  of  Sanskrit ;  but  the  number  of  students  is  small, 
averaging  in  one  prominent  institution,  per  Semester,  about 
twenty-five  out  of  three  thousand ;  and  Doctorates,  which  include 
Sanskrit,  are  rare.  At  Paris,  M.  Oppert  has  earned  a  good 
reputation  by  his  labors ;  but  we  are  unable  to  say  what  oppor- 
tunity he  has  had  of  giving  instruction.  So  at  St.  Petersburg, 
wh«e  Boehtlingk  has  received  hearty  support  from  the  Imperial 
Government,  especially  in  bringing  out  the  great  dictionary 
which  he  has  undertaken  in  conjunction  with  Roth  and  others. 
In  America,  there  is  one  chair,  (at  Yale,  filled  ably  by  Mr. 
Whitney),  and  the  attendance  is  small.  In  the  entire  South, 
there  is  not  an  institution  that  ofiers  any  opportunity  for  the 
acquisition  of  Sanskrit. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  discover  the  reason  of  this  neglect.  In 
any  country  and  age  old  enough  to  have  an  intellectual  history, 
two  tendencies  or  systems  of  education  will  be  found,  the  tradi- 
tional and  the  practical ;  the  one  received  from  the  past,  the 


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96  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  [Jan. 

other  called  forth  by  the  needs  of  the  present.  And  these  two 
are  one  as  to  their  origin^  for  the  traditional  of  one  period  is  the 
practical  of  the  preceding.  So  with  us.  The  study  of  the 
classics  is  an  heirloom^  made  sacred  by  the  lapse  of  time^  cer- 
tainly of  the  highest  value^  but  retained  and  defended  by  many 
persons  whose  real  ground  for  its  maintenance  is^  that  it  comes 
to  them  from  the  fathers.  Originally,  it  was  purely  practical. 
In  the  Middle  Ages,  Latin  was  a  necessity,  as  being  the  repository 
of  religious  and  secular  learning.  The  fifteenth  century  intro- 
duced to  Europe,  with  Greek,  the  finest  poetry  and  best  history 
and  philosophy  of  the  world.  The  prime  consideration  was,  not 
that  these  languages  afforded  mental  gymnasia,  but  that  they 
furnished  the  only  intellectual  nourishment  of  the  times.  Men 
studied  and  read  Greek  and  Latin  as  we  read  English  and  Grer- 
man  ;  they  were  the  vernacular  of  the  learnedVorld.  It  was  a 
practical  need  which  was  felt,  and  not  a  scientific,  philological,  or 
educational  enthusiasm.  The  study  of  the  classics  thus  became 
necessarily  the  A  B  C  of  the  schools,  and  firmly  fixed  in  the 
routine  of  instruction.  After  the  pressing  need  for  material  had 
passed  away,  it  being  supplied  by  modern  writers,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  the  study  of  the  dead  languages  offered  the  best 
means  for  the  development  of  the  mind,  and  it  was  accordingly 
constituted  the  mental  gymnasium.  And  very  naturally,  the 
study  thus  established,  with  all  the  machinery  of  the  university 
system,  there  sprang  up  a  race  of  scholars  and  professors  in  whom 
the  simply  scientific  spirit  showed  itself.  This,  then,  is  the 
present  status  of  classical  study ;  a  traditional  reverence,  and  a 
simple,  scientific  interest,  both  coming  directly  from  an  original 
striving  after  a  practical  benefit. 

In  our  own  time,  the  same  practicalness  leads  to  somewhat 
different  results.  The  public,  which  teachers  are  expected  to 
reach,  is  of  a  different  character.  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio  disen- 
tombed the  monuments  of  Koman  Literature  for  a  select  few ; 
and  it  was  as  a  rule  to  the  limited  number  who  intended  to  de- 
vote themselves  to  learning,  that  Leontius  Filatus  and  Johannes 
Argyropulas,  and  the  colleagues,  delivered  their  lectures ;  though 
some,  like  Manuel  Chrysoloras,  may  have  gathered  round  th^n 
disciples  of  every  rank  and  age.    This  was  the  case  also  with 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  97 

Eeachlin  and  Cheke.  Their  hearers  were  the  young  men  who 
aspired  to  erudition^  or  at  least  to  a  place  among  the  cultivated 
people  of  the  time. 

Now  it  is  precisely  this  class  which  determines  the  differ entioB 
of  the  educational  system  of  a  period ;  and  to  its  greater  extent 
in  modem  times,  we  must  refer  in  great  measure  the  difference 
between  the  new  and  old  views  on  the  subject.  The  training  of 
the  lowest  class  has  not  varied  greatly  in  different  ages  of  the 
world.  It  has  usually  been  limited  to  the  acquisition  of  the  al- 
phabet of  learning,  with  such  slight  differences  as  difference  of 
religioti  and  sooial  habits  produced.  Keading,  writing,  and 
arithmetic,  have  always  been  the  basis  of  popular  education. 
This  Moses  commanded,  and  this  was  the  grammata  of  Athens 
in  its  simplest  signification ;  beyond  this,  it  is  probable,  the  ma- 
jority of  children  did  not  go.  If  music  were  added,  as  at 
Athens,  (and  now  in  Prussia),  it  was  of  an  elementary  charac- 
ter. Of  course,  we  mean  here  by  *  education'  the  cultivation  of 
the  mind,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  bodily  exercise  of 
the  gymnasium,  or  with  that  more  general  training  which  fits 
the  man  for  what  Dr.  Arnold  calls  his  second  business,  that  is, 
the  discharge  of  his  social  duties  as  man.  We  observe  only  that 
it  is  the  practical  which  determines  here  also  the  extent  of  edu- 
cation, the  supply  being  directly  in  proportion  to  the  demand. 

The  same  consideration  governs  in  the  provision  made  for 
higher  education,  and  the  demand  will  be  determined  by  the 
^irit  of  the  age.  In  modern  times,  the  circle  of  cultivation  has 
greatly  enlarged  itself;  while  at  the  same  time,  commerce  and  in- 
dustry in  general  have  taken  hold  of  society,  (the  Aristocracy  of 
England  does  not  disdain  to  share  the  profits  of  Joint  Stock 
CJompanies) ;  and  the  ^  practical '  is  understood  to  mean  that 
which  increases  the  physical  or  industrial  capacity  of  the  world, 
which  gives  man  power  over  natural  agencies,  or  ^s  it  actually 
presents  itself  to  the  mass,  which  puts  money  into  the  pocket. 
By  many  people,  science  and  philosophy  are  understood  to  mean 
simply  the  natural  sciences,  and  everything  else  is  for  them 
empty  theory.  The  education  of  even  the  better  class  must  fit 
them  to  comprehend  and  use  the  immediate  minute  facts  of  life, 
and  of  life  as  it  presents  itself  in  the  restricted  circle  of  the  in- 
7 


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98  The  Study  of  Sanshrii.    -  [Jan. 

dividual.  Schools  are  established  to  prepare  young  men  inde- 
pendently for  commerce,  for  agriculture,  for  any  avocation.  It 
has  come  to  be  believed  that  a  knowledge  of  the  classics,  a  mere 
acquaintance  with  the  modes  of  communication  of  a  dead  race, 
the  acquisition  of  ideas  foreign  to  our  own,  is  not  worth  the 
trouble  required  to  gain  it,  since  it  does  not  actually  guide  a 
man  in  building  a  house  or  in  making  a  bargain.  The  modem 
languages  are  pitted  against  the  ancient,  and  their  claims  to 
superiority  based  on  commercial  relations ;  mensuration  is  held 
to  be  more  valuable  than  the  calculus,  and  the  study  of  meta- 
physics useless  and  deservedly  replaced  by  hygiene.  In  a  word, 
mental  training  and  love  of  truth  are  subordinated  to  a  mechan- 
ical utility.  The  noble  enthusiasm  of  learning,  the  devout  de- 
sire to  know  the  secrets  of  the  universe,  is  ignored  in  &vor  of 
a  blind  regard  to  material  prosperity. 

We  are  not  surprised,  then,  that  a  language,  destitute  both  of 
the  traditional  and  of  the  practical  claim,  unknown  to  the 
founders  of  the  schools,  no\fhere  a  medium  of  communication, 
having  only  an  antiquarian  and  scientific  interest,  should  meet 
with  little  favor.  Unfortunately,  the  trade  in  East  India  cotton 
can  be  carried  on,  and  the  government  of  the  Province  tolerably 
administered,  without  Sanskrit.  One  class  of  men  may  r^ard 
this  extinct  tongue  as  having  a  secondary  practical  value, —  mis- 
sionaries to  India.  But  they  find  their  every  day  evangelical 
work  in  the  modern  dialects,  and  have  little  more  inducement  to 
learn  the  sacred  language,  than  a  Buddhist  missionary  to  England 
would  have  to  study  Anglo-Saxon.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
the  study  of  Sanskrit  does  not  seem  to  offer  any  immediate  ad- 
vantage, (that  it  will  be  ultimately  beneficial  might  easily  be 
proved),  to  the  commercial  and  manufacturing  world,  or  to  the 
professions  of  law,  medicine,  and  theology.  Therefore,  and  be- 
cause it  has  no  support  from  tradition,  the  greater  obligation 
rests  on  the  centres  of  learning 'to  sustain  it,  especially  now  that 
a  university  of  this  country  has  avowed  its  preference  for  the 
bread-and-butter  sciences.  It  is  to.  the  universities  that  we 
must  look  to  introduce  studies  that  do  not  commend  themselves 
to  the  public  apprehension,  and  we  believe  that  there  are  solid 
reasons  for  now  calling  on  the  prominent  institutions  of  the 
South  to  make  provision  for  the  teaching  of  Sanskrit. 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  99 

It  is  proper  to  state  another  fact  which  is  not  without  influ- 
ence on  this  study  in  scientific  circles  —  we  mean  the  misunder- 
standing and  rivalry  which  has  sprung  up  between  Sanskritists 
and  Classicists,  or,  as  it  is  perhaps  more  correct  to  say,  the  jeal- 
oofly  felt  by  the  latter  toward  the  former.  It  seems  to  a  devoted 
student  of  the  Greek,  of  the  old  school,  intolerable  that  that 
ancient  and  polished  tongue  shoilld  be  explained  by  means  of  a 
newly  discovered  barbarous  dialect.  It  may  be  that  the  Sans- 
kritists have  sometimes  ungracefully  advanced  the  real  claims  of 
their  language,  as  well  as  made  pretensions  to  what  it  did  not 
possess.  But  this  is  only  the  exaggeration  of  a  new  impulse, 
and  they  have  usually  conceded  to  the  classic  languages  their 
excellencies  and  advantages.  Professor  Curtius,  in  a  tract  of 
commendable  fiiirness,  has  endeavored  to  mediate  between  the 
two  parties,  to  show  that,  though  the  Sanskrit  must  be  regarded 
as  the  foundation  of  etymology,  the  Greek  must  be  held  to  be 
superior  not  only  in  its  literary  monuments  and  its  syntactical 
construction,  especially  its  connectives,  but  even  in  some  cases  in 
distinctness  of  form)  and  in  the  vowel-declensions,  where  it  care- 
fully distinguishes  the  feminine  (a)  forms  from  the  masculine  (o), 
while  the  Sanskrit  has  only  one  vowel  (a)  for  both.  There  is  in 
truth  no  ground  for  rivalry,  and  we  may  hope  speedily  to  see 
perfect  harmony  reigning  in  the  scientific  world  on  this  point. 
It  is  not  pleasant  to  see  so  eminent  a  critic  as  Haupt,  of  Berlin, 
heaping  indiscriminate,  (and  we  must  be  pardoned  for  adding, 
ignorant,)  ridicule  on  the  attempts  to  throw  light  on  the  Homer- 
ic forms  and  mythology  from  the  language  of  the  Vedas,  as  if  it' 
were  derogatory  to  the  poet  to  assert  that  the  forms  of  his  myth- 
ological names  are  secondary,  and  to  attempt  to  trace  the  splen- 
dors of  his  representations  to  the  simple  nature-worship  of  the 
primitive  race.  A  similar  spirit  of  opposition  repels  the  claims 
to  superior  antiquity  set  forth  by  scholars  in  &vor  of  Latin  over 
Greek.  It  is  all  unscientific,  un philosophical,  prejudicial  to 
truth,  and,  we  may  be  sure,  cannot  stand  before  the  progress  of 
inquiry. 

In  the  Southern  States,  then,  no  effort  has  as  yet  been  made 
to  recognize  and  further  Sanskrit  studies.  At  the  University  of 
Virginia,  connected  with  the  School  of  Modern  Languages,  there 

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100  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  [Jm 

is  a  Department  of  Comparative  Philology,  (and  a  work  design- 
ed to  give  an  outline  of  the  science  has  been  published  by  the 
present  incumbent  of  the  chair),  but  Sanskrit  has  not  entered 
into  the  course,  as  indeed  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  time 
for  it.  In  endeavoring  to  present  its  claims  here,  we  call  on 
those  who  have  pursued  it  to  aid  us  in  bringing  it  before  our 
universities  and  colleges,  and  especially,  while  striving  to  form 
a  public  opinion  which  shall  demand  its  introduction,  to  induce 
governing  bodies,  faculties,  and  boards,  to  give  it  due  consider- 
ation. 

We  do  not  •  propose  here  to  give  a  description  of  Sanskrit 
literature,  though  the  subject  is  an  inviting  one.  Each  of  the 
three  divisions,  (the  Vedic,  the  Epic,  and  the  Classic),  has  its 
peculiar  charms.  The  Vedas  spread  over  a  large  space  of  time, 
and  extiibit  in  their  different  parts  different  characters,  showing 
the  progress  of  the  religious  or  mythological  spirit,  and  the 
growth  of  the  national  consciousness.  But  it  is  impossible  not 
to  observe  with  pleasure  the  freshness  and  simplicity  of  the  ear- 
liest hymns,  (in  the  Rig- Veda  chiefly),  which  are  redolent  of 
the  influences  of  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze,  and  the  starry 
heavens.  In  the  later  Vedas  we  have  a  cooler  spirit  of  philo- 
sophical inquiry,  and  in  the  great  epics  grand  heroic  narratives 
with  numerous  episodes,  some  of  which^  (as  the  romantic  story 
of  Nala  and  Damayanti,  the  theological  poem  called  Bhagavad- 
Gita,  and  Aijuna^s  Journey  to  Indra's  Heaven),  have  been 
transhited  into  the  western  languages.  In  the  classic  period 
»re  found  descriptive  poems  and  dramas,  and  these,  as  well  as  the 
epics,  have  all  the  qualities  necessary  to  excite  interest — involved 
plot3,  difficult  situations,  deep  and  tender  feeling,  cunning  and 
magnanimity,  reverses  of  fortune,  wickedness  in  its  temporary 
triumphs,  and  goodness  in  its  final  reward.  The  immense  field 
of  literature  is  by  no  means  yet  explored.  In  the  explication 
of  the  Vedas,  more  remains  to  be  done  than  has  yet  been  accom- 
plished ;  in  all  departments^  hitherto  unknown  regions  are  show- 
ing themselves;  and  lately  the  investigation  of  the  Buddhist  lit- 
erature has  been  entered  on.  There  is  great  need  of  laborers, 
and  abundant  opportunity  to  earn  honorable  distinction.  We 
desire,  however,  rather  to  call  attention  to  the  necessity  for  a 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanahrit.  101 

chair  of  Sanskrit  in  every  university,  from  the  connection  be- 
tween this  language  and  the  science  of  comparative  grammar, 
or,  more  exactly,  comparative  etymology,  in  the  Indo-European 
family.  This  femily,  extending  from  India  westward,  and  in- 
cluding almost  the  whole  of  Europe,  contains  all  the  languages, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Semitic,  which  have  played  an  impor- 
tant part  in  the  civilization  of  the  world.  But  the  close  con- 
nection between  its  different  members  was  not  suspected  till  the 
beginning  of  this  century,  when  the  result  of  the  English  study 
of  Sanskrit  was  appropriated  and  carried  on  by  Germans. 
Some  general  resemblances  had  been  perceived,  and  it  was  the 
opinion  of  many  that  Latin  was  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  Greek 
dialects.  But  it  amounted  to  a  revelation  when  it  was  shown 
that  not  only  Latin  and  Greek,  and  German  and  English,  but 
also  Danish  and  Icelandic,  Russian  and  Polish,  Irish,  Scotch, 
and  Welsh,  stood  in  such  relation  to  one  another  as  made  it  im- 
possible to  consider  them  otherwise  than  as  sisters,  daughters  of 
a  common  mother.  This  is  proved  by  a  large  induction  of  facts, 
comparisons  of  declensions,  conjugations,  pronouns,  prepositions, 
and  verbal  roots,  It  is  accordingly  supposed  that  at  a  remote 
period  the  primitive  race  dwelt  in  Asia,  probably  on  the  table- 
lands, near  the  northwest  corner  of  India,  and  spoke  the  mother- 
language,  the  grammar  of  which  a  German  scholar,  Schleicher,  has 
attempted  to  give.  From  this  point  colonies  went  forth,  some  into 
India  and  Persia,  some  westward  to  Europe,  and  different  dates 
have  been  fixed  for  these  migrations,  and  therefore  different  de- 
grees of  antiquity  for  the  various  languages.  The  relative  ages 
most  be  determined  from  the  greater  or  less  fulness  and  the  more 
or  less  distinct  significance  of  the  roots  and  inflectional  endings  • 
and  on  such  grounds  the  highest  antiquity  must  be  assigned  to  the 
Sanskrit,  the  language  originally  spoken  by  the  Indo-European 
colony  that  went  into  India.  When  this  migration  occurred,  we 
do  not  know;  but  we  may  affirm  that  the  immigrants  found  a 
people  already  inhabiting  the  country,  and  speaking  a  rude  un- 
bflected  language,  and  that  they  conquered  them  only  after 
years  of  sharp  conflict.  The  new  race  brought  with  them  an 
inflected  language,  and  a  civilization  which,  identical  with  their 
religion,  first  expressed  itself  in  the  Veda,  (which  was  originally 


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102  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  [Jan. 

liturgical),  afterwards  in  the  Epic,  and  later  in  the  Drama,  and 
in  works  of  History  and  Philosophy.  In  this  language,  first 
made  known  to  the  learned  of  Europe  by  Sir  William  Jones, 
Colebrooke,  and  Carey,  the  structure  of  words  is  so  apparent, 
the  inflectional  fusion  has  so  generally  respected  original  forms, 
that  the  study  of  the  origin  of  terminations  and  the  form  of 
roots  forced  itself  on  scholars.  The  laws  of  the  growth  of  words 
became  for  the  first  time  the  subject  of  scientific  inquiry.  More- 
over, the  striking  similarity  between  certain  Sanskrit  and  Greek 
words  had  already  been  perceived,  and  the  next  step  was  to  de- 
termine v^hether  the  Greek  inflectional  endings,  or  the  Sanskrit, 
came  nearest  to  the  original  form.  The  settlement  of  this  ques- 
tion required  of  course  the  fixing  of  some  standard  for  the  ori- 
ginal form,  and  this  led  to  comparisons  of  consonants  and  vow- 
els, and  inquiries  as  to  which  in  each  class  were  more  stable,  and 
which  were  likely  to  come  from  others.  Finally,  the  question 
of  precedence  was  decided  in  favor  of  the  Sanskrit,  which  seem- 
ed to  have  the  fuller  forms.  The  way  was  now  opened  for  an 
etymological  analysis  of  the  Greek  vocabulary,  and  of  course  of 
the  Latin.  Soon  the  same  researches  were  extended  to  the  Ger- 
manic Tongues,  then  to  the  Romance,  (which  are  lineal  descend- 
ants of  the  Latin),  and  to  the  Slavonic  and  Celtic ;  and  Bopp 
has  given  in  his  Comparative  Orammar  a  view  of  the  forms 
of  all  these  groups  of  languages  in  their  mutual  relations,  with 
an  attempt  to  discover  their  origin  and  primitive  dimensions. 
Other  researches  have  been  made  in  fields  of  greater  or  less  ex- 
tent, and  have  elicited  many  interesting  facts  concerning  the 
original  condition  of  the  various  languages,  and  the  steps  by 
which  they  reached  their  final  forms.  In  these  comparisons  it 
is  not  always  the  case  that  the  Sanskrit  presents  the  oldest  forms; 
sometimes  it  must  yield  to  Zend,  sometimes  to  Latin  or  Old 
Prussian,  (which  is  a  Slavonic  tongue).  But  in  the  main  its 
structure  is  the  clearest.  While  it  has  reached  definiteness  and 
symmetry  of  form,  (in  which  the  Zend,  for  example,  is  deficient), 
it  has  suffered  less  than  the  western  languages  from  attrition. 
This  was  exhibited  very  satisfactorily  by  Bopp  as  early  as  1816, 
(in  his  work  on  the  conjugation-system  of  Sanskrit  and  Greek), 
in  regard  to  personal  and  modal  endings  and  augment.     And 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  ScmskrU.  103 

more  lately  Curtius  in  Germany,  and  after  him  Hadley  in  this 
country,  have  transferred  to  Greek  Grammar  the  treatment  of  the 
verbal  root  whicli  the  native  grammarians  in  India  have  been 
&m]liar  with  for  a  thousand  years. 

Much  has  been  done  therefore  towards  laying  bare  the  struc- 
ture of  nouns,  verbs,  and  particles,  in  this  widely  diffused  Indo- 
European  fitmily.  To  a  certain  extent,  the  primitive  form  and 
the  origin  of  case-signs,  of  the  signs  of  degrees  of  comparison, 
of  verbal  terminations,  and  the  elements  of  adverbs,  preposi- 
tions, conjunctions,  and  substantives,  have  been  determined.  In 
regard  to  these  there  is  not  always  unanimity  among  scholars, 
nor  does  the  Sanskrit  always  afford  the  means  of  coming  directly 
to  a  conclusion.  But  in  many  cases  it  does ;  and,  what  is  more 
important,  it  suggests  the  principles  which  lead  to  satisfactory 
conclusions.  By  the  peculiarities  of  its  structure  it  has  given 
occasion  to  the  researches  from  which  has  sprung  a  science ;  so 
that,  where  it  fiiils  to  supply  material  facts,  it  points  out  to  the 
investigator  the  path  in  which  he  is  to  advance.  An  English 
student  would  get  no  light  from  Sanskrit,  or  from  Latin  or 
Greek,  in  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  English  gerund-sign  ing^ 
but  a  little  experience  leads  him  naturally  to  the  simple  analy- 
as,  either  into  an  original  n  with  added  g,  or  an  original  g  with 
insertion  of  the  nasal,  and  it  is  probable  that  further  comparison 
will  incline  him  to  the  latter  supposition.  The  English  dative 
(and  now  also  accusative)  sign  m,  which  is  found  only  in  the 
pronouns,  seems  to  present  a  similar  difficulty,  for  the  gram- 
mars do  not  give  such  fL  termination  in  Latin,  Greek,  or  Sanskrit, 
and  it  helps  us  nothing  to  know  that  Hbe  German  has  the  same 
sign.  But  Bopp  suggests  a  very  ingenious  explanation.  In 
certain  Sanskrit  pronouns,  the  syllable  sma  is  interposed  between 
the  root  and  the  termination,  being  itself  composed  of  well- 
known  pronominal  elements,  and  we  have  retained  the  m  of  this 
insertion  and  dropped  all  the  rest,  so  that  instead  of  hisme  we 
write  him.  Th's  method  has  been  carried  out  in  various  direc- 
tions, and  notwithstanding  obscurities  and  uncertainties,  has  pro- 
duced valuable  results. 

The  number  and  value  of  these  results,  and  the  positiveness 
of  the  rules  of  procedure,  entitle  the  method  to  the  rank  of  a  sci- 


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104  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  [Jan. 

ence.  One  becomes  conscious  of  the  satisfactoriness  of  having  a 
safe  foundation  whereon  to  build;  and  safe  principles  for  guid- 
ance, when  he  reads  the  opinions  of  men  of  learning  and  intellect 
in  the  pre-Sanskritic  times;  such,  for  example,  as  Coleridge's  crit- 
icism on  the  Diversions  of  Purley^  (Table-talk,  May  7,  1830,) 
or  his  assertion  that  the  inflections  of  the  tenses  of  a  verb  are 
formed  by  adjuncts  from  the  verb-substantive,  (March  18, 1827.) 
Tfiere  are  not  a  few  persons  now  who  adopt  Voltaire's  definition 
of  t^tymology — a  science  in  which  the  consonants  are  of  very  lit- 
tle account  and  the  vowels  of  none  at  all.  They  could  hardly 
object  to  the  relation  between  alms  and  eleemosynary  under  Mr. 
Trench's  guidance,  but  they  hold  a  stretch  of  credulity  necessary 
in  order  to  believe  in  the  identity  of  goose  and  anser.  It  is  true, 
the  time  has  been  when  there  was  a  great  deal  of  dabbling  in 
etymologies,  but  that  time  has  passed.  Fanciful  guesses  at  con- 
nections between  words  and  languages  are  now  suppressed.  He 
who  ventures  into  the  arena  must  have  some  acquaintance  with 
tlic  science  of  comparative  etymology,  with  the  general  laws 
of  interchange  of  vowels  and  consonants,  and  the  special  laws 
of  particular  languages,  so  that  he  may  temper  boldness  with 
prudence ;  and  any  deviation  from  a  rule  which  is  advocated^ 
must  be  supported  by  as  sound  reasons  as  are  required  of  the 
physicist  who  professes  to  have  discovered  a  new  principle  in 
plienomena  heretofore  unknown.  A  Sanskrit  word  being  given, 
we  know  straightway  within  certain  limits  the  form  which  it 
will  assume  in  Greek,  Latin,  German,  or  English;  and  to  this  we 
hold  till  sound  proof  of  deviation  is  adduced.  In  every  science, 
the  necessity  of  allowing  a  certain  latitude  follows  from  the  im- 
perfection of  research.  A  discrepancy  between  astronomical  cal- 
culations and  observed  phenomena,  led  to  the  discovery  of  the 
pknet  Neptune ;  and  so  new  relations  between  words  lead  to  the 
discovery  of  new  laws  of  interchange.  But  there  is  already 
deiiniteness  enough  in  the  principles  of  etymology,  to  point  out 
clearly  the  path  of  investigation. 

Thus,  a  Sanskrit  initial  j  answers  to  English  initial  k,  as  we 
may  see  by  comparing  jan,  *  to  bring  forth,'  *  to  be  born,'  and 
hirij  or  jna  and  know,  (kna).  When  then  we  find  janaJca,  ^  a 
father ',  on  looking  for  the  corresponding  English  word  in  k,  we 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  105 

have  little  difficulty  in  adducing  Idng  (Jcanig)  as  identical,  the 
Saxon  adjective  termination  ig  being  really  the  same  as  the  Sans- 
krit ak.  With  equal  ease  we  connect  the  feminine  form  Jdwa, 
*  wife/  with  English  qaea/a  or  queeay  though  here  the  insertion 
of  »  (originally  v\  will  strike  the  attention  and  call  for  investi- 
gation. And  this  is  not  an  isolated  case,  for  we  find  the  same  v 
when  we  compare  Sanskrit  jtt? '  to  live '  and  English  qvdck  {kvik)^ 
with  the  added  difficulty  of  final  English  k  for  Sanskrit  v,  which 
meets  us  also  in  Latin  viv  (in  vivere)  and  vie  in  vian,  {viksi). 
Here  then  the  English  qu  {hu)  will  require  examination,  and  the 
question  will  present  itself  whether  Sanskrit  has  dropped  the  v 
of  this  initial  combination,  (the  original  form  being  hvikv),  or 
whether  a  guttural  has  interchanged  with  a  labial,  which  some 
regard  as  impossible.  If  now  we  wish  to  discover  the  Sanskrit 
form  of  the  English  eome,  we  look  in  vaiti  for  a  root  jam,  which 
we  would  expect  from  the  statement  made  above;  but  find  in- 
stead gam,  which  means  the  same  thing,  and  which  naturally 
(especially  in  its  shorter  form  ga),  suggests  English  go  ;  so  that 
here  Sanskrit  g  seems  to  correspond  with  English  k  (c),  and  also 
with  English  g.  The  apparent  confusion  is  increased  when  we 
find  that  on  the  one  hand  the  Sanskrit  gd  '  to  sing '  seems  to  ex- 
plain gcUe  ('  singer ')  in  nightingakf  and  on  the  other  that  Sans- 
krit go  '  ox '  and  English  cow  (Anglo-Saxon  ku)  seem  to  be 
identical.  That  is,  English  k  and  g  answer  to  Sanskrit  j  and 
abo  to  g.  Part  of  the  difficulty  vanishes  when  we  observe  that 
the  palatal  j  is  a  secondary  letter,  coming  frequently  by  a  softened 
pronunciation  from  g,  and  that  some  roots  retain  the  harder, 
while  others  sink  to  the  softer.  We  shall  get  rid  of  the  rest  of 
the  difficulty  if  we  regard  English  go  and  come  as  diffisrent  forms 
of  the  same  radical,  and  so  accept  the  fact  of  interchange  of  k 
and  g  in  English,  of  which  there  are  other  examples.  The  dis- 
cussion of  the  initial  kv  or  gu  would  occupy  too  much  time,  and 
we  only  remark  that  there  is  reason  for  regarding  it  as  a  widely 
spread  combination,  issuing  however  from  the  simple  guttural. 
A  similar  interest  attaches  to  the  English  initial  wh  (originally 
M)f  an  examination  of  which  will  show  how  ungrounded  is 
Webster's  statement  {Unabridged  Dictionary,  1852),  that  who, 
(Latin  qui),  is  a  compound  form.     And  a  very  little  carefulness 


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106  The  Study  of  Sanahrit.  [Jan, 

would  have  saved  this  author  from  the  incomprehensible  blunder 
of  comparing  English  preach  (which  is  from  Latin  prcBdicare^ 
radical  die),  with  Hebrew  barak,  or  English  air,  (which  is 
French  aieur,  seiffneur,  Latin  senior),  with  Hebrew  shur,  'to 
sing'  or  'to  behold \  There  must  be  scientific  method  in  such 
inquiries. 

An  interesting  result  of  this  careful  analysis  of  language 
which  has  come  from  the  study  of  Sanskrit,  is  the  attempt  which 
has  been  made  to  classify  the  languages  of  the  world.  The 
modes  and  details  of  classification  are  various,  and  we  do  not 
propose  here  to  discuss  the  two  principal  methods,  the  genealogi- 
ral,  which  makes  the  division  turn  on  the  descent  and  kinship, 
and  the  morphological,  which  is  based  on  the  form  or  the  mode 
of  combining  roots.  We.  merely  point  out  the  desirableness  of 
dcientific  precision  in  such  classifications,  and  the  fact  that  this 
h  gained  by  the  accurate  analysis  of  the  matter  and  form  of  each 
individual  language,  such  as  Steinthal  has  given  of  one  of  the 
negro  dialects  of  Africa.  Great  blunders  have  been  made  on 
this  point  by  writers  who  failed  to  determine  accurately,  first, 
what  constitutes  in  general  the  differentia  of  a  tongue,  and, 
secondly,  what  the  character  of  this  determining  element  in  any 
individual  case  is.  An  example  is  afforded  by  Webster's  reference 
of  the  Basque  to  the  Celtic  class,  it  being  really  aui  generis,  not 
Indo-European,  and  not  Semitic,  agreeing  in  general  with  the 
Tataric  idioms,  (such  as  the  Turkish),  and  placed  by  one  writer 
on  a  level  with  Greek  in  fulness  and  exactness.  And  it  is  evi- 
dently in  the  treatment  of  such  languages  as  do  not  belong  to 
the  great  well-known  families  that  method  is  required,  in  that 
extensive  debatable  ground  where  our  ordinary  experience  does 
not  guide  us,  and  where  we  must  look  to  established  law.  Before 
the  beginning  of  this  century,  there  was  no  such  law.  Collec- 
tions of  words  were  made  by  Leibnitz,  by  the  Russian  Empress 
Catharine,  and  by  Adelung ;  but  these,  though  valuable  as  ma- 
terial, were  without  scientific  arrangement,  because  based  on  no 
scientific  principle.  The  principles  and  laws  were  derived  from, 
or  suggested  by,  the  study  of  Sanskrit. 

Though  we  have  here  referred  chiefly  to  the  benefit  accruing 
to  Indo-European  grammar,  the  benefit  of  the  general  impulse 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  SanshrU.  107 

has  not  been  confined  to  this  fkmilj,  but  has  been  felt  also  by 
the  Semitic  We  have  as  yet  no  comparative  Semitic  gram- 
mar like  Bopp's  Indo-European,  or  like  Schleicher's ;  but  the 
corresponding  constructions  of  the  various  dialects  have  been  to 
some  extent  determined,  their  grammatical  and  lexicographical 
relations  investigated,  and  each  made  to  contribute  to  the  eluci- 
dation of  the  others.  Thus,  to  give  a  simple  illustration,  the 
comparison  of  the  Hebrew  definite  article  Jia  and  the  Arabic 
df  suggests  hal  as  the  original  form,  and  explains  the  doubling 
of  the  initial  consonant  of  the  Hebrew  noun  after  the  article. 
Attempts  have  also  been  made  to  discover  the  etymological  re- 
lations of  the  Semitic  and  Indo-European  fiaimilies,  but  some- 
times with  so  little  caution  as  to  bring  discredit  on  the  whole 
question.  At  this  moment  only  two  parties  are  prominent  in 
the  discussion ;  one  affirming  the  complete  identity  of  the  two 
&milies,  the  other  denying  the  relationship  absolutely.  The 
second  party  is  largely  in  the  majority,  the  first  finding  almost 
its  sole  representatives  in  Furst  and  Delitzsch.  Even  Ernest 
Benan,  the  able  author  of  the  HUioire  genercUe  dea  Lan- 
gw8  demiiiques,  while  citing  various  examples  of  the  identity  of 
roots,  ranges  himself  practically  with  the  second,  and  Fiirst  is 
nsoally  denounced  by  Semitists  as  crazy.  The  two  parties  re- 
present two  extremes.  Professor  Fiirst  has  been  incautious  in 
the  proofs  of  identity  which  he  has  adduced,  and  in  the  extent  of 
his  generalizations ;  but  the  assertion  of  his  opponents  that  the 
difference  in  organic  structure  of  the  two  families  makes  an  ety- 
mological comparison  impossible,  seems  to  us  as  scientifically 
unsound  as  a  denial  of  the  ethnological  relationship  of  the  Tatars 
and  the  modem  Hungarians,  (who  are  descendants  of  the  old 
Huns),  based  on  the  present  differences  in  national  character  and 
civilization. 

From  these  &cts,  to  which  many  more  might  be  added,  we 
may  judge  of  the  dimensions  of  the  science  which  has  grown  out 
of  the  study  of  Sanskrit;  and  a  word  may  now  be  said  of  its 
bearing  on  the  languages  of  most  interest  to  us,  and  of  greatest 
prominence  in  our  collegiate  courses. 

Greek  and  Latin  etymology  has  within  a  few  years  undergone 
a  complete  transformation.     We  can  not  go  into  the  history  of 


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108      '  The  Study  of  SanskrU.  [Jam 

the  movement,  which  is  an  interesting  one,  but  does  not  difler 
materially  from  that  of  other  sciences.  It  is  marked  by  an  ini- 
tial indigenous  empirical  stage,  which  was  followed  by  the  for- 
eign empirical,  to  which  succeeded  finally  the  scientific.  This 
first  stage  is  represented  in  Greek  by  the  Oratylua  of  Plato,  and 
in  Latin  by  Varro,  and  did  not  in  general  go  out  of  the  bounds 
of  the  language  itself  for  explanations.  The  CraiyluB  may  be 
cited  whether  Plato  were  in  earnest  or  only  ridiculing  the  cur- 
rent systems  of  Parmenides  and  Heracleitus,  since  he  gives  ex- 
amples of  the  reigning  style  of  derivation  of  his  time.  Perhaps 
the  best  way  to  exhibit  the  progress  of  etymology  will  be  to 
give  a  few  specimens  from  the  Cralylua.  In  some  cases  he 
could  hardly  go  wrong,  as  where  he  makes  Astyanax  '  the  guard- 
ian of  the  city  \  and  HeUor  '  a  ruler  \  or  compares  Area  '  Mars ' 
with  arren  ^male,'  and  seUfoe  'the  moon^  with  selas  Might'. 
Elsewhere  the  explanations  are  very  absurd;  dikaios  'just 'is 
said  to  be  diaion  '  going  through ',  because  there  is  a  something 
pervading  the  universe  and  determining  the  laws  of  right.  The 
h,  he  remarks,  is  inserted  for  euphony,  and  he  not  inaptly  sup- 
ports the  insertion  by  the  example  of  the  word  dioptron '  mirror ', 
which  is  evidently  from  the  root  opt '  to  see ',  and  where  the  r  is 
euphonic.  The  maxim  of  Heracleitus,  that  all  things  in,  the 
universe  are  in  motion,  is  made  the  basis  of  numerous  etymolo- 
gies :  helios  '  the  sun '  from  heUein  '  to  revolve  \  because  he  goes 
round  the  earth,  (in  regard  to  which,  be  it  observed,  the  astron- 
omical error  is  not  a  bar  to  etymological  correctness) ;  aer  '  the 
air '  is  oei  rei  'it  is  ever  flowing' ;  phronesis  'prudence'  is  per- 
haps phoraa  onesia  '  utility  of  movement '.  And  when  we  find 
such  a  shocking  derivation  as  gnome  'thought'  from  noman  'to 
agitate ',  we  are  prepared  for  similar  dispositions  of  other  intel- 
lectual attributes,  as  sophia  '  wisdom '  from  aoo  '  to  rush '  and 
aphe  '  contact '.  In  the  same  way  he  treats  the  virtues  and  vices; 
kaJda  '  vice'  is  hahoa  ion '  moving  badly ',  arete '  virtue '  ad  reite 
'  eternal  flowing '  (of  the  soul),  and  aletheia  '  truth '  is,  (from  a 
theological  stand-point  admirably,  but  from  an  etymological,  un- 
happily), decomposed  into  theia  aU, '  divine  wandering '.  Final- 
ly, not  to  accumulate  examples,  the  fundamental  conception  ouaia 
'  being '  is  declared  to  be  merely  umaia '  going '.    It  is,  however, 


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1869.]  The  86udy  of  SanshHi.  109 

interesting  to  observe  that  Socrates  proposes  to  elude  certain 
difficult  etymologies  by  referring  them  to  the  barbarians,  (the 
Phrygians),  and  fix)m  the  fact  that  kunea  ^  dogs '  was  one  of  the 
words  so  referred,  we  may  perhaps  conclude  that  this  Phrygian 
dialect  belonged  to  the  Indo-European  family. 

In  the  Nodes  Atticae,  we  find  traces  of  an  advance  to  a 
somewhat  more  rational  method.  Gellius  endorses  Varro^s  crit- 
icism on  L.  Aelius'  attempt  to  derive  Latin  lepus  '  a  hare '  from 
kvipea  '  light-footed ',  on  the  ground  that  it  was  really  the  Greek 
lagdos;  and  criticises  Varro's  derivation  of  fur  ^  a  thief  from 
furvus  'dark '  (because  thieves  steal  best  at  night),  citing  Greek 
phor  *  a  thief  as  identical  with  Latin  fur.  This  is  the  begin- 
ning of  comparison.  Gellius  also  justly  refers  lidor  to  ligo 
'bind',  because  it  was  the  duty  of  this  officer  to  bind  persons 
whom  the  magistrates  had  ordered  to  be  punished.  This  opinion 
he  quotes  from  Valgius  Rufus  in  opposition  to  Cicero's  freed- 
man,  Tiro  Tullius,  who  derived  the  name  from  licium,{'  limum '), 
the 'girdle'  whidi  the  lictor  wore;  and  he  defends  the  inter- 
change of  the  consonants  g  and  c  by  citing  lector  from  lego,  vio 
tor  from  vivendoy  and  other  examples.  This  is  good  reasoning ; 
bat  elsewhere  he  errs  lamentably,  as  in  Jovem^  which  he  derives 
from  juvare  '  to  help ' ;  and  so  vetovisy  which  he  makes  the  nega- 
tion of  juvare.  Indueias  '  truce ',  he  explains  as  =  inde  utijam  ; 
that  is, '  quiet  shall  reign  till  a  certain  day,  after  which  war  shall 
proceed  as  now '.  Not  unlike  these  are  the  explanations  given 
in  the  Etymologicum  Magnum,  which  my  be  taken  as  exem- 
plifying the  science  of  the  Byzantine  school,  and  in  general  of 
the  grammarians. 

This  system,  which  consisted  so  largely  of  mechanical  division 
and  wild  guessing,  with  a  plentiful  lack  of  acquaintance  with 
the  powers  and  relations  of  letters,  may  be  said  to  have  lasted 
till  the  revival  of  the  study  of  the  classics  in  Europe.  The 
generation  of  scholars  that  now  grew  up  (the  foreign  empirical 
school),  differed  fronf  the  ancients  chiefly  in  the  caution  and 
jndigment  which  they  brought  to  bear ;  and  though  Latin  was 
explained  from  Greek,  (and  occasionally  Greek  from  Latin), 
there  could  be  no  comprehensiveness  in  the  treatment  of  the  sub- 
ject   There  remained  a  large  class  of  words  on  which  Greek 


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110  The  Study  of  Sanahrit.  [Jan. 

threw  no  light ;  and,  generally,  the  aid  which  might  have  been 
gotten  from  Latin,  was  lost  by  ignorance  of  the  laws  of  inter- 
chixnge  of  consonants  and  vowels.     Plato  seems  to  regard  Zeus 
as  made  up  of  Zeu  and  Die,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  it  was 
discovered  that  Jupiter  is  Zeurpater.     But  further  it  was  im- 
pOBsible  to  go.     There  is  nothing  in  the  Greek  language  to 
Gxj3lain  the  meaning  otZeus;  and  it  does  not  seem  to  have  occur- 
red to  the  old  scholars  to  compare  die  and  dieSy  though  they  had 
referred  to  divus  and  Greek  dioa.    Buttman  and  Doderlein,  and 
their  Bchool,  could  make  valuable  contributions  to  etymology, 
vvheiij  by  patient  research,  by  accurate  knowledge  of  words,  and 
by  sound  judgment,  they  could  discover  cognate  words  in  the 
language  itself.     But  for  two  reasons,  they  necessarily  failed  to 
give  satisfactory  accounts  of  Greek  and  Latin  words.     The  first 
J5,  tliat  many  of  these  words  come  from  roots  no  longer  existing 
ID  these  languages,  and  therefore  only  to  be  conjectured;  and 
the  second,  that  the  stage  of  development  in  which  we  find  the 
classic  tongues,  does  not  usually  give  the  primary  significations 
of  roots.     Now  the  Sanskrit,  by  supplying  these  radicals  with 
their  primitive  meanings,  furnished  precisely  the  material  which 
was  lacking,  and  gave  a  scientific  sureness  to  these  investigations^ 
wliich  was  before  impossible.     It  gives  a  satisfactory  explanation 
of  arde  '  virtue ',  as  well  as  Area '  Mars ',  by  making  us  acquainted 
with  a  root  ar  'to  be  strong  ^;  it  connects  helioa  '  the  sun '  with  su 
{hu)  *  to  generate ' ;  and  shows  that  Zeus,  Jupiter ,  Juno,  dies,  are 
all  related,  and  all  signify  '  shining  \     If  we  suppose  a  migration 
of  tribes  from  a  central  stem,  it  is  probable  that  those  which  make 
the  g;reate6t  geographical  departures,  which  enter  into  the  most 
active  and  varied  life,  will  to  the  greatest  extent  modify  the 
original  meanings  of  words,  build  up,  and,  as  it  were,  recreate 
radk^s,  and  so  lose  sight  of  primitive  forms.     And   this  is 
actually  the  case  with  Greek  and  Latin  as  compared  with  Sanskrit, 
which  thus  offers  a  starting-point  from  which  we  can  trace  the 
progress  of  the  sister  tongues.     The  study  of  these  changes  is 
etymology ;  it  is  the  recognition  of  unity  in  variety.     The  stu- 
dent 18  made  familiar  with  the  outward  and  inward  modifications 
of  words,  ever  variable,  yet  always  to  be  referred  to  laws;  and  as 
his.  researches  extend  themselves,  he  is  called  on  to  wonder  at 


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1869.]  .      The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  Ill 

the  diversity  of  form  and  color  which  the  living  radical  assumes, 
lo  some  cases,  the  relation  between  root  and  derivative  was  pro- 
bably always  apparent;  as  in  the  Greek  phero  and  phoros,  lego 
and  loffos ;  and,  as  it  seems  to  us  Plato  ought  to  have  known,) 
gignosko  and  gnome.  But  in  others,  where  the  signification  has 
been  considerably  modified,  the  connection  is  not  obvious.  The 
relationship  between  Greek  teino  and  Latin  tendo  ^  to  stretch  \ 
and  tener  *  tender',  was  not  perceived  till  the  Sanskrit  tan  'to 
stretch ',  and  tonu  *  thin',  suggested  it;  and  homines  was  not 
referred  to  the  root  min  in  memini,  till  the  Sanskrit  manu '  man ' 
was  plainly  seen  to  come  from  man  '  to  think  \  Hundreds  of 
these  beautiful  connections  exist,  and  would  perhaps  have  lain 
ooDcealed  forever,  but  for  the  method  of  investigation  suggested 
by  the  Sanskrit,  by  the  accuracy  with  which  it  has  preserved  the 
naked  radicals  in  their  early  signification, —  we  say  early,  not 
original,  because  all  our  study  goes  to  show  that  even  in  this 
primitive  tongue,  there  is  a  past  history  of  changes  in  the  form 
and  in  the  meaning  of  words ;  and  the  principles  which  are 
derived  from  the  investigation  of  the  modifications  of  Greek  and 
Latin  radicals  may  be  applied  to  these  remoter  modifications 
which  stand,  it  may  be,  at  the  very  beginning  of  language. 

This  is  the  transformation  which  has  been  made  in  classical 
etymology ;  and  it  is  a  revolution.  And  the  grammars,  as  well 
as  the  dictionaries,  have  been  affected.  Where  the  student 
formerly  found  only  unpretending  paradigms,  &ced,  it  is  true, 
with  numerous  exceptions,  he  is  now  liable  to  encounter  schemes 
of  cases  bristling  with  uncouth  additions,  represented  as  essential 
to  the  understanding  of  the  declensions,  but  to  him  for  the  most 
part  in  themselves  unintelligible.  He  meets  with  discussions 
based  on  what  are  called  original  case-endings,  as  in  the  treat- 
ment of  certain  conjunctions  and  adverbs,  dvm,  palam,jurtim, 
and  Greek  palin,  atUda,  and  others.  He  will  find  divisions  qf  the 
verbs,  and  etymological  and  lexical  views  of  moods  and  tenses, 
which  can  hardly  convey  much  meaning  to  him  if  he  be  ignor- 
ant of  the  language  whence  they  come,  and  where  their  force  is 
evident  It  should  never  be  attempted  to  force  Sanskrit  term- 
inology on  Latin  and  Greek  grammars ;  but  it  is  impossible  to 
understand  the  inflections  of  these  languages  without  referring 


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112  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  [Jan. 

to  their  oldest  sister.  Even,  as  has  been  intimated,  where 
Latin  has  inflections  not  found  in  Sanskrit,  the  method  which 
the  latter  carries  with  it,  leads  to  satisfactory  results. 

We  may  here  briefly  state  the  fact,  that  English  lexicology 
has  been  brought  within  the  circle  of  Sanskrit  influencei  We 
liave  very  few  inflections,  and  the  only  rational  accounts  of  them 
have  come  from  comparison  with  this  language  of  India.  Oar 
genitive  ending  a,  our  dative  and  accusative  m,  plural  8  and 
cUf  signs  of  comparison  er,  esty  m  (as  in  former),  many  verbal 
inflections  and  formative  syllables  in  adjectives  and  substantives, 
have  been  more  or  less  fully  explained.  But  the  field  oflered  by 
our  dictionaries  is  much  larger.  Our  lexicology  has  been 
greatly  improved  within  a  few  years.  The  last  edition  of  Web- 
ster is  satisfactory  in  its  etymologies  so  far  as  concerns  the  refer- 
ence of  English  words  to  words  of  other  languages,  or  compar- 
ison with  cognates;  the  Proven9al  and  old  French  especially 
have  been  diligently  searched  and  made  to  do  good  service. 
ISut  there  is  a  further  step  to  take,  particularly  in  the  case  of 
isolated  English  words  or  radicals, —  that  is,  to  trace  their  primi- 
tive form  and  meaning.  This  has  been  done  in  a  few  cases  of 
common  words,  such  as  br other ,  sister ,  father ,  and  mother;  but 
only  in  a  few  cdses,  and  this  must  be  noted  as  a  defect.  A  very 
interesting  field  is  opened  here,  to  which  we  hope  to  be  able  to 
call  further  attention.  Suppose  we  are  dissatisfied  with  the 
reference  of  English  ban  to  French  ban  *  curse  \  as  not  explain- 
JQg  for  example  the  word  arriereban,  we  get  no  light  from 
western  languages ;  but  from  Sanskrit  we  learn  that  the  root 
signifies  properly  '  to  say ',  thence  '  to  proclaim ' ;  and  we  may 
observe  that  the  general  signification  is  limited  in  process  of 
lime,  and  given  a  special  direction.  A  little  analysis  will  some- 
times throw  a  flood  of  light  on  a  common  word.  We  will  hardly 
find  in  our  dictionaries  any  account  of  the  word  wing ;  but  if 
we  drop  the  nasal,  (as  we  have  a  right  to  do  from  a  well-kuown 
law  of  root-formation),  we  get  wig,  which  is  evidently  the  base  of 
wiggle,  and  identical  with  wag  '  to  move '  (as  in  wagon),  and 
therefore  with  Sanskrit  vah,  Latin  vehere  '  to  carry  \  We  see 
that  the  notions  *  moving '  and  '  carrying '  are  closely  connected, 
and  vnng  is  probably  the  *  carrier  \     Laws  of  formation  have 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanshrit.  113 

thus  been  developed  in  the  English  itself^  as  must  be  the  case  in 
every  language.  Special  etymology  has  always  been  the  child 
of  general  or  comparative  etymology. 

And  this  leads  to  the  remark  that  this  latter — the  investigation 
of  universal  radicals  —  is  itself  the  product  of  Sanskrit  studies, 
bistorically  and  logically.  This  attempt  to  discover  the  radicals 
of  the  primitive  Indo-European  family,  has  not  as  yet  been  car- 
ried very  fisir;  but  it  is  a  step  in  the  right  direction.  It  is  by  no 
means  intended  merely  to  satisfy  curiosity  in  regard  to  primitive 
root-forms  and  root-meanings,  but  helps  to  solve  interesting  ques- 
tions with  which  it  connects  itself  concerning  the  processes  of  the 
human  mind  in  building  up  roots,  and  the  origin  of  language. 
Inquirers  have  not  been  satisfied  with  researches  in  Indo-Euro- 
pean radicals,  but  have  tried  to  extend  their  comparisons  so  as 
to  embrace  not  only  the  Semitic,  but  also  the  Polynesian,  Dra- 
vidian,  and  other  groups.  This  is  a  very  fascinating  pursuit, 
and  we  would  be  glad  to  see  a  universal  identity  of  roots  estab- 
lished ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  effort  thus  far  has  not 
been  successful.  It  is  possible  that  minuter  study  of  the  various 
fiunilies  of  languages  may  disclose  more  numerous  resemblan- 
ces, but  we  must  as  yet  withhold  our  judgment  in  respect  to 
their  identity. 

The  demonstration  of  the  unity  of  the  human  race  on  lin- 
gnistic  grounds  is,  therefore,  yet  unattained ;  we  do  not  say  that 
it  is  unattainable.  But  there  are  questions  connected  with  the 
social,  political,  and  religious  history  of  the  race,  which  do  to  a 
c^in  extent  admit  of  solution  on  such  grounds.  Dr.  Kuhn 
has  determined  by  an  extensive  comparison  of  words,  the  social 
condition  of  the  primitive  Indo-European  race.  He  has  shown, 
for  example,  that  they  must  have  known  certain  animals,  vege- 
tables, trees,  and  implements,  and  proves  that  they  were  not  a 
nomadic,  but  an  agricultural-hunting  people.  Our  word  earth 
itself  means  *  ploughed  land  \  if  it  be  correctly  connected  with 
the  verb  ear,  which  Shakespere  and  the  common  version  of  the 
Scriptures  use  for  '  cultivate  %  ^  till '.  An  agreeable  picture  of 
this  early  life  is  preserved  in  the  words  brother  and  daughter. 
The  former,  from  the  verb  bear,  indicates  the  person  sustaining 
this  relation  as  to  some  extent  the  support  of  the  family,  and  so 
8 


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114  The  Study  of  Sanahrit.  [Jan. 

represents  the  household  as  organized;  and  the  latter,  which 
signifies  'the  milker',  (compare  the  English  dtfy),  recalls  the 
patriarchal  and  Homeric  times :  the  daughter  went  forth  in  the 
morning  to  milk  the  herds,  as  Rebecca  went  to  the  well  for 
water,  or  as  Ulysses  encounters  the  Princess  Nausicaa  and  her 
damsels  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  whither  *they  have  come  os- 
tensibly to  wash  their  clothes. 

The  researches  in  mythology  are  extensive  and  important. 
The  systems  of  India,  Greece,  and  Rome,  have  been  found  to 
coincide  in  many  particulars,  and  to  throw  light  each  on  the 
others.  These  comparisons  show  the  existeuce  of  a  simple  na- 
ture-worship, in  which  the  air  occupies  a  prominent  place  under 
the  name  of  Dyavs  or  Zeus;  and  they  further  furnish  materials 
for  tracing  the  progress  of  mythological  development  through 
the  stages  of  the  naively  simple  impersonation  of  the  elements 
and  natural  agencies,  the  construction  of  an  organized  Pantheon^ 
and  the  resolution  of  the  deities  into  abstract  notions  and  gener- 
alizations. This  was  the  order  in  India,  and  probably  in  Greece 
and  Rome ;  and  we  have  here  a  basis  for  more  general  investi- 
gations. 

We  have  thus  given  a  very  brief  outline  of  the  results  of  the 
study  of  Sanskrit:  that  is,  investigations  which  have  arisen  from, 
and  now  to  a  considerable  extent  depend  on,  this  study ;  and 
these  can  not  be  ignored  by  institutions  claiming  to  give  a  thor- 
ough scientific  culture.  For  a  science  has  emerged,  which  has  to 
do  with  the  most  interesting  questions  that  can  engage  our  at- 
tention ;  which  has  points  of  contact  with  psychology,  with 
ethnology,  and  with  theology.  The  field  is  extensive,  and  the 
laborers  comparatively  few.  It  ought  to  be  opened  to  the  young 
men  of  the  South.  If  the  opportunity  be  placed  before  them, 
and  so  the  necessity  for  a  distant  journey  be  obviated,  there  will 
be  many  to  lay  hold  of  it.  Besides  the  enthusiasm  that  it  would 
excite,  this  science  of  comparative  grammar  has  the  great  ad- 
vantage that  its  materials  are  always  at  hand.  It  requires  no 
costly  machinery.  In  the  common  English  words  which  we 
speak  and  read  every  day,  in  the  ordinary  expressions  which  we 
find  in  Csesar  and  Xenophon,  in  Plautus  and  Homer,  we  have 
the  subject  matter.    The  acquisition  of  Sanskrit  itself  will  re- 


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18G9.]  The  Study  of  Sanskrit.  115 

quire  a  thorough  study  of  the  grammar,  and  a  patient  devotion 
to  the  literature.  Then,  after  having  laid  a  good  foundation, 
we  will  find  opportunity  everywhere, — in  the  school-room,  in 
oar  ordinary  reading,  in  our  walks,  to  study  language ;  and  we 
may  emulate  the  example  of  Mozart,  who  is  said  to  have  not 
infrequently  paused  in  a  game  of  billiards  to  draw  out  his  note- 
book, and  jot  down  a  melody  which  had  popped  into  liis  head. 
But  along  with  this  amusement,  there  will  be  demand  enough 
for  serious  thought  and  patient  labor.  The  science  has  its  romantic 
side,  leading  us  into  the  shadowy  regions  of  the  beginning  of 
speech,  accompanying  our  first  father  in  his  unaccustomed  labor 
of  inventing  radicals  and  bestowing  names,  and  tracing  the  pro- 
gress fi-om  the  primitive  tongue  to  its  descendants.  But  even 
here,  it  is  not  merely  conjecture  and  fanciful  theorizing  which  it 
invites,  (though  imagination  has  played  no  unimportant  part  in 
science,  witness  Kepler  and  Goethe),  but  profound  consideration 
of  the  capacities  of  the  primitive  mind.  If  it  be  true  that  the 
mistiness  and  mystery  sometimes  seduce  us  into  the  fantastical 
and  the  dogmatic,  it  is  also  true  that  they  may  call  forth  some- 
thing better, — a  patient  scientific  analysis  of  facts  which,  from 
their  commonness,  their  ultimateness,  are  peculiarly  difficult  to 
analyze. 

The  science  of  Linguistic,  (and  therefore  Sanskrit,  on  which 
it  is  based),  has  a  special  claim  on  Southern  men.  We  have  left 
the  investigation  of  the  indigenous  tongues  of  this  continent 
almost  entirely  to  foreigners.  It  belongs,  however,  in  great 
part,  naturally  to  us,  and  we  have  better  opportunities  than 
others  of  pursuing  it.  In  truth,  comparatively  little  has  been 
done  in  this  direction,  and  the  means  of  arriving  at  scientific 
definiteness  are  every  Jay  becoming  fewer.  A  little  while,  and 
the  aboriginal  races  will  have  passed  away.  How  much  can 
now  be  recovered  of  the  languages  of  the  great  civilized  peoples 
who  inhabited  the  southern  part  of  the  continent,  or  of  the  races 
who  preceded  the  present  tribes,  it  is  hard  to  say.  But  it  is  of 
great  importance  to  lay  hold  of  what  remains.  These  languages 
belong  to  a  very  interesting  fiiimily ;  the  Turanian  or  agglutin- 
izing,  in  which  modifications  of  the  idea  of  the  radical  are  ex- 
pressed by  a  mechanical  addition  of  suffixes,  and  they  are  with- 


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116  The  Study  of  SanaJcrit.  [Jan. 

out  the  symmetry  and  smoothness  of  inflecting  tongues.  But 
they  may  represent  a  transition  period.  As  the  germ  of  the  hu- 
man being  passes  through  a  state  in  which  it  is  apparently  iden- 
tical with  that  of  the  brute,  (differing  only  in  internal  capacity 
of  development),  so  may  the  polished  tongues  of  the  Greeks  and 
East  Indians  fiave  had  a  form  in  which  they  were  not  distin- 
guishable from  the  less  cultivated.  The  separating,  developing 
power  lay  hidden  in  the  national  mind  and  character.  But  the 
inflecting  languages  have  passed  this  stage,  and  present  them- 
selves to  us  with  the  prefixes  and  affixes  so  fused  with  the  root 
as  to  be  often  unrecognizable.  If  we  can  seize  the  crystallized 
intermediate  form,  we  may  learn  the  laws  of  formation,  as  the 
human  embryo  may  be  studied  from  the  lower  animal  existences. 
This  intermediate  form  is  furnished  by  the  Turanian  femily. 
And  in  the  American  dialects  there  is  variety  enough,  and  simi- 
larity enough,  to  invite  research,  and  opportunity  to  do  good 
service  in  the  cause  of  science.  To  accomplish  this,  there  must 
be  preparatory  training.  Something  has  already  been  done  by 
sound  scholars,  but  the  great  body  of  observers  only  accumulate 
facts  whose  significance  they  do  not  know,  and  from  wbichi 
therefore,  they  are  not  capable  of  drawing  valuable  conclusions. 
We  need  men  who  can  go  to  work  systematically;  who  can  give 
definite  shape  to  the  mass  of  facts  which  are  clearly  known,  accu- 
mulate new  matter,  and  breathe  life  into  the  dead  body.  Wil- 
liam von  Humboldt's  great  work  on  the  Kavi-language  is  a 
philosophical  investigation  of  a  dialect  which  belongs  to  this 
same  Turanian  group,  and  he  has  made  it  the  occasion  of  the 
most  useful  general  discussions.  The  accomplished  English 
philologist,  Richard  Gamett,  has  drawn  largely  on  this  family, 
for  proof  and  illustration  of  his  positions  in  respect  to  various 
inflectional  signs ;  and  it  is  certain  that  the  fund  of  illustration 
is  not  yet  exhausted.  The  science  which  determines  the  princi- 
ples on  which  such  investigations  must  proceed  is  a  necessity, 
and  will  commend  itself  to  all  who  are  interested  in  the  study 
of  our  ^original  languages ;  and  the  duty  of  supplying  the 
nxeans  for  pursuing  the  science,  devolves  on  our  universities  and 
colleges. 

No  doubt,  to  many  of  our  readers  who  admit  the  necessity  of 


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1869.]  The  Study  of  Sanahrit.  117 

instruction  in  Sanskrit  and  Linguistics,  a  question  will  present 
itself  as  to  the  practicability  of  its  present  introduction  into 
Southern  institutions;  and  we  may  here  advert  briefly  to  the  sub- 
ject. We  do  not  forget  the  untowardness  of  the  political  and 
financial  condition  of  the  country.  Unsettled  and  excited  as  we 
are,  there  may  be  difficulty  in  arousing  the  popular  mind  to  a 
doe  consideration  of  the  importance  of  so  abstract  a  thing  as  a 
science  which  has  to  do  chiefly  with  words,  or  so  remote  a  thing 
as  the  dead  language  of  an  Oriental  people.  And  even  if  suffi- 
cient interest  were  excited,  there  might  be  difficulty  in  finding 
the  money  to  give  it  practical  expression. 

While  this  is  true,  its  importance  seems  to  us  to  be  greatly 
diminished  by  the  following  considerations :  In  the  first  place, 
the  cultivation  of  science  depends  on  the  few,  rather  than  on  the 
many.  Even  in  the  most  flourishing  Art-periods,  as  at  Athens 
and  Florence,  it  was  the  power  of  a  few  men  that  gave  encour- 
agement and  direction  to  Art.  And,  universally,  the  first  impulse 
must  come,  not  from  the  mass,  but  from  individuals ;  since  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  the  body  of  men  will  have  time,  or  ca- 
pacity, to  make  themselves  acquainted  with  the  good  results 
which  flow  from  a  mental  energy  so  different  from  their  own. 
In  the  present  case,  then,  if  there  be  only  a  few  to  lay  hold, 
though  we  may  wish  it  otherwise,  we  are  not  to  regard  it  as 
necessarily  a  ground  of  discouragement,  and  certainly  not  as  a 
reason  for  holding  back.  In  the  next  place,  in  spite  of  financial 
and  other  difficulties,  much  has  been  done  lately  for  the  support 
of  education,  and  the  encouragement  of  literature.  The  war 
left  us  crippled, —  our  lands  devastated,  our  capital  lost,  our 
baildings  destroyed,  our  commerce  ruined, —  a  completer  picture 
of  prostration  could  hardly  be  found.  And  yet  within  three 
years,  the  majority  of  the  colleges  of  the  South  have  resumed 
operation,  some  of  them  with  encouraging  success,  and  literary 
periodicals  have  fared  as  well,  certainly,  as  before  the  war.  This 
shows  the  existence  of  a  real  interest  in  the  matter,  and  proves 
that  we  may  rely  on  the  cultivated  consciousness  of  (nir  people, 
with  whom  now  education  is  not  an  accomplishment,  but  a  ne- 
cessity. And  if  so  much  has  been  done,  then  certainly  more 
may  be  done.     But  the  establishment  of  a  new  chair  in  a  uni- 


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118  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

versity  or  college  would  not  necessarily  demand  any  expendi- 
ture of  its  funds.  Such  chair  may  be  self-supporting.  In  this 
particular  case,  the  proceeds  from  tuition-fees  might  not  at  first 
be  large.  But  they  would  yield  a  support,  and  the  income 
would  gradually  increase.  It  is  the  general  experience,  that  the 
extension  of  the  course  of  instruction  is  pecuniarily  beneficial  to 
a  college ;  and  naturally,  since  it  offers  greater  inducements  to 
students,  and  heightens  the  enthusiasm  for  study,  it  extends  and 
intensifies  the  literary  atmosphere.  It  is  deficiency  in  this  sub- 
ject, which  has  been  a  source  of  weakness  in  our  educational  in- 
stitutions. A  new  chair  acts  beneficially  on  the  others,  and  is 
in  its  turn  benefited  by  them.  In  the  present  case,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  the  subject  would  need  only  to  be  introduced  to  meet 
with  support.  And,  in  the  last  place,  we  must  recognize  it  as  a 
duty  to  foster  science,  even  if  it  cost  labor  and  self-denial. 
Generally,  we  are  not  called  on  to  exercise  the  latter  largely.  A 
little  hearty  interest,  a  few  well-directed  efforts,  will  work  won- 
ders. Whatever  men  regard  as  a  necessity,  they  usually  accom- 
plish. According  to  the  scheme  of  the  divine  providence  in  the 
world,  science  is  a  necessity.  For  this  particular  direction  of 
scientific  effort,  we  have  the  ability  and  the  opportunity.  Un- 
doubtedly, it  will  be  followed  in  time;  but  the  sooner  we  begin, 
the  better.  The  purer  our  devotion  to  truth,  the  more  splendid 
the  gifls  it  confers. 


Akt.  VI. —  1.  An  Historical  View  of  the  Government  of.  Mary- 
land from  its  Colonization  to  the  Present  Day.  By  John  V . 
L.  McMahon.     Baltimore :  F.  Lucas,  Jr.  &  Co.     1831. 

2.  The  History  of  Maryland,  from  its  first  Settlement  in  1633 
to  the  Restoration  in  1660.  By  John  Leeds  Bozman.  Bal- 
timore :  Lucas  &  Deaver.     1837. 


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1869.]  The  Early  Hidory  of  Maryland.  119 

3.  The  Landholder's  Assistant.  By  John  Kilty,  Register  of  the 
Land  Office,  Ac.     Baltimore :  S.  Dobbin  &  Murphy.     1808. 

4.  A  History  of  Maryland,  from  its  Settlement  in  the  year  1634 
to  the  year  1848.  By  James  McSherry.  Baltimore :  Jno. 
Morphy  &  Co.     1860. 

5.  The  Day-Star  of  American  Freedom,  or  the  Birth  and  Early 
Growth  of  Toleration  in  the  Province  of  Maryland.  By 
Greorge  Lynn-Lachlan  Davis.  New  York  :  Scribner.  Bal- 
timore: Murphy.     1866. 

6.  Terra  MarioBy  or  Threads  of  Maryland  Colonial  History. 
By  Edward  D.  Neill.  Philadelphia :  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co. 
1867. 

It  18,  and  it  ought  to  be,  a  genuine  refreshment  to  the  way- 
ferer  over  the  rugged  road  of  life,  to  find  among  our  fellow  men, 
whether  living  or  dead,  examples  of  the  combination  in  one  per- 
son of  the  two  rare  qualities  of  greatness  and  goodness.  There 
are,  indeed,  ingenuous  thinkers  who  deem  these  qualities,  to  a 
certain  extent,  inseparable ;  or,  at  least,  who  imagine  there  is  no 
true  greatness  without  that  aggregation  of  virtues  recognized  as 
goodness;  but  this  is  a  mistake  which  may  be  disproved  by 
nearly  every  page  of  general  history.  We  have  seen  it  some- 
where asserted,  by  an  over-zealous  champion  of  Christianity,  that 
there  was  no 'true  eloquence  but  that  inspired  by  Christianity, 
in  utter  ignorance  or  oblivion  of  the  fact  that  Demosthenes  and 
Cicero  have  now,  and  have  ever  had,  more  admirers  than  Paul 
and  Chrysoetom ;  and  those  champions  of  goodness,  who  deem 
it  necessary  to  greatness,  must  likewise  ignore  or  forget  that 
Alexander,  C«sar,  Cromwell,  and  Napoleon,  are  conspicuous 
among  the  great  men  of  the  earth.  We  fear  that,  in  point  of 
&ct,  greatness  and  goodness  are  as  little  akin  as  Petruchio's  stir- 
rups ;  and  yet  they  are,  happily,  sometimes  combined.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  great  and  good  of  the  Christian  ministry,  living 
lights,  or  shining  through  all  Christian  ages  and  nations,  we 
may  offer  as  familiar  examples  or  representative  men,  an  Alfred 
the  Great,  a  Sir  Thomas  More,  a  Christopher  Columbus,  and 
last,  not  least,  the  great  Anierican  —  no,  let  us  give  him  his  local 
habitation, — the  great  Virginian,  whose  name  towers  above 
all  others,  sprung  firom  this  new  and  vigorous  western  world  of 
ours. 


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120  The  Early  Hhtory  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

The  seventeenth  century  abounded  in  men  of  mark^  in  every 
line  of  human  distinction ;  and  prominent  among  them  were  the 
founders  of  the  various  American  colonies,  which  were  the 
sources  or  fountain  heads  of  states  already  great  and  powerful ;  but 
which  are,  as  yet,  but  slightly  developed  in  comparison  with  their 
future  destinies.  All  of  these  founders  are  more  or  less  objects 
of  the  world's  admiration ;  all  were  cast  more  or  less  in  the  same 
heroic  mould ;  all  were  brave,  resolute,  and  self-reliant ;  men 
of  bold  emprise,  who  won,  without  exception,  the  ^  bubble  repu- 
tation ',  while  seeking,  for  the  most  part,  much  more  substantial 
rewards. 

For  ourselves,  we  believe  that  among  the  colonial  founders 
there  are  none  more  worthy  of  love,  of  praise,  of  admiration,  or, 
in  like  circumstances,  of  imitation,  than  George  Calvert.  In  the 
seventeenth  century,  knowledge  was  making  immense  strides;  and 
men's  minds  were  expa^ding  with  what  may  be  considered  the 
world's  expansion.  And  yet,  in  some  respects,  and  those  the  most 
interesting  as  well  as  the  most  important  to  the  happiness  of  the 
human  race,  the  darkest  shadows  were  lowering  over  the  &oe  of 
Christendom ;  and  that  faith  which  in  intelligent  minds  must 
needs  be  free  to  be  real,  was  subject,  in  the  mother  country  es- 
jjecially,  to  civil  or  military  power,  or  to  the  caprice  of  any 
reigning  tyrant. 

Under  the  reign  of  James  I.,  religious  persecution  was  very 
active,  and  Catholics  and  Protestants  had  to  bear  penalties 
that  were  sometimes  almost  beyond  human  endurance,  for 
adhering  to  the  &ith  of  their  fathers,  on  the  one  hand,  or, 
on  the  other,  for  diverging  from  the  tenets  approved  by  the  Brit- 
ish Solomon.  This  king  himself,  born  of  a  Catholic  mother, 
and  bred  a  Presbyterian,  ^  half  Pope  and  half  Puritan',  gave  to 
both  Catholics  and  Calvinists  a  foretaste  in  this  world  of  what 
he  supposed  they  were  to  endure  in  the  world  to  come.  With- 
out dwelling  upon  these  matters,  we  may  say  briefly,  that  numbers 
of  the  sufferers  were  driven  to  seek  homes  beyond  the  seas.  The 
virgin  soil  of  America  offered  the  highest  induoements  to  the 
persecuted,  of  whatever  denomination.  The  Puritan  emigrants 
made  a  lodgment,  first  in  Holland,  where  they  were  free  frx>m 
persecution,   but  where  they  found  no  prospect  of  material 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  121 

advanoement ;  and  then  they  wisely  determined  that  their  pro- 
mised land  was  in  the  new  world,  whither  many  of  them  di- 
rected their  steps,  to  build  up  a  new  nation  in  the  wilderness. 

The  Catholics,  sorely  beset  in  their  native  land,  knew  not  where 
nor  how  to  find  a  place  of  peace  and  safety.  Fortunately  for 
them,  in  the  last  year  of  the  reign  of  King  James,  a  courtier,  a 
gentleman,  a  scholar,  a  man  of  unquestioned  ability  in  wielding 
either  the  sword  or  the  pen,  publicly  announced  his  attachment  to 
the  Catholic  faith.  This  was  in  1624.  It  has  been  a  matter  of 
keen  controversy  as  to  whether  this  conversion,  or  perversion, 
IS  it  was  respectively  considered,  took,  place  in  1624,  or  at  an 
earlier  date.  From  the  data  furnished  by  the  various  disputants, 
as  well  as  by  the  most  trustworthy  authorities,  we  infer  that  the 
gentleman  in  question  adopted  the  Catholic  faith  positively  in 
the  year  1624,  although  his  inclination  had  been  tending  that 
way  for  some  years.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  able,  accomplished, 
and  &vorite  courtier.  Sir  George  Calvert,  made  his  public  pro- 
fession in  the  year  above  mentioned ;  and,  with  this  public  pro- 
fession, he  resigned  the  o£Bces  with  which  the  King  had  hon- 
ored him.  He  held  the  oflSce  at  that  time,  inter  alia,  of  Chief 
Secretary  of  State.  ^  This  place  he  discharged  \  says  Fuller,  in 
his  Worthies  of  England,  *  above  five  years ;  until  he  willingly 
resigned  the  same,  1624,  on  this  occasion.  He  fireely  confessed 
himself  to  the  king  that  he  was  then  become  a  Roman  Catholic, 
80  that  he  must  either  be  wanting  in  his  trust,  or  violate  his 
conscience,  in  discharging  his  office.  This,  his  ingenuity,  so 
highly  afiected  King  James,  that  he  continued  him  privy  coun- 
cillor all  his  reign,  (as  appeareth  in  the  council  book),  and  soon 
after  created  him  Lord  Baltimore,  of  Baltimore,  in  Ireland.' 

The  courtier  knew  full  well  that  his  religious  principles  would 
be  of  no  worldly  advantage  to  him ;  but,  being  stout  of  heart 
and  strong  in  faith,  he  declared  them  frankly,  and  prepared  to 
abide  the  consequences.  In  the  words  of  Bancroft,  '  preferring 
the  avowal  of  his  opinions  to  the  emoluments  of  office,  he  re- 
signed his  place  and  openly  professed  his  conversion.'  Being 
a  personal  favorite  of  the  king,  whom  he  had  served  with 
fidelity  and  zeal,  he  retained  position  at  court  in  spite  of  the 
clamor  of  a  rising  party  in  the  State,  whose  influence  became 
much  more  potent  in  subsequent  years. 


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122  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

The  privy  councillor  was  not  a  man  to  rely  exclusively  and 
devotedly  upon  royal  favor.  He  was  too  sagacious  to  place  all 
his  trust  in  princes.  And  even  if  the  king  should  be  always 
friendly,  there  were  other  parties  willing  and  ready  to  mar  the 
peace  of  his  life.  He  was  not  exempt,  notwithstanding  the 
king's  favor,  as  McMahon  remarks,  from  those  difficulties  and 
mortifications  which  always  attend  the  profession  and  exercise  of 
a  proscribed  religion.  ^  It  was  natural ',  says  this  author,  ^  that 
thus  situated,  he  should  desire  to  establish  himself  in  some  more 
happy  land,  where,  in  every  event,  he  might  be  free  from  the 
persecutions  of  the  Established  Church.  Men  are  not  content 
with  the  enjoyment,  by  mere  sufierance,  of  either  political  or 
religious  liberty.  The  insecurity  of  the  tenure  robs  them  of  half 
their  enjoyment.'  He  went  to  Avalon,^in  Newfoundland,  to 
find  a  peaceful  home,  but  lefl  it  on  account  of  the  rigor  of  the 
climate ;  *  he  went  thence  to  Virginia,  but  was  repelled  from  that 
province  by  the  local  government  on  account  of  his  religious 
fenets.  *Then  it  was',  continues  McMahon,  Hhat  his  eyes 
were  cast  upon  the  territory  along  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  as  yet 
unsettled ;  and  by  the  amenity  of  its  situation,  and  the  fertility 
of  its  resources,  inviting  him  to  its  retreat.  Here,  if  he  could 
but  obtain  a  grant  of  it  from  the  crown,  he  might  dwell  in  bis 
own  territory  and  under  his  own  government;  and  build  up  in 
the  wilderness  a  home  for  religious  freedom.  These  were  the 
leading  views  which  seem  to  have  operated  upon  him,  in  apply- 
ing for  the  charter  of  Maryland ;  and  but  for  his  untimely  death, 
at  the  moment  of  accomplishing  his  wishes,  it  is  probable  he 
would  have  removed  to  the  province,  and  would  have  here  per^ 
manently  established  his  family.  Hence  it  may  be  truly  said, 
fipom  the  consideration  of  the  views  of  its  founder,  and  of  the 
character  and  objects  of  its  first  colonists,  that  the  State  of  Mary- 
land, as  well  as  the  New  England  States,  originated  in  the  search 
for  civil  and  religious  freedom ;  and  the  character  of  the  former  is 
still  further  consecrated  by  the  fact,  that  her  government,  for  a 

1  He  called  his  first  province  Avalon,  from  Uie  place  where  it  is  said  Ghristianitj 
was  first  planted  in  England. 

'A  French  author  complacently  obserres  that  he  (Calvert)  was  ^obUgide'Vabm- 
tkmner  d  eatue  det  exeurtiont  des  FranfoU  /'  bat  in  point  of  fi&ct,  in  his  engagements 
with  the  French,  he  bore  off  the  laurels^  and  thej  the  cypress. 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  123 

loDg  period  after  the  colonisation,  was  true  to  the  principles  which 
laid  the  foundations  of  his  colony.  Her  colonists,  in  escaping 
from  the  proscriptions  and  persecutions  of  the  mother  country, 
unlike  those  of  some  of  the  Puritan  settlements  of  the  North,  did 
not  catch  the  contagion  of  the  spirit  which  had  driven  them  from 
their  homes.'  • 

The  bnffetings  which  Calvert  received  on  account  of  his  reli- 
gion, probably  opened  his  eyes  to  the  enormity  of  persecuting 
men  for  their  religious  ienets.  He  had  felt  the  wrong  in 
hia  own  person,  and  he  had  witnessed  the  sufferings  of  others, 
both  of  his  own  faith  and  of  divers  dissenting  creeds,  for 
their  religious  opinions.  It  seemed  to  be  sent  to  him,  a  just 
and  a  wise  man,  like  an  inspiration,  that  this  great  evil,  this 
perennial  scourge  of  Christendom,  could  and  should  be  redress- 
ed at  once  and  forever.  Keturning  to  England  from  Virginia, 
he  made  a  successful  application  to  King  Charles  I.  for  a  grant 
of  land  within  certain  limits  bordering  upon  the  Chesapeake 
Bay.  He  drew  up  the  charter  with  his  own  hand,  and  he  took 
care  to  keep  out  of  it  anything  which  might  trench  upon  liberty  of 
conscience.  His  own  plans  were  already  made.  Except  a  couple 
of  phrases,  one  merely  conventional,  which  declared  that  nothing 
should  be  done  in  the  colony  to  the  detriment  of  God's  holy  reli- 
gion, and  another  that  all  ecclesiastical  benefices  were  to  be  within 
the  gift  of  the  proprietary,  there  was  nothing  in  the  charter  bear- 
ing upon  the  subject  of  religion.  It  is  to  be  presumed  that  the 
king  did  not  mean  that  the  members  of  his  own  church  should 
be  in  any  way  molested  on  account  of  their  creed ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  there  was  a  careful  avoidance  of  making  the  Estab- 
lished Church  of  England  the  established  church  of  the  new 
colony.  King  Charles  meant  to  act  gracefully  and  gratefully 
by  his  father's  old  and  trusted  friend.  He  probably  wished  that 
Calvert  and  his  followers  should  have,  in  the  wilderness  beyond 
the  seas,  as  happy  and  as  peaceful  a  home  as  possible.  If  the 
Catholics  could  find  an  asylum  far  away  from  England,  where 
the  king  was  often  obliged  to  persecute,  bongre  malgre,  his 
majesty  who,  though  selfish,  was  not  cruel,  by  nature,  would 
rather  favor  than  hinder  the  enterprise.  Accordingly,  he  allow- 
*  HcMahon's  History  of  Maryland. 


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124  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

ed  Lord  Baltimore  to  shape  the  charter  to  suit  himself,  reserving 
only  a  nominal  tribate,  besides  an  interest  in  the  precious  metals 
to  be  discovered  in  the  province.  So  far,  the  provincial  posses- 
sions had  been  the  source  of  about  as  much  trouble  as  profit  to 
the  crown ;  and  the  king  set  very  little  store  by  the  then  nameless 
territory  asked  by  the  petitioner.  He  gave  it  a  name,  however, 
and  happily  hit  upon  the  beautiful  name  of  Mary,  or  Slaria,  the 
second  name  of  the  queen,  Henrietta  Maria.  And  thenceforth 
the  brightest  gem  in  the  American  cluster  of  provinces  or  states 
was  known  as  Terra  Marios,  or  Maryland,  otherwise  called  with 
reason,  the  Land  of  the  Sanctuary. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  the  great  and  good  George 
Calvert  was  gathered  to  his  fathers ;  but  his  works  have  survived 
him.  He  had  projected  a  scheme  for  the  happiness  of  his  fellow 
men,  which  was  carried  into  execution  by  his  son  and  successor, 
Cecil ius,  with  results  with  which  the  world  is  familiar.  'Sir 
George  Calvert  died,'  says  Bancroft,  ^  leaving  a  name  against 
which  the  breath  of  calumny  has  hardly  dared  whisper  a 
reproach.' 

We  should  like  to  dwell  upon  his  fame  and  memory  if  oar 
space  permitted ;  for  calumny  has  dared  to  touch  his  name— 
only  to  recoil,  and  to  plague  the  inventors.  Detraction  has 
been  busy,  and,  since  the  facts  are  all  in  fiivor  of  Calvert,  his 
motives  have  been  assailed;  but  empty  assertion,  and  conjectures, 
or  surmises,  have  fortunately  exerted  very  little  influence  over 
the  minds  of  men  capable  of  thinking  and  judging  for  them- 
selves. 

We  pass  on  rapidly  to  the  actual  settlement  of  Maryland. 
George  Calvert  dying,  the  charter  was  made  out  in  favor  of 
the  second  Lord  Baltimore,  Cecilius  Calvert.  In  the  words 
of  the  instrument,  the  son  and  heir,  'treading  in  the  steps  of  his 
fether,  and  being  animated  with  a  laudable  and  pious  zeal  for  ex- 
tending the  Christian  religion,  and  also  the  territories  of  our 
empire,  hath  humbly  besought  leave  of  Us,  that  he  may  trans- 
port by  his  own  industry  and  expense,  a  numerous  colony  of  the 
English  nation  to  a  certain  region,  hereinatler  described,  in  a 
country  hitherto  uncultivated,  in  the  parts  of  America^  and 
partly  occupied  by  savages,  having  no  knowledge  of  the  Divine 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  126 

Being,  and  that  all  that  region,  Ac,  may  by  our  royal  highness 
be  given,  granted,  and  confirmed  unto  him  and  his  heirs. 

'Know  ye  therefore,  that  We,  encouraging  with  our  royal 
&vor  the  pious  and  noble  purpose  of  the  aforesaid  barons  of 
Baltimore,  of  our  special  grace,  certain  knowledge,  and  mere 
motion,  have  given,  granted,  and  confirmed,  and  by  this 
our  present  charter,  for  us,  our  heirs  and  successors,  do  give, 
grant,  and  confirm  unto  the  aforesaid  Cecilius,  now  baron  of  Balti- 
more, his  heirs  and  assigns,  all  that  part  of  the  Peninsula  or 
Chersonese,  lying  in  the  parts  of  America  between  the  ocean  on 
the  East,  and  the  bay  of  Chesapeake  on  the  West,'*  <6c.,  &c. 

'Treading  in  the  steps  of  his  &ther ',  in  the  words  of  the  king, 
is  not,  in  this  instance,  the  language  of  empty  compliment.  The 
great  soul  of  George  Calvert  designed  to  establish  a  government 
wherein  liberty  of  conscience  should  be  the  crowning  glory  of  a  just, 
liberal,  and  generous  rule.  But  George  Calvert  did  not  establish 
his  government.  This  work  was  left  for  his  son  and  successor, 
and  it  often  happens  that  the  son  and  heir  has  widely  different 
views  from  those  of  his  progenitor.  In  this  case,  however,  the 
son  was  fully  imbued  with  the  sentiments  of  the  father,  and  it 
devolved  upon  him  to  reduce  theory  to  practice.  It  was  a  grand 
experiment  at  that  day,  but  a  successful  one,  for  a  time  at  least, 
as  we  shall  see ;  and  though  interrupted  for  a  time,  it  was,  we 
may  hope,  the  harbinger  of  better  and  brighter  days  for  all  Christ- 
endom, to  the  end. 

In  the  month  of  November,  1633,  two  vessels  of  significant 
and  memorable  names  —  the  Ark  and  the  Dove — sailed  from 
England  with  the  first  pilgrims  destined  for  Maryland.  These 
pilgrims  were,  for  the  most  part,  gentlemen  of  means  and  con- 
dition, who,  with  their  families, — wives,  children,  and  servants, — 
were  in  search  of  the  most  desirable  of  earthly  blessings  — 
peaceful  and  hapj^  homes.  After  various  adventures  and  per- 
ils, the  pilgrims  landed  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  in  March, 
1634.  They  were  met  by  large  bodies  of  armed  natives,  who 
swarmed  upon  the  shores,  who  sent  messengers  inland,  and  who, 
hj  night,  illumined  earth  and  sky  with  their  alarm  fires,  to  invite 
the  neighboring  savages  from  far  and  near  to  repel  the  invaders. 

^  See  Charter  in  Bocman's  History  of  Maryland. 


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126  The  Early  Bhtory  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

The  hostility  of  these  simple  children  of  nature  was  soon  dis- 
armed by  the  conciliatory  policy  of  the  immigrants.  At  the 
head  of  these  was  Leonard  Calvert,  brother  to  the  proprietary, 
and  now  governor  of  the  new  commonwealth,  another  worthy 
son  of  a  worthy  sire.  The  governor  immediately  entered  into 
friendly  relations  with  the  Indians,  and  ^  Maryland ',  as  Mc- 
Sherry  remarks,  ^  was  almost  the  only  State  whose  early  settle- 
ment was  not  stained  with  the  blood  of  the  unfortunate  natives.' 
This  is  another  crown  of  glory  for  the  lovely  princess  of  the 
Chesapeake. 

On  the  25th  of  March,  the  colonists  '  took  solemn  possession 
of  Maryland,  and  their  priests  performed  divine  service  for  the 
first  time  within  its  borders.  After  mass  was  ended,  the  pilgrims 
formed  in  procession,  led  by  the  governor,  Leonard  Calvert,  the 
secretary  and  other  officers,  carrying  on  their  shoulders  a  huge 
cross,  hewn  from  a  tree,  and  erected  it  upon  the  island,  as  the 
emblem  of  Christianity  and  civilization,  which  they  were  about 
to  plant  upon  those  shores.  Under  these  auspices  was  begun  the 
founding  of  Maryland.'* 

The  cross  was  not,  in  those  days,  considered  by  all  American 
colonists,  as  a  Christian  emblem.  A  curious  illustration  of  hos- 
tility to  this  ancient  and  venerable  symbol,  may  be  found  in  the 
life  of  Sir  Henry  Vane,  when  governor  of  Massachusetts.  The 
Bostonians  and  some  English  captains  had  certain  compromises 
to  make  to  get  on  satisfactorily,  and  inter  aliay  the  captains 
desired  that  the  royal  ensign  should  be  displayed  on  the  fort  in 
th^  harbor.  'Fair  and  reasonable  as  this  request  seems,' 
says  Mr.  Upham,  Vane's  biographer,  *it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  the  captains  to  contrive  a  more  effectual  dilem- 
ma for  the  poor  Puritans.'  They  did  not  want  to  appear  disloyal 
to  the  crown  from  which  they  held  their  charter,  but  to  hoist  the 
eusign  was  to  hoist  the  cross  also  in  the  chosen  centre  of  Puri- 
tanism. With  the  ingenuity,  which  was  already  a  New  England 
trait,  they  avoided  both  horns  of  the  dilemma  for  a  time,  by 
declaring  there  was  no  royal  ensign  in  the  colony.  The  captains 
offered  to  lend  or  give  colors  for  the  occasion.  'All  chance  of 
escape  being  thus  shut  out,  the  magistrates  met  the  question 
*  McSherry'g  Historj  of  Maryland. 


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1869.]  The  Early  Hidory  of  Maryland.  127 

fiurly,  and  retarned  this  reasonable  answer  to  the  request  of  the 
ship-masters,  that,  although  they  were  fully  persuaded  that  the 
cross  in  the  colors  was  idolatrous,  yet  as  the  fort  belonged  to  the 
king,  they  were  willing  that  his  own  flag  should  fly  there/ 

The  clergy  took  the  matter  in  hand  the  same  evening,  and 
caused  the  magistrates  to  reconsider,  and  finally  to  refuse  the 
request  of  the  captains.  The  governor  remained  firm,  however, 
aD(I  displayed  the  flag  without  the  authority  of  the  clergy  and 
magistrates ;  after  which  act  his  oflScial  relations  with  the  colo- 
nial government  became  more  and  more  discordant,  until  the 
opposition  finally  brought  his  administration  to  a  close.^ 

Our  colonists  soon  set  to  work  manfully  as  tillers  of  the  soil; 
and  by  dint  of  industry  and  gck)d  management,  they  enjoyed  a 
modest  prosperity  from  the  first  days  of  their  occupation.  They 
'soon  learned  the  virtues  of  Indian  com,  among  other  good 
things,  and  improved  upon  the  hominy  and  pone  of  the  natives ; 
though  no  culinary  art  has  made  the  roasting  ear,  from  that  day 
to  this,  any  better  than  it  was  when  the  colonists  first  received  it 
fix)m  the.  hands  of  their  rude  but  hospitable  entertainers. 

The  colony  throve  by  its  own  exertions,  and  also  in  conse- 
quence of  the  foresight  of  its  founder.  ^  It  was  supplied',  says 
McMahon,  *  for  its  establishment  by  the  kind  providence  of  the 
proprietary,  not  only  with  the  necessaries,  but  even  with  many 
of  the  conveniences  adapted  to  an  infant  settlement.  Although 
many  of  the  first  emigrants  were  gentlemen  of  fortune,  he  did 
not  therefore  throw  the  colony  on  its  resources,  and  leave  it 
dependent  for  its  subsistence  upon  the  casual  supplies  of  an  unre- 
claimed country,  and  a  savage  people.  At  the  embarkation  of 
the  colony,  it  was  provided  at  his  expense  with  stores  of  pro- 
visions and  clothing,  implements  of  husbandry,  and  the  means 
of  erecting  habitations ;  and  for  the  first  two  or  three  years  after 
its  establishment,  he  spared  no  expense  which  was  necessary  to 
promote^  its  interests.  It  appears,  not  only  from  the  petition 
preferred  in  1715,  to  the  English  Parliament,  by  Charles  Lord 
Baltimore;  but  also  fix>m  the  concurring  testimony  of  all  the 
historians  who  treat  of  the  settlement  of  this  colony,  that,  during 
the  first  two  or  three  years  of  its  establishment,  Cecilius,  the 
*Spark8*8  American  Biogniphj. 


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128  The  Early  Eiatory  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

proprietary,  expended  upon  it  upwards  of  ,£40,000.  Nor  did 
his  care  stop  there.  He  governed  it  with  a  policy  more  effica- 
cious than  his  means  would  justify,  in  giving  strength  and  confi- 
dence to  the  colony,  and  happiness  to  the  settlers.  The  lands  of 
the  province  were  held  up  as  a  premium  to  emigrants.  The 
freemen  were  convened  in  Assembly,  and  thus  made  to  feel  that 
they  were  dwelling  under  their  own  government.  Religious 
liberty  was  subject  only  to  the  restraints  of  conscience ;  courts  of 
justice  were  established ;  and  the  laws  of  the  mother  country, 
securative  of  the  rights  of  person  and  property,  were  introduced 
in  their  full  operation.  The  laws  of  justice  and  humanity  were 
observed  towards  the  natives.  The  results  of  so  sagacious  a 
policy  were  soon  perceived.  During  the  first  seven  years  of  the 
colony,  its  prosperity  was  wholly  uninterrupted;  and  when  the^ 
interruption  came,  it  proceeded  from  causes  which  no  policy 
could  have  averted.* 

While  the  colonists  were  attending  to  their  material  interests, 
planting,  trading  with  the  Indians,  Ac.,  their  missionary  priests 
were  exerting  themselves  to  bring  the  pagan  natives  into  the 
Christian  fold.  Mr.  Neill,  in  his  Terra  Marice,  assures  us  that 
the  Quakers  were  the  first  people  to  arouse  religious  sentiment 
in  Maryland.  *  The  fair-minded  historian  \  he  says,  '  can  not 
disguise  the  fact,  that  under  the  influence  of  these  despised  peo- 
ple, the  first  great  religious  awakening  in  Maryland  occurred.' 
Greorge  Fox,  *one  day  in  1672',  appeared  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Patuxent  to*  difiuse  Christian  truth.  Before  (Jeorge  Fox 
commenced  his  work  in  America,  however,  historians,  fair- 
minded  or  otherwise,  agree  that  Fathers  White  and  Altham,  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  first,  and  subsequently  others  of  their  faith 
and  order,  had  not  only  attended  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  the 
English  settlers,  but  had  made  numerous  conversions  among 
native  princes  and  people.  At  a  very  early  day,  *  the  two  priests 
obtained,  by  the  consent  of  its  owner,  one  of  the  Indian  huts  or 
wigwams,  for  their  own  use ;  and  having  fitted  it  up  in  the  most 
becoming  manner  their  circumstances  allowed,  they  called  it  the 
^^ first  chapel  in  Maryland.^'  Here  they  immediately  applied 
themselves  to  the  study  of  the  Pndian  language,  in  which  they 
found  the  diflSculties  much  increased  by  the  number  of  dialecte 


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1869.]  The  Early  IBdory  of  Maryland.  129 

used  among  the  different  tribes/  ^  The  colonies  were  often  spoken 
of  as  plantations^  and  Father  Roger  Rigbie^  catching  the  word, 
writes  to  his  saperior  in  1640,  to  allow  him  to  go  to  work  in  that 
'f^D spiriiuaX plantation \  with  others,  *farr  better  deserving^, 
already  in  the  field.  In  various  quarters,  conversions  were  made 
of  entire  towns  or  tribes.  At  the  Indian  town  of  Potopaco, 
for  example,  nearly  all  the  native  inhabitants  embraced  Christ- 
ianity,  to  the  number  of  130,  including  the  young  queen,  and  the 
wife  and  two  children  of  the  former  principal  chief.  We  believe 
that  there  is  at  this  day  a  Christian  population  at  Potopa^co,  now 
Port  Tobacco,  not  less  in  numbers  than  at  the  day  of  the  conver- 
sion of  the  young  queen  and  her  adherents. 

The  missions,  considering  the  paucity  of  the  missionaries,  were 
quite  extensive.  'We  have  seen  that  up  to  1642,  the  Gospel 
had  been  preached  to  the  Indians  with  success,^  continues  Camp- 
bell, '  not  only  at  the  capital  of  the  province,  but  at  Kent  Island 
in  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  at  Piscataway  and  Port  Tobacco,  on  the 
Maryland  side  of  the  Potomac ;  and  at  Patowmech  town  on  the 
Virginia  side  of  that  river ;  at  Mattapany  and  Pawtuxent  town, 
on  the  Patuxent  river ;  besides  in  many  other  places  which  were 
visited  by  the  missionaries  in  their  aquatic  excursions.' 

The  just  and  generous  treatment  of  the  Indians  in  Maryland 
forms  a  striking  contrast  with  their  treatment  in  Massachusetts ; 
where,  as  Bancroft  testifies, '  the  first  planters  assumed  to  them- 
selveB  a  right  to  treat  the  Indians  on  the  footing  of  Canaanites 
and  Amalekites/  The  children  of  the  first  planters  placed 
ti^m  in  a  still  worse  condition;  for,  according  to  Mr.  Upham, 
they  were  held  to  be  the  devil's  own  children  and  agents,  whom 
the  saints  were  in  duty  bound  to  exterminate,  and  send  back  to 
the  powers  of  darkness  whence  they  came.  {Salem  WUchcrafij 
Ac.,  by  Charles  W.  Upham.) 

In  these  primitive  days  of  the  colony,  most  of  the  colonists 
were  of  the  fisuth  of  the  proprietary,  but  there  were  also  among 
them  some  Protestants.  The  relations  between  Catholics  and 
Protestants  were,  for  the  most  part,  unusually  harmonious ;  and 
it  seemed  to  be  a  prime  wish  of  the  proprietary  that  all  should 

^Btrly  Missions  in  Marjland.  Read  before  the  Maryland  Historical  Society  bj 
B.  U.  OampbcOl,  Esq. 

9 


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130  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

live  together^  notwithstanding  differences  in  fitith  or  opinion,  as 
one  happy  family.  He  exacted  an  oath  of  the  governor,  which 
bound  that  oflScial,  and  the  privy  councillors  also,  not  to  trouble, 
molest,  or  discountenance  any  person  whatever,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, professing  to  believe  in  Jesus  Christ.  Every  form  of 
Christian  feith  was  perfectly  free.  At  this  time,  in  the  words  of 
Bancroft,  ^  every  other  country  in  the  world  had  persecuting 
laws.^  And,  pursues  this  author :  '  Under  the  mild  institutions 
and  munificence  of  Baltimore,  the  dreary  wilderness  soon  bloomed 
with  the  swarming  life  and  activity  of  prosperous  settlements ;  the 
Roman  Catholics,  oppressed  by  the  laws  of  England,  were  sure 
to  find  a  peaceful  asylum  in  the  quiet  harbors  of  the  Chesapeake, 
and  there,  too,  Protestants  were  sheltered  from  Protestant  intol- 
erance.* 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Lord  Baltimore  had  not  taken  one 
step  further,  and  admitted  Jews  and  all  other  honest  worshippers 
of  Grod  to  equal  rights  in  his  province.  It  does  not  appear, 
however,  that  even  Jews  were  molested  unless  they  became  ag- 
gressive. *A  Jew,  without  peril  to  his  life,*  says  Mr.  Davis^ 
*  oould  not  call  the  Saviour  of  the  world  a  "  magician  ",  or  a 
"  necromancer." '  *In  a  foot-note,  this  author  goes  on  to  say :  ^  In 
the  text  I  have  referred  to  Dr.  Lumbrozo,  the  well-known  Jew, 
(for  he  seems  to  have  observed  no  secrecy,)  who  lived  some  time 
in  Maryland,  in  the  usual  exercise  of  his  calling,  and  of  the 
right  to  institute  actions  in  the  civil  court.  We  can  not  doabt 
he  was  also  allowed  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  his  religion.  Bnt 
he  was  accused  of  blaspheming*,  <&c.  He  said^the  Saviour  was 
a  *  man  *  who  performed  his  miracles  *  by  y*  art  magic*  He 
was  ordered  to  remain  in  ^  y*  Sheriff's  custody  to  make  answer 
at  y*  next  Provincial  court*,  ^  but  in  consequence  of  remote  po- 
litical events,  he  fortunately  escaped  a  trial. 

It  was  an  object  with  the  authorities  to  tolerate  difference  of 
religious  opinion,  and  to  promote  social  harmony.  Religions 
toleration  was  maintained  by  the  proprietary  and  the  governor 
from  the  beginning.  Says  Mr.  Davis,  speaking  of  the  first  gov- 
ernor :  'His  policy  included  the  humblest,  as  well  as  the  most 
exalted;  and  his  maxim  was.  Peace  to  all — Pboscbiption 

*  DaTis'  Daj-Star  of  American  Freedom. 


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1869.]  The  Early  EMory  of  Maryland.  131 

or  NONE.  Religious  liberty  was  a  vital  part  of  the  earliest 
common  law  of  the  province/  It  was  deemed  advisable  to 
make  toleration  more  than  a  mere  matter  of  personal  benevo- 
lence. It  may  be  that  the  colonists  were  quickened  in  their  ac- 
tion, as  Bancroft  and  others  allege,  by  the  state  of  affairs  ia 
England ;  but  whether  so  or  not,  the  fact  remains  as  he  says^ 
'in  April,  1649,  the  Roman  Catholics  of  Maryland,  with  the 
earnest  concurrence  of  the  governor  and  of  the  proprietary,  de- 
termined, to  place  upon  their  statute-book  an  act  for  the  religious 
freedom  which  has  ever  been  sacred  on  their  soil.  "  And,  where- 
as the  enforcing  of  conscience  in  matters  of  religion" — such 
was  the  sublime  tenor  of  a  part  of  the  statute — "  hath  frequently 
&llen  out  to  be  of  dangerous  consequence  in  those  common- 
wealths where  it  has  been  practiced,  and  for  the  more  quiet  and 
peaceable  government  of  this  province,  and  the  better  to  pre- 
serve mutual  love  and  amity  among  the  inhabitants,  no  person 
within  this  province,  professing  to  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  shall 
be  in  any  ways  troubled,  molested,  or  discountenanced,  for  his 
or  her  religion,  or  in  the  free  exercise  thereof.'*  Thus  did  the 
early  star  of  religious  freedom  appear  as  the  harbinger  of  day. 
But  the  design  of  the  law  of  Maryland  was  undoubt- 
edly to  protect  freedom  of  conscience ;  and  the  apologist  of  Lord 
Baltimore  could  assert  that  his  government,  in  conformity  with 
his  strict  and  repeated  injunctions,  had  never  given  disturbance 
to  any  person  in  Maryland  for  matter  of  religion ;  that  the 
colonists  enjoyed  freedom  of  conscience,  not  less  than  freedom  of 
person  and  estate,  as  amply  as  ever  any  people  in  any  place  in 
the  world.  The  disfranchised  friends  of  prelacy  from  Massa- 
chusetts, and  the  Puritans  from  Virginia,  were  welcomed  to 
equal  liberty  of  conscience  and  political  rights  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  province  of  Maryland.*  * 

The  Calverts  were  at  all  times  so  anxious  to  keep  the  peace 
between  members  of  the  different  religious  denominations,  that 
they  decreed  penalties  long  before  the  famous  act  of  1649,  for 
ofiensive  disputations.  Mr.  Neill  narrates  the  instance  of  Wm. 
Lewis,  as  a  case  in  point,  but  he  seems  to  have  taken  a  very 
limited  view  of  the  facts.  He  tells  us  that  ^  Thomas  Cornwallis, 
*  Bancroft's  History  U.  S. 


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132  The  Early  BMory  of  Maryland.  [Jin. 

a  councillor  of  the  province,  had  a  number  of  white  servants 
under  the  care  of  an  overseer,  named  William  Lewis.  One  day, 
in  the  year  1638,  these  servants  were  listening  to  the  reading  of 
sermons  written  by  the  eloquent  Puritan  divine,  known  in  Eng- 
land as  the  "  silver-tongued  Smith,"  when  the  overseer,  in  a  rage, 
said  that  the  book  came  from  the  devil,  as  all  lies  did,  and  that 
he  that  wrote  it  was  an  instrument  of  the  devil,  and  that  they 
should  not  keep  nor  read  such  books.  Christopher  Carroll,  and 
others  of  the  aggrieved,  complained  of  this  abuse  to  the  civil 
authorities,  and  to  the  credit  of  the  governor  and  council,  Lewis 
was  found  guilty  of  an  offensive  and  indiscreet  speech,  and  was 
fined  500  pounds  of  tobacco.'  *® 

The  sermons  of  the  silver-tongued  divine  were  scarcely  such  as 
were  suitable  for  reading  aloud  in  a  Catholic  dwelling,  and  in 
the  ears  of  the  proprietor,  intended  as  he  believed  for  his  hear- 
ing, when  such  passages  as — *  that  the  Pope  was  anti-Christ,  and 
the  Jesuits  anti-Christian  ministei*s  \  &c.,  were  specimens  of  the 
pious  reading.  Lewis  ordered  the  servants  to  stop ;  and  certainly 
he  was  not  choice  in  his  phrases,  nor  would  a  Calvinist  probably 
be,  if  Calvin  were  held  up  to  scorn  in  his  hearing  under  his  own 
roof;  so  that  mutual  charges  were  the  result,  yet  it  seems  that  be 
alone  was  punished.  He  asserted  that  the  servants  were  getting 
up  a  petition,  to  call  in  the  intervention  in  their  behalf  of  the 
authorities  of  Virginia.  '  If  the  charge  was  true,'  says  Bozman, 
*  that  they  intended  to  prefer  their  petition  to  the  governor  of 
Virginia,  it  is  certain  that  such  conduct  wore  very  much  Ac 
aspect  of  the  political  crime  called  sedition.'  " 

Notwithstanding  all  the  obvious  fects  in  fevor  of  the  early 
proprietary  govtrnment,  and  especially  in  the  matter  of  that 
kind  of  liberty  which  is  most  important  to  the  happiness  of 
mankind, — liberty  of  conscience, — there  are  parties  who  give  most 
grudgingly  and  reluctantly  any  meed  of  praise  to  the  founders 
of  Maryland,  and  its  civil  and  religious  liberty ;  while  they  make 
most  extraordinary  claims  for  the  liberty-loving  and  liberty-dif- 
fusing sentiment  of  the  eastern  colonies.  This  is  illustrated  in 
a  paper  read  before  the  Maryland  Historical  Society,  in  May, 
1852,  entitled,  Maryland  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago,  by  a  red- 
1^  Terra  Mariie.  ^  Bozman,  t.  2,  p.  85. 


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1869.]  The  Early  Hidory  of  Maryland.  133 

dent  of  Baltimore^  then  recently  from  New  England.  The  au- 
thor appears  to  make  it  his  aim  to  give  Lord  Baltimore  and  his 
oolooists  the  least  credit  possible,  without  denying  the  plainest 
fccts  of  colonial  history.  Lord  Baltimore's  representative,  Gov. 
Calvert,  issued  a  proclamation  substantially  against  religious 
quarrels,  rather  than  arguments;  leaving  every  man  at  the  same 
time  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  own  opinions,  provided  he  did  not 
interfere  with  those  of  others. 

'If  the  enforcement  of  Governor  Calvert's  proclamation  proves 
toleration,  it  will  be  easy  to  show  that  the  Massachusetts  author- 
ities were  tolerant  in  the  same  way,  and  on  the  same  principle. 
Hubbard,  an  old  writer,  says,  "  It  was  on  that  account  [the  dis- 
torbanoe  of  the  civil  peace]  that  men  suffered,  [in  New  Eng- 
land] under  authority  and  not  for  their  opinions;  for  if  men 
tkat  have  drunk  in  any  erroneous  principles,  would  also  make 
use  of  so  much  prudence  as  not  to  publish  them  in  a  tumultuous 
manner,  and  to  the  reproach  of  the  worship  established  in  the 
place  where  they  live,  they  would  not  have  occasion  to  complain 
of  the  severity  of  the  civil  laws." '     (Note  p.  39.) 

The  force  of  this  insinuating  defence  will  scarcely  convince 
the  reader  that  the  authorities  of  Massachusetts  were  as  generous 
as  the  authorities  of  Maryland.  The  former  actually  passed  a 
law  to  prevent  any  but  approved  members  of  their  own  sect 
from  coming  into  their  colony ;  no  colonist  could  harbor  one  of 
dubious  theological  opinions,  nor  let  to  such  a  one  a  lot  or  habi- 
tation, 'and  a  large  fine  was  also  to  be  levied  upon  any  town 
which  sliould,  without  such  permission,  allow  a  stranger  a  resi- 
dence.' (Upham.)  'It  has  often  been  remarked',  says  Mr. 
Upham,  '  that  our  fathers  were  guilty  of  great  inconsistency  in 
persecuting  the  followers  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson,  the  Quakers,  and 
others,  inasmuch  as  they  settled  the  country  in  order  to  secure 
themselves  from  persecution.  They  are  often  reproached  as 
having  contended  manfully  for  the  rights  of  conscience  when 
they  were  themselves  sufferers,  and  as  then  turning  against 
others,  and  violating  their  rights  of  conscience,  so  soon  as  they 
had  the  power  and  the  opportunity  to  do  it.  But  the  remark 
and  the  reproach  are  equally  founded  in  error.  It  was  for  reli- 
gious liberty,  in  a  peculiar  sense,  that  our  fathers  contended, 


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134  The  Early  EMory  of  MarylanSi.  [Jan. 

aud  they  were  &ithful  to  the  cause^  as  they  wnderstood  it.  The 
true  principle  of  religious  liberty,  in  its  wide  and  full  compre- 
hension, had  never  dawned  upon  their  minds,  and  was  never 
maintained  by  them.'  ^^  This,  be  it  remembered,  is  from  an  ad- 
mirer and  apologist  of  the  Puritan  pilgrims. 

Was  Roger  Williams, —  'godly,  zealous,  and  having  precious 
gifts', — a  tumultuous  disturber  of  the  civil  peace?  To  us,  he  ap- 
pears to  have  had  an  opinioUj  for  which  he  was  duly  or  unduly 
punished.  He  maintained  that  the  civil  magistrate  should  re- 
strain crime,  but  should  not  control  opinion;  should  punish 
guilt,  but  should  not  violate  the  freedom  of  the  soul.  Massa- 
chusetts toleration  found  such  heretical  doctrine  intolerable. 
'  No  one ',  said  Williams,  'should  be  bound  to  worship,  or  to 
maintain  a  worship,  against  his  own  consent.'  'What,'  ex- 
claimed his  antagonists,  '  is  not  the  laborer  worthy  of  his  hire?' 
'  Yes,'  replied  he,  '  from  them  that  hire  him.'  It  was,  in  his 
view,  a  '  yoke  of  soul-oppression ',  that  magistrates  should  exer- 
cise spiritual  powers  over  the  people.  '  The  evils  inseparable 
on  a  religious  establishment',  says  Bancroft,  'soon  began  to  be 
displayed.  The  ministers  got  together,  and  declared  any  one 
worthy  of  banishment  who  should  obstinately  assert  that  the 
civil  magistrate  might  not  intermeddle,  even  to  stop  a  church 
from  apostasy  and  heresy.' 

Mr.  Williams  was  accordingly  driven  forth,  living  sometimes 
among  the  Indians,  sometimes  in  midwinter  without  any  shel- 
ter but  a  hollow  <rcc,  until  he  got  beyond  the  reach  of  his  per- 
secutors, settling  at  Rhode  Island,  A.  D.,  1636,  and  getting  an 
Indian  deed  for  a  tract  there  in  1638,  whence  his  colony  grew 
into  life  and  prosperity  under  his  liberal  guidance. 

The  author  o{  Maryland  Two  Hundred  Year«-4^o,  endeavors  to 
give  Williams  precedence  over  Lord  Baltimore,  in  making  Rhode 
Island  the  first  dwelling-place  of  religious  liberty  in  America. 
Maryland,  he  informs  us,  was  the  second,  but  was  very  near 
being  only  the  third ;  as  the  Plymouth  Company  vxyald  have  been 
the  first,  but  for  the  timidity  of  the  governor,  who  acted  in  op- 
position to  the  wishes  of  the  people ;  so  that  the  bill  for  religions 
liberty  in  the  Plymouth  settlement,  instead  of  being  passed,  ¥^ 
unfortunately,  never  acted  upon  I 

^'  Sparks's  American  Biographj. 

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1869.]  !the  Early  SROory  of  Maryland.  135 

Meantime,  what  was  going  on  in  Maryland?  Grov.  Calvert, 
in  1637,  wrote  a  letter  to  Boston,  inviting  colonists  who  were  per- 
secuted for  oonsoience'  sake,  to  come  to  Maryland,  assuring  to 
them  not  only  religious  freedom,  but  perfect  equality  with  his 
>wn  colonists  in  all  civil  rights.  ^  The  harassed  Puritans  in 
Virginia  were  also  invited  to  find  refuge,  asylum,  and  freedom, 
in  Maryland.  ^  Mankind  then  \  says  a  distinguished  authority, 
'beheld  a  scene  new,  and  uncommon,  exhibited  on  colonial  thea- 
tres; they  saw  in  Massachusetts  the  Independents  persecuting 
every  different  sect ;  the  Church  retaliating  on  them  in  Virginia; 
the  Roman  Catholics  of  Maryland  alone,  actuated  by  the  gen- 
erous spirit  of  Christianity,  tolerating  and  protecting  all.'  ^^ 

When  Gov.  Stone,  succeeding  Calvert,  invited  persecuted 
Puritans  from  Vii^inia  to  come  to  Maryland,  making  them  very 
liberal  offers,  they  objected  to  the  quantity  of  lands  offered  as 
insufficient.  Ix>rd  Baltimore  being  appealed  to,  he  changed  the 
grant  *  to  three  thousand  acres  for  every  thirty  persons ;  but  re- 
quiring from  each  settler,  as  before,  the  oath  of  fidelity,  as  a  con- 
dition precedent  to  taking  possession  of  his  land.' 

They  gratefully  and  promptly  accepted  this  offer.  '  Here  they 
iat  down,  and  joyfully  and  cheerfully  followed  their  vocations ; 
80  that  it  might  be  appositely  said  of  them  and  the  proprietary, 
in  the  words  of  Cowper : 

*' Ample  was  the  boon 
He  gare  tiiem ;  in  its  distribution,  fair 
And  equal ;  and  he  bade  them  dwell  in  peace. 
Peace  was  awhile  their  care ;  thej  plongned,  and  sowed. 
And  reaped  their  plenty  without  grudge  or  strife." '  u 

The  quotation  is  not  entirely  apposite;  for,  as  the  same  author- 
ity tells  us :  *  The  Puritans  brought  the  old  hatred  of  Popery, 
and  looked  with  distrust  upon  the  oath,  because  it  required  them 
to  obey  a  government  that  was  bound  to  respect  the  religious 
convictions  of  the  Roman  Catholics  in  the  province.  This,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  more  zealous,  was  no  better  than  upholding  anti- 
Christ;  and  although  they  at  first  submitted,  yet  as  they  gained 
strength,  and  their  friends  in  England  consolidated  their  power, 
titey  more  openly  manifested  their  repugnance,  and  finally  re- 
fused to  take  the  oath  as  it  had  been  prescribed.'  ^ 

"  Winthrop's  Journal.  i^  Chalmers'  Political  Annals. 

»  Maryland  Two  Hundred  Tears  Ago.  m  Ibid. 

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136  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

They  took  the  ample  boon  readily  enough^  but  ungraciously 
enough  ;  showing  their  teeth^  as  it  were,  and  yet  not  by  way  of 
smile,  to  the 'proprietary  government,  as  they  acoepted  its  bounty. 
They  soon,  indeed,  reaped  their  plenty  in  peace,  but  they  did  not 
desire  that  their  generous  hosts  should  long  enjoy  the  same 
blessings. 

The  author  of  Maryland  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago  wrongfully 
claims  that  the  Assembly,  which  passed  the  famous  Toleratioa 
Act  of  1649,  was  composed  principally  of  Protestants;  a  mis- 
take most  amply  corrected  by  various  writers,  and  especially  by 
Mr.  Davis,  in  the  Day^Star  of  American  Freedom.  The  author 
shows  his  animiLS  still  further,  by  asserting  that  Lord  Baltimore 
had  procured  the  charter  of  Avalon  in  almost  the  same  terms  as 
that  of  Maryland,  when  he  was  a  Protestant ;  so  that  there  is  no 
reason  in  making  any  claims  for  Catholic  toleration  in  the  foun- 
dation of  Maryland.  In  reply  to  this,  it  may  be  said  that  when 
Lord  Baltimore  obtained  his  charter  for  Avalon,  he  was  already 
a  Catholic,  or  on  the  eve  of  becoming  one.  He  was  then  cast- 
ing about  for,  or  projecting,  a  home  to  be  consecrated  to  religion 
in  the  New  World,  as  the  very  name  of  his  province  indicates. 

It  appears  to  us,  that  in  the  tone  of  Maryland  Two  Himdred 
Years  Ago,  may  be  detected  a  modicum,  or  more,  of  that  ^  old 
hatred  of  Popery',  which  the  author  speaks  of  as  characterizing 
a  class  of  persons  who  evidently  enjoyed  his  sympathies.  If 
Lord  Baltimore  had  been  of  the  New  England  orthodoxy,  there 
would  have  been  no  limits  to  his  praise.  He  would  have  been 
the  greatest  and  best  man  of  his  age,  if  not  of  all  ages.  Bat 
as  a  Catholic,  he  and  his  works  may  only  be  commended  with 
^  faint  praise ',  or,  at  most,  within  the  limits  of  a  very  prudent 
reserve.  Now,  the  simple  fact  is,  that  Lord  Baltimore,  a  Cath- 
olic, ^animated',  we  may  say,  as  Columbus  said  of  himself,  ^as 
by  a  heavenly  fire  \  decreed  toleration  in  matters  of  religion,  in 
advance  of  all  the  lawgivers  of  his  day.  We  may  readily  be- 
lieve that  the  same  man,  with  his  innate  magnanimity,  woald 
have  done  the  same  thing  had  he  remained  a  Protestant  Some 
men  are  constitutionally  bigots,  be  their  religious  profession 
what  it  may ;  while  others,  cast  in  a  nobler  mould,  are  incapable 
of  bigotry.     Lord  Baltimore  was  one  of  the  latter  class.    Per- 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  137 

hape  Roger  Williams  was  another.  We  should  certainly  class 
him  with  such  as  Baltimore^  but  for  the  fact  that  the  first  As- 
sembly in  his  province  passed  an  act  discriminating  against 
Catholics.  It  tolerated  them  in  some  sense ;  that  is^  it  allowed 
them  to  dwell  in  Providence,  but  it  forbade  their  holding  office, 
or  voting  at  elections.  Thus,  Mr.  Williams's  settlement,  at  least, 
iras  not  on  a  footing,  in  liberality,  with  Lord  Baltimore's. 

The  early  peace  of  Maryland  was  much  troubled  by  William 
Claybome,  commonly  called  the  evil  gmiua  of  the  colony. 
Clayborne  had  licenses  from  the  king  and  from  the  governor  of 
Virginia,  to  trade  with  the  Indians  on  the  Chesapeake;  and 
onder  these  licenses  he  established  a  trading-post  on  Kent  Island, 
which  came  within  the  limits  of  Lord  Baltimore's  charter.  He 
took  a  decided  stand  against  the  Mary  landers  from  the  first; 
indeed,  he  was  prominent  in  driving  Lord  Baltimore  from  Vir- 
ginia, when  that  nobleman  was  desirous  of  establishing  himself 
in  that  colony.  '  Governor  John  Pott,  Samuel  Mathews,  Roger 
Smjrth,  and  William  Clayborne,  remonstrated  with  the  privy 
oonncil  in  behalf  of  the  colony  of  Virginia,  relative  to  Balti- 
more's visit.  In  a  communication  of  November  13,  they  state : 
"  That  about  the  beginning  of  October  last.  Lord  Baltimore 
arrived  in  Virginia,  from  his  plantation  in  Newfoundland,  with 
intention,  as  they  are  informed,  to  plant  to  the  southward,  but 
has  since  seemed  willing  with  his  family  to  reside  at  this  place. 
He,  and  some  of  his  followers,  being  of  the  Romish  religion, 
utterly  refused  to  take  the  oaths  of  supremacy  and  allegiance, 
tendered  to  them  according  to  instructions  received  from  King 
James.  As  they  have  been  made  happy  in  the  freedom  of  their 
religion,  they  implore  that,  as  heretofore,  no  Papists  may  be  suf- 
fered to  settle  among  them." '  {Terra  Marice  p.  47).  In  these 
few  lines,  Mr.  Clayborne  shows  a  capacity  for  both  malice  and 
fiilsehood. 

When  Lord  Baltimore's  people  took  possession  of  Maiyland, 
Claybome  was  what  would  now  be  called  a  equatter  on  Kent 
Island.  He  was  promptly  notified,  that  if  he  remained,  he  would 
be  deemed  a  subject  of  the  colony.  He  as  promptly  refused  to 
submit,  and  he  made  an  appeal  to  his  friends  in  Virginia  to 
SQstain  him,  which  they  were  disposed  •  to  do ;  they  urged  him 


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138  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jml 

to  resist  the  Maryland  aathorities.  He  needed  no  urging,  bat 
immediately  prepared  for  action.  His  first  scheme  was  one  very 
likely  to  bring  destruction  upon  the  colony.  He  b^an  to  poison 
the  minds  of  the  Indians  against  the  colonists,  telling  them  that 
the  Maryland  settlers  were  Spaniards,  and  his  and  their  secret 
enemies.  The  natives  at  first  took  his  counsels,  and  began  to 
manifest  hostility  to  the  settlers.  These  last  were  obliged  to 
suspend  the  works  of  peace,  and  to  give  their  energies  to  finish- 
ing a  fortification  for  protection  in  case  of  necessity.  Meantime, 
however,  they  treated  the  Indians  with  the  uniform  justice  and 
kindness  which  had  marked  their  course  from  the  beginning, 
until  at  length  it  became  clear  to  these  children  of  the  forest 
that  Clayborne  was  using  them  for  his  own  ends,  and  not  at  all 
for  their  good  or  welfiure.  As  soon  as  this  was  clear  to  them, 
they  resumed  and  perpetuated  their  friendly  relations  with  the 
colonists.     (McSherry.) 

It  is  needless  for  us  to  follow  any  arguments  about  Claybome's 
'  rights '  or  his  'wrongs',  though  these  arguments  abound  in  the 
various  authorities.  The  main  force  of  his  claim  was,  that  he 
established  himself  in  Kent  Island  as  a  part  of  Virginia^  and 
that  therefore  he  was  not  subject  to  Lord  Baltimore;  as  he  had 
established  himself  there  before  the  Maryland  charter  was  issued. 
Some  writers  justify  this  claim,  but  they  set  aside  the  most 
prominent  fact  against  it,  to  wit :  that  the  charters  granted  to 
Virginia  had  been  annulled,  and  the  rights  conferred  by  them 
re-vested  in  the  crown.  '  From  that  period,  (1623),  Virginia 
became  what  was  termed  "  a  royal  government ",  and  as  such 
there  was  an  inherent  right  in  the  crown  to  alter  and  contract 
its  boundaries,  or  to  carve  new  and  distinct  territories  or  govern- 
ments out  of  it  at  its  pleasure ;  yet,  incontestible  as  this  right 
was,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  exercise  of  it  in  granting  the  pro- 
vince of  Maryland,  was  the  source  of  much  dissatis&ctioa 
among  the  colonists  of  Virginia ;  and  that  at  one  period,  at- 
tempts were  made  to  assert  and  maintain  the  existence  of  the 
charter  government,  notwithstanding  the  judgment  on  the  quo 
warra/ntOy  for  the  sole  purpose  of  reclaiming  the  territory  of 
Maryland  as  lying  within  the  old  charter  limits.'     (McMahon). 

Clayborne  spared  neither  force  nor  fraud  to  obtain  the  asom- 


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1869.]  The  Early  Eistory  of  Maryland.  139 

dancy,  and  be  intrigued  with  divers  disaffected  parties,  (Ingle 
among  others),  to  override^the  proprietary  government ;  in  which 
be  bad  successes  and  reverses,  alternately,  until,  after  about  a 
quarter  of  a  century  of  turbulence,  be  was  finally  and  effectively 
defeated. 

During  the  ascendancy  of  the  Parliament"  in  England, 
Clayborne  was  in  active  co-operation  with  the  Puritans,  who 
were  always  ready  to  repay  the  benefits  received  from  the  pro- 
prietary government  in  a  way  peculiar  to  themselves.  They 
were  ready  to  do  battle  in  any  form  for  its  overthrow,  but  were 
reluctant  to  enter  the  lists  for  its  preservation,  even  against  the 
Indians,  where  themselves  were  not  exposed.  Thus,  when  the 
Kanticoke  Indians  assailed  the  settlers  upon  the  Eastern  Shore, 
btuming,  ravaging,  and  slaughtering,  and  people  were  filled  with 
terror,  an  earnest  effort  was  made  by  the  governor  to  raise  a 
force  to  protect  the  frontiers.  Every  seventh  man  capable  of 
bearing  arms,  was  ordered  to  muster  into  service ;  boats  were 
prepared,  &c.  But  the  Puritans  of  Anne  Arundel  refused  to 
make  their  levies;  selfishly  alleging  as  the  reason,  the  hardships 
of  the  season,  December  and  January,  and  the  danger  to  their 
health  from  exposure  on  the  bay  and  rivers  in  open  boats.  (Boz- 
man.) 

In  1654,  by  virtue  of  the  condition  of  afiairs  in  the  mother 
country,  the  Puritans  were  the  ruling  powers  in  Maryland. 
Their  guiding  spirits  were  '  Commissioners '  Clayborne  and  Ben- 
nett. An  assembly  was  called,  which  excluded  Catholics  ex- 
plicitly. This  body  passed  a  law  excluding  Catholics  and  the 
members  of  the  Church  of  England  from  the  protection  of  the 
government.  The  same  assembly  also  passed  an  act  to  prevent 
the  taking  of  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  Lord  Proprietary. 
They  were  willing  to  take  nothing  of  or  from  the  proprietary  but 
hiB  lands,  and  these  they  hoped  to  get  and  keep  without  grants 
or  rents.  ^    ^His  lordship,  upon  receiving  tidings  of  these  pro- 

^  'TbePnritaDS  artfallj  connected  political  grieyances  which  were  real  and  nn- 
BcroiiB,  with  religioua  prindples  and  ceremonies  ;  and  haying  the  main  bodj  of 
the  people  wi  lb  them,  as  to  the  former,  while  these  were,  in  consequence  of  the 
tidlcss  change  of  creeds,  become  indifferent  as  to  the  latter,  tbej  soon  became, 
]mder  the  name  of  '*  The  ParUamerU  ",  the  sole  rulers  of  the  country ;  they  abol- 
ished the  Church  and  the  House  of  Lords,  and  finally  brought,  in  1649,  during  the 
profrcss  of  their  "  thorough  godly  reformation  ",  the  unfortunate  king  himself  to 
trial  and  to  the  block.'— Wm.  Gobbet. 

"  See  ProdamaUons,  4c.,  in  Kilty's  Landholder's  Assistant. 

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140  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan, 

ceedingSy  rebuked  Gov.  Stone  for  want  of  vigor,  and  directed 
him  to  regain  his  lost  rights.  Stone  made  the  effort,  and  at  first 
was  successful.  He  then  went  with  130  men  to  reduce 
the  refractory  parties  at  Providence,  (now  Annapolis),  but 
these  having  superior  numbers,  and  the  aid  of  an  armed  ship, 
the  Golden  Lyon^  in  the  harbor,  turned  the  tables  upon  him,  and 
nearly  annihilated  his  little  force.  The  governor,  wounded  and 
a  prisoner,  and  several  of  his  council,  were  condemned  to  be  shot, 
although  they  had  surrendered  themselves  upon  the  pledge  of 
quarter ;  several  actually  were  shot  in  cold  blood  while  prisoners. 
*  After  the  skirmish  %  says  Doctor  Barber, '  the  governor,  upon 
quarter  being  given  him  and  all  his  company  in  the  field,  yielded 
to  be  taken  prisoners ;  but  two  or  three  days  after,  the  victors 
condemned  ten  to  death,  and  executed  foure,  and  had  executed 
all,  had  not  the  incessant  petitioning  and  begging  of  some  good 
women  saved  some,  and  the  souldiers  others  ;  the  governor  him- 
selfe  being  condemned  by  them,  and  since  beg'd  by  the  souldiers ; 
some  being  saved,  just  as  they  were  leading  out  to  executioa.' 
(Bozman.) 

We  have  now  seen  the  origin  of  religious  toleration  and  of  re- 
ligious intolerance  in  Maryland.  After  six  years  of  struggle 
the  proprietary  regained  his  rights,  (1668),  and  appointed  Fen- 
dall  his  governor,  who  soon  in  turn  proved  rebellious.  He  was 
displaced  in  favor  of  Philip  Calvert,  the  proprietary's  brother, 
and  to  hiin  succeeded  Charles  Calvert,  a  son  of  the  proprietary; 
both  wise  and  just  men,  under  whom  the  colony  throve  apace, 
both  in  numbers  and  in  resources. 

Things  went  on  peacefully  enough  until  1689,  just  aft^r  Wil- 
liam and  Mary  were  enthroned  in  England.  An  opportunity 
was  now  offered  for  neglected  politicians  to  rise  in  the  province, 
which  they  did  not  neglect  to  use.  Mr.  John  Coode,  a  proto- 
type '  know-nothing  *  Christian,  got  up  *  An  Association  in  ortM 
for  the  defence  of  the  Protestant  religion^  and  for  asserting  the 
rights  of  King  WiUiam  and  Queen  Mary  to  the  Province  of  Mary- 
land, and  to  all  the  English  dominions^  Coode  was  a  man  of 
thoroughly  bad  habits  and  character ;  though  calling  himself  a 
clergyman,  he  was  presented  by  the  grand  jury,  under  the  gov- 
ernment which  he  was  foremost  in  establishing,  for  atheism  and 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  141 

blasphemy.  He  expressed  his  determination  to  overthrow  the 
government  in  Maryland.  He  was  tried  and  convicted,  but 
pardoned  in  consideration  of  services  rendered  during  the  revo- 
lution of  '89.  (MoMahon.)  Mr.  Coode's  association  called  a 
coDvention,  which  denounced  Lord  Baltimore  to  the  king,  lay- 
ing accusations  against  him,  and  requesting  the  King  to  take  the 
province  in  his  own  hands,  which  he  did.  It  availed  nothing 
that  people  of  high  character.  Catholic  and  Protestant,  made 
counter  representations  to  the  King.  Upon  this  point  the  testi- 
mony from  the  Protestant  county  of  Kent,  is  equally  interesting 
and  valuable.  The  reader  will  pardon  our  reproducing  a  por- 
tion of  it : 

'Address  op  Pbotestantb  op  Kent  County,  November,  1689. 
'  To  the  Eing^s  mod  Excellent  Majestie : 

*  We,  your  Majestie's  most  loyall  and  dutyfuU  subjects,  the 
ancient  Protestant  Inhabitants  of  Kent  county,  in  y'  Majestie's 
Province  of  Maryland,  who  have  here  enjoyed  many  halcyon 
dayes  under  the  immediate  government  of  Charles  Lord  Baron 
Baltemore,  and  his  honourable  father,'  assure  his  Majesty  that 
they  have  always  enjoyed,  to  the  fullest  extent,  all  rights  and 
privileges,  civil  and  religious,  under  the  proprietary  government, 
and,  'Doe,  in  prostrate  and  humble  manner  testify  to  your  Maj- 
estic that  we  abhorr  and  detest  y®  falsehood  and  unfaithfullness 
of  John  Coode,  and  others  his  associates  and  agents,  who  first 
by  dispersing  untrue  reports  of  prodigious  armies  of  Indians 
and  French  Papists  invading  us,  did  stirr  up  unjust  jealousies 
and  dismall  apprehensions  in  y®  less  cautious  sort  of  people  in 
this  Province,  and  then  having  thereby  created  unnecessary 
feares,  and  disposed  y*  people  to  mutiny  and  tumult,  made  fur- 
ther insurrection,  and  extorted  the  lawfull  government  from  the 
Lord  Proprietary,  who  was  always  as  ready  to  redress  our  griev- 
ances as  wee  to  complaine.'  Coode's  '  Delegates '  had  given  the 
command  of  the  militia  to  '  unworthy  and  infiimous  persons  \ 
and  '  many  of  them  have  procured  themselves  to  be  putt  in  judi- 
ciall  places  to  the  terror  of  your  Majestie's  more  peaceable  sub- 
jects.' Wherefore  the  petitioners  requested  that  the  government 
be  again  restored  to  Lord  Baltimore,  *  which  will  make  him  and 


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142  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

us  happy,  and  give  us  new  oocasion  to  bless  Gk)d,  and  to  pray 
for  your  Majestie's  life  and  happy  reign/ 

'  (Signed,)  Wm.  Frisby,  Henry  Coxjrsey, 

Griffith  Jones,  Josh.  Wickes, 

Robert  Burman,  Jno.  Hynson, 

Philemon  Hemsley,  George  Sturton, 

Simon  Wilmer,  Lambert  Wilmeb, 

William  Peckett,  Gerrardus  Wessels, 

JosiAs  Lanham,  Richard  Jones, 

Thomas  Ringgold,  Philip  Conner. 
Tho.  Smyth, 

'  Indorsed. 

'  Kent  County  in  the  Province  of  Maryland. 
'  Address  to  His  Maj^-* 

But  the  '  halcyon  days '  of  the  colony  had  fled  forever.  The 
king  appointed  a  royal  governor.  Sir  Lionel  Copley;  who 
called  a  General  Assembly  in  May,  1692.  The  first  act  of 
this  body  was  the  recognition  of  William  and  Mary ;  the  next, 
the  abolition  of  religious  equality.  The  Church  of  England 
became  the  established  church  of  Maryland.  The  proprietaiy 
was  reduced  to  the  condition  of  a  mere  landlord,  entitled  to  his 
rents  only,  which  indeed  were  often  collected  with  difficulty. 
Catholics,  and  dissenters  of  all  kinds,  were  made  the  subjects  of 
oppressive  laws,  which  endured  for  the  most  part  until  the  greater 
Revolution  of  1776.  At  the  expiration  of  twenty-five  years, 
Benedict  Leonard  Calvert  having  become  a  Protestant,  was  re- 
stored to  his  proprietary  rights,  and  the  colony  again  prospered 
more  than  under  the  royal  government.  The  legislature  passed 
beneficial  laws,  but  ungenerously  enough,  introduced  into  Mary- 
land all  the  test  oaths  and  disabilities  which  were  enforced 
against  conscience  in  England.'     (McSherry.) 

The  affairs  of  Maryland  henceforth  are  not  very  interesting, 
until  we  approach  the  days  of  that  revolution  which  separated 
this  and  the  other  provinces  from  the  mother  country.  The 
trivial  Indian  wars,  the  French  wars,  the  boundary  disputes 
with  the  neighboring  provinces,  Virginia,  Pennsylvania,  and 
^Daj-Star  of  Freedom,  p.  96. 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  143 

Delaware^  are  parts  of  Maryland  history  of  more  or  less  import- 
ance, but  of  no  great  interest  to  the  general  reader.  The  cities 
of  Baltimore  and  Annapolis  have  respectively  their  special 
aDoak  Baltimore  was  laid  out  in  1729  on  the  lands  of 
Charles  Carroll,  in  sixty  lots,  by  commissioners  appointed  by 
the  l^islature;  and  in  1732  it  was  increased  by  the  addition  of 
ten  acres,  east  of  Jones'  Falls,  on  the  lauds  of  Edward  Fell, 
whose  name  is  transmitted  in  that  part  of  the  city  known  as 
FdPs  Point  Elkridge  Lauding  was  for  a  time  a  spirited  rival 
of  Baltimore,  but  Elkridge  yielded  gracefully  at  length,  and 
nuiy  yet  one  day  become  a  suburb  of  the  successful  rival. 

In  1771,  Frederick,  the  last  of  the  Lords  Baltimore,  died 
without  l^itimate  descendants.  The  role  of  this  house  was 
accomplished.  He  transmitted  his  estates  to  an  illegitimate  son, 
Henry  Harford,  Esq.,  whose  name  is  preserved '  in  Harford 
ooanty.  Frederick  was  not  an  honorable  scion  of  a  noble  house. 
In  the  words  of  Mr.  Neill,  ^  As  Greorge  was  the  first,  wisest,  and 
best,  so  Frederick  was  the  last,  weakest,  and  worst  of  the  Barons 
of  Baltimore.' 

We  are  now  approaching  the  great  event  of  American  history, 
the  Bevolution  of  1776.  The  colony  of  Maryland  had  thriven 
apace;  and,  indeed,  it  had  all  natural  advantages  independently 
of  those  conferred  by  kings,  lords,  or  laws.  In  one  respect  it  had 
retrograded,  and  that  is,  in  religious  liberty.  Afler  the  estab- 
hshment  of  the  Church  of  England,  Catholics  and  all  dissenters 
were  under  the  ban  of  proscription.  In  1702,  the  provisions  of 
the  English  toleration  Act  were  extended  to  Protestant  dissent- 
ers, but  laws  equally  cruel  and  unjust  were  passed  and  enforced 
against  the  Catholics  until  the  dawn  of  the  new  era  in  '76. 
'  And  thus,'  says  McMahon,  ^  in  a  colony  which  was  established 
by  Catholics,  and  grew  up  to  power  and  happiness  under  the 
government  of  a  Catholic,  the  Catholic  inhabitant  was  the  only 
victim  of  religious  intolerance.' 

The  English  government  was  beginning  to  bear  very  heavily 
npon  the  American  colonies,  and  the  colonists  proved  refractory. 
They  thought  their  own  burdens  enough  for  their  own  shoulders, 
without  carrying  besides  those  of  the  mother  country.  They  re- 
sented the  introduction  of  stamped  paper,  and  the  tax  upon  tea, 


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144  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

as  infringements  upon  their  rights,  and  the  initiation  of  further 
wrongs.  The  people  of  Maryland  acted  boldly  and  without  dis- 
guise. They  drove  the  stamp  agent  from  the  colony  in  terror 
and  disgrace.  And  when  various  articles,  as  tea,  glass,  paper, 
&c.,  were  only  allowed  to  enter  the  colonies  when  taxed  for  the 
benefit  of  Great  Britain,  the  people  formed  '  non-importation 
societies',  and  astonished  the  London  merchants  by  refusing  to 
receive  their  goods,  and  sending  back  vessel  and  cargo  as  they 
came.  The  taxes  were  then  repealed,  except  upon  tea.  This 
placebo  was  not  sufficient  for  the  now  aroused  colonists.  The 
people  (^troyed,  or  caused  to  be  destroyed,  'the  detestable 
weed  \  wherever  it  was  found.  In  one  case  they  obliged  Mr. 
Steward,  the  owner  of  a  brig  laden  with  tea,  which  came  to  An- 
napolis, (October,  1774,)  to  burn  his  brig  with  her  cargo,  which 
he  did  with  hiis  own  hand.  Of  course,  things  were  coming  to  a 
crisis.  War  between  the  colonists  and  the  mother  country  be- 
came inevitable.  Maryland,  with  the  other  colonies,  b^an  to 
make  preparations. 

Conventions  were  held,  and  acts  and  resolutions  were  passed^ 
plainly  indicating  the  popular  will.  At  a  meeting  of  the  con- 
vention at  Annapolis,  we  find,  ivier  alia,  the  following  resolu- 
tions. (December  8, 1774.)  ^Resolved  tmanimoualy,  That  if  the 
late  acts  of  Parliament,  relative  to  the  Massachusetts  Bay,  shall 
be  attempted  to  be  carried  into  execution  by  force  in  that  colony, 
or  if  the  assumed  power  of  Parliament  to  tax  the  colonies  shall 
be  attempted  to  be  carried  into  execution  by  force,  in  that  or  any 
other  colony,  that  in  such  case  this  province  will  support  such 
colony  to  the  utmost  of  their  power. 

^  Resolved  unanimously,  That  a  well  regulated  militia,  com- 
posed of  the  gentlemen,  freeholders,  and  other  freemen,  is  the 
natural  strength  and  only  stable  support  of  a  free  government, 
and  that  such  militia  will  relieve  our  mother  cowntry  from  any 
expense  in  our  protection  and  defence ;  *  will  obviate  the  pre- 
tense of  a  necessity  for  taxing  us  on  that  account,  and  render  it 
unnecessary  to  keep  any  standing  army  (ever  dangerous  to  lib- 
erty) in  this  province;  and  therefore  it  is  recommended,  that 

^  Italics  ours :  This  filial  regard  for  the  expenses  of  the  mother  oountry  mast 
not  be  oTerlooked. 


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1869.]  The  Early  Btstory  of  Maryland.  115 

8Dch  of  the  said  inhabitants  as  are  from  sixteen  to  fifty  years  of 
age,  should  form  military  companies,  &c. 

'Resolved  unanimously,  That  contributions  from  the  several 
connties  of  this  province,  for  supplying  the  necessities  and  alle- 
viating the  distress  of  our  brethren  at  Boston,  (whose  distressed 
inhabitants  were  "cruelly  deprived  of  the  means  of  procuring  sub- 
sistence for  themselves  and  families,  by  the  operation  of  the  act 
for  blocking  up  their  harbor,"  as  stated  in  a  previous  resolution,) 
ODght  to  be  continued  in  such  manner  and  so  long  as  their  occa- 
sions may  require,  &c. 

'Resolved  unanimously ,  That  it  is  recommended  to  the  several 
colonies  and  provinces  to  enter  into  such  or  the  like  resolutions 
for  mutual  defence  and  protection,  as  are  entered  into  by  this 
province. 

'As  our  opposition  to  the  settled  plan  of  the  British  adminis- 
tration to  enslave  America,  will  be  strengthened  by  an  union  of 
all  ranks  of  men  in  this  province,  we  do  most  earnestly  recom- 
mend that  oil  former  differences  about  religion  or  politics,  [italics 
ours]  and  all  private  animosities  and  quarrels  of  every  kind, 
fit)m  henceforth  cease  and  be  buried  forever  in  oblivion  ;  and  we 
entreat,  we  conjure  every  man,  by  his  duty  to  God,  his  country, 
and  his  posterity,  cordially  to  unite  in  defence  of  our  common 
rights  and  liberties.'  ^*  The  general  reader  is  apt  to  go  upon 
the  presumption,  that  resolutions  of  conventions  in  times  past 
are  naturally  dry  and  uninteresting;  these  we  have  cited  pre- 
sent several  points  of  decided  interest,  however,  on  which  the 
reader  will  make  his  own  comments  and  reflections. 

The  history  of  Maryland  from  the  initiation  of  the  State  gov- 
ernments until  a  very  recent  period,  presents  nothing  of  general, 
though  much  of  special,  interest.  Mr.  McSherry  brings  his  his- 
tory down  to  1848 ;  the  other  State  historians  stop  at  much  ear- 
lier periods.  We  will  not  undertake  now  to  describe  the  glorious 
part  taken  by  this  State,  either  in  the  council,  or  in  the  field, 
dm'ing  the  revolutionary  war;  though  we  may  say  that  no  troops 
earned  more  well  merited  distinction,  in  those  days  of  trial,  than 
the  famous   old   Maryland   line.     The   names  of  Smallwood, 

"  Proceedings  of  the  CooTeDtions  of  the  ProTince  of  Marjland,  held  at  the  City 
of  AnnapoUs,  in  1774,  1775,  and  1776. 

10 


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146  The  Early  Siatory  of  Maryland.  [Jan. 

