39317109 s IAVHOIW “LS 40 ALISH3AINN eS BISSS ABS S VSS SPSS Re It PASSA ea eee PRIVATE LIBRARY = =a >0-F=<— WILSON R. GAY Tf lam generous enough to loan you this book, please be thoughtful enough to re- turn it, without delaying, until invited todo so. Never take it, or keep wt with- out my consent, as such too often engen- ders bad feelings. This 1s simply ‘*Rusiness.”? SEATTLE, WASH. AQ GN AR AR mM an mM a aX mM He) BR AQ mM AR AX mM AR MX A ON WIN MR AN M A A AX A AX AX ‘ oe : GEECESEECCE CEES EE EEC SEE RESEECEERE OPS. BE ion THE PRINCIPLES OF SOCIOLOGY BY HERBERT SPENCER VOL. II—3 NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897 CopYyRiGHT, 1896, By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. PREFACE, Or the two divisions contained in this volume, the first has already appeared in print in the shape of review-articles ; but the second is new. With the publication of them in a united form, the issue of the Synthetic Philosophy comes to a close. The series of works included under that title is complete and yet incomplete. There were to be ten volumes, and there are ten. According to the programme, besides a volume of First Principles, there were to be two volumes of Biology, two of Psychology, three of Sociology, and two of Ethics ; and to each of these subjects the specified number of volumes has been appropriated. Still in one fespect there is a falling short. The interpretation of the paradox is that the first two volumes of Zhe Principles of Sociology have expanded into three, and the third (which, if written, would now be the fourth) remains unwritten. It was to have treated of Progress—Linguistic, Intellectual, Moral, s- thetic. But obviously for an invalid of seventy-six to deal adequately with topics so extensive and complex, is impos- sible. It must, however, be pointed out that while this portion of the original project remains unexecuted, considerable por- tions not projected, have been added. In Zhe Principles of Psychology, the division “ Congruities,” and in Zhe Princi- ples of Sociology, the division “ Domestic Institutions,” are in excess of the divisions promised; and there have been joined with sundry of the volumes, various appendices, mak- ing altogether 430 pages extra. Something even now re- mains. Though not within the lines of the scheme as at first v vi PREFACE, drawn, The Study of Sociology may properly be included as a component, as also may be eight essays directly or indi- rectly elucidating the general theory: leaving uncounted the published parts of the ancillary compilation, Descrip- tive Sociology. Hence it may fairly be said that, if not absolutely in the way specified, the promise of the pros- pectus has been redeemed. On looking back over the six-and-thirty years which have passed since the Synthetic Philosophy was commenced, I am surprised at my audacity in undertaking it, and still more surprised by its completion. In 1860 my small resources had been nearly all frittered away in writing and publishing books which did not repay their expenses; and I was suf- fering under a chronic disorder, caused by over-tax of brain in 1855, which, wholly disabling me for eighteen months, thereafter limited my work to three hours a day, and usually to less. How insane my project must have seemed to on- lookers, may be judged from the fact that before the. first chapter of the first volume was finished, one of my nervous break-downs obliged me to desist. But imprudent courses do not always fail. Sometimes a forlorn hope is justified by the event. Though, along with other deterrents, many relapses, now lasting for weeks, now for months, and once for years, often made me despair of reaching the end, yet at length the end is reached. Doubtless in earlier days some exultation would have resulted; but as age creeps on feel- ings weaken, and now my chief pleasure is in my emanci- pation. Still there is satisfaction in the consciousness that losses, discouragements, and shattered health, have not pre- vented me from fulfilling the purpose of my life. Lonvon, August, 1896. CONTENTS. PART VIIL—PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. I.—PROFESSIONS IN GENERAL ° . II.—PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON ° . . . _ItI—DANCER AND MUSICIAN . IV.—ORATOR AND POET, ACTOR AND DRAMATIST V.—BIOGRAPHER, HISTORIAN, AND MAN OF LETTERS VI.—MAN OF SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHER VII.—JUDGE AND LAWYER ° . . ° . VIII.—TEACHER . ° ° ° . . ° IX.— ARCHITECT - . . . . . . . X.—SCULPTOR ° . ae . : . . XI.—PAINTER . . . . . : . XII.—EVOLUTION OF THE PROFESSIONS . . ° 179 185 201 217 235 247 261 274 281 294 304 315 PART VIIIL—INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. I.— INTRODUCTORY . : . : : ; IIl.—SPECIALIZATION OF FUNCTIONS AND DIVISION OF LABQUR : ; : III.—ACQUISITION AND PRODUCTION . IV.—AUXILIARY PRODUCTION . : ; : ; V.—DISTRIBUTION. ; ‘ ‘ : : : VI.—AUXILIARY DISTRIBUTION . : : ; VII. EXCHANGE ° ° . e . « e VIII. AUXILIARY EXCHANGE . . ° ° ° IX.—INTER-DEPENDENCE AND INTEGRATION , ° Vii 327 340 362 569 373 378 387 392 404 Vili CONTENTS. CHAP. X.—THE REGULATION OF LABOUR . XI.—PATERNAL REGULATION . : XII.— PATRIARCHAL REGULATION . XIII.—COMMUNAL REGULATION . ; XIV.—GILD REGULATION . . ey - XV.—-SLAVERY ‘ , : ; XVI.—SERFDOM : : : : XVII.—FREE LABOUR AND CONTRACT. XVIII.—COMPOUND FREE LABOUR . XIX.—COMPOUND CAPITAL. . ° XX.—TRADE-UNIONISM . ° ° XXI.—COOPERATION . : ° . XXII.—SOCIALISM . ° e e XXITI.—THE NEAR FUTURE. ° ° XXIV.—CONCLUSION . ° ° ° REFERENCES . : . . . LIST OF WORKS REFERRED TO e SUBJECT-INDEX ° e e e PAGE 412 422 431 436 448 464 479 493 513 526 535 553 575 590 608 612 620 635 ss tguae a beee mS PART VIL + PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS = ee we ae Se ie Se ee oe il tien Oil 4 in Kiar s of CopyrRicHT, 1896, . By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. CHAPTER I. PROFESSIONS IN GENERAL. § 661. Waar character professional institutions have in common, by which they are as a group distinguished from the other groups of institutions contained in’a society, it is not very easy to say. But we shall be helped to frame an approximately true conception by contemplating in their ultimate natures the functions of the respective groups. The lives of a society and of its members are in one way or other subserved by all of them: maintenance of the life of a society, which is an insentient organism, being a proper proximate end only as a means to the ultimate end—mainte- nance of the lives of its members, which are sentient or- ganisms. The primary function, considered either in order of time or in order of importance, is defence of the tribal or national life—the preservation of the society from de- struction by enemies. For the better achievement of this end there presently comes some regulation of life. Re- straints on individual action are needful for the efficient carrying on of war, which implies subordination to a leader or chief; and when successful leadership ends in perma- nent chieftainship, it brings, in course of further develop- ment, such regulation of life within the society as conduces to efficiency for war purposes. Better defence against ene- mies, thus furthered, is followed by defence of citizens against one another; and the rules of conduct, originally imposed by the successful chief, come, after his decease, to be reinforced by the injunctions ascribed to his ghost. So 179 180 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS, that, with the control of the living king and his agents, there is gradually joined the control of the dead king and his agents. Simultaneously with the rise of agencies for the defence of life and the regulation of life, there grow up agencies for the sustentation of life. Though at first food, clothing, and shelter are obtained by each for himself, yet exchange, beginning with barter of commodities, gradually initiates a set of appliances which greatly facilitate the bodily maintenance of all. But now the defence of life, the regu- lation of life, and the sustentation of life, having been achieved, what further general function is there? There is the augmentation of life; and this function it is which the professions in general subserve. It is obvious that the medical man who removes pains, sets broken bones, cures diseases, and wards off premature death, increases the amount of life. Musical composers and performers, as well as professors of music and dancing, are agents who exalt the emotions and so increase life. The poet, epic, lyric or dramatic, along with the actor, severally in their respective ways yield pleasurable feelings and so increase life. The historian and the man of letters, to some extent by the guidance they furnish, but to a larger extent by the inter- est which their facts and fictions create, raise men’s mental states and so increase life. Though we cannot say of the lawyer that he does the like in a direct way, yet by aiding the citizen to resist aggressions he furthers his sustentation and thereby increases life. The multitudinous processes and appliances which the man of science makes possible, as well as the innumerable intellectual interests he arouses and the general illumination he yields, increase life. The teacher, alike by information given and by discipline en- forced, enables his pupils more effectually to carry on this or that occupation and obtain better subsistence than they would else do, at the same time that he opens the doors to various special gratifications: in both ways increasing life. - Once more, those who carry on the plastic arts—the painter, PROFESSIONS IN GENERAL, 181 the sculptor, the architect—excite by their products pleasur- able perceptions and emotions of the sesthetic class, and thus increase life. § 662. In what way do the professions arise? From what pre-existing social tissue are they differentiated—to put the question in evolutionary language? Recognizing the general truth, variously illustrated in the preceding parts of this work, that all social structures result from spe- cializations of a relatively homogeneous mass, our first in- quiry must be—in which part of such mass do professional institutions originate.* Stated in a definite form the reply is that traces of the professional agencies, or some of them, arise in the primi- tive politico-ecclesiastical agency; and that as fast as this becomes divided into the political and the ecclesiastical, the ecclesiastical more especially carries with it the germs of the professional, and eventually develops them. Remember- ing that in the earliest social groups there is temporary * When, more than twenty years ago, the first part of the Descriptive Sociology was issued, there appeared in a leading weekly journal, specially distinguished as the organ of university culture, a review of it, which, sympa- thetically written though it was, contained the following remark :—“ We are at a loss to understand why the column headed ‘ Professional,’ and represent- ing the progress of the secular learned professions . . . appears in the tables as a subdivision of ‘ Ecclesiastical.’ ” The raising of this question shows how superficial is the historical culture ordinarily provided. In all probability the writer of the review knew all about the births, deaths, and marriages of our kings; had read the accounts of various peoples given by Herodotus ; could have passed an examination in Thucydides; and besides acquaintance with Gibbon, probably had consider- able knowledge of the wars carried on, and dynastic mutations, suffered, by most European nations. Yet of a general law in the evolution of societies he was evidently ignorant—conspicuous though it is. For when attention is given, not to the gossip of history, but to the facts which are from time to time incidentally disclosed respecting the changes of social organisations ; and when such changes exhibited in one society are compared with those exhibited in other societies; the truth that the various professional agencies are de- rived from the ecclesiatical agency, is one which “leaps to the eyes,” as the French say. 182 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. chieftainship in time of war, and that where war is frequent the chieftainship becomes permanent—remembering that efficient co-operation in war requires subordination to him, and that when his chieftainship becomes established such subordination, though mainly limited to war-times, shows itself at other times and favours social co-operation—re- membering that when, under his leadership, his tribe subju- gates other tribes, he begins to be propitiated by them, while he is more and more admired and obeyed by his own tribe —remembering that in virtue of the universal ghost-theory the power he is supposed to exercise after death is even ereater than the power he displayed during life; we under- stand how it happens that ministrations to him after death, like in kind to those received by him during life, are main- tained and often increased. Among primitive peoples, life in the other world is conceived as identical in nature with life in this world. Hence, as the living chief was supplied with food and drink, oblations are taken to his burial-place and libations poured out. As animals were killed for him while he lived, animals are sacrificed on his grave when he is dead. If he has been a great king with a large retinue, the frequent slaughter of many beasts to maintain his court is paralleled by the hecatombs of cattle and sheep slain for the support of his ghost and the ghosts of his attendants. If he was a cannibal, human victims are furnished to him when dead as when alive; and their blood is poured on the grave-heap, or on the altar which represents the grave-heap. Having had servants in this world he is supposed to need servants in the other, and frequently they are killed at his funeral or sent after him. When the women of his harem are not immolated at his burial-place, as they sometimes are, it is usual to reserve virgins for him in his temple. Visits of homage made to his residence become, in after times, pilgrimages made to his tomb or temple; and presents at the throne re-appear as presents at the shrine. Prostra- tions, genuflexions and other obeisances are made in his Re ee ee . i i .. ‘ PROFESSIONS IN GENERAL. 183 presence, along with various uncoverings; and worship in his temple has the like accompaniments. Laudations are uttered before him while he is alive, and the like or greater laudations when he is dead. Dancing, at first a spontane- ous expression of joy in his presence, becomes a ceremonial observance, and continues to be a ceremonial observance on occasions of worshiping his ghost. And of course it is the same with the accompanying music: instrumental or vocal, it is performed both before the natural ruler and the bapormuctoral ruler. Obviously, then, if any of these actions and agencies, common to political loyalty and divine worship, have char- acters akin to certain professional actions and agencies, these last must be considered as having double roots in the politico-ecclesiastical agency. It is also obvious that if, along with increasing differentiation of these twin agencies, the ecclesiastical develops more imposingly and widely, partly because the supposed superhuman being to which it minis- ters continually increases in ascribed power, and partly be- cause worship of him, instead of being limited to one place, spreads to many places, these professional actions and agen- cies will develop more especially in connexion with it. § 663. Sundry of these actions and agencies included in both political and religious ministrations are of the kind in- dicated. While among propitiations of the visible king and the invisible deified king, some of course will have for their end the sustentation of life, others are certain to be for the increase of life by its exaltation: yielding to the propitiated being emotional gratifications by praises, by songs, and by various aids to zesthetic pleasures. And naturally the agen- cies of which laudatory orations, hymnal poetry, drama- tized triumphs, as well as sculptured and painted representa- tions in dedicated buildings, are products, will develop in connexion chiefly with those who permanently minister to the apotheosized rulers—the priests. 112 184 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. ’ A further reason why the professions thus implied, and others not included among them, such as those of the lawyer and the teacher, have an ecclesiastical origin, is that the priest-class comes of necessity to be distinguished. above other classes by knowledge and intellectual capacity. His cunning, skill, and acquaintance with the natures of things, give the primitive priest or medicine-man influence over his fellows; and these traits continue to be distinctive of him when, in later stages, his priestly character becomes dis- tinct. His power as priest is augmented by those feats and products which exceed the ability of the people to achieve or understand; and he is therefore under a constant stimu- lus to acquire the superior culture and the mental powers needed for those activities which we class as professional. Once more there is the often-recognized fact, that the priest-class, supplied by other classes with the means of liv- ing, becomes, by implication, a leisured class. Not called upon to work for subsistence, its members are able to de- vote time and energy to that intellectual labour and disci- pline which are required for professional occupations as dis- tinguished from other occupations. Carrying with us these general conceptions of the nature of professional institutions and of their origin, we are now prepared for recognizing the significance of those groups of facts which the historical development of the professions presents to us. CHAPTER II. PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. § 664. Already, in Chapter II of the preceding part, have been given illustrations of the general truth that in rude tribes it is difficult to distinguish between the priest and the medicine-man. Their respective functions are com- monly fulfilled by the same person. In addition to the in- stances there given, here are some others. According to Humboldt, “ the Caribbee marirris are at once priests, jugglers, and physicians.” Among the Tupis “the Payes, as they were called, were at once quacks, jug- glers, and priests.” Passing from South America to North, we read that the “ Carriers know little of medicinal herbs. Their priest or magician is also the doctor;” and, of the Dakotahs, Schooleraft says—“ The priest is both prophet and doctor.” In Asia we meet with a kindred connexion. In Southern India, the Kurumbas act as doctors to the Ba- dagas, and it is said of them—*“* The Kurumbas also officiate as priests at their marriages and deaths.” So is it among peoples further north. ‘“ Native doctors swarm in Mongolia . . . They are mostly lamas. There are a few laymen who add medical practice to their other occupations, but the great majority of doctors are priests.” It is the same on the other great continent. Reade tells us that in Equatorial Africa the fetich-man is doctor, priest, and witch-finder; and concerning the Joloffs and Eggarahs, verifying state- ments are made by Mollien and by Allen and Thomson. 