Howard,  Williams,  and  many  others,  will  recur  to  the  reader  as 
among  the  most  distinguished  of  the  sons  of  Maiyland  on  the 
field  of  battle ;  while  the  names  of  Samuel  Chase  and  Charles 
Carroll,  of  Carrollton,  will  be  held  in  perpetual  honor  for  their 
vigorous  championship  of  American  freedom  in  the  field  of  pol- 
itics. As  a  signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  Mr.  Car- 
roll brought  the  heaviest  oblation  of  all  his  compeers  to  ofier 
upon  the  altar  of  their  country. 

Civil  and  religious  liberty,  prosperity  and  peace,  were  the  fruits, 
in  Maryland,  of  the  war  of  Independence.  In  other  words,  the 
resplendent  light  of  the  ^  halcyon  days '  of  the  early  proprietary 
government  beamed  forth  again  with  an  effulgence  that  spread, 
not  over  one  little  colony  alone,  but  over  a  large  portion  of  a 
new  continent.  The  post-revolutionary  liberties  of  America 
had  been  no  where  so  fully  foreshadowed,  as  in  Lord  Baltimore's 
colony.  The  Revolution  restored  lost  liberties  to  the  people  of 
Maryland.  All  former  differences  about  religion  and  politics 
were  thenceforth  honestly  buried  in  oblivion;  and  in  no  part 
of  the  world,  perhaps,  have  people  of  different  religious  views 
lived  among  each  other  in  greater  harmony,  or  with  more  mutual 
kindness  and  good  will ;  some  trivial  outbursts  of  a  contrary 
character  notwithstanding.  Until  1824,  the  Jews  labored  under 
some  political  disabilities,  which  were  then  happily  and  wisely 
removed  forever. 

The  act  for  their  relief  is  the  only  step  in  advance  of  Lord 
Baltimore's  toleration.  We  do  not  for  a  moment  believe  that 
his  noble  soul  would  have  stooped  to  the  persecution  of  the 
Jews ;  and  history  shows  that,  practically,  his  government  only 
required  of  them  not  to  agitate  the  differences  between  them- 
selves and  the  Christians  with  whom  they  were  dwelling. 

The  word  tplerationy  by  the  way,  scarcely  expresses  Lord  Bal- 
timore's design  in  its  fulness.  Toleration  implies  inequality* 
thus  Catholics  were  toleraied  in  Rhode  Island,  but  they  were  not 
upon  an  equal  footing  with  Protestants,  In  Maryland,  aU 
Christians,  so  fiu:  as  religion  is  concerned,  were  absolutely  fi:ee 
and  equal.  Lord  Baltimore  had  abundant  means  of  making 
unfavorable  discriminations  if  he  had  been  so  disposed,  but  he 
was  not.    The  whole  evidence  goes  to  show  that  he  was  deter- 


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1869.]  The  Early  History  of  Maryland.  147 

mined  to  give  religious  equality  a  fair  trial;  or,  in  short,  to 
initiate  it  upon  a  new  field,  where  alone  its  success  in  those  days 
oonld  be  possible.  He  might  have  excluded  dissenters  with  the 
full  approbation  of  the  king  who  gave  the  charter ;  and  as  to 
members  pf  the  Church  of  England,  if  he  could  not  have  passed 
acts  against  them,  he  could  have  kept  them  (as  urged  in  a  letter 
published  on  this  subject,  by  Mr.  W.  M.  Addison,  of  Baltimore,) 
ont  of  his  colony,  by  refusing  to  sell  them  land,  *  every  inch  of 
which  was  vested  in  the  proprietary.' 

The  unquestionable  facts  of  history  show  that  he  cordially 
invited  all  Christians  oppressed  for  conscience' sake,  to  come  to 
Maryland  as  a  home,  where  they  should  enjoy  all  the  rights  and 
privileges,  civil  and  religious,  that  his  charter  and  laws  enabled 
him  to  offer  to  those  of  his  own  faith,  and  his  immediate  friends 
and  followers.  He  invited  these  strangers  into  his  political 
household,  and  never,  in  any  instance,  did  he  violate  his  pledges 
or  promises.  Neither  party  spirit,  nor  odium  ikeologicum,  can 
change  established  facts. 

A  writer  who  is  enlisted  in  the  ranks  of  Lord  Baltimore's  de- 
tractors, says  in  a  late  number  of  the  London  Athenasumy  with 
the  most  empty  self-complacency,  that '  the  good  people  of  Bal- 
timore pique  themselves  on  being  planted  by  a  lord,  while  the 
neighboring  States  were  planted  by  commoners  like  Walter 
Raleigh  or  William  Penn.'  To  take  down  the  inflation  of  the 
Baltimoreans,  this  writer  informs  them  that  Baltimore's  title  was 
derived  from  a  mere  honorary  Irish  barony,  which  gave  him  no 
place  in  the  British  House  of  Lords.  Upon  this  an  eminent  ju- 
rist* of  this  city  justly  observes :  *  We  presume  that  no  man 
or  woman  in  Maryland  ever  thought  for  an  instant  of  any  dif- 
ference between  Lord  Baltimore  and  plain  George  Calvert.  .  .  , 
.  .  .  Whether  Calvert  was  lord  or  commoner,  or  commoner 
made  lord,  is  to  us  a  maitter  of  profound  indifference.  We  are 
proud  of  his  name,  and  of  him,  only  because  we  are  proud  of  the 
immortal  principles  on  which  his  colony  was  founded,  and  which 
place  the  landing  of  the  pilgrims  from  the  Dove  and  the  Ark, 
among  the  grandest  incidents  of  human  history.  We  are  proud 
of  his  great  charter,  as  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  works  that 

»S.T.  WaUiB. 


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148  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

human  hands  have  ever  reared, —  the  most  glorious  proclama- 
tion ever  made  of  the  liberty  of  thought  and  worship.  Had  he 
been  an  Irish  peasant  instead  of  an  Irish  baron,  we  should  rev- 
erence him  perhaps  the  more,  and  certainly  feel  none  the  less 
honor  of  descending  from  the  good,  brave  men,  who  made  the 
precepts  he  bequeathed  them  a  practical  and  living  truth.' 

In  the  last  decade  of  years,  Maryland  has  had,  as  in  the  be- 
ginning, a  peculiar  history,  which  has  not  yet,  however,  been 
subjected  to  the  methodical  treatment  of  the  historian.  As  it  is 
equally  curious  and  interesting,  we  hope  to  see  it  fairly  and  fully 
presented, -at  an  early  day,  by  some  one  competent,  both  by  sen- 
timent and  ability,  to  do  justice  to  the  subject. 


Abt.  VII. —  1.  History  of  Vie  Inductive  ScienceSy  from  the 
Earliest  to  the  Present  Time.  By  Williaui  Whewell,  D.  D., 
Master  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  In  three  volumes, 
octavo.     London :  J.  W.  Parker.     1847. 

2.  Histoire  de  V Astronomie  Andenne.  By  Jean  Baptiste  Joseph 
Delambi'e.     In  two  volumes,  quarto.     Paris.     1817. 

3.  Histoire  de  V Astronomie  au  Moyen  Age,  By  J.  B.  J.  Delam- 
bre.     In  one  volume,  quarto.     Paris.     1819. 

4.  Histoire  de  V Astronomie  Moderne.  By  J.  B.  J.  Delambre. 
In  two  volumes,  quarto.     Paris.     1821. 

6.  Histoire  de  V  Astronomie  au  dix-huitieme  Siecle.  By  J.B.J. 
Delambre.     In  one  volume,  quarto.     Paris.     1827. 

6.  Histoire  de  V Astronomie  Andenne,  depuis  son  origin  jusqu^a 
Vestaballissment  de  Cecole  d' Alexandrie,  By  Jean  Sy  1  v.  Bailly. 
In  one  volume,  quarto.     Paris.     1781. 

7.  Histoire  de  V Astronomie  Moderne,  depuis  la  foundation  de 
Vecole  d^Alexandrie  jusqu^a  l^epoque  1782.  By  Jean-Sylv. 
Bailly.     In  three  volumes,  quarto.     Paris.     1785. 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  149 

8.  An  Historical  Survey  of  the  Astronomy  of  the  Ancients.     By 
Sir  George  Cornwall  Lewis.     London.     1862. 

9.  The  Recent  Progress  of  Astronomy  ;  especially  in  the  United 
States.     By  Elias  Looinis,  LL.  D.     New  York.     1856. 

We  have  read,  with  an  absorbing  interest,  the  fascinating  little 
work  of  Professor  Loom  is,  on  The  Recent  Progress  of  Astronomy* 
We  shall  not,  however,  in  the  present  article  at  least,  reach  the 
period  to  which  it  relates.  The  volume  of  Sir  G.  C.  Lewis  is 
remarkable,  first,  as  the  work  of  her  Majesty's  late  Secretary  of 
War,  and,  secondly,  as  displaying  the  diligent  research  and  care 
observable  in  all  the  productions  of  his  pen.  It  adds  nothing 
new,  however,  to  the  great  histories  of  Bailly  and  Delambre. 
Indeed,  in  the  History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences  by  the  erudite 
Dr.  Whewell,  there  is  little,  if  anything,  pertaining  to  the  rise 
and  progress  of  Astronomy,  which  may  not  be  found  in  the 
great  works  just  mentioned.  We  owe  him,  nevertheless,  a  debt 
of  gratitude  for  the  delightful  manner  in  which  he  has  served 
ap  the  History  of  Astronomy  for  the  general  reader.  If  any 
one  would,  however,  master  the  history  of  Astronomy  in  its 
details,  as  well  as  in  its  magnificent  results,  he  must  give  his 
nights  and  days  to  the  quartos  of  Bailly  and  Delambre. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  design,  however,  to  make  the  above  works, 
or  any  of  them,  the  subject  of  the  present  article.  In  placing 
their  titles  at  the  head  of  this  paper,  we  merely  wish  to  notify 
our  readers  of  the  sources  from  which  we  have,  for  the  most 
part,  derived  our  information  respecting  the  Progress  of  Astron- 
omy, and  from  which  a  vast  deal  more  of  information  may  be 
easily  gathered.  It  is  our  purpose,  at  present,  merely  to  glance 
at  a  ftw  of  the  great  epochs,  or  eras  of  light,  in  the  History  of 
Astronomy. 

Nothing  would  seem,  at  first  view,  more  remote  from  human 
apprehension  than  Astronomy,  or  the  science  of  the  stars.  One 
would  suppose  that  if  the  great  Geometer  of  the  universe  had 
arranged  the  stars,  they  would  have  been  disposed  in  hexagons, 
or  octagons,  or  in  some  other  regular  and  beautiful  figures.  But 
instead  of  this,  they  He  scattered  over  the  heavens  as  if,  by  chance, 
they  had   been  'shaken  from  the  fingers   of  the   Almighty/ 


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150  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

Hence  it  was,  perhaps,  that  Socrates  concluded  that  the  gods  had 
purposely  concealed  from  human  view,  the  wonderful  art  where- 
with they  had  constructed  the  heavens,  and  would,  therefore,  be 
displeased  should  mortals  presume  to  pry  into  the  mystery  of 
the  material  universe.  But  notwithstanding  the  ^apparent  im- 
possibility of  such  knowledge,  and  the  pious  admonition  of  Soc- 
rates, it  is  precisely  the  mechanism  of  the  heavens  into  which 
the  mind  of  man  has  presumed  to  pry  with  the  most  inextin- 
guishable curiosity ;  and  it  is  precisely  in  this  magnificent  field 
of  investigation,  that  its  most  splendid  triumphs  have  been 
achieved. 

Nor  should  we  so  much  wonder  at  this,  when  we  consider  the 
visible  glory  of  the  heavens.  There  is,  indeed,  a  mysterious 
charm  in  this  majestic  fabric  of  the  world  around  us  and  above 
us,  which,  in  all  ages  and  in  all  climes,  has  attracted  the  gaze, 
and  fired  the  imagination,  of  every  devout  admirer  of  nature's 
glorious  forms.  •  Even  those  who,  like  Lucretius,  believed  that 
sun,  moon,  and  stars,  are  no  larger  than  they  seem  to  be,  were 
still  smitten  with  the  indescribable  magnificence  and  beauty  of 
the  scene  which  the  nocturnal  heavens  present.  R^arded 
merely  as  appendages  and  ornaments  of  the  earth,  there  is  still 
a  fascination  in  the  shining  orbs  above  us,  which  enchains  the 
reason,  and  exalts  the  fancy,  wherever  these  are  found  alive  to 
the  beautiful  and  the  sublime.  The  ancient  poet  might  well 
have  exclaimed  with  the  modern  : 

Beautiful  I 
How  beautiftil  is  all  this  visible  world ! 
How  glorious  in  its  action  and  itself  1 

High  though  his  feelings  may  have  risen,  the  ancient  poet 
could  have  contemplated  only  the  outside  or  surface  gftry  of 
the  world.  His  views  with  respect  to  the  appalling  magnitude, 
and  the  deep  internal  beauty,  of  the  material  universe,  were 
necessarily  low  and  defective.  One  of  the  Roman  poets,  for  ex- 
ample, represents  their  army,  while  in  Portugal,  as  having  heard 
the  sun  hiss  as  he  went  down  in  the  bosom  of  the  ocean. 

'  Audiit  hurculeo  tridentem  gurgrite  solem.' 

There  were  travellers,  too,  in  those  ancient  times^  who  talked 


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1869.]  The  Progress  oj  A8iro7W7)iy.  '  151 

of  a  vast  cavity  in  the  East,  whence  the  sun  is  heard  to  issue 
every  morning  with  an  insufiFerable  noise.  Puerile  as  such 
notions  now  seem  to  us,  they  were  naturally  entertained  before 
the  human  mind  had  been  enlightened  by  the  science  of  astrono- 
my, or  its  conceptions  enlarged  by  even  one  glimpse  of  the  incon- 
ceivable grandeur  of  the  creation. 

If,  in  the  time  of  Lucan,  the  Roman  poet  just  referred  to,  the 
science  of  astronomy  existed  in  the  germ  merely,  it  now  appears 
in  the  expanded  blossom.  Or  if  it  was  then  the  smallest  of  all 
seeds,  it  has  now  become  the  greatest  of  all  trees,  which  has  struck 
its  roots  to  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and  spread  its  branches  abroad 
in  the  heavens.  Or  again,  if  we  may  change  the  figure,  the  sci- 
ence of  astronomy,  having  become  the  most  perfect  of  all  the 
systems  of  physical  truth,  now  forms,  by  far,  the  proudest  mon- 
ument of  human  genius  the  world  has  ever  seen,  or  is  ever  likely 
to  see.  By  the  concurrent  labors  of  a  long  succession  of  illus- 
trious men,  extending  through  different  ages  and  nations,  this 
snblime  monument  has  gradually  risen  from  its  broad  baais,  until 
its  loily  pinnacle  is  now  seen  glittering  among  the  stars.  A  brief 
sketch  —  an  exceedingly  brief  sketch  —  of  the  principal  stages 
in  the  progress  of  this  stupendous  work,  and  of  the  gigantic  in- 
tellects by  which  it  has  been  reared,  is  all  that  can  be  anticipated 
in  the  course  of  the  ensuing  reflections. 

Not  to  fatigue  the  reader's  attention  with  the  comparatively 
dry  details  of  the  Chaldean,  the  Egyptian,  the  Chinese,  and  the 
Indian  astronomies,  we  shall  proceed  at  once  to  that  of  the  an- 
cient Greeks,  from  whom  the  science  has  descended  to  modern 
times.  The  astronomy  of  Greece  begins  with  Thales,  and  the 
philosophers  of  the  Ionian  school,  which  was  founded  by  him 
six  hundred  years  before  the  Christian  era.  Thales  is  the  first 
who  is  known  to  have  propagated  a  scientific  knowledge  of  as- 
tronomy among  the  Greeks.  He  taught  them  the  movements 
of  the  sun  and  moon  ;  he  explained  the  inequality  of  the  days 
and  nights ;  and  he  showed  the  Greek  sailor,  who  had  only  ob- 
served the  great  bear,  that  the  pole-star  is  a  far  surer  guide  over 
the  wide  waste  of  waters.  But  that  which  rendered  him  more 
celebrated  than  any  thing  else,  was  the  prediction  of  a  solar 
eclipse.    For  easy  as  it  is  to  calculate  an  eclipse  at  the  present 


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152  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

day,  the  astronomer  who  could,  at  that  early  age  of  the  world, 
merely  predict  such  an  event,  was  regarded  more  as  a  god  than 
as  a  man.  Hence  it  is  that  Pliny,  having  mentioned  the  name 
of  Thales  in  connection  with  that  of  Hfpparchus,  bursts  into 
one  of  his  fine  strains  of  enthusiastic  praise.  *  Great  men ! '  says 
he,  *  elevated  above  the  common  standard  of  human  nature,  by 
discovering  the  laws  which  celestial  occurrences  obey,  and  by 
freeing  the  wretched  mind  of  man  from  the  fear  which  eclipses 
inspired.  Hail  to  you  and  to  your  genius,  interpreters  of 
heaven,  worthy  recipients  of  the  laws  of  the  universe,  authors  of 
principles  which  connect  gods  and  men ! '  Hence  also  the  ad- 
miration of  Josephus,  who  calls  astronomers  'the  sons  of  GodJ 

Next  to  Thales,  Pythagoras,  who  founded  the  school  of  Cro- 
tona,  about  five  hundred  years  before  Christ,  was  the  graud  lu- 
minary of  astronomical  science  in  ancient  Greece.  Whether  he 
reflected  the  science  of  the  East,  or  shone  by  an  inherent  and 
original  splendor  of  his  own,  we  are  amazed  at  the  extent  and 
tbe  sublimity  of  his  views.  His  name  is  forever  associated  with 
the  true  system  of  the  universe.  For  he  is  the  first,  at  least 
among  the  Greeks,  who  maintained  that  the  sun  is  the  centre  of 
the  planetary  orbits,  around  which  the  solar  system  revolves. 
In  one  word,  he  is  the  first  Greek  astronomer  who  is  known  to 
have  taught  the  system  which  now  immortalizes  the  name  of 
Copernicus.  It  was  Pythagoras,  too,  who  conceived  the  sublime 
idea  that  the  planets  are  inhabited,  and  that  each  star  which 
twinkles  in  the  immensity  of  space  is  a  sun  like  our  own,  and 
the  centre  of  a  splendid  retinue  of  planetary  worlds. 

It  has  always  seemed  wonderful  to  us,  that  after  the  true  sys- 
tem of  the  universe  had  been  broached,  and  embraced  by  a  large 
school  of  philosophers,  it  should  have  passed  away,  and  sunk 
into  almost  total  oblivion.  Various  causes  may  be  assigned  for 
this  strange  fatality  of  the  Pythagorean  scheme;  but  the  chief 
cause,  no  doubt,  is  to  be  found  in  the  domination  of  the  Aris- 
totelian philosophy.  It  is  to  the  authority  of  Aristotle's  mighty 
name,  no  less  than  to  the  force  of  his  deceptive  arguments,  that 
we  should  ascribe  the  temporary  downfall  and  oblivion  of  the 
true  system  of  the  world. 

If  the  opinion  of  Sir  William  Hamilton  be  just,  that  *  Aris- 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  153 

totle  stands  the  Copernicus  and  Kepler  and  Newton  of  the  in- 
tellectual world  ^,  his  most  enthusiastic  admirers  should  be  satis- 
fied with  such  exalted  praise.  He  is  certainly  neither  the  Cop- 
tfDxcus,  nor  the  Kepler,  nor  the  Newton,  of  the  material  world. 
Hence,  if  he  were  all  of  these  to  the  philosophy  of  mind,  then 
may  the  metaphysician  crown  him  with  glory  and  honor;  he 
certainly  deserves  little  at  the  hands  of  the  astronomer.  For 
in  this  department  of  knowledge,  he  not  only  extinguished  the 
lights,  which  his  predecessors  had  kindled,  but  he  laid  down 
laws  and  maxims  which  would  have  made  the  universe  a  pro- 
found enigma  for  all  time  to  come,  and  the  science  of  astronomy 
an  eternal  puzzle.  His  philosophic  dream,  that  it  becomes  such 
divine  objects  as  the  heavenly  bodies  are,  to  move  always  with 
a  nniform  velocity,  and  that  therefore  they  never  move  slower 
or  faster,  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  spirit  and  manner  in  which- 
he  determined  the  most  important  questions  pertaining  to  the 
order  of  the  universe.  The  scholastic  jargon,  too,  by  which  he 
affected  to  demonstrate  that  the  planets  must  revolve  in  perfect 
circles,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  on  record  of  a 
great  intellect  striving  to  appear  profoundly  learned  on  a  subject, 
inr^ard  to  which  it  knew — just  exactly  nothing.  The  truth  is, 
that  Aristotle  did  not  address  himself  in  right  good  earnest  to 
study  the  world  which  God  had  made.;  but  he  came  with  his 
matter,  and  his  privations^  and  his  forms,  to  show  how  it  must 
have  been  made.  Hence  darkness  was  the  result,  and  his  errors 
were  legion. 

Yet  with  all  his  errors,  Aristotle  had  one  true  astronomical 
idea.  He  maintained  the  spherical  form  of  the  earth.  Though 
this  doctrine  had  been  taught  before  his  time;  yet  is  it  so  dis- 
tinctly conceived  by  him,  and  so  strongly  argued,  that  he  almost 
deserves  the  credit  of  an  original  discoverer.  From  the  shadow 
of  the  earth,  as  seen  projected  on  the  moon  during  a  lunar 
eclipse,  and  from  the  gradual  elevation  of  the  stars  toward  the 
north  or  south  as  we  approach  them ;  he  inferred  the  spherical 
form  of  the  earth.  Better  arguments  have  not  since  been  in- 
vented ;  and  better  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive. 

We  can  not  even  allude  to  all  the  names  which  adorn  the 
annals  of  astronomy.     We  shall,  however,  in  passing,  mention 


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154  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

• 

that  of  Aristarchus,  because  of  his  attempt  to  determine  the  dis- 
tance of  the  sun  from  the  earth.  Though  his  method  was  in- 
genious in  theory,  it  proved  false  in  practice.  For  he  concludes 
that  the  sun  is  eighteen  times  the  moon's  distance  from  the 
earth;  we  know  that  it  is  four  hundred  times  that  distance. 
Indeed,  the  greatest  astronomers  of  antiquity  could  not  deter- 
mine the  distances,  nor  the  magnitudes,  of  any  of  the  bodies  of 
our  system ;  but  such  have  been  the  improvements  in  the  methods 
of  the  science,  that  the  mathematician  can  now  calculate  them 
with  exactness  and  ease. 

Among  all  the  astronomers  of  antiquity,  Hipparchus  stands 
pre-eminent.  Endowed  with  one  of  those  vast  intellects  which, 
by  its  compactness,  its  vigor,  its  comprehensiveness,  -its  acute- 
ness,  its  originality,  and  its  depth,  was  destined  to  make  an  im- 
pression on  all  succeeding  ages,  he  has  ever  been  the  admiration 
of  astronomers,  to  whose  favorite  pursuit  his  immortal  powers 
were  almost  exclusively  devoted.  Even  Delambre,  though 
usually  so  severe  in  his  judgments,  relaxes  into  praise  as  he 
approaches  the  name  of  Hipparchus ;  pronouncing  him  '  one  of 
the  most  extraordinary  men  of  antiquity,  the  very  greatest  in  the 
sciences  which  require  a  combination  of  observation  and  geom- 
etry.' And  M.  Auguste  Comte,  by  grouping  Hipparchus  and 
Kepler  and  Newton  together,  as  the  three  great  lights  of  astron- 
omy, has,  if  possible,  still  more  impressively  expressed  the  es- 
timation in  which  he  held  '  the  father  of  astronomy.'  You  will 
naturally  ask,  then,  what  constitutes  his  title  to  so  proud  a  dis- 
tinction, to  so  high  a  niche  in  the  temple  of  fame,  to  so  imper- 
ishable a  chaplet  of  glory  as  that  which  encircles  his  lofty 
brow? 

We  answer,  the  theories  of  the  sun  and  moon,  as  propounded 
by  him,  were  far  more  perfect  than  those  of  his  predecessors. 
In  the  second  place,  he  reformed  the  calendar  and  introduced 
greater  accuracy  into  the  computations  of  time.  Thirdly,  he 
founded  the  science  of  trigonometry,  a  branch  of  the  mathe- 
matics without  which  the  very  alphabet  of  physical  astronomy 
could  not  have  been  constructed ;  for  it  is  by  the  application  of 
trigonometry,  that  the  distances  and  the  magnitudes  of  the  va- 
rious bodies  of  our  system  are  determined.     Thus,  the  real  facts 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  155 

of  astronomy^  which  are  so  amazingly  different  from  the  appa- 
rent ones,  are  due  to  the  method  first  invented  by  Hipparchus. 
Fourthly,  his  grand  discovery  of  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes, 
which  was  made  one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  years  before 
Christ,  was  indispensable  to  the  future  progress  of  astronomy. 
Fifthly,  the  astronomical  observations  which  were  made  by  him 
alone,  and  transmitted  to  posterity,  exceeded  in  number  and 
value  all  the  observations  he  had  received  fix)m  all  his  prede- 
cessors. And,  lastly,  his  sixth  great  labor,  which  in  that  early 
age,  Pliny  regarded  as  pertaining  to  the  Deity  rather  than  to 
num,  consisted  in  a  construction  of  a  catalogue  of  the  fixed  stars, 
fiy  this  labor  alone,  he  created  an  era  of  light  in  the  history  of 
the  science ;  and  if  the  labor  was  immense,  its  results  have  been 
of  incalculable  benefit  to  all  succeeding  astronomers. 

But,  if  we  mistake  not,  he  deserves  as  much  credit  for  what 
he  did  not  attempt,  as  for  what  he  actually  accomplished.  Hav- 
ing proceeded  as  far  as  the  light  of  nature  seemed  to  guide  him, 
he  there  resolutely  halted,  and  refused  to  advance  or  bury  him- 
self among  the  obscurities  of  nature.  '  The  art  of  talking  un- 
intelligibly on  matters  of  which  we  are  ignorant  *,  is  one  of  the 
fine  accomplishments  which  he  does  not  seem  to  have  learned 
fit)m  Aristotle,  or  from  any  of  his  predecessors.  In  one  word, 
his  object  seems  to  have  been,  not  so  much  the  illustration  of 
his  own  name,  as  the  discovery  and  propagation  of  truth. 
Hence,  the  miserable  weakness  of  pretending  to  know  all  things, 
and  to  explain  all  things,  formed  no  part  of  the  intellectual 
character  of  Hipparchus.  In  this  respect,  he  presents  a  glorious 
contrast  to  many  of  the  most  renowned  philosophers  of  Greece ; 
and,  as  the  bright  and  morning  star  of  astronomical  science,  he 
will  ever  be,  even  as  he  now  is,  most  reverently  admired.  The 
astronomical  dreams  of  a  Plato  and  an  Aristotle  have  passed 
away ;  the  discoveries  of  Hipparchus  will  live  forever. 

From  the  time  of  Hipparchus,  who  flourished  one  hundred 
and  twenty  years  before  Christ,  down  to  that  of  Ptolemy,  a  pe- 
riod of  about  two  centuries  and  a  half,  no  real  astronomer  ap- 
peared. The  works  of  Hipparchus  have  been  lost ;  not  so  with 
those  of  Ptolemy.  It  is  to  these  works,  says  Mr.  Whewell,  that 
we  owe  ninety-nine-hundredths  of  all  our  knowledge  of  the 
Greek  astronomy. 


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156  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

Ptolemy  possessed,  not  only  a  great,  but  also  a  versatile  mind ; 
yet  it  is  as  an  astronomer,  that  he  has  ever  been  held  in  the 
highest  estimation  among  men ;  for  it  was  to  this  noble  science, 
then  languishing  in  the  schools,  that  he  gave  a  new  and  lofty 
impulse.  He  brought  together  and  united  the  scattered  mate- 
rials existing  in  the  works  of  Hipparchus  and  others ;  which, 
combined  with  his  own  discoveries,  formed  a  complete  system  of 
astronomy  as  the'  science  was  then  understood.  The  publication 
of  his  Ma^i7/ian%i7  (Twrofttf  forms  a  great  epoch  in  the  history  of 
the  science.  This  work,  which  fortunately  escaped  the  barbarism 
of  the  middle  ages,  formed  the  basis  of  all  the  astronomy  of  the 
Arabians,  and,  for  a  considerable  time,  that  of  modern  Europe. 
If  our  design  would  permit,  we  should  be  glad  to  give  an  oat- 
line  of  the  contents  of  this  great  work;  but  we  must  hasten 
on  to  the  more  important  and  more  interesting  eras  of  the 
science. 

But  in  passing  down  from  Ptolemy,  how  shall  we  speak  of 
the  dark  ages?  We  see  Uhe  angelical  doctors'  there;  but  we 
see  them  engaged  in  no  very  angelical  pursuits.  The  same  *  wil- 
derness of  suns',  which  looked  down  on  Pythagoras,  is  shining 
on  them  too;  but  yet  it  seems  that  the  great  angelicals  refuse  to 
dabble  in  such  gross  material  things  as  stars  or  stones.  Instead 
of  studying  the  great  world  which  God  has  built,  they  are  con- 
structing little  worlds  of  their  own,  here  upon  this  atom  earth 
of  ours,  out  of  the  entities  and  quidities,  and  privations  and 
forms,  of  Aristotle.  The  categories  and  predicablcs  are  their 
sun  and  moon ;  and  the  topics  are  their  stars.  To  these  they 
look  for  liglit;  in  these  they  search  for  the  glory  of  God.  How 
the  heavenly  bodies  move,  or  by  what  laws  they  are  governed, 
is  a  question  which  they  put  aside  for  the  sublime  speculations, 
^  whether  a  disembodied  spirit  can  go  from  one  place  to  another 
without  passing  over  the  intermediate  points  ? '  They  seek  to 
know,  not  how  many  myriads  of  shining  orbs  adorn  the  halls 
of  space,  but  how  many  myriads  of  spirits  may  dance,  all  at 
once,  upon  a  cambric  needle's  point !  And  why,  indeed,  should 
they  care  to  know  how  many  mansions  there  are  in  this  oor 
Father's  house  of  the  universe ;  since  for  aught  they  know,  all 
created  spirits  might  creep  at  once  into  a  single  needle's  eye,  and 
there  conceal  themselves  I 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  157 

Yet  one  friendly  glance,  at  least,  is  due  from  us  to  these  great 
'aogtlicals';  for  they  are  near  of  kin  to  us.  Then  hail  to  you, 
re  logicizing,  metaphysicizing,  mighty  dreamers  of  the  misty 
past;  we  greet  you  with  a  kindly  feeling  from  the  heart!  For 
had  we  been  born  and  lived  with  you,  we  too,  perchance,  had 
beeo  a  brother  of  your  craft,  and  dwelt  amid  the  cobwebs  of  the 
brain.  But  as  it  is,  thank  God,  born  in  a  better  age,  we  may 
despise  ourselves  in  you ;  and  quit  both  you  and  self  to  dwell 
with  greater  minds,  wliose  glorious  thoughts  have  raised  us  from 
these  little  souls  of  ours. 

During  the  dark  ages,  the  science  of  astronomy  took  its  flight 
from  the  Christian  world.  If  any  one,  like  Gerbert,  for  ex- 
ample, happened  to  feel  a  passion  for  the  study,  he  had  to 
seek  an  instructor  either  among  the  Arabs,  or  in  the  Moorish 
Qoiversities  of  Spain.  He  could  find  no  teacher  in  Christian 
countries.  For  more  than  a  thousand  years,  the  science  of  astron- 
omy suffered  this  dark  eclipse.  But  then  a  more  propitious  era 
began  to  dawn,  and  continued  to  brighten  with  a  steadily  pro- 
gressive lustre;  until  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
it  burst  on  the  Christian  world  in  full-orbed  splendor,  never 
more  to  decline,  or  to  become  obscured.  Nicholas  Copernik,  an 
ecclesiastic  and  recluse  philosopher,  was  the  author  of  this  won- 
derful revolution.  No  man  ever  lived,  indeed,  who  was  more 
worthy  to  follow  philosophy  than  he ;  for  '  he  was  a  freeman  in 
mind.'  His  was  not  the  freedom  of  those,  however,  who  '  think 
much  of  themselves,  and  know  but  little';  for  he  knew  how  to 
reverence  the  mighty  past,  as  well  as  to  think  for  the  everlasting 
future.  His  freedom  was  inspired,  not  by  the  intoxicating  fumes 
of  a  vain-glorious  disposition,  but  by  a  profound  love  of  truth, 
and  consisted  in  the  greatness  and  the  glory  of  his  discoveries. 

An  intellect  like  his  could  not  but  strive,  and  strive  with  energy, 
after  that  unity  and  harmony  of  principle,  that  symmetry  and 
beauty  of  view,  which  alone  can  fully  satisfy  the  rational  nature 
of  man.  Hence  the  complexity  and  confusion  which  reigned  in 
the  Ptolemaic  system  of  the  world,  proveii  offensive  to  his  mind. 
As  this  was  the  system  then  universally  received,  and  no  better 
was  dreamed  of,  so  had  Copernicus  thought  more  highly  of  him- 
self, he  might  have  boasted  with  Alphonso  X.,  '  Had  the  Deity 


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158  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jao, 

consulted  me  at  the  creation  of  the  universe,  I  could  have  given 
him  some  good  advice/  Grood  advice  he  could  have  given,  fiur 
better  indeed  than  King  Alphonso,  provided  the  real  model  of  the 
universe  had  been  such  as  it  was  then  distorted  and  misrepresented 
in  the  schools.  But  shunning  the  error  of  the  proud  Castiliao 
monarch,  Copernicus  more  wisely  concluded,  that  the  manifold 
imperfections  which  had  shocked  his  reason  and  clouded  his  im- 
agination, existed  not  in  the  divine  scheme  of  the  universe  itself 
but  only  in  the  human  interpretations  of  that  scheme.  Dissat- 
isfied with  the  labors  of  the  past,  and  weary  of  the  uncertainty 
of  the  'mathematical  traditions',  he  resolved  to  try  anew,  and 
for  himself,  the  stupendous  problem  of  the  world.  He  felt  the 
necessity  of  the  task,  as  well  as  the  glory  of  the  attempt 

*  Then,  I,  too,  began  to  meditate  \  says  he,  and  for  forty  long 
years  he  continued  to  meditate.  With  Pythagoras,  and  Philo- 
laus,  and  Anaximander,  and  Aristarchus,  he  placed  the  sun  in 
the  centre  of  the  world ;  and  gave  to  the  earth  a  motion  around 
that  great  luminary,  as  well  as  around  its  own  axis.  Over  this 
sublime  scheme,  his  mind  continually  brooded.  He  rose  above 
the  illusion  of  the  senses ;  and  saw  more  clearly  than  mortal  eye 
had  ever  seen  before,  that  the  motion  of  the  heavens  is  appareni 
only,  while  that  of  the  earth  is  real.  Having  taken  a  firm  hold 
of  this  theory,  by  means  of  his  clear  geometrical  conceptions,  he 
made  it  explain  the  phenomena  of  the  heavens,  &r  better  than 
they  had,  until  then,  been  explained ;  and,  by  immense  mathe- 
matical calculations,  he  verified  his  explanations.  Thus  did  he 
find,  in  some  good  measure  at  least,  that  order  and  harmony, 
that  simplicity  and  beauty,  for  which  his  rational  nature  had  so 
passionately  longed. 

Ab  we  have  already  seen,  it  was  not  the  merit  of  Copemicos, 
that  he  was  the  first  to  conceive  the  true  system  of  the  universe. 
But  if  he  was  not  the  author,  he  was  certainly  the  founder,  of 
that  system.  The  arguments  and  views  which  had  imposed  on 
the  mighty  intellects  of  Plato,  and  Aristotle,  and  Hipparchos, 
and  Ptolemy,  and  which  had  led  the  whole  world  astray,  disap- 
peared before  the  blaze  of  his  intense  mind,  like  mists  before  the 
sun.  Beneath  his  thinking  also,  those  vague  considerations 
which  had  controlled  the  opinions  of  Pythagoras  and  his  fol* 


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1869.]  The  PtogresB  of  Astronomy.  159 

lowers,  assumed  a  form  and  a  substance,  and  a  radiance,  which 
the  winds  of  controversy  could  neither  blow  away,  nor  extin- 
guish. We  have  said,  that  Pythagoras  taught  the  system 
which  now  immortalizes  the  name  of  Copernicus;  we  may  with 
equal  justice  say,  that  the  genius  of  Copernicus  has  immortalized 
the  system  which  Pythagoras  taught.  Indeed,  if  the  maxim 
that  *  he  who  proves  is  the  discoverer',  be  just,  then  is  Coperni- 
cus the  real  author  of  that  view  of  the  universe  which  bears  his 
name.  For  he  it  was,  whose  mind  first  brooded  over  this  sub- 
lime system  of  the  world,  until  he  could  speak,  not  as  one  moved 
by  vagoe  and  shadowy  conceptions  of  the  distant  only,  but  as 
one  actually  inspired  by  the  present  possession  of  a  great  and 
glorious  truth.  *  All  which  things,'  says  he,  in  reference  to  his 
views,  *  though  they  be  difiScult  and  almost  incredible,  and 
against  the  opinion  of  the  majority,  yet  in  the  sequel,  by  God's 
&vor,  we  wUl  make  clearer  than  the  arm,  at  least  to  those  who  are 
not  ignorant  of  mathematics/ 

But  while  the  great  work  of  Copernicus  revealed  much  of  the 
divine  order  and  beauty  of  the  world,  it  still  left  much  unre- 
vealed.  It  is  easy  to  see,  that  those  who  referred  the  motions 
of  the  planets  to  a  false  centre  instead  of  to  the  true,  to  the  earth 
instead  of  to  the  sun ;  and  who,  moreover,  conceived  this  false 
centre  to  be  fixed,  instead  of  being,  as  it  is,  in  perpetual  motion ; 
must  have  entertained  the  most  erroneous  and  distorted  views  of 
their  real  revolutions.  Much  of  the  artificial  and  highly  com- 
plicated machinery,  which  had  been  invented  to  explain  the  ap- 
parent irregularities  in  their  motion,  was  swept  away  by  the 
Copernican  reform;  and  the  heavens  put  on  a  new  face.  Kep- 
ler enumerates  eleven  motions  of  the  Ptolemaic  system,  which 
were  exterminated  by  the  new  system.  But  although  Coper- 
nicus thus  wiped  out  these  disfigurements,  and  partially  restored 
the  beauty  of  the  world ;  he  yet  left  much  for  his  successors  to 
accomplish.  In  reality,  he  merely  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
true  system  of  the  universe ;  on  which  the  magnificent  super- 
structure has  since  been  reared  by  those  sublime  architects  of 
science, — a  Gralileo,  a  Kepler,  a  Newton,  and  a  Laplace. 

From  even  this  brief  review,  one  thing  may  be  learned ;  and 
should  forever  remain  impressed  upon  the  tablets  of  our  memory. 


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160  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

It  is,  namely,  the  arrogance  and  vile  conceit,  the  mad  precipitance 
and  haste,  with  which  the  untrained  mind  presumes  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  the  works  and  ways  of  God.  Behold  Lucretius,  for 
example,  that  brilliant  Epicurean  poetizer  of  the  atomic  cos- 
mogony,—  how  he  vaunts  himself!  how  in  spirit  he  exclaims, 
If  this  universe  be,  indeed,  what  some  pretend,  the  work  of 
God ;  then  had  he  consulted  me  when  it  was  made,  /could  have 
given  him  some  good  advice!  Poor,  puny  mortal,  blinder 
than  the  atoms  which  thou  singest !  not  even  knowing  that  son, 
moon,  and  stars,  are  larger  than  they  seem  :  how  canst  thou  crit- 
icise the  book  of  God,  ere  thou  hast  learned  the  very  alphabet 
in  which  he  writes  His  laws  and  fixed  decrees? 

We  may  be  sure,  that  if  any  imperfection  shows  itself  in  the 
world  of  God  ;  this  only  proves  the  imperfection  of  our  roinds^ 
and  not  of  His  design  or  work.  For  all  the  huge  defects,  how- 
ever numerous  or  great  they  be,  which  seem  to  cloud  the  uni- 
verse, and  hide  its  beauty  from  our  eyes,  exist,  not  in  theglorioos 
world  of  God  without,  but  only  in  the  little,  dark,  and  crooked 
world  within ;  where  sin,  and  pride,  and  ignorance,  and  ail  this 
cursed  vile  conceit  of  little  minds,  have  warped  and  twisted 
every  thing  amiss. 

Having  glanced  at  the  progress  of  astronomy  from  the  time 
of  Thales  down  to  that  of  Copernicus,  the  history  of  the  science 
begins  to  assume  a  ten-fold  interest.  Hitherto  we  have  seen,  as 
if  struggTihg  through  the  obscurity  which  surrounds  us,  some 
beautiful -gleams  of  the  great  outer  glory  of  the  universe;  that 
glory  is  now  steadily  dawning,  and  the  heavens  are  in  a  glow. 
And  from  the  splendid  epoch  of  Copernicus,  the  inconceivable 
grandeur  and  glory  of  God's  creation  will  continue  to  open  on 
all  sides  around  us,  until  we  shall  be  made  to  feel  that  the  ut- 
most effort  of  our  intellect  to  grasp  it  can  only  betray  our  weak- 
ness, and  that  the  utmost  flight  of  the  imagination  can  only 
overwhelm  us  with  a  sense  of  our  insignificance.  In  attempting 
to  point  out  the  progressive  developments  of  this  glory,  or  the 
sources  whence  it  has  dawned  on  an  astonished  world,  the  first 
great  object  which  claims  our  attention  is,  *  The  starry  Galileo 
and  his  woes.' 

It  was  owing  to  the  good  fortune,  no  less  than  to  the  geniu« 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  161 

of  Galileo^  that  he  was  the  first  to  direct  the  telescope  to  the 
beaveDS ;  but  we  may  safely  say^  that  a  good  fortune  so  splendid^ 
ooald  not  possibly  have  fiillen  to  the  lot  of  a  more  worthy  recip- 
ient The  year  1609  is  forever  memorable  in  the  annals  of 
astronomy^  as  that  in  which  the  first  telescope  was  constructed 
by  Gralileo,  and  pointed  to  the  heavens.  In  true  moral  heroism^ 
this  was  no  ordinary  deed ;  for^  in  his  time^  it  required  all  the 
enthusiasm,  as  well  as  all  the  courage  of  genius,  to  dare  to  see  any- 
thmg,  either  in  heaven  or  in  earth,  which  had  not  been  seen  by 
Aristotle,  or  allowed  by  him  to  exist.  But  still  Gralileo  ventured 
to  look,  and  to  announce  the  discoveries  which  he  made.  *  Pla- 
giarist !  liar  I  heretic  I  impostor ! '  are  some  of  the  gentle  epi- 
thets which  were  hurled  at  him,  because  he  presumed  to  look  at 
the  heavens  through  the  telescope,  rather  than  through  the  logic 
of  Aristotle.  But  to  all  this  abuse,  the  philosopher  calmly  re- 
plied, either  by  good  natured  retorts,  or  by  a  renewed  zeal  in  his 
looking  and  his  seeing.  And  when  he  discovered  the  four  mag- 
nificent moons  of  Jupiter,  all  calmly  and  beautifully  rolling 
tround  that  majestic  orb  of  light,  the  indignation  of  his  enemies 
knew  no  bounds.  Lost  in  amazement  at  the  audacity  of  a  man 
who  had  pretended  to  see  four  great  worlds  about  which  Aristotle 
had  not  said  one  little  word,  they  gave  him  up  as  a  son  of  dark- 
oesB,  and  fit  only  for  perdition.  But  while  they  were  thus 
denouncing  and  dogmatizing  about  the  system  of  the  world,  and 
while  they  were  thus  ready  to  close  their  eyes,  and  gnash  upon 
him  with  their  teeth,  Gralileo  thus  writes:  '  Oh,  my  dear  Kep- 
ler, how  I  wish  that  we  could  have  one  hearty  laugh  together. 
Here,  at  Padua,  is  the  principal  professor  of  philosophy,  whom 
I  have  repeatedly  and  urgently  requested  to  look  at  the  moon 
and  planets  through  my  glass,  which  he  pertinaciously  refuses  to 
do.  Why  are  you  not  here  ?  What  shouts  of  laughter  we  should 
have  at  this  glorious  folly  I  And,  too,  the  professor  of  philos- 
ophy at  Pisa,  laboring  before  the  grand  duke  with  lineal  argu- 
ments, as  if  with  magical*  incantations,  to  charm  the  new  planets 
oat  of  the  sky.' 

From  all  quarters  of  the  earth,  indeed,  as  well  as  from  Pisa 
and  Padua,  the  peripatetics  were  shooting  off  these  ^  paper  pel- 
lets of  the  brain '  at  the  moons  of  Jupiter.    Yet,  so  &r  as  his- 
11 


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162  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

tory  informs  us,  not  a  single  satellite  could  they  bring  down ; 
but  each  and  every  one  still  shines  and  sings  in  his  eternal  course^ 
in  proud  defiance  of  the  petty  schools  below.  In  this  fierce  war 
of  theirs,  no  hero  signalized  himself  more  than  poor  Horky  did ; 
who  valiantly  declares,  *  I  will  never  concede  his  four  new  plan- 
ets to  that  Italian  from  Padua,  though  I  die  for  it.'  And  there- 
upon he  wrote  a  book  to  prove  that  they  neither  did,  nor  could 
exist. 

He  first  asserts  that  with  Gralileo's  glass  he  had  looked  for 
himself,  and  that  no  such  thing  as  satellite  or  moon  belongs  to 
Jupiter.  He  secondly  asseverates  that  he  not  more  surely  knows 
that  he  has  a  soul  in  his  body,  than  that  reflected  rays  are  the 
sole  cause  of  Gralileo's  erroneous  view.  He  thirdly  maintains 
that  these  planets  are  like  flies  to  an  elephant ;  and  finally  con* 
eludes  their  only  use  is  to  'gratify  Gralileo's  thirsj;.  of  gold/  and 
furnish  him  with  a  subject  for  dispute. 

Having  thus  put  an  extinguisher  upon  Gralileo's  &me,  and 
snufied  out  the  four  moons  of  Jupiter,  the  hero  hastened  back  to 
Kepler,  expecting  to  receive  his  praise.  But  instead  of  praise, 
the  noble-minded  Kepler  overwhelmed  him  with  a  storm  of  in- 
dignation and  reproof.  The  poor  hero  b^ged  and  pleaded,  and 
prostrated  himself  so  humbly  that  Kepler  consented  to  receive 
him  into  favor  again,  but  on  the  express  condition  that  Kepler 
was  to  show  him  the  four  moons  of  Jupiter  ;  thai  he  was  to  see 
(hemy  and  to  own  that  they  existed.  To  all  which  the  hero  agreed; 
and  60  ended  his  campaign  against  the  moons  of  Jupiter. 

Francisco  Sizzi,  a  Florentine  astronomer,  thus  demolished  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter.  There  are  seven  windows  given  to  the 
head,  says  he,  to  enlighten,  to  warm,  and  to  nourish  this  taber- 
nacle of  the  body, —  namely,  two  nostrils,  two  ears,  two  eyes, 
and  one  mouth.  So,  in  the  heavens,  he  argues,  there  are  two 
favorable  stars,  two  unfavorable,  two  luminaries,  and  one  unde- 
cided. From  which,  and  from  many  other  similar  sevens,  such 
as  the  seven  metals,  &c.,  &c.,  it  is  evident  that  the  number  of 
the  planets  is  necessarily  seven ;  and  can  neither  be  more  nor 
less.  And  besides,  the  satellites  are  invisible  to  the  naked  eje 
therefore  they  exercise  no  influence  upon  the  earth;  therefore 
they  are  useless ;  therefore  they  do  not  exist.     Moreover,  not 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  163 

only  the  Jews  and  other  ancient  nations^  but  also  all  modern 
Earope^  have  divided  the  week  into  seven  days,  and  named 
them  after  the  seven  planets ;  and  if  we  increase  the  number  of 
these,  this  whole  system  will  &11  to  the  ground.  But  Galileo 
simply  replied,  that  however  admirable  such  arguments  might 
be  to  prove  beforehand  that  not  more  than  seven  planets  would 
ever  be  discovered,  they  hardly  possess  sufiBcient  force  to  over- 
throw or  extinguish  those  which  are  actually  seen  in  the 
heavens. 

But  the  revelations  of  the  telescope  were  not  thus  universally 
received.  For  when  the  windows  of  heaven  were  thrown  open, 
and  the  curtains  withdrawn,  the  prospect  which  on  all  sides  rose 
to  view  in  the  infinite  depths  of  space,  was  far  too  grand  and 
imposing  not  to  attract  the  attention,  and  to  excite  the  wonder, 
of  here  and  there  a  few.  Those  who  were  below,  as  well  as 
those  who  were  ahove,  the  prejudices  of  the  schools,  were  anxious 
to  know  whether  these  things  were  so;  and,  in  some  places, 
the  curiosity  of  the  multitude  rose  almost  to  a  phrenzy.  Those 
only  who  were  already  wise  in  their  own  conceit  obsti- 
nately refused  to  look  and  see;  and  while  they  stood  aloof, 
either  railing  at  or  ridiculing  the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  the  mul- 
titude were  often  eager*  to  use  their  eyes.  Hence  Sirturi,  for 
eiample,  had  to  secrete  himself  in  order  to  enjoy  his  telescope 
in  peace.  He  hid  himself  in  the  tower  of  St.  Mark's,  at  Ven- 
ice, but  the  place  of  his  concealment  was  soon  discovered :  a 
crowd  rushed  upon  him,  took  possession  of  his  instrument,  and 
spent  hours  in  satiating  their  curiosity.  Having  heard  them 
tagerjy  inquire  at  what  inn  he  lodged,  and,  fearing  the  arrival 
of  another  swarm  more  hungry  than  the  first,  he  thought  it  ad- 
visable to  quit  Venice  early  the  next  morning,  and  seek  some 
less  inquisitive  neighborhood  for  the  place  of  his  observations. 

The  great  thinkers  of  that  period^  too,  those  who  knew  some- 
thing of  the  littleness  of  man,  and  the  greatness  of  God,  were 
bclined  to  receive,  in  the  profound  humiliation  of  the  soul,  the 
wonderful  revelations  of  the  telescope.  For  nearly  all  of  these 
were  Copemicans ;  and  there,  in  that  great  world,  with  his  four 
magnificent  mo«os  all  revolving  around  him,  the  system  they  had 
embraced  was  seen  on  a  diminished  scale  —  a  system  within  a 


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164  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

system.     This  was  an  argument  addressed  to  the  eye,  and  spoke 
volumes  at  once  in  favor  of  the  true  system  of  the  universe. 

But  why,  it  had  been  asked,  if  the  Copemiean  system  be 
true,  are  not  the  planets  seen  with  phases  like  the  moon  ?  Why 
is  there  not  a  new  and  a  full  Venus  for  example,  as  well  as  a 
new  and  a  full  moon  ?  Copernicus  had  been  pressed  with  this 
difficulty,  and  failed  to  return  a  satisfectory  reply.  The  tdes- 
cope  of  Gralileo  furnished  the  true  solution,  and,  in  the  beauti- 
ful moon-like  phases  of  Venus,  presented  another  strong  proof 
and  confirmation  of  the  heliocentric  theory  of  the  world.  Mil- 
ton, whose  poem  is  replete  with  allusions  to  Galileo  and  his 
astronomy,  has  not  permitted  the  phases  of  Venus  to  escape  his 
notice.  After  describing  the  creation  of  the  sun,  he  thus  beauti- 
fully adds ; 

'  Hither,  as  to  their  fbuntain,  other  atari 
Repairing,  in  their  golden  nrus  draw  light, 
And  here  the  morning  planet  gilds  her  horns.' 

In  addition  to  these  discoveries,  it  was  the  proud  privilege  of 
Graliko  to  be  the  first  among  men  to  resolve  the  flaky  li^t  of 
the  milky  way  into  an  innumerable  host  of  fixed  stars  or  suds* 
Too  much  glory  this  fbr  any  mortal  man  to  possess  in  peace; 
and  hence,  as  every  one  knows,  the  &m)3  as  well  as  the  zeal  of 
Galileo,  drew  upon  him  the  wrath  of  the  persecuting  bigots  of 
the  age  in  which  he  lived.  Disease  grew  upon  Galileo,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  his  discoveries,  he  became  totally  blind.  This 
calamity  overwhelmed  Gtilileo  and  his  friends:  'Alas!'  says 
he,  to  one  of  his  correspondents,  '  your  dear  friend  and  servant 
has  become  totally  and  irreparably  blind.  These  heavens,  this 
earth,  this  universe,  which  by  wonderful  observations  I  had 
enlarged  a  thousand  times  beyond  the  belief  of  former  ages,  are 
henceforth  shrunk  into  the  narrow  space  which  I  myself 
occupy.'  And  Father  Castelli,  whose  enthusiastic  and  devoted 
attachment  to  the  persecuted  Galileo  is  more  beautiful  than  the 
concentrated  glory  of  all  the  sciences,  likewise  laments,  in  the 
same  tone  of  pathetic  sublimity,  the  irreparable  loss  of  his 
friend.  ^  The  noblest  eye  %  says  he, '  which  Nature  ever  mad^ 
is  darkened ;  an  eye  so  privileged,  and  gifted  mith  such  rare 
powers,  that  it  may  be  truly  said  to  have  seen  more  than  the 


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1869.]  the  ProffreM  of  Astronomy.  165 

eyes  of  all  that  are  gone^  and  to  have  opened  the  eyes  of  all  that 
are  to  come.^  Thus  dark,  *  irrecoverably  dark  amid  the  blaze 
of  noon',  Gralileo  passed  from  earth  in  1642,  and  in  the  seven  ty- 
dghth  year  of  his  age. 

The  island  of  Haen  is  memorable  in  the  annals  of  astronomy. 
Six  miles  from  the  coast  of  Zealand,  three  from  that  of  Sweden, 
and  fourteen  from  Copenhagen,  this  beautiful  island  rises  from 
tbe  bosom  of  the  ocean.  Eising  in  the  form  of  a  mountain, 
whose  base  is  six  miles  in  circumference,  it  terminates  in  a  plain, 
just  exactly  as  if  nature  had  intended  it  for  an  observatory. 
Here,  in  the  centre  of  this  lofty  plain,  Tycho  Brahe  erected  the 
most  sfflendid  observatory  which  Europe  had  ever  seen,  and 
called  it  'Uraniburg',  or  ^the  city  of  the  heavens/  This  magnifi- 
cent structure,  together  with  the  impovenients,  the  furniture, 
and  the  decorations  therewith  connected,  cost  the  King  of  Den- 
mark no  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  the 
princely  Tycho  himself  an  equal  sum. 

This  magnanimous  astronomer  always  had  around  him  a 
band  of  chosen  pupils,  whom  he  boarded,  and  delighted  to  in- 
struct in  the  art  of  astronomical  observation.  Though  almost 
wholly  devoted  to  this  science,  he  nevertheless  kept  open  house, 
and,  with  unbounded  hospitality,  received  the  crowds  of  philos- 
ophers, and  nobles,  and  princes,  who  came  to  be  introduced  to 
the  astronomer,  and  to  admire  the  splendid  temple  which,  in 
that  sequestered  spot,  he  had  erected  and  consecrated  to  science. 

During  the  twenty-one  years  which  Tycho  spent  in  this  glo- 
rioos  retreat,  he  made  vast  additions  to  the  science  of  astronomy. 
Bat  'the  city  of  the  heavens',  though  so  magnificent  and  so 
lovely  to  look  upon,  was  not  long  free  from  the  malignant  in- 
flaences  of  earth.  For  after  the  death  of  Frederick  II.,  by 
whose  royal  bounty  it  had  been  founded,  the  Danish  nobility, 
jealous  of  Tycho's  fame,  conspired  to  work  his  ruin.  Sur- 
rounded by  such  conspirators,  those  only  can  comprehend  the 
anguish  of  Tycho's  noble  soul,  who  are  aware  of  the  profound 
Bolicitude  he  felt,  that  the  glory  of  the  peaceful  conquests  of 
science  which  he  made,  and  which  belonged  to  all  nations, 
should  in  an  especial  manner  fall  to  the  lot  of  his  beloved  Den- 
niark,  his  native  land  and  his  home.     The  glory  of  Tycho  was 


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166  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

indeed  the  glory  of  the  State.  But  these  ignoble  noblemen  had 
neither  eye,  heart,  nor  soul,  to  comprehend  the  glory  of  the  man 
whose  fame  was  that  of  Denmark.  ,  They  could  not  see,  for- 
sooth, why  this  mere  idle  gazer  at  the  stars  should  draw  more 
eyes  to  Denmark  than  all  their  ribbons  drew.  Hence,  with 
vindictive  malice,  this  nobleman  of  nature  was  pursued  by  Den- 
mark's pack  of  little  noblemen. 

But  though  compelled  to  quit  Uraniburg,  the  paradise  on 
which  he  had  laid  out  his  all,  and  even  to  quit  his  native  land, 
the  soul  of  Tycho  was  unsubdued  and  equal  to  the  times.  More 
glorious  in  adversity,  indeed,  than  he  had  ever  been  in  brighter 
days,  the  philosopher  consoled  himself  with  the  sublime  reflec- 
tion that  every  soil  and  every  clime  is  the  country  of  the  great 
man ;  and  that  wherever  he  might  go,  the  same  blue  sky  would 
spread  itself  above  his  head,  and  the  same  gracious  Grod  toould 
smile. 

But  as  in  the  case  of  Galileo,  so  in  that  of  Tycho  Brahe ;  the 
persecution  of  the  astronomer  proved  advantageous  to  the  pro- 
gress of  astronomy.  For,  driven  from  his  native  land  by  the 
guardians  of  its  glory,  he  was  invited  to  Prague  by  the  Em- 
peror Rudolph,  who  gave  him  a  salary  of  3000  crowns,  and  the 
castle  of  Benach  for  an  observatory.  Here  he  formed  an  ac- 
quaintance with  Kepler, — a  circumstance  to  which  astronomy  is 
indebted  for  some  of  the  most  sublime  discoveries  that  have 
ever  rewarded  the  labors  of  genius. 

This  happy  union  of  Tycho  and  Kepler  was  indeed  indispen- 
sable to  the  progress  of  astronomy.  For  as  the  one  was  the 
eye,  and  the  other  the  intellect,  of  the  science ;  so  neither  could 
have  dispensed  with  the  other.  The  one,  by  his  observations, 
furnished  the  materials ;  the  other  by  his  constructive  genius, 
reared  the  edifice.  Without  the  one,  the  materials  had  been 
wanting  to  the  architect;  without  the  other,  the  architect  had 
been  wanting  to  the  materials.  But  by  the  combined  labors  of 
both,  the  magnificent  structure  of  *  Formal  Astronomy'  arose; 
and  only  awaited  the  god-like  genius  of  a  Newton  to  crown  the 
whole  with  the  inconceivably  grand  dome  of  ^  Physical  Astron- 
omy'; blazing  with  the  radiance  of  more  than  ten  thousand 
times  ten  thousand  suns. 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  167 

If  we  would  do  justice  to  the  discoveries  of  Kepler,  we  must^ 
for  a  moment  at  least,  revert  to  the  astronomy  of  the  past.  The 
great  problem  of  astronomy,  as  propounded  by  Plato,  is  this:  to 
explain  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  on  the  supposition  that 
ihey  move  with  uniform  velocities  and  in  perfect  circles.  To  the 
solution  of  this  problem,  the  labors  of  Hipparchus,  and  Ptolemy, 
and  Copernicus,  as  well  as  of  all  other  astronomers,  had  been 
directed.  It  does  not  seem  to  have  been  doubted,  for  a  moment, 
that  the  assumption  of  Plato,  which  makes  all  the  heavenly 
bodies  revolve  in  exact  circles,  is  perfectly  true.  The  only 
question  was,  to  reconcile  the  phenomena  of  the  heavens  with 
this  assumption,  with  this  foregone  conclusion,  with  this  un- 
questioned and  unquestionable  hypothesis. 

This  was  no  easy  task.  The  facts  seemed  to  contradict  the 
theory.  Mars,  for  example,  neither  seemed  always  at  the  same 
distance  from  the  earth,  nor  to  move  with  a  uniform  velocity. . 
On  the  contrary,  he  appeared  sometimes  to  move  faster  and 
sometimes  slower;  and  his  apparent  diameter  varied  from  4" 
to  18",  which  showed  that  his  distance  from  the  earth  is  far 
greater  at  some  times  than  it  is  at  others.  It  was  impossible, 
then,  that  he  could  revolve  around  the  centre  of  the  earth  in  a 
perfect  circle  and  with  a  uniform  velocity.  For  if  so,  his  mo- 
tion would  seem  uniform,  and  his  apparent  diameter  would  re- 
main always  the  same. 

Hence,  still  clinging  to  the  hypothesis  of  Plato,  Hipparchus 
supposed  that  the  earth  is  not  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  orbit 
of  Mars,  (for  that  is  our  example),  but  on  one  side  of  its  centre; 
so  that,  although  he  really  moves  in  a  perfect  circle,  his  dis- 
tance from  the  earth  varies ;  and  he  seems  to  move  slower  or 
fister  as  that  distance  is  greater  or  less.  Hence  arose  the  famous 
theory  of  eccentrics;  as  the  orbits  of  the  planets  were  called, 
because  their  centres  did  not  coincide  with  the  centre  of  the 
earth. 

Ptolemy  and  others  adopted  a  different  method  to  remove  the 
difficulty  in  question.  He  supposed  that  the  earth  is  placed  in 
the  centre  of  the  orbit  of  Mars;  and  that  Mars  nevertheless  ap- 
pears at  various  distances  from  the  earth,  because  he  does  not 
move  in  the  circumference  of  his  orbit,  but  is  carried  around  by 


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168  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

a  smaller  wheel  or  circle^  whose  centre  moves  along  that  circum- 
ference. This  may  be  more  clearly  exhibited  by  means  of  a  dia- 
gram. Let  c^  B,  D,  then^  represent  the 
orbit  of  Mars^  or  rather  the  *  deferent '  of 
his  orbit,  with  the  earth  at  its  centre. 
Now  if  we  suppose  the  planet  M  to  be 
carried  around  by  the  small  circle  c,  M, 
while  the  centre  of  this  small  circle  i« 
moving  along  the  circumference  c,  B,  D, 
we  shall  have  an  idea  of  the  device  by 
which  Ptolemy  sought  to  reconcile  the  phenomena  of  the  plan- 
ets with  the  theory  of  Plato,  He  supposed,  that  while  the  cen- 
tre of  the  small  circle,  or  epicycle,  as  it  was  called,  is  making 
one  entire  revolution  around  the  great  circle,  it  causci  the  planet 
to  make  one  entire  revolution  around  its  own  centre ;  so  that 
the  greatest  and  least  distances  of  the  planet  are  exactly  opposite 
to  each  other. 

But  neither  the  eccentrics  of  Hipparchus,  nor  the  epicycles  of 
Ptolemy,  would  exactly  reconcile  the  motions  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  with  the  idea  that  they  revolve  in  circles,  and  with  a  uni- 
form velocity.  With  all  the  ingenuity  and  labor  of  these  as- 
tronomers, which  were  immense,  they  could  not  make  their 
machinery  fit  the  heavens.  It  was  this  vast  departure  from  the 
appearance  of  a  circle  in  the  orbit  of  Mars,  whose  apparent  di- 
ameter, as  we  have  said,  varied  from  4"  to  18",  that  first  led 
Copernicus  to  believe  that  he  does  not  revolve  around  the  earth 
at  all,  but  around  the  sun.  But  in  transferring  the  centre  of  the 
planetary  motions  from  the  earth  to  the  sun,  Copernicus  did  not 
dream  of  calling  in  question  the  dictum  of  Plato  and  Aristotle 
with  respect  to  the  circular  orbits  of  the  planets;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  was  his  adherence  to  this  dogma  which  induced  him  to 
suppose  that  the  earth  could  not  be,  and  that  the  sun  is,  the  true 
centre  of  the  planetary  movements.  Hence,  he  carried  aloug 
with  him  the  eccentrics  and  the  epicycles  of  the  old  astronomy. 
If  he  erred  at  all,  and  err  he  certainly  did,  it  was  on  the  side  o/ 
a  too  great  reverence  for  antiquity ;  but  yet,  with  all  his  venera- 
tion for  the  past,  he  ventured  to  think  for  himself,  and,  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  opinion  of  the  scientific  world,  he  adopted  thehelio- 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  169 

centric  theory  of  the  solar  system.  His  independence  and  his 
boldness,  however,  did  not  enable  him  to  shake  off  the  cumbrous 
machinery  of  eccentrics  and  epicycles ;  this  was  reserved  for  the 
still  more  free  and  bold  genius  of  Kepler.  Though  by  means 
of  the  heliocentric  theory,  he  made  this  unwieldy  machinery  fit 
better;  yet  not  with  that  mathematical  precision  which  affords 
such  exquisite  delight  to  the  scientific  mind.  And  the  more 
accurate  the  observations  became,  the  more  conspicuous  and 
glaring  became  this  discrepancy  between  the  phenomena  and  the 
theory  of  Plato. 

Neither  an  eccentric  nor  an  epicycle  could  explain,  even  with 
tolerable  accuracy,  the  apparent  irregularities  of  the  moon's 
motion,  which  are  so  numerous  and  so  complicated.  Hence  the 
eccentric  and  the  epicycle  were  combined  by  Ptolemy,  in  order 
to  perfect  the  theory  of  the  moon.  But  even  this  would  not  do, 
for  twist  the  machinery  as  he  would,  he  could  not  make  it  fit  the 
pheDomena  of  the  moon.  Hence  hypoeycles  and  conoentrepi- 
cycles  were  invented,  until  the  heavens  were  scribbled  all  over 
with  the  fictions  which  astronomers  had  introduced  into  nature. 
The  love  of  simplicity  to  which  the  hypothesis  of  Plato  owed 
its  existence,  at  length  became  shocked  and  offended  by  the  in- 
terminable complexity  and  confusion,  which  a  pertinacious  ad- 
herence to  that  hypothesis  had  introduced  into  the  universe. 
The  heavens  became  a  puzzle,  and  the  scheme  of  the  universe 
tQ  enigma,  as  profound  and  davk  as  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx, 

With  centric  and  eccentric  scribbled  o'er, 
Qjde  and  epitjde,  orb  in  orb. 

The  beautiful  heavens  racked  the  brain  of  man,  and  continu- 
ally solicited  his  exertions  to  bring  order  out  of  the  apparent 
chaos  which  reigned  therein. 

Impressed  by  this  solicitation,  the  truth-loving  milfd  of  Kep- 
ler, attuned  by  nature  to  the  glorious  harmonies  of  the  universe, 
lent  its  unconquerable  and  immortal  energies  to  deciphCT  and 
to  read,  beneath  all  this  unseemly  scribbling,  the  real  poetry  of 
the  stars.  Thus,  it  was  the  attempt,  not  to  overthrow  the  fic- 
tions of  the  old  astronomy,  but  to  reform  its  errors,  and  make 
them  reflect  the  beauty  of  the  universe,  which  led  Kepler  to 
perceive  that  this  never  could  be  done ;  and  that  astronomers 


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170  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

had  failed  because  the  problem  which  they  had  soaght  to  solve 
was  not  solvable.  Hence,  instead  of  a  reform  of  the  old  as- 
tronomy, a  creation  of  the  new  is  due  to  Kepler.  He  just  wiped 
out  all  the  fictions  and  all  the  scribblings  of  the  past,  that  God's 
own  writing,  in  the  beautiful  book  of  the  heavens,  might  be 
seen  and  read.  Then  let  us  with  humble  step  and  at  reveren- 
tial distance,  pursue  this  glorious  son  of  God,  as  he  tracks  out 
for  us,  and  before  us,  the  radiant  footprints  of  the  Deitjr 
upon  the  realms  of  space. 

It  was  in  the  attempt,  as  we  have  said,  to  reconcile  the  phe- 
nomena of  Mars  with  the  theory  of  eccentrics  and  epicycles, 
that  Kepler  was  led  to  perceive  the  errors  of  that  theory  and  to 
discover  the  true  one.  For  adjust  the  eccentrics  and  epicycles 
as  he  would,  or  combine  them  as  he  might,  he  still  found  it  im- 
possible to  make  them  represent  the  phenomena  of  the  heavens. 
No  revolutions  could  he  give  to  them,  and  no  librations  could 
he  assign  to  them,  to  reconcile  them  with  the  facts  observed. 
Having,  in  accordance  with  this  theory,  calculated  the  longitude 
of  ifltars,  he  found  that  it  differed  8'  from  the  position  which 
the  observations  of  Tycho  had  assigned  to  it.  This  would  have 
satisfied  most  minds ;  any  mind,  indeed,  which  was  more  in  love 
with  theory  than  truth.  But  it  did  not  satisfy  the  mind  of 
Kepler. 

Having  great  faith  in  others,  as  well  as  in  himself,  no  conceit 
about  the  accuracy  of  his  calculations  led  him  to  discredit  the 
accuracy  of  Tycho^s  observations,  *  Since',  says  he,  *  the  divine 
goodness  has  given  us  in  Tycho  an  oD&erver  so  exact  that  this 
error  of  eight  minutes  is  impossible ;  we  must  be  thankful  to 
God  for  this,  and  turn  it  to  good  account.  And  these  eight 
minutes,  which  we  must  not  negledy  willy  of  themsdveSy  enable  w 
to  reconstfuci  the  whole  of  astronomy.^  It  was,  indeed,  while 
poring  over  these  eight  minutes,  and  the  calculations  which  led 
to  thS  discrepancy  between  theory  and  fact,  that  the  first  idea 
of  an  elliptic  orbit  occurred  to  the  mind  of  Kepler,  which,  says 
he,  *  raised  me  as  from  a  sleepy  and  gave  me  a  new  lighL^  That 
new  light  it  was,  which  has  so  magnificently  illuminated  the 
entire  universe  of  God. 

The  theory  of  eccentrics  and  epicycles  fled  before  it  like  weird 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  171 

shapes  of  the  night  before  the  sun.  A  revolution  more  original, 
or  more  complete,  or  more  beautiful,  has  never  been  affected  bj 
the  genius  of  any  one  man.  The  history  of  the  repeated  strug- 
gles by  which  Kepler  effected  this  revolution,  occupies  thirty- 
nine  chapters  of  his  book  on  Mars.  *  My  first  error  was,'  says 
he, '  that  the  path  of  a  planet  is  a  perfect  circle ;  an  opinion 
which  was  a  more  mischievous  thief  of  my  time,  in  proportion 
as  it  was  supported  by  the  authority  of  all  philosophers,  and 
apparently  agreeable  to  metaphysics.'  But  having  found  good 
reason  to  suspect  the  error  of  all  philosophers,  and  having  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  light  which  raised  him  as  from  a  sleep,  he 
prosecuted  the  investigation  until,  after  repeated  trials,  he  found 
the  precise  ellipse  which  would  truly  represent  all  the  phenome- 
na of  Mars :  the  inequalities  in  his  velocity,  as  well  as  the  varia- 
tions of  his  distance  from  the  sun.  If  the  first  oonception'of 
this  grand  idea  raised  him  as  from  a  sleep,  his  triumphant  de- 
monstration of  its  truth  seems  to  have  exalted  him  to  the  third 
heavens.  If  Kepler  had  never  made  any  other  discovery  but 
this,  he  woald  have  deserved  the  proud  title  of  *  The  Legislator 
of  the  Skies ',  which  has  been  awarded  to  him.  But  two  other 
magnificent  laws  were  discovered  by  him.  The  one  is,  that  if  a 
line  be  drawn  from  the  centre  of  the  sun  to  that  of  a  planet, 
this  line,  or  radius  vector,  as  it  is  called,  will  describe  equal 
areas  in  equal  times.  The  other  is,  that  the  squares  of  the 
periodic  times  of  any  two  planets  are  always  to  each  other  as 
the  cubes  of  their  mean  distances  from  the  sun. 

We  have  said  that  Kepler's  mind  was,  by  nature,  attuned  to 
the  harmonies  of  the  universe.  Hence  it  was  that,  from  the 
very  c(5mmencement  of  his  career  as  an  astronomer,  he  was  im- 
pressed with  the  conviction  that  some  clear,  fixed,  mathematical 
relation  exists  between  the  periodic  times  and  the  distances  of 
the  planets  from  the  sun.  This  conviction  cost  him  an  immense 
outlay  of  time  and  labor ;  extending  through  a  period  of  no  less 
than  seventeen  years.  But  when  the  law  or  the  relation  for 
which  he  had  so  long  and  so  eagerly  sought,  was  actually  found, 
he  was  more  than  rewarded  for  all  the  toil  which  the  mighty 
search  had  cost  him.  This  sublime  discovery  was  first  made 
bK)wn  in  1619,  in  his  Harmonies  of  the  World.    In  this  work, 


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172  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

he  says:  'What  I  prophesied  two-and-twenty  years  ago;' what 
I  firmly  believed  before  I  had  seen  the  Harmonies  of  Ptolemy; 
what  I  promised  my  friends  in  the  title  to  this  book,  (the  Har- 
mony of  the  Celestial  Motions) ;  what  sixteen  years  ago  I  regard- 
ed as  a  thing  to  be  sought ;  that  for  which  I  joined  Tycho- 
Brahe,  for  which  I  settled  at  Prague,  for  which  I  devoted  the 
best  portion  of  my  life  to  astronomical  contemplations;  at  lengih 
I  have  brought  to  lights  and  have  recognized  its  truth  beyond  my 
most  sanguine  expectations.^  Thus,  in  The  Harmonies  of  the 
World,  was  the  discovery  of  his  third  great  law  announcei 
His  exultation  knew  no  bounds.  '  Nothing  holds  me,'  said  he, 
*  I  will  indulge  my  sacred  fury ;  I  will  triumph  over  mankind, 
in  the  honest  confession  that  I  have  stolen  the  golden  vase  of 
the  Egyptians,  to  build  up  a  tabernacle  for  my  God  fitr  away 
from  the  confines  of  Egypt.  The  die  is  cast;  the  book  is  writ- 
ten, to  be  read  either  now,  or  by  posterity,  I  care  not  which.  I 
can  afford  to  wait  a  century  for  a  reader,  since  Grod  Himself  has 
waited  six  thousand  years  for  an  observer,' 

The  discoveries  of  Kepler  constitute,  by  far,  the  most  mag- 
nificent era  in  the  history  of  Astronomy,  except  the  one  forever 
identified  with  the  name  of  Newton, —  a  name  without  a  peer  or 
parallel  in  the  annals  of  science.  Next  to  the  name  of  New- 
ton, however,  that  of  Kepler,  *  the  legislator  of  the  skies  \  stands 
highest  and  brightest  on  the  rolls  of  fame.  Is  it  not  sad  to  re- 
flect, then,  inexpressibly  sad,  that  even  Kepler  was  made  to  en- 
dure the  wants  and  woes  of  poverty  ?  One  of  his  biographers, 
alluding  to  his  monument,  says:  *If  his  fellow-men  refused 
him  bread  while  living,  they  gave  him  a  stone  after  he  was 
dead.' 

The  astronomer  must  have  food  and  raiment  as  well  as  other 
men,  not  even  excepting  poor  reviewers.  He  can  no  more  feed 
on  the  stars,  nor  clothe  himself  with  the  blue  firmament,  than 
we  can  blow  away  our  griefs  with  *  paper  pellets  of  the  brain/ 
For  though  *a  son  of  God'  he  is,  he  must  eat,  and  drink,  and 
sleep,  like  other  men.  Shame  is  it,  then,  we  say,  an  everlasting 
shame,  that  Kepler  should  have  lacked  for  bread.  So  thought 
Kepler's  neighbors  too,  no  doubt,  in  regard  to  Pythagoras,  who 
had  long  since  passed  from  earth,  leaving  only  his  glorious  name 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  173 

behind.  What  pity  I  they  too  cried,  that  a  Pythagoras  should 
have  lacked  for  bread  in  his  old  age.  But  little  did  they  dream, 
that  a  greater  than  Pythagoras  was  there,  living  in  their  very 
midst,  and  feeling  all  the  wants  he  felt. 

'Fame  bears  no  fruit  till  the  vain  planter  dies^;  and  then  it 
bears  a  stone !  Even  Tycho  Brahe  is  pursued  by  this  earth's 
noblemen,  and  Kepler,  is  despised,  till  the  avenger  Time,  that 
Nemesis  of  God,  comes  round  to  all,  and  to  all  deals  out  their 
due.  We  may  repeat  the  follies  of  the  past, — the  very  follies 
we  condemn, —  but  Wisdom  is,  nevertheless,  justified  of  her 
children,  and  all  the  children  of  the  light  are  hers.'  They  do 
not  live  by  bread  alone,  nor  seek  it  as  they  seek  the  truth ;  and 
bread,  therefore,  they  sometimes  need.  But  then  their  souls  are 
clad  in  light  For  as  they  love  the  light,  their  thoughts  are, 
even  as  the  thoughts  of  God,  imperishably  grand  and  beautiful. 
Then  take  —  ye  proud  despising  worldlings !  —  take  the  glories 
that  you  covet  most!  Take  all  the  riches  of  the  world  —  the 
u^scct  glories  of  the  aspiring  worm — and  count  them  all  your 
own;  for  yours  they  are,  and  perishable  as  the  painted  dust 
they  decorate ! 

There  is  a  tribe  of  critics,  respectable  enough,  it  is  true,  in 
point  of  intellect,  but  yet  of  the  low-thinking  and  cold-feeling 
kind,  who  consider  it  a  pity,  that  one  whose  method  was  so  un- 
philoaophical  as  that  of  Kepler,  should  have  been  rewarded  with 
wch  splendid  discoveries.  For  our  part,  we  know  of  no  man, 
in  the  whole  range  of  history,  whose  labors  deserved  so  glorious 
a  reward,  more  richly  than  those  of  Kepler.  His  genius,  it  is 
true,  appears  as  wild  and  irregular  at  times,  as  it  is  sublime  and 
beautiful  at  others.  But  one  reason  of  this  is,  that,  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind,  he  has  taken  as  much  pains  to  lay  open  and 
^pose  the  aberrations  of  his  own  mind,  as  other  men  out  of 
'^gvd  for  their  fame,  have  been  to  conceal  theirs  from  the 
I  world.  Such  noble,  generous,  self-sacrificing  heroism,  in  the 
**"we  of  truth,  none  of  his  very  respectable  critics  will  ever  pos- 
;iese  the  enthusiasm  to  imitate. 

It  must  be  conceded,  that  Kepler's  method  of  philosophizing 
y^  very  different  from  the  calm  and  cautious  method,  which 
Bftoon  has  so  eloquently  recommended  in  the  Novum  Organam. 


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174  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

But  if  Kepler  did  not  follow  the  letter  of  the  inductive  method, 
he  was  animated  by  its  spirit  in  as  gr6at  a  degree  as  any  man 
that  ever  lived.  We  do  not  mean  the  spirit  which  cries,  ^  Hy- 
potheses non  Jingo ';  but  the  spirit  which,  as  the  voice  of  one 
grying  in  the  wilderness,  with  agonizing  heart  and  tearful  eyes, 
looks  up  to  God  for  light.  We  are  not  surprised,  therefore,  that 
light  should  have  blest  his  eyes ;  or  that,  in  God's  mercy,  be 
was  the  chosen  forerunner  of  the  great  Shiloh  of  modern  science. 
Though  now,  since  the  advent  of  Newton,  the  very  least  in  this 
bright  kingdom  of  the  outer  universe  may  be  greater  than  he; 
yet,  until  then,  no  greater  than  Kepler  had  been  of  woman  bom. 

Though  often  misled  by  hypotheses,  his  love  of  truth  proved 
victorious  in  the  end.  The  most  beautiful  theory  that  ever 
dawned  on  the  imagination  of  man,  though  it  had  been  the  off- 
spring of  his  own  brain^  and  cost  him  incredible  labor  to  bring 
it  to  perfection ;  he  was  ever  ready,  at  the  call  of  Truth,  to  sac- 
rifice it  upon  her  altar.  He  deserves,  therefore,  to  be  called  the 
father  of  the  faithful  in  the  sciences ;  and  pointed  to,  as  the  type 
and  model  for  all  future  time,  for  those  who  would  fain  learn 
their  mysteries,  and  behold  the  face  of  G^  in  his  works. 

The  labors  of  Kepler  having  been  completed,  the  time  was 
ready  for  the  sublimest  flight  which  astronomy  had  ever  taken, 
or  will  ever  take,  perhaps,  in  view  of  the  little  globe  we  occupy. 
For  two  thousand  years  and  more,  the  science  had  gathered  op 
her  energies,  and  successfully  essayed  the  lofliest  peaks  of  know- 
ledge in  her  view.  But  now  she  plumes  her  wings  for  a  still 
bolder  flight.  She  spreads  them  for  the  pinnacle  of  the  world 
itself,  whence  its  transcendant  glory,  even  as  the  shadow  of  ito 
God,  may  be  more  truly  seen  and  more  devoutly  felt.  In  short, 
the  time  is  ready  for  a  Newton  now,  and  now  a  Newton  is 
vouchsafed  to  earth. 

'The  name  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton',  says  Brewster,  'has  by 
general  consent  been  placed  at  the  head  of  those  great  men,  wiio 
have  been  the  ornaments  of  their  species.  However  imposing 
be  the  attributes  with  which  time  has  invested  the  sages  and 
the  heroes  of  antiquity,  the  brightness  of  their  fame  has  been 
eclipsed  by  the  splendor  of  his  reputation ;  and  neither  the  par- 
tiality of  rival  nations,  nor  the  vanity  of  a  presumptuous  age, 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astrc/nomf.  175 

has  ventured  to  dispate  the  ascendanoy  of  bis  genius.  The 
philosopher/  indeed^  to  whom  posterity  will  probably  assign  the 
place  next  to  Newton,  has  characterized  the  Principia  as  pre- 
eminent above  all  the  productions  of  the  human  intellect,  and 
has  thus  divested  of  extravagance  the  contemporary  encomium 
open  its  author, 

'  Kec  fas  est  proprios  mortali  atUngere  DItos.' 

This  wonderful  man  was  bom  on  Christmas  day,  1642 ;  the 
very  year  in  which  Gralileo  died.  It  .is  exceedingly  diflScult, 
we  know,  to  keep  from  exploding  with  admiration  at  the  bare 
mention  of  Newton's  name;  and  this  has,  indeed,  become  so 
common  among  literary  and  scientific  men,  that  every  scribbler 
thinks  he  must  follow  the  fiishion,  and  go  off  like  a  percussion 
cap,  or  a  bag  of  explodable  gas.  Such  bags  there  have  been, 
and  will  be,  of  all  sizes  and  dimensions,  from  the  two-penny 

bladder  of  a  W n  to  the  great  balloon  of  an  Alexander 

Pope;  which,  as  every  body  knows,  has  gone  off  in  the  follow- 
ing tremendous  manner : 

*  Nature,  and  Nature's  laws,  lay  hid  in  night ;  • 
Qod  said,  Let  Newton  be,  and  all  was  light.' 

There  is  not  one  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  here ; 
for  here  they  both  lie  so  lovingly  together,  that  it  is  diflScult  to 
determine  whether  one  ought  to  admire  or  to  laugh.  Such 
semi-sublime  and  semi-ridiculous  encomiums  have,  no  doubt, 
provoked  some  men  to  wonder,  and  some,  with  no  greater 
knowledge  of  Newton  or  his  discoveries  than  Pope  himself  pos- 
MSBed,  to  underrate  the  fame  which  he  exaggerates.  That  sub- 
lime genius,  for  example,  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge — but  erratic 
as  sublime  —  essays  his  wit,  at  times,  and  critical  authority, 
against  the  feme  of  Newton.  So  much  the  worse  for  him ;  for 
the  most  devout  admirers  of  the  ^  half  seer  and  half  charlatan ', 
can  not  approve  that  wild  delirium  of  his,  in  which,  like  Sam- 
aorez,  Forman,  and  others,  he  assails  the  solid  adamantine  pil- 
lars of  a  Newton's  fame,  with  the  jejune  fencies  of  a  poet's 
bnin. 
Indeed,  if  we  may  trust  his  reveries,  then  was  Newton  but 

1  Laplaoe. 


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176  9he  Progress  of  Astronomy,  Pan. 

'the  patient  and  calculating  plodder',  while  Kepler  was  'the 
grand  constructive  genius '  of  astronomy,  Newton  was  patient, 
it  it  true, — like  Hipparchus  and  Copernicus, —  like  all  who  yet 
have  sprung  '  the  mines  of  everlasting  thought ',  his  patience  was 
truly  great  and  wonderful.  It  was  his  love  of  truth  that  made 
him  so.  With  a  protracted  vigil,  here  in  the  darkness  of  the 
world,  he  looked  for  truth  with  that  enduring  Jove,  which 
weaker  minds  can  neither  feel  nor  bear.  And  it  was  the  habit 
of  his  mind,  that  until  the  light  appeared  to  dawn, —  until  it 
opened  into  day, —  he  wowld  not  speak  at  all.  If  genius  deak 
in  dreams^  or  speaks  in  dark  enigmas,  or  talks  of  what  it  does 
not  understand,  then  Newton  had  it  not ;  for  all  his  theories, 
yea,  all  the  mighty  schemes  he  reared,  are  like  the  sun,  whidi  is 
not  only  light  itself,  but  which  enlightens  all  beside. 

But,  forsooth,  he  was  a  'calculating  plodder M  He  lacked 
that  genius,  we  admit,  whose  eye  is  always  '  in  a  fine  fireojE^ 
rolling',  and  is  never  fixed  on  the  deep  things  of  the  universe. 
He  may  have  lacked  that  genius,  too,  whose  fine  ecstatic  pulses 
beat  to  the  more  ethereal  harmonies  around  us,  and  feel  Ae 
music  which  is  lost  on  coarser  minds,  or  minds  absorbed  in 
greater  things.  He  was  not  born,  indeed,  to  gaze  upon  the 
painted  fleeting  cloud ;  or  bend,  like  Chaucer,  over  the  evan- 
escent glory  of  the  grass ;  or,  like  him,  listen  to  the  sweet  song 
of  the  perishing  bird.  His  mission,  if  not  more  beautiful,  was 
more  sublime,  than  this;  and  doomed  him  to  calculate  as  well 
as  soar.  Nay,  to  calculate,  in  order  that  he  might  soar.  In  re- 
gard to  geometry,  the  bliss  of  ignorance  could  not  be  his ;  for 
his  it  was  to  comprehend  the  great  Greometer,  who  planned  and 
built  the  mighty  fiibric  of  the  universe. 

Shall  he  be  lessened,  then,  who  taught  mankind  the  science 
of  the  stars,  because  he  did  not  sing  their  poetry  ?  For  aught 
we  know  or  care,  it  may  be  true,  as  Coleridge  has  said,  that  it 
would  'take  many  Newtons  to  make  one  Milton.'  But  then,  it 
is  likewise  true,  that  it  would  take  just  as  many  Miltons  to 
make  one  Newton.  The  truth  is,  that  neither  oould  be 
made  out  of  the  other  at  all,  without  a  great  waste  of  mate- 
rial ;  and  we  shall  therefore  just  leave  each  as  the  Almighty 
made  him, — the  one  for  science,  and  for  song  the  other.    Though 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  177 

each  is  mighti^t  in  his  glorious  kind ;  yet  are  the  kinds  as  dif- 
ferent as  light  and  sound. 

In  passing  from  Newton  himself  to  his  Prindpiay  we  can 
only  glance  at  some  of  the  most  important  discoveries  which 
that  wonderful  production  contains.  The  principle  or  law  of 
universal  gravitation,  is  the  sublime  disclosure  which  it  makes. 
This  principle  or  law  may  be  thus  stated:  Every  particle  of 
matter  in  the  universe,  gravitates  toward  every  other  particle, 
with  a  force  which  is  inversely  proportioned  to  their  distances 
from  each  other.  This  grand  law  was  not  reached  at  once,  or 
per  saltum,  but  by  a  succession  of  steps,  or  partial  approxima- 
tions. Setting  out  from  the  third  law  of  Kepler,  as  a  postulate, 
Newton  deduced  the  inference,  that  the  attractive  force  of  the 
sun,  as  exerted  upon  the  planets,  varies  inversely  as  the  squares 
of  their  distances  from  the  sun.  This  is  the  first  step  which  the 
sublime  *  plodder^  took,  in  his  walk  among  the  stars;  and  if,  in 
taking  it,  he  did  not  leave  the  poet  behind,  he  at  least  kept 
pace  with  his  soaring  fancy,  and  demonstrated  its  conjecture. 

The  object  of  the  next  steps  of  the  Newtonian  discovery  was 
to  show,  that  the  force  by  which  the  sun  holds  each  planet  in 
its  path  varies,  for  every  point  of  its  course,  according  to  the 
same  law,  or  inversely  as  the  square  of  its  distance  from  the 
sun.  This  extension  of  the  law  of  gravity  had,  no  doubt,  been 
made  by  many,  at  least  conjecturally ;  and  continued  to  haunt 
the  imagination,  ere  its  truth  could  be  realized  by  the  reason. 
It  is  certain  that  Hooke,  in  1679,  had  asserted,  that  supposing 
such  to  be  the  law  of  the  great  central  force,  the  orbit  of  the 
earth  would  be  an  ellipse.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  imagine  or 
conjecture,  and  quite  another  to  demonstrate.  Newton  was  the 
first  who,  by  strict  mathematical  reasoning,  deduced  from  the 
law  of  Kepler  that  *the  orbit  of  a  planet  is  an  ellipse',  the 
beautiful  conclusion,  that  the  force  which  draws  it  to  the  sun  in 
one  of  the  foci  of  the  ellipse,  is  always  inversely  proportional  to 
the  square  of  its  distance  from  the  centre  of  attraction. 

But  the  third  step  in  the  Newtonian  discovery,  if  we  con- 
sider the  grandeur  and  magnificence  of  its  results,  is  still  more 
important  than  either  of  the  preceding.  We  allude  to  the  de- 
monstrated connexion  between  the  gravity  of  the  earth  and  the 
12 


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178  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

orbitual  motion  of  the  moon.  In  venturing  to  express  this 
opinion,  we  have  not  forgotten  the  words  of  Dr.  Whewell, 
*  that  this  step  in  Newton^s  discoveries  has  generally  been  the 
most  spoken  of  by  superficial  thinkers  \  which  seems  to  be  a 
fling  at  Professor  Nichol,  Sir  David  Brewster,  Smythe,  and  the 
like;  all  of  whom  consider  it  'impossible  to  over-estimate  the 
value  of  this  momentous  step.'^  But  for  whomsoever  it  may 
have  been  intended,  it  is  a  rather  unfortunate  circumstance  for 
Dr.  Whewell,  that  it  falls  upon  Newton  himself,  with  no  less 
force  than  upon  those  who  are  thus  denominated  *  superficial 
thinkers.'  For  no  one  was  ever  more  deeply  impressed  with 
the  transcendent  importance  of  this  step  than  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
himself.  Indeed,  Dr.  Whewell  tells  us,  that  as  his  calculations 
on  this  point  'drew  to  a  close',  he  was  'so  much  agitated,  that 
he  was  obliged  to  desire  a  friend  to  finish '  them  for  him. 

Now,  we  do  not  read,  that  as  any  former  extension  of  his 
theory  or  law  was  about  to  be  made,  or  as  its  light  was  about  to 
burst  from  any  other  of  the  dark  places  of  the  universe,  he, was 
so  completely  overwhelmed  with  the  glory  of  the  vision.  We 
do  not  even  know,  that  the  tranquillity  of  his  great  mind  was  at 
all  disturbed,  by  the  discovery  of  any  other  portion  of  the 
mechanism  of  the  heavens.  And  no  wonder  that  he  thus 
trembled;  for,  as  we  shall  see,  by  this  stupendous  step,  the 
august  temple  of  the  universe  was  thrown  open,  and  the  glory 
of  its  interminable  perspective  revealed. 

Hitherto  he  had  merely  beheld  the  law  of  gravity,  as  it  ex- 
tended from  world  to  world,  without  perceiving  that  it  controls 
the  minuter  objects  attached  to  the  worlds  themselves.  In  one 
word,  he  had  not,  as  yet,  determined  whether  this  wonderful 
power  embraced  all  objects,  the  small  as  well  as  the  great,  or 
whether  it  included  the  last  alone.  He  had  not  identified  the 
force  by  which  a  pebble  is  drawn  to  the  earth,  or  to  the  body 
of  any  other  planet,  with  that  mighty  influence  by  which  all  the 
planets  are  held  in  their  orbits.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  before 
tried  and  failed  to  make  this  most  important  extension  of  the 
law  of  gravity.  In  consequence  of  the  error  which  then  pre- 
vailed in  regard  to  the  length  of  a  degree  of  the  earth,  and  the 
'  Architecture  of  the  HeaTens,  bj  Prof.  Nichol. 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  179 

error  which  thence  resulted  in  relation  to  the  length  of  the 
earth's  radius  —  the  base  line  and  the  starting-point  of  his  cal- 
culations,—  he  necessarily  failed  to  discover  light  in  this  line  of 
research.  It  was  overhung  with  clouds  and  darkness.  A  slight 
error  in  the  measurement  of  a  single  line  on  the  earth's  surface, 
had  spread  itself  over  his  calculations,  and  obscured  the  glory  of 
the  universe.  Though  light  had  broken  out  so  magnificently  in 
certain  portions  of  the  material  firmament;  yet  others  remained 
enveloped  in  impenetrable  obscurity,  and  the  grand  vision  for 
which  his  soul  labored  was  concealed  from  view. 

But  when  a  degree  of  the  earth  was  more  accurately  measured, 
he  then  discovered  that  the  force  which  causes  an  apple  to  fall 
to  the  ground,  is  precisely  the.  same  as  that  which  causes  the 
moon  to  descend  in  her  eternal  round.  This  was  no  sooner  ac- 
complished, than  the  all-glorious  truth,  in  all  its  grandeur  and 
munificence  and  beauty  and  universality,  burst  on  his  mind 
with  overpowering  effect.  At  once  he  saw,  that  one  and  the 
aame  law  both  regulates  the  domestic  affairs  of  our  planet,  and 
determines  its  foreign  relations.  By  analogy,  and  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  the  same  law  is  extended  to  other  worlds; 
and  the  same  great  truth  is  seen,  on  all  sides,  flashing  light  on 
the  sjstem  of  the  universe.  No  former  discovery  had  so  won- 
derfully enlarged  the  boundaries  of  his  vision.  For  by  this 
step,  his  mind  was  freed  from  darkness  and  from  doubt ;  his 
grand  conception  of  the  universal  law  was  no  longer  cramped  or 
clouded ;  and  he  then  beheld  it,  not  as  confined  to  stupendous 
masses  merely,  but  as  literally  pervading  all  things;  extending 
its  dominion,  like  the  great  Being  by  whom  it  was  ordained, 
not  only  over  the  innumerable  worlds  around  us,  but  also  over 
every  atom  that  floats  through  the  intermediate  spaces.  Well 
may  we  say,  then,  in  the  language  of  Sir  David  Brewster,  that 
Uhe  influence  of  such  a  result  upon  such  a  mind  may  be  more 
easily  conceived  than  described.' 

The  fourth  step  in  his  discovery  is,  the  demonstration  that  all 
the  bodies  of  the  solar  system,  including  the  satellites  as  well  as 
their  primaries,  are  governed  by  the  law  in  question.  That  the 
force  of  gravity  is  thus  mutual  and  universal,  had  been  pre- 
viously asserted  by  Hooke,  Borelli,  and  others ;  and  Kepler  be- 


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180  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  [Jan. 

lieved  that  the  inequalities  of  the  moon^s  motions  are  prodnced 
by  the  disturbing  force  of  the  sun's  attraction.  But  the  glory 
of  proving  these  truths,  which  had  merely  taken  hold  of  the 
imagination  of  others,  was  reserved  for  the  creator  of  Physical 
Astronomy.  Assuming  the  law  of  gravity  as  a  postulate,  he 
deduced  therefrom  the  inequalities  of  the  moon's  motion,  as  well 
as  various  other  perturbations  of  the  solar  system,  by  which  he 
gave  an  additional  universality  and  beauty  to  his  fundameDtal 
hypothesis. 

We  now  come  to  the  fifth  and  last  step  in  the  Newtonian  dis- 
covery. We  have  already  seen  that  when  he  identified  the 
gravity  of  the  earth  by  which  a  stone  is  made  to  fall,  with  that 
which  holds  the  moon  in  its  orbit,  he  did  much  to  confirm  the 
idea  that  the  great  universal  force  of  nature  obtains  among  the 
particles  of  matter ;  and  that  the  attractive  force  of  any  mass  is 
the  resultant  of  the  attractive  forces  of  all  its  particles;  just  as 
the  strength  of  a  cord  results  from  that  of  all  the  individnal 
threads  of  which  it  is  composed.  But  this  hypothesis,  plausible 
as  it  was,  still  remained,  like  the  others,  to  be  verified  and  con- 
verted into  a  valid  theory,  by  the  intellect  of  Newton. 

'It  does  not  appear,  at  first  sight/  says  Dr.  Whewell,  'that 
the  law  by  which  the  force  is  related  to  the  distance,  will  be  the 
same  for  the  particles  as  it  is  for  the  masses;  and  in  reality  it  is 
not  so  except  in  special  cases.  Again,  in  the  instance  of  any 
effect  produced  by  the  force  of  a  body,  how  are  we  to  know 
whether  the  force  resides  in  the  whole  mass  as  a  unit,  or  in  the 
separate  particles?  We  may  reason  as  Newton  does,  that  the 
rule  which  proves  gravity  to  belong  universally  to  the  planets, 
proves  it  also  to  belong  to  their  parts ;  but  the  mind  will  not 
be  satisfied  with  this  extension  of  the  rule,  unless  we  can  find 
decisive  instances,  and  calculate  the  effects  of  both  suppositions. 
Accordingly,  Newton  had  to  solve  a  new  series  of  problems  sug- 
gested by  this  inquiry;  and  this  he  did.  These  solutions  are 
no  less  remarkable  for  the  mathematical  power  which  they  ex- 
hibit, than  the  other  parts  of  the  Principia.  The  proposition 
in  which  it  is  shown  that  the  law  of  the  inverse  square  for  the 
particles  gives  the  same  law  for  spherical  masses,  have  that  kind 
of  beauty  which  might  well  have  justified  their  being  published 


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1869J  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  181 

for  their  mathematical  elegance  alone^  even  if  they  had  not  ap- 
plied to  any  real  case/ 

Bat  fortunately  for  the  progress  of  human  knowledge,  these 
beautiful  theorems  are  applicable  to  real  cases;  inasmuch  as  the 
mighty  masses  of  the  universe  are  nearly  of  the  spherical  form. 
And  thus  Xewton  clearly  established,  thai  each  particle  of  mat- 
ier  in  the  universe  attracts  every  other  particle,  by  a  force  in- 
versely proportional  to  the  square  of  the  distances  between  them. 
To  this  law,  the  words  in  which  Hooker  has  so  eloquently  de- 
scribed law  in  general,  may  be  applied  with  peculiar  force  and 
propriety.  *  Of  law,'  says  he,  '  no  less  can  be  said  than  this, 
that  her  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God,  and  her  voice  the  harmony  of 
the  world :  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth  do  her  homage;  the 
very  greatest  as  not  beyond  her  control,  and  the  very  least  as 
not  beneath  her  care.'  ^ 

It  may  be  worthy  of  remark,  in  passing,  that  while  this  all- 
pervading  gravity  is  the  source  of  the  order  and  harmony  of  the 
universe,  it  is  also  the  cause  of  those  minute  irregularities  and 
perturbations  by  which  that  sublime  order  and  harmony  are  dis- 
turbed, without  being  materially  impaired.  May  there  not  be 
something  of  the  same  kind  in  the  moral  universe?  And  may 
we  not  fail  to  reach  its  deep-toned  harmonies,  though  in  them- 
selves unutterably  grand,  and  more  majestic  in  their  swell  than 
all  the  music  of  material  things;  just  because  these  little- souls 
of  ours  are  too  much  jarred,  and  their  fine  strings  put  out  of 
tune,  by  contact  with  the  minor  discords  and  disturbances  of 
this  lower  world  ? 

The  foregoing  is  a  most  imperfect  sketch  of  the  bare  results 
of  some  of  the  *  plodding  calculations'  of  the  Principia. 
Now,  if  we  may  estimate  the  force  of  Newton's  genius  by  the 
effects  which  it  produced,  then  he  certainly  deserves  the  pre- 
eminence to  which  the  common  voice  of  the  scientific  world  has 
exalted  him.  But,  according  to  a  great  French  mathematician  and 
astronomer,  D'Alembert,  it  is  a  vulgar  error  to  suppose  that  a 
cause  is  proportional  to  its  eflFect,  or  may  be  measured  thereby ; 
for  a  small  cause  may  produce  a  great  effect.  If  this  be  so,  then, 
after  all,  Newton  may  have  been  a  common  man ;  and  we  can 
act  know  him  by  his  works. 

'  We  quote  from  memorj. 


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182  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  .[Jan. 

But,  indeed,  we  should  sooner  have  expected  such  philosophy 
from  a  young  Demosthenes  or  Cicero,  just  three  feet  high,  than 
from  a  grave  astronomer;  from  one  whom  we  should  'scarce 
expect  to  speak  in  public  on  the  stage',  than  from  a  man  whose 
intellect  has  challenged  and  secured  the  admiration  of  the  world. 
'Tis  true,  we  admit,  that  'tall  oaks  from  little  acorns  grow', 
but  then  do  not  the  teeming  earth,  and  the  sweet  heavens  too, 
both  labor  at  its  growth,  and  help  to  bring  it  from  the  acorn  to 
the  oak  ?  Is  not  the  mighty  sun,  with  his  pervading  warmth, 
and  the  genial  rain,  as  necessary  to  build  up  the  oak,  as  is  the 
puny  seed  from  which  it  springs  ?  And  if  '  large  streams  from 
little  fountains  flow',  how  many  drops  do  they  contain,  which 
from  no  fountain  ever  flowed?  Or  how  much  larger  is  the 
largest  stream,  than  all  the  little  fountains  which  therein  con- 
cur? 

The  reader  may  be  surprised,  perhaps,  that  we  should  thus 
strive  to  silence  the  young  Demosthenes  or  Cicero.  But,  in 
truth,  this  sage  philosophy  has  more  supporters  than  may  at 
first  appear.  The  French,  for  example,  have  a  maxim  invented 
on  purpose  to  convince  the  world,  that '  great  effects  from  little 
causes  flow.'  '  If  Helen's  nose ',  say  they,  '  had  been  half  an 
inch  shorter,  it  would  have  changed  the  face  of  the  world.'  But 
we  deny  that  Helen's  nose,  at  least  that  Helen's  nose  alone,  laid 
siege  to  Troy,  or  [rooted  its  foundations  up.  Helen's  nose,  or 
Helen's  beauty  if  you  please,  was  but  the  spark  to  the  mighty 
magazine  of  human  passion  that  did  the  work. 

How  often  are  we  told,  too,  that  if  an  apple  had  not  fallen 
once,  or  at  a  certain  time,  within  the  sight  of  Newton,  the  law 
of  gravity,  perhaps,  had  been  forever  hid  from  human  eyes. 
Behold  again,  they  cry,  what  great  effects  from  little  causes  flow! 
But  tell  us,  is  the  world  indebted  to  the  apple's  fall,  or  to  New- 
ton's mind,  for  the  sublime  discovery  he  made?  If  to  the 
apple,  then  was  a  magnificent  effect,  indeed,  produced  by  a  most 
small  cause.  But  if  to  Newton's  mind,  then  was  not  the  cause 
commensurate  with  the  effect?  If  accident,  indeed,  first  led 
Newton's  mind  to  think  of  gravity,  even  then,  the  accident  was 
but  the  occasion^  and  not  the  mighty  cause.  The  apple  pro- 
duced no  part  of  the  Prindpia,     Nay,  and  should  it  rain  apples, 


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1869.]  The  Progress  of  Astronomy.  183 

or  pumpkins  either,  on  all  the  empty  pates  in  Christendom 
from  this  until  the  day  of  doom,  no  such  response  would  ever 
be  made  to  all  the  teachings  they  would  teach.  ^Tis  only  to  the 
genius  of » a  mind  like  Newton's,  that  accidents  whisper  such 
glorious  secrets  of  the  universe. 

But,  in  fact,  this  story  of  the  apple  is  but  a  fable  of  the  nursery. 
The  idea  that  the  earth's  gravity  might  reach  to  the  moon,  had 
long  been  broached  before  Newton  saw  the  light  of  day.  Even 
by  Plutarch,  the  conjecture  was  thrown  out,  that  but  for  the  ve- 
locity of  the  moon's  motion,  she  would  fall  to  the  earth,  just  as 
any  other  body  falls.  But  true  as  this  conjecture  was, —  as  mar- 
vellously true, —  yet  through  what  tracks  of  time  did  it  remain 
a  speculation  and  a  dream,  until  the  mighty  thinker  came  to 
think  it  into  light  I 

We  have  now  briefly  glanced  at  the  grand  results  of  Newton^s 
labors.  We  have  seen,  that  it  was  his  mission,  not  so  much  to 
invent  new  hypotheses,  as  to  verify  and  establish  those  which 
others  had  conceived.  The  originality,  the  power,  and  the  depth 
of  his  intellect  were  displayed,  not  in  the  conception  of  new 
theories,  so  much  as  in  the  construction  of  new  proofs.  His 
sublime  mission  it  was,  to  convert  the  dim  hypotheses  of  the 
past,  into  the  everlasting  and  radiant  theories  of  the  future. 

The  inconceivable  energy  with  which  he  attempted  the  lof- 
tiest and  most  difficult  things,  combined  with  the  unconquerable 
love  of  truth  with  which,  for  all  his  views,  he  demanded  evi- 
dence; may  be  compared  to  the  centrifugal  and  centripetal  for- 
ces by  which  some  mighty  orb  is  moved  along  its  course  around 
the  centre  of  eternal  light.  If  the  first  had  been  weaker,  he 
might  have  despaired  of  truth,  and  left  the  world  as  dark  as  he 
found  it;  or  if  the  last  had  been  less  strong,  he  too  might  have 
been  content  with  guesses  and  with  dreams.  But,  as  it  was,  he 
neither  felt  the  dark  despair  which  Socrates  had  taught ;  nor 
lost  himself  in  the  cloudy  heights  in  which  Plato  loved  to  soar. 
By  his  inherent  power  and  patient  confidence,  he  is  borne  above 
the  bottomless  depths  of  doubt ;  and  by  his  love  of  truth,  no 
less  unconquerably  firm,  is  he  kept  beneath  the  misty  heights  of 
arrogance.  Hence  his  majestic  path  lies  right  along  the  middle 
r^ion  of  perpetual  noon.     The  faint  gleam  of  vague  analogies. 


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184  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

and  the  unsteady  rays  of  plausible  conjecture,  which,  for  a  Kep- 
ler, a  Galileo,  a  Hooke,  and  a  Halley,  had  fallen  on  the  dark 
stupendous  scheme  of  things,  were  all  dissolved  and  lost  amid 
the  grand  illuminations  of  his  path. 

'  God  said,  Let  Newton  be,  and  aU  was  light.' 

It  is  not  true,  that  either  nature,  or  nature^s  laws,  lay  hid  in 
night;  for  long  before  his  time  the  day  had  dawned, —  most 
beautifully  dawned !  But  then  the  sun,  which  had  only  cast 
those  rays  before  which  a  Copernicus,  a  Gralileo,  and  a  Kepler 
had  reflected  upon  the  earth,  rose  high  above  the  horizon,  and 
*  all  was  light/ 


Art.  VIII. — The  Seven  WeeW  War;  its  Antecedents  audits 
Incidents.  In  two  volumes.  By  H.  M.  Hozier.  Philadel- 
phia.    1867. 

The  recital  of  events  which  occur  in  our  own  times,  seldom 
rises  to  the  dignity  of  History.  The  vision  of  contemporaries 
is  often  prejudiced  or  partial,  and  facts  are  either  misrepresented 
or  amplified  beyond  all  due  proportion.  Not  unfrequently  both 
causes  of  error  concur,  and  the  violent  conflict  of  party  state- 
ments yields  only  to  the  mellowing  influence  of  time,  by  which 
Reason  is  enabled  to  select  fragments  of  truth  from  the  crumb- 
ling ruins  of  falsehood  and  passion,  and  erect  therefrom  the 
stately  edifice  of  History. 

Hozier's  narrative  of  the  seven  weeks'  war  in  Germany  is 
singularly  free  from  these,  the  ordinary  defects  of  contemporary 
writers ;  and  although  posterity  may  deem  it  too  minute  for  gen- 
eral history,  our  generation  can  not  fail  to  find  it  the  well  written 
record  of  events.     The  insidious  initiation  of  a  bold  and  unscru- 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  185 

puloas  policy ;  a  deep  laid  plan  of  treachery,  long  meditated, 
suddenly  developed,  and  as  suddenly  executed ;  a  campaign  of 
startling  rapidity,  admirable  combinations,  and  unprecedented 
success ;  and  a  consummation  which  finds  its  only  justification  in 
the  actual  fitness  of  things ;  these  constitute  the  main  traits  as 
boldly  sketched  by  our  author,  and  the  details  of  which  are  nar- 
rated with  a  pleasing  grace  as  well  as  with  all  the  intrinsic  evi- 
dence of  truth.  Success  may  possibly  have  tinged  with  a  some- 
what too  roseate  hue,  his  appreciation  of  Prussian  strategy.  But 
this  is  natural ;  for  in  no  other  game  does  merit  so  hang  upon 
the  smiles  of  fortune  as  in  that  of  war. 

When  the  German  Diet  passed,  in  1864,  a  decree  of  Federal 
execution  against  the  King  of  Denmark  as  Duke  of  Holstein,  it 
was  intended  that  the  decree  should  be  carried  out  by  the  com- 
bined forces  of  the  confederation,  and  the  provinces  of  Schleswig- 
Holstein  erected  into  an  independent  German  State  under  the 
rule  of  the  prince  of  Augustenburg,  who  stood  foremost  in  his 
claims  to  that  inheritance.  But  such  a  consummation  of  such 
H  project  little  suited  the  designs  of  the  House  of  Hohenzollern, 
whose  hereditary  appetite  for  territorial  aggrandisement  was 
more  than  ordinarily  whetted  by  the  many  maritime  advantages 
of  these  adjacent  duchies.  Unable  as  yet  to  appropriate  them 
herself,  Prussia  proposed  to  Austria  that  they  should  constitute 
themselves  ^e  executors  of  the  Federal  Decree ;  and  the  result 
of  their  combined  military  efforts  against  the  kingdom  of  Den- 
mark, was  the  treaty  of  Vienna  of  October,  1864,  by  which  all 
the  rights  of  sovereignty  to  the  duchies  of  Schleswig-Holstein, 
and  Lauenburg,  were  ceded  to  the  sovereigns  of  Austria  and 
Prussia.  .  The  first  diplomatic  paper  of  Count  Bismark,  after 
this  event,  is  a  document  worthy  of  study.  Utterly  ignoring  the 
title  of  all  prior  claimants,  and  boldly  substituting  therefor  the 
right  of  conquest,  he  adroitly  hints  to  the  Austrian  cabinet  that 
the  Prussian  incorporation  of  these  duchies  would  be  greatly  to 
the  interest  of  his  own  master,  and  of  no  disadvantage  to  any 
other  power ;  and  Austria,  strange  to  say,  was  weak  enough  to 
recognise  tacitly  this  basis,  by  intimating  that  her  consent  could 
only  be  given  as  an  equivalent  for  an  increase  of  her  own  Ger- 
man territory. 


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186  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jaa 

The  discordant  views  of  joint  rulers  produced  in  this  instance 
as  it  always  and  every  where  has  done,  a  condition  of  affairs  ai 
once  intolerable  to  the  governed,  and  dangerous  to  the  peace  of  tht 
governors.  Temporary  relief  was  sought  by  assigning  the  pro- 
visional administration  of  Holstein  to  Austria,  and  that  of  Scbles- 
wig,  the  most  northern  province,  to  Prussia;  while  Lauenburg 
paid  the  penalty  of  its  insignificance  in  being  sold  outright  bj 
the  Emperor  Francis  Joseph  to  King  William,  for  two  million 
five  hundred  thousand  Danish  dollars.  And  so  the  Austrian 
garrison  lay  under  General  Gablenz  in  Holstein,  the  kingdom 
of  Prussia  behind  them,  and  the  Prussian  troops  of  Gen.  Man 
teuffel  commanding  the  Duchy  of  Schleswig  in  their  front;  ami 
for  a  time  there  was  peace.  Indeed,  in  the  first  ardor  of  the 
entente  cordiale,  Austria  even  rebuked  the  resolutions  of  tJie 
Frankfort  Diet,  condemning  this  convention  known  as  that  of 
Gastein  of  Aug.  14,  1865,  and  joined  Prussia  in  protesting 
against  a  motion  introduced  by  Bavaria,  Saxony,  and  Hesse,  call- 
ing for  an  assembly  of  the  estates  of  Holstein  and  Schleswig,  to 
express  the  public  wish  as  to  their  own  fate.  But  the  interests 
of  the  two  great  powers  were  too  diverse  to  allow  of  the  long  du- 
ration of  such  charming  amity. 

Not  only  common  honesty,  but  policy,  counselled  Austria  to  as 
speedy  an  execution  as  possible  of  the  trust  which,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Prussia,  she  had  assumed,  and  the  erection  of  the 
duchies  into  an  independent  member  of  the  German  Confedera- 
tion. And  indeed,  although  Austria  did  evince  upon  more  than 
one  occasion,  symptoms  of  frailty  which  indicated  that  her  vir- 
tue might  not  be  proof  against  all  temptation  ;  yet  her  general 
policy  toward  the  subject  duchies  manifested  a  consciousnos 
that  her  administration  of  them  was  merely  provisional,  and 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  she  would  not  only  have  been  wil- 
ling, but  even  glad,  to  get  honorably  rid  of  the  troublesome  ta?k 
she  had  assumed,  in  any  way  which  would  not  enure  to  the  ag- 
grandisement of  her  rival. 

While  in  Schleswig,  therefore,  all  manifestations  of  paWic 
sentiment  adverse  to  annexation  with  Prussia  were  repressed; 
in  Holstein,  the  ultimate  accession  of  the  Prince  of  Augusten- 
burg  was  never  doubted.      And  while  the  Crown  lawyers  ot 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  187 

the  House  of  Brandenburg  elaborately  exerted  their  learning  to 
prove  that  the  conquest  from  the  Dane  must  be  the  sole  founda- 
tion of  all  future  title,  an  immense  meeting  of  the  Sehleswig- 
Holstein  Unions  at  Altona  indicated  very  clearly  the  sentiments 
of  the  inhabitants  themselves,  and  indirectly  those  of  Austria 
and  of  Germany,  upon  that  question.  Count  Bismark  felt  that 
the  period  for  dilatory  policy  was  approaching  its  termination ; 
that  the  designs  so  long  cherished  must  now  be  either  finally 
abandoned  or  boldly  declared,  and  unscrupulously  executed. 
Assuming  an  air  of  injured  innocence,  he  accused  the  Austrian 
cabinet  of  a  breach  of  the  Gastein  Convention ;  and,  demand- 
ing a  definitive  declaration  of  her  attitude  in  reference  to  the 
dachies,  intimated  that  any  but  a  direct  assent  to  the  Prussian 
scheme  of  spoliation  would  compel  the  latter  power  to  seek  al- 
liance elsewhere.  This  dispatch  was  of  January  30th,  1866, 
and  its  almost  open  threat  of  Italian  alliance  may  fairly  be  con- 
sidered as  a  definitive  declaration  of  war. 

It  were  idle  to  follow  our  author  further  in  the  diplomatic 
history  of  the  time.  The  reform  of  the  Germanic  Confedera- 
tion subsequently  proposed  by  Prussia ;  the  submission  by  Aus- 
tria of  the  question  of  the  duchies  to  the  Diet  at  Frankfort; 
the  proposed  mediation  of  France,  England,  and  Russia  ;  the  al- 
liance offensive  and  defensive  between  Italy  and  Prussia;  and, 
finally,  the  invasion  of  Holstein  by  Prussia,  and  the  consequent 
decree  of  Federal  execution  against  her,  constitute  the  principal 
events  of  the  following  winter  and  spring,  when  war  succeeded 
to  diplomacy,  and  the  shock  of  battle  to  the  interchange  of  pro- 
tocols. 

Seldom  has  a  war  more  flagrantly  unjust  or  unpopular,  been 
undertaken  by  any  power.  Seldom  has  more  been  cast  upon 
the  hazard  of  a  single  die.  And  it  was  fortunate  for  Count 
Bismark,  that  he  was  able  to  perceive  beneath  the  crust  of  popu- 
lar opposition  that  longing  for  national  unity,  which  would  go 
far  to  reconcile  men  to  any  supremacy  which  would  accomplish 
that  result.  The  estates  of  Holstein  were  to  have  met  at  Itze- 
hoe  on  the  11th  June,  1866,  in  pursuance  of  an  order  of  Gen- 
eral Von  Gablenz  of  the  5th  of  that  month.  To  prevent  such 
a  demonstration,  General  Manteuffel  was  directed  to  march  into 


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188  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

that  duchy  in  a  friendly  sort  of  way,  and  resume  the  common 
admiui:*tration  thereof.  He  was  to  avoid  any  conflict  with  the 
Austrians;  but  permit  no  assembling  of  the  estates.  On  the 
8thj  accordingly,  the  Prussian  troops  crossed  the  Eider  and 
oecupicid  Itzehoe,  while  the  very  position  of  the  Austrian  gen- 
eral not  only  rendered  resistance  useless,  but  instant  retreat  the 
only  means  of  safety.  He  withdrew,  therefore,  into  Hanover, 
and  thence  by  railway  to  the  Austrian  army  of  the  North  io 
Bohemia.  The  sword  had  cut  the  knot  which  diplomacy  had 
vainly  attempted  to  unravel,  and  the  question  of  the  Danish 
proviuees  was  arbitrarily  but  finally  settled. 

TJiis  act  of  Prussia  was  the  immediate  cause  of  the  decree  of 
Federal  execution  against  her,  passed  by  the  Diet  at  Frankfort 
on  the  14th  June,  1866.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  following 
war  was  declared  against  Saxony,  Hesse-Cassel,  and  Hanover, 
the  adjacent  states  who  had  voted  for  that  measure.  General 
Goebcn^  with  his  division  of  13,000  men,  was  directed  to  march 
from  Minden  eastward  upon  Hanover;  and  General  Manteuffel, 
stationed  at  Harburg  with  a  division  of  equal  size,  to  march 
thence  southward  upon  the  same  point ;  while  General  Beyer, 
leaving  temporarily  defenceless  the  Prussian  enclave  of  Weti- 
lar,  was  at  one  and  the  same  time  to  take  possession  of  Hesse- 
Caascl,  and  bar  the  retreat  of  the  Hanoverian  army.  Landwehr 
regiments  replaced  Manteuffel's  division  in  Schleswig-Holstein ; 
and  the  Prussian  fleet,  with  a  couple  of  regiments,  took  the  for- 
tresses of  Stade,  Fort  William,  and  Emden,  before  the  astonished 
Hanoverians  realised  that  they  were  actually  engaged  in  the 
conflict  of  which  they  had  been  so  long  talking. 

Seldom  has  the  importance  of  time  in  war  been  more  signally 
displayed,  than  in  the  record  of  this  brief  and  brilliant  campaign. 
The  flexible  character  of  Prussia's  military  system  had  enabled 
her,  in  little  more  than  fifteen  days,  to  put  her  entire  army  in  i 
condition  to  take  the  field,  while  the  other  states,  who  had  nom- 
inally begun  to  arm  some  time  before,  were  still  unprepared. 
Hud  the  army  of  King  George  of  Hanover  been  properly  or- 
gan ize<l,  that  monarch  might,  with  a  fair  prospect  of  success, 
have  marched  against  and  defeated  the  division  of  Beyer  at 
Cassel,  and  then,  forming  a  junction  with  the  forces  of  Bavaria 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  189 

and  the  8th  Federal  corps,  have  resumed  the  offensive  with 
overwhelming  forces  against  the  two  remaining  divisions  of 
llanteuffel  and  Goeben.  Instead  of  which  it  was  compelled, 
after  ineffectually  tearing  up  a  few  miles  of  railway,  to  fly  to 
GiJttingen,  and  there  employ  in  perfecting  its  own  organization 
ibe  precious  time  which  would  have  sufficed  certainly  for  its 
own  safety,  possijbly  for  the  destruction  of  the  enemy.  Through- 
oat  the  whole  war,  it  is  the  story  of  unity  of  plan,  thorough 
or^nization,  and  prompt  execution,  on  the  one  side;  vacillation, 
delay,  and  defeat,  on  the  other.  The  four  days  which  were  neces- 
sary for  the  equipment  of  the  army  of  Hanover  of  20,000 
combatants  at  Gottingen,  sufficed  for  the  Prussian  divisions  of 
Mantenffel  and  Goeben,  13,000  each,  to  concentrate  at  Hanover 
Bnder  Von  Falkenstein,  and  for  Beyer  with  21,500  troops  to 
occupy  Cassel  in  their  left  rear.  For  six  succeeding  days,  from 
the  19th  to  the  25th  June,  King  George  marched  and  counter- 
marched between  Gottingen  and  Gotha,  multiplying  despatches 
for  aid  to  Bavaria  and  Frankfort,  and  apparently  ignorant  that 
comparatively  few  troops  barred  his  passage  southward.  Dur- 
ing this  time  Goeben  and  Beyer  had  united  at  Eisenach,  while 
Manteuffel  had  reached  Muldhausen,  and  had  despatched  Gen- 
eral Flies,  with  five  battalions  and  two  batteries,  to  reinforce  and 
command  the  Saxe-Gotha  contingent,  which  alone,  up  to  that 
time,  had  barred  at  Gotha  the  further  retreat  of  the  Hanover- 
ians. King  George  had  now  entrenched  himself  at  Langensalza, 
and  despairing  at  last  of  any  succor  from  his  laggard  allies, 
began  to  treat  for  a  capitulation.  On  the  27th,  General  Flies, 
fearing  that  the  Hanoverians  might  yet  retreat  by  the  circuitous 
route  of  Tennstedt  before  the  other  Prussian  divisions  had  suffi- 
ciently closed  in  to  render  their  capture  certain,  led  his  force  of 
about  12,000  men  against  their  position  of  Langensalza.  The 
wsult  was  the  battle  of  that  name,  of  varying  fortune  and  of 
considerable  duration,  in  which  the  army  of  Hanover  fully  main- 
tained its  ancient  reputation,  and  which  finally  resulted  in  the 
signal  repulse  of  the  Prussians  with  rather  heavy  loss.  It  is 
very  doubtful  whether  King  George  or  his  generals  ever  con- 
templated so  enterprising  a  movement  as  a  retreat  by  Tennstedt. 
But  if  he  had,  this  attack  balked  any  possible  effort  in  that 


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^ 


190  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan, 

direction,  and  kept  his  army  on  the  line  of  the  Unstrat,  to  find 
itself  completely  surrounded  by  the  Prussians.  The  29th  Jane 
witnes8Gd  the  forced  surrender  of  the  entire  Hanoverian  army, 
and  the  morning  sun  of  the  1st  July  shone  upon  50,000  Prus- 
sian troDpa,  tried  by  long  marches  and  elated  with  victory,  under 
General  Von  Falkenstein,  at  Eisenach. 

During  all  this  time  Prince  Charles  of  Bavaria,  with  50,000 
excellent  troops,  dawdled  at  Schweinfurt,  and  had  now  only  ad- 
vanced as  far  as  Meiningen  and  Schmalkalden  in  time  to  hear  of 
the  forced  surrender  of  his  ally ;  and  Prince' Alexander,  in  com- 
mand of  the  8th  Federal  corps  of  39,000  men,  had  at  last  drag- 
ged his  slow  length  as  far  as  Gneissen  and  Giininberg.  Von 
Falkenstein,  therefore,  Tound  an  army  of  nearly  equal  force  upon 
both  his  right  and  left  fronts.  To  retreat,  nay  even  to  stand 
still,  wa3  to  permit  their  junction.  Safety  lay  in  bold  aggression. 
He  lost  no  time.  On  July  the  2d,  he  threw  his  whole  army 
forward  on  the  main  road  towards  Frankfort,  reaching  G^i^a  on 
the  3d.  On  the  4th,  the  division  of  Goeben  and  Manteuffel 
crusliiid  tlie  leading  columns  of  the  Bavarians  at  Wiesenthal, 
while  that  of  Beyer,  pressing  rapidly  on  toward  Fulda,  drove 
in  the  outposts  of  the  8th  Federal  corps  at  Hiinfield.  The  al- 
lied armies  easily  gave  up  the  effort  to  form  a  junction,  and  each 
began  to  retire  upon  its  own  lines  of  communication ;  the  Ba- 
varians to  Kissingen,  and  the  8th  corps  to  the  neighborhood  of 
Frankfort;  so  that  Falkenstein  had  no  difficulty  in  concentra- 
ting his  army  at  Fulda  by  the  7th  July.  The  purposes  of  his 
enemy  liad  been  foiled ;  they  were  still  separated,  their  troop 
disheartened  by  purposeless  forced  marches,  their  leaders  cast 
down  by  the  startling  news  of  the  crushing  victory  of  Konig- 
grat^  in  tlic  east. 

Still,  each  hostile  army  was  nearly  equal  in  numbers  to  that  of 
the  Pru,'5sian  general.  An  advance  by  Gniessen  would  permit 
the  8th  corps  to  join  the  Bavarians  by  the  line  of  the  Main, 
while  a  direct  attack  upon  the  8th  corps  at  Gelnhausen  would 
expose  liid  flank  and  rear  to  the  forces  of  Prince  Charles,  posted 
upon  the  Saale.  He  determined,  therefore,  first  to  dispose  of 
the  latter,  who  was  also  considered  the  most  formidable  antago- 
nist.    Hence  on  the  8th,  instead  of  pursuing  the  straight  road 


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im,]  The  Sevm  WeeW  War.  191 

V>  Gclnliauson^  as  his  enemy  seoms  to  have  anticipated,  he  made 
a  rapid  movement  to  Briickenan,  reaching  that  place  on  the 
9th,  whence  a  flank  march  was  made  to  the  left  over  the  Hohe 
Rhon  against  the  army  of  Prince  Charles.  On  the  morning  of 
the  10th  July,  Beyer's  division  on  the  right  marched  against 
Hommelburg,  Goeben  against  Kissingen,  and  ManteuflFel  on  the 
left  against  Waldaschach.  The  first  and  last  positions  were  car- 
ried with  comparatively  little  trouble.  At  Kissingen,  the  con- 
test was  more  severe  and  prolonged,  but  even  here  the  Bavarians 
were  taken  by  surprise.  But  little  of  their  artillery  was  massed 
in  the  place,  their  forces  were  loosely  scattered  at  various  unim- 
portant points  along  the  river,  and  only  became  available  in 
time  to  meet  the  fate  of  the  battalions  whose  defeat  preceded 
their  own,  too  late  to  save,  just  in  time  to  add  to  the  enemy's 
victory.  These  were  gallant  achievements  and  brave  deeds; 
the  troops  fought  well,  but  they  had  no  general ;  and  so  thor- 
oughly were  they  overthrown,  that  Manteuffers  division,  sent  in 
pursuit  the  next  day,  could  not  overtake  even  their  rear  guard. 
Von  Falkenstein  was  now  at  liberty  to  turn  his  undivided  at- 
tention to  the  heterogeneous  mass  which,  under  Prince  Alexan- 
der of  Hesse,  stood  in  the  way  of  his  advance  to  Frankfort. 
On  the  11th  July,  the  day  after  the  battle  of  Kissingen,  he  re- 
sumed the  movement  by  his  right  flank.  Beyer's  division  was 
pushed  by  way  of  Hammelburg  and  Gelnhausen  in  the  direction 
of  Hanau  and  Goeben's  division,  through  the  defile  of  Spessart 
upon  Aschafienburg.  Manteuff'el,  recalled  the  next  day  from 
the  pursuit  of  Prince  Charles,  followed  Gceben,  and  scoured  the 
country  in  the  direction  of  Wi'nzburg.  This  fan-like  dispersion 
of  his  victorious  troops  would  have  been  extremely  hazardous  in 
fit)nt  of  an  enemy  of  any  enterprise.  Centrally  posted  at  Sei- 
ligenstadt,  an  energetic  commander  assuming  the  offensive  with 
vigor,  might  easily  have  cut  off  Goeben  and  Manteuffel,  now 
widely  separated  from  Beyer ;  and  uniting  with  the  forces  of 
Prince  Charles  of  Bavaria,  at  Schweinfurt,  rolled  back  the  tide 
of  war  into  the  heart  of  the  Prussian  dominions.  But  Prince 
Alexander  was  not  a  hero ;  his  army  was  not  homogeneous ;  the 
men  fought  bravely,  but  to  no  purpose.  They  met  the  enemy  in 
detail,  and  their  defeat  was  certain.     And  so  it  finally  resulted, 


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192  The  Seum  Weel^'  War.  [Jm 

that  after  two  sharp  actions  at  Laufach  and  Aachaffenburg,  fought 
principally  by  Wrangel's,  the  leading  brigade  of  Goeben'a  divis- 
ion, the  converging  columns  of  the  army  of  the  Main  entered, 
on  the  evening  of  the  16th,  the  city  of  Frankfort,  and  the  an- 
citint  scat  of  the  Diet  of  Germany  reluctantly  became  a  part  of 
the  kingdom  of  Prussia. 

Nu  portion  of  the  campaigns  of  the  war  is  more  worthy  of 
commendation,  than  this  of  Von  Falkenstein.  The  rapid  and 
skilful  manner  in  which  he  brought  his  widely  scattered  forces 
together  around  the  Hanoverians  at  Langensalza ;  the  boldness 
and  promptness  with  which,  within  a  day  after  the  capitulatioa 
of  that  army,  he  launched  his  troops  between  two  opposing  arin- 
ieSj  oiiG  quite  and  the  other  nearly  equalling  his  own  in  num- 
bers ;  and  the  easy  and  rapid  combinations  with  which,  while 
dealing  heavy  blows  on  each  of  his  antagonists,  he  kept  his  own 
forces  well  in  hand  and  constantly  bearing  towards  the  objective 
point  of  the  campaign,  can  not  be  too  highly  commended.  His 
vigor  and  energy  form  a  striking  contrast  to  the  vacillation  and 
imbecility  of  his  antagonists. 

Wliile  these  events  took  place  in  the  west,  the  main  armies 
of  I'ru!n.sia  met  with  still  greater,  because  more  important,  suc- 
cesses in  the  plains  of  Saxony  and  Bohemia.  The  ultimatnm  of 
tlie  loth  Jupe,  which  so  suddenly  scattered  the  unorganized 
forces  of  Hanover  and  Cassel,  came  also  like  a  thunderbolt  upon 
the  Court  of  Dresden.  Equally  unprepared  to  meet  the  Prus- 
sian attack  within  his  own  dominions,  the  King  of  Saxony 
retired  with  his  army  into  Bohemia,  where  lay  the  headquarters 
of  the  Austrian  army.  The  forces  of  Prussia  in  this  part  of 
the  theutre  of  war  consisted  of  three  armies,  numbering  alto- 
gether about  280,000  combatants.  They  formed  a  continnoos 
line  in  the  shape  of  a  crescent,  from  Torgau  to  the  extreme  east- 
ern point  of  Prussian  Silesia.  The  corps  at  Torgau  and  in  ita 
vicinity  numbered  about  40,000  men,  under  Herwarth  Von  Bit- 
teufeld,  and  were  known  as  the  army  of  the  Elbe.  Between  this 
place  and  Gorlitz  lay  the  first  army,  about  120,000  strong,  under 
the  command  of  the  King's  nephew.  Prince  Frederick  Charles. 
Between  Gorlitz  and  Glatz,  the  Crown  Prince  commanded  the 
second  army,  of  nearly  equal  size  with  that  under  the  immediate 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  193 

command  of  his  cousin.     The  occupation  of  Saxony  having  been 
determined  upon,  Bittenfeld  moved  from  the  north  by  Strehla, 
Dahlen^  and  Winzeu,  upon  Dresden,  while  Prince  Frederick 
Charles  swept  westward  over  the  lower  portion  of  the  kingdom ; 
not  incautiously,  however,  for  there  was  the  possible  danger  of 
an  irruption  upon  his  left  flank  by  the  passes  of  Gabel  and 
Reichenberg.     On  the  17th  June,  an  extension  was  made  by  the 
right  flank  to  feel  Bittenfeld's  left,  and  the  following  day  the 
advanced  guards  of  the  two  armies  entered  Dresden  without 
opposition.     By  the  20th,  all  Saxony,  save  the  fortress  of  Koe- 
nigstadt,  was  in  the  hands  of  the  invaders.     Beside  the  many 
political  and  material  benefits  derived  from  this  occupation,  it 
procured  for  the  Prussians  great  strategical  advantages  in  the 
reduction  of  their  front  by  nearly  one-half.     The  extreme  left, 
the  pivot  point  of  the  movement,  still  resting  at  Glatz,  the  right 
now  lay  at  Schltickenan  instead  of  Torgau,  a  difierence  of  very 
nearly  100  miles.     This,  however,  was  one  of  the  least  advan- 
tages of  the  movement.     Not  only  were  the  armies  of  Prussia 
more  concentrated,  but  the  aggressive  designs  of  the  Austrian 
general  were  completely  frustrated.     For  it  is  clear  that  Bene- 
dek  counted  upon  taking  the  field  before  his  antagonists;  in 
which  event  it  was  his  intention  to  guard  the  passes  of  the  Sude- 
tic  Hills  against  any  efibrts  on  the  part  of  the  Crown  Prince^ 
and  throw  the  bulk  of  his  army  through  the  plains  of  Saxony 
i^inst  the  armies  of  the  right,  under  the  command  of  Prince 
Frederick  Charles,  which  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  crush  before 
that  of  the  Crown  Prince  could  march  to  its  assistance.     The 
long  line  of  the'  Prussian  frontier,  representing  an  immense 
semicircle,  aflbrded  great  facilities  for  such  an  enterprise.     The 
slow  organization  of  the  Austrian  troops,  and  the  rapid  move- 
ments of  the  Prussian  armies,  compelled  Benedek  to  abandon 
a  plan  of  campaign  which  promised  such  great  advantages. 

Forced  to  assume  the  defensive,  his  next  plan  was  to  check 
the  advance  of  Prince  Frederick  Charles  with  a  detached  force, 
imtil  he  should  have  inflicted  a  signal  defeat  upon  the  army  of 
the  Crown  Prince ;  and  it  was  with  this  view  that  the  series  of 
^gagements  which  preceded  the  pitched  battle  of  Koniggratz 
w«e  fought.  Clam  Gallas,  with  60,000  men,  was  pushed  for- 
13 


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3 

I 


194  The  Seven  Week^  War.  [Jan. 

ward  to  llic  line  of  the  Iser,  with  instructioDS  to  delay  Prince 
Frederick  f  liarles,  until  Benedek  at  the  head  of  the  main  army 
had  crushed  the  forces  of  the  Crown  Prince.  The  design  was 
good  J  and  tlie  situation  favorable.  Occupying  a  central  position 
in  the  plains  of  Bohemia,  with  two  opposing  armies  separated 
by  mountains  and  not  in  communication  with  each  other,  be 
stood  very  much  in  the  same  relation  to  his  antagonists  that 
\ou  Falkenstein  did  towards  the  Princes  Charles  and  Alexander 
at  the  commencement  of  his  campaign.  Indeed,  he  possessed 
the  great  advantage  of  being  nearly  equal  in  numbers  to  both 
of  hb  antagonists  combined.  The  fault  lay,  not  in  the  design, 
but  in  the  nmnner  of  its  execution.  And  it  is  difficult  to  say 
whether  the  failure  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  torpor  and  inter- 
ference of  tiie  Austrian  cabinet,  the  inefficiency  of  subaltern 
officers,  itjferior  arms  and  defective  organization  on  the  part  of 
the  troopSj  or  to  the  want  of  capacity  on  the  part  of  the  com- 
manding general.  Perhaps  all  these  causes  had  some  influence. 
Probably  we  shall  never  know  the  degree  of  influence  to  be 
accorded  to  each.  But  amid  this  uncertainty,  there  are  some 
facts  whit^i  seem  sufficiently  manifest. 

It  seems  clear  that  Benedek  was  compelled  to  abandon  his 
purpose  of  offensive  operations;  a  plan  of  campaign  which 
offered  decidedly  the  most  advantages  by  the  want  of  prepara- 
tion on  tlie  part  of  his  own  government,  and  the  wonderfully 
rapid  organization  and  movements  of  the  hostile  armies.  It 
would  also  appear,  that  after  having  determined  to  concentrate 
his  forces  against  the  Crown  Prince,  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
deceived  as  to  the  real  point  at  which  that  general  would  break 
through  int(»  the  Austrian  territory.  It  resulted  from  this  that 
he  kept  the  different  corps  of  his  own  army  too  far  apart,  and, 
in  attempting  to  guard  too  many  points,  actually  defended 
none.  Napoleon's  remark,  that  *God  is  always  on  the  side  of 
the  heavy  battalions ',  has  been  much  criticized.  We  admit  it 
irreverent,  but  have  yet  to  be  convinced  of  its  error.  In- 
deed, there  \Fould  be  few  things  more  instructive  than  the  ap- 
plication of  this  principle  to  the  operations  of  the  Confederate 
armies  during  the  late  war.  A  general  may  supply  by  activity 
^hat  be  lacks  hi  numbers,  and  with  a  smaller  aggregate  force 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  195 

bring  the  '  heavy  battalions '  to  bear  on  each  decisive  point ;  and 
no  one  understood  this  better  than  Napoleon.  Perha|>s  the 
most  famous  examples  since  his  day  are  Jackson's  Valley  cam- 
paign and  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville,  and  to  these  may 
possibly  be  added  Von  Falkenstein's  campaign  on  Frankfort, 
But  then  his  antagonists  were  princes,  nay  more,  Bavarian 
princes.  That  Benedek  understood  this  cardinal  principle  of 
military  science,  is  manifest  from  the  plan  of  campaign  adopted 
by  him ;  that  he  lacked  the  activity  necessary  for  the  successful 
application  of  it,  as  against  the  Prussians,  even  with  superior 
forces,  is  equally  manifest.  Induced  by  a  demonstration  of  the 
Crown  Prince  to  fear  that  that  General  contemplated  a  passage 
through  the  mountains  in  the  direction  of  Vienna,  Beuedek 
kept  two  of  these  corps  under  his  immediate  command  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Bohmisch  Trubau,  and  only  two  near  the  de- 
files  of  Trautenau  and  Nachod.  He  omitted,  also,  tp  hold  the 
pass  and  castle  of  Nachod,  where  a  couple  of  brave  battalions, 
well  commanded,  might  have  checked  the  advance  of  an  entire 
corps  for  two  or  three  days;  a  sufficient  time  for  him  to  have 
concentrated  his  forces,  widely  scattered  as  they  were,  for  offen- 
sive operations.  The  result  was  that  when  the  one  hundred 
thoosand  warriors  of  the  Crown  Prince  commenced  their  advance 
in  three  columns,  through  the  respective  defiles  of  Trautenau, 
Eypel,  and  Nachod,  they  found  their  march  unopposed;  and 
the  heads  of  the  columns,  debouching  into  the  plains,  met  only 
one-half  of  the  army  which  Benedek  had  under  his  own  imme- 
diate command,  at  the  most,  not  more  than  seventy  thousand 
Aostrians.  The  two  Austrian  corps  which  lay  idly  south  of 
Josephstadt  guarding  against  an  imaginary  inroad  upon  the  com- 
munications of  the  imperial  army,  would  have  served  to  turn 
•the  tide  of  battle  at  Soor  and  Nachod  and  to  overwhelm  the 
columns  of  the  Crown  Prince,  driving  them  back  in  huddled 
masses  into  the  mountain  defiles  from  which  they  were  endeav- 
oring to  extricate  themselves.  Forty-eight  hours  later,  and  they 
arrived  upon  the  field  of  active  operations,  to  find  their  comrades 
worsted  and  the  columns  of  the  enemy  deployed  in  the  plains; 
nay  more,  in  secure  possession  of  the  line  of  the  upper  Elbe, 
and  even  holding  the  important  passes  across  that  river.  Of 
BQch  importance  is  time  in  war. 


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196  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

This,  however,  was  only  preliminary  work.  He  might  reas- 
onably have  anticipated  less  determined  valor  than  was  shown 
by  the  Prussian  troops;  less  activity  and  vigor  on  the  part  of 
their  generals.  In  short,  it  was  scarcely  unreasonable  to  hope 
that  70,000  Austrians,  occupying  superior  positions,  should  de- 
lay the  junction  of  the  three  Prussian  columns  until  the  corps 
stationed  below  Josephstadt  should  arrive,  and  enable  Benedek 
effectually  to  dispose  of  the  Crown  Prince.  It  might  not  be 
wise  to  incur  the  risk,  slight  as  it  might  appear;  but  in  war, 
and  even  in  every-day  life,  risks  must  be  encountered.  Aft« 
all,  although  some  damage  had  unquestiona!)Iy  been  done,  the 
Austrian  commander-in-chief  might  still  have  reasonably  hoped 
to  accomplish  his  purpose  of  overthrowing  the  army  of  the 
Crown  Prince  if  the  army  of  sixty  thousand  men  under  Clam 
Grallas  had  accomplished,  even  to  a  limited  extent,  the  task  en- 
trusted to'them.  But  here  again  there  was  a  most  lamentable 
failure,  and  one  far  less  excusable.  Clam  Grallas,  when  de- 
tached upon  this  service,  should  have  known  and  properly  ap- 
preciated the  necessity  of  gaining  every  possible  instant  of  time, 
avoiding  battle  except  where  absolutely  necessary  to  delay  the 
enemy.  His  forces  bore  as  large  a  proportion  to  those  of  the 
enemy  as  General  Lee's  army  did  to  that  of  Grant  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  campaign  of  1864,  much  more  nearly  equal 
than  were  the  forces  of  Lee  and  Hooker  at  the  battle  of  Cliancel- 
lorsville,  of  the  previous  year.  Nor  did  he  stand  at  all  in  the 
same  position  as  the  Confederate  general.  The  task  of  the  lat- 
ter was  to  foil  and  defeat  his  adversary,  with  the  certain  know- 
ledge that  the  troops  with  him  were  all  he  could  expect. 
The  Austrian  general  was  only  required  to  delay  the  Prussian 
army  for  a  week ;  nay,  even  for  three  days,  so  that  his  com- 
mander could  have  one  good  chance  at  the  Crown  Prince. 

With  brave  troops,  and  the  Austrians  were  bnave,  with  good 
artillery,  and  in  this  arm  the  Imperial  army  excelled,  one 
would  not  consider  the  task  assigned  Clam  Gtillas  very  diflBcalt. 
And  yet,  in  point  of  fact,  that  commander  scarcely  caused  the 
loss  of  a  day's  march  by  the  shortest  route  to  the  Prussian  army. 
He  was  literally  gobbled  up  at  a  hand-gallop.  He  seems  to 
have  underrated  the  prowess  of  the  Prussian  soldiers,  and  been 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  197 

nnprepared  for  the  vigor  of  their  commander.  Entrenchments 
should  have  been  thrown  up  at  Turnau,  PodoU,  and  Munchen- 
gratx,  where  the  three  main  roads  cross  the  Iser.  These  points 
garrisoned,  and  t|ie  communication  between  them  secured  by  his 
army,  which  was  suflBciently  large  to  hold  the  line  from  Turnau 
by  PodoU  to  Miinchengratz,  would  have  imposed  upon  the  ene- 
my the  necessity  of  an  attack  in  front  under  great  disadvan- 
tages, or  forced  him  to  lose  a  week  in  a  flank  march  over  a 
rough  and  broken  country  to  turn  the  position.  In  either  event, 
he  would  gain  what  he  wished  —  time.  Instead  of  this,  not 
only  was  the  tete-du-pont  at  Turnau  not  fortified,  but  the  bridge 
burnt,  the  town  abandoaed,  and  the  enemy  allowed  a  passage 
across  the  river  without  a  struggle.  At  Podoll  a  sharp  engage- 
ment, the  first  serious  one  of  the  war,  took  place  between  the 
advance  of  the  Prussians  and  a  brigade  of  Austrians.  What 
should  have  been  contested  with  all  his  power,  was  allowed  to 
become  an  affair  of  out-posts.  And  after  yielding  to  his  antag- 
onist full  possession  of  two  of  the  main  bridges  across  the  stream, 
he  concentrated  his  forces  at  Miinchengratz,  to  await,  without 
fortifications  or  any  support  for  either  flank,  the  approach  of  an 
army  more  than  double  the  size  of  his  own.  He  had  but  a  short 
time  to  wait,  and  narrowly  escaped  capture  by  a  precipitate  re- 
treat on  Gitschin.  But  here  the  converging  columns  of  his  pur- 
suers closed  around  his  devoted  army  and  inflicted  upon  him  a 
crushing  defeat,  with  the  loss  of  over  ten  thousand  men.  The 
entire  operations  occupied  only  three  days,  in  which  time  the 
Pruffiians  advanced  from  the  northern  bank  of  the  Iser  to  the 
vicinity  of  the  Elbe. 

On  the  morning  of  the  30th,  Benedek  learned  the  extent  of 
this  disaster  of  the  previous  night  at  Gitschin,  which  exposed 
his  left  rear  to  the  attack  of  an  army  larger  than  that  which  lay 
in  his  front.  It  was  no  longer  an  affair  of  days,  but  of  hours, 
nay,  even  of  minutes,  if  the  Austrian  commander  still  purposed 
to  maintain  the  advantages  of  his  central  position.  A  great 
warrior  might  have  cried  to  his  troops,  pointing  to  the  army  in 
the  rear,  *  those  are  our  prisoners,'  and  made  them  so,  as  did 
Napoleon  at  Rivoli.  A  rash  warrior  might  have  indulged  in 
the  same  happy  fancy,  and  found  an  inversion  of  the  phrase  suit 


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188  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

the  oecasion  better,  as  did  Pope  at  the  second  Manassas.  In  short, 
such  predicaments  are  always  excessively  awkward,  and  ever 
impose  upon  one  the  necessity  of  getting  out  of  them,  either  by 
bla/iiig  out,  crawling  out,  or  being  put  out.*  •In  medUo  tutmi' 
muRf  and  so  it  seems,  thought  Benedek,  for  his  troops  just  hur- 
ried up  from  Josephstadt  had  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  the 
raauiEUvre  celebrated  in  ancient  rhyme,  when 

*  The  king  of  France  with  forty  thousand  men 
Marched  up  a  hill  and  thea  marched  down  again.' 

How  peculiarly  inspiriting,  especially  to  raw  troops,  such 
exercises  are,  those  alone  who  have  experienced  them  can  prop- 
erly estimate.  But  Prussian  enterprise  was  not  less  diligent 
than  Austrian  caution.  In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  a  de- 
tachment of  cavalry,  sent  from  Gitschin  by  Prince  Frederick 
Churles,  opened  communications  with  the  right  of  the  Crown 
Priuec  at  Arnau..  And  the  telegraph  announced  to  King  Wil- 
liam, through  General  Von  Moltke,  chief  of  the  Royal  Staff, 
that  the  crowning  result  of  the  Prussian  plan  of  operations  was 
on  the  eve  of  accomplishment,  and  his  well  appointed  armies 
about  to  unite,  in  superior  force,  on  the  plains  of  Bohemia.  In 
shortj  the  main  perils  of  a  most  hazardous  campaign  were  over. 
Wo  would  not  underrate  the  battle  of  Koniggratz  which  fol- 
lowedj  and  yet  we  are  disposed  to  think  that  Prince  Frederick 
Charles  hazarded  unnecessarily  much  in  attacking  single-handed 
the  army  of  his  antagonist  in  a  strong  position,  depending  upon 
the  possible  co-operation  at  the  critical  juncture  of  the  Crown 
Prince,  then  lying  at  so  great  a  distance.  The  prompt  move- 
men  ta  of  the  latter  Prince;  the  good  fortune  of  Von  Normand, 
who  bore  the  message  through  a  hostile  country  back  and  forth 
in  a  single  night ;  the  unaccountable  break  in  the  line  of  battle 
of  tlic  Austrian  right,  and  the  still  more  unaccountable  ignor- 
ance of  that  fact  on  the  part  of  the  Austrian  commander,  com- 
bined to  secure  the  victory.  But  suppose  that  the  40,000  Aus- 
trian reserves  who  idly  remained  all  day  in  the  rear  of  their 
guns  until  they  were  shattered  in  the  vain  and  desperate  attempt 
to  re-take  the  position  of  Chlum,  fortuitously  lost;  suppose 
this  body  of  men  had  been  passed  earlier  in  the  day  by  the  Aus- 
trian left,  and  massed  upon  the  right  flank  of  the  troops  of  Her- 


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J 


1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  199 

warth  Von  Bittenfeld  and  Prince  Frederick  Charles,  already 
divided  by  the  Biarritz ;  might  not  such  an  attack,  aided  by  a 
general  advance  of  the  Austrian  left  and  centre,  have  caused 
Prince  Frederick  Charles  to  regret  the  experiment  of  attacking 
his  enemy  until  sure  of  the  co-operation  of  the  Crown  Prince  ? 
And  yet  it  is  just  possible  that  Benedek's  confidence  that  the 
Prussian  armies  would  unite  before  attacking  him,  induced  him 
to  take  no  precautions  for  the  contingency  which  actually  hap- 
pened. He  gave  little  attention  'to  the  demonstration  against 
his  right  flank,  fancying  that  the  bulk  of  the  enemy  lay  in  his 
front.  The  result  was  defeat,  with  the  loss  of  174  cannon, 
20,000  prisoners,  and  11  stand  of  colors. 

The  occupation  of  Frankfort  in  the  west  and  the  battle  of 
KoniggrStz  in  the  east,  constitute  the  culminating  points  of 
Prussian  success.  We  do  not  propose  to  consider  subsequent 
events.  There  were  many  brilliant  manoeuvres,  some  hard  fight- 
ing, but  the  preponderance  was  henceforth  so  entirely  on  one 
side,  that  the  story  lacks  all  dramatic  interest.  And  yet,  the 
bearing  of  the  Austrians  under  defeat  will  instruct  as  well  as 
interest,  for  it  throws  light  upon  the  true  causes  of  their  failure. 
As  there  are  few  things  more  admirable  thai^fortitude  in  adver- 
sity, 80  nothing  better  illustrates  the  courage  of  a  general  and 
the  morale  of  an  army  than  their  conduct  in  disaster.  And  in 
this  respect  our  author  does  them  full  justice. 

'The  Prussians  paused  but  a  few  moments  among  the  taken 
guns,  and  then  rushed  on  in  pursuit.  The  summit  of  the  ridge 
was  quickly  gained,  and  there  before  them  they  saw  the  whole 
hollow  ground,  between  them  and  Kosnitz,  filled  with  running 
white  uniforms.  The  victorious  battalions  commenced  a  rapid 
fire  upon  them,  and  men  dropped  quickly  from  the  flying  ranks, 
rolling  over  and  over  as  they  fell  on  the  sloping  ground.  The 
sixth  corps,  which  the  Crown  Prince  had  directed  more  against 
the  Austrian  rear,  caught  the  fugitives  in  flank,  and  raked  the 
moning  ranks  with  their  fire.  The  Prussian  artillery  was  also 
quickly  up,  unlimbered  and  came  into  action  on  the  summit  of 
the  ridge,  and  sent  its  shells  bursting  with  a  horrible  precision 
among  the  heads  of  the  flying  soldiers.  And  yet  the  Austrians 
kept  their  formation,  and  never  let  their  retreat  become  a  rout. 


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200  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

Such  a  retreat  under  such  circumstaDces,  is  as  creditable  to  the 
valor  of  the  Austrian  soldiers  as  a  battle  won/  Nay,  they  even 
turned,  from  time  to  time,  and  poured  telling  volleys  into  the 
pursuing  cavalry.  The  Austrian  artillery,  too,  that  arm  par 
exeeUenee  of  the  imperial  army,  did  as  good  service  in  the  retreat 
as  throughout  the  whole  of  Ihis  memorable  day.  It  drew  off 
slowly,  coming  into  action  on  every  successive  ridge,  sending 
shells  rapidly  among  the  cavalry,  and  striving  by  its  fire  to  check 
the  pursuers  and  gain  for  its  own  infantry  time  to  retreat.  *  Nor 
were  the  Austrian  cavalry  oflF  the  field,  though  they  could  not 
face  the  tremendous  fire  of  the  Prussians  to  charge  and  cover 
the  retreat  of  their  infantry ;  but  when  attacked  by  the  enemfs 
cavalry,  and  when  thus  the  guns  could  not  fire  upon  them,  they 
fouglit  hard  and  sacrificed  themselves  to  cover  the  retreat.  Then 
as  the  3d  regiment  of  Prussian  dragoons  were  rushing  forward  to 
charge  some  battalions  firing  near  the  village  of  Wresta,  an  Ans- 
trian  cuirassier  brigade,  led  by  an  Englishman  in  the  Austrian  ser- 
vice of  the  name  of  Beales,  charged  them  in  flank.  They  drove  the 
Pruasians  back,  and  smiting  them  heavily  with  their  ponderous 
swords,  nearly  destroyed  the  dragoons;  but  Hohenlohe's  Prua- 
eiari  Uhlans,  seeing^  their  comrades  worsted,  charged  with  their 
lances  couched  against  the  Austrian  flank,  and  compelled  them 
to  retire.  Pressed  hard  by  the  lancers,  they  fell  back  fighting 
hard  ;  but  then  Ziethen's  hussars  charged  them  in  the  rear.  A 
fierce  combat  ensued,  the  Austrian  horsemen  struck  strongly 
about  them,  fighting  for  their  lives;  but  the  lancers  drove' 
their  lances  into  their  horses,  while  the  hussars,  light  and  active, 
closed  in  upon  them,  and  only  ten  Austriansare  reported  to  have 
escaped  unwounded  from  the  melee.  Beales  himself  was  borne 
wouuded  to  the  ground.'  Soldiers  capable  of  such  deeds  in  the 
hour  of  so  terrible  an  overthrow, -are  entitled  to  demand  that  the 
blame  of  failure  rest  not  on  them.  The  short  sketch  we  have 
given  of  the  principal  operations  of  the  war,  demonstrates,  we 
thiak,  a  superiority  of  generalship  and  infinitely  greater  prompt- 
ness of  movement  on  the  part  of  the  Prussians.  These  are  de- 
fects which  are  chargeable  to  the  generals,  or  the  government 
which  directed  them.  There  were,  however,  other  causes;  and 
that  which  took  most  hold  of  the  popular  mind  at  the  time  of 


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1869.]  The  Sevm  Weeks'  War.  201 

the  war,  was  the  Prussian  needle-gun.  Our  author's  remarks 
on  that  subject  are  especially  interesting  and  practical.  They 
oocar  in  his  reflections  upon  the  action  of  Podoll^  the  first  se- 
rious afiair  of  the  war.  '  It  was  purely  an  infantry  action,  and 
the  Prussians  derived  in  it  great  advantage  from  the  superiority 
of  their  arms  over  those  of  their  opponents,  not  only  in  the  ra- 
pidity, but  in  the  direction  of  their  fire;  for  a  m^n  with  an  arm 
on  the  nipple  of  which  he  has  to  place  a  cap,  naturally  raises  the 
muzzle  in  the  air,  and  in  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  action 
often  forgets  to  lower  it,  and  only  sends  his  bullet  over  the  heads 
of  (he  opposite  ranks;  while  the  soldier  armed  with  a  breech- 
loading  musket  keeps  his  muzzle  down,  and  if  in  haste  he  fires 
itofi*  without  raising  the  butt  to  his  shoulder,  his  shot  still  takes 
effect,  though  often  low ;  and  a  proof  of  this  is  that  very  many 
of  the  Austrian  prisoners  were  wounded  in  the  legs.'  This  supe- 
riority of  armament  was  certainly  a  great  advantage,  and  one 
which  told  terribly  at  close  quarters  and  in  the  open  field;  but 
in  wooded  ground  the  muzzle-loading  arm  proved  an  efficacious 
weapon,  and  in  this  Austrian  experience  coincides  with  our 
own  in  the  late  war. 

Our  author  seems  disposed  to  give  much  weight  to  the  su- 
perior physique  of  the  Prussians.  Of  this  he  relates  many  in- 
stances. Perhaps  the  most  striking  is  the  following.  Describ- 
ing an  encounter  between  the  Prussian  dragoons  and  Austrian 
lancers  near  the  banks  of  the  Scharzawa,  he  says :  ^  The  fight 
was  long  and  hard.  The  men,  too  close  together  to  use  their 
weapons,  grappled  with  one  another ;  the  horses,  frightened  and 
enraged,  snorted,  plunged,  reared,  and  struck  out.  But  the 
Prussians  had  superior  weight  and  strength,  and  pressed  their 
antagonists  back  along  the  streets  to  a  wider  space  in  the  centre 
of  the  town,  where  a  high  image  of  the  Madonna  carved  in 
stone,  looked  down  upon  the  fray.  Here  an  Austrian  officer, 
horled  from  his  saddle  by  a  tall  Prussian  dragoon,  had  his  brains 
dashed  out  against  the  foot  of  the  monument,  and  another  Aus- 
trian, bent  backwards  over  the  cantel  of  his  saddle,  had  his  spine 
broken  by  the  strength  of  his  assailant.  The  light  Austrian 
men  and  horses  had  no  chance  in  this  close  conflict,  and  soon 
they  were  obliged  to  turn,  and  fled  down  the  street  to  where 


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1 


WSt  The  Sevm  Weeks'  War.  [Jan- 

tbeir  supports  were  drawn  up  behind  the  town/  Is  not  the  gen- 
eralization too  sweeping  which  claims  an  absolute  superiority 
from  such  isolated  instances?  This  encounter  happened  ailer 
the  battle  of  Koniggratz,  and  may  not  an  unvarying  succession  j 
of  victory  on  one  side  and  defeat  on  the  other,  have  contributed  \ 
as  much  as  mere  physical  strength  towards  determining  the  re-  j 
eult?  .  ] 

Thai  the  Prussians  possessed  most  military  talent  is  clear.  In  j 
this  we  refer  not  merely  to  the  commanders  of  the  two  armies. 
Often  tlie  abilities  of  a  general  are  counteracted  by  want  of  ca- 
pacity in  his  subordinate  officers.  In  the  Prussian  army  it  is 
to  be  remarked,  that  in  every  instance  save  one,  the  commanders 
of  corpSj  divisions,  and  even  brigades,  not  only  executed  the  du- 
ties assigned  them  with  promptness,  but  frequently  exhibited  an 
enterprise  and  sound  judgment  which  proved  them  worthy  of 
independent  command.  While  among  the  Austrians,  though 
there  were  frequent  instances  of  heroic  valor  on  the  part  of  sub- 
alterns, Benedek  and  Gablenz  alone  of  the  general  officers  gave 
proof  of  talent.  It  would  be  difficult  to  estimate,  properly,  the 
effect  of  this  deficiency.  : 

Next  to  this  superiority  in  military  talent  must,  in  our  opin- 
ion, be  ranked  the  general  organization,  discipline,  and  economy 
of  the  Prussian  army.  They  combined  to  make  it  a  grand  and 
magnificent  machine,  capable  of  executing  complicated  move-  \ 
ments  without  jarring  or  discord.  A  system  almost  perfect  in 
every  particular,  and  especially  in  imparting  that  high  tone  even 
to  the  private  soldier  which  is  the  best  criterion  of  superior 
courage.  The  following  extracts  from  our  author  will  serve  to 
support  these  views.  Speaking  of  the  march  of  the  1st  army 
on  ks  entry  into  Bohemia,  he  says:  'As  the  army  passed  be- 
tween the  hills  in  the  early  morning,  the  tops  were  shrouded  in 
a  dense  mist  which  occasionally  lifted  high  enough  to  show  the 
upper  part  of  the  dense  fir-woods  which  clothe  the  upper  moun- 
tain-sidcSj  but  never  to  afford  a  glimpse  of  their  summits.  The 
rain  fell  lieavily  and  without  ceasing :  it  battered  down  the  grain 
which  grew  in  the  fields  by  the  way-side,  and  filled  the  mountain 
water-coui*ses  with  rushing  mud-colored  streams.  There  was  no 
wind  to  give  it  a  slanting,  direction  and  it  came  straight  down  on 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  203 

the  men's  helmeta,  only  to  roll  off  in  large  drops  upon  their 
backs  and  shoulders,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  depress  the  spirit  of 
the  troops.  They  stepped  along  cheerily,  marching  as  well  as 
they  did  the  first  djiy  they  left  their  garrisons,  and  many  of  the 
soldiers  said  that  they  preferred  the  wet  weather  to  heat.  All 
along  the  line  of  march  the  commander  of  the  army  was  loudly 
cheered.'.  ThcfoUowing  is  one  among  the  many  descriptions  of 
the  hrdUerdrdgery  or  ambulance  corps :  '  The  sick-bearers,  one  of 
the  most  useful  corps  which  any  army  possesses,  were  at  work 
from  the  very  beginning  of  the  action.  As  the  combatants 
passed  on,  these  noble-minded  men,  regardless  of  the  bullets  and 
careless  of  personal  danger,  removed  with  equal  hand  both  friend 
and  enemy  who  were  left  writhing  on  the  road,  and  carried  them 
carefblly  to  the  rear,  where  the  medical  officers  made  no  distinc- 
tion in  their  care  for  both  Austrian  and  Prussian.  Not  only 
was  it  those  whose  special  duty  is  the  care  of  the  wounded,  who 
alone  were  doing  their  best  to  ease  the  sufferings  of  those  who 
had  suffered  in  the  combat;  soldiers  not  on  duty  might  be  seen 
carrying  water  for  prisoners  of  both  sides  alike,  and  gladly  af- 
fording any  comfort  which  it  was  in  their  power  to  give  to  those 
who  over  night  had  been  firing  against  their  own  hearts.  Nor 
is  this  wonderful ;  for  after  the  flush  of  battle  was  over  and  the 
din  of  the  musketry  had  died  away,  the  men  of  the  Prussian 
army  could  not  forget  that  one  common  language  linked  them 
to  their  adversaries,  and  that  after  all  it  was  probably  German 
blood  which,  flowing  from  an  Austrian  breast,  trickled  over  the 
white  livery  of  the  House  of  Hapsburg.' 

Nor  is  it  possible  to  imagine  a  greater  contrast  between  this 
war  and  one  of  a  kindred  nature  lately  waged  in  this  country, 
than  the  following  account  presents:  'The  inhabitants  of  the 
towns  had  mostly  fled  on  the  approach  of  the  Prussian  army, 
but  the  country  villagers,  unable  to  afford  to  pay  for  transport, 
had  been  obliged  to  remain  in  their  houses.  Nor  did  they 
suffer  by  doing  so,  for  the  Prussian  soldiers  behaved  well, 
and  there  was  no  plundering.  In  the  towns,  where  there  was 
no  one  to  sell,  the  commissariat  was  obliged  to  take  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life,  for  the  marches  had  been  long,  the  roads  had 
been  crowded  with  troops,  and  the  provision  trains  had  not 


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204  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

always  been  able  to  keep  up  with  the  army.  But  the  soldiers  ; 
never  used  force  to  supply  their  wants.  Forage  for  the  horses 
was  taken  from  the  barns  of  the  large  landed  proprietors  who 
had  deserted  their  castles  and  chateaux;  but  the  men  paid  for 
what  they  had  from  the  peasantry :  unable  to  speak  the  Bohe- 
mian language,  they  by  signs  made  their  wants  understood,  and 
the  peasantry,  as  far  as  lay  in  their  power,  supplied  them  readily, 
for  none  were  found  so  ignorant  as  not  to  appreciate  Prussian 
coin.  The  villagers  were  invariably  kindly  treated ;  no  cot- 
tages had  been  ransacked^  their  poultry-yards  had  been  respected, 
their  cattle  bad  not  been  taken  away  from  them,  and  though  the 
wotnen  of  this  country  are  beautiful,  no  Bohemian  girl  had 
cause  to  rue  the  invasion  of  her  country.'  And  again :  *  But  the 
people  had  no  cause  to  fear;  they  would  have  done  better  to  re- 
main, for  some  of  the  troops  had  to  be  billeted  in  the  houses 
along  the  road,  and  when  the  inhabitants  were  not  present  the 
soldiers  took  what  they  required,  and  there  was  no  one  to  receive 
payment  for  what  they  consumed.  The  children  did  not  seem 
so  timid;  they  were  present  along  the  road  in  large  numbers, 
for  the  cherries  were  just  ripening,  and  they  took  advantage  of 
the  panic  among  their  elders  to  make  a  raid  on  the  trees  which 
grew  in  long  strips  by  the  side  of  the  way.  With  them  the  sol- 
diers soon  became  great  friends.  The  boys  ran  along  the  bat- 
talions with  their  caps  full  of  the  fruit,  and  got  coppers  in  ex- 
change for  handfuls  of  it;  the  sellers,  exulting  in  the  pocketsful 
of  coin  they  soon  collected,  seemed  to  have  no  scruples  as  to 
whose  property  it  rightfully  was,  but  laughed  with  delight  at 
this  unexpected  result  of  the  war/  And  after  the  battle  of 
Kuniggratz:  *The  morafe  of  the  army  had  now  risen  high,  and 
the  soldiers  were  convinced  that  the  Austrian  troops  could  not 
stand  against  them  —  a  feeling  which  was  no  contemptible  au- 
gury of  future  victories.  But  though  the  soldiers  were  confi- 
dent in  themselves,  their  arms  and  their  leaders,  their  confidence 
never  stepped  beyond  just  bounds;  they  were  tender  and  kind 
to  the  wounded  and  prisoners,  not  only  by  attending  to  theif 
want4,  but  by  showing  them  much  consideration,  and  never  ex- 
ulting over  the  victory  in  their  presence,  which  could  hardly  be 
expected  from  men  serving  in  the  ranks.     But  the  Prussian  sys- 


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1869.]  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  205 

tem  of  recruiting  enlists  in  the  army  as  privates  men  of  a  high 
edacation  and  refined  feelings,  and  tliese  easily  influence  their 
comrades,  who  are  naturally  warm-hearted,  to  act  kindly  and 
charitably  to  the  unfortunate/ 

The  system  which  can  produce  such  an  army  can  not  be  too 
highly  extolled  or  too  well  understood ;  and  the  apology  which 
Mr.  Hozier  makes  for  the  chapter  devoted  by  him  to  that  subject 
will  be  deemed  wholly  unnecessary  by  every  intelligent  reader. 
With   nations  as  with    individuals,  good   often  springs  from 
adversity ;  and  the  subjugation  of  Prussia  served  to  lay  the 
foundation  of  her  present  military  power.     *  The  terms  of  peace 
dictated   by   Napoleon   after  the  Jena  campaign,  allowed  the 
Prussian  army  to  consist  of  only  42,000  men ;  but  no  stipulation 
was  made  as  to  how  long  these  men  should  serve.     In  order  to 
secore  the  means  of  striking  for  independence  on  the  first  favor- 
able opportunity.  General  Schamhorst  introduced  the  Kriimper 
system,  by  which  a   certain  number  of  soldiers  were  always 
allowed  to  go  home  on  furlough  after  a  few  months'  service,  and 
recruits  were  brought  into  tbe  ranks  in  their  place.     Those 
drilled  were,  in  their  turn,  sent  away  on  furlough,  and  other 
recruits  brought  on  for  training.'  .  .  .  *This  army  fought  in 
the  war  of  independence,  and   formed  the   first  nucleus  of  the 
existing  military  organization  of  the  kingdom  —  an  organiza- 
tion which,  dating  from  a  terrible  misfortune,  the  bitter  expe- 
rience of  which  has  never  been  forgotten,  has  since  been  constantly 
tended,  improved,  and  reformed,  and  with  careful  progress  been 
brought  to  such  a  high  pitch  of  excellence,  that  last  year  it 
enabled  the  Prussian  troops  to   march   and  conquer  with  an 
almost  miraculous  rapidity,  to  eclipse  in  a  few  days  the  glories 
of  the  Seven  Years'  War,  to  efface  the  memory  of  Jena  by  thun- 
dering on  the  attention  of  the  startled  world  the  suddenly  decis- 
ive victory  of  Sadowa,  and  to  spring  over  the  ashes  of  Chlum 
into  very  possibly  the  foremost  place  among  the  armies  of  the 
world.'  •  .  .  '  By  this  system,  every  Prussian  capable  of  bearing 
Arms  was,  without  exception,  liable  to  military  duty,  and  to 
serve  from  his  20th  to  23d  year  in  the  standing  army ;  from  his 
23d  to  his  25th  in  the  reserve;  from  his  25th  to  32d  in  the  first 
levy  of  the  Landwehr,  and  frpm  his  32d  to  39th  in  the  second 


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206  '      The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  [Jan. 

levy.'     ^The  great  advantage  of  this  system  was,  that  in  peace  it 
necessitated  but  a  small  expense,  and  required  but  few  men  to 
keep  up  an  army  which,  on  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  could  be 
raised  quickly  to  a  large  force.     As  it  was  arranged  after  the 
\Var  of  Independence,  it  endured  without  alteration  during  the 
reigns  of  Frederick- William  III.  and  Frederick-William  IV.' 
It  was  found,  however,  in  1848  and  1849,  and  again  in  1850  and 
1859j  that  there  were  many  defects  in  the  system.     The  men, 
taken  up  with  their  private  occupations,  obeyed  unwillingly  the 
call  to  arms,  save  in  moments  of  great  national  excitement;  the 
large  proportion  which  the  Landwehr  formed  of  the  active  army 
caused  fatal  delays  in  the  preparation  of  troops  for  the  field;  the 
officers  and  non-commissioned  officers  were  little  used  to  their 
duties.     The  increase  in  the  population,  too,  caused  the  system 
adopted  in  1815  to  bear  with  injustice  upon  the  people  in  1850, 
and  the  revenues  had  also  increased  in  direct  ratio  with  the  in- 
crease of  population,  and  so  admitted  of  an  increase  of  the  army 
and  of  the  military  expenses.     These  various  reasons  combined 
to  induce  King  William  I.,  while  still  Regent,  to  introduce  in 
■  1859  and  1860  a  reorganization  by  which  the  first  levy  of  the 
Laodwelir  was  no  longer,  as  a  rule,  to  be  sent  iuto  the  field ;  and 
to  attain  this  object,  the  standing  army,  including  the  reserves, 
was  increased  by  as  many  men  as  the  first  levy  of  the  Landwrfir 
formerly  provided  —  in  fiict  it  was  nearly  doubled.     The  time  of 
service  in  the  Landwehr  was  diminished  by  two  years,  and  that 
in  the  reserve,  in  return,  lengthened  for  the  same  period.     *  By 
this  orgiinization,  a  recruit  who  joins  the  Prussian  service  serves 
for  three  years  (from  nineteen  to  twenty-two)  in  the  regular 
army ;  for  five  years  (from  twenty -two  to  twenty-seven)  in  the 
reserve,  and  for  eleven  years  (from  twenty-seven  to  thirty-eight) 
is  liable  to  be  called  up  for  duty  as  a  Landwehr  man.'    These 
ooDstitute  the  main  outlines  of  a  system  which  combines  rigid 
economy  with  great  military  strength,  and  which  possesses  won- 
derful elasticity  and  rapidity  in  the  mobilisation  of  immense 
armies.     Although  the  order  for  putting  the  army  on  a  war 
footing  was  issued  by  the  Prussian  government  long  after  serious 
preparations  were  being  made  by  Austria  and  her  allies,  yet  the 
superiority  of  the  system  enabled  her  to  take  the  field  and 


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1869.1  The  Seven  Weeks'  War.  207 

• 

assume  the  aggressive  long  before  the  preparations  of  her  antag- 
onists were  complete.  '  In  peace  everything  is  always  kept 
ready  for  the  mobilisation  of  the  army ;  every  officer  and  every 
official  knows  during  peace  what  will  be  his  post  and  what  will 
be  his  duty  the  moment  the  decree  for  the  mobilisation  is  issued; 
and  the  instant  that  decree  is  flashed  by  telegraph  to  the  most 
distant  stations,  every  one  sets  about  his  necessary  duty  without 
requiring  any  further  orders  or  any  explanations.-  When  the 
troops  are  mobilised,  or,  to  use  our  vernacular,  placed  upon  a 
war  footing,  the  reserves  are  called  in,  assigned  to  their  respect- 
ive battalions,  and  the  army  is  increased  from  217,000  to  nearly 
500,000  trained  soldiers.  If  necessary,  the  Landwehr,  or  mili- 
tia, also  trained,  follow  in  nearly  equal  numbers.  Especially 
interesting  to  the  soldier  is  the  mode  in  which  the  waste  of  war 
in  the  several  organizations  is  supplied,  and  yet  the  recruits  sent 
forward  for  that  purpose  are  so  combined  as  to  be  easily  handled, 
easily  moved,  yet  formed  in  such  due  proportions  of  the  diffisr- 
entarms  as  to  be  capable  of  independent  action.  The  military 
organization  of  the  provinces  annexed  by  the  late  war  is,  with 
slight  modifications,  upon  the  same  system,  and  will  add  about 
75,000  combatants  to  the  standing  army.  In  view  of  the  impor- 
tant influence  Prussia  se^ms  likely  to  exert  hereafter  in  European 
politics,  an  acquaintance  with  her  military  resources  can  not  but 
be  desirable  to  the  general  as  well  as  to  the  professional  reader, 
and  invests  with  peculiar  interest  the  chapter  which  Mr.  Hozier 
bas  devoted  to  that  subject.  The  military  reader  would  wish 
even  more  full  and  explicit  details.  Take  the  book  as  a  whole, 
it  is  remarkable  for  accuracy  of  observation,  clear  sound  criti- 
dsm,  and  graphic  narration,  while  the  subject  of  which  it  treats 
is  of  unusual  interest. 


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208         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.      [Jan. 


\ 


Aet-  IX. —  The  Sumier  and  the  Alaham^a;  or  Memoirs  of 
his  Services  Afloat  during  the  War  between  the  States.  By 
Admiral  Raphael  Semmes,  of  the  late  Confederate  States 
Navy.  Baltimore :  Kelly,  Piet  &  Company.  1868.  Pp. 
833. 

Admiral  Semmes,  the  *  Stonewall  Jackson  of  the  Seas',  has,  in 
the  Tolume  before  us,  given  a  most  graphic  and  profoundly  inter- 
esting narrative  of  his  adventures  during  the  late  War.  We 
have  not,  for  twenty  years,  devoured  a  novel  with  half  the  inter- 
est with  which  we  have  read  this  absorbing  narrative  of  his  own 
ad\'€iitures,  by  one  of  the  very  truest,  bravest,  greatest  heroes  of 
the  age.  We  shall  let  him  speak  for  himself,  for  his  comrades  at 
sea,  and  for  the  cause  in  which  they  were  enlisted.  Our  appfe- 
ciation  of  his  book,  as  well  as  of  ourselves,  is,  indeed,  far  too 
just,  to  permit  us  to  occupy  the  attention  of  the  reader  with  any 
,  poor  words  of  our  own,  to  the  exclusion  of  those  of  the  gallant 
Admiral  himself. 

The  book  is  all,  nay,  far  more  than  all,  that  is  imported  by  the 
title  at  the  head  of  this  article.  It  embraces  the  memoir,  per- 
sonal and  historical,  of  the  Admiral,  from  his  withdrawal  from 
the  Federal  navy  to  the  close  of  the  war ;  the  operations  of  the 
Sumter  and  the  Alabama ;  the  running  of  various  blockades  by 
both  ships ;  and,  finally,  the  engagements  of  the  Alabama  with 
the  Hatteras  and  the  Kearsarge.  It  was  the  courage,  the  dash, 
tW  heroism,  displayed  in  this  last  glorious  engagement,  which 
drew,  with  electric  force,  from  the  hearts  of  British  naval  offi- 
cers, a  wild,  enthusiastic  bucst  of  admiration  and  applause,  and, 
from  their  pockets,  a  present  of  the  most  beautiful  sword  the 
writer  has  ever  seen;  manufactured,  by  the  best  artists  of 
London,  expressly  for  the  Admiral;  and  covered  with  sig- 
nifioint  costly  devices,  as  well  as  blazing  with  precious  stones 
and  gems.  Such  a  testimonial,  coming,  as  it  did,  from  officers 
of  the  British  navy,  speaks  more  for  the  gallantry  of  Admiral 
Semraes,  than  could  a  thousand  articles  from  our  poor  pen. 

The  work,  however,  is  not  exclusively  confined  to  the  above 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.         209 

exciting  themes.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  diversified  and  enli- 
vened with  biographical  sketches  of  his  oflScers  and  men,  with 
Dotices  of  the  countries  and  peoples  visited  by  him ;  with  des- 
criptions of  terrible  storms  and  dead  calms,  as  well  as  of  other 
interesting  phenomena  at  sea,  relative  to  land,  air,  ocean,  and  the 
starry  heavens ;  and  also  with  able  and  learned,  though  not  tire- 
some, discussions  of  the  most  interesting  questions  of  interna- 
tional law,  which,  in  the  course  of  his  service,  he  was  called 
upon,  as  a  jurist,  to  examine  and  decide.  In  addition  to  these 
discussions,  and  to  the  grand  glimpses  of  the  glorious  Cosmos 
around  us,  the  Admiral  notices  the  progress  of  the  contest  on 
Und,  and  so  skilfully  interweaves  this  with  its  progress  at  sea, 
as  to  give  the  reader  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  whole  drama 
of  the  war. 

As  to  mechanical  execution,  the  work  is,  like  ^  apples  of  gold 
in  pictures  of  silver  \  in  the  best  style  of  the  art.  The  paper, 
the  letter-press,  the  numerous  steel  engravings,  and  the  chromo- 
lithographs, are  all  handsome.  If  some  of  the  portraits  are  not 
handsome,  the  fault  may  possibly  be  in  the  originals;  the  like- 
nesses, so  far  as  we  can  judge  from  a  personal  knowledge,  are 
certainly  good.  Who  so  absurd  as  to  expect  heroes  to  be  hand- 
some? A  hero  may  be  handsome,  it  is  true;  but  then  it  is  a^ 
a  vxumafij  rather  than  as  a  hero,  that  he  dares  to  look  an  ugly 
world  in  the  face  with  a  handsome  face  of  his  own.  The 
offence  is  a  very  serious  one  —  far  worse  than  the  sin  of  ugliness 
Itself.  Ugliness  is,  we  insist  upon  it,  the  only  natural,  normal 
condition  of  the  hero.  He  departs  from  it  at  his  peril.  He  is 
safe  in  no  other  condition.  But  then  in  the  real  hero,  whether 
a  Lee  or  a  Semmes,  there  is  always  a  certain  simple,  noble,  ma- 
jestic mien  —  the  truthful  expression  of  the  soul  within  —  which 
is  infinitely  better  than  beauty  itself.  Or,  more  correctly  speak- 
bg,  it  is  beauty  itself — the  beauty  of  mind,  heart,  soul  — and 
not  its  outward  sign  merely  in  comeliness  of  form  or  feature. 
The  outward  sign,  without  the  inward  grace,  or  thing  signified, 
18  shadow  without  substance;  a  fair  shadow,  it  it  true,  but  fleet- 
mg  as  it  is  fair.  The  beauty  of  the  soul,  is  the  soul  of  beauty, 
and,  like  the  soul  itself,  survives  all  fairest  forms  of  dust. 

But,  from  this  short  digression,  we  now  return  to  Admiral 
14 


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210         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.      [Jan. 

Semme^^  and  his  book.  This  opens  with  a  discossion  of  the 
great  doctrine  of  Secession ;  and^  in  a  simple,  clear,  satis&ctoiy 
manner,  sets  forth  the  *  reason  of  the  faith  that  was  in  us,  of 
the  South ',  who  withdrew  from  the  Union.  *  The  judgment 
which  posterity  \  says  he,  *  will  form  upon  our  actions,  will  de- 
pend, mainly,  upon  the  answers  which  we  may  be  able  to  give 
to  two  questions :  First,  Had  the  South  the  right  to  dissolve  the 
compact  of  government  under  which  it  had  lived  with  the 
North  ?  and,  secondly,  was  there  sufficient  reason  for  such  disBO- 
lution '?  (p.  19.)  We  rejoice  to  see  this  discussion  where  it  is, 
not  only  because  it  is  so -able  and  unanswerable,  but  also  because 
the  work  containing  it  will  be  so  extensively  read,  in  all  parts 
of  the  civilized  world.  The  South  needed  such  an  advocate  ; 
and  such  an  advocate  the  South  has  found  in  Admiral  Semmes. 
It  is  not  our  purpose  to  dwell  on  this  portion  of  his  work; 
which,  for  the  general  reader,  will  be  found  far  less  exciting 
than  those  relating  to  the  cruise  of  the  Sumter  and  the  Atabama. 
A  few  words  only,  in  passing,  is  all  we  can  devote  to  this  great 
argument  of  an  author,  who  is  able  to  produce  such  noble  prose 
in  speculation,  as  well  as  such  splendid  poetry  in  action. 

The  first  chapter,  entitled  *  A  brief  historical  retrospect',  sets 
forth  the  two  great  questions  above-mentioned :  Had  the  Sooth 
the  right  to  secede  from  the  Union?  and  was  there  sufficient 
reason  for  such  secession?  In  discussing  these  questions,  he 
shows,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  principle  of  law  is  settled. 
Both  Webster  and  Story,  the  two  great  jurists  of  the  North,  con- 
cede that  the  right  of  secession  results  from  the  nature  of  the  Con- 
stitution ;  if  it  be,  indeed,  *  a  compact  of  the  States.'  (pp.  24-5.) 
Hence,  it  only  remains  for  our  author  to  settle  the  great  question 
of  fact,  the  only  one  in  dispute,  is  the  Constitution  '  a  compact 
between  the  States '  ?  This  question  is  discussed  as  follows :  In 
*  Chapter  11 ',  Uhe  nature  of  the  American  compact'  is  clearly 
exhibited,  and  illustrated  by  an  appeal  to  opinions  of  its  aathors 
and  other  leaders  of  the  country.  In  the  following  chapter,  it 
is  shown,  that  *  Prom  the  foundation  of  the  Federal  Government 
down  to  1830,  both  the  North  and  the  South  held  the  Constitntion 
to  be  a  compact  between  the  States.^  Having  established  this  po- 
sition, the  Admiral  proceeds,  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  his  work, 


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1869.]    The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.         211 

to  answer  the  question, '  Was  Secession  Treason  ? '  It  was  not 
treason,  he  answers,  because  the  Constitution  was,  as  he  had 
shown,  a  compact  between  the  States,  and  because,  as  it  is  con- 
ceded by  the  great  jurists  of  the  North  themselves,  the  States 
have  a  right  to  seoede  from  such  a  compact,  either  with  or  with- 
oat  cause.  '  It  resulted  \  says  he,  in  the  opening  of  his  fifth 
chapter,  ^  from  this  statement  of  the  question,  that  the  States  had 
the  legal  and  constitutional  right  to  withdraw  from  the  compact, 
it  pleasure,  without  reference  to  any  c^use  of  quarrel/  (p.  52.) 
This  was  *  a  constitutional  right  \  says  he,  because  it  resulted 
fipom  the  very  nature  of  the  Constitution  as  '  a  compact  between 
the  States/  Thus,  having  settled  the  first  great  question  per- 
taining to  the  doctrine  of  secession,  he  proceeds  to  consider  the 
second, — *Was  there  sufficient  ground  for  the  dissolution'  of  the 
Union?  Not  sufficient  ground  to  justify  it  in  the  eye  of  the 
Constitution,  for  no  ground  or  reason  whatever  was  necessary  for 
that  purpose,  inasmuch  as  secession  was  *  a  (institutional  right  \ 
but  to  justify  it  in  the  eye  of  expediency,  or  according  to  the 
maxims  of  political  wisdom.  In  this  discussion,  as  well  as  else- 
where, our  author  bears  in  mind  the  distinction  between  the  right 
of  secession  and  the  right  of  revolution.  The  first,  as  '  a  con- 
stitutional right*,  is  a  peaceable  remedy;  the  last,  as  an  extra- 
constitutional  right,  is  a  violent  remedy.  The  first  claims,  and 
is  entitled  to,  the  olive  branch  of  peaoe ;  the  last  defies  the  sword 
of  coercion.  Such  is  the  just  distinction  made  and  borne  in 
mind,  by  our  author ;  who,  accordingly,  never  speaks  of  any 
cause  as  necessary  to  keep  the  act  of  secession, —  the  exercise  of 
a  dear  '  constitutional  right ', —  from  being  a  breach  or  violation 
of  the  Constitution.    The  first  cause  of  secession  is  thus  stated : 

'  The  American  Republic,  as  has  been  said,  was  a  iiulnre,  because  of  the  antag- 
onism of  the  two  peoples,  attempted  to  be  bonnd  together  in  the  same  gorernment. 
If  there  is  to  be  but  a  single  ^orernment  in  these  States,  in  the  fatnre,  it  cannot 
be  a  repnbllc.  De  Tocqueville  saw  this,  thirty  years  ago.  In  bis  "Democracy  in 
America'',  he  described  these  States,  as  '^more  like  hostile  nations,  than  riyal 
parties,  nnder  one  government.'' 

*  This  distinguished  Frenchman  saw,  aS  with  the  eye  of  intuition,  the  canker 
wbidi  lay  at  the  heart  of  the  fbderal  compact.  He  saw  looming  up,  in  the  dim 
distance,  the  ominous  and  hideous  form  of  that  unbridled  and  antagonistic  ma- 
jority, which  has  since  rent  the  country  in  twain  —  a  majority  based  on  the  yiews 
and  interests  of  one  section,  arrayed  against  the  Tiews  and  interests  of  the  other 


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212         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.      [Jan. 

section.  "The  majority  ",  said  he,  **  in  that  country,  exercises  a  prodigious,  ac- 
tual authority,  and  a  moral  influence  which  is  scarcely  less  preponderant ;  no  ob- 
stacles exist  which  can  impede,  or  so  much  as  retard  its  progress,  or  which  can  in- 
duce it  to  heed  the  complaints  of  those ^hom  it  crushes  upon  its  path.  .  .  .  This 
state  of  things  is  &tal,  in  itself,  and  dangerous  for  the  future.  ...  If  the  free  in- 
stitutions of  America  are  ever  destroyed,  that  event  may  be  attributed  to  the  no- 
limited  authority  of  the  majority.  .  .  .  Anarchy  will  then  be  the  result,  but  it 
will  have  been  brought  about  by  despotism." 

*  Precisely  so ;  liberty  is  always  destroyed  by  the  multitude,  in  the  name  of  lib- 
erty. Majorities  within  the  limits  of  constitutional  restraints  are  harmless,  bot 
the  moment  they  lose  sight  of  these  restraints,  the  many-headed  monster  becomes 
more  tyrannical  than  the  tyrant  with  a  single  head  ;  numbers  harden  its  con- 
science, and  embolden  it  in  the  perpetration  of  crime.  And  when  this  majority, 
in  a  free  government,  becomes  a  faction,  or,  in  other  words,  represents  certain 
classes  and  interests  to  the  detriment  of  other  classes  and  interests,  £&rewell  to 
public  liberty  ;  the  people  must  either  become  enslaved,  or  there  must  be  a  dismp- 
tion  of  the  government.  This  result  would  follow,  even  if  the  people  lived  under 
a  consolidated  government  and  were  homogeneous ;  much  more,  then,  must  it  fol- 
low, when  the  government  is  federal  in  form,  and  the  States  are,  in  the  words  of 
De  Tocqueville,  **more  like  hostile  nations,  than  rival  parties,  under  one  govern- 
ment."    These  States  are,  and  indeed  always  have  been,  rival  nations.' 

What  De  Tocqueville  so  clearly  saw,  and  so  eloquently  de- 
scribed, in  1830,  is  precisely  what  James  Madison  feared  in 
1788,  namely,  the  remorseless  tyranny  of  faction,  or  an  inter- 
ested majority,  trampling  on  the  rights  of  the  minority.  'On 
a  candid  examination  of  history,*  said  Mr.  Madison  in  1788, 
'  we  shall  find  that  turbulence,  violence,  and  abuse  of  power,  6y 
the  majo^'ity  trampling  on  the  rights  of  the  minority y  have  pro- 
duced factions  and  commotions,  which,  in  republicSy  have,  more 
frequently  than  any  other  cau^e,  produced  despotism.  If  we  go 
over  the  whole  history  of  anciefrd  and  modern  republics,  we  shaU 
find  their  destruction  to  have  generally  resulted  from  'that  cause. 
If  we  consider  the  peculiar  situation  of  the  United  States,  and 
what  are  the  sources  of  that  diversity  of  seTitiments  trhicJi  pervades 
its  inhabitants,  we  shall  find  great  danger  to  fear  thai  the  same 
causes  may  terminate  here,  in  the  same  fatal  effects,  which  theg 
produced  in  those  republics.'  ^  Prophetic  words  I  How  fearfully 
were  they,  even  in  1830-33,  in  progress  of  fulfilment  in  the  great 
republic  of  this  country  I  and  how  clearly  was  the  appalling  feet 
seen  and  described  by  De  Tocqueville  !  In  vain  did  Calhoun, 
from  that  period  to  the  end  of  his  life,  plead  the  cause  of  truth, 

1  Elliotts'  Debates.    Vol.  III.,  p.  87. 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.         213 

and  justice,  and  mercy,  against  ^  the  tyranny  of  the  majority ',  as 
the  greatest  of  the  dangers  to  American  freedom.  The  dire  dis- 
ease of  former  republics  ran  its  fatal  course  in  this ;  becoming, 
in  1861,  rampant,  raging,  and  red  with  the  elements  of  destruc- 
tion to  the  devoted  minority.  That  minority,  whether  in  or  oiU 
of  the  Union,  was  doomed  to  be,  sooner  or  later,*  trampled  under 
foot  by  the  majority ;  which,  in  this  case,  was  not  so  much  a  po- 
litical party,  as  '  a  hostile  nation  *,  both  able  and  willing  to  des- 
troy its  hated  rival  —  the  South.  Who  did  not  see  the  danger? 
It  was  certainly  most  forcibly,  and  eloquently,  depicted  by  Mr. 
Benjamin  in  his  celebrated  speech  on  secession,  delivered  in  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States.  Who,  then,  so  blind  as  not  to  see 
this  great  dangev  to  the  South  ?  Who  so  blind  to  the  lessons  of 
all  history,  both  ancient  and  modern,  as  to  fear  nothing  from  the 
rifle  and  appearance  of  such  faction,  or  *  interested  majority',  on 
the  theatre  of  the  republic?  Who  so  blind  as  not  to  fear  the 
terrible  monster  which,  in  all  former  ages,  had  devoured  the  free- 
dom of  republics,  and  erected  thrones  of  despotism  amid  their 
ruins?  The  answer  to  this  question  is  fraught  with  infinite  sad- 
ness. For,  however  unaccountable  it  may  seem,  there  were  petty 
politicians,  and  pretended  statesmen,  who  apprehended  no  dan- 
ger from  the  rise  and  appearance  of  that  terrible  faction,  or  *  the 
party  of  the  North  pledged  against  the  South ',  and  who,  ac- 
cordingly, sang  a  fatal  lullaby  to  their  followers  at  the  South. 
Raphael  Semmes  was  not  one  of  these.  He  saw  the  great  dan- 
ger, and  prepared  to  meet  it  like  a  man.  While  little  politi- 
cians, not  seeing,  or  rather  not  comprehending,  the  monster 
which  had  destroyed  former  republics,  and  which  had  raised  its 
hideous  head  in  ours,  were  discoursing  eloquent  nonsense  about 
'  the  omnipotence  of  truth '  as  a  sufficient  safeguard  and  protec- 
tion to  the  South ;  the  great  sailor  was  getting  ready  to  meet  it 
with  the  sword.  That  is,  to  meet  the  Apollyon  of  republics, 
with  the  only  weapon  he  could  be  made  to  feel.  If,  indeed,  all 
our  politicians  and  leadero  had  only  been  as  wise  and  as  heroic 
as  Semmes,  ^  our  present  position  might  have  been  infinitely  bet- 
ter than  it  is.' 

But  as  it  was,  alas !  many  of  the  people  of  the  South  were 
never  made  to  see  the  nature  of  the  monster  against  which  they 


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214         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  8emm£8.      [Jan. 

had  taken  np  arms.  As  they  neither  knew  what  they  werefighi- 
ing  against,  nor  what  they  were  fighting  for,  nor  comprehended 
the  utter  degradation,  and  ruin,  and  misery,  to  which  they  would 
be  subjected  in  case  of  the  triumph  of  their  enemies,  they  grew 
weary  of  the  great  struggle,  and  deserted,  by  appalling  thousands, 
from  the  banner  of  the  South.  Seduced  by  the  cry  of  '  peace, 
peace,  when  there  was  no  peace  \  the  ranks  of  our  armies  were 
thinned  by  fearful  desertions,  as  well  as  by  fire,  and  famine,  and 
sword ;  and  when,  finally,  the  remnant  laid  down  their  arms, 
vast  multitudes  looked  for  the  return  of  happy  days  under  the 
victorious  and  triumphant  reign  of  the  great  Apollyon  of  repub- 
lics. If  all  our  politicians  and  leaders,  we  repeat,  had  been  like 
Admiral  Semmes, '  our  present  position  might  have  been  infin- 
itely better  than  it  is.' 

There  are  three  things  which  we  do  not  like:  a  trumpet 
which  gives  an  uncertain  sound ;  a  politician  on  both  sides  of 
the  fence;  and  a  political  creed  with  two  meanings  —  one  for 
the  North,  and  the  other  for  the  South.  Admiral  Semmes  was 
exactly  the  opposite  of  all  these  things ;  and  this  is  the  reason 
why  we  revere  the  man,  as  well  as  admire  the  hero  and  the  states- 
man. 

The  second  ground  or  reason  for  secession,  as  assigned  by  our 
author,  was  the  sectional  legislation,  by  which  the  wealth  of  the 
South  was  exchanged  for  the  poverty  of  the  North.  Having 
quoted  the  eloquent  words  of  Mr.  Benton,  in  illustration  of  this 
point,  he  adds  : 

'  The  picture  is  not  OTerdrawn ;  it  is  the  literal  truth.  Before  the  war,  the 
Northern  States,  and  especially  the  New  England  States,  exported  next  to  notbio^ 
and  yet,  they  <^  blossomed  as  the  rose."  The  picturesque  hills  of  New  England 
were  dotted  with  costly  mansions,  erected  with  money  of  which  the  Southera 
planters  had  been  despoiled,  by  means  of  the  tarifis  of  which  Mr.  Benton  spoke. 
Her  harbors  frowned  with  fortifications,  constructed  by  the  same  means.  Erery 
cove  and  inlet  had  its  lighthouse,  for  the  benefit  of  New  England  shipping,  thite- 
fourths  of  the  expense  of  erecting  which  had  been  paid  by  the  South,  and  ereo  the 
cod  and  mackerel  fisheries  of  New  England  were  bauntied,  on  the  bajd  pretext  that 
they  were  nurseries  for  manning  the  navy. 

*  The  South  resisted  this  wholesale  robbery,  to  the  best  of  her  ability.  Some 
few  of  the  more  generous  of  the  Northern  representatives  in  Congress  came  to  ber 
aid,  but  still  she  was  OTerborne  ,*  and  the  curious  reader,  who  wUl  take  the  pains  to 
consult  the  **  Statutes  at  Large  *',  of  the  American  Congress,  will  find  on  an  arer- 
age,  a  tariff  for  every  five  years  recorded  on  their  pages;  the  cormorants  increasing  in 


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1869.]    The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.         215 

rapacitj,  the  more  they  deyoured.  No  wonder  that  Mr.  Lincoln,  when  asked,  "Why 
not  let  the  South  go?  "  replied,  '^  Let  the  Soath  go  I  trAere,  thenj  thaU  we  get  our 
r99amtV 

In  reply  to  this  position,  it  is  frequently  said,  that  the  South  did 
not  resist '  this  wholesale  robbery  ^  in  vain ;  but  secured,  at  last, 
a  reasonable  tariff,  such  as  her  own  statesmen  had  freely  sanc- 
tioned. This  is  partly  true.  The  position  of  parties,  the  influ- 
ence of  demagogues  aspiring  to  place  and  power,  as  well  as  other 
circumstances  of  the  times,  did  enable  the  South  to  secure  a 
tariff,  which,  when  compared  with  former  ones,  was  exceedingly 
reasonable  and  moderate,  but  which,  according  to  the  stand- 
ard as  laid  down  by  Alexander  Hamilton  himself,  was  a  griev- 
ous and  intolerable  burden  to  the  South.  But  even  if  it  had 
been  perfectly  reasonable,  or  such  as  Madison  and  Hamilton  had 
advocated,  what  did  this  signify  ?  Where  was  the  safeguard  and 
security  for  the  future?  Shall  we  be  told,  that  the  nature  of 
'the  cormorants^  had.  been  changed,  or  that  the  great  roaring 
beast  of  faction  had  been  tamed,  by  the  sweet  'omnipotence  of 
truth '  ?  If  so,  we  can  only  laugh  at  such  idle  mockery  of  all 
sound  sense ;  for  all  histories,  both  ancient  and  modern,  teach 
the  same  lesson,  that  such  a  &,ction,  however  restrained  for  a 
time,  only  awaits  the  power  and  the  opportunity  to  renew  its 
system  of  '  wholesale  robbery.'  Its  vital  breath,  indeed,  its  ani- 
mating principle,  is  the  lust  of  '  power  pursued  for  the  gratifica- 
tion of  avarice  and  ambition.' 
The  third  ground  of  secession,  is  thus  stated  by  our  author : 

'  Great  pains  haye  been  taken  by  the  North,  to  make  it  appear  to  the  world,  that 
the  war  was  a  sort  of  moral  and  religious  cmsade  against  slavery.  Such  was  not 
the  UkX,  The  people  of  the  North  were,  indeed,  opposed  to  slarerj,  but  merely 
beeanse  they  thought  it  stood  in  the  way  of  their  struggle  for  empire.  I  think  it 
safe  to  affirm,  that  if  the  quesUon  had  stood  upon  moral  and  religious  grounds 
tlone,  the  institution  would  never  have  been  interfered  with.  , 

'The  Republican  party,  which  finally  brought  on  the  war,  took  its  rise,  as  is  well 
known,  on  the  question  of  extending  slavery  to  the  Territories — those  inchoate 
States,  which  were  finally  to  decide  the  vexed  question  of  the  balance  of  power, 
between  the  two  sections.  It  did  not  propose  to  disturb  the  institution  in  the 
States ;  in  fact,  the  institution  could  do  no  harm  there,  for  the  States,  in  which  it 
existed,  were  already  in  a  hopeless  minority.' 

Thus,  according  to  our  author,  the  three  great  causes  or  grounds 
of  secession,  were :  1.  The  ascendancy  of  the  North,  by  which 


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216         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.      [Jtn« 

the  balance  of  power  between  the  two  sections  was  destroyed, 
and  the  formation  of  the  larger  section  into  a  faction,  or  inter- 
ested majority,  which  portended  fearful  evil,  if  not  destruction, 
to  the  smaller  section ;  2.  The  *  wholesale  robbery '  of  the  sys- 
tem of  tariffs,  by  which  the  .North  was  aggrandized  and  enriched 
at  the  expense  of  the  South  ;  and,  3.  The  agitation,  and  uncon- 
stitutional treatment,  of  the  question  of  slavery ;  into  which  the 
great  question  of  the  balance  of  power  entered  as  the  principtl 
element  of  discord  and  dissatisfaction.  The  discussion  of  these 
three  grounds,  or  reasons,  of  secession,  ends  with  the  70th  page  of 
the  work ;  leaving  our  minds  impressed  with  the  conviction, 
that  our  late  Admiral  is  a  statesman,  no  less  than  a  sailor.  In 
the  seven  hundred  and  sixty-three  pages  which  follow,  we  have 
his  exploits  as  a  seaman,  his  views  as  a  natural  philosopher,  and 
his  powiers  as  a  descriptive  writer.  This  portion  of  his  work 
will,  no  doubt,  prove  far  more  interesting  to  the  general  reader, 
than  his  very  able  discussion  of  the  principles  of  international 
law,  or  inter-State  policy. 

In  the  seventh  chapter  of  his  work,  which  treats  of  *  the  for- 
mation of  the  Confederate  Government,  and  the  resignation  of  offi- 
cers of  the  federal  army  and  navy',  the  author  describes,  with 
no  little  feeling,  the  ties  which  had  so  long  bound  them  to  their 
former  comrades,  and  to  the  old  flag,  and  which,  at  the  sacred 
call  of  duty,  they  were  constrained  to  sever.  In  the  course  of 
these  reflections,  he  says : 

'As  a  genera]  rule,  the  officers  both  of  the  Armj  and  the  Nayj  sided  with  their 
respective  States;  especially  those  of  them  who  were  cultiyated,  and  knew  sooe- 
thing  of  the  form  of  goTemment  under  which  thej  had  been  liTing.  Bat  ens 
the  profession  of  arms  is  not  free  from  sordid  natures,  and  manj  of  these  had  fband 
their  way  into  both  branches  of  the  public  seryice.  Men  were  found  capable  of 
drawing  their  swords  against  their  own  firesides,  as  it  were,  and  surrendering  their 
Neighbors  and  friends  to  the  yengeimce  of  a  gOTernment,  which  paid  thm  fot 
their  fealty.*  Some,  with  cunning  duplicity,  even  encouraged  their  former  mess- 
mates,* and  companions  who  occupied  places  above  them,  to  resign,  and  afterward 
held  back  themselves.  Some  were  mere  soldiers  and  sailors  of  fortune,  and  seemed 
devoid  of  all  sensibility  on  the  subject,  looking  only  to  rank  and  pay.  They  were 
open  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  the  Federal  Government  was  in  a  condition  to  mike 
the  highest  bids.  Some  of  the  Southern  men  of  this  latter  class  remained  with  the 
North,  because  they  could  not  obtain  the  positions  they  desired  in  the  South ;  lod 
afterwards,  as  is  the  fashion  with  renegades,  became  more  bitter  against  their  owi 
people  than  even  the  Northern  men. 

<  Civil  war  is  a  terrible  crucible  through  which  to  pass  character ;  the  dross  drops 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.         217 

AVMj  from  the  pure  metal  at  the  first  touch  of  the  fire.  It  must  he  admitted,  in- 
deed, that  there  was  some  little  nerye  required,  on  the  part  of  an  officer  of  the 
regular  Army  or  Navj,  to  elect  to  go  with  his  State.  His  profession  was  his  only 
fortune ;  he  depended  upon  it  for  the  means  of  subsisting  himself  and  fiamily.  If 
he  remained  where  he  was,  a  competencj  for  life,  and  promotion  and  honors  prob- 
ablj  awaited  hin^;  if  he  went  with  the  South,  a  dark  and  uncertain  future  was 
before  him  ;  he  could  not  possibly  better  his  condition,  and  if  the  South  fEiiled,  he 
would  hare  thrown  away  the  labor  of  a  life-time.  The  struggle  was  hard  in  other 
respects.  All  professions  are  clannish.  Men  naturally  cling  together,  who  have 
been  bred  to  a  common  pursuit;  and  this  remark  is  particularly  applicable  to  the 
irmy  and  the  Navy.  West  Point  and  Annapolis  were  powerful  bonds  to  knit  to- 
gether the  hearts  of  young  men.  Friendships  were  then  formed,  which  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  seTer,  especially  when  strengthened  by  years  of  after-association,  in  com- 
DOQ  toils,  common  pleasures,  and  common  dangers.  Nayal  officers,  in  particular, 
who  had  been  rocked  together  in  the  same  storm,  and  had  escaped  perhaps  from 
the  same  shipwreck,  found  it  yery  difficult  to  draw  their  swords  against  each  other. 
The  flag,  too,  had  a  charm  which  it  was  difficult  to  resist.  It  had  long  been  the 
enblem  of  the  principle  that  all  just  goyernments  are  founded  on  the  consent  of 
the  goyemed,  yindicated  against  our  British  ancestors  in  the  War  of  the  Reyolu- 
tioQ,  and  it  was  difficult  to  realize  the  fact  that  it  no  longer  represented  this  princi- 
ple, bat  had  become  the  emblem  of  its  opposite ;  that  of  coercing  unwilling  iptates 
to  remain  under  a  Goyemment  which  they  deemed  unjust  and  oppressiye.' 

On  Feb.  15th,  1861,  Commander  Semmes  tendered  his  resig- 
nation ;  and,  on  the  same  day,  it  was  accepted  in  the  following 
note: 

'Sim, — ^Tonr  resignation  as  a  Commander  in  the  Nayy  of  the  United  States, 
tendered  in  your  letter  of  this  date,  is  hereby  accepted. 

I  am,  respectfully,  your  obedient  seryant, 

J.  TouoiT.' 

This  note  was  addressed  to  ^  Raphael  Semmes,  Esq.,  late  Com- 
mander U.  S.  Navy,  Washington.'  Eaphael  Semmes,  Esquirey 
having  resigned,  was  permitted  to  go  South,  with  the  distinct 
and  perfect  understanding,  that  he  intended  to  identify  his  for- 
tunes with  those  of  his  adopted  State.     He  adds,  (p.  79) : 

'  It  was  under  such  circumstances  as  these,  that  I  dissolyed  my  connection  with 
the  Federal  Goyemment,  and  returned  to  the  condition  of  a  priyate  citizen,  with 
no  more  obligation  resting  upon  me  than  upon  any  other  citizen.  The  Federal 
Government  itself  had  formally  released  me  from  the  contract  of  senrice  I  had 
entered  into  with  it,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  from  the  binding  obligation  of 
ftnj  oath  1  had  taken  in  connection  with  that  contract.  All  this  was  done,  as  the 
retder  has  seen,  before)  moyed  a  step  from  the  city  of  Washington  ;  and  yet  a 
nlieeqoent  Secretary  of  the  Nayy,  Mr.  Gideon  Welles,  has  had  the  hardihood  and 
indecency  of  accusing  me  of  haying  been  a  ^*  deserter  from  the  seryice.''  He  has 
Mberately  put  this  folse  accusation  on  record,  in  a  public  document^  in  the  face 


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218         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  8emm^.      [Jan. 

of  the  fikcts  I  have  stated — all  of  which  were  recorded  upon  the  rolls  of  his  office. 
I  do  not  speak  here  of  the  clap-trap  he  has  used  about  "  treason  to  the  flag,**  tad 
the  other  stale  nonsense,  which  he  has  uttered  in  connection  with  mj  name,  fcr 
this  was  common  enough  among  his  countrymen,  and  was,  perhaps,  to  hare  been 
expected  from  men  smarting  under  the  castigation  I  had  giren  than,  but  of  ihe 
more  definite  and  explicit  charge  of  "  deserHng/ram  the  service,*^  when  the  terrice, 
itself,  as  he  well  knew,  had  released  me  from  all  my  obligations  to  it.' 

Now  who,  but  for  the  sad  experience  of  human  nature  during 
the  last  few  years,  could  have  believed  such  mendacity  possible 
in  a  high  oflScial,  in  a  member  of  the  Cabinet  of  the  United 
States? 

The  author  then  disposes  of  the  following  silly  aocusation: 
'  Another  charge,  with  as  little  foundation,  has  been  made  against 
myself,  and  other  officers  of  the  Army  and  Navy,  who  resigned 
their  commissions,  and  came  South.  It  has  been  said  that  we 
were  in  the  condition  of  eleves  of  the  Federal  Grovernment^  inas- 
much as  we  had  received  our  education  at  the  military  schools, 
and  that  we  were  guilty  of  ingratitude  to  that  Grovemment, 
when  we  withdrew  from  its  service.  This  slander  has  no  doabt 
had  its  effect,  with  the  ignorant  masses,  but  it  can  scarcely  have 
been  entertained  by  any  one  who  has  a  just  conception  of  the 
nature  of  our  federal  system  of  government.  It  loses  sight  of 
the  fiwt,  that  the  States  are  the  creators,  and  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment the  creature ;  that  not  only  the  military  schools,  but  the 
Federal  Government  itself,  belongs  to  the  States.  "Whence  came 
the  fund  for  the  establishment  of  these  schools?  From  the 
States.  In  what  proportion  did  the  States  contribute  it?  Mr. 
Benton  has  answered  this  question,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  when 
he  was  discussing  the  effect  of  the  tarifis  under  which  the  Sooth 
had  so  long  been  depleted.  He  has  told  us,  that  four  States 
alone,  Virginia,  the  two  Carolinas,  and  Georgia,  defrayed  three- 
fourths  of  the  expenses  of  the  General  Grovernment ;  and  taking 
the  whole  South  into  view,  this  proportion  had  even  increased 
since  his  day,  up  to  the  breaking  out  of  the  war. 

*  Of  every  appropriation,  then,  that  was  made  by  Congress  for 
the  support  of  the  military  schools,  three-fourths  of  the  money 
belonged  to  the  Southern  States.  Did  these  States  send  three- 
fourths  of- the  students  to  those  schools?  Of  course  not  —  this 
would  have  been  something  like  justice  to  them ;  but  justice  to 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semm^a.         219 

the  Southern  States  was  no  part  of  the  scheme  of  the  Federal 
Government.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  cadets,  and  midship- 
men "  at  large  ^',  whom  the  President  was  authorized  to  appoint 
—the  intention  being  that  he  should  appoint  the  sons  of  de- 
ceased officers  of  the  army  and  navy,  but  the  fact  being  that  he 
generally  gave  the  appointment  to  his  political  friends  —  the  ap- 
pointments to  these  schools  were  made  from  the  several  States, 
in  proportion  to  population,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  North 
got  the  lion's  share.  But  supposing  the  States  to  have  been 
eqnally  interested  in  those  schools,  what  would  have  been  the  re- 
sult? Why,  simply,  that  the  South  not  only  educated  her  own  ^^ 
boys,  but  educated  three-fourths  of  the  Northern  boys,  to  boot.  * 
Virginia,  for  instance,  at  the  same  time  that  she  sent  young 
Robert  E.  Lee  to  West  Point,  to  be  educated,  put  in  the  public 
treasury  not  only  money  enough  to  pay  for  his  education  and 
maintenance,  but  for  the  education  and  maintenance  of  three 
ilassachusetts  boys  I  How  ungrateful  of  Lee,  afterward,  being 
thus  a  charity  scholar  of  the  North,  to  draw  his.  sword  against 
her!' 

The  visit  of  our  author  to  Montgomery ;  his  interview  with 
Davis ;  his  mission  to  the  North ;  his  contracts  with  Northern 
men  for  arms  and  munitions  of  war ;  these,  and  various  other 
interesting  events  and  interviews,  are  well  described,  before  he 
comes  to '  the  commissioning  of  the  Summer,  the  first  Confeder- 
ate States'  ship  of  war '.  After  many  tedious  delays,  and  diffi- 
culties, and  disappointments,  this  little  ship  of  war  is  ready  for 
service.  Its  commander  was,  according  to  Federal  ethics,  (the 
prime  article  of  which,  during  the  war,  seems  to  have  been 
mendacity,)  'a  deserter  from  the  service  \  and  the  little  ship  it- 
self *  a  jwVa^«  vessel  \  Another  charge  this,  which  our  author 
has,  in  the  course  of  his  work,  for  ever  laid  to  rest,  by  an  appeal 
to  the  principles  and  the  practice  of  nations,  and  especially  to 
those  of  the  United  States. 

*  Chapter  XI.  After  long  waiting  and  watching,  the  Svmter 
runs  the  blockade  of  the  Mississippi,  in  open  daylight,  pursued 
by  the  Brooklyn.'  We  have  read,  with  breathless  interest,  the 
description  of  this  whole  exciting  scene  of  running  the  blockade 
by  the  gallant  little  Sumter ^  pursued  by  the  magnificent  Brook^ 


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220         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semm^.      [Jan. 

lyn,  '  Did  Semmes  \  the  present  writer  .has  been  asked, '  show 
any  courage,  any  heroism,  in  taking  the  sea  to  attack  unarmed 
vessels,  and  prey  on  the  commerce  of  the  enemy?'  Let  the  in- 
quirer, or  doubter,  read  the  thrilling  story  of  running  that 
blockade,  to  say  nothing  of  others,  and  then  answer  his  own 
question.  Let  him  read,  in  addition  to  this,  the  whole  history 
of  the  Sumter  J  alone  on  the  wide  sea,  an  object  of  vengeance  to 
the  whole  Federal  navy,  and  then,  having  witnessed  how  bravely 
and  how  coolly  the  little  ship  behaved  itself  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  appalling  dangers,  let  him  blush  at  the  remembrance  of 
his  thoughtless  inquiry.  Let  him,  in  conclusion,  take  up  the 
story  of  the  Alaham^y  and  watch  all  her  daring  adventures  on 
the  high  seas,  including  her  engagements  with  the  HaUerai  and 
the  KearsargCy  if  he  wishes  to  see  why  it  is,  that  the  gallantry 
of  Semmes  was  so  greatly  admired  by  officers  of  the  British 
navy,  as  well  as  by  others,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
Before  his  book  was  published  in  this  country,  a  London  house 
ordered  a  thousand  copies ;  a  mere  bonne-bcyache  for  the  public  of 
Great  Britain.  Other  thousands  will,  no  doubt,  speedily  fol- 
low, and  be  as  greedily  devoured  by  the  people  of  that  country. 
We  subjoin  the  following  extracts,  as  a  few  specimens  of  the 
Admiral's  descriptive  powers : 

'  The  cTening  of  the  escape  of  the  Sumter  was  one  of  those  Golf  ereniDgs  wliid 
can  only  be  felt,  and  not  described.  The  wind  died  gentlj  awaj  as  the  sua  ^ 
clined,  leaving  a  calm  and  sleeping  sea  to  reflect  a  myriad  of  stars.  The  smhU 
gone  down  behind  a  screen  of  purple  and  gold,  and  to  add  to  the  beauty  of  tbt 
scene,  as  night  set  in,  a  blazing  comet,  whose  tail  spanned  nearly  a  qaarter  of  tbc 
heayens,  mirrored  itself  within  a  hundred  feet  of  our  little  bark,  as  she  ploughed 
her  noiseless  way  through  the  waters.  As  I  leaned  on  the  carriage  of  a  hoiritier 
on  the  poop  of  my  ship,  and  cast  a  glance  toward  the  quarter  of  the  borisoD 
whence  the  land  had  disappeared,  memory  was  busy  with  the  events  of  the  Uit 
few  months.  How  hurried  and  confused  they  had  been  I  It  seemed  as  tboogli  I 
had  dreamed  a  dream,  and  found  it  difficult  upon  waking  to  unite  the  discordut 
parts.  A  great  government  had  been  broken  up,  family  ties  bad  been  severed,  aad 
war  —  grim,  ghastly  war  —  was  arraying  a  household  against  itself.  A  Uttie 
while  back,  and  I  had  served  under  the  very  flag  which  I  had  that  day  defit^- 
Strange  revolution  of  feeling,  how  I  now  hated  that  flag  1  It  had  been  to  me  S5i 
mistress  to  a  lover ;  I  had  looked  upon  it  with  admiring  eyes,  had  dallied  with  it 
in  hours  of  ease,  and  had  bad  recourse  to  it  in  hours  of  trouble,  and  now  I  fooo<l 
it  fidse  1     What  wonder  that  I  felt  a  lover's  resentment  ? '     (p-  121 .) 

The  burning  of  the  Golden  Rochet,  the  first  vessel  captured  bj 
the  Sumter,  is  thus  described : 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.         221 

'The  wind,  bj  this  time,  had  become  very  light,  and  the  night  was  pitch-dark 
—the  darkness  being  of  that  kind  graphically  described  by  old  sailors,  when  they 
mj,  yon  may  cut  it  with  a  knife.  I  regret  that  I  cannot  give  to  the  reader  the 
picture  of  the  baming  ship,  as  it  presented  itself  to  the  silent  and  solemn  watch- 
ers on  board  the  SumUr^  as  they  leaned  over  her  hammock  rails  to  witness  it.  The 
boat,  which  had  been  sent  on  this  errand  of  destruction,  had  pulled  out  of  sight, 
ud  her  oars  ceasing  to  resound,  we  knew  that  she  had  reached  the  doomed  ship, 
lot  ao  impenetrable  was  the  darkness,  that  no  trace  of  either  boat  or  ship  could  be 
seen,  although  the  Sumter  was  distant  only  a  few  hundred  yards.  Not  a  sound 
ccold  be  heard  on  board  the  Sumter^  although  her  deck  was  crowded  with  men» 
Every  one  seemed  busy  with  his  own  thoughts,  and  gazing  eagerly  in  the  direction 
of  the  doomed  ship,  endeavoring,  in  rain,  to  penetrate  the  thick  darkness.  Sud- 
denly, one  of  the  crew  exclaimed,  '^  There  is  the  flame  I  She  is  on  fire  I' '  The 
dedu  of  this  Maine-built  ship  were  of  pine,  caulked  with  old-fashioned  oakum,  and 
p«id  with  pitch ;  the  wood-work  of  the  cabin  was  like  so  much  tinder,  having 
been  lessoned  by  many  voyages  to  the  tropics,  and  the  forecastle  was  stowed  with 
paints  and  oils.  The  consequence  was,  that  the  flame  was  not  long  in  kindling, 
bat  leaped,  full-grown,  into  the  air,  in  a  very  few  minutes  after  its  first  faint  glim- 
mer bad  been  seen.  The  boarding  officer,  to  do  his  work  more  effectually,  had  ap- 
plied the  torch  siqaultaneously  in  three  places,  the  cabin,  the  mainhoid,  and  the 
forecastle ;  and  now  the  devouring  flames  riished  up  these  three  apertures,  with  a 
fory  which  nothing  could  resist.  The  burning  ship,  with  the  Sumter' t  boat  in  the 
Kt  of  shoving  oQ  from  her  side  ;  the  Sumter  herself,  with  her  grim,  black  sides, 
lying  in  repose  like  some  great  sea-monster,  gloating  upon  the  spectacle,  and  the 
ileeping  sea,  for  there  was  scarce  a  ripple  upon  the  water,  were  all  brilliantly 
Bghted.  The  iu draught  into  the  burning  ship's  holds,  and  cabins,  added  every 
ttoment  new  fury  to  the  flames,  and  now  they  could  be  heard  roaring  like  the  fires 
of  a  hundred  furnaces,  in  full  blast.  The  prize  ship  had' been  laid  to,  with  her 
Daio-topsail  to  the  mast,. and  all  her  light  sails,  though  cleared  up,  were  flying 
loose  about  the  jards.  The  forked  tongues  of  the  devouring  element,  leaping  into 
the  rigging,  newly  tarred,  ran  rapidly  up  the  shrouds,  first  into  the  tops,  then  to 
the  topmast-heads,  thence  to  the  topgallant  and  royal  mast-beads,  and  in  a  mo- 
nent  more  to  the  trucks ;  and  whilst  this  rapid  ascent  of  the  main  current  of  fire 
vas  going  on,  other  currents  had  run  out  upon  the  yards,  and  ignited  all  the  sails. 
A  top-gallant  sail,  all  on  fire,  would  now  fly  off  from  the  yard,  and  sailing  leis- 
urely in  the  direction  of  the  light  breeze  that  was  feinning,  rather  than  blowing, 
break  into  bright  and  sparkling  patches  of  flame,  and  settle,  or  rather  silt  into 
the  tea.  The  yard  would  then  follow,  and  not  being  wholly  submerged  by  its  de- 
•cent  into  the  sea,  would  retain  a  portion  of  its  flame,  and  continue  to  burn,  as  a 
fioatiog  brand,  for  some  minutes.  At  one  time,  the  intricate  net-work  of  the 
tordage  of  the  burning  ship  was  traced,  as  with  a  pencil  of  fire,  upon  the  black 
sky  beyond,  the  many  threads  of  flame  twisting,  and  writhing  like  so  many  ser- 
pents that  had  received  their  death  wounds.  The  mizzen-mast  now  went  by  the 
board,  then  the  fore- mast,  and  in  a  few  minutes  afterward  the  great  main-mast 
tottered,  reeled,  and  fell  over  the  ship's  side  into  the  sea,  making  a  noise  like  that 
of  the  sturdy  oak  of  the  forests  when  it  foils  by  the  stroke  of  the  axeman.' 

We  select  the  above  descriptions,  as  specimens,  not  because 
thej  are  the  best  in  the  book,  (for  there  are  many  better),  but 


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222         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.      [Jan. 

because  they  are  average  ones,  and  because  they  come  first  m 
the  Memoirs.  The  work  is  replete  with  descriptions  of  equal 
power  and  beauty. 

It  is  our  design,  not  to  rifle  the  pages  of  the  Memoir  before 
us,  in  order  to  enrich  our  own,  but  only  to  give  our  readers 
some  notion  of  the  rich  repast,  which  Admiral  Semmes  has  pro- 
vided for  their  entertainment  and  instruction.  We  shall,  in 
pursuance  of  this  design,  pass  over  the  greater  part  of  his  most 
interesting  volume ;  and  only  indicate,  in  passing,  some  of  the 
scenes  therein  described,  or  topics  discussed.  ^  Rapid  work  — 
seven  prizes  in  two  days  —  The  Sumter  makes  her  first  port,  and 
what  occurred  there.'  .  .  .  '  The  Sumter  on  the  wing  again  — 
Reaches  the  island  of  Gura^oa,  and  is  only  able  to  enter  after  a 
diplomatic  figiit.'  ....  *  The  capture  of  other  prizes  —  Puerto 
Cabello,  and  what  occurred  there.'  ...  *  Steering  along  the 
coast  of  Venezuela  —  The  coral  insect  and  wonders  of  the  deq)— 
The  Sumter  enters  the  Port  of  Spain,  in  the  British  island  of 
Trinidad,  and  coals  and  sails  again.'  •  •  •  ^  The  Sumter  at  Mar> 
anham  —  The  hotel  Porto  and  its  proprietor  —  A  week  on 
shore.'  .  .  .  ^The  Sumter  at  Martinique  —  at  St.  Pierre — Is 
an  object  of  much  curiosity  with  the  inhabitants — Arrest  of 
Mason  and  Slidell  —  Mr,  Seward's  extraordinary  course  on  the 
occasion.'  .  .  .  *  Arrival  at  St.  Pierre  of  the  enemy's  steam- 
sloop  Iroquois —  How  she  violates  the  neutrality  of  the  pcwrt— 
The  Iroquois  blockades  the  Sumter  —  Correspondence  with  the 
Governor  —  Escape  of  the  Sumter.'  ...  *  Capture  and  burning 
of  the  Arcade,  Vigilanty  and  Ebenezer  Dodge — A  leaky  ship, 
and  a  gale  —  An  alarm  of  fire.'  .  .  .  ^Christmas  day  on  board 
the  Sumter  —  Cape  Flyaway,  and  the  curious  illusion  produced 
by  it  —  The  Sumter  boards  a  large  fleet  of  ships  in  one  day,  bat 
finds  no  enemy  among  them  —  Arrival  at  Cadiz.'  .  ,  .  'The 
Sumter  is  ordered  to  leave  in  twenty-four  hours  —  Declines  obe- 
dience to  the  order — Prisoners  landed  —  Deserters — SumUr 
leaves  Cadiz.'  .  .  .  *The  Pillars  of  Hercules  —  Gibraltar- 
Capture  of  the  enemy's  ships,  Neapolitan  and  Investigator  — A 
conflagration  between  Europe  and  Africa — The  Sumter  anchors 
in  the  harbor  of  Gibraltar  —  The  Rock ;  the  town ;  the  militarj; 
the  review  and  the  Alameda.'  .  •  .  ^  Ship  crowded  with  visitors 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.         223 

—A  ride  over  the  Eock  with  Col.  Freemantle — The  "  Gralleries  '^ 
and  other  sabterranean  wonders  —  A  dizzy  height^  and  the 
Queen  of  Spain^s  Chair  —  The  monkeys  and  the  nentral 
groond/  .  .  .  ^The^Suwi^  in  trouble  —  Combination  against 
her,  headed  by  the  Federal  Consul  —  Applies  to  the  British 
Grovemment  for  coal,  but  is  refused  —  Sends  her  paymaster  and 
ex-Consul  to  Cadiz  —  They  are  arrested  and  imprisoned  at  Tan- 
gier—  Correspondence  on  the  subject — The  Sumter  laid  up  and 
sold.'  .  .  .  '  Author  in  London  —  in  Nassau  —  in  Liverpool  — 
The  Alabama  gone.'  ...  *  A  brief  resumg  of  the  history  of 
the  war,  between  the  commissioning  of  the  Sumter  and  that  of 
the  Alabama  —  Secretary  Mallory,  and  the  difficulties  by  which 
he  was  surrounded.'  ...  *  The  equipment  of  the  Alabama  illus- 
trated by  that  of  several  colonial  cruisers  during  the  war  of 
1776  —  Benjamin  Franklin  and  Silas  Deane,  as  Chiefs  of  the 
Naval  Bureau  at  Paris  —  The  Surprise  and  the  Revenge  — 
Wickes,  and  Conyngham,  and  PaulJones.'  .  .  .  'Description  of 
the  Alabama — Preparing  her  for  sea  —  A  picture  of  her  birth 
iDd  death  —  Captain  Bullock  returns  to  England  —  Author 
alone  on  the  high  seas.'  .  .  .  '  The  character  of  the  sailor  —  The 
first  blow  struck  at  the  whale  fishery  —  The  habitat  and  the 
habits  of  the  whale  —  The  first  capture.'  .  .  .  '  Capture  of  the 
StarUgkty  Ocean  Dove,  Alert  —  Weather-Guage  —  A  race  by 
night  —  Capture  of  the  AtamaJuty  Virginia,  and  Eliza  Dunbar — 
A  rough  sea,  toiling  boats,  and  a  picturesque  burning  of  a  ship 
in  a  gale.'  .  .  .  '  The -4Za6ama  changes  her  cruising  ground — 
what  she  saw  and  did.'  .  .  .  '  Capricious  weather  of  the  Gulf 
stream  —  Capture  of  the  packet-ship  Tonoioanda,  the  Manchea^ 
<«r,  and  the  Lamplighter  —  A  cyclone.'  .  .  .  But  we  must  for- 
bear, lest  the  reader  should  weary  of  the  long  bill  of  fare.  He 
now  has  before  him  the  topics  of  one-half  of  Admiral  Semmes' 
book ;  and  they  certainly  do  not  decrease  in  interest  as  we  pro- 
ceed from  the  first  half  to  the  end  of  the  volume.  The  engage- 
ment of  the  Alabama  with  the  Kearaarge,  which  occurs  toward 
the  end  of  the  volume,  is,  indeed,  the  most  profoundly  interest- 
ing portion  of  the  work. 

The  last  topic  above-mentioned, '  the  cyclone ',  occupies  about 
nine  pi^es  of  the  Memotr,  or  from  page  468  to  page  478.     As 


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^24         The  'Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmes.      [Jan. 

this  very  spirited  description  is  too  long  to  be  transferred  to  our 
pages^  we  must  be  content  to  lay  before  our  readers  only  a  short 
portion  of  it,  which  is  in  these  words :  — 

'  The  fltorm  raged  thus  violently  for  two  hours,  the  barometer  settling  all  the 
while,  until  it  reached  28.64.  It  then  fell  suddenly-  calm.  Landsmen  hare  beard 
of  an  '*  ominous  "  calm,  but  this  calm  seemed  to  us  almost  like  the  fiat  of  death. 
We  knew,  at  once,  that  we  were  in  the  terrible  vortex  of  a  cyclone,  from  which  » 
fbw  mariners  ha?e  ever  escaped  to  tell  the  tal^  I  Nothing  else  could  accoant  for 
the  suddenness  of  the  calm,  coupled  with  the  lowness  of  the  barometer.  We  knew 
that  when  the  Tortez  should  pass,  the  gale  would  be  renewed  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
ceased,  and  with  inareased  fury,  and  that  the  frail  little  Alabama  —  for  indeed  she 
looked  frail  and  small,  now,  amid  the  giant  seas  that  were  rising  in  a  confused 
mass  around  her,  and  threatening  every  moment  to  topple  on  board  of  her,  widi 
an  avalanche  of  water  that  would  bury  her  a  hundred  fathoms  deep  —  might  be 
dashed  in  a  thousand  pieces  in  an  instant.  I  pulled  out  my  watch,  and  noted  the 
time  of  the  occurrence  of  the  calm,  and  causing  one  of  the  cabin-doors  to  be  do- 
closed,  I  sent  an  officer  below  to  look  at  the  barometer.  He  reported  the  height 
already  mentioned — 28.64.  If  the  reader  will  cast  his  eye  upon  the  diagraoi 
again  —  at  figure  No.  2  —  he  will  see  where  we  were  at  this  moment.  The  AUr 
bama^t  head  now  lies  to  the  south-east  —  she  having  ''come  up"  gradually  to  the 
wind,  as  it  hauled  — and  she  is  in  the  south-eastern  hemisphere  of  the  vortei. 
The  scene  was  the  most  remarkable  I  had  ever  witnessed.  The  ship,  which  hid 
been  pressed  over,  only  a  moment  before,  by  the  fury  of  the  gale  as  described,  hid 
now  righted,  and  the  heavy  storm  stay -sail,  which,  notwithstanding  its  diouBo- 
live  size,  had  required  two  stout  tackles  to  confine  it  to  the  deck,  was  now,  fer 
want  of  wind  to  keep  it  steady,  jerking  these  tackles  about  as  though  it  woild 
snap  them  in  pieces,  as  the  ship  rolled  to  and  fro.  The  aspect  of  the  heavens  mi 
appalling.  The  clouds  were  writhing  and  twisting,  like  so  many  huge  lerpeiti 
engaged  in  combat,  and  hung  so  low,  in  the  thin  air  of  the  vortex,  as  almost  to 
touch  our  mast-heads.  The  best  description  I  can  give  of  the  sea  is  that  of  a  Dum- 
ber of  huge  watery  cones — for  the  waves  seemed  now,  in  the  diminished  preswrt 
of  the  atmosphere  in  the  vortex,  ixijut  up  into  the  <%,  and  assume  a  conical  shipe 
—  that  were  dancing  an  infernal  reel,  played  by  some  necromancer.  They  weft 
not  running  in  any  given  direction,  there  being  no  longer  any  wind  to  drive  tbes, 
but  were  jostling  each  other,  like  drunken  men  in  a  crowd,  and  threatening  everf 
moment  to  topple  one  upon  the  other. 

With  watch  in  hand,  (  noticed  the  passage  of  the  vortex..  It  was  just  thirtj 
minutes  in  passing.  The  gale  had  left  us,  with  the  wind  trom  the  south-west ;  the 
ship,  the' moment  she  emerged  from  the  vortex,  took  the  wind  from  the  north- 
west. We  could  see  it  coming  upon  the  waters.  The  disorderly  seas  were  aov 
no  longer  jostling  each  other;  the  infernal  reel  had  ended ;  the  cones  bad  lovend 
their  late  rebellious  heads,  as  they  felt  the  renewed  pressure  of  the  atmosphere,  snd 
were  being  driven,  like  so  many  obedient  slaves,  before  the  raging  blast.  IV 
tops  of  the  waves  were  literally  cut  off  by  the  force  of  the  wind,  and  dashed  hsft- 
dreds  of  yards,  in  blinding  spray.  The  wind  now  struck  us  "  butt  and  foremost," 
throwing  the  ship  over  in  an  instant,  as  before,  and  threatening  to  jerk  the  littlt 
storm-sail  from  its  bolt-ropes.  It  was  impossible  to  raise  one's  head  above  tberiB, 
and  difficult  to  breathe  for  a  fiew  seconds.    We  could  do  nothing  bat  cower  i 


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1869.]     The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.         225 

the  ▼cather  bulwarks,  and  hold  on  to  the  belaying  pins,  or  whatever  other  objects 
presented  themselves,  to  prevent  being  dashed  to  leeward,  or  swept  overboard. 
Tbegfile  raged,  now,  precisely  as  long  as  it  had  done  before  we  entered  the  vortex 
—two  hoars  —  showing  how  accurately  Nature  had  drawn  her  circle.' 

The  Admiral's  work  has^  of  course^  like  all  human  produc- 
tioDSy  its  defects.  We  do  not  regret  that  the  sun  has  its  spots. 
But  we  r^ret  that  the  work  before  is,  in  this  respect,  like  the 
8QD ;  especially  since  it  is  the  duty  of  the  critic,  even  more  than 
of  the  astronomer,  to  represent  the  blemishes,  as  well  as  the  beau- 
ties, of  the  object  of  his  admiration.  The  style  of  our  author, 
then,  appears  rather  too  diffuse  or  wordy  at  times,  to  elicit  our 
indiscriminate  approbation  and  praise.  A  little  more  pruning, 
a  little  more  of  the  lim^  labor,  would,  it  seems  to  us,  have  im- 
proved his  style.  By  such  a  process,  it  might,  perhaps,  have  lost 
more  in  warmth  and  glow  of  coloring,  than  it  would  have  gained 
in  depth  and  intensity  of  expression,  and  been,  consequently, 
less  attractive  to  the  great  majority  of  readers.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  it  occasionally  flares  into  a  species  of '  fine  writing  \  or  a  fan- 
eiful  cast  of  expression,  which  seems  inconsistent  with  severity 
of  taste.  We  feel  called  upon  to  notice  this  blemish  —  for  we 
ean  not  but  regard  it  as  one  —  because  it  partakes  of  the  great 
&ult  of  most  writers  of  this  country. 

There  are,  also,  certain  expressions  of  Sentiment,  which  we 
are  sorry  to  see  in  the  work  before  us.  The  glowing  tribute  to 
the  women  of  the  South,  for  example,  concludes  with  the  follow- 
ing words :  '  Glorious  women  of  the  South !  what  an  ordeal  you 
have  passed  through,  and  how  heroically  you  have  stood  the  try- 
ing test.  You  have  lost  the  liberty  which  your  husbands,  sires, 
and  sons  struggled  for,  but  only  for  a  period.  The  blood  which 
yoa  will  have  infused  into  the  veins  of  future  generations  will 
rise  up  to  vindicate  you,  and  "  call  you  blessed.'' '  (p.  76.)  We 
are  glad  he  said  *  future  generations.'  For  the  blood  of  this 
generation,  certainly,  has  no  disposition  to  rise  up  to  vindicate 
its  liberty,  except  the  great  right,  derived  from  the  Almighty 
Baler  of  the  universe,  to  exist  on  the  face  of  the  globe,  and  to 
protect  the  memory  and  the  honor  of  its  sires,  its  sons,  and  its 
vomeo.  Too  much  of  its  blood,  indeed,  far  too  much  of  its  very 
best  blood,  sleeps  beneath  the  cold  sod  with  Stonewall  Jackson, 
15 


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226  The  Sunder  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semmea.      [Jan. 

and  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  and  with  a  thousand  other  heroes  in 
battle  slain,  for  it  to  dream  of  insubordination  to  ^  the  powers 
that  be/  And  besides,  the  blood  which  still  lives,  and  beats  in 
our  veins,  is  under  a  pressure  far  too  dark  and  terrible,  to  dream 
of  freedom,  or  anything  beyond  a  supply  of  daily  bread.  This 
generation  of  the  South,  indeed,  has  but  one  mission ;  the  sublime 
mission,  namely,  to  bear  its  awful  lot  with  quiet  resignation  to 
the  will  of  Heaven,  and  with  toiling  fortitude  in  the  discharge 
of  present  duties ;  remembering  the  time-honored  adage,  that 
'  Adversity  makes  men  ;  and  prosperity,  monsters/ 

If  we  had  not  eulogized,  so  highly,  both  the  style  and  the  sub- 
stance of  the  book  before  us,  we  should  not  have  considered  it  a 
duty  to  notice  the  above  trifles;  which,  as  we  have  said,  are  bnt 
occasional^  and  detract  little,  if  anything,  from  its  great  merits. 
No  book  of  the  day,  or,  at  least,  no  book  written  by  a  Southern 
man,  will  be  read  as  extensively  as  the  Memoirs  of  Servioa 
Afloat,  by  Admiral  Semmes.  It  will  be  read  now,  as  well  as  by 
future  ages,  and  by  foreign  nations,  as  well  as  by  our  own  people. 

The  interest  of  the  story  deepens  as  we  approach  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  Memoirs.  In  its  fifty-third  chapter,  we  have  'the 
combat  between  the  Alabama  and  the  Kearsarge  *;  and,  in  the 
following  chapter,  we  have  *  other  incidents '  of  that  memorable 
conflict.  We  see,  also,  *  The  rescue  of  officers  and  seamen  by 
the  English  steam-yacht  Deer  hound — The  United  States  Gov- 
ernment demand  that  they  be  given  up  —  British  Government 
refuses  compliance  —  The  rescued  persons  not  prisoners — The 
inconsistency  of  the  Federal  Secretary  of  the  Navy/  Here  we 
behold  '  the  chivaliy ', '  the  diplomacy ',  and  *  the  justice ',  of  *  the 
best  government  the  world  has  ever  seen.'  How  sad  the  spec- 
tacle !  How  melancholy  the  reflection  it  awakens  in  every  sonl 
not  absolutely  dead  to  every  sentiment  of  honor,  truth,  courage, 
and  courtesy  I  It  appears,  indeed,  from  a  plain  statement  of 
facts  —  of  unquestionable  facts  of  record  —  that  Mr.  Gideon 
Welles,  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  and  Mr.  William  H.  Seward, 
Secretary  of  State,  were  little  better  than  epitomies  of  mean- 
ness and  malice.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  their  match 
in  the  history  of  modern  diplomacy.  It  is  said,  by  those  who 
have  most  profoundly  studied  the  nature  of  man,  that  we  grow 


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1869.]     The  SunUer  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semm^.         227 

like,  or  assimilate  to,  the  objects  of  our  worship.  If  so,  Mr. 
Gideon  Welles  must  have  worshipped  the  '  Golden  Calf,  and 
Mr.  Seward  the  '  Old  Serpent.'  But  in  this  case,  as  in  most 
others,  the  assimilation  was  not  perfect.  Hence,  Mr.  Gideon 
Welles  became,  not  a  goldeuy  but  only  a  brazeUy  calf.  And  as  for 
Mr.  Seward,  he  seems  to  have  acquired  all  the  qualities  of  the 
Serpent,  except  the  golden  attribute  of  '  wisdom ' ;  an  attribute 
which,  by  the  way,  he  had  little  use  for;  since  the  low  cunning 
of  the  fox  was  all  he  needed  to  deceive  and  destroy  geese.  Alas  1 
what  myriads,  what  flocks,  of  those  innocent  creatures,  have  been 
destroyed  by  the  great  Fox  of  the  New  World  ! 

We  see,  also,  in  the  same  portion  of  the  Memoirs,  a  strange 
transformation.  We  see  an  officer  of  the  old  Navy,  once  a  gen- 
tleman and  an  ornament  to  his  profession,  become  the  tool  of 
tyrants,  whose  policy  was  as  crooked  as  it  was  cruel.  Accord- 
ingly, he  not  only  enters  the  fight  witlx  concealed  armor  on,  but 
even  after  the  Alabama  has  struck  her  flag,  and  offered  to  sur- 
render, he  fires  five  times  on  the  sinking  ship ;  and,  standing 
sullenly  aloof,  leaves  her  officers  and  men  to  be  rescued  by  Eng- 
lish vessels!  How  else — poor  fellow! — could  he  hope  to 
please  the  ^  brazen  calf,  or  the  ^  heartless  fox '  ?  Bitter  experience 
had,  indeed,  taught  him  the  lesson,  which  a  Federal  General 
had,  on  being  recalled  from  Fredericksburg  by  the  authorities 
at  Washington,  so  feelingly  expressed  in  these  words:  —  'Our 
Government  has  no  use  for  the  services  of  a  gentleman.' 

Nay,  the  English  gentleman,  Mr.  Lancaster,  who  had  the  hu- 
manity to  pick  up  the  drowning  officers  and  men  of  the  Alabam^a, 
became  an  object  of  the  mean  vengeance  of  Mr.  Seward.  But,  in 
this  instance  at  least,  the  Federal  Fox  was  not  a  match  for  the  Brit- 
ish Lion.  He  was  robbed  of  his  intended  prey,  The  letter  of  Mr. 
Lancaster,  so  calm  in  its  tone  and  so  unanswerable  in  its  facts,  will 
stand  as  an  everlasting  reproach  to  the  policy  of  Mr.  Seward 
and  Mr.  Welles.  But  what  care  they  for  reproaches,  or  anatke- 
mo*,  or  scorn  and  derision  ?  The  whole  universe  might,  indeed, 
cry  shajne  I  shame  I  and  yet  there  would  be  no  shame  in  such 
men. 

In  relation  to  the  letter  of  Mr.  Lancaster,  which  fills  three 
pages  of  the  Memoirs,  the  author  says :  ' "  Mark  how  a  plain  tale 


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228         The  Sumter  and  Alabama — Admiral  Semm^s.      [Jan. 

shall  put  him  down/^  There  could  not  be  a  better  illostration 
of  this  remark^  than  the  above  reply,  proceeding  from  the  pen  oft 
gentleman,  to  Mr.  Seward's  charges  against  both  Mr.  Lancast^ 
and  myself.  Mr.  Adams  having  complained  to  Lord  Russell, 
of  the  conduct  of  Mr.  Lancaster,  the  latter  gentleman  addressed 
a  letter  to  his  lordship,  containing  substantially  the  defence  of 
himself  which  he  had  prepared  for  the  "  Daily  News/'  In  t 
day  or  two  afterward.  Lord  Eussell  replied  to  Mr.  Adams  as 
follows : 

**  FoRBiGN  Oftiob,  Julj  26,  1864. 
**  Sib  :  —  With  reference  to  my  letter  of  the  8th  iost,  t  have  the  honor  to  traosndt 
to  jon  a  copy  of  a  letter  which  I  have  received  from  Mr.  Lancaster,  containing 
his  answer  to  the  representations  contained  in  yonr  letter  of  the  25th  nit.,  with 
regard  to  the  course  pursued  by  him,  in  rescuing  Captain  Semmes  and  others,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  sinking  of  the  Alabama  ;  and  I  hare  the  honor  to  infann  jon, 
that  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  take  any  further  steps  in  the  matter.  I  ban 
the  honor  to  be,  with  the  highest  consideration,  your  most  .obedient,  humble  t 
Tant,  RussiLL.'' 


r  »»> 


He  adds :  *  The  Royal  yacht  squadron,  as  well  as  the  Govern- 
ment, sustained  their  comrade  in  what  he  had  done,  and  a  num- 
ber of  officers  of  the  Royal  Navy  and  Army,  approving  of  my 
course,  throughout  the  trying  circumstances  in  which  I  had  been 
placed  —  not  even  excepting  the  hurling  of  my  sword  into  the 
sea,  under  the  circumstances  related  —  set  on  foot  a  subscription 
for  another  sword,  to  replace  the  one  which  I  had  lost,  publish- 
ing the  following  announcement  of  their  intention  in  the  London 
"  Daily  Telegraph '^  — 

"  JuinoB  United  Skbtioi  Club,  S.  W.l 
June  23,  1S64.  J 

'^  Sib  :  — It  will  doubtless  gratify  the  admirers  of  the  galhintry  displayed  by  tbt 
officers  and  crew  of  the  renowned  Alabama^  in  the  late  action  off  Cherboorg,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  inform  them,  through  your  influential  journal,  that  it  btf 
been  determined  to  present  Captain  Semmes  with  a  handsome  sword,  to  nplAC* 
that  which  he  buried  with  his  sinking  ship.  Gentlemen  wishing  to  participate  i> 
this  testimony  to  unflinching  patriotism  and  naval  daring,  will  be  good  enough  to 
communicate  with  the  chairman,  Admiral  Anson,  United  Service  Club,  Pali-JUSi 
or,  sir,  yours,  ko, 

Bbdfobo  Pnc, 
Ommander  S,  JV.,  JBbn.  Secrdanf,** 

Now,  it  is  only  necessary  to  know  Commander  Pim,  or  to 
read  the  Memoir  of  his  deeds,  to  see  in  him  one  of  the  remark* 


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1869.]  Northern  Geographies.  229 

able  men  of  the  age,  and  as  true  a  hero  as  ever  trod  the  deck  of 
a  British  man-of-war.  He  it  was  who,  in  profound  sympathy 
with  the  gallantry  of  Semmes,  first  started  the  idea  of  present- 
ing to  him  the  beautiful  sword  referred  to  above,  as  well  as  in 
the  first  page  of  this  article. 

We  can  not  tear  ourselves  from  the  pages  of  the  Memoirs  before 
as,  without  dwelling,  for  a  moment,  .on  the  most  pleasant  remi- 
niscence they  have  awakened  in  our  minds.  *  The  Rev.  F.  W. 
Treelett',  and  *his  accomplished  sister',  planned  a  tour  on  the 
continent  for  the  restoration  of  Semmes'  health,  and  accompanied 
bim  on  the  tour.  ^The  Parsonage',  and  its  more  than  most 
hospitable  inmates,  ^at  Belsize  Park,  London'  I  what  poor  Con- 
federate iu  that  great  wilderness  of  strangers  has  not  found  shel- 
ter, and  comfort,  and  good  cheer,  under  its  roof?  What  naval 
officer,  or  other  Confederate,  can  ever  forget  the  inde&tigable 
Eector  of  St.  Peters ',  Belsize  Park,  who  did  more  for  Confeder- 
ates in  London,  and  for  the  Confederate  cause  itself,  as  well  as 
made  greater  sacrifices  of  time  and  money,  than  any  other  man 
b  England,  or  in  Europe  ?  The  South,  indeed,  and  the  friends 
of  the  South,  owe  him,  and  his  household,  a  debt  of  gratitude, 
which  the  wealth  of  worlds  could  not  adequately  discharge. 


Art.  X. — 1.  A  Comprehensive  Geography ^  combining  Mathe- 
nioHcaly  Physical^  and  Political  Geography^  vnth  important 
Hidorical  Fads,  designed  to  promote  tiie  Moral  Growth  of  the 
Intellect.  By  Benjamin  F.  Shaw  and  Fordyce  A.  Allen. 
Philadelphia:  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.     1864. 

2.  The  Common-School  Geography:  an  Elementary  Treatise  on 
MathemaiicSy  Physical  and  Politicai  Geography.  By  D.  M, 
Worren,  Author  of  a  Treatise  on  Physical  Geography,  etc.,  etc. 
Philadelphia :  Cowperthwait  &  Co.     1867. 

A  Philadelphia  journal  of  August  25,  1865,  under  the  head 
of  Southern  Gbogbaphy,  ridicules  a  Geography  for  B^in- 


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230  Northern  Geoffraphies.  [Jan. 

ners,  *  published  last  year  at  Richmond,  Va./  *  which  was  inten- 
ded to  supercede  [supersede]  the  '*  Yankee  '*  geographies  at  the 
South/  But  a  *  Yankee'  geography  was  also  published  in  the 
same  Mast  year'  of  1864,  at  Philadelphia.  Let  us  subject  this 
to  the  test,  not  of  ridicule,  but  of  impartial  examination. 

It  is  known  that  in  1820  a  negro  colony  was  founded  in  Libe- 
ria, (a  colony  which  every  just  man  must  wish  to  be  successful,) 
and  that  since  1830,  Algeria  has  been  in  the  possession  of  the 
French,  who  have  engrafted  European  civilisation  upon  a  Sem- 
itic white  race  already  considerably  advanced,  *  elementary  in- 
struction having  been  established  at  Algiers  for  ages  past,  on  a 
method  somewhat  resembling  the  Lancasterian.'  {Penny  Cyckh 
pcedia.)  The  white  races  of  North  Africa  have  had  for  ages  well 
built  cities,  while,  according  to  Murray's  Encydopcedia  of  Geog- 
raphy, (London,  1834,)  *  There  is  not,  perhaps,  in  all  native  Af- 
rica, a  house  b\iilt  of  stone ;  wood,  earth,  leaves,  and  grass  are 
the  only  materials.  One  traveller  compares  their  villages  to 
groups  of  dog  kennels  rather  than  of  houses.' 

The  Algerines  and  other  natives  of  the  southern  coast  of  the 
Mediterranean,  developed  navigation  at  an  early  day,  while 
there  has  never  been  a  negro  nation  of  ship-builders  and  navi- 
gators, although  Africa  is  surrounded  by  water;  nor  has  the 
black  race  had  sufficient  intellect  to  adopt  the  civilisation  of 
Phoenicia,  Egypt,  Carthage,  Greece,  Rome,  Arabia,  or  modem 
Europe.  The  physiology  of  the  negro  is  peculiar ;  his  twelve 
cubic  inches  of  deficiency  in  brain,  as  compared  with  the  Cau- 
casian race,  gives  him  permanently  an  intellect  no  better  than 
that  of  a  white  child  of  fourteen  years  of  age.  As  children, 
there  seems  to  be  no  great  difference  between  the  races ;  a  fact 
observed  by  the  abolitionists,  who  used  it  to  prove  that  the  sub- 
sequent difference  in  the  adult  state  arose  from  '  not  giving  the 
negro  a  chance  \  as  if  the  original  opportunities  of  the  races  were 
not  about  equal.  Much  stress  is  laid  upon  the  weak  argument, 
that  in  America  the  blacks  were  not  allowed  to  read ;  but  there 
was  a  time  when  every  race  was  without  books,  and  under  the 
great  difficulties  surrounding  the  Chinese  in  California,  their 
children^are  taught  their  most  difficult  system  of  writing.  We 
are  apt  to  forget  that  the  matter  of  books,  and  the  intellect  which 


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1869.]  Northern  Geographies.  231 

requires  them,  must  exist  before  books ;  and  that  it  is  only  when 
the  intellectual  materials  of  history,  poetry,  and  civilisation  be- 
come too  cumbrous  for  the  memory,  that  writing  is  invented,  as 
hbor-saving  machines  are  constructed  when  the  necessity  for 
them  arises. 

In  the  diagram  of  the  States  of  Society y  (p.  41)  the  authors  of 
the  Comprehensive  Geography  admit  the  four  degrees  of  enlight- 
ened, civilized,  barbarous,  and  savage;  and  the  colony  of  Liberia 
is  represented  as  one  degree  in  advance  of  Greece,  India,  Ha- 
waia,  and  China,  and  two  degrees  beyond  Algeria  in  civilisation; 
Liberia  being  represented  as  enlightened,  Greece  as  civilized^  and 
Algeria  as  barbarous.  In  their  anxiety  to  assert  for  the  negro 
this  high  position,  the  authors  forgot  to  make  his  religion  con- 
form, and  in  the  companion  diagram  of  the  principal  religions, 
Liberia  and  the  surrounding  region  are  represented  as  Pagan. 
It  is  remarkable  that  such  a  real  or  affected  ignorance  of  ethnol- 
ogy should  exist  in  Philadelphia,  where  the  researches  of  the 
illustrious  Morton  were  made,  and  that  such  a  book  should  ema- 
nate from  the  respectable  publishing  house  of  Lippincott,  which 
issued  the  important  works  of  Nott  and  Gliddon. 

Upon  a  plan  which  huddles  such  heterogeneous  materials  into 
a  single  book,  one  might  suppose  that  the  grandiloquent  Headley 
-0-M-Mitchel  style  would  give  way  to  simple  narration,  not 
only  because  the  dignity  of  science  requires  it,  but  because  little 
space  could  be  spared  for  'thrilling  narrative'  and  matter  of 
'absorbing  interest';  and,  when  an  author  prefers  them,  it  is  in 
most  cases  safe  to  conclude  that  he  is  not  fit  to  write  on  scientific 
subjects,  or  to  instruct  as  a  teacher.  We  quote  the  initial  para- 
graphs as  specimens. 

'1.  The  blades  of  grass  and  the  leaves  of  trees,  that  flourish  for  a  season  in  the 
wann  suDshine,  wither  and  die.  The  giant  oak,  that  brares  the  storms  of  manj 
winters,  falls,  and  turns  to  dust.  Man,  the  noblest  inhabitant  of  the  earth,  him- 
self passes  away. 

*2.  These  changes  have  occurred  for  ages,  but  not  always.  Many,  many  thous- 
and years  ago.  Goo  alone  existed.  He  had  made  neither  plants  nor  animals.  He 
had  created  neither  earth,  nor  sun,  nor  moon.  No  star  twinkled  in  the  heavens. 
There  was  no  other  being  or  form  than  Qod.' 

The  former  of  these  paragraphs  has  been  dilated  by  verbiage 
into  three  sentences,  devoted  to  the  blades  alone  of  grass,  the 


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232  Northern  Geographies.  [Jan. 

leaves  alone  (meaning  probably  decidaous  leaves)  of  trees,  next 
the  oak  itself  entire,  ending  with  the  single  animal  man.  Ghrass 
and  leaves  die^  the  oak  /a£b,  and  man  passes  away  —  recalling 
the  statement  of  Mr.  Marcius  Willson,  that  *  Birds  as  well  as 
hefos  build  nests/  Describing  a  figure:  *  Moving  from  the 
worm  towards  the  right  is  a  trilobite ;  near  by  are  two  others 
that  have  rolled  themselves  into  balls,  like  wood-lice,  and  a 
certain  kind  of  armadillo/  From  the  structure  of  the  sen- 
tence, the  pupil  will  mistake  one  of  the  figures  for  that  of  an 
armadillo.  Trilobite  is  defined  as  a  kind  of  sheU-fish  !  Stone- 
lilies  are  defined  as  ^  singular  animals ',  but  the  pupil  is  not  told 
why  they  are  called  8<on6-lilies.  In  the  figure :  *  the  nautilos  is 
represented  as  sailing  before  the  breeze.'  The  next  paragraph 
(11)  is  devoted  to  the  fables  regarding  this  mollusk,  winding  ap 
with  the  words,  'but  it  now  appears  that  the  animal  never 
sailed.'  Then  why  give  such  prominence  to  a  false  view,  both 
in  the  figure  and  the  text?    We  italicise  part  of  paragraph  20: 

<  The  hungry  long-necked  Plesiosauros  is  seizing  by  the  wing  a  young  ^XkkAm^ 
tyl,  thai  wUl/umUh  him  an  agreeable  repast.  This  unlucky  flying-reptile  ...  has 
been  caught  while  in  pursuit  of  insects,  or  while  winging  aver  the  bay  in  seaxA  ^ 
fish.  While  seeking  to  devour  other  creatures,  it  has  fallen  into  the  jaws  of  i 
monster  as  greedy  and  merciless  as  itself. — 21.  [The  Teliosaurus]  killed  and  ate  viU 
unvarying  satisfaction^  strangers,  acguaintaneeSy  and  relations,^ 

In  paragraph  24  we  have  the  immense  mammoth,  the  rhino- 
ceros with  its  terrible  horn,  *  while  horses  and  cattle  roamed  the 
plains,  regaling  themselves  on  the  sweet  pa^sture.^  In  paragraph 
27 :  ^The  willow  waved  its  green  tresses  in  the  breeze;  the  stat 
wart  (?)  maple,  the  wide-branching  beech,  the  sombre  pine,  and 
the  giant,  gnarly  oak  raised  their  forms  from  the  soil,'  The 
water  of  some  springs  is  '  intensely  cold.'  Certain  views  are  re- 
peatedly advanced.  For  example :  ^  without  light  and  heat  not- 
ing could  live  on  the  earth/  ^Animals  and  vegetables  could 
not  live  without '  water.  *  The  Ocean  is  essential  to  the  exist- 
ence of  animals  and  plants'  .  .  .  ^what  a  dreadful  place'  (to 
what?  or  to  whom?)  *  the  earth  would  be  without  vegetation  .  . 
.  .  no  vegetation  of  any  sort  to  yield  food'  to  non-existeot 
stomachs.  This  silliness  of  hypothesis  reaches  its  climax  in 
paragraph  97,  which  closes  with  a  forceful  all,  which  must  refa 
to  certain  non-existent  animals  : 


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1869.]  Northern  Geographies.  233 

*  Vegetable  matter  by  decaying  makes  the  soil  richer.  Many  animals  eat  Tegeta- 
ble  food  solely,  others  feed  mostly  on  the  vegetable-eating  animals ;  so  that  if  there 
were  no  food  for  those  that  eat  plants,  there  would  be  no  animals  for  the  food  of 
the  iesh-eaters ;  starvation  and  death  would  ensue  to  all.'  I 

'Herbivorous  animals  that  have  a  backbone*  are  mentioned, 
and  the  ox,  sheep,  horse,  hog,  and  others,  are  included ;  but 
these  characteristics  apply  to  rabbits,  certain  fishes,  certain 
cdaceay  and  certain  bats. 

^The  vegetable-eating,  or  herbivorous  animals,  remove  vegetation  that  would 
ttUnnu  be  too  abundant^  and  in  decaying  would  fill  the  air  with  gases  injurious  to 
life;  while  some  of  them  remove  the  leaves  from  trees  to  that  the  eutuhine  may  reach 
tkefroundto  fnake  new plant$ grow.'  (p.  11.) 

'The  western  breezes,  water-laden  over  the  Atlantic  though 
they  are,  have  their  moisture  dissipated  by  the  heat  of  the  plain  * 
(p.  56) ; '  dissipated  *  is  defined  in  a  note  as  '  scattered  \  but  the 
phenomenon  is  explained  by  neither  word.  The  pupil  gets  the 
idea  that  the  moisture  goes  somewhere  else,  and  if  he  is  properly 
instructed,  he  will  .wish  to  be  informed  as  to  its  new  location. 
On  page  55  there  is  a  figure  of  '  The  Dodo,  restored.*  Here 
then  we  have  people  discussing  science  who  do  not  know  the 
meaning  of  the  scientific  terms  they  use.  Their  figure  does  not 
represent  a  restoration,  but  the  dodo  itself  (about  to  catch  an 
eel !),  of  which  figures  exist  which  were  taken  from  the  living 
bird.  The  dodo  and  several  other  animals  have  become  extinct 
within  the  last  three  centuries,  and  our  authors  give  us  thereupon 
the  curious  statement,  that  ^this  is  the  only  animal  that  has 
ceased  to  live  on  the  earth  during  the  recollection  (!)  of  man.' 
We  are  told  that  *  the  climate  and  other  conditions  of  the  coun- 
try have,  doubtless,'  caused  the  African  to  '  become  black  and 
ill-featured.' 

In  arts, '  Italy  is  more  celebrated  for  the  works  of  a  past  age 
than  for  those  of  the  present.'  But  the  Laocoon  and  the  Trans- 
figuration belong  to  different  ages.  There  is  not  a  word  about 
art  in  the  description  of  Rome,  and  instead  of  alluding  to  the 
antiquarian  library  and  art-treasures  of  the  Vatican,  we  are  told 
that '  The  Vatican,  in  which  the  Pope  resides,  is  the  largest 
palace  in  Europe.'  They  make  amends,  however,  by  saying  that 
^Florence  contains  the  finest  collections  of  paintings  and  statuary 
in  Italy.'    In  paragraph  859,  we  are  told  that  Heroulaneum  and 


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234  Northern  Geographies.  [Jan. 

Pompeii  are  in  process  of  excavation,  when  it  is  well  known 
that  nothing  has  been  done  at  the  former  city  for  many  years. 
No  mention  is  made  of  the  articles  found  which  illustrate  an- 
cient civilisation ;  but  we  are  told  that '  remains  of  men,  women, 
and  children  ^  were  found.  Both  cities  are  stated  to  have  been 
overwhelmed  with  ashes,  although  Herculaneum  was  chiefly  des- 
troyed by  lava.  The  Germans  cultivated  church  music,  as  we 
are  informed  in  the  following  curious  normal-school  sentence — 
'  They  originated  the  Gothic  style  of  architecture,  and  in  their 
churches  and  monasteries,  whose  gloomy  and  majestic  aisles  were 
lighted  by  the  colors  of  beautiful  paintings  on  glass,  cultivated 
music.^  Although  the  pronunciation  of  hard  words  is  usually 
given,  ^Tuileries'  is  avoided,  and  *  Champs  elysees '  is  converted 
into  ^  Shomp  sel-es-azej      When   Brazil   became   independent, 

*  Portugal  lost  the  richest  jewel  of  her  crown.' !  Religion  and 
Education  are  mentioned  under  Holland,  but  not  under  Belgium. 

Of  our  own  country  we  are  told,  that  ^  in,  its  progress  in  all 
that  attends  the  highest  civilization, —  it  surpasses  every  other 
country  of  the  earth.'  This  must  account  for  the  excellency  of 
our  science,  literature,  art,  public  buildings,  normal-schools,  read- 
ing books,  and  treatises  on  geography ;  for  the  purity  of  our  poli- 
tics, in  which  even  clergymen  of  the  most  puritanic  stamp  can 
take  part  without  suffering  moral  defilement ;  and  it  accounts 
for  the  honesty  of  our  officials,  since  it  is  seldom  that  we  read  of 
the  punishment  of  defaulters,  as  in  other  countries.  Even 
our  slaves  are  so  intelligent,  that  manumission  alone  is  suf- 
ficient to  make  them  fit  to  become  legislators.     Dr.  Franklin 

*  invented  the  lightning  rod  and  made  wonderful  discoveriffl  in 
electricity';  but  independently  of  the  lightning  rod,  his  electri- 
cal discoveries  were  not  wonderful.  *  Among  the  scientific  estab- 
lishments are  the  Smithsonian  Institute',  the  official  title  of 
which  is  Smithsonian  Institution,  The  causes  of  the  recent  re- 
bellion are  thus  summarily  disposed  of: 

'  Tbe  desire  to  secede  from  the  TTnion,  manifested  bj  South'  Oarolina  in  163S, 
never  entirely  died  out.  Originating  in  the  spirit  of  disobedience  to  the  Genewl 
Government,  it  revived  whenever  weighty  opposition  was  made  to  the  ambitioni 
designs  of  Southern  statesmen,  who  desired  to  extend  slavery  into  the  free  tcrritorica 
of  the  Union,  and  to  rule,  as  they  themselves  might  deem  best,  the  whole  coontry. 
If  they  could  not  govern,  and,  too,  with  a  large  degree  of  the  absoluteness  enjojed 


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1869.]  Northern  Geographies.  236 

upon  their  slave-worked  plantations,  where,  in  the  relation  of  master,  most  of 
tbem  bad  received  their  first  lessons  in  the  art,  thejr  preferred  to  leave,  the  Union. 
lp.96.) 

'The  rebellion  of  1861-A,  .  .  .  resulted  from  the  ambition  and  cupidity  of  her 
(South  Carolina's)  "statesmen." ' 

As  far  as  we  can  learn  from  the  '  history  '  given  in  this  geo- 
graphy, the  Northern  forces  in  the  late  war  seem  not  to  have  suf- 
fered defeat  in  any  battle.  Under  the  head  of  Texas,  the  defeat 
of  General  Banks  is  not  mentioned.  Gettysburg  was  ^  a  signal 
victory  '^  Missionary  Kidge  '  a  splendid  Union  victory ',  Shiloh 
and  Murfreesborough  ^terrible  victories',  and  Beaufort  ^the 
scene  of  a  splendid  Union  naval  victory',  while 

'At  Bull  Run,  Fredericksburg,  Leesburg,  Winchester,  the  Wilderness,  and  at 
Yorktown,  Williamsburg,  and  other  places  on  the  York  peninsula,  have  been 
fought  some  of  the  most  terrible  battles  of  the  war.'  I 

The  maps  of  this  work  are  meagre,  and  much  below  the 
American  standard  of  excellency.  In  any  system  of  educational 
geography,  the  maps  should  be  full  and  explicit,  with  sufficient 
text  to  make  the  pupil  familiar  with  the  chief  features  of  his 
own  locality.  Most  households  have  no  other  atlas  than  that 
from  which  the  children  learn  geography,  and  if  the  position  or 
name  of  a  county  is  required,  the  school  atlas  is  referred  to. 
Thus,  in  writing  to  Belton,  a  county  town  in  Texas,  on  referring 
to  Mitchell's  atlas,  we  found  that  it  was  in  Bell  county,  and  on 
laming  to  Worren,  we  found  neither  town  nor  county.  In  fact, 
the  Worren  map  of  Texas  is  worthless.  We  do  not  approve  of 
teaching  the  counties  of  the  several  States,  but  the  pupil  should 
have  them  at  hand. 

The  style  of  Worren's  Geography  is  loose,  illogical,  inaccurate 
and  unscientific,  as  will  appear  from  an  examination  of  several 
of  the  early  chapters.  Mr.  Worren  has  been  many  years  before 
the  public  as  a  geographer,  he  is  *  author  of  a  treatise  on  physi- 
cal geography ',  a  subject  which  requires  a  strictly  scientific 
method  and  a  mind  of  a  different  calibre  from  that  to  which  the 
Common-School  Greography  owes  its  form.  We  have  before  us 
a  copy  of  the  Mast  revised  edition',  in  the  Preface  of  which  it 
is  stated  that 

'  Acknowledgmeots  are  due  to  many  Educators,  in  rarious  parts  of  the  country, 
^  Qiefol  suggestions  kindlj  offered,  and  especially  to  Mr.  P.  W.  Bartlett,  lata 


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236  Northern  Geographies.  [Jan. 

Master  of  the  Chapman  School,  Boston,  whose  eztensiye  geographical  knowledge 
has  contributed  largelj  to  the  general  accnracjr  of  the  work.* 

In  the  first  lesson  we  are  told,  that  *  The  earth  is  nearly  round/ 
So  is  a  pancake,  but  he  meams  spherical,  and  the  word  sphere 
is  used  in  Lesson  V.  The  earth  *  is  flattened  on  two  opposite 
sides  ^,  which  sides  the  pupil  may  fancy  to  be  on  the  east  and 
west ;  and  not  until  the  third  lesson  is  he  told  that  it  is  flattened 
at  the  poles.  This  is  in  the  Harper-Willson  mode  of  making 
school-books.  '  Mountains  and  valleys  do  not  aflect  the  form  of 
the  earth/  They  affect  its  form  sufficiently  to  make  rivers  and 
to  affect  climate. 

'  If  he  could  see  as  much  of  the  earth  at  a  time  as  he  can  of 
the  wooden  globe,  it  would  appear  to  him  to  be  what  it  really  is, 
,  a  great  globe/  Not  so :  the  apparent  size  of  a  globe,  of  the 
moon,  or  of  a  more  distant  planet,  depends  upon  the  visual  an- 
gle. ^  The  tops  of  the  masts  of  a  ship  coming  into  port  are 
always  seen  before  the  hull/  As  at  New  Orleans  ?  or  Baltimore? 
or  Philadelphia?  (This  is  given  more  accurately  in  Mitchell, 
p.  18,  §55.) 

*Thus  the  axle-tree  is  the  axis  of  a  wheel.^  No,  the  axis  is 
not  always  even  in  the  line  of  the  axle-tree  of  a  vehicle.  As  an 
orange  revolves  on  a  wire — 'So  the  earth  revolves  upon  its 
axis.  Yet  the  axis  of  the  earth  is  not  a  reality  ^ — '  Has  the  earth 
a  real  axis,  like  a  wheel?'  The  answer  expected  is  No^  but  it 
should  be  Yes,  because  the  earth  has  as  definite  an  axis  as  a  wheel 
on  gudgeons,  a  stick  in  a  lathe,  or  a  vessel  on  a  potter's  wheel ; 
and  so  has  a  spinning  top,  a  bullet  shot  from  a  rifle,  or  a  coin 
whirled  on  its  edge,  and  in  all  these  cases  the  axis  is  as  much  a 
real  axis  as  a  diameter  is  a  real  diameter,  although  it  may  be  an 
imaginary  line.  *  The  axis  of  the  earth  is  inclined  to  the  plane 
of  its  orbit  at  an  angle  of  about  23  J  degrees.'  Plane  of  its  orbit 
is  unexplained,  and  the  definition  of  orbit  is  deferred  to  the  next 
lesson.  (See  Mitchell's  or  any  other  real  geography.)  'The 
motion  of  the  earth  is  so  steady  and  uniform,  that  we  do  not  per- 
ceive it.'  Rather  because  we  partake  of  the  motion,  as  stated 
farther  on. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  next  definition  is  made  by 
a  physical  geographer.     '  A  circle  is  a  curved  line,  every  point 


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1869.]  Northern  Geographies.  237 

of  which  is  equally  distant  from  the  centre/  From  the  centre 
of  the  line  ?  or  is  the  circle  a  figure  ?  Overlooking  the  fact  that 
a  circle  is  a  plane  figure,  his  definition  is  equally  applicable  to  a 
spiral,  and  to  many  other  figures.  There  may  be  some  consola- 
tion, however,  in  knowing  that  *  the  general  accuracy  of  the 
work 'has  been  secured  by  the  *  extensive  geographical  knowl- 
edge '  of  Boston,  a  city  which,  according  to  the  Geography  of 
Shaw  and  Allen,  is  Uhe  Athens  of  America^,  and  Hhe  first  city 
of  the  Union  in  literature  and  society.'  It  appears  that  the  au- 
thors, contributors,  revisers,  teachers,  and  proof-readers  who  have 
been  connected  with  Worren's  Geography,  do  not  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word  Antipodes ;  and  while  they  mention  the 
perioecian  relation  incidentally,  they  avoid  the  use  of  that  dan- 
gerous word  Perioeciansy  which  might  have  proved  as  disastrous 
to  them  as  Ornithorhynchus  proved  to  Mr,  Marcius  Willson, 

Mr.  Worren  runs  ofi^  a  definition  with  parrot-like  glibness,  to 
the  effect  that  the  ^Antipodes  are  those  who  live  on  exactly  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  globe.'  But  not  satisfied  with  this,  he  strays 
away  in  the  manner  of  a  parrot,  to  obscure  his  previous  words, 
by  asserting  that  *Our  antipodes  are  the  Chinese;  their  feet 
pointing  directly  towards  ours.'  I  The  Chinese  are  not  our  an- 
tipodes, but  our  pericecians ;  their  feet  are  not  towards  ours,  and 
even  in  common  discourse  the  word  is  applied  to  things  which 
are  considered  to  be  diametrically  opposite,  while  antipodes  of 
the  Worren  School  would  be  able  to  shake  hands  at  the  north 
pole  without  destroying  their  (not  antipodism  but  their)  perioi- 
kism. 

The  illustrative  cuts  are  engraved  in  a  good  style  of  art,  and 
are  properly  adapted  to  their  subjects.  They  are  not,  however, 
always  accurate;  the  view  of  Notre  Dame  at  Paris,  for  instance, 
is  quite  incorrect ;  the  large  circular  window,  perhaps  thirty  feet 
in  diameter,  and  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  the  front,  being 
omitted. 


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aet.  XI.— notices  of  books. 

1. — ^Man  and  Woman  ;  or,  the  Law  of  Honor  applied  to  the  Solution  of  the  Prob- 
lem— Why  are  so  many  more  Women  than  Men  Christians?  By  the  Rer.  Philip 
Slaughter,  Rector  of  Calvary  Church,  Culpeper  County,  Virginia.  With  an 
Introduction  by  A.  T.  Bledsoe,  LL.  D.  Philadelphia :  J.  B.  Lippincott  k  Oo. 
1860. 

This  little  book  was  published  just  before  the  war;  and, 
though  it  was  well  received  by  the  public,  it  did  not  meet  with 
a  sale  commensurate  with  its  merits.  It  is.  then,  with  real  plea- 
sure, that  we  now  comply  with  the  suggestion  to  notice  it  in 
the  Southern  Keview.  It  deserves  such  a  notice.  Pew  persoDS, 
if  any,  suffered  more  from  the  war,  than  the  venerable  and  be- 
loved author  of  the  pious  little  book  in  question.  His  library 
was  burned,  or  destroyed,  or  scattered  to  the  four  winds,  by  the 
Vandals  of  the  Northern  army ;  and  it  fared  little,  if  any,  better 
with  his  furniture,  house,  and  other  property.  Merely  because 
he  entertained  the  sentiments  which  animated  the  heart  of  even* 
true  son  of  the  South,  was  he  thus  visited,  in  his  old  age,  with 
utter  ruin,  destitution,  and  houseless  poverty.  Sincerely  hoping 
that  his  little  book  may  have,  in  the  market^  the  success  which  it 
so  richly  deserves,  we  shall  conclude  this  notice  of  it  with  a  para- 
graph or  two  from  *  the  introduction  *,  which  was  written  by 
us  for  its  first  edition.     It  begins  as  follows :  — 

<  I  will  not  offend  the  modesty  of  the  author,  nor  the  taste  of 
the  Christian  reader,  by  writing  a  panegyric  on  the  merits  of  the 
following  volume.  It  can  and*  will  speak  for  itself.  All  it  needs 
is  a  fair  hearing.  But  the  interests  of  truth  require  me  to  say 
that,  while  discussing  a  subject  of  the  highest  importance,  it  ex- 
hibits one  of  tlje  best  attributes  of  good  writing,  in  being  at 
once  both  obvious  and  original.  So  obvious,  indeed,  are  some  of 
its  trains  of  reflection  when  once  stated,  that  the  reader  can 
scarcely  resist  the  impression  that  he  must  have  seen  them  be- 
fore; and  yet  they  are  so  original,  that  he  may  search  whole  li- 
braries for  them  in  vain.  Nor  is  this  the  chief  merit  of  the 
book.  It  partakes  of  the  nature  of  Divine  truth  itself,  in  that  it 
is  alike  adapted  to  interest  the  child  and  the  sage,  or,  what  is 
still  better,  to  awaken  serious  thought  and  confer  lasting  benefit 
on  the  reader  who,  like  the  present  writer,  is  neither  a  child  nor 
a  sage.     Only  let  it  be  read,  and  it  can  not  fail  to  do  good  wher- 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Boohs.  239 

ever  the  name  of  Christianity  is  respected,  or  the  best  interests 
of  society  are  understood  and  valued. 

*  The  problem  discussed  by  the  author  is,  Why  do  so  many 
more  women  than  men  become  Christians?  This  is  the  one 
point  from  which  all  his  reflections  depart,  and  to  which  they 
return.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  anticipate  him,  by  giving  any- 
thing like  an  abstract  of  his  work,  or  by  putting  his  very  sug- 
gestive thoughts  in  any  words  but  his  own.  I  merely  intend, 
by  way  of  introduction,  to  offer  a  few  additional  reflections, 
which  have  been  suggested  by  "  the  infidel  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem ",  as  set  forth  in  the  second  chapter  of  the  volume.  This 
solution  is,  in  substance,  that  woman  is  the  weaker  vessel,  and 
is  therefore  more  easily  deceived  by  the  shams  and  sophistries 
enlisted  in  the  cause  of  Christianity.  The  spirit  of  this  solution, 
even  when  not  expressed  in  words,  often  lurks  in  the  heart  of 
man,  and,  with  many  other  things  of  the  same  kind,  serves  to 
harden  it  against  the  influence  of  the  truth.  He  feels  as  if  re- 
ligion is  an  aflTair  for  women  and  children,  but  not  for  the  higher 
order  of  intellectual  beings,  like  himself.  He  may  admit,  per- 
haps, that  it  is  a  good  thing  for  "the  vulgar  herd",  as  he  is 
pleased  to  call  the  uneducated  multitude ;  but  he  very  surely 
imagines  that  one  who  has  reached  the  sublime  heights  of  reason 
should  lay  aside  "  the  prejudices  of  his  infancy."  This  spirit, 
which  lies  concealed  and  unsuspected  in  the  hearts  of  so  many, 
sometimes  speaks  out  in  right  plain  and  intelligible  words. 
Thus,  Laplace,  in  his  great  work.  La  SysUme  du  Monde,  turns 
aside  to  deplore  the  fact  that  even  some  of  the  greatest  minds. 
Bach  as  Leibnitz  and  Newton,  have  not  been  able  to  overcome 
"the  prejudices  of  infancy  ",  as  he  expresses  himself,  and  rise 
above  the  vulgar  multitude  into  the  region  of  pure  reason,  where 
neither  a  film  of  prejudice  nor  a  shadow  of  superstition  ever  in- 
tercepts the  view  of  men  or  of  angels.  He  seems  to  stand  on 
some  one  of  the  stars  in  the  MScanique  CSleste,  and  look  down, 
with  an  eye  of  pride  and  pity,  on  the  greatest  minds  of  earth, 
such  as  Descartes  and  Pascal  and  Leibnitz  and  Newton,  because 
in  the  fetters  of  an  infantile  faith  they  are  still  associated  with 
the  weaker  vessels  of  humanity.* 

We  hope,  for  the  sake  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Slaughter,  that  the 
reader  is  very  anxious  to  see  our  reply  to  Laplace,  Gibbon,  &c., 
as  well  as  the  little  book  itself;  and  that  he  will  gratify  his  curi- 
osity, as  soon  as  possible,  by  the  purchase  of  the  work.  He  will 
do  a  good  thing;  and  he  will  get  a  good  book. 


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240  Notices  of  Boohs.  [Jan. 

2.— A  Niw  Praotioil  Hbbrbw  Grammar,  with  Hebrew-English  and  Snglidh 
Hebrew  Exercises,  and  a  Hebrew  Chrestomathj.  Bj  Solomon  Deutsch,  A.  M^ 
Ph.  D.    New  York  :  Leypoldt  k  Holt.     1868. 

"Whoever  will  master  this  volume  of  268  pages,  8vo.,  about 
half  of  it  grammar,  and  the  other  half  exercises,  chrestomathj, 
and  vocabulary, —  and  two  hours  a  day  for  six  months,  will 
secure  the  mastery  of  it, —  will  find  himself  able  to  read  the 
Hebrew  Bible  by  himself,  with  only  an  occasional  consultatioQ 
of  the  Lexicon.  It  is  indeed  an  admirable  manual  for  theologi- 
cal students,  far  superior,  as  such,  to  the  grammar  of  Gesenios; 
and  Dr.  Deutsch  deserves,  and  we  trust  will  receive,  from  them 
a  substantial  acknowledgment  of  their  indebtedness  to  him  for 
his  labor  in  their  behalf  The  getting  up  of  the  book  is  by  a 
Baltimore  printer,  C.  W.  Schneidereith,  and  is,  we  confess,  an 
agreeable  surprise  to  us ;  for  excellence  of  typography,  both 
Hebrew  and  English,  it  may  challenge  comparison  with  the  bert 
work  of  the  Kiverside  press. 

3. —  A  History  of  Maryland  upon  thb  Basis  of  MoShbrry,  for  the  use  of  Sdioo^a. 
Bj  Henry  Onderdonk,  A.  M.,  late  President  of  the  Maryland  Agricnluinl 
College.    Baltimore  :  John  Murphy  &  Co.     1868. 

"We  have  here,  what  our  teachers  have  long  felt  the  want  o(, 
a  school  history  of  Maryland,  in  moderate  compass,  written  in  a 
manner  to  attract  and  interest  the  youthful  student.  We  are 
glad  to  learn  that  it  is  rapidly  winning  its  way  to  public  favor, 
and  hope  it  will,  ere  long,  come  into  general  use  in  our  schools 
and  academies.  We  have  noticed  an  occasional  discrepancy  in 
the  dates  of  the  text  and  of  the  chronological  tables,  which 
should  be  corrected  in  another  edition. 

4. —  Richmond  During  ths  War;  Four  Tears  of  Personal  Obeerrations.  By  i 
Richmuud  Lady.    New  York  :  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.     1867.    Pp.  38. 

In  the  above  volume,  an  intelligent  and  cultivated  lady  gives, 
from  her  point  of  view  in  Eichmond,  her  observations  during 
the  four  years  of  the  war.  They  are  exceedingly  interesting, 
and  recall  many  recollections  of  alarms,  panics,  battles,  heroic 
deeds,  and  sufferings  by  fire,  and  sword,  and  famine,  and  disease. 
We  shall  never  forget  *  Pawnee  Sunday.*  We  were  not  in  Ki<^ 
mond  on  that  memorable  day,  but  we  arrived  there  on  the  fd- 
lowing  Monday  or  Tuesday,  and  found  the  city  filled  with  mw> 
riment  at  its  recent  alarm,  and  a  thousand  amusing  stories  were 
afloat  with  respect  to  the  incidents  of  <  Pawnee  Sunday.*  It 
was  understood  that,  in  case  of  danger,  <  the  bell  on  the  Square* 


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1869,]  l^otices  of  Soohs.  241 

ahould  Bonnd  the  alarm ;  and  some  one,  foolishly  enough,  rang  the 
people  to  arms,  while  most  of  them  were  engaged  in  Divine  ser- 
vice on  the  Sabbath.  No  one  knew  what  it  portended ;  and,  in- 
deed,  if  the  whole  Northern  army  had  beeti  in  the  act  of  enter- 
ing the  city,  the  excitement  could  hardly  have  been  greater  than 
it  was.  'In  an  instant,'  says  our  author,  <all  was  confusion. 
The  men,  in  the  excitement,  rushed  pell-mell  from  the  churches ; 
and  the  women,  pale  and  trembling  with  affright,  clung  to  their 
sons  and  husbands,  wherever  they  could  —  but  getting  no  re- 
sponse to  their  tearful  question — <'  What  is  the  matter?  What 
is  the  matter  ?  "  Hasty  embraces,  sudden  wrenchings  of  the  hand, 
tearful  glances  of  affection,  and  our  men  rushed  to  their  armor- 
ies, to  prepare  they  knew  not  for  what.  On  every  female  face  was 
the  pale  hue  of  dismay ;  but  mingled  with  it,  the  stem,  unmis- 
takable impress  of  heroic  resolution  to  yield  up  their  hearts' 
"  most  cherished  idols  upon  the  altar  of  their  country,  if  need  be." 
Now,  all  this  excitement,  and  wild  confusion,  arose  from  the  idle 
nmor  that  the  Pawnee,  a  Federal  iron-clad,  was  ascending 
James  river  to  shell  Bichmond  ;  or  rather  from  the  silly  act  of 
ringing  Hhe  Square  Bell'  in  consequence  of  that  rumor.  The 
people  of  Bichmond,  however,  ^on  got  accustomed  to  such  ru- 
mors, and  minded  them  no  more  than  the  idle  wind.  Nay, 
they  soon  got  accustomed  to  the  stern  realities  of  war ;  and  often 
have  wo  thought  of  *  Pawnee  Sunday',  as  we  have  seen  the  men, 
women,  and  children,  of  Bichmond,  calmly  engaged  in  conver- 
sation respecting  the  fortunes  of  the  day,  even  while  the  tre- 
mendous roar  of  the  enemy's  cannon  was  sounding  in  their  ears. 
In  the  work  before  us,  we  are,  indeed,  presented  with  a  lively 
picture  of  <  Bichmond  during  the  War.'  But  who  can  describe 
Bichmond  as  it  was  before,  and  as  it  is  since,  the  war?  How 
strange  the  contrast  I  How  wonderful  the  change  I  We  seldom 
permit  ourselves,  indeed,  to  think  of  that  beautiful  and  beloved 
city,  otherwise  than  as  she  was  before  the  war, —  before  *  stem 
ruin's  ploughshare  drove  elate  full  on  her  bloom.*  No  city  in 
the  world,  unless  we  are  greatly  deceived,  could  boast  a  more 
delightful  society  than  existed  in  Bichmond  before  the  war.  For 
real  hospitality,  for  genuine  refinement  of  sentiment  and  manners, 
And,  in  short,  for  all  the  amenities  of  social  life,  we  have  certainly 
never  known,  nor  do  we  desire  to  know,  its  superior.  Much  of 
that  society  remains,  we  are  aware,  and  it  will  not  undergo  any 
material  change  during  the  present  generation.  But  what  the 
16 

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242  Notices  of  Booh.  [Jan. 

society  of  Eichmond,  as  a  whole,  now  is,  or  is  likely  to  become, 
is  a  question  which  we  shall  never  have  the  time  or  the  heart  to 
investigate.  The  emancipation  of  its  slaves,  and  the  frightfol 
influx  of  Northern  coarseness,  will,  no  doubt,  do  the  work  of 
social  deterioration  and  debasement  in  Hichmond,  as  well  as  in 
all  other  parts  of  the  South,  as  surely  as  night  follows  the  day. 
In  conclusion,  wo  cordially  recommend  the  little  work  entitled, 
'Richmond  During  the  War',  as  a  readable  and  interestiog 
production. 

6.— DAvnts*  Arithmitioai.  Siriw.    New  York :  A.  8.  Bames  k  Burr. 
Davies'  Pi-iniary  Ariihmeric.  Practical  Ahtlimetic. 

Elfments  of  Written  Arithmetic.  Uuiversitj  Arithmetic. 

Intellectual  Arithmetic. 

Rat's  Aritrmbtical  Sbribs.  Cincinnati :  Sarfcent,  Wilson  k  Hinkle. 
Primary  Arithmetic.  Practical  Arithmetic. 

Rudiments  of  Arithmetic.  Test  Kxamples  in  Arithmetic. 

Intellectual  Arithmetic.  Higher  Arithmetic. 

VsNABLB^s  ARiTRMrncAL  Sbribs.    Kow  Tork :  Richardson  k  Go.    1868. 
First  Lefsous  in  Numbers.  Pure  and  Commercial  Arithmetie. 

Mental  Arithmetic. 

Filtbr's  .\RiTRMmcAL  SiRixs.  Baltimore :  Kcllj  &  Piet.    1868. 
First  Lessons  in  Numbers.  Practical  Arithmetic. 

Primary  Arithmetic.  Arithmetical  Analysis,  IntermediatB. 

Intellectual  Arithmetic.  Arithmetical  Analysis,  Commercial. 