185 186 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. This evidence, reinforcing evidence given in the preced- ing part, and reinforced by much more evidence given in the first volume of this work, shows that union of the two functions is a normal trait in early societies. § 665. The origin of this union lies in the fact before named (§ 132) that the primitive priest and the primitive medicine-man both deal with supposed supernatural beings; and the confusion arises in part from the conceived charac- ters of these ghosts and gods, some of which are regarded as always malicious, and others of which, though usually friendly, are regarded as liable to be made angry and then to inflict evils. | The medicine-man, dealing with malicious spirits, to which diseases among other evils are ascribed by savages, subjects his patients partly to natural agencies, but chiefly to one or other method of exorcism. Says Keating of the Chippewas, “their mode of treatment depends more upon the adoption of proper spells than the prescription of suitable remedies.” Among the Nootka Sound people,— ‘Natural pains and maladies are invariably ascribed to the absence or other irregular conduct of the soul, or to the influence of evil spirits, and all treatment is directed to the recall of the former and to the appeasing of the latter.” So, too, of the Okanagans we read:— ‘¢ But here as elsewhere, the sickness becoming at all serious or mys- terious, medical treatment proper is altogether abandoned, and the patient committed to the magic powers of the medicine-man.” Sequent upon such beliefs in the supernatural origin of diseases are various usages elsewhere. It is said of the Karens that “‘ when a person is sick, these people [medi- cine-men |], for a fee, will tell what spirit has produced the sickness, and the necessary offering to conciliate it.” Among the Araucanians, the medicine-man having brought on a state of trance, real or pretended, during which he is sup- posed to have been in communication with spirits, declares on his recovery— a PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. 187 ‘‘the nature and seat of the malady, and proceeds to dose the patient, whom he also manipulates about the part afflicted until he succeeds in extracting the cause of the sickness, which he exhibits in triumph. This is generally a spider, a toad, or some other reptile which he has had carefully concealed about his person.” ‘Speaking of the Tahitian doctors, who are “ almost in- variably priests or sorcerers,” Ellis says that in cases of sick- ness they received fees, parts of which were supposed to belong to the gods: the supposition being that the gods who had caused the diseases must be propitiated by presents. A more advanced people exhibit a kindred union of ideas. Says Gilmour— ‘“Mongols seldom separate medicine and prayers, and a clerical doc- tor has the advantage over a layman in that he can attend personally to both departments, administering drugs on the one hand and per- forming religious ceremonies on the other.” Hence the medical function of the priest. When not caused by angry gods diseases are believed to be caused by indwell- ing demons, who have either to be driven out by making the body an intolerable residence, or have to be expelled by superior spirits who are invoked. But there is often a simultaneous use of natural and super- natural means, apparently implying that the primitive medicine-man, in so far as he uses remedies acting physi- cally or chemically, foreshadows the physician; yet the ap- parent relationship is illusive, for those which we distinguish as natural remedies are not so distinguished by him. In the first volume (§ 177-8) it was shown that powerful effects wrought on the body by plants, and the products of plants, are supposed to be due to spirits dwelling in the plants. Hence the medicine-man, or “ mystery-man,” being con- cerned solely with supernatural causation of one or other kind, foreshadows the physician only to the extent of using some of the same means, and not as having the same ideas. As we shall presently see, it is rather from the priest properly so called, who deals with ghosts not antagonis- tically but sympathetically, that the physician originates. 188 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. § 666. While the medicine-man is distinctive of small and undeveloped societies, the priest proper arises along with social aggregation and the formation of established government. In the preceding division of this work, Chap- -ters III, IV, and V, we saw that since originally propitiation of the ghosts of parents and other members of each family is carried on by relatives, implying that the priestly func- tion is at first generally diffused; and since this priestly function presently devolves on the eldest. male of the fam- ily; and since, when chieftainship becomes settled and in- heritable, the living chief makes sacrifices to the ghost of the dead chief, and sometimes does this on behalf of the people; there so arises an official priest. And it results that with enlargement of societies by union with subjugated tribes and the spread of the chieftain’s power, now grown into royal power, over various subordinated groups, and the accompanying establishment of deputy rulers in these groups, who take with them the worship that arose in the conquering tribe, there is initiated a priesthood which, grow- ing into a caste, becomes an agency for the dominant cult; and, from causes already pointed out, develops into a seat of mites in general. From part of this culture, having its origin in preceding stages, comes greater knowledge of medicinal agents, which gradually cease to be conceived as acting supernaturally. Early civilizations show us the transition. Says Maspero of the ancient Egyptians:— ‘‘ The cure-workers are . . . divided into several categories. Some incline towards sorcery, and have faith in formulas and talismans only . Others extol the use of drugs; they study the qualities of plants and minerals . . . and settle the exact time when they must be pro- cured and applied . . . The best doctors carefully avoid binding themselves exclusively to either method . .. their treatment is a mixture of remedies and exorcisms which vary from patient to patient. They are usually priests.” Along with this progress, there had gone on a differentia- tion of functions. Among the lower classes of the priest- PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. 189 hood were the “pastophers, who .. . practised medi- cine.” Respecting the state of things in Babylonia and Assyria, the evidence is not so clear. Says Lenormant of the Chal- dzeans :— ‘‘T] est curieux de noter que les trois parties qui composaient ainsi le grand ouvrage magique dont Sir Henry Rawlinson a retrouvé les débris correspondent exactement aux trois classes de docteurs chaldéens que le livre de Daniel (i,.20; ii, 2 et 27; v, 11) énumére 4a cété des as- trologues et des devins (kasdim et gazrim), c’est-d-dire les khartumin ou conjurateurs, les hakamin ou médecins, et les asaphim ou théosophes.” With like implications Prof. Sayce tells us that— “The doctor had long been an institution in Assyria and Babylonia. It is true that the great bulk of the people had recourse to religious charms and ceremonies when they were ill, and ascribed their sick- ness to possession by demons instead of to natural causes. But there was a continually increasing number of the educated who looked for aid in their maladies rather to the physician with his medicines than to the sorcerer or priest with his charms.” But from these two statements taken together it may fairly be inferred that the doctors had arisen as one division of the priestly class. Naturally it was with the Hebrews as with their more civilized neighbours. Says Gauthier— ‘¢Chez les Juifs la médecine a été longtemps sacerdotale comme chez presque tous les anciens peuples; les lévites étaient les seuls médecins . . . Chez les plus anciens peuples de 1’Asie, tels que les Indiens et les Perses, l’art de guérir était également exercé par les prétres.” In later days this connexion became less close, and there was a separation of the physician from the priest. Thus in Ecclesiasticus we read :— ‘‘My son, in thy sickness be not negligent: but pray unto the Lord, and he will make thee whole. Leave off from sin, and order thine hands aright, and cleanse thy heart from all wickedness. Give a sweet savour, and a memorial of fine flour; and make a fat offering as not being. Then give place to the physician, for the Lord hath created him; let him not go from thee, for thou hast need of him,” (xxxvili, 9—12.) 190 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. Facts of congruous kinds are thus remarked on by Draper:— ‘In the Talmudic literature there are all the indications of a trans- itional state, so far as medicine is concerned; the supernatural seems to be passing into the physical, the etclesiastical is mixed up with the exact; thus a rabbi may cure disease by the ecclesiastical operation of laying on of hands; but of febrile disturbances, an exact, though erroneous explanation is given, and paralysis of the hind legs of an animal is correctly referred to the pressure of a tumour on the spinal cord.” Concerning the origin of the medical man among the Hindoos, whose history is so much complicated by succes- sively superposed governments and religions, the evidence is confused. Accounts agree, however, in the assertion that medicine was of divine origin: evidently implying its descent through the priesthood. In the introduction to Charaka’s work, medical knowledge is said to have indirectly descended from Brahma to Indra, while “ Bharadvaja learnt it from Indra, and imparted it to six Rishis, of whom Ag- nivasa was one.” The association of medical practice with priestly functions is also implied in the statement of Hunter that “the national astronomy and the national medicine of India alike derived their first impulses from the exigen- cies of the national worship.” The same connexion was shown during the ascendancy of Buddhism. “ The science was studied in the chief centres of Buddhist civilization, such as the great monastic university of Nalanda, near Gaya.” Similar was the genesis of the medical profession among the Greeks. ‘ The science [of medicine] was regarded as of divine origin, and . . . the doctors continued, in a cer- tain sense, to be accounted the descendants of Asclepios.” As we read in Grote— ‘“‘The many families or gentes called Asklépiads, who devoted themselves to the study and practice of medicine, and who princi- pally dwelt near the temples of Asklépius, whither sick and suffering men came to obtain relief—all recognised the god [Asklépius], not merely as the object of their common worship, but also as their actual progenitor.” - PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. 191 In later times we see the profession becoming secularized. “The union between the priesthood and the profession was gradu- ally becoming less and less close; and, as the latter thus separated itself, divisions or departments arose in it, both as regards subjects, such as pharmacy, surgery, etc., and also as respects the position of its cultivators.” Miscellaneous evidence shows that during early Roman times, when there existed no medical class, diseases were held to be supernaturally inflicted, and the methods of treat- ing them were methods of propitiation. Certain maladies, ascribed to, or prevented by, certain deities, prompted en- deavours to propitiate those deities; and hence there were sacrifices to Febris, Carna, &c. An island in the Tiber, which already had a local healing god, became also the seat of the Avsculapius cult: that god having been appealed to on the occasion of an epidemic. Evidently, therefore, medi- eal treatment at Rome, as elsewhere, was at first associated with priestly functions. Throughout subsequent stages the normal course of evolution was deranged by influences from other societies. Conquered peoples, characterized by actual or supposed medical skill, furnished the medical practition- ers. For a long time these were dependents of patrician houses. Say Guhl and Koner—“ Physicians and surgeons were mostly slaves or freedmen.”” And the medical profes- sion, when it began to develop, was of foreign origin. Mommsen writes:— “In 535 the first Greek physician, the Peloponnesian Archagathus, settled in Rome and there acquired such repute by his surgical opera- tions, that a residence was assigned to him on the part of the state and he received the freedom of the city; and thereafter his colleagues flocked in crowds to Rome... . the profession, one of the most lucrative which existed in Rome, continued a monopoly in the hands of the foreigners.” § 667. Opposed to paganism as Christianity was from the beginning, we might naturally suppose that the primi- tive association between the priestly and medical functions would cease when Christianity became dominant. But the 192 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. roots of human sentiments and beliefs lie deeper than the roots of particular creeds, and are certain to survive and — bud out afresh when an old creed has been superficially re- placed by a new one. Everywhere pagan usages and ideas ‘ are found to modify Christian forms and doctrines, and it is so here. The primitive theory that diseases are of super- natural origin still held its ground, and the agency of the priest consequently remained needful. Of various hospitals built by the early Christians we read :— ‘‘Tt was commonly a Priest who had charge of them, as, at Alex- andria, S. Isidore, under the Patriarch Theophilus; at Constantinople, St. Zoticus, and after him St. Samson.” Concerning the substitution of Christian medical institu- tions for pagan ones, it is remarked :— ‘‘The destruction of the Asclepions was not attended by any suit- ably extensive measures for insuring professional education . . . The consequences are seen in the gradually increasing credulity and im- posture of succeeding ages, until, at length, there was an almost universal reliance on miraculous interventions.” But a more correct statement would be that the pagan con- ceptions of disease and its treatment re-asserted themselves. Thus, according to Sprengel, after the 6th century the monks practised medicine almost exclusively. Their cures were performed by prayers, relics of martyrs, holy water, &ec., often at the tombs of martyrs. The state of things dur- ing early medieval times, of which we know so little, may be inferred from the fact that in the 12th and 13th centuries the practice of medicine by priests was found to interfere so much with their religious functions that orders were issued to prevent it; as by the Lateran Council in 1139, the Coun- cil of Reims in 1131, and again by the Lateran Council in 1215. But the usage survived for centuries later in France and probably elsewhere; and it seems that only when a papal bull permitted physicians to marry, did the clerical practice of medicine begin to decline. “ The physicians of the University of Paris were not allowed to marry till the year 1452.” PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. 193 ~ Tn our own country a parallel relationship similarly sur- vived. In 1456 “ the practice of medicine was still, to some extent, in the hands of the clergy.” That ecclesiastics exer- cised authority over medical practice in the time of Henry VIII, is shown by a statute of his third year, which reads:— ‘] The appended remark that the representation of the gods was “ generally regarded as an impure and foreign innova- tion” appears to be in harmony with the statement of Duruy. ‘‘Even after the Tarquins, the images of the gods, the work of Etruscan artists, were still made only in wood or clay, like that of Jupiter in the Capitol, and like the quadriga placed on the top of the temple.” SCULPTOR. 3 301 The contempt felt by the Romans for every other occupa- tion than the military, and the consequent contempt for art and artists imported from conquered peoples, resulted in the fact that in the time of the Ceesars sculptors and painters “were generally either slaves or freedmen.”” Probably the only concern the priests had with sculpture was when pre- scribing the mode in which this or that god should be repre- ‘sented. § 713. Such records as have come down to us from early Christian times illustrate the general law of evolution in the respect that they show how little the arts of design were at first specialized. It has been often remarked that in days comparatively modern separation of the various kinds of mental activity was much less marked than it has since become: instance the fact that Leonardo da Vinci was man of science as well as artist; instance the fact that Michael Angelo was at once poet, architect, sculptor and painter. This union of functions in the plastic arts seems to have been still more the rule in preceding ages. Evidence about the sculptors’ art is mingled with evidence about kindred arts. Says Emeric-David—‘ The same masters were gold- smiths, architects, painters, sculptors, and sometimes poets, as well as being abbots or even bishops.” Of the Gallo- Francs we are told by Challamel and others that the chief industrial art was gold-working, the great schools of which were certain monasteries; that the great artists in it were monks, and their products ecclesiastical plate, vestments and decorations, funeral monuments, &c. And in the last part of which statement we see the implication that the sculptur- ing of figures on monuments was a priestly occupation. This is also implied by the statement of Emeric-David that .in the 10th century Hugues, monk of Monstier-en-Der, was painter and statuary. Further proof that miscellaneous art-works were carried on by the clerical class is given by Lacroix and Sere, who say that early in the 11th century a 302 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. monk, named Odoram, executed shrines and crucifixes in gold and silver and precious stones. In the middle of the 12th century another monk, Theophilus, was at once painter of manuscripts, glass-stainer, and enamelling goldsmith. Concerning these relationships in England during early days, I find no evidence. The first relevant statements refer to times in which the plastic arts, which no doubt were all along shared in by those lay-assistants who did the rough work under clerical direction—such as chiselling out monu- ments in the rough according to order—had lapsed entirely into the hands of these lay-assistants. They having been in the preceding times nothing but skilful artisans, their work, when it came to be monopolized by them, was for a long time regarded as artisan-work. Hence the statement that— ‘*Previously to the reign of Charles I the sculptor seems hardly to have been considered an artist.” ‘‘ Nicholas Stone was the sculptor most in vogue. He was master-mason to the king.” I may add that in early days, monks—St. Dunstan being an example—occupied themselves in executing the details of ecclesiastical buildings—the foliations of windows, screens, and the like. It is said that when sculpturing the heads used for gargoyles, they sometimes amused themselves by carica- turing one another. § 714. Recent stages in the development of sculpture are not easy to trace. But there seems to have occurred in modern times a process parallel to that which we saw oc- curred in Greece. During the first stages in the seculariza- tion of his business the carver of marble carried with him the character previously established—he was a superior artisan. Only in course of time, as his skill was employed for other than sacred purposes, did he become independent and begin to gain reputation as an artist. And his position has risen along with the devotion of his efforts more and more to subjects unconnected with religion. Let it be observed, however, that even still sculpture SCULPTOR. 