Robimsom's  Aritbmbtioal  Sbbibi.    New  York :    Ivison,  Phinney,  Blakeoiii  k 
Co.     1^67. 

Rudiments  of  Arithmetic.  Practical  Arithmetic. 

Progressive  Primary  Arithmetic  Higher  Arithmetic. 

Intellecttial  Arithmetic. 

We  came  homie,  the  other  day,  with  a  basket  full  of  arithme- 
tics. Arithmetics  in  a  basket?  Yes,  a  market  basket  filled 
with  arithmetics  evidently  made  for  the  market  —  why  not? 
It  is  certainly  a  good  thing  to  have  a  gobd  market  supplied  with 
good  articles ;  and  what  harm  if,  on  occasion,  they  be  carried  in 
a  market  basket  ? 

But  all  these  books  —  almost  too  much  of  a  good  thing!  — 
were  sent  to  ns  for  notice  in  the  Southern  Review.  What  re- 
viewer, however,  can  do  a  hundred  and  one  things,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  read  and  examine  a  hundred  and  one  books  ?  Now, 
to  be  honest  with  our  readers,  we  have  not  read  one  of  thorn. 
As  we  could  not  read  all,  so  we  resolved  to  read  none;  being 
determined  to  preserve  a  strict  impartiality  as  to  these  candi- 
dates for  public  favor.  Still,  we  intend  to  make  this  battalion 
of  books,  considered  from  a  military  point  of  view,  the  subject 
of  a  few  reflections. 


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1869,]  Notieea  of  £ooh.  243 

The  first  reflection  which  occurs  to  ns  is,  that  we  live  in  *  a 
progressive  age';  and  hence  the  almost  innumerable  'progres- 
sive series  *  of  school  books  in  diflTerent  departments  of  science 
and  letters.  Progressive  readers ;  progressive  copy-books ;  pro- 
gressive arithmetics;  progressive  all  things  1  Every  thing, 
indeed,  seems  to  be  progressive  now-a-days,  except  students. 
The  spirit  of  progress  has,  we  fear,  got  out  of  the  minds  of  our 
children,  and  taken  up  its  residence  in  their  school  books. 

Why,  when  we  were  boys — say  some  forty-five  years  ago  — 
only  one  arithmetic  was  put  into  our  hands.  If,  in  the  wide 
world,  there  was  any  other  arithmetic  but  one,  we  were  permit- 
ted to  live  and  grow  in  blessed  ignorance  of  the  fact.  Pike  con- 
stituted the  whole  of  our  *  progressive  series  * ;  which  was  a 
series  of  proj^ositions  or  principles,  and  not  of  books.  And  this 
—  we  here  solemnly  record  the  fact  — was  all  that  we  ever 
needed  for  our  own  progress;  and  this  progress  has  been  through 
algebra,  geometry,  trigonometry,  analytical  geometry,  the  differ- 
ential and  integral  calculus,  the  Frincipia  of  Newton,  &c.,  &c. 
That  is  to  say,  we  have  progressed  fi*om  the  first  to  the  last 
round  of  the  ladder  of  mathematics,  without  aid  from  any  ele- 
mentary arithmetic  besides  our  old  precious  Pike.  Why,  then^ 
are  we,  in  this  progressive  age,  aflElicted  with  so  many  progres- 
sive series  of  arithmetics  ? 

This  is  a  very  serious  question.  It  seems  to  admit  of  several 
solations,  more  or  less  probable,  if  not  altogether  satisfactory 
and  complete.  One  is,  perhaps,  that  in  this  progressive  age, 
there  must  be  progress  in  every  thing.  Hence,  as  there  is  no 
great  room  for  progress  on  the  fii*st  round  of  the  ladder,  so  this 
mast  be  split  into  three,  or  four,  or  five,  or  six,  or  seven  pieces; 
and  80  arranged  that  the  student  may  progress  from  one  part  to 
another  of  the  same  round.  Or,  in  other  words,  one  i-ound  is 
split  up,  and  made  into  a  nice  little  ladder,  along  which  the  feet 
of  the  delighted  little  climber  may  gradually  ascend,  from  his 
Primary  to  his  Elements  of  Arithmetic;  from  his  Elements  to  his 
InUllectuaL  Arithmetic;  from  his  Intellectual  to  his  Practical 
Arithmetic;  and  from  his  J^actical  to  his  University  Arithmetic. 
Nor  is  this  all ;  for  we  sometimes  find  in  the  same  series  a  Spel^ 
ler  and  a  Grammar  of  Arithmetic.  Thus  does  it  require  four,  and 
sometimes  as  many  as  eight,  different  volumes,  in  order  to  com- 
plete one  of  our  modern  < progressive  series'  of  arithmetics. 
(^'  bono  t 


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244  Notices  of  Booh.  [Jan. 

We  may  well  say,  Cut  bono  f  For  this  is  a  practical^  as  well  ai 
a  progressive,  a^e ;  and  we  may  be  sure,  that  all  this  division  of 
subjects  and  mtUtipUcation  of  books,  is  due  to  something  besides 
a  pure  love  of  science,  or  abstract  delight  in  the  ground  roles  of 
arithmetic.  Why,  then,  all  this  division  and  multiplication  f  It 
has  occurred  to  us,  as  a  possible  solution  of  this  question,  that  tbii 
new  theory  of  diyision  and  multiplication  has  been  introduced 
with  a  view  to  the  practical  advantages  of  addition  and  subtrac- 
tion ;  the  great  practical  advantage,  namely,  of  subtracting  from 
the  contents  of  one  pocket,  and  of  adding  to  the  contents  of 
another.  We  may  be  greatly  deceived ;  the  thought  may  be 
very  uncharitable;  nay,  infinitely  derogatory  to  this  wonderfully 
progressive  age,  in  which  the  old  love  of  money  has  so  entirely 
given  way  to  the  pure  love  of  science;  still  we  can  not  otbe^ 
wise  begin  to  comprehend  this  excessive  multiplication  and  ex- 
tension of  *  progressive  series'  of  arithmetics,  and  of  other 
school  books.  It  is  certain,  that  as  the  delighted  student  takes 
each  new  step  in  the  '  progressive  series ',  or  rises  from  one  book 
to  another,  some  hand  is  thrust  afresh  into  his  pocket  All  this 
may  be,  in  some  mysterious  way  or  other,  for  the  benefit  of  pure 
science  alone ;  but  if  it  is,  the  modus  operandi  is  not  perfectly 
clear  to  our  minds.  We  really  fear,  on  the  contrary,  that  the 
love  of  money  still  occupies  some  little  corner  in  the  hearts  of 
our  book-makers,  as  well  as  of  our  booksellers,  and  shows  itself^ 
occasionally,  in  the  expansion  and  multiplication  of  their  *  pro- 
gressive series.*  It  is  certain,  that  of  all  the  laws  of  the  Bible, 
none  is  so  completely  observed  or  fulfilled  by  these  books,  as  the 
injunction  to  *  increase  and  multiply.*  They  may  intend  to  re- 
plenish the  earth ;  they  certainly  do  replenish  some  one's  pockets. 

We  like  the  series  of  Professor  Vcnable,  not  because  we  have 
read  it,  but  because  it  consists  of  only  three  books.  There  may 
be  good  reason  for  a  course  of  two  or  three  volumes.  For,  as 
the  great  majority  of  pupils  will  not  go  beyond  the  Primary  Arithr 
metiCj  it  is  well  that  they  should  be  able  to  procure  all  they  need, 
and  no  more,  in  a  single  cheap  volume.  We  can,  then,  cheerfully 
tolerate  a  series  of  two  or  three  arithmetics;  but  a  series  of  six, 
or  seven,  or  eight  volumes,  is  quite  beyond  the  compass  of  onr 
charity. 

We  have,  indeed,  selected  for  our  own  use,  Felter's  Practical 
Arithmetic;  partly  because  it  is  a  good  book,  and  partly  because 
it  is  published  in  Saltimore*    In  the  last  edition  of  this  vorkf 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Boohs.  245 

Mveral  errors  of  the  previous  edition  have  been  corrected,  but 
not  all.  These  errors,  or  even  greater  faults,  would  occasion  but 
little  inconvenience,  and  might  even  be  productive  of  .good,  in 
the  hands  of  a  master  of  the  principles,  and  of  the  processes,  of 
arithmetic.  But  books  do  not  always  fall  into  such  hands.  The 
living  teacher,  who  is  the  master  of  his  work,  can  make  one 
Arithmetic  answer  the  purpose  of  education  nearly  as  well  as 
another.  But  as,  in  some  cases,  the  book  does  more  than  the 
living  teacher,  for  the  education  of  the  young;  so  it  is  highly 
desirable  that  it  should  be  as  perfect  f  s  possible. 

&»Ca8B  avd  Cbidit.    By  F.  M.  Fitahugh.    Baltimore:  Priated  bjr  Sherwood  it 
Co.    1868.     Pp.  14. 

This  is  a  small  book  on  a  great  subject.  But  we  do  not  judge 
of  a  book,  any  more  than  of  a  man,  by  its  size.  John  Fbilpot 
Corran,  when  asked,  on  one  occasion,  how  he  felt  in  a  company 
of  men  each  six  feet  high,  replied,  Mike  a  silver  sixpence  among 
a  parcel  of  coppers.'  Our  author's  little  book  is  worth  a  dozen 
of  its  larger  contemporaries. 

We  caD  not,  it  is  true,  subscribe  to  all  of  its  positions,  at  least 
without  material  qualifications;  and  some  of  them,  it  must  be 
admitted,  are  sufficiently  commonplace.  It  could  hardly  have 
been  otherwise.  In  discussing  the  great  subject  of  finance,  the 
commonplaces  of  political  economy  must,  of  course,  enter  into 
the  performance,  however  small.  Yet,  after  all  deductions  are 
made,  there  is  enough  of  original  matter  in  the  book  before  us, 
to  entitle  it  to  the  serious  and  respectful  consideration  of  every 
thoughtful  mind.  Its  suggestions  arc,  indeed,  food  for  reflection ; 
and  on  no  subject  is  reflection  more  needed,  at  this  present  mo- 
ment, than  on  the  great  subject  of  finance.  Some  rich  man 
might,  it  is  believed,  render  his  country  an  essential  service,  by 
offering  a  prize  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  best  essay  on  the 
means  of  improving  its  present  financial  condition.  We  should 
be  happy  to  publish  such  a  prize  essay  in  the  pages  of  the 
Southern  Beview. 

The  function  of  cash  is  utterly  insignificant,  as  compared  with 
that  of  credit,  in  a  country  of  such  intense  commercial  activity 
as  ours.  Hence,  as  credit  in  some  form  or  other  is  absolutely 
indispensable,  the  only  question  to  be  considered  is,  not  whether 
it  be  expedient  or  wise  to  use  credit,  but  what  is  the  best  form 
it  can  be  made  to  assume.  It  is  in  the  discussion  of  this  great 
question,  that  the  little  book  before  us  presents  its  chief  claims 
to  our  attention. 


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246  Koticea  of  JBooh.  [Jan. 

The  anthor  is,  it  soems  to  ns,  more  snccesBfoI  in  ezposiog  Um 
evils  incident  to  present  and  past  forms  of  credit,  than  in  sug- 
gesting a  better  one  for  the  future.  He  discards  all  bank-notes  ; 
because  they  are  bills  of  credit,  which  the  banks  promise  to  p»y 
on  demand;  a  promise  they  are  unable  to  perform.  This,  sayi 
he,  Mooks  less  like  an  absurdity  tban  a  case  of  attempting  to 
obtain  money  under  false  pretences*,  (p.  7.)  Yet,  as  he  himself 
admits,  no  one  is  deceived  by  such  '  false  pretences ',  as  he  calls 
thom ;  for  *  every  body  knows ',  just  as  well  as  the  bank  itself,  that 
'this  currency,  in  the  last  resort,  is  not  convertible*,  (p.  7.) 
Hence  no  one  is  deceived ;  for  every  one  knows  that  the  banks 
do  not  pretend  to  keep  on  hand  a  sufficient  amount  of  coin  to 
redeem  all  their  notes,  if  presented  for  payment.  Banks  may, 
and  do,  no  doubt,  frequently  abuse  the  confidence  of  the  com- 
munity, by  swelling  and  inflating  the  currency  beyond  all  bounds 
of  reason  and  moderation ;  having  an  eye  to  their  own  gains, 
rather  than  to  the  good  of  society.  Hence  the  terrible  crises  in 
the  financial  condition  of  the  country,  (of  which  our  author  so 
bitterly  complains,)  or  the  periodical  return  of  seasons  of  fever- 
ish excitement  and  wild  speculations,  and  corresponding  ones  of 
deep  depression  and  gloom.  Hence  the  depreciation  of  the  cnr- 
rency,  and  the  demoralization  of  the  country.  Hence,  in  fine, 
the  fear,  the  panic,  the  rush,  the  suspension,  and  the  tremendous 
crash.  The  land  is  covered  with  instances  of  appalling  bank- 
ruptcies, misery,  ruin,  and  with  universal  distrust.  Then  the  ay 
is,  Down  with  the  banks  I  but  the  question  is,  what  will  yon  pot  is 
their  place  ?  Our  system  of  banking  is,  like  our  system  of  gov- 
ernment, '  beautiful  in  theory ' ;  but  it  does  not  always  toork  well  is 
practice. 

What,  then,  shall  we  put  in  the  place  of  banks,  or  bank-notes? 
Government  greenbacks?  By  no  means,  says  our  little  book; 
for  they,  too,  are  promises  to  pay  on  demand^  which  Uncle 
Sam,  like  a  hollow  bank,  has  not  the  least  possible  intention  of 
performing.  Our  '  present  currency '  of  greenbacks  is,  says  he, 
*  to  speak  plainly,  a  circulation  of  national  lies.*  (p.  13.)  Great 
is  the  pity,  indeed,  that  our  money  should  be  *  lies  *.  I^  on  the 
other  hand,  lies  were  only  money,  would  we  not  have  a  rich 
Government? 

If  our  author,  then,  will  have  neither  bank-notes  nor  green- 
backs, what  will  he  have  ?  What  sort  of  currency,  or  *form  of 
credit  \  will  he  recommend  ?    We  shall  answer  this  question  iu 


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1869.]  Notieea  of  £ooh.  247 

hifl  own  words:  *  For  the  credit  of  any  corporation,  no  matter 
how  good  and  how  well  guarded,  I  propose  to  substitute  the 
credit  of  the  Government,  pure  and  simple.  The  right  to  fur- 
nish currency  should  be  withdrawn  from  all  banks  and  individ- 
uals. The  issues  of  State  banks  may  be  taxed,  if  not  directly 
legislated  out  of  existence.  The  national  bank  currency  which 
now  rests  on  the  credit  of  the  Government,  and  on  which  the 
Government  practically  pays  a  subsidy  of  some  twenty  millions 
of  dollars  per  annum,  and  all  the  greenbacks  now  in  circulation, 
should  be  withdrawn  as  fast  as  possible,  and  a  new  issue  of  a 
different  character  be  made  in  their  stead.  That  issue  should 
be  as  follows :  while  the  notes  should  be,  in  appearance  and 
amounts,  similar  to  greenbacks,  instead  of  promising  to  pay  coin 
on  demand,  which  the  Government  can  not^do  now,  and  never 
should  attempt  so  long  as  it  purposes  to  furnish  a  paper  curren* 
ev,  let  each  bear  on  its  face  the  promise  that  when  presented  at 
the  Treasury  in  amounts  of  $100,  or  a  multiple  of  $100,  the  Gov- 
emment  will  issue  in  lieu  thereof  its  coupon  bond,  bearing  five 
percent,  interest,  redeemable  at  pleasure  after  a  given  year  — 
principal  and  interest  payable  in  coin.  Let  the  bonds  so  issued 
also  bear  on  their  face  the  stipulation  that  Government  currency 
of  an  equal  amount  will  be  exchanged  for  them.' 

Such  is  the  scheme  recommended  by  our  author.  *  A  very 
little  reflection ',  says  he,  (p.  10)  *  will  show  the  superiority  of 
this  kind  of  currency  over  any  that  has  ever  been  proposed  here- 
tofore.' And  a  very  little  more  reflection,  will,  perhaps,  show 
that  Hhis  kind  of  currency '  would  be  far  less  beautiful  in  prac- 
tice, than  it  is  in  his  theory.  This  question,  however,  we  shall 
not  discuss  at  present ;  especially  since  this  notice  is  already  so 
long.  We  will  only  add,  in  conclusion,  that  experience^  the  great 
test  of  theories,  has  very  little  to  say  in  favor  of  bills  of  credit, 
or  paper  currency  issued  by  Governments,  whether  with  or 
without  promises  to  pay  on  demand.  Governments  have,  in 
feet,  abusfd  their  power  to  stamp  paper,  and  put  it  in  circulation 
as  currency,  as  much  as  banks  have  ever  done.  It  was,  in 
view  of  such  abuse,  so  frightful  both  in  its  extent  and  in  its 
consequences,  that  the  authors  of  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  inserted  the  provision,  that  no  State  sh^ll  'emit 
bills  of  credit  *.  All  the  wise  men  of  that  era,  indeed,  looked 
with  horror  on  the  power  of  a  Government  to  manufacture  its 
blank  paper  into  currency.    The  root  of  the  great  evil  is  an  over 


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ii4ti^  Notices  of  Books.  fJan. 

tesue  of  paper  curreDcy ;  a  temptation  to  which  governments, -fls 
well  as  banks,  have  too  often  yielded.  We  do  not  see  how  this 
great  evil  would  be  cured  by  the  convertibility  of  such  paper  cur- 
rency into  the  interest-bearing  bonds  of  the  Government,  and  vke 
versa,  A  paper  basis  for  a  paper  currency  I  Why,  this  looks  like 
all  creditj  and  no  cash.  How  can  a  paper  basis  cure  the  evils  of  a 
paper  currency,  or  prevent  an  over  issue  of  it  ?  Will  it  cure  on 
the  great  homoeopathic  principle,  similia  similibus  curaniur,  or 
will  it  only- aggravate  the  evil?  Is  it  not,nndeed,  just  as  easy  to 
make  bonds  as  to^ make  greenbacks?  Our  only  safety  lies,  it 
seems  to  us,  in  a^^tum  to  the  old-fashioned  principle  of  a  cash 
basrs.for  our  system  of  credit.  *  Cash  and  credit '  are  both  good. 
Bat  we  protest' against  all  credit  and  no  cash.  Cash  is,  in  our 
opinion,  the  true  remedy;  and  we  are  willing^  try  it,  not  only 
on  good  old-fashioned  allopathic  principles,  but^ldo  in  allopathic 
doses. 

BOOKS  REpELVED  FOR  NOTICE. 

TiBLBTS.  By  A.  Bronson  Alcott.  Boston:  Roberts  Brothers:  1868.— Tra 
CoNPEDKRATB  SoLDiBR.  By  Rcv.  John  E.  Edwards,  A.M.,  D.  D.  New  Vork: 
Blelock  &  Co. :  1868. —  Aid  to  thosb  who  Peay  in  Peivate.  Bj  R«v.  D.  F. 
Sprigg.  Boston  and  New  York:  E.  P.  Duiton  k  Co. :  1869. — Rural  Pobms.  Bj 
William  Barnes.  Boston  :  Roberts  Brothers  :  1869. — A  Book  for  Bots.  Bj  A. 
R.  Hope.  Boston:  Roberts  Brothers:  1869. —  Little  Women.  By  Louisa  M. 
Alcott,  illustrated  by  May  Alcott.  Boston:  Roberts  Brothers:  1868. —  MaDami 
DB  BiAUPRB.  By  Mrs.:C.  Jenkin.  New  York:  Leypoldt^  Holt.  1869 — AciA. 
BT  Degbb  ta  CoNCiLii  PLBNAEU  Baltimobbnsis  Sbcuvdi.    Baltimore :  Murpbj  k  Co. : 

lees.' 

Notices  in  our  next  issue. 


Note.— We  h^hqped,  from  Information  received  from,  the  printer,  to  1 
several  at^ier  no.tl<^  of  books  in  this  number  of  The  Review;  bnt,  contrary  t* 
his  expectat  ionH,  the  matter  already  in  hand  has  exhanHted  oar  space.  Heooa 
we  must  reserve  them  for  our  next  issue.  One  is  a  notice  of  Our  Ch  Idren  in  'Swth 
ven,  a  beautiful  little  work  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Holcombe,  and  gotten  op  ittfOh 
quisiie  style  by  J.  B.  Lippincoti  &  Co.  In  another,  we  discuss  the  CbmmetEitf 
,  VoMiJLion  and  Proapic'.s  c^f  Baltimore i  a  subject  which  we  deaire  to  exf  and  intorm 
elaborate  article  for  The  Revikw.  Any  Information,  on  the  subject,  fhon'tte 
merchants  of  Baltimore,  or  from  any  other  source,  will  be  gratefully  i 
ledlied  by  the  Editor. 


■i- 


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THE  SOUTHERN  REVIEW. 

No.  X. 


APEIL,   1869. 


Akt.  I.— On  Liberty.  By  John  Stuart  Mill.  People's  Edi- 
tion. London:  Longman,  Green,  Longman,  Roberts,  and 
Green.     1865. 

We  have,  more  than  once,  been  reminded  of  our  promise  to 
lay  before  the  readers  of  the  Southern  Review  our  own  defini- 
tion of  the  nature  of  Liberty ;  a  promise  which,  by  the  way,  we 
have  neither  forgotten,  nor  intended  to  neglect.  For,  as  we 
have  said,  *  Having  examined,  so  freely,  the  notions  of  Mill, 
and  Lieber,  and  Russell,  as  to  the  nature  of  Liberty,  we  may 
be  reasonably  expected  to  give  our  own  views  on  the  subject. 
We  should  be  glad,'  it  is  added,  *  to  do  so  in  the  conclusion  of 
this  article,  [for  July,  1867],  if  our  space  were  not  too  limited; 
for  we  do  not  shrink  from  the  severe  ordeal  of  criticism  to  which 
we  have  subjected  others.  We  should,  on  the  contrary,  court 
and  covet  its  most  searching  scrutiny,  as  the  best  possible  means 
to  eliminate  truth  from  the  mass  of  error  in  which  it  is  still  em- 
bedded. .  .  There  is,  indeed,  no  subject  under  the  sun,  in  regard 
to  which  mankind  stand  in  greater  need  of  clear  and  distinct 
knowledge,  than  the  nature  of  Liberty.  A  work  containing 
such  knowledge  is  still  a  dedderdt/itm  in  EngUsh  literature. 
Hence,  no  mean  cowardice  or  fear  of  the  critic's  lash,  shall  keep 
us  from  the  resolute  endeavor,  at  least,  to  contribute  our  mite 
toward  so  great  and  desirable  a  work.  Especially  since  no  peo- 
ple on  earth  are  more  interested  in  the  dissemination  of  real 


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250  What  is  Liberty?  [April, 

knowledge  on  this  subject,  than  are  the  inhabitants  of  the 
United  States.  On  the  capitol  at  Washington,  there  is  a 
bronze  statue  of  Liberty,  [more'^than  half  Ethiopian  in  hue ;]  on 
which  all  persons,  as  well  as  members  of  Congress,  may  freely 
gaze.  But  this  would  give  no  one  an  idea  of  Liberty,  any  more 
than  poring  over  the  heavy  pages  of  John  Stuart  Mill,  or  of 
Dr.  Francis  Libber.  The  members  of  Congress  should,  indeed, 
inscribe  on  the  pedestal  of  that  statue  the  words — To  the  Oh- 
known  Goddess? 

The  above  promise  has  already  been  partially  redeemed.  For, 
in  our  April  issue  for  1868,  the  nature  of  civil  liberty  is  dis- 
cussed, with  a  view  to  explode  certain  obstinate  fallacies  con- 
nected with  the  subject,  and  open  the  way  to  a  clear  and  satis- 
factory apprehension  of  this  great  idol  of  the  modem  world. 
In  that  discussion,  it  is  shown,  unless  we  are  greatly  deceived, 
that  the  formula  of  1787,  or  rather  the  great  maxim  of  the  past, 
that '  on  entering  into  society,  individuals  give  up  a  share  of  their 
natural  rights,  or  liberty,  in  order  to  secure  the  rest,'  has  no 
foundation  in  the  nature  of  things.  That  it  is,  on  the  contrary, 
not  a  principle  of  science,  but  only  the  creation  of  political  the- 
orists. For,  by  the  organization  of  society,  individuals  are,  in- 
deed,.protected  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  their  natural  rights;  so 
that  Liberty,  instead  of  being  abridged,  is  really  introduced 
and  established,  by  the  State.  The  State  is,  then,  if  properly 
organized,  the  author  and  the  finisher  of  our  Freedom.  Theee 
conclusions,  so  difterent  from  those  usually  adopted,  show  the 
necessity  of  a  re-statement  of  the  great  problem  of  society,  m 
well  as  indicate  a  more  perfect  solution  of  that  problem. 

A  fiirther  confirmation  of  this  view,  is  derived  from  a  study 
of  The  State  of  Nature^  as  it  is  called ;  which  is  considered  in 
an  article  for  July,  1868.  In  that  article,  it  is  shown,  that  the 
great  boasted  liberty  of  such  a  state  is,  in  reality,  a  distorted 
phantom  of  the  imagination,  and  not  a  true  form  of  the  passicm- 
less  reason.  Or,  in  other  words,  it  is  there  shown,  that  in  a 
state  of  nature,  as  it  is  called,  there  is  license,  not  liberty;  ^^ 
ferocity,  and  not  freedom.  In  such  a  state,  in  short,  there  ifi 
violence,  anarchy,  chaos,  and  not  order,  peace,  harmony,  or«^ 
eurity  in  the  enjoyrnent  of  rights.     This,  under  God,  is  due  to 


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1S69.]  •  What  is  Liberty?  251 

the  State ;  and  this  is  Liberty.  As  it  is  license,  and  not  liberty, 
which  needs  the  restraint  of  penal  codes  and  human  laws ;  so 
the  great  trouble  of  society  is,  not  how  far  the  natural  free- 
dom, but  only  how  far  the  natural  depravity,  of  mankind  shall 
be  limited  and  restrained  by  the  edicts  of  society. 

We  glorify  the  State,  and  we  honor  its  laws.  *  The  struggle 
between  Liberty  and  Authority',  says  Mr.  Mill,  *  is  the  most 
conspicuous  feature  in  the  portions  of  history  with  which  we 
are  earliest  familiar,  particularly  that  of  Greece,  Rome,  and 
England.'  Now  this  struggle,  this  antagonism,  between  Liberty 
and  Order,  is  purely  imaginary.  Liberty  and  Order,  like  twin 
stars,  lend  mutual  support  to  each  other,  and  each  shines  with 
the  borrowed  lustre  of  its  fellow,  as  well  as  with  its  own.  But 
despotism  is  not  Order,  any  more  than  license  is  Liberty.  Des- 
potism is,  on  the  contrary,  inimical  to  that  wholesome  public 
Order,  or  Authority,  which  is  the  source  of  our  social  peace  and 
joy,  tranquility  and  rest.  It  is,  indeed,  the  reign  of  Authority, 
of  jnst  Government  and  Laws,  which  prevents  the  wrongs,  and 
protects  the  rights,  of  all ;  and  thereby  ordains  Liberty,  or  *  the 
aeenre  enjoyment  of  rights.'  The  State  is,  then,  the  true  L&oir 
athoHj  the  mortal  god  which,  under  the  immortal  God,  holds 
the  flaming  sword  of  justice  for  the  protection  of  the  innocent 
and  the  terror  of  the  guilty.  Hence,  in  its  origin,  in  its  nature, 
in  its  sanctions,  and  in  its  eflfects,  it  is  truly  divine.'  [Southern 
Review,  for  July,  1868.]  Having  thus  opened  and  prepared 
the  way  for  the  introduction  of  the  idea  of  Liberty,  as  well  as 
explained  some  of  its  most  indispensable  conditions,  we  now 
proceed  to  define  the  thing  itself. 

M.  Guizot,  as  we  have  already  seen,  [in  our  issue  for  Jan. 
1867,]  discredits  the  attempt  to  define  such  complex  facts  as 
civilization  or  freedom.  If  we  repeat  here,  in  part  at  least,  our 
reply  to  his  objection ;  this  is  because  the  Southern  Review  for 
1867,  has  long  been  out  of  print,  and  cannot  be  seen  by  many 
of  our  present  subscribers.  And  besides,  this  reply,  by  giving  the 
true  idea  of  a  *  scientific  definition',  will  enable  the  reader  to 
jndge  for  himself  whether  our  definition  of  Liberty  be  scientific 
or  otherwise,  true  or  false.  It  is,  indeed,  in  more  respects  than 
one,  an  essential  part  of  the  present  article.     Hence,  we  must 


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252  What  is  Liberty  f  [April, 

beg  leave  to  repeat  briefly,  in  this  place,  the  substance  of  our 
reply  to  the  above  celebrated  objection  of  M.  Guizot ;  especially 
as  it  stands  directly  in  the  way  of  our  present  design,  as  well  as 
casts  discredit  on  all  future  attempts  to  give  a  '  scientific  defi- 
nition' of  the  term  freedom^  or  liberty, 

M.  Guizot,  says  Alison,  '  is  a  man  of  the  very  highest  genius, 
taking  that  word  in  its  loftiest  acceptation' ;  and  '  if  ever  the 
spirit  of  the  Philosophy  of  History  was  embodied  in  a  human 
form,  it  was  in  that  of  M.  Guizot.'  It  is,  then,  all  the  more 
important  that,  while  the  authority  of  his  great  name  is  duly 
respected,  and  his  opinions  carefully  weighed,  his  errors  should 
be  opposed. 

*  In  the  usual  general  acceptation  of  terms',  says  he,  '  there 
will  nearly  always  be  found  more  truth  than  in  the  seemingly 
more  precise  and  rigorous  definitions  of  science.  It  is  common 
sense  which  gives  to  words  these  popular  significations,  and 
common  sense  is  the  genius  of  humanity.  The  popular  signi- 
fication of  a  word  is  formed  by  degrees,  and  while  the  facts  it 
represents  are  themselves  present.  As  often  as  a  fact  comes 
before  us  which  seems  to  answer  to  the  signification  of  a  known 
term,  this  term  is  naturally  applied  to  it,  its  signification  grad- 
ually extending  and  enlarging  itself,  so  that  at  last  the  various 
facts  and  ideas  which,  from  the  nature  of  things,  ought  to  be. 
brought  together  and  embodied  in  tliis  term,  will  be  found  col- 
lected and  embodied  in  it.  When,  on  the  contrary,  the  signifi- 
cation of  a  word  is  determined  by  science,  it  is  usually  done  bj 
one  or  a  very  few  individuals,  who,  at  the  time,  are  under  the 
influence  of  some  particular  fact  which  has  taken  possession  of 
their  imagination.  Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  scientific  defini- 
tions are,  in  general,  much  narrower,  and,  on  that  very  account, 
much  less  correct,  than  the  popular  signification  given  to  words.' 
He  thus  repudiates  the  scientific  definition  of  words,  and  relies 
on  their  popular  significations  as  given  by  common  sense. 

*  So,'  he  continues,  *  in  the  investigation  of  the  meaning  of 
the  word  civilization  as  a  fact,  by  seeking  out  all  the  ideas  it 
comprises,  according  to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  we  shall 
arrive  much  nearer  to  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  itself  than  by 
attempting  to  give  our  own  scientific  definition  of  it,  thongh 


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1869.]  What  is  Libertyf  253 

this  might  at  first  appear  more  clear  and  precise.'  Thus,  in 
pursuit  of  the  meaning  of  the  term  civilizaiionj  M.  Guizot  turns 
his  back  on  sciencej  and  appeals  Ho  common  sense',  to  the 
*  genius  of  humanity',  for  light  and  knowledge.  Now,  is  this*' 
course  really  sanctioned  by  science,  or  by  common  sense  ?  Or 
can  we  escape  from  the  darkness  and  confusion  of  the  subject, 
and  gain  any  clearer  or  more  distinct  conceptions,  by  any  such 
vague  appeal  to  any  such  vague  tribunal  ?  If  we  may  judge 
from  the  success  of  M.  Guizot,  we  are  bound  to  answer  this 
question  in  the  negative.  For,  having  interrogated  his  great 
oracle  'common  sense',  he  seems  to  know  as  little  as  ever 
respecting  the  nature  of  freedom ;  as  may  be  easily  shown. 

*  One  would  suppose,  for  example,  that  if  any  two  things  on 
earth  should  be  distinguished  from  each  other,  they  are  human 
liberty  and  human  depravity.  Such  a  distinction  should,  most 
assuredly,  be  in  every  man's  mind  like  the  difference  between 
light  and  darkness.  Yet,  as  experience  has  shown,  it  is  quite 
possible  for  a  historian  and  a  philosopher  to  overlook  this  dis- 
tinction, even  in  pronouncing  judgment  on  the  most  momentous 
of  questions.  M.  Guizot,  for  example,  in  following  his  guide 
'  the  popular  signification  of  words,'  perpetrates  this  blunder, 
and  plunges  into  some  of  the  most  wonderful  errors  ever  com- 
mitted by  historian  or  philosopher.  In  the  great  historic  strug- 
gle 'between  liberty  and  power,'  says  he,  'the  Church  has 
usually  ranged  itself  on  the  side  of  despotism.'  If  so,  then  this 
is  surely  just  because  the  Church  has  become  corrupt,  and 
proved  false  to  her  sublime  mission  to  free  mankind  from  the 
bondage  of  every  corruption,  whether  internal  or  external,  and 
restore  them  to  the  glorious  '  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God.'  But 
M.  Guizot  thinks  quite  otherwise.  If  the  Church  has  stood  - 
forth  as  the  champion  of  despotism, '  one  need  not,'  says  he, 
'be  much  astonished  at  this,  nor  charge  the  clergy  with  too 
great  a  degree  of  human  weakness,  nor  suppose  it  a  vice  pecu- 
Uar  to  the  Christian  religion.'  No,  none  of  these  things  will 
explain  the  attitude  of  the  Church,  in  her  unholy  alliance  with 
the  enemies  of  God  and  man.  '  There  is,'  says  he,  '  a  more 
profound  cause.'  And  strange  to  say,  he  finds  this  more  pro- 
found cause  in  the  very  nature  of  religion  in  general,  and  of 


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254  What  is  Liberty?  [April, 

the  Christian  religion  in  particular.  *  All  religion,'  says  he, '  is 
a  restraint,  a  power,  a  government.  It  comes  in  the  name  of  a 
divine  law,  for  the  purpose  of  subduing  human  nature.  It  is 
•human  liberty,  then,  with  which  it  chiefly  concerns  itself;  it  is 
human  liberty  which  resists  it,  and  which  it  wishes  to  overcome. 
Such  is  the  enterprise  of  religion,  such  is  its  mission  and  its 
hope.'  Nothing  could  be  more  deplorably  untrue.  Yet,  if  the 
term  depra/oity  be  substituted  for  the  word  liberty^  nothing 
could  be  more  perfectly  true.  For  Christianity  comes,  in  the 
name  of  a  divine  law,  to  subdue  human  depravity.  It  is  human 
d&pra/oity^  then,  with  which  it  chiefly  concerns  itself;  it  is 
himian  depramty  *  which  resists  it,  and  which  it  wishes  to  over- 
come.' Such  is  the  sublime  hope  and  mission  of  the  Christian 
religion.  It  wages  war  with  every  species  of  corruption  on 
earth,  and  especially  with  every  form  of  despotism.  M.  Guizot 
defends  the  Church  at  the  expense  of  Christianity ;  and,  writing 
an  apology  for  the  pretended  followers  of  Christ,  he  indites  a 
libel  against  the  Master  himself;  making  him  the  natural  ally 
of  despotism,  and  the  enemy  of  freedom.  He  generously  ad- 
mits, however,  that  this  '  vice '  is  not  '  peculiar  to  the  Christian 
religion,'  but  conmion  to  all  religions ! ' 

It  is  true,  that  most '  scientific  definitions '  of  liberty,  as  they 
are  called,  are  narrow,  one-sided,  and  utterly  inadequate.  This 
is,  however,  not  because  they  are  *  scientific  definitions ',  but 
just  because  they  are  unscientific.  '  Done  by  one  or  a  very  few 
individuals,  who,  at  the  time,  were  under  the  influence  of  some 
particular  fact,  which  had  taken  possession  of  the  imagination ' ! 
Aye,  there  lies  the  evil, — done  at  the  time !  in  the  heat  of  the 
moment !  and  under  the  dominant  influence  of  some  particular 
.  fact  tyrannizing  over  the  imagination !  That  was  not  tke  time 
to  define  liberty.  Nay,  there  is  no  particular  time  for  such  a 
work ;  for  it  is  the  work  of  time  itself.  As  to  the  *  scientific 
definitions'  of  freedom,  falsely  so  called,  it  is  just  the  business 
of  science  to  go  about  with  her  hammer,  and,  breaking  them  all 
in  pieces,  to  set  up  the  true  image  of  freedom  in  their  stead. 

*  Done  at  the  time,  and  under  the  influence  of  some  particular 
fact.'  I  Such  a  definition  is  not,  as  M.  Guizot  alleges,  '  dete^ 
mined  by  science.'    It  is  the  spurious  coinage  of  a  false  imagi- 


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1869.]  What  is  Liberty  f  255 

nation,  and  bears  not  the  sacred  impress  or  stamp  of  science. 
It  is,  indeed,  the  business  of  science,  properly  so-called,  to  eman- 
cipate the  mind  of  man  from  every  such  misguided  and  misguid- 
ing imagination,  and  bring  it  up  to  the  pure  region  of  truth. 
It  is  not  science,  but  only  the  blind  votary  of  science,  that  sinks 
under  the  influence  of  *  some  particular  fact.'  Science,  on  the 
contrary,  casts  off  the  fetters  of  particular  facts,  and  emancipates 
herself  from  all  one-sided,  narrow,  and  contracted  views.  Her 
vision  is  as  free  as  it  is  clear.  She  comprehends  all  the  great 
facts  she  deals  with,  and,  above  all,  the  relations  of  the  facts  to 
one  another. 

The  appeal  of  M.  Guizot  from  science  to  common  sense,  is, 
indeed,  highly  unphilosophical ;  since  the  natural  course  of 
knowledge  is  from  the  few  to  the  many,  not  from  the  many  to 
the  few.  The  loftiest  peaks  are  the  first  to  catch  the  rising 
beams  of  knowledge,  and  it  is  often  centuries  before  these  des- 
cend on  the  plains  and  the  valleys  below.  "We  did  not  go  to 
mankind,  we  went  to  M.  Guizot  as  one  of  the  great  teachers  of 
mankind,  in  quest  of  light  and  knowledge  respecting  the  nature 
o{  freedom;  and  he  gave  us  only  ^  the  popular  signification  of 
the  word.' ! 

No  one  can,  indeed,  define  the  term  freedom,  except  those 
who  understand  the  nature  of  freedom.  But  the  question  as  to 
the  nature  of  freedom,  is  one  of  advanced  science,  and  not  of 
popular  decision,  much  less  of  popular  delusion.  Hence,  if 
science  be  not  sufficiently  advanced  to  tell  what  freedom  is,  the 
remedy  is  not  an  appeal  from  science  to  *  common  sense ',  or  to 
'  the  genius  of  humanity ',  but  a  still  ftirther  advance  in  science 
itself.  For  science  must  toil  on,  until  the  nature  of  freedom  be 
fully  comprehended,  and  clearly  revealed,  or  else  mankind  must 
still  remain  a  prey  to  the  infinite  legion  of  misunderstandings, 
errors,  and  confusions,  by  which  they  have  been  so  long  tor- 
mented. She  must  elevate  herself,  and  common  sense  also, 
above  their  present  low  level,  and  show  the  mind  of  man  the  glo- 
rious image,  freedom,  as  it  is  in  itself,  or  else  the  world  must 
still  grope  in  darkness,  and  madly  rush  into  ^  all  imaginable 
excesses.'  The  long,  deep,  earnest,  energetic  search  of  science, 
is  the  only  ground  of  hope. 


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256  '  What  is  Lihertyf  [April, 

But  is  it  not  wonderful  that  any  man,  and  still  more  that  the 
great  embodiment  of  '  the  Philosophy  of  History ',  should,  in 
this  nineteenth  century,  disparage  the  teachings  of  science,  as 
if  they  were  inimical  to  the  dictates  of  common  sense  ?  All 
that  has  been  done,  all  the  proud  victories  and  achievements  of 
the  human  mind,  are  indeed  but  the  work  of  good  sense  or  sci- 
ence. For  science  is  only  good  sense  cultivated,  developed,  ex- 
panded, and  raised  above  the  dead  level  of  common  sense  into 
the  bright  and  shining  region  of  eternal  truth.  Science  is,  in 
fact,  only  common  sense  emancipated  from  its  distracted  con- 
dition, and  set  on  high,  in  order  that  it  may,  far  above  the  dis- 
torting medium  of  prejudice  and  passion,  see  -sdsions  of  glorjr  in 
the  great  book  of  God's  creation  and  providence.  This  is  only 
good  sense,  and  this  is  science.  Or,  in  other  words,  science  is 
good  sense  transfigured  by  the  power  of  pure  thought  and  the 
progress  of  clear  ideas.  And  if  common  sense  is  any  thing  dif- 
ferent from  this,  then  we  refuse  to  follow  it  as  an  oracle,  or  to 
respect  its  decision.  Science  is,  indeed,  the  emancipation  and 
the  freedom  of  common  sense ;  and,  consequently,  in  appealing 
from  the  former  to  the  latter,  M.  Guizot  prefers  the  bond-maid 
to  the  mistress. 

No  where,  perhaps,  in  the  whole  domain  of  human  know- 
ledge, are  the  kind  offices  of  science  more  needed  than  in  the 
reformation  of  men's  notions  of  freedom  or  liberty.  For  it  is 
here  that  the  delusions  of  common  sense  have  done  their  worst, 
and  wrought  the  direst  calamities  to  the  human  race.  If,  in- 
deed, we  should  judge  from  the  last  century,  we  should  be  jus- 
tified in  the  mournful  conclusion,  that  men  do  not  think  about 
liberty  at  all ;  that  they  merely  effervesce.  Nor  is  this  all ;  for 
getting  drunk  on  the  'vinum  demonuTn^  as  St.  Augustine 
calls  falsehood  or  fiction,  they  madly  plunge  into  '  all  imagina- 
ble excesses ',  and  overwhelm  the  world  with  unalterable  hor- 
rors and  calamities.  Thus  Liberty,  so  grossly  misconceived  and 
frightfully  distorted,  is  even  now  the  false  god  to  whom  more 
human  victims  are  sacrificed,  than  were  ever  immolated  to  ap- 
pease the  wrath  of  Moloch,  or  to  satiate  the  bloody  maw  of  any 
deity  of  the  heathen  world.  How  important,  then,  that  all 
thinking  men  concur,  if  possible,  to  form  a  true  idea  or  defini- 


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1»69.]  What  is  Liberty  f    '  257 

tion  of  Liberty ;  and  thereby  declare  to  all  these  blind  and 
drunken  devotees  of  Freedom,  the  goddess  whom  they  so  igno- 
rantly  worship ! 

It  is  evident,  that  such  a  definition  or  image  of  freedom 
should  contain  every  essential  element  and  feature  of  the  thing 
defined.  To  hold  up  '  some  particular  fact '  of  freedom  as  if 
it  were  the  whole,  would  indeed  be  as  absurd,  as  unscientific,  as 
to  represent  '  the  human  face  divine '  as  all  mouth,  or  all  eye,, 
or  all  nose.  The  one  would  no  more  be  a  '  scientific  definition ' 
of  liberty,  than  the  other  would  be  an  artistic  portrait  of  the 
hnman  face.  In  both  cases  each  and  every  feature  should  be 
exhibited  in  its  true  proportion,  and  in  its  proper  relation  to 
each  and  every  other  feature,  or  the  image  will  be  incomplete 
and  unsatisfactory,  or  deformed  and  monstrous. 

Or  if  we  should  undertake  to  define  the  solar  system,  and 
bhonld  only  notice  the  sun  without  the  planets,  or  any  one  of 
the  planets  without  the  sun ;  this  would  be  a  most  imperfect 
description.  It  would  be  like  M.  Guizot's  'scientific  defini- 
tions ',  far  too  '  narrow,  one-sided  and  imperfect '  to  give  any 
real  idea  or  knowledge  of  the  thing  defined.  The  true  defini- 
tion of  the  solar  system  must,  it  is  obvious,  contain  all  the  bo- 
dies belonging  to  it,  in  tlieir  proper  magnitudes,  and  in  their 
natural  relations  to  each  other.  In  like  manner,  the  true,  or 
really  scientific,  definition  of  any  complex  term,  such  as  /ree- 
doTHj  which  embraces  a  multitude  of  facts  or  ideas  in  its  mean- 
ing, must  exhibit  each  of  these  facts  or  ideas  in  its  proper  posi- 
tion, and  in  its  due  relation  to  all  the  others.  This  term,  indeed, 
embraces  a  system  of  correlated  facts  or  ideas,  and  can  no  more 
be  fairly  represented  by  a  single  fact  or  idea,  than  the  solar 
system  could  be  represented  by  a  single  planet,  or  the  human 
face  by  a  single  feature.  The  great  misfortune  is,  that  in  most 
of  the  attempts  to  define  liberty,  the  great  central  sun-like  idea 
ia  omitted,  while  some  little  dark  planetary  fragment  is  made 
to  stand  for  the  whole. 

In  proceeding  to  define  liberty^  then,  we  shall  endeavor  to 
omit  none  of  '  the  various  facts  and  ideas  which,  from  the  nature 
of  things,  ought  to  be  brought  together  and  embodied  in  this 
term.'    We  shall  strive  to  exhibit  them  all ;  not,  however,  in  a 


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258  What  is  Liberty?  [April, 

confused,  heterogeneous,  and  chaotic  mass,  as  they  usually  ap- 
pear in  the  crude  contents  of  common  sense,  or  for  the  most 
part,  in  the  writings  of  M.  Guizot  and  other  celebrated  aifthors. 
We  shall  aim,  on  the  contrary,  to  define  each  essential  fact  or 
idea,  to  show  its  place  in  the  system  to  which  it  belongs,  and 
its  relation  to  the  other  facts  and  ideas  of  the  same  system. 
This,  and  nothing  less  than  this,  can  be  called  a  scientific  defi- 
nition of  liberty ;  unless,  indeed,  it  be  the  object  of  science  to 
mislead  and  deceive  by  one-sided,  partial,  and  false  views  of  na- 
ture, rather  than  to  fix  in  the  mind  a  clear,  full,  round,  and 
complete  pattern  of  her  divine  forms. 

The  term  freedom  is  frequently  applied  to  the  human  will, 
in  which  case  it  denotes  a  fact  of  nature,  with  which  political 
philosophy  as  sxichj  has  nothing  to  do.  Hence  it  need  nut  be 
defined  in  this  place.  It  belongs  exclusively  to  the  province  of 
the  metaphysician.  Blackstone  appears  to  have  confounded 
this  fundamental  fact  of  our  nature  with  the  idea  of  natural 
liberty,  when  he  says  that  natural  liberty  was  the  gift  of  God 
to  man  at  his  creation,  by  which  he  was  endowed  with  the  fa- 
culty of  free-will.  The  two  things  are  perfectly  distinct.  The 
one  is  a  power,  inherent  and  immutable,  having  been  stamped 
on  the  soul  by  God  in  the  act  of  creation ;  the  other  is  a  con- 
tingent fact,  and  depends  on  external  circumstances  for  its  ex- 
istence. If  there  were  no  human  laws,  the  will  would  be  free; 
but,  as  our  natural  rights  could  not  be  enjoyed,  there  could  be 
no  natural  liberty,  but  only  violence  and  wrongs  and  oppressiwi. 
The  philosophy  of  history  has  much  to  do  with  the  doctrine  of 
free  will ;  but  the  science  of  government,  or  the  philosophy  of 
politics,  as  suchj  deals  not  with  the  profoimd  metaphysical  ab- 
,  stractions  of  that  abstruse  doctrine.  On  the  contrary,  it  stap 
at  home,  in  this  little  planet  of  ours,  with  Bacon,  and  Aristotle, 
and  Montesquieu,  and  Burke,  instead  of  making  the  grand  tour 
of  the  universe  with  Plato  and  Cudworth,  or  Liebnitzand 
Clarke. 

The  same  term  is  also  employed  to  signify  a  moral  state  or 
condition ;  including  a  deliverance  of  the  intellect  fix)m  the  do- 
minion of  ignorance  and  error,  of  the  heart  from  the  reign  of 
evil  passions  and  propensities,  and  of  the  vnll  from  the  galling 


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1869.]  ■  What  is  Liberty?  •      259 

tyranny  of  vicious  habits.  The  word  is  used  in  this  sense  by 
the  poet,  when  he  says : 

*  He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free, 
And  all  are  slares  beside ' ; 

and  also  by  the  inspired  penman  in  the  declaration,  that '  where 
the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  Liberty.'  It  is  this  threefold 
freedom  of  inteUectj  heart,  and  will, — this  harmonious  and  per- 
fect development  of  all  the  god-like  faculties  of  the  soul, — which 
constitutes  *  the  glorious  Liberty  of  the  sons  of  God.' 

Freedom,  in  this  sense,  is  not  merely  a  gift ;  it  is,  under  God, 
the  highest  achievement  of  man.  It  is  the  Freedom  for  which 
all  other  freedom  exists;  and  in  comparison  with  which  all 
other  freedom  is  as  the  small  dust  of  the  balance.  It  is,  indeed, 
the  Freedom  for  which  man  himself  exists,  the  great  end  and 
aim  of  human  life,  the  final  cause  of  the  world,  and  the  glory 
of  }he  universe.  Hence  all  human  laws  and  institutions,  if 
wisely  framed,  tend  to  secure  this  great,  central,  sun-like  Free- 
dom of  the  spiritual  world.  All  other  freedom,  whether  of  the 
will  or  of  the  body,  is  a  blessing,  or  a  curse,  in  proportion  as  it 
promotes,  or  retards,  this  glorious  Freedom  of  Spirit.  All  other 
freedom,  whether  jper807ial,  j^oUticaZ,  or  cwilj  bear  to  this  Free- 
dom the  subordinate  relation  of  means  to  an  end,  and  derive 
all  their  value  from  their  relation  to  this  great  end,  or  final 
canse,  of  human  life  and  the  world. 

It  is  an  inattention  to  this  great  truth,  to  this  all-important 
relation  of  all  other  kinds  of  freedom  to  the  moral  freedom  of  the 
soul,  which  has  engendered  so  much  error  and  confusion  among 
men.  God  lays  the  principal  stress  on  moral  freedom,  or  that, 
in  other  words,  by  which  we  became  like  himself  in  thought,  in 
feding,  and  in  wiU;  while  men,  for  the  most  part,  in  their 
blind  zeal  for  personal  or.political  libeji:y,  despise  and  trample 
under  foot  the  infinitely  higher  claims  of  the  all-glorious  free- 
dom of  the  spiritual  world  itself.  Hence  it  is,  that  in  the  eyes 
of  would-be  reformers,  or  blind  zealots  in  the  cause  of  freedom, 
the  very  wisdom  of  God  itself  respecting  liberty  and  slavery  is 
such  infinite  foolishness.  Every  law,  every  institution,  every 
government,  and  every  measure,  which  hinders,  more  than  it 
helps,  the  moral  development,  or  emancipation,  of  the  people 


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260      .  What  is  Liberty?  '         [April, 

to  whom  it  is  applied,  is  an  abomination  in  the  sight  of  God. 
On  the  other,  hand,  every  law,  institution,  government,  or  meas- 
ure, which  promotes  the  moral  freedom,  or  progress,  of  society, 
is  among  the  means  or  methods  of  infinite  wisdom  for  the  res- 
toration of  a  fallen  and  dilapidated  world.  All  the  schemes  of 
men,  however  grand  and  imposing,  or  insignificant  and  con- 
temptible, in  our  eyes,  should  be  estimated  and  valued,  not  ac- 
cording to  their  outward  appearance,  but  according  to  their 
intrinsic  relation  to  the  emancipation  of  mankind  from  the 
dark  dominion  of  '  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil.'  Every 
thing  which  answers  this  end,  is  good ;  and  any  thing  which 
opposes  this  end,  is  bad.  It  should,  however,  be  always  borne 
in  mind,  that  notliing  unjust,  or  immoral,  or  wrong  in  itselfi 
can  ever  answer  such  an  end,  or  any  good  purpose  whatever. 

Political  despotism  itself  is  desirable,  when,  in  any  case,  it 
serves  to  promote  the  moral  freedom  of  man,  or  the  great  ob- 
ject for  which  he  exists  upon  earth.  This  is,  indeed,  conceded 
by  the  blindest  devotees  of  Freedom ;  not  even  excepting  Mr. 
Mill  himself.  Accordingly,  in  his  w^ork  On  BepreserUaiive  Go- 
vernmentj  Mr.  Mill  says :  '  A  people  in  a  state  of  savage  inde- 
pendence ....  is  incapable  of  making  any  progress  in  ci^^liza- 
tion  until  it  has  learnt  to  obey  ....  A  constitution  in  any  de- 
gree popular, ....  would  fail  to  enforce  the  first  lesson  which 
pupils,  in  this  stage  of  their  progress,  require,  [that  is,  the  lesson 
of  obedience].  Accordingly,  the  civilization  of  such  tribes, 
when  not  the  result  of  juxtaposition  with  others  already  civil- 
ized, is  almost  always  the  work  of  an  absolute  ruler^  deriving 
his  power  either  from  religion  or  military  prowess ;  very  often 
from  foreign  arms.'  Thus,  in  the  case  of  savage  tribes,  politi- 
cal despotism,  the  most  absolute,  is  deemed  indispensable  to 
render  them  capable  of  the  very  first  step  in  civilization,  or 
social  progress. 

Nay,  on  the  same  page  of  the  same  work,  personal  servitude 
itself,  is  recommended  as  the  means  of  promoting  the  ^  freedom' 
of  such  tribes.  '  Uncivilized  races ',  says  he,  '  and  the  braved 
and  most  energetic  still  more  than  the  rest,  are  averse  to  con- 
tinuous labor  of  an  unexciting  kind.  Yet  all  real  civilization 
is  at  this  price ;  without  such  labor,  neither  can  the  mind  be 


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1869.]  What  is  Liberty?  261 

disciplined  into  the  habits  required  by  civilized  society,  nor  the 
material  world  prepared  to  receive  it.  There  needs  a  rare  con- 
currence of  circTunstances,  and  for  that  reason  often  a  vast 
length  of  time,  to  reconcile  such  a  people  to  industry,  unless 
they  are  for  a  while  compelled  to  it.  Hence  even  personal  sla- 
ven/j  by  giving  a  commencement  to  industrial  life,  and  enforc- 
ing it  as  the  exclusive  occupation  of  the  most  numerous  portion 
of  the  conmiunity,  may  accelerate  the  transition  to  a  better 
freedom  than  that  of  fighting  and  rapine.'  If,  indeed,  Mr.  Mill 
had  only  known  how  deep,  and  solid,  and  permanent,  is  the 
foundation  of  his  own  apology  for  *  personal  slavery '  in  the 
nature  of  savage  tribes,  he  could  scarcely  have  been  so  fierce  an 
advocate  of  the  violent  emancipation  of  the  blacks  of  this  coun- 
try, or  of  the  terrible  crusade  preached  by  the  abolitionists  for 
that  purpose.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we  have,  at  least,  his  own 
exphcit  admission,  that  slavery,  is,  in  certain  cases,  one  of  the 
means  or  methods  of  *  freedom '  itself. 
'  This  was  emphatically  true  in  regard  to  ^  the  savage  tribes ' 
of  Africa.  By  *  personal  slavery,'  or  servitude,  the  Africans 
brought  to  this  country  were,  indeed,  delivered  from  a  bondage 
infinitely  more  frightful  than  any  the  New  World  has  ever 
seen, — ^from  a  bondage  to  ^  the  flesh  and  the  devil,'  which  no 
words  can  describe,  and  which  no  imagination  could  possibly 
conceive,  without  a  careful  study  of  the  actual  history  of  such 
brutalized  and  debased  tribes.  "We  cannot  dignify  their  beast- 
finegfi  with  the  name  of  vice,  nor  their  fetichism  with  the  name 
of  idolatry,  or  atheism.  The  terms  ignorance  and  sxiperstition 
would,  indeed,  be  exceedingly  weak,  if  applied  to  their  gross 
conceptions  of  man,  and  nature,  and  powers  of  the  invisible 
world,  or  to  the  monstrous  diablery  growing  out  of  such  won- 
derful misbeliefs  and  wild  absurdities.  If,  indeed,  any  ^  savage 
tribes'  ever  ne^ed  the  necessary  discipline  of  ^  personal  slavery,' 
it  was  those  of  the  African  race.  In  an  introduction  to  the 
Philosophy  of  the  Plan  of  Salvatiouj  Professor  Stowe,  the  hus- 
band of  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  declared  that  God,  in 
order  to  prepare  his  chosen  people  for  their  mission,  sent  them 
into  slavery  for  four  hundred  years.  May  we  not  suppose,  then, 
that  if  the  African  race  has  any  mission  upon  earth,  a  portion 


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262  What  is  lAhertyf  [April, 

of  them  was  sent  into  American  servitude,  in  order  to  prepare 
them  for  that  mission  ?  The  above  learned  Professor  of  Theo- 
logy would^no  doubt,  have  answered  this  question  in  the  aflBrm- 
ative,  if  Uncle  Tom? 8  Cdbm  had  not  taken  the  place  of  the 
Bible  in  his  aflFections.  As  it  was,  he  struck  out  the  above 
passage  from  his  introduction  to  the  work  referred  to,  and  the 
philosophy  of  J.  J.  Kousseau  rooted  out  of  his  mind  Ths  PhUo- 
sophy  of  the  Plan  of  Salvation.  It  is,  however,  some  con- 
solation to  reflect,  that  the  greatest  mind  New  England  has 
ever  produced,  as  well  as  the  most  profound  student  of  the 
Bible,  wrote  a  treatise  to  show  that  slavery  was,  in  its  effects 
and  in  \i% providential  design^  a  grand  missionary  scheme  for  the 
conversion  of  the  heathen  to  the  Christian  religion.  On  pre- 
cisely the  same  ground  it  is,  that  great  thinkers  and  biblical 
students  have,  in  past  ages,  justified  the  institution  of  slavery, 
and  the  eternal  word  of  God  in  which  that  institution  is  sanc- 
tioned as  one  of  the  methods  of  mitigating  the  bondage  of 
'  savage  trib^'  and  raising  them  in  the  scale  of  Freedom.  That  * 
is  to  say,  the  great  thinkers  and  biblical  students  of  past  ages, 
before  the  world  ran  mad  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  During  the 
present  age,  indeed,  there  has  been  much  froth,  and  foam,  and 
fury,  on  the  subject  of  freedom  and  slavery,  and  but  little  deep 
patient,  or  sober  thought.  Hence,  in  this  age,  the  loud,  vehement 
cry  for '  an  anti-slavery  God  and  an  anti-slavery  Bible',  from  the 
would-be  reformers  of  the  world,  -who,  in  their  infinite  conceit 
of  wisdom,  exalt  themselves  '  above  all  that  is  called  God.' 
These  men  were  foreseen  and  perfectly  described,  by  the  in- 
spired penmen,  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago,  in  the  following 
words :  '  Let  as  many  servants  ( i.  e.  dooXoc^  slaves,)  as  are 
under  the  yoke  count  their  masters  worthy  of  all  honor,  that 
the  name  of  God  and  his  doctrine  be  not  blasphemed.  And 
they  that  have  believing  masters,  let  them  not  despise  them, 
because  they  are  brethren ;  but  rather  do  them  service,  because 
they  are  faithful  and  beloved,  partakers  of  the  benefit.  Thes^ 
things  teach  amd  exhort.  If  any  mom  teach  otherwise^  and  con- 
sent not  to  wholesome  words,  even  the  words  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  to  the  doctrine  which  is  according  to  godliness,  he 
is  proudy  knowing  nothing^  but  doting  about  question  <w^ 


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1869.J  What  is  Liberty?  263 

strifes  of  words j  whereof  cometh  envy^  strife^  raiUngs^  evil  sur- 
misi/ngs^  perverse  disputings  of  men  of  corrupt  minds ^  and  des- 
tituie  of  the  tnUh,  supposing  that  gain  is  godliness :  from  such 
withdraw  thyself.'  But  instead  of  permitting  us  to  withdraw 
ourselves  from  them,  they  pursued  us  with  fire,  and  sword,  and 
desolation,  and  misery,  and  death,  till  they  brought  us  back, 
not  into  the  Union,  but  only  into  the  remorseless  clutches  of 
their  power.    All  this  was  done  in  the  name  of  Freedom. 

Slavery  had,  it  must  be  admitted,  achieved  much  for  the 
African  race.  In  their  native  land,  for  example,  the  ages  have 
seen  forty  millions  of  this  race  in  bondage  to  ignorant,  cruel, 
and  brutal  masters,  without»the  least  hope  of  mental  or  moral 
improvement  In  America,  we  have  seen  some  four  millions  of 
the  same  race  under  the  control  of  humane  and  Christian  mas- 
ters, advancing,  continually,  from  barbarism  and  bondage 
toward  the  goal  of  civilization  and  freedom.  We  do  not  be- 
lieve, indeed,  that  they  had  become  equal  to  the  whites  of  this 
country,  as  their  too  partial  admirers  have  allied ;  for,  however 
beneficent  the  institution  of  slavery  in  its  application  to  such 
tribes,  it  did  not  make  them  in  two  centuries,  (only  half  the 
period  for  which  God  sent  his  chosen  people  into  bondage,)  quite 
equal  to  those  who  had  experienced  fifteen  centuries  of  disci- 
pline, training,  and  progress  in  civilization  and  freedom.  But, 
though  they  were  not  equal  to  the  white  men  of  America,  they 
were  incomparably  superior  to  the  savage  tribes  of  their  native 
wilds  and  jungles.  In  this  imperfect  world  of  ours,  civilization 
and  barbarism,  liberty  and  slavery,  are,  like  light  and  darkness, 
relative  only,  and  not  absolute.  The  dark  spots  on  the  sun  are, 
as  astronomers  tell  us,  far  brighter  than  the  most  intense  light 
ever  created  by  human  art.  Hence,  if  the  insufferably  bright 
light  of  the  argand  lamp  itself,  be  held  between  the  eye  of  the 
observer  and  one  of  the  sun's  spots,  it  will  be  made  to  appear 
dark  by  the  superior  efliilgence  of  the  spot ;  just  as  the  spot 
itself  appears  dark  in  the  fiercer  flame  of  the  adjacent  portions 
of  the  sun's  disc.  In  like  manner,  the  civilization  or  freedom 
of  the  African  race  in  this  country,  which  seems  so  dark  on  the 
blazing  disc  of  American  civilization,  becomes,  if  turned  and 
viewed  on  the  back-ground  of  African  barbarism  and  debase- 


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264  What  is  Liberty?  [Aprih 

ment,  bright,  and  cheering,  and  beautiful  to  behold.  It  fonrj?, 
indeed,  the  only  bright  spot  in  the  history  of  the  African  race. 
K,  then,  we  are  not  greatly  deceived ;  nay,  if  all  ages  except 
this  have  not  been  greatly  deceived ;  there  was  a  profound  wis- 
dom in  the  injunction  of  God  to  his  chosen  people,  commanding 
them  to  buy  their  '  bondmen  and  bondmaids '  of  the  heathen 
nations  round  about  them.  Even  Moses  Stuart,  a  learned  divine 
of  Massachusetts,  who  had  devoted  a  long  and  laborious  life  to 
the  study  of  the  Scriptures,  was  compelled,  in  spite  of  his  aver- 
sion to  slavery,  to  recognize  the  wisdom  of  the  injunction  to 
*  buy  bondmen  and  bondmaids '  of  the  heathen  that  were  round 
about  them.  For  this  decision,  he*  assigns  the  two  following 
reasons :  First,  '  the  heathen  master  possessed  the  power  of 
life  and  death,  of  scourging  or  imprisoning,  or  putting  to  exces- 
sive toil,  even  to  any  extent  that  he  pleased.  Not  so  the 
Hebrews.  Humanity  pleaded  there  for  the  protection  of  the 
fugitive.  The  second  and  most  important  consideration  was, 
that  only  among  the  Hebrews  could  the  fugitive  slave  [or  bond- 
man] come  to  the  knowledge  and  worship  of  the  only  living 
and  true  God.'  Thus  it  was,  and  thus  it  ever  has  been,  the 
office  of  slavery,  when  properly  applied,  to  promote  the  moral 
emancipation  and  freedom  of  its  patients.  The  two  reasons 
above  assigned,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remark,  applied  with 
peculiar  force  and  emphasis  to  the  past  servitude  of  Atricans  in 
this  country.  But  the  people  did  not  see  this.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  neither  considered  the  reasons  of  the  institution,  nor 
the  application  of  those  reasons  to  the  '  savage  tribes '  of  Africa, 
before  they  set  to  work,  in  the  name  of  Freedom,  to  turn  the 
world  up-side-down.  Having  become,  in  their  own  conceit, 
wiser  than  all  past  ages,  and  even  wiser  than  God  himself,  they 
would  not  condescend  to  weigh  his  words,  or  to  consider  his 
reasons.  Hence  it  is  that,  in  their  blindness,  they  have  laid 
the  temple  of  Freedom,  so  carefully  planned  and  erected  bv  the 
architects  of  1787,  in  melancholy  and  appalling  fragments  on  all 
sides  around  us.  Such  is  the  misery  and  the  madness  of  man ; 
with  whom  the  wisdom  of  God  itself  is  foolishness. 

Earl  Kussell,  a  truly  representative  abolitionist,  expected  the 
most  glorious  results  to  flow  from  the  forced  emancipation  and 


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1869.]  What  is  Liberty?  265 

freedom  of  the  slaves  of  the  South.  Hence,  in  a  speech,  de- 
livered on  the  occasion  of  his  installation  as  Rector  of  fhe 
University  of  Aberdeen,  he  exulted,  as  he  said,  in  beholding, 
through  all  the  darkness  and  tempests  of  this  country,  one 
bright  and  beautiful  vista  into  its  glorious  future ;  the  vista, 
namely,  opened  by  the  sudden  emancipation  of  four  millions  of 
blacks  from  personal  servitude.  But  if  this  was  anything  more 
than  a  flight  of  fancy,  or  brilliant  outburst  of  the  fashionable 
fanaticism  of  the  time,  there  was,  at  least,  no  principle  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  noble  Earl,  by  which  its  rationality  could  be 
vindicated.  For  in  the  very  same  speech,  he  laid  it  down  as  a 
law  of  nature,  illustrated  by  all  history,  that  if  two  different  ^ 
and  independent  races  occupy  the  same  territory,  the  inferior 
race  is  doomed  to  disappear  before  the  superior,  and  become 
extinct.  If  viewed,  then,  in  the  light  of  history,  or  in  the  light 
of  his  own  principles,  '  the  bright  and  beautiful  vista '  of  the 
noble  Earl,  could  have  shown  him,  not  the  freedom,  but  only 
the  utter  extermination,  of  the  four  millions  of  freed  blacks  of 
the  South.  How  could  his  philanthropy,  then,  exult  or  rejoice 
in  the  contemplation  of  such  an  event  ?  "Was  his  love  of  free- 
dom the  hatred  of  the  freed-men  ?  Did  he  really  wish  to  see 
them  disappear  from  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  The  simple  truth 
seems  to  be,  that,  in  the  blindness  of  his  fanatical  zeal  for 
freedom,  he  bestowed  little  or  no  real  thought  at  all  on  the 
subject  of  the  future  destiny  of  the  negro.  Whether  four  mil- 
lions of  his  fellow-men  should  finally  reach  the  goal  of  freedom, 
or  disappear  forever  in  the  abyss  of  annihilation,  was  a  question 
far  too  practical  to  engage  the  attention  of  his  abstract  philan- 
thropy. Hence,  without  serious  reflection,  he  favored  measures 
which,  according  to  his  own  principles,  doomed  four  millions  of 
living  men  to  destruction,  and  blotted  out  the  only  bright  pros- 
pect in  the  whole  history  of  the  African  race.  All  this,  too, 
was  done  in  the  name  of  Freedom. 

Personal  and  civil  liberty,  then,  stand  related  to  moral  free- 
dom, as  means  to  an  end.  How  often,  in  this  world  of  fanatical 
reformers,  is  the  end  sacrificed  to  the  means !  How  often  is 
the  moral  freedom  of  mankijid, — ay,  and  vast  hecatombs  of 
human  beings  too,  sacrificed  in  the  mad  pursuit  of  personal  or 
2 

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266  What  is  Libert t/?  [April, 

civil  freedom !  If,  on  the  contrarj',  we  would  not  sacrifice  the 
end  to  the  means ;  there  are  cases,  and  very  important  ones  too, 
in  which  civil  despotism,  or  even  personal  servitude,  should  be 
adopted,  as  a  provisional  method,  to  effect  a  transition  from  the 
bondage  of  savage  tribes  to  the  freedom  of  civilized  men ;  or, 
in  other  words,  to  promote  the  moral  freedom  of  mankind,  on 
which  all  other  kinds  of  freedom,  whether  personal,  political, 
or  civil,  depend,  even  as  the  planets  depend  on  the  sun. 

The  Church,  however,  rather  than  the  State,  is  ordained  to 
promote,  as  far  as  possible,  the  moral  freedom  of  mankind. 
But  the  relation  of  the  Church  and  the  State  to  each  other,  and 
of  each  to  the  moral  freedom,  or  regeneration,  of  the  world, 
present,  for  our  consideration,  some  of  the  most  profoundly 
interesting  problems  that  could  possibly  engage  the  attention  of 
man.  This  is  not  the  place,  however,  to  discuss  any  of  these 
problems.  We  shall  only  observe,  in  passing,  that  although 
human  laws  should,  in  certain  stages  of  human  progress,  be 
framed  without  any  direct  reference  to  the  moral  freedom  of 
society,  they  should  never  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  its 
claims.  That  is  to  say,  if  we  would  really  and  clearly  under- 
stand the  complex  and  profoundly  complicated  subject  of  human 
liberty,  we  must  view  the  whole  system  of  its  correlative  fact* 
from  the  central  and  sun-like  idea  of  moral  Freedom,  instead 
of  losing  ourselves,  with  modern  reformers,  in  some  little,  dark, 
planetary  notion  of  freedom,  from  which  every  thing  is  seen 
amiss.  It  was,  indeed,  for  the  advancement  of  moral  freedom, 
that  man  was  created,  and  endowed  with  the  faculty  of  free- 
will ;  and  it  is  for  the  promotion,  and  for  the  preservation,  of 
this  freedom,  that  both  the  Church  and  the  State  are  ordained 
of  God ;  the  one,  as  the  organ  by  which  the  life  of  society  is 
replenished  from  within,  and  the  other,  as  the  body  b}'  which 
it  is  protected  against  destroying  influences  from  without.  Or, 
to  change  the  metaphor,  the  one  as  the  channel  for  imparting 
life  and  growth  to  the  kernel,  or  the  budding  flower,  of  society, 
and  the  other,  as  the  shell,  or  the  leafy  envelope,  to  shield  its 
life  and  growth  from  the  manifold  external  causes  of  deetnl^ 
tion. 

But  though  civil  liberty  is  a  means  to  an  end,  that  is,  to 
moral  liberty,  this  is  no  reason  why  it  should  be  lightly  e^ 

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1869.]  What  is  Liberty?  267 

teemed.  It  is,  indeed,  among  the  greatest  of  earthly  blessings ; 
and  should  be  extended  to  all  ipen  as  far  as  is  consistent  with 
the  lugher  interests  of  their  moral  freedom.  Civil  liberty  is,  in 
its  cause,  the  protection  which  good  government  and  laws 
confer  on  the  governed ;  and  it  is,  in  itself,  the  secure  enjoyment 
of  natural  rights  under  and  by  virtue  of  that  protection.  Hence 
it  consists  of  two  parts :  first,  protection  against  the  infliction 
of  positive  wrong ;  and,  secondly,  against  the  omission  of  what 
is  prescribed  by  the  law  of  nature,  or,  in  other  words,  by  the 
moral  law  of  the  world. 

Tlie  celebrated  word  of  Sieyes,  '  You  seek  to  be  free,  and 
yet  you  know  not  how  to  be  just,'  recognizes  the  relation  be- 
tween freedom  and  justice,  without  pointing  out,  or  defining, 
that  obscure  relation.  It  is  this :  By  justice  good  laws  and 
governments  are  ordained ;  and  by  good  laws  and  governments, 
freedom  is  introduced  and  established.  Hence,  without  justice, 
as  the  fountain  of  good  laws  and  government,  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  freedom  or  tJie  secure  enjoyment  of  rights. 

Civil  liberty  is,  then,  under  good  laws,  the  secure  enjoyment 
of  our  natural  rights.  From  the  necessary  imperfection  and 
limits  of  all  human  laws,  it  is  impossible  for  them  to  protect 
us  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  our  natural  rights.  Hence,  as  we 
have  shown,  [Southern  Review  for  April,  1868,  Art.  I.]  civil 
liberty  does  not  cover,  with  the  broad  shield  of  its  protection, 
the  whole  ground  of  natural  rights.  But  in  so  far  as  it  does 
go,  it  proceeds  on  the  principle  of  the  protection  of  natural 
rights,  either  against  some  act  of  omission  or  commission,  and 
never  requires  a  surrender  or  sacrifice  of  them.  This  ground  is, 
in  spite  of  his  general  doctrine  to  the  contrary,  assumed  by 
Burke  himself.  For,  though  he  contends  that  when  we  enter 
mto  society  we  put  all  our  natural  rights  at  the  disposal  of  the 
governing  power ;  this  is  only  when  he  is  engaged  in  contro- 
versy with  the  infidel  philosopher  of  France.  He  no  sooner 
lays  aside  the  partizan,  and  puts  on  the  philosopher,  than  he 
gives  utterance  to  the  great  truth  for  which  we  here  contend. 
'Every  body,'  says  he,  ^is  satisfied  that  a  conservation  and 
ffecure  enjoyment  of  our  natural  rights^  is  the  great  end  and 
ultimate  purpose  of  civil  society;  and  that  therefore  all  forms 


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268  What  is  Liberty?  [April, 

whatsoever  of  government  are  only  good  as  they  are  subser- 
vient to  that  purpose,  to  which  they  are  entirely  8ubordinate.'(') 
Here,  then,  is  the  great  truth  clearly  announced,  as  self-evident 
and  satisfactory  to  every  one,  that  good  government  is,  not  the 
surrender  or  sacrifice  of  natural  rights,  but  only  and  always 
our  protection  in  the  secure  enjoyment  of  thefn^  which  is  the 
definition  of  civil  liberty. 

The  philosophers  of  the  French  revolution  held  two  doctrines: 
First,  that '  civil  government  is  instituted  for  the  protection  of 
rights ; '  and,  secondly,  that  '  all  men  have  the  same  or  equal 
rights.'  The  first  is  the  strong,  and  the  last  is  the  weak,  point 
of  their  philosophy.  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  in  his  Vinduxs 
GalliccBy  unfortunately  embraced  both  doctrines — the  false  and 
the  true.  Hence  he  was  necessarily  doomed  to  self-contradic- 
tion. For,  if  we  assume  with  him,  that  '  all  men  have  the 
same  or  equal  rights ; '  it  necessarily  follows,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  organize  society,  or  to  establish  public  order,  without  a 
surrender  or  sacrifice  of  some  of  these  rights.  Hence,  Sir 
James  was  compelled  to  adopt  the  notion  of  such  a  partial 
surrender  of  rights.  But,  as  Mr.  Burke  says,  *  if  we  may  be 
required  to  surrender  a  portion  of  our  rights,'  why  not  all  i  If 
we  sacrifice  a  part  of  our  rights,  does  not  the  amount  sacrificed 
cease  to  be  a  question  of  principle,  and  become  one  of  'con- 
venience '  merely  ?  Most  assuredly  it  does.  But  the  question 
is,  do  we  sacrifice  a  part  ?  This  has  never  been  shown,  [Sauik- 
em  Review  for  April,  1868],  and  until  it  is,  the  existence  of 
such  a  sacrifice  of  rights  should  not  be  asserted. 

Burke  attacked  the  strong  point  in  the  doctrine  of  the  French 
philosophers,  that  '  civil  liberty  is  the  protection  of  all  our 
rights,'  and  he  failed  to  examine  its  weak  part,  that  *  all  men 
have  the  same  or  equal  rights.'  If,  on  the  contrary,  he  had 
sufficiently,  considered  the  nature,  the  ground,  and  the  limit- 
ations of  human  rights,  he  must  have  seen  that  all  men  are 
very  far  from  having  the  same  rights ;  or  in  other  words,  if  he 
had  refuted  the  error  of  his  opponents,  he  would  have  been 
under  no  necessity  of  denying  the  truth  they  had  asserted  only 
to  re-affirm  it  again ;  and  thereby  contradict  himself.    In  like 

( > )  Bupke'8  Works,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  265. 


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1869.]  What  is  Liberty  ?  269 

maimer,  if  Sir  James  Mackintosh  had  not  embraced  the  same 
error,  he  might  have  steadily  and  consistently  held  the  great 
truth  which  he  sometimes  maintained.  But  as  it  was,  he  deserts 
the  truth  which  he  had  advocated,  that  '  civil  government  is  a 
protection  of  rights,'  and  which  Burke  attacks  only  to  re-assert 
as  a  doctrine  with  which  '  every  body  is  satisfied.' 

Every  body  is,  or  should  be,  indeed,  satisfied  with  the  doc- 
trine, that  civil  government  is  instituted  to  secure  the  governed 
in  the  enjoyment  of  their  rights.  But,  then,  all  men  have  not 
'  the  same  or  equal  rights.'  One  man,  for  example,  who  has 
the  capacity  to  govern  himself,  or  to  take  care  of  his  own 
interests,  has  the  right  to  do  so.  Hence,  it  would  be  an  out- 
rage to  place  him,  or  his  interests,  under  the  control  of  another. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  child,  or  the  man  who  has  not  the 
capacity  to  take  care  of  himself,  or  his  interests,  has  a  sacred 
right  to  the  guidance  and  control  of  those  who  are  wiser,  and 
better,  and  stronger  than  himself.  A  more  anarchic  maxim,  or 
wild  disorganizing  doctrine,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive, 
than  that  which  asserts  that '  all  men  have  equal  rights.'  It  is 
indeed  big  with  a  thousand  revolutions,  as  terrible  and  as 
bloody  as  that  which  desolated  France  in  1789,  or  America  in 
1861. 

As  civil  liberty  is  subordinate  to  moral;  so  is  Apolitical 
liberty '  subordinate  to  civil.  Civil  liberty  is,  in  fact,  the  imme- 
diate end  for  which  the  State  exists ;  and  '  political  liberty,'  as 
it  is  called,  is  one  of  the  means  by  which  that  end  is  secured. 
Indeed,  if  we  examine  the  nature  of  the  thing  which  is  called 
'political  liberty,'  we  shall  find  that  it  is  merely  a  power,  and 
no  part  of  liberty,  properly  so  called.  It  is  important  to  bear 
in  mind  this  subordination  in  the  order  of  things,  this  gradation 
and  relation  in  the  complex  facts,  or  fictions,  of  freedom,  if  we 
would  avoid  the  darkness  and  confusion,  the  misunderstandings 
and  errors,  by  which  the  frame  of  society  has  been  so  often 
unhinged,  and  a  wild  deluge  of  calamities  let  loose  on  a  guilty 
world. 

In  the  institution  of  civil  liberty,  it  is  necessary  to  protect 
the  rights  of  man,  not  only  against  individuals  and  masses,  but 
also  against  the  very  government  introduced  for  their  protection. 


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270  Whnt  is  Liheriy?  [April, 

Hence,  the  people  are  admitted  to  a  share  of  power  in  even- 
free  government,  in  order  to  enable  them  to  protect  themselve> 
against  the  abuses  and  oppressions  of  those  by  whom  its  co- 
ordinate powers  are  possessed.  In  Great  Britain,  for  example, 
the  people,  by  their  representatives  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
hold  such  a  check  on  the  other  branches  of  the  Government  as  to 
secure  themselves  against  the  enactment  of  unjust  and  oppres- 
sive laws.  This  power  of  the  people  is  called  '  political  liberty ; ' 
and  no  one  is  supposed  to  enjoy  this  liberty,  who  is  not  allowed 
to  vote  for  representatives  in  Parliament. 

But  no  greater  error  can  be  committed,  than  to  confound 
this  power  of  the  people,  or  this  guarantee  of  civil  liberty,  with 
the  idea  of  liberty  itself.  Though  essential  to  the  existence  of 
liberty,  it  is  no  more  liberty  itself  than  air  is  the  fire,  or  the 
life,  to  whose  preservation  it  is  indispensably  necessary.  It  \i^ 
evident,  that  if  good  laws  be  made,  and  civil  liberty  be  enjoyed 
under  their  protection,  it  matters  but  little  by  whom  they  are 
made.  It  is  not  necessary  that  they  should  be  made  by  the  peo- 
ple themselves,  or  by  their  representatives,  except  so  far  as  mav 
be  requisite  to  secure  good  ones.  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  great 
blessing  if  the  people  could  enjoy  all  the  advantages  of  good 
laws,  without  the  necessity  of  devoting  their  time  and  labor  to 
their  enactment.  But  they  can  not  have  these  advantage? 
without  a  share  of  power  to  protect  themselves  against  tlie  pas- 
sage of  unjust  and  oppressive  laws.  If  they  have  sufficient 
power  for  this  purpose,  it  is  all  they  need,  and  more  would  tend 
to  defeat  the  end  of  its  existence.  But  this  obvious  dictate  of 
plain,  practical  sense,  is  often  lost  sight  of,  and  the  best  interests 
of  society  sacrificed,  in  the  pursuit  of  imaginary  rights,  or  of 
power  under  the  guise  and  name  of  '  political  liberty.'  In 
America,  this  power  of  the  people,  having  its  roots  in  universal 
suffrage,  was  first  transformed  from  a  guarantee  of  liberty  into 
an  element  of  liberty  itself;  and  then,  like  Aaron's  rod,  tlli^ 
element  was  made  to  swallow  up  all  the  others ;  becoming  the 
despotism  of  mere  numbers  and  bnite  force. 

'  In  every  State,'  says  Earl  Russell,  'where  either  the  monarch, 
the  aristocracy,  or  the  multitude,  is  allowed  too  much  power, 
civil  liberty  is  incomplete.'     Here  it  is  called  '  the  power  of  the 


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1869.]  What  is  LiherUj?  271 

multitude ; '  and  is  regarded  as  a  safeguard,  or  guarantee,  against 
the  power  of  the  monarch,  and  the  aristocracy.  This  is  well 
said.  It  is  part  and  parcel  of  that  good  sense,  which  is  the  grand 
inheritance  of  the  English  statesman.  But  in  the  definition  of 
his  Lordship,  this  power  of  the  people  ceases  to  be  one  of  the 
means  by  which  liberty  is  secured,  and  becomes  an  element  of 
liberty  itself.  '  The  greatest  advantages,'  says  he,  '  which  a 
community  can  procure  itself,  by  uniting  under  one  govern- 
ment, may  perhaps  be  comprehended  under  the  titles  of  civil 
liberty,  personal  liberty,  and  political  liberty.'  '  By  political 
liberty,'  says  he,  '  I  mean  the  acknowledged  right  of  the  people 
to  control  their  government,  or  to  take  a  share  in  it.'  Now 
which  turn  of  this  alternative  shall  we  take  ?  If  we  say,  '  the 
acknowledged  right  of  the  people  to  control  their  government,' 
this  is  an  American  idea.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  the  controlling, 
but  uncontrolled,  sovereignty  of  the  multitude,  which,  in 
America,  has  not  only  rendered  '  civil  liberty  incomplete,'  but 
entirely  banished  it  from  the  land.  If  the  people  be  set  above 
the  government,  if  their  right  to  control  it  be  acknowledged  and 
the  power  given  them  to  execute  this  right ;  then  will  it  soon 
be  found,  that '  the  multitude  have  too  much  power,'  and  that 
it  needs  to  be  controlled  as  well  as  to  control.  The  truth  is, 
when  Earl  Russell  speaks  of  tlie  balance  of  power  between  the 
monarch,  the  aristocracy,  and  the  multitude,  as  the  guarantee 
of  civil  liberty,  we  behold  the  hereditary  good  sense  of  the 
Englishman.  But  when  he  calls  this  power  of  the  people  their 
*  political  liberty,'  and  identifies  it  with  their  '  acknowledged 
right  to  control  their  government,'  the  good  sense  of  the  English- 
man disappears,  and  his  mind  is  darkened  with  the  vague  and 
visionary  conceptions  of  the  political  dreamer.  The  great  fact 
of  freedom  is  then  eclipsed  by  the  fiction  of  an  imaginary  right. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  say,  ^  the  acknowledged  right  of 
the  people  to  take  a  share  in  their  government,'  this  is  a  truly 
English  idea.  It  admits  that  the  people  are  not  absolutely 
«)vereign,  and  need  to  be  governed  as  well  as  to  govern.  But 
the  question  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  is, — Is  this  share  in  their 
government  ^'q  power  of  the  people,  or  is  it  their  right  and 
liberty  ?  or,  in  other  words,  is  it  an  external  arrangement  of 


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272  What  is  Lihertyf  [April, 

expediency,  or  is  it  an  inherent  individual  right  ?  The  people, 
no  doubt,  have  a  right  to  a  share  of  power  in  their  own  gov- 
emment.  For,  as  Earl  Kussell  truly  says,  '  the  only  efficient 
remedy  against  oppression  is  for  a  people  to  retain  a  share  of 
that  supreme  power  in  their  own  possession.'  But  while  they 
have  a  right  to  this  power  as  a  remedy  against  oppression,  they 
have  an  equal  right  to  protection  against  tl\eir  own  power  by 
the  powers  of  the  monarch  and  of  the  aristocracy ;  or,  in  one 
word,  to  that  balance  of  power  which  is  essential  to  the  exist- 
ence of  civil  liberty.  They  have  no  other,  or  greater  right  to 
their  share  of  power  in  the  government  than  they  have  to  the 
existence  and  protection  of  the  other  powers  of  the  govern- 
ment. In  fact,  the  one  power  is  no  more  a  part  of  the  Liberty 
of  the  people  than  the  other ;  and  there  is  no  reason  why  the 
one  should  be  dignified  with  the  high  sounding  name  of  poUtical 
liberty  to  the  exclusion  of  the  others.  If  this  were  all,  how- 
ever, we  should  say  nothing ;  inasmuch  as  we  abhor  all  contro- 
versies about  mere  words.  But  our  author  proceeds  to  say : 
this  power  of  the  people  *is  called  political  Liberty.  And 
what  is  called  a  love  of  Liberty  means,  the  wish  that  a  man  has 
to  have  a  voice  in  the  disposal  of  his  own  property,  and  in  the 
formation  of  the  laws  by  which  his  natural  freedom  is  to  be 
restrained.  It  is  a  passion  4nspired,  as  Sidney  truly  says,  by 
Nature  herself.'  Now  passing  by  the  supposition,  or  hypo- 
thesis, that  natural  freedom  is  restrained  by  laws,  (an  error 
already  refuted  in  our  pages,)  let  us  notice  the  assumption,  that 
the  natural  wish  of  every  man  to  take  part  in  the  laws  by 
which  he  is  governed,  is  founded  in  a  natvral  right.  This 
fatal  confusion  of  the  desire  of  power  in  the  individual  with  the 
love  of  liberty,  with  the  idea  of  natural  right,  points  and  leads 
directly  to  universal  suflrage, — the  broad  and  beaten  road  to 
political  perdition.  If  the  wish,  the  desire  to  take  part  in 
making  the  laws  have  its  roots  in  nature,  or  in  natural  rights; 
then  to  deprive  any  man  of  its  enjoyment  is  just  so  mudi 
slavery.  If  this  desire  is  love  of  liberty,  then  the  thing  desired 
is  liberty,  and  to  deprive  any  one  of  it,  is  oppression.  This  is 
the  opinion,  the  favorite  dogma,  of  Northern  politicians.  *A 
statesman,  or  founder   of  States,'  says  Mr.  Seward,  ^should 


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1S69.]  What  is  Liberty?  273 

adopt  as  an  axiom/  the  declaration, '  that  all  men  are  created 
equal,'  and  consequently  should  '  have  equal  rights  in  society/ 
Hence,  he  draws  the  conclusion,  '  we  of  New  York  are  guilty 
of  slavery  still  by  withholding  the  'tight  of  suffrage  from  the 
race  we  have  emancipated.'  In  like  manner,  Mr.  Ghase  de- 
clared in  the  Senate  of  the  United'  States,  that  the  great  and 
all-important  democratic  principle  is  an  '  equality  of  natural 
rights,  guaranteed  and  secured  to  all  by  the  laws  of  a  just, 
popular  government.  For  one  [he  continues]  I  desire  to  see 
that  principle,  [a  perfect  equality  of  natural  rights,]  applied  to 
every  subject  of  legislation,  no  matter  what  that  subject  may 
be.'  He  calls  this  great  principle  an  '  element  of  liberty.'  By 
such  anarchic  maxims  it  was,  that  the  leaders  of  the  Northern 
multitude  opened,  in  the  name  of  Freedom,  the  flood-gates  of 
radicalism,  revolution,  and  ruin. 

The  power  of  the  people  is  first  called  their  liberty,  is  first 
r^arded  as  the  inherent  right  of  every  man,  because  '  all  men 
are  created  free  and  equal';  and  then  this  natural  right  is 
pu^ed  to  its  consequences,  regardless  of  all  good  sense,  of  all 
practical  wisdom,  of  all  true  statesmanship.  Thus  it  is  that  the 
power  of  the  people,  '  the  only  efficient  remedy  against  oppres- 
sion ',  becomes  worse  than  the  evil.  The  end  is  sacrificed  to 
the  means — civil  liberty  disappears  beneath  the  shadow  of 
political  liberty,  as  it  is  called,  and  the  masses  rule  with  des- 
potic, lawless  sway.  All  the  checks  of  the  Constitution,  by  • 
which  its  framers  hoped  to  restrain  the  tyranny  of  the  multi- 
tude, give  way,  leaving  only  the  naked  and  frightful  dominion 
of  the  absolutely  free  majority.  The  free  majority  ?  No !  the 
absolutely  fierce  and  licentious  majority. 

Earl  Kussell,  in  his  History  of  the  Constitution  and  Govern- 
ment of  England^  spake  wisely  when  he  said :  '  In  every  State, 
where  the  monarch,  the  aristocracy,  or  the  multitude,  is  allowed 
too  much  power,  civil  liberty  is  incomplete ',  (p.  86.)  But  he 
utterly  loses  all  his  hereditary  w  isdom  out  of  him,  when,  in  the 
same  work,  he  declares  that  '  political  liberty ',  or  '  the  power 
of  the  multitude ',  '  should  be  allowed  to  exist  in  as  great  a 
d^ree  as  possible.'  It  cannot  be  too  great.  It  may  open  its- 
mouth,  and  cry,  like  the  horse-leach,  give !  give !     But  still  it 


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274  What  is  Ziberttj?  [April, 

cannot  have  too  much.  Make  it  as  great  as  possible.  Thus, 
while  the  noble  Earl  himself  pursues  all  the  little  by-paths,  and 
crooked  ways,  of  the  petty  politician ;  he  sends  the  great  people 
do^vn  the  broad  road  of  universal  suffrage  to  destruction.  When 
the  final  plunge  comes,  as  come  it  must,  the  astonished  universe 
will  hear  again,  as  it  so  lately  heard  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
the  roaring  thunders  and  wild  rage  of  the  bottomless  pit  of 
radicalism.  And  all  this,  too,  will  be  done  in  the  name  of 
Freedom.  How  tremendous,  indeed,  are  the  bloody  sacrifieee 
to  that  unknown  Goddess ! 

Let  us  briefly  state,  in  conclusion,  the  results  of  the  preceding 
analysis  and  discussion.  Civil  liberty  is  the  direct  object  or  aim 
of  human  legislation ;  at  least  in  the  present  stage  of  human 
progress,  or  development.  But  yet,  in  such  legislation,  the 
claims  of  moral  liberty  should  never  be  ignored  or  neglected. 
For  moral  liberty  is,  in  nature  and  in  kind,  higher  and  nobler 
than  even  civil  liberty.  It  is,  in  a  word,  the  emancipation  of 
the  mind  of  the  man  himself  from  ignorance,  error,  vice — ^from 
all  manner  of  imperfection  and  evil — and  his  restoration  to  the 
image  of  his  Maker.  The  Christian  religion  has  for  its  object 
the  development  of  this  kind  of  freedom,  or  liberty.  The 
State,  on  the  other  hand,  has  the  creation  and  perfection  of 
civil  liberty,  or  the  secure  enjoyment  of  rights^  for  its  great  end 
and  aim.  But,  in  the  prosecution  of  this  great  end,  the  State 
should  never  forget  the  higher  claims  of  moral  freedom,  nor 
fail  to  promote  them  as  far  as  possible.  The  State  should  never 
disregard,  or  violate,  the  principles  and  conditions  on  which 
moral  freedom  depends ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  should  aid  that 
freedom  in  all  possible  ways,  even  if  necessary  or  expedient,  by 
the  use  "of  personal  servitude,  or  civil  despotism  itself.  This 
higher  knowledge  of  moral  freedom  is,  indeed,  as  essential  to 
the  perfection  of  human  legislation  in  its  efforts  to  establish 
civil  freedom,  as  a  knowledge  of  the  stars  is  to  a  correct  survev 
of  the  earth,  or  a  satisfactory  view  of  the  planet  on  whidi  we 
dwell. 

The  Roman  lawyers,  as  we  have  seen,  viewed  civil  Uberty  as 
merely  '  the  power  to  do  what  the  laws  permit.'  They  had  no 
higher  views  than  this ;  because  they  knew  no  higher  object 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography,  275 

than  the  State.  With  them,  the  State  was  every  thing,  and  the 
individual  nothing.  Or,  at  least,  all  his  rights  were  determined 
by  the  State,  and  not  by  the  word  of  God.  This,  having 
brought  an  immortality  of  life  to  light,  invested  the  individual 
man  with  an  infinite  value,  solemnity,  and  grandeur,  by  the 
side  of  which  all  interests  that  knew  a  period  sink  into  utter 
insignificance.  Along  with  this  sublime  revelation  or  disclosure, 
there  was,  at  the  same  time,  necessarily  introduced  '  the  doc- 
trine of  natural  rights ' ;  the  most  dangerous,  because  the  most 
exciting  and  the  most  easily  misconceived,  doctrine,  that  ever 
inflamed  the  brain  of  man.  The  adequate  analysis  and  dis- 
cussion of  this  doctrine,  is  still  a  desideratum  in  the  political 
literature  of  the  world.  If,  in  the  discussions  of  this  paper,  or 
of  preceding  papers,  only  one  ray  of  light  has  been  thrown 
on  the  great  doctrine  of  rights;  then  have  our  poor  labors 
been  more  than  rewarded.  But  not  until  that  great  doctrine 
shall  be  more  fully  explored,  analyzed,  and  discussed j  can  the 
true  image  of  Liberty  be  constructed  by  the  human  mind, 
and  erected  on  a  perfectly  clear,  satisfactorj-,  and  solid  basis. 


Art.  II. — Geographiches  Jahrhuch,    II  Band.     Gotha.     Jus- 
tus Perthes.     1868. 

When  God  created  man  in  his  own  image  and  blessed  him, 
He  said :  Be  fi^itful  and  multiply,  and  replenish  the  earth  and 
subdue  it.  This  command  has  ever  since  moved  man,  age 
after  age,  to  go  forth  and  examine  his  wide  domain.  Thousands 
of  years  have  rolled  by,  and  he  has,  as  yet,  seen  only  a  com- 
paratively small  portion  of  the  globe  thus  handed  over  to  him 
by  the  Creator.  But  every  year  adds  to  his  knowledge ;  new 
lands  are  discovered  and  new  brethren  become  known  to  him ; 
new  means  of  communication  are  opened  and  new  sources  of 
well-being  placed  in  his  power.     Tlie  Germans,  admirable  com- 


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276  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

pilers  as  they  are  in  all  departments  of  knowledge,  have  began 
to  record  the  increase  of  information  as  to  our  globe,  and  the 
above  excellent  work  contains  a  vast  amount  of  nsefhl  and 
interesting  matter.  It  is  overwhelming,  however,  in  its  mas- 
siveness,  and  is  serviceable  only  for  purposes  of  reference.  As 
our  countrymen  are  growing  more  and  more  into  genuine  cos- 
mopolites, and  as  such  claim,  first  and  foremost,  possession  of 
the  great  domain,  we  thought  it  not  amiss  to  extract  from  the 
enormous  mass  of  information  accumulated  in  the  two  volumes 
of  the  above  mentioned  annual  and  from  other  similar  works, 
a  brief  account  of  the  most  recent  journeys  undertaken  for  the 
purpose  of  extending  our  knowledge  of  the  globe. 

If  it  has  been  correctly  stated  that  one-fifteenth  part  of  the 
earth  is,  as  yet,  utterly  unknown  to  us,  and  the  mystery  shroud- 
ing it  is  still  so  great  that  we  are  not  even  able  to  draw  the 
line  between  land  and  sea,  we  must  not  forget  that  this  vast 
Terra  Irvcognita  includes  the  Polar  Regions.  The  Arctic 
Zone,  irresistibly  attractive  in  spite  of  the  many  victims  it  has 
already  destroyed,  has  of  late  been  sought  more  eagerly  than 
ever ;  although  political  commotions  in  Europe  and  with  us, 
have  prevented  our  country  and  England  from  sending  out 
large  expeditions.  Captain  Sherard  Osborn,  famous  by  his 
exploits  and  his  undaunted  perseverance,  proposed  to  reach  the 
pole  on  sleds  from  BaflSn^s  Bay  by  the  left  shore  of  Smith's 
Sound  and  Kennedy's  Channel,  but  the  failure  of  Whymper, 
well  known  by  his  successful  ascent  of  the  Wetterhom,  has  in- 
duced»  him  to  postpone  the  enterprise.  Whymper  attempted  in 
1867,  in  company  with  the  experienced  naturalist.  Brown,  to 
travel  in  sleds  across  the  almost  unbroken  ice,  which  covers 
Greenland  in  summer  as  well  as  in  winter,  but  he  encountered, 
unfortunately,  the  mildest  weather  ever  known  in  the  Arctic 
regions,  and  found  impassable  rivers  and  lakes  of  molten  snow, 
which  prevented  his  progress. 

The  great  geographer  of  Germany,  Dr.  Petermann,  started 
in  May,  1868,  a  small  yacht,  under  Koldervey,  for  the  East 
coast  of  Greenland,  in  order  to  explore  those  r^ons  beyond 
the  point  where  Scoresby  and  Clavering  had  ended  their  labors. 
This  expedition,  also,  was  foiled  by  immense  masses  of  ice,  and 


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1869.]  Recent  Hesearches  in  Oeography,  277 

was  attended  with  no  other  success  than  that  of  having  pene- 
trated to  the  81^  y  N.  Lat.  the  highest  point  in  northern  lati- 
tude ever  reached  by  a  vessel. 

At  the  same  time  an  attempt  was  proposed  by  a  Frenchman, 
G,  Lambert,  to  pass  through  Behring's  Straits  into  the  Polar 
basin.  He  appealed  to  the  public  for  contributions,  and  re- 
ceived from  the  Emperor  at  once  50,000  francs,  but  does  not 
intend  to  sail  until  the  whole  requisite  sum  of  $120,000  is  in 
hand ;  so  as  ^  to  make  the  expedition  worthy  of  the  greatness 
of  France.'  Even  in  Sweden,  the  poorest  of  European  states, 
new  efforts  have  been  made  to  provide  the  means  for  another 
effort  to  examine  the  Archipelago  of  Spitzbergen,  and  the  two 
learned  Professors,  Nordenskjold  and  Lilliehook,  were  sent, 
with  the  aid  of  their  government,  which  furnished  a  steamer, 
and  of  the  city  of  Gottenburg,  which  provided  the  money,  on 
their  bold  enterprise  to  reach  the  Arctic  from  that  direction. 
They  have  returned  with  valuable  information,  but  without 
having  achieved  the  great  end  of  their  voyage. 

While  men  of  science  everywhere  deplored  these  failures, 
news  was  suddenly  brought  that  daring  whalers  from  our  own 
shores  had  succeeded  in  finding  again,  a  land  which  had  been 
first  discovered  by  Kellett  in  1849,  to  the  northwest  of  Behring's 
Straits,  and  then  lost  again,  so  that  its  very  existence  was 
doubted.  Capt.  Thomas  Long,  in  command  of  the  bark 
Xile,  saw — according  to  his  report  published  in  the  Pacific 
Commercial  Advertiser  of  Honolulu — on  the  evening  of  the 
14th  August,  1867 — land,  and,  on  the  following  morning,  ap- 
proached within  18  nautical  miles  of  it.  He  was  enabled  to 
make  careful  observations,  and  found  himself  in  70^  46^  N. 
Lat.  and  178*^  30^  E.  Long.  The  lower  parts  of  the  land  were 
free  from  ice  and  looked  green  as  if  they  were  covered  with 
vegetation.  The  space  between  the  ship  and  the  coast,  how- 
ever, was  filled  with  drift  ice,  and  as  there  were  no  whales  in 
si^t,  the  captain  did  not  feel  himself  justified  in  exposing  his 
vessel  to  the  great  danger  it  would  have  incurred  in  an  attempt 
to  go  nearer  to  the  land.  He  followed  the  coast  for  two  days 
longer,  always  keeping  it  close  in  sight,  and,  at  times,  approach- 
ing it  as  near  as  15  miles ;  on  the  third  day  he  saw  a  mountain, 


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278  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

apparently  an  extinct  volcano,  and,  by  rough  measurement, 
2,480  feet  high.  The  south-eastern  cape  he  called  Cape 
Hawaii,  and  from  there  he  saw  the  coast  and  a  lofty  chain  of 
mountains  stretch  northward  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reacL 
From  all  appearances,  he  judged  the  land  to  be  inhabited,  since 
there  were  large  numbers  of  walrus  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
the  country  looked  much  greener  than  the  coast  of  the  con- 
tinent. To  the  west  of  Cape  Jakar,  on  the  Siberian  coast,  he 
observed  another  cape  of  most  peculiar  appearance.  The  sum- 
mit and  the  sides  were  covered  with  countless  pillars,  some 
upright  and  others  prostrate,  some  resembling  pyramids  and 
others  like  obelisks.  They  were  scattered  over  the  surfw-e, 
lying  in  groups  of  15  or  20,  and  separated  from  each  other  by 
hundreds  of  yards.  Another  whaling  captain,  Phillips,  of  the 
Monticello,  joined  him  here  and  called  his  attention  to  a  larpe 
black  substance  on  the  slope  of  a  hill.  They  examined  it  care- 
fully with  their  glasses,  and  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  it  was 
coal,  and  evidently  used  by  the  inhabitants.  He  named  the 
re-discovered  land,  Wrangel's  Land,  in  reverent  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  man  who  had  spent  three  years  in  these  inhospit- 
able regions  and  was  probably  the  first  to  declare  boldly  in 
favor  of  the  existence  of  an  open  Polar  Sea.  The  western  cape 
was  called  Cape  Thomas,  after  the  man  who  first  sighted  it 
from  the  masthead. 

Master  G.  W.  Raynor,  of  the  ship  Reindeer,  reports  to  the 
same  paper,  that  the  land  usually  called  Plover's  Island,  an 
extensive  land  with  high  summits,  had  been  thoroughly  ex- 
amined by  him  in  the  summer  of  1867,  and  proved  to  be  a 
continuous  continent  extending  as  far  as  the  72°  N.  Lat.  He 
sailed  three  times  all  along  the  south  and  east  coast,  and  had 
no  idea  that  there  was  water  beyond,  so  as  to  make  them 
islands.  Capt.  Bliven,  finally,  was  at  the  same  time  beating 
about  near  Herald's  Island,  at  a  distance  of  about  80  miles 
from  the  south-eastern  cape  of  Wrangel's  Land,  and  saw  the 
mountains  extend  towards  the  north  as  far  as  the  eye  conld 
reach.  He  had  no  doubt,  that  an  open  passage  existed  along 
this  coast,  which  would  finally  lead  into  an  open  Polar  Sea. 
All  the  informants  agree  as  to  the  unusually  favorable  charac- 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  279 

ter  of  the  summer  of  1867,  both  on  account  of  the  clear  weather 
that  prevailed  and  the  remarkably  small  masses  of  ice  in  the 
Arctic  waters.  It  is  all  the  more  to  be  regretted  that  so  favor- 
able an  opportunity  should  have  been  allowed  to  pass  imim- 
proved. 

The  second  great  mystery  of  our  globe  is,  beyond  doubt,  the 
interior  of  Africa,  and  here  also  some  progress  has  been  made 
during  the  last  three  years.  The  most  important  discoveries — 
Dr.  Livingston's  report  has  not  reached  us — were  made  by  a 
German  explorer,  Gerhard  Rohlf,  who  failed  in  his  eflbrt  to 
travel  through  the  whole  of  the  Eastern  Sahara  and  thus  to 
reach  Waday,  a  land  well  known  but  not  yet  visited  by  any 
European;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  succeeded  (the  first 
traveller  who  did  so)  in  traversing  the  continent  from  the  Medi- 
terranean Sea  to  the  coast  of  Guinea.  He  had  proved  his  cour- 
age and  his  imequalled  tact  in  former  journeys,  during  which 
he  explored  the  whole  of  the  Maroccan  Sahara,  crossed  the 
Atlas  and  penetrated  through  Mohannnedan  tribes  full  of  bit- 
terest hostility  against  Christians,  to  the  oasis  of  Tuat,  in  Cen- 
tral Africa.  His  magnificent  work  on  the  results  of  his 
perilous  travels,  has  not  yet  been  published,  but  some  of  the 
fruits  of  his  labor  have  become  known.  Thus  he  has  estab- 
lished, beyond  doubt,  that  there  are  two  transition  zones 
between  the  Sahara  and  the  Soudan,  a  vast  fertile  plain  under 
16^  N.  Lat.,  and  a  Mimosa  forest  which  extends  from  Belkas- 
hifari  to  the  Tsad,  forming  a  belt  of  dense  wood  so  broad,  that 
it  took  several  days'  journey  to  traverse  it,  and  probably 
stretching  through  the  whole  of  Northern  Africa  along  the  line 
of  the  Soudan.  The  forest  stands  upon  soil  which  has  evidently 
been  a  desert;  it  is  now  rich  humus,  but  not  the  smallest 
pebble  can  be  found  in  its  vast  breadth,  exactly  as  on  the 
great  plain  of  Hindostan.  Another  fact  of  which  he  became 
convinced  on  the  spot,  is  the  gradual  extension  of  the  fertile 
soil  northward,  so  as  to  diminish  the  Saharas.  The  great 
contrast  between  the  two  zones,  the  Sahara  and  the  Soudan, 
he  ascribes  exclusively  to  the  influence  of  the  prevailing  winds, 
and  believes  that  as  long  as  the  north-easterly  tradewind 
comes  as  a  dry  wind,  from  Asia  to  Africa,  the  Sahara  must 


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280  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

remain  essentially  in  its  present  shape.  To  the  south  of  its 
limits,  on  the  other  hand,  there  blows  for  many  months  a  south- 
westerly wind,  known  as  the  West  African  Monsocm ;  it  comes 
from  the  coast  of  Guinea  and  is  laden  with  moisture ;  hence  it 
brings  fertility  as  far  as  it  reaches,  and  marks  the  line  of  the 
Desert  southward.  Nor  are  his  suggestions  as  to  trade  and 
commerce  with  the  interior  less  important,  especially  as  his 
early  training  in  Bremen  had  fitted  him  well  for  such  purpose?. 
He  urges  strenuously  the  opening  of  a  trade  with  Borneo 
from  the  coast  of  Guinea,  on  the  ground,  that  the  country  levies 
no  tolls  or  customs  of  any  kind,  while  yet  the  transport  on  the 
usual  road  through  Tripoli  and  the  Sahara  is  too  expensive  for 
Europeans  to  enable  them  to  compete  with  the  Arabs  and  the 
Berbers.  The  proposed  road  is  up  the  Niger  and  Benue  by 
water,  and  then  by  land  for  about  300  miles  to  Kuka,  a  journey 
which  would  be  little  expensive  and  free  from  all  danger.  Hi? 
main  merit  lies,  however,  in  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
Mohammedan  African ;  he  knows  the  Arab,  the  Berber,  and 
the  Tibbooan  thoroughly,  and  gives  most  interesting  accounts 
of  their  national  peculiarities.  Every  now  and  then  we  gain 
thus  a  startling  insight  into  the  mind  of  these  barbarous  races. 
Thus  he  tells  us  of  the  Tibbooans,  that  they  have  largely  pre- 
served their  independence  under  despotic  rulers  by  requiring 
each  new  king,  when  he  succeeds  his  father,  to  distribute  all 
his  property  and  thus  render  himself  unable  to  oppress  his 
people !  Their  Sultans  are  only  judges  in  peace  and  leaders  in 
war ;  they  can  neither  levy  taxes  nor  dispose  of  the  lives  of 
their  subjects.  Strangely  enough  they  put  blacksmiths  under 
the  ban ;  no  Tibbooan  would  eat  with  one  of  that  useftil  craft 
from  the  same  dish  or  sleep  with  him  under  the  same  roof.  To 
call  a  man  a  smith  is  a  mortal  offence.  But  not  unlike  the 
manner  in  which  executioners  were  treated  in  the  middle  ages, 
here  also  contempt  and  a  peculiar  reverence  go  hand  in  hand. 
To  beat  or  to  kill  a  smith,  is  a  heinous  crime ;  the  decision  of  a 
blacksmith's  wife  is  an  oracle,  and  when  physician  and  iaki 
alike  are  helpless  by  the  sick-bed,  the  sword-maker  is  called  in 
as  a  last  resort.  They  profess  Mohammedanism,  but  complr 
only  externally  with  the  laws  of  the  Islam ;  as  wives  are  more 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geog^raphy.  281 

highly  esteemed  among  them  than  elsewhere,  the  migsionaries 
try  to  gain  an  influence  through  them ;  the  schools  are  filled 
with  girls  rather  than  boys,  and,  after  the  manner  of  Southern 
freed  women,  the'Tibbooan  lady  parades  all  day  long  with  her 
slate  under  her  arm,  to  show  that  she  is  a  scribe.  The 
Arabic  is  their  common  language,  but  their  knowledge  of  it 
very  limited.  The  slave  trade  is  here  as  flourishing  as  elsewhere 
in  Africa,  having  received  a  new  impetus  from  the  inability  to 
export  as  heretofore ;  and  in  Borneo  even  the  subjects  of  the 
Sultan  may  be  seized  at  any  moment  to  be  sold  as  slaves  for 
his  benefit.  Rohlf 's  topographical  labors  are  invaluable  and 
famish  the  most  important  additions  to  our  knowledge  of  Cen- 
tral Africa,  since  the  admirable  work  of  Barth  was  published. 
He  has  recorded  accurately  the  all-important  route  from  Moor- 
zook  by  way  of  Bilma  to  Kooka,  and  to  the  south-west  of  the 
latter  city  he  has  trod  upon  entirely  new  soil.  His  visit  to 
Tibesti,  one  of  the  principal  Tibboo  countries  of  the  Eastern 
Sahara,  was  all  the  more  fruitful,  as  he  was  the  first  European 
who  had  reached  that  rich  and  fertile  country. 

A  French  expedition  has  likewise  been  crowned  with  bril- 
liant success.  A  former  governor  of  Senegal,  General  Faid- 
herbe,  had  clearly  perceived  the  necessity  of  putting  the  interior 
of  the  Soudan,  especially  the  banks  of  the  Upper  Niger,  into 
communication  with  the  French  colonies  of  the  west  coast, 
and  directing  their  trade  into  this  channel,  if  Senegambia  was 
ever  to  become  a  self-supporting  dependency.  For  this  pur- 
pose a  navy  oflBcer,  E.  Mage,  and  a  ship  surgeon.  Dr.  Quintin, 
were  sent  up  the  Senegal  and  Bafing,  and  readied,  after 
many  delays  and  dangers,  Segu  Sikoro  on  the  Niger,  in  1864. 
They  were  compelled  to  await  there  the  return  of  messengers 
whom  they  had  sent  back  to  Senegal,  became  involved  in  do- 
mestic broils  and  civil  wars,  and  did  not  return  till  1866. 
Their  reports  were  published  in  the  Revue  Maritime  and 
Ccloniale  for  1868,  and  contain  most  valuable  information 
about  large  districts  hitherto  utterly  unknown,  accounts  of  very 
great  changes  in  the  latitude  of  important  points,  and  maps  and 
charts  of  surpassing  beauty.  The  whole  journey  is  a  striking 
evidence  of  modern  gallantry,  and  remarkable  for  the  economy 

3 

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282  Recent  Researches  in  Geography,  [April, 

with  which  it  was  accomplislied :  it  cost  little  over  a  thousand 
dollars. 

In  the  south  of  Africa  the  name  of  Karl  Mauch  has  become 
illustrious  by  his  exploration  of  the  Transvaal  Republic,  a  dis- 
trict very  imperfectly  known  before,  and  by  the  discovery  of 
immense  gold  fields  in  the  north.  During  1866  and  1867  he 
accompanied  the  intrepid  elephant  hunter.  Hartley,  on  hi« 
expedition  northward,  penetrated  the  unknown  land  as  far 
as  the  sources  of  the  Umfule,  which  falls  near  Mpata  above 
Zumbo  into  the  Zambezi,  and  explored  a  large  portion  of  the 
unkhown  watershed  between  the  Limpopo  and  the  Zambezi. 
He  found  it  a  table  land  nearly  7,000  feet  high  and  often  thirty 
miles  wide,  with  numerous  conical  mountains  rising  from  the 
surface ;  the  rock  was  mainly  granite,  with  metamorphic  forma- 
tions upon  it,  while  the  summits  showed  diorite  and  basalt. 
The  vegetation  is  not  at  all  tropical ;  there  being  neither  pahn 
trees  nor  tree  ferns  here,  but  only  thick  grass  with  thinly  scat- 
tered trees,  and  upon  the  rich  pastures  innumerable  herds  of 
game.  The  result  of  the  hunt  in  1867,  was  91  elephants,  5 
rhinoceros,  2  hippopotami,  8  elands  and  a  host  of  smaller  game, 
with  4,000  pounds  of  ivory  of  the  best  quality.  The  popih 
lation  is  astonishingly  thin;  the  native  Mashona  have  been 
conquered  and  nearly  exterminated  by  the  Metabele  and  the 
few  survivors  are  kept  as  slaves.  Beyond  Mosilikatze  the 
travellers  found  vast  districts  utterly  abandoned;  here  and 
there  deserted  homesteads  spoke  of  former  better  times,  and 
where  the  gold  mines  were  discovered  at  the  head-waters  of  the 
Umfule  and  the  Umniati ;  here  traces  of  former  workings  were 
also  discerned.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  the 
Portuguese  knew  centuries  ago  of  the  existence  of  gold  in  thoee 
regions,  and  obtained  thence  large  quantities.  Dr.  Petermann 
even  thinks  that  K.  Mauch  has  discovered  again  the  Ophir 
of  King  Solomon. 

Heretofore  unable  to  pursue  his  plans  independently,  and 
compelled  to  join  others  on  their  hunting  expeditions,  the 
intrepid  traveller  has,  at  last,  been  provided  with  such  means 
as  will  enable  him  to  travel  hereafter  according  to  his  own 
wishes  and  the  demands  of  science.     He  started  immediately 


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1861>.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography,  283 

once  more  northward  in  May,  1868,  and  great  expectations  are 
entertained  from  his  new  journey. 

The  great  name  of  Dr.  Livingstone  promises,  of  course,  the 
largest  additions  to  our  knowledge  of  this  mysterious  continent, 
when  his  reports  shall  reach  England.  He  left  the  coast  early 
in  1866  to  sail  up  the  Rovuma,  which  he  had  already  twice 
ascended  in  his  little  steamer,  and  had  skirted  the  southern 
end  of  the  N'yanza  when  he  was  reported  to  have  been  mur- 
dered by  thievish  Zooloo  Cafires.  The  British  government  sent 
an  expedition  out  under  E.  D.  Young,  who  reached  the  spot 
on  which  the  murder  was  said  to  have  been  committed  in  1867, 
and  found  that  Livingstone  had  passed  safely  beyond  it, 
although  deserted  by  his  hired  men.  In  the  meantime,  reports 
of  the  presence  of  a  white  man  at  the  southern  end  of  Tan- 
ganyika Lake  reached  Zanzibar,  and  an  elephant  hunter  met 
near  the  Victoria  Falls  on  the  Zambezi  a  number  of  men,  who 
had  been  hired  by  Livingstone  long  after  the  date  of  his  re- ' 
ported  death.  The  hopes  thus  excited  were  not  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment ;  for  in  April,  1868,  letters  from  the  great  traveller 
reached  England,  which  had  been  confided  in  February,  1867, 
at  Bemba,  to  an  Arab  messenger,  who  had  taken  a  year  to 
reach  Zanzibar.  The  latest  news  bears  date  October  and 
December,  1867,  when  Dr.  Livingstone  was  on  his  way  to 
Udjidji  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Tanganyika  Lake,  waiting  for 
the  close  of  a  war  between  natives  before  proceeding  further. 
He  had  received  letters  and  provisions  sent  to  him  from  Zan- 
zibar. It  is  supposed,  that  he  has  pushed  on  from  there  to 
the  Albert  N'yanza,  in  order  to  decide  the  question,  whether 
that  lake  is  connected  with  the  Tanganyika.  The  results  of 
his  exploration  cannot  fail  to  add  to  his  fame  and  to  crown  the 
work  of  the  indefatigable  traveller,  who,  for  the  greater  honor 
of  God  and  the  welfare  of  his  fellow  men,  has  lived  since  1840 
in  Africa,  and  has  made  since  1849  the  most  brilliant  record 
achieved  by  modem  explorer. 

It  is  sad,  that  the  annual  tribute  of  life,  so  rigorously  exacted 
by  the  dark  regions  of  Africa,  has  at  last  been  paid  by  a  man 
of  unusual  promise.  This  was  the  French  officer,  Le  Saint, 
who  went  in  1867,  supported  by  the  Geographical  Society  of 


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284  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

Paris,  to  the  land  of  the  Nile,  with  the  purpose  of  passing 
through  the  continent  from  Khartoum  to  Gaboon.  He  had  the 
great  advantage  of  being  aided  by  the  brothers  Poncet,  the 
largest  and  most  intelligent  ivory  dealers  on  the  Upper  Nile. 
Unfortunately  he  had  no  sooner  set  out  on  his  perilous  journey, 
accompanied  by  a  well-armed  force  in  the  pay  of  that  firm,  than 
the  relations  of  the  native  tribes  near  the  White  Nile  and  Bahr  el 
Gasal  became  hostile,  and  civil  war  broke  out  all  over  that  coun- 
try. Their  last  trading  station  was  already  beyond  the  terri- 
tory of  the  Njam-Njam  and  probably  outside  of  the  r^on 
watered  by  the  Nile  and  its  tributaries.  But  here  also  lay 
a  great  point  of  interest.  The  brothers  Poncet  had  in  their 
possession  undoubted  information  of  a  great  river  Babura,  flow- 
ing from  east  to  west  and  forming  near  16°  E.  Long,  from 
Paris,  a  lake,  called  Metuasset,  which  sent  a  tributary  on  one 
side  to  the  Benue,  and  on  the  otlier  to  the  Tsad  Lake.  Besides, 
they  had  been  told  that  this  unknown  river  came  directly 
from  the  Albert  N'yanza,  and  that  another  river,  called  Sue, 
connected  it  with  the  Tsad  Lake.  This  information,  startling 
enough  to  excite  serious  doubts,  was  yet  amply  supported  by 
previous  testimony;  the  most  careful  observers,  like  Petherick, 
Heuglin,  and  Barth  himself,  had  all  heard  of  such  a  river  flow- 
ing westward,  and  on  Hassenstein's  admirable  maps  of  Cen- 
tral Africa  a  lake  is  placed  on  the  veiy  spot  where  Metuasset 
Lake  was  reported  to  be  foimd.  A  whole  series  of  reports, 
old  and  new,  had  previously  been  collected,  all  agreeing  in  the 
existence  of  such  a  river  and  such  a  lake,  and  Le  Saint  burned 
with  the  desire  to  settle  the  question  by  his  own  observation. 
He  w^as  not  fated  to  accomplish  his  purpose,  for  death  overtook 
him  before  he  reached  the  Equatorial  regions. 

The  short  campaign  of  a  British  expeditionary  force  against 
King  Theodore,  of  Abyssinia,  has  furnished  much  valuable  in- 
formation as  to  the  races  which  inhabit  that  land  of  spurious 
Christianity;  but  its  soil,  climate  and  physical  conformation 
were  previously  so  well  known,  that  few  additions  have  been 
made  here  to  our  knowledge.  The  only  important  point  is  the 
extremely  interesting  fact  that  there  is  a  region  in  that  coun- 
try, between  the  Houakeel  Bay  and  the  lake  Alelbad,  which 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  285 

lies  193  feet  below  the  level  of  the  Ked  Sea,  a  depreseion  far 
surpassing  that  of  the  Bitter  Lakes  near  Suez,  which  it  is  in- 
tended to  fill  up  for  the  purposes  of  the  great  Suez  canal. 

Next  to  the  Polar  regions  and  the  mysterious  sources  of  the 
Nile,  Australia  presents  by  far  the  greatest  attractions  for  the 
adventurous  traveller  and  the  scientific  explorer.  The  bril- 
liant accounts  of  men  like  Burke,  Stuart,  Landsborough,  Wal- 
ker, Hewitt,  and  a  whole  host  of  others  less  fortunate,  have  led 
the  world  to  expect  great  results  in  rapid  succession  from  such 
enterprises,  and  the  last  few  years  have  formed  no  exception. 

Unfortunately  most  of  these  travellers  were  without  that 
thorough  scientific  preparation,  which  alone  can  make  such 
explorations  of  permanent  value.  They  possessed  a  noble 
spirit  of  self-denial,  and  often  truly  marvellous  strength  of  pur- 
pose combined  with  very  uncommon  physical  powers;  but  they 
were  imperfectly  qualified  for  scientific  researches,  if  we  except 
Babbage,  who  confined  himself  to  the  regions  near  Torrens  and 
Eyre  Lake,  and  Wills,  whose  sudden  death  by  starvation  left 
his  otherwise  invaluable  diary  in  an  imperfect  state.  No  class 
of  travellers  in  any  portion  of  the  world  is  superior  to  these 
men  in  the  instinctive  ability  to  scent  water,  to  treat  horses 
judiciously  in  most  trying  situations,  and  to  endure  suflerings 
of  every  kind  and  every  degree ;  but  they  lacked  the  tact  to 
connect  cause  and  effect,  to  seize  at  a  glance  the  characteristic 
features  of  a  landscape,  to  divine,  as  it  were,  the  natural  bound- 
aries and  watersheds,  and  to  discern  the  great  principles  under- 
lying a  number  of  single  features.  The  contributions  they  have 
made  to  the  maps  of  Australia  are,  therefore,  of  the  greatest 
value;  but  they  left  unknown  the  general  characteristics  of 
climate  and  temperature ;  they  could  not  give  the  elevations 
of  mountains  and  tabje-lands,  nor  were  they  able  to  classify  the 
results  of  their  observations  of  the  Flora  and  Fauna  of  that  re- 
markable continent. 

It  was,  therefore,  a  matter  of  special  congratulation,  that 
two  of  the  later  expeditions,  those  of  Mclntyre  and  Warburton, 
could  furnish  a  series  of  measurements  and  an  insight  into 
the  true  nature  of  tlie  interior  of  Australia,  such  as  had  never 
before  been  obtained.     A  committee  of  ladies  in  Victoria  had 


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286  Recent  Researches  in  Geograjyhy.  [April, 

already,  in  1865,  collected  funds  for  the  purpose  of  sending 
men  out  in  search  of  the  remains  of  poor  Leichhardt,  who  had 
disappeared  in  Queensland  without  leaving  a  trace  behind  him. 
Duncan  Mclntyre,  who  had  discovered  traces  of  the  unfortun- 
ate traveller,  was  sent  out  with  12  camels  and  many  horses. 
He  followed  the  Parru  upwards  and  then  went  northwestward 
to  Cooper  Creek,  but  the  fearful  drought  of  that  year  soon  de- 
prived him  of  all  his  animals  and  of  half  of  his  companions, 
whom  he  was  forced  to  send  back  to  the  colony.  With  the 
remaining  portion  he  continued,  undaunted  by  his  sufferings, 
his  journey  along  the  Barkee,  crossed  it  at  a  point  above  Ken- 
nedy's remotest  explorations  and  reached,  in  1866,  the  McKin- 
ley  range  and  the  Flinders  river.  On  this  line  he  measured 
nine  elevations  with  the  aid  of  the  barometer,  but  unfortun- 
ately chose  for  the  purpose  the  summits  of  low  hillfe,  which 
could  not  have  been  more  than  a  few  hundred  feet  above  the 
general  level  of  the  country.  He  ascertained  the  height  of  the 
watershed  between  the  Barkee  and  the  Flinders  not  to  exceed 
1000  feet,  and  in  Eastern  Queensland  he  found  the  table-land 
to  rise  nowhere  above  2000  feet.  Unfortunately,  he  also  suc- 
cumbed soon  afterwards  to  a  malignant  fever,  which  was  then 
prevailing  near  the  Gulf  of  Carpentaria.  His  companion, 
Sloman,  followed  him  a  few  days  later,  and  his  successor  in  the 
command,  W.  F.  Bamett,  returned,  in  1867,  to  Sidney,  with- 
out having  discovered  any  traces  of  Leichhardt. 

Major  Warburton,  whose  name  has  of  late  become  famous 
in  the  annals  of  Australian  explorations,  reached,  in  1866,  the 
as  yet  unknown  northern  end  of  Eyre  Lake,  and  discovered  on 
the  eastern  side  the  mouth  of  a  large  river,  which  he  sailed  up, 
and  recognized  as  a  branch  of  the  Barkee.  If  this  discovery  be 
connected  with  the  facts,  that  Strzelecki  Creek  has  been  found 
to  be  a  southern  branch  of  the  same  river,  that  McEanley  and 
Howitt  have  found  a  northern  branch  falling  into  Lipeon 
Lake  on  the  Hope  Plains,  and  that  Moravian  missionaries  have, 
in  1867,  met  with  still  another  southwestern  branch,  fall- 
ing into  Eyre  Lake,  then  it  is  evident,  that  the  Barkee  forms 
a  gigantic  delta,  twice  as  large  as  that  of  the  Nile,  and  Aat 
its  waters  do  not  find  an  outlet  into  the  sea,  but  are  lost  in  a 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches   in  Geography.  287 

vast,  internal  basin,  of  which  lake  Eyre  forms  the  largest  and 
lowest  part.  This  is  the  almost  unique  feature  of  Australia : 
a  vast  low  region  in  the  very  centre  of  the  continent,  sur- 
rounded by  the  Flinders,  McKinley  and  McDonnell  mountain 
ranges,  and  containing  a  complicated  network  of  rivers,  all  of 
which  are  at  one  time  swelled  to  overflowing  by  heavy  rains 
and  at  another  altogether  lost  amid  sand  and  debris. 

I^ndsborough  is  another  name  of  great  renown  and  good 
omen  in  the  history  of  the  young  colony.  Living  as  govern- 
ment resident  in  Burketown  on  the  Albert  river  near  the  gulf 
of  Carpentaria,  he  examined,  in  1867,  the  Morning  Inlet,  which 
falls  into  this  gulf  between  Leichhardt  and  Flinders  river  and 
found  it  navigable  for  quite  large  vessels  up  to  18°  N.  Lat., 
opening  thus  a  valuable  region  for  settlers.  Next  he  ascer- 
tained that  the  so-called  Bynoe  river  is  nothing  but  the  mouth 
of  the  Flinders,  bordered  on  both  sides  with  rich  pasture  lands. 
On  the  Norman  river  he  founded  a  new  city.  When,  in  1841, 
Capt,  Stokes  called  the  southern  shore  of  the  Gulf  of  Carpen- 
taria the  Plains  of  Promise,  only  a  small  corner  of  Queens- 
land near  Moreton  Bay  was  settled.  This  part  of  Australia 
was  next  separated  from  New  South  Wales  as  an  independent 
colony,  and  now  it  contains  over  100,000  inhabitants,  and  its 
prosperity  is  amazing.  As  soon  as  settlements  were  established, 
a  desire  was  excited  to  explore  the  new  colony  and  to  ascertain 
its  physical  peculiarities,  and  eflbrts  in  this  direction  have  been 
crowned  with  success.  This  is  evidently,  in  Australia,  the  only 
safe  and  profitable  way  of  obtaining  valuable  knowledge.  In 
other  portions  of  the  country,  where  the  explorations  have  pre- 
ceded the  settlement,  they  have  rarely,  if  ever,  led  to  happy 
results.  We  abstain,  therefore,  from  recording  here  the  numer- 
ous expeditions,  which  have  been  sent  out  to  other  parts  of 
Australia,  although  some  were  richly  provided  for  by  the 
government,  and  others  led  to  the  exhibition  of  almost  sublime 
courage  and  energy. 

In  Polynesia  great,  though  not  particularly  valuable,  discov- 
eries have  l>een  made.  A  Dr.  E.  Graeffe  was  sent  out  by  the 
liberality  of  a  Hamburg  merchant,  Godefroy,  to  visit,  in  1866 
and  1867,  a  number  of  islands  in  the  Great  Ocean.     He  dis- 


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288  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

covered  several  new  ones,  and  furnished  most  minute  maps  of 
all,  with  very  interesting  reports  as  to  their  Fauna  and  Flora. 

New  Zealand  is  still  the  scene  of  Julius  Haast's  indefatigable 
labors.  His  main  purpose  is  to  explore  the  Southern  Alps. 
Everywhere  he  has  met  with  remarkable  evidences  of  the  glacie^ 
period,  and  his  maps  are  looked  for  with  great  interest.  The 
well-known  botanist,  J.  Buchanan,  ascended  in  1867,  in  the 
province  of  Marlborough,  the  Kaikora  Moimtains,  and  in  Tara- 
naki,  Mount  Egmont ;  he  found  the  former  9,700  feet  and  the 
latter  8,270  feet  high.  He  corrected  the  error  of  Dieffenbach, 
who  thought  he  had  observed  a  snow-line  on  Mount  Egmont, 
for  in  February,  1867,  there  were  only  a  few  patches  of  snow 
seen  in  former  craters,  which  lay  several  hundred  feet  below 
the  summit,  and  these  also  had  disappeared  in  May. 

A  very  important  acquisition  to  our  knowledge  of  that  ocean 
and  to  the  commerce  of  the  world,  was  the  survey  of  Brook's 
Island  by  Capt  Reynolds  in  1867.  Discovered  by  Capt.  Broob 
in  1860,  it  was  found  to  be  situated  to  the  north-west  of  Pearl 
and  Hermes  Reef,  in  28°  14^  N.  Lat.  and  177°  23^  W.  Long.,  a 
mere  atoll  with  a  few  tiny  islands  in  the  basin  and  a  good  bar 
bor,  Welles  Harbor,  not  unlike  that  of  Honolulu,  but  larger 
and  safer.  It  serves  now  as  a  station  for  the  vessels  of  the 
Pacific  Steam  Company,  which  run  between  San  Francisco  and 
Japan  and  China,  and  is  admirably  adapted  for  the  purpose  of 
a  coaling  station,  since  it  lies  exactly  on  their  course  and  offers 
great  natural  advantages.  The  Hydrographic  Bureau  of  the 
United  States  has  therefore  given  to  the  whole  group,  including 
Ocean  Island,  Sand  Island,  Green  Island,  and  Pearl  and  Hermes 
Reef,  the  common  name  of  Midway  Islands. 

Asia  has  been  quite  recently  the  scene  of  a  journey  accom- 
plished under  perfectly  unique  circumstances.  Capt  T.  G. 
Montgomerie,  under  whose  superintendence  the  first  scientific 
surveys  of  the  district  of  the  Himalaya  and  the  Upper  Indus 
have  been  carried  on  for  some  time,  has  availed  himself  of  every 
opportunity  to  extend  these  valuable  labors  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  British  territory.  Thus  he  induced  Captain  Austai,  in 
1863,  to  go  from  Leh  across  the  Tschang-La  pass  to  the  Pan- 
gong  lake ;  Johnson,  in  1865,  from  the  same  point  across  the 


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1869.]  Recent  Jiesearchss  in  GeogTaphxj,  289 

Karakorum  and  Knen  Luen  to  Eltschee  in  Eiootan;  and  a 
HindcK)  well  practised  in  the  use  of  geodetic  instruments,  to 
Jarkand.  Finally,  he  prepared  two  Pundits — learned  Brah- 
mans  of  the  higher  classes — for  making  surveys  and  observa- 
tions, and  then  despatched  them  to  travel  through  Thibet  pro- 
per, from  Lake  Manasarawar  in  the  west,  to  the  capital  Lassa, 
to  examine  thoroughly  the  great  route  which  was  said  to  exist 
between  these  two  points,  and  to  learn  all  they  could  as  to  the 
course  of  the  Brahmapootra  within  Thibetan  territory.  They 
were  thus  to  complete  what  Hue  and  Gabet  had  not  been  able 
to  accomplish ;  for  though  the  latter  had^  reached  Lassa,  they 
had  come  from  China,  and  the  whole  western  plateau  belonging 
to  Thibet  was  yet  utterly  unknown.  After  many  fruitless 
efforts  to  obtain  permission  from  the  Chinese  authorities,  one 
of  the  two  Pundits  succeeded  at  last  in  entering  Thibet,  though 
he  had  to  promise,  upon  his  life,  that  he  would  not  attempt  to 
visit  Lassa.  He  had  started  in  March,  1865,  from  Khabman- 
doojbut  it  was  July  before  he  could  cross  the  frontier  at  Kirong, 
and  September  before  he  found  himself  travelling  on  the  great 
route  itself  along  the  Brahmapootra.  Joining  a  merchant 
from  Ladak,  he  pursued  his  way  eastward,  and  was  bold  enough 
to  enter  the  forbidden  city  early  in  January,  1866.  He  re- 
mained there  till  the  end  of  April,  visited  several  of  the  great 
Buddhistic  convents  in  the  neighborhood,  saw  the  Dalai-Lama, 
and  even  conversed  with  him,  and  then  returned  on  the  same 
road  as  far  as  the  Manasarawar  Lake,  left  it  at  Dartshang,  and 
crossing  the  Himalaya,  found  himself  once  more  on  British 
soil.  The  young  man  whose  name  has  been  kept  secret  for 
evident  reasons,  had  thus  accomplished  his  aim  with  rare  self- 
denial  and  surpassing  courage.  Faithfully  obeying  his  instruc- 
tions, he  surveyed  with  minute  care  the  whole  road  for  1,200 
miles !  For  this  purpose  he  travelled  invariably  on  foot,  and 
counted  his  steps,  passing  at  every  hundredth  step  a  bead  of 
his  Thibetan  rosary,  which  he  wore  in  his  left  hand,  after  the 
manner  of  the  people  among  whom  he  was.  In  order  not  to 
be  disturbed  in  this  monotonous  occupation,  he  always  walked 
either  before  or  behind  his  companions,  and  if  any  one  ap- 
proached him  with  an  intention  to  speak  to  him,  he  turned 


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290  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

industriously  his  little  prayer-cylinder,  and  his  apparent  devo- 
tion kept  all  at  a  distance,  so  that  he  could  use  unobserved  even 
his  compass.  The  cylinder,  however,  did  not  contain,  like 
others,  a  paper  roll  with  the  Buddhistic  prayer,  but  long  narrow 
strips  of  paper,  on  which  he  jotted  down  the  tearings  of  the 
compass,  the  number  of  steps,  and  other  important  notes.  Far 
*more  difficult  was  it  to  use,  without  being  discovered,  the 
quadrant  and  the  thermometer,  which  he  had  smuggled  over 
the  frontier  in  the  false  bottom  of  his  little  travelling-box.  A 
wooden  bowl,  such  as  in  Thibet  is  worn  by  everybody  in  the 
belt,  filled  with  thejnercury  which  he  carried  in  a  tiny  phial, 
served  as  an  artificial  horizon.  All  these  difficulties  were 
enhanced  by  his  want  of  money,  as  the  unexpected  delay  at 
the  frontier  and  other  points  had  exhausted  his  scanty  supply. 
He  had  to  work  for  his  living,  and  to  earn  a  pittance  by  teach- 
ing native  merchants  the  keeping  of  accounts  as  used  in  India. 
In  Lassa  he  was  more  than  once  on  the  point  of  starving  to 
death.  At  the  same  time  he  had  to  tremble  continually,  lest 
he  should  be  discovered,  and  one  day  he  actually  met  in  the 
streets  of  the  capital  the  very  governor  to  whom  he  had  pledged 
his  life  that  he  would  not  visit  Lassa !  His  pluck  and  his  endu- 
rance appear  all  the  more  remarkable,  when  it  is  remembered 
that  he  was  not  borne  up  by  the  religious  zeal  of  the  mis- 
sionaries, nor  the  ambition  nor  the  scientific  ardor  of  European 
travellers,  nor  even  by  a  wild  and  adventurous  spirit.  Under 
all  trials  and  in  all  emergencies  he  remained  perfectly  calm 
and  resigned,  though  at  times  nearly  despairing,  and  his  sole 
motive  seems  to  have  been  a  strong  sense  of  duty.  Surely 
a  noble  member  of  the  great  family  of  discoverers  and  ex- 
plorers, whose  name  will  one  day  shine  bright  in  the  annals  of 
Geography!  Captain  Montgomerie  has  published  the  result 
of  his  labors  and  his  most  interesting  diary,  adding  to  the 
work  a  superb  map  of  Thibet.  How  important  his  contribu- 
tions to  science  are,  may  be  judged  from  the  simple  fact,  that 
Lassa  was  found  to  lie  a  whole  degree  further  south  than  all 
known  maps  indicate,  and  that  consequently  the  whole  course 
of  the  Brahmapootra  within  Thibet  has  to  be  changed.  He 
found  the  elevation  of  the  great  public  road  on   which  he 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  291 

travelled,  far  beyond  what  had  been  expected — the  lowest  point  ^ 

which  it  ever  reached  was  still  11,300  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea,  and  at  various  passes  it  rose  to  a  height  of  16,000  feet, 
exceeding  that  of  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc !  The  extreme 
drj^ness  of  the  whole  plateau  of  Thibet  was  another  striking 
feature  which  he  observed  :  from  September  to  May  he  saw"  no 
rain  and  only  three  times  snow,  while  the  Himalaya  was 
covere<l  with  perpetual  snow.  The  road  itself  was  simply  a 
cleared  space,  with  heaps  of  stones  at  regular  intervals  at  the 
side,  and  flags  to  show  the  w^ay  to  the  traveller  in  winter; 
nevertheless  it  is  so  admirably  laid  out,  that  horsemen  never 
alight  except  when  fording  large  rivers.  Along  the  whole 
length — which  amounts  to  SOO  miles — station-houses  are  erected 
at  distances  of  from  20  to  70  miles,  with  a  supply  of  djaks  in  the 
lower,  and  asses  in  the  upper,  regions  to  carry  loads,  and  horses 
for  the  travellers  furnished  in  abundance  by  the  nomadic 
natives,  who  encamp  in  the  neighlx)rhood.  Couriers  are  con- 
tinually passing,  and  the  Pundit  saw  some  who  had  just  finished 
the  whole  journey  of  800  miles,  w^ithout  stopping  by  day  or  by 
night  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  take  their  meals  and  to 
change  horses !  Their  faces  were  bleeding,  their  eyes  blood- 
shot and  deep-sunk,  and  the  whole  body  covered  with  ulcers  ; 
for  the  clothes  of  the  poor  creatures  are  sealed  up,  so  that  they 
cannot  take  out  the  despatches,  and  only  at  the  end  of  their 
journey  an  officer  breaks  the  seal  and  allows  them  to  clean 
themselves.  The  Pundit  obtained,  besides,  most  valuable  in- 
formation about  the  spiritual  rule  of  the  Dalai  Lama  and  his 
position  relatively  to  the  secular  head  of  China,  and  ascertained 
that  at  all  events  he  did  not  possess  the  l>oa8ted  power  of  read- 
ing the  secret  thoughts  of  men,  since  he  deceived  him  as  easily 
as  other  Thibetans. 

A  French  expedition  under  Captain  de  Lagree  ascended,  in 
1866,  the  Mekong  river,  crossed  the  mountain  chain,  that 
divides  it  from  the  Irawaddy  and  explored  the  frontier  districts 
between  China  and  Burmah.  The  results  are  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  our  knowledge  of  those  regions,  and  for  the  re- 
vival of  the  trade  between  the  two  countries. 


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292  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [Aprils 

It  is  remarkable  that  although  the  Chinese  and  the  Indian 
Empires  contain  fully  one-half  of  all  mankind,  and  although 
the  two  countries  are  utterly  different  in  their  richest  produc- 
tions and  most  skilful  industiy,  as  well  as  in  the  wants  of  their 
dense  populations,  no  commerce  is  carried  on  between  them. 
Efforts  have  not  been  wanting  to  establish  communications, 
and  Sprye  and  other  Englishmen,  familiar  with  the  locality,  have 
long  since  agitated  the  opening  of  commercial  roads  between 
Burmah  and  the  Chinese  province  Yunnan.  A  railroad  from 
Ragoon  through  the  Laos  states  to  Yimnan  was  proposed  and 
the  route  actually  surveyed.  Insuperable  difficulties,  however, 
prevented  the  execution  of  the  plan  for  the  time.  Then  it  was 
determined  to  examine  the  roads,  which  had  formerly  been 
used  for  the  purpose,  and  Captains  Sladen  and  Williams  were 
sent  out  in  January,  1868,  with  a  strong  escort  of  Mohamme- 
dans and  Burmese,  to  Bhamo ;  from  whence  they  will  make 
their  way  on  mules  to  Tali-fii  in  Yunnan,  and  then  return 
through  the  Laos  states.  The  native  authorities  lend  efficient 
aid,  and  great  results  are  expected. 

Of  recent  Chinese  explorations  only  one  is  important,  that 
of  A.  S.  Bickmore,  of  Cambridge,  Mass.,  who,  after  having 
visited  several  points  in  the  Indian  Archipelago,  travelled 
through  Southern  China,  went  as  far  as  the  Tung-ting  Lake, 
and  descended  again  the  Yang-Tse-Kiang.  He  touched  at 
several  ports  of  Japan,  visited  the  coal  mines  in  the  western 
provinces,  passed  through  the  seas  of  Tatary  to  the  Amoor  and 
returned  to  Siberia,  and  thus  to  Europe.  He  is  a  geologist, 
and  has  made  valuable  discoveries  in  his  department,  and  his 
general  observations  are  as  interesting  as  his  personal  adven- 
tures are  exciting. 

Russia  does  not  cease  its  immense  labors  in  Asia,  and  can 
accomplish  all  the  more  as  they  redound  as  much  to  the 
furtherance  of  her  military  plans  as  to  benefit  science,  and  are, 
on  this  account,  supported  by  the  War  Department  as  well  as 
by  the  Imperial  Geographical  Society.  Prince  Krapotkin, 
already  well  known  through  his  explorations  in  the  Amoor 
District,  imdertook,  in  1866,  a  long  journey  along  the  Lena 
southward,  accompanied  by  the  naturalist  Polakou,  and  well 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  293 

provided  with  excellent  instruments.  He  has  made  baromet- 
rical measurements,  added  much  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
Fauna  and  Flora,  and  examined  the  geological  formation  of 
those  wild,  waste  regions,  in  which  a  few  Timgoose  and  Jakooto 
families  live  amid  countless  deer,  foxes,  musk-oxen,  and  rein- 
deer. Another  expedition  has  since  started  on  an  exploration 
of  northwestern  Siberia. 

Great  results  have  been  recently  obtained  by  the  recent  con- 
quests in  Toorkistan,  where  the  staff  officers  of  the  victorious 
armies,  followed  by  astronomers  and  topographic  engineers, 
have  produced  a  perfect  revolution  in  the  maps  that  were 
heretofore  in  use.  The  labors  of  English  officers  in  Palestine 
have  made  less  brilliant  progress,  though  they  also  have  brought 
to  light  many  new  and  interesting  facts.  Anderson  and  Warren 
have  been  able  to  furnish  the  material  for  an  accurate  map  of 
more  than  three-fourths  of  the  Holy  Land,  and  their  excava- 
tions in  Jerusalem  have  been  rewarded  with  large  additions  to 
history,  as  well  as  to  archaeology. 

In  Europe  there  is,  of  course,  no  longer  room  for  voyages  of 
discovery,  and  the  only  additions  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
land  must  necessarily  refer  to  details.  Meanwhile,  expeditions 
are  constantly  sent  out  from  there  for  the  purpose  of  ob- 
taining information  abroad,  which  is  subsequently  made  valu- 
able by  home  industry.  Among  such  stands  foremost  the 
French  expedition  for  the  determination  of  geographical  posi- 
tions. In  the  summer  of  1867,  four  French  Navy  officers  were 
dispatched  to  four  different  stations  on  our  globe,  in  order  to 
measure  accurately  their  exact  position.  One  was  ordered  to 
Montevideo,  the  Magellan  Straits,  Valparaiso,  Callao,  Panama, 
and  Honolulu;  another  to  Muscat,  Zanzibar,  Eeunion,  and 
Pondicherry ;  the  third  and  fourth  to  Shanghai,  Hongkong, 
Yokohama,  Teneriffe,  the  Antilles,  Cayenne,  and  the  Azores. 
By  means  of  careful  observations  made  with  the  aid  of  partly 
newly  invented  instruments,  such  as  the  lunette  miridienne 
portative^  it  is  hoped  that  the  longitude  of  these  places  can  be 
determined  accurately  down  to  a  second,  and  the  advantage  of 
such  labors  for  geography  generally,  and  for  sailing  vessels, 
chronometers,  and  maps,  in  particular,  cannot  well  be  over-rated. 


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294    '  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

In  our  own  country,  America,  many  and  valuable  additioiL* 
have  been  made  to  the  science.  The  plan  to  connect  the 
Rnssian- American  telegraph  line  with  the  American  terminus 
in  British  Columbia,  had  to  be  given  up  for  climatic  and  politi- 
cal reasons;  but  the  labors  undertaken  for  that  purpose  have 
by  no  means  been  lost.  The  most  important  gain  for  geograph 
ical  science  has  been  the  thorough  exploration  of  the  Kwich- 
pak  or  Yukon  river,  the  principal  stream  in  our  new  acqnisi- 
tion,  Alaska.  A  corps  of  young  Russian  naturalists,  under 
Captain  Kennicutt,  ascended  the  river  in  a  small  steamer  for 
1500  miles,  establishing  thus  its  fitness  for  navigation  so  far; 
but  Captain  Kennicutt  died,  in  1866,  and  the  results  of  hk 
investigations  have  not  yet  become  public.  In  1867,  however, 
W.  H.  Dall  and  Frederick  Whymper  came  down  the  same 
river  from  the  point  where  the  Porcupine  falls  into  it  to  its 
mouth,  and  Whymper  made  a  complete  and  accurate  map  of 
its  course. 

Equally  important  additions  to  our  knowledge  of  the  new 
teiTitory  were  made  by  an  expedition  sent  out  by  the  govern- 
ment for  the  purpose  of  exploring  the  coast  and  the  islands  of 
Alaska.  It  was  under  the  direction  of  George  Davidson,  as- 
sistant in  the  Coast-survey,  and  contained  an  astronomer,  two 
hydrographers,  one  botanist,  one  conchologist,  and  several  other 
men  of  science,  specially  chosen  for  the  purpose.  The  geolo- 
gist, T.  A.  Blake,  was  the  firsf  to  make  the  results  of  his  in- 
vestigations known,  and  mentions  especially  the  very  interest- 
ing ascension  of  the  Makuschinski  volcano,  5,600  feet  high, 
on  the  northern  end  of  the  island  of  Unalashka. 

Robert  Brown,  who  some  years  ago  earned  great  renown  by 
his  successful  researches  in  Oregon,  and  in  1867  accompanied 
Whymper  on  his  journey  to  Greenland  devoted  himself  afte^ 
wards  to  the  thorough  examination  of  Vancouver  Island,  and 
is  now  preparing  a  new  map  of  that  country.  The  whole 
topography  of  the  island  is  changed,  the  lakes  in  the  interior 
appear  larger  and  more  numerous,  and  all  the  elevations  are 
carefully  inserted. 

On  the  Atlantic  side,  the  Canadian  government  sent  an  ex- 
pedition up  the  Ottawa  river,  to  explore  its  whole  length  and 


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1869.]  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  295 

its  sources,  which  had  never  before  been  visited.  They  accom- 
plished this  in  1867,  and  found  the  length  of  the  river  about 
1,000  miles,  and  the  source  only  some  fifty  miles  distant  from 
that  of  the  Saguenay  river.  A  new  lake,  Gros  Lake,  was  dis- 
covered, through  which  the  river  passes,  and  which  is  reported 
to  cover  400  square  miles.  Navigation  was  interrupted  by 
rapids  near  this  lake.  The  soil  on  the  upper  Ottawa  was  found 
to  be  excellent,  but  the  climate  much  colder  than  that  of  Lower 
Canada,  so  that  the  large  lake  itself  was  partially  frozen  over 
as  late  as  the  24th  of  May. 

Captain  Hall,  who  had  already,  in  1862,  explored  the  regions 
near  Hudson  Strait,  and  then  discovered  that  the  so-called 
Frobisher  Strait  was  closed  on  the  west  side,  and  therefore, 
only  a  bay,  renewed  his  joumeyings  in  1864,  and  continued 
his  explorations  for  several  years,  though  so  far  without  special 
results.  In  1867,  he  made,  in  company  with  five  sailors  from 
whaling  ships,  and  two  Esquimaux,  a  six  week's  journey  to 
Pella  Bay,  150  miles  north  of  Eepulse  Bay,  where  he  had 
made  his  headquarters,  in  order  to  obtain  sledge  dogs.  In  1868, 
he  visited  with  five  men  King  William's  Land  for  the  purpose 
of  examining  the  graves  of  the  Franklin  Expedition. 

While  the  admirable  work  of  Mexican  surveys  has  ceased 
with  the  French  occupation,  California  has,  on  the  other  hand, 
been  thoroughly  examined.  A  New  York  Company  purchased, 
in  1866,  the  upper  half  of  the  peninsula,  from  the  American 
frontier  in  the  north,  to  24^  20^  N.  Lat.  in  the  south,  of  the 
Mexican  government ;  leaving  the  sovereignty  to  the  latter,  but 
acquiring  the  right  of  property  in  all  unoccupied  lands.  Two 
geologists,  J.  Ross  Browne — ^now  U.  S.  Minister  to  China — 
and  W.  M.  Gabb,  and  a  skillful  engineer,  F.  Loehr,  were  sent 
out  in  1867,  and  the  admirable  map  drawn  up  by  the  latter, 
gives  an  entirely  new  aspect  to  the  whole  peninsula.  It  ap- 
pears naturally  divided  into  three  distinct  parts :  the  southern, 
belonging  still  to  Mexico,  from  Cape  San  Lucas  to  the  latitude 
of  San  Borja  Bay,  consists  of  a  mass  of  granite,  which  rises  in 
the  San  Lazaro  mountain  to  k  height  of  6,000  feet,  and  abounds 
in  valleys  teeming  with  tropical  fertility.  The  Central  part  is 
formed  by  gigantic  deposits  of  tertiary  sandstone,  broken  in 


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296  Recent  Researches  in  Geography.  [April, 

upon  by  volcanic  formations.  A  chain  of  mountains,  from  3  to 
4,000  feet  high,  runs  parallel  to  the  eastern  coast  and  falls  off 
towards  the  west  into  lowlands,  which  are  rich  and  fertile,  near 
Magdalen  Bay — a  harbor  vieing  with  that  of  San  Francisco  in 
size  and  security,  but  changing  northward  into  deserts  without 
water.  The  third  part  consists  again  of  granite,  but  abounds 
like  the  central  part,  in  volcanic  formations.  The  whole  pop- 
ulation does  not  exceed  8,000  souls,  one-half  of  whom  live  in  the 
southern  part,  a  race  of  mixed  Spanish  and  Indian  blood, 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  troubles. 

Of  Central  American  explorations  only  Collinson's  survey 
deserves  to  be  mentioned.  He  examined,  in  1867,  the  line  be- 
tween the  Nicaragua  Lake  and  Pim  Bay,  for  the  purposes  of  a 
railroad  which  was  projected  there  and  found  it  admirably 
suitable ;  the  highest  point  was  only  748  feet  and  the  lake  it^lf 
was  found  to  be  128  feet  above  the  sea-level. 

In  South  America,  it  is  mainly  the  thorough  examination  of 
the  Amazon  river  which  has  furnished  amazing  additions  to 
all  the  natural  sciences.  The  work  began  in  reality  as  early  as 
1860,  when  Manoel  Urbano  explored,  by  order  of  the  Brazilian 
government,  the  Purus  with  its  tributary,  the  Aquiry,  in  order 
to  find  the  reported  communication  between  it  and  the  upper 
Madeira.  In  1862,  began  the  great  expedition  under  the  Cap- 
tains J.  da  Costa  Azevedo  and  J.  S.  Pinto,  which  surveyed  tbe 
Amazonas  from  the  mouth  of  the  Tapajoz,  where  the  French 
survey  ended,  to  Tabatinga,  and  resulted  in  an  accurate  map 
differing  largely  from  the  previous  maps  furnished  by  the 
English  travellers,  Smyth  and  Low,  in  1835,  and  Captain 
Hemdon,  of  the  TJ.  S.  N.,  in  1851.  Thus  Tabatinga  was  found 
to  lie  a  whole  degree  farther  north,  and  40  minutes  farthw 
east  than  its  position  on  Hemdon's  maps.  The  following 
years  witnessed  the  exploration  of  the  Tocantins  and  Japnra 
by  Brazilians,  and  of  the  Purus  and  Aqidry  by  the  Englishman 
Chandless ;  the  Peruvians  sent  the  first  steamers  up  the  Ucayali 
and  Pachitea,  and  found  them  navigable  as  high  up  as  the 
mouth  of  the  Maypu,  near  a  Tyrolese  colony,  and  all  these  in- 
vestigations famished  most  valuable  results  for  science,  as  well 
as  for  the  material  interests  of  those  countries. 


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1869. J  BeceiU  liesenrehe^  in  Geography,  297 

They  were  destined,  however,  to  be  eclipsed  by  the  brilliant 
expedition  of  Agassiz  from  April,  1865,  to  July,  1866.  The 
Swiss  savant  received  every  assistance  from  his  adopted  country 
and  a  most  brilliant  reception  in  Brazil,  such  as  would  have 
honored  a  Humboldt.  A  magnificent  steamer  was  placed  at 
his  disposal  for  the  voyage  from  New  York  to  Rio,  and  Mr. 
Thayer,  a  merchant  prince  of  Boston,  furnished  him  with  a 
whole  staff  of  scientific  assistants  at  his  own  expense.  When 
he  arrived  at  Rio,  the  Emperor,  the  highest  authorities,  and  the 
people  themselves,  all  were  eager  to  assist  him  and  to  further 
his  plans.  His  public  lectures  were  attended  by  the  Court, 
and  what  had  never  before  happened,  by  the  ladies  of  the  city; 
his  birth  day  was  celebrated  by  public  festivities,  and  when  he 
began  his  journey  up  the  river,  every  facility  was  offered  and 
every  courtesy  extended  to  him,  so  that  his  excursion  assumed 
the  form  and  proportions  of  a  royal  progress. 

The  main  results  of  this  great  expedition  were  the  ichthyolo- 
gical  labors  of  the  great  naturalist  and  his  investigations  of  the 
evidences  of  the  ice-period  in  those  regions.  He  was,  of  course, 
mainly  interested  in  studying  the  fish  of  the  Amazon  as,  and  to 
examine  all  traces  of  glacier-activity  in  the  whole  valley  of  the 
giant  river.  In  both  respects  his  sanguine  expectations  were 
more  than  fulfilled.  Before  he  left  Para  he  had  already  re- 
ceived 63  species  of  fish,  or  more  than  had  up  to  that  date  been 
described  in  the  whole  district,  and  among  these  he  found  49 
entirely  new  species ;  during  his  journey  on  the  Amazonas  he 
collected  not  less  than  1,800  to  2,000  varieties,  and  thus  estab- 
lished the  remarkable  fact,  that  this  one  river  holds  at  least 
twice  as  many  species  as  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  a  larger 
number  than  the  Atlantic  Ocean  from  pole  to  pole.  All  the 
rivers  of  Europe,  from  the  Tagus  to  the  Volga  contain  not  quite 
150  varieties  of  fish — and  Agassiz  found  in  a  single  small  lake 
Hyanury  near  Manaos,  more  than  200  varieties!  But  even 
more  remarkable  than  this  astounding  variety,  is  the  fact  that 
each  one  of  these  numerous  species  is  strictly  limited  to  a  very 
small  region.  Such  a  limitation  is  of  course  not  to  be  wondered 
at  in  a  river,  like  the  Mississippi,  which  flows  through  three 
distinct  zones,  forms  its  bed  now  in  one  geological  formation 
4 


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298  Recent  RenearcheH   in  Geography.  [April, 

and  now  in  another,  and  sees  at  its  sources  an  Arctic  and  at  ite 
mouth  a  tropical  vegetation  on  its  banks.  But  Agassiz  met 
different  genera  at  very  moderate  distances  firom  each  other^in 
a  river,  which  showed  neither  in  the  temperature  of  its  waters, 
nor  in  the  vegetation  on  its  banks,  an  essential  difference,  and 
the  same  strict  limitation  was  found  in  the  tributaries  and  lakes. 

As  for  evidences  of  the  glacier-period,  they  greeted  the  great 
naturalist  almost  as  soon  as  he  left  Kio ;  he  saw  traces,  at  least, 
at  Tijuca,  a  sliort  distance  from  the  sea ;  he  then  met  thOTi 
again  in  Southern  Minas  Gereas,  to  which  he  made  an  excur- 
sion from  the  capital  and  along  tlie  eastern  coast  as  far  as 
Para.  Everywhere  along  the  stream  he  encountered  the  same 
recent  deposit,  a  reddish  clay,  which  he  calls  drift,  and  which 
he  thinks;  was  brought  by  glacier-ice  from  the  Andes,  and 
after  the  melting  of  the  ice,  deposited  in  the  Amazonas  Val- 
ley. Agassiz  has  no  doubt  that  at  a  certain  period  the  whole 
of  this  magnificent  plain,  iu  which  the  Amazonas  flows,  was 
covered  with  glacier-ice  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the  region 
between  the  Alps  and  the  Jura.  The  outer  edge  of  this  colossal 
glacier,  he  believes,  has  long  since  been  swallowed  up  by  the 
ocean,  which  here  continually  gains  upon  the  continent,  while 
elsewhere  the  nvers  form  deltas,  and  thus  encroach  upon  the 
ocean. 

By  the  side  of  these  important  scientific  result^?,  we  must 
not  forget  that  the  great  savant,  fully  identified  with  the  views 
and  leading  ideas  of  our  people,  gave  much  of  his  attention  to 
the  political  future  of  this  remarkable  region.  He  found 
thus,  for  instance,  that  while  the  grant  of  free  navigation  had 
been  everywhere  hailed  with  delight,  too  sanguine  expectatioDs 
had  been  entertained  as  to  the  immediate  fruits  of  this  measure. 
It  had  been  forgotten,  that  the  population  was  extremely  sparse 
and  indolent,  that  the  whole  vast  valley  contained  but  one 
large  town.  Para,  with,  perhaps,  20,000  inhabitants,  and  that 
the  next  largest,  Manaos,  had  only  8,000.  Days  and  dayp 
passed,  during  which  the  exploring  party  saw  nothing  but  end- 
less forests.  He  found  the  whites  not  only  few  in  number 
but  low  in  character ;  the  higher  race  had  here,  contrary  to 
general  experience,  adopted  the  type  of  the  lower  race  and 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  299 

sunk  down  to  the  level  of  the  savages.  A  better  class  of 
immigrants  is  evidently  needed,  and  he  looked  forward  to  the 
day  when  the  Saxon  settler  would  take  the  place  of  the  idle, 
listless  Portuguese,  who  associates  too  readily  and  too  fiilly 
with  the  low  natives. 


Art.  hi. — 1.  IHe  Frauen  in  KunsUjeschickte,     Von  Ernest 
Guhl.     Berlin.     1858. 

2.  Life^  Letters^  and  Posthumovs  Works  of  Fredrika  Bremer. 
Edit^  by  her  sister.     New  York.     1868. 

3.  A  Commonplace  Book  of  Thoughts.  Memories^  and  Fancies. 
By  Mrs.  Jameson.     NeW  York.     1855. 

'  Here  is  an  error,  sir ;  you  have  made  "  Genius"  feminine ! ' 
*  Palpable,  sir,'  cried  the  enthusiast.  '  I  know  it.  But '  (in  a 
lower  tone,)  '  it  was  to  pay  a  compliment  to  the  Duchess  of 
Devonshire,  with  which  her  Grace  was  pleased.  She  is  walk- 
ing across  Coxheath,  in  the  military  uniform,  and  I  suppose  her 
to  be  the  Genius  of  Britain.'  Johnson.  '  xSVr,  yott  are  gimng 
a  reason  for  it ;  but  that  will  7iot  m/ike  it  right.  You  may 
have  a  reason  why  two  and  two  should  m/ike  jive;  hut  they  wiU 
siiU  jnake  hut  four.'*  ' 

It  is  pretty  certain  that  the  poet,  whose  toadyism  was  thus 
leniently  dealt  with  by  Dr.  Johnson,  is  not  singular  in  attribu- 
ting feminity  to  Genius.  AVe  shall  not  stop  to  inquire  if 
those  who  have  imitated  him  have  been  sincere,  or,  like  him, 
have  simply  wished  to  compliment  some  duchess  or  other,  who 
has  public  or  private  means  of  rewarding  the  flattery.  But  we 
do  propose,  as  far  as  the  limits  of  the  present  article  will  per- 
mit, to  investigate  the  validity  of  woman's  (claims,  not  indeed 
to  genius  itself,  for  those  every  one  will  concede,  but  to  that 

I  BoswcII's  Life  of  Johnson. 


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300  Women  Artists.  [April, 

kind  of  genius  in  the  exercise  of  which  man  has  chiefly  distin- 
guished himself,  and  especially  to  that  kind  of  genius  which 
can  only  express  itself  by  means  of  what  is  called  the  Artistic 
Faculty. 

The  analogy  of  nature  is  certainly  against  woman,  for  it  is 
only  the  male  bird  that  sings,  and  he  only  in  mating  time ;  but 
we  shall  not  permit  analogies  to  weigh  while  there  are  facts  to 
be  had,  nor  shall  we  shift  upon  woman  the  burthen  of  proof. 

Are  there  any  women  artists  ?  Honest  old  Georgio  Vasari, 
who  ought  to  know,  asserts  very  stoutly,  albeit  with  some 
singular  qualifying  phrases:  ^It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that, 
whenever  women  have  at  any  time  devoted  themselves  to  the 
study  of  any  art,  or  the  exercise  of  any  talent,  they  have,  for 
the  most  part,  acquitted  themselves  well ;  nay,  they  have  even 
acquired  fame  and  distinction.' '  '  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered 
at,'  he  remarks  somewhere  else,  'since  they,  who  so  well  know 
how  to  produce  living  men,  should  certainly  be  able  to 
make  the  painted  semblance,' — a  proposition  which,  if  it  did 
not  conceal  a  fallacy,  would  unquestionably  be  unanswerable, 
Georgio  further  quotes  the  Orlando  Furioso  in  support  of  his 
position,  and  concludes  by  triumphantly  adducing  and  enume- 
rating the  works  of  Madonna  Propertzia  Rossi,  a  woman-artist 
who  carved  a  crucifixion  upon  the  circumference  of  a  peach- 
seed,  and  engraved  a  gloria^  with  sixty  figures,  in  hdsso  rdievo 
upon  the  small  surface  of  a  cherry-stone !  Can  argument  be 
more  conclusive  ? 

In  point  of  fact,  this  question  of  the  existence  of  woman- 
artists  is  one  in  which  we  have  taken  great  interest.  We  had 
seen,  and  admired,  some  of  the  remarkable  works  of  Rosa 
Bonheur,  though  we  could  not  see  under  which  rule  of  the  pro- 
prieties a  girl  should  find  occasion  to  go  about  making  picturee 
of  all  the  roaring  bulls  of  Bashan.  We  had  fully  sympathized 
with  Mrs.  L.  Maria  Child  in  her  somewhat  agonized  zeal  to 
justify  the  peculiarities  and  eccentricities  of  Miss  Harriet  Ho&- 
mer,  an  artist  who  shoots  pistols,  wears  trowsers,  and  rides 
horseback  en  cavalier^  as  well  as  sculptures  Pucks  and  Zenobias; 
and  we  had  set  to  work  in  good  faith  to  examine  the  annals  of 

'  Vasari.    Life  of  Propertzia  di  Rossi. 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  301 

Art,  trnsting  to  discover  therein  evidence  in  support  of  woman's 
claim  to  the  possession  of  a  genuine  artistic  faculty.  We  were 
quite  sensible  that  man  has  been  unjust  to  woman,  and  has 
wantonly  excluded  her  from  many  pursuits,  whether  for  the 
reason  assigned  by  Spenser «  or  not,  we  would  not  say,  but 
the  fact  stands,  nevertheless ;  and  moreover,  our  own  investi- 
gations had  inclined  us  to  give  a  measureable  assent  to  the 
words  of  the  eloquent  writer  who  claims  that :  '  Women  have 
just  as  keen  intelligence  as  men ;  less  powers,  may  be,  of  ab- 
stract reasoning,  but  far  finer  perceptive  and  linguistic  faculties. 
They  need  not  be  trained  to  exhaustive  scholarship  ;  but  refine- 
ment of  mental  culture  suits  them,  perhaps,  even  more  than  it 
does  our  sex.  I  imagine  that  the  Lady  Jane  who  read  her  Phaedo 
when  the  horn  was  calling,  had  as  pretty  a  mouse-face  as  you 
ever  saw  in  a  dream ;  and  I  am  sure  that  gentle  girl  was  a 
better  scholar  than  any  lad  of  seventeen  is  now  in  any  school 
of  England  or  Scotland.'  *  Why,  then,  should  not  woman^ 
with  her  warmth  of  soul,  her  enthusiasm,  her  quick  perceptions, 
and  her  nimble  intellect,  be  able  to  apply  her  keen  sense  of  the 
beautiful  to  the  cultivation  of  Art  ? 

The  result  of  our  investigations  has  not  been  very  encour- 
aging. A  survey  of  nearly  the  whole  field  of  Art  has  scarcely 
revealed  to  us  any  woman-artist  who  has  risen  above  mediocrity ; 
nor  has  it  revealed  a  single  one  entitled  to  a  place  in  the  front 
rank,  among  great  artists.  Woman  has  played  upon  the  steps 
of  the  Temple  of  Art  from  the  beginning — indeed,  if  we  may 
credit  Pliny,  it  was  a  woman's  hand,^  impelled  by  love,  that 
traced  the  first  portrait  ever  limned — but  she  has  never  gone 
within  the  threshold,  never  seen,  much  less  mastered,  the 
mysteries  of  the  adytum.  The  list  of  woman-artists,  though 
not  long,  is  respectable,  and  the  catalogue  embraces    some 

^  *  But  by  recorde  of  antique  lime  I  finde 
That  woroan  went  in  warres  to  beare  most  sway, 
And  to  all  great  exploites  themselyes  inclind, 
Of  which  they  still  the  girlond  bore  away ; 
Till  enyious  man,  fearing  their  rules  decay. 
Gan  coigne  streight  lawes  to  curb  their  liberty.' 

Faery  Queene^  11 1,    ii.    2. 

*  D'Arcy  Thompson  :  Day  Dreams  of  a  Schoolmaster, 

*  Kora,  daughter  of  Dibntades,  of  Corinth. 


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302  W^onien  Artists.  [April, 

pleasing  performances, — but  that  is  all.     With  a  few  excep- 
tions, these  women  have  become  artists  by  position,  as  it  were, 
from  the  circumstance  of  their  fathers,  brothers,  or  husbands 
pursuing  Art.     With  a  few  exceptions,  likewise,  they  have  ex- 
celled chiefly  as  copyists,  or  in  the  minor  branches  of  deccw»- 
tion,  embroidery,  and  engraving,  to  which  their  delicate  fingerg 
fitted  them.     In  sculpture,  there  have  been  Properzia,  Sabini 
von  Steinbach,  Mrs.  Damer,  Miss  Ho8mer,«  to  set  against 
the  whole  bede-roll  of  mighty  masters  of  the  chisel  among  the 
other  sex.     Sabina,  who  was  the  daughter  of  Erwin  von  Stein- 
bach, the  architect  of  Strasburg  Cathedral,  has  won  considerable 
renown  in  connection  with  the  ornamental  part  of  that  sublime 
building,  which  was  entrusted  to  her.     But  it  seems  beyond  all 
question  that  she  did  little  more  than  sculpture  the  figureB 
after  designs  furnished  by  her  father,  though  to  her  hand  those 
groups  may  very  well  owe  something  of  the  purity  and  depth 
of  feeling  so  conspicuous  in  them.'     Among  women  painters, 
the  most  prominent  names  are  those  of  Sophonisba  Anguisciola, 
Elizabetta  Sirani,  Maria  Robusti,  Lavinia  Fontana,  Onorata 
Rudiano,   Irene  de  Spilimberg,  Madame   Lebrun,  Angelica 
Kauffinann,  and  Rosa  Bonheur, — not  one  of  which  names,  we 
opine,  would  ofler  any  attractions  to  ^shoddy,'  when  he  goes 
abroad   in  quest  of  'old  masters'  with   which  to   stock  his 
gallery.     Maria  Robusti,  who  was  Tintoretto's  daughter,  and 
Elizabetta  Sirani,  the  pupil  of  Guido,  were  certainly  artists  of 
very  great  promise,  but  both  died  too  young  to  have  performed 
much,  and,  in  estimating  what  they  might  have  done,  we  must 
judge  them  by  the  achievements  of  their  sex,  rather  than  by 
those  of  ours.     Angelica  Kauffmann  was  deemed  by  her  eon- 
temporaries  (who  likewise  found  surpassing  genius  in  Benjamin 
West,)  a  rival  to  Raphael,  but  modem  criticism  has  decided  that 
her  design  was  poor,  her  touch  feeble,  her  color  cold,  and  with- 
out truth.     Onorata  Rudiano  is,  perhaps,  the  most  distinguished 
of  all  the  female  artists  for  positive  achievement,  but  we  must 
not  look  for  these  in  the  line  of  Art.     She  had  only  b^un  to 
paint,  when,  being  one  day  at  work  for  the  tyrant  of  Cremona, 

•  And  Miss  Vinnie  Ream.  '  Von  Guhl. 


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1869.]  Women  AHisU.  303 

one  of  his  minions  insulted  her  and  she  stabbed  him  to  the 
heart.  Thereupon,  she  fled  to  the  mountains  in  man's  attire, 
joined  a  company  of  Condottieri,  fought  herself  into  the  chief 
command,  and  for  thirty  years  played  the  swashbuckler  up  and 
down  Italy,  with  a  renown  that  lias  come  down  to  our  own 
times,  and  with  a  self-satisfaction  equal  to  that  of  Captain 
Dugald  Dalgetty. 

Now  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  sex  has  failed  to  produce  its 
Raphael,  its  Lionardo,  its  Michelagnolo,  through  lack  of  oppor- 
tunity, or  by  reason  of  those  repressive  influences  of  prejudice, 
social  custom,  l^islation,  or  the  like,  which,  it  is  claimed,  have 
kept  woman  out  of  the  professions,  and  prevented  her  from 
freely  developing  her  capacity  to  do  man's  work.  On  the 
contrary,  even  in  the  darkest  periods  of  woman's  history,  there 
has  been  instinctive  recognition  of  the  apparent  relation  be- 
tween her  chaste,  flexuous,  subtile  organism,  and  the  delicate 
graces  and  refinement  of  art-work,  and  no  less  an  eager  appre- 
ciation of  all  that  she  has  done  or  tried  to  do  in  that  regard. 
Even  in  this  hypercritical  and  sceptic  age  we  are  always  ready 
and  ardent  to  welcome  a  poem  by  a  woman,  whether  it  be 
poetry  or  not,  as  if  there  was  a  certain  consciousness  at  the 
bottom  of  our  minds  that  the  poet  might  to  come  from  that 
side  of  the  house,  whether  he  will  or  not.  Hence,  the  cause  of 
failure  must  be  sought  deeper  than  in  the  lack  of  occasion — it 
seems,  indeed,  to  be  contained  in  that  defective  artistic  sense 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  whole  sex.  Woman,  indeed,  has 
the  longing  after  Art,  but  she  does  not  possess  the  true  artistic 
insight,  nor  has  she  a  hand  firm  enough  to  execute  even  her 
own  imperfect  conceptions.  We  must  not  be  deceived  by  the 
present  apparent  tendencies  of  woman  towards  the  artistic  life 
into  belief  in  her  genuine  capacity  for  that  life.  To  do  so 
would  be  conceding  to  appetite  the  unlimited  power  of  satisfy- 
ing itself.  These  tendencies,  in  fact,  are  rather  the  result  of 
the  atmosphere  she  breathes  than  of  the  blood  in  her  veins.  As 
Goethe  has  said,  apropos  of  a  kindred  matter :  'What  misleads 
young  people  is  this :  we  live  in  a  time  when  culture  is  so 
diflused  that  it  has  become  the  atmosphere  which  a  young  man 
breathes ;   poetical  and  philosophical  thoughts,  which  he  has 


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304  Wofne/i  AriiaUi.  |  April, 

imbibed  with  the  air  he  breathes,  live  and  move  within  him; 
he  fancies  them  his  own,  and  utters  them  as  such.  But,  after 
he  has  restored  to  the  time  what  it  gave  him,  he  remains  a 
poor  man.  He  is  like  a  fountain,  which  spouts  forth  a  Uttle 
water  which  is  drawn  into  it,  but  ceases  to  give  a  drop  wh«i 
the  loan  is  exhausted.' '  And  this  is  pretty  much  the  case 
with  the  abounding  artist-women  of  this  era,  whose  nimble 
fancy  transmutes  their  genuine  admiration  of  art-work  into 
capacity  to  reproduce  art-ideas.  How  great  is  the  error  into 
which  they  fall  may  be  very  sadly  known  by  a  comparison  be- 
tween the  innumerable  ^ova^DrCopyista  in  the  galleries  of 
Paris,  Florence,  Rome,  Munich,  Dusseldorf,  London,  and  the 
few  ^omevi'artists  who  set  up  studios  and  attempt  origrinal 
pictures  of  their  own. 

That  this  artistic  defect  is  a  general  one,  and  not  confined  to 
the  graphic  and  plastic  departments  of  Art^  is  apparent  as  soon 
as  we  look  away  from  these  to  other  branches  of  Art.  We 
shall  not  ask  where  is  the  woman-orator, »  for  in  this  field  she 
may  justly  plead  'ahsit  momentum  occdsioque^^  but,  where 
are  the  women-dramatists,  the  female  Shakspeares,  Calderons, 
Lopes,  Molieres?  Where  are  the  female  Homers,  Miltons, 
Dantes,  Virgils  ?  They  do  not  exist — they  never  have  existed 
— never  will  exist.  Even  upon  the  stage,  where  woman  ee^ 
tainly  has  won  distinction,  she  has  excelled  rather  by  force  of 
feeling  and  exquisite  taste  in  rendition,  than  by  great  creative 
powers.  Mrs.  Siddons,  large-natured,  generous,  passionate 
woman  as  she  was,  owed  much  more  to  her  Kemble  kinship 
and  her  education  upon  the  stage,  than  to  her  innate  powers. 
As  for  Rachel,  Mrs.  Jameson  denies  that  she  was  an  artist  at 
all ;  she  was  merely  a  highly  finished  actress,  practiced  in  cvctj 
trick  of  her  m^etier^  but  not  able  to  conceal  her  art,  which,  in- 
deed, she  had  not  evolved  from  her  own  consciousness,  but  had 
laboriously  studied  in  the  death-wards  of  hospitals,  at  the 
Morgue,  and  by  the  amputating  table. 

The  history  of  the  world's  treasured  love^iterature  reveals 
to  us  a  curious  fact  in  this  connection.     Of  this  literature 

•'  Eckermann's  Convtrtations  with  Ooethe, 

*  *•  Sir,  a  woman's  preaching  is  like  a  dog's  walking   on  his  hind  lfg> 
It  is  not  done  well ;  but  you  are  surprised  to  find  it  done  at  all.' — Dr,  Joknton, 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  305 

woman  has  been  the  storehouse,  the  supplying  fountain ;  of  it 
she  has  drunk  most  deeply,  most  enthusiastically,  most  fre- 
quently to  intoxication,  and  of  love  itself  she  knows  each  rill 
and  abounding  stream  and  all  the  deepest  reservoirs  and  hidden 
crypts.  Surely  to  her  we  should  tuni  for  the  best  exemplars  of 
that  which  she  has  experienced  so  well  and  felt  so  deeply. 
But,  we  should  turn  in  vain,  for,  excepting  the  supposititious 
verses  of  Sappho,  and  Mrs.  Browning's  'Sonnets  from  the 
Portuguese,'  (themselves  a  very  passionate  but  verj^  slightly 
idealized  recital  of  her  own  courtship,)  we  have  no  love-litera- 
tiire  by  women  of  the  noble  sort.  What  we  have  is  in  the 
style  of  the  Heloise  abandon,  or  in  the  style  of  the  nun's  relin- 
quishment. We  find  no  creative  energy,  no  grand  palpitating 
flights  of  sublime  passion.  If  men  have  it  in  them  at  all,  love 
at  once  awakens  within  them  the  creative  impulse ;  they  set 
their  passion  to  music,  they  play  with  it  upon  the  gamut  of 
colors,  they  send  it  to  soar  aloft  on  the  expansive  wings  of  an 
inflamed  ideal,  and  we  have  a  Vita  Nuova  of  Dante,  a  Tasso 
series,  a  Fiametta  of  Boccace,  a  Toerther  of  Goethe,  an  Amo- 
retti  of  Spenser,  a  Genevieve  of  Coleridge,  or  the  like.  Even 
stately  Comeille,  a  grave  lawyer,  became  a  poet  by  force  of 
love,  and  Ludwig  Beethoven,  dedicating  some  of  his  grandest 
pieces  to  his  mistress,  rapturously  exclaims:  'Is  not  our  love  a 
true  heavenly  palace,  also  as  firm  as  the  fortress  of  heaven !' 
But  love  does  not  excite  the  creative  impulse  in  woman,  or 
does  so  very  rarely."  It  rouses  in  her  the  more  selfish 
desire  to  possess  the  beloved  object,  and  this  desire  is  so  exigent 
that  it  absorbs  all  other  passions.  Consequently  it  is  with 
woman  generally,  as  Sir  Eichard  Steele  said  it  was  w^ith  Mrs. 
Aphra  Behn :  'she  understands  the  jp7*ac/w»A:  part  of  love  better 
than  the  speculative.'  Or,  as  Marivaux  once  remarked  of  a 
contemporary :  '  il  connoissoit  tons  les  sentiers  du  coeur,  mais  il 
en  ignoroit  les  grandes  routes.' 

What  then  constitutes  this  artistic  faculty  in  which  woman 
is  believed  to  be  deficient  ?  'Art,'  says  one  of  the  greatest  of 
women,  and  the  truest  artist  of  all  her  sex — 

1*  In  Mrs.  Browning's  case,   the  masculine   type  of  her  intellect  must  go 
into  the  account. 


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^06  Women  Artists.  [April, 

'Art 
Sett  action  on  the  top  of  suffering  : 
The  artist's  part  is  both  to  be  and  do.* 

But  this  same  lady  says  again,  forgetting  the  positive  part  of 
the  above  definition,  and  by  that  very  circumstance  exposing 
her  sex's  incapacity  to  grasp  the  highest  Art — 

'  What  is  Art 
But  life  upon  the  larger  scale,  the  higher?     .     .     . 

It  pushes  towards  the  intense  significance 
Of  all  things,  hungry  for  the  Infinite. 
Ari^s  life^ — and  where  we  live,  we  suffer  and  toil.^ 

Now  just  here  is  the  fallacy  in  woman's  view  of  Art,  which 
is  not  Life^  but  Result — and  result  as  much  of  living  as  of  other 
things.  If  Art  were  Life,  women  would  be  the  greatest  artists, 
because  they  live  most  intensely  and  most  sincerely.  And, 
although  it  is  indeed  true  that  '  where  we  live  we  suffer  and 
toil,'  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  we  artists — men,  at  least — are 
very  far  from  painting  or  sculpturing  that  suffering  and  that 
toiling,  or  the  lines  of  care  that  come  thereby,  nor  the  groans 
thence  evoked.  On  the  contrary,  Shakspeare  and  Eaphael  put 
their  art  as  completely  aside  from  their  lives  as  they  put  off 
their  garments  when  they  went  to  sleep.  Raphael  had  trained 
his  mind  to  throw  off  its  conceptions  in  form  as  completely  as 
we  train  our  minds  to  embody  our  conceptions  in  phrase;  to 
Shakspeare,  Lear  and  Othello  had  as  perfect  and  rounded  an 
individuality  within  his  mind  as  belonged  to  his  personal 
sensations  of  hunger  and  thirst.  He  knew  them  apart,  and 
would  no  more  have  thought  of  confusing  with  them  emotions 
peculiar  to  his  own  personality,  than  he  would  have  thought  of 
taking  a  glass  of  water  to  alleviate  hunger.  *  Claude  Lorraine,' 
says  Goethe, "  '  knew  the  real  world  by  heart,  but  used  it 
only  as  a  means  to  express  the  world  of  his  fair  soul.  That  if 
the  true  Ideality,  so  to  use  the  means  afforded  by  the  actual 
world,  that  the  truth  evolved  may  at  first  appear  to  be  actual 
too.'  And  this  is  what  it  means  to  be  an  artist :  to  be  a  man 
capable  of  living  wholly  self-contained,  and  in  intimacy  with, 
or  subjection  to,  nothing  whatsoever  besides  the  ver}'  object 
itself  which  he  seeks  to  idealize  and  embody.     He  must  rise 


**Eckerraan. 


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1869.]  Wom^n  Artwt^.  307 

out  of  the  present ;  he  must  exalt  himself  above  the  world ;  he 
must  soar  into  that  sublime  atmosphere  of  indifference  where 
he  will  not  be  sensible  of  the  petty  noxia  effervesced  out  of  the 
soil,  the  corruptions  of  real  things,  the  discontents,  the  agitar 
tions,  the  passions,  the  hopes,  the  longings  that  infect  and 
weigh  down  the  unspiritualized  existence,  the  inartistic  being. 
He  must  teach  himself  to  look  down  from  an  Olympian  height 
upon  common  things;  neither  melancholy,  nor  excess  of  joy 
must  enfilade  the  march  of  his  destiny,  but  only  serene,  compla- 
cent, ever-active,  mild  enjoyment  fill  up  the  measure  of  his  bliss- 
ful hours.  He  must  float  along  in  a  sort  of  harmonious  waking 
dream,  in  which  each  event  of  life  shall  be  but  a  modulation 
of  the  predominating  rhythm,  all  made  tunable  and  ravishing 
to  his  symphonious  soul.  He  must  possess  genuine  feeling,  to 
be  sure,  acute  susceptibility,  and  an  eye  alive  to  every  truth 
and  ever)'  impression  of  Nature,  from  the  simplest  to  the 
grandest.  Yet,  while  seeing  all  things  in  their  most  intimate 
lights  and  their  most  multitudinous  aspects,  ftnd  while  awake 
to  all  emotions  with  the  most  vivacious  and  the  tcnderest  sensi- 
biUty,  he  must  always  be  the  master  of  these  forces  within  him, 
never  their  slave ;  he  must  never  suffer  his  mind  nor  his  hand 
to  be  restricted  from  the  freest  plastic  power  over  them,  but  to 
continually  modify,  mould  anew,  or  recast  whatever  may  come 
witliin  the  scope  of  his  mental,  moral  or  physical  retina.  Once 
losing  this  grasp,  once  yielding  this  mastery,  he  loses  the  best 
part  of  his  artistic  faculty  forever.  For  the  artistic  faculty  is 
compound  of  the  power  of  accurate  insight  and  the  power  of 
thorough  elimination,  and  the  artist  must  possess  these  powers 
in  equal  measure  if  he  would  attain  to  the  summit  of  his  work. 
Goethe,  beyond  all  othei-s,  exercised  these  two  powers  con- 
sciously, and  with  a  thorough  comprehension  of  their  purport ; 
all  great  artists  exercise  them  somewhat.  And  so,  when  the 
Marquis  de  Custine  said  of  Kahel  von  Euse,  that  '  she  was  an 
artist  and  an  apostle,  yet  had  not  ceased  to  be  a  child  and  a 
woman,'  he  enunciated  not  only  a  paradox,  but  an  impossibility. 
Rahel  was  an  apostle — for  her  sex — she  was  an  innocent  child, 
and  a  pure,  liigh-thoughted,  suffering  woman ;  but  she  was  not 
an  artist,  and  she  proved  that  she  was  not  by  her  inability  to 


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308  Women  Artists.  [April, 

clear  away  the  mists,  the  vapors  and  obscurities  that  bedimmed 
and  nullified  her  utterances.  She  wrote  like  a  genuine  woman, 
the  noblest  of  her  sex,  but  her  books,  like  those  of  nearly  all 
women,  w^ere  deficient  'in  that  indescribable  quality  called 
Art.'  She  could  not  merge  her  own  personality  in  her  task, 
and  so,  could  not  attain  to  the  highest. 

Woman  herself  is  fully  conscious  of  this  '  impotence  in  Art,' 
generated,  Mrs.  Browning  says,  from  the  fact  of  her  being  '  too 
apt  to  look  to  one,^ 

'  Wc  strain  our  natures  at  doing  something  great, 
Far  less  because  it's  something  great  to  do, 
Than,  haplj,  that  we,  so,  commend  ourselves 
As  being  not  small,  and  more  appreciable 

To  some  one  friend 

Love  strikes  higher  with  his  lambent  flame 
Than  Art  can  pile  the  faggots.' 

Another  female  writer  of  great  eminence  and  very  remark- 
able character — Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli — speaking  of  her  sex, 
says :  ^  In  vigor  and  nobleness  of  expression,  most  female  writere 
are  deficient.  They  do  not  grasp  a  subject  with  simple  energy, 
nor  treat  it  with  decision  of  touch.  They  are,  in  general,  most 
remarkable  for  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  brilliancy  or  grace  in 
manner.' "  Mrs.  Jameson,  in  one  of  her  prefaces,  modestly 
confesses :  *  I  lack  that  creative  faculty  which  can  work  up  the 
teachings  of  heart-sorrow  and  world-experience  into  attractive 
forms  of  fiction  or  of  art.'  And  elsewhere,  in  reproducing 
Mrs.  Browning's  faulty  definition  of  Art,  she  has  imconscionsly 
betrayed  why  it  was  that  this  power  was  lacking  to  her:  '  It  is 
the  desire  of  sympathy  which  impels  the  artist-mind  to  the  utte^ 
ance  in  words,  or  the  expression  in  forms,  of  that  thought  or 
inspiration  which  God  has  sent  into  his  soul.'  Ah,  Mrs.  Jame- 
son !  it  is  this,  indeed,  which  impels  the  mind  of  the  woman- 

"  This  very  remarkable  woman ,  the  originator  of  almost  all  that  is  re- 
putable in  the  *  Woman's  Rights'  movement,  seems  to  have  had  a  fall  cob- 
sciousness  of  her  sex's  deficiency  in  respect  of  the  artistic  faculty.  She  writes: 
'  If  men  are  often  deficient  in  delicacy  of  perception,  women,  on  the  other  bud, 
are  apt  to  pay  excessive  attention  to  the  slight  tokens,  the  litUe  things  of  life. 
Thus,  in  conduct  or  writing,  they  tend  to  weary  us  by  a  morbid  sentimentalism." 

Of  Mrs.  Browning,  she  says :  '  She  has  the  vision  of  a  great  poet,  but  little  in 

proportion  of  his  plastic  power She  is  singularly  deficient  in  tbs 

power  of  compression.' 

And  again  :  ^  We  have  seen  women  use  with  skill  and  grace  the  practical  gooie- 
quill,  the  sentimental  crow-quill,  and  even  the  lyrical,  the  consecrated  feather  of 
the  swan.   But  tee  have  never  seen  one  to  whom  the  white  eagle  would  have  de$ce»dd.^ 


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1869.]  WoTnen  ArtiHiK  309 

artist — ^but  was  it  '  the  desire  of  sympathy,'  or  was  it  the  un- 
controllable joy  of  creation,  which  impelled  Eaphael,  Shaks- 
peare,  Homer,  to  utter  the  thought  that  was  in  them  ?  Whose 
sympathy  could  the  old  Greek  claim,  or  feel  proud  of,  as  he 
b^ged  along  the  streets,  singing  his  divine  rhapsodies  for 
bread?  Whose  sympathies  might  comfort  the  lone  Stratford 
player,  getting  himself  together  that  decent  house  and  fortime 
by  making  comedies  and  tragedies  for  the  Globe  Theatre? 
Whose  sympathies  should  Eaphael  desire,  he,  the  heavenly- 
thoughted,  painting  angels  and  goddesses  for  the  goddess  Leo  ? 

Pauline  Viardot,  the  actress,  naively  confesses :  '  D'abord  je 
%xn&fe7nm€^  avec  les  devoirs,  les  affections,  les  sentiments,  d'une 
ferame;  eipimje  suis  arttJtte,^^*  But  there  is  a  little  anec- 
dote in  Mrs.  Jameson's  Commo7iplace  Book  which  so  com- 
pletely illustrates  the  concrete  character  of  woman's  conceptions 
of  Art,  that  we  cannot  do  better  than  to  quote  it.  '  On  a  cer- 
tain occasion,  when  Fanny  Kemble  was  reading  Cymbeline,  a 
lady  next  to  me  remarked  that  Imogen  ought  not  to  utter  the 
words,  "  Senseless  linen  1  happier  therein  than  1 1 "  aloud,  and 
to  Pisanio, — that  it  detracted  from  the  strength  of  the  feeling, 
and  that  they  should  have  been  uttered  aside,  and  in  a  low, 
intense  whisper.  '  laehimo,'  she  added, '  might  easily  have  won 
a  woman  who  could  have  laid  her  heart  so  bare  to  a  mere 
attendant ! ' 

*  On  my  repeating  this  criticism  to  Fanny  Kemble,  she  re- 
plied just  as  I  had  anticipated :  "  Such  criticism  is  the  mere 
expression  of  the  natural  emotions  or  character  of  the  critic. 
She  would  have  spoken  the  words  in  a  whisper;  Z should  have 
made  the  exclamation  aloud.  If  there  had  been  a  thousand 
people  by,  I  should  not  have  cared  for  them — I  should  not  have 
been  conscious  of  their  presence.  I  should  have  exclaimed  be- 
fore them  all,  "  Senseless  linen !  happier  therein  than  I ! " ' 

^  And  thus  the  artist  fell  into  the  same  mistake  of  which  she 
accused  her  critic — she  made  Imogen  utter  the  words  aloud, 

1*  ThU  monstrous  catecbresis  of  paradox  reminds  us  of  one  of  Hajward's 
notes  to  Faust,  apropos  of  a  similar  lapsus  :  *  I  think  it  is  Hiss  Letitia  Hawkins 
who  called  Ere  an  overcrown  baby,  with  nothing  to  recommend  her  but  her 
iubmission  and  her  fine  hair.'  Eve  would  hare  made  a  good  artist  after  the 
M'Ue  Vierdot  pattern. 


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310  Wonven  Artiste.  [April, 

because  she  would  have  done  so  herself.  This  ami,  of  svih- 
jecti/oe  criticism  m  hoth  was  quite  femirvme;  hut  the  qnettim 
was  not  how  either  A.B.or  F.  K.  would  have  spoken  the  ux)rd$, 
but  what  would  have  been  most  natural  in  such  a  woman  (u 
Imogen,'^ 

It  seems  probable  that  it  is  to  this  consciousness  of  her 
weakness  in  respect  of  the  artistic  faculty,  and  her  incapacity 
to  cope  with  man  creatively,  we  owe  the  rather  blatant  style 
of  self-assertion  which  is  common  now-ardays  among  Ae 
'strong-minded'  of  the  sex.  They  whistle  very  loud  to  keep 
their  courage  up,  and  are  properly  indignant  if  you  suspect 
them  of  whistling,  like  Dryden's  Cymon,  *from  want  of 
thought.'  It  is  no  new  thing,  indeed,  for  woman  to  cry  out; 
nor  is  the  style  of  the  outcry — even  as  interpreted  by  Mmb 
Anna  Dickenson — modem.  It  is  as  old  as  the  Lysistrata^  and 
the  Ecclesia^uzm  of  Aristophanes. 

'Sitbence  I  loathed  have  tny  life  to  leade, 
As  ladies  wont,  in  pleasure's  wanton  lap, 
To  finger  the  fine  needle  and  nyce  thread  ; 
Me  lever  were  with  point  of  foeman's  spearv  be  dead,'  '- 

says  Spenser's  amazon,  and  echo  the  cohorts  marshalled  bv 
Mrs.  Stanton  and  Miss  Anthony,  and  encouraged  by  Geoige 
Francis  Train  and  John  Stuart  Mill — 'tV/ipar  nobile  fratrum.' 
It  was  this  consciousness  which  made  Madame  de  Stael  *a 
whirlwind  in  petticoats;'"  this  which  gave  pungency  and  bit- 
terness to  the  reflections  of  Mrs.  Browning  in  Aurora  Zeigh: 
which  cut  oflT  Madame  Dudevant's  hair,  put  her  feet  into  boots, 
and  re-baptized  her  George  Sand.  To  this  consciousness  the 
world  owes  most  of  \X!&  femines  incompf*ises — recalcitrant  'sul- 
tanas of  mind,'  like  de  Stael,  who,  impatient  of  the  obstructiwis 
of  sex,  and  bitterly  ill  with  '  the  disease  of  the  times — a  great 
longing  to  create,  and  little  power  of  creation,' — rush  into  print, 
into  Art,  into  publicity,  upon  the  stage,  the  rostrum,  the  pulpit, 
and  into  the  editor's  chair,  and  make  haste  to  justify  the  very 
charge  their  champion  has  been  at  greatest  pains  to  repudiate, 
that 

'A  woman's  function  plainly  is— <o  lath !' 
^*  Faery  Queene,  III.,  iii.,  G.  ^*  Ileinrich  Heine. 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  311 

This  class  of  persons  has  always  been  prompt  to  deny  what, 
nevertheless,  is  very  certainly  the  fact,  that  there  is  an  essen- 
tial and  material  difference  between  the  sexes  in  respect  of 
mental  and  moral  development;  that  'man  is  not  man,  nor 
woman  woman,  primarily,  by  virtue  of  iheir/armaZ  differences 
from  each  other,  but  by  virtue  of  their  spiritual  or  interior 
differences,  the  differences  of  their  genius,  or  temper  of  mind ;' 
and  that  in  this  interior  and  spiritual  difference  of  development 
we  must  seek  for  the  causes  of  the  discrepancies  between  them 
in  respect  of  Art  culture.  No  philosopher,  who  seeks  to  found 
his  system  upon  the  submergence  of  the  distinctions  of  sex, 
will  be  able  either  to  benefit  his  own  age,  or  win  the  attention 
of  posterity.  For  these  distinctions  are  not  only  as  permanent 
and  immutable  in  the  mental  and  moral  as  in  the  physical 
aspect,  but  their  effects  are  interwoven  throughout  all  history 
and  all  the  social  fabric,  and  are  meant  to  continue  thus  per- 
vasive,  so  that  each  sex  may  'find  in  the  other  its  best  appre- 
ciation,' and  the  system  of  checks  and  balances  by  which  the 
whole  economy  of  the  universe  is  kept  up,  may  find  its  most 
elaborate  illustration  in  God's  most  beautiful  creation.  'Wo- 
man,' says  the  Cabala,  '  is  man  reversed,  his  mirrored  image ; 
whilst  he  is  a  self-acting  principle,  productively  stirring  out- 
wards, and  ever  seeking  the  universal,  the  infinite,  the  woman 
is  the  negative  principle,  acting  from  without  inwards,  from 
the  circumference  to  the  centre,  receptive,  ready  from  man's 
expansive  energy  to  reduce  concrete  forms.  Thus  by  the  Jews 
is  woman  called  the  house  of  the  man,  and  the  Talmud  desig- 
nates woman  as  the  wall  which  is  erected  around  man 

Man  and  woman  are  an  inseparable  whole — one  forming  the 
ideal,  the  other  the  real.  In  man,  the  ideal  has  sway, — in 
woman,  feeling ;  thus  she  adheres  to  the  concrete  and  external, 
and  has  an  innate  living  sense.  She  is  possessed  of  an  inward 
presentiment  of  the  world :  thus,  she  is  endowed  with  unerring 
tact,  and  arrives  at  maturity  sooner  than  man,  who  desires  to 
attain  all  knowledge  through  his  own  exertions.  The  aspira- 
tion of  woman  is  towards  the  pure  and  noble,  and  she  attracts 
to  herself  man,  who  is  ever  seeking  after  that  peculiar  nature 


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312  Women  ArtisU.  [April, 

with  which  woman  is  endowed.' "  There  are  distinctive  trait** 
in  man  and  woman  which  muat  be  interpreted  as  meaning 
differences  insuperable  to  education,  to  time,  to  any  absorp- 
tion, however  total,  of  prejudice.  The  cartilage  of  woman V 
larynx  is  never  ossified,  and  so,  her  voice  can  never  fall  into 
the  depth  of  the  bass ;  but  this  physical  testimony  to  the  per- 
petuity of  a  line  of  demarkation  is  not  near  so  convincing,  nor 
its  permanency  better  established,  than  a^  thousand  mental  and 
moral  traits  that  could  be  pointed  out.  These  points  of  differ- 
ence, of  distinction,  are  so  numerous  that  the  difficulty  is  to 
select  from  them  for  illustration.  Mrs.  Jameson  has  remarked: 
*A  woman's  patriotism  is  more  of  a  sentiment  than  a  manV 
— more  passionate;  it  is  only  an  extension  of  the  domestic 
affections,  and  with  her  la  pairie  is  only  an  enlargement  of 
home.  In  the  same  manner,  a  woman's  idea  of  fame  is  always 
a  more  extended  sympathy,  and  is  much  more  a  presence  than 
an  anticipation.  To  her  the  voice  of  fame  is  only  an  echo— 
fainter  and  more  distant — of  the  voice  of  love.'  'Bettina,' 
says  she,  in  another  place,  tracing  the  characteristics  of  Bet- 
tina  Brentano;  'Bettina  does  not  describe  nature,  she  infonn> 
it  with  her  own  lips ;  she  seems  to  live  in  the  elements,  t(» 
exist  in  the  fire,  the  water,  like  a  sylph,  a  gnome,  an  elf;  she 
does  not  contemplate  nature,  she  is  nature.' 

Goethe  observed  that  woman  could  form  no  idea  of  *a  mere 
sympathetic  veneration  for  the  creations  of  the  human  intel- 
lect, apart  from  some  extraneous  associations ; '  nor,  indeed,  can 
she  form  such  an  idea  vni\i  respect  to  the  creations  of  the 
Divine  Intellect,  and,  consequently,  her  worship,  like  her  faith, 
differs  essentially  from  man's — 

*  He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him  ! ' 

Woman  sees  everything  under  individual  aspects.  She  can- 
not generalize — '  no,  not  even  grief.'  As  Mrs.  Browning  \\^ 
said,  addressing  her  sex — 

^  You  gather  np 
A  few  such  cases,  and,  when  strong,  sometimes 
Will  write  of  factories  and  slaves,  as  if 
Your  father  were  a  negro,  and  your  son 
A  spinner  in  the  mills.'  *■ 

"  History  of  Magic,    By  Dr.  J.  G.  Enneraoser. 

>'  This  is  a  palpable  squint  at  Mesdames  GaskeU  and  Beecher  Stowe. 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  313 

"Woman  is  incapable  of  philanthropy,  which  is  the  love  of  all 
mankind.  She  loves  only  man,  and  cannot  be  taught  to  bestow 
her  affection  upon  the  race.  The  conception  is  too  vague  for 
her  affection,  the  motive  too  vast  for  her  strictly  practical 
genius.  She  believes  only  in  the  concrete,  the  tangible,  the 
visible,  and  her  mission,  as  they  call  it,  is  strictly  proportionate. 
Hence,  she  has  no  idea  of  humanity  or  charity :  she  is  simply 
humane  and  charitable.  Her  pulse  never  beats  one  degree 
quicker  because  the  race  went  wrong — 

(  '  Show  me  a  tear 
Wet  88  Cordelia's,  in  eyes  bright  as  yours, 
Because  the  world  is  mad' — ) 

but,  admonish  her  of  a  particular  grievance,  an  individual 
wrong,  an  especial  injury  or  woe,  and  how  quickly  her  tears 
rain  down,  how  promptly  her  purse-strings  are  unloosed !  For 
the  rest,  she  is  impatient  of  reasoning,  trite  and  shallow  in 
ai^ument,  seldom  dispassionate,  seldom  impartial :  yet  she  will 
not  permit  you  to  question  the  validity  of  her  processes,  much 
less  of  the  judgment  she  founds  upon  them.  ^Les  fenmies,' 
said  that  very  shrewd  observer,  Madam  Maintenon,  '  les  fenmies 
ne  savent  jamais  qu'  a  demi,  et  le  peu  qu'  elles  savent  les  rend 
communement  fieres,  d^daigneuses,  causeuses,  et  d%out6es  des 
choses  solides.' 

Woman's  tendencies  do  not  bear  her  upon  the  path  of  what 
we  call  Genius — that  meteoric  capacity  for  shooting  ahead  of 
the  general  destiny  of  the  race,  for  casting  a  magic  light  before 
and  after,  and  for  anticipating  with  a  burst  the  results  toward 
which  the  common  race  plods  slowly  and  drearily  on — a  capa- 
city always  miraculously  conjoined  with  an  intense  ideal  force, 
an  indefatigable  faculty  of  production,  and  a  grandly  confident 
mastery  over,  and  skill  in,  the  employment  of  the  resources  of 
Art.  For  woman's  quality  does  not  tend  towards  ambition, 
but  towards  ease ;  she  seeks  not  to  tickle  her  palate  with  new 
dainties,  but  to  satiate  her  appetite  with  comfortable  fare.  She 
would  never  have  discovered  witli  Copernicus;  she  would 
never  have  accepted  what  Copernicus  discovered,  for  her  life- 
long motto  is  'quieta  non  movcrc,'  and  the  god  Terminus 
always  gathers  moss  when  he  stands  within  her  boundaries. 
5 


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314  Women  Artists.  [April, 

She  is,  as  Jean  Paul  says  of  her : '  the  spiral  spring  of  a  domestic 

machine — the  theatrical  directress  of  a  great  household  drama'— 

and  it  is  commonly  not  a  tragedy,  but  a  comidie  hourgeoise  that 

is  put  upon  the  stage  she  manages.    Her  virtue  is  an  extempore 

one,  active  only  in  the  present  tense,  indifferent  alike  to  the 

past  and  to  the  future,  and  satisfying  every  instmct  of  her 

heart  so  long  as  it  enables  her  to  be  ever  *  the  busy  blessing  of 

the  present  hour.'      But,  this  fact  disqualifies  her  for  all 

didactic  dignity,'  makes  her  content  to  substitute  expedient  for 

performance,  makeshift  for  product,  and  constrains  her  to  rattle 

off  the  entire  music  of  life  staccato.     So,  her  arrows  are  never 

bound  into  a  sheaf — so,  her  influence,  though  intensive,  is 

narrow. 

'  Therefore  this  same  world 
Uncomprehended  bjr  you  must  remain 
Uninfluenced  by  j-ou.    Women  as  you  are, 
Mere  women,  personal  and  passionate, 
You  give  us  doating  mothers,  and  chaste  wires, 
Sublime  Madonnas,  and  enduring  saints ! 
We  get  no  Christs  from  you, — and  verily 
We  shall  not  get  a  poet,  in  my  mind.' 

When  the  impulse  to  art-work  seizes  a  woman — and  this 
influence  is  commonly  what  Goethe's  physician  called  merely 
'  an  intellectual  impulse  of  sex ' — it  stirs  her  in  another  way 
from  that  in  which  it  urges  man  along.  The  law  of  the  ne 
quid  nimis  has  no  place  in  her  code.  The  dominant  fancy, 
'  like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  all  the  rest,' — ^including  the 
judgment.  '  Had  I  not  felt  like  Dido,'  said  M'lle  Clairon,  the 
actress, '  I  could  not  thus  have  personified  her.'  And  tins  lady 
was  so  enraptured  with  her  art,  that  she  never  could  persuade 
herself  to  come  off  the  stage.  '  If  I  am  only  a  vulgar  and 
ordinary  woman  during  twenty  hours  of  the  day,'  she  said, 
'  whatever  effort  I  may  make,  I  shall  only  be  a  vulgar  and 
ordinary  woman  in  Agrippina  or  Semiramis,  during  the  re- 
maining four  hours.' "  This  preposterous  pleonasm  of  fancy, 
this  irrepressible  flutter  of  enthusiasm,  which  is  in  her  mind, 
when  at  work  she  unconsciously  incorporates  into  the  work 
itself,  imtil  we  are  forced  to  wish  that  a  special  '  law  of  parsi- 
mony '  could  be  enacted  against  the  whole  sex.    When  Perrault 

*»  Disraeli.     Curiosities  of  Literature. 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  315 

wrote  his  fairy  tales,  he  was  briskly  followed  by  Mesdames 
Mnrat  and  D'Aulnay,  and  M'Ue  De  la  Force.  But,  while 
Perrault  was  considerate  to  his  supernatural  machinery,  sparing 
it  all  he  could,  '  these  ladies  seem  to  have  vied  with  each  other 
in  excluding  nature  from  their  descriptions,  and  to  have  written 
under  the  impression  that  she  must  bear  away  the  palm  whose 
palace  was  lighted  by  the  greatest  profusion  of  carbuncles, 
whose  dwarfs  were  the  most  diminutive  and  hideous,  and  whose 
chariot  was  dra\^Ti  by  the  most  unearthly  monsters.'  " 

This  default  of  sobriety  is  peculiarly  unfortunate  to  the 
woman-artist.  Being,  as  it  were,  driven  to  interfuse  her  whole 
being  with  the  work  she  has  undertaken,  to  make  it. part  of  the 
very  breath  of  her  body,  so  to  speak,  and  being  at  the  same 
time  much  more  susceptible  than  man  to  the  reactive  influences 
of  temperament,  she  is  necessarily  compelled,  instead  of  rising 
to  the  proper  height  of  her  great  argument,  to  bring  the  work 
down  to  her  ovra  level,  or  abandon  it  altogether,  from  the  lack 
of  sustaining  strength.  The  man,  having  reserved  forces  and 
discretion  in  their  employment,  can  go  to  the  moimtain  top  and 
retnm  safely ;  the  woman,  out  of  breath  at  the  start,  must 
abide  at  a  low  level,  or  succumb  from  exhaustion  in  an  atmos- 
phere too  rare  and  chill.  Hence,  her  art-work  is  almost  inva- 
riably petty,  inadequate,  mean. 

Moreover,  since  the  pure  imagination  seldom  furnishes  her 
with  a  sufficient  impulse,  since  the  cold  ideal  is  not  competent 
to  inspire  her  concrete  nature,  her  standard  is  necessarily  less 
elevated.  She  gets  her  inspiration  from  things  real,  actual,  and 
therefore  commonplace,  and  a  commonplace  inspiration  is  the 
natnral  result.  This  also  is  detrimental  to  her  power  in  Art, 
for  it  encourages  in  her  a  want  of  diligence,  and  it  contributes 
to  corrupt  her  artistic  conscieiice — that  highest  quality  of  the 
true  artist.  She  works  to  supply  the  present  need,  and,  so 
long  as  the  extemporaneous  eflfect  of  what  she  does  seems  ade- 
quate, she  is  fully  satisfied  with  the  result.  She  has,  naturally, 
from  the  nimbleness  of  her  intellect,  a  sort  of  facility  which 
man  does  not  possess,  and  she  does  not  require  more  of  her 

''  Dunlop.     Ilittory  of  Fiction, 


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316  Women  Artists.  [^prfl? 

powers.  She  does  not,  like  man,  erect  for  herself  a  lofty  ided 
standard,  a  brazen  serpent  in  the  wilderness,  to  turn  away  from 
which  is  death.  She  fetters  herself  with  no  iron  gyves  of  rigid 
requirement,  nor  has  Art  for  her  any  absolute  appalling  splen- 
dor before  which  her  powers  must  shudder  and  turn  away,  as 
Daphne  shrank  before  Phoebus,  dreading  his  divinity.  Easily 
working,  easily  contented  with  her  work,  what  she  produces  has 
almost  invariably  that  fatal  half-baked  quality,  for  which  true 
genius  has  no  toleration  and  true  Art  no  place.  She  ventures 
everywhere,  conquers  nowhere.  '  Miss  Joanna  Baillie's  trage- 
dies and  comedies,'  says  Hazlitt,  '  one  of  each  to  illustrate  each 
of  the  passions  separately  from  the  rest,  are  heresies  in  the 
dramatic  art.  With  her,  the  passions  are,  like  the  French  Re- 
public, one  and  indivisible :  they  are  not  so  in  Nature,  nor  in 

Shakspeare Her  comedy  of  the  Election  appears  to 

me  the  perfection  of  baby-house  theatricals.      Everything  in 

it  has  such  a  do-me-good  air,  is  so  insipid  and  amiable 

She  treats  her  grown  men  and  women  as  little  girls  treat  their 
dolls — makes  moral  puppets  of  them ;  pulls  the  wires,  and 
they  talk  virtue  and  act  vice,  according  to  their  cue  and  the 
title  prefixed  to  each  comedy  or  tragedy,  not  from  any  real 
passions  of  their  own,  or  love  of  either  virtue  or  vice.' 

Finally,  the  art-impulse  in  woman  is  always  a  subsidiary, 
never  an  original,  force.  It  is  only  the  disappointed  woman 
who  turns  to  Art ;  it  is  only  those  who  have  lost  something  in 
the^  line  of  their  affections,  in  the  line  of  their  true  develop- 
ment, who  seek  in  the  distractions  of  Art  a  compensation  for 
their  pains.  '  When  women  are  married,  and  have  children  to 
take  care  of,  they  do  not  often  think  of  writing  poetry.'  But 
Art  will  not  be  served  in  a  comer.  The  true  artist  must  find 
his  children,  his  friends,  the  centre  and  circumference  of  his 
afiections,  in  Art  itself.  This,  woman  cannot  do,  and,  there* 
fore,  she  cannot  become  the  true  artist. 

But,  insist  those  strenuous  appellants  in  behalf  of '  Woman's 
nights'  who  occupy  so  many  lecturing  desks;  elevate  woman 
from  her  inferior  place  in  society,  and  you  will  not  have  to 
complain  any  longer  of  her  inferiority  in  acliievement  Give 
her  the  ballot,  and  she  will  turn  you  out  ready-made  states' 


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1869.]  Women  Artists.  317 

women ;  endow  her  with  the  pencil,  and  you  shall  have  Leon- 
ardinas  and  Raphaelettas !  But,  in  point  of  fact,  is  not 
woman's  social  position  a  testimony  in  itself  to  her  inferiority 
quoad  hoc  ?  In  the  East,  indeed,  woman  would  have  always 
found  it  diflScult  to  rise,  for  there  she  was  the  subject  only  of 
passion,  never  of  esteem.  But,  among  the  Germanic  races, 
men  have  always,  even  in  the  rudest  ages,  sought  to  make 
women  '  their  equals  and  companions,  whose  esteem,  as  valua- 
ble as  their  other  favors,  could  only  be  obtained  by  constant 
attentions,  by  generous  services,  and  by  a  proper  exertion  of 
virtue  and  courage.'  *'  In  Iceland  and  Scandinavia,  woman 
was  in  every  way  protected,  and  in  every  way  upon  an  equality 
with  man.  In  chivalrous  Provence,  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
man,  indeed,  seems  to  have  been  bitten  with  a  love-madness, 
so  that  woman  to  his  eyes  vera  incessu  patuit  dea  under  all 
circumstances.  Here,  then,  were  periods  when  there  was 
neither  social  oppression,  nor  the  charge  of  intellectual  in- 
feriority, to  bear  woman  down.  Why  did  she  not  illustrate 
these  periods?  Why  have  we  not  poems  of  the  Lady  of 
Tripoli  to  Rudel,  as  well  as  poems  of  Kudel  to  the  Lady  of 
Tripoli  ?  Why  did  not  woman  preserve  her  equality  when  she 
was  revered  as  a  prophetess,  when  she  had  unlimited  right  of 
divorce,  and  absolute  control  of  her  property,  and  not  an 
obstacle  in  her  way  ?  The  reason  is,  that  woman's  true  sphere 
is  the  sphere  of  the  aflfections,  and  that  whenever  she  rises 
intellectually  to  an  abnormal  degree,  she  begins  to  sink  mor- 
ally, by  the  virtue  of  her  very  nature,  and  so  loses  that  saving 
respect  among  men  which  is  her  true  shield  and  only  safe 
^ardian.  There  were  plenty  of  clever  women  in  Greece, 
women  of  brilliant  culture  and  superior  intellect ;   but,  they 

••  Mallet.  Northern  Antiquities.  *But  the  Scandinavians  went  still  farther, 
and  were  not  tenacious  of  independence  in  relation  to  the  fair  sex.  Women 
were  the  organs  by  which  thej  communicated  with  deitj,  prophetesses,  oracles, 
Ac' 

Caesar,  Tacitus,  Strabo,  bear  testimony  to  their  position  in  council  and  in 
the  administration  of  public  affairs. 

*  A  great  respect  for  the  female  sex  had  always  been  a  remarkab!e  character- 
igtic  of  the  Northern  nations.    The  German  women  were   high-spirited  and 

rirtnous The  love  of  God  and  the  ladies  was   enjoined  as  a  single 

duty.  He  who  was  true  to  his  mistress  was  held  sure  of  salvation  in  the  theology 
of  earth.* — Hal  lam.  Mid.  Aget. 


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318  Wom/en  Artists.  [April, 

were— courtezans !  In  point  of  fact,  every  period  marked  by 
great  intellectual  cleverness,  and,  consequently,  great  intellec- 
tual preponderance  of  women,  is  also  marked  by  an  excessively 
low  moral  condition  of  woman ;  and  the  rule  holds  good  for 
persons  as  well  as  for  periods.  We  recognize  this  clearly  in 
the  period  of  Aspasia,  in  the  period  of  the  Scandinavian  Valor, 
in  the  period  of  Chivalry  and  of  the  Troubadours,  in  the  period 
of  Madame  de  Longueville  and  the  Fronde,  in  the  period  of 
Ninon  de  L'Enclos,  in  the  period  of  Madame  Du  Deffaud,  in  the 
period  of  Madame  Recamier  and  the  Parisian  salons^  in  the 
present  status  of  intellectual  women  in  Paris  and  in  London. 
We  discover  the  principle  at  work  in  Sappho  and  in  Heloise, 
in  Madame  de  Stael  and  Mary  Wolstoncraft,  in  George  Sand 
and  George  Eliot.  The  intellectual  woman  is  U7ie  femme  in- 
comprise — a  woman  out  of  her  sphere,  an  anomaly,  an  imper- 
fection. 

*  You  stand  nside, 

You  artist  women,  of  the  common  sex, 

You  share  not  with  us.' 

'It  is  most  certain,'  says  that  earnest  and  accomplished 
woman,  Mrs.  Jameson,  'that  among  the  women  who  have  been 
distinguished  in  literature,'  three-fourths  have  been  either  by 
nature,  or  fate,  or  the  law  of  society,  placed  iti  a  false  posi- 
tion;^ but  she  adds:  'the  cultivation  of  the  moral  strength 
and  the  active  energies  of  a  woman's  mind,  together  with  the 
intellectual  faculties  and  tastes,  will  not  make  a  woman  a  less 
good,  les^  happy  wife  and  mother,  and  will  enable  her  to  find 
content  and  independence  when  denied  happiness.'  "  Un- 
questionably this  is  so ;  but  the  difficulty  (and  it  is  a  diffieultr 
which  no  advocate  for  woman's  equality  has  as  yet  fairly  met,) 
lies  in  the  fact  that  the  cultivation  of  the  moral  strength  of  a 
woman  does  not  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  cultivation  of  her 
intellectual  faculties,  and  that  so  far  the  result  of  culture  has 
unfortunately  been  to  pamper  the  latter  at  the  expense  of  the 
former.  In  other  words,  no  safe  means  has  yet  been  found  to 
emancipate  woman  from  her  place  in  the  sphere  of  the  affec- 
tions. 

^*  *  Winter  Studies  and  Summer  Rambles  in  Canada.^ 


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1869.]  Women  ArtisU.  319 

After  all,  will  it  not  be  best  if  these  means  never  should  be 
found  ?  Is  it  not  best  that  the  intellectual  should  not  prepon- 
derate in  woman  over  the  aflfectionate  ?  Is  it  not  best  that  her 
artistic  faculties  should  remain  in  abeyance  to  her  domestic 
nature  ?  It  has  been  acutely  remarked  that '  no  man  believes 
or  ever  will  believe  in  woman  as  a  teacher,  until  he  has  grown 
indifferent  to  her  as  a  woman.'  It  is  the  natural  inequality  of 
the  sexes  which  brings  about  the  union  between  them,  which 
produces  that  mutual  veneration  and  that  mutual  love  which 
are  the  comer-stones  of  the  fabric  of  society.  And  we  discern 
this  rule  at  work  even  in  the  strong-minded  women,  who  turn 
away  from  the  strong-minded  of  the  other  sex,  seeking  in  their 
mate  qualities  the  opposite  of  those  they  themselves  possess. 
Madame  de  Stael  loved  Rocca — ^but  Kocca  was  a  woman, 
except  for  his  beard,  and  de  Stael  was  a  man,  minus  the  beard. 
If  the  qualities  of  men  and  women  were  similar,  we  should 
have,  instead  of  our  present  society,  a  perpetual  war  of  the 
Amazons  and  the  Giants.  The  true  relation  of  the  sexes  is 
founded  upon  this  very  disparity  which  seems  so  much  to  irk 
thefemme  incomprise.  Both  sexes  derive  from  it  personal 
traits  they  would  not  otherwise  possess,  personal  virtues  they 
might  otherwise  sigh  for  in  vain.  It  has  been  well  said,  that 
^neither  man  nor  woman  disclose  themselves  truly,  that  is, 
poetically,  save  to  each  other,  because  neither  has  a  perfect 
faith  in  themselves,  but  only  in  the  other.'  And  this  true 
relation  presupposes  the  inferiority  of  woman  to  man,  so  far 
forth  as  breadth  of  nature  is  concerned,  and  so  far  forth  as 
perfection  of  development  is  concerned.  She  is  inferior  to  him 
in  strength  of  passion,  she  is  inferior  to  him  in  strength  of 
intellect,  and  she  is  inferior  to  him  in  strength  of  body.  But 
this  inferiority  does  not  lower  her  in  the  scale  of  being,  by  any 
means,  but  rather  exalts  her.  For  these  qualities  are  of  the 
earth,  earthy ;  while  in  the  qualities  which  take  one  nearest 
Heaven,  in  depth  of  moral  purpose,  in  purity  of  thought,  in 
embrace  of  affection,  in  sublimity  of  soul,  woman  is,  and 
always  must  be,  eminently  man's  superior.  Whenever  we 
conceive  an  angel,  we  conceive  him  under  the  guise,  and 
with  the  form,  the  features,  and'  the  saintlike  exaltation  of 


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320  Women  Arti^t^,  [April, 

a  woman.  And  however  we  maj'  look  upon  woman  as 
mentally  our  inferior,  we  always  concede  to  her  at  least  an 
equal  insight  with  us  into  divine  things.  In  all  the  pride  of 
our  intellect  and  all  the  restlessness  of  our  ambition,  we  are 
not  able  to  exclude  the  consciousness  within  us,  that  a  woman, 
quietly  searching  in  the  cup  of  a  modest  flower,  or  the  blue 
eyes  of  a  child,  JiTids  in  those  simple  finities  more  than  the 
Infinite  which  we  madly  seek  in  space,  like  blind  Orion  clutch- 
ing at  the  stars. 

This .  is  why  it  is  not  given  to  woman  to  go  forth  into  the 
world  sounding  a  trumpet,  for  the  wooing  tones  of  her  voice  at 
home  reach  farther  and  penetrate  deeper ;  and  the  blare  of  die 
trumpet  would  drown  the  cradle-song  forever. 

For,  after  all,  woman  fills  an  equal  place  in  nature  with 
man,  and  is  equally  important,  equally  indispensable,  in  the 
economy  of  the  globe.  There  is  a  class  of  ideas  which  we  de- 
rive from  woman,  and  a  class  of  feelings  which  originate  with 
woman,  to  which  the  world  is  fully  as  much  indebted  as  it  is  to 
all  the  intellectual  endeavor,  all  the  passion,  and  all  the 
physical  conquests  of  man.  Woman's  finer  sensibilities,  her 
keener  appreciation  of  beauty,  her  instinctive  unerring  taste, 
her  exquisite  sense  of  order  and  of  fitness,**  have  left  Hmr 
enduring  marks  all  around  us,  in  our  common  speech,  in  our 
daily  life,  in  the  ornaments  of  our  homes,  in  our  hourly  round 
of  duty.  Comfort  is  a  word  which  would  signify  a  new  and 
unknown  sense,  but  for  woman.  Buftbn,  to  indicate  man's 
rapid  progress  in  ameliorating  characteristics,  used  the  formula: 
'  Les  races  se  f6minisent.'  Comte,  in  his  scheme  for  the  social 
dynamics  of  the  future,  ascribes  to  woman  the  bringing  about 
of  '  la  preponderance  de  la  sociabilite  sur  la  personality,'  in 
other  words,  the  substitution  of  charity  for  selfishness ;  and  he 
asserts,  unqualifiedly,  that  woman's  mission  is  the  moral  r^en- 
eration  of  man.  The  moral  firmness  of  woman  is  a  lesson 
perpetually  teaching  itself  to  all  of  us — she  is  like  the  Justina 
of  Calderon : 

"  *  Willet  due  genau  crfabren  was  sich  ziemt. 
So  frage  nur  bei  edien  Frauen  an — ' 

Goethe :    Tas»o, 


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1869.]  Women  ArtisUt.  321 

*  This  agony 
Of  passion  which  afflicts  my  heart  and  soul 
Miiy  sweep  imagination  in  its  storm  ; 
The  will  is  firm.' 

It  was  said  of  Madame  Roland : "  '  Elle  avait  du  caractere 
plutot  que  du  genie ' — ^yet  that  character  has  had  a  mightier 
influence  upon  the  sympathies  of  men  than  all  the  tempestuous 
genius  of  Mirabeau,  or  all  the  grand  marches  of  Napoleon. 
For  woman  teaches  by  example,  after  all,  not  by  precept,  nor 
by  act  of  hand.  And  it  is  duo  to  the  impulsive,  impetuous 
nature  of  woman  that  her  example  penetrates  so  deeply.  '  The 
women  are  all  before,'  said  Mephistopheles  to  Faust,  on  the 
route  -to  the  Blocksberg ;  *  for,  in  going  to  the  house  of  the 
wicked  one,  woman  is  a  thousand  steps  in  advance.'  Equally 
far  is  she  in  advance  of  man  on  the  path  to  the  House  of  the 
Blessed  One.  And  herein  is  the  error  in  Bunyan's  great  alle- 
gory, for,  had  he  been  true  to  nature,  he  would  have  depicted 
Christiana  as  not  only  tlie  first  to  make  the  journey,  but  also 
as  returning  after  Christian  to  encourage  him  on  the  way,  and 
to  share  his  hurthen  with  him  ! 

After  all,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  twaddle  of  the  half-breeched 
spasmodists,  who  are  fretting  to  be  unsexed,  woman  is  tho- 
roughly aware  of  the  work  set  apart  for  her  to  do  in  the  world ; 
and  she  goes  to  her  task  with  a  perfect  confidence,  and  that 
perfect  love  which  casteth  out  fear.  She  knows  that  it  is  her 
function, '  by  natural  and  divine  right,'  to  bring  happiness  into 
the  world ;  and  this  is  the  only  work  to  which  she  cordially 
applies  herself,  and  with  which  she  is  perfectly  well  pleased. 
In  this  sphere  of  her  activity  she  moves  on  like  the  poet's  star, 
neither  hasting  nor  resting,  refreshing  herself,  indeed,  instead 
of  being  fatigued ;  ever  following  upon  man's  toiling  footsteps 
to  glorify  with  her  smiles  and  her  comforts,  her  love  and  her 
blessing,  the  regions  that  he  has  painfully  conquered — planting 
flowers  about  every  cabin  newly  hewn  out  in  the  wilderness. 
The  Bohemian  phantasmists  may  try  to  lift  her  from  this 
sphere ;  Xhefemmes  incomprises  may  gnash  their  teeth  at  their 
own  incompetence  to  move  aright  therein,  but  the  true  woman 
passes  on,  serene,  and  smiling,  and  content,  knowing  exactly 

**  Bj  Chateaubriand. 


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322  The  Legal  Profession.  [April, 

her  work,  and  performing  it  grandly.  Within  this  sphere  die 
is  at  home,  iron-rooted,  inexpugnable.  In  this  sphere,  she  is 
happy,  bestowing  happiness,  and  culling  the  flowers  of  love; 
and,  whatever  storms  may  come,  so  long  as  she  still  abides  here, 
they  cannot  wrest  the  smile  from  her  face  nor  the  blessedness 
from  her  heart.  She  is  often  martyred  here,  but  even  her  mar- 
tyrdoms have  their  ample  compensations,  for  then,  her  ^  whole 
life  becomes  the  school  of  eternity.'  " 

We  may  well  say,  then,  with  Thomas  de  Quincey :  'Thou, 
therefore,  daughter  of  God  and  man,  all-potent  woman !  rev- 
erence thy  own  ideal ;  and  in  the  wildest  of  the  homage  whidi 
is  paid  to  thee,  as  also  in  the  most  real  aspects  of  thy  wide 
dominion,  read  no  trophy  of  idle  vanity,  but  a  silent  indication 
of  the  possible  grandeur  enshrined  in  thy  nature;  which 
realize  to  the  extent  of  thy  power, — 

*And  show  us  how  divine  a  thing 
A  woman  may  become !  ^ 


Art.  IV. — 1.  Hcyrtensixts  ;  or  the  Advocate.  B.  William  For 
syth,  Esq.,  M.  A.,  Barrister-at-Law.  London :  John  Mll^ 
ray,  Albemarle  street.     1849. 

2.  The  Relation  of  the  Legal  Profession  to  Society.  A  Lecture 
delivered  before  the  Maryland  Institute,  March  9th,  1868, 
by  Geo.  Wm.  Brown.   Baltimore :  Kelly,  Piet  &  Co.  186& 

It  is  interesting  to  study  the  peculiar  sentiments  with  whidi 
the  members  of  the  Bar  are  regarded  by  the  rest  of  mankind. 
The  dullest  understanding  can  perceive  and  admit  the  necessity 
of  laws,  of  judges  to  expound  and  of  inferior  oflScers  to  execute 
them.  But  when  the  necessity  of  practising  lawyers  is  sug- 
gested, such  admission,  even  from  understandings  that  have 

"  M.  dc  Custine. 


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I860.]  The  Legal  Profession,  323 

l)een  highly  cultivated  by  study,  and  observation,  and  reflection, 
comes  sometimes  with  reluctance  and  for  the  most  part  with 
allowance.  Even  men  of  letters,  even  poets,  whom  we  have 
been  taught  to  r^ard  as  our  best  teachers,  are  found  to  fling 
their  pleasant  satires  at  the  lawyers.  That  seemed  to  be  a 
most  unhappy  stress  of  diflSculties  upon  one  of  Tx)rd  Byron's 

heroes  when 

*■  No  choice  was  left  hi8  feelings  or  Iiis  pride, 
Save  death  or  Doctors'  Commons — so  he  died.' 

We  have  read  of  the  Gammons  and  Heaps,  the  Buzfuzzes  and 
Tulkinghoms,  and  we  smile  at  the  absurdities  and  shudder  at 
the  iniquities  of  such  a  class  of  fools  and  rascals. 

Yet  lawyers  live  and  prosper.  With  the  increase  of  wealth 
and  the  advancement  of  civilization,  they  multiply  in  numbers, 
they  rise  to  the  highest  places,  and  they  lead  in  all  the  legisla- 
tion which  controls  the  world.  In  public  they  are  the  framers 
of  laws,  international,  constitutional,  and  municipal :  in  pri- 
vate they  are  the  counsellors  of  the  people,  in  the  ascertain- 
ment of  all  their  rights  of  person  and  property,  and  then  they 
make  their  last  wiHs  and  testaments,  and  settle  and  distribute 
their  estates  after  they  are  dead.  We  may  have  our  suspicions, 
and  apprehensions,  and  dislikes  of  lawyers  as  a  class ;  but 
every  one  of  us  who  has  anything  which  he  desires  to  keep  for 
himself  or  for  those  who  arc  to  come  after  him,  knows  one 
among  them  who  receives  his  most  intimate  confidence,  and 
in  whom  he  feels  that  his  surest  reliance,  whether  he  himself 
be  to  live  or  to  die,  may  be  placed.  Him  he  consults,  both 
in  the  matters  of  his  business  and  the  matters  of  his  conscience ; 
and  none  but  lawyers  know  how  much  wicked  litigation  has 
been  avoided,  how  much  meanness  has  been  repressed,  how 
much  justice  has  been  wrung  for  the  weak  and  the  innocent 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  powerful  and  the  guilty — all  in  the 
secret  counsellings  of  lawyers'  offices. 

Let  us  inquire  somewhat  into  tliese  contrary  opinions.  Why 
this  suspicion  in  the  general,  and  this  confidence  in  the  par- 
ticular ?  Why  these  universal  warnings  against  the  class,  and 
this  life-long  resort  to  the  individual  in  all  the  most  important 
and  secret  afl*airs  of  life  ?    We  cannot  undertake  to  answer 


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324  The  Legal  Profession,  [April 

these  questions  fully.  A  Frenchman  once  said,  that  every  lover 
has  no  doubt  of  the  infidelity  of  all  mistresses  except  his  own. 
Something  of  this  there  may  be  in  the  relation  of  lawyers  and 
clients,  and  indeed  in  every  relation  where  confidence  must  be 
given,  because  it  renders  one  miserable  and  afraid  to  withhold 
it.  But  the  better  and  more  substantial  causes  are  other  than 
such  as  this.     We  shall  mention  one  or  two. 

We  must  premise  what  we  have  to  say  about  the  suspicions 
concerning  this  class  of  professional  men  w  herever  it  exists,  by 
observing  that  they  attach  to  them  ds  lawyers.  We  have  some- 
times been  intensely  amused  to  notice  how  many  persons  have 
been  puzzled  by  their  own  conflicting  sentiments  r^arding 
some  of  the  best  men  of  our  acquaintance.  While  the  latter 
have  been  known  to  be  perfectly  upright  in  their  personal  con- 
cerns, beloved  in  their  families,  and  admired  by  all  their  neigh- 
bors for  being  kind  and  liberal,  the  former  have  seemed  to  be 
touched  with  an  indefinable  sort  of  compassion  or  r^ret  at 
being  obliged  to  consider  them  as  unscrupulous  in  the  court- 
room, mystifiers  of  the  law,  perverters  of  tlie  truth,  and  the 
fast  friends  of  knaves  of  many  descriptions'. 

The  principal  reasons  for  these  irreconcileable  opinions,  are 
such  as  grow  partly  out  of  the  law  itself,  and  partly  out  of 
some  misapprehensions  as  to  the  duties  of  lawyers :  misappre- 
hensions that  are  not  confined  to*  outsiders,  but  are  held  by  not 
an  inconsiderable  number  of  the  profession  itself.  Especiallr 
is  this  the  case  with  that  system  of  laws  by  which  the  people 
of  this  country  and  those  in  Great  Britain  are  controlled.  Our 
ancestors,  so  far  removed  from  the  ancient  seats  of  European 
civilization,  had  the  misfortune  to  fail  to  obtain  the  benefits  of 
the  Civil  Law,  that  best  and  noblest  monument  of  genius  that 
was  ever  erected.  Founded  upon  the  teachings  of  the  wise  and 
good  of  all  nations,  ^  it  enjoined  not  only  the  fullest  justice, 
but  it  invited  to  the  most  delicate  and  scrupulous  honor.  It 
sought  to  lift  mankind  out  of  the  fiery  struggles,  the  selfish 
aims,  and  the  mean  desires  of  life,  and  present  to  their  ^new  % 

1  In  the  year  B.  C.  452,  three  Commissioners  wtre  sent  *  beyond  sets'  \o 
collect,  in  Greece  especially,  such  notices  of  the  laws  aiul  constitutions  of  other 
peopUs  as  might  be.  of  service  to  the  wants  of  Rome. —  Orapel  on  the  CiHl  Ltr- 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Profession.  325 

higher  scale,  yet  fully  practicable  for  this  world,  on  which  jus- 
tice and  honor  might  journey,  hand  in  hand,  and  all  men,  great 
and  small,  might  joy  in  the  sight.  To  live  justly,  to  hurt  no 
man,  to  give  every  one  his  own,  were  its  leading  maxims,  and 
whoever  followed  them  strictly  attained  as  close  an  approxima- 
tion to  perfection  as  is  in  the  capacity  of  human  nature.  What 
people  were  those  Romans !  Great  in  all  things ;  even  in  those 
which  time  and  different  civilizations  have  destroyed  or  modi- 
fied ;  but  greatest  of  all  in  this,  that  their  laws,  the  work  of  all 
their  ages,  are  yet  made  to  control  all  the  countries  over  which 
their  rule  was  extended. 

But  our  ancestors,  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by 
intervening  seas,  in  a  bleak  region,  where  to  live  was  difficult, 
and  poverty  was  a  more  common  and  a  harder  misfortune  than 
in  the  South,  in  the  absence  of  wise  men  to  think  and  devise 
for  them,  could  only  find  laws  for  themselves  in  the  midst  of 
their  dealings  among  themselves.  In  the  failure  of  positive 
legislative  enactments,  their  usages  became  the  standards  by 
which  the  common  disputes  were  to  be  composed.  Out  of 
these  usages,  some  of  them  absurd,  some  of  them  atrocious, 
sprang  up  that  Common  Law  which,  with  what  modifications 
it  has  undergone  in  the  lapse  of  centuries,  together  with  such 
restraints  as  Equity  has  been  obliged  to  impose  whenever  its 
operation  has  been  grossly  unconscionable,  is  the  system  under 
which  we  live.  Less  humane  than  the  Civil  Law  which  was 
founded  upon  the  idea  of  what  mankind  ought  to  be  and  might 
be,  it  has  been  builded  upon  the  observation  of  what  mankind 
are.  Yet  it  is  a  great  system,  and  in  the  main  sufficiently  re- 
gardful of  the  rights  of  those  who  have  it  to  obey.  If  it  seems 
sometimes  to  present  temptation  to  bad  men  to  entrap  the 
unwary,  its  general  provisions  are  designed  to  afford  abundant 
protection  to  the  circumspect;  and  the  tendency  of  recent 
l^islations  and  recent  judicial  rulings  is,  we  are  gratified  to 
observe,  in  the  direction  of  that  larger  and  more  generous 
policy  which  recognizes  in  humanity  the  possibilities  of  things 
higher  tlian  mere  common  honesty,  and  persuades  to  their 
exercise.  Nor  can  we  forbear  to  admit  that  among  the  Romans 
there  were  tricksters  who  were  at  once  the  disgrace  of  the  pro- 


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326  The  Legal  Profession.  [April, 

fession,  and  the  butt  of  the  satirist's  ridicule,  and  the  honorable 
man's  contempt.  There  were  the  Leguleivs  *  and  the  Eabula, ' 
the  former  a  mere  man  of  books,  and  the  latter  a  mean  petti- 
fogger. They  had  their  ways  in  Kome  as  their  likes  have  them 
with  us,  and  as  all  such  characters  in  all  vocations  vn!A.  have 
their  ways  until  the  world  becomes  many  times  wiser  than  it  is 
or  has  been. 

Yet  every  system  of  laws  must  necessarily  fall  short  of  some 
of  its  purposes,  and  thus  create  in  the  minds  of  men  unlearned 
in  its  mysteries  incorrect  views  of  the  duties  of  those  who 
practise  it.  The  law  is  foimded  upon  general  principles,  the 
very  universality  of  which  sometimes  must  operate  disastrously 
in  particular  cases,  and  give  to  bad  men  the  opportunity  to 
injure  the  just  with  impunity.  In  vain  did  the  Prsetor  among 
the  Romans,  and  in  vain  do  Courts  of  Equity  with  us  interfere 
by  injunction  with  their  strict  enforcements,  whenever  their 
execution  is  unconscionably  oppressive.  There  are  frauds  and 
other  wrongs  which  no  Courts  can  reach,  which  spring  from 
the  very  laws  which  were  intended  to  prevent  them,  and 
which  do  prevent  them  in  general.  Thiis,  the  statute  for  the 
prevention  of  frauds,  a  most  wise  and  beneficent  law,  offere 
temptations  to  the  dishonest,  of  which  they  too  often  avail 
themselves  to  ensnare  the  upright.  So  the  maxim,  'igrwrantia 
legis  non  excxtsat^  necessary  as  it  is,  operates  most  injurious- 
ly sometimes,  and  it  thus  operates  most  frequently  upon  those 
who,  being  most  honest,  are  least  apprehensive  of  sufiering 
wrong.  Neither  lawyers,  nor  Courts,  are  responsible  for  these 
infirmities,  which  are  but  evidences  to  be  added  to  those  fur- 
nished by  other  systems  of  man's  devising,  that  nothing  he 
does  can  be  made  perfect. 

Difficulties  of  the  sorts  just  mentioned,  (and  we  may  allude 
to  others  as  we  proceed,)  common  to  all  laws,  and  some  pecu- 
liar to  those  under  which  we  live,  lead  to  misapprehensions  aj> 
to  what  are  the  duties  as  well  as  what  are  the  rights  of  lawyers. 

>  'Quienim  leges,  quas  memoria  tenet^  noa  intelligit,  Leguleius  rocatur  » 
Cicerone.'     Heineccius.    Elementa  Juris. 

*  ^  Qui  ergo  nulla  accuratione  juris  notitia  imbutus,  cruda  studia  in  firum 
propellit,  evertendisque  aliorum  fortunis  quaestum  facit,  Rabula  vocalur  «b 
eodem  Cicerone.' — Ih . 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Profession.  327 

It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  many  men,  whose  eareei*^,  while 
at  the  bar,  were  not  very  remarkable,  whether  in  the  matter 
of  professional  ability,  or  professional  deportment,  when  they 
have  gone  upon  the  bench,  have  risen  in  a  comparatively  brief 
period  into  unexpected  and  extravagant  credit.  The  people, 
from  having  seen  such  men  practise  for  a  long  time  those  little 
arts  which  inferior  minds  are  the  quickest  to  learn,  seem  often 
to  be  thankful  to  see  such  a  man  lay  all  such  arts  aside,  rule 
vexed  questions  without  embarrassment,  and  endeavor,  with 
decent  magisterial  severity,  to  repress  all  unbecoming  things 
in  the  oflBcers  of  his  Court.  Now  it  is  much  easier  to  decide 
a  case  than  to  argue  it.  Some  men,  though  feeble  lawyers, 
make  respectable  judges — not  great  judges — for  these  can 
be  made  only  of  great  lawycis.  Such  a  judge,  if  he  preside 
over  an  able  bar,  and  if  with  ordinar}-  understanding  he 
have  acquired  a  fair  professional  education,  may  decide  most 
cases  aright.  Besides,  the  mere  exaltation  to  oflBce  carries 
to  the  majority  of  mankind  the  credit  of  deserving  it.  Lord 
Jeffreys  said  to  Robert  Wright,  ^'ho  was  notorious  both  for 
his  ignorance  and  his  knaveries,  'As  you  seem  to  be  unfit 
for  the  bar,  or  any  other  honest  calling,  I  see  nothing  for  it 
but  that  you  should  become  a  judge  yourself;'  and  in  spite  of 
the  remonstrances  of  the  Prime  Minister,  he  was  knighted, 
and  afterwards  made  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England.  This  is 
an  extreme  case,  we  admit,  but  there  was  some  wisdom  (of  its 
kind,)  in  the  magnate  who  thus  elevated  him,  and  who  foresaw 
that  much  of  his  unfitness  for  office  would  disappear  from  the 
eyes  of  men  on  the  day  of  his  installation. 

But  what  is  yet  more  to  be  noticed  in  this  connection  is  this : 
The  duties  of  a  judge  are  essentially  different  from  those  of  a 
lawyer.  Upon  the  former  there  is  the  obligation,  formed  by 
his  oath  and  the  solemn  behests  of  office,  to  pursue  the  truthj 
singly  and  always.  But  the  truth  in  judicial  causes  has  many 
similitudes,  and  is  difficult  to  be  ascertained,  and  varies  with 
every  circumstance  of  life.  Out  of  the  innumerable  transac- 
tions of  mankind,  and  the  multifold  and  subtle  agencies  which 
bring  them  on  and  attend  and  follow  them,  there  must  con- 
stantly arise,  even  among  the  upright,  conflicts  of  opinion  re- 


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328  The  Legal  Profession.  [Aprils 

garding  the  ultimate  truth,  and  the  best  legal  minds  will  diflTer 
as  to  where  it  is  to  be  found.  The  judge  liimself  is  often 
incompetent  to  its  ascertainment  until  after  argumentation 
between  these  contending  similitudes.  It  is,  therefore,  not 
only  the  right  of  the  advocate,  but  it  is  his  duty  to  present 
his  similitude  with  whatever  ability  he  can  command,  to 
strive  for  its  establishment,  provided  that  he  attempt  no  per- 
versions, either  of  facts  or  of  laws  already  ascertained,  and  feel 
in  his  breast  throughout  the  conflict  a  love  for  the  honor  of  his 
profession,  and  a  reverence  for  the  justice,  which  it  is  his  mission 
to  conserve,  that  are  superior  to  the  desire  for  his  client's  success, 
and  the  reward  which  is  to  follow  it.  A  rule  of  morals  which 
would  fix  his  responsibilities  higher  than  this  would  be  im- 
reasonable  and  impracticable. 

It  is  after,  and  by  means  of,  the  contests  of  men  like  this 
that  the  judge,  whose  understanding  meanwhile  has  been 
oscillating  between  contending  similitudes,  decides  which  is  the 
real  truth,  and  which  is  only  its  image.  When  this  decision  is 
rendered  in  the  imimpassioned  and  decorous  terms  becoming 
such  a  tribunal,  although  it  is  frequently  rendered  with  hesita- 
tion, it  is  curious  to  see  how  submissively  bystanders  bow  to 
the  judgment,  and  with  what  admiration  and  even  reverence 
they  contemplate  the  calm  dignity  so  unlike  the  heated  com- 
bats of  the  men  to  whose  elaborate  endeavors,  though  unknown 
to  them  and  too  often  unacknowledged  by  the  Court,  he  is 
indebted  for  the  power  to  decide  aright  when  he  does  so  decide.* 

It  is  thus  that  many  persons  while  they  condemn  the  advo- 
cate, revere  the  magistrate.  With  the  former  they  suppose  the 
love  of  truth  to  be  behind  the  desire  of  fame  and  especially  of 
money.  The  latter,  upon  that  lofty  seat,  is  regarded  as  fineed 
from  the  love  of  praise  and  pelf,  above  all  prejudice  and  pas- 
sion, and  taking  an  almost  holy  delight  in  frowning  upon  the 
fierce  conflicts  of  the  world  and  its  representatives,  in  estab- 

*  Cicero,  whose  work  on  morals  is  the  greatest  of  all  uninspired  writings, 
allows  a  little  more  latitude  to  lawyers.  '  Judicis  est,'  he  sajs,  ^  semper  in  caofis 
verum  sequi ;  patroni,  nonnunquam  veri  simile,  etramsi  minus  sit  veruro,  de- 
fendere.' — De  Otticiis,  Lib.  11,  Cap.  XIV.  But  he  does  so  with  some  hesitatioo, 
and  only  upon  the  authority  of  Panaetius.  Thus  he  continues:  ^  Quod  scribere 
(prtesertim  cum  de  philosophia  scriberem)  non  auderem,  nisi  idem  plaoeretgra- 
vissimo  stoicorum  Panaelio.' 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Ptofm^ion,  329 

lishing  justice,  and  maintaining  the  peace.  They  seem  to 
regard  lawyers  as  the  especial  enemies  and  persecutors  of  these 
benigp  things,  justice  and  peace,  and  but  for  that  blessed  man 
on  the  bench  they  would  be  lost  in  the  midst  of  their  subtleties, 
and  quillets,  and  clamorous  contentions. 

It  is  remarkable  that  while  we  can  make  allowance  for  the 
progress  of  every  other  science  and  every  other  business  of  lifer, 
we  cannot  allow  for  mutations  in  that  which  is  at  once  the 
most  variant  and  profound  and  important  of  all.  At  every 
session  of  every  court  of  extensive  jurisdiction,  there  arise  dis- 
putes which  involve  new  questions,  or  variations  of  old  ques- 
tions, and  which  must  be  settled  anew,  and  that  only  by  long. 
ardent,  and  able  argumentation.  To  wonder  at  this  eternal 
conflict  is  as  unreasonable  as  to  wonder  at  the  various  faces, 
and  forms,  and  dispositions  of  men.  The  principles  of  the  law 
have  grown,  like  the  human  race,  from  a  few  in  the  beginning 
up  to  ever  increasing  multitudes,  generations  of  the  one  dying 
away  and  generations  of  the  other  becoming  obsolete,  yet 
every  generation  of  both  inheriting  from  its  predecessors  some- 
thing which  must  be  made  to  conform  to  the  multiplying 
necessities  of  the  world.  These  necessities  arise  in  all  places 
where  the  hands  or  the  understandings  of  men  are  wont  to 
labor  in  order  to  increase  whatever  they  may  wish  to  have  for 
any  of  the  purposes  of  life.  They  arise  day  by  day,  in  the 
field  of  the  farmer,  in  the  shop  of  the  mechanic,  in  the  store- 
house of  the  merchant,  in  the  cloister  of  the  student,  every- 
where, on  the  land,  upon  the  waters,  in  the  air,  wheresoever 
God  has  allowed  men  to  abide,  or  to  explore,  in  order  to  find 
and  to  gather  whatever  it  is  lawful  to  possess.  Thus,  with  the 
lapsing  years,  and  the  changing  and  multiplying  pursuits  of 
men,  new  principles  have  to  be  established,  new  punishments 
must  be  applied  to  new  offences,  and  sometimes  to  old  ones, 
when  by  the  changes  of  manners  and  tastes  they  have  grown 
to  be  inadequate  or  oppressive.  Inasmuch  as  the  laws  are 
general  in  their  terms,  and  cases  arising  under  them  are  special 
in  their  own  particulars,  every  judge  needs  new  argumenta- 
tion, long,  and  able,  and  ardent,  we  repeat  it,  in  order  to  be 
6 


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330  The  Legal  Professio7i.  [April, 

enabled  to  find,  in  the  midst  of  these  accretions  from  every 
source,  the  Truth,  which  it  is  his  province  to  dispense. 

''  What  is  truth,'  said  jesting  Pilate,  'and  would  not  stay  for 
an  answer.'  Wiser  and  better  men  than  Pilate  ask  the  same 
question  after  long,  and  patient,  and  loving  search.  That 
truth  is  difficult  to  be  ascertained,  the  thousands  of  sects, 
and  parties,  and  wars,  both  of  books  and  swords,  declare.  On 
the  question  of  what  is  truth,  good  and  wise  men  difier  even 
as  do  bad  men  and  fools.  In  our  degenerate  estate,  truth 
seems  to  assume  many  shapes,  and  to  vary  them  in  different 
places  and  before  different  beholders.  It  was  a  beautiful 
fancy  of  the  poet,  in  which  the  followers  of  truth  are  likened 
to  the  bereaved  Isis  and  her  priesthood  in  their  pious  search 
for  the  mangled  and  scattered  members  of  the  body  of  the 
good  Osiris.  Philosophers  and  law-givers  admit  the  impossi- 
bility of  fixing  perfectly  just  principles  of  trutli  even  in  tlie 
general.  '  We  have  no  solid  and  express  effigy  of  Law,  and  of 
Justice,  her  sister.  We  can  only  employ  their  shadow  and 
their  images.'  These  are  the  words  of  one  who,  in  our  opinion, 
was  as  complete  a  man  as  has  lived  in  any  time — Cicero,  the 
lawyer  and  orator,  the  consul  and  philosopher.  Yet,  in  prais- 
ing even  the  golden  rule  of  the  Civil  Law,  that  all  transaction? 
of  business  ought  to  correspond  with  the  good  conduct  of  good 
men  with  one  another,  he  sighed  to  be  compelled  to  add  these 
following :  '  But  who  are  good  men  ?  and  what  is  good  conduct  i 
These  are  great  questions.'  ^  In  the  numberless  relations  of 
men,  good  and  bad,  among  the  different  views  which,  from 
their  various  positions  they  have  of  the  right,  an  approximation 
to  its  ascertainment  is  all  that  can  be  hoped  for,  and  while  we 
believe  that  this  approximation  to  all  its  intentions  is  closer  in 
the  law  than  in  any  other  science  not  based  upon  mathematical 
demonstrations,  this  is  due  mainly  to  those  same  forensic  con- 
flicts which  men  are  so  wont  to  criticise  and  to  blame.  Tliere 
is  nothing,  therefore,  in  the  fancied  anomaly  of  an  honest  man 

^  'Sed  DOS  reri  juris  prerinanoeque  justitiae  solidam  et  express&m  eflSgiem 
teDemus ;  umbra  et  iraaginibus  ulimur.  Quam  ilia  nurca,  Ut  intbb  roxos  b»2 
AGIKE  oPOttTKT  BT  SINE  PRAUDATioNK  !  Scd.  qui  siot  boni,  ct  quId  sit  bcncngi, 
magna  qua^stio  est. '—Cic.  De.  Off.,  Lib.  III..  Cap.  XVII. 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Profession.  331 

who  is  a  dishonest  lawyer.  Whenever  such  a  man  comes  to 
the  Bar,  there  comes  a  mighty  blessing  to  his  neighborhood. 
If,  in  the  ardor  of  the  devotion  which  he  carries  to  the  causes 
of  his  clients,  he  seems  sometimes  to  combat  too  zealously  for 
his  own  similitude  before  the  real  right  has  been  ascertained, 
we  shall  make  a  great  mistake  if  we  suppose  that  the  real  right 
<*an  be  ascertained  otherwise  than  by  the  combats  of  him  with 
others  such  as  him.  And  we  shall  make  a  greater  mistake  if 
we  suspect  that  he  has  lost,  or  is  apt  to  lose,  the  heart  to  love 
and  adore  the  truth  when,  after  such  combats,  it  is  unveiled 
before  his  eyes. 

But  the  misapprehensions  that  are  most  hurtful  to  the  profes- 
sion are  those  which  are  entertained  by  a  considerable  number 
of  its  own  meml)ers.  For  the  infirmities  of  these,  in  spite  of  its 
shining  ornaments,  it  has  always  suffered  and  must  continue  to 
suffer.  A  lawyer  who  is  a  bad  man  is  the  most  mischievous 
and  dangerous  person  with  whom  one  can  be  confronted.  It  is 
sad  to  contemplate  the  annoyance  and  distress  which  such  a 
man  may  inflict,  during  a  lifetime,  upon  even  the  good  men  of 
society.  Such  a  man  may  become  a  spy  upon  other  men,  and- 
obtain  an  incredible  amount  of  acquaintance  with  all  their 
most  important  concerns.  This  is  especially  the  case  in  agri- 
cultural communities,  where  men  are  less  familiar  than  those 
in  cities  and  towns  with  those  forms  of  business  which  are 
necessary  to  its  safe  and  proper  conduct.  In  the  intercourse  of 
the  citizens  of  such  communities,  the  omission  of  such  forms 
witli  the  best  and  most  honest  men  render  their  transactions 
unintelligible  to  those  who,  after  lapse  of  time,  come  to  look 
upon  their  records.  The  confidence  which  they  have  in  one 
another,  so  beautiful  to  behold,  and  so  sweet  to  feel,  induces  a 
neglect  much  beyond  what  mere  ignorance  would  create ;  and 
the  us^es  of  friendship  and  good  neighborhood  make  them 
satisfied  with  settlements  which  are  too  often  unaccompanied 
by  written  memoranda.  By  and  by,  some  of  these  good  men 
become  alienated  from  one  another.  By  and  by  some  of  them 
die.  Old  friendships  seldom  descend  from  one  generation  to 
another.  Besides,  it  is  a  sad  truth  that  the  greatest  robberies 
are  those  that  are  committed   by  the  living  upon  the  dead. 


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332  The  Legal  Profession.  [April, 

All  thieves,  little  and  great,  from  the  grave-digger  and  the 
coflSn-maker  upward,  understand  that. 

Now  this  especial  bad  man,  who  is  worse  than   all  other 
thieves  and  robbers,  and  whose  wont  it  has  been  to  prowl 
about  Probates'  oflSces,  and  pore  over  ancient  and  imperfect 
records,  and  pick  news-mongers  and  retailers  of  old  scandals, 
makes  up  his  record,  and  to  the  covetous,  and  prodigal,  and 
bankrupt,  he  complains  how  they  have  been  wronged,  and  in- 
sinuates how,  through  his  means,  their  wrongs  may   be  re- 
dressed ;  and  then  a  small  retainer  and  a  great  contingent,  are 
the  preliminaries  to  suits  upon  Administrators'  bonds  or  to  Bills 
in  Equity,  which  charge  every  form  of  mismanagement  and 
fraud  upon  the  best  men  and  involve  them  or  their  represent- 
atives in  long  and  ruinous  litigation.     We  have  known  very 
many  of  such  cases,  and  we  have  sighed*,  and  could  have  wept 
to  witness  the  misery  which   they  have  produced.    Many  a 
good  man,  in  his  abhorrence  of  courts,  though  conscious  of 
perfect  innocence,  and  though  assured  by  reliable  counsel  of 
eventual  release,  prefers  to  buy  his  peace  with  a  price  which 
enables  the  mean  pettifogger  to  live  in  comfort  for  a  long  time 
afterwards.     Another,  less  timid  and  less  averse  to  strife,  elects 
to  fight  it  out  on  the  line  proposed,  indulging  himself  to  an 
occasional  imprecation  upon  the  head  captain  of  his  enemies, 
and  in  time  may  have  his  verdict.    But  the  payment  of  his 
own  counsel,  the  charge  of  sundry  items,  about  which  he  and 
all  his  friends  have  forgotten,  the  fees  of  witnesses,  the  loss  of 
other  interests  by  his  attendance  upon  courts,  all  convince  him 
that  his  more  timid  neighbor,  who  bought  himself  off,  was 
wiser  than  he  who  fought  himself  out ;  and  he  is  denied  even 
the  consolation  of  feeling  that  his  imprecations  have  done  either 
harm  or  good  id  the  man  whom  he  is  right  in  r^arding  as  the 
worst  of  all  rascals.     Cases  like  these  are  frequent  in  some 
communities,  and  they  sometimes  occur  in  all.     How  many 
miseries  they  produce,  how  many  alienations  of  friends  and 
families,  how  many  wrongs  of  all  sorts  and  forms,  only  God 
above  knows.     Perhaps  in  this  we  mistake.     Perhaps  they  are 
all  known  to  the  great  Spirit  of  Evil  below,  and  he  has  his 
antepast  of  enjoyment.     If  not  now,  they  will  be  known  in 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Profession.  333 

B^»on ;  for  they  are  done  by  his  inspiration,  and  upon  him  will 
devolve  their  settlement  at  the  last. 

Much  above  those  we  have  described  is  another  class  whose 
misapprehensions  as  to  the  scope  of  their  duties,  are  more  hurt- 
ful to  the  profession  than  they  are  apt  to  be  aware.  With  this 
class  the  standard  of  professional  deportment  does  fall  some- 
what below  that  which  they  are  in  the  habit  of  maintaining  in 
the  other  relations  of  life.  In  the  eagerness  with  which  many 
young  men  desire  notoriety,  which  they  suppose  to  be  necessary 
to  speedy  success,  they  are  thrown  into  cases  of  doubtful  right 
by  the  aid  of  injudicious  friends,  or  by  their  own  volunteering ; 
and  thus  they  form  habits  of  asseverating  unformed  opinions 
and  clamoring  for  doubtful  points  which  must  tend  to  diminish 
the  love,  and  even  obtund  the  sense  of  truth.  Some  of  such 
men  come  to  believe  that  it  is  not  wrong  to  take  any  case  that 
presents  itself,  and  having  appeared  in  it,  that  their  duty,  or  at 
least  their  right,  is  to  push  it  along  without  considering  any 
question  except  what  may  appertain  to  the  interests  of  their 
clients.  With  an  able  and  upright  judge,  these  are  not  wont  to 
do  a  very  great  amount  of  mischief  to  the  public ;  but  they  hurt 
both  themselves  and  their  better  brethren.  They  hurt  them- 
selves by  failing,  through  their  own  fault,  to  rise  as  high  as 
different  deportment  would  elevate  them ;  and  they  hurt  their 
better  brethren  by  carelessly  lowering  their  profession  in  the 
eyes  of  mankind  and  subjecting  it  to  unjust  reproach.  And 
tiiey  assuredly  do  some  harm  to  society  in  this,  that  their  too 
frequent  and  unfair  defence  of  transactions  plainly  unjust, 
makee  them  often  appear  to  disregard  the  principles  both  of 
law  and  morality. 

It  is  an  unhappy  mistake  that  many  lawyers  who  are  not 
bad  men  make,  in  believing  that  the  whole  question  of  con- 
science resides  always  with  their  clients.  Every  lawyer  should 
feel  that  it  is  his  duty  to  be  a  conservator  of  those  things  which 
the  laws  enjoin ;  and  while  he  may  rightfully  aid  a  client  in 
obtaining  the  benefit  of  any  law  that  is  applicable  to  his  case, 
he  ought  to  counsel  against  the  acceptance  of  that  benefit 
when  it  is  to  operate  gross  injustice  to  others.  For  example : 
While  it  is  not  unprofessional,  nor  in  any  degree  wrong,  to 


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334  The  Legal  Profes^uyii,  [April, 

file  a  plea  of  usury,  he  owes  this  much  to  everybody,  himself, 
society,  and  especially  his  client,  to  persuade  him,  if  possible, 
to  refrain  from  accepting  a  dishonest  release  from  the  fulfilment 
of  his  own  solemn  obligation.  The  men  who  refuse  to  consider 
such  counsel  as  coming  within  the  intention  of  their  professional 
duties,  may  be,  and  many  of  them  are,  upright  in  their  own 
personal  lives,  humane,  generous,  social;  but  they  fall  short 
of  conserving,  and  even  of  beholding,  the  great,  superior  pur- 
poses of  the  law,  and  they  miss  that  very  highest  felicity  of  this 
lower  life,  the  opportunities  of  doing  good. 

But  there  is  a  class  of  lawyers  who  do  well  employ  these 
blessed  opportunities.  Many  such  there  are  in  many  oommn- 
nities.  Would  that  there  were  more,  and  that  they  were  in 
all.  To  be  such  men  the  highest  intellectual  abilities  are  not 
requisite.  While  in  that  middle  class  just  described,  there  are 
sometimes  found  men  of  intellect  enough  to  rise  to  any  emi- 
nence by  the  persistent  love  and  pursuit  of  justice,  it  is  most 
pleasing  to  find  in  this  upper  class  men  in  whom  such  love  and 
pursuit  have  lifted  understandings  that  are  less  than  first-rate 
up  to  the  power  to  see  and  to  advocate  truth,  which  is  superior  to 
the  genius  that,  for  the  want  of  these  virtues,  loses  in  the  lapse 
of  time,  both  the  power  to  see  and  the  power  to  advocate.  For 
truth,  even  in  this  world,  rewards  her  worshippers,  while  she 
punishes  her  enemies.  The  latter  she  sometimes  blinds  in  the 
knowledge  of  how  to  come  to  her  shrine,  even  when  they  seek 
to  come  with  serious  devotion,  but  after  having  been  wont  to 
come  too  seldom  and  with  too  reluctant  sacrifice.  The  former, 
who  never  bow  the  knee  elsewhere,  become  so  accustomed  to 
her  presence  and  her  inspiration,  that  they  seem  to  partake 
even  of  her  divine  nature.  How  many  men  have  we  known 
at  the  bar  who,  although  they  did  not  seem  at  first  to  be  qual- 
ified for  its  successful  pursuit,  yet,  by  patient  labor  and  the 
continuous  practice  of  integrity,  have  attained  to  fame ;  while 
others,  apparently  more  gifted,  by  failing  to  learn  or  to  practise 
the  great  duties  of  the  profession,  have  ended  their  careers 
without  honor. 

Now  while  we  are  far  from  claiming  for  such  men  perfection, 
we  do  think  that  they  attain  as  close  an  approximation  to  it  as 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Profession.  335 

any  men  in  any  earthly  vocation ;  and  that  in  the  matter  of  nse- 
ftibiees  they  ascend  higher  than  all  others.  The  science  of  the 
law  embraces  every  business  of  life.  Those  two  things,  rights 
and  wrongsy  attach  themselves  every  moment  of  time,  to  all 
mankind  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  They  are  as  inter- 
esting to  one  man  as  they  are  to  another ;  the  poor  as  well  as 
the  rich.  The  houseless  beggar,  the  sad  lunatic,  the  raving 
maniac,  the  driveling  idiot,  the  infant,  the  infant  not  yet  escaped 
from  its  mother's  womb,  the  outlaw,  the  felon,  yea,  the  con- 
victed felon  who  is  awaiting  in  his  cell  the  day  of  execution, 
all  have  their  rights  and  may  have  their  wrongs ;  and  the  law 
irr^ular,  and  desultory,  and  rambling,  and  self-contradicting 
as  it  seems  to  be,  is  ever  striving  to  provide  for  them  all. 
There  is  nothing  more  important,  indeed,  in  the  merely  human 
business  of  life,  there  is  nothing  so  important  as  that  these 
rights  and  wrongs  be  well  understood,  in  order  that  the  former 
be  faithfully  defended,  and  the  latter  be  adequately  redressed. 
It  is  a  happy  thing  for  society  when  a  young  man  of  the  true 
generous  breed  applies  himself  to  this  good  work.  In  his  early 
years  he  gives,  and  he  has  to  give  to  it  his  days  and  his  nights. 
While  he  is  learning  it  well,  his  youth  is  gone.  Before  he  has 
learned  it  all,  age  comes  upon  him  and  he  retires  to  die.  Yet, 
by  the  full  ripening  of  his  manhood,  he  has  reached  a  position 
in  which  he  may  safely  be  trusted  by  all  who  need  his  know- 
ledge and  his  service.  When  men  come  to  him  for  counsel  the 
studies  of  years  enable  him,  and  the  habitual  practice  of  honor 
prompts  him,  to  bestow  that  counsel  wisely  and  truly.  When 
their  rights  have  been  assailed,  he  defends  them  against  every 
form  of  attack.  When  they  are  only  supposed  to  be  injured, 
he  counsels  them  to  withdraw  from  the  contest,  and  if  he  be 
not  hearkened  to,  he  dismisses  them  to  other  men  who  are  less 
scrupulous.  When  from  the  peculiar  circumstances  he  be  un- 
certain sometimes  whether  those  rights  be  assailed  or  not,  then, 
unless  they  can  be  adjusted  by  compromise,  he  brings  or  de- 
fends their  suits,  and  maintains  his  own  similitude  of  the  right 
until  judgment  is  rendered  by  the  courts. 

Now  it  is  just  here,  in  courts,  that  are  to  be  seen  those  most 
common  misapprehensions  of  the  public  in  regard  to  the  duties 


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.  336  The  Legal  Profession.  [April, 

of  lawyers.  They  think  it  strange  that  two  men,  who  claim  to 
be.  considered  upright  and  sincere,  should  meet  from  court  to 
court,  from  day  to  day,  in  constant,  ardent  antagonisms.  But 
the  public  does  not  8ufl5ciently  consider  that  these  antagonisms 
have  their  inception  with  parties  itself,  and  that  it  rarely,  if 
indeed  it  ever  happens,  that  the  most  honest  client  blames  the 
ardor  of  his  patron's  advocacy.  Then  the  public  does  not  re- 
flect that  its  non-acquaintance  with  laws,  except  their  most 
general  principles,  disqualifies  it  from  recognizing  the  infinite 
variety  of  circumstances  which  may  take,  or  seem  to  take,  a 
newly  arisen  case  out  of  the  circle  of  former  precedents,  and 
that  judges,  notwithstanding  their  decent  deportment  and 
learned  books,  are  incapable,  until  after  such  argumentation, 
to  determine  how  he  ought  to  adjudicate.  Besides,  among  the 
different  men  who  h^ve  been  upon  the  Bench,  rulings,  even 
upon  the  same  points,  have  been  variant  acccording  to  their 
capacities,  and  dispositions,  and  likings,  and  prejudices.  It 
makes  a  vast  difference  whether  Labeo  be  the  magistrate,  or 
Capito;  whether  Mansfield  or  Kenyon.  While  the  mind  of 
one  leans  to  liberal  constructions,  and  seeks  to  bring  the  laws 
along  with  the  changing  conditions  of  a  nation's  civilization, 
that  of  another  is  found  to  overrule  all  innovations,  and  strives 
to  restore  every  ancient  landmark  that,  from  whatever  cause, 
has  been,  or  he  believes  to  have  been,  removed. 

This  reference  to  the  different  sorts  of  judges  opens  to  our 
view  a  wide  field,  if  we  had  the  time  to  speculate  upon  it.  We 
have  said  that  it  was  less  diflScult  to  adjudicate  a  case  tlian  to 
argue  it.  But  it  must  not  be  understood  that  we  maintain 
that  it  is  not  very  difficult  to  be  a  good  judge.  To  be  a  good 
judge  requires  a  combination  of  so  many  gifts  that  it  oughJL  to 
be  surprising  to  consider  how  many  men  desire  that  oflSce,  and 
Ydiat  kinds  of  men  sometimes  are  nominated  to  it.  One  of 
the  most  difficult  questions  for  statesmen  to  determine  has 
been,  how  it  is  best  for  judges  to  be  made,  and  what  should  be 
the  duration  of  their  incumbency.  Many  a  man  has  risen 
from  the  Bar  whose  judicial  career  has  widely  differed  from 
that  which  his  professional  behavior  foretold.  It  is  singular 
what  a  temptation  there  seems  always  to  have  been  to  newly- 


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1869.]  The  Legal  Profesdon,  337 

elected  judges  to  distinguish  their  administrations  by  unex- 
pected deflections  from  the  ways  of  former  administrations. 
From  the  impossibility,  resulting  from  the  infinitude  of  its 
subtleties,  of  fixing  perfectly  settled  principles  of  law  in  all 
cases,  a  hazardous  amount  of  discretion  must  be  allowed  to 
every  judge  which  he  may  hurtfuUy  abuse.  It  was  so  much 
abused  in  the  times  of  our  ancestors,  that  Lord  Camden  de- 
signated it  *the  law  of  tyrants.'  In  its  exercise  many  a  fan- 
tastic trick  has  been  played  by  many  a  magistrate,  small  and 
great.  In  the  bewilderment  in  which  juries,  unlearned  in 
the  law,  are  wont  to  be  involved  by  the  strivings  of  opposing 
counsel,  the  magistrate  has  a  fair  opportunity  to  exercise  that 
discretion  according  to  his  temper,  his  constitution,  his  passion, 
or  the  expectations  that  he  may  found  upon  the  opinions  which 
men  may  have  of  his  administration.  The  histories,  and  the 
traditions,  and  our  own  observations  tell  us  how  capricious 
that  exercise  has  been.  In  the  early  struggles  between  liberty 
and  prerogative,  it  varied  little  from  a  decided  preponderance 
in  favor  of  the  latter.  We  shudder  to  know  that  the  Bench, 
that  most  solemn  of  all  places  upon  earth,  except  the  Pulpit, 
has  been  pressed  by  so  ignorant  a  knave  as  Wright,  so  loath- 
some a  mass  of  moral  and  physical  depravity  as  Saunders,  so 
bloody-minded  a  villain  as  Scroggs,  so  hideous  a  devil  as 
Jeffreys.  Such  men  passed  away  with  the  despotisms  that 
created  them,  and  there  is  little  danger  that  their  likes  will  be 
seen  again.  Yet,  under  the  rule  of  upright  judges,  caprice,  or 
some  other  infirmity,  single  among  many  great  virtues,  some- 
times hinders  that  fair  and  equable  dispensation  of  justice 
which  all  good  men  desire.  In  one,  there  is  that  disposition 
before  mentioned,  to  distinguish  his  administration  by  rulings 
which  overturn  past  rulings  that  are  suflBciently  good  prece- 
dents. In  another,  there  is  an  overweening  ambition  to  reform 
society  in  impracticable  ways,  as  by  indecent  harshness  to 
defendants  in  criminal  prosecutions,  and  a  too  speedy  suspicion 
of  frauds  in  some  or  other  sides  in  civil  suits.  'The  only 
shade,'  says  Lord  Campbell,  4n  the  character  of  Chancellor 
Osmond  was  his  great  severity  to  penitents,  which  was  caused 
by  his  own  immaculate  life.'    What  a  commentary  on  life ! 


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•388  The  Legal  Profession.  [April, 

on  the  life  of  even  a  good  man !  Even  Sir  Matthew  Hale^ 
great  and  good  as  he  was,  was  so  good  that  he  believed  it  to  be 
a  part  of  his  mission  to  hang  poor  witches,  and,  in  the  ner- 
vous apprehension  of  being  suspected  of  selling  justice,  some- 
times hindered  or  delayed  it.  It  seems  almost  to  be  a  requisite 
in  a  judge,  (at  least  of  a  Criminal  Court,)  that  he  have  some 
infirmity  for  which  he  desires  and  needs  forbearance  and  for- 
giveness. A  man  who  leads  what  is  generally  styled  an  '  imma- 
culate life,'  when  raised  to  the  Bench,  is  often  strangely  apt  to 
regard  his  elevation  as  a  special  and  blessed  interposition  of 
Providence  for  the  good  of  mankind,  and  to  seek  for  the  cul- 
mination of  his  fame  by  the  attempt  of  a  wholesale  clearance 
of  vices  as  well  as  crimes.  In  this  country  it  is  especially 
difficult  to  obtain  able  judges,  because  the  salaries  are  too  small 
to  tempt  the  best  lawyers,  unless  they  be  already  rich,  or  be 
ready  to  retire  from  the  labors  of  the  profession,  or  unless  they 
prefer  the  honors  of  office  to  its  other  rewards. 

In  the  presence  of  courts  presided  over  by  magistrates  of  so 
various  casts,  lawyers,  who  are  as  good  men  as  the  earth  ever 
produced,  are  made  sometimes  to  appear  at  a  disadvantage  that 
is  undeserved.  The  court  being  the  standard,  both  of  law  and 
every  propriety,  and  having  frequent  occasions  to  overrule  even 
its  best  and  ablest  advocates,  many  men  feel  surprise  mingled 
with  reproach,  that  such  men  should  so  often  maintain,  without 
blushing,  such  apparent  wrongs  and  absurdities.  Such  persons,, 
honest  themselves,  cannot  understand  how  men,  who  would 
like  to  be  considered  as  honest,  can  appear  at  the  instance  of  a 
mean  or  bad  man  against  the  charge  of  a  good  one.  But  let 
it  not  be  forgotten,  what  we  have  said  before,  that  every  human 
being  in  society  has  rights,  and  that  they  are  as  sacred  and  a^ 
dear  in  one  as  in  another.  The  good  man  can  no  more  take 
from  the  bad  what  is  his  due,  than  the  bad  can  take  it  from  him. 
If  a  poor  knave  have  a  legal  right  which  a  good  man,  as  does 
sometimes  occur,  cannot  for  many  reasons  recognize,  it  would 
be  a  shame  upon  the  law  if  he  could  not  find  an  advocate 
among  the  best  and  bravest  at  the  bar  to  aid  him  in  its  vindi- 
cation. Indeed  it  often  requires  the  best  and  bravest  to  vin- 
dicate rights  which,  to  good  men,  seem  sometuncs  to  be  so 


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l.^(>9.]  The  Legal  Profcmicn,  339' 

strangely  located.  Therefore,  no  rule  could  be  made  that 
would  fall  further  short  of  attaining  a  just  adjudication  of 
cauBes,  than  the  rule  of  deciding  according  to  the  relative 
standing  of  parties  in  litigation.  As  the  advocate  cannot  deter- 
mine by  such  a  standard,  no  more  can  the  magistrate.  Let 
us  imagine  one  ruling  thus  summarily.  Let  him  optn  his 
docket  and  turn  to  a  couple  of  cases.  A  against  B.  By  the 
Court.  'Let  the  defendant  have  his  verdict,  since  he  is  a 
good  man  and  A  a  bad.'  C  agaimt  D.  By  the  Court.  '  In 
tliift  case,  the  plaintift'  must  have  judgment,  he  being  the  good 
man.'  But,  may  it  please  your  Honor,  who  then  are  good 
men  ?  Alas  !  says  Cicero,  '  That  is  a  great  question.'  The" 
truth  is,  unhappy  as  it  is,  that  all  men,  good  and  bad,  make 
mistakes  concerning  the  rights  of  others,  when  they  Eeem  tor 
conflict  with  their  own.  More  unhappy  yet  it  is,  that  good 
men  are  very  often  apt  to  undervalue  the  rights  of  the  bad. 
The  bad  have  no  friends,  and  they  deserve  to  have  none,  save 
in  the  laws  of  the  land.  These  laws  cover  all.  Designed 
mostly  to  protect  the  good  from  the  bad,  they  must  afford  also 
a  shelter  to  the  bad  whenever  they  are  too  rigorously  pursued, 
or  whenever  the  few  rights  whicli  they  have  not  forfeited,  are 
assailed. 

From  all  the  considerations  hereinbefore  mentioned,  the  na-^ 
ture  of  municipal  laws  in  general,  and  the  Common  Law  in 
particular,  the  infinite  variableness  of  its  application  to  the 
different  circumstances  of  men's  lives,  the  frequent  impossibility 
of  its  ascertainment  except  by  means  of  public  discussions,  the 
habits  of  some  lawyers,  and  the  characteristics  of  some  magis- 
trates, the  large  number  of  shining  lights  of  the  profession, 
among  whom  are  to  be  found  some  of  the  kindest  and  justest 
men,  are  undervalued  by  the  world.  Too  many  of  the  world 
r^ard  all  lawyers  alike,  as  delighting  in  strifes,  as  barrators, 
disturbers  of  peace,  and  unscrupulously  eager  for  fame  and 
money.  Yet,  how  many  of  these  greater  lights  are  never 
found  in  offices  or  in  the  paths  that  lead  to  them.  How  few 
of  them  accumulate  fortunes.  What  becomes  of  the  great  fees 
which  look  so  like,  what  they  are  sometimes  styled,  extortions 
upon  the  estates-of  men  living  and  dead  ?     First,  these  fees  are 


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340  The  Legal  Profession.  [Aprili 

neither  so  large  nor  so  frequent  as  is  believed.  Then,  they  go 
in  humane  benefactions,  in  liberal  allowances  to  their  famiUee, 
in  answerings  to  charitable  claims,  in  purchasing  of  books,  and 
pictures,  and  objects  of  virtu,  and  in  other  ways  that  commend 
themselves  to  .men  of  generous  minds  and  cultivated  tastes. 

Such  men  as  these  are  the  most  efficient  conservators  of  social 
tranquillity.  Their  profession  aflfords  them  the  most  frequent 
opportunities,  and  their  humanity  prompts  them  ever,  to  be 
such.  Instead  of  being  the  fomenters  of  useless  litigation,  their 
counsel  is  mainly  given  in  discouraging  it.  While  they  are 
ever  ready  to  defend  the  good  against  the  assaults  of  the  bad, 
they  are  as  ready  for  that  other  ungracious  but  necessary  duty, 
the  defence  of  the  bad  against  the  assaults  of  the  good.  And 
it  is  their  crowning  honor  that,  through  their  means,  a  vaster 
amount  of  litigation  is  withheld  from  the  public  than  is  inflicted 
upon  it. 

If  we  could  know  all  that  is  said  and  done  in  the  offices  of 
this  class  of  men  during  one  year,  we  should  be  astonished  to 
find  how  much  distress  and  anguish  have  been  spared  to  private 
men,  and  how  much  expense  and  disgust  have  been  turned 
away  from  the  public.  It  is  impossible  to  calculate  the  good 
that  is  done  by  such  men,  because  it  is  impossible  to  know  its 
greatest  and  noblest  part.  This  part,  like  all  the  best  charities, 
is  done  in  secret.  It  is  in  the  secret  chambers  of  offices,  that 
selfish  men  are  warned  from  the  prosecution  of  their  aims. 
It  is  there  that  the  thoughtless  are  admonished  of  the  laxity  in 
business  or  in  conduct  which  is  to  be  stayed  in  order  to  pre- 
vent pecuniary  and  moral  ruin.  It  is  there  that  just  and  Uberal 
settlements  are  wrung  from  hard  parents  and  mean  husbands. 
It  is  there  that  bad  men,  who  come  to  have  unjust  testaments 
executed,  are  made  ashamed  and  afraid  to  prolong  their  injus- 
tice beyond  the  grave  and  into  the  eternal  world.  But  it  is 
especially  to  the  upright  that  blessings  come  from  these  secret 
chambers.  It  is  there  that  they  are  forefended  against  th^  evil 
plots  of  the  vicious,  and  that  they  are  aided  and  guided  in  their 
benign  endeavors  for  the  good  of  others.  It  is  there  that  they 
are  comforted  in  their  anxieties  regarding  the  bestowment  of 
the  fruits  of  their  labors  upon  the  objects  of  their  love  who  are 


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1869.]  Positdmsm  m  England,  341 

to  survive  .them.  And  then,  it  is  there,  sometimes,  that  mirrors 
are  held  before  their  eyes,  in  which  they  are  made  to  behold  in 
their  own  characters  things  that  surprise  and  pain  them ;  yet, 
by  the  sight  of  which,  they  are  made  humbler  and  better. 
This  is,  indeed,  the  true  charity.  To  our  minds  this  is  the  very 
exaltation  of  charity.  The  great  fees  come  not  from  these 
silent  labors.  They  come  from  those  loud  and  fierce  antago- 
nisms which  these  silent  labors  often  prevent,  and  are  intended 
to  prevent.  This  is  the  charity  that  is  kind.  And  it  is  the 
more  beautiful  and  blessed,  in  that  it  doth  not  behave  itself 
unseemly,  but  performs  its  most  benign  work  unnoticed  by  the 
world. 


Art.  V. — C(mTs  de  PhUosophie  Positive.    Par  M.  Auguste 
Comte.     6v.  80.    Paris.     1830-42. 

2.  History  of  Cimlization  in  Eiwland.    By  Henry  Thomas 

Buckle.     London :  John  W.  Parker  &  Sons.     1858. 

3.  A   System  of  Logic^  Patiodnative  cmd   Inductive.     By 

John  Stuart  Mill.    New  York.    1846. 

4.  An  Historical  and  Critical  View  of  the  Speculative  Phil- 

osophy of  Europe  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.     By  J.  D. 
Morell,  A.  M.    New  York.    1848. 

^  Positivism,'  says  M.  Guizot,in  his  Meditations^  'is  a  word — 
in  language,  a  barbarism ;  in  philosophy,  a  presumption.'  Its 
genius  is  suflSciently  indicated  by  its  chosen  name ;  in  which  it 
qualifies  itself,  not  like  other  sciences,  by  its  object,  but  by  a 
boast.  The  votaries  of  physics  have  often  disclosed  a  tendency 
to  a  materialism  which  depreciates  moral  and  spiritual  truths. 
The  one-sidedness  and  egotism  of  the  human  understanding 
ever  inclines  it  to  an  exaggerated  and  exclusive  range.  Man's 
sensuous  nature  concurs  with  the  fascination  of  the  empirical 
method  applied  to  sensible  objects,  to  make  him  overlook  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


.342  Positivism  hi  England.  [April, 

^spi^itual.  Physicists  become  so  inflated  with  their  brilliant 
success  in  detecting  and  explaining  the  laws  of  second  eauseN 
that  they  forget  the  implication  of  a  first  cause,  which  cor.- 
.stantly  presents  itself  to  the  reason  in  all  the  former ;  and  they 
thus  lapse  into  the  hallucination  that  they  can  construct  a 
^system  of  nature  from  second  causes  alone.  This  tendency  to 
naturalism,  which  is  but  an  infirmity  and  vice  of  the  fallen 
mind  of  man,  no  one  has  avowed  so  defiantly,  in  our  age,  as  M. 
Auguste  Comte,  the  pretended  founder  of  the  Positive  Phil- 
osophy^ and  his  followers.  His  attempt  is  nothing  less  than  to 
establish  naturalism  in  its  most  absolute  sense,  to  accept  all  its 
tremendous  results,  and  to  repudiate  as  a  nonentity  all  human 
belief  which  he  cannot  bring  within  the  rigor  of  exact  physical 
.science. 

Although  it  is  riot  just  to  confound  the  man  and  the  opinions, 
we  always  feel  a  natural  curiosity  touching  the  character  of 
.one  who  claims  our  confidence.  Guizot  says  of  him,  when  he 
appeared  before  that  statesman,  with  the  modest  demand  that 
he  should  found  for  him  a  professorship  of  the  History  of 
Physical  aiid  Mathefmatical  Science^  in  the  College  of  France: 
^  He  explained  to  me  drearily  and  confusedly  his  views  upon 
man,  society,  civilization,  religion,  philosophy,  historj'.  He 
was  a  man  single-minded,  honest,  of  profound  convictions,  de 
voted  to  his  own  ideas,  in  appearance  modest,  although  at 
heart  prodigiously  vain ;  he  sincerely  believed  that  it  was  his 
calling  to  open  a  new  era  for  the  mind  of  man  and  for  human 
society.  Whilst  listening  to  him,  I  could  hardly  refrain  from 
expressing  my  astonishment,  that  a  mind  so  vigorous  should, 
at  the  same  time,  be  so  narrow,  as  not  even  to  perceive  the 
nature  and  bearing  of  the  facts  with  which  he  was  dealing, 
and  the  questions  which  he  was  authoritatively  deciding ;  that 
a  character  so  disinterested  should  not  be  warned  by  his  own 
proper  sentiments — which  were  moral  in  spite  of  his  system— 
of  its  falsity  and  its  negation  of  morality.  I  did  not  even 
make  any  attempt  at  discussion  with  M.  Comte ;  his  sincerity, 
his  enthusiasm,  and  the  delusion  that  blinded  him,  inspired  me 
with  that  sad  esteem  that  takes  refuge  in  silence.  Had  I  even 
judged  it  fitting  to  create  the  chair  which  he  demanded,  I 
rghould  not  for  a  moment  have  dreamed  of  assigning  it  to  him. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  Positimsm  in  England,  84« 

*I  should  have  been  as  silent,  and  still  more  sad,  if  I  had 
then  known  the  trials  through  which  M.  Auguste  Comte  had 
already  passed.  He  had  been,  in  1823,  a  prey  to  a  violent 
attack  of  mental  alienation,  and  in  1827,  during  a  paroxysm 
of  gloomy  melancholy,  he  had  thrown  himself  from  the  Pont 
dee  Arts  into  the  Seine,  but  had  been  rescued  by  one  of  the 
King's  guard.  Jtfore  than  once,  in  the  course  of  his  subsequent 
life,  this  mental  trouble  seemed  upon  the  point  of  recurring.' 