803 retains in considerable measure its primitive character as an ancillary to ancestor-worship. A carved marble effigy in a Christian church differs but little in meaning from a carved wooden figure of a dead man placed on his grave in savage and semi-civilized societies. In either case the having an image made, and the subsequent conduct in presence of it, imply the same prompting sentiment: there is always more or less of awe or respect. Moreover, sculpture continues to be largely employed for the expression of this sentiment, not in churches only, but in houses. The preservation of a bust by descendants commonly implies recognition of worth in the original, and is thus in a faint way an act of worth- ship. Hence only that kind of sculpture which is not devoted to the representation of deceased persons, either in public or private edifices, or in open places, can be considered as ab- solutely secularized. One who takes his subjects from ancient myth, or history, or from the life around, may be considered as alone the sculptor who has lost all trace of the original priestly character. With recognition of the completed process of differentia- tion there is nothing here to join respecting the process of in- tegration. Sculptors have not yet become sufficiently numerous to form entirely independent unions. Such com- bination as has arisen among them we shall have to recognize in the next chapter, in association with the combinations of painters. CHAPTER XI. PAINTER. § 715. Pictorial representation in its rudest forms not only precedes civilization but may be traced back to pre- historic man. The delineations of animals by incised lines on bones, discovered in the Dordogne and elsewhere, prove this. And certain wall-paintings found in caves variously distributed, show, in extant savage races or ancestors of them, some ability to represent things by lines and colours. But if we pass over these stray facts, which lie out of rela- tion to the development of pictorial art during civilization, and if we start with those beginnings of pictorial art which the uncivilized transmitted to the early civilized, we see that sculpture and painting were coeval. For, excluding as not pictorial that painting of the body by which savages try to make themselves feared or admired, we find painting first employed in completing the image of the dead man to be placed on his grave—a painting of the carved image such as served to make it a rude semulacrum. This was the first step in the evolution of painted figures of apotheosized chiefs and kings—painted statues of heroes and gods. We shall the better appreciate this truth on remembering that the complete differentiation of sculpture from painting which now exists did not exist among early peoples. In ancient times all statues were coloured: the aim being to produce something as like as possible to the being com- memorated. 804 eS ih is lc PAINTER, 305 § 716. The already named images of dead New Zealand chiefs tattooed in imitation of their originals, illustrate primitive attempts to finish the representations of departed persons by surface-markings and colours; and the idols pre- served in our museums—not painted only but with imita- tion eyes and teeth inserted—make clear this original union of the two arts. Of evidence that the priests painted as well as carved these effigies, little is furnished by travellers. Bourke writes of the Apaches:—“ All charms, idols, talismans, medicine hats, and other sacred regalia should be made, or at least blessed, by the medicine-men.” But while the agency of the primitive priest in idol-painting must remain but partially proved, we get clear proof of priestly agency in the produc- tion of other coloured representations of religious kinds. Describing certain pictographs in sand, Mr. Cushing says:— ‘¢ When, during my first sojourn with the Zuni, I found this art practice in vogue among the tribal priest-magicians and members of cult societies, I named it dry or powder painting.” The pictures produced ‘‘are supposed to be spiritually shadowed, so to say, or breathed upon by the gods or god-animals they represent, during the appealing incantations or calls of the rites... . Further light is thrown on this practice of the Zufii in making use of these supposi- tively vivified paintings by their kindred practice of painting not only fetiches of stone, etc., and sometimes of larger idols, then of washing the paint off for use as above described, but also of powder painting in relief ; that is, of modeling effigies in sand, sometimes huge in size, of hero or animal gods, sacramental mountains, etc., powder painting them in common with the rest of the pictures, and afterwards removing the paint for medicinal or further ceremonial use.” But the clearest evidence is yielded by the Navajo Indians. Dr. Washington Matthews in a contribution on “The Moun- tain Chant, a Navajo ceremony,” says— ‘‘The men who do the greater part of the actual work of painting, under the guidance of the chanter, have been initiated [four times], but need not be skilled medicine men or even aspirants to the craft of the shaman, . . . The pictures are drawn according to an exact system. The shaman is frequently seen correcting the workmen and making 806 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. them erase and revise their work. In certain well defined instances the artist is allowed to indulge his individual fancy. This is the case with the gaudy embroidered pouches which the gods carry at the waist. Within reasonable bounds the artist may give his god just as hand-. some a pouch as he wishes. Some parts of the figures, on the other hand, are measured by palms and spans, and not a op of the sacred design can be varied.” * Unquestionably then pictorial art in its first stages was occupied with sacred subjects, and the priest, when not him- self the executant, was the director of the executants. § 717. The remains and records of early historic peoples yield facts having like implications. As shown already there existed in America curious transi- tions between worshiping the actual dead man and worship- ing an effigy of him—cases in which a figure was formed of portions of his body joined with artificial portions. The Nile Valley furnished other transitions. Concerning the Macro- brian Ethiopians, Herodotus tells the strange story that— ‘‘When they have dried the body, either as the Egyptians do, or in some other way, they plaster it all over with gypsum, and paint it, * Both great surprise and great satisfaction were given to me by these last sentences. When setting forth evidence furnished by the Egyptians, I was about to include a remembered statement (though unable to give the autho- rity), that there are wall-paintings—I think in the tombs of the kings— where a superior is represented as correcting the drawings of subordinates, and was about to suggest that, judging from the intimate relation between the priesthood and the plastic arts, already illustrated, this superior was probably a priest. And here I suddenly came upon a verifying fact supplied by a still earlier stage of culture: the priest is the director of pictorial repre- sentations, when he is not the executant. Another important verification is yielded by these sentences. The essential parts of the representation are sacred in-matter, and rigidly fixed in manner; but in certain non-essential, decorative parts the working artist is allowed play for his imagination. This tends to confirm the conclusion already drawn respecting Greek art. For while in a Greek temple the mode of representing the god was so fixed that change was sacrilege, the artist was allowed some scope in designing and executing the peripheral parts of the structure. He could exercise his imagination and skill on the sculptured figures of the pediment and metopes ; and here his artistic genius developed. ee ee i ila ea = PAINTER. 307 making it as much as possible resemble real life; they then put round it a hollow column made of crystal.” And to this plastered, painted, and enclosed mummy they made offerings. The Egyptian usage diverged from this simply in the casing of the mummy and in the painting: the one being opaque and the other consequently external. For the carved and painted representation of a human figure on the outer mummy-case, was doubtless a conventionally- stereotyped representation of the occupant. And since, in all such cases, the ancestor-worship, now of private persons, now of major and minor potentates, was a religion, painting as thus employed was a religious art. The leading subjects of Egyptian wall-paintings are wor- shiping and killing: the last being, indeed, but a form of the first; since pictures of victorious fights are either glori- fications of the commemorated commanders or of the gods by whose aids they conquered, or both. In early societies sacrifice of enemies is religious sacrifice, as shown among the Hebrews by the behaviour of Samuel to Agag. Hence the painting in these Egyptian frescoes is used for sacred purposes. That in Ancient Egypt the priest was the primitive sculptor we have already seen; and the association of paint- ing with sculpture was so close as to imply that he was also the primitive painter—either immediately or by proxy. For, seeing that, as Brugsch remarks, Egyptian art “ is bound by fetters which the artist dared not loosen for fear of clashing with traditional directions and ancient usage,’ it results that the priests, being depositaries of the traditions, guided the hands of those who made painted representations when they did not themselves make them. But there is di- rect proof. Erman says:—“ Under the Old Empire the high priest of Memphis was regarded as their chief, in fact he bore the title of ‘ chief leader of the artists,’ and really exercised this office.” In another passage describing the administration of the great temple of Amon he tells us that 808 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS, the Theban god had his own painters and his own sculptors; both being under the supervision of the second prophet. It may be that, as in the case of the Indians above named, these working eee had passed through some religious initiet tion and were semi-priestly. In connexion with this use of painting for sacred purposes in Egypt, I may add evidence furnished by an existing re- ligion. Says Tennent concerning the Buddhists of Cey- lon:— “The labours of the sculptor and painter were combined in pro- ducing these images of Buddha, which are always coloured in imita- tion of life, each tint of his complexion and hair being in religious con- formity with divine authority, and the ceremony of ‘painting of the eyes,’ is always observed by the devout Buddhists as a solemn fes- tival.” -It is interesting to remark that in its mural representa- tions, Egypt shows us transitions from sculpture to painting, or, more strictly, from painted sculpture to painting proper. In the most sculpturesque kind the painted figures stood out from the general field and formed a bas-relief. In the in- termediate kind, relief-en-creux, the surfaces of the painted figures did not rise above the general field, but their outlines were incised and their surfaces rendered convex. And then, finally, the incising and ee being omitted, they be- came paintings. By the Greeks also, painting was employed in making finished representations of the greater or smaller person- ages worshiped—now the statues in temples and now the figures on stele used to commemorate deceased relatives, which, cut out in relief, were, we may fairly infer, coloured in common with other sculptured figures, just as were those on Etruscan sarcophagi. Of this inference there has re- cently been furnished a justification by the discovery of certain remains which, while they show the use of colour in these memorials, iew also the transition from raised col- oured figures to coloured figures not raised. Explorations PAINTER, 309 earried on in Cyprus by Mr. Arthur Smith, of the British Museum, have disclosed— **a series of limestone stele or tombstones, on which is painted the figure of the person commemorated. The surface of the limestone is prepared with a white ground, on which the figure is painted in col- ours and in a manner which strongly recalls the frescoes of Pompeii.” The painting being here used in aid of ancestor-worship, is in that sense, religious. Very little evidence seems forth- coming concerning other early uses of painting among the Greeks. We read that before the Persian war, the applica- tion of painting ‘‘ was almost limited to the decoration of sacred edifices, and a few other religious purposes, as colour- ing or imitating bas-reliefs, and in representations of reli- gious rites on vases or otherwise.” In harmony with this statement is the following from Winckelmann:— ‘The reason of the slower growth of painting lies partly in the art itself, and partly in its use and application. Sculpture promoted the worship of the gods, and was in its turn promoted by it. But painting had no such advantage. It was, indeed, consecrated to the gods and temples; and some few of the latter, as that of Juno at Samos, were Pinacothece, or picture galleries; at Rome, likewise, paintings by the best masters were hung up in the temple of Peace, that is, in the upper rooms or arches. But paintings do not appear to have been, among the Greeks, an object of holy, undoubting reverence and adoration.” This relatively slow development of painting was due to its original subordination to sculpture. Independent develop- ment of it had scope only when by such steps as those above indicated it became separate; and, employed at first in temple-decoration, it gained this scope as sculpture did, in the ancillary and less sacred parts. Partly because the Greek nature, and the relatively inco- herent structure of the Greek nation, prevented the growth of an ecclesiastical hierarchy, with the normal developments arising from it, and partly—perhaps chiefly—because Greek civilization was in so large a measure influenced by the earlier civilizations adjacent to it, the further course of evo- lution in the art and practice of painting is broken. We 310 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. can only say that the secularization became marked in the later stages of Grecian life. Though before the time of Zeuxis various painters had occupied themselves with such semi-secular subjects as battles and with other subjects com- pletely secular, yet, generally executed as these were for the ancillary parts of temples, and being tinctured by that senti- ment implied in the representation of great deeds achieved by ancestors, they still preserved traces of religious origin. This is, indeed, implied by the remark which Mr. Poynter quotes from Lucian, that Zeuxis cared not “‘ to repeat the representations of gods, heroes, and battles, which were al- ready hackneyed and familiar.” § 718. The first stages in the history of painting, and of those who practised it, after the rise of Christianity, are con- fused by the influences of the pagan art at that time exist- ing. It was only after this earliest Italian art, religious like other early art in nearly all its subjects, had been practically extinguished by barbarian invaders, that characteristic Christian art was initiated by introduction of the methods and usages which had been preserved and developed in Con- stantinople; and the art thus recommenced, entirely devoted to sacred purposes, was entirely priestly in its executants. “From the monasteries of Constantinople, Thessalonica, and Mount Athos,” says Mr. Poynter, “‘ Greek artists and teach- ers passed into all the provinces of Southern Europe; ” and thereafter, for a long period, the formal a a style prevailed everywhere. Of the scanty facts illustrating the subsequent a iatone between priest and painter in early Christian Europe, one _is furnished by the ninth century. Bogoris, the first christian king of the Bulgarians, solicited the emperor Michael ‘‘ for the services of a painter competent to decorate his palace,” and the ‘‘ emperor despatched [the monk] Methodius to the Bulgarian Court.” The continuance of this connexion is shown by the follow- ing passage from Eastlake’s History:— PAINTER. ge ee ‘‘TIn the practice of the arts of design, as in the few refined pursuits which were cultivated or allowed during the darker ages, the monks were long independent of secular assistance. Not only the pictures, but the stained glass, the gold and silver chalices, the reliquaries, all that belonged to the decoration and service of the church, were de- signed, and sometimes entirely executed by them; and it was not till the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, when the knowledge of the monastery began to be shared by the world at large, that painting in some degree emerged from this fostering though rigid tuition.” Along with the practice of painting went knowledge of the ancillary art, the preparation of colours. In a later passage Eastlake says:— ‘*Cennini, speaking of the mode of preparing a certain colour, says that the receipt could easily be obtained, ‘ especially from the friars.’ ” In another passage there is implied an early step in secu- larization. 7 ‘¢Colours and other materials, when not furnished by monks who retained the ancient habits of the cloister, were provided by the apothecary.” And further steps in the divergence of lay painters from clerical painters are implied by the statement of Laborde, quoted by Levasseur, to the effect that the illuminators of the thirteenth century had for the most part been monks, but that in the fourteenth and fifteenth laymen competed with them. Various painters in miniature and oil are men- tioned. Painters continued to be illuminators as well; they also painted portraits and treated some sacred subjects. Throughout early Christian art, devoted exclusively to sacred subjects, there was rigid adherence to authorized modes of representation, as in ancient pagan art—Egyptian or Greek. Over ecclesiastical paintings this control con- tinued into the last century; as in Spain, where, under the title of Pictor Christianus, there was promulgated a sacro- pictorial law prescribing the composition of pictures in de- tail. Nay, such regulation continues still. M. Didron, who visited the churches and monasteries of Greece in 1839 says:— | 120 $12 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. ‘Ni le temps ni le lieu ne font rien 4 l’art grec; au XVIII° siécle, le peintre moréote continue et calque le peintre vénitien du Xe, le peintre athonite du V* ou du VI*. Le costume des personnages est partout et en tout temps le méme, non-seulement pour la forme, mais pour la couleur, mais pour le dessin, mais jusque pour Je nombre et l’épaisseur des plis. . . . On ne saurait pousser plus loin l’exactitude traditionnelle, lesclavage du passé.” And Sir Emerson Tennent, @ propos of the parallelism be- tween the rigid code conformed to by the monkish artists of the East and the code, equally rigid, conformed to by the Buddhists of Ceylon, quotes an illustrative incident concern- ing these priest-painters of Mount Athos, who manufacture pictures to pattern with ‘ almost the rapidity of machin- ery.” M. Didron wished to have a copy of the code of in- structions ‘“‘ drawn up under ecclesiastical authority,” but “ the artist, when solicited by M. Didron to sell ‘ cette bible de son art,’ naively refused, on the simple ground that .. . ‘en perdant son Guide, il perdait son art; il perdait ses yeux et ses mains.’ ” § 719. Concerning later stages in the rise of the lay painter, it must suffice to say that from the time of Cimabue, who began to depart from the rigidly formal style of the priestly Byzantine artists, the lay element predominated. Amid a number of apparently non-clerical painters, only a few clerics are named; as Don Lorenzo, Fra Giovanni, Fra Filippo Lippi, Fra Bartolommeo. But meanwhile it is to be observed that these secular painters, probably at first, like the secular sculptors, assistants to the priests in their work, were occupied mainly and often exclusively with sacred sub- jects. Along with this differentiation of the lay painter from the clerical painter there began a differentiation of lay painters from one another; and the facts show us a gradual beginning where imagination would have suggested only an abrupt beginning. As I learn from an academician, the first form of portrait (omitting some painted under a sur- PAINTER. 