The  reader,  allowing  for  the  courteous  euphemism  of  Guizot, 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  realizing  from  the  above,  what  man- 
ner of  man  Comte  was.  His  admiring  votary  and  biographer, 
M.  Littre,  reveals  in  his  master  an  arrogance  and  tyranny, 
which  claimed  every  literary  man  who  expressed  interest  in  his 
speculations,  as  an  intellectual  serf,  and  which  resented  everj- 
subsequent  appearance  of  mental  independence  as  a  species  of 
rebellion  and  treachery  to  be  \'i8ited  with  the  most  vindictive 
anger.  That  his  mental  conceit  was,  beyond  the  'intoxication' 
which  M.  Guizot  terms  it,  a  positive  insanity,  is  manifest  from 
his  own  language.  On  hearing  of  the  adhesion  of  a  Parisian 
editor  to  his  creed,  he  writes  to  his  wife  :  '  To  speak  plainly 
and  in  general  terms,  I  believe  that,  at  the  point  at  which  I 
have  now  arrived,  I  have  no  occasion  to  do  more  than  to  con- 
tinue to  exist ;  the  kind  of  preponderance  which  I  covet  cannot 
henceforth  fail  to  devolve  upon  me.'  .  .  .  .  '  Marrest  no  longer 
feels  any  repugnance  in  admitting  the  indispensable  fact  of  my 
intellectual  superiority.'  And  to  John  Stuart  Mill,  at  one  time 
his  supporter,  he  wrote  of  *  a  common  movement  of  philoso- 
phical regeneration  everywhere,  when  once  Positivism  shall 
have  planted  its  standard— that  is,  its  lighthouse  I  should  term 
it — in  the  midst  of  the  disorder  and  of  the  confusion  that 
reigns ;  and  I  hope  that  this  will  be  the  natural  result  of  the 
publication  of  my  work  in  its  complete  state.'  (This  work  is 
his  Course  of  Positive  Philosophy^  finished  in  1842.) 

Positivism  takes  its  pretext  from  the  seeming  certainty  of 
the  exact  sciences,  and  the  diversity  of  view  and  uncertainty, 
which  have  ever  appeared  to  attend  metaphysics.  It  points  to 
the  brilliant  results  of  the  former,  and  to  the  asserted  vague- 
ness and  barrenness  of  the  latter.     It  reminds  us  that  none  of 


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344  Positvvism  in  England.  [A^P^Jj 

the  efforts  of  philosophy  have  compelled  men  to  agree,  touching 
absolute  truth  and  religion ;  but  the  mathematical  and  physical 
sciences  carry  perfect  assurance,  and  complete  agreement,  to 
all  minds  which  inform  themselves  of  them  suflSciently  to 
understand  their  proofs.  In  these,  then,  we  have  a  satisfying 
and  fruitful  quality.  Positivism ;  in  those,  only  delusion  and 
disappointment.  Now,  adds  the  Positivist,  when  we  see  the 
human  mind  thus  mocked  by  futile  efforts  of  the  reason,  we 
must  conclude,  either  that  it  has  adopted  a  wrong  organon  of 
logic  for  its  search,  or  that  it  directs  that  search  towards  objects 
which  are,  in  fact,  inaccessible,  and  practically  non-existent  to 
it.  Both  these  suppositions  are  true  of  the  previous  philosophy 
and  theology  of  men.  Those  questions  usually  heated  by 
philosophy  and  theology  which  admit  any  solution — which  are 
only  the  questions  of  sociology — ^must  receive  it  fix)m  Positiv- 
ism. The  rest  are  illusory.  History  also,  as  they  claim,  shows 
that  this  new  philosophy  is  the  only  true  teacher.  For  when 
the  course  of  human  opinion  is  reviewed,  it  is  always  found 
to  move  through  these  stages.  In  its  first  stage,  the  human 
mind  tends  to  assign  a  theological  solution  for  every  natural 
problem  which  exercises  it ;  it  resolves  everything  into  an 
effect  of  supernatural  power..  In  its  second  stage,  having 
outgrown  this  simple  view,  it  becomes  metaphysical,  searches 
in  philosophy  for  primary  truths,  and  attempts  to  account  for 
all  natural  effects  by  Sb  priori  ideas.  But  in  its  third,  or  adult 
stage,  it  learns  that  the  only  road  to  truth  is  the  empirical 
method  of  exact  science,  and  comes  to  rely  exclusively  upon 
that.  Thus,  argue  they,  the  history  of  human  opinion  points 
to  Positivism,  as  the  only  teacher  of  man. 

But  Comte,  while  he  denies  the  possibility  of  any  science 
of  psychology,  save  as  a  result  of  his  Positivism,  none  the  lees 
begins  with  a  psychology  of  liis  own.  And  this  is  the  psycho- 
logy of  the  sensationalist.  He  virtually  adopts  as  an  a  priori 
truth  (he  who  declares  that  science  knows  no  a  priori  truths) 
the  maxim  of  Locke,  Nihil  in  irvteUectu  quod  non  prius  i* 
sensuy  and  holds  that  the  human  mind  has,  and  can  have,  no 
ideas  save  those  given  it  by  sensitive  perceptions,  and  those 
formed  from  perceptions  by  reflexive  processes  of  thought 


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1869.]  Positivism  in  England.  345 

Science  accordingly,  knows,  and  can  know,  nothing  save  the 
phenomena  of  sensible  objects,  and  their  laws.  It  can  recog- 
nize no  canse  or  power  whatever,  but  such  as  metaphysicians 
call  second  causes.  It  has  no  species  of  evidence  except  sensa- 
tion and  experimental  proof.  '  Positive  philosophy  is  the  whole 
body  of  human  knowledge.  Human  knowledge  is  the  result 
of  the  study  of  the  forces  belonging  to  matter,  and  of  the  con- 
ditions or  laws  governing  those  forces.' 

*  The  fundamental  character  of  the  positive  philosophy  is  that 
it  regards  all  jphevwrnena  as  subjected  to  invariable  natural  laws, 
and  considers  as  absolutely  inaccessible  to  us,  and  as  having  no 
■sense  for  us,  every  inquiry  into  what  are  termed  either  primary 
or  final  causes.' 

'  The  scientific  path  in  which  I  have,  ever  since  I  began  to 
think,  continued  to  walk,  the  labors  that  I  obstinately  pursue 
to  elevate  social  theories  to  the  rank  of  physical  science,  are 
evidently,  radically,  and  absolutely  opposed  to  everything  that 
has  a  religious  or  metaphysical  tendency.'  '  My  positive  phi- 
losophy is  incompatible  with  every  theological  or  metaphysical 
philosophy.'  '  Religiosity  is  not  only  a  weakness,  but  an  avowal 
of  want  of  power.'  '  The  "  positive  state  "  is  that  state  of  the 
mind,  in  which  it  conceives  that  pherumiena  are  governed  by 
constant  laws,  from  which  prayer  and  adoration  can  demand 
nothing.' 

Such  are  some  of  the  declarations  of  his  chief  principles 
made  by  Comte  himself.  They  are  perspicuous  and  candid 
enough  to  remove  all  doubt  as  to  his  meaning. 

He  also  distributes  human  science  under  the  following 
classes :  It  begins  with  mathematics,  the  science  of  all  that 
which  has  number  for  its  object ;  for  here,  the  objects  are  most 
exact,  and  the  laws  most  rigorous  and  general.  From  mathe- 
matics, the  mind  naturally  passes  to  physics,  which  is  the  science 
of  material  forces,  or  dynamics.  In  this  second  class,  the  first 
subdivision,  and  nearest  to  mathematics  in  the  generality  and 
exactness  of  its  laws,  is  astronomy,  or  the  micaniqxie  cileste. 
Next  comes  mechanics,  then  statics,  and  last  chemistry,  or  the 
science  of  molecular  dynamics.  This  brings  us  to  the  verge  of 
the  third  grand  division,  the  science  of  organisms;   for  the 


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346  Positivism  in  England.  [April, 

wonders  of  chemistry  approach  near  to  the  results  of  vitality. 
This  science  of  organism  then,  is  biology,  the  science  of  life, 
whether  vegetable,  insect,  animal,  or  human.  The  fourth  aad 
last  sphere  of  scientific  knowledge  is  sociology,  or  the  science 
of  man's  relations  to  his  fellows  in  society,  including  history, 
politics,  and  whatever  of  ethics  may  exist  for  the  Positivist 
Above  sociology  there  can  be  nothing ;  because,  beyond  this, 
sensation  and  experimental  proof  do  not  go,  and  where  they 
are  riot,  is  no  real  cognition.  Comte  considers  that  the  fields 
of  mathematics  and  physics  have  been  pretty  thoroughly  occn- 
pied  by  Positivism ;  and  hence  the  solid  and  brilliant  results 
which  these  departments  have  yielded  under  the  hands  of 
modem  science.  Biology  has  also  been  partially  brought 
under  his  method,  with  some  striking  results.  But  sociology 
remains  very  much  in  chaos,  and  unfruitful  of  certain  conclu- 
sions, because  Positivism  has  not  yet  digest^  it.  All  the  prin- 
ciples of  society  founded  on  psychology  and  theology  are,  ac- 
cording to  him,  worthless ;  and  nothing  can  be  established,  to 
any  purpose,  until  sociology  is  studied  solely  as  a  science  of 
physical  facts  and  regular  physical  laws,  without  concerning 
ourselves  with  the  vain  dreams  of  laws  of  mind,  free  agency, 
and  divine  providence. 

Such,  in  outline,  are  the  principles  of  Positivism.  Let  ns 
consider  a  few  of  its  corollaries.  One  of  these,  which  they  do 
not  deign  to  conceal,  is  a  stark  materialism.  Their  philosojAy 
knows  no  such  substance  as  spirit,  and  no  such  laws  as  the  laws 
of  mind.  For,  say  they,  man  can  know  nothing  but  percep- 
tions of  the  senses,  and  the  reflexive  ideas  formed  from  them. 
^  Positive  philosophy,'  which  includes  all  human  knowledge,  is 
'  the  science  of  material  forces  and  their  regular  laws.'  Since 
spirit,  and  the  actings  of  spirit,  can  never  be  phenomena^  pro- 
perly so  called,  events  cognizable  to  our  senses,  it  is  impossible 
that  science  can  recognize  them.  This  demonstration  is,  of 
course,  as  complete  against  the  admission  of  an  infinite  spirit  u 
any  other ;  and  the  more  so,  as  Positivism  repudiates  all  absolute 
ideas.  Nor  does  this  system  care  to  avail  itself  of  the  plea,  that 
there  may  possibly  be  a  God  who  is  corporeal.  Its  necessarily 
atheistic   character  is  disclosed  in  the  declaration,  that  true 


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1869.]  Positmism  in  Englmid.  347 

science  cannot  admit  any  supernatural  agency  or  existence,  or 
even  the  possibility  of  the  mind's  becoming  cognizant  thereof. 
Since  our  only  possible  knowledge  is  that  of  sensible^Ae/i^wz^Tia, 
and  their  natural  laws,  nature  must  of  course  bound  our  know- 
ledge. Her  sphere  is  the  all.  If  there  could  be  a  supernatural 
event,  (to  suppose  an  impossibility,)  the  evidence  of  it  would 
destroy  our  intelligence,  instead  of  informing  it.  For  it  would 
subvert  the  uniformity  of  the  natural,  which  is  the  only  basis 
of  our  general  ideas,  the  norm  of  our  beliefs.  Positivism  is, 
therefore,  perfectly  consistent  in  absolutely  denying  every  super- 
natural fact.  Hence  the  criticism  of  its  votaries,  when  like 
Strauss  and  Kenan,  they  attempt  to  discuss  the  facts  of  the 
Christian  Religion,  and  the  life  of  Jesus  Christ.  Their  own 
literary  acquirements,  and  the  force  of  Christian  opinion,  deter 
them  from  the  coarse  and  reckless  expedient  of  the  school  of 
Tom  Paine,  who  rid  themselves  of  every  difficult  fact  in  the 
Christian  history  by  a  flat  and  ignorant  denial,  in  the  face  of  all 
historical  evidence.  These  recent  unbelievers  admit  the  estab- 
lished facts ;  but  having  approached  them  with  the  foregone 
conclusion  that  there  can  be  no  supernatural  cause,  they  are 
reduced,  for  a  pretended  explanation,  to  a  set  of  unproved 
hypotheses,  and  fantastic  guesses,  which  they  offer  us  for  veri- 
ties, in  most  ludicrous  contradiction  of  the  very  spirit  of  their 
*  positive  philosophy.' 

What  can  be  more  distinctly  miraculous  than  a  creation  ? 
That  which  brings  nature  out  of  nihU  must  of  course  be  super- 
natural. Positivism  must  therefore  deny  creation,  as  a  fact  of 
which  the  human  intelligence  cannot  possibly  have  evidence. 
As  the  universe  did  not  begin,  it  must,  of  course,  be  from 
eternity,  and  therefore  self-existent.  But,  being  self-existent,  it 
will  of  course  never  end.  Thus  matter  is  clothed  with  the 
attributes  of  God. 

The  perspicacious  reader  has  doubtless  perceived  that  these 
deductions,  when  stripped  of  their  high-sounding  language,  are 
identical  with  the  stupid  and  vulgar  logic  which  one  hears 
occasionally  from  atheistic  shoemakers  and  tailors.  *  How  do 
you  know  there  is  a  God  ?  Did  you  ever  see  him  ?  Did  you 
ever  handle  him  ?     Did  you  ever  hear  him  directly  making  a 


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348  Positivism  in  England.  [Aprils 

noise  ? '  Those  who  have  heard  the  philosophy  of  tap-rooms, 
redolent  of  the  fumes  of  bad  whiskey  and  tobacco,  rec(^nize 
these  as  precisely  the  arguments,  uttered  in  tones  either  maudlin 
or  profane.  Is  not  the  logic  of  Positivism,  when  stated  in  the 
language  of  common  sense,  precisely  the  same  ? 

Once  more,  Positivism  is  manifestly  a  system  of  rigid  fatal- 
ism ;  and  this  also  its  advocates  scarcely  trouble  themselves  to 
veil.  Human  knowledge  contains  nothing  hui  phenomena  and 
their  natural  laws,  according  to  them.  'The  positive  state  is 
that  state  of  mind,  in  which  it  conceives  that  phenomena  are 
governed  by  constant  laws,  from  which  prayer  and  adoration 
can  demand  notliing.'  '  The  fundamental  character  of  positive 
philosophy  is,  that  it  regards  2M  phenomena  as  subject  to  inva- 
riable laws.'  Such  are  Comte's  dicta.  Tlie  only  causation  he 
knows  is  that  of  physical  second  causes.  These,  of  course, 
operate  blindly  and  necessarily.  This  tremendous  conclusion 
is  confirmed  by  the  doctrine  of  the  eternity  and  self-existence 
of  nature ;  for  a  substance  which  has  these  attributes,  and  is 
also  material,  must  be  what  it  is,  and  do  what  it  does,  by  an 
imminent  and  immutable  necessity.  Positivism  must  teach 
us,  therefore,  if  it  is  consistent,  that  all  tlie  events  which  befall 
us  are  directed  by  a  physical  fate,  that  there  is  no  divine  intel- 
ligence, nor  goodness,  nor  righteousness,  nor  will  concerned  in 
them ;  that  our  hopes,  our  hearts,  our  beloved  ones,  our  very 
existence,  are  all  between  the  jaws  of  an  irresistible  and  inexo- 
rable machine ;  that  our  free-agency,  in  short,  is  illusory,  and 
our  free-will  a  cheat. 

But  the  positive  philosophy,  with  its  sweeping  conclusions, 
influences  the  science  of  this  generation  to  a  surprising  degree- 
We  are  continually  told  that  in  France,  in  Germany,  and  espe- 
cially in  Great  Britain,  it  is  avowed  by  multitudes,  and  boasts 
of  prominent  names.  The  tendencies  of  physicists  are,  as  has 
been  noted,  towards  Naturalism :  the  boldness  with  which  the 
school  of  Comte  lifted  up  their  standard,  has  encouraged  many 
to  gather  around  it.  Its  most  deplorable  result  is  the  impulse 
which  it  has  given  to  irreligion  and  open  atheism.  Thou6and^ 
of  ignorant  persons,  who  are  incapable  of  comprehending  any 
connected  philosophy,  true  or  erroneous,  are  emboldened  to 


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1869.]  Positivimi  in  England.  349 

babble  materialism  and  impiety,  by  hearing  that  the  '  positive 
philosophy '  knows  *  neither  angel  nor  spirit,'  nor  God.  And 
this  is  one  of  those  sinister  influences  which  now  hurries  Euro- 
pean and  American  society  along  its  career  of  sensuous  exist- 
ence. We  detect  the  symptoms  of  this  error  in  the  strong 
direction  of  modem  physical  science  to  utilitarian  ends.  Even 
Lord  Macaulay,  in  his  essay  on  Bacon,  seems  to  vaunt  the  fact 
that  the  new  Organon  aimed  exclusively  at  '  fruit.'  He  con- 
trasts it  in  this  respect,  with  the  ancient  philosophy,  which 
professed  to  seek  truth  primarily  for  its  intrinsic  value,  and  not 
for  the  sake  of  its  material  applications.  He  cites  Seneca,  as 
repudiating  so  grovelling  an  end,  and  as  declaring  that  if  the 
philosopher  speculated  for  the  direct  purpose  of  subserving  the 
improvements  of  the  arts  of  life,  he  would  thereby  cease  to  be 
a  philosopher,  and  sink  himself  into  an  artizan,  the  fellow- 
craftsman  of  shoemakers  and  such  like.  And  the  witty  essayist 
remarks  that,  for  his  part,  he  thinks  it  more  meritorious  to  be  a 
shoemaker,  and  actually  keep  the  feet  of  many  people  warm, 
than  to  be  a  Seneca,  and  write  the  treatise  De  Ira^  w^hich,  he 
presumes,  never  kept  anybody  from  getting  angry.  The  truth, 
of  course,  lies  between  the  unpractical  spirit  of  the  ancient,  and 
the  too  practical  spirit  of  the  modem  philosophy.  Man  has  a 
body,  and  it  is  well  to  study  its  welfare ;  but  he  also  has  a 
mind,  and  it  is  better  to  study  the  well-being  of  that  nobler 
part.  Truth  is  valuable  to  the  soul  in  itself,  as  well  as  in  its 
material  applications.  To  deny  this,  one  must  forget  that  man 
will  have  an  immortal,  rational  existence,  without  an  animal 
nature,  when  truth  will  be  his  immediate  and  oxAj  jpahulum. 
So  that  an  exclusive  tendency  to  physical  applications  of  science 
savors  of  materialism.  To  represent  the  splendid  philosophy 
of  the  ancients  as  nugatory,  is  also  a  mischievous  extravagance. 
It  did  not  give  them  all  the  mental  progress  of  the  modems ! 
True.  Perhaps  no  philosophy,  without  revelation,  could  do 
this.  But  it  gave  them  the  ancient  civilization,  such  as  it  was. 
And  surely,  there  was  a  grand  diflerence  in  favor  of  Pericles, 
Plato,  and  Cicero,  as  compared  with  Hottentots  and  Austra- 
lians !  Pagans  who,  like  the  Positivists,  have  neither  a  psycho- 
logy nor  a  natural  theolog}\ 


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350  Positwism  in  England.  [April, 

When  we  look  into  Great  Britain,  we  see  startling  evidence 
of  the  power  of  the  new  philosophy.  John  Stuart  Mill  pre- 
sents one  of  these  evidences.  He  has  long  since  (in  his  Logic) 
committed  himself  to  some  of  its  most  fatal  heresies ;  and  these 
he  reaffirms  and  fortifies  in  his  more  recent  Examination  of 
Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy,  He  holds  in  the  main  to 
the  dogmas  of  the  Sensualistic  Philosophy.  He  flonts  the 
primitive  judgments  of  the  human  mind.  He  intimates,  only 
too  plainly,  the  ethics  of  utilitarianism.  He  disdains  the  idea 
of  power  in  causation,  and  reduces  man's  intuitive  judgment 
of  adequate  cause  for  every  known  effect,  to  an  empirical  infer- 
ence. Matter  he  defines,  indeed,  as  being  known  to  the  mind 
as  only  a  possibility  of  affecting  us  with  sensations ;  thus  part- 
ing company,  in  a  very  queer  way,  with  his  natural  kindred, 
the  more  materialistic  positivists.  While  upon  the  subject  of 
fatalism  and  free-will,  his  '  trumpet  gives  an  uncertain  sound,' 
he  deserves  the  credit  of  correcting  some  of  the  errors  of  both 
the  opposing  schools,  and  stating  some  just  truths  upon  these 
doctrines.  His  association  with  the  anti-Christian  school  re- 
presented by  the  Westminstei'  Review  is  well  known.  We  are 
now  told  that  Mill  is  quite  ^  the  fashion '  at  one,  at  least,  of  the 
Universities,  and  is  the  admitted  philosopher  of  Liberalism. 

Another  of  these  evil  portents  in  the  literary  horizon  is 
Henry  Thomas  Buckle,  in  his  History  of  Civilization  in 
England.  His  theory  of  man  and  society  is  essentially  that  of 
the  Positivist.  He  regards  all  religion  as  the  outgrowth  of  civili- 
zation, instead  of  its  root ;  and  is  willing  to  compliment  Chris- 
tianity with  the  praise  of  being  the  best  religious  effect  of 
the  British  mind  and  character ;  (provided  Christianity  can 
be  suggested  without  its  ministers;  whose  supposed  bigotry, 
ecclesiastical,  and  theological,  never  fails  to  inflame  his  philofio- 
phic  bigotry  to  a  red  heat,)  although  he  anticipates  that 
English  civilization  will,  under  his  teachings,  ultimately  create 
for  itself  a  religion  much  finer  than  that  of  Christ.  He,  of 
course,  disdains  psychology  ;  he  does  not  believe  a  man's  own 
consciousness  a  trustworthy  witness;  and  he  regards  thoee 
general  facts  concerning  human  action  which  are  disclosed,  for 
instance,  by  statistics,  the  only  materials  for  a  science  of  man 


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1869.]  Positivism  in  England,  351 

and  Bociety.  He  commends  intellectual  skepticism,  as  the  most 
advantageous  state  of  mind.  He  is  an  outspoken  fatalist,  and 
r^ards  the  hope  of  modifying  immutable  sequences  of  events 
by  prayer,  as  puerile.  He  regards  *  positive'  science  as  a  much 
more  hopeful  fountain  of  well-being  and  progress,  than  virtue 
or  holiness. 

It  is  significant,  also,  to  hear  so  distinguished  a  naturalist  as 
Dr.  Hooker,  now  filling  the  high  position  of  President  of  the 
British  Association,  in  his  inaugural  address,  terming  natural 
theology  *  that  most  dangerous  of  two-edged  weapons,'  discard- 
ing metaphysics,  as  'availing  him  nothing,'  and  condemning 
all  who  hold  it  as  'beyond  the  pale  of  scientific  criticism,'  and 
declaring  roundly,  that  no  theological  or  metaphysical  proposi- 
tion rests  on  positive  proof. 

As  Americans  are  always  prompt  to  imitate  Europeans, 
(especially  in  their  follies,)  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that 
the  same  dogmas  are  rife  in  our  current  literature.  Even  an 
Agassiz  has  been  seen  writing  such  words  as  these :  'We  trust 
that  the  time  is  not  distant,  when  it  will  be  universally  under- 
stood, that  *the  battle  of  the  evidences  will  have  to  be  fought 
on  the  field  of  physical  science,  and  not  on  that  of  the  meta- 
physical.' 

All  these  instances  are  hints  of  a  tendency  in  English  and 
American  philosophy.  We  have  referred  to  Positivism,  as 
giving  us  their  intelligible  genesis.  Our  purpose  is,  in  the 
remainder  of  this  article,  to  discuss,  not  so  much  individual 
Englishmen,  or  their  particular  theories,  as  the  central  prin- 
ciples of  that  school  of  thought,  from  which  they  all  receive 
their  impulse.  To  debate  details  and  corollaries  is  little  to  our 
taste;  and  such  debate  never  results  in  permanent  victory. 
He  who  prunes  the  ofishoots  of  error  has  an  endless  task ;  a 
task  which  usually  results  only  in  surrounding  himself  with  a 
thicket  of  thorny  rubbish.  It  is  better  to  strike  at  the  main 
root  of  the  evil  stock,  from  which  this  endless  outgrowth 
sprouts.  Hence,  we  propose  to  examine  a  few  of  the  general 
objections  against  the  body  of  the  system,  rather  than  to  follow, 
at  this  time,  the  special  applications  of  one  or  another  of  the 
representative  men  named  above. 


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352  Positivism  hi  England,  [April, 

Let  us,  then,  look  back  again  at  Positivism  fully  pronounced. 
We  have  pointed  to  that  gulf  of  the  blackness  of  darkness, 
and  of  freezing  despair,  towards  which  it  leads  the  human 
mind ;  a  gulf  without  an  immortality,  without  a  God,  without 
a  faith,  without  a  providence,  without  a  hope.  Were  it  possible 
or  moral  for  a  good  man  to  consider  such  a  thing  dispassion- 
ately, it  would  appear  to  be  odd  and  ludicrous  to  him,  to  witness 
the  surprise  and  anger  of  the  Positivists  at  perceiving,  that 
reasonable  and  Christian  people  are  not  disposed  to  submit 
with  entire  meekness  to  all  this  havoc.  There  is  a  great 
affectation  of  philosophic  calmness  and  impartiality.  They 
are  quite  scandalized,  to  find  that  the  theologians  cannot  be 
as  cool  as  themselves,  while  all  our  infinite  and  priceless  hopes 
for  both  worlds  are  dissected  away  under  their  philosophic 
scalpel !  Such  bigotry  is  very  naughty  in  their  eyes.  Such 
conduct  sets  Christianity  in  a  very  sorry  light,  beside  the  feaiv 
less  and  placid  love  of  truth,  displayed  by  the  apostles  of 
science.  This  is  the  tone  affected  by  the  Positivists.  But  we 
observe,  that  whenever  these  philosophic  hearts  are  not  cov- 
ered with  a  triple  shield  of  supercilious  arrogance,  they  also 
bum  with  a  scientific  bigotry,  worthy  of  a  Dominic,  or  a  PhiUp 
II.  of  Spain.  They  also  can  vituperate  and  scold,  and  actually 
excel  the  bad  manners  of  the  theologians.  The  scientific  bigots 
are  fiercer  than  the  theological,  besides  being  the  aggressors. 
We  would  also  submit,  that  if  we  were  about  to  enter  upon  an 
Arctic  winter  in  Labrador,  with  a  cherished  and  dependent 
family  to  protect  from  that  savage  clime,  and  if  a  philosopher 
should  insist  upon  it  that  he  should  be  permitted,  in  the  pure 
love  of  science,  to  extinguish  by  his  experiments,  all  the  lamj^^ 
from  which  we  were  to  derive  light,  warmth,  or  food,  to  save 
us  from  a  frightful  death,  and  if  he  should  call  us  testy 
blockheads,  because  we  did  not  witness  those  experiments  with 
equanimity,  with  any  number  of  other  hard  names ;  nothing 
but  our  compassion  for  his  manifest  lunacy  should  prevent  onr 
breaking  his  head  before  his  enormous  folly  was  consmnmated. 
Seriously,  the  monstrous  pretensions  of  this  philosophy  are  not 
the  proper  objects  of  forbearance.  We  distinctly  avow,  that 
the  only  sentiment,  with  which  a  good  and  sober  man  ought  to 


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1869.]  Positivism  hi  England,  353 

resist  these  aggresssions  upon  fundamental  truths,  is  that  of 
lionest  indignation.     We  pretend  to  affect  no  other. 

The  first  consideration  which  exposes  tlie  baseless  character 
of  Positivism  Is,  that  we  find  it  arrayed  against  the  rudimental 
instincts  of  man's  reason  and  conscience,  as  manifested  in  all 
ages.  That  the  mind  has  some  innate  norms  regulative  of  its 
own  thinking;  that  all  necessary  truth  is  not  inaccessible  to  it; 
that  a  universe  does  imply  a  Creator,  and  that  nature  suggests 
the  supernatural ;  that  man  has  consciously  a  personal  willy 
and  that  there  is  a  personal  will  above  man's,  governing  him 
from  the  skies ;  these  are  truths  which  all  ages  have  accepted, 
everywhere.  Now,  we  have  always  deemed  it  a  safe  test  of 
pretended  truths,  to  ask  if  they  contravene  what  all  men  have 
everywhere  supposed  to  be  the  necessary  intuitions  of  the 
mind.  If  they  do,  whether  we  can  analyze  the  sophisms  or 
not,  we  set  them  down  as  false  philosophy.  When  Bishop 
Berkeley  proved,  as  he  supposed,  that  the  man  who  breaks  his 
head  against  a  post  has  yet  no  valid  evidence  of  the  objective 
reality  of  tlie  post,  when  Spinoza  reasoned  that  nothing  can 
be  evil  in  itself,  the  universal  common  sense  of  mankind  gave? 
them  the  lie  ;  there  was  needed  no  analysis  to  satisfy  us  that 
they  reasoned  falsely,  and  that  a  more  correct  statement  of 
the  elements  they  discussed  would  show  it,  as  it  has  in  fact 
done.  This  consideration  also  relieves  all  our  fears  of  the  ulti- 
mate triumph  of  Positivism.  It  will  require  something  more 
omnipotent  than  these  philosophers,  to  make  the  human  reason 
deny  itself  permanently.  Thank  God,  that  which  they  attempt 
is  an  impossibility !  Man  is  a  religious  being.  If  they  had 
applied  that  'positive'  method,  in  which  they  boast,  to  make  a 
fair  induction  from  the  facts  of  human  nature  and  history, 
they  would  have  learned  this,  at  least  as  certainly  as  they  have 
learned  that  the  earth  and  moon  attract  each  other.  That 
there  is  an  ineradicable  ground  in  man's  nature,  which  will,  in 
the  main,  impel  him  to  recognize  the  supernatural,  is  as  fairly 
an  established  fact  of  natural  history  as  that  man  is,  corporeally, 
a  bimanous  animal.  His  spiritual  instincts  cannot  but  assert 
themselves,  in  races,  in  individuals,  in  theories,  and  even  in  pro- 
fessed materialists  and   atheists,  whenever  the  hour  of  their 


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354  Positivism  in  England.  [April, 

extremity  makes  them  thoroughly  in  earnest.  No ;  all  that 
Positivism,  or  any  such  scheme,  can  eflTect  is,  to  give  reprobate 
and  sensual  minds  a  pretext  and  a  quibble  for  blinding  their 
own  understandings  and  consciences,  and  sealing  their  own 
perdition,  while  it  aflfords  topic  of  debate  and  conceit  to  serioiis 
idlers,  in  their  hours  of  vanity.  Man  will  have  the  supernatural 
again  ;  he  will  have  a  religion.  If  you  take  from  him  God's 
miracles,  he  will  turn  to  man's  miracles.  *It  is  not  necessary 
to  go  far  in  time,  or  wide  in  space,  to  see  the  Supernatural  of 
Superstition  raising  itself  in  the  place  of  the  Supernatural  of 
Religion,  and  Credulity  hurrying  to  meet  Falsehood  half-way.' 
The  later  labors  of  Comte  himself  give  an  example  of  this 
assertion,  which  is  a  satire  upon  his  creed  suflSciently  biting  to 
avenge  the  insults  that  Christianity  has  suffered  from  it.  After 
beginning  his  system  with  the  declaration  that  its  principles 
necessarily  made  any  religion  impossible,  he  ended  it  by  actually 
constructing  a  religion,  with  a  calendar  and  formal  ritual,  of 
which  aggregate  humanity,  as  impersonated  in  his  dead  mis- 
tress, was  the  deity !  'He  changed  the  glory  of  the  incorrup- 
tible God  into  an  image,  made  like  to  corruptible  man.' 

Here  also  it  should  be  remarked,  that  it  is  a  glaring  mis- 
statement of  the  history  of  the  human  mind,  to  say  that  when 
true  scientific  progress  begins,  it  regularly  causes  men  to  relin- 
quish the  theory  of  the  supernatural  for  that  of  metaphysics, 
and  then  this  for  Positivism.  It  was  not  so  of  old ;  it  is  not  80 
now;  it  never  will  be  so.  It  is  not  generally  true  either  of 
individuals  or  races.  Bacon,  Kepler,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Leib- 
nitz, Cuvier,  were  not  the  less  devout  believers  to  the  end, 
because  each  made  splendid  additions  to  the  domain  rf 
science.  The  16th  century  in  Europe  was  marked  by  a  grand 
intellectual  activity  in  the  right  scientific  direction.  It  did  not 
become  less  Christian  in  its  thought;  on  the  contrary,  the 
most  perfect  systems  of  religious  belief  received  an  equal 
impulse.  The  happy  Christian  awakening  in  France,  whid 
followed  the  tragical  atheism  of  the  first  Kevolution,  and 
which  Positivism  so  tends  to  quench  in  another  bloody  chaoe, 
did  not  signalize  a  regression  of  the  exact  sciences.  The  hfe- 
tory   of   human   opinion   and    progress  presents    us  with  a 


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1869.]  Positivism  m  England.  355 

chequered  scene,  in  which  many  causes  commingle^  working 
across  and  with  each  other  their  incomplete  and  confused 
results.  Sometimes  the^e  is  a  partial  recession  of  the  truth. 
The  tides  of  thought  ebb  and  flow,  swelling  from  secret  foun- 
tains of  the  deep,  which  none  but  Omniscience  can  fully  meas- 
ure. But  amid  all  the  uncertainties,  we  clearly  perceive 
this  general  result,  that  the  most  devout  belief  in  supernatural 
verities  is,  in  the  main,  concurrent  with  healthy  intellectual 
progress. 

2.  We  have  seen  that  fatalism  is  a  clear  corollary  of  the 
positive  philosophy.  It  avows  its  utter  disbelief  of  a  personal 
and  intelligent  win  above  us ;  yea  it  is  glad  to  assert  the  im- 
possibility of  reconciling  so  glorious  a  fact  with  its  principles. 
It  makes  an  impotent  defence  of  man's  own  free-agency.  But 
our  primitive  consciousness  demands  the  full  admission  of  this 
fact.  If  there  is  anything  which  the  mind  thinks  with  a  cer- 
tainty and  necessity  equal  to  those  which  attend  its  belief  in 
its  own  existence,  it  is  the  conscious  fact  of  its  own  freedom. 
It  knows  that  it  has  a  spontaneity,  within  certain  limits ;  that 
it  does  itself  originate  some  effects.  No  system  then,  is  correct, 
which  has  not  a  place  for  the  full  and  consistent  admission  of 
this  primitive  fact.  But  this  fact  alone  is  abundant  to  convince 
the  Positivist  that  he  is  mistaken  in  declaring  the  supernatural 
impossible,  and  in  omitting  a  Divine  will  and  first  Cause  from 
his  system.  Nature,  says  he,  is  the  all :  no  knowledge  can 
be  outside  the  knowledge  of  her  facts  and  laws ;  no  cause,  save 
her  forces.  These  laws,  he  asserts,  are  constant  and  invariable. 
But,  remember,  he  also  teaches,  that  science  knows  nothing  as 
^ect,  save  sensible  j!?A^wo77i^na,  and  nothing  as  cause,  save  '  the 
forces  belonging  to  matter.'.  Now,  the  sufficient  refutation  is 
in  this  exceedingly  familiar  fact ;  that  our  o^^ti  wills  are  con- 
tinually originating  effects,  of  which  natural  forces,  as  the 
Positivist  defines  them,  are  not  the  efficients;  and  that  our 
wills  frequently  reverse  those  forces  to  a  certain  extent.  Let 
us  take  a  most  familiar  instance,  of  the  like  of  which  the  daily 
experience  of  every  working-man  furnishes  him  with  a  hundred. 
The  natural  law  of  liquids  requires  water  to  seek  its  own  level : 
requires  this  only,  and  always.     But  the  peasant,  by  the  inter- 


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356  Positivism  in  England.  [April, 

vention  ef  his  own  free  will,  originates  absolutely  an  opposite 
effect :  he  causes  it  to  ascend  from  its  level  in  the  tube  of  lii& 
pump.  He  adopts  the  just  empirical. and  'positive'  method  of 
tracing  this  phenomenon  to  its  true  cause.  He  observes  that 
the  rise  of  the  water  is  effected  by  the  movement  of  a  lever; 
that  this  lever,  however,  is  not  the  true  cause,  for  it  is  moved 
by  his  arm ;  that  this  arm  also  is  not  the  true  cause,  beinor 
itself  but  a  lever  of  flesh  and  bone ;  that  this  arm  is  moved  by 
nerves;  and  finally,  that  these  nervous  chords  are  but  con- 
ductors of  an  impulse  which  his  consciousness  assures  him,  that 
he  himself  emitted  by  a  function  of  his  mental  spontaneity.  As 
long  as  the  series  pi  phenomena  were  affections  of  matter,  they 
did  not  disclose  to  him  the  true  cause  of  the  water's  rise  against 
its  own  law.  It  was  only  when  he  traced  the  chain  back  to  the 
mind's  self-originated  act,  that  he  found  the  true  cause.  Here 
then,  is  an  actual,  experimental  j!?A^7w>7ri«7iow,  which  has  arisen 
without,  yea,  against,  natural  law.  For,  according  to  the 
Positivist,  it  discloses  only  the  forces  of  matter ;  this  cause  was 
above  and  outside  of  matter.  It  was,  upon  his  scheme,  (not 
ours,)  literally  supernatural.  Yet,  that  it  acted,  was  experi- 
mentally certain ;  certain  by  the  testimony  of  consciousness. 
And  if  her  testimony  is  not  experimental,  and  *  positive,'  then 
no  phenxmienon  in  physics  is  so,  even  though  seen  by  actual 
eyesight ;  because  it  is  impossible  that  sensation  can  inform  the 
mind,  save  through  this  same  consciousness.  But  now,  when 
this  peasant  is  taught  thus  '  positively,'  that  his  own  intelligent 
will  is  an  original  fountain  of  effects  outside  of,  and  above, 
nature,  (the  Positivist's  nature,)  and  when  he  lifts  his  eyes  to 
the  orderly  contrivances  and  wonderful  ingenuity  displayed  in 
the  works  of  nature,  and  sees  in  these  the  '  experimental '  proofe 
of  the  presence  of  another  intelligence  there,  kindred  to  Y^s- 
own,  but  immeasurably  grander,  how  can  he  doubt  that  this 
superior  mind  also  has,  in  its  will,  another  primary  source  of 
effects  above  nature?  This  is  as  valid  an  induction  as  tie 
physicist  ever  drew  from  his  maxim,  '  Like  causes^  like  effects.' 
We  thus  see,  that  it  is  not  true  that  the  *  positive  method ' 
presents  any  impossibility,  or  even  any  difficulty,  in  the  way  of 
admitting  the  supernatural.     On  the  contrary,  it  requires  the 


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1869.]  Positivism  in  England.  357 

admission;  that  is  to  say,  unless  we  commit  the  outrage  of 
denying  our  own  conscious  spontaneity. 

3.  The  positive  philosophy  scouts  all  metaphysical  science, 
namely,  psychology,  logic,  morals,  and  natural  theology,  as 
having  no  certainty,  no  Positivism,  and  as  being,  therefore, 
nothing  worth.  These  fictitious  sciences,  as  it  deems  them, 
have  no  phenomena^  that  is,  no  effects  cognizable  by  the  senses, 
and  therefore  it  deems  that  they  can  have  no  experimental 
proofs,  and  can  be  no  sciences.  But  we  assert,  that  it  is  pimply 
impossible  that  any  man  can  construct  any  other  branch  of 
knowledge,  without  having  a  science  of  psychology  and  logic 
of  his  own.  In  other  words,  he  must  have  accepted  some  laws 
of  thought,  as  sufficiently  established,  in  order  to  construct  his 
<}vra  thoughts.  This  he  may  not  have  done  in  words,  but  he 
must  have  done  it  in  fact.  What  can  be  more  obvious,  than 
that  the  successful  use  of  any  implement  implies  some  correct 
knowledge  of  its  qualities  and  powers  ?  And  this  is  as  true  of 
the  mind  as  of  any  other  implement.  WJien  the  epicure  argues, 
{ in  the  spirit  of  Positivism,)  '  I  may  not  eat  stewed  crabs  to-day 
with  impunity,  because  stewed  crabs  gave  me  a  frightful  colic 
last  week,'  has  he  not  posited  a  logical  law  of  the  reason  ? 
When  the  mechanic  assumes  without  present  experiment,  that 
steel  will  cut  wood,  has  he  not  assumed  the  validity  of  his  own 
memory  concerning  past  experiments  ?  These  familiar  instances, 
seized  at  hap-hazard,  might  be  multiplied  to  a  hundred.  Every 
man  is  a  psychologist  and  logician ;  (imless  he  is  idiotic ; )  he 
cannot  trust  his  own  mind,  except  he  believes  in  some  powers 
and  properties  of  his  mind.  These  beliefs  constitute  his  science 
of  practical  metaphysics. 

AVe  urge  farther,  that  the  uniformity  of  men's  convictions 
concettdng phenomena  and  experimental  conclusions  thereupon, 
obviously  implies  a  certain  uniformity  in  the  doctrines  of  this 
common  psychology.  For,  whenever  one  accepts  a  given  pro- 
cess of  'positive'  proof,  as  valid,  this  is  only  because  he  has 
accepted  that  function  of  the  mind  as  valid,  by  which  he  ap- 
prehends that  proof.  Unless  he  has  learned  to  trust  the  mental 
power  therein  exercised,  he  cannot  trust  the  conclusion.  If, 
then,  physics  do  not  possess  the  glory  (claimed  for  this  science 


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358  Positivism  in  England.  [April, 

by  the  followers  of  CJomte)  of  *  poBitivity ; '  if  their  evidence 
are  so  exact  that  all  men  accept  them,  when  understood,  with 
confidence,  this  is  only  because  they  have  all  accepted  with  yet 
fuller  confidence,  those  mental  laws  by  which  the  physicist 
thinks.  So  that  the  very  Positivism  of  the  positive  philo- 
sophy implies  that  so  much,  at  least,  of  metaphysics  is  equally 
*  positive.' 

The  Positivist,  of  course,  has  a  psychology,  although  he  re- 
pudiates it.  '  If  he  had  not  ploughed  with  our  heifer,  he  had 
not  found  out  our  riddle.'  And  this  psychology,  so  far  as  it  is 
peculiar  to  him,  is  that  of  the  sensualistic  school.  The  partial 
inductions,  errors,  and  natural  finiits  of  that  school,  are  well 
known  to  all  scholars.  This  is  not  the  first  instance,  in  which 
it  has  borne  its  apples  of  Sodom,  materialism  and  atheism. 
Hume,  starting  from  the  fatal  maxim  of  Locke,  very  easily  and 
logically  concluded  that  the  human  reason  has  no  such  intuition 
as  that  of  a  cause  for  every  effect,  and  no  such  valid  idea  as 
that  of  power  in  cause ;  for  in  a  causative  (so  called)  sequence, 
is  anything  else  seen  by  the  senses,  than  a  regular  and  imme- 
diate consequent  after  a  given  antecedent?  Hence  he  de- 
duced the  pleasant  consequences  of  metaphysical  scepticisnL 
Hence  he  deduced  that  no  man  could  ever  believe  in  a  miracle. 
Hence  he  inferred,  that  since  world-making  is  a  ^singular 
effect,'  of  which  no  one  has  had  ocular  observation,  all  the 
wonders  of  this  universe  do  not  entitle  us  to  suppose  a  first 
Cause.  Hence  Hartley  and  Priestly,  in  England,  deduced  the 
conclusion  that  the  mind  is  as  material  as  the  organs  of  sense, 
and  perishes  with  them,  of  course.  Hence  the  atheism  which 
in  France  prepared  the  way  for  the  Reign  of  Terror,  and  voted 
God  a  nonentity,  death  an  eternal  sleep,  and  a  strumpet  the 
Goddess  of  Reason.  We  do  not  wonder  that  the  Positivist, 
viewing  psychology  through  this  school,  should  have  a  scurvy 
opinion  of  it ;  indeed,  we  quite  applaud  him  for  it.  The  &ct 
that  he  still  employs  it,  notwithstang  liis  ill  opinion,  only  proves 
how  true  is  the  assertion  that  no  man  can  think  without  havinjr 
a  psychology  of  his  own. 

The  relationship  of  the  positive  philosophy  to  these  mis- 
chievous and  exploded  vagaries,  appears  especially  in  its  ai^ 


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1869.]  jPositwism  in  England.  359 

ment  against  the  credibility  of  supernatural  effects  or  powers. 
Thus,  says  the  Positivist,  since  our  only  knowledge  is  of  the 
phenomena  and  laws  of  nature,  the  supernatural  is  to  us  in- 
accessible. Let  us  now  hear  Hume:  'It  is  experience  only 
which  gives  authority  to  human  testimony,  and  it  is  the  same 
experience  which  assures  us  of  the  laws  of  nature.  When, 
therefore,  these  two  kinds  of  experience  are  contrary,  we  have 
nothing  to  do  but  subtract  the  one  from  the  other,  and  embrace 
an  opinion  either  on  the  one  side  or  the  other,  with  that  assur- 
ance which  arises  from  the  remainder.  But  according  to  the 
principles  here  explained,  this  subtraction,  with  regard  to  all 
popular  religions,  amounts  to  an  entire  annihilation;  and, 
therefore,  we  may  establish  it  as  a  maxim,  that  no  human  tes- 
timony can  have  such  force  as  to  prove  a  miracle,  and  make  it 
a  just  foundation  for  any  such  system  of  religion.' 

The  only  true  difference  here  is,  that  the  recent  Positivist  is 
more  candid ;  instead  of  insinuating  the  impossibility  of  the 
supernatural  in  the  form  of  the  exclusion  of  testimony,  he 
flatly  asserts  it.  'The  supernatural,'  says  he, 'is  the  anii- 
natural.'^  In  reply,  we  would  point  to  the  obvious  fact,  that 
this  view  can  have  force  only  with  an  atheist.  For,  if  there  is 
a  Creator,  if  He  is  a  personal,  intelligent,  and  voluntary  Being, 
if  He  still  superintends  the  world  he  has  made  (the  denial  of 
either  of  these  postulates  is  atheism  or  pantheism,)  then,  since 
it  must  always  be  possible  that  He  may  see  a  moral  motive  for 
an  unusual  intervention  in  his  own  possessions,  our  experience 
of  our  own  free  will  makes  it  every  way  probable,  that  He 
may,  on  occasion,  intervene.  No  rational  man  who  directs  his 
own  affairs,  customarily  on  regular  methods,  but  occasionally, 
by  unusual  expedients,  because  of  an  adequate  motive,  can 
fail  to  concede  the  probability  of  a  similar  free-agency  to  God, 
if  there  is  a  God.  This  noted  demonstration  of  Positivism  is, 
therefore,  a  'vicious  circle.'  It  excludes  a  God,  because  it 
cannot  admit  the  supernatural ;  and  lo !  its  only  ground  for 
not  admitting  the  supernatural  is  the  gratuitous  assumption, 
that  there  is  no  God.  But,  in  truth,  man's  reliance  on  testi- 
mony is  not  the  result  of  experience ;  the  effect  of  the  latter 
is  not  to  produce,  but  to  limit,  that  reliance.     The  child  be- 


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360  Poidtivisia  in  England.  [April, 

lieves  the  testimony  of  its  parent,  before  it  has  experimented 
upon  it ;  believes  it  by  an  instinct  of  its  reason.  How  poor, 
how  shallow,  then,  is  the  beggarly  arithmetic  of  this  earlier 
Positivist,  Hume,  when  he  proposes  to  strike  a  balance  between 
the  weight  of  testimony  for  the  supernatural,  and  the  evidence 
for  the  inflexible  uniformity  of  nature!  The  great  moral 
problems  of  man's  thought  are  not  to  be  thus  dispatched,  like 
a  grocer's  traffic !  The  nature  of  the  competing  evidence  i^ 
also  profoundly  misunderstood.  Our  belief  in  the  necessary 
operation  of  a  cause  is  not  based  on  simple  experience,  but  on 
an  intuition  of  the  reason.  The  Positivist  sees  in  the  natural 
flora  of  England  and  France  only  exogenous  trees.  May  be, 
therefore,  conclude  that  nature  has  no  forces  to  produce  en- 
dogenous ?  The  testimony  of  those  who  visit  the  tropics  would 
refute  him.  The  truth  is,  (and  none  should  know  it  so  well  a? 
the  physicist,  since  it  is  taught  expressly  by  the  great  founder 
of  this  inductive  logic — Bacon,)  a  generalization  simply  ex- 
perimental can  never  demonstrate  a  necessary  tie  of  causation, 
between  a  sequence  of  phenomena^  however  often  repeated 
before  us.  It  can  suggest  only  a  probability.  We  must  apply 
some  canon  of  induction,  to  distinguish  between  the  apparently 
immediate  antecedent  and  the  true  cause,  before  the  reason 
recognizes  the  tie  of  causation  as  permanent.  If,  therefore, 
reason  (not  empiricism,)  suggests  from  any  other  source  of  her 
teachings,  that  the  acting  cause  may  be  superseded  by  another 
cause,  then  she  recognizes  it  as  entirely  natural  to  expect  a 
new  effect,  although  she  had  before  witnessed  the  regular  re- 
currence of  the  old  one  a  million  of  times.  If,  therefore,  she 
learns  that  there  may,  even  possibly,  be  a  personal  God,  she 
admits  just  as  much  possibility  that  His  free  will  may  hare 
intervened,  as  a  superior  cause. 

The  truth  is,  nature  implies  the  supernatural.  Nature 
shows  us  herself,  the  marks  and  proofs  that  she  cannot  be 
eternal  and  self-existent.  She  had,  therefore,  an  origin  in  t 
creation.  But  what  can  be  more  supernatural  than  a  creation  i 
If  it  were  indeed  impossible  that  there  could  be  a  miracle, 
then  this  nature  herself  would  be  non-existent,  whose  unifor 
mities  give  the  pretext   for  this  denial  of  the  miracnlous. 


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1869.]  Poffitivisin  in  England.  301 

Nature  tells  us,  that  her  causes  are  second  causes ;  they  suggest 
their  origin  in  a  first  cause.  Just  as  the  river  suggests  its 
fountains,  so  do  the  laws  of  nature,  now  flowing  in  so  regular 
a  current,  command  us  to  ascend  to  the  Source  M'ho  instituted 
them. 

4.  We  carry  farther  our  demonstration  of  the  necessity  of 
practical  physics  to  physical  science,  by  an  appeal  to  more 
express  details.  We  might  point  to  the  service  done  to  the 
Bciences  of  matter  by  the  N(ymim  Organum  of  Bacon.  What 
physicist  is  there,  who  does  not  love  to  applaud  him,  and  fondly 
to  contrast  the  fruitfulness  of  his  inductive  method,  with  the 
inutility  of  the  old  dialectics  ?  But  Bacon's  treatise  is  substan- 
tially a  treatise  on  this  branch  of  logic.  He  does  not  undertake 
to  establish  specific  laws  in  physical  science,  but  to  fix  the 
principles  of  reasoning  from  facts,  by  which  any  and  everj' 
physical  law  are  to  be  astablished.  In  a  word,  it  is  meta- 
physics ;  the  only  difference  being,  that  it  is  true  metaphysics, 
against  erroneous.  So,  nothing  is  easier  to  the  perspicuous 
reader  than  to  take  any  treatise  of  any  Positivistupon  physical 
science,  and  point  to  instances  upon  every  page,  where  he 
virtually  employs  some  principle  of  metaphysics.  Says  the 
Pofiitivist,  concerning  some  previous  solution  oflTered  for  a  class 
of  phencytnena :  '  This  is  not  valid,  because  it  is  only  hypothesis.' 
Pray,  Mr.  Positivist,  what  is  the  dividing  line  between  hypo- 
thesis and  inductive  proof?  And  why  is  the  former,  without 
the  latter,  invalid  ?  Can  you  answer  without  talking  meta- 
physics? Says  the  Positivist:  ^  The  post  hoe  does  not  prove 
^e  propter  hoc^  Tell  us  why  ?  We  defy  you  to  do  it  without 
talking  metaphysics. 

The  Positivist  fails  to  apply  his  own  maxims  of  philosophy 
universally ;  his  observations  of  the  effects  in  nature  are  one- 
sided and  firagmentary.  He  tells  us  that  philosophy  must  be 
built  on  facts;  that  first  we  must  have  faithful  and  exact 
observation  of  particulars,  then  correct  generalizations,  and 
last,  conclusive  inductions.  Right,  say  we.  But  the  primary 
fact,  which  accompanies  every  observation  which  he  attempts 
to  make,  he  refuses  to  observe.  When  it  was  reported  to  the 
great  Leibnitz,  that  Locke  founded  his  Essav  on  the  maxim, 
8 


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362  PositiviKin  in  England,  [April, 

Nihil  in  intelUcUi  qnod  non  prim  in  sens^i ;  he  answered :  Nm 
inteUectn^  isse.  These  three  words  disclose,  like  the  spear  of 
another  Ithuriel,  the  sophism  of  the  whole  serymcdistic  system. 
In  attempting  to  enumerate  the  affections  of  the  mind,  it  ove^ 
looked  the  mind  itself.  At  the  first  fair  attempt  to  repair  this 
omission,  Positivism  collapses.  Does  it  attempt  to  resolve  all 
mental  states  into  sensations  ?  Well,  the  soul  cannot  have  a 
consciousness  of  a  sensation,  without  necessarily  developing 
the  idea  of  conscious  self,  over  against  that  of  the  sensuous 
object.  'As  soon  bs  the  human  being  says  to  itself  "I,"  the 
human  being  affirms  its  own  existence,  and  distinguishes  itself 
from  that  external  world,  whence  it  derives  impressions  of 
which  it  is  not  the  author.  In  this  primary  fact  are  revealed 
the  two  primary  objects  of  human  knowledge ;  on  the  one  side, 
the  himian  being  itself,  the  individual  person  that  feels  and 
perceives  himself;  on  the  other  side,  the  external  world  that  is 
felt  and  perceived;  the  subject  and  the  object.'  That  science 
may  not  consistently  omit  or  overlook  the  first  of  these  objects, 
is  proved  absolutely  by  this  simple  remark,  that  our  self-con- 
sciousness presents  that  object  to  us,  as  distinct,  in  every  per- 
ception of  the  outer  world  which  constitutes  the  other  object ; 
presents  it  even  more  immediately  than  the  external  object,  the 
perception  of  which  it  mediates  to  us.  We  must  first  be 
conscious  pf  self,  in  order  to  perceive  the  not  self.  Whatever 
certainty  we  have  that  the  latter  is  a  real  object  of  knowledge, 
we  must,  therefore,  have  a  certainty  even  more  intimate,  that 
the  former  is  also  real.  Why,  then,  shall  it  be  the  only  real 
existence,  the  only  substance  in  nature,  to  be  ostracised  from 
our  science  ?  This  is  preposterous.  Is  it  pleaded,  that  its 
affections  are  not  phenomena^  not  cognizable  to  the  bodily 
senses  ?  How  shallow  and  pitifiil  is  this ;  when  those  bodily 
senses  themselves  owe  all  their  validity  to  tins  inward  con- 


sciousness 


We  now  advance  another  step.  Everj'  substance  must  have 
its  attributes.  The  ego  is  a  real  existence.  If  our  cognitions 
are  regular,  then  it  must  be  by  virtue  of  some  primary  prin- 
ciples of  cognition,  which  are  subjective  to  the  mind.  While 
we  do  not  employ  the  antiquated  phrase, '  innate  ideas/  yet  it 


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1869.J  '  Pos4iimmi  in  Eiigland.  363 

18  evident  that  the  intelligence  has  some  innate  norms,  which 
determine  the  nature  of  its  ideas  and  affections,  whenever  the 
objective  world  presents  the  occasion  for  their  rise.  He  who 
denies  this  mnst  not  only  hold  the  absurdity  of  a  regular  series 
of  effects  without  a  regulative  cause  in  their  subject,  but  he 
must  also  deny  totally  the  spontaneity  of  the  mind.  For,  what 
can  be  plainer  than  this :  that  if  the  mind  has  no  such  innate 
norms,  then  it  is  merely  passive,  operated  on  from  without, 
but  never  an  agent  itself.  Now,  then,  do  not  these  innate  norms 
of  intelligence  and  feeling  constitute  primitive  facts  of  mind  ? 
Are  they  not  proper  objects  of  scientific  observation  ?  Is  it 
not  manifest  that  their  earnest  comprehension  will  give  us  the 
laws  of  our  thinking,  and  feeling,  and  volition  ?  Why  have 
we  not  here  a  field  of  experimental  science,  as  legitimate  as 
that  material  world,  which  is  even  less  certainly  and  intimately 
known  'i 

Dr.  Hooker  would  discard  natural  theology  as  entirely  delu- 
sive. But  now  we  surmise  that  this  science  has  some  general 
facts  which  are  as  certain  as  any  in  physics,  and  certain  upon 
the  same  experimental  grounds.  He  believes  in  the  uniformity 
of  species  in  zoology.  If  one  told  him  of  a  tribe  of  one-armed 
men  in  some  distant  country,  he  would  demur.  He  would  tell 
the  relator  that  experimental  observation  had  established  the 
fact,  that  members  of  the  same  species  had  by  nature  the  same 
•structure.  He  would  insist  upon  solving  the  myth  of  the  one- 
timned  nation,  by  supposing  that  the  witness  was  deceived,  or 
was  endeavoring  to  deceive  him,  or  had  seen  some  individuals 
who  were  one-armed  by  casualty,  and  not  by  nature.  But 
psychologists  profess  to  have  established  by  an  observation 
precisely  like  that  of  the  naturalist,  this  general  fact,  that  all 
human  minds  have  those  moral  intuitions,  wliich  we  call  *  con- 
science.' Tlie  utmost  that  science  can  require  of  them  is,  that 
thej'  shall  see  to  it,  that  their  observations  are  faithful  to  fact, 
and  their  generalization  of  them  is  correct.  When  they  sub- 
mit the  result  to  this  test,  why  is  not  the  law  of  species  as 
valid  for  them  as  for  Dr.  Hooker  ?  Why  shall  he  require  us  to 
l>e  any  more  credulous  concerning  the  natural  lack  of  this 
moral  'limb,'  than  he  M'as  of  the  storv  of  the  one-anned  tribe? 


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864  Pimtivinm  hi  Knglatul.  [April, 

But  if  conscience  is  an  essential,  primitive  fact  of  the  human 
soul,  then  it  compels  us  to  recognize  a  personal  God,  and  his 
moral  character,  by  as  strict  a  scientific  deduction  as  any  which 
the  physicist  can  boast.  For,  obligation  inevitably  implies  an 
obligator ;  and  the  character  of  this  intuitive  imperative,  which 
speaks  for  Him  in  our  reason,  must  be  a  disclosure  of  His 
(character,  since  it  is  the  constant  expression  of  his  moral  volition. 
5.  This  instance  suggests  another  capital  error  of  Positivism, 
in  that  it  proposes  to  despise  abstract  ideas,  and  primitive  judg- 
ments of  the  reason ;  and  yet  it  is  as  much  constrained  as  any 
other  system  of  tliought,  to  build  everything  upon  them. 
Mathematics,  the  science  of  quantity,  is  the  basis  of  the  posi- 
tive philosophy,  according  to  M.  Comte ;  for  it  is  at  once  the 
simplest  and  most  exact  of  the  exac^t  sciences.  Now  when  we 
advert  to  tliis  science,  we  j>erceive  at  once,  that  it  deals  not 
with  visible  and  tangible  magnitudes,  and  quantities  of  other 
classes,  but  with  abstract  ones.  Tlie  point,  the  line,  the  surface, 
tlie  polygon,  the  curve,  of  the  geometrician,  are  not  those  which 
any  human  hand  ever  drew  \vith  pen,  pencil,  or  chalk  line,  or 
which  human  eye  ever  saw.  The  mathematical  point  is  abso- 
lutely without  either  length,  breadth,  or  thickness;  the  line 
absolutely  without  thickness  or  breadth ;  the  surface  absolutely 
without  thickness !  How  impotent  is  it  for  M.  Comte  to  at- 
tempt covering  up  this  crushing  fact,  by  talking  of  the  pheno- 
mena of  mathematics !  In  his  sense  of  the  word  phenomena^ 
this  science  has  none.  The  intellisjent  geometrician  knows 
that,  though  he  may  draw  the  diagram  of  his  polygon  or  his 
curve  with  the  point  of  a  diamond,  upon  the  most  polished 
plane  of  metal  which  the  mechanic  arts  can  give  him ;  yet  is  it 
not  exactly  that  absolute  polygon  or  curve  of  which  he  is  rea- 
soning ?  How  then  can  he  know,  that  the  ideas  which  he  pre- 
dicates, by  the  aid  of  his  senses,  of  this  imperfect  type,  are 
exactly  true  of  the  perfect  ideal  of  figures  ?  He  knows  that 
the  true  answer  is  this :  abstract  reasoning  assures  him  that  the 
difference  between  the  imperfe(*t  visible  diagram,  and  the  ideal 
absolute  figure,  is  one  which  does  not  introduce  any  element  of 
error,  when  the  argument  taken  from  the  diagram  is  applied  to 
the  ideal.     But,  on  the  contrary,  the  reason  sees  that  the  more 


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1869.]  Positim87n  in   England.  865 

the  imperfection  of  the  diagram  is  abstracted,  tlie  more  does 
the  argument  approximate  exact  trutli.  But  we  ask,  liow  does 
the  mind  thus  pass  from  the  phenomenal  diagram  to  the  con- 
ceptual ;  from  the  imperfect  to  the  absolute  idea  ?  Positivisni 
has  no  answer.  So,  the  ideas  of  space,  time,  ratio,  velocity, 
momentum,  substance,  upon  which  the  higher  calculus  reasons, 
are  also  abstract.  Positivism  would  make  all  human  know- 
ledge consist  of  the  knowledge  of  phenmnena  and  their  laws. 
Well,  what  is  a  law  of  nature  ?  It  is  not  W^^M  9^  phenomenon  ; 
it  is  a  general  idea  which,  in  order  to  be  general,  must  be  purely 
abstract.  How  preposterously  short-sighted  is  that  observation, 
which  leaves  out  the  more  essential  elements  of  its  own  avowed 
process?  These  instances  (to  which  others  might  be  added) 
show  that  the  admission  of  some  a  priori  idea  is  necessary  to 
the  construction  of  even  the  first  process  of  our  phenonnenal 
knowledge. 

But  the  most  glaring  blunder  of  all  is  that  which  the  Posi- 
tivist  commits,  in  denying  the  prior  validity  of  our  axiomatic 
beliefs,  or  primitive  judgments,  and  representing  them  as  only 
empirical  conclusions.  That  psychology  and  logic  of  common 
sense,  in  which  every  man  believes,  and  on  which  every  one 
acts,  without  troubling  himself  to  give  it  a  technical  statement, 
holds,  that  to  conclude  implies  a  premise  to  conclude  from ; 
and  that  the  validity  of  the  conclusion  cannot  be  above  that  of 
this  premise.  Every  man's  intuition  tells  him,  that  a  process 
of  reasoning  nmst  have  a  starting  point.  The  chain  which  is 
so  fastened  as  to  sustain  any  weight,  or  even  sustain  itself,  must 
have  its  first  point  of  support  at  the  top.  That  which  depends, 
must  depend  on  something  not  dependent.  But  why  multiply 
words  upon  this  truth,  which  every  rational  system  of  mental 
science  adopts  as  a  part  of  its  alphabet  ?  It  can  scarcely  be 
more  happily  expressed  than  in  the  words  of  a  countryman  of 
Comte's,  M.  Royer  CoUard:  *Did  not  reasoning  rest  upon 
principles  anterior  to  the  reason,  analysis  would  be  without 
end,  and  synthesis  without  commencement.'  Tliese  primitive 
judgments  of  the  reason  cannot  be  conclusions  from  ob6er\'a- 
tion,  for  the  simple  ground,  that  they  must  l)e  in  the  mind 
beforehand,  in  order  that  it  may  be  able  to  make  conclusions. 


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800  Prmtiri^tn  in  England,  [ApriK 

Here  is  a  radical  fa<*t  wJiich  explodes  the  whole  '  jjositive"  phi- 
losophy. 

Its  advocates  cannot  but  see  this ;  and  hence  they  labor  with 
vast  contortions,  to  make  it  appear  that  these  primitive  judg- 
ments are,  nevertheless,  empirical  conclusions.  Comte's  expe^ 
dient  is  the  following :  '  If,'  says  he,  *  on  the  one  side,  evenr 
positive  theory  must  necessarily  be  founded  upon  observation^ 
it  is,  on  the  other  side,  e<iually  plain  that  to  apply  itself  to  the 
task  of  observation,  our  mind  has  need  of  some  '  theory.'  If, 
in  contemplating  X\\q  phenom^^na^  we  do  not  immediately  attach 
them  to  certain  principles,  not  only  would  it  l)e  impossible  for 
us  to  combine  these  isolated  observations,  so  as  to  draw  any 
finit  therefrom ;  but  we  should  be  entirely  incapable  of  re- 
taining them,  and  in  most  cases,  the  facts  would  remain  before 
our  eyes  unnoticed.  The  need  at  all  times  of  some  *  theory ' 
whereby  to  associate  facts,  combined  with  the  evident  impossi- 
bility of  the  human  mind's  forming,  at  its  origin,  theories  out 
of  observations,  is  a  fact  which  it  is  impossible  to  ignore.'  He 
then  proceeds  to  explain,  that  the  mind,  perceiving  the  necessity 
of  some  previous  '  theories,'  in  order  to  associate  its  own  obser- 
vations, invents  ihem^  in  the  form  of  theological  conceptions. 
Having  begun,  by  means  of  these,  to  observe,  generalize,  and 
ascertain  positive  truths,  it  ends  by  adopting  the  latter,  which 
are  solid,  and  repudiating  the  former,  which  its  developed  in- 
telligence has  now  taught  it  to  regard  as  unsubstantial.  His 
idea  of  the  progress  of  science,  then,  seems  to  be  tliis :  the  mind 
employs  these  assumed  '  theories '  to  climb  out  of  the  mire  to 
the  top  of  the  solid  rock,  as  one  employs  a  ladder ;  and  ha\ing 
gained  its  firm  footing,  it  kicks  them  away  I  But  what  if  it 
should  turn  out,  that  this  means  of  ascent,  instead  of  being 
only  the  ladder,  is  the  sole  pillar  also,  of  its  knowledge  ?  When 
it  is  kicked  away,  down  tumbles  the  whole  superstructure,  with 
its  architect,  in  its  ruins.  And  the  latter  is  the  truth.  For  if 
these  ^  theories '  are  prior  to  our  observation,  and  are  also 
erroneous,  then  all  which  proceeded  upon  their  assumed  validitj' 
is  as  baseless  as  they.  It  is  amusing  to  note  the  simple  effort 
of  Comte  to  veil  this  damning  chasm  in  his  system,  by  calling 
these  assumed  first  truths  '  theories.'     They  are,  according  to 


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1869.]  Posltivum  in  England,  367 

his  conception,  manifestly  nothing  but  hypotJieisoi.  Why  did 
he  not  call  them  so  ?  Because  then,  the  glaring  solecism  would 
have  been  announced,  of  proposing  to  construct  our  whole  sys- 
tem of  demonstrated  beliefs  upon  a  basis  of  mere-  hypothesis. 
Nobody  could  have  been  deceived.  Nor  does  the  subterfuge 
avail  which  his  follower,  Mill,  in  substance  proposes.  It  is 
this:  that  as  the  sound  physicist  propounds  an  hypothesis, 
which  at  first  is  only  probable,  not  to  be  now  accepted  as  a  part 
ef  science,  but  as  a  temporary  help  for  preparing  the  materials 
of  an  induction ;  and  as  this  induction  not  seldom  ends  by 
proving  that  the  hypothesis,  wliich  was  at  first  only  a  probable 
guess,  was  indeed  the  happy  guess,  and  does  contain  the  true 
law ;  so  the  whole  of  our  empirical  knowledge  may  be  con- 
structed by  the  parallel  process.  In  ,  other  words,  the  preten- 
sion of  Mill  is,  in  substance,  that  all  our  primitive  judgments 
are  at  first  only  the  mind's  hypothetical  guesses ;  and  that  it  is 
empirical  reasoning  constructed  upon  them  afterwards,  which 
converts  them  into  universal  truths.  Now,  the  simple  and 
complete  answer  is  this :  That  this  proving  or  testing  process, 
by  which  we  ascertain  whether  our  hypothesis  is  a  true  law, 
always  implies  some  principle  to  be  the  eritei'ion.  How,  we 
pray,  was  the  test  applied  to  the  first  hypothesis  of  the  series, 
when,  as  yet,  there  was  no  ascertained  principle  to  apply,  but 
only  hypothesis  ?  Quid  rides  ?  Mr.  Mill's  process  must  ever 
be  precisely  as  preposterous  as  the  attempt  of  a  man  to  hang  a 
chain  upon  nothing !  No ;  the  hypothetical  ladder  is  not  the 
foundation  of  our  scientific  knowledge.  Grant  us  a  foundation, 
and  a  solid  structure  built  on  that  foundation,  the  ladder  of 
hypothesis  may  assist  us  to  carry  some  parts  of  the  building 
higher;  that  is  all.  And  the  parts  which  we  add,  carrying  up 
the  materials  by  means  of  the  ladder,  rest  at  last,  not  on  the 
ladder,  but  on  the  foundation. 

The  accepted  tests  of  a  primitive  intuition  are  three :  that  it 
shall  be  a  first  truth,  i.  e.,  not  learned  from  any  other  accepted 
belief  of  the  mind ;  that  it  shall  be  necessary,  i.  e.,  immediately 
seen  to  be  such  that  it  not  only  is  true,  but  must  be  true ;  and 
that  it  shall  be  universal,  true  of  every  particular  case  always 
and  everywhere,  and  inevitably  believed  by  all  sane  men,  when 


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36S  Pomtivmn  in  Enjgland.  [April, 

its  enimciation   is   once  fully   understood.     The  sensualistie 
school  seem  all  to  admit,  by  the  character  of  their  objectionK, 
that  if  the  mind  liave  beliefs  which  do  fairly  meet  these  three 
tests,  then-  they  will  be  proved  really  intuitive.     But  they 
object,  these  beliefs  do  not  meet  the  first  test,  for  they  are  empir- 
ically learned  by  every  man,  in  the  course  of  his  own  observa- 
tion, like  all  inductive  truths.     And  here  they  advance  the 
plea  of  their  amiable  founder,  Locke,  (who  little  dreamed,  good 
man,  what  dragon's  teeth  he  was  sowing.)     It  is  this :  that  the 
formal  announcement  of  sundry  axioms,  in  words,  to  unthink- 
ing minds,  instead  of  securing  their  immediate  assent,  would 
evoke  only  a  vacant  stare.     We  have  to  exhibit  the  application 
of  the  axioms  in  concrete  cases,  before  we  gain  an  intelligent 
assent.     Very  true ;  but  why  ?     It  is  only  because  the  concrete 
instance  is  the  occasion  for  his  correctly  apprehending  the  ab- 
stract meaning  of  the  axiomatic  enunciation.     Is  not  the  argu- 
ment preposterous,  that  because  the  reason  did  not  immediately 
see,  while  as  yet  the  verbal  medivm  of  intellection  was  dark- 
ness, therefore  the  object  is  not  an  object  of  direct  mentnl 
vision  ?     Because  a  child  is  not  willing  to  affirm  wliich  of '  two 
pigs  in  a  poke '  is  the  bigger,  it  shall  be  declared  forsooth,  that 
the  child  is  blind,  or  that  pigs  arc  not  visible  animals ! 

Now,  against  all  this  idleness  of  talk,  we  demonstrate  by 
proof  both  as  empirical  and  deductive  as  that  of  the  Posi- 
tivist  for  any  law  in  physics,  that  observation  and  exj>erience 
are  not,  and  cannot  be,  the  source  of  intuitive  belieft^.  Let  uu 
grant  just  such  a  case  as  Locke  claims  against  us.  AVe  meet 
an  ignorant,  sleepy,  heedless  servant,  and  wo  ask:  'My  boy, 
if  two  magnitudes  be  each  equal  to  a  third  n.u^nitude,  must 
they,  therefore,  be  necessarily  equal  to  each  other  T  We  sup- 
pose  that  he  will,  indeed,  look  at  us  foolishly  and  vacantly,  and, 
if  he  says  anything,  profess  ignorance.  Our  words  are  not  in 
his  vocabular}';  the  idea  is  out  of  his  ordinary  range  of 
thought.  We  say  to  him:  *Well,  fetch  mo  three  twigs  finom 
yonder  hedge,  and  we  will  explain.  Name  them  No.  1,  No.  2, 
No.  3.  Take  your  pocket  knife,  and  cut  No.  1  of  equal  length 
to  No.  3.  Lay  No.  1  yonder,  on  that  stone.  Now  cut  Na  2 
exactly  equal  to  No.  3.     Is  it  done  V    '  Yes,  sir.'     'Now,  boy. 


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1869.]  Positivifun  in  England.  369 

consider ;  if  you  should  fetch  back  No.  1  from  the  stone  yon- 
der, and  measure  it  against  No.  2,  do  you  think  you  would  find 
them  equal  in  length  ? '  If  you  have  succeeded  in  getting  the 
real  attention  of  his  mind,  he  will  be  certain  to  answer  with 
confidence:  *  Yes,  sir,  they  will  be  found  equal.'  'Are  you 
certain  of  it?'  'Yes,  sir,  sure.'  'Had  you  not  better  fetch 
No.  1  and  try  them  together?'  'No,  sir,  there  is  no  need; 
they  are  obliged  to  be  equal  in  length.'  'Why  are  you  sure  of 
it,  when  you  have  not  actually  measured  them  together?' 
*  Because,  sir,  did  I  not  cut  No.  1  equal  to  No.  3,  and  is  not 
No.  2  equal  to  No.  3?  Don't  you  see  that  No.  1  and  No.  2 
cannot  difler  ?'  Let  the  reader  notice  here,  that  there  has  been 
no  experimental  trial  of  the  equality  of  the  first  and  second 
twigs  in  length  ;  hence  it  is  simply  impossible  that  the  servant's 
confidence  can  result  from  experiment.  It  is  the  immediate 
intuition  of  his  reason,  because  there  is,  absolutely,  no  other 
source  for  it.  Obviously,  therefore,  the  only  real  use  for  the 
three  twigs,  and  the  knife,  was  to  illustrate  the  terms  of  the 
proposition  to  his  ignorant  apprehension.  Let  the  reader  note, 
also,  that  now  the  servant  has  got  the  idea,  he  is  just  as  confi- 
dent of  the  truth  of  the  axiom,  concerning  all  possible  quan- 
tities of  which  he  has  conception,  as  though  he  had  tested  it  by 
experiment  on  all.  This  suggests  the  farther  argument,  that 
our  intuitive  beliefs  cannot  be  from  experiment,  l)ecause,  as  we 
shall  see,  we  all  hold  them  for  universal  truths ;  but  each 
man's  experience  is  limited.  The  first  time  a  child  ever  divides 
an  apple,  and  sees  that  either  part  is  smaller  than  the  whole, 
he  is  as  certain  that  the  same  thing  will  be  true  of  all  possible 
magnitudes,  as  well  as  apples,  as  though  he  had  spent  ages  in 
dividing  apples,  acorns,  melons,  and  everything  which  came  to 
his  hand.  Now,  how  can  a  universal  truth  flow  experimentally 
from  a  single  case  ?  Were  this  the  source  of  belief,  the  greatest 
multitude  of  experiments  which  could  be  made  in  a  life- 
time could  never  be  enough  to  demonstrate  the  rule  absolutely, 
for  the  number  of  possible  cases  still  untried  would  still  be 
infinitely  greater.  Experience  of  the  past  by  itself  does  not 
determine  the  future. 


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370  Positivwrn  in  England.  [April, 

Moreover,  several  intuitive  beliefs  are  incapable  of  being 
experimentally  inferred,  because  the  cases  can  never  be  brou^t 
under  the  purview  of  the  senses.  '  Divergent  straight  lines,' 
we  are  sure,  'will  never  enclose  any  space,  though  infinitely 
produced.'  Now,  who  has  ever  inspected  an  infinite  straight 
line  with  his  eyes  i  The  escape  attempted  by  Mill,  with  great 
labor,  is  this :  One  forms  a  mental  diagram  of  that  part  of 
the  pair  of  divergent  lines  which  lies  beyond  his  ocular  inspec- 
tion, (beyond  the  edge  of  his  paper,  or  black-board,)  and  by  a 
mental  inspection  of  this  part,  he  satisfies  himself  that  they 
still  do  not  meet.  And  this  mental  inspection,  of  the  concep- 
tual diagram,  saitli  he,  is  as  properly  experimental  as  thou^ 
it  were  made  on  a  material  surface.  On  this  queer  subterfuge 
we  might  remark,  that  it  is  more  refreshing  to  us  than  consist- 
ent for  them,  that  Positivists  should  admit  that  the  abstract 
ideas  of  the  mind  can  be  subjects  of  experimental  reasoning. 
We  had  been  told  all  along  that  Positivism  dealt  only  with 
phenomena.  It  is  also  news  to  us,  that  Positivism  could  admit 
any  power  in  the  mind  of  conceiving  infinite  lines !  What  are 
these,  but  those  naughty  things,  absolute  ideas,  which  the 
intelligence  could  not  possibly  have  any  lawful  business  with, 
because  they  w^cre  not  given  to  her  by  sensation.  But,  chi^y, 
Mill's  evasion  is  worthless  in  presence  of  this  question.  How 
do  we  know  that  the  straight  lines,  on  the  conceptual  and  infinite 
part  of  this  imaginary  diagram,  will  have  the  identical  property 
possessed  by  the  finite  visible  parts  on  tlie  black-board  ?  What 
guides  and  compels  the  intelligence  to  this  idea  ?  Xot  sense, 
surely ;  for  it  is  the  i)art  of  the  conceptual  diagram,  which  no 
eye  will  ever  see.  It  is  just  the  reason's  own  d  priori  and 
intuitive  power.  Deny  this,  as  Mill  does,  and  tbe  behef 
(which  all  know  is  solid,)  becomes  baseless. 

In  a  word,  this  question  betrays  how  inconsistent  the  sen- 
sualistic  philosopher  is,  in  attempting  to  derive  first  truths  fit)ni 
sensational  experience,  and  ignoring  the  primitive  judgments 
of  the  reason.  How  has  he  learned  that;8en8ational  experience 
is  itself  true?  Only  by  a  primitive  judgment  of  the  reason! 
Here,  then,  is  one  first  belief,  which  sense  cannot  have  taught 
us,  to  wit :  that  what  sense  shows  us  is  true.     So  impossible  is 


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1S*)9.]  Posiiiiyimn  i/i  J^^ngland.  371 

it  to  construct  any  system  of  cognitions,  while  denying  to  the 
reason  all  primary  power  of  judgment. 

When  we  propose  the  second  test,  that  intuitive  judgments 
must  be  'necessary,'  Positivism  attempts  to  embarrass  the 
inquiry  by  asking  what  is  meant  by  a  necessary  truth.  One 
answers  (with  Whewell,  for  instance,)  it  is  a  truth,  the  denial 
of  which  involves  a  contradiction.  It  is,  of  course,  easy  for 
Mill  to  reply  to  this  heedless  definition,  that  then  every  truth 
may  claim  to  be  intuition,  for  is  not  contradiction  of  some 
truth  the  very  character  of  error  i  If  one  should  deny  that 
the  two  angles  at  the  base  of  an  isosceles  triangle  are  equal, 
he  could  soon  be  taught,  that  his  denial  contradicted  an 
admitted  property  of  triangles.  (And  this,  indeed,  is  the  usual 
way  we  establish  deduced  truths,  which  are  not  intuitive.) 
We  affinn  the  definition  of  common  sense,  that  a  necessary 
truth  is  one,  the  denial  of  which  is  immediately  gelf-contradic- 
tory.  Not  only  does  the  denial  clash  with  other  axioms,  or 
other  valid  deductions,  but  it  contradicts  the  terms  of  the  case 
itself,  and  this,  according  to  the  immediate,  intuitive  view 
which  the  mind  has.  Does  not  every  one  know  that  his  mind 
has  such  judgments  necessary  in  this  sense?  When  he  says, 
'the  whole  muM  he  greater  than  either  of  its  parts,'  his  mind 
sees  intuitively  that  the  assertion  of  the  contrary  destroys  that 
feature  of  the  case  itself  which  is  expressed  in  the  word 
'parts.'  Who  does  not  see,  that  this  axiom  is  inevitable  to  the 
reason,  in  a  different  way  from  the  proposition  ?  '  The  natives 
of  England  are  white,  those  of  Guinea,  black.'  The  latter  ifr 
as  true,  but  obviously,  not  as  necessary,  as  the  former. 

Or,  if  Whewell  answers  the  question,  w^hat  is  meant  by  af 
truth's  being  *  necessary,'  that  it  is  one  the  falsehood  of  which 
is  inconceivable,'  Mill  attempts  to  reply,  that  this  is  no  test  at" 
the  primaripess  of  a  truth,  no  test  of  truth  at  all,  because  our 
capacity  of  conceiving  things  to  be  possible,  or  otherwise^ 
depends  notoriously  upon  our  mental  habits,  associations,  and 
acquirements.  He  points  to  the  fact  that  all  Cartesians,  and 
even  Leibnitz,  objected  against  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  theory  of 
gravitation  and  orbitual  motion,  when  first  propounded,  that  it 
was  '  inconceivable '  how  a  body  propelled  by  its  own  momen' 


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372  Positivism  in  JEn^land,  [April, 

turn  should  fail  to  move  on  a  tangent,  unless  connected  with 
its  centre  of  motion  by  some  substantial  bond.  There  is  a 
truth  in  this  and  similar  historical  facts.  It  is  that  the  ante- 
cedent probability  of  the  truth  of  a  statement  depends,  for  our 
minds,  very  greatly  upon  our  habits  of  thought.  And  the 
practical  lesson  it  should  teach  us  is  moderation  in  dogmatizing, 
and  candor  in  investigating.  But  for  all  this.  Mill's  evasion 
will  be  found  a  verbal  quibble,  consisting  in  a  substitution  of 
another  meaning  for  the  word  'inconceivable.'  We  do  not 
call  a  truth  necessary,  because,  negatively,  we  lack  the  capacity 
to  conceive  the  actual  opposite  thereof;  but  because,  positively, 
we  are  able  to  see  that  the  opposite  proposition  involves  a  self 
evident,  immediate  contradiction.  It  is  not  that  we  cannot 
conceive  how  the  opposite  comes  to  be  true,  but  tliat  we  can 
see,  that  it  is  impossible  the  opposite  should  come  to  be  true. 
Ajid  this  is  wholly  another  thing.  The  fact  that  some  truths 
are  necessary  in  this  self-evident  light,  every  fair  mind  reads  in 
its  own  consciousness. 

As  the  third  test  of  first  truths,  that  they  are  universal,  the 
sensualists  ring  many  changes  on  the  assertion,  that  there  is 
debate  what  are  first  truths ;  that  some  propositions  long  held 
to  be  such,  as :  *  No  creative  act  is  possible  without  a  pre- 
existent  material ; '  '  Nature  abhors  a  vacuum ; '  *A  material 
body  cannot  act  immediately  save  where  it  is  present ; '  are  now 
found  to  be  not  axiomatic,  and  not  even  true.  The  answer  is, 
that  all  this  proves,  not  that  the  human  mind  is  no  instrument 
for  the  intuition  of  truth,  but  that  it  is  an  imperfect  one.  The 
same  line  of  objecting  would  prove  with  equal  fairness,  (or 
unfairness,)  that  empirical  truths  have  no  inferential  validity; 
for  the  disputes  concerning  them  have  been  a  thousand-fold 
wider.  Man  often  thinks  incautiously ;  he  is  partially  blinded 
by  prejudice,  habit,  association,  hypothesis,  so  that  he  has  blun- 
dered a  few  times  as  to  first  truths,  and  is  constantly  blund€^ 
ing,  myriads  of  times,  as  to  derived  truths.  What  then  ?  Shall 
we  conclude  that  he  has  no  real  intuition  of  first  truths,  and  by 
that  conclusion  compel  ourselves  to  admit  (by  a  proof  reinforced 
a  thousand-fold)  that  he  certainly  has  no  means,  either  intuitive 
or  deductive,  for  ascertaining  derived  truths?     This  is  blank 


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1869.]  Positivism  in  England.  373 

skepticism.  It  finds  its  practical  refutation  in  the  fact,  that 
amidst  all  his  blindness,  man  does  ascertain  many  truths,  the 
benefits  of  which  we  actually  possess.  No ;  the  conclusion  of 
common  sense  is,  that  we  should  take  care,  when  we  think. 
But  the  fact  remains,  that  there  are  axiomatic  truths,  which  no 
man  disputes  or  can  dispute ;  which  command  universal  and 
immediate  credence  when  intelligently  inspected ;  which,  we 
see,  must  be  true  in  all  possible  cases  which  come  within  their 
terms.  For  instance  :  Every  sane  human  being  sees,  by  the 
first  intelligent  look  of  his  mind,  that  any  whole  must  he 
greater  than  one  of  its  own  parts ;  and  this  is  true  of  all  possible 
wholes  in  the  universe  which  come  within  the  category  of 
quantity,  in  any  form  whatsoever.  Is  it  not  just  this  fact  which 
makes  the  proposition  a  general  one,  that  man  is  a  reasoning 
creature  ?  Wliat,  except  these  common  and  primitive  facts  of 
the  intelligence,  could  make  communion  of  thought,  or  com- 
munication of  truth  from  mind  to  mind,  possible?  It  is  these 
original,  innate,  common,  primary,  regulative  laws  of  belief. 

The  most  audacious  and  the  most  mischievous  assertion  of 
Mill  against  absolute  truths,  is  its  denial  to  the  mind  of  any 
intuitive  perception  of  causation  and  power.  The  doctrine  of 
common  sense  here  is,  that  when  we  see  an  eftect,  we  intuitively 
refer  it  to  a  cause,  as  producing  its  occurrence.  And  this  cause 
is  necessarily  conceived  as  having  power  to  produce  it,  imder 
the  circumstances.  For  it  is  impossible  for  the  reason  to  think 
that  nothing  can  evolve  something.  Notliing  can  result  only 
in  nothing.  But  the  eflect  did  not  produce  its  own  occurrence, 
for  this  would  imply  that  it  acted  before  it  existed.  Hence, 
the  reason  makes  also,  this  inevitable  first  inference,  that  the 
power  of  that  cause  will  produce  the  same  eflect  which  we 
saw,  if  all  the  circumstances  are  the  same.  But  tlie  sensualistic 
school  asserts  that  the  mind  is  entitled  to  predicate  no  tie  be- 
tween cause  and  eflect,  save  immediate  invariable  sequence,  as 
observed ;  because  this  is  all  the  senses  observe,  and  NihU  in 
intelleciu  qnod  nan  prius  in  sens^u  The  inference,  that  the 
like  cause  will  in  future  be  followed  by  the  like  eflect,  is, 
according  to  them,  an  empirical  result  only  of  repeated  observa- 
tions, to  which  the  mind  is  led  by  habit  and  association. 


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37-i  Pomtivwja  in  England,  [-^pnl 

Now  our  first  remark  is,  that  only  a  sensualistic  philosopher 
<;ould  be  guilty  of  arguing  that  there  can  be  no  real  tie  of  causa- 
iion,  because  the  senses  see  only  an  immediate  sequence.  The 
absurdity  (and  the  intended  drift  also)  of  such  aiding  appea^ 
thus :  that  by  the  same  notable  sophism,  there  is  no  soul,  n(» 
Ood,  no  abstract  truth,  no  substance,  even  in  matter,  but  only 
a  bundle  of  properties.  For  did  our  senses  ever  see  any  of 
these  ?  How  often  must  one  repeat  the  obvious  fact,  that  if 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  mind,  it  also  has  its  own  properties;  it 
also  is  capable  of  being  a  cause ;  it  also  can  produce  ideas  ae- 
-cording  to  the  law  of  its  nature,  when  sense  furnishes  the  occa- 
sion ?  Sensation  informs  us  of  the  presence  of  the  effect ;  the 
reason,  according  to  its  own  imperative  law,  supposes  j)o«-er 
in  the  cause. 

It  is  extremely  easy  to  demonstrate,  and  that  by  the  Positiv- 
ist's  own  method,  that  mental  association  is  not  the  ground,  but 
the  consequence,  of  this  idea  of  causation.  We  all  see  certain 
'  immediate,  invariable  sequences '  recurring  before  us  with  per- 
fect uniformity ;  yet  we  never  dream  of  supposing  a  causative 
vtie.  We  see  other  sequences  twice  or  thrice,  and  we  are  c*ertain 
the  tie  of  power  is  there.  Light  has  followed  darkness,  just  a.^ 
regularly  as  light  has  followed  the  approach  of  the  sun.  Nobodv 
dreams  that  darkness  causes  light ;  everybody  believes  that  the 
sun  does  cause  it.  It  thus  appears  experimentally,  that  asso- 
ciation has  not  taught  us  the  notion  of  cause ;  but  that  our 
knowledge  of  cause  corrects  our  associations  and  controls  their 
formation. 

The  experience  of  a  Qevtmn phenomenon  following  another* 
number  of  times  can  never,  by  itself,  produce  a  certaint}  that 
under  similar  circumstances  it  will  always  follow.  The  mere 
empirical  induction  gives  only  probability.  The  experience  of 
the  past,  were  there  no  intuition  of  this  law  of  causation  bv 
which  to  interpret  it,  would  only  demonstrate  the  past ;  there 
would  be  no  logical  tie  entitling  us  to  project  it  on  the  future. 
We  ask  our  opponents,  if  it  be  the  experience  of  numerous 
instances  which  give  us  certainty  of  a  future  recurrence,  how 
many  instances  will  eifect  the  demonstration  ?  Is  their  answer, 
for  instance,  that  one  hundred  uniform  instances,  and  no  fewer. 


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1809.]  Posilivw7/i  in  Knglmul.  375 

would  be  Buffieient  'i    Wliat  then  is  the  diflerence  ])etween  the 
ninety-ninth   and    the  hundredth?      According    to   the   very 
supposition,  the  two  instances  are  exactly  alike ;  if  they  were 
not,  the  unlike  one  could  certainly  contribute  nothing  to  the 
proof,  for  it  would  be  excluded  as  exceptional.     Why  is  it, 
then,  that  all  the  ninety-nine  do  not  prove  the  law ;   but  the 
hundredth   instance,   exactly  similar  to   all    the  rest,    does? 
There  is  no  answer.     The  truth  is,  the  reason  why  an  empiri- 
cal induction  suggests  the  probability  that  a  certain,  oft-repeated 
sequence  contains  the  true  law  of  a  cause,  (which  is  all  it  can 
do,)  is  but  this :     Intuition  has  assured  us  in  advance,  that  the* 
second  phenomenon  of  the  pair,  the  effect,  must  have  some 
cause,  and  the  fact  observed,  that  the  other  is  its  seeming  next 
antecedent  may  ]>c  as  yet  undetected.     Wo,  therefore,  resort 
to  some  test  grounded  on  the  intuitive  law  of  cause,  to  settle 
this  doubt.     Just  so  soon  as  that  doubt  is  solved,  if  it  be  by 
the  second  observation,  the  mind  is  satisfied ;  it  has  ascertained 
the  causative  antecedent ;   it  is  now  assured  that  this  ante- 
cedent, if  arising  under  the  same  conditions,  will  inevitably 
produce   this  consequent,  always   and   everj'where;   and  ten 
thousands  of  uniform  instances,  if  they  do  not  afford  this  test, 
generate  no  such  certainty.     Yea,  there  are  cases  in  which  the 
conviction  of  causative  connection  is  fully  established  by  one 
trial,  when  the  circumstances  of  that  one  trial  are  such  as  to 
assure  the  mind  that  no  other  undetected  antecedent  can  have 
intervened,  or  accompanied  the  observed  one.     For  instance,  a 
traveller  plucks  and  tastes  a  fruit  of  inviting  color  and  odor, 
which  was  wholly  unknown  to  him  before.     The  result  is  a 
painful  excoriation  of  his  lips  and  palate.     He  remembers  that 
he  had  not  before  taken  into  his  mouth  any  substance  what- 
ever, save  such  as  he  knew  to  be  innocuous.     The  singleness 
of  the  new  antecedent  enables  him  to  decide  that  it  must  have 
been  the  true  cause  of  his  sufferings.     That  man  thenceforward 
knows  just  as  certainly,  that  this  fruit  is  noxious,  whenever  he 
sees  it,  to  the  millionth  instance,  without  ever  tasting  it  a 
second  time,  as  though  he  had  tasted  and  suffered  nine  hun- 
dred thousand  times. 


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376  Podtivism  in  England.  [April. 

Indeed,  as  Dr.  Chalmers  has  well  shown,  experienee  k  so 
far  from  begetting  this  belief  in  the  law  of  cause,  that  its  usual 
effect  is  to  correct  and  limit  it.  A  child  strikes  its  spoon  or 
knife  upon  the  table  for  the  first  time ;  the  result  is  sound,  in 
which  children  so  much  delight.  He  next  repeats  his  experi- 
ment confidently  upon  the  sofa-cushion  or  carpet ;  and  is  vexed 
at  his  failure  to  produce  soimd.  Experience  does  not  generate, 
but  corrects,  his  intuitive  confidence,  that  the  same  cause  will 
produce  the  same  effect ;  not  by  refuting  tlie  principle,  but  by 
instructing  him  that  the  causative  antecedent  of  the  sound  was 
not,  as  he  supposed,  simple  impact,  but  a  more  complex  one, 
namely,  impact  of  the  spoon,  and  elasticity  of  the  thing  strnck. 

Mill  himself  admits  expressly,  what  Bacon  had  so  clearly 
shown,  that  an  induction  merely  empirical,  gives  no  demon- 
stration of  causative  tie.  To  reach  the  latter,  we  must  apply 
some  canon  of  induction,  which  will  discriminate  between  the 
post  hoc^  and  the  propter  Jwc.  Does  not  Mill  himself  propo«? 
such  canons  ?  It  is  obvious  that  the  logic  of  common  life,  by 
which  plain  people  convert  the  inferences  of  experience  into 
available  certainties,  is  but  the  application  of  the  same  canons. 
Let  us  now  inspect  an  instance  of  such  application,  and  we 
shall  find  that  it  proceeds  at  every  step  on  the  intuitive  law  of 
cause  as  its  postulate.  Each  part  of  the  reasoning  which  disr 
tinguishes  between  the  seeming  antecedent,  and  the  true  cauge, 
is  a  virtual  syllogism,  of  which  the  intuitive  truth  is  major  pre- 
mise. Let  us  select  a  very  simple  case ;  the  reader  will  see,  if  he 
troubles  himself  to  examine  the  other  canons  of  induction, 
that  they  admit  of  precisely  the  same  analysis.  We  are  search- 
ing for  the  true  cause  of  an  effect  which  we  name  D.  We 
cannot  march  directly  to  it,  as  the  traveller  did  in  the  case  of 
the  poisonous  strange  fruit;  because  we  cannot  procure  the 
occurrence  of  \\xe  phenomenon  D,  with  only  a  single  antecedent 
We  must  therefore  reason  by  means  of  a  canon  of  induction. 
First  we  construct  an  experiment  in  which  we  contrive  the  cer- 
tain exclusion  of  all  antecedent  ji^Ae/wwi^ia  save  two,  which  we 
name  A  and  B.  It  still  remains  doubtful  which  of  these  pro- 
duced the  effect  D,  or  whether  both  combined  to  do  it.  We 
contrive  a  second  experiment,  in  which  B  is  excluded,  but 


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1869.]  Positivism  in  Englatid,  377 

Knoih&r phenomenon^  which  we  call  C,  accompanies  A,  and  the 
effect  D  again  follows.  Now  we  can  get  the  truth.  Here  are 
two  instances.  In  the  first,  A  and  B  occurred,  and  D  follows 
immediately ;  all  other  antecedents  being  excluded.  Therefore 
the  cause  of  D  is  either  A  or  B,  or  the  two  combined,  (thus 
the  inductive  canon  proceeds.)  But  why  ?  Because  the  effect 
D  mtist  have  had  its  immediate  cause,  which  is  our  d  jpriori  and 
intuitive  postulate.  In  the  second  instance,  A  and  C  occurred 
together,  and  D  followed.  Here  again,  the  true  cause  must  be 
either  A  or  C,  or  the  combined  power  of  the  two.  Why  ?  For 
same  intuitive  reason.  But  in  the  first  instance  C  could  not 
have  been  the  cause  of  D,  because  C  was  absent  then ;  and  in 
the  second  instance,  B  could  not  have  been  cause,  for  B  was 
tlien  absent.  Therefore  A  was  the  true  cause  all  the  time. 
Why  ?  Because  we  know  intuitively  that  every  effect  has  its 
ovm  cause.  And  now  we  know,  without  farther  experiment, 
that  however  often  A  may  occur  under  proper  conditions,  D 
will  assuredly  follow.  Why  ?  Only  because  we  knew,  from 
the  first,  the  general  law,  that  like  causes  produce  like  effects. 
It  thus  appears,  that  the  intuitive  belief  in  this  law  of  cause, 
is  essential  beforehand,  to  enable  us  to  convert  an  experimental 
induction  into  a  demonstrated  general  truth.  Can  any  demon- 
stratioii  be  clearer,  that  the  original  law  itself  cannot  have  been 
the  teaching  of  experience  ?  It  passes  human  wit  to  see  how  a 
logical  process  can  prove  its  own  premise,  when  the  premise  is 
what  proves  the  process.  Yet  this  absurdity  Mill  gravely  at> 
tempts  to  explain.  His  solution  is,  that  the  law  of  cause  is 
'  an  empirical  law  coextensive  with  all  human  experience.'  In 
this  case  be  thinks  an  empirical  law  may  be  held  as  pert*ectly 
demonstrated,  because  of  its  universality.  May  we  conclude, 
then,  that  a  man  is  entitled  to  hold  the  law  of  cause  as  per- 
fectly valid,  only  after  he  has  acquired  '  all  human  experience  ? ' 
This  simple  question  dissolves  the  sophism  into  thin  air.  It  is 
experimentally  proved,  that  this  is  not  the  way  in  w^hich  the 
mind  comes  by  the  belief  of  the  law ;  because  no  man  ever 
acquires  all  human  experience,  to  the  day  of  his  death ;  but 
only  a  part,  which,  relatively  to  the  whole,  is  exceedingly 
minute;  and  because  every  man  believes  the  general  law  of 
9 


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378  Positwimn  in  England.  [April, 

cause  as  soon  as  he  begins  to  acquire  experience.  The  jest 
doctrine  therefore  is,  that  experimental  instances  are  only  the 
occasions  upon  which  the  mind's  own  intuitive  power  pro- 
nounces the  self-evident  law. 

John  Stuart  Mill  is  both  a  Positivist  in  his  logic,  and  the 
accepted  philosophor  of  English  Radicalism.  The  reader  has 
in  the  above  specimens,  a  fair  taste  of  his  quality.  With  much 
learning  and  labor,  he  combines  subtlety  and  dogmatism.  His 
style,  like  his  thoughts,  is  intricate,  ill-defined,  and  ambiguous, 
having  a  great  air  of  profundity  and  accuracy,  without  the  real 
possession  of  either.  When  one  sees  the  confused  and  mazy 
involutions  in  which  he  entangles  the  plainest  propositions  that 
are  unfriendly  to  his  sensualistic  principles,  he  is  almost  ready 
to  suppose  him  the  honest  victim  of  those  erroneous  postulates, 
until  he  observes  the  astute  and  perspicacious  adroitness  with 
which  he  wrests  the  evidences  of  the  truth  wliich  he  disUkes, 

But  we  return,  and  conclude  this  branch  of  the  discussion  by 
resuming  the  points.  Positivism  denies  all  primary  and  abso- 
lute beliefs.  We  have  now  shown  that  in  this  it  is  incon- 
sistent ;  because  such  beliefs  are  necessary  premises  to  those 
experimental  processes  of  proof,  which  alone  it  affects  to  value. 
It  is  by  these  primitive  truths  of  the  reason,  that  the  soul 
reaches  a  realm  of  thought  above  the  perception  of  the  senses, 
and  ascends  to  God,  to  immortality,  to  heaven. 

6.  Comte  and  his  followers  claim  that  the  physical  sciences 
have  the  most  fruit,  and  the  most  satisfying  certainty,  because 
they  have  received  the  '  positive '  method.  Metaphysics,  inclu- 
ding psychology,  ethics,  and  natural  theology,  had  remained  to 
his  day,  worthless,  and  barren  of  all  but  endless  differences  and 
debates,  because  they  had  attempted  a  different  method,  and 
refused  Positivism.  But  he  undertook  to  reconstruct  so  much 
of  these  as  he  did  not  doom  to  annihilation,  upon  the  strict 
basis  of  the  observation  of  the  bodily  senses,  and  experimental 
reasoning,  under  the  name  of '  sociology.'  In  this  instance,  with 
the  help  of  biology,  he  proposed  to  deduce  all  the  laws  of  mind 
from  physical  experiments  and  observations  upon  its  oi^gans^ 
the  brain,  and  nervous  apparatus ;  and  from  the  visible  acts  of 
men's  bodies  as  moved  by  the  mind.     Then,  from  the  laws  of 


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1869.]  Positivism  in  England,  379 

mind,  with  the  facts  of  human  history,  he  professed  to  construct 
an  experimental  and  positive  science  of  ethics  and  government. 
It  is  instructive  to  notice  that  the  Positivists,  just  so  soon  as 
they  approach  these  sciences  of  mind,  morals,  human  rights, 
and  government,  disagree  with  each  other  as  much  as  the  rest 
of  us  unpositive  mortals.  The  Priest  of  Humanity  has  been 
compelled  to  expel  many  of  his  earliest  admirers  from  his 
Church.  Somehow,  Positivism  itself,  when  it  approaches  these 
topics,  is  no  longer  '  positive ; '  it  guesses,  dogmatizes,  dreams, 
disputes,  errs,  fully  as  much  as  its  predecessors.  What,  now, 
does  this  show  ?  Plainly  that  the  experimental  methods  of  the 
physical  sciences  are  incapable  of  an  exact  and  universal  ap- 
plication, in  this  field  of  inquiry.  The  objects  are  too  imma- 
terial ;  they  are  no  longer  defined,  as  in  physics,  by  magnitude, 
or  figure,  or  quantity,  or  duration,  or  ponderosity,  or  velocity. 
The  combinations  of  causation  are  too  complex.  The  effects 
are  too  rapid  and  fleeting.  The  premises  are  too  numerous 
and  undefined,  for  our  limited  minds  to  grasp  with  uniform 
exactness  and  certainty.  If  Positivism,  mth  all  its  acknow- 
ledged learning,  and  mastery  of  the  sciences  of  matter,  with 
its  boasts  and  its  confidence,  has  failed  to  conquer  these  difficul- 
ties in  the  little  way  it  professes  to  advance  in  the  science  of 
the  human  spirit,  shall  we  not  continue  to  fail  in  part  ?  '  What 
can  he  do  that  cometh  after  the  king  ? ' 

Let  us  couple  this  fact,  that  the  sciences  of  psychologj', 
morals,  and  natural  theology  have  ever  been,  and  are  destined 
to  remain,  the  least  exact  and  positive  of  all  the  departments 
of  man's  knowledge,  with  this  other,  that  they  are  inuneas- 
urably  the  most  important  to  his  well-being  and  his  hopes. 
The  latter  statement  commends  itself  to  our  experience. 
It  is  far  more  essential  to  a  man's  happiness  here,  that  he 
shall  have  his  rights  justly  and  fairly  defined,  than  his  land 
accurately  surveyed.  It  is  far  more  interesting  to  the  traveller 
to  know  whether  the  ship-captain  to  whom  he  entrusts  his  life 
has  the  moral  virtue  of  fidelity,  than  the  learning  of  the 
astronomer  and  navigator.  It  is  more  important  to  us  to  have 
virtuous  friends  to  cherish  our  hearts,  than  adroit  mechanics  to 
make  our  shoes.     It  is  more  momentous  to  a  dying  man  to 


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380  Positivism  in  England.  [April, 

know  whether  there  is  an  immortality,  and  how  it  may  be 
made  happy,  than  to  have  a  skilful  physician,  now  that  his 
skill  is  vain.  We  see  here,  then,  that  human  science  is  least 
able  to  help  us  where  our  need  is  most  urgent.  M.  Comte 
reprehends  the  human  mind,  because  'questions  the  most 
radically  inaccessible  to  our  capacities,  the  intimate  nature  of 
being,  the  origin,  and  the  end  of  dXi  jphenomenu^  were  precisely 
those  which  the  intelligence  propounded  to  itself,  as  of  para- 
mount importance,  in  that  primitive  condition ;  all  the  other 
problems,  really  admitting  of  solution,  being  almost  regarded 
as  unworthy  of  serious  meditation.  The  reason  of  this  it  is 
not  difficult  to  discover,  for  experience  alone  could  give  us  the 
measure  of  our  strength.'  Alas !  the  reason  is  far  more  pro- 
found. Man  has  ever  refused  to  content  himself  with  exam- 
ining the  properties  of  triangles,  prisms,  levers,  and  pulleys, 
which  he  could  have  exactly  determined,  and  has  persisted  in 
asking  whence  his  spiritual  being  came,  and  whither  it  was 
going,  what  was  its  proper  rational  end,  and  what  its  laws; 
not  merely  because  he  had  not  learned  the  limits  of  his  power, 
but  because  he  was,  and  is,  irresistibly  impelled  to  these  inqur 
ries  by  the  instinctive  wants  of  his  soul.  His  intuitions  tell 
him  that  these  are  the  things,  and  not  the  others,  which  are  of 
infinite  moment  to  him.  It  appears,  then,  that  it  is  unavoida- 
ble for  man  to  search  most  anxiously  where  he  can  find  least 
certainty.  His  intellectual  wants  are  most  tremendous,  just  in 
those  departments  where  his  power  of  self-help  is  least  To 
what  should  this  great  fact  point  us  ?  If  we  obey  the  spirit  of 
true  science,  it  will  manifest  to  us  the  great  truth,  that  man 
was  never  designed  by  God  for  mental  independence  of  Him; 
that  man  needs,  in  these  transcendent  questions,  the  guidance 
of  the  infinite  understanding ;  that  while  a  *  positive  philosophy' 
may  measure  and  compare  his  material  possessions,  the  only 
'exact  science'  of  the  spirit  is  that  revealed  to  us  by  the 
Father  of  Spirits.  This,  we  assure  the  Positivist,  is  the  inevi- 
table conclusion  to  which  the  sound  and  healthy  reason  will 
ever  revert,  as  the  needle  to  its  pole,  despite  all  his  dc^matism 
and  sophistry.  If  there  were  nothing  else  to  ensure  it,  the 
intolerable  miseries,  crimes,  and  despair,  into  which  Positivism 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean^  381 

will  ever  plunge  the  societieB  which  adopt  it,  will  always  bring 
back  this  result.  He  may  draw  an  augury  of  the  destiny  of 
his  wretched  creed  from  the  parsimony  of  its  present  followers. 
M.  Comte  drew  up  a  scheme  for  the  support  of  the  ministers 
of  his  new 'Worship  of  Humanity,' under  which  the  'High 
Priest  of  Humanity'  was  to  receive  a  salary  of  about 
$12,000  a  year,  and  four  national  superintendents  about 
$6,000  each.  It  appears  from  the  newspapers,  that  only  forty- 
six  persons  contributed  in  1867,  and  the  total  was  $750.  But 
meantime  the  votaries  of  that  Lord  Jesus  Christ  whom  he 
despises, in  the  conquered  South, though  'scattered  and  peeled > 
by  their  enemies,  contribute  annually  some  millions  of  dollars, 
and  are  sending  their  best  intellects  and  hearts  to  propagate 
their  faith  at  the  antipodes.  Let  the  Positivist  judge  which 
system  has  the  conquering  vitality ! 


Abt.  VI. — 1.  Memoirs  of  Service  Afloat^  during  ike  War  be- 
tween the  States.  By  Admiral  Kaphael  Semmes.  Balti- 
more :    Kelly,  Piet  &  Co.     1868.     Pp.  833. 

2.  A  Zecture  delivered  hy  Silas  Bent^  Esq.^  hefore  the  Missouri 
Historical  Society  of  St.  Louis.  The  subject :  '  Thermo- 
metive  Gateways  to  the  Poles.' 

When  we  look  abroad  upon  the  face  of  our  beautiful  country, 
and  behold  it  teeming  with  an  abundant  and  varied  flora ;  the 
mountains  and  hill-sides  clothed  vnth  forests  centuries  old ;  our 
fields  rich  with  abundant  harvests,  at  the  proper  seasons  of  the 
year,  and  our  lawns  adorned  with  a  beautiful  and  variegated 
shrubbery,  and  reflect  that  all  this  store  of  wealth  and  beauty 
are  the  results  of  certain  atmospheric  phenomena,  our  curiosity 
is  awakened,  and  we  desire  to  inquire  into  the  agencies  which 
produce  such  phenomena.     In  the  beginning  of  our  inquiries 


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382  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean,  [April, 

we  are  exceedingly  baffled,  for  all  seems  a  mere  chance-med- 
ley, a  mere  confusion  of  the  elements.  When  we  see  the  wind 
blowing  hither  and  thither,  changing  its  direction  without 
apparent  cause,  now  bringing  us  the  stifling  air  of  the  desert, 
and  now  the  refreshing  breeze  of  the  mountain ;  when  we  look 
upon  the  summer  shower  refreshing  the  landscape,  amid  the 
crashing  of  the  thunder,  and  the  play  of  the  lightning,  yet 
giving  renewed  vigor  to  the  growing  crops ;  when  again  the  eye 
wanders  over  a  heated  and  parched  plain,  where  no  rain  has 
fallen  for  weeks,  and  where  the  com  rolls  up  its  leaf,  instinc- 
tively, that  it  may  present  as  little  surface  as  possible  to  the 
scorching,  and  blistering  sun ;  and  finally  when  we  look  forth 
upon  the  howling  blasts  of  winter,  under  which  the  stout  tree- 
tops  are  bending,  while  the  angry  clouds  are  discharging  upon 
them  their  sleet,  rain,  and  snow,  all  seems  to  be  involved  in 
mystery.  Indeed  these  wonders  of  nature  have  been  a  mystery 
from  the  infancy  of  nations  to  a  comparatively  recent  period. 
A  century  ago,  we  knew  scarcely  more  about  the  winds,  and 
the  weather,  than  did  the  shepherds  who  watched  their  flockB 
on  the  hills  of  Galilee,  before  the  coming  of  the  Saviour. 
Like  chemistry,  meteorology  has  received  its  chief  develop- 
ment during  our  own  day  and  generation.  And  seamen  have 
been  the  philosophers,  who,  more  than  any  other  class,  have 
contributed  to  its  development.  As  commerce  has  increased, 
and  ships  have  multiplied  upon  the  ocean,  the  meteorological 
secrets  of  nature  have  been  unlocked.  The  philosophers  of 
ancient  times,  whose  ships  crept  cautiously,  and  timidly,  fix)m 
shore  to  shore,  speculated  upon  meteorological  phenomena  in 
vain.  Nothing  entitled  to  bear  the  name  of  science  in  this  de- 
partment of  inquiry,  but  only  vague  and  crude  conjectures 
instead,  have  been  handed  down  to  us,  by  the  ancients.  It  is 
true,  that  no  subject  escaped  the  attention  of  the  Greek  philoso- 
phers, and  Aristotle,  as  far  back  as  three  centuries  before  Christ, 
wrote  a  work  on  meteorology,  but  there  is  nothing  in  it  worthy 
of  notice.  The  great  master  of  metaphysics,  he  who  stands 
to-day,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  two  thousand  years,  as  the 
head  of  the  schools  of  the  moral  sciences,  was  unable  to  pene- 
trate even  the  more  simple  secrets  of  nature  with  reference  to 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  383 

that  great  meteorological  repository,  the  atmosphere.  He  was 
unable  to  analyze  the  breath  he  drew,  or  tell  whence  it  came, 
or  whither  it  departed.  Here  is  the  definition  of  a  cloud  by  one 
of  the  philosophers  who  followed  close  on  the  footsteps  of 
Aristotle,  and  who,  it  may  be  supposed,  availed  himself  of  all 
the  meteorological  knowledge  of  his  day.  'Clouds,'  says 
Epicurus,  'may  have  many  causes;  they  may  be  condensa- 
tions of  the  air,  compressions  of  the  winds,  conglomerations 
of  atoms  of  a  special  kind,  or  emanations  from  the  earth,  and 
tlie  waters.'  But  these,  as  the  reader  sees,  were  mere  conjec- 
tures, and  they  were  reasoned  upon  in  the  most  fanciful  man- 
ner. In  that  day,  philosophy  preceded  facts,  instead  of  facts 
preceding  philosophy,  and  the  consequence  was  that  almost  all 
the  natural  or  physical  philosophy  of  the  ancients  was,  as  we 
have  said,  little  more  than  a  mass  of  conjectures.  Many 
curious  inventions  were  made  by  the  ancient  philosophers  with- 
out their  being  able  to  explain  them.  For  instance,  about  a 
century  before  Christ,  Ctesiphus,  and  Horo,  his  disciple,  in- 
vented the  pump ;  but  they  were  unable  to  explain  why  the 
water  rose  in  the  tube  of  the  pump,  on  the  drawing  up  of  the 
piston,  except  on  the  principle  that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum. 
This  was,  of  course,  philosophical  enough  as  far  as  it  went,  but 
they  had  no  idea  how  it  was  that  nature  filled  the  vacuum ; 
although  they  had  some  vague  notions  of  the  ponderability  of 
the  atmosphere,  as  well  as  of  its  elasticity ;  for  Aristotle  tells 
us,  that  a  bladder  when  filled  with  air  will  weigh  more  than 
when  it  is  empty.  The  piston  when  drawn  up  through  the 
tube  of  the  pump,  according  to  these  philosophers,  produced  a 
vacuum,  and  as  nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  the  water  rushed 
up  after  the  piston  to  fill  it,  but  they  had  no  conception  that  it 
was  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere  that  caused  the  water  to 
rise ;  nor  do  we  learn  anywhere  from  their  writings,  that  they 
knew  the  limit  to  which  the  elevation  of  the  water  was  con- 
fined, to  wit,  about  thirty-three  or  thirty-four  feet,  or  a  foot  for 
every  mile  in  depth  of  the  atmosphere.  Indeed  Galileo,  who 
is  justly  regarded  as  the  father  of  modem  physics,  could  only 
explain  it,  when  applied  to,  by  saying  that  nature  abhors  a 
vacuum,  to  the  extent  of  thirty-three,  or  thirty  four  feet !  Rome, 


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384  The  Atrnosphere  of  tJie  Ocean,  [^pri't 

in  her  palmiest  days,  when  she  was  mistress  of  the  entire  world, 
was  ignorant  of  the  simple  principle,  that  water,  when  con- 
fined in  a  tube,  will  rise  to  the  level  of  its  fountain  head  or 
source,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  remains  of  those  gigantic  aque- 
ducts that  once  spanned  the  valley  of  the  Eternal  City.  While 
great  advances  had  been  made  by  the  ancients  in  the  exact 
science  of  mathematics  and  its  cognates,  and  nearly  the  entire 
field  of  metaphysics  had  been  explored,  with  an  acumen,  and 
fertility  of  conception,  that  continue  to  astonish  us  to  the  pre- 
sent day,  they  were  but  children  picking  up  pebbles  on  the 
mystic  shore  of  meteorology.  They  transferred  from  the  meta- 
physical world,  in  which  they  were  so  fond  of  speculating,  to 
the  physical  world,  the  ideas  of  aftection  and  hatred ;  both 
celestial  and  terrestrial  bodies  having,  according  to  their 
notions,  their  sympathies  and  antipathies.  Nature  filled  a 
vacuum  simply  because  she  abhorred  it,  and  every  star  had  its 
baleful  or  benign  influence.  They  thought  they  had  suflSciently 
explained  a  phenomenon,  when,  after  one  fashion  or  another, 
they  had  brought  it  under  the  influence  of  one  of  these  occult 
agencies.  In  our  day,  instead  of  betaking  ourselves  to  the 
secret,  and  gloomy  cave  of  Egeria,  or  to  the  dark  recesses  of 
the  forest,  and  there  questioning  these  supposed  occult  powers, 
we  have  gone  abroad  upon  the  land,  and  more  particularly 
upon  the  sea,  and  interrogated  nature.  Jij  long  and  patient 
observation,  we  have  noted  her  facts,  one  by  one,  and  when 
she  has  seen  us  in  possession  of  these,  she  has  reluctantly 
yielded  to  us  the  possession  of  her  secrets.  There  is  no 
employment  more  ennobling  to  man  and  his  intellect,  or  one 
which  yields  him  more  pure  and  unalloyed  enjoyment,  than 
that  of  tracing  the  evidences  of  design,  and  adaptation  in  the 
visible  creation,  by  which  he  is  surrounded ;  and  to  no  one  is 
this  field  so  inviting  as  to  the  seaman,  at  least  so  far  as  the 
science  of  metoorology  is  concerned.  When  he  finds  himself 
upon  the  high  seas,  with  nothing  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon,  but 
an  illimitable  waste  of  waters,  now  sleeping  with  the  gentle- 
ness of  an  infant,  now  raging  with  the  fury  of  a  giant,  he  is 
awed  and  subdued,  and  brought,  as  it  were,  face  to  face,  with 
his  Creator.     The  relations  of  earth,  sea,  and  air  force  them- 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  385 

selves  upon  him,  whether  he  will  or  not,  and  he  becomes  a 
philosopher  from  necessity.  When  he  finds  himself  beyond  the 
influence  of  the  land  upon  the  winds,  he  sees  at  once  that  he  is 
in  a  field  peculiarly  farorable  for  studying  the  general  laws  of 
the  atmospheric  circulation.  Here,  there  are  no  unduly  heated 
surfaces,  no  mountain  ranges,  or  other  obstructions  to  the  cir- 
culation of  the  atmosphere — nothing,  in  short,  to  disturb  it  in 
its  natural  courses.  The  sea,  therefore,  is  the  field  for  observ- 
ing the  operation  of  the  general  laws  which  govern  the  move- 
ments of  the  great  serial  ocean.  Observations  on  land  enable 
us  to  discover  the  exceptions,  but  from  the  sea  we  get  the  rule. 
Every  valley,  every  mountain  range,  and  every  local  district, 
with  its  peculiar  formation,  may  be  said  to  have  its  own  system 
of  calms,  winds,  rains,  and  droughts.  But  not  so  the  surface 
of  the  broad  ocean.  Over  the  sea  the  agencies  which  are  at 
work  are  of  a  uniform  character,  and  they  produce  uniform 
results.  As  was  naturally  to  have  been  expected,  the  greater 
part  of  our  meteorological  information  of  the  present  day  has 
come  to  us  from  the  sea,  and  seafaring  men.  All  the  maritime 
nations  have  contributed  to  the  common  fund,  but  foremost 
among  them  have  been  England,  Holland,  and  the  United 
States.  From  the  days  of  Cook,  England  has  had  a  valuable 
corps  of  explorers,  and  surveyors,  constantly  at  work.  While 
these  old  navigators  have  been  hunting  for  the  North-West 
Passage,  and  endeavoring  to  make  their  way  to  the  poles,  they 
have  been  as^watchful  of  the  heavens  above  as  of  the  sea  below. 
The  names  of  Cook,  Parry,  Eoss,  Beechey,  Franklin,  Fitzroy, 
and  a  host  of  other  gallant  spirits  of  the  British  navy  call  up 
vivid  recollections  in  connection  with  our  science.  Holland 
has  contributed  a  host  in  Lieutenant  Jansen  alone.  In  the 
United  States  we  have  had  a  number  of  able,  and  energetic 
workers  upon  the  sea,  foremost  among  whom  stands  Captain 
Maury,  renowned  for  his  Wind  and  Current  Charts^  and  for 
his  Physical  Geography  of  the  Sea.  Among  the  later  contri- 
butions to  the  science  are  the  work  of  Admiral  Semmes,  enti- 
tled Memoirs  of  Service  AJloaty  during  the  War  between  the 
StateSj  and  a  Lecture  delivered  by  Silas  Bent,  Esq.,  before  the 
Missouri  Geographical  Society  at  St.  Louis.     Mr.  Bent  was,  in 


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886  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean,  [April, 

former  years,  a  seaman,  having  been  a  Lieutenant  in  the  TJ. 
S.  Navy.  He  accompanied  the  expedition  of  Commodore  Perry 
to  Japan,  and  made  some  valuable  observations  upon  the  cur- 
rents of  the  China  seas.  We  purpose,  in  the  present  article, 
to  make  some  observations  upon  the  problems  discussed  by  the 
last  two  gentlemen  above  named.  Although  we  have  hitherto 
only  spoken  of  the  science  of  meteorology,  we  shall  not  con- 
fine our  views  strictly  to  this  science,  but  will  extend  them  to 
some  of  the  more  interesting  of  the  oceanic  currents.  Indeed 
the  latter  are  so  intimately  connected  with  the  science  which 
treats  of  the  atmosphere,  that  it  is  difficult  to  separate  them. 
The  only  difference  between  the  ocean  of  water,  and  the  ocean 
of  air,  is,  that  the  one  is  a  more  attenuated  fluid  than  the  other. 
They  are  both  fluids,  in  a  philosophical  sense,  and  subject  to 
the  laws  of  fluids.  Perhaps  the  most  beautiful  problem  con- 
nected with  the  atmosphere  is  that  which  treats  of  its  agency 
in  the  distribution  of  rain  over  the  earth.  When  the  seaman 
has  launched  his  bark  upon  the  great  ocean  of  water,  he 
perceives,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  has  entered  another 
ocean,  which  is  shoreless,  and  at  the  bottom  of  which  he  is 
creeping  along  on  the  surface  of  the  earth.  This  atmospheric 
ocean  is  a  great  reservoir  into  which  the  supply  of  food, 
designed  for  living  creatures,  is  cast ;  or,  rather  is,  itself,  the 
food  for  these  creatures,  reduced  to  its  simplest  form.  The 
animal  grinds  down  the  fibre,  and  the  tissue  of  the  plant,  or 
the  nutritious  store  that  has  been  laid  up  in  its  cases,  and 
converts  them  into  the  substance  of  which  its  organs  are  com- 
posed. The  organs  and  nutritious  store  which  it  thus  yields 
up  as  food  to  the  animal,  the  plant  acquires,  namely,  from  the 
bountiful  atmosphere  in  which  it  lives.  The  atmosphere  is 
also  a  sewer,  into  which,  with  every  breath  we  draw,  we  cast  a 
quantity  of  dead  animal  matter.  It  is,  besides,  a  laboratory 
for  purification,  in  which  that  matter  is  recompounded,  and 
brought  again  into  healthful,  and  life-giving  conditions.  These 
remarks  are  commonplace  enough,  but  they  are  introduced,  as 
the  lawyers  say,  in  pleading,  as  inducement  to  what  follows. 
We  have  said  that  the  animals  and  plants  are  alike  fed  by  the 
atmosphere,  but  the  difference  between  the  animal  and  the 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  387 

plant  is,  that  the  former  is  endowed  with  locomotion,  and  can 
approach,  seize,  and  appropriate  its  food,  while  the  latter  is 
stationary,  and  must  wait  for  its  food  to  be  brought  to  it.  The 
atmosphere  must,  therefore,  be  the  food-carrier  for  the  plant. 
It  must  come  and  go.  Plants,  like  animals,  breathe  and 
appropriate  certain  constituent  portions  of  the  atmosphere, 
and  the  circumjacent  air  would  soon  become  unfit  for  the 
further  use  of  the  plant,  if  it  were  not  changed.  The  plant 
having  consumed  all  the  food  within  its  reach,  would  die  of 
inanition  if  more  were  not  brought ;  and  so,  the  atmosphere, 
after  having  enveloped  the  plant,  and  fed  the  stalk  and  leaves 
by  absorption,  and  deposited  its  moisture  at  its  root,  hurries 
off  for  a  fresh  supply.  The  atmosphere  in  motion  is  wind,  and 
we  see,  here,  one  of  the  reasons  why,  in  the  economy  of  nature, 
the  winds  have  been  ordered  to  blow.  In  short,  the  atmos- 
phere is  a  great  machine  for  pumping  up  all  the  rivers  from 
the  sea,  and  for  watering  all  the  corn-fields.  It  may  be 
likened,  in  many  of  its  processes,  to  a  steam-engine,  and  a 
little  thought  will  suffice  to  show  1|9,  how  herculean  its  labors 
are.  The  mean  annual  fall  of  rain  on  the  entire  surface  of 
the  earth  is  estimated  at  five  feet.  To  evaporate  water  enough 
annually  for  the  ocean  to  cover  the  earth,  on  an  average,  with 
five  feet  of  rain ;  to  transport  it  from  one  zone  to  another,  and 
to  precipitate  it  in  the  right  places,  at  suitable  times,  and  in 
proper  proportions,  is  one  of  the  offices  of  the  grand  atmos- 
pherical machine.  This  water  is  evaporated  principally  from 
the  Torrid  Zone.  Supposing  it  all  to  come  from  thence,  we 
shall  have  encircling  the  earth  a  belt  of  ocean  three  thousand 
miles  in  breadth,  from  which  this  atmosphere  evaporates  a 
layer  of  water,  annually,  sixteen  feet  in  depth.  Now,  imagine 
a  lake,  three  thousand  miles  broad,  and  twenty-four  thousand 
miles  long,  with  the  water  sixteen  feet  deep,  and  then  imagine 
a  steam-engine  capable  of  emptying  this  immense  lake ;  and  not 
only  capable  of  emptying  it,  but  of  lifting  up  its  waters  as 
high  as  the  clouds,  and  distributing  them  all  over  the  earth, 
and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  the  yearly  business  performed 
by  this  invisible  machinery  of  the  atmosphere.  What  a  pow- 
erful machine  it  must  be,  in  what  a  wonderful  workshop  it 


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388  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  [April, 

must  have  been  constructed,  and  how  skilful  must  be  the 
Engineer  who  contrived  it  I  How  nicely  adjusted  must  be 
the  size  of  the  boiler,  and  the  quantity  of  heat  applied  to  it, 
how  strong  its  cylinder,  crank,  and  shaft,  and  how  numeroiis 
the  pumps  and  buckets  moving  the  water  to  and  from  the 
clouds ;  and  how  nicely  must  all  the  parts  of  this  exquisite 
and  intricate  machine  be  adapted,  one  to  the  other,  and  how 
smoothly  all  the  joints  and  sockets  must  work  that  it  never 
wears  out,  nor  breaks  down,  nor  fails  to  do  its  work,  at  the 
right  time,  and  in  the  right  way !  This  great  machine  has 
many  servants  attending  upon  it.  It  not  only  has  to  pump  up 
the  water  as  high  as  the  clouds,  but  it  has  to  send  them,  as  we 
have  said,  all  over  the  earth,  and  then  let  them  down  again, 
not  all  at  once  as  roaring  cataracts  destroying  everything  in 
their  path,  but  as  gentle,  life-giving  rain,  and  dew.  One  of 
its  chief  agents  is  the  sun.  It  is  his  business  to  attend  to  the 
pumps  and  buckets.  Day  and  night,  night  and  day,  as  the 
earth  presents  now  one  part  of  her  surface  to  him,  and  now 
another,  he  is  pumping  away,  and  sending  down  into  the  sea 
his  myriad  of  empty  buckets,  and  hauling  them  up  full  again. 
At  his  right  hand,  and  at  his  left,  stand  the  ready  and  obedient 
winds,  which  receive  from  him  his  full  buckets,  and  start  off 
with  them  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth.  We  propose  to 
follow  these  winds  for  awhile,  and  to  show  the  reader  by  what 
paths  they  come  and  go ;  where  it  is  that  the  sun  loads  them 
with  his  buckets  of  water,  whither  they  carry  it,  and  how  they 
dispose  of  it ;  why  it  is  that  they  pour  down  so  much  here, 
and  so  little  there,  and  why  it  is  that  in  some  places  they  pour 
down  none  at  all.  We  will  not  stop  to  inquire  what  it  is  that 
puts  the  winds  in  motion,  or  rather^  how  it  is  that  they  are  put 
in  motion,  for  we  have  already  seen  them  obeying  the  ordere 
of  the  sun.  This  inquiry  alone  would  occupy  the  remaining 
space  of  our  article.  It  will,  however,  be  sufficient  for  our 
present  purpose  to  follow  them  in  their  circuits,  to  show  where 
they  'turn  and  whirl  about,'  and  what  they  are  doing  with  the 
water  buckets,  the  while.  There  are  two,  well-developed 
systems  of  wind  between  the  tropics — one  blowing  from  the 
northeast,  in  the  Northern   Hemisphere,  and  the  other  firom 


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1869.]  The  AlmospJiere  of  the  Ocean.  389 

the  southeast,  in  the  Southern  Hemisphere.     These  two  winds 
meet  each  other  at  or  near  the  equator.     The  consequence  of 
this  meeting  is,  that  they  first  neutralize  each  other,  producing 
a  belt  of  equatorial  calms,  and  then  must  either  pass  each  other, 
and  continue  their  respective  courses,  or  turn  back  and  go  to 
the  point  whence  they  came.     We  purpose  to  show  that  they 
do  not  turn  back,  but  cross  each  other,  and  proceed  from  the 
place  of  crossing  to  the  poles.     This  would  seem,  at  first  sight, 
a  very  difiScult  problem  to  solve,  for  how  are  we  to  identify 
the  two  winds,  so  as  to  be  able  to  say,  which  is  which  ?     If  we 
could  seize  a  particle  of  the  wind,  convert  it  into  a  carrier- 
pigeon,  and  put  a  tally  upon  it,  so  that  we  might  know  it  from 
the  other  carrier-pigeons  which  it  meets  on  its  route,  our  task 
would  be  simple  enough.     Strange  as  it  may  appear,  nature 
has,  in  fact,  done  this,  to  our  hand,  as  the  reader  will  presently 
see.     But  before  we  proceed  to  show  how  this  has  been  done, 
let  us  see  what  a  priori  arguments  there  are  to  show,  first, 
why  the  winds  should  proceed  from  the  equator  to  the  poles  at 
all ;  and,  secondly,  why  they  should  cross  each  other,  and  each 
proceed  to  the  pole  of  the  other,  instead  of  turning  back,  and 
going  to  its  own  pole.     A  very  little  reflection  will  serve  to 
show  us  why  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  the  winds,  which 
blow  from  the  poles  to  the  equator,  should  blow  back  again 
from  the  equator  to  the  poles.     The  northeast  and  southeast 
trade  winds  blowing  constantly  toward  the  equator,  if  there 
were  no  outlet  for  them,  would  soon  draw  away  from  the 
poles,  and  pile  up  at  the  equator,  all  the  atmosphere  of  the 
earth.     But  the  atmosphere  being  a  fluid,  and  obeying  the 
laws  of  fluids  with  r^ard  to  density,  level,  and  so  forth,  this 
cannot  be.     But  as  there  is  a  constant  surface-current  of  air 
toward  the  equator,  within  the  tropics,  how  can  the  air  from 
the  equator  get  back  to  the  poles  ?    Manifestly  there  is  but  one 
mode.     It  must  be  by  means  of  an  upper  current.     The  two 
trade  winds,  spoken  of,  as  fast  as  they  meet  in  the  calm  belt 
of  the  equator,  ascend,  and  either  mix  and  mingle,  and,  losing 
their  identity,  blow  back  indiscriminately  to  the  poles,  or 
reiusing  to  mix  and  mingle,  preserve  their  identity,  and  proceed 
separately  to  the  poles.     It  being  true,  then,  that  the  winds 


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390  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  [April, 

are  under  a  philosophical  necessity  of  proceeding  from  the 
equator  to  the  poles,  let  us  see  why  it  is,  that  they  shall  pre- 
serve their  identity,  and  each  proceed  to  the  pole  of  the  other, 
instead  of  turning  back,  and  going  again  to  its  own  pole. 
There  is  a  certain  quantity  of  rain-work,  if  we  may  so  express 
ourselves,  required  to  be  performed,  annually,  in  the  two  hemis- 
pheres, by  these  winds.  If  it  be  true  that  the  rain-work  of  the 
Northern  Hemisphere  could  not  possibly  be  performed  by  the 
winds  of  that  hemisphere ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the 
rain- work  of  the  Southern  Hemisphere  could  not  be  performed 
by  the  winds  of  that  hemisphere,  we  establish  the  necessity  for 
the  crossing  of  these  winds  at  the  equator,  that  each  may  do 
the  work  of  the  other — the  northern  wind  doing  the  work  of 
the  Southern  Hemisphere,  and  the  southern  wind,  the  work  of 
the  Northern  Hemisphere.  That  it  is  true,  that  neither  \rind 
can  adequately  perform  the  work  of  its  own  hemisphere,  will 
be  obvious  upon  the  statement  of  a  few  geographical  facts.  If 
we  examine  a  globe,  we  shall  find,  that  in  the  Northern 
Hemisphere  there  is  one-third  more  land  than  water ;  while  in 
the  Southern  Hemisphere  there  is  one-third  more  water  than 
land.  The  sun,  therefore,  with  those  pumps  and  buckets  of 
his,  which  we  have  been  describing,  takes  up  one-third  less 
water  in  the  Northern  Hemisphere,  than  he  does  in  the  South- 
em  ;  the  quantity  taken  up  in  each  hemisphere  being  in  pro- 
portion to  the  extent  of  evaporating  surface.  There  being 
more  land  in  the  Northern  Hemisphere,  than  in  the  South- 
ern, there  is  more  rain  required  in  the  former  than  in  the 
latter.  This  being  the  case,  if  that  great  luminary,  the  sun* 
which  we  have  supposed  to  be  so  busily  at  work  within  the 
tropics,  should  command  his  water-carriers,  the  north  winds, 
to  return  to  the  north,  and  there  pour  down  their  buckets  full 
of  water,  we  should  not  have  rain  enough  in  this  hemisphere. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  he  were  to  dispatch  the  south  winds, 
southward,  with  directions  to  discharge  their  waters  upon  the 
lands  of  the  Southern  Hemisphere,  the  inhabitants  of  that 
hemisphere  would  be  drowned  out !  This  is  the  a  priori  arsru- 
ment,  which  results  as  a  necessity,  from  the  unequal  distribu- 
tion of  land  and  water  in  the  two  hemispheres.     What  is  the 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  391 

fact  ?  What  story  do  the  rain-gauges  in  the  two  hemispheres 
tell  ?  They  tell  the  story  which  our  theory  demands.  More 
water  does,  in  fact,  fall  upon  the  Northern  Hemisphere,  than 
upon  the  Southern.  Having  thus  established  the  necessity  for 
the  crossing  of  the  trade-winds  at  the  equator,  and  proved  the 
fact  of  their  crossing,  by  that  mute  but  truthful  witness,  the 
rain-gauge,  let  us  pursue  our  inquiries,  and  see  how  it  is,  that 
nature  has  tallied  the  wind,  as  though  it  were  a  carrier-pigeon, 
causing  it  to  reveal  the  truth  of  our  proposition,  in  a  still  more 
startling  manner.  There  has  been  long  known  to  mariners 
what  is  called  the  service-dust,  or  African-dust,  or  rain  dust ; 
fin  impalpable  powder  which  has  been  found  on  the  deck  and 
rigging  of  ships  far  out  at  sea.  Admiral  Semmes  speaks  of 
having  seen  large  quantities  of  this  dust,  when  cruising  in  the 
Sumter.  Some  of  this  rain-dust  has  also  fallen  periodically  at 
the  Cape  de  Verd  Islands,  Malta,  Genoa,  Lyons,  and  even  in 
the  Tyrol.  Ehrenberg,  a  German  philosopher,  having  had  his 
attention  called  to  this  dust,  subjected  some  specimens  of  it, 
found  at  the  different  places  above  mentioned,  to  the  micro- 
scope, and  has  established,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  infusoria, 
and  remains  of  minute  organisms  of  which  it  is  composed,  have 
their  original  habitat  in  South  America,  and  not  in  any  of  the 
places  in  which  they  were  collected.  Although  this  philoso- 
pher examined  a  great  many  specimens,  he  found  them  all  to 
be  as  homogeneous  as  if  they  had  been  taken  from  the  same 
pile!  And  we  have  pretty  conclusive  evidence  that  these  im- 
palpable remains  of  minute  organisms  come  from  the  valley  of 
the  Amazon,  in  the  northern  part  of  Brazil.  Humboldt,  more 
than  half  a  century  ago,  and  not  dreaming  of  the  results  to 
which  his  researches  would  lead,  supplied  ns  with  the  remain- 
ing link  in  our  chain  of  investigation,  in  his  description  of  the 
Amazon  during  the  dry  season.  '  When,'  says  he, '  under  the 
vertical  rays  of  the  never-clouded  sun,  the  carbonized,  turfy 
covering  of  the  soil  falls  into  dust,  the  indurated  soil  cracks 
asunder  as  from  the  shock  of  an  earthquake.  If,  at  such  times, 
two  opposing  currents  of  air,  whose  conflict  produces  a  rotary 
motion,  come  in  contact  with  the  soil,  the  plain  assumes  a 
Btrange  and  singular  aspect.     Like  conical  shaped  clouds,  the 


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392  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  [April, 

points  of  which  descend  to  the  earth,  the  sand  rises  through 
the  rarefied  air  on  the  electrically  charged  centre  of  the 
whirling  current,  whose  roar  resembles  that  of  the  loud  water 
spout  dreaded  by  the  experienced  mariner.  The  lowering  sky 
sheds  a  dim,  almost  a  straw-colored  light  on  the  desolate  plain. 
The  pools,  which  the  yellow,  fading  branches  of  the  fan-pahn 
had  protected  from  evaporation,  now  gradually  disappear.  As 
in  the  icy  North  the  animals  become  toi'pid  with  cold,  so  here, 
under  the  influence  of  the  parching  drought,  the  crocodile  and 
the  boa  become  motionless,  and  fall  asleep  deeply  buried  in  the 
dry  mud.  Half  concealed  by  the  dense  clouds  of  dust,  restless 
with  the  pain  of  thirst  and  hunger,  the  horses  and  cattle  roam 
around ;  the  cattle  lowing  dismally,  and  the  horses  stretching 
out  their  long  necks,  and  snuffing  the  wind,  if,  haply,  a  moister 
current  may  betray  the  neighborhood  of  a  not  wholly  dried-up 
pool.'  Humboldt,  like  Ehrenberg,  examined,  under  his  micro- 
scope, some  specimens  of  the.  dust  thus  described  by  hira,  as 
giving  a  straw-colored  tint  to  the  atmosphere,  and,  judging  from 
the  descriptions  given  by  the  two  philosophers,  the  dust  of  the 
Cape  de  Verds,  and  the  dust  of  the  valley  of  the  Amazon, 
appear  to  be  identical.  There  is,  however,  a  seeming  dis- 
crepancy in  a  portion  of  their  testimony,  which  we  shall  have 
to  call  in  a  third  witness  to  rieconcile.  Humboldt  describes 
the  floating  specimens  seen,  and  examined  by  him,  as  being  of 
a  straw  color,  while  Ehrenberg  tells  us  that  the  little  piles 
examined  by  him  were  of  a  pale  brick-dust  red.  The  witness 
who  is  to  reconcile  this  discrepancy  is  our  own  philosopher, 
Maury.  ^  In  the  search,'  says  the  philosopher, '  for  spider  lines 
for  the  diaphrams  of  ray  telescopes,  I  procured  the  finest,  and 
best  threads  from  a  cocoon  of  a  mud-red  color ;  but  the  tlireads 
of  this  cocoon,  as  seen  singly  through  the  diaphram,  were  of  » 
gold  color.'  It  is  quite  likely,  therefore,  that  the  moats  which 
when  seen  singly,  in  the  atmosphere,  by  Humboldt,  appeared 
of  a  straw  or  golden  color,  should,  when  brought  togetiber  in  t 
pile,  under  Ehrenberg's  microscope,  have  assumed  a  brick-red, 
or  mud-red  color.  It  only  remains  for  us  to  show,  how  the 
rain-dust  of  the  Amazon  finds  its  way  to  the  Cape  de  Verd 
Islands,  the  track  of  the  Sumter, — Malta,  Genoa,  Lyons,  and 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  393 

the  Tyrol, — and  when  we  shall  have  seen  this,  we  shall  have 
proved  our  proposition,  that  the  wind  has  been  tallied,  and 
identified  by  means  of  the  tally.  If  the  reader  will  take  a 
map,  and  run  his  eye  along  it  from  the  mouth  of  the  Amazon 
to  the  Cape  de  Verd  Islands,  and  the  other  places  named,  he 
will  find  that  they  lie  nearly  in  a  straight  line,  and  that  that 
line  is  a  diagonal  of  about  northeast  and  southwest.  The 
region  between  the  Cape  de  Verds,  and  the  Amazon,  is  within 
the  tropics,  where  the  northeast  trade-wind  prevails.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  no  portion  of  this  rain-dust  could  pass  from 
the  Amazon  to  the  Cape  de  Verds,  near  the  surface  of  the 
earthy  for  the  reason  that  the  northeast  wind  is  a  head-wind. 
But  we  have  seen,  that  as  much  wind  as  flows  to  the  equator 
from  the  poles,  flows  back  again  from  the  equator  to  the  poles, 
and  that  this  counterflow  is  in  the  form  of  an  upper  current. 
The  upper  current,  from  the  mouth  of  the  Amazon  to  the 
Cape  de  Verds,  is  a  southwest  wind,  or  a  fair  wind  for  our  rain- 
dust.  Those  little  whirlwinds  described  by  Humboldt,  as 
throwing  up  columns  of  dust,  and  giving  a  lurid  aspect  to  the 
parched-up  valley  of  the  Amazon,  come  now  to  the  aid  of  our 
theory.  Tossing  high  into  the  upper  atmosphere  the  dust  with 
which  their  electrical  vortices  are  charged,  they  deliver  it  to 
the  southwest  wind,  and  this  wind  transports  it  to  the  Cape  de 
Verds,  where  in  calms,  and  in  opposing  serial  currents,  it  silts 
down  like  the  snow  flake.  It  is  thus  that  the  carrier-pigeon 
delivers  his  tally  to  the  seaman,  and  to  the  philosopher.  Tliis 
completes  the  chain  of  our  proof.  We  have  first  shown  from 
St  priori  reasoning,  that  the  trade-winds  shoxtld  cross  at  the 
equator,  and  then  by  testimony  of  the  rain-gauge,  and  the  tally 
described,  that  they  do  cross.  Or,  in  other  words,  the  argu- 
ment from  final  causes,  is  made  good  by  the  operation  of 
physical  causes.  We  thus  see  the  nimble  winds  lifting  up 
their  burthen  of  water  in  the  South  Atlantic,  South  Pacific, 
and  Indian  Oceans,  and  hurrying  off  with  it,  and  pouring  it 
down  on  our  Northern  Hemisphere,  while  other  winds  are 
scooping  up  the  waters  from  our  North  Atlantic  Ocean,  and 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  hurrying  off  with  them  in  the  contrary 
direction.  These  swift,  and  silent  messengers,  pass  and  rei)a6S 
10 

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394  The  AtTnosphere  of  the  Ocean,  [April, 

each  other,  on  their  respective  errands,  with  the  utmost  r^- 
larity,  spilling  some  of  the  water  from  their  over-full  buckets, 
by  the  way,  it  is  true,  but  without  the  slightest  jostling  or 
confusion.  The  moment  their  buckets  are  emptied,  which  is 
seldom  the  case  until  they  reach  the  poles  to  which  they  are 
respectively  bound,  they  wheel  about,  and  start  back  to  their 
cisterns  in  the  sea,  to  replenish  their  supply ;  and  thus  they 
continue  their  ceaseless  toil,  by  day  and  by  night,  filling  the 
bam  of  the  husbandman  with  abundant  crops,  and  painting 
the  lily  and  the  rose. 

But  by  what  agency  of  nature  is  it,  that  the  two  trade-winds, 
when  they  meet  at  the  equator,  are  enabled  to  preserve  their 
identity,  and  cross  each  other, '  without  mixing  and  mingling?' 
The  seaman,  in  examining  the  atmosphere,  in  the  two  hernia 
pheres,  by  all  the  known  chemical  and  mechanical  tests,  finds 
no  diversity  in  it,  just  as  Oassius,  on  weighing  the  blood  of 
Caesar,  found  it  weighed  no  more  than  the  blood  of  any  other 
man.  It  is  composed  of  oxygen,  and  nitrogen,  in  the  same 
proportions,  whether  it  be  examined  at  the  one  tropic  or  the 
other,  or  at  its  crossing  place,  the  equator.  It  presses  the 
piston  of  his  steam-engine  home  to  the  vacuum  in  the  cylinder, 
with  the  same  pressure  of  fifteen  pounds  to  the  square  inch, 
whether  his  steamship  be  ploughing  the  waters  of  the  Arctic, 
or  the  Antarctic  Seas.  The  cocoanut  tree  of  Tahiti,  in  the  far- 
off  Pacific,  midway  between  California  and  Japan,  grows  as 
rapidly  upon  it,  as  its  congener  in  Cuba  or  St.  Domingo,  in  our 
own  Caribbean  Sea ;  and  one  perceives  no  difference  between 
the  magnolias  of  the  Mississippi,  and  those  of  the  Amazon. 
In  what  respect,  then,  do  these  two  winds  differ  ?  They  must 
differ,  or  they  would  not  pass  each  other  in  their  flights,  but 
would  intermix,  lose  their  identity,  and  be  as  likely  to  turn 
back,  as  to  go  forward.  The  agent,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  a 
subtle,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  peaceful  one.  It  is  so  subtle 
as  to  resist  the  tests  of  our  most  delicate  instruments,  and  yet 
so  powerful  as  to  enable  those  water-carriers,  the  winds,  to 
bear  forward  their  burthens  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth, 
without  accident  or  mistake.  The  better  opinion  is,  that  it  is 
magnetism  which  is  the  secret,  and  subtle  agent  which  accom- 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  395 

plished  this  wonderful  result.  If  a  current  of  magnetism  be 
passed  through  a  wire  coiled  against  the  sun,  or  from  right  to 
left,  it  will  receive  a  diflferent  polarity,  from  a  similar  current 
passed  through  one  coiled  loith  the  sun^  or  from  left  to  right. 
Now,  the  atmosphere,  in  storms,  and  Admiral  Semmes  thinks, 
in  moderate  breezes  also,  gyrates  in  both  hemispheres  against 
the  Sim,  as  its  normal  law.  But  this  gyration  against  the  stin, 
in  the  Northern  Hemisphere,  is,  as  we  have  seen,  from  right  to 
left,  while  in  the  Southern  Hemisphere,  the  gyration  against 
that  luminary  is  from  left  to  right.  The  gyration  of  the  winds 
in  the  two  different  hemispheres  is  therefore  different.  Tlie 
winds  proceeding  from  the  equator  to  the  poles,  gyrate  around 
the  poles,  which  has  the  same  effect  upon  them,  as  the  passing 
of  the  two  magnetic  currents  through  the  two  coils  of  wire 
has,  upon  those  currents,  to  wit,  it  polarizes  them — it  being  a 
well  established  fact  that  the  oxygen  of  the  atmosphere  is 
magnetic.  It  is,  in  all  probability,  this  polarity  of  the  winds 
which  prevents  them  from  mingling  at  the  equator,  and  enables 
each  current  to  proceed  on  its  journey  unmolested  by  the  other. 
The  different  temperatures,  at  which  the  winds  meet,  may, 
however,  have  something  to  do  w4th  preventing  them  from 
mingling. 

The  transition  from  meteorology  to  hydrology  is  easy — the 
air  and  the  water  both  being  fluids,  as  has  been  said,  and  gov- 
erned by  the  same  laws.  Heat  is  the  principal  agent  which 
puts  the  atmosphere  in  motion.  It  is  also  the  chief  agent 
which  gives  motion  to  the  waters ;  and  the  motion  of  the  waters, 
though  more  sluggish,  is  quite  as  constant  as  that  of  the  atmos- 
phere. We  do  not  speak  here  of  the  tides,  but  of  the  currents. 
Let  us  imagine,  for  a  moment,  the  earth  to  be  at  rest  upon  its 
axis,  and  the  influence  of  heat  to  be  withdrawn  from  it.  The 
waters  would  at  once  become  dead  and  stagnant.  If  now  we 
place  the  sun  in  the  firmament,  and  he  begins  to  dart  forth  his 
rays  upon  the  equatorial  regions  of  the  earth,  heating  and  rare- 
fying the  waters,  these  will  begin  to  move  towards  the  poles ; 
and  the  moment  they  begin  to  move  towards  the  poles,  polar 
currents  will  b^in  to  move  toward  the  equator.  We  thus  es- 
tablish a  current  and  a  counter-current,  and  this  is  the  normal 


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396  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  [April, 

law  of  currents ;  for  as  we  said  of  the  atmosphere,  so  we  may 
say  of  the  water,  that  whenever  a  particle  flows  away  from  a 
place,  a  particle  must  flow  back  to  it.  We  have  seen  how  the 
currents  of  atmosphere,  to  and  from  the  poles  and  the  equator, 
pass  and  repass  each  other,  without  jostling,  or  confusion.  The 
same  is  the  case  with  the  currents  of  water.  Sometimes  an 
ellipse  will  be  established,  and  the  waters  will  flow  in  opposite 
directions,  and  in  perfect  harmony,  almost  side  by  side  with 
each  other,  as  pointed  out  by  Admiral  Semmes,  in  his  cruises 
in  the  Indian  and  other  oceans ;  and,  at  others,  a  series  of  sur- 
face and  under-currents  will  be  the  machinery  resorted  to  by 
Nature,  to  accomplish  her  purposes.  But  besides  the  heat  of 
the  sun,  there  are  numerous  other  agents  which  contribute  to 
put  the  waters  in  motion.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned, 
evaporation — produced,  it  is  true,  by  heat,  (but  not  hitherto 
considered  by  us,  in  this  connection,)  and  by  the  diurnal  motion 
of  the  earth  from  west  to  east.  When  speaking  of  the  gigantic 
labors  performed  by  the  atmosphere,  in  distributing  rain  over 
the  earth,  we  showed  that  the  water  annually  evaporated  from 
the  earth's  surface  would  be  suflScient  to  fill  a  lake  twenty-four 
thousand  miles  long,  three  thousand  miles  wide,  and  sixteen 
feet  deep.  How  wonderful  the  effect  of  the  scooping  up  of  this 
immense  body  of  water,  during  the  space  of  a  year,  upon  the 
equilibrium  of  the  ocean !  The  eflect  of  the  diurnal  motion 
of  the  earth  from  west  to  east,  upon  the  currents,  is  similar 
to  that  which  it  has  upon  the  winds,  as  described  by  us,  viz., 
to  give  them  a  westerly  direction.  A  current  setting  out  from 
the  pole,  where  the  influence  of  the  diurnal  motion  is  zero, 
will  acquire  more  and  more  of  a  westerly  direction,  as  it  pro- 
ceeds toward  the  equator — the  earth  slipping  from  under  the 
waters,  as  it  were,  from  west  to  east,  in  a  ratio  increasing  with 
the  cosine  of  the  latitude.  As  a  rule,  therefore,  southerly 
currents  (in  the  Northern  Hemisphere)  flow  to  the  southwest, 
and  northerly  currents  to  the  northeast.  With  these  remarks 
as  to  currents  in  general,  we  shall  devote  the  remainder  of  our 
space,  in  this  article,  to  the  consideration  of  two  of  the  most 
remarkable  currents,  in  our  hemisphere,  viz.,  the  Gulf  Stream 
in  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  the  Kuro  in  tlie  North  Pacific- 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  397 

The  former  has  been  accurately  mapped  out,  by  the  U.  S.  Coast 
Survey,  and  the  latter  by  Mr.  Bent,  the  title  of  whose  lecture 
stands  at  the  head  of  this  article.  There  is  a  striking  resem- 
blance between  these  two  currents,  and  they  perform,  in  a 
great  measure,  similar  functions  for  the  seas  through  which 
they  flow,  and  the  continents,  and  islands,  on  which  they  im- 
pinge. Both  of  these  streams  were  long  known  to  navigators, 
before  science  took  any  notice  of  them.  Dr.  Franklin  was 
among  the  first  to  remark  upon  the  Gulf  Stream,  in  connection 
with  science.;  but  the  sciences  of  meteorology  and  hydrology 
were  both  so  imperfectly  developed  in  his  day,  that  it  is  not 
wonderful  that  he  fell  into  some  errors  on  the  subject.  The 
Doctor's  idea  was,  that  it  was  the  trade- winds  of  the  Atlantic 
which  put  the  Gulf  Stream  in  motion ;  a  cause  entirely  inade- 
quate to  the  effect.  He  supposed  that  these  winds  drove  the 
waters  of  the  Atlantic  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  there 
heaped  them  up,  producing  some  such  ^  head,'  as  is  produced 
in  a  mill-dam,  whence  the  flow  to  a  lower  level  would  be  easy 
and  natural.  But  the  fact  is,  that  the  waters  of  the  Gulf 
Stream,  instead  of  flowing  down  hill,  flow  up  hill,  the  depth  of 
the  stream  being,  for  instance,  much  greater  at  its  exit  from 
the  Florida  Pass,  than  ofl'  Cape  Hatteras.  Besides,  Admiral 
Semmes  tells  us,  that  much  more  water  flows  out  of  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  by  the  Florida  Pass,  than  flows  into  it,  by  the 
Yucatan  Pass,  and  the  various  rivers  that  disembogue  into  it. 
Now,  no  more  water  can  flow  out  of  this  Gulf  than  flows  into 
it ;  else  the  Gulf  would  soon  become  dry.  But  it  does  not  be- 
come dry,  and  hence  water  must  flow  into  it  by  some  other 
channel,  than  ihose  already  mentioned.  In  other  words,  it  is 
plain,  that  there  must  be  an  under-current  running  below  the 
Gulf  Stream,  and  in  an  opposite  direction.  We  know  that 
there  is  a  hyperborean  current,  setting  from  Baffin's  Bay  to- 
ward the  Banks  of  Newfoundland.  When  this  current  meets 
the  Gulf  Stream,  off  Cape  Eace,  or  thereabout,  it  descends,  and 
becomes  the  under-current  we  have  described.  This  theory  re- 
moves all  difficulties,  and  the  theory  corresponds  entirely  with 
that  with  which  we  set  out,  viz.,  that  for  every  particle  of  water 
that  flows  away  from  the  equator,  a  particle  must  flow  toward 


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398  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  [April, 

it ;  and  if  it  cannot  flow  toward  it,  in  an  ellipse,  it  must  flow 
toward  it  as  an  under-current.  This  great  stream  flows  north- 
east, in  obedience  to  the  law  noticed  a  little  while  back ;  but 
all  its  waters  do  not  proceed  to  the  pole.  The  current  changes 
its  course,  more  and  more  to  the  eastward,  as  it  proceeds  toward 
the  north.  The  reason  is  obvious.  "We  showed  that  when  & 
current  started  from  the  pole  toward  the  equator,  it  took  a 
westerly  direction,  and  that  this  direction  increased  as  the  cosine 
of  the  latitude,  and  that,  conversely,  a  current  from  the  equator 
toward  the  pole,  took  an  easterly  direction,  bendiug  more  and 
more  toward  the  east,  as  it  increased  its  latitude.  This  is  a  law 
resulting  from  the  diurnal  motion  of  the  earth  on  its  axis,  and 
it  is  this  law  which  the  Gulf  Stream  obeys,  as  one  may  see  by 
reference  to  a  map.  As  there  is  a  current  from  Baffin's  Bay, 
imder-running  the  Gulf  Stream,  it  is  seen  that  the  waters  of 
this  stream  do  not  touch  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  in  any  part  of 
their  journey  toward  the  northeast,  but  flow,  as  it  were,  over  a 
cushion  of  cold  water.  Nor  do  they  touch  any  part  of  the 
American  coast.  An  important  result  follows  from  this  fencing 
off  of  the  great  body  of  warm  water  from  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  and  from  the  land.  Water,  as  compared  with  land,  is  a 
non-conductor  of  heat.  If  the  Gulf  Stream  impinged  upon 
the  land,  in  any  part  of  its  course  along  the  American  coast, 
the  contest  would  liberate  a  large  proportion  of  its  heat,  but 
this  heat  has  been  bottled  up  (if  we  may  use  the  expression) 
for  a  different  purpose,  namely,  that  of  mitigating  the  rigors  of 
the  climate  of  Northern  Europe.  London,  in  the  latitude  of 
50°,  and  Paris  still  further  south,  would  both  be  about  as  cold 
as  St.  Petersburg,  but  for  the  warmth  conveyed  to  them  by  the 
Gulf  Stream.  Hence  the  care  with  which  it  has  been  provided, 
that  this  stream  shall  flow  over  a  cushion  of  water,  placed  be- 
tween it  and  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  by  the  side  of  a  wall 
of  water  placed  between  it  and  the  American  coast ;  and  the 
equal  care  with  which  it  has  been  provided  that  no  such  wall 
shall  be  interposed  between  it  and  the  English  and  Irish  coasts. 
Here  it  impinges  upon  the  land  and  parts  with  a  large  propor- 
tion of  its  heat.  The  course  of  the  Gulf  Stream  may  be  briefly 
described  as  follows :     Issuing  out  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  be- 


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1869.]  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean.  399 

tween  Cape  Florida  and  the  Bahama  Islands,  it  runs  parallel 
with  the  American  coast,  in  a  general  northeasterly  direction, 
until  it  reaches  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  whence  it  deflects 
still  more  to  the  eastward,  and,  crossing  the  ocean,  impinges,  as 
before  stated,  on  the  course  of  Ireland  and  England.  Hence 
it  pursues  its  course — its  current,  by  this  time,  having  become 
very  sluggish — toward  and  along  the  coasts  of  Spain  and  Por- 
tugal ;  thence  over  to  the  African  coast ;  along  this  coast  down 
to  the  Canaries,  and  Cape  de  Verds,  where  it  falls  into  the 
great  equatorial  current,  that  carries  it  back  again  to  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  whence  it  issued.  It  thus  describes  some  such  circle 
or  ellipse,  as  Admiral  Semmes  found  the  great  Agulhas  current 
to  describe,  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  when  he  was  cruising  in  that 
ocean,  in  the  Alabama.  But  the  current  which  more  nearly 
resembles  the  Gulf  Stream  in  its  origin,  temperature,  and 
course,  is  the  Kuro-Siwo,  described  by  Mr.  Bent.  This  is, 
indeed,  the  Gulf  Stream  of  the  North  Pacific.  Like  the  Gulf 
Stream  of  the  Atlantic,  it  must  have  been  long  known  to 
the  trading  vessels,  before  it  came  under  the  observation  of 
scientific  men ;  and  America  has  the  honor  of  being  the  first 
among  the  nations,  to  generalize  the  facts  observed  in  relation 
to  this  stream,  and  give  them  to  the  world  in  a  scientific  form. 
As  before  remarked,  Mr.  Bent,  the  chief  hydrographer  in  Com- 
modore Perry's  expedition  to  Japan,  is  entitled  to  the  credit  of 
this  discovery,  for  such  it  may  be  called.  Mr.  Bent  has  himself 
so  well  described  the  circumstances  under  which  he  first  fell  in 
with  this  stream,  that  we  prefer  to  let  him  give  his  own  account 
of  it.     He  says : 

At  the  close  of  the  Mexican  war  in  1848,  the  U.  S.  ship  Preble,  to  which  I 
was  attached  as  sailing  master  or  navigator,  was  ordered  from  California  on 
spedal  service  to  China.  In  crossing  the  Pacific  Ocean,  we  stopped  at  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  where  we  found  a  large  number  of  American  whalers  assem- 
bled for  the  winter.  In  conversation  with  one  of  tlie  most  intelligent  of  these 
captains,  he  told  me  he  was  just  from  a  cruise  in  the  Arctic  Ocean,  and  that,  in 
parsnit  of  whales,  he  had  gone  ^teveral  hundred  m%U$  to  th$  northward  and 
eastward  from  Behring*9  Straits^  and  three  hundred  miles  beyond  the  limits  qf  his 
chartf  and  with  an  open  tea  still  hrfore  him  as  far  as  could  be  seen  in  that  direction.^ 
From  the  Sandwich  Islands  we  kept  between  the  tropics,  to  avail  ourselves  of 
the  northeast  trade  winds,  and  also  to  take  advantage  of  the  equatorial  current, 
the  latter  of  which  we  found  setting  to  the  westward  at  the  rate  of  from  thirtj 


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400  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean,  [April, 

to  eighty  miles  per  day,  and  which,  spreading  from  the  tropic  of  Cancer  to  that 
of  Capricorn,  has  a  width  as  great  as  that  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

I  had  before  crossed  this  current  some  eight  or  ten  times  at  various  seasons 
of  the  year,  and  therefore  knew  from  personal  observation,  that  it  is  as  constant 
in  its  flow  to  the  westward  as  that  of  the  equatorial  current  in  the  Atlantic. 

A  few  months  after  our  arrival  in  China,  intelligence  was  received  from  the 
Governor  General  of  Java  that  a  number  of  shipwrecked  American  seamen  were 
in  prison  at  Nagasaki,  in  Japan,  and  the  Preble  was  ordered  to  proceed  there  at 
once,  and  endeavor  to  obtain  their  release. 

This  was  in  mid-winter,  when  the  northeast  monsoon  was  at  its  height,  when 
no  vessels  but  steamers  or  opium  clippers  attempted  to  make  passages  to  the 
north  coast  of  China. 

The  almost  universal  prediction  of  both  Americans  and  Englishmen  at  Hong 
Kong  was,  that  the  Preble  could  not  accomplish  the  voyage  at  that  season  of 
the  year,  but  with  genuine  pluck  the  captain  always  replied  that  she  should  do 
so,  or  else  lay  her  bones  in  the  bottom  of  the  China  Sea.  I  mention  this  to  show 
how  unknown  were  the  dangers,  and  how  unfrequented  the  seas  were  at  that 
time,  lying  between  the  southern  coast  of  China  and  Japan. 

As  soon  as  we  got  out  of  port  we  encountered  the  full  force  of,  rot  only  the 
monsoon,  but  also  in  a  measure  that  of  the  southerly  current  which  flows  con- 
stantly down  the  Formosa  channel,  and  which  is  so  strong  that  sailing  vessels 
cannot  beat  to  windward  against  it,  but  are  obliged  to  run  out  to  the  eastward 
of  Formosa,  to  take  advantage  of  a  current  setting  to  the  northward  from  that 
point. 

Contending  against  the  first  of  these  currents,  the  Preble  was  ten  or  twelve 
days  reaching  the  south  end  of  Formosa,  although  the  distance  is  only  abont 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  So  soon  as  she  doubted  the  south  end  of  the 
island,  and  had  got  out  of  this  current,  which  we  found  running  southward  at 
the  rate  of  six  miles  per  hour,  in  the  channel  way,  the  wind  freshened  into  a 
stiff  gale  from  northeast,  compelling  us  to  heave  the  ship  t  >  under  storm  sails, 
and  preventing  our  getting  any  observations  for  latitude  and  longitude  for  thiee 
consecutive  days.  (This  being  the  case,  we  did  not,  of  course,  know  where  the 
ship  was,  only  approximately.)  The  effect  of  the  wind  npon  a  ship  lying  to  in 
this  way,  if  uninfluenced  by  ocean  currents,  would  be  to*  drill  or  drive  toper 
leeward  in  the  direction  the  wind  was  blowing,  at  the  rate  of  about  thirty  miles 
per  day.  At  the  expiration  of  three  days,  therefore,  when  the  storm  abated,  and 
land  was  discovered  to  the  westward,  we  thought  it  must  be  the  Bashcc  Islands, 
which  lie  some  hundred  miles  to  the  southward  of  Formosa,  but  on  standing  to 
we  found  it  to  be  the  northern  end  of  this  latter  island,  and  that  we  had  been 
actually  carried  during  this  time  by  a  current  ninety  miles  to  the  northward 
against  the  wind,  or  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  to  the  northward  of  where 
the  ship  would  have  been  had  there  been  no  current,  and  near  five  hundred  miles 
to  the  north  of  where  she  would  have  been  had  she  continued  within  the 
influence  of  the  southerly  current  of  the  Formosa  channel 

After  determining  our  position  on  the  chart,  we  stood  to  the  eastward  for  the 
Loo  Choo  Islands,  running  across  and  out  of  this  northerly  current. 

From  Loo  Choo  our  course  was  nearly  due  north  to  Nagasaki.  In  making 
this  passage  we  found  that  we  again  crossed  the  northerly  current,  but  that  there 


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1869.]  TJie  AimospJiere  of  the  Ocean.  401 

it  was  inclining  a  good  deal  to  the  eastward,  and  we  ran  out  of  it  as  we  passed 
under  the  land  of  the  Japan  Islands.  After  accomplishing  the  object  of  our 
mission,  we  ran  to  the  westward  from  Nagasaki  to  Shanghai,  and  thence  down 
the  Formosa  channel  to  Hong  Kong,  carrying  with  us  the  strong  southerly 
carrent  before  spoken  of,  although  by  this  time  the  northeast  monsoon  had 
materially  abated.  In  the  following  summer  the  Preble  was  ordered  back  to 
California. 

The  monsoon  had  then  changed,  and  the  wind  was  from  southwest.  Yet  we 
found  the  current  still  setting  in  the  Formosa  channel,  and  on  passing  the  south 
end  of  Formosa  we  again  fell  at  once  into  the  current  setting  to  the  northward, 
but  which  we  found  curved  gradually  to  the  eastward  with  us  as  we  pushed  our 
course  on  the  arc  of  a  great  circle  in  that  direction.  This  course,  however,  we 
were  obliged  to  abandon  about  lat.  35  deg.  N.,  long.  145  deg.  E.,  owing  to  a 
malignant  epidemic  that  had  broken  out  in  the  ship,  and  which  was  aggravated 
bjr  the  fogs  and  mists  that  overhung  the  current. 

The  experience  of  this  cruise  confirmed  the  existence  of  two  powerful  currents, 
which,  in  a  general  way,  were  known  to  vessels  cruising  or  trading  in  those 
seas,  and  which  had  been  briefly  noticed  by  writers  upon  the  subject,  but  in 
what  way,  if  at  all,  they  formed  a  part  of  the  great  oceanic,  or  interoceanic 
circulation,  was  not  known,  and  they  consequently  formed  a  bewildering  subject 
to  those  who  had  to  encounter  them ;  particularly,  as  it  was  also  known,  that 
onlj  a  few  miles  to  the  southward  of  the  south  end  of  Formosa,  the  great  equa- 
torial current  poured  its  immense  volume  into  the  China  Sea,  almost  directly  at 
right  angUt  to  both  of  these  currenttjust  spoken  of!  And  this  illustration  of  their 
constant  flow  in  fixed  and  opposite  directions,  regardless  of  winds  or  seasons, 
their  great  velocity  and  their  juxtaposition,  were  calculated  to  make  a  strong 
impression  upon  the  mind,  and  set  it  to  work  to  find  out  their  origin,  and 
whither  they  led. 

Sailing  again  for  China  and  Japan  in  1853,  in  the  expedition  under  Commo> 
dore  Perry,  I  had  fortunately  assigned  to  me  such  subjects  for  scientific  and 
professional  investigation  as  enabled  m?to  have  such  instructions  issued  to  the 
various  vessels  of  the  squadron  as  would  insure  their  keeping  very  accurate  and 
full  meteorological  records. 

After  our  return  to  the  United  States,  I  was  detailed  to  assist  Lient.  W.  L. 
Maury  to  prepare  for  publication  the  charts  and  sailing  directions  of  the  survey 
made  by  the  expedition,  and  these  records  were  placed  in  my  hands  for  the  pur- 
pose of  tracing  out  as  far  as  possible  the  location,  direction  and  force  of  the 
currents  in  that  part  of  the  Pacific  and  adjacent  seas  lying  within  the  cruising 
grounds  of  the  squadron. 

The  result  of  this  work  was  the  discovery  of  the  fact  that  these  currents 
formed  a  part  of  a  great  system  in  the  Pacific,  identical  in  all  its  essential  features 
with  that  of  the  equatorial  current,  Gulf  Stream  and  counter  current  in  the 
Atlantic,  as  will  be  seen  by  referring  to  my  report  on  the  '  Kuro  Siwo,*  in  the 
second  volume  of  the  Japan  expedition  report. 

To  run  a  brief  parallel  between  the  Gulf  Stream  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  the  Kuro-Siwo  of  the  Pacific,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  sketch  the  general  features  and  course  of  each. 


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402  The  Atmosphere  of  the  Ocean,  [April, 

1.  They  both  spring  from  the  northern  edge  of  the  equatorial 
current,  in  about  22^  of  north  latitude. 

2.  They  both,  at  first,  start  directly  north,  and  then  curve 
gradually  toward  the  east. 

3.  Both  of  them  are  of  the  same,  or  very  nearly  the  same, 
mean  temperature. 

4.  Both  run  over  cushions  of  cold  water,  laid  for  them  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  between  walls  of  cold  water,  on 
either  side  of  them  ;  thus  being  enabled  to  preserve  their  heat, 
imtil  reaching  the  points  where  it  is  to  be  liberated. 

5.  The  Gulf  Stream  impinges  upon,  and  delivers  its  heat 
up,  to  the  coasts  and  countries  of  Northern  Europe ;  the  Kuro- 
Siwo  waters  the  shores  of  Northern  Asia,  and  there  liberates 
its  pent-up  heat;  both,  alike,  ameliorating  those  hyperborean 
climates. 

6.  And,  finally,  both  return  and  find  their  way  back  again 
to  the  point  of  departure.  Mr.  Bent  thus  adds  still  another 
instance  to  the  circular,  or  ellipse,  system  of  Admiral  Semmes. 

With  a  few  remarks  upon  the  ^  thermometric  gateways  to 
the  poles,'  we  shall  bring  this  paper  to  a  close.  How  often  it 
happens  that  the  greatest  discoveries  are  the  simplest;  so 
simple,  indeed,  that  everybody  wonders  that  no  one  had 
thought  of  it  before.  It  has  been  long  known — ever  since  Dr. 
Franklin  was  a  commissioner  of  the  Colonies,  at  the  British 
Court,  in  ante-revolutionary  times — that  the  Gulf  Stream,  or 
at  least  a  branch  of  it,  flowed  to  the  Arctic  regions,  by  the  way 
of  Spitzbergen ;  thus  pointing  out  to  the  explorer  the  true  way 
to  the  pole,  as  unerringly  as  the  wild  buffalo  of  the  west 
points  out  to  the  hunter,  by  its  beaten  paths,  the  easiest  and 
best  routes  through  the  Eocky  Mountains.  And  yet,  strange 
to  say,  all  the  polar  navigators,  from  Parry  to  Dr.  Kane,  have 
ignored  this  fact,  and  sought  passages  to  the  pole,  in  vain,  far 
to  the  westward,  by  way  of  Davis's  Strait,  and  Baffin's  Bay. 
Whilst  nature  has  been  beckoning  to  them,  and  pointing  out 
the  true  thermal  gateway  to  the  pole,  they  have  cast  their  eyes 
in  a  different  direction,  and  wandered  about,  in  cuU  d^  $ac, 
baftled,  and  w^earied,  and  driven  back  by  impossible  barriers 
of  ice,  as  often  as  they  have  made  the  attempt.     Mr.  Bent  was 


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1869.]  American  and  Englinh  Law,  403 

the  first  to  call  the  attention  of  the  scientific  world,  to  this 
singular,  and  fatal  mistake  of  the  early  explorers,  and  every 
one  wonders  why  no  one  thought  of  it  before.  Mr.  Bent's 
theory  was  first  confirmed  by  a  conversation  he  had  with  a 
whaler  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,  who  infonned  him,  that  he 
had  passed  in  his  ship  to  a  very  high  desfree  of  latitude,  to  the 
eastward  of  Spitzbergen,  and  still  found  an  open  sea  before  him. 
The  testimony  of  Captain  (now  Commodore)  John  Rodgers,  of 
the  TJ.  S.  North  Pacific  Exploring  Expedition,  is  to  the  same 
effect.  This  oflScer  penetrated  to  the  mouth  of  Behring's 
Strait,  in  search  of  Herald  Island,  reported  by  a  British  oflicer 
as  lying  to  the  northward  and  westward  of  that  Strait.  The 
island  was  not  found,  but  Captain  Eodgers,  in  a  conversation 
with  Mr.  Bent,  informed  him,  that  although  he  found  an  icy 
barrier  barring  his  farther  progress  in  that  direction — the  north- 
west— yet  as  far  as  he  proceeded  to  the  northward  and  eastward, 
beyond  the  Strait,  he  found  an  open  sea,  with  a  gentle  current 
setting  to  the  northward.  The  facts  are  meagre,  it  is  true,  but 
as  far  as  they  go,  they  sustain  the  theory  of  Mr.  Bent.  It  may 
not  be  true,  that  there  is  a  clear  pathway  open  in  this  direction 
to  the  poles,  as  Mr.  Bent  thinks,  but  from  the  foregoing  data  it 
appears  pretty  plain,  that  if  there  be  any  approach  open  to  the 
pole  at  all,  it  is  in  this  direction. 


Art.  VII. — The  Practice  in  Courts  of  Justice  in  England  arid 
the  United  States.  By  Conway  Robinson.  Vol.  V.  1868. 
Richmond :  Woodhouse  &  Parkham ;  Baltimore :  Cush- 
ings  &  Bailey ;  Philadelphia :  T.  &  J.  W.  Johnson  &  Co. 

The  production  of  a  work  like  the  one  whose  title  we  have 
placed  at  the  head  of  this  article  is  a  credit  to  the  country  as 
great  as  it  is  to  the  profession.  To  demonstrate  that  the  innu- 
merable decisions  of  the  English   Courts  and  of  our  several 


Digitized  byVjOOQlC 


404  American  and  English  Law,  [April, 

State  Courts  may  be  reduced  to  a  system,  and  that  an  estab- 
lished practice  may  be  derived  from  them  is  to  accompli^  a 
great  work.     The  learned  author  of  the  Practice,  of  whidii  the 
fifth  volume  is  now  presented  to  the  public,  has  adopted  a 
modest  title,  which  does  not  at  all  describe  the  character  or 
scope  of  the  work.    Instead  of  being  a  mere  book  of  Practice, 
indicating  the  peculiar  modes  of  procedure  in  certain  courts,  or 
in  certain  actions,  it  is  a  complete  digest  of  the  law  on  the 
matters  treated  of  and  as  it  now  exists  in  England  and  this 
country.     These  volumes  bear  no  resemblance  to  the  books  or- 
dinarily known  as  books  of  Practice,  and  can  be  so  called  only 
as  embodying  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  known  in  order  to 
conduct  a  cjtuse  from  the  impetration  of  the  writ  to  the  defences 
pointed  out  in  this  volume, — that  is,  to  practise  the  l<iw.    In 
the  sister  science  of  medicine,  the  knowledge  of  the  human 
frame,  its  anatomical  structure,  its  physiology,  and  its  path- 
ology are  first  studied  ;  then  the  properties  of  the  various  sub- 
stances contained  in  the  materia  medica  are  mastered ;  and, 
lastly,  the  great  object  of  the  science  is  unfolded  in  the  books 
of  practice,  that  is  to  say,  the  proper  application  of  the  remedial 
agents  to  the  diseased  condition  of  the  system.     In  this  higher 
sense  alone  can  these  volumes,  full  of  learning,  of  industrious 
research,  and  of  careful  reflection,  be  called  books  of  practice. 
Law — municipal  law — may  doubtless  be  ranked  among  the 
experimental  sciences.     In  theory,  it  is  considered  a  system  by 
which  a  general  rule  of  action  is  established,  ^commanding 
what  is  right  and  prohibiting  what  is  wrong,'  indicating  there- 
fore, in  advance,  the  rights  to  which  Man,  as  a  member  of  the 
social  system,  is  entitled,  the  duties  he  is  required  to  perform, 
the  remedies  by  which  those  rights  may  be  enforced  and  the 
consequences  resulting  from  a  breach  of  those  duties.    Adapted, 
as  the  laws  are  intended  to  be,  to  the  condition  of  man  at  the 
time  the  system  is  formed,  they  must  of  necessity  change  or 
be  changed,  according  as  society  and  civilization  advance.    Such 
laws  as  would  have  been  ample  to  have  protected  the  rights  of 
our  rude  forefathers  in  the  days  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
when  each  feudal  baron  was  an  autocrat,  when  the  tentires  of 
land  were  by  knight  service,  or  plough  service,  or  sarjeanty,  or 


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1869.]  American  and  English  Law.  405 

comage,  and  when  commerce  was  utterly  imknown,  would  have 
been  but  little  adapted  to  the  social  system  in  the  days  of  the 
Cavaliers  and  of  Cromwell.  The  laws  which  were  suited  to 
the  condition  of  Englishmen  in  the  reign  of  the  Stuarts,  would 
be  as  utterly  inadequate  to  the  condition  of  their  descendants 
in  this  country  at  the  present  time,  as  the  education  and  habits 
of  the  Squires  of  the  seventeenth  century  would  be  unsuited  to 
the  position  and  duties  of  the  American  gentleman  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

It  is  manifest,  therefore,  that  the  laws  of  a  country  are  not 
and  cannot  be  framed  after  a  pattern,  but  that  they  grow  up  as 
they  are  required  by  some  public  necessity,  or  demanded  by 
some  private  interest,  that  all  their  parts,  instead  of  being  con- 
structed at  one  time,  and  with  regard  to  symmetry  of  pro- 
portion or  unity  of  design,  are  passed  from  time  to  time,  in 
order  to  remedy  some  supposed  evil,  or  to  meet  some  urgent 
requirement  of  the  governors  or  the  governed.  The  laws  of  a 
country,  then,  instead  of  being  constructed,  like  the  dome  of 
St.  Peter's,  according  to  a  prepared  model,  perfect  in  all  its 
proportions,  and  gaining  strength,  and  beauty,  and  utility  from 
every  timber,  are  built  up,  as  the  pioneer  constructs  his  dwel- 
ling,— rude,  and  narrow,  and  inadequate  at  first, — increasing 
with  his  increasing  wants  and  his  newly-discovered  means,  so 
that,  by  adding  one  room  to  another,  a  required  wing  here,  and 
a  necessary  story  there,  his  building  changes  with  his  need  and 
gradually  becomes  equal  to  his  own  progress  and  to  the  devel- 
opment of  society  around  him.  The  result  will  depend  on  the 
skill  and  judgment  of  the  architect.  If  he  be  thoughtful,  he 
will  adapt  his  improvements  to  his  wants ;  if  he  be  judicious, 
he  will  not  be  compelled  to  be  constantly  tearing  down  and 
building  anew ;  if  he  have  skill  and  taste,  his  structure,  though 
erected  piecemeal,  will  give  evidence  of  unity  of  design.  It  is 
in  this  sense  that  law  must  be  placed  among  the  experimental 
sciences.  The  enactments  of  the  law-making  power  require  to 
be  tested  by  experience,  in  order  that  their  nature  may  be  ascer- 
tained, and  the  necessity  for  change  or  amendment  determined 
on.  If  such  necessity  is  found  to  exist,  the  success  with  which 
the  error  will  be  corrected  will  depend  on  the  skill  of  the 


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406  American  and  English  Lair,  [April, 

legislator,  his  knowledge  of  the  state  of  the  law*  as  it  exists, 
his  experience  of  its  application  and  failure,  his  ability  to  adopt 
the  best  mode  of  correcting  the  evil,  his  familiarity  with  the 
language  of  the  law,  his  singleness  of  purpose,  his  judgment 
and  his  forethought.  No  man  can  successfully  undertake  to 
amend  a  law  already  in  existence,  unless  he  is  familiar  with  the 
provisions  of  the  existing  law ;  no  man  can  legislate  on  a  sub- 
ject requiring  the  intervention  of  the  legislature,  unless  he  fully 
understands  the  deficiency  to  be  supplied,  and  the  evils  flowing 
from  the  absence  of  proper  legislation.  He  should  have  studied 
the  previous  enactments  on  the  subject ;  he  should  have  ascer- 
tained from  experience  or  observation  the  practical  working  of 
those  enactments,  and  having  thus  ascertained  that  the  law,  as 
it  stood,  was  inadequate  to  effect  the  objects  designed,  he  should 
apply  himself,  with  honesty  of  purpose,  to  frame  the  proper 
substitute.  Not  only  must  he  have  knowledge  rendered  prac- 
tical by  experience,  and  an  honest  desire  to  remedy  the  ascer- 
tained evil,  but  he  must  bring  to  his  work  a  thorough  acquain- 
tance with  apt  expressions  and  technical  language ;  he  must  be 
a  man  capable  of  anticipating,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  working 
of  the  new  legislation.  He  requires,  therefore,  learning,  ability, 
experience,  and  honesty.  Is  it  strange,  then,  that,  looking  to 
the  qualifications  required  of  a  legislator,  we  should,  in  this 
country,  have  such  a  mass  of  worthless  legislation ;  that  one 
half  of  the  sessions  of  our  too  busy  and  too  frequent  assemblies 
should  be  occupied  in  repealing  and  in  amending  the  sad  work 
of  their  immediate  predecessors  ?  Men,  without  knowledge, 
without  learning,  without  experience,  are  suddenly  elevated  to 
the  position  of  legislatoi*s.  The  honest  among  them  soon  fall 
a  prey  to  the  more  astute  and  interested,  and  the  whole  l^s- 
lative  body  is  warped  and  controlled  by  a  set  of  stipendiaries, 
hovering  around  the  halls  like  birds  of  prey.  The  consequence 
is,  either  that  the  new  law  bears  on  its  face  the  impress  of  igno- 
rance, and  cannot  be  made  to  harmonize  with  the  previous 
legislation  in  pari  materia^  or,  under  the  guise  of  some  general 
amendment,  is  soon  found  to  have  been  procured  in  order  to 
accomplish  some  private  end  merely.  To  deduce  from  such 
legislation  a  system,  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos,  to  re<-oncile 


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1869.]  American  and  English  Law.  407 

conflicting  laws,  to  ascertain,  (and  that  in  a  number  of  States,)  a 
^neral  practice,  is  of  itself  no  easy  task.  It  requires  extended 
learning,  unwearied  patience,  and  great  industry. 

How  difterent  the  course  of  legislation  in  England !     De- 
votion to  their  ancient  laws  carries  the  inhabitants  of  Great 
Britain  to  the  other  extreme.     Reforms,  instead  of  following 
the  example  of  the  too  hasty  action  of  our  own  law-producing 
country,   drag   their  slow   length   along    from   one  reign   to 
another.     Even  in  the  days  of  that  greatest  of  princes,  Alfred, 
his  reverence  for  the  established  laws  of  his  forefathers  is  seen 
in  his  noteworthy  preamble  to  the  collection  sanctioned   by 
him.     ^  Hence  I,  King  Alfred,'  says  this  lawgiver,  ^  gathered 
them  together,  and  commanded  many  of  those  to  he  written 
down  which  our  foi*efathers  observed — those  which  I  liked — 
and  those  which  I  did  not  like,  by  the  advice  of  my  Witan, 
I  threw  aside.     For  I  durst  not  venture  to  set  down  in  writing 
over  many  of  my  ovm^  since  I  knew  not  which  among  them 
would  please  those  who  should  come  after  us.     But  those 
which  I  met  with  either  of  the  days  of  me,  my  kinsman,  or  of 
Ofla,  King  of  Mercia,  or  of  Athelbert,  who  was  the  first  of 
the  English  who  received  baptism — those  which  appeared  to 
me  to  be  the  justest — I  have  here  collected.     Then  I,  Alfred, 
King  of  the  West  Saxons,  showed  these  to^all  my  Witan,  and 
they  then  said  that  they  were  all  willing  to  observe  them.' 
Throw  aside  he  might,  by  the  advice  of  his  National  Council, 
some  of  the  ancient  laws  of  the  kingdom,  which  were  unjust, 
or  had  grown  obselete,  and  were  no  longer  suited  to  his  day, 
but  even  Alfred  '  durst  not  venture  to  add  many  of  his  own.' 
Having  collected,  not  decreed,  the  laws  which  appeared  to  him 
'  the  justest,'  he  carefully  submitted  the  digested  code  again  to 
his  Witanagemote,  and  adopted  those  only  which'  were  unani- 
mously sanctioned. 

Modem  enlightenment  and  modem  progress  have  in  no 
d^T-ee  weakened  the  affection  of  the  English  for  their  conmfion 
law.  They  cling  with  fond  tenacity  to  the  form,  even  when 
the  substance  has  departed.  The  influence  of  the  feudal  system 
which  has  gradually  disappeared  in  point  of  fact  from  the 
island,  still  lingers,  in  a  thousand  ways,  in  their  land  tenures, 


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408  American  and  English  Law,  [April, 

their  judicial  proceedings,  and  their  legal  forms.  One  of  the 
cleverest  of  their  modem  lawyers,  in  giving  his  testimony 
before  the  Reform  Commissioners,  said :  '  In  truth,  I  consider 
the  varieties  of  tenures,  in  the  narrow  extent  in  which  they 
exist,  as  a  beauty,  and  not  as  a  blemish.  They  illustrate  the 
antiquities,  and  they  confirm  the  history,  of  the  country. 
They  bring  home  to  our  apprehensions  ancient  manners  and 
customs,  which  no  longer  exist,  and  set  before  our  eyes  a  faint 
and  interesting  picture  of  feudal  relations.  All  this  may  be 
prejudice,  but  I  own  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  all  these  venerable 
remains  sacrificed  to  a  dry  and  barren  uniformity.' 

We  confess  that  we  too  are  not  without  our  prejudices; 
we  are  prejudiced  in  favor  of  the  experience  and  learning  of 
the  past,  and  do  not  like  to  see  it  rudely  marred.  We  do  not 
rejoice  at  witnessing  the  beautiful  science  of  pleading  swept 
away  by  a  single  act  of  an  unskilled  legislature ;  we  are  not 
advocates  for  unlimited  amendments,  and  for  the  right  to 
change  at  discretion  from  one  form  of  action  to  another.  We 
have  many  other  prejudices.  We  are,  in  fine,  prejudiced 
against  the  effort  of  any  body  of  men  to  place  ignorance  and 
inexperience  on  a  par  -vvith  knowledge  and  long  practice.  As 
such  efforts  must  surely  fail,  so  they  only  increase  the  difficulties 
of  litigation,  and  op^  up  an  endless  number  of  new  questions 
for  the  solution  of  the  courts.  And  yet  we  recognize  the  law 
as  an  experimental  science,  and,  therefore,  as  in  every  experi- 
mental science,  we  recognize  in  it  a  '  tendency  towards  perfec- 
tion.' That  tendency  leads  to  the  improvement  and  advance- 
ment of  the  science,  in  precisely  the  same  way  as  the  science 
of  chemistry  or  astronomy  advances.  The  axiom,  that  by  our 
imperfections  we  are  perfected,  is  as  applicable  to  the  progress 
of  the  law  as  it  is  to  the  progress  of  all  sciences,  moral  and 
physical ;  in  other  words,  by  the  discovery  ef  the  imperfections 
in  any  experimental  science,  we  are  enabled  to  direct  our 
attention  to  the  proper  mode  of  remedying  them,  and  thereby 
of  aiding  the  development  of  the  particular  science  in  its 
tendency  to  perfection.  In  order,  then,  to  learn  by  what  means 
this  tendency  may  best  be  aided,  we  must  endeavor  to  under- 
stand clearly  its  legitimate  mode  of  development. 


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1869.]  Anierican  and  English  Law.  401> 

By  a  general  law,  society  is  continually  progressing. 
Although  there  may  be,  as  we  have  shown,  an  occasional 
retrograde  movement  in  certain  parts,  at  certain  periods,  or  in 
certain  countries,  the  whole  body  advances  regularly  and 
steadily.  '  Human  affairs,'  to  borrow  the  felicitous  language 
of  one  of  the  clearest  thinkers  of  this  countrj', '  must  be  looked 
upon  as  in  continuous  movement,  not  wandering  in  an  arbitrary- 
manner  here  and  there,  but  proceeding  in  a  perfectly  definite 
coti!rse.  Whatever  may  be  the  present  state,  it  is  altogether 
transient.  All  systems  of  civil  life  are  therefore  ephemeral. 
Time  brings  new  external  conditions ;  the  manner  of  thought 
is  modified;  with  thought,  action.  Institutions  of  all  kinds 
must  hence  participate  in  this  fleeting  nature.'  .  .  .  '  Nations 
are  only  transitional  forms  of  humanity.'  .  .  .  .  '  Though  they 
may  encounter  disaster,  their  absolute  course  can  never  be 
retrograde ;  it  is  always  onward,  even  if  tending  to  dissolution. 
It  is  as  with  the  individual,  who  is  equally  advancing  in 
infancy,  in  maturity,  in  old  age.  Pascal  was  more  than  justi- 
fied in  his  assertion,  that  "  the  entire  succession  of  men,  through 
the  whole  course  of  ages,  must  be  regarded  as  one  man,  always 
living  and  incessantly  learning."'* 

It  will  be  found,  by  a  careful  study  of  the  history  of  the 
past,  that  no  misfortune  stops  this  general  progress  of  nations 
and  of  mankind.  The  most  disastrous  wars,  the  heaviest 
taxation,  the  most  corrupt  tribimals,  and  the  absence  of  all 
patriotism  on  the  part  of  the  rulers,  though  they  may  for  a 
time  retard  and  modify,  cannot  prevent  the  influence  and 
ultimate  triumph  of  this  inexorable  law.  If  our  space  would 
permit,  we  might  illustrate  it,  by  the  history  of  our  own  countrj* 
within  the  last  decade. 

As  society,  then,  in  its  onward  progress  is  continually  pass- 
ing through  its  transition  states  and  advancing  towards  its 
ultimate  perfection,  the  law  governing  its  individual  members 
must  also  be  continually  changing  and  adapting  itself  to  the 
modified  condition  of  the  social  system.  Traced  to  its  true 
source,  Magiia  Charta  will  be  found  to  have  resulted  from  that 

1  Draper's  Intel.  Develop.,  p.  12. 
11 

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410  Amei^an  and  Etiglish  Law.  [April, 

stride  of  the  liuman  understanding,  which  took  place  in  the 
thirteenth  century  in  Europe,  rather  than  to  the  determination 
of  the  sturdy  barons,  who  forced  King  John  to  yield  his  assent 
at  Runnymede.  The  reforms  in  religious  institutions,  the 
ardor  and  enthusiasm  of  the  mendicant  Dominicans  and  Fran- 
ciscans, the  spread  of  the  scholastic  pliilosophy,  to  which  the 
human  intellect  is  so  much  indebted  for  its  vigor  and  acuteness, 
the  foundation  of  a  native  literature,  and  the  consequences  of 
the  Crusades,  had  made  themselves  felt  in  every  portion  of  the 
kingdom,  and  had  prepared  the  minds  of  the  people  for  that 
social  development  which  necessitated  the  principles  announced  * 
in  the  Great  Charter,  The  Barons'  Wars,  as  the  great 
struggle  with  the  King  was  called,  only  compelled  the  recogni- 
tion of  those  principles  by  the  chief  of  the  kingdom  in  such  a 
form  that  they  could  not  be  gainsaid. 

The  wonderful  advancement  in  the  administration  of  justice 
in  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century  in  England  by  the 
introduction  of  Lord  Bacon's  ordinances — '  the  pole  star  of 
equity,' — which  reduced  the  chancery  practice  to  a  system,  and 
which  are  said  to  have  produced  'as  great  a  change  in  the 
administration  of  equity  as  his  Novum  Organum  in  physics 
and  experimental  philosophy,'  was  much  more  the  necessary 
result  of  the  conflict  between  Lord  Coke  and  Chancellor 
EUesmere,  than  of  any  wonderful  ability  in  this  particular  on 
the  part  of  Lord  Verulam. 

When  the  invention  of  the  compass,  the  discovery  of  the 
New  World,  and  the  important  voyage  of  Vasco  de  Gama 
around  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  gave  rise  to  that  prodigious 
maritime  development  which  took  place  in  Western  Europe, 
England  first  entered  on  that  career  of  commerce,  which  grad- 
ually made  her,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  mistress  of  the 
seas.  Her  trade  was  spread  over  the  whole  world  ;  her  empire 
extended  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun  ;  her  manufactures 
and  her  money  were  exchanged  for  the  peculiar  products  of 
every  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  was  under  these 
circumstances  that  the  Law  Merchant  became  a  necessity,  and 
grew,  under  the  controlling  influence  of  Lord  Mansfield,  to  that 
proportion  which  it  now  presents  to  the  civilized  world.     Bilk 


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1869.]  American  and  English  Law.  411 

of  Exchange,  Letters  of  Credit,  the  Laws  of  Shipping,  Libels, 
Affreightment,  Insurance,  all  sprang,  as  a  necessary  conse- 
quence, from  the  wants  which  every  day's  experience  exhibited, 
and  the  body  of  the  law  in  that  direction  moved  towards  im- 
provement and  perfection  pari  passu  with  the  extension  of 
commerce  and  the  requirements  of  trade. 

Again,  just  as  the  spread  of  intelligence  and  the  multiplied 
intercourse  brought  about  by  the  allurements  of  commerce, 
modified  existing  enactments,  and  introduced  an  entirely  new 
system  of  laws  adapted  to  the  advancement  of  society,  so  the 
progress  of  the  arts  and  sciences  has,  from  time  to  time,  entirely 
revolutionized  many  branches  of  the  law.  With  the  invention' 
of  the  steam-engine,  and  the  introduction  of  steamboats  and 
railroads,  act  after  act  has  been  passed  in  England  and  this 
countrj',  to  protect  the  rights  of  passengers  and  consignors,  and 
to  define  the  obligations  of  such  common  carriers.  A  new  sys- 
tem has  sprung  up,  and  the  books  are  filled  with  decisions  of 
the  appellate  tribunals,  nicely  distinguishing  between  their  ob- 
ligations to  their  employees,  to  passengers,  and  to  the  public. 
The  invention  and  introduction  into  general  use  of  the  tele- 
graph, have  greatly  modified  the  doctrines  of  notice,  and  have 
entirely  revolutionized  the  usages  of  trade.  Scarcely  a  day 
passes,  in  which  some  new  invention  is  not  patented  in  London, 
or  at  Washington,  and  the  consequence  is,  that,  besides  the  es- 
tablishment of  a  code  of  Patent  Laws,  the  application  of  the 
general  principles  of  right  to  the  thousands  of  controversies 
that  have  arisen  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  has  originated  a 
distinct  branch  of  the  law  known  as  the  Patent  Law. 

In  this  way,  the  progress  and  development  of  the  law  have 
marched  hand  in  hand  with  the  progress  and  development  of 
the  arts  and  sciences.  No  great  discovery  can  be  made  in 
science ;  no  application  of  that  discovery  can  be  made  to  the 
arts;  no  ingenious  contrivance  can  be  brought  into  general 
use  witliout  its  modifying  and  controlling,  sooner  or  later,  the 
laws  of  the  land.  And  just  in  proportion  as  that  discovery,  or 
that  application,  tends  to  promote  the  happiness  of  mankind, 
does  the  law,  which  marches  by  its  side,  tend  tow^ards  its  ulti- 
mate perfection. 


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/ 

412  American  and  English  Law.  [April, 

These  are  some  of  the  general  considerations,  which  operate 
in  all  parts  of  the  world  in  which  law  prevails,  to  control  its 
development,  and  to  give  direction  to  the  channel  in  which  that 
development  must  take  place.  There  are  other  considerations 
which  are  peculiar  to  different  countries,  and  which  depend  on 
the  character  of  their  institutions.  The  rapidity,  for  instance, 
with  which  our  own  country  advanced  from  infancy  to  man- 
hood ;  the  large  number  of  emigrants  who  flocked  to  our  shores, 
and  the  immense  growth  of  our  cities,  induced  the  l^slatures 
of  the  various  States  to  encourage  building,  and  gave  rise  to  a 
system  of  laws  known  as  the  Mechanic's  Lien  Law.  The  habits 
of  independence  engendered  in  the  minds  of  the  people  by  our 
peculiar  institu^ons,  have  here,  more  than  anywhere  else,  made 
every  man  desirous  of  being  the  owner  of  his  homestead,  how- 
ever humble,  and  in  consequence,  a  species  of  joint  stock  com- 
pany, called  Building  Associations,  having  that  end  in  view, 
are  to  be  found  in  every  village  and  hamlet  throughout  the 
land.  These  associations,  and  others  of  a  cognate  character 
have  been  the  subject  of  appropriate  legislation,  and  of  a  series 
of  decisions  on  entirely  new  questions. 

The  credit  system  of  the  United  States,  which  has  been  one 
of  the  causes  of  its  rapid  development  and  of  its  many  financial 
disasters,  has  made  fortunes  uncertain  and  wealth  precarious. 
Life  assurances  have  become,  in  consequence,  a  protection  and 
an  investment — a  protection  to  families  against  the  reverses  of 
trade,  and  an  investment  to  swell  the  estate  of  capitalists.  The 
travelling  character  of  our  people,  and  their  fondness  for  loco- 
motion, have  extended  these  assurances  to  protection  against 
accidents  by  land  and  water.  Legislation  and  decisions  have 
followed  in  the  wake  of  these  associations,  and  extended  trea- 
tises have  been  published  on  the  law  governing  them. 

Without  multiplying  examples  farther,  it  must  be  manifest 
that  law  follows,  in  its  advancement,  the  progress  of  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  modified  in  its  tendencies  by  the  characteristics  of 
the  different  peoples  it  governs,  and  by  the  institutions  pecuUar 
to  them ;  that  those  characteristics  and  those  institutions  in 
their  turn  direct  the  course  of  legislation  into  particular  chan- 
nels, and  impress  themselves  upon  their  laws,  and  usages,  and 


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1869.]  Amefican  and  English  Law.  413 

decisions.  But  the  whole  body  of  the  law  moves  forward  like 
a  great  army  marching  to  its  point  of  destination,  narrowing 
its  ranks  to  pass  through  a  defile,  widening  as  it  reaches  the 
open  country,  changing  its  shape  from  time  to  time,  gathering 
recruits  on  the  route,  leaving  stragglers  and  incompetents  be- 
hind, but  still  marching  onward  toward  its  goal,  and  becoming 
more  and  more  perfect  in  its  manoeuvres,  and  its  exercises,  and 
its  capabilities,  day  by  day,  as  it  advances.  To  marshal  such 
an  army,  to  review  the  entire  body  with  a  practised  eye,  to 
understand  its  military  character  in  every  particular,  to  know 
in  what  consists  its  strength,  and  wherein  its  weakness  lies,  tO' 
make  the  whole  move  as  one  intelligent  body,  requires  the  skill 
of  a  consummate  general,  and  the  experience  of  many  a  con- 
flict. 

A  body  of  law  moving  along  in  this  way  through  centuries, 
constantly  changing,  but  always  preserving  its  identity,  modi- 
fied by  the  progress  of  society,  advancing  with  the  development 
of  the  arts  and  sciences,  adapting  itself  to  the  peculiar  institu- 
tions and  prejudices  of  nations,  lopped  of  some  of  its  members, 
sometimes  by  accident  and  sometimes  by  design,  having  others 
engrafted  on  it  in  its  progress,  requires  at  diflerent  periods  in 
its  march  to  be  carefully  reviewed  and  described  by  a  well- 
qualified  observer,  in  order  that  a  correct  idea  may  be  obtained 
and  preserved  of  all  its  features  and  peculiarities. 

To  any  one,  who  will  take  the  time  and  labor  necessary  to 
follow  the  author  of  the  Practice  through  any  one  of  the 
volumes  of  his  valuable  work,  it  will  be  apparent  that  he  is 
such  an  observer ;  that  he  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
science  of  the  law;  that  he  is  able  to  contemplate  it  as  a 
whole  ;  to  toss  it  up  before  him  as  a  ball,  and  see  it  in  all  its 
roundness  and  all  its  parts  at  once,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that 
he  is  perfectly  familiar  with  the  details  of  its  various  branches, 
and  delights  to  illustrate  it  by  reference  to  the  civil  law  and  to 
continental  jurisprudence. 

^  There  is  not,'  says  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  *  in  my  opinion, 
in  the  whole  compass  of  human  affairs,  so  noble  a  spectacle  as 
that  which  is  displayed  in  the  progress  of  jurisprudence ;  when 
we  may  contemplate  the  cautious  and  unwearied  exertions  of 


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414  American  and  English  Law,  [April, 

a  succession  of  wise  men  through  a  long  course  of  ages,  with- 
drawing every  case  as  it  arises  from  the  dangerous  power  of 
discretion,  and  subjecting  it  to  inflexible  rules ;  extending  the 
dominion  of  justice  and  reason,  and  gradually  contracting, 
within  the  narrowest  possible  limits,  the  dominion  of  brutal 
force  and  of  arbitrary  will.' 

In  the  volume  before  us,  the  author  has  so  skilfully  divided 
and  subdivided  the  various  defences  which  may  be  made  to  a 
personal  action,  that  the  division  itself  is  suggestive  of  the 
best  mode  of  presenting  the  proper  pleas.  We  look  upon  the 
admirable  headings  and  titlings  under  which  the  various  sub- 
jects are  treated,  as  one  of  the  best  features  of  this  excellent 
work.  Under  each  heading,  the  law  is  traced  down  to  the 
present  day  in  England  and  this  country,  and  the  better 
opinion  on  each  question  laid  down.  Even  a  cursory  examina- 
tion will  satisfy  the  lawyer  of  the  immense  labor  necessarily 
bestowed  on  the  composition  of  the  work.  Literally,  thousands 
of  decisions  have  been  carefully  examined,  conflicting  opinions 
studied,  and  often  reconciled,  and  the  most  careful  analysis 
presented  of  leading  cases.  The  industry  and  research  of  the 
author  are  obvious  on  every  page,  and  it  is  manifest,  that  he 
has  not  been  content  to  take  the  assertion  of  his  predecessors 
without  examination.  An  example  or  two  of  the  manner  of 
the  author  will  suflice  to  show  his  care,  his  legal  acumen,  his 
varied  learning,  and  his  critical  analysis. 

On  page  345,  of  vol.  1,  will  be  found,  under  the  title,  '  How 
equity  by  acting  on  the  person  may  restrain  pro<»eedings  in 
another  state,'  the  following 

OPINION    IN   LORD   CLARENDOn's   TIME: 

In  1665,  there  was  a  biU  before  Ihe  English  Court  of  Chancery,  on  which  as 
iojimction  was  granted  to  stay  proceedings,  at  Leghorn,  in  a  case  in  which  the 
plain tifTs  goods  had  been  there  taken.  On  a  motion  to  dissolve  the  injunction, 
it  was  insisted  that  it  was  a  new,  and  Lord  Clarendon  thought  it  might  be  a 
dangerous  case,  to  stay  proceedings  there.  He  advised  with  the  judg^,  and 
afterwards  declared  that  they  were  of  opinion  the  injunction  ought  to  be  dis- 
solved.—Xovtf,  S^c  ,  vs.  Baker ^  ^c. ;  Nelson,  103-4;  1  Ch.  Cas.  67;  2  Freem.  l25' 
Eden^  in  his  treatise  on  the  law  of  injunction,  states  that  the  accounts  of  this 
determination  are  various. — Ch.  T,  p.  102,  of  Am.  ed.  But  the  variance  iseasily 
explained.     The  judges  were  of  opinion  that  an  injunction  doth  not  lie  to  stop 


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1869.]  AmeAcan  and  English  Law.  415 

a  suit  at  Legborn,  or  any  other  foreign  parts. — Freem,  But  the  bar  were  of 
another  opinion  ;  as  the  injunction  was  not  to  the  foreign  court,  but  to  the  party 
who  was  the  King's  subject. — 1  Ch.  Cas.  67  ;  Nelson,  104.  The  word  which  in 
1  Ch.  Cas.  — ,  is  bar,  is  in  Nelson  printed  barons. 

The  lawyer  will  appreciate  the  skill  with  which  these 
apparently  contradictory  reports  of  the  same  ease  are  recon- 
ciled.    Take  an  example  of  curious  and  varied  research : 

Much  interest  has  been  shown  in  the  history  of  the  laws  as  to  usury.  In  New 
York,  one  judge  (Savage^  C.  J.)  observes,  that  it  was  tolerated  by  the  law  of 
Moses,  and  allowed  to  be  taken  by  the  jews  from  the  gentiles,  (Deut.,  XXIII^ 
20,)  and,  thcrrfore,  could  not  have  been  immoral  in  itself. — 2  Cow.,  765.  In 
opinions  delivered  by  others,  (Chancellors  Kent  and  Walworth,)  the  curious 
reader  may  find  references  to  the  laws  of  China,  (Staunt.  Law  of  China,  158,) 
the  institutes  of  the  Emperor  Akber,  a  descendant  of  Tamerlane,  (1  Gladwin's 
Ayeen  Akbery,  471,)  and  the  present  law  of  the  Hindoos,  (1  Strange's  Hindoo 
Law,  297,)  as  well  as  to  the  law  of  Moses,  and  the  laws  of  Athens,  and  of  Rome. 
— 16  John.,  370  ;  7  Wend.,  593.  Mr.  Beames,  in  a  note  to  book  7,  Ch.  16,  at  p. 
185,  of  his  translation  of  Glanville,  mentions  that  '  the  ancient  Romans  punished 
usury  with  more  severity  than  they  did  theft,'  referring  to  Cato  de  Re  Rustica, 
Prooeam.,  Ac,  &c. — Vol.  5, p.  452.  etsub. 

On  page  576,  of  the  same  volume,  is  the  following  admirable 
illustration  drawn  from  the  civil  law : 

There  is  a  vtry  important  diffcreuce  between  cases  where  a  contract  may  be 
rescinded  on  account  of  fraud,  and  those  in  which  it  may  be  rescinded,  on  the 
ground  that  there  is  a  difference  in  substance  between  the  thing  bargained  for 
and  that  obtained.— (rompfrty  vi.  Bartlett,  2  EI.  and  Bl.,  849,  75  Eng.  C.  L. 
Oaurey,  ^c,  v«.  WormersUy,  4  El.  and  Bl.,  133,  82  Eng.  C.  L.  Ship^s  case  De 
J.  and  S.,  544.  It  is  enough  to  show  that  there  was  a  fraudulent  representation 
as  to  any  part  of  that  which  induced  the  party  to  enter  into  the  contract  which  he 
seeks  to  rescind  ;  but  where  there  has  been  an  innocent  misrepresentation  or  mis- 
apprehension, it  does  not  authorize  a  rescision,  unless  it  is  such  as  to  show  that 
there  is  a  complete  difference  in  substance  between  what  was  supposed  to  be,  and 
what  was  taken,  so  as  to  constitute  a  failure  of  consideration. — Blackburn  J.,  in 
Kennedy  o«.  Panama,  &c..  Mail  Co.,  Law  Rep.,  2  Q.  B.,  587. 

The  principle  is  well  illustrated  in  the  ciril  law,  as  stated  in  the  digest,  liber. 
18,  tit.  4,  De  Contrahenda  Emptione,  leges  9,  10,  11.  There— after  laying  down 
the  general  rule  that,  where  the  parties  are  not  at  one  as  to  the  subject  of  the 
contract,  there  is  no  agreement,  and  that  this  applies  where  the  parties  have 
misapprehended  each  other  as  to  the  corpus,  as  where  an  absent  slave  was  sold, 
and  the  buyer  thought  he  was  buying  Pamphilus,  and  the  vendor  thought  he  was 
selling  Stichus — and  pronouncing  the  judgment  that  in  such  a  case  there  was  no 
bargain,  because  there  was  error  in  eorpore,  the  framer  of  the  digest  wrote  the 
point  thus  :  *  Inde  quctrUur,  ft  in  ipso  eorpore  non  erretur,  sed  in  substantia  error 
sit,  ut,  puta,  si  acetum  pro  vino  veneat,  aes  pro  auro,  vel  plumbum  pro  argento,  vel 


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416  American  and  English  Law.  [April, 

quid  aliud  argento  timile^  anemptioet  vmditxoait;  and  the  answer  given  b j  the 
great  jurists  quoted  are  to  the  effect,  trtat  if  there  be  misapprehei^ion  as  to  the 
substance  of  the  thing,  there  is  no  contract;  but  if  it  be  only  a  difference  ineooie 
quality  or  accident,  even  though  the  misapprehension  may  have  been  the  ac- 
tuating motive  to  the  purchaser,  yet  the  contract  remains  binding.  Paulus  says  : 
*  Si  <B9  pro  auro  veneat;  non  valety  aliter  atque  »i  aurum  quidam/uerit  deUriut  auiem 
quam  emptor  exiatimarel :  tunc  enim  emptio  valet,  Uipianui,  in  the  eleventh  law, 
puts  an  example  as  to  the  sale  of  a  slave,  very  similar  to  that  of  the  unsound 
horse,  in  Street  vs,  Blay^  2  Barn.,  and  Adolph.,  486,  22  Eng  C.  L.  And  the 
principle  of  the  common  law  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  civil  law.  The  difficalty 
in  every  case  is  to  determine,  whether  the  mistake  or  misapprehension  is  as  to 
the  substance  of  the  whole  consideration,  going  as  it  were  to  the  root  of  the 
matter,  or  only  to  some  point,  even  thongh  a  material  point,  an  error  as  to 
which  does  not  affect  the  substance  of  the  whole  consideration. — Blackburn,  J. 
in  Kennedy  va,  Panama,  &c.,  Mail  Co.  Law  Rep.,  2  Q.  B.,  587-8. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  these  volumes  are,  as  we  have 
already  said,  far  from  being  mere  books  of  Practice,  but  that 
they  contain  the  origin  and  growth  of  the  different  legal  prin- 
ciples now  in  force,  and  their  present  practical  application, 
together  with  the  gradual  changes  which  have  resulted  in  the 
latest  decisions.  For  every  proposition  announced  the  authority 
is  added,  and  a  complete  digest  is  thus  far  presented  of  all  that 
is  valuable  and  practical  in  reference  to  the  ^  time  and  place  of 
a  transaction,'  '  the  right  of  action,'  the  '  declaration  and  the 
subsequent  Pleadings.' 

Justice  Story,  in  discoursing  on  the  condition  of  the  law  in  this 
country,  many  years  ago,  observed :  '  The  mass  of  the  law  is 
accumulating  with  an  almost  incredible  rapidity,  and  with  the 
accumulation  the  labor  of  students,  as  well  as  professors,  is 
seriously  augmented.  It  is  impossible  not  to  look  without  some 
discouragement  upon  the  ponderous  volumes  which  the  next 
half  century  will  add  to  the  groaning  shelves  of  our  jurists. 
The  habits  of  generalization,  which  will  be  acquired  and  per- 
fected by  the  liberal  studies  which  I  have  ventured  to  recom- 
mend, will  do  something  to  avert  the  fearful  calamity  which 
threatens  us,  of  being  buried  alive,  not  in  the  catacombs,  but  in  * 
the  labyrinths  of  the  Law.' 

Could  that  eminent  jurist  have  survived  until  the  end  of  the 
half  century  of  which  he  spoke,  and  witnessed  the  publication 
of  the  work  of  Mr.  Conway  Robinson,  he  would  have  been 
among  the  first  to  have  rejoiced  at  the  skill,  surpassing  that  of 


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1869.]  American  and  English  Law.  417 

Ariadne,  with  which  our  author  has  furnished  a  magic  thread 
to  guide  students  and  professors  safely  out  of  the  dreaded 
labyrinth. 

The  first  of  Mr.  Robinson's  series  of  volumes  was  published 
in  1854,  and  the  last  has  just  been  issued  from  the  press.  The 
work  thus  far  is,  therefore,  the  result  of  twenty  years  of  hard 
labor,  allowing  a  reasonable  time  for  the  production  of  the  first 
volume ;  longer,  indeed,  when  it  is  remembered  that  these  vol- 
umes are  founded  on  an  earlier  work,  well  known  to,  and 
highly  esteemed  by,  the  bar  of  Virginia.  The  next  volume  is 
promised  in  the  current  year.  Subsequent  volumes  will  be 
needed  to  furnish  us  with  the  law  and  the  practice,  after  the 
issues  are  made  up,  the  mode  of  trial,  the  laws  regulating  evi- 
dence, the  verdict,  the  judgment,  appeals,  &c.,  &c., — a  lifetime 
of  labor  yet  before  the  erudite  author.  We  earnestly  hope  that 
Mr.  Kobinson's  valuable  life  may  be  spared  until  he  shall  have 
fully  completed  his  great  work.  When  completed,  we  are  sat- 
isfied that  it  will  have  a  place  in  the  library  of  every  lawyer, 
and  form  the  vade  mecum  of  every  nisi prius  yi^gQ, 

Not  many  years  ago,  no  book  could  take  its  position  in  the 
front  ranks,  unless  it  had  first  received  the  stamp  of  European 
approval.  Now,  however,  that  tliis  country  has  produced  in 
general  literature  such  names  as  Prescott,  and  Hawthorne,  and 
Longfellow,  and  that  we  can  boast  in  the  law  of  such  writers 
as  Wheaton,  and  Kent,  and  Story ;  now  that  the  bench  has  been 
adorned  by  such  eminent  judges  as  Marshall,  and  Taney,  and 
the  bar  rendered  illustrious  by  the  ability  and  learning  of  such 
lawyers  as  Pinkney,  and  Binney,  and  Martin,  and  Webster,  it  is 
no  longer  necessary  to  postpone  our  opinions  until  we  have  had 
the  sanction  of  foreign  judgments.  But,  if  the  sanction  of  the 
highest  authority  in  England  were  necessary  to  entitle  Mr. 
Robinson  to  his  proper  position  among  the  writers  on  jurispru- 
dence, it  is  not  wanting.  His  work  is  already  well  known  to 
the  most  distinguished  jurists  of  England.  In  reference  to  the 
volumes  preceding  the  present,  one,  who  for  many  years  adorned 
the  Queen's  Bench  has,  with  that  degree  of  candor  which  can 
only  accompany  acknowledged  learning  and  true  greatness  of 
mind,  used   this  language,   '  I  have  taken  these  volumes  on 


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418  American  and  English  Law.  [April, 

Circuit,  and  derived  considerable  assistance  from  them,  and  on 
several  occasions  have  been  kept  from  mistakes  by  the  informa- 
tion and  references,  which  I  found  readily  from  the  good 
arrangement  of  the  work,  which  I  consider  a  very  valuable 
one.' 

And  the  highest  authority  known  to  the  law  of  England, 
has  added  his  testimony  to  that  of  his  brother:  'Having 
availed  myself,'  he  writes, '  of  a  period  of  comparative  leisure, 
and  having  gone  through  the  fourth  volume  of  Mr.  Robinson's 
Practice^  I  have  the  greatest  satisfaction  of  bearing  witness  to 
the  learning,  care,  and  ability,  which  this  volume,  in  common 
with  its  predecessors,  exhibits.  The  work,  which  is  one  of  great 
practical  utility,  will  become  a  standard  work,  and  will  do  great 
honor  and  credit  to  its  learned  author,  and  will  add  another 
item  to  the  debt  which  the  legal  profession  in  this  country  owes 
to  American  jurists,  in  illustrating  the  law  of  the  two  nations.' 

Such  words  of  praise  coming  from  across  the  broad  Atlantic, 
must  be  grateful  to  any  author.  They  are  as  honorable  to  the 
great  men  from  whom  they  come,  as  they  are  flattering  to  the 
learned  lawyer  of  whom  they  are  written.  If  it  be  the  high- 
est meed  of  praise  laxidari  a  laudatisj  it  is  surely  no  less  praise- 
worthy in  an  English  Judge,  eminent  for  his  great  learning,  to 
confess  publicly  that  he  '  on  several  occasions  has  been  kept 
from  mistakes '  on  circuit,  by  the  production  of  an  American 
writer,  and  in  another,  still  more  distinguished  by  his  position, 
to  declare  his  belief  that  that  production  would  become  a '  stand- 
ard work,'  and  would  increase  the  debt  of  the  legal  profession 
of  England  to  the  jurists  of  this  country. 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettyshirg,  419 


Art.  VIII. — 1.  Campaigns  of  the  Array  of  the  Potomac, 
By  William  Swinton.  New  York:  C.  B,  Kichardson. 
1866. 

2.  The  Twelve  Decisive  Battles  of  the  War,     By  William 

Swinton.    New  York:  Dick  <fe  Fitzgerald.     1867. 

3.  Notes  on  the  Rehel  Invasion  of  Maryland  and  Pen nsylimnia 

and  the  Battle  of  Geityshurg,     By  M.  Jacobs.     Philadel- 
phia: Lippineott  &  Co.     1864. 

4.  The  Bebellion  Record,    By  Frank  Moore.    New  York: 

D.  Van  Nostrand.     1864. 

5.  Report  of  the  Joint  Committee  on  the  Condact  of  the  War, 

at  the  Second  /Session,  3Sth  Congress.    Washington.    1865. 

6.  Address  of  Hon,  Edward  Everett  at  the  consecration  of  the 

National  Cemetery  at  Gettysbxirg,     Boston  :  Little,  Brown 
&  Co.     1864. 

7.  Southern  History  of  the  War,     By  Edward  A.  Pollard. 

New  York :  C.  B.  Kichardson.     1865. 

8.  Lee  and  his  Lieutenants,     By  Edward  A.  Pollard.     New 

York  :  E.  B.  Treat  &  Co.     1867. 

9.  The   Great  Rehellion.      By  J.   T.   Headley.      Hartford: 

American  Publishing  Company.     1866. 

The  campaign  of  1863  in  the  east,  though  marked  by  less 
activity  and  fewer  great  battles  than  either  the  preceding  or 
the  succeeding  one,  has  been  looked  upon  as  by  no  means 
inferior  to  either  of  them  in  interest  and  importance.  Indeed, 
there  is  no  portion  of  the  history  of  the  late  war  about  which 
more  has  been  written  and  spoken,  than  about  Chancellorsville 
and  Gettysburg.  These  two  mighty  conflicts  seem  to  be  in- 
vested with  an  unusual  share  of  that  dramatic  interest  which 
hangs  around  the  events  of  the  late  struggle.  We  remember 
well  the  intense  anxiety  which  filled  both  sections  of  the 
country,  when  the  two  armies  plunged  into  the  depths  of  the 
*  Wilderness,'  as  if  to  hide  their  mortal  combat  from  the  view 
of  men ;  with  what  breathless  suspense  the  result  was  waited 


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420  Tfie  Battle  of  GeUyshurg.  [April, 

for,  as,  day  after  day,  the  mysterious  forest  resounded  with  the 
roar  of  the  contest;  what  disappointment  filled  the  North 
when,  finally,  the  largest  and  best  equipped  force  yet  put  in 
the  field  had  been  thrown  back  over  the  Eappahannock,  shat- 
tered and  broken  ;  what  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  pervaded  the 
South  when  the  magnificent  skill  and  audacity  of  her  great 
chieftain  had  again  brought  victory,  but,  in  doing  so,  had  paid 
as  the  price,  Stonewall  Jackson.  Other  circumstances  con- 
tribute to  the  interest  of  Gettysburg.  It  marks  the  period  of 
the  most  formidable  irruption  made  by  Southern  arms  into 
Northern  territory.  In  weight  of  artillery,  and  number  of 
men  actually  engaged,  it  probably  exceeded  any  battle  of  the 
war.  On  its  issue  hung,  perhaps,  the  fate,  for  the  time,  of  one 
or  more  of  the  large  Northern  cities.  The  very  date  of  its 
occurrence,  on  the  eve  of  the  4th  of  July,  has  added  to  the 
impression  it  has  made.  It  has  seemed  to  many,  the  turning 
point  of  a  contest,  of  which  the  remainder  was  but  a  tremen- 
dous death-struggle.  No  wonder,  then,  that  it  has  been  a 
favorite  theme  of  the  orators,  and  poets,  and  historians,  of  at 
least  one-half  the  country. 

But  notwithstanding  the  interest  that  centred  on  Gettysbuig, 
the  general  conception  of  the  aims,  character,  and  results,  of 
this  campaign,  is,  we  think,  far  from  correct.  Of  course,  the 
contemporary  accounts  are  marked  with  that  distortion  of 
facts,  which  is  the  natural  consequence  of  excited  passions;  but 
even  in  the  numerous  historical  estimates  which,  since  the  war, 
have  been  made  of  its  chief  events,  we  have  found  no  ludd 
and  temperate  account  of  the  plans  and  purposes  of  the  prin- 
cipal actors  in  the  drama,  or  of  the  facts  themselves  which 
marked  its  progress.  The  books  placed  at  the  head  of  this 
article,  are  but  a  few  of  the  many  which  have  furnished 
pictures  of  this  important  period,  colored  by  every  shade  of 
passion,  prejudice,  and  ignorance.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to 
review  them  in  detail,  but  rather  to  correct  some  of  their  errors 
by  a  simple  statement  of  facts. 

In  the  first  place,  but  small  reference  has  been  had  to  the 
facts  of  the  case,  and  the  condition  of  the  combatants,  in  the 
motives  usually   ascribed  to  the  Confederate  leader  in  the 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  421 

initiation  of  this  conflict.  Thus,  this  invasion  is  commonly  set 
forth  as  the  great  eflfort  on  the  part  of  the  Confederacy,  to 
transfer  permanently  the  seat  of  war  in  the  east  from  Southern 
to  Northern  territory.  It  is  considered  not  as  an  ^  irruption,' 
but  as  a  deliberate  attempt,  by  the  subjugation  and  the  holding 
of  one  or  more  Northern  States,  to  conquer  a  peace  on  Northern 
soil.  It  is  held  up  as  an  example  of  the  fatal  change  of  policy 
on  the  part  of  the  South,  from  '  defensive '  to  ^  oflfensive '  war- 
fare. Thus  Mr.  Swinton,  the  fairest  and  ablest  of  the  Northern 
historians,  says :  '  The  plan  of  operations  devised  by  Gen.  Lee, 
was  far  from  the  character  of  a  roving  expedition.  This  was 
invasion,  pure  and  simple,  an  audacious  enterprise,  designed  to 
transfer  the  seat  of  war  from  Virginia  to  the  North  country, 
to  pass  the  Susquehannah,  to  capture  Washington,  Baltimore, 
and  Philadelphia ;  in  a  word,  to  conquer  a  peace  on  the  soil  of 
the  loyal  States.'  And  again,  Hhus  was  baulked  and  brought 
to  naught,  the  scheme  of  Confederate  invasion,  an  invasion 
undertaken  by  an  army  powerful  in  numbers,  and  in  the  pres- 
tige of  victory,  and  aiming  at  the  boldest  quarry — the  conquest 

of  peace  on  the  soil  of  the  loyal  States It  was  an  error 

in  its  inception,  for  it  was  an  enterprise  that  overstepped  the 
limits  of  that  fitting  theory  of  militarj'  policy  that  generally 
governed  the  Confederate  war-councils,  and  committed  Lee  to 
all  the  perils  and  losses  of  an  invasion  without  any  adequate 
recompense,  and  even  without  any  well  determined  military 
object.'  The  idea  of  Mr.  Everett  is  not  far  diflferent,  and  he 
makes  the  additional  mistake  of  throwing  the  responsibility  of 
this  campaign,  on  the  Confederate  Government,  and  not  on 
Gen.  Lee. 

Contrast  with  these,  the  clear  and  simple  statement  of  Gen. 
Lee  himself,  in  his  report :  '  The  position  occupied  by  the 
enemy,'  says  he,  ^  opposite  Fredericksburg,  being  one  in  which 
he  could  not  be  attacked  to  advantage,  it  was  determined  to 
draw  him  from  it.  The  execution  of  this  purpose  embraced 
the  relief  of  the  Shenandoah  Valley  from  the  troops  that  had 
occupied  the  lower  part  of  it  during  the  winter  and  spring, 
and,  if  practicable,  the  transfer  of  the  scene  of  hostilities 
north  of  the  Potomac.     It  was  thought  that  the  corresponding 


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422  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  [April, 

movements,  on  the  part  of  the  enemy,  to  which  those  contem- 
plated by  UB  would  probably  give  rise,  might  offer  a  fair  oppor- 
tunity to  strike  a  blow  at  the  army  commanded  by  General 
Hooker,  and  that,  in  any  event,  that  army  would  be  compelled 
to  leave  Virginia,  and  possibly  to  draw  to  its  support,  troops 
designed  to  operate  against  other  parts  of  the  country.  In 
this  way,  it  was  supposed,  that  the  enemy's  plan  of  campaign 
for  the  summer,  would  be  broken  up,  and  part  of  the  season 
of  active  operations  be  consumed  in  tlie  formation  of  new 
combinations,  and  the  preparations  that  they  would  require. 
In  addition  to  these  advantages,  it  was  hoped  that  valuable 
results  might  be  attained  by  military  success.' 

The  position  of  affairs  in  Virginia,  in  May,  1863,  was  as  fol- 
lows : — Gen.  Hooker  had  opened  the  Spring  Campaign  with 
nearly  130,000  men,  well  armed  and  equipped.     At  the  head 
of  this  splendid  force,  he  attempted  to  turn  the  position  of  Gen. 
Lee,  who  held  the  line  of  the  south  bank  of  the  Kappahannock 
with  between  50,000  and  60,000  men,  and  either  throw  him 
back  toward  Eichmond,  or  defeat  him  in  the  open  field,  if  he 
ventured  to  give  battle.     This  plan  was  not  only  baffled,  but 
at  Chancellorsville  the  Federal  army  was  defeated,  and  forced 
to  recross  the  Rappahannock,  with  the  loss  of  more  than  17,000 
men,  besides  the  disabling  of  three-fourths  of  its  cavalry.     The 
Confederate  loss  was  about  12,000.     Each  army  returned  to  its 
old  lines,  and  rested  for  several  weeks  after  this  fierce  conflict. 
The  Federal  army  had  met  with  a  severe  reverse,  but  was  still 
formidable.     Gen.  Hooker  had  still  100,000  effective  men,  and 
of  these,  30,000  were  in  fine  condition ;  for  Gen.  Hooker  had 
so  managed  as  not  to  bring  them  into  battle.     His  strength 
was  diminished  somewhat,  during  the  month  of  May,  by  the 
expiration  of  the  term  of  service  of  a  number  of  regiments. 
On  the  other  hand.  Gen.  Lee  brought  up  Longstreet  from  Suf- 
folk with  two  divisions,  and,  by  calling  in  the  conscripts  and 
furloughed  men,  found  himself,  about  the  last  of  May,  at  the 
head  of  55,000  infantry,  and  from  5,000  to  6,000  cavalry, — ^in 
all  about  61,000  men.*     The  Confederate  army  occupied  the 

^The  total  eflTective  force  under  Gen.  Lee  in  May,  1863.  is  reported  in  the 
Historical  Magazine^  August,  1867,  as  taken  from  the  captured  papers  of  the  C.  8. 
War  Department,  at  68,352.     This  (if  correct)  included  all  the  troops  within  the 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  GettysUtrg.  423 

fortified  lines  they  had  held  during  the  winter.  The  position 
of  the  Union  army  was  strongly  entrenched,  within  a  few  miles 
of  their  base  of  supply,  and  was,  indeed,  admirably  adapted 
for  either  offence  or  defence. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  attacking  Hooker  in  his  position. 
He  was  strongly  fortified ;  he  was  but  a  few  miles  from  the 
Potomac,  by  means  of  which  he  obtained  supplies ;  and  he  had 
undisputed  control  of  that  river.  But  two  alternatives  were 
then  left  to  the  Confederate  leader.  One  was  to  remain  in  the 
position  then  occupied,  and  await  the  renewal  of  operations  on 
the  part  of  his  antagonist.  The  other  was,  by  a  bold  manoeuvre, 
to  force  him  from  his  vantage  ground,  to  keep  him  occupied  in 
covering  Washington  and  the  Northern  cities,  and  to  strike  a 
blow  whenever  opportunity  occurred.  The  first  plan  promised 
nothing.  It  was  merely  to  wait  until  the  Federal  army,  unmo- 
lested, repaired  its  losses,  and  with  increased  numbers  turned 
his  position  and  forced  him  to  fall  back  or  give  battle  in  the 
open  field  to  a  greatly  superior  force.  It  required  but  little 
mathematics  to  show  how  soon  the  policy  of  retreat  would  lead 
to  the  abandonment  of  all  the  strongholds  and  magazines  of 
the  Confederacy.  The  case  was  different  with  the  other  plan. 
By  a  movement  northward,  the  Federal  army  would  be  forced 
from  its  stronghold  on  the  Rappahannock,  and  compelled  to 
give  battle  elsewhere,  or  to  hug  the  defences  of  Washington. 
If  the  latter  were  the  case,  a  further  movement  into  the 
Northern  States  would  necessarily  draw  this  army  entirely 
away  from  these  fortified  lines,  and  force  it  to  manoeuvre  for 
the  protection  of  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia.  These  move- 
ments would  most  probably  offer  opportunities  for  striking 
damaging  blows,  without  risking  a  general  engagement.  At 
least,  Virginia  would  be  relieved,  for  the  time,  from  the  tread 
of  hostile  armies,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  her  people 
freed  iroin  a  foreign  yoke;  abundant  supplies  would  be 
obtained  in  place  of  the  scant  rations,  which  had  been  dealt 
out  for  months  past ;  the  year's  campaign  against  Richmond 

limits  of  Gen.  Lee's  command,  and  thus  embraced  those  in  Soulh-Western  Vir- 
ginia, as  well  as  tho^e  left  before  Richmond,  and  in  the  country  sou ih  of  the 
James  RiTcr.  The  above  numbers  represent  all  the  force  concentrated  for  bis 
movement  northward,  and  is  derived  from  the  records  of  the  army  of  Northern 
Virginia. 


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424  The  Battle  of  Gettyshirg.  [April, 

completely  disarranged ;  and  the  Confederate  army  in  position 
to  give  battle  when  and  where  it  might  seem  expedient.  The 
great  Captain  who  had  heretofore  controlled,  with  such  con- 
summate skill,  the  destinies  of  war  in  Virginia,  did  not  hesi- 
tate as  to  the  plan  to  be  pursued.  But,  at  the  same  time,  he 
had  no  chimerical  notions  about  permanently  establishing 
himself  with  60,000  men,  in  the  midst  of  populous  States, 
surrounded  by  armies  double  his  own  in  strength,  and  two 
himdred  miles  from  his  base.  He  was  prepared  to  take  advan- 
tage of  all  the  opportunities,  which  fortune,  or  the  blunders  of 
his  adversary,  might  put  in  his  power ;  but,  to  use  his  own 
words, '  It  was  not  intended  to  fight  a  general  battle  so  far 
from  our  base,  unless  attacked  by  the  enemy.'  The  conquest, 
or  permanent  occupation  of  Pennsylvania,  was  a  dream  of  the 
newspapers,  and  of  enthusiastic  gentlemen  whose  military  zeal 
vastly  exceeded  their  knowledge.  No  one  was  more  sensible 
than  Gen.  Lee  of  the  immense  inequality  of  resources  between 
the  two  contending  parties.  No  one  more  anxious  than  he  to 
husband  the  men  and  means  placed  at  his  command.  Superior 
skill  and  strategy  alone  could  enable  him  to  cope  with  his 
opponent.  He  moved  northward  that  he  might  play  the  great 
game  ijnder  better  conditions.  Had  the  battle  of  Gettysburg 
never  occurred,  or  had  he  carried  the  Federal  position  there, 
he  would  still,  when  the  season  for  active  operations  was  over, 
have  had  to  return  to  some  point  within  reach  of  his  base  of 
supplies. 

Another  singular  misstatement,  made  by  Mr.  Swinton,  is, 
that  Gen.  Lee,  in  entering  upon  this  campaign,  ^expressly 
promised  his  corps  commanders,  that  he  would  not  assume  the 
practical  offensive,  but  force  his  antagonist  to  attack  him.' 
That  such  was  the  general  line  of  policy  he  had  already  marked 
out,  we  have  already  shown,  but  that  he  made  any  promises 
on  the  subject,  either  to  corps  commanders,  or  to  any  one  else, 
is  something  entirely  at  variance  with  his  own  character,  and 
with  the  full  confidence  always  reposed  in  him  by  the  Govern- 
ment, the  people,  and  the  army  of  the  South. 

The  plan  of  campaign  having  been  determined  upon,  the 
Confederate  leader  proceeded,  with  his  usual  energy,  to  put  it 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Oettyshurg.  425 

into  execution.  By  the  first  of  June,  all  his  preparations  were 
made.  The  losses  of  Chancellorsville  had  been  repaired ;  his 
deficient  armament  had  been  greatly  improved  by  means  of 
the  captures  there  made ;  the  troops  had  been  clothed ;  and  the 
morale  of  the  army  was  of  the  highest  order. 

The  infantry  had  been  organized  into  three  corps,  under 
Longstreet,  Ewell,  and  A.  P.  Hill,  and  each  of  these  corps 
contained  three  divisions.  The  whole  cavalry  of  the  army 
was  under  command  of  Stuart.  Three  brigades,  viz :  those  of 
Fitz  Lee,  Hampton,  and  W.  H.  F.  Lee,  were  concentrated  at 
Culpepper  Court  House.  Jones's  brigade  was  brought  over 
from  the  Yalley,  Kobinson's  from  North  Carolina,  and  added 
to  these,  the  brigade  of  Jenkins  was  ordered  to  move  down  the 
Valley  toward  Winchester,  and  the  small  brigade  under  Imbo- 
den  was  sent  to  make  demonstrations  on  the  line  of  the 
Baltimore  and  Ohio  Kailroad  near  Komney.  The  artillery  of 
the  army  still  moved  with  the  different  corps  with  which  it  was 
intended  to  act,  but  was  all  placed  under  the  command  of  Gen. 
Pendleton. 

On  the  3d  of  June,  McLaws's  division  of  Longstreet's  corps, 
left  Fredericksburg  for  Culpepper  Court  House,  and  Hood's 
division,  of  the  same  corps,  was  ordered  to  the  same  place. 
On  the  next  day,  Ewell  marched  in  the  same  direction,  leaving 
A.  P.  Hill  to  occupy  the  lines  at  Fredericksburg.  By  the  8th, 
these  two  corps,  and  the  cavalry,  were  concentrated  at  Cul- 
pepper. 

While  these  movements  were  going  on,  General  Hooker, 
who  had  derived  from  the  Kichmond  papers,  and  other  so\irces, 
some  intimations  as  to  the  contemplated  movement  on  the  6th 
of  June,  threw  General  Sedgewick,  with  the  Sixth  Corps, 
across  the  river  below  Fredericksburg,  to  make  a  reconnoissance. 
So  strong  was  the  show  of  force  made  by  Hill,  that  the  Federal 
commander  was  deceived  by  it,  and  remained  in  ignorance  of 
what  was  going  on.  Having  become  aware,  however,  of  the 
massing  of  the  Confederate  cavalry  at  Culpepper,  he  determined 
to  send  against  them  his  whole  cavalry  force  of  six  or  seven 
thousand  men,  and  three  thousand  infantry  under  Pleasanton. 
This  force  crossed  the  Eappahannock  early  on  the  ninth,  and 
12 

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426  The  BatOe  of  GeUyshurg.  [April, 

attacked  Stuart.  Coming  suddenly  upon  one  of  Stuart's  bri- 
gades, they  took  a  few  prisoners,  and  gained  a  temporary  advan- 
tage ;  after  which  a  fierce  contest  ensued,  continuing  till  late 
in  the  afternoon,  when  Pleasanton  was  finally  driven  over  the 
river  with  heavy  loss.  In  this  aflair,  the  Federals  captured 
two  hundred  prisoners,  and  one  battle-flag.  The  Confederates 
captured  four  hundred  prisoners,  three  pieces  of  artillery,  and 
several  battle-flags.  This  fight  revealed  to  General  Hooker, 
the  presence  of  Ewell  at  Culpepper,  and  the'  fact  that  Stuart 
was  on  the  point  of  moving  northward.  In  consequence  of 
this  information,  he  began,  on  the  11th  and  12th,  to  move  a 
part  of  his  army  cautiously  northward,  to  interpose  it  between 
Lee  and  the  Capital ;  and  as  he  became  aware  of  the  further 
progress  of  the  Confederate  army,  he  broke  up  altc^ther  from 
Fredericksburg,  and  by  June  15th  had  concentrated  the  greater 
part  of  his  force  at  Fairfax  Station,  in  front  of  Alexandria  and 
Washington.  He  anticipated  that  Gen.  Lee  would  move  as 
he  had  done  the  year  before  against  Pope,  and  directed  the 
movements  of  his  own  army  accordingly. 

Meantime  General  Lee  continued  to  push  northward.  On 
the  10th,  the  day  after  the  cavalry  fight,  Ewell's  corps  was 
sent  forward  to  cross  the  Blue  Ridge  by  way  of  Front  Eoyal, 
and  clear  out  the  hostile  forces  at  Winchester,  and  other  points 
in  the  lower  valley.  Ewell,  aft«r  crossing  the  Shenandoah, 
detached  Rodes's  division  to  dislodge  the  enemy  at  Berryville, 
and  then  interpose  himself  between  Winchester  and  the  Poto- 
mac, while  with  Early's  and  Johnson's  divisions  he  pressed  on 
directly  to  Winchester,  which  was  then  held  by  Gen.  Milroy 
with  five  or  six  thousand  infantry.  Jenkins  and  Imboden  were 
already  in  position  to  prevent  reinforcements  reaching  Milroy. 
Ewell  reached  Winchester  on  the  14th.  The  Union  troops 
occupied,  to  the  north  of  the  town,  a  range  of  heights  strongly 
fortified.  Early's  division  was  sent  by  a  long  detour  completely 
around  the  town,  to  attack  this  position  from  a  northwest  direc- 
tion, where  alone  it  seemed  pregnable.  Late  in  the  evening, 
Gen.  Early  got  into  position,  when  he  attacked,  and  quickly 
carried  the  outer  defences  of  the  enemy,  and  captured  six  pieces 
of  artillery.     Night  coming  on,  he  lay  upon  his  arms.     Mean- 


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1869.]  •  The  BatUe  of  Gettysburg.  427 

while  Jolinson  was  sent  by  a  detour  to  the  east  of  the  town,  to 
occupy  the  Martinsburg  road,  and  thus  intercept  Milroy's  line 
of  retreat.  During  the  night,  the  Federal  commander  cut 
down  his  guns  and  attempted  a  precipitate  retreat  to  Harper's 
Ferry.  A  small  part  of  his  command  had  passed,  when  John- 
son, who  had  been  delayed  in  getting  into  position,  arrived 
about  daylight  at  the  Martinsburg  road,  and  at  once  attacked 
the  passing  column,  soon  routing  it,  and  capturing  a  large  num- 
ber of  prisoners.  Milroy,  with  a  small  party  of  fugitives, 
reached  Harper's  Ferry.  While  Early  had  been  moving  around 
Winchester,  on  the  14th,  Rodes,  having  passed  through  Berry- 
ville  on  the  13th,  compelling  the  force  tliere  to  retire,  pushed 
on  to  Martinsburg.  He  dispersed  the  force  there,  taking  seven 
hundred  prisoners.  Tlie  total  results  of  these  operations  of 
Ewell  were  4,000  prisoners,  twenty-nine  pieces  of  artillery, 
two  hundred  and  seventy  wagons  and  ambulances,  and  four 
hundred  horses, — all  captured  with  small  loss, — and  the  valley 
cleared  of  the  enemy.  The  remnant  of  his  forces  retired  to 
Maryland  Heights.  The  campaign  had  thus  opened  auspi- 
ciously, and  this  heightened  the  already  lofty  anticipations  of 
the  South. 

Gen.  Hooker  remained  in  entire  ignorance  of  the  movement 
of  Ewell's  corps  against  Winchester,  until  it  was  invested.  His 
attention  seemed  solely  directed  to  the  preventing  of  Lee  from 
turning  his  right  flank,  as  he  had  done  that  of  the  Federal  army 
in  1862,  so  that  he  could  not  dash  down  upon  Washington. 
Hence,  when  informed  at  Dumfries,  on  the  14th,  by  President 
Lincoln,  of  the  presence  of  Ewell  at  Winchester,  he  continued 
his  march  to  Fairfax  Station,  which  was  reached  next  day.  On 
this  day,  the  loth  of  June,  the  Federal  rear-guard,  having  dis- 
appeared fix)m  his  front  at  Fredericksburg,  A.  P.  Hill,  with  his 
three  divisions — ^Anderson's,  Heth's,  and  Pender's — left  his 
position  there  in  accordance  with  his  instructions,  and  marched 
toward  Culpepper.  Hooker's  abandonment  of  the  line  of  the 
Bappahannock,  and  close  adherence  to  the  Potomac,  deprived 
the  Confederate  commander  of  any  favorable  opportunity  for 
attack,  while  his  movements  covered  the  approaches  to  Wash- 
ington.    To  draw  the  Federal  army  farther  from  its  base,  as 


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428  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  [April, 

well  as  to  cover  Hill's  march  from  Fredericksburg,  Longstreet's 
corps,  consisting  of  Hood's,  Pickett's,  and  McLaws's  divisions, 
was  on  this  same  day,  the  15th,  moved  from  Qnlpepper,  along 
the  eastern  base  of  the  Blue  Kidge,  until  it  occupied  Ashby's 
and  Snicker's  Gaps,  which  are  on  the  two  main  roads  leading 
from  the  lower  valley  to  Alexandria.  The  cavalry  under  Stuart 
was  thrown  out  to  cover  Longstreet's  front.  When  Hill  had 
reached  Culpepper,  he  was  ordered  to  continue  his  march  by  the 
route  which  Ewell  had  followed  into  the  valley. 

While  these  movements  were  being  effected.  Gen.  Hooker, 
and  the  Federal  Commander-in-Chief,  Gen.  Halleck,  at  Wash- 
ington, continued  in  the  most  painful  ignorance  and  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  position  and  purposes  of  Gen.  Lee.  His  rapid 
movements  were  all  concealed  behind  a  cloud  of  cavalry,  and, 
by  frequent  demonstrations  in  different  directions,  he  held  them 
in  constant  suspense  and  doubt  as  to  his  real  point  of  attack. 
On  the  16th,  the  Washington  authorities  became  alarmed  for 
the  safety  of  Harper's  Ferry,  and  Hooker  was  urged  to  push 
forward  through  Loudon  to  the  relief  of  that  place.  Disposi- 
tions were  made  for  this  purpose,  but,  on  the  17th,  the  reports 
proving  unfounded,  the  movement  was  suspended.  On  this 
day,  however,  the  Federal  cavalry  was  sent  toward  Winchester 
and  Harper's  Ferry,  to  make  a  reconnoissance,  and  develop  the 
strength  and  position  of  the  Confederates ;  and  some  of  the 
infantry  corps  slowly  followed.  Pontoons  were  ordered  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Monocacy.  Pleasanton  first  came  up  with  two 
brigades  of  Stuart's  cavalry  at  Aldie,  whither  they  had  been 
sent  to  observe  the  movements  of  Hooker.  This  force  held 
Pleasanton  in  check  during  the  day,  and  then  joined  Stuart's 
main  force  at  Middleburg.  Next  day  the  fight  was  renewed,  and 
continued  with  stubbornness  all  day ;  but,  finally,  Gen.  Gregg, 
who  commanded  the  Federal  cavalry,  was  forced  to  retire; 
Pleasanton  rested  the  greater  part  of  his  forces  next  day  at 
Aldie,  and  on  the  20th,  made  preparations  for  further  advance. 
On  the  31st,  he  moved  forward  with  his  whole  cavalry  force, 
which  now  embraced,  in  addition  to  his  former  force,  General 
Stahl's  division  of  6,100  sabres,  who  had  been  picketing,  all 
winter,  from  Occoquan  to  Goose  Creek,  and  whom  Mosby,  with 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  429 

his  hundred  guerrillas,  had  kept  in  such  a  state  of  alarm  that 
the  planks  over  the  chain  bridge  at  Washington  were,  for  a 
long  time,  taken  up  nightly.  This  body  of  cavalry,  some 
15,000  in  all,  was  supported  by  Banes'  division  of  infantry. 
Stuart  was  attacked,  and  after  a  stubborn  fight,  was  forced 
back  through  Upperville  to  Ashby's  Gap.  He  lost  two  pieces 
of  artillery  and  some  sixty  prisoners ;  but  he  captured  several 
hundred  of  the  enemy,  and  retained  possession  of  the  pass,  and 
thus  prevented  Pleasanton  from  observing  the  movements  of 
the  Confederate  infantry  on  the  western  side  of  the  mountain. 
The  Federal  cavalry  suffered  so  severely  in  this  engagementy^ 
that  Gen.  Pleasanton  returned  next  day  to  Aldie  to  rest  and 
recruit. 

General  Lee  had,  so  far,  completely  veiled  his  movements- 
and  designs  from  the  foe.  Even  on  the  17th  of  June,  General 
Hooker  telegraphed  to  General  Halleck:  'Has  it  ever  sug- 
gested itself  to  you,  that  this  cavalry  raid  may  be  a  cover  to 
Lee's  reinforcing  Bragg,  or  moving  troops  to  the  West  ?'  And 
all  the  information  that  General  Pleasanton  brought  back  after 
the  fight  of  the  21st,  was  the  vague  report  of  some  negroes,  as 
to  the  marching  of  Confederate  infantry  towards  Maryland. 
But  the  Confederate  commander,  anticipating  that  it  would 
require  demonstrations  still  farther  to  the  northward,  to  draw 
the  Federal  army  away  from  the  defences  of  the  Capital, 
(which  he  had  no  intention  with  his  inferior  force,  of  attacking 
in  front,)  had  already  pushed  forward  his  advance.  Bodes 
had  moved  on  the  15th,  the  day  after  he  entered  Martinsburg, 
(and  the  day  of  the  dispersion  of  Milroy's  force  at  Winchester,) 
to  Williamsport,  and  sent  Jenkins's  brigade  of  cavalry  which 
had  been  placed  under  his  orders,  to  Hagerstown,  Jenkins 
went  on  to  Chambersburg,  and  returned  on  the  20th,  while 
Rodes  waited  for  the  remainder  of  the  corps.  This  was  being 
moved  up, — Johnson  crossing  and  camping  at  Sharpsburg  on 
the  18th,  and  Early  crossing  and  going  to  Boonsboro'  on  the 
22d. 

As  Hooker  still  showed  no  disposition  either  to  cross  the 
Potomac,  or  to  advance  and  deliver  battle,  Lee  prepared  to 
move  into  Maryland  with  his  whole  army.     Stuart  was  ordered 


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430  The  Battle  of  Geityshxirg,  [April, 

to  remain  to  guard  the  passes  of  the  mountains,  to  observe  the 
enemy's  movements,  and  to  harass  and  impede  him  as  much  as 
possible,  should  he  attempt  to  cross  the  Potomac.  When  this 
should  be  effected,  however,  he  was  to  cross  overt6o,  and 
place  himself  on  the  right  of  the  Confederate  army,  to  cover 
its  movements,  and  keep  its  commander  informed  as  to  those 
of  the  enemy.  Ewell's  corps  was  ordered  into  Pennsylvania ; 
Johnson's  and  Rodes's  divisioQS  were  sent  towards  Chambers- 
burg,  while  Early  was  directed  to  cross  the  South  Mountain 
toward  the  Susquehannah,  in  order  to  keep  Hooker  on  the  east 
side  of  the  mountain,  when  he  should  cross  into  Maryland, 
and  thus  prevent  his  throwing  his  army  upon  the  Confederate 
line  of  communication  through  Hagerstown  and  Williamsport. 
On  the  24th,  General  Ewell,  with  Rodes's  and  Johnson's 
divisions,  had  reached  Chambersburg,  and  Early  was  at  Green- 
wood. On  this  day.  Hill  and  Longstreet  crossed  the  Potomac 
at  Shepherdstown  and  Williamsport,  and  moved  towards  Ha- 
gerstown. 

It  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  that  General  Hooker  seems  to 
have  had  any  reliable  information  as  to  Lee's  movements. 
Learning  the  position  of  affairs  on  the  24th,  he  prepared  to 
cross  the  Potomac,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  25th  sent  over 
Stahl's  cavalry,  followed  by  General  Reynolds,  with  the  First, 
Third,  and  Eleventh  Corps,  at  Edward's  Ferry.  On  tlie  next 
day,  he  crossed  over  with  the  Twelfth,  Fifth,  Second,  and 
Sixth  Corps,  the  cavalry  bringing  up  the  rear.  Stahl's  cavalry 
was  then  thrown  forward  toward  Gettysburg,  to  scour  the 
country,  and  the  Twelfth  Corps  was  advanced  toward  the 
passes  in  the  South  Mountain  leading  to  Hagerstown,  the 
remainder  of  the  army  being  concentrated  near  Frederick. 
There  were  12,000  men  at  Maryland  Heights  under  General 
French,  and  it  was  proposed  that  these,  having  evacuated  that 
post,  should  unite  with  the  Twelfth  Corps,  and,  crossing  the 
mountain,  cut  Lee's  communications.  General  Halleck,  how- 
ever, refused  to  approve  this  evacuation,  and  General  Hooker 
in  consequence  resigned  the  command  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  on  the  29th.  On  the  morning  of  the  28th  General 
Meade  relieved  him,  and  permission  was  given  to  this  officer  to 
use  French's  command  as  he  saw  fit. 

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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  431 

The  Northern  historians  seem  to  think,  as  did  Gen.  Hooker 
himself,  that  a  great  opportunity  was  lost  by  this  failure  to 
plant  two  corps  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  upon  the  Confed- 
erate line  of  communications.  But  the  facts  hardly  seem  to 
warrant  this  conclusion.  For,  on  the  25th  and  26th,  Hill's 
and  Longstreet's  corps  were  moving  from  Hagerstown  to 
Chambersburg,  and  had  a  part  of  General  Hooker's  army  been 
pushed  forward  to  Hagerstown,  it  would  most  probably  have 
been  crushed  by  bringing  down  on  itself  more  than  two-thirds 
of  the  Confederate  forces. 

On  the  27th,  the  day  of  Hooker's  resignation,  Lee,  with  the 
corps  of  Longstreet  and  Hill,  reached  Chambersburg.  Ewell, 
with  two  divisions,  reached  Carlisle,  and  Early,  having  passed 
through  Gettysburg  the  day  before,  occupied  York.  On  the 
28th,  the  Confederate  army  remained  quiet.  In  consequence 
of  an  unfortunate  circumstance.  General  Lee  was  not  aware 
that  the  Federal  army  had  crossed  the  Potomac.  For  Stuart, 
whom  he  had  ordered  to  join  him  in  that  event,  had  not  been 
heard  from,  and  the  small  cavalry  force  he  had  with  him,  was 
occupied,  a  part  under  Jenkins,  in  Ewell's  front  toward  Harris- 
burg,  and  the  remainder,  under  Imboden,  (after  breaking  up  the 
Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad,  and  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio 
Canal,)  in  scouring  the  country  to  the  west  of  his  line  of  march. 
Stuart  had  pushed  down  to  Fairfax  C.  H.,  and  finding  that  the 
enemy  was  crossing  the  river,  he  crossed  below,  at  Seneca,  on 
the  29th,  with  the  intention  of  moving  around  him,  and 
joining  General  Lee.  The  advance  of  the  Federal  army 
northward  prevented  his  doing  this  until  the  day  of  the  battle 
of  Gettysburg.  By  this  mistake,  the  Confederate  commander 
was  left  without  the  veil  behind  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
conceal  his  movements,  and  without  the  means  of  determining 
the  position  and  purposes  of  the  enemy. 

Supposing,  therefore,  that  Hooker  had  not  yet  crossed  into 
Maryland,  he  was  preparing  to  move  toward  Harrisburg, 
when  he  received  information,  on  the  night  of  the  28th,  from 
a  scout,  that  the  Federal  army  was  over  the  river,  and  that 
the  head  of  its  column  had  already  reached  the  South  Moun- 
tain, and  thus  endangered  his  communications.     This  move- 


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# 


432  The  Batile  of  Gettysburg.  [April, 

ment  necessitated  a  change  of  plan  for  the  time,  and  the 
change  was  made  with  promptness.  He  ordered  the  concen- 
tration of  his  army  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain,  so  as 
to  ba  in  position  to  threaten  the  Federal  line  of  communica- 
tions, as  well  as  Baltimore,  if  his  adversary  shonld  move  to  the 
western  side.  Hill  and  Longstreet  moved,  on  the  29th,  toward 
Gettysburg,  from  Chambersburg,  and  Ewell  was  directed  to 
march  from  Carlisle  to  the  same  place.  These  marches  were 
conducted  slowly,  the  position  of  the  enemy  being  unknown. 
General  Lee  was  unable  to  realize,  in  the  absence  of  any  infor- 
mation from  Stuart,  that  the  Federal  army  was  so  near  him. 

Meantime,  Gen.  Meade,  who  now  commanded  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  was  moving  northward  in  order  to  cover  Balti- 
more, and  to  prevent  Lee  from  crossing  the  Susquehannah.  He 
had  assumed  command  on  the  morning  of  the  28th,  and 
spent  that  day  in  learning  the  strength  and  position  of  his 
troops.  The  infantry  of  the  Federal  army  consisted  at  that  time 
of  seven  corps,  the  First,  (Reynolds's,)  Second, '(Hancock's,) 
Third,  (Sickles's,)  Fifth,  (Sykes's,)  Sixth,  (Sedgwick's,)  Eleventh, 
(Howard's,)  Twelfth,  (Slocum's.)  The  cavalry,  of  three  divi- 
sions— Gregg's,  Buford's,  and  Kilpatrick's,  (late  Stahl's,)  all 
under  Gen.  Pleasanton.  The  artillery  consisted  of  three  hun- 
dred field  pieces,  besides  some  heavier  guns.  Total  strength, 
according  to  General  Meade,  from  95,000  to  100,000  men.  The 
Confederate  army  had  been  diminished  some  one  or  two  thou- 
sand by  its  casualties  at  "Winchester  and  Upperville,  and  by  the 
guards  necessarily  left  to  keep  open  Lee's  communications,  and 
now  consisted  of  a  total  force  of  nearly  60,000  men  and  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  pieces  of  artillery.  On  the  29th,  the 
Federal  army  moved,  and  on  that  night  rested,  the  left  at 
Emmettsburg,  and  the  right  at  New  Windsor.  On  the  next 
day,  the  right  was  advanced  to  Manchester,  but  the  left,  con- 
sisting of  the  First,  Eleventh,  and  Third  Corps,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Reynolds,  remained  stationary.  Buford's  cavalry 
occupied  Gettysburg,  and  having  reported  on  the  30th  the  pre- 
sence of  A.  P.  Hill  on  the  Cashtown  road,  Reynolds  was 
ordered  to  move  up  to  Gettysburg,  to  hold  him  in  check,  and 
^ive  time  for  the  concentration  of  the  army  along  the  line  of 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettyshurg.  433 

Pipe  Creek,  which  General  Meade  had  selected  as  the  position 
in  which  he  would  receive  the  shock  of  battle,  if  General  Lee 
were  disposed  to  attack. 

Thus  a  great  battle  was  about  to  be  fought,  which  was  to 
surprise  no  one  so  much  as  the  two  principal  actors  in  it.  Gen. 
Lee,  as  already  stated,  had  no  design  of  fighting  a  general 
battle.  Far  from  his  base,  greatly  inferior  in  numbers  and 
artillery,  knowing  that  he  could  not  fill  up  his  ranks  if  disaster 
should  occur,  his  purpose  contemplated  only  the  occupation  for 
a  time  of  Federal  territory  in  order  to  relieve  Virginia,  and  such 
strategic  movements  as  would  employ  the  Union  forces  in  the 
east  in  covering  their  principal  cities,  or  would  afford  him  op- 
portunities of  striking  blows  at  detached  or  unguarded  points. 
He  was  unaware  of  the  vicinity  of  the  enemy.  His  latest 
information  was  that  they  held  Frederick,  and  threatened  to 
move  in  the  direction  of  Hagerstown,  and  his  present  concen- 
tration of  his  army  at  Gettysburg  was  to  check-mate  this  move- 
ment and  retain  them  east  of  the  mountain.  This  concentra- 
tion was  so  admirably  ordered  that  Ewell  from  Carlisle,  Early 
from  York,  and  Hill  from  Chambersburg,  all  reached  Gettys- 
burg within  a  few  hours  of  each  other  on  July  1st.  General 
Meade,  on  the  other  hand,  instead  of  carrying  out  Hooker's 
plan  of  moving  through  Boonsboro '  Pass  to  the  western  side 
of  the  mountain,  had  pushed  his  army  northward,  in  order  to 
force  Lee  from  the  Susquehannah,  and  with  the  intention  of 
not  declining  battle  if  his  antagonist  would  attack.  So  when 
he  found  that  Ewell  had  turned  back,  and  before  he  knew  that 
his  own  advance  was  already  seriously  engaged  at  Gettysburg, 
he  issued  the  following  order  from  Taneytown,  July  1st: 
*  From  information  received,  the  Commanding  General  is  sat- 
isfied that  the  object  of  the  movement  of  the  army  in  this 
direction  has  been  accomplished,  viz :  the  relief  of  Harrisburg 
and  the  prevention  of  the  enemy's  intended  invasion  of  Penn- 
sylvania beyond  the  Susquehannah.  It  is  no  longer  his  inten- 
tion to  assume  the  offensive  until  the  enemy's  movements  or 
position  shall  render  such  an  operation  certain  of  success.  If 
the  enemy  assume  the  offensive,  and  attack,  it  is  his  intention, 
after  holding  them  in  check  sufficiently  long  to  withdraw  the 


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434  The  BatUe  of  Gettysburg.  [April, 

trains  and  other  impediments,  to  withdraw  the  army  from  it^ 
present  position,  and  form  line  of  battle  with  the  left  resting 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Middleburg,  and  the  right  at  Man- 
chester, the  general  direction  being  that  of  Pipe  CreeJ^.' 

But  the  great  conflict  had  already  begun.  Hill,  moving 
down  the  Cashtown  road,  first  met  Buford's  cavalry,  which  he 
drove  leisurely  before  him  to  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
town.  Keynolds,  with  the  First  Corps,  was  already  marching 
through  Gettysburg,  and  he  hurried  forward  his  advance  divi- 
sion to  Seminary  Ridge,  to  support  the  cavalry.  He  fell  just 
as  he  was  getting  his  troops  into  position,  and  the.  Federal  army 
thus  lost  one  of  its  bravest  and  most  efficient  officers.  The 
movement  was  carried  on,  however,  by  Doubleday,  and  resulted 
in  a  success  at  first,  the  Federal  troops  charging  and  capturing 
General  Archer  and  a  part  of  his  brigade.  Hill  soon  brought 
the  entire  divisions  of  Pender  and  Heth,  amounting  to  12,000 
or  14,000  men,  into  action,  and  pressed  back  the  Union  line. 
Other  forces  were  added  before  long  to  both  sides.  Howard, 
with  the  Eleventh  Federal  Corps,  arrived  by  mid-day,  and  took 
position  on  the  night  of  tlie  1st.  Howard  took  comjnand,  and 
now  had  about  20,000  infantry.  Ewell,  who  was  moving  from 
Carlisle,  hearing  the  guns,  pushed  on,  and  a  little  after  mid-day 
reached  the  vicinity  of  the  field  from  the  north,  with  Eodes^s 
division,  and  Early  soon  followed.  These  divisions  increased 
the  Confederate  force  to  from  22,000  to  24,000  men.  Kodes 
attacked  the  flank  of  the  enemy's  line,  and  was  soon  furiously 
engaged.  Hill  was  pressing  the  front  in  a  stubborn  contest, 
and  the  Federal  lines  were  already  wavering,  when  Early 
reached  the  field,  and  by  a  splendid  charge,  gave  the  €(nij>  d€ 
grace  to  the  Eleventh  Corps.  It  was  routed,  and  the  whole 
Union  line  gave  way  and  was  driven  in  confusion  and  with 
immense  loss  through  and  beyond  the  town.  General  Howard 
had  taken  the  precaution  to  leave  one  of  his  divisions  in  re- 
serve upon  the  crest  of  Cemetery  Hill,  and  on  this  nucleus  he 
rallied  his  broken  troops,  and  made  once  more  a  considerable 
show  of  force.  This  was  sufficient  to  put  an  end  to  the  con- 
test for  that  day.  Though  Early  advised  an  attack  on  the 
heights,  Ewell  and  Hill  thought  it  better  to  wait.     Johnson's 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  435 

and  Anderson's  divisions,  one-third  of  each  of  their  corps,  were 
not  up,  the  position  of  the  enemy  appeared  formidable,  they 
knew  not  what  Federal  troops  besides  those  they  had  already 
met,  might  be  in  reserve  on  the  heights,  and  the  great  success 
of  the  day  had  not  been  achieved  without  severe  losses.  Hence 
they  determined  to  rest  satisfied  with  having  utterly  defeated 
two  corps  of  the  Union  army,  and  captured  5,000  prisoners  and 
several  pieces  of  artillery.  It  is  easy  to  see,  in  the  light  of 
subsequent  events,  that  a  great  opportunity  was  thus  lost ;  but 
with  the  facts  before  them,  their  action  was  perhaps  not  unrea- 
sonable. General  Lee  had  ordered  Hill  to  continue  to  push 
liie  enemy,  but,  upon  reaching  the  field  late  in  the  evening,  and 
finding  that  Hill  had  ceased  pursuit,  and  had  withdrawn  his 
troops,  he  concluded,  on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  to 
defer  any  further  movement  till  morning. 

Meanwhile,  General  Meade,  after  he  had  issued  the  order 
given  above,  in  reference  to  concentrating  on  Pipe  Creek,  was 
informed  of  the  Confederate  attack  at  Gettysburg,  and  of  the 
fall  of  Keynolds,  when  he  sent  General  Hancock  forward  to 
take  command  of  the  field,  and  report  as  to  the  practicability 
of  making  Gettysburg  the  battle-ground.  Hancock  arrived 
after  the  fight,  and  having  placed  the  troops  in  position,  and 
examined  the  ground,  reported  favorably,  and  advised  General 
Meade  to  concentrate  his  whole  army  there.  Indeed,  no  other 
course  was  possible  after  the  events  of  the  day,  unless  he  was 
willing  to  yield  tlie  palm  of  victorj'  without  further  effort. 
Sickles  and  Slocum  arrived  about  dark  on  the  field,  and  were 
placed  in  position,  and  Meade  hastened  up  the  remainder  of 
his  army  during  the  night,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  second. 

Whatever  were  General  Lee's  previous  designs,  he  now 
found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  Federal  army, 
and  actually  engaged  with  it.  It  was  hardly  possible  to  decline 
the  gage  of  battle.  To  have  retreated  without  fighting,  would 
have  been  to  throw  all  the  moral  results  of  victory  on  the  side 
of  the  enemy.  Nor  was  it  an  easy  matter  to  retreat  from  the 
immediate  presence  of  a  superior  army,  or  to  maintain  himself 
in  a  hostile  country  after  having  done  so.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Army  of  Northern  Vii^nia  was  in  splendid  condition,  the 


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436  The  BatOe  of  GeUyshurg.  [Aprils 

partial  combat  of  the  first  day  had  resulted  in  the  demolition 
of  nearly  one-fourth  of  the  opposing  force,  and  was  a  favorable 
omen  of  final  triumph,  and  the  results  hanging  upon  a  decide 
victory  were  greater  than  ever  before.  The  North  and  its- 
great  cities  would  be  open  to  him,  the  Federal  successes  in  the 
West  would  be  neutralized,  and  consternation  and  dismay 
would  paralyze  the  Government.     He  decided  to  deliver  battle. 

During  the  evening  and  night.  General  Lee  made  use  of  all 
the  means  at  his  command,  (Stuart  had  not  yet  rejoined  him 
with  the  cavalry,)  to  determine  the  strength  and  position  of  the 
enemy.  The  position  of  Gettysburg,  at  this  day,  hardly  needs 
description.  It  consists  of  a  high,  conmianding  ridge,  running 
from  the  rear  of  the  town  in  a  southerly  direction,  and  termi- 
nating in  an  abrupt  hill,  known  as  Round  Top.  A  cemetery 
on  this  ridge,  near  the  town,  has  given  name  to  the  location. 
At  the  town,  the  ridge  turns  to  the  east,  nearly  at  right  angles 
to  its  former  course,  and  afforded  in  Cap  Hill  a  fine  resting 
point  for  the  Federal  right.  The  Twelfth  Corps  was  posted 
there,  then  the  First  and  the  Eleventh  behind  the  town.  To 
the  left  of  these,  the  Fifth,  then  the  Second  and  Third.  The 
Sixth  did  not  arrive  until  late  next  day.  These  dispositions 
were  made  by  General  Meade  as  his  troops  came  np  during 
the  night  of  the  first,  and  morning  of  the  second,  of  July.  The 
Confederate  commander  brought  up  during  the  night  Johnson's 
division,  and  placed  it  on  the  extreme  left  of  Ewell's  corps, 
confronting  Slocum;  Ewell  extended  through  the  town  and 
joined  Hill,  Anderson  continued  Hill's  line  to  the  right,  while 
beyond  him  was  placed  Longstreet,  with  the  divisions  of 
McLaws  and  Hood.  Stuart  was  ordered  up  from  Carlisle  with 
the  cavalry,  to  the  left. 

More  than  half  the  day  passed  before  General  Lee's  disposi- 
tions were  all  made.  During  the  forenoon  nothing  of  import- 
ance transpired.  There  was  an  artillery  fight  between  Johnson 
on  the  left,  and  the  forces  opposed  to  him,  and  it  seems  that 
General  Meade  contemplated  an  attack  on  the  Confederate 
lines  in  that  quarter,  but  was  deterred  by  the  adverse  opinions 
of  Generals  Warren  and  Slocum.  On  the  Confederate  right, 
however,  Longstreet  was  preparing  to  attack.    Here  the  Fed- 


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1869.]  The  BatUe  of  Getty simrg.  437 

eral  lines  had  been  thrown  forward,  some  half  or  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  in  advance  of  the  Cemetery  ridge,  and  ran  along  a 
less  elevated  ridge  in  front  of  the  main  one.  The  Third  Corps 
— General  Sickles — held  this  position.  This  constituted  at  the 
time  the  Federal  left,  and  here  Longstreet,  supported  by  part 
of  Hill's  corps,  attacked  with  vigor.  The  struggle  was  severe, 
but  though  Sickles  was  supported  by  Hancock  on  his  right, 
and  by  Sykes,  with  the  Fifth  Corps,  on  his  left,  he  was  finally 
routed  and  driven  with  great  loss  from  the  field.  Sykes,  after 
a  fierce  contest,  succeeded  in  holding  on  to  Round  Top,  and 
General  Meade,  by  hurrying  up  the  Sixth  Corps,  and  portions 
of  the  First  and  Twelfth,  reformed  his  line  along  the  crest  of 
the  main  ridge,  and  at  that  point  stayed  Longstreet's  progress. 
But  the  whole  left  of  the  Federal  army  had  been  forced  with 
heavy  loss  from  its  position,  and  the  Confederates  now  held  the 
ground.  While  this  was  going  on  along  Longstreet's  line, 
Ewell,  on  the  other  wing,' was  preparing  to  strike  the  force  in 
his  front.  But  the  attack  was  made  too  late  to  prevent  Slocum 
from  sending  reinforcements  to  Sickles,  and  though  a  spirited 
fight  was  kept  up  till  dark,  and  Johnson  carried  a  part  of  the 
enemy's  works,  and  Early  forced  back  the  lines  on  Cemetery 
Hill,  yet  from  the  divisions  not  acting  in  concert,  no  important 
advantage  was  obtained. 

Night  closed  on  the  contending  armies,  and  though  General 
Lee's  success  had  not  been  so  marked  as  on  the  preceding  day, 
it  had,  nevertheless,  been  great.  One  wing  of  the  Federal 
army  had  been  driven  from  its  position  with  very  heavy  loss ; 
his  own  troops  were  now  in  position  to  assault  the  main,  and 
last  position  of  the  enemy,  which,  if  carried,  must  bring  ruin 
on  the  foe,  and  his  own  losses,  though  severe,  had  not  aflfected 
the  morale  of  the  troops.  General  Meade  stated  that  the 
Federal  losses  footed  up  on  this  night  20,000  men.  Those  of 
the  Confederates  did  not  exceed  from  10,000  to  12,000.  There 
was  every  indication  of  the  ultimate  success  of  the  latter,  not- 
withstanding the  strength  of  position,  and  superiority  of  num- 
bers, and  artillery  against  them.  The  strongest  evidence  in 
corroboration  of  this  statement  is  the  fact,  that  the  Federal 
conmiander  on  this  night  held  a  council  of  war,  at  which  the 


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438  The  Battle  of  Gettyabtirg,  [April, 

question  of  retreat  was  seriously  discussed.  Several  memberB 
of  the  council  voted  for  retreat,  and  General  Butterfield  testi- 
fied that  General  Meade  himself  expressed  decided  dissatdsfiio- 
tion  when  the  majority  voted  in  favor  of  remaining,  and 
risking  another  day  of  battle. 

General  Lee  made  little  or  no  change  in  the  disposition  of 
his  troops  for  the  morrow's  fight.  Pickett's  division,  of  Long- 
street's  corps,  arrived  djiring  the  night,  thus  giving  him  4,000 
troops  that  had  not  heretofore  been  engaged,  and  these  he 
determined  to  make  the  centre  and  mass  of  the  column  of 
attack  on  his  right.  The  Confederate  line  was  necessarily 
long,  a  fact  that  rendered  it  difficult  to  obtain  a  simultaneous 
attack  from  the  whole  army  on  the  enemy's  position.  A  failure 
to  secure  this  close  co-operation  on  the  2d  had  prevented  Lee's 
gaining  the  victory  which  seemed  within  his  grasp.  He  made 
earnest  efforts  to  prevent  a  recurrence  of  this  on  the  next  day, 
but,  as  it  proved,  with  only  partial  success.  As  the  enemy 
held  Round  Top,  which  afforded  a  position  of  great  strength 
for  their  flank,  the  point  selected  for  attack  by  Longstreet  was 
a  part  of  the  ridge  between  Eound  Top  and  Cemetery  Hill, 
which  constituted  the  left  centre  of  Meade's  line,  and  was  held 
by  Hancock.  At  the  same  time,  Ewell  was  directed  to  pudi 
the  advantage  gained  by  Johnson  on  the  Federal  right  flank. 
Heth's  division  and  two  brigades  under  Wilcox,  of  Hill's 
corps,  were  directed  to  support  Longstreet,  and  the  remainder 
was  to  occupy  the  enemy  in  their  front. 

The  battle  opened  on  Swell's  line  early  in  the  day.  The 
part  of  Slocum's  corps  which  had  been  sent  to  assist  Sickles 
and  Sykes  the  evening  before,  returned  in  the  night  and 
attacked  Johnson  in  the  works  he  had  captured  soon  in  the 
morning.  A  fierce  contest  raged  here  for  several  hours. 
Johnson  repulsed  the  attack  upon  him,  but  was  unable  to  make 
any  headway  against  the  enemy.  He  made  two  attacks  upon 
their  position,  but  was  driven  back.  While  this  fight  was 
going  on,  and  it  continued  till  mid-day,  all  was  quiet  along  the 
remainder  of  the  line.  Longstreet  had  not  yet  perfected  hie 
dispositions  for  assault,  and  the  artillery  was  being  massed  <m 
Seminary  Ridge.     It  was  a  beautiful,  bright  July  day,  and  as 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  .  439 

the  jfiring  gradually  ceased  on  Johnson's  front,  all  became  still. 
It  was  hard  to  realize,  as  one  looked  out  upon  that  little 
valley  and  town  lying  so  quietly  in  the  sunlight,  that  this  was 
but  the  calm  before  the  death-dealing  storm,  in  which  a  last 
libation  of  blood  was  about  to  be  poured  out  in  a  conflict  unpa- 
ralleled in  the  New  World,  which  would  consecrate  this  obscure 
spot  to  undying  fame. 

Between  one  and  two  o'clock  all  \^  ready.  One  hundred 
and  fifteen  guns  covered  Seminary  Ridge.  Pickett  was  in 
position.  The  order  was  given,  and  the  artillery  opened  fire 
upon  the  opposite  crest.  Here  General  Meade's  position  being 
confined,  he  could  bring  but  seventy  or  eighty  guns  into  line 
at  once  to  reply,  but  having  more  than  two  hundred  pieces  in 
reserve,  as  fast  as  those  on  the  front  were  disabled,  or  exhausted 
of  ammunition,  they  were  replaced  by  others.  The  fire  quickly 
opened  along  both  lines,  at  first  in  regular  and  measured  tread, 
like  the  roll  of  thunder,  then  gradually  deepening  and  thick- 
ening until  it  became  the  angry  roar  of  the  present  hurricane. 
No  interval  could  be  distinguished  between  the  discharges ; 
it  was  one  perpetual,  deepening  roar.  The  smoky  air  seemed 
alive  with  bursting  projectiles ;  the  earth  trembled  under  the 
shock. 

For  nearly  two  hours  this  confiict  of  artillery  continued. 
Then  the  Federal  fire  slackened,  and  General  Lee  ordered 
the  infantry  to  attack.  Pickett  held  the  middle,  his  division 
in  double  lines,  and  advanced  in  splendid  order.  On  his  left, 
was  Pettigrew  commanding  Heth's  division;  on  his  right 
was  Wilcox  with  two  brigades.  A  mile  of  open  valley  and 
slope  was  to  be  crossed  before  reaching  the  enemy's  lines. 
Steadily  and  grandly  did  these  Virginians  cross  the  valley  of 
death.  Their  supports  gave  way  on  the  right  and  left.  Heth's 
division  wavered  and  broke  under  the  terrible  fire  ere  they  had 
reached  the  foot  of  the  slope.  So,  too,  the  right  was  exposed 
by  the  failure  of  the  brigades  there  to  keep  up.  Yet  Pickett 
went  on,  through  the  shelling,  through  the  canister,  in  spite  of 
the  oblique  fire  from  right  and  left,  now  concentrated  on  him, 
through  the  musketry,  up  to  the  enemy's  works  and  over  them. 
The  Federal  line  was  broken,  the  guns  captured,  and  the  troops 


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440  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  [April, 

holding  them  put  to  flight.  Had  his  supports,  right  and  left, 
promptly  seconded  him,  this  day  would  have  added  another  to 
the  list  of  the  disasters  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  But  Han- 
cock exerted  himself  with  great  courage  and  skill,  to  stay  the 
proceedings  of  defeat.  The  troops  on  both  sides  were  hurled 
upon  Pickett's  flanks,  others  were  brought  to  fill  up  the  gap  in 
his  front.  Then  a  short  but  terrible  struggle,  in  which  all  his 
brigade  commanders,  an(}^pearly  all  his  regimental  commanders, 
went  down,  and  Pickett,  leaving  more  than  half  his  division 
dead,  wounded,  or  prisoners,  was  driven  back  to  the  Confede- 
rate lines.  The  brigades  on  his  right  moved  up,  after  his  re- 
pulse, to  attack,  but  did  not  reach  the  works  before  they  were 
forced  to  retire.  Generals  Lee  an4  Longstreet  met  the  shat- 
tered troops,  and  by  their  personal  efforts,  soon  re-formed  them. 
An  English  oflScer  present  thus  speaks  of  them :  *  If  Long- 
street's  behavior  was  admirable,  that  of  General  Lee  was  per- 
fectly sublime.  He  was  engaged  in  rallying  and  encouraging 
the  broken  troops,  and  was  riding  about  a  little  in  front  of  the 
wood,  quite  alone — his  staff  being  engaged  in  a  similar  manner 
further  to  the  rear.  His  face,  which  is  always  placid  and 
cheerful,  did  not  show  signs  of  the  slightest  disappointment, 
care,  or  annoyance,  and  he  was  addressing  to  every  soldier  he 
met,  a  few  words  of  encouragement,  such  as,  "  All  this  will 
come  out  right  in  the  end  ;  we  will  talk  it  over  afterwards,  but 
meanwhile  all  good  men  must  rally.  We  want  all  good  and 
true  men  just  now,  &c.,  &c."  He  spoke  to  all  the  wounded 
men  that  passed  him,  and  the  slightly  wounded  he  exhorted 
^' to  bind  up  their  hnrts  and  take  up  a  musket"  in  this  emer- 
gency. Yery  few  failed  to  answer  his  appeal,  and  I  saw  many 
badly  wounded  men  take  off  their  hats  and  cheer  him.' 

Though  General  Meade  had  thus  successfully  repulsed  the 
attack  on  his  lines,  he  had  suffered  too  much  in  this  day's  battle, 
as  well  as  those  of  the  preceding  days,  to  follow  up  liis  advan- 
tage. He  made  a  feeble  effort  in  the  evening  to  throw  forward 
his  left,  to  attack  in  turn,  but  the  movement  was  not  pressed, 
and  at  night  he  occupied  the  lines  he  had  held  all  day. 

The  Confederate  army  suffered  severely  in  the  third  day's 
battle,  and  after  Pickett's  failure.  General  Lee  determined  not 


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1869.]  The  BatOe  of  GeUyshurg.  441 

to  risk  another  assault  upon  the  Federal  position.  This  deci- 
sion, together  with  the  difficulty  of  supplying  his  army  in  pre- 
sence of  a  superior  force,  from  a  hostile  territory,  and  the  re- 
duction of  his  ammunition,  determined  him  to  retreat  He 
remained  at  Gettysburg,  however,  during  the  4th,  after  having 
drawn  back  his  left  from  the  east  of  the  town,  and  placed  it  in 
position  on  the  prolongation  of  Seminary  Badge.  Here  he 
took  np  a  position  to  receive  attack,  if  it  should  be  made,  while 
arranging  the  withdrawal  of  his  trains,  and  of  his  wounded,  to 
the  Potomac.  On  the  night  of  the  4th,  he  began  his  move- 
ment, and  reached  Hagerstown  on  the  6th  and  7th. 

During  the  4th,  General  Meade  showed  no  disposition  to 
disturb  his  antagonist.  Indeed  the  Federal  army  was  not  in 
condition  to  do  anything.  The  losses  of  the  three  days 
amounted  to  nearly  24,000  men.  Those  of  the  Confederates 
did  not  exceed  18,000  or  20,000.  But  while  the  Federal  official 
reports  give  their  losses  at  24,000  killed,  wounded,  and  pris- 
oners, that  army  was  so  much  demoralized  and  scattered  by  the 
three  days'  conflict,  that  the  corps  commanders,  at  a  council  of 
war  held  by  General  Meade  on  the  night  of  the  4th,  Reported 
that  the  strength  of  the  army  then  was  less  than  52,000  men. 
One  of  the  questions  before  the  council  was,  whether  or  not  the 
Federal  ai^ny  sJiould  retreat^  and  General  Biney  testifies  that 
it  was  decided  to  remain  only  twenty-four  hours  longer^  thai 
more  definite  information  might  he  obtained  in  regard  to  Le^9 
movements.  Yet  Gettysburg  has  been  placed  prominently,  by 
Swinton,  among  his  so-called  *  decisive  battles  of  the  war!' 
And  the  Bev.  Dr.  Jacobs,  a  Gettysburg  professor,  whose  know- 
ledge of  mathematics,  if  it  bear  any  proportion  to  the  capacity 
displayed  in  his  little  book  for  falsification,  must  render  him  an 
ornament  to  that  science,  thinks  this  battle  the  Confederate 
Waterloo ! 

On  the  morning  of  the  5th,  however.  General  Lee's  retreat 
was  discovered,  and  a  show  of  pursuit  made  by  sending  the 
Sixth  Corps  (Sedgewick's,)  after  him.  The  main  body  of  the 
army  moved  toward  Frederick,  and  the  troops  just  mentioned 
only  followed  as  far  as  Fairfield,  when  they  returned  and 
joined  the  remainder  of  the  army. 
13 

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442  The  BatUe  of  GeUysfmrg,  [April, 

General  Lee  having  reached  Hagerstown,  and  finding  the 
river  too  full  to  cross,  took  up  a  position,  covering  the  Potomac 
from  Williamsport  to  Falling  Waters.  The  Federal  army 
having  marched  slowly  from  Frederick,  appeared  in  his  front 
on  the  12th.  During  this  day  and  the  next,  he  waited  their 
attack,  and  then,  the  river  having  become  fordable,  and  a 
bridge  being  ready,  he  crossed  into  Virginia.  In  this  move- 
ment he  lost  only  two  disabled  guns,  and  a  few  prisoners 
picked  up  in  a  dash  at  his  rear  guard,  on  the  morning  of 
the  14th,  in  which  affair  General  Pettigrew  fell.  On  the  12th, 
General  Meade  submitted  the  question  of  attack  to  a  council 
of  war,  and  although  General  French,  with  8,000  men,  Resides 
large  bodies  of  new  troops,  had  come  up,  the  council  almost 
unanimously  decided  against  it ;  showing  in  a  conclusive  manner 
the  condition  of  his  army. 

The  Confederate  army,  after  its  passage  of  the  Potoiliac, 
moved  back  to  Bunker's  Hill,  where  it  rested  for  some  days, 
and  then  in  consequence  of  the  movements  of  General  Meade, 
who  crossed  at  Berlin,  and  was  marching  along  the  eastern  side 
of  the  Blue  Ridge,  it  returned  by  way  of  Front  Eoyal  to  the 
line  of  the  Rappahannock.  This  retreat  was  uneventlul,  save 
that  an  effort  was  made  by  throwing  a  strong  force  through 
Manassas  Gap,  to  cut  oflF  a  part  of  the  Confederate  army,  which 
Attempt  was  entirely  imsuccessful. 

The  campaign  was  now  virtually  over.  Both  armies  lay  for 
some  months  quietly  on  the  Rappahannock.  Later  in  the  sum- 
mer. General  Lee  detached  Longstreet  with  one-third  of  his 
army,  for  the  purpose  of  re-inforcing  Bragg.  General  Meade 
also  sent  off  some  troops.  In  October,  when  the  Federal  com- 
mander, his  army  once  more  filled  up  by  the  return  of  the 
troops  sent  away,  was  about  to  move  forward.  General  Lee  an- 
ticipated him,  and  by  a  flank  movement,  forced  him  back  to 
Centreville  and  the  vicinity  of  Washington.  The  Confederate 
forces  were  too  inferior,  in  the  absence  of  Longstreet,  to  admit 
of  a  general  battle  unless  under  very  favorable  circumstances. 
So,  after  tearing  up  the  railroad.  General  Lee  returned.  The 
last  movement  of  the  year  was  the  crossing  of  the  Rapidan^ 
early  in  December,  by  Meade,  with  the  intention  of  attacking 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  443 

the  Confederate  flank,  but  after  the  troops  were  disposed,  and 
orders  issued  for  this  purpose,  the  Federal  commander  con- 
eluded  to  withdraw  without  risking  battle.  At  this  time  the 
Federal  army  numbered  from  60,000  to  70,000;  the  Confede- 
rate army  from  30,000  to  33,000. 

Such  is  the  outline  of  the  campaign  of  Gettysburg.  The 
design  with  which  it  was  undertaken  has  not  been  more  often 
misconceived,  than  have  the  results  that  flowed  from  it  been 
over-stated.  We  have  seen  the  circumstances  which  led  to  its 
inception ;  how  it  became  necessary  for  General  Lee,  in  the 
early  summer,  to  make  a  forward  movement,  or  permit  his  ad- 
versary, with  strengthened  forces  and  the  knowledge  derived 
from  two  failures,  to  throw  himself  once  more  on  either  flank, 
and  imitate  the  campaign  actually  carried  out  in  the  preceding 
year ;  how  the  constantly  increasing  disparity  of  force  between 
thfe  combatants  rendered  inactivity  dangerous ;  how  the  success 
of  Chancellorsville  was  to  be  improved  only  by  an  aggressive 
campaign;  with  what  strategy  Hooker  was  disengaged,  first 
from  the  Rappahannock,  and  then  from  the  Potomac;  witli 
what  purpose  the  Confederate  army  was  pushed  into  the  very 
heart  of  Pennsylvania ;  how,  from  the  absence  of  his  cavalr}-, 
the  Confederate  leader  found  himself  unexpectedly  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Union  army,  and  determined  to  give  battle ;  how 
the  repulse  on  the  third  day  at  Gettysburg  neutralized  the  suc- 
cesses of  the  first  two  days,  and  rendered  a  withdrawal  into 
Virginia  necessary;  how  the  Federal  army  suffered  too  severely 
to  follow  up  its  advantage,  and  was  content  to  guard  the  Rap- 
pahannock while  General  Lee  detached  one-third  of  his  force 
to  stay  the  tide  of  misfortune  in  the  West.  The  results  of  the 
campaign  were  indecisive.  Probably  no  one  of  Mr.  Swinton's 
'  decisive  battles '  is  less  entitled  to  this  appellation  than  Get- 
tysburg. The  exaggerated  ideas  in  regard  to  its  effects,  are 
doubtless  due  to  the  consternation  and  alarm  excited  by  the 
march  of  Lee  into  Pennsylvania.  This  gave  rise  to  excessive 
apprehensions  in  the  North,  and  excessive  expectations  in  the 
South.  Those  who  one  day  thought  that  Philadelphia,  New 
York,  and  even  Boston,  were  within  the  invader's  grasp,  easily 
imagined  on  the  next,  that  the  repulse  at  Gettysburg  was  a 


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444  The  BatOe  of  GeUysbwrg.  [April, 

crashing  blow  to  the  fortunes  of  the  Confederacy.  The  fact  is, 
that  neither  was  true.  The  failure  at  Gettysburg  inflicted 
severe  loss  on  the  Southern  army,  cut  short  Lee's  summer  cam- 
paign in  Pennsylvania,  and  relieved  the  North  of  its  fears  for 
the  safety  of  the  great  cities.  On  the  other  hand,  the  balance 
of  gain  rested  with  the  Confederates.  The  damage  inflicted 
on  the  Union  army  paralyzed  it  for  the  remainder  of  the  year, 
enabled  Lee  to  hold  in  security,  with  but  a  part  of  his  force, 
the  line  of  the  Rapidan,  and  prevented  the  contemplated  move- 
ment against  Richmond.  The  march  northward  relieved  Vir- 
ginia of  the  presence  of  hostile  troops  while  the  harvest  was 
being  gathered,  lifted  the  yoke  for  a  time  from  her  people,  and 
replenished  the  scanty  Confederate  commissariat  The  relative 
strength  and  condition  of  the  two  armies  on  the  1st  of  August 
was  not  widely  difterent  from  what  it  had  been  on  the  1st  of 
June,  but  the  campaign  against  Richmond,  which  Hooker  was 
preparing  to  inaugurate  when  the  movement  b^an,  was  no 
longer  possible.  If  Lee  had  remained  stationary  on  the  Rap- 
pahannock, equal  advantages  could  not  have  been  secured. 
Besides  the  diflSculties  growing  out  of  inaction,  and  the  meagre 
and  precarious  condition  of  his  supplies,  a  forward  movement 
of  the  Federals  would  have  turned  his  position,  and  forced  him 
to  give  battle  in  the  open  field,  or  fall  back  on  some  inner  line. 
Even  had  Chancellorsville  been  repeated,  the  situation  of  affairs, 
after  another  repulse  of  Hooker,  would  have  been  much  as  it 
actually  was  after  Lee's  return  to  the  Rappahannock,  while  in 
the  meantime  a  large  portion  of  the  most  productive  part  of 
Virginia  would  have  remained  in  the  enemy's  hands,  who  would 
have  been  free  to  prosecute,  without  interruption,  his  plans 
elsewhere. 