313 viving classic influence, in those earliest days before art was extinguished by the barbarians) was that of the donor of a sacred picture to a church or other ecclesiastical edifice, who was allowed to have himself represented in a corner of the picture on his knees with hands joined in supplication. Something similar happened with another form of art. Landscapes made their first appearance as small and modest - backgrounds to representations of sacred personages and in- cidents—backgrounds the composition of which displays an artificiality congruous with that of the figure-composition. In course of time this background assumed a greater impor- tance, but still it long remained quite subordinate. After it had ceased to be a mere accompaniment, landscape-painting in its secularized form was but partially emancipated from figure-painting. When it grew into a recognized branch of art, the title “‘ Landscape with figures,” was still generally applicable; and down to our own day it has been thought needful to put in some living creatures. Only of late has landscape pure and simple, absolutely divorced from human life, become common. Of course various classes and sub-classes of artists, broadly if not definitely marked off, are implied by these and other specialized kinds of paintings: some determined by the na- tures of the subjects treated and others by the natures of the materials used. § 720. For form’s sake it is requisite to say that here as always those units of a society who make themselves distinct by performing functions of a certain kind, presently, along with separation from the rest, begin to unite with one an- other. The specialized individuals form a specialized aggre- gate. When in the Middle Ages the artists employed as assist- ants to priests for ecclesiastical decoration became a class, they grew into something like guilds. Levasseur, quoting Laborde, says they were hardly distinguished from artisans: $14 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. like them they formed corporations under the name of paintres, tailleurs dymaiges et voirreers. In Italy during the fourteenth century a Brotherhood of Painters arose, which, taking for its patron St. Luke the Evangelist, had for its purpose, partly mutual instruction and partly mutual assistance and protection. That in modern times the tendency to integration has been illustrated all know. It needs only further to remark that the growth of the chief art-corporations has been fol- lowed by the growth of minor art-corporations, some of them specialized by the kinds of art practised; and also that em- bodiment of the profession is now aided by art-periodicals, and especially by one, Zhe Artist, devoted to professional culture and interests. CHAPTER XII. EVOLUTION OF THE PROFESSIONS. § 721. The saying that we cannot put old heads on young shoulders, figuratively expresses, among other truths, the truth that the beliefs which in youth result from small in- formation joined with undisciplined thought and feeling, cannot, until after long years, be replaced by the beliefs which wider knowledge and better balanced mental powers produce. And while it is usually impracticable to ante-date the results of mental development and culture, it is also’ usually impracticable to arouse, during early stages, any such distrust of convictions then panned as should be caused by the perception that there is much more to be learnt. This general remark, trite in substance though it is, [ am prompted to make @ propos of the profound change which study of many peoples in many places and times, causes in those ideas of social organization which are current—ideas entertained not only by the young but also by the majority of the old, who, relatively to the subject-matter to be in- vestigated, are also young. For patient inquiry and calm thought make it manifest that sundry institutions regarded with strong prejudices have been essential institutions; and that the development of society has everywhere been de- termined by agencies—especially political and ecclesiasti- cal—of characters condemned by the higher sentiments and incongruous with an advanced social ideal. One in whom aversion to autocratic rule is strong, does 315 316 PROFESSIONAL INSTITUTIONS. not willingly recognize the truth that without autocratic rule the evolution of society could not have commenced ; and one to whom the thought of priestly control is repug- nant, cannot, without difficulty, bring himself to see that during early stages priestly control was necessary. But con- templation of the evidence, while proving these general facts, also makes it manifest that in the nature of things groups of men out of which organized societies germinate, must, in passing from the homogeneous to the heterogene- ous, have first assumed the form in which one individual predominates—a nucleus of the group serving as a centre of initiation for all subsequent steps in development. Though, as fast as society advances, and especially as fast as the militant type yields place to the industrial type, a cen- tralized and coercive control, political and ecclesiastical, becomes less needful, and plays a continually decreasing part in social evolution; yet the evidence compels us to admit that at first it was indispensable. This generalization, which we saw variously illustrated by political mstitutions and ecclesiastical institutions, we now see again illustrated by professional institutions. As the foregoing chapters have shown, all the professions origi- nate by differentiation from the agency which, beginning as political, becomes, with the apotheosis of the dead ruler, politico-ecclesiastical, and thereafter develops the profes- sions chiefly from its ecclesiastical element. Egypt which, by its records and remains, exhibits so well the early phases of social progress, shows us how at first various governmental functions, including the professional, were mingled in the king and in the cluster of those who surrounded the king. Says Tiele:— _ “A conflict between the authority of priest and king was hardly pos- sible in earlier times, for then the kings themselves, their sons, and their principal officers of state were the chief priests, and the priestly dignities were not dissevered from nor held to be inconsistent with other and civil functions.” EVOLUTION OF THE PROFESSIONS. 317 And again— ‘ = 5, Py. ‘ oa es Me 5 if = i : ‘a ¥3 “ COMPOUND FREE LABOUR. 3 523 first building containing many machines thus simultaneous- ly driven, was the well-known silk-throwing mill at Derby, erected early in the last century by Sir Thomas Lombe. The example he set was followed in cotton-spinning by Arkwright, Crompton, and Hargreaves. Their mills were of necessity erected on the banks of rivers yielding the requi- site fall of water—a requirement which dispersed the manufacture to scattered places, often in remote valleys. And here we are introduced to another of those great changes in industrial organization which have been initiated by scientific discovery and resulting mechanical appliances. For the revolution which gave to the Factory System its modern character, arose from the substitution of steam- power for water-power. One result was that, being no longer dependent on supply of water, the variations in which led to variations in activity of production, processes of manu- facture were made continuous. Another result was that wide distribution of factories was no longer necessitated by wide distribution of water-power. Factories and the people working ih them became clustered in large masses to which there was no limit; and there followed increased facilities both for bringing raw materials and taking away manu- factured products. So that beyond the integration of many machines in one mill there came the integration of many mills in one town. § 820. But now, from considering this evolution as a mechanical progress and as a progress in industrial organiza- tion, let us go on to consider it in relation to the lives of workers. Here its effects, in some respects beneficial, are in many respects detrimental. Though in his capacity of con- sumer the factory-hand, in common with the community, profits by the cheapening of goods of all kinds, including his own kind, yet in his capacity of producer he joes aie id perhaps more heavily than he gains. More and more of his powers, bodily and mental, are 524 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS, rendered superfluous. The successive improvements of the motor-agency itself show this effect. Originally the steam- engine required a boy to open and shut the steam-valves at the proper moments. Presently the engine was made to open and shut its own valves, and human aid was to that extent superseded. For a time, however, it continued needful for regulating the general supply of steam. When the work the engine had to do was suddenly much increased or decreased, the opening through which the steam passed from the boiler had to be enlarged or diminished by an attendant. But for the attendant there was presently sub- stituted an unintelligent apparatus—the governor. Then, after an interval, came a self-stoking apparatus, enabling the engine itself to supply fuel to its steam-generator. Now this replacing of muscular and mental processes by me- chanical processes, has been going on not only in the motor but in the vast assemblages of machines which the motor works. From time to time each of them has been made to do for itself something which was previously done for it; so that now it stops itself, or part of itself, at the proper mo- ment, or rings a bell when it has finished an appointed piece of work. To its attendant there remains only the task of taking away the work done and giving other work, or else of rectifying its shortcomings: tying a broken thread for instance. Clearly these self-adjustments, continually decreasing the sphere for human agency, make the actions of the workman himself relatively automatic. At the same time the mono- tonousattention required, taxing special parts of the nervous system and leaving others inactive, entails positive as well as negative injury. And while the mental nature becomes to the implied extent deformed, the physical nature, too, un- dergoes degradations; caused by breathing vitiated air at a temperature now in excess now in defect, and by standing for many hours in a way which unduly taxes the vascular system. If we compare his life with the life of the cottage SE ee Se ee ee ee a a ne ee COMPOUND FREE LABOUR. : 525 artizan he has replaced, who, a century ago, having a varied muscular action in working his loom, with breaks caused by the incidents of the work, was able to alternate his indoor activities with outdoor activities in garden or field, we can- not but admit that this industrial development has proved extremely detrimental to the operative. In their social relations, too, there has been an entailed retrogression rather than a progression. ‘he wage-earning factory-hand does, indeed, exemplify entirely free labour, in so far that, making contracts at will and able to break them after short notice, he is free to engage with whomso- ever he pleases and where he pleases. But this liberty amounts in practice to little more than the ability to ex- change one slavery for another; since, fit only for his par- ticular occupation, he has rarely an opportunity of doing anything more than decide in what mill he will pass the greater part of his dreary days. The coercion of cireum- stances often bears more hardly on him than the coercion of a master does on one in bondage. It seems that in the course of social progress, parts, more or less large, of each society, are sacrificed for the benefit of the society as a whole. In the earlier stages the sacrifice takes the form of mortality in the wars perpetually carried on during the struggle for existence between tribes and nations; and in later stages the sacrifice takes the form of mortality entailed by the commercial struggle, and the keen competition entailed by it. In either case men are used up for the benefit of posterity; and so long as they go on mul- tiplying in excess of the means of subsistence, there appears no remedy. CHAPTER XIX. COMPOUND CAPITAL. § 821. Earty stages in the genesis of what is now called joint-stock enterprise, are instructive as showing, in several ways, how progress of each kind depends on several kinds of preceding progress; and as also showing how any indus- trial structure, specialized into the form now familiar to us, arose out of an indefinite germ in which it was mingled with other structures. The creation of the accumulated fund we eall capital, depends on certain usages and conditions. Among peoples who, besides burying with the dead man his valuables, some- times even killed his animals and cut down his fruit trees, no considerable masses of property could be aggregated. The growth of such masses was also prevented by constant wars, which now absorbed them in meeting expenses and now caused the loss of them by capture. Yet a further pre- vention commonly resulted from appropriations by chiefs and kings. Their unrestrained greed either made saving futile, or by forcing men to hoard what they saved, rendered it useless for reproductive purposes. ; Another obstacle existed. Going back, as the idea of capital does, to days when cattle and sheep mainly formed a rich man’s movable property, and indicating, as the word does, the number of “ heads ” in his flocks and herds, it is clear that no fund of the kind which the word now connotes was possible. Cattle and sheep could not be disposed of at . 526 —— eee ee ee COMPOUND CAPITAL. 527 will. There was only an occasional market for large num- bers; and the form of payment was ordinarily not such as rendered the amount easily available for commercial pur- poses. A money economy had to be well established; and even then, so long as money consisted exclusively of coin, large transactions were much restricted. Only along with the rise of a credit-currency of one or other kind, could in- dividual capital or compound capital take any great devel- opments. Again, the form of partnership which joint-stock com- panies exhibit, had to be evolved out of simple partnerships, having their roots in family-organizations and gild-organi- zations. Fathers and sons, and then larger groups of rela- tives carrying on the same businesses, naturally, on emerging from the communal state, fell into one or other form of joint ownership and division of profits. And we may safely infer that the gild-organization afterwards evolved, which, con- sidered in its general nature, was a partnership for purposes of defence and regulation, further educated men in the ideas and practices which the joint-stock system implies. Those who constantly combined their powers in pursuit of certain common interests, were led occasionally to combine their individual possessions for common interests—to form large partnerships. A further needful remark is that these early companies were not wholly industrial but were partly militant. Al- ready, when contemplating gilds, we have seen in them the spirit of antagonism common to all social structures in their days, when nobles fought against one another or joined against the king, when the people of towns had to defend themselves against feudal tyrannies, and when town was against town. Like the gilds, the early combinations of traders which foreshadowed companies, had defence and ageression within their functions. Even now industry is in a considerable measure militant, and it was then still more militant. 528 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS, § 822. Scattered pieces of information indicate various dates and places at which these trading combinations first appeared; and indicate also their actions. Italy, which in industry as in art was in advance of the other European nations, had something like a bank in the 12th century: probably of the kind described in the chapter on Auxiliary Exchange, implying an association of traders. More important and conspicuous, however, were the com- panies formed for carrying on foreign commerce. Early examples existed in Genoa and Pisa. There the mercantile leagues acquired a political character as a result of their frequent militant operations. So was it afterwards with the Hanseatic League—an association of merchants inhabiting the Hanse towns, who, originally uniting for mutual de- fence, developed armed fleets with which they carried on successful wars against kings, and which enabled them to put down the hordes of pirates infesting the Northern seas. The militant character of these bodies was at this stage their predominant character, considered as combinations; since their members were usually not partners in trading transactions, but’ separately traded under the protection of the aggregate they formed. We read that in England “‘from very early times, several owners might combine to fit out a ship and buy a cargo, when none of them was able, separately, to risk a very large sum in ventures by. sea.” Existing under variously modified names in the 13th centu- ry, the first of these, generally called the Hamburg Com- pany, but in Queen Elizabeth’s reign re-chartered as the Company of Merchant Adventurers, had this character in common with other companies of Merchant Adventurers at Exeter and Hull. The title “ Merchant Adventurers ” in some sort implied that they ran risks in the pursuit of com- merce,—risks which, when pirates were prevalent, were often fighting risks. This trait was in a still greater degree ~ possessed by the Russia Company, finally established in © 1556, which, having under its charter a political organiza- ‘ 4 j COMPOUND CAPITAL, 529 tion, was commissioned to make discoveries and take pos- session of new lands in the king’s name; at the same time that it was to have, like others of these companies, exclusive privileges of trading within specified limits. Out of indefi- ‘nite unions, which necessarily possessed compound capital, in some way derived from the contributions of the associ- ated merchants, the change to definite unions possessing compound capital as we now know it, was initiated by the Kast India Company. But the change was not sudden. At first— ‘‘Those who entered the Company did not trade as individuals, but combined to take shares in fitting and loading several ships one year, and then formed a new subscription for each subsequent voyage.” That is, there was a joint-stock company formed for each voyage, which did not commit its members individually to the general fortunes of the Company. However— ‘*In 1612, the charter of the Company was renewed in a different form, and it became a joint-stock company, in which all the partners had larger or smaller shares.” Nevertheless the kinship of these forms of organization to earlier forms was still displayed. These companies for carrying on foreign commerce in one or other region, had the character of gilds for external business, possessing cer- tain local monopolies, and being just as hostile to those they called “ interlopers ” as were the town-gilds to unprivileged competitors. Moreover, the militant character survived, and in some cases grew predominant; for these companies became bodies employing troops and making conquests. In- deed this ancient trait continues down to our own day. The great nations of Europe, called civilized, when they do not themselves invade the territories of weak peoples, depute companies to invade for them; and having aided them in conquering a desirable region, eventually “ annex ” it—the euphemistic word used for land-theft by politicians, as “ con- vey ” was Falstaff’s euphemistic word for theft of money. Companies formed like these for carrying on foreign 530 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. trade, whether their capital consisted of indefinite contri- butions or of definite shares, were not successful. M’Cul- loch’s Dictionary of Commerce tells us the extent of the failure. ‘“The Abbé Morellet has given in a tract published in 1769 (Hzamen de la Réponse de M. N., pp. 35—88) a list of 55 joint-stock companies, for the prosecution of various branches of foreign trade, established in different parts of Europe subsequently to 1600, every one of which had failed, though most of them had exclusive privileges. Most of those that have been established since the publication of Morellet’s tract have hada similar fate.” These examples illustrate the truth, illustrated by so many others, that protected industries do not prosper. ‘The case of the East India Company may be taken as typical. Notwith- standing its commercial monopolies and the armed forces behind it, it contracted an enormous debt; and would have been bankrupt long before it was dissolved had it not been for its political connexion. Once commenced, the system of raising compound capitals by the contributions of many individuals, in definite small portions or shares, spread in various directions. Companies — were formed for insurance, for mining, for redeeming lands | from the sea, and so on: not a few being “ bubble” com- — panies. But out of many dishonest schemes and many hon- est but unsuccessful ones, there emerged some which became — permanent industrial organizations. A natural step from — the association of many merchants for defence against pirates, was to the association of many citizens at large to safeguard ship-owners against wrecks: joint-stock insur- — ance societies grew up. Further development led to insur- — ance against dangers of other kinds. Then came unions to © work mines: enterprises the uncertainty of which, so great — as to deter single individuals, were not so great as to deter — combinations of many who shared the profits and losses ~ among them. Very significantly, too, the title “ Merchant Adventurers ” was paralleled by the title “ Mining Ad- ~ venturers.” The system of compound capital thus extend- ~ 5 ev Sete RS ee 3 3 COMPOUND CAPITAL, — 531 ing exhibited, as before, transitional forms; for the shares in these undertakings were of different magnitudes, so that while some held eighths, sixteenths, &c., others held sixty- fourths, and even one-hundred-and-twenty-eighths: a sys- tem which was followed by the first water-company, founded by Sir Hugh Middleton. § 823. For present purposes details are needless. The things of moment here are the changes of constitution which these industrial institutions have undergone. That ordimary partnerships, extending from relatives to others, were the germs of joint-stock companies, was sug- gested above. The suggestion harmonizes with the fact that up to recent times the State continued to regard companies only as partnerships—as overgrown partnerships which it was desirable to repress. The State opposition to them was due in large measure to the perception that without Royal Charters of incorporation, they were doing things which pre- viously could be done only under such charters; and were therefore evading governmental authority. Hence, in 1719, was passed the so-called “‘ Bubble Act:” partly prompted by this feeling but ostensibly to stop the mischief done by bubble companies. Men continued, however, to combine, subject to the unlimited liability of ordinary partners, for the prosecution of various undertakings: the persistence in this course being evidence that among the failures there were successes, and that the system was not bad, as assumed by the legislature. Step by step the obstacles were removed. In 1826 it was made possible for the bodies thus formed to obtain charters which did not absolve their members from their individual responsibilities. Later, such bodies were allowed, without incorporation, to have letters patent which gave them a legal status ; enabling them to sue and be sued through a representative. And then in 1844 authority to establish a company was gained by simply obtaining a cer- tificate, and being publicly registered. - 532 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. Meanwhile on the Continent, in forms somewhat different though allied, joint-stock companies have similarly of late years multiplied. Thus in Prussia, between 1872—1883 inclusive, there were established 1411 companies with a capital of £136,000,000 odd—insurance, chemical works, sugar works, gas and water, textile industries, breweries, metals, railways, &c. France, too, has displayed a kindred spread of these industrial organizations. Their constitu- tions, differing more or less from one another and from those which are usual in England, need not be detailed. The only remark worth adding about foreign joint-stock companies is that, in their legal forms, they bear traces of the unlike con ceptions prevailing here and abroad concerning the rela tions between citizens and governments. For whereas here the tacit assumption is that there exists in citizens the right to combine for this or that purpose as they please, subject only to such restrictions as the State imposes for the safe- guarding of others’ interests, on the Continent the tacit as- sumption has been that this right does not naturally pertain to citizens, but is conferred on them by the State, in which, by implication, it is latent: a conception indicated by the use of the word “ concession.” The system thus gradually reached by relaxation of re- strictions, has led to immense industrial developments which would else have been slow and difficult, if not impossible. When we ask what would have happened had there been none of the resulting facilities for raising masses of com- pound capital, the reply is that the greater part of the roads, canals, docks, railways, which now exist would not have existed. The wealth and foresight of a man like the Duke of Bridgwater, might occasionally have created one of these extensive works; but there have been few men possessing: the requisite means, and still fewer possessing the requisite enterprise. If, again, execution of them had been left to the Government, conservatism and officialism would have raised. immense hindrances. The attitude of legislators towards BY eh ; ie if * at COMPOUND CAPITAL __ 533 the proposal for the first railway, sufficiently shows that little would have come from State-action. Moreover, the joint-stock system has opened channels for the reproductive use of capital, which else would either have been lying idle or would have been used for less productive purposes. For the goodness of the interest obtained by shareholders, is a measure of the advantage which the public at large derives from the easy distribution of raw materials and manutac- tured products. § 824. The last stage in the development of these indus- trial associations which have compound capitals has still to be named. In modern forms of them we see the regulative policy, once so pronounced, reduced to its least degree. Both by the central government and by local governments, individuals were, in early days, greatly restricted in the carrying on of their occupations; and at the same time the combinations they formed for the protection and regulation of their industries, were formed by governmental authority, general or local, for which they paid. Of the various hin- drances to combinations, originally for regulating industries but eventually for carrying on industries, the last was re- moved in 1855. Up to that time it had been held needful that the public should be safeguarded against wild and fraudulent schemes, by requiring that each shareholder should be liable to the whole amount of his property for the debts of any company he joined. But at length it was con- cluded that it would suffice if each shareholder was liable only to the amount of his shares; provided that this limited liability was duly notified to men at large. Everyone knows the results. Under the limited liability system many bubble-companies, analogous to those of old times, have arisen, and there has been much business under the winding-up Acts: the public has often proved itself an incompetent judge of the projects brought before it. But many useful undertakings have been proposed and carried out. One unanticipated result has been the changing of 534 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. private trading concerns into limited-liability companies; whether with benefit may be questioned. But the measure has certainly yielded advantage by making it possible to raise capital for relatively small industries of speculative kinds. It has been beneficial, too, in making available for industrial purposes, numberless savings which otherwise would have been idle: absorption of them into the general mass of reproductive capital being furthered by the issue of shares of small denominations. So that now stagnant capi- tal has almost disappeared. Before leaving the topic it is proper to point out that in this case, as in other cases, coerciveness of regulation declines politically, ecclesiastically, and industrially at the same time. Many facts have shown us that while the individual man | has acquired greater liberty as a citizen and greater religious liberty, he has also acquired greater liberty in respect of his occupations; and here we see that he has simultaneously acquired greater liberty of combination for industrial pur- poses. Indeed, in conformity with the universal law of rhythm, there has been a change from excess of restriction to deficiency of restriction. As is implied by legislation now pending, the facilities for forming companies and raising compound capitals have been too great. Of sundry examples here is one. Directors are allowed to issue prospectuses in which it is said that those who take shares will be understood to waive the right to know the contents of certain prelimi- nary agreements, made with promoters—are allowed to ask the public to subscribe while not knowing fully the circum- stances of the case. A rational interpretation of legal prin- ciples would have negatived this. In any proper contract the terms on both sides are distinctly specified. If they are not, one of the parties to the contract is bound completely while the other is bound incompletely—a result at variance with the very nature of contract. Where the transaction is one that demands definiteness on one side while leaving the other side indefinite, the law should ignore the contract as one that cannot be enforced. CHAPTER XX, TRADE-UNIONISM. § 825. Amone those carrying on their lives under like conditions, whether in respect of place of living or mode of living, there arise in one way diversities of interests and in another way unities of interests. In respect of place of liv- ing this is seen in the fact that members of a tribe or nation have unity of interests in defending themselves against ex- ternal enemies, while internally they have diversities of in- terests prompting constant quarrels. Similarly in respect of mode of living. Those who pursue like occupations, being competitors, commonly have differences, as is implied by the proverb “ Two of a trade can never agree; ” but in relation to bodies of men otherwise occupied, their interests are the same, and sameness of interests prompts joint actions for defence. In preceding chapters history has shown how this general law was illustrated in old times among traders. Now we have to observe how in modern times it is illustrated among their employés. - Union of artisans for maintenance of common advantages is traceable in small rude societies, even before master and worker are differentiated. Turner tells us that in Samoa— “‘Tt is a standing custom, that after the sides and one end of the house are finished, the principal part of the payment be made; and it is at this time that a carpenter, if he is dissatisfied, will get up and walk off. . . . Nor can the chief to whom the house belongs employ another party to finish it. It is a fixed rule of the trade, and rigidly adhered to, that no one will take up the work which another party has thrown down.” 134 5385 536 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS, Apparently without formal combination there is thus a tacit agreement to maintain certain rates of payment. Some- thing of kindred nature is found in parts of Africa. Reade says that a sort of trade-union exists on the Gaboon, and those who break its rules are illtreated. The natives on the coast endeavour to keep all the trade with the white man in their own hands; and if one from any of the bush tribes is detected selling to the white man, it is thought a breach of law and custom. But the trade-union as we now know it, obviously implies an advanced social evolution. There is re- quired in the first place a definite separation between the wage-earner and the wage-payer; and in the second place it is requisite that considerable numbers of wage-earners shall be gathered together; either as inhabitants of the same locality or as clustered migratory bodies, such as masons once formed. Of course fulfilment of these conditions was eradual, but when it had become pronounced— ‘The workmen formed their Trade-Unions against the aggressions of the then rising manufacturing lords, as in earlier times the old free- men formed their Frith-Gilds against the tyranny of medisval mag- nates, and the free handicraftsmen their Craft-Gilds against the ag- gressions of the Old-burghers.”’ Not that there was a lineal descent of trade unions from eraft-gilds. Evidence of this is lacking and evidence to the contrary abundant. Though very generally each later social institution may be affiliated upon some earlier one, yet it occasionally happens that social institutions of a kind like some which previously existed, arise de novo under similar conditions; and the trade-union furnishes one illustration. Akin in nature though not akin by descent, the trade-union is simply a gild of wage-earners.* * Materials which I have collected in the course of years, though con- . siderable in amount, would not have sufficed for proper treatment of this large topic. For the needful further information, I am indebted to the. comprehensive and elaborate work by Mr. and Mrs, Sydney Webb on The History of Trade Unioniszm—a work which must henceforth be the standard. authority on the subject, considered under its historical aspect. TRADE-UNIONISM. 537 § 826. That in common with multitudinous other kinds of combinations, trade-unions are prompted by community of interests among their members, is implied by facts show- ing that where, other things being equal, the interests are mixed, they do not arise. At the present time in Lanca- shire— ‘The ‘piecers,’ who assist at the ‘mules,’ are employed and paid by the operative cotton-spinners under whom they work. The ‘big piecer ’ is often an adult man, quite as skilled as the spinner himself, from whom, however, he receives very inferior wages. But although the cotton operatives display a remarkable aptitude for Trade-Union- ism, attempts to form an independent organization among the piecers have invariably failed. The energetic and competent piecer is always looking forward to becoming a spinner, interested rather in reducing than in raising piecers’ wages.” So was it with journeymen in early days. While the sub- ordinate worker could look forward with some hope to the time when he would become a master, he was restrained from combining with others in opposition to masters; but when there had come into existence many such subordinate workers who, lacking capital, had no chance of becoming masters, there arose among them combinations to raise wages and shorten time. If, with community of interests as a prerequisite, we join local aggregation as a further prerequisite, we may infer that the evolution of trade-unions has been very irregular: dif- ferent trades and localities having fulfilled these conditions in different degrees. London, as the place which first ful- filled the prerequisite of aggregation, was the place in which we find the earliest traces of bodies which prefigure trade- unions—bodies at first temporary but tending to become permanent. At the end of the 14th century and beginning of the 15th, we have the well-known complaints about the behaviour of journeymen cordwainers, sadlers, and tailors, in combining to enforce their own interests; setting ex- amples which a generation later were followed by the shoe- makers of Wisbeach. And here we are shown that just 538 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. as hot politicians in our days are commonest among those artisans whose daily work permits continuous conversation, so in these old times the wage-earners who first formed tenta- tive trade-unions were those tailors, shoemakers, and sadlers, who, gathered together in work-rooms, could talk while they sewed. Germs usually differ in character and purpose from the things evolved out of them. Community of interests and local clustering being the prerequisites to trade-combina- tions, the implication is that they have sometimes grown out of social gatherings of festive kinds, and very frequently out of burial societies, friendly societies, sick-clubs. Artisans periodically assembling for the carrying on of their mutual- aid business, inevitably discussed work and wages and the conduct of masters; and especially so when they all followed the same occupation. There could not fail to result, on the occasion of some special grievance, a determination to make a joint defence. It also naturally happened that the funds — accumulated for the primary purpose of the body, came to be used in execution of this secondary purpose: an illustra- tion of the absurd delusion respecting the powers of a major- ity which pervades political thinking also—the delusion that the decision of a majority binds the minority in respect of all purposes, whereas it can equitably bind the minority only in respect of the purpose for which the body was formed. The prevalence of this delusion has greatly conduced to the de- velopment and power of trade-unions; since, in any case of proposed strike, the dissenting minority has been obliged either to yield or to sacrifice invested contributions. We are not here concerned with the detailed history of — wage-earners’ gilds. It will suffice to say that though there were early attempts at them, such as those just named, there were no permanent defensive associations of wage-earners before 1700; but that, by the close of the century, they had become numerous, and were met with repressive legisla- tion which, at first partial in character, ended in a general +} a i od - errno a Fk TRADE-UNIONISM. — 539 penal law. By the 39 and 40 George III, chap. 106, it was enacted that any workman entering into combination to advance wages or to shorten hours, should be liable to three months’ imprisonment. That the causes of the rapid de- velopment which took place at this period were those above named, is shown by the fact that in 1721 a trade-union was formed by the fifteen thousand journeymen tailors in the Metropolis: aggregation being in this case a conspicuous antecedent. It is further shown by the contrast between the state of the cloth-trade in the West of England and in Yorkshire. Early in the 18th century there had arisen wealthy clothiers in Somersetshire, Gloucestershire, and Devon, who had water-mills in which part of the manufac- ture was carried on, and on which the hand-workers de- pended. Here the operatives combined and riotously en- forced their demands. ‘This early development of trade combinations in the West of Eng- land stands in striking contrast with their absence in the same in- dustry where pursued, as in Yorkshire, on the so-called ‘Domestic System.’ The Yorkshire weaver was a small master craftsman of the old type.” But this contrast disappeared when there arose in Yorkshire, as in the West of England, the Factory system— ‘‘Then journeymen and small masters struggled with one accord to resist the new form of capitalist industry which was beginning to deprive them of their control over the product of their labour.” That is to say, they struggled against absorption into the — body of mere wage-earners which was growing up; and trade-unions were among the results. § 827. Evils habitually produce counter evils, and those arising from the Combination Laws were, after repeal of those laws, followed by others consequent upon misuse of freedom. ‘“ Trade societies . . . sprang into existence on all sides; ” and artisans became as tyrannical as their mas- ters had been. Cotton-operatives in Glasgow, seamen on 540 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. _ the Tyne, Sheffield grinders and London shipwrights, dic- tated terms and used violence to enforce them. Actions and reactions in various trades and numerous places made the course of these combinations irregular; so that there came many formations followed by many dissolutions: especially when commercial depression and extensive suspensions of work brought to unionists proofs that they could not settle wages as they pleased. But combinations of a transitory kind grew into permanent combinations, and by and by the integration of small local groups was followed by the inte- _ gration of these into larger and wider groups. In 1827 the carpenters and joiners formed a national association. ‘‘ Tem- porary alliances in particular emergencies” had, in earlier days, joined the Cotton Spinners’ Trade Clubs of Lanca- shire with those of Glasgow; but in 1829 there came a bind- ing together of spinners’ societies in England, Scotland, and Ireland. Almost simultaneously the various classes of oper- atives in the building trades throughout the kingdom com- bined. Up to this time the unions had been trade-unions properly so called; but now there came the idea of a Trades’ union—a union not of operatives in one trade or in kindred trades, but a national union of operatives in all trades. The avowed plan was to consolidate ‘‘ the productive classes ” : the assumption, still dominant, being that the manual work- ers do everything and the mental workers nothing. The first of these schemes, commenced in 1830, quickly failed. In 1834 a second scheme of like nature was initiated by Robert Owen, entitled “ The Grand National Consolidated Trades’ Union,” which in a few weeks enrolled “ at least half-a-million members,” and which had for one object “a general strike of all wage-earners.”” This great but feebly | organized body was soon split up by internal disputes and collapsed; while during the same period various of the minor bodies affiliated to it, as the Potters’ Union and the unions of tailors and clothiers, dissolved. There ensued a breaking up of the federal organizations at large, and in TRADE-UNIONISM. ee 541 1838 there was going on a steady decline of trade-unionism in general. After some years, however, came a “ gradual building up of the great ‘ amalgamated ’ societies of skilled artisans,”’ in the course of which trade-unionism “ obtained a financial strength, a trained staff of salaried officers, and a permanence of membership hitherto unknown.” Further particulars do not call for mention. It will suf- fice to note the sizes of these organizations. In 1892, among engineering and shipbuilding operatives, there existed 260 societies with 287,000 members, formed into various large groups, as the Amalgamated Societies of Engineers, the United Boilermakers, and the societies of ironfounders and shipwrights. Among miners and quarrymen and associated workers, locally or specially combined, there were 347,000 unionists, nearly two-thirds of whom were, in 1888, “ gath- ered into the Miners Federation of Great Britain ’—an integration of integrations. Referring to the million and a half unionists existing at that date, the authors from whom I have chiefly quoted say:— ‘‘The Trade-Union world is, therefore, in the main, composed of skilled craftsmen working in densely populated districts, where in- dustry is conducted on a large scale. About 750,000 of its members— one-half of the whole—belong to the three staple trades of coalmining, cotton manufacture, and engineering, whilst the labourers and the women workers remain, on the whole, non-unionists.”’ .§ 828. Since community of interests is the bond of union in these gilds of wage-earners, as it was in the gilds of mer- chants and craftsmen centuries ago, the wage-earners have naturally adopted modes of action like those of their pre- decessors. As by the old combinations so by the new, there have been joint resistances to things which threatened ma- terial evils to their members and joint enforcements of things promising material benefits to them. The number of artisans occupied in any one business in an old English town, was restricted by the regulation that no one could carry it on who had not passed through an ap- © 542 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS, prenticeship of specified length. This being the law of every gild, it resulted that each town had a semi-servile population living as best it might outside the regular businesses. Simi- larly, gilds of wage-earners, prompted by the desire to re- strain competition, commonly insist upon previous appren- ticeship as a qualification for entrance into their unions, while making strenuous efforts, and often using violence, to prevent the employment of non-unionists: the tendency being to produce, as of old, a class of men ineligible for any regular work. To the same end the old gilds kept down the numbers of apprentices taken by masters into their respective trades, and in this their example has been followed by these modern gilds. Indeed, we here find a definite link between the old and the new. For one of the earliest actions taken by mod- ern eombinations of workers was that of reviving and en- forcing the still-extant laws limiting the numbers of appren- tices; and this has become a general policy. Of the flint- glass makers it is said :— ‘‘The constant refrain of their trade organ is ‘Look to the rule and keep boys back; for this is the foundation of the evil.’” So, too, in the printing trades there have been persistent efforts to find “the most effective way of checking boy- labour.” ‘‘ And the engineering trades, at this time entering the Trade Union world, were basing their whole policy on the assumption that the duly apprenticed mechanic, like the doctor or the solicitor, had a right to exclude ‘illegal men’ from his occupation.” In the days of craft-gilds the State-regulation of prices prevailed widely; but that the gilds, either as deputies of the government or of their own motion, also regulated prices, we have some evidence. “ A statute of Edward VI seems to have limited the powers hitherto enjoyed by the gilds of fixing wages and prices,” says Cunningham. Even in the absence of proofs we might fairly infer that their rules were intended to check underselling; as also to pre- TRADE-UNIONISM, 543 vent the lowering of prices by over-production. Among the merchant-adventurers there was a “ stint,” or limit, put to the quantity of commodity a member might export within the year, according to his standing: a restraint on competi- tion. Similarly, the regulations for the trade of Bristol. in the 15th century, implied “ a ‘ ruled price’ for each of the chief commodities of trade,” and implied “ that no merchant should sell below it,’ save in special cases. Clearly, for- bidding the sale of a commodity below a certain price, is paralleled by forbidding the sale of labour below a certain price; and the man who underbids his fellow is reprobated. and punished in the last case as he was in the first. Laws imply force used to maintain them; for other- wise they are practically non-existent. Here, as before, there is agreement between the old combinations and the new, though the forces used are differently derived. The most ancient trade-corporations were practically co-extensive with the municipal governments, and at later stages the corporations which differentiated from them, continued their municipal alliances: town-authorities being largely com- posed of gild-authorities. Hence it can scarcely be doubted that gild-regulations were enforced by municipal officials; for the political actions and the industrial actions were not then separated as they arenow. But the wage-earners’ gilds, having had no alliances with municipal bodies, have tried to enforce their regulationgthemselves. This has been their habit from the beginning. The shoemakers of Wisbeach, in striking against low wages, threatened that ‘‘ there shall none come into the town to serve for that wages within a twelve-month and a day, but we woll have an harme or a legge of hym, except they woll take an othe as we have doon.” When we recall the past deeds of the Sheffield grinders, trying to kill recalcitrant members of their body by explosions of gunpowder, or by making their fast-revolv- ing wheels fly to pieces, or when we remember the violent assaults month after month now made on non-unionists, we 544 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. see that the same policy is still pursued—a policy which would be much further pursued were police restraints still less efficient than they are. Among minor parallelisms may be named the conflicts arising in old times between the craft-gilds, and in modern times between the wage-earners’ gilds, respecting the limits of their several occupations. The gild-members in one business denied to those in a kindred business the right to make certain things which they contended fell within their monopoly. And similarly at present among wage-earners, those of one class are interdicted from doing certain kinds of work which those of another class say belong to their occu- pation. Thus the fitters and plumbers, the joiners and ship- wrights, quarrel over special employments which both claim. Within these few weeks public attention has been drawn to a conflict of this kind between boilermakers and fitters at Messrs. Thorneycroft’s works at Chiswick. In one respect, however, the ancient traders’ gilds and the modern wage-earners’ gilds have differed in their policies, because their motives have operated differently. The bodies of craftsmen exercised some supervision over the products - made and sold by their members; seeming to do this in the public interest, and being in some cases commissioned thus to do it. But in fact they did it in their own interests. A gild-brother who used some inferior material for making the thing he sold, was by so doing enabled to get a greater profit than the rest of the gild-brethren who used the better ma- terial; and their prohibition was prompted by their desire to prevent this, not by their desire to protect the public. But the wage-earners who have established fixed rates of payment for so many hours’ work, have no interest in main- taining the standard of work. Contrariwise, they have an interest in lowering the standard in respect of quantity if not of quality: so much so that the superior artisan is pre- vented from exercising his greater ability by the frowns of his fellows, whose work by comparison he discredits. a TRADE-UNIONISM. 545 Beyond question, then, these various parallelisms (along with the absence of parallelism just named) prove identity of nature between ancient and modern trade-combinations. § 829. The restrictionist is essentially the same in nature whether he forbids free trade in commodities or whether he forbids free trade in labour. I make this remark as intro- ductory to a parallel. Not long since a member of parliament proposed that a duty of ten per cent. should be imposed on imports in gen- eral. This was urged as a relief not for the agricultural classes only but for all classes. What was the anticipated effect? That if foreign goods were prevented from com- peting with English goods to the implied extent, English producers would be severally enabled to obtain so much the more for what they had to sell. There the inference stopped. Every citizen was thought of as a producer, but what would happen to him as a consumer was not asked. The extra profit made by him was contemplated as so much to the good, and there was no recognition of the fact that if all other producers were similarly enabled to get higher prices, the result must be that he, as consumer, would have to pay these higher prices all round for the things he wanted: his income would be raised, but his expenditure would be raised in the same proportion. We need not wonder, then, if the members of trade-unions are misled by a parallel fallacy. In each class of them— carpenters, bricklayers, engineers, calico-printers, weavers, compositors, pressmen, &c.—every worker thinks it an un- questionable advantage to get more in return for his work than he might get without combination. He sees only the extra amount of his wages, and does not see how that extra amount is dissipated. But it is dissipated. Even by trade- unionists it is now a recognized truth that in any occupation the rise of wages is limited by the price obtained for the article produced, and that if wages are forced up, the price 546 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. of the article produced must presently be forced up. What then happens if, as now, trade-unions are established among the workers in nearly all occupations, and if these trade- unions severally succeed in making wages higher? All the various articles they are occupied in making must be raised in price; and each trade-unionist, while so much the more in pocket by advanced wages, is so much the more out of pocket by having to buy things at advanced rates. . That this must be the general effect has recently been shown in an unmistakable way. At a recent Miners’ Con- gress it was openly contended that the out-put of coal should be restricted until the price rose to the extent required for giving higher wages. Nothing was said about the effect this raised price of coal would have on the community at large, including, as its chief component, the working classes. All labourers and artisans need fuel, and if coal is made dearer each of them must either spend more for fires or be pinched with cold: the colliers’ profit must be their loss. But what so obviously happens in this case happens in every case. The trade-union policy carried out to the full, has the effect that every kind of wage-earner is taxed for the benefit of every other kind of wage-earner. § 830. “ What right has he to deprive me of work by offering to do it for less?” says the trade-unionist concern- ing the non-unionist. He feels himself injured, and thinks that whatever injures him must be wrong. Yet if, instead of himself and a competing artisan, he contemplates two Pie Se) competing tradesmen, he perceives nothing amiss in the — underbidding of the one by the other. Says the grocer Jones, pointing to Brown the grocer over the way—‘‘ What right has he to take away my custom by selling his tea at twopence a pound less than I do?”’ Does the unionist here recognize a wrong done by Brown to Jones? Not in the least. He sees that the two have equal rights to offer their commodities at whatever prices they please; and if Brown ; TRADE-UNIONISM. BAT is content with a small profit while Jones greedily demands a large one, he regards Brown as the better fellow of the two. See then how self-interest blinds him. Here are two trans- actions completely parallel in their essentials, of which the one is regarded as utterly illegitimate, and the other as quite legitimate. Still more startling becomes the antithesis if we make the parallel closer. Suppose it true, as sometimes alleged, that the lowered price of wheat does not lower the price of bread, and that therefore bakers must have combined to keep it up. As a buyer of bread, the artisan has no words too strong for the bakers who, by their nefarious agreement, oblige him to spend more money for the same amount of food than he would otherwise do; and if he can find a baker who, not joining the rest, charges less for a loaf in proportion to the diminished cost of wheat, he applauds, and gladly benefits by going to him. Very different is it if the thing to be sold is not bread but labour. Uniting to maintain the price of it is worthy of applause, while refusal to unite, followed by consent to sell labour at a lower rate, is violently condemned. Those who do the one think themselves honest, and calls those who do the other “ blacklegs.” So that the estimates of conduct are in these two cases absolutely inverted. Arti- ficially raising the price of bread is vicious, but artificially raising the price of labour is virtuous! If we imagine that the real or supposed bakers’ union, imitating trade-unionists who break the tools of recalcitrant fellow-workmen, should smash the windows of the non- unionist baker who undersold them, the artisan, standing by, and thinking that the police ought to interfere, might also think that the sellers of bread are not the only persons con- cerned; but that the buyers of bread have something to say. He might argue that it is not wholly a question of profits made by unionist and non-unionist bakers, but is in part a question of how customers may be fed most cheaply: seeing which, he might conclude that this violence of the unionist 548 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. bakers was a wrong done not only to the non-unionist but to . the public at large. In his own case, however, asa trader - in labour, he thinks the question is solely between himself, demanding a certain rate of pay, and the non-unionist who offers to take less pay. What may be the interest of the — third party to the transaction, who buys labour, is indiffer- ent. But clearly all three are concerned. If the unionist complains that the non-unionist hurts him by underbidding | him and taking away his work, not only may the non-union- — ist reply that he is hurt if he is prevented from working at the rate he offers, but the employer may complain that he, too, is hurt by being obliged to pay more to the one than he would to the other. So that the trade-unionist’s proceeding inflicts two hurts that one may be prevented. Should it be said that the employer can afford to pay the — higher rate, the reply is that the profit on his business is | often so cut down by competition that he must, by giving the higher rate, lose all profit and become bankrupt, or else _ must, along with other manufacturers similarly placed, raise his prices; in which case the community at large, including ~ wage-earners at large, is the third party hurt. § 831. Returning from this incidental criticism let us ask what are the effects of the trade-union policy, pecuniarily considered. After averaging the results over many trades — in many years, do we find the wage-earner really benefited _ in his ‘‘ Standard of Life ”’? There is one case—that of the acriodicoral labourers— _ which shows clearly that under some conditions little or — nothing can be done by combination. Numerous farms are _ now advertised as vacant and can find no tenants: tens of — thousands of acres are lying idle. If, then, the cost of culti- — vation is even now such that in many parts no adequate return on capital can be obtained by the farmer; and if, as we are told happens on the Bedford estates, all the rent paid goes in keeping the farms in order; the implication is that _ A : 0 Pee ee TRADE-UNIONISM. ie 549 to increase the cost of cultivation by giving higher wages, would make farming unremunerative over a yet wider area. Still more land would lie idle, and the demand for men would be by so much decreased. Hence a combination to raise wages would in many localities result in having no wages. Now though in most businesses the restraints on the rise of wages are less manifest, yet it needs but to remember how often manufacturers have to run their machinery short hours and occasionally to stop altogether for a time—it needs but to recall official reports which tell of empty mills in Lancashire going to ruin; to see that in other cases trade conditions put an impassable limit to wages. And this in- ference is manifest not only to the unconcerned spectator, but is manifest to some officials of trade-unions. Here is the opinion of one who was the leader of the most intelligent body of artisans—the Amalgamated Society of Engineers. “We believe,’ said Allan before the Royal Commission in 1867, ‘that all strikes are a complete waste of money, not only in relation to the workmen, but also to the employers.’ ” On the workmen a strike entails a double loss—the loss of the fund accumulated by small contributions through many years, and the further loss entailed by long-continued idle- ness. Even when the striker succeeds in obtaining a rise or preventing a fall, it may be doubted whether the gain obtained in course of time by the weekly increment of pay, is equal to the loss suddenly suffered. And to others than the workers the loss is unquestionable—not to the employ- ers only, by absence of interest and damage to plant, but also to the public as being the poorer by so much product not made. But the injury wrought by wage-earners’ combinations is sometimes far greater. There has occasionally been caused a wide-spread cessation of an industry, like that which, as shown above, would result were the wages of rural labourers forced up. And here, indeed, we come upon a further par- 550 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. allel between the ancient craft-gilds and the modern wage- earners’ gilds. In past times gild-restrictions had often the effect of driving away craftsmen from the towns into ad- jacent localities, and sometimes to distant places. “And now in sundry cases wage-earners, having either through legis- lation or by strikes, imposed terms which made it impossible for employers to carry on their businesses profitably, have caused migration of them. The most notorious case is that of the Spitalfields weavers, who in 1773, by an Act enabling them to demand wages fixed by magistrates, so raised the cost of production that in some fifty years most of the trade had been driven to Macclesfield, Manchester, Norwich, and Paisley. A more recent case, directly relevant to the action of trade-unions, is that of the Thames-shipwrights. By in- sisting on certain rates of pay they made it impracticable to build ships in the Thames at a profit, and the industry went North; and now such shipwrights as remain in London are begging for work from the Admiralty. As pointed out to a recent deputation, the accepted tender for repairs of a Government vessel was less than half that which a Thames- builder, hampered by the trade-union, could afford to offer. So is it alleged to have been in other trades, and so it may presently be on a much larger scale. For the trade-wnion policy, in proportion as it spreads, tends to drive certain occupations not from one part of England to another but | from England to the Continent: the lower pay and longer hours of continental artisans, making it possible to produce as good a commodity at a lower price. Nay, not only in for- eign markets but in the home market, is the spreading sale of articles ‘made in Germany” complained of. An in- stance, to which attention has just been drawn by a strike, is furnished by the glass-trade. It is stated that nine-tenths of the glass now used in England is of foreign manufacture. One striking lesson furnished by English history should show trade-unionists that permanent rates of wages are determined by other causes than the wills of either employ- is a" . ieee: — Se ee eee , TRADE-UNIONISM. BB ers or employed. When the Black Death had swept away a large part of the population (more than half it is said) so that the number of workers became insufficient for the work to be done, wages rose immensely, and maintained their high rate notwithstanding all efforts to keep them down by laws and punishments. Conversely, there have been numer- ous cases in which strikes have failed to prevent lowering of wages when trade was depressed. Where the demand for labour is great, wages cannot be kept down; and where it is small, they cannot be kept up. § 832. What then are we to say of trade-unions? Under their original form as friendly societies—organizations for rendering mutual aid—they were of course extremely bene- ficial; and in so far as they subserve this purpose down to the present time, they can scarcely be too much lauded. Here, however, we are concerned not with the relations of their members to one another, but with their corporate rela- tions to employers and the public. Must we say that though one set of artisans may succeed for a time in getting more pay for the same work, yet this advantage is eventually at the expense of the public (including the mass of wage- earners), and that when all other groups of artisans, follow- ing the example, have raised their wages, the result is a mutual cancelling of benefits? Must we say that while ulti- mately failing in their proposed ends, trade-unions do nothing else than inflict grave mischiefs in trying to achieve them? This is too sweeping a conclusion. They seem natural to the passing phase of social evolution, and may have bene- ficial functions under existing conditions. Everywhere ag- gression begets resistance and counter-aggression; and in our present transitional state, semi-militant and semi-indus- trial, trespasses have to be kept in check by the fear of retali- atory trespasses. Judging aoe their harsh and cruel conduct in the past, 553°” INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. it is tolerably certain that employers are now prevented from doing unfair things which they would else do. Con- scious that trade-unions are ever ready to act, they are more prompt to raise wages when trade is flourishing than they would otherwise be; and when there come times of depres- sion, they lower wages only when they cannot otherwise carry on their businesses. Knowing the power which unions can exert, masters are led to treat the individual members of them with more respect than they would otherwise do: the status of the workman is almost necessarily raised. Moreover, having a strong motive for keeping on good terms with the union, a master is more likely than he would else be to study the general convenience of his men, and to carry on his works in ways conducive to their health. There is an ultimate gain in moral and physical treatment if there is no ultimate gain in wages. Then in the third place must be named the discipline given by trade-union organization and action. Considered under its chief aspect, the progress of social life at large is a progress in fitness for living and working together; and all minor societies of men formed within a major society—a nation—subject their members to sets of incentives and restraints which increase their fitness. The induced habits of feeling and thought tend to make men more available than they would else be, for such higher forms of social organization as will probably hereafter arise. Ge a I ee CHAPTER XXI. COOPERATION. § 833. Sooraz life in its entirety is carried on by coopera- tion, and the use of the word to distinguish a special form of social life is a narrow use of it. As was pointed out when treating of Political Institutions (§ 441), a nation’s activities are divisible into two leading kinds of cooperation, distin- guishable as the conscious and the unconscious—the one being militant and the other industrial. The commander, officers, and common soldiers forming an army, consciously act together to achieve a given end. The men engaged in businesses of all kinds, severally pursuing private ends, act together to achieve a public end unthought of by them. Considered in the aggregate, their actions subserve the wants of the whole society; but they are not dictated by an au- thority, and they are carried on by each with a view to his own welfare, and not with a view to the welfare of all. In our days, however, there have arisen sundry modes of working together for industrial purposes, accompanied. by consciousness of a common end, like the working together for militant purposes. There is first that mode lately de- scribed under the title of “‘ Compound Capital ””—the co- operation of shareholders in joint-stock companies. Though such shareholders do not themselves achieve the ends for which they unite, yet, both by jointly contributing money and by forming an administration, they consciously cooper- ate. Under another form we see cooperation in the actions 553 554 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. of trade-unions. Though their members do not work to- gether for purposes of production, yet their trade-regulations form a factor in production ; and their working together is: conspicuously of the conscious kind. But in this chapter our topic is that mode of consciously working together for industrial purposes, which now mo- nopolizes the word cooperation. ‘The question here tacitly raised is whether social sustentation can be carried on best by that unconscious cooperation which has naturally evolved itself in the course of civilization, or whether it can be carried on best by this special form of conscious cooperation at present advocated and to some extent practised. § 834. Conscious cooperation for industrial purposes is, in the earliest stages of social life, closely assoctated with conscious cooperation for militant purposes. The habit of acting together against human enemies, naturally passes into the habit of acting together against brute enemies or prey. Even among intelligent animals, as wolves, we see this kind of cooperation; and it is common among hunting tribes, as those of North America, where herds of buffalo, for instance, are dealt with by combined attacks. Occasion- ally, cooperation for the capture of animals is of a much higher order. Barrow and Galton tell us that in South Africa elaborately constructed traps of vast extent, into which beasts are driven, are formed by the combined efforts of many Bushmen. Among others of the uncivilized and semi-civilized there are incipient cooperations more properly to be classed as industrial. Of the Bodo and Dhimals Hodgson says— ‘* They mutually assist each other for the nonce, as well in construct- ing their houses as in clearing their plots of cultivation, merely providing the helpmates with a plentiful supply of beer.” Similarly Grange tells us of the Nagas that— “In building houses, neighbours are required by custom to assist each other, for which they are feasted by the person whose house they are building,” PTR ere ETC POET lye cat Roke COOPERATION. . 555 Usages of kindred characters exist among the Araucanians, concerning whom Thompson, after speaking of their funeral and marriage feasts as open gratis to all, adds:— ‘¢ But this is not the case with the mingacos, or those dinners which they are accustomed to make on occasion of cultivating their land, threshing their grain, building a house, or any other work which requires the combined aid of several. At such times all those who wish to partake in the feast, must labour until the work is com- pleted.” In these cases, however, cooperation is merely prefigured. There is reciprocity of aid under a combined form, and the idea of exchange is dominant; as is shown more clearly in the case of the ancient Yucantanese. ‘‘Tt is usual for the women to assist one another in weaving and spinning, and to repay that assistance as their husbands do with regard to their field works.” But though here there is a bartering of labour, yet, as there is a working in concert, the consciousness of cooperation is nascent, and readily passes into a definite form where joint advantage prompts. A good instance is furnished by the Padam, who, as we saw (§ 783) live in a kind of qualified communism. Says Dalton— ‘The inhabitants are well supplied with water; there are several elevated springs, and the discharges from these are collected and carried to different parts of the villages in aqueducts or pipes of bamboos, from which a bright, pure stream continually flows.” Among a more civilized people, the ancient Singhalese, co- operation for a kindred purpose was highly developed. Ten- nent writes concerning them:— ‘¢ Cultivation, as it existed in the north of Ceylon, was almost entirely dependent on the store of water preserved in each village tank; and it could only be carried on by the combined labour of the whole local community, applied in the first instance to collect and secure the requi- site supply for irrigation, and afterwards to distribute it to the rice lands, which were tilled by the united exertions of the inhabitants, amongst whom the crop was divided in due proportions. So indis- pensable were concord and union in such operations, that injunctions for their maintenance were sometimes engraven on the rocks.” 556 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. Another instance occurs in North America. Says Bancroft, writing about the Papagos— ‘*Most of these people irrigate their lands by means of conduits or ditches, leading either from the river or from tanks in which rain- water is collected and stored for the purpose. These ditches are kept in repair by the community, but farming operations are carried on by each family for its own separate benefit, which is a noticeable advance from the usual savage communism.” Thus it seems a safe inference that generally, among semi- civilized peoples who practise irrigation, the required works have resulted from the joint labours of many. § 835. When we ignore those narrow limits commonly given to the title cooperation, we see that, beyond those already named, there are many social structures which are rightly comprehended under it, and must here be noticed. The most familiar of them are the multitudinous friendly societies, from village sick-clubs up to the vast organizations which from time to time hold their congresses. Next above the purely local ones, come those which take whole counties for their spheres; as in Essex, Hampshire, Wiltshire, Berk- shire, &c., having county-towns as their centres. Larger still are the affiliated orders, numbering 70 in the United Kingdom, which take wider ranges: the largest being the Manchester Unity of Oddfellows, and the Ancient Order of Foresters, together numbering nearly a million members. Certain other bodies of kindred natures, chiefly burial socie- ties, have extensive ramifications—‘‘ Industrial Assurance Societies,” they have been called; doing for the poor what the more conspicuous institutions for averaging the risks of fire, accidents, wrecks, &c., do for the better off. Excluding such of these as are carried on to gain dividends on invested capital, and including all which afford mutually-assured benefits, we see that they are pervaded by the spirit of cooperation: there is acting together though not working together. , Ct ee CS ee ee ee ee eee bi 34 AT : § et ba COOPERATION. 557 As prompted by a like spirit may be named the Agricul- tural Credit Banks which have of late years spread in Ger- many, Austria, and Italy—cooperative loan societies as they may be called. Instead of borrowing money from ordinary banks or from money-lenders, the members of these bodies practically borrow from one another under the guidance of an administration of their own: the administration taking care that only such loans are made as the interests of all permit. Of course everything depends on the judgment and honesty of the officials; but granting these, such banks exhibit a form of cooperation undeniably beneficial. Among cooperative bodies of other kinds have to be named the Russian “‘ artels.” As defined by Mr. Carnegie of the British Embassy in St. Petersburg, quoting a native authority, one of these bodies is “ an association of certain persons who unite their capital and labour, or only the latter, for a certain work, trade, or undertaking.” Each member of the association has an equal share in the duties and work; each member receives an equal share of the profits; and all members are mutually responsible for the work and conduct of each. The system is said to date from the 10th century, when certain Cossacks on the Dnieper “ banded themselves together for offensive and defensive purposes and elected a chief, or ataman, for a certain fixed period, who conducted the operations of the tribe and superintended the equal di- vision of the spoil to each member of it.”’ This statement harmonizes with the inference drawn above, that there is an easy transition from conscious union for militant purposes to conscious union for industrial purposes. These bodies are various in their occupations. “ There are artels of carpen- ters, painters, blacksmiths, masons, porters, bargees, waiters, &c.,” as well as of many less general trades. Great trust is placed in them; even to the extent of placing large sums of money in their charge. One reason for their trustworthiness is that the admission of new members is jealously guarded. But judging from their traditional origin and present con- 558 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. stitution, it would seem that these artels are really develop- ments of the primitive compound family, the traits of which we contemplated in the chapter on ‘ Communal Regula- tion,” and which once prevailed widely in the east of Eu- rope. One of their rules was that those of their members who travelled in search of work had to hand over to the group the profits they made; and if we suppose this rule to have held after the compound household or village-com- munity had dissolved, the “ artel” would result.* In Bulgaria there have existed, and continue to exist, though they are not now flourishing, certain kindred asso- ciations. There are cooperative groups of market-gardeners, masons, and bakers. The gardeners’ associations, Jiretek says, go from town to town, and sometimes abroad, during a certain part of the year. On inland tours they number 6 to 12 in a group; on foreign tours 40 to 70. Each group is under the lead of a master or elder who keeps the accounts and acts as treasurer. § 836. Before passing to cooperation as ordinarily under- stood, there have still to be noticed some further industrial organizations which in a measure come under the title— organizations which are intermediate between those of the ordinary master-and-workmen form, and those composed of workers who are themselves masters. I refer, of course, to concerns in which profit-sharing is practised. The adoption of this system, of which there are many instances on the Continent, while in part prompted by re- * Verification has since come to hand in a dissertation on the Russian artels by Dr. Staéhr. Each body consists of a small number, in close fraternal! relation. There is associated living, in respect of food, dwelling, work, and pleasure. There is subordination to a head, who represents the group to the outer world. He is the sole legislator and directs the entire life of the association. Implicit obedience is given to him, and like a family-head he is subject to no control from the members. At first it seemed that the artel was incongruous as occurring in Russia. It is now manifest that, as a despotic industrial organization, it harmonizes with the despotic political organization, - COOPERATION, 559 gard for the welfare of the workman, appears to have been in part prompted by the belief that work given in return for wages only, is relatively inefficient in respect of quantity or quality, or both; and that the tendency to be lax entails also additional cost of superintendence. Hence the conclu- sion is that the employer himself profits by giving a share of profits. In the words of Mr. Sedley Taylor, the modes of apportionment “‘ fall into three categories:—1. Those which pay over the workmen’s share in an annual ready-money bonus. 