But  though  the  results  of  Gettysburg  were  thus  indecisive, 
it  might  have  been  far  otherwise.  Had  General  Lee  succeeded 
in  his  bold  dash  against  the  Federal  army,  and  driven  it  with 
the  loss  of  its  immense  artillery  from  Seminary  Ridge,  the 
advantage  thus  gained  would  have  been  most  important  to  the 
Confederacy.  It  would  have  opened  Pennsylvania  to  him  for 
the  time,  would  possibly  have  given  him  Baltimore,  would  have 
caused  the  recall  of  General  Grant,  and  the  abandonment  of 


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1869.]  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  445 

the  successful  Union  campaign  in  the  Southwest,  and  might 
possibly,  though  not  probably,  have  strengthened  the  peace 
party  in  the  North,  sufficiently  to  have  seriously  embarassed 
the  Lincoln  Administration.  It  was  the  prospect  of  these 
gains  that  reconciled  General  Lee  to  delivering  battle  when  he 
found  it  imminent ;  these  were  the  prizes  which  trembled  in 
the  balance  for  three  days,  and  which  would  have  been  his, 
had  he  at  any  time  during  that  period  been  able  to  secure  a 
combined  and  simultaneous  attack  on  the  Federal  position. 

On  the  contrary,  had  Gettysburg  been  the  Waterloo  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Jacobs,  General  Meade,  at  the  head  of  a  victorious 
army,  his  losses  more  than  repaired  by  the  troops  about  Wash- 
ington, and  by  the  new  lines  coming  in,  with  full  command  of 
the  sea  and  the  rivers,  with  an  abundance  of  supplies  and 
material  at  hand,  would  have  crushed  or  pushed  aside  the 
remains  of  the  Confederate  army  which  the  South  had  no 
power  to  recruit,  and  penetrating  to  the  heart  of  Virginia, 
have  ended  the  war  by  the  capture  of  the  Southern  capital. 

But  the  fates  had  not  so  decreed.  The  mighty  contest  which 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  had  maintained  for  three  years 
with  insufficient  men  and  means,  against  the  power  of  the 
North,  was  to  have  another  and  a  closing  scene  of  unsurpassed 
grandeur.  Both  parties  were  to  rest  after  the  exhausting 
struggle  of  Gettysburg,  and  then  to  join  in  the  final  conflict. 
The  great  man  whose  talents  and  ability  had  so  far  borne  up 
the  Confederacy  in  the  east,  was  to  give  a  still  loftier  manifes- 
tation of  his  genius,  and  in  the  tremendous  campaign  of 
1864-5,  to  leave  to  the  world  an  example  of  military  skill 
which,  all  things  considered,  is  unsurpassed  in  the  annals  of 
war. 


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446  The  Sun.  [April, 


Akt.  IX. — 1.  Familiar  Lectures  on  Scientific  Subjects,  Bj 
Sir  John  F.  W.  Herschel,  Bart,  K.  H.;  M.  A.;  D.  C.  L.; 
F.  R  S.  I.;  &c.,&c.  Lecture  11.  The  Sun.  New  York-. 
George  Routledge  &  Sons.     1869. 

2.  Popular  Astronomy.  By  Franf  ois  Arago,  Perpetual  Sec- 
retary of  the  Academy  of  Sciences.     In  two  volumes. 

1858. 

Of  all  the  physical  sciences — and  a  glorious  sisterhood  they 
are — astronomy  is,  beyond  question,  the  most  ennobling  and 
sublime ;  expanding  the  mind,  and  filling  the  imagination,  with 
grand  conceptions  of  the  infinite  power,  and  wisdom,  and  good- 
ness, and  glory  of  God.  It  is,  then,  most  worthy  of  the  con- 
sideration and  study  of  beings  made  in  the  image  of  the  great 
Architect  of  the  universe. 

We  all  think  too  much  of  the  houses  we  live  in.  These, 
whether  mean  or  magnificent,  occupy  our  thoughts  and  feelings 
far  too  much.  The  astronomer  is,  indeed,  the  only  person  who 
never  errs  i^  this  respect ;  for  he,  however  poor  and  penniless, 
lives  in  a  house  which  can  never.be  suflSciently  admired ;  in 
the  house,  namely,  that  God  himself  has  built  and  beautified. 
In  other  words,  he  lives  in  this  '  our  Father's  house '  of  the 
universe,  in  which  there  are  truly  *  many  mansions ' ;  mansions 
whose  foundations  underlie  all  worlds,  and  whose  pinnacles 
glitter  in  all  the  stars  of  heaven.  The  magnificent  mansions  of 
this  house — the  admiration  of  men,  and  of  angels,  and  of  gods 
— are  the  abodes  of  the  blessed,  from  the  ever-blessed  God  him- 
self down  to  the  poorest  of  his  children. 

But  does  not  every  man,  as  well  as  the  astronomer,  live  in 
this  house  ?  By  no  means.  On  the  contrary,  most  men  merely 
exist  in  this  great  temple  of  the  universe,  pretty  much  as  stocks, 
or  stones,  (jr  stars,  or  stumps,  exist  therein,  with  little  sense  of 
its  infinite  magnificence  or  beauty,  or  of  the  infinite  greatness 
and  glory  of  its  divine  Author.  They  exist ;  they  do  not  live. 
If,  indeed,  with  mind,  heart,  soul,  and  imagination,  they  were 


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1869.]  The  Sun.  447 

only  alive  to  the  unutterable  wonders  of  the  world  around  ub, 
they  would  learn  to  walk  humbly  before  their  God,  instead  of 
strutting,  as  many  now  do,  and  spreading  the  peacock  mag- 
nificence of  their  pride,  for  the  astonishment  of  the  poor  earth- 
worms at  their  feet.  Shall  we,  then,  like  the  devout  astron- 
omer, whom  Josephus  calls  *  the  son  of  God',  live  and  worship 
in  His  house ;  or  shall  we,  like  the  inferior  animals,  merely 
gaze,  with  unmeaning  vacant  stare,  on  *  this  majestic  fabric  of 
the  world '  ?  Shall  we,  like  the  dumb  creatures  around  us,  be 
satisfied  to  browse  upon  the  earth ;  or  shall  we,  like  veritable 
'  sons  of  God',  enter  into  *  our  Father's  house',  and  there  feast 
on  the  food  of  angels?  The  latter  is,  no  doubt,  our  hope,  as  it  is 
our  high  destiny.  But  if  we  would  really  enter  into  the  august 
temple  of  the  universe,  or  house  of  God ;  the  only  vestibule  for 
us  to  gain  admission  at,  is  the  sun  of  our  system,  or,  as  the 
poet  calls  it,  *  our  chief  star.'  For  it  is  only  from  a  knowledge 
of  this  fixed  star,  or  sun,  and  his  attendant  worlds,  that  we  can 
rise  to  a  rational  contemplation  of  the  other  fixed  stars  and  sys- 
tems of  infinite  space.  Our  solar  system  is,  then,  the  ante- 
chamber to  the  universe. 

Our  present  subject  embraces,  not  the  laws,  nor  the  mechan- 
ism, of  the  material  universe,  but  only  a  few  of  its  great  and 
astounding  facts.  One  of  these  is  the  sun.  The  sun,  though 
but  a  spark  of  the  divine  Omnipotence,  is  of  a  magnitude  and 
glory  far  too  great  to  be  grasped  by  our  minds,  or  realized  by 
our  imaginations.  Two  elements  are  necessary  to  determine  the 
magnitude  of  the  sun,  namely,  his  apparent  diameter,  and  his 
real  distance  from  the  earth.  His  apparent  diameter  is  easily 
measured.  But  what  is  his  distance  from  the  earth  ?  Until 
this  question  be  answered,  it  will  be  impossible  to  determine 
the  size  of  the  sun.  As  the  sun  and  moon  appear  to  be  of 
nearly  the  sam^  size ;  so,  if  we  omit  the  element  of  distance, 
we  should  conclude,  as  many  of  the  ancients  did,  that  they  are 
really  equal,  or  nearly  equal,  in  point  of  magnitude.  But  this 
were  an  immense  error.  If,  indeed,  the  sun  were  as  near  to  u« 
as  the  moon,  his  disc  would  be  170,000  times  as  great  as  that  of 
the  moon ;  which  would  show  his  magnitude  to  be  equal  to  70 
millions  of  moons.     If,  on  the  contrary,  he  were  removed  to 


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448  The  Sun.  [April, 

the  distance  of  some  of  the  stars  of  the  sixth  or  eighth  magni- 
tude, he  would  appear  as  diminutive  as  they  do ;  or  if  removed 
to  the  distance  of  some  of  the  brightest  stars,  he  would  become 
wholly  invisible  to  the  naked  eye.  It  is,  then,  his  distance, 
which  makes  him  appear  as  small  as  the  moon;  though  he  is, 
in  reality,  70,000,000  times  as  great  as  that  luminary.  It  is, 
on  the  other  hand,  his  nearness,  or  proximity  to  us,  which 
makes  him,  though  intrinsically  smaller  than  many  of  the  fixed 
stars,  shine  with  a  splendor  20,000  millions  of  times  as  great  as 
the  most  brilliant  of  them  all,  or  Sirius  himself. 

What,  then,  is  the  distance  of  the  sun  from  our  planet  % 
And  what,  judging  from  his  apparent  diameter  at  that  distance, 
must  be  his  real  size?  Little  knowledge  had  the  ancients 
respecting  the  distance  or  the  size  of  the  sun.  Aristarchus,  a 
celebrated  Greek  astronomer,  first  endeavored  to  determine  the 
relative  distances  of  the  sun  and  moon  from  the  earth.  His 
calculations  led  him  to  conclude,  that  the  sun's  distance  is 
nineteen  times  as  great  as  that  of  the  moon.  Instead  of  nine- 
teen times,  however,  it  is,  as  we  now  know,  nearly  four  hundred 
times  the  distance  of  the  moon  from  the  earth. 

Ptolemy  and  his  contemporaries,  and  after  him  Copernicus 
and  Tycho  Brahe,  (as  late  as  the  seventeenth  century,)  supposed 
that  the  distance  of  the  sun  is  equal  to  only  1,200  semi-diam- 
eters of  the  earth ;  whereas,  in  reality,  it  is  about  24,000  such 
semi-diameters,  or  units  of  measure.  Kepler  nearly  tripled 
this  distance,  making  it  3,500  semi-diameters  of  the  earth,  but 
his  opinion  was  not  supported  by  demonstrative  reasoning. 
Kiccioli  arbitrarily  doubled  the  distance  assigned  by  Kepler, 
while  Hevelius  increased  it  by  one-half  only. 

Edmund  Halley,  as  late  as  1716,  insists  that  the  sun's 
parallax  must  be  less  than  15''^ ;  for,  if  it  were  not,  *  the  moon 
would  be  larger  than  Mercury' ;  a  result,  or  fa^t,  inconsistent 
with  ^  the  harmony  of  the  universe.'  His  fancy,  guided  by 
^the  harmony  of  the  universe',  finally  settled  on  12^^  5  as  the 
parallax  of  the  s\m ;  which  makes  the  solar  distance  16,500 
semi-diameters  of  the  earth ;  or  a  little  more  than  two-thirds 
of  its  actual  value. 

But  with  Edmund  Halley,  the  great  friend  and  disciple  of 
Newton,  the  age  of  calculations  based  on  insufficient  data,  or 


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1869.]  The  Sun.  449 

of  crude  conjecture,  passed  away.  Astronomers  left  their 
closets,  and,  laying  aside  all  the  little,  contracted,  discordant 
notions,  which  they  had  too  fondly  labelled,  *  the  harmony  of 
the  universe ' ;  they  went  forth  to  study  that  awful  harmony  as 
it  is  exhibited  in  the  great  world  of  God,  not  as  it  is  seen  and 
distorted  in  the  little  world  of  man.  Hence,  feeling  their  own 
ignorance  and  becoming  as  little  children,  they  were  prepared, 
according  to  Hlie  Master  of  Wisdom',  to  enter  into  'the  king- 
dom of  man,  which  is  founded  in  the  sciences.'  If,  indeed,  we 
may  not  make  bold  to  say,  that  they  were  prepared  to  enter 
into  the  outer  '  kingdom  of  heaven '  itself,  which  is  founded  in 
astronomy. 

*  The  voyage  of  Richer ',  says  M.  Arago,  *  led  to  less  hypo- 
thetical conclusions.'  That  is  to  say,  the  voyage  of  Richer  out 
of  himself,  with  a  view  to  observe  the  great  world  of  God,  led 
to  a  new  era  in  the  science  of  the  sun.  For,  comparing  his 
observations  with  others  simultaneously  made  in  Europe  by 
Picard  and  Rcemer,  he  concluded  that  the  solar  parallax  is  9^^ 
5 ;  which  implies  a  distance  from  the  earth  equal  to  21,712 
terrestrial  semi-diameters;  the  nearest  approximation  to  the 
true  distance  till  then  made  by  man.  Others,  following  the 
example  of  Richer,  travelled  out  of  themselves,  and  put 
themselves,  by  careftil  observations,  in  communication  with  the 
mind  of  God  as  embodied  in  his  works.  Cassini,  Rcemer, 
S6dileau,  Flamsteed,  Maraldi,  Pound,  Bradley,  Lacaille,  and 
others,  all  erected  their  batteries  of  observation,  and  laid  siege 
to  the  sun's  parallax.  But  no  one  ever  came  as  near  to  its 
true  value,  or  to  the  actual  distance  of  the  sun  thence  resulting, 
as  did  Richer,  till  the  year  1761,  when  the  transit  of  Venus 
across  the  sun's  disc  occurred.  *  The  observations  made  of  this 
phenomenon,'  says  Arago,  *  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  in  Liap- 
land,  and  at  Tobolsk,  in  Siberia,  gave  9^^  as  the  angle  sub- 
tended by  the  earth's  radius  seen  from  the  sun  at  mean  dis- 
tance ';  or,  in  other  words,  as  the  sun's  parallax.  Thus  it  was, 
that  the  transit  of  Venus  across  the  sun's  disc,  in  1761,  helped 
the  astronomer  to  a  little  closer  approximation  to  his  distance 
from  the  earth,  than  was  made  by  Richer  himself. 


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450  The  Sun.  [April, 

Then  followed  the  transit  of  1769.  All  the  nations  of  the 
earth  were,  at  once,  on  the  qui  vive^  resolved  to  find  the  son's 
parallax,  and  calculate  his  distance  from  the  earth.  The  Abbe 
Chappe  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  went  to  California,  where, 
having  executed  the  observations  which  formed  the  object  of 
his  voyage,  he  died  in  the  service  of  science.  Cook,  and  the 
astronomer  Green,  repaired  to  Otaheitein  the  Southern  Ocean ; 
^hile  Dymond  and  Wales  took  up  their  station  in  North 
America,  near  Hudson's  Bay.  Call  went  to  Madras,  in  the 
Peninsula  of  India,  to  observe  the  phenomenon.  The  Academy 
of  St.  Petersburg  sent  astronomers,  for  the  same  purpose,  to 
various  parts  of  Kussian  Lapland.  Father  Hell,  the  German 
astronomer,  went,  in  the  name  of  the  King  of  Denmark,  to 
observe  the  transit  at  Wardhus ;  and  Planmann,  the  Swede, 
observed  it  at  Kanjaneburg,  in  Finland. 

The  observations  made  at  any  two  distant  stations,  sufficed 
to  determine  the  parallax  of  the  sun ;  and  by  comparing  the 
results  deduced  from  various  pairs  of  observations,  their 
agreement  verified  the  accuracy  of  the  method  employed.  The 
following  results  were  obtained  by  the  various  combinations: 

Otaheite  and  Wardhus 8'^  71 

Otaheiteand  Kola S''.  55 

Otaheite  and  Kanjaneburg 8^^  39 

Otaheite  and  Hudson's  Bay S'\  50 

Otaheite  and  Paris 8'^  78 

California  and  Wardhus 8'^  62 

California  and  Kola 8^^  39 

From  observations  made  at  the  north  of  the  equator,  com- 
pared with  those  made  at  Otaheite,  the  solar  parallax  was 
found  to  amount  to  8'^.  59 ;  which  diflers  very  little  from  its 
value  as  deduced  by  Lalande.  Encke,  by  a  still  more  thorough 
investigation,  found  the  solar  parallax  to  be  8'".  58 ;  differing 
from  the  result  obtained  by  Lalande  only  the  one  hundredth 
part  of  a  second.  Having  ascertained  the  parallax  of  the  sun, 
or  the  angle  which  the  radius  of  the  earth,  seen  perpendicu- 
larly, would  subtend  at  the  sun,  it  is  easy  to  demonstrate  that 
his  distance  from   our  planet  is   95,023,000  of  miles.     The 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


1869.]  *  The  Sun,  451 

difficulty  of  the  problem  is  not  at  all  enhanced,  as  most  men 
arc  apt  to  imagine,  by  the  circumstance,  that  the  distance  in 
question  is  so  immense.  For,  if  a  sufficient  number  of  its 
parts  be  known,  it  is  just  as  easy  to  determine  the  side  of  a 
large  triangle  as  of  a  small  one ;  whether  it  reach  from  the 
earth  to  the  moon,  from  the  earth  to  the  sun,  or  only  from  the 
observer  to  some  inaccessible  object  on  the  earth's  surface. 

The  law  of  gravity  which,  under  God,  is  the  source  of  all 
the  order  and  harmony  of  the  material  universe,  is,  at  the  same 
tiiiie,  the  cause  of  innumerable  perturbations  in  the  motions  of 
the  heavenly  bodies.  The  sun,  for  example,  produces  various 
perturbations  in  the  motions  of  the  moon.  These  perturbations 
depend,  it  is  evident,  on  the  distance  of  the  sun  from  the  earth ; 
for  his  force,  as  every  one  knows,  varies  inversely  as  the  square 
of  the  distance  at  which  he  acts.  Hence,  if  his  distance  were 
increased,  these  perturbations  would  be  diminished,  and  vice 
versa.  Laplace,  availing  himself  of  this  connection  between 
the  distance  of  the  disturbing  force  and  its  effects,  deduced  the 
distance  of  the  sun  from  the  perturbations  it  is  observed  to 
produce  in  the  motions  of  the  moon.  By  this  method,  so 
different  from  the  one  above  noticed,  he  found  the  solar  paral- 
lax to  be  8^^.  61 ;  which  is,  within  two  hundredths  of  a  second, 
the  same  as  that  deduced  from  the  transit  of  Venus.  How 
wonderful  the  agreement !  And  how  conclusive  the  proof  it 
affords  in  favor  of  the  theory,  or  law,  of  universal  gravitation ! 
But,  above  all,  how  sublime  the  act  of  ratiocination,  by  which 
the  sun's  distance  is  deduced  from  his  effects  on  the  moon's 
motion !  Sublime,  however,  as  this  act  was,  it  is  eclipsed  by 
that  of  Leverier  and  Adams,  each  of  whom,  by  reasoning  from 
the  perturbations  in  the  motion  of  Uranus,  detected  the  exist- 
ence of  the  unseen  planet  Neptune,  and  pointed  to  his  place  in 
the  heavens ;  a  discovery  at  once  confirmed  by  more  telescopes 
than  one. 

The  sun's  distance  once  found,  it  is  easy  to  determine  his 
size.  The  earth,  whose  diameter  is  nearly  8,000  miles  long,  is 
an  immense  globe.  But  it  is,  nevertheless,  utterly  insignificant 
by  the  side  of  the  sun ;  whose  diameter  is  888,000  miles  in 
length,  or  more  than  100  times  that  of  the  earth.    But  as  their 


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452  The  Sun.  [April, 

volumes  are  to  each  other  as  the  cubes  of  their  diameters,  it 
follows  that  it  would  take  nearly  1,400,000  globes  as  large  as 
the  earth  to  make  one  a^  great  as  the  sun.  The  following  illus- 
tration will,  perhaps,  help  our  minds  to  some  poor  conception 
of  its  wonderful  magnitude.  The  moon  is,  in  round  numbers, 
240,000  miles  from  the  earth,  around  which  it  revolves  in  a 
nearly  circular  orbit.  Now,  if  the  sun  were  a  hollow  globe, 
with  its  centre  at  the  centre  of  the  earth,  its  surface  would  ex- 
tend, in  all  directions,  more  than  200,000  miles  beyond  the 
orbit  of  the  moon.  Hence  the  moon  would  revolve  within  the 
body  of  the  sun, — a  little  more  than  half  way  from  its  centre 
to  its  surface.  Such  is  the  stupendous  mass  which,  by  its  at- 
traction, binds  all  the  planets  to  his  bosom,  and  keeps  them 
within  the  region  of  light,  and  life,  and  joy. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  world  down  to  the  year  1609  of 
our  era,  it  was  the  almost  universal  opinion,  that  the  brightness  • 
of  the  sun's  disc  is  uniform.  But  the  year  1609  is  forever 
memorable  in  the  history  of  astronomy,  as  that  in  which  the 
*  telescope  was  invented,  and  turned  toward  the  heavens. 
Among  the  many  wonders  it  soon  revealed,  were  the  huge 
spots  on  the  body  of  the  sun.  Galileo,  the  first  astronomer  to 
use  the  telescope,  speaks  with  astonishment  of  the  rapidity 
with  which  the  solar  spots  spring  into  existence,  change  their 
forms,  and  disappear.  Some  spots  appear  and  disappear  very 
rapidly,  while  others  last  for  weeks  and  even  months.  No 
spot  could  be  seen  at  the  distance  of  the  sun,  unless  it  were 
large  enough  to  cover  an  area  of  166,000  square  miles.  Hence, 
every  visible  spot  must  be  larger  than  166,000  square  miles. 
Mayer  observed  one  spot,  whose  area  was  1,500,000,000  of 
square  miles,  or  thirty  times  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

Solar  Science  is  the  creation  of  the  last  two  centuries.  The 
ancients  knew  nothing  about  the  sun,  except  what  is  seen  by 
the  naked  eye,  and  known  to  all  men.  They  wasted  their 
energies  in  vain  speculations,  or  fruitless  conjectures,  respecting 
such  questions  as  these:  *Is  the  sun  a  pure  fire,  or  a  ffroM 
fire  ?  Is  it  a  self -maintaining  fire,  or  a  fire  canUnuaUy  fed 
from  without  f  Is  it  an  eternal  fire^  or  2^  fire  liable  to  he  exdr^ 
guished  t '    But  after  the  telescope  was  invented,  and  the  sun's 


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1869.]  The  Shin.  453 

spots  were  seen,  men  began  to  ask  practical  questions  respect- 
ing the  physical  constitution  of  that  great  luminary.  They 
instituted  the  inquiries — what  are  its  spots  ?  How  are  they 
produced,  and  what  do  they  teach  ?  These  questions  gave  rise, 
at  first,  to  hypotheses  merely,  or  conjectures.  But  all  these,  in 
time,  were  followed  by  solid  discoveries,  by  new  and  wonderful 
facts. 

When  the  sun's  spots,  for  example,  were  seen  to  rise  on  its 
eastern  limit,  pass  along  an  equatorial  zone,  or  belt,  some  sixty 
d^rees  in  width,  and,  finally,  disappear  at  its  western  limit ; 
this  suggested  the  idea  of  the  revolution  of  the  sun  on  its  own 
axis.  This  wonderfiil  fact  was  established  in  1611 ;  only  two 
years  after  the  invention  of  the  telescope.  By  repeated  obser- 
vations and  calculations,  it  was  found,  that  the  sun  makes  one 
revolution  in  25  days,  7  hours,  and  48  minutes;  each  point 
of  his  vast  equator  revolving  at  the  rate  of  more  than  100,000 
miles  per  day.  How  grand,  how  wonderful,  this  new  fact, 
which,  until  within  the  last  two  centuries  and  a  half,  had  never 
entered  into  the  imagination  of  man ! 

But  what  are  those  spots  on  the  sun's  disc  ?  What,  for  ex- 
ample, is  that  intensely  black,  irr<^ularly-shaped  patch,  edged 
witfi  a  broad  penumbral  fringe,  which  moves,  from  east  to  west, 
along  the  brightness  of  the  general  surface  of  the  sun  ?  Is  it, 
as  La  Hire  supposed,  an  opaque  body  floating  in  the  fluid  mass 
of  the  sun  ?  No.  Is  it,  then,  according  to  the  notion  of  Fon- 
tenelle,  an  opening  in  the  gaseous  envelope  of  the  sun,  through 
which  his  dark,  solid  nucleus,  or  body,  is  seen  ?  No.  Shall  we 
conclude,  then,  with  the  celebrated  English  astronomer,  Gas- 
coigne,  that  a  large  number  of  almost  transparent  bodies  re- 
volve around  the  sun  in  circles  of  different  diameters,  and  that 
when  two  or  more  of  these  bodies  get  in  the  same  line  between 
the  eye  and  the  sun,  they  intercept  its  light,  and  produce  a  spot 
on  its  surface  ?  By  no  means.  So  wild  a  supposition,  is  hardly 
worthy  of  so  great  an  astronomer.  Is  this  spot,  then,  as  Der- 
ham  suggested,  the  effect  of  a  volcanic  eruption  ?  If  so,  why 
did  it  appear  only  the  other  day,  for  the  first  time,  and  why 
will  it  so  soon  disappear,  never  more  to  be  seen  ?  Are  the  craters 
of  volcanoes,  so  evanescent  in  their  existence,  or  so  changeable 


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454  The  Sun.  [April, 

in  their  sizes  and  forms  ?  Surely  not.  Finally,  is  this  great 
spot,  as  Maupertius  said,  a  vast  collection  of  scum  floating  in 
the  incandescent  fluid  of  the  sun's  surface,  which  will  soon  be 
consumed  by  the  fierceness  of  his  fire?  This  hypothesis,  has, 
like  all  the  preceding  ones,  been  refuted  by  the  discovery  or 
consideration  of  facts. 

What,  then,  we  repeat,  are  these  dark  spots  on  the  sun  i 
Have  we  nothing,  on  this  subject,  but  the  vague  explanations 
above  mentioned,  which  appear  like  dark  spots  on  the  body  of 
the  science  of  astronomy  ?  The  theorists,  by  whom  the  above 
explanations  were  broached,  did  not  pay  attention  to  all  the  facte 
presented  by  the  surface  of  the  sun.  They  only  asked  them- 
selves, for  example,  why  and  how  do  black  spots  appear  on  the 
surface  of  the  suni  They  did  not  consider  the  faculoBj  or  white 
spots,  on  the  sun's  disc ;  though  its  motley  surface  is  made  up 
of  transcendently  white,  as  well  as  of  black,  spots.  These  white 
spots,  if  they  had  been  sufficiently  considered,  would  have 
revealed  the  emptiness  of  the  above  hypotheses,  or  supf>ositions. 
When  all  the  details  of  the  phenomena  of  the  sun's  surface 
were  taken  into  account,  including,  especially,  its  white  spot?, 
a  bettfer  era  in  solar  science  began  to  dawn.  More  complete, 
and  more  satisfactory,  views,  began  to  appear,  and  form  them- 
selves like  white  spots  on  the  science  of  astronomy. 

Alexander  Wilson,  a  Scotch  astronomer,  took  the  lead  in 
this  more  cpmprehensive  and  profound  study  of  the  sunV 
surface.  In  1774,  he  proved,  by  the  aid  of  incontestible  obser- 
vations, that  the  spots  are  excavations,  in  the  bottom  of  which 
are  situated  their  black  nuclei.  Hence,  he  regarded  the  sun 
as  composed  of  two  substances  quite  different  from  each  other. 
The  interior  mass  of  the  sun,  said  he,  is  a  solid  and  opaque 
body ;  which  mass  is  covered  with  a  slight  stratum  of  an 
inflamed  substance,  from  which  it  derives  its  illuminating  and 
heating  properties.  An  elastic  fluid  is  elaborated  in  the  obscure 
mass  of  the  sun,  ascends  through  the  luminous  matter,  and,  re 
moving  it  aside  in  every  direction,  allows  us  to  see  a  portion  of 
the  obscure  globe  within.  The  slopes  of  the  excavations  constL 
tute  the  penumbra,  or  fringe,  to  the  darker  portions  of  the  spot. 
But  this  ingenious  explanation,  only  accounts  for  the  appearance 


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1869.]  The  Sun.  455 

of  the  black  spots.  It  no  sooner  took  hold  of  the  white  spots, 
or  faculas^  than  its  insufficiency  was  perceived.  If,  for  ex- 
ample, this  were  the  true  explanation,  then  the  excavation,  or  the 
penumbra,  ought  to  become  darker  and  darker,  as  it  approaches 
the  interior  mass  of  the  sun.  On  the  contrary,  the  penumbra, 
or  fringe,  is  brighter  near  the  nucleus  than  anywhere  else. 

Embarrassed  by  this,  and  by  other  difficulties,  the  author 
declared,  that  he  was  sometimes  driven  to  *  harbor  the  idea, 
that  the  illuminating  solar  envelope  resembled  in  consistency  a 
dense  fog.'  In  spite  of  his  theory,  he  acknowledged,  with  great 
candor, '  that  he  knew  absolutely  nothing  respecting  the  nature 
of  the  faculcR^  or  white  spots  of  the  sun.'  This  confession  of 
ignorance,  this  abnegation  of  self,  was  the  first  great  step 
toward  a  true  knowledge  of  the  physical  constitution  of  the 
sun.  So  true  is  the  saying  of  Lord  Bacon,  that  the  kingdom 
of  man,  which  is  founded  in  the  sciences,  can  be  entered  no 
otherwise  than  as  we  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven ;  that 
is,  by  becoming  as  little  children.  Of  all  the  obstacles  to  the 
progress  of  knowledge,  by  far  the  greatest  is  the  accursed  con- 
ceit of  knowledge ;  men  remaining  blind  to  the  great  facts  of 
science,  just  because  they  fall  so  fondly  in  love  with  their  own 
fancies. 

The  researches  of  Wilson,  were  followed  by  those  of  Bode, 
and  Michell,  and  Shroeter,  and  Herschel.  '  When  any  agita- 
tion whatever,'  says  Bode,  the  astronomer  of  Berlin,  *  occasions 
a  rent  in  the  luminous  atmosphere  (of  the  sun),  we  perceive 
the  solid  nucleus  of  the  body,  which  always  appears  very 
obscure  relatively  to  the  bright  light  which  surrounds  it,  but 
more  or  less  sombre,  according  as  the  portion  thus  discovered 
is  a  vast  sea  (in  the  sun),  a  narrow  valley,  or  a  continuous  and 
sandy  plain.'  This  view  was  published  in  1776.  In  1783, 
Michell  said :  '  The  excessive  and  universal  brightness  of  the 
sun's  surface  arises  probably  from  an  atmosphere  which  is 
luminous  in  all  its  parts,  and  endued  also  with  a  certain  d^ree 
of  transparency.'  Shrceter,  in  1789,  published  a  work,  in 
which  he  says:  ^It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  sun  has  an 
atmosphere  in  which  operates  strong  condensations,  which 
appear  to  us  like  dark  clouds.' 


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456  The  Shin.  [April, 

Descending  along  the  stream  of  time,  we  arrive  at  the 
memoir  published  by  Sir  William  Herschel,  in  1795,  in  which 
the  great  astronomer  expresses  the  conviction,  that  the  sab- 
stance  by  means  of  which  the  sun  shines,  cannot  be  any  other 
than  a  liquid — than  an  elastic  fluid.  ^  Without  that ',  says  he, 
the  cavities  of  the  spots,  and  the  undulations  of  the  mottled 
surface,  would  be  soon  filled  up.'  Is  the  substance,  then,  to 
which  the  sun  owes  his  effiilgence  analagous  to  our  clouds,  and 
does  it  float  in  the  transparent  atmosphere  of  the  body  ?  Such 
is,  according  to  Arago,  the  inference  resulting  from  the  opinion 
of  Sir  William  Herschel. 

But,  however  plausible  the  opinion  of  Herschel,  it  rested  in 
conjecture  merely,  and  not  on  established  fact.  The  great  feet, 
that  we  do  not  see  the  body  of  the  sun,  but  only  its  external 
gaseous  envelope,  or  photosphere,  still  remained  to  be  estab- 
lished. The  proof  of  this  fact  is  one  of  the  brilliant  achieve- 
ments of  our  own  time ;  it  is  of  such  a  nature  as  to  be  quite 
satisfactory  to  the  minds  of  astronomers.  We  shall,  then, 
state  this  proof,  or  evidence,  in  the  fewest  and  plainest  possible 
words. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  light :  ordinary  lights  KnA  polarised 
light,  A  ray  of  ordinary  light  enjoys  the  same  properties  on 
all  the  parts  of  the  contour.  It  is  otherwise  with  respect  to 
polarized  light.  The  different  sides  of  its  rays  have  different 
properties.  These  discordancies  manifest  tliemselves  in  a  mul- 
titude of  phenomena,  by  means  of  which  we  may  easily  dis- 
tinguish polarized  from  ordinary  light.  *The  polariscope', 
says  Arago,  *  furnishes  a  very  simple  process,  and  one  of  very 
palpable  evidence,  for  distinguishing  natural  light  from  polar- 
ized light.' 

*  Polarized  light ',  he  says  again,  *  has  enriched  science  with 
various  processes  of  investigation,  of  which  astronomers  have 
not  failed  to  take  advantage.'  Astronomers  have,  indeed, 
taken  advantage  of  one  of  these  *  various  processes  of  investi- 
gation '  to  detect  and  demonstrate  the  nature  of  the  substance, 
which,  at  the  distance  of  95,000,000  of  miles,  shines  upon  our 
planet,  and  symbolizes  the  omnipresence  of  the  Father  of 
Lights.     It  would  be  out  of  place,  in  this  paper,  to  go  into  the 


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1869.]  The  Sun.  457 

tedious  details  of  the  process,  by  which  the  astronomer  demon- 
strates the  great  fact  in  question.  SuiRce  it  to  say,  in  general 
terms,  that  armed  with  the  polariscope,  he  looks  into  the  light 
of  the  sun,  and  sees  that,  according  to  a  law  of  nature,  it  must 
proceed,  not  from  a  solid  or  fluid  body,  but  from  a  gaseous 
substance.  *  This  experiment ',  says  Arago, '  removes  from  the 
domain  of  simple  hypothesis  what  we  have  said  respecting  the 
gaseous  nature  of  the  solar  photosphere.'  It  is  thus  established, 
at  last,  that  the  inflamed  substance  which  traces  out  the  con- 
tour of  the  sun  in  the  heavens,  is  gaseous. 

The  dark  spots  of  the  sun,  as  they  are  called,  are  made  to 
appear  so  by  contrast  only.  If,  for  example,  you  take  an  argand 
lamp,  and  hold  it  between  the  eye  and  the  sun,  its  light  will  be 
seen  projected  on  the  sun  in  a  dark  spot.  Thus,  however 
bright  the  argand  lamp,  it  looks  like  a  dark  spot  on  the  sun's 
surface ;  because  that  surface  is  so  much  brighter  than  itself. 
In  like  manner,  the  dark  spots  of  the  sun,  though  insufferably 
bright  to  the  eye,  appear  dark,  or  even  black,  from  their  con- 
trast with  the  adjacent  portions  of  the  sun's  surface.  Or,  in 
other  words,  their  brightness  is  eclipsed,  and  turned  into  appa- 
rent darkness,  by  the  transcendent  and  overpowering  brightness 
of  the  surrounding  surface  of  the  sun.  The  simple  truth  is, 
then,  that  all  the  parts  of  the  sun's  surface  are  exceedingly 
bright ;  but  some  are  so  much  brighter  than  others,  as  to  make 
the  less  luminous  portions  appear  dark  by  contrast. 

*  Another  stride  in  advance',  says  a  recent  English  Eeview, 
*  has  to  be  recorded  in  Solar  Physics — perhaps  at  this  moment 
the  most  progressive  department  in  science.  Though  much 
more  detailed  knowledge  probably  remains  to  be  reached  by 
prolonged  observation,  we  may  say  broadly  that  the  spectro- 
scope has  now  revealed  the  nature  of  solar  prominences — the 
red  flames  of  eclipses — just  as  two  years  ago  the  same  beautiful 
method  solved  the  sun-spot  problem,  and  not  long  before  set- 
tled the  vexed  question  of  the  nebute.  Solar  science  belongs 
especially  to  our  time.' 

Three  English  Astronomers — Mr.  De  la  Rue,  Mr.  Balfour     . 
Stewart,  and  Loewy — having  made  diligent  solar  observations 
gave  a  more  satisfactory  account  of  the  spots,  or  cavities,  in  the 
14 

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458  The  Sun.  [Aprils 

giin's  surface,  than  any  that  had  been  previously  advanced. 
'  Their  theory ' ,  says  the  Eeview  just  quoted, '  was  based  on  the 
incontestable  fact,  that  while  the  bright  photosphere  envelops 
the  sun,  the  photosphere  itself  is  in  its  turn  surrounded  by  an 
absorbent  atmosphere ;  and  they  hold  that  a  spot  [or  ca^ty]  is 
produced  by  a  down-rush  of  this  atmosphere  into  the  region  of 
the  photosphere.  Partly  by  displacing,  and  partly  by  obscur- 
ing the  photosphere,  the  whirlwind  of  atmosphere,  according 
to  this  view,  darkens  the  cavity  of  the  spot.  Much  evidence 
was  accumulated  in  favor  of  the  English  theory,  bnt  it  was  not 
conclusively  established  until  the  year  1860,  when  Mr.  Lockyer 
applied  to  the  investigation  the  same  method  of  spectrum 
analysis,  which  enabled  Mr.  Huggins  a  short  time  before  to 
ascertain  the  constitution  of  the  nebulae.' 

The  sun,  then,  wears  more  coats  than  one.  Besides  the  two 
just  mentioned,  he  wears,  under  his  glorious  outer  garment  of  the 
photosphere,  a  vestment  of  very  different  material.  That  is 
to  say, '  an  opaque  atmosphere ',  which,  in  spite  of  the  popular 
opinion  that  wraps  his  body  in  flames  of  fire,  keeps  him  cool 
and  comfortable. 

Let  us,  in  conclusion,  briefly  glance  at  the  progress  of 
ideas  respecting  the  sun.  Anaximander,  born  610  years  B.  C, 
supposed  that  the  sun  was  '  a  chariot  filled  with  fire,  which 
escapes  through  a  circular  aperture.'  Anaxagoras,  the  teacher 
of  Pericles,  bom  500  years  B.  C,  regarded  the  sun,  if  we  may 
believe  Plutarch,  ' as  an  inflamed  stone',  or,  according  to  Dio- 
genes Lsertius, '  as  a  hot  iron.'  Zeno,  the  founder  of  the  great 
sect  of  the  Stoics,  believed  the  sun  to  be  'a  fire  laiger  than 
the  earth.'  And  Lucretius,  the  brilliant  poetizer  of  the  atomic 
cosmogony,  or  the  material  philosophy  of  Epicurus,  r^arded 
the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  as  no  larger  than  they  appear  to 
man.  Hence,  as  sun  and  moon  have  the  same  apparent  size  to 
us,  they  are  equal  in  their  real  dimensions.  The  fact  is,  how- 
ever, that  as  the  sun  is  more  than  400  times  farther  from  us 
than  is  the  moon  ;  so  his  real  diameter  is  more  than  400  times 
greater  than  that  of  the  moon.  Hence,  as  we  have  seen,  it 
would  take  no  less  than  70,000,000  of  moons  to  make  one 
globe  as  large  as  the  sun.     If,  indeed,  we  should  follow  Lucre- 


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1869.]  The  Sun.  459 

tins,  we  should  regard  the  moon  as  little,  if  any,  larger  than  a 
pewter  plate ;  though,  in  fact,  her  disc  is  2,160  miles  from  side 
to  side.  The  philosopher,  then,  saw  as  a  child,  and  he  spoke  as 
a  child.  But  now  all  such  childish  notions  have  passed  away ; 
and  the  great  facts  of  astronomy  stand  in  their  places.  The 
great  facts  of  astronomy!  One  of  these  is,  that  tlie  sun, 
instead  of  being  'a  chariot  filled  with  fire',  which  blazes 
through  a  round  hole  in  one  of  its  sides,  is  a  globe  of  light,  and 
power,  and  beauty,  1,400,000  times  as  great  as  the  earth. 

AVhat  shall  we  say  of  the  sun  then  ?  Was  it  merely  made 
to  illuminate  the  earth  ?  Or  is  it,  on  the  contrary,  the  seat  of 
inhabitants,  many  times  more  glorious  than  we  poor  wrangling 
bipeds  of  the  earth  ?  '  If  I  was  asked ',  says  M.  Arago, '  is  the 
sun  inhabited,  I  should  reply,  that  I  knew  nothing  about  the 
matter.  But  if  any  one  ask  me,  if  the  sun  can  be  inhabited ' 
•  .  .  .  '  I  do  not  hesitate  to  reply  in  the  aflirmative.  The  ex- 
istence in  the  sun  of  a  central  obscure  nucleus,  enveloped  in 
an  opaque  atmosphere,  far  beyond  which  the  luminous  atmos- 
phere exists,  is  by  no  means  opposed,  in  eflect,  to  such  a 
conception.  Herschel  thought  that  the  sun  is  inhabited.'  Such 
has  been  the  progress  of  astronomy.  The  sun,  once  regarded 
by  the  illustrious  Greek,  Anaxagoras,  as  '  an  inflamed  stone ', 
or  '  a  hot  iron ',  is  now  known  to  be  a  world  nearly  one-and-a- 
half  millions  of  times  larger  than  the  earth,  and  is  believed, 
by  the  greatest  of  astronomers,  to  be  inhabited  by  rational  and 
immortal  beings. 

There  is,  in  relation  to  this  last  opinion,  a  curious  anecdote, 
which,  says  M.  Arago,  is  '  worthy  of  figuring  in  the  history  of 
science.'  He  borrows  it  from  an  article  on  astronomy,  which 
was  written  by  Sir  David  Brewster,  and  which  appeared  in  the 
Edinburgh  Encyclopcedia.  The  story  is  this  :  Dr.  Elliot  main- 
tained, as  early  as  1787,  that  the  sun  might  be  inhabited. 
When  the  Doctor  was  brought  before  the  Old  Bailey,  for 
having  occasioned  the  death  of  Miss  Boydell,  his  friends.  Dr. 
Simmons  among  others,  defended  him  on  the  ground  that  he 
was  mad,  and  produced  the  writings,  in  which  he  advocated 
the  above  opinion,  as  proof  of  his  insanity.  In  about  eight 
years  afterward,  however,  the  same  opinion  was  promulgated, 


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460  The  Sun.  [April, 

as  his  own,  by  Sir  William  Herschel.  The  grand  *  conception 
of  the  madman',  is,  at  the  present  day,  *  generally  adopted', 
as  M.  Arago  truly  asserts.  Can  we  believe,  indeed,  that  the 
sun,  with  all  its  wonderful  capacities,  was  merely  made  for  our 
little  world  ?  We  barely  suggest,  we  do  not  mean  to  discuss, 
the  profoundly  interesting  question  with  respect  to  *  The  Plu- 
rality of  Worlds ;'  a  question  which  has  called  forth  an  elab- 
orate work  from  the  elegant  pen  of  Fontenelle,  and  which, 
only  a  few  years  ago,  was  warmly  debated  by  men  of  science 
in  Great  Britain.  The  conceit  of  those  who  fancy,  that  the 
great  and  ^  all-beholding  sun ',  as  well  as  the  other  stars,  were 
made  for  man  alone,  is  thus  happily  hit  oflf  by  Pope : 

Proud  man  exclaims,  *  See  all  things  for  my  use  ! ' 
'  See  man  for  mine ' ,  replies  a  pampered  goose. 
And  just  as  short  of  reason  he  must  fall, 
Who  thinks  all  made  for  one,  not  one  for  all ! 

The  goose  is,  we  think,  at  least,  as  near  right  as  the  man ; 
for  there  is  certainly  as  great  a  disproportion  between  man  and 
the  universe,  as  there  is  between  goose  and  man. 

We  have,  indeed,  long  entertained  the  impression  that  the 
sun  is  a  great  electro-magnetic  machine,  which  generates  the 
heat  and  the  light  so  abundantfy  enjoyed  by  the  planets  of  our 
system.  Having  entertained  this  impression  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  we  have  watched  every  development  of  science 
which  could  possibly  have  any  bearing  on  the  subject.  Is  it 
not  wonderful  indeed  that,  at  the  distance  of  95,000,000  of 
miles  from  the  sun,  we  should  be  able  to  see  what  tak^  place 
on  its  surface.  Yet  we  do  see  this ;  and  it  was  only  the  other 
day,  that  one  of  the  most  wonderful,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
one  of  the  most  significant,  facts,  ever  vouchsafed  to  mortal 
vision,  was  distinctly  seen  in  the  sun.  '  There  occurred  on  the 
1st  of  September,  1859 ',  says  Sir  John  Herschel,  ^  an  appear- 
ance in  the  sun  which  may  be  considered  an  epoch,  if  not  in 
the  sun's  history,  at  least  in  our  knowledge  of  it.  On  that 
day  great  spots  were  exhibited ;  and  two  observers,  far  apart 
and  unknown  to  each  other,  were  viewing  them  with  powerful 
telescopes ;  when  suddenly,  at  the  same  moment  of  time,  botli 
saw  a  strikingly  brilliant  appearance,  like  a  cloud  of  light  far 
brighter  than  the  general  surface  of  the  sun,  break  out  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  one  of  the  spots,  and  sweep  acroM 

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1869.]  The  Sun.  461 

and  beside  it.  It  occupied  about  five  minutes  in  its  passage, 
and  in  that  time  travelled  over  a  space  on  the  sun's  surface, 
which  couj^  not  be  estimated  at  less  than  35,000  miles,' 
Now,  was  not  this  a  wonderful  phenomenon  in  itself?  Only 
think  of  a  spot  which,  in  order  to  be  seen  at  all,  must  have 
covered  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  square  miles,  flying 
across  the  sun  with  the  speed  of  7,000  miles  per  minute !  But, 
however  wonderful  in  itself,  this  great  fact  is  still  more  so  in  its 
apparent  effects,  as  described  by  those  who  witnessed  Ijiem, 
as  well  as  by  Sir  John  HerscheL 

'A  magnetic  storm ',  says  Herschel,  *  was  in  progress  at  the 
time.  From  the  28th  of  August  to  the  4th  of  September, 
many  indications  showed  the  earth  to  have  been  in  a  perfect 
convulsion  of  electro-magnetism.  When  one  of  the  observers 
I  have  mentioned  had  registered  his  observations,  he  bethought 
himself  of  sending  to  Kew,  where  there  are  self-registering 
magnetic  instruments  at  work,  recording  by  photography  at 
every  instant  of  the  twenty-four  hours  the  positions  of  three 
magnetic  needles  differently  arranged.  On  examining  the 
record  for  that  day,  it  was  found  that  at  that  very  moment  of 
time  (as  if  the  influence  had  arrived  with  the  light,)  all  three 
had  made  a  strongly-marked  jerk  from  their  former  positions. 
By  degrees,  accounts  began  to  pour  in  of  great  auroras  seen 
on  the  nights  of  those  days ;  not  only  in  these  latitudes,  but  at 
Rome,  in  the  West  Indies,  or  the  tropics  within  18°  of  the 
equator,  (where  they  hardly  ever  appear,)  nay,  what  is  still 
more  striking,  in  South  America  and  Australia;  where,  at 
Melbourne,  on  the  night  of  the  2d  of  September,  the  greatest 
aurora  ever  seen  there  made  its  appearance.  These  auroras 
were  accompanied  with  unusually  great  electro-magnetic  dis- 
turbances in  every  part  of  the  world.  In  many  places  the 
telegraph  wires  struck  work.  They  had  too  many  private 
messages  of  their  own  to  convey.  At  Washington  and  Phila- 
delphia, in  America,  the  telegraph  signal-men  received  severe 
electric  shocks.  At  a  station  in  Norway,  the  tel^raphic 
apparatus  was  set  fire  to ;  and  at  Boston,  in  North  America,  a 
flame  of  fire  followed  the  pen  of  Bums's  electric  telegraph, 
which,  as  my  hearers  perhaps  know,  writes  down  the  message 
upon  chemically-prepared  paper.' 

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462  AlcyonL  [April, 


ALCYONE. 


*  Nay — leave  me  not : '  sbe  cried  ;  and  her  bared  arms, 
From  which  the  saffron  robe  fell  flowing  back 
As  from  snow-white  Naxos, — tightened  close 
Their  clasp  about  her  husband. 

—  *  I  am  yet 
So  new  a  dweller  in  thy  palace  walls, 
That  still  I  crave  a  sense  of  welcome  nigh, 
To  banish  strangeness ;  and  I  only  feel 
My  title  to  thy  home'«  sweet  sovereignties, 
While  thou  art  by,  with  thine  assuring  love 
To  prove  it  goed.    Oft-times  I  deem  myself. 
Albeit  unqueenly-wise,  an  alien,  when 
I  cannot  turn  to  thee  with  questioning  looks, 
Appealing  looks  that  read  their  answer  writ 
Clear  and  large-lettered  on  thine  open  brow. 
'Tis  only  then  I  seem  to  mis3  the  breath 
That  atmosphered  my  childhood, — only  then 
Do  I  remember  that  not  one  of  all 
The  tender  playmates  of  my  native  Isle, — 
My  rock-bound  Strongyl6, — not  one  dear  face 
Ts  here  to  smile  me  back  the  fond,  old  time — 
Not  one  familiar  voice  that  can  recall 
My  happy,  happy  by-gone  1     If  thou  rid'st 
But  to  the  chase,  I  droop  till  thy  return. 
My  maidens  fail  to  cheer  me,  though  they  bring 
Cithern  and  lute :  for  all  the  pent-up  past, 
For  which  thy  crowding  presence  leaves  no  verge, — 
Beats  strong  against  my  heart,  as  beats  the  surf 
Against  my  father's  brazen  battlements. 
Yet  at  the  note  that  heralds  thy  return. 
All  memories  lapse  away  ; — and  then  I  miss 
No  love  beside,  Beloved,  having  thine.' 

•  Cefx.  King  of  a  province  in  Thessaly,  was  drowned,  on  his  way  to  consalt  the  oracle  of 
Apollo  at  Claroa.  His  wife,  Alcyone,  having  premonition,  in  a  dream,  of  his  fkte,  and  finding 
hU  dead  body  on  the  sands,  in  her  despair,  threw  herself  into  the  sea.  Whereapoo,  the  gods, 
to  reward  their  mutual  love,  changed  them  into  halcyons. 


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I 

I 


1869.]  Alcyone.  463 

*  To  me,  tliy  moaning,  my  Alcjone, 
Is  sad  as  laboring  of  Cyprian  doves, 

When  from  her  flowery  Isle,  their  goddess  strays. 
Lore's  sweet  exaggeration  overstates 
Thy  case  and  makes  it  piteous  so  : — Behold — ' 
And  freeing  from  her  clasp  his  fondling  arm, 
King  Ctyx  pointed  to  the  land-locked  bay, 
Where  rocked  bis  waiting  vessel. 

*  Not  more  smooth 
Thy  molten  mirror  than  yon  crystal  sea ! 
Confess  thy  fears'  forecastings,  little  one, — 
Have,  like  a  goad  behind  tby  pleadings ,  pricked 
Keener  than  love  doth, — hurrying  on  thy  speech, 
And  filling  it  with  honied  artifice ! 
Well ! — let  the  bee  snatch  at  the  Uyblan  lure, 
And  yet  escape  it  I ' — then  be,  stooping,  sealed 
With  fast-shut  kiss,  the  rosy-aiswering  mouth. 

'  Yet  be  content :     Dismiss  thy  pule  alarms, 
Nor  listen  to  thy  pillow's  scared  unrest. 
That  drones  of  danger.     When  thou  art  alone 
Among  the  courtiers,  steel  thy  spirit,  my  queen. 
With  self-assertion  of  thy  dignities 
Of  holy  "Wifehood, — sure  that  in  my  heart, 
Thy  royal  realm, — love  busies  all  the  hours, 
Building  a  palace  fit  to  be  thy  home. 

'  Yon  sea-bird  will  up-bear  me  on  swift  wings, 

To  sacred  Claros  :  there,  my  doubts  all  solved 

Before  the  oracle, — my  vexing  quests 

Forever  qnieted, — how  will  I  fly 

Back  to  thine  arms  ! — and  love,  still  gathering  strength, 

And  over-topping  every  obstacle. 

Shall  break  upon  thy  breast,  and  ripple  up 

In  creamy  kisses,  stranded  on  thy  lips ! 

*  What !— suppliant  still  with  those  sad-lidded  eyes, 
Whose  heaven  is  cloud-wracked  as  the  misty  top 
Of  blue  Olympus? — Know,  the  immortal  gods 
Claim  loyal  service,  and  I  dare  not  put 

This  human  love,  this  all-sufficing  love. 
Before  their  worship,  lest  with  jealous  brows, 
They  frown  upon  our  earthly  blissfulness. 
And  seek  to  blight  it.    Wherefore,  let  me  go; 
And  heap  thou  offerings  on  Apollo's  shrine. 
What  time  I  voyage :  for  thy  wafting  prayers 
Will  speed  me  surelier  than  the  kindest  wind 
Let  loose  by  Zephyrus. 


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464  Alcyone.  [April, 

With  rapid  prow 
Turned  toward  the  blessed  Isle,  the  proad,  young  king 
Waved  to  his  weeping  bride  a  fond  farewell ; — 
Gloating  the  while,  on  the  delicious  tears, 
The  breathless  throbs  and  palpitating  doubts,. 
Wherewith  Alcyone's  so  wifely  love 
Had  wrapped  itself  withal.    To  him  they  shown 
Like  zoneless,  wind-waft  garments,  careless  flung 
Above  the  beauty  of  the  orb^d  curves, 
And  ivory-white,  lithe  limbs,  whose  statured  grace 
They  heightened — not  concealed. 

Days  passed  amain, 
Yet  brought  small  respite  to  the  soul  distraught 
With  fateful  prescience  and  consuming  dread. 
The  girdle  that  with  broidered  needlework, 
She  wrought  against  bis  coming,  listlessly 
Dropt  from  her  fingers ;  and  the  lyre  be  loved. 
Lay  tuneless  at  her  side,  as  eve  by  eve, — 
Her  eyes  all  dazed  through  travelling  o'er  and  o'er, 
The  golden  path  he  went  athwart  the  main, — 
She  waited  for  his  coming. 

Lying  thus, 
Amonj;  her  cushions,  with  her  pallid  face 
Turned  seaward,  that  the  first  white  glint  of  sail 
Might  greet  her  vision, — ere  she  was  aware. 
She  slept,  and  sleeping,  dreamed. 

Above  her  bent 
The  mist-crowned  Thetif,— her  fair  forehead  touched 
With  more  than  mortal  pity ;  and  there  came 
A  voice  as  sad  as  whispering  Oreads  hid 
In  piney  forests : 

— *  Thou  shalt  watch  in  vain, 
0,  sorrowing  one  I — for  nevermore  the  sail 
That  bore  thy  husband  hence  away,  shall  come 
From  out  the  purple  west,  where  low  he  lies 
Couched  in  soft-smiling  Aphrodite's  caves.' 

Up-starting  from  her  dream,  Alcyone 

Uttered  a  cry  of  wo ;  and  summoning 

Her  household  damsels,  straightway  to  the  beach 

That  stretched  away  beneath  the  whitening  moon, 

Hasted ; — her  hair  unfiUeted,  her  feet 

Unsandaled,  and  her  girdleless  vesture  flung 

Free  to  the  night-wind. 

Up  and  down  the  shore 
She  wandered,  wailing, — reaching  forth  vain  arms 
To  woo  him  from  the  inexorable  sea. 


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1869.]  Alcyone.  466 

*  0,  mj  beloved  I— come  to  me  once  more  ! 
0|  come  again — again  1    All  hope,  all  peace, 
All  sweetness  that  can  soothe  a  hungry  soul- 
All  raTishments  mine  eyes  can  ever  see — 
All  harmonies  mine  ears  can  ever  hear — 
All  breath— all  being,  do  I  hold  through  thee. 
Give  back  to  me  thyself— thyself,— or  else 
I  perish — perish !    Weakling  comforters ! 
Why  babble  ye  of  other  solace  left? 
— As  if  this  drear,  wide,  barren  world  could  hold 
For  me,  one  joy  beside  !— Commend  yon  spray 
To  lips  that  shrivel  with  a  deadly  thirst, 
And  think  to  quench  their  craving ! — 0,  my  lord ! 
Better  to  me  than  all  the  gods  in  heaven. 
Dearer  to  me  than  all  the  souls  on  earth — 
Who  hast  transformed  my  being,  till  I  live 
Only  in  loving  thee, — behold  !  I  die — 
1  die  without  thee  I' 

Moaning  thas  she  strayed, 
Her  damsels  following,  weeping  at  the  dole 
They  found  no  words  to  soften, — till  she  reached 
A  headland,  at  whose  base  the  waters  chafed 
With  ceaseless  frettings.    Gazing  from  its  height. 
Her  quickened  Tision  marked  one  single  blot 
Of  darkness  on  the  silvery  line  of  beach  ; 
And  turning  to  her  maidens,  her  wild  eyes 
Dilate  with  terror,  pointing  thitherward, 
She  dumbly  questioned. 

.  Ere  they  could  reply. 

Or  fsUow,  down  the  rocky  ledge  she  sped 
With  delicate  feet  that  left  the  wounding  flints 
Besprent  with  crimson. 

As  she  gained  the  strand. 
And  neared  the  darkening  speck,— upon  the  breeze 
Came  wafted  upward  to  the  listeners'  ears, 
A  shriek  of  such  unutterable  bale 
As  chilled  their  souls  with  horror ;  for  they  knew 
Alcyone  had  found  her  husband— dead  1 
And  drilled  shoreward  like  an  ocean- weed. 

They  saw  her  rush  with  wringing  hands  outstretched. 

To  fling  herself  upon  him — but  between 

The  dead  and  living,  swept  a  refluent  wave, 

That  on  its  bosom  bore  the  lifeless  form 

Back  to  the  gulphing  sea ;  and  bending  low, 

The  awe-struck  gazers  on  the  scarped  clifl^ 

Caught  the  breeze-borne  words  : 


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466  Alcyone,  [April, 

— *  To  thee  I  come, 
BeloTed  I    Since  thou  majst  not  come  to  me ! 
Reach  forth  thine  arms  upon  the  bitter  foam, 
And  let  me  spring  to  meet  thee — thus — ' 

Thej  caught 
A  gleam  of  fluttering  garments — a  dull  plash — 
The  sullen  gurgle  of  recoiling  wares — 
The  clamorous  screaming  of  a  startled  gull 
That  flapped  its  wings  above  them, — but  no  more, 
For  all  their  wanderings  through  the  windless  night— 
For  all  their  desolate  waitings, — nevermore 
The  wistful  face  of  sad  Alcyone. 

When  wintry  storms  were  spent,  and  gentle  airs 
Soothed  with  caressing  hand  the  furrowed  surge, 
Within  iEgean  seas, — the  voyager. 
Watching  the  halcyon  with  his  brooding  mate, 
Nested  upon  the  waters  tranquilly 
As  midst  Thessalian  myrtles, — said  : 

— '  Behold 
Alcyon6  and  CeVx  I — We  shall  have 
Fair  weather  for  our  sailing.' 


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Art.   X.^NOTICES  OF   BOOKS. 

l.—KssATS  Philosophic iL  and  Throlooioal.  By  James  Martineaa.  Vol.  If. 
Boston  :  WiUiam  V .  Spencer.  1868 .  For  sale  by  Cushlngs  k  Bailey,  Bal- 
timore. 

We  heartily  commend  this  volume  to  all  who  have  a  taste 
for  philosophical  reading  or  for  philosophy.  We  have  cer- 
tainly found  it  a  delightful  production.  It  consists  of  nine 
essays  or  reviews,  called  forth  by  as  many  separate  works, 
and  one  discourse  on  the  study  of  philosophy,  having  the  fol- 
lowing titles :  Whewell's  Morality  ;  Whewell's  Systematic 
Morality ;  Morell's  History  of  Modern  Philosophy  ;  Oer- 
sted's Soul  in  Nature ;  Kingsley's  Phajton ;  Sir  William 
Hamilton's  Philosophy ;  Kingsley's  Alexandria  and  her 
Schools  ;  Theory  of  Reasoning  ;  Plato :  his  Physics  and  Met- 
aphysics ;  and  A  Plea  for  Philosophy. 

Ev2ry  real  student  of  philosophy  is,  indeed,  alrea'ly  fami- 
liar with  the  works  above-named.  The  more  familiar  he  is 
with  them,  however,  the  more  he  will  enjoy  the  criticisms  of 
Mr.  Martineau,  whether  he  always  concurs  with  the  critic  or 
otherwise.  The  freshness  and  piquancy  of  his  style ;  the 
justness  and  moderation  of  his  views ;  and  withal  the  very 
original  and  striking  way  in  which  he  occasionally  puts 
things  ;  are  truly  admirable.  As  all  the  essays  of  the  vol- 
ume are  philosophical,  it  would  have  been  better,  perhaps, 
if  the  author  had  departed  from  the  chronological  order  in  the 
arrangement  of  his  miscellanies,  and  put  the  last  of  all  first ; 
that  is,  if  he  had  introduced  his  series  of  philosophical  dis- 
quisitions with  his  *Plea  for  Philosophy.' 

To  begin  our  notice  with  the  Plea,  he  says :  'There  are 
persons  with  whom  it  is  a  traditional  habit  to  disbelieve  all 
mental  or  moral  science.  Others,  in  the  zeal  of  a  new  con- 
version, see  in  the  metaphysician  only  the  lingering  ghost  of 
an  age  found  dead  upon  the  shore  of  time ;  and  assure  us 
that  when   the  pious  care  of  M.  Comte  has  scattered  sand 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


468  NbticeB  of  Books.  [K^nl, 

enough  upon  the  corpse,  the  spectre  will  vanish  by  the  Sty- 
gian way.'  Such,  indeed,  are  the  adherents  of  the  FhUo- 
aophie  Positive  ;  a  philosophy  as  one-sided  and  narrow  in  its 
doctrines,  as  it  is  arrogant  and  dogmatical  in  its  spirit. 
Either  because  they  lack  the  patience  to  study,  or  the  capa- 
city to  comprehend,  the  science  of  mind,  these  blatant  wor- 
shippers of  the  golden  calf  of  materialism, — denying  all  other 
gods  beside, — abhor  and  denounce  all  metaphysics  as  utterly 
unworthy  of  the  age  of  light  introduced  by  themselves.  Dar- 
ing the  dark  ages  of  the  past,  the  study  of  metaphysics  was, 
perhaps,  pardonable  in  such  benighted  souls  as  Plato,  Aris- 
totle, Augustine,  Aquinas,  Bacon,  Descartes,  Liebnitz,  Blaise 
Pascal,  Newton,  Locke,  and  Butler,  but  since  the  world  has 
been  illuminated  by  the  writings  of  M.  Auguste  Comte,  John 
Stuart  Mill,  H.  Thomas  Buckle,  Miss  Marti neau,  and  the 
Westminster  Review,  nothing  could  be  more  disgraceful  than 
is  such  an  exploded  science  in  such  incorrigible  blockheads 
as  Sir  William  Hamilton,  Cousin,  Coleridge,  Guizot,  Whate- 
ley,  Mansel,  and,  in  short,  the  whole  bead-roll  of  mighty 
names  in  the  modern  dunciad  of  mental  philosophy.  If, 
indeed,  any  system  of  philosophy  deserves  the  scorn,  deri- 
sion, and  contempt  of  mankind,  it  is  surely  that  which  heeps 
scorn,  derision,  and  contempt  on  all  systems  except  itself,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  war  it  wages  against  the  eternal  Father 
of  Lights  himself. 

If  anything  could  be  more  astonishing  than  the  vulgar 
assumption  of  this  new  philosophy,  it  is  the  palpable  ab- 
surdity which,  to  every  eye  except  to  that  of  a  Positivist^  is 
indelibly  stamped  on  its  very  forehead.  This  absurdity  is 
happily  hit  off  by  Mr.  Martineau.  *We  are  constantly  told,' 
says  he,  ^by  those  who  imagine  the  new  organon  to  have  su- 
perseded the  old,  that  false  metaphysics  are  the  sure  parents 
of  false  science.  But  they  forget  that  910-metaphysics  are 
sure  to  he  false.  For  what  are  they?  Their  negative  name 
is  a  delusive  mask;  and  no  man  can  reason  on  these  matters 
at  all,  no  man  can  even  rail  at  metaphysics  without  a  meta- 
physic  hypothesis  (of  his  own)  at  least ;  and  the  only  ques- 
tion is,  whether  he  will  reverently  seek  it  by  wide  and  patient 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  469 

toil,  and,  consciously  possessed  of  it,  call  it  by  its  name,  or 
whether  he  will  pick  it  up  among  the  accidents  of  another 
quest,  and  have  it  about  him  without  knowing  what  it  ie/ 

Dr.  Whewell's  ElemenU  of  Morality  and  Pdiiy^  which 
forms  the  subject  of  the  first  Essay  before  us,  deserved  notice 
only  as  the  production  of  so  learned  and  so  celebrated  an 
author.  More  than  twenty  years  ago,  we  gave,  in  the  Dem- 
ocratic Review^  our  estimate  of  the  work  in  question  ;  and 
we  are  happy  to  find  our  opinion  of  it  confirmed  by  Mr.  Mar- 
tineau.  That  the  most  celebrated  Professor  of  Moral  Philos- 
ophy in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  and  a  professed  disciple 
of  Butler,  should  have  produced  such  a  work,  such  a  hetero- 
genous compound  of  the  odds  and  ends  of  all  systems,  with- 
out the  least  apparent  attempt  to  reduce  the  chaos  to  order, 
or  to  adjust  the  conflicting  claims  of  its  various  elements,  has 
always  struck  us  as  one  of  the  curiosities,  not  to  say  mon- 
strosities, of  literature.  This  work  illustrates  at  least  one 
thing,  namely,  the  deplorable  condition  of  moral  science  in 
England.  • 

The  Systematic  Morality  of  Dr.  Whewell  is,  in  the  main,  a 
reply  to  Mr.  Martineau's  strictures  on  his  former  work,  the 
Elements  of  Morality  and  Polity.  This  reply  called  forth  the 
second  Essay  of  the  series  before  us,  in  which  it  is  shown, 
that  as  Dr.  Whewell  had  the  most  imperfect  notion  of  the 
elements  of  morality,  so  he  had  no  conception  whatever  of 
systematic  morality.  Mr.  Martineau,  however,  scarcely  does 
justice  to  the  semi-chaotic  darkness,  perplexity,  and  confu- 
sion, to  which  Dr.  Whewell  has  reduced  the  science  of  mo- 
rality. Mr.  Martineau,  as  appears  from  his  reviews  of  Dr. 
Whewell's  works,  is  deeply  and  painfully  sensible  of  the  dis- 
graceful neglect  into  which  the  study  of  philosophy  has  fal- 
len in  England.  This  feeling,  indeed,  crops  out  in  all  his 
Essays;  especially  in  his  review  of  that  delightful  work, 
Morell's  History  of  Modem  Philosophy. 

•This  is,'  says  he,  'a  very  seasonable  book.  It  gives  infor- 
mation which  every  one,  having  any  pretensions  to  a  liberal 
culture,  desired  to  possess,  yet  was  puzzled  to  obtain.  It  dis- 
cusses  questions  of  metaphysics,   which,  even   within   the 


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470  Notices  of  Books.  [K-pnl, 

thick  covering  of  the  English  cranium,  are  beginning  to  turn 
over  from  their  sleep.'  *We  never,'  he  continues,  'despaired 
of  philosophy  in  England.  Low  as  its  condition  has  long 
been,  and  dependent  as  we  mainly  are  upon  our  old  litera- 
ture of  this  kind  for  what  reputation  we  still  enjoy  among 
the  schools  of  Europe,  we  yet  believe  that  neither  our  nation- 
al  character,  nor  our  social  state,  is  untitled  to  ripen  the 
fruits  of  reflective  science.'  True, — very  true.  But  then  is 
not  adversity  necessary  to  ripen  such  fruits,  and  bring  them 
to  perfection  ?  The  low  condition  of  philosophy  in  England 
has,  it  is  certain^  been  most  remarkable  during  the  period  of 
her  greatest  material  prosperity,  and  her  most  devout  wor- 
ship of  Mammon  ;  and  the  fruits  of  her  'reflective  science' 
have  grown  best,  and  flourished  most  luxuriantly,  in  the 
tempestuous  times  of  her  great  political  trials  and  civil  wars. 
May  not  adversity,  then,  be  found  necessary  to  renew  the  age 
of  her  Cudworths,  her  Clarkes,  her  Lockes,  and  her  Butlers? 
Or,  in  other  words,  to  develope,  in  spite  of  all  her  practical 
tastes  and  teMencies,  a  glorious  race  of  thinkers  to  deal  with 
the  great  problems  respecting  the  nature  and  destiny  of  man, 
and  the  glory  of  God. 

We  might  easily  expand  this  'book  notice*  into  a  long 
article.  So  delightful,  indeed,  are  the  books  reviewed  by  Mr. 
Martineau,  and  so  delightful  are  his  reviews  of  them,  that 
we  reluctantly  take  leave  of  his  fascinating  pages.  Oersted's 
Sovl  in  Nature  is,  in  spite  of  its  erroneous  philosophy,  one  of 
the  most  charming  works  noticed  by  our  author.  Warm,  and 
genial,  and  .generous,  however,  as  are  his  commendations  of 
the  Soul  in  Nature^  Mr.  Martineau,  by  no  means,  spares  the 
unsound  principles  of  Oersted's  Philosophy.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  lays  the  axe  to  the  very  root  of  Oersted's  mechani- 
cal view  of  the  universe,  and  vindicates,  with  admirable 
precision  and  power,  the  true  doctrine  of  God,  and  man,  and 
nature.  The  following  eloquent  passage,  for  example,  is  in 
our  author's  happiest  style,  and  might  easily  be  expanded 
into  a  profound  and  beautiful  commentary  on  the  constitution 
of  the  universe  of  mind  and  matter.     'In  cutting  down  the  pre- 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Boohs.  471 

tensions  of  physical  theory/  says  Mr.  Martineau,  Ho  the  rank 
of  hypothesis,  we  do  no  more  than  take  it  at  its  word.  For 
what  does  its  first  law  of  motion  affirm,  but  an  hypothetical 
iwoposition,  namely,  that  if  a  body  unoccupied  by  a  will,  be- 
acted  on  by  a  force,  it  cannot,  when  set  in  motion,  change 
the  direction  or  velocity  of  its  course,  without  the  application 
of  another  foreign  force?  What,  as  Oersted  himself  observes,, 
is  the  so-called  *'  inertia  of  matter  but  the  absence  of  will  from 
body  destitute  of  soul  ?"  The  primary  axiom,  therefore,  and 
definitions,  on  which  the  august  structure  of  the  celestial 
mechanics  is  raised,  do  not  pretend  to  be  more  than  condi» 
tionally  true  :  should  will  be  absent,  then  they  hold  ;  should 
will  be  present,  the  case  does  not  arise  for  their  application. 
When  the  doctrine  of  central  forces  is  said  to  account  for  the 
motion  of  a  planet,  all  that  is  meant  is  accordingly  this: 
**lf  no  will  be  there,  such  is  the  way  in  which  the  phe- 
nomena come  to  pass," — which  we  readily  grant,  but  which 
is  not  to  debar  us  from  thinking  that  a  will  is  there,  or  to 
slip  from  representative  modesty  to  positive  usnrpation.' 

Without  following  our  author  any  further,  we  shall  simply 
conclude,  as  we  begun,  with  a  cordial  recommendation  of  his. 
delightful  volume  to  all  who,  in  this  practical  money-loving 
and  money-getting  age,  have  the  least  taste  or  capacity  for 
philosophy.  Often,  as  we  have  read  this  volume,  have  we 
been  reminded  of  the  words  of  the  greatest  of  poets  : 

•  'How  charming  is  divine  philosopbj ! 

'Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  at  dull  fools  tuppose^ 
'But  musical  as  is  Apollo^s  lute, 
'And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectared  sweets, 
'Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns.' 

2  ^Excblsior;  or  Essays  on  Politeness,  Education,  and  Means  or  Attaining 
Success  in  Lipe.    ndltimore:  Kelly,  Piet  k  Co.    Pp.  290. 

This  handsome  little  volume  consists  of  two  parts  ;  the  first 
for  *yoiing  gentlemen/  and  the  second  for  *young  ladies/ 
The  part  for  young  gentlemen,  forming  about  one  half  the 
volume,  was  written  by  Professor  T.  E.  Howard,  A.  M.;  and 
the  remaining  half  for  young  ladies,  by  a  lady  (R.  V.  R.) 

We  heartily  commend  the  first  part  of  this  little  volume 
to  Young  America;  especially  Chapter  IV.,  which  treats  of 


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472  Notices  of  Books.  [April, 

*good  manners,'  ^manliness/  'table  etiquette,'  etc.,  etc.;  and 
Chapter  V,  which  discusses  the  all-important  subject  of 'con- 
versation.' Not  that  we  mean  to  intimate,  for  a  moment, 
that  Young  America  is  at  all  deficient  in  good  manners,  (tr 
in  the  art  of  edifying  and  agreeable  conversation,  but  only 
that,  notwithstanding  the  politeness,  and  polish,  and  courtesy  ' 
for  which  he  is  so  famous,  there  may  still  possibly  be  some 
little  room  for  improvement. 

Let  our  young  ladies  also,  by  all  means,  read  the  second 
part  of  the  volume  before  us ;  especially  Chapters  VIII  and 
IX,  on  the  subject  of  'mental  training,'  and  Chapter  X,  on 
'physical  training.'  No  part  of  education  is,  indeed,  more 
sadly  neglected  in  this  country,  than  the  physical  training 
of  women.  Can  nothing  be  done  to  remedy  the  evil ;  for  an 
evil  it  most  assuredly  is,  and  a  tremendous  one  too,  which, 
if  not  Krrested,  must  sooner  or  later  tell  on  the  character  of 
the  American  people. 

'The  exercises  of  physical  training  schools,'  says  our 
authoress, '  established  in  some  cities,  are  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful ;  they  must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated.  Every  limb,  joint 
and  muscle  is  exercised,  and  made  strong  and  supple.  The 
evolutions  are  performed  simultaneously  by  all,  to  music,  and 

under  the  guidance  of  a  drill-master They  are  far 

more  efficient  in  producing  elegance  of  form  and  carriage, 
and  grace  of  motion,  than  dancing  schools  can  ever  be  ;  and, 
as  regards  improvement  of  health,  there  can  be  no  compari- 
son.'    Why,  then,  should  they  not  be  tried  in  Baltimore? 

3. — Rural  Pobms.    Bj  William  Barnes.    Boston  :  Roberts  Brothers,  1869. 

An  exceedingly  attractive  little  volume  this  to  the  eye. 
The  fine,  smooth,  glossy,  tinted  paper,  the  exquisite  typo- 
graphy, the  great  number  and  variety  of  poetical  gems,  with 
appropriate  illustrations,  and  the  elegant  binding,  all  con- 
spire to  make  this,  both  inside  and  outside,  a  charming  little 
work  for  young  people.  A  taste  for  such  a  work — for  such 
Rural  Poems — speaks  well  for  the  rising  generation  of  Boston; 
that  is,  provided  it  be  genuine  and  general. 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  473 

4. — John  M.  Costello  ;  oB  thb  Biauty  of  Vibtcf,  Exemplified  in  an  American 
Youth.    Baltimore  :  John  Murphy  &  Co.    18G9. 

The  character  of  this  little  book  is  well  and  fully  expressed 
in  its  title.  To  say  that  it  was  published  by  John  Murphy  & 
Co.,  is  to  say  that,  in  mechanical  execution  and  taste,  it  is 
exactly  what  it  should  be.  The  style  of  the  work,  too,  is  in 
keeping  with  its  external  form,  as  well  as  with  the  character 
it  describes.  'This  Little  Memoir'  is,  in  handsome  and  ap- 
propriate terms,  dedicated  to  ^His  Grace,  the  Most  Kev. 
Archbishop  of  Baltimore.' 

5. — Dr.  Jacob.    By  M.  Belham  Edwards.      Boston  :    Roberts  Brothers.     1869. 

We  looked  into  this  volume  with  the  impression  somehow 
made  ujmn  our  minds,  perhaps  by  the  name  of  the  writer,  M. 
Betham  Edwards,  that  it  was  from  the  hand  of  a  man.  The 
earlier  part  of  the  story  helped  to  keep  up  the  illusion.  So 
discriminating  were  the  characterizations ;  so  nicely  hit  off 
were  certain  feminine  foibles  ;  and  such  freedom  was  there 
from  the  peccadillos  which  so  often  mar  women's  pages — no 
needless  expletives,  no  excess  of  ornament,  no  wearisome 
details,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  style  at  once  natural,  terse, 
and  clcan^  (as  a  recent  critic  terms  it);  that  we  did  not  dream 
it  might  be  the  production  of  a  woman.  As  we  proceeded, 
however,  our  original  impression  began  to  fade  away;  and, 
finally,  the  frequency  of  such  quotations  as  Carpe  diem — Per 
varies  casus,  ^c.  tfc,  drew  from  us  the  involuntary  whisper, 
*Ah !  she  betrays  herself — the  little  Latin,  like  murder,  will 
out  I' 

There  is  a  singular  incongruity  about  the  book.  The  first 
half,  as  we  have  intimated,  is  more  than  ordinarily  well 
written.  The  scene  is  almost  wholly  laid  in  Frankfort,  and 
gives  fine  scope  to  the  writer's  power  in  delineating,  what 
has  become  the  fashion  of  late, — German  domestic  life, — 
English  Continental  Society, — and  scores  of  pretty  scenes  in 
and  about  Goethe's  old  home: — all  of  which  are  doue  with  a 
Tenniers-like  accuracy.  Each  character  is  well  stamped, 
and,  unlike  Dickens/  without  the  invariable  label. 
15 


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474  Notices  of  BooTch.  [April, 

But  about  the  middle  of  the  book,  a  curious  change  is 
apparent ;  a  change  so  marked,  that  one  is  disposed  to  ques-  ' 
tion  whether  the  characters  have  not  been  drawn  by  one 
hand,  and  the  plot  by  another.  From  the. very  first  chapter, 
considerable  trouble  is  taken  to  prepare  the  reader  for  a  be- 
coming denouement ;  his  curiosity  is  dallied  with  and  pro- 
vokingly  appetized,  and  yet,  when  at  last  the  end  is  reached, 
lo  I — there  is  no  denouement  at  all ;  or,  at  best,  one  so  un- 
satisfactory that  the  tantalized  reader  feels  quite  taken  in. 

We  are  prepared  to  find  Dr.  Jacob  carrying  himself  en 
grand  seigneur  to  the  end ;  and  would  have  been  mollified, 
in  a  measure,  had  he  turned  out  a  magnificent  scoundrel ; 
but  when  he  drivels  down  into  a  contemptible  weakling,  we 
lose  patience,  and  own  ourselves  unfairly  dealt  with.  Frau- 
lein  Fink  is  excellent  in  her  way,  and  altogether  the  raciest 
character  in  the  book.  Miss  Edwards  would  do  well,  we 
venture  to  suggest,  if  she  would  get  some  strong  and  more 
daring  hand  to  outline  the  plot  of  her  next  novel :  with  the 
warp  rightly  drawn,  she  is  fully  equal  to  the  supply  of  the 
embroidering  woof. 

6. — Little  Women;  ob  M.eo,  Jo,  Bbtu  and  Amy.    By  Louisa  M.  Alcott,  illuitr*- 
ted  by  Mary  Alcott.    Boston  :  Roberts  Brothers.     1868. 

This  is  a  book  for  girls,  and  is  a  simple,  natural  picture 
of  home  life.  The  natural  and  high-toned,  though  faulty, 
characters  of  the  girls,  who  have  scarcely  attained  to  the 
dignity  of  heroines,  will  make  this  little  book  about  4ittle 
women'  welcome  in  many  a  home.  It  is,  it  seems  to  us,  an 
unmistakable  sign  of  returning  health  in  the  taste  of  the 
juvenile  American,  that  simple  stories  like  this  are  in  such 
demand.  Let  the  blessed  charge  go  on  ;  there  is  still  room 
for  improvement. 

But  why  'the  inevitable  soldier,'  or  scraps  of  the  late  war, 
in  a  book  about  'little  women?'  If  it  had  only  been  about 
little  men,  then,  indeed,  might  an  abundant  supply  of  appro- 
priate characters  have  been  found  among  the  heroes  of  the 
late  war. 


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1869.]  ISotices  of  Boohs.  475 

7.— Madamb  dk  Bbaupbb.  By  Mrs.  C.  Jenkins,  author  of  'A  Psjche  of  To- 
Day,'  'Who  Breaks  Pays,'  &c.  Ac.  New  York:  Lcypoldt  &  Holdt.  1869- 
Pp.  2'?8. 

One  seldom  sees  the  natioaality  of  the  author  so  completely 
sunk  in  that  of  the  characters  depicted  as  in  this  little  duo- 
decimo. Madame  de  Beaupre  is  a  charming  little  story  of 
life  in  a  provincial  French  town,  as  seen  by  the  eye  of  a 
French  woman,  and  pervaded  by  that  peculiar  French  senti- 
ment, which  is  so  unmistakable,  and,  at  the  same  time,  so 
very  diflBcult  to  define.  The  characters  are  well  delineated, 
especially  those  who  are  allowed  to  speak  for  themselves ; 
but  so  numerous  are  they,  that  they  impede,  rather  than 
facilitate,  the  progress  of  the  story.  Why  has  the  author 
thrown  them  out  in  such  profusion  ?  Was  it  merely  to  dis- 
play her  powers  of  description,  or  to  enjoy  the  exercise  of  her 
power  of  creation  ? 

The  dress  of  the  little  volume  is  pretty — the  paper,  the 
type,  and  the  binding,  are  all  attractive. 

8.— The  Idial  IN  Art.  By  H.  Taine.  Translated  by  J.  Durand.  New  York: 
L^ypoldtA  Holdt.     1869.     Pp.186. 

This  little  volume,  every  word  of  which  we  have  read  with 
much  interest,  consists  of  the  substance. of  two  lectures,  de- 
livered during  the  past  year  to  the  students  of  the  Bcole  des 
Beaux  ArtSy  in  Paris,  by  M.  Taine,  Professor  of  the  History 
of  Art  in  that  institution.  It  is  designed  to  carry  out  and 
complete  the  theory,  which  the  author  had  set  forth  in  his 
Philosophy  of  Art;  a  work  which  should  be  read  in  connec- 
tion with  the  present  volume.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  a  little 
difficult  for  the  general  reader  to  obtain,  from  this  volume 
alone,  any  very  clear  view  of  the  author's  idea  of  Art,  or  of 
his  Ideal  in  Art.  *The  whole  of  art,'  says  he,  (p.  156)  *lies 
in  two  words,  concentration  in  manifestation;'  a  statement,  or 
definition,  which  we  construe  in  the  light  of  the  disquisition 
by  Coleridge,  (or  rather  by  Schelling,)  on  the  nature  of  the 
imagination  as  the  esemphzstic  power  of  the  mind,  or  the 
power  by  which  many  things  are  moulded  into  one.  But 
whether,  in  this  little  volume,  the  general  reader  should  dis- 
cover the  author's  ideal  of  art  or  not,  he  will  certainly  find 


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476  Notices  of  Boohs,  [April, 

many  things  pleasant  to  read ;  that  is,  provided  the  princi- 
ples of  art  are  not  wholly  foreign  from  his  intellectual  tastes 
and  pleasures. 

9. — A  New  Manual  of  the  Elements  of  Astronomy,  Desceiptiye  and  Hathi- 
matioal:  comprising  the  latest  Discoveries  and  Theoretic  Views.  By 
Henry  Kiddle,  A.  M.,  Assistant  Superintendent  of  Schools,  New  York.  New 
York  :    Ivison,  Phinney,  Blakeman  k  Co.     1868.    Pp.  286. 

We  have  examined,  with  considerable  care,  this  *new 
manual  of  the  elements  of  astronomy;'  and  if  we  had  to  teach 
this  science  to  a  class  of  boys,  or  girls,  we  should  prefer  it, 
as  a  text-book,  to  any  volume  with  which  we  are  acquainted. 
It  seems,  indeed,  admirably  adapted  to  such  a  purpose  ;  being 
nearly  always,  or  in  the  main,  clear,  simple,  direct,  and 
accurate,  in  its  statements,  as  well  as  happy  in  its  illustra- 
tions. We  have,  however,  noticed  a  few  things  in  the  volume, 
which  appear  unworthy  of  its  general  good  character,  and 
which  should  be  corrected  in  future  editions  of  the  work. 
Thus,  on  page  102,  the  author  says :  *The  volume  of  the  sun 
is,  as  already  stated,  about  500  times  that  of  all  the  planets ; 
the  mass  is,  however,  about  700  times  as  great.  This  shows 
that  the  mass  of  the  sun  is  greater  than  the  average  mass  of 
the  planets.'  A  very  strange  blunder  this,  not  to  say  sheer 
nonsense.  The  mass  of  the  sun  700  times  as  great  as  the 
mass  of  all  the  planets  put  together  ;  and  'this  shows  that 
his  mass  is  greater  than  the  average  mass  of  the  planets !' 
The  author  probably  intended  to  say,  what  he  certainly 
should  have  said,  that  as  *the  volume  of  the  sun  is  about  500 
times  as  great  as  that  of  all  the  planets,  while  its  mass,  or 
weight,  is  700  times  as  great  as  their  aggregate  masjt  or 
weight;  it  follows  that  its  density  is  greater  than  the  average 
density  of  the  planets.  This  statement,  or  inference,  makes 
sense;  and,  accordingly,  we  shall  look  for  it  in  the  next 
edition  of  the  New  Manual. 

Again,  on  page  104,  it  is  said  :  *The  didcovery  of  spots  on 
the  fiolar  disc  is  noticed  in  history  as  early  as  807  A.  D.' 
Our  author  has,  for  this  statement,  the  authority  of  the  cele- 
brated astronomer  M.  Arago ;  but,  besides  coming  into  con- 
flict with  the  general  opinion  of  astronomers,  M.  Arago  has, 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Boohs.  477 

in  this  instance,  committed  a  palpable  oversight.  ^The  dis- 
covery of  the  solar  spots/  says  he,  ^  completely  overthrew  one 
of  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  peripatetic  astronomy, 
viz.,  the  principle  of  the  incorruptibility  of  the  heavens.  It 
appears  to  me,  then,  that  the  reader  may  be  desirous  of  know- 
ing the  first  astronomer  who  established  by  incontestible 
observations  the  existence  of  these  spots.  According  to  an 
opinion  which  generally  prevails,  especially  in  Italy,  this 
astronomer  was  Galileo  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this 
is  a  mistake.'  Now,  in  order  to  overthrow  the  prevalent 
opinion,  and  to  dispute  '  the  claims  of  the  passionate  ad- 
mirers of  the  illustrious  philosopher  of  Florence,'  M.  Arago 
says :  '  Several  historians  of  Charlemagne  relate  that  in  the 
year  807  a  large  black  spot  was  visible  upon  the  sun  during 
eight  consecutive  days.  It  has  been  supposed  that  this  spot 
was  Mercury,  without  reflecting  that,  according  to  the  known 
movement  of  that  planet,  it  was  utterly  impossible  it  should 
remain  projected  on  the  sun  during  eight  consecutive  days.' 
Now,  whether  it  was  Mercury  or  not,  it  is  certain,  that  just  so 
long  as  it  was  supposed  to  be  Mercury,  this  belief  precluded 
the  possibility  of  its  entering  into  the  imagination  that  it 
was,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  *a  solar  spot.'  According 
to  M.  Arago,  some  supposed  the  spot  seen  on  the  sun  in  807 
was  Mercury,  and  some  that  it  arose  from  a  defect  in  the  eye, 
or  the  imagination,  of  the  observer.  Astronomers  made  vari- 
ous suppositions  indeed,  ju3t  because  the  idea  of  real  spots 
on  the  sun  had  never  entered  into  their  conceptions  or  belief. 
What,  then,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  had  such  an  ap- 
pearance to  do  with  the  question,  as  to  Hhe  first  astronomer 
who  established  by  incontestible  observations  the  existence 
of  these  spots  ?'  Why,  it  was  not  even  believed  to  be  a  spot ; 
much  less  was  it  established  as  such  by  incontestible  observa- 
tions ?  The  projection  of  Mercury,  or  of  Venus,  on  the  sun, 
during  a  transit  of  the  planet,  is  no  more  a  solar  spot,  than 
is  the  projection  of  the  moon  on  the  same  great  luminary  in 
a  solar  eclipse. .  The  supposition  that  one  saw  the  shadow  of 
Mercury,  or  of  the  moon,  or  of  Venus,  on  the  sun,  was  cer- 


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478  Notices  of  Books.  [April, 

tainly  not  the  discovery  of  the  solar  spots,  by  careful,  cautions, 
and  4ncontestible  observations/  We  agree,  then,  with  Sir 
John  Herschel,  that  'one  of  the  earliest  applications  of  the 
telescope  was  to  turn  it  on  the  sun  ;'  and  that  Hhe  fruits  of 
this  application  ...  in  the  year  1611  .  .  .  was  the  dis- 
covery of  black  spots  on  its  surface.'  Then  were  the  solar 
spots  first  seen  and  recognized  a«  such  by  astronomers ;  or 
the  great  fact  first  'established,  by  incontestible  observations,' 
that  these  spots  adhere  to  the  sun.  The  historians  of 
Charlemagne,  who,  in  807,  saw  something  on  the  sun,  with- 
out knowing  what  it  was,  are  not  to  be  named  among  the 
first  discoverers  of  the  solar  spots. 

M.  Arago  endeavors  to  prove  that,  contrary  to  the  general 
opinion  of  astronomers,  spots  were  discovered  on  the  sun  as 
early  as  the  year  321,  and  even  before  the  Christian  era  by 
the  Chinese.  But  we  have  examined  only  the  evidence 
adduced  by  him  for  the  year  807  to  which  Mr.  Kiddle  refers. 

'A  body,'  says  Mr.  Kiddle,  (p.  28)  '^when  acted  on  by  a 
single  force,  moves  in  a  straight  line ;  and  will  continue  to 
move  in  the  same  direction,  and  with  the  same  velocUt/j  until 
acted  upon  by  some  other  force.'  Now  this  is  not  true.  For 
if  the  'single  force,'  which  acts  on  the  body,  be  a  constant 
one,  the  body  will  move  with  a  continually  accelerated  velocity. 
It  is  only  when  a  body  is  acted  on  by  a  single  projectile,  or 
impulsive,  force,  that  it  moves  with  a  uniform  velocity ;  and, 
accordingly,  the  single  force  sho^ild  be  so  characterized  in 
order  to  make  the  proposition  of  the  author  true.  If  a  writer 
on  astronomy  should  be  accurate  any  where,  it  should  most 
assuredly  be  in  defining  the  laws  of  motion. 

The  author  says,  (p.  33.)  'The  velocity  of  a  planet  must 
therefore  be  variable  when  it  moves  in  an  elliptic  orbit,  beinff 
greatest  at  the  aphelion,  least  at  the  perihelion,*  &c.  Now  this 
is  exactly  the  reverse  of  the  truth.  The  velocity  of  any 
planet  is  greatest  at  the  perihelion,  and  least  at  the  aphelion. 
We  do  not  suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  this  blunder  was  the 
result  of  ignorance ;  for  the  authof  evidently  knew  better,  as 
appears  from  the  preceding  paragraph  of  his  book.     But, 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Boohs.  479 

then,  the  gt-oss  carelessness,  which  permitted  such  a  blunder 
to  creep  into  the  text  of  his  book,  is  scarcely  pardonable. 

From  these  errors,  as  well  as  from  some  others  which 
might  easily  be  pointed  out,  it  is  evident,  that  the  work  of 
Mr.  Kiddle  needs  a  careful  revision.  With  such  a  revision, 
or  correction  of  its  errors,  it  will  form  an  admirable  text- 
book for  schools  and  academies.  One  of  the  most  pleasing 
features  of  the  book,  is  *the  brief  historical  sketches  of  the 
various  discoveries'  in  astronomy,  which  'are  given  in  con- 
nection with  the  facts  to  which  they  relate.'  Our  author 
truly  calls  this,  *a  most  fascinating  part  of  the  subject ;'  and 
for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  so  fascinating,  it  should  be  as 
correct  as  possible.  It  should  certainly  consult  more  guides, 
or  authorities,  than  one  ;  especially  if  that  one  is  M.  Arago, 
who  is,  at  times,  grievously  at  fault  in  his  historical  sketches 
of  great  discoveries. 

10.— Annals  of  Rural  Bengal.    By  W.  W.  Hunter,  B.  A..  M.  R.  A.  S.  Ac,  of 
the  Bengal  Civil  Service.    New  York  :    Leypoldt  &  Holdt.     1868. 

The  reticence  of  eastern  peoples  is  remarkable.  The  Eng- 
lish govern  India  as  best  they  can ;  but  whether  their  domin- 
ion gives  satisfaction  to  the  mass  of  the  people,  or  what 
particular  acts  of  government  meet  with  approval,  are  ques- 
tions which  they  have  no  means  of  determining.  Mr.  Hunter 
attempts  in  a  measure  to  lift  the  veil  from  the  sentiments  of 
the  masses.  His  failure  is  not  due  to  a  want  of  labor  and 
intelligent  observation.  Something  must  be  done  to  make 
the  natives  less  reserved,  before  the  English  can  be  secure  of 
that  best  pillar  of  government,  the  consent  of  the  governed. 

Mr.  Hunter,  however,  makes  a  valuable  contribution  to 
our  knowledge  of  the  manners,  customs,  traditions,  history, 
ethnology,  and  language  of  the  Bengalis.  The  author  pos- 
sessed rare  advantages  for  investigating  questions  connected 
with  the  aboriginal  people  and  language  of  Bengal,  and  for 
marking  their  adulteration  by  foreign  elements. 

*  The  population  of  Lower  Bengal,  ethnically  considered, 
consists  of  two  elements ;  first,  the  Aryan  invaders,  almost 
all  of  whom  assumed  the  rank  of  Brahmans ;  and,  second, 
the  Aborigines.' 


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480  Notices  of  Books.  [April, 

There  are  indistinct  traces  of  primative  races,  which  per- 
ished in  pre-historic  times.  These  the  author  disposes  of, 
along  with  the  birds  of  the  Lias,  and  such  like,  in  a  rhetori- 
cal flourish  which,  perhaps,  is  allowable  in  a  man  who  has 
done  80  much  dry  work. 

*In  India  all  three  classes  of  languages  meet  as  upon  a 
common  camping  ground.  Bengal  with  its  dependencies, 
forms  a  vast  basin  into  which  every  variety  of  speech 
has  been  flowing  since  pre-historic  times.  There  the  whole 
philological  series  will  be  found,  each  stratum  lying  above 
its  predecessor  ;  from  the  Isolating  languages,  that  hard 
primary  formation,  through  the  secondary  layers  of  the  Com- 
pounding class  up  to  the  most  recent  deposits  of  Inflecting 
speech,  the  alluvial  Bengali  and  Hindi,'  (p.  167.) 

India  thus  presents  the  finest  field  for  the  study  of  lan- 
guage. Fortunately,  Mr.  Hunter's  official  position  placed  him 
in  a  district  where  the  linguistic  problems  were  less  complex 
than  in  the  central  valley  of  the  Ganges.  Beerbhoom  and 
Bishenpore  lie  in  the  western  part  of  lower  Bengal,  and  mark 
the  confine  reached  by  tbe  successive  waves  of  invasion  sweep- 
ing down  from  Northern  India.  They  ofier  peculiar  advan- 
tages for  investigating  the  language  of  the  aborigines,  and 
the  dialects  arising  from  its  amalgamation  with  those  of  tbe 
invaders.  The  results  of  the  author's  study  arc  that,  the 
vernacular  of  the  aboriginal  hill  men,  called  the  Santali^  is 
one  of  the  Compounding  languages  ;  it  contains  certain  roots 
expressive  of  simple  ideas  in  common  with  Sanskrit,  and  it 
is  probable,  that  the  Sanskrit  and  Bengali  have  borrowed 
certain  words  and  sounds  from  the  Santali.  By  far  the  most 
interesting  conclusion  reached  is,  that  the  study  of  the 
Santali  may  do  for  the  Compounding  languages  what  the 
study  of  Sanskrit  has  done  for  the  Inflecting.  The  Santali 
seems  to  point  to  the  northeast  of  the  Himalayas  as  the 
starting  point  of  the  Indian  aborigines  ;  but  there  seems 
to  be  no  sufficient  material  to  warrant  the  conjectural  import- 
ance given  to  the  Santali  as  the  probable  key  to  the  lan- 
guages of  East-Central  Asia. 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  481 

The  author  gives  a  very  instructive  sketch  of  the  early 
history  of  English  rule  in  Western  Bengal.  The  political 
economist  will  find  much  to  interest  him  in  the  devices  used 
for  overcoming  the  social,  financial,  and  supply  difficulties, 
which  taxed  to  its  utmost  the  inadequate  government  machin- 
ery of  the  time.  In  fact;,  India  has  been  a  sort  of  experi- 
mental ground  for  testing  the  projects  of  state-craft.  These 
experiments  have  been  conducted  in  an  enlightened  and 
humane  spirit,  and  have  contributed  to  demonstrate  the  value 
of  the  more  recent  discoveries  in  political  economy.  At  first, 
the  East  India  Company  merely  took  charge  of  the  revenue, 
and  was  only  careful  to  be  strict  and  exacting  in  its  collec- 
tion. It  had  neither  the  opportunity,  nor  the  appliances,  for 
relieving  the  people,  who  were,  and  had  been  for  years, 
suffering  from  misgovernment.  The  early  civil  administra- 
tion is,  perhaps,  liable  to  the  charge  of  fickleness  in  adopting 
in  rapid  succession,  different  plans  for  relieving  the  distresses 
of  the  governed  without  giving  any  of  them  a  suflSciently 
consistent  and  continued  trial,  to  test  its  merits.  In  spite 
of  this,  however,  as  well  as  of  many  instances  of  cruelty  and 
oppression,  the  rule  of  Britain  in  India  has,  in  the  whole, 
done  a  great  work  in  the  cause  of  civilization. 

Not  the  least  interesting  topics  treated  of  in  this  work  are 
the  religions  of  these  peoples,  and  the  great  famines  which, 
from  the  earliest  times,  have  been  occurring  in  India.  The 
religion  is  a  much  coarser  form  of  superstition  than  those 
brought  down  the  Ganges  from  the  northeast.  The  chief 
worship  is  directed  to  Siva,  the  bad  spirit ;  and  this,  because 
the  good  spirit  being  already  well  disposed,  need  not  be 
propitiated.  The  whole  question  of  famines  is  elaborately 
discussed  ;  their  cause,  their  effects,  their  prevention.  Al- 
though the  famine  of  1866  is  a  recent  and  terrible  calamity, 
it  seems  safe  to  say  that,  without  an  unparalleled  failure  of 
crops,  there  is  no  longer  any  danger  of  such  a  dread  scourge. 
Improved  means  of  intercommunication,  and  the  growth  of 
trade,  offer  a  guarantee  against  their  recurrence. 

How  'much  of  the  character  of  this  singular  people  can  be 
learned  from  their  conduct  during  the  prevalence  of  a  famine  ! 


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482  Notices  of  Books,  [A^pril, 

In  1866,  'many  a  rural  household  starved  i  to  death  without 
uttering  a  complaint  or  making  a  sign.'  What  an  age  of 
oppression  must  it  have  required  to  destroy  the  spirit  of  a 
people  so  effectually,  that  even  the  political  disaffection 
springing  from  empty  stomachs  should  cease  to  exist !  'Silent 
feeders'  are  abundant,  and  to  be  seen  at  any  of  our  hotels; 
but  the  story  of  a  silent  starver,  to  an  American  who  whines 
at  the  lateness  of  his  dinner,  must  ever  remain  a  myth.  A 
wealthy  man  in  India,  indisposed  to  charity,  would  have 
no  occasion  for  delivering  homilies  to  the  clamorous  i)oor  on 
the  science  of  starving  with  propriety. 

A  striking  proof  of  the  beneficial  effects  of  English  rule  on 
the  Bengalis,  is  found  in  the  difference  of  the  effects  now 
produced,  and  those  formerly  produced,  by  ardent  spirits.  In 
vino  Veritas.  The  behaviour  of  a  man  when  drunk  is  a  very 
fair  test  of  his  grade  as  a  civilized  being.  Formerly  most  of 
the  crime  in  Bengal,  was  traceable  to  the  use  of  intoxicating 
drinks  ;  but  now  the  most  violent  form  the  excitement  takes, 
consists  in  making  profound  obeisances  to  every  one  in  the 
street. 

11. — Letters  OP  Madame  de  Sktignb  to  heb  Daughter  akd  Friends.    Boston: 
Roberts  Brothers.     1869. 

These  celebrated  Letters  call  for  no  critical  notice  at  our 
hands.  More  than  thirty  years  ago,  we  read  them  with  delight 
and  still  retain  the  impression  they  made  upon  our  minds.  Dr. 
Blair,  in  his  Lectures  on  Rhetoric  and  Belles  Lettres^  says : 
'  The  Lettres  of  Madam  de  Sevign6  are  now  esteemed  the  most 
accomplished  model  of  a  familiar  correspondence.  They  turn 
indeed  very  much  upon  trifles,  the  incidents  of  the  day,  (just 
as  they  should  do,)  and  the  news  of  the  town ;  and  they  are 
overloaded  with  expressions  of  fondness  for  her  favorite  daugh- 
ter ;  but  withal,  they  contain  such  easy  and  varied  narration, 
and  so  many  strokes  of  the  most  lively  and  beautiful  painting, 
perfectly  free  from  any  affectation,  that  they  are  justly  entitled 
to  high  praise.'  These  are,  indeed,  precisely  the  qualities  which 
render  the  Letters  of  Madam  de  S^vigne  so  perfect  a  model  of 
familiar  correspondence. 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  483 

12. — The  Letters  op  Lady  Mary*  Worltky  Montagu.    Boston  :    Roberts  Broth- 
ers.    I860.  ' 

These  Letters,  says  Dr.  Blair, '  are  not  unworthy  of  being 
named  after  those  of  Madame  de  S^vigne.  They  have  much 
of  the  French  ease  and  vivacity ;  and  retain  more  the  character 
of  agreeable  epistolary  style,  than  perhaps  any  letters  which 
have  appeared  in  the  English  language.' 

13. — A  Book  about  Boys.    By  A.  R.  Hope.    Boston:    Roberts  Brotbcis.     1869. 

This  is  a  readable,  racy,  and  suggestive  book.  It  should, 
indeed,  be  read  and  pondered  by  every  one  who  has  anything 
to  do  with  boys.  The  author  adopts  the  advice  of  Dean  Swift, 
where  he  says :  "  Positiveness  is  a  good  quality  for  preachers, 
and  orators,  because  he  that  would  obtrude  his  thoughts  and 
reasons  upon  a  multitude  will  convince  others  the  more  he  ap- 
pears to  be  convinced  himself.  Accordingly,  in  my  Book 
ahovt  Dominies^  and  in  the  present  Book  about  Boys^  I  have 
been  positive  and  egotistical  to  a  degree  which  I  had  expected 
to  produce  more  hostile  criticism  than  has  been  the  result." 
(Preface,  pp.  vii  and  viii.)  That  is  to  say,  he  assumes  a  positive 
manner,  and  speaks  in  an  egotistical,  dogmatic  way,  in  order 
that,  by  appearing  deeply  convinced  himself,  he  may  carry 
conviction  to  the  minds  of  others.  His  readers  will,  of  course, 
thank  him  for  the  information,  and  guard  themselves  against 
the  deception  which,  as  the  author  tells  them,  he  intends  to 
practice  on  their  credulity. 

Again,  the  author  says,  (Preface,  p.  viii,)  'Ignorant  and 
envious  people  may  possibly  attempt  to  depreciate  my  character 
for  elegance  and  precision,  by  asserting  that  I  have  repeated 
myself  more  than  once,  have  said  much  the  same  thing  in 
different  places,  with  the  view  of  distending  my  pages.  I  re- 
pudiate the  insinuation  with  scorn.  The  fact  is,  my  experience 
as  a  teacher  has  taught  me  that  what  is  necessary  to  convince 
the  mass  of  mankind  of  the  truth  of  any  particular  doctrine, 
is  to  keep  constantly  repeating  the  enunciation  till  it  becomes 
familiar,  and  therefore  commends  itself  to  their  minds.'  Or,  in 
other  words,  the  author  gravely  tells  his  readers,  that  he  means 
to  drive  home  conviction  to  their  minds,  not  by  his  reasons,  but 
by  his  repetitions !     *An  honest  confession,'  it  is  said,  '  is  good 


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484:  Notices  of  Books,  [April, 

for  the  soul.'  Such  hopest  confessions  certainly  ought  to  be  for 
the  good  of  Mr.  Hope's  readers ;  who,  if  they  are  wise,  will 
not  swallow  any  of  his  propositions  merely  because  they  are 
asserted  with  such  an  'appearance'  of  deep  conviction,  or 
merely  because  they  are  so  frequently  repeated.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  will  look  at  his  reasons  more  than  at  his  repetitions, 
and  despise  every  appearance  of  confidence,  which  is  merely 
put  on  for  efiect.  His  readers,  if  wise,  will  not  only  do  this ; 
they  will,  at  the  same  time,  derive  both  pleasure  and  profit 
from  his  Booh  about  Boys. 

14. — Force  and  Nature.  Attraction  and  Repulsion  :  Thb  Radical  Princtplbsop 
Ensrgt,  discussed  in  their  relations  to  Physical  and  Morpological  De- 
velopments. By  Charles  Frederick  Winslow,  M.  D.  Philadelphia :  J.  B. 
Lippincott  &  Co.     1869.     Pp.  490. 

We  have,  as  yet,  read  only  the  introduction  to  this  book ; 
and  this  has  begotten  in  us  a  very  great  desire  to  read  the  book 
itself.  But  such  a  work  is  not  to  be  touched  lightly,  or  judged 
of  hastily.  The  first  part  of  the  title.  Force  and  Nature^  is 
suggestive  of  grand  conceptions,  and  the  remaining  portion, 
Attraction  and  JRepulsion^  &c.,  points  directly  to  the  most 
profoundly  interesting  questions,  which,  for  the  last  half  cen- 
tury, have  attracted  the  attention  of  physicists  and  philoso- 
phers. We  promise  ourselves  a  very  great  treat  in  the  exami- 
nation of  the  author's  views  of  the  Cosmos.  We  can,  in  the 
meantime,  safely  say,  that  it  speaks  well  for  him,  as  a  patient, 
deep,  accurate,  and  comprehensive  thinker,  that  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  his  philosophy  are  not  one-sided  and  ex- 
clusive. '  No  system,'  says  he,  '  of  natural  or  positive  philo- 
sophy can  reach  its  legitimate  boundaries,  comprehend  nature 
entirely,  and  unfold  by  successive  sequences  into  its  grandest 
developments,  and  yet  be  wholly  material  and  physical.  A 
true  and  enduring  system  must  embrace  hoth  physics  and  meta- 
physics. A  true  system  must,  furthermore,  embrace  geometry 
and  the  algebras — not  their  mere  physical  and  symbolical 
terms^  but  their  high,  deep,  and  purely  intellectual  principles, 
which,  appertaining  to  psychology  and  expressing  an  absolute 
universality  of  mind  aud  purpose,  lift  us  freely  and  positively 
into  studies  of  the  Infinite.'  (Introductory,  p.  5.)  Again,  he 
says  on  the  next  page,  '  No  positive  system  of  philosophy,  no 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  485 

grand  generalization  of  grave  facts  and  of  final  irreversible 
inductions  in  experimental  and  natural  sciences,  and  in  univer- 
sal thought  and  numbers,  can  be,  or  pretend  to  be,  perfectly 
unfolded  and  yet  exclude  ethics  and  metaphysics.^ 

15. — Thjb  Jerusalem  Delivered  or  Torqcato  Tasso.  Translated  into  English 
Spenserian  Verse,  with  the  Life  of  the  Author,  bj  J.  H.  WiflSn.  Third 
American  from  the  Last  English  Edition .  New  York :  D.  Appleton  & 
Company.     1869. 

This  celebrated  classic,  with  the  life  of  the  author,  is  pub- 
lished at  the  marvelously  cheap  price  of  fifty  cents.  The  life 
alone  is  worth  more  than  the  price,  to  say  notliing  of  the  great 
poem  which  follows. 

16. — The  Culture  Demanded  by  Modern  Life;  with  an  Introduction  on  Mental 
Discipline  and  Education  by  E.  L.  Youmans.  New  York :  D.  Appleton  & 
Co.     1867. 

This  work,  though  two  years  have  elapsed  since  its  publica- 
tion, has  been  received  too  late  for  careful  examination,  and 
extended  notice,  in  this  issue  of  The  Southern  Review.  In- 
deed, such  a  work  calls  for  no  other  notice  than  tlie  bare  men- 
tion of  the  names  of  the*  authors  of  the  various  Addresses  and 
Essays  of  w^hich  it  is  composed.  In  this  galaxy  of  names — 
and  a  glorious  one  it  is — we  find  those  of  Tyndall,  Henfrey, 
Huxley,  Paget,  Whewell,  Faraday,  Liebeg,  De  Morgan,  Car- 
penter, Acland,  Forbes,  Herbert  Spencer,  Sir  John  Herschel, 
Sir  Charles  Lyell,  and  others  of  less  note.  "We  need  scarcely 
add,  that  whatever  proceeds  from  the  minds  of  such  men,  is 
worthy  of  the  profound  attention  and  consideration  of  the 
friends  of  human  knowledge  and  human  progress. 

17. — An  ADDR^S8  to  tu»c  Colored  People  of  Georgia.  By  Elias  Yulee,  n  mem- 
ber of  the  bar.    Savannah.     1868. 

Mr.  Yulee's  attempt  to  convince  the  negroes  that  the  South- 
ern whites  are  their  truest  friends,  may  meet  with  some  success ; 
for  the  current  of  events  is  awakening  them  to  the  fact.  But 
pictures  of  the  negro's  condition  in  Africa,  and  of  his  improved 
state  in  America,  proofs  of  the  complicity  of  Northern  men  in 
the  importation  of  negroes  to  the  United  States,  and  of  the 
opposition  of  Southerners  to  this  importation,  and  such  like, 
are  sentimental  views  of  the  subject,  likely  to  make  little 


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486  Notices  of  Books.  [April, 

impression  on  the  negro  or  any  one  else.  Gratitude  for  favors 
bestowed  on  one's  remote  ancestors,  is  not  a  very  lively  feeling 
in  this  age.  The  al)solute  necessity  for  amity  between  em- 
ployer and  employee,  is  the  constraining  power,  which  must 
adjust  the  relation  of  the  planter  and  the  freedman.  The  whole 
labor  system  of  this  South  having  been  demolished,  and  master 
and  servant  being  alike  ignorant  of  their  new  duties  and  privi- 
leges, many  misunderstandings  and  much  bad  feeling  may 
arise  between  the  representatives  of  capital  and  labor ;  but,  in 
time,  matters  will  adjust  themselves  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
new  situation.  That  gratitude,  which  has  been  called  a  keen 
sense  of  favors  to  come,  is  better  calculated  to  influence  the 
sentiments  of  the  negro  than  any  lessons  drawn  from  the  past 
history  of  his  race.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Yulee's  pamphlet  may  do 
much  good  by  counteracting  the  influence  of  interlopers,  who, 
from  motives  of  self-aggrandizement,  are  interfering  to  postpone 
a  settled  state  of  affairs. 

18. — Minutes  and  Repoets  op  the  Educational  Association  op  Virginia.  Third 
Annual  Session  held  in  Richmond,  Va.  July  21-24,  1868.  Lynchburg: 
Schaffler  k  Bryant . 

This  Association  was  organized  '  to  promote  the  educational 
interests  of  the  State'  of  Virginia.  Like  most  movements  of 
this  character,  it  finds  a  great  enemy  in  the  inertia  of  friends 
and  members.  Of  course,  it  develops  every  summer  a  certain 
amount  of  spasmodic  zeal,  but  the  apologetic  and  incomplete 
nature  of  most  of  the  reports,  show  that  it  is  not  a  working 
zeal. 

The  pamphlet  contains  the  minutes  of  the  session,  a  list  of 
members,  a  constitution,  the  special  committees,  an  address  by 
the  President,  and  six  reports  of  committees. 

We  cannot  commend  too  highly  the  whole  tone  of  Dr. 
Minor's  Address  on  The  Responsibility y  Influence^  and  Dignity 
of  the  Teacher^s  Profession.  Some  objections  might  be  made 
to  his  ideal  of  Education.  Limited  private  schools  have  their 
faults,  even  the  best  of  them ;  faults  which  belong  to  the  sys- 
tem. Their  tendency  is  to  develop  insipidities.  Mr.  Hope,  in 
his  Booh  about  Boys^  compares  such  schools  unfavorably  with 
the  larger  public  schools.    There  is  also  in  Dr.  Minor's  remarks 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  487 

on  the  use  of  free  conversation  as  a  means  of  education,  some 
tinge  of  the  old  indisposition  to  let  boys  be  boys. 

The  Eeport  of  the  Committee  on  the  Latin  Language  and 
Literature,  presented  by  Prof.  "Walter  Blair,  is  very  suggestive 
and  may  be  read  with  profit. 

The  Eeport  of  the  Committee  on  the  Greek  Language  and 
Literature,  presented  by  Mr.  James  M.  Gamett,  is  full  and 
carefully  prepared.  This  committee  seem  to  have  preserved 
much  of  their  zeal  through  the  winter  frosts,  and  to  have 
labored  very  faithfully  on  the  work  assigned  them.  Their 
Keport  discloses  the  fact  that  the  Association  deem  it  inexpe- 
dient, at  present,  to  recommend  any  series  of  text-books.  The 
reason  given  for  this,  is  the  fear  of  creating  a  lobby.  Lobbies 
are  bad  things;  but,  if  the  Association  so  shapes  its  course  as 
to  avoid  this  fungus  growth,  it  will  never  come  very  close  to  a 
good  many  practical  questions  in  the  sphere  of  its  usefulness. 
To  recommend  reliable  text-books,  would  seem  one  of  the  first 
of  its  duties,  and  yet  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  certain  similar 
organizations  in  the  Northern  States,  have  become  mere  agen- 
cies for  advertising  books. 

Could  not  something  be  done  to  keep  up  the  interest  in  this 
Association  by  debates  on  educational  subjects  ? 

10. — VaLCDICTOBY  ADDRB88  TO  THC  GRADUATING  ClASS  OF  THC  SCHOOL  OF  MSDICfKK 
OP  THB    UnIVRRSITT    OF    MARYLAND,    DILIYERBD    MaRCH    3D|     1869.      Bj    S.   T. 

Wallis,  Esq.    Published  by  the  Faculty.    Baltimore :    Kelly,  Piet  k  Co. 

This  Valedictory  is,  like  everything  from  the  pen  of  Mr. 
Wallis,  an  exquisitely  polished  and  beautiful  production.  The 
advice  is,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  practical  as  well  as 
eminently  good ;  the  sentiments  are  elevated  and  noble  with- 
out being  at  all  overstrained  or  unnatural ;  the  reflections  on 
life  and  society  are  appropriate  and  just ;  the  whole  Address, 
in  one  word,  is  precisely  such  as  we  should  have  expected  from 
Mr.  Wallis, — a  series  of  glowing  truths  set  forth  in  fascinating 
modes  of  expression. 

'  When  I  speak,'  says  he,  *  of  professional  success  and  the 
rewards  of  professional  ability  and  eflTort,  I  do  not  mean — for 
I  should  hold  it  an  insult  to  your  aspirations  to  present  you — 
only  the  grosser  and  more  tangible  results  which  take  the  shape 


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488  Notices  of  Books,  [April, 

of  popularity  and  pay.  No  sensible  man  despises  or  pretends 
to  overlook  these,  of  course.  The  atmosphere  of  human  life, 
bright  as  it  may  be  with  the  rosiest  visions,  still  rests  upon  tlie 
ground.' 

Again,  he  says, '  the  love  of  applause  is  so  perpetual  a  spur — 
to  speak,  perhaps,  more  appropriately — so  pleasing  a  stimulant, 
to  the  noblest  natures ;  it  is  so  mixed  up  with  our  highest  and 
purest  and  most  genial  impulses,  that  to  discourage  it  would  be 
like  blunting  our  sense  of  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  or  blot- 
ting out  any  of  those  fine,  great  instincts  which  are  the  celestial 
leaven  of  humanity.  Whether  the  thirst  after  a  reputation 
which  we  shall  enjoy  in  life,  or  the  craving  for  a  name  whidi 
shall  live  after  us,  be  the  more  effectual  incentive  to  the  things 
which  make  men  great,  I  am  not  here  to  discuss.  It  is  a  ques- 
tion which  the  debating-societies  have  left  unsettled,  and  I  sup- 
pose, after  all,  that  its  solution  depends,  in  a  great  degree,  upon 
the  mental  and  moral  organization  of  individuals.  There  is, 
to  almost  every  one,  and  there  should  be,  to  all,  a  charm  in  the 
visible  tributes  of  public  admiration  and  respect.  When, 
therefore,  the  world  crowds  around  a  man,  burning  myrrh  and 
frankincense,  he  naturally  enjoys  the  present  swinging  of  the 
censers,  a  good  deal  more  than  the  prospect  of  their  smoking, 
ever  so  devoutly,  at  his  funeral.  The  honors  which  come  home^ 
like  fruits  and  flowers  in  season,  while  taste  and  appetite  are 
fresh  and  the  senses  yet  rejoice  in  fragrance  and  beauty,  are 
apt  to  win  even  the  loftiest  and  greatest  from  lone  dreams  of 
palms  and  bay  trees,  which  shall  be  watered  in  centuries  to 
come.  When  we  think,  for  instance,  of  Raphael,  in  the  full 
splendor  of  his  triumphs  and  his  fame,  tlie  friend  of  Popes,  and 
Cardinals,  and  Princes,  beloved  of  women,  envied  and  adored 
by  men — the  very  'centre  of  a  world's  desire' — we  feel  that 
we  should  scarcely  marvel  if,  amid  such  fascinations,  he  forgot 
the  beckoning  angels  of  his  youth.  And  yet,  when  we  remem- 
ber Eaphael,  dead  in  the  chamber  where  he  painted,  with  the 
fresh  canvas  of  the  Transfiguration  radiant  above  his  bier,  and 
making  its  mortality  immortal,  we  wonder  how  any  creature, 
with  a  soul,  could  barter  the  prescience,  nay,  even  the  mere 
dream,  of  such  a  glory,  for  any  other  thing  that  life  could  give. 


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1869.]  Kotic^  of  Books:  489 

'  Do  not,  I  pray  you,  think  that  I  am  leading  you  away  to 
cloud-land.  It  is  one  of  the  sad  mistakes  of  our  generation, 
that  to  be  practical  you  must  descend,  and  the  lower  you 
descend  the  more  practical  you  become.  There  is  a  growing 
contempt  for  everything  that  cannot  be  measured  or  counted, 
and  the  busy  men,  whose  mission  upon  earth  is  to  have  irons 
in  the  fire,  have  a  sort  of  notion  that  the  world  has  grown  too 
old  and  wise  to  let  sentiment  be  a  hindrance  to  results.' 

In  the  striking  parallel,  which  Mr.  Wallis  runs  between  his 
own  profession  and  that  of  medicine,  we  find  the  following  sad 
reflection:  'In  that  (profession)  of  which  I  am  an  humble 
member  there  is  undoubtedly  more  of  the  stimulus  which  comes 
from  personal  collision  and  triumph.  Its  contests  are  dramatic. 
Its  excitements  stir  the  blood.  Its  successes,  sometimes,  have 
the  glow  and  flush  of  victory  in  downright  strife.  It  has  all 
that  is  animating  and  ennobling  in  the  grapple  of  mind  with 
mind,  the  rivalry  of  skill,  experience,  and  courage,  wrestling 
with  courage,  experience,  and  skill.  But  the  triumph  dies 
almost  with  the  struggle,  and  the  reputation  of  the  lawyer  who 
has  led  his  Bar  for  half  a  lifetime,  is  as  transitory,  nearly,  as 
the  echoes  of  his  voice.  He  contributes  little  or  nothing  to 
the  stock  of  human  knowledge.  He  has  given  himself  to  the 
study  and  application  of  a  science — if  indeed  it  be  a  science — 
which  as  often  deals  with  artificial  principles  and  dogmas  as 
with  great,  abiding  truths.  In  grasping  at  the  philosophy  of 
jurisprudence  he  is  fettered,  even  in  this  day  and  generation, 
by  precedents  of  scholastic  absurdity  which  date  back  before 
the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  and  by  statutes  the  very  records  of 
which  were  lost  before  the  Reformation.  The  scientific  aim 
and  eftbrt  of  his  professional  life  is  simply  to  show  that  'thus 
it  is  written.' 

This  reflection  has,  doubtless,  frequently  occurred  to  the 
mind,  and  weighed  on  the  spirit,  of  the  author  of  the  Address 
before  us ;  for,  unless  we  are  greatly  mistaken,  a  man  with  his 
tastes,  and  genius,  and  generous  aspirations,  must  have  found 
the  legal  profession,  in  spite  of  the  eminence  he  has  attained 
to  therein,  a  sort  of  imprisonment  for  life. 


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490  Notices  of  Boohs.  [April, 

"We  beg  the  reader  will  not  infer,  either  from  our  unqualified 
eulogy  or  from  our  silence,  that  we  are  prepared  to  Bubecribe 
to  every  important  opinion  or  sentiment  in  the  admirable 
Address  of  Mr.  Wallis. 

20. — HoMB  PiCTCRis  OF  Knc.lisu  Poets,   for  Fireside  and  Schcol-Room.    New 
York:  D.  Appleion  k  Company.     18G9. 

A  happy  idea  happily  executed,  is  the  little  book  before  us. 
The  design  to  interest  the  young'  in  'our  best  English  Poets, 
from  old  Father  Chaucer  to  the  short-lived  Bums,'  is  carried 
out  by  '  making  a  story,  as  well  as  a  lesson',  of  the  life  of  each 
of  the  Poets.  The  story,  or  the  biographical  sketch,  is  so  well 
and  so  pleasantly  written,  that  it  cannot  fail  to  interest  every 
intelligent  young  reader,  as  well  as  furnish  his  mind  with 
valuable  information  respecting  the  works  of  the  poet.  We 
shall  certainly  introduce  this  little  volume  both  to  the  *  fireside 
and  the  school-room.' 

21.— The  Lily  of  the  Valley  ;  on,  March  and  I ;  and  other  Poe>:s.     By  Amjr 
Gray.     Baltimore :  Kelly  &  Piet      1868. 

We  have  just  read,  for  the  first  time,  these  ^  poems  of  the 
afiections ',  as  Wordsworth  would  call  them.  If  we  may  judge 
from  her  writings,  there  has  seldom  ever  been  a  more  gentle, 
loving,  or  unpretending  disposition,  than  that  of  Amy  Gray, 
in  whose  heart  of  hearts  these  little  poems  have  evidently  sung 
themselves  into  life,  with  little  consciousness  of  the  external 
world,  or  of  her  own  existence.  Amy  Gray  is,  indeed,  to  use  a 
happy  phrase  of  old  Chaucer, '  as  simple  as  bird  in  bower." 
No  fierce  passions,  and  no  spasmodic  energies,  appear  in  her 
poetical  eflusions.  She  simply  carols  out  the  heart  within  her, 
and  its  pure  afiections,  without  once  straining  after  effect,  or 
ever  thinking  of  the  eflect  she  is  likely  to  produce.  Hence, 
her  song  is  all  in  vain,  and  worse  than  in  vain,  except  for  those 
who  have  hearts  in  unison  with  her  own.  The  fimty  nature 
will  not  feel  it ;  but  wherever  in  the  heart,  either  of  man  or 
woman,  there  is  an  Amy  Gray,  it  will  be  heard  with  pleasure. 

'  The  object  of  the  publication  of  these  Poems ',  we  are  told 
in  the  Preface,  '  and  in  view  of  which  most  of  them  were 
written,  is  to  aid  in  the  education  of  destitute  little  girls  of 
tlie  South,  orphaned  by  the  late  war.'     Now,  we  are  no  be- 


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1869.]  Notice%  of  Books.  491 

lievers  in  poetry,  or  in  any  other  work  of  art,  which  is  pro' 
duced  from  any  motive  outgide  of  itself,  or  the  pure  love  of  the 
art.  But  it  would  be  unjust  to  the  author  to  infer,  from  the 
above  statement,  that  her  poems  were  composed,  not  from  the 
pure  love  of  song,  but  only  from  a  motive  of  benevolence. 
Her  poems  were,  as  she  says,  written  out  and  published  with  a 
view  to  *  aid  destitute  little  girls  of  the  South,  orphaned  by  the 
late  war;'  but,  as  is  evident,  they  were  not  originally  com- 
posed, or  sung  in  her  soul,  for  any  such  purpose,  however 
holy  and  humane.  The  dedication  of  her  poems,  as  well  as 
the  object  for  which  they  were  written  out  and  published, 
shows  that  Amy  Gray  carried  in  her  woman's  heart,  not  only 
Mear  little  Julia  Jackson',  but  also  *all  the  little  ones  of  the 
South,  who  have  been  orphaned  by  the  late  war.'  This  may 
not  be  poetry,  if  you  please ;  it  is  certainly  something  infinitely 
better  than  poetry.  It  is  the  very  stuff  of  which  the  music  of 
heaven  itself  is  made. 

*The  author  cannot  hope',  she  says,  *for  more  than  a  mite, 
from  so  small  a  volume — the  production,  too,  of  an  unknown 
writer ;  but  the  proceeds,  whatever  they  may  be,  will  be  unre- 
servedly appropriated  to  the  object  above  named.  To  an  intel- 
ligent and  generous  reading  public,  the  author  confides  this 
little  work,  feeling  sure  that  their  generosity  will  secure  for  it 
a  patronage  that  its  intrinsic  merit  cannot  hope  to  obtain.' 

How  modestly  these  little  poems  put  themselves  forth ! 
They  remind  one  of  the  mountain  daisy, — *Wee,  modest, 
crimson- tipped,  flower ', — and  we  turn  aside  the  critic's  ruthless 
ploughshare.  But  even  in  our  most  flinty  mood  as  critics,  we 
cannot  believe  that  where  there  is  so  much  modesty,  there  is 
no  real  merit.  These  poems  are,  indeed,  entitled  t©  the  patron- 
age of  the  public,  on  the  ground  of  their  intrinsic  merit  alone. 
The  readers  of  Shakspere,  and  Milton,  and  Byron,  may  despise 
such  poems ;  but  the  great  world  we  live  in,  contains  material 
as  precious  as  the  readers  of  Shakspere,  and  Milton,  and  Byron. 
The  *  little  ones  of  the  South ',  for  whose  benefit  these  poems 
were  published,  are  entitled  to  their  poetry  as  well  as  their 
prose ;  and  for  these  little  ones  our  good  Amy  Gray  has  pro- 
vided a  rich  repast.    We  have  made  the  experiment,  and  found 


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492  Notices  of  Books.  [April, 

it  80.  In  everything  which  has  been  written  about  poetry,  we 
are  informed  that  ^the  poet  is  a  creator';  and  this  infor- 
mation is  no  doubt  profoundly  true.  But,  then,  it  is  hardly 
fair  to  judge  Amy  Gray,  as  if  she  had  set  herself  up  for  a  poet 
in  this  exalted  sense  of  the  word,  or  as  a  rival  of  Homer,  or 
Milton,  or  Shakspere,  or  Scott.  Yet  it  will  be  difficult  to  find 
in  the  productions  of  these  proud  *  creators',  a  more  lovely 
picture  of  all  that  is  pure,  and  gentle,  and  tender,  in  the  love 
of  two  '  maidens  for  each  other ',  than  we  have  in  The  Lily  of 
the  Valley ;  or^  Margie  and  I,  The  imagination  of  the  poet 
has  its  roots  in  this  love ;  and  it  blossoms  in  words  like  these : 

Then  touch ing  his  charger  of  gray, 

In  a  moment  he  sped  awaj  ; 
Yet  1  saw  the  tender  light  In  his  eye, 
Caught  a  glimpse  of  the  cap  that  he  waved  ou  high  ; 
And  as  I  heard  her  low,  soft  sigh. 

As  her  gentle  heart  was  stirr'd 

Bj  the  last  fond,  parting  word, 

I  drew  to  mj  bosom  our  poor,  lone  bird. 

Margie  was  young  and  fair  ; 

And  the  locks  of  her  silken  hair 
Seemed  a  flood  of  golden  sunlight,  shed 
From  smiling  Heaven  on  her  drooping  head  ,- 

While  the  hue  of  her  beaming  eye 

iSeemed  borrowed  from  the  sky ; 
And  the  lilies  and  roses  played  hide  and  go  seek 
On  the  pensive  brow  and  the  rounded  cheek, 
And  the  quivering  lips  that  essay'd  to  speak 

Their  tremulous  good-bye. 

The  line,  'I  drew  to  my  bosom  our  jpoovylone  bird\  seems  to 
us  touching  and  tender.  "We  have,  at  least  two  or  three  times 
ip  the  course  of  a  long  life,  seen  hair  exactly  like  Margie^s; 
and  yet  we  cannot  remember,  that  we  have  ever  seen  it  more 
perfectly  or  more  poetically  described,  than  it  is  in  the  last  of 
the  above  stanzas. 

^  The  Broken  Chord '  is,  it  seems  to  us,  the  best  poem  in  the 
volume.  To  form  a  just  idea  of  this  poem,  it  is  necessary  to 
read  the  whole  of  it  from  beginning  to  end ;  to  see  of  whom 
the  family  circle  was  composed,  and  how  they '  used  to  sing  the 
Evening  Hymn';  how,  one  by  one,  *each  music-tone  was 
still'd',  by  death  in  various  forms,  till  the  Evening  Hymn* 
could  no  longer  get  itself  sung  in  that  once  happy,  but  now 
desolate,  household.    We  shall  merely  add  a  few  extracts : 


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1869.]  Notices  of  Books.  493 

Our  Charley,  'mid  the  battle's  roar, 

In  youth's  full  flush  of  pride, 
Foil,  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 

Where  many  a  hero  died. 

The  Caute  has  fallen  too  ;  but  I 

Had  rather  know  that  he 
Was  sleeping  'mid  those  honored  dead^ 

Than  have  him  here  with  me. 

No  banner,  floating  to  the  breeze, 

Above  his  sod  may  wave ; 
Vet  not  a  Southern  heart  but  feels 

It  is  A  patriot  a  grave. 

*        »        «        <i        »        »        * 

Our  mother  bowed  her  gentle  bead 

Beneath  the  waves  of  care ; 
And  now,  her  blessed,  weary  feet 

Have  reached  a  home  more  fair  : 

And  I  am  glad  that  she  has  gone 

Where  sorrow  is  unknown. 
Although  she  left  my  shadow' d  life 

More  desolate  and  lone. 

The  little  one,  with  golden  locks. 

Born  for  the  sunshine  bright. 
Droop' d  her  young  head  beneath  the  shade 

Of  Sorrow's  chilling  night. 

Twas  in  the  autumn  of  the  year, 

When  Nature  sets  on  fire 
Her  forests  with  a  magic  torch, 

In  glory  to  expire. 

I  felt,  as  all  the  autumnal  glow 

Charm' d  my  admiring  eye, 
If  Nature  lives  in  beauty,  oh  ! 

She  does  know  how  to  die ! 

Yes,  thus  it  was.  that,  one  by  one. 

Each  music-tone  was  still' d  : — 
Hush'd  are  the  softest,  sweetest  notes 

Thar  once  our  spirits  thrill' d. 

The  servants  now  are  scattered  far 

O'er  many  a  distant  plain ; 
The  bell  will  summon  them  no  more 

To  evening  prayer  again. 

Now,  when  the  evening  shadows  come, 

And  Kel  begins  to  weep. 
Old  Mammy  folds  her  in  her  arms 

And  hushes  her  to  sleep. 

She  is  a  little  fragile  flower,  ^ 

Upon  whose  drooping  head, 
No  warmth  nor  brightness  from  the  Sun 

Of  Joy  is  ever  shed. 

She  hears  no  brother's  gleeful  laugh  ; 

No  playmates  gay  has  she ; 
No  sisters  dear  to  pet  and  kiss, 

Excepting  only  me. 


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494  Notices  of  Boohs,  [April, 

No  mother's  kiss,  at  morn  or  night, 

Is  ever  to  her  given  ; 
And  she  is  yet  too  small  to  learn 

How  bright  it  is  in  Heaven. 

Though  nightlj.  Mammy  softly  smooths 

The  little  curly  head, 
And  whispers,  '  Blessings  on  my  pet ; 

Good  augels  guard  her  bed.' — 

Those  dear,  rough  hands !  how  many  paths 

They  have  with  sweet  flowers  strown  ! 
And  all  their  noble  acts  of  love, 

The  world  has  never  known. 

How  many  little  feet  they'  vc  turned, 

With  such  a  tender  care. 
From  dangerous  ways,  to  pleasant  paths. 

With  sunshine  everywhere ! 

In  after  years,  when  fair  young  heads 

Were  tired,  and  longed  for  rest, 
'Twas  those  dear  hands  that  pillow'd  them 

So  gently  on  her  breast. 

0  Mammy  !  friend  of  better  days ! — 

And  just  as  true  in  sorrow  I — 
What  you  are,  Mammy  dear,  to-day, 

We  know  you'll  be,  to-morrew. 

O  Mammy !  your  dark,  wrinkled  face 

Is  dearer  far  to  me, 
Than  if  it  was  the  fairest  thing 

The  eye  could  ever  see. 

For  it  is  like  a  faded  page 

Of  dear  old,  well-read  lore, 
Whore  oft  wo  find  a  beauty  that 

We  never  saw  before. 

In  spite  of  artistic  defects,  which  a  severe  critic  might  point 
out  in  the  poems  before  us,  they  show,  that  Amy  Gray  is  a 
poet,  and  should  cultivate  the  gift  that  is  in  her.  If  she  had 
never  \\Titten  anything  beside  The  Broken  Chords  she  would 
have  proved  herself  a  poet;  and,  as  such^  worthy  of  her 
woman's  mission  to  '  the  little  ones  of  the  South.' 

22.— EiWAYs  AND  Lkctuhes;  on  1.  The  -Early  History  of  Maryland;  2.  Mexico 
and  Mexican  Affairs ;  3.  A.  Mexican  Campaign ;  4.  Homceopatby ;  5.  Ele- 
ments of  Hygiene ;  6.  Health  and  Happiness.  By  Richard  McSherry,  M. 
D.,  Professor  of  Principles  and  Practice  of  Medicine,  University  of  Mary- 
land.   Baltimore :  Kelly,  Piet  &  Company.     1869. 

Essays  on  subjects  of  such  interest  as  the  above,  and  from 
the  pen  of  so  learned,  accomplished,  and  discriminating  a 
scholar  as  Dr.  McSherry,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  read  by  others, 
as  they  have  been  read  by  <)urselves,  with  both  profit  and 
pleasure. 


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1869.]  Books  Receveed.  495 


BOOKS  RECEIVED. 

The  Wreath  of  Eglantine j  and  other  Poems:  Edited,  and 
in  part  composed  by,  Daniel  Bedinger  Lucas.  Baltimore: 
Kelly,  Piet  &  Company.     1869. 

The  Waverley  JVoveh.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.  Wav- 
erlev,  Guy  Mannering,  Kenil worth,  Ivanhoe.  Illustrated  with 
steel  and  wood  engravings.  New  York :  D.  Appleton  &  Com- 
pany.    1868. 

The  Waverley  Novels.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.  Rob 
Roy,  Old  Mortality,  Monastery,  Pirate,  Black  l3warf.  Illus- 
trated with  steel  and  wood  engravings.  New  York:  T). 
Appleton  &  Company.     1869. 

Mr.  Midshipman  Easy.  By  Captain  Marryatt.  New  York  : 
D.  Appleton  &  Company. 

The  Poetical  Works  of  Fitz-Greene  HaUeck^  with  extracts 
from  those  of  Joseph  Rodman  Drake.  Edited  by  James  Grant 
Wilson.     New  York :  D.  Appleton  &  Company.     1869. 

Goethe  and  Schiller.  An  Ilistoi'ical  Romance.  By  L.  Muhl- 
bach.  Translated  from  the  German  by  Chapman  Coleman. 
Illustrated  by  Gaston  Fay..  Complete  in  one  volume.  New 
Y^'ork :  D.  Appleton  &  Company.     1869. 

Lecture-Notes  on  Physics.  By  Alfred  M.  Maver,  Ph.  D., 
Professor  of  Physics  in  Lehigh  University,  Pa.  Philadelphia : 
From  Journal  of  Franklin  Institute.     1869. 

How  a  Bride  was  Won;  or^  a  Chase  Across  the  Pampas. 
By  Frederick  Gerstacker.  With  illustrations  by  Gaston  Fay. 
New  York :  D.  Appleton  &  Company.     1869. 

Prince  Eugene  and  his  Times.  An  Historical  Novel.  New- 
York  :  D.  Appleton  &  Company.     1 869. 

Endoxia:  A  Picture  of  the  Fifth  Century.  Translated 
from  the  German  of  Ida,  tountess  Hahn  Hahn.  Baltimore : 
Kelly,  Piet  &  Co.     1869. 

The  Gain  of  a  Loss.  A  Novel.  By  the  author  of  the  Last 
of  the  Cavaliers.     New  York :  Leypoldt  &  Holdt.     1869. 

The  English  Classics.  An  Historical  Sketch  of  the  Liter- 
ature of  England  from  the  Earliest  Times  to  the  Accession  of 
George  III.  By  R.  M.  Johnston,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and 
Belles  Lettres  in  the  University  of  Georgia.  Philadelphia :  J. 
B.  Lippincott  &  Co.     1860. 

Is  the  English  Bible  the  Word  of  Godf  The  Canon  of 
Holy  Scripture.  By  Matthew  H.  Henderson,  D.  D.  New- 
York  :     Pott  &  Amery.     1868. 


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w 


496  Books  Received, 

A  Book  about  Dominies,  By  A.  R.  Hope.  Boston :  Rob- 
erts Brothers.     1869. 

Dolores :  A  Tale  of  Disappointment  and  Distress.  By 
Benjamin  Robinson.     New  York:  E.  J.  Hale  &  Sons.     1868. 

2^he  Fisher  Maiden  ;  A  Nm^wegian  Tale,  By  Bjomstjeme 
Bjornson.  Translated  by  M.  E.  Niles.  New  York :  Lej'poldt 
&  Holdt.     1869.     For  sale  by  Ciishings  &  Bailey,  Baltimore. 

Beqinninq  Gei^man,  By  Dr.  Emil  Otto.  Arranged  by  L. 
Pylodet.     New  York :  Leypoldt  &  Holdt.     1869. 

Begiiiner^s  French  Reader,  Arranged  by  L.  Pylodet.  New 
York :     Leypoldt  &  Holdt.     1869. 

Ifew  Guide  to  German  Conversation,  By  L.  Pylodet.  New 
York :     Leypoldt  &  Holdt.     1869. 

Landmarks  of  Ancient  HiMory,  By  Miss  Yonge,  Author 
of  the  ' Heir  of  Redcliffe.'  New  York:  Leypoldt  &  Holdt. 
1868. 

Landmarks  of  Mediaeval  History,  Bv  Miss  Yonge.  New 
York:     Leypoldt  ife  Holdt.     1868. 

Landmarks  of  Modern  History.  Bv  Mrs.  Yonge.  New 
York:     Leypoldt  &  Holdt.     1868. 

As  hy  Fire,  By  Miss  Nelly  Marshall.  New  York:  Geo. 
S.  Wilcox.     1869. 

Poems,  By  William  James  McClure.  New  York:  P. 
O'Shea.     1869. 

A  Manual  (^  Mythology,  By  Rev.  George  W.  Cox,  M.  A. 
New  York:     Leypoldt  &  Holdt.'    1868. 

A  Lecture  on  the  Limitation  of  Estates^  delivered  before  the 
Law  Class  of  the  University  of  Mississippi.  By  Alexander  M. 
Clayton,  LL.  D.  Jackson,  Mississippi :  Daily  Clarion  Steam 
Book  and  Job  Printing  Establishment.     1868. 

Fifteenth  Annual  Report  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Associatioyi  of  Baltimore,     Baltimore:     J.  B.  Rose  &  Co. 

Physical  Survey  of  Virginia,  Preliminary  Report  JVb,  1. 
By.  M.  F.  Maury,  t.L.  D.,  &c.,  &c.  An  extended  notice  of 
this  Report  will  be  given  in  the  July  number  of  this  Renew, 
for  1869. 

^'1  Glance  at  Medical  History,     By  Richard  A.  Wise,  M.  D. 

A  Letter  on  the  Financial  Siiuati<m,  By  Francis  B.  Loney 
of  Baltimore:     Lucas  Brothers.     1869. 

Eighteenth  Annual  Report  of  the  Managers  oftlie  House  of 
Refuge^  made  to  the  (tovernor  of  Marylmiel,  Baltimore: 
Innes  &  Co. 


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