2. Those which retain that share for an assigned period, in order ultimately to apply it, together with its ac- cumulated interest, for the workmen’s benefit. 38. Those which annually distribute a portion of the workmen’s share, and invest the remainder.” M. Bord, pianoforte maker in Paris, who has adopted the first of these methods, considers the effects “ extremely satisfactory.” The manager of the ~ Compagnie d’ Assurances Générales, which adopts the sec- ond method, says: ‘My present opinion is more favourable than ever. . . . The insti- tution has now had thirty years of experience, that is to say, of unvary- ing successes.” But most of the “ participating houses ” adopt neither im- mediate distribution nor remote postponement, but a mix- ture of the two. Marek? = Se ee ae ee IN THE NEAR FUTURE, 603 form. For in the absence of that voluntary cooperation which contract implies, there is no possible alternative but compulsory cooperation. Self-ownership entirely disap- pears and ownership by others universally replaces it. § 851. Thus, alike at home and abroad, throughout in- stitutions, activities, sentiments, and ideas, there is the same tendency; and this tendency becomes daily more pro- nounced. In the minds of the masses seeking for more bene- fits by law, and in the minds of legislators trying to fulfil the expectations they have raised, we everywhere see a pro- gressive merging of the life of the unit in the life of the aggregate. ‘l'o vary the poet’s line—“ The individual with- ers and the State is more and more.” Naturally the member of parliament who submits to coercion by his party, contemplates legal coercions of others without repugnance. Politically considered, he is either one of the herd owned by his leader, or else the humble servant owned by the caucus who chose him; and having in so far sacrificed his self-ownership, he does not greatly respect the self-ownership of the ordinary citizen. If some influential body of his constituents urges a new interference, the fact that it will put upon the rest additional restraints, or appro- priate further portions of their earnings, serves but little to deter him from giving the vote commanded. Indeed he feels that he has no alternative if he wishes to be returned at the next election. That he is adding another to the multi- tudinous strands of the network restraining men’s move- ments, is a matter of indifference. He considers only what he calls “‘ the merits of the case,”’ and declines to ask what will result from always looking at the immediate and ignor- ing the remote. Every day he takes some new step towards the socialistic ideal, while refusing to think that he will ever arrive at it; and every day, to preserve his place, he seeks to outbid his political rival in taking such steps. As re- marked by an observant Frenchman, Dr. René Lavollée— 604 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. ‘“C’est 14 le danger des enchéres électorales dont les questions ouvriéres et sociales font l’objet entre les partis . . . C’est ainsi que le socialisme d’Etat a pris pied dans les lois d’un pays qui fut longtemps la terre classique du self-government et de la liberté industrielle. Si jamais le socialisme parvient a s’en emparer, ce sera, en grande partie, aux fausses manceuvres et 4 la coupable faiblesse des politiciens que sera di ce déplorable résultat.” And thus, being the creature of his party and the creature of his constituents, he does not hesitate in making each citizen the creature of ie community. This general drift towards a form of society in which private activities of every kind, guided by individual wills, are to be replaced by public activities guided by govern- mental will, must inevitably be made more rapid by recent organic changes, which further increase the powers of those who gain by public administrations and decrease the powers of those who lose by them. Already national and municipal franchises, so framed as to dissociate the giving of votes from the bearing of burdens, have resulted, as was long ago pointed out they must do,* in multiplied meddlings and lavish expenditure. And now the extension of similar franchises to parishes will augment such effects. With a fatuity almost passing belief, legislators have concluded that things will go well when the many say to the few—“‘ We will decide what shall be done and you shall pay for it.” Table conversations show that even by many people called educated, Government is regarded as having unlimited powers joined with unlimited resources; and_ political speeches make the rustic think of it as an earthly providence which can do anything for him if interested men will let it. Naturally it happens that, as a socialist lecturer writes— “‘ To get listeners to socialist arguments is to get converts; ” for the listener is not shown that the benefits to be conferred on each, will be benefits derived from the labours of all, carried on under compulsion. He does not see that he can have the mess of pottage only by surrendering his birth- * Westminster Review, April, 1860; see also Hssays, vol. iii, p. 358, et seq. IN THE NEAR FUTURE. 605 right. He is not told that if he is to be fed he must also be driven. § 852. There seems no avoiding the conclusion that these conspiring causes must presently bring about that lapse of self-ownership into ownership by the community, which is partially implied by collectivism and completely by com- munism. The momentum of social change, like every other momentum, must work out effects proportionate to its amount, minus the resistance offered to it; and in this case there is very little resistance. Could a great spread of co- operative production be counted upon, some hope of arrest might be entertained. But even if its growth justifies the beliefs of its advocates, it seems likely to offer but a feeble check. In what way the coming transformation will be effected is of course uncertain. A sudden substitution of the régime proposed for the vég¢me which exists, as intended by bearers of the red flag, seems less likely than a progressive meta- morphosis. To bring about the change it needs but grad- ually to extend State-regulation and restrain individual action. If the central administration and the multiplying local administrations go on adding function to function; if year after year more things are done by public agency, and . fewer things left to be done by private agency; if the busi- nesses of companies are one after another taken over by the State or the municipality, while the businesses of individuals are progressively trenched upon by official competitors; then, in no long time, the present voluntary industrial or- ganization will have its place entirely usurped by a com- pulsory industrial organization. Eventually the brain- worker will find that there are no places left save in one or other public department; while the hand-worker will find that there are none to employ him save public officials. And so will be established a state in which no man can do what he likes but every man must do what he is told. 606 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. An entire loss of freedom will thus be the fate of those who do not deserve the freedom they possess. They have been weighed in the balances and found wanting: having neither the required idea nor the required sentiment. Only a nature which will sacrifice everything to defend personal liberty of action, and is eager to defend the like liberties of action of others, can permanently maintain free institutions. While not tolerating aggression upon himself, he must have sympathies such as will not tolerate aggression upon his fellows—be they fellows of the same race or of other races. As shown in multitudinous ways throughout this work, a society organized for coercive action against other societies, must subject its members to coercion. In propor- tion as men’s claims are trampled upon by it externally, will men’s claims be trampled upon by it internally. History has familiarized the truth that tyrant and slave are men of the same kind differently placed. Be it in the ancient Egyptian king subject to a rigid routine of daily life enforced by priests, be it in the Roman patrician, master of bondmen and himself in bondage to the State, be it in the feudal lord possessing his serfs and himself possessed by his suzerain, be it in the modern artizan yielding up to his union his right to make contracts and maltreating his fellow who will not, _ we equally see that those who disregard others’ individuali- ties must in one way or other sacrifice their own. Men thus constituted cannot maintain free institutions. They must live under some system of coercive government; and when old forms of it lose their strength must generate new forms. Even apart from special evidence, this general conclusion is forced on us by contemplating the law of rhythm: a law manifested throughout all things from the inconceivably rapid oscillations of a unit of ether to the secular perturba- tions of the solar system. For, as shown in Hirst Principles rhythm everywhere results from antagonist forces. As thus caused it is displayed throughout social phenomena, from the hourly rises and falls of Stock Exchange prices to . we ee ee IN THE NEAR FUTURE. 607 the actions and reactions of political parties; and in the changes, now towards increase of restraints on men and now towards decrease of them, one of the slowest and widest rhythms is exhibited. After centuries during which coer- cive rule had been quietly diminishing and had been occa- sionally made less by violence, there was reached in the middle of our century, especially in England, a degree of individual freedom greater than ever before existed since nations began to be formed. Men could move about as they pleased, work at what they pleased, trade with whom they pleased. But the movement which in so large a meas- ure broke down the despotic regulations of the past, rushed on to a limit from which there has commenced a return movement. Instead of restraints and dictations of the old kinds, new kinds of restraints and dictations are being gradually imposed. Instead of the rule of powerful politi- cal classes, men are elaborating for themselves a rule of official classes, which will become equally powerful or prob- ably more powerful—classes eventually differing from those which socialist theories contemplate, as much as the rich and proud ecclesiastical hierarchy of the middle ages differed from the groups of poor and humble missionaries out of which it grew. CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION. § 853. How long this phase of social life to which we are approaching will last, and in what way it will come to an end, are of course questions not to be answered. Probably the issue will be here of one kind and there of another. A sudden bursting of bonds which have become intolerable may in some cases happen: bringing on a military despot- ism. In other cases practical extinction may follow a grad- ual decay, arising from abolition of the normal relation between merit and benefit, by which alone the vigour of a race can be maintained. And in yet further cases may come conquest by peoples who have not been emasculated by fos- tering their feebles—peoples before whom the socialistic organization will go down like a house of cards, as did that of the ancient Peruvians before a handful of Spaniards. But if the process of evolution which, unceasing through- out past time, has brought life to its present height, con- tinues throughout the future, as we cannot but anticipate, then, amid all the rhythmical changes in each society, amid all the lives and deaths of nations, amid all the supplantings of race by race, there will go on that adaptation of human nature to the social state which began when savages first gathered together into hordes for mutual defence—an adaptation finally complete. Many will think this a wild imagination. Though everywhere around them are crea- tures with structures and instincts which have been grad- 608 \ CONCLUSION. 609 ually so moulded as to subserve their own welfares and the welfares of their species, yet the immense majority ignore the implication that human beings, too, have been under- going in the past, and will undergo in the future, progressive adjustments to the lives imposed on them by circumstances. But there are a few who think it rational to conclude that what has happened with all lower forms must happen with the highest form—a few who infer that among types of mer those most fitted for making a well-working society will, hereafter as heretofore, from time to time emerge and spread at the expense of types less fitted, until a fully fitted type has arisen. The view thus suggested must. be accepted with qualifica- tions. If we carry our thoughts as far forward as paleo- lithic implements carry them back, we are introduced, not to an absolute optimism but to a relative optimism. The cosmic process brings about retrogression as well as progres- sion, where the conditions favour it. Only amid an infinity of modifications, adjusted to an infinity of changes of cir- cumstances, do there now and then occur some which con- stitute an advance: other changes meanwhile caused in other organisms, usually not constituting forward steps in organization, and often constituting steps backwards. Evo- lution does not imply a latent tendency to improve, every- where in operation. There is no uniform ascent from lower < to higher, but only an occasional production of a form which, in virtue of greater fitness for more complex condi- tions, becomes capable of a longer life of a more varied kind. And while such higher type begins to dominate over lower types and to spread at their expense, the lower types survive in habitats or modes of life that are not usurped, or are thrust into inferior habitats or modes of life in which they retrogress. What thus holds with organic types must hold also with types of societies. Social evolution throughout the future, like social evolution throughout the past, must, while pro- 610 INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTIONS. ducing step after step higher societies, leave outstanding many lower. Varieties of men adapted here to inclement regions, there to regions that are barren, and elsewhere to regions unfitted, by ruggedness of surface or insalubrity, for supporting large populations, will, in all probability, con- tinue to form small communities of simple structures. More- over, during future competitions among the higher races there will probably be left, in the less desirable regions, minor nations formed of men inferior to the highest; at the same time that the highest overspread all the great areas which are desirable in climate and fertility. But while the entire assemblage of societies thus fulfils the law of evolu- tion by increase of heterogeneity,—while within each of them contrasts of structure, caused by differences of environ- ments and entailed occupations, cause unlikenesses imply- ing further heterogeneity; we may infer that the primary process of evolution—integration—which up to the present time has been displayed in the formation of larger and larger nations, will eventually reach a still higher stage and bring yet greater benefits. As, when small tribes were welded into great tribes, the head chief stopped inter-tribal warfare; as, when small feudal governments became subject to a king, feudal wars were prevented by him; so, in time to come, a federation of the highest nations, exercising supreme au- thority (already foreshadowed by occasional agreements among “ the Powers ’”’), may, by forbidding wars between any of its constituent nations, put an end to the re-barbar- ization which is continually undoing civilization. When this peace-maintaining federation has been formed, there may be effectual progress towards that equilibrium between constitution and conditions—between inner facul- ties and outer requirements—implied by the final stage of human evolution. Adaptation to the social state, now per- petually hindered by anti-social conflicts, may then go on unhindered; and all the great societies, in other respects differing, may become similar in those cardinal traits which CONCLUSION, 611 result-from complete self-ownership of the unit and exercise over him of nothing more than passive influence by the ageregate. On the one hand, by continual repression of ageressive instincts and exercise of feelings which prompt ministration to public welfare, and on the other hand by the lapse of restraints, gradually becoming less necessary, there must be produced a kind of man so constituted that while fulfilling his own desires he fulfils also the social needs. Already, small groups of men, shielded by circumstances from external antagonisms, have been moulded into forms of moral nature so superior to our own, that, as said of the Let-htas, the account of their goodness ‘‘ almost savours of romance ”’; and it is reasonable to infer that what has even now happened on a small scale, may, under kindred con- ditions, eventually happen on a large scale. Long studies, showing among other things the need for certain qualifica- tions above indicated, but also revealing facts like that just named, have not caused me to recede from the belief ex- pressed nearly fifty years ago that— The ultimate man will be one whose private requirements coincide with public ones. He will be that manner of man who, in spontaneously fulfilling his own nature, incidentally performs the func- tions of a social unit; and yet is only enabled so to fulfil his own nature by all others doing the like.” THE END. REFERENCES, To find the authority for any statement in the text, the reader is to proceed as follows:—Observing the number of the section in which the statement occurs, he will first look out in the following pages, the corresponding number, which is printed in conspicuous type. Among the references succeeding this number, he will then look for the name of the tribe, people, or nation concerning which the statement is made (the names in the references standing in the same order as that which they have in the text); and that it may more readily catch the eye, each such name is printed in Italics. In the parenthesis following the name, will be found the volume and page of the work referred to, preceded by the first three or four letters of the author’s name; and where more than one of his works have been used, the first three or four letters of the title of the one containing the par- ticular statement. The meanings of these abbreviations, employed to save the space that would be occupied by frequent repetitions of full titles, is shown at the end of the references ; where will be found ar- ranged in alphabetical order, these initial syllables of authors’ names, &c., and opposite to them the full titles of the works referred to. § 5838. The deaf (Kit. 200; Sm. 4)— Weddas (Harts. 413)—Dér (Heug. 195)— Bongo (Schw. i, 304-5)—Zulus (Gard. 72)—Latookt (Bak. i, 247-50). § 584. Australians (Smy. i, 107)—Malagasy (Rév. 9-11)—Japanese (Sat. 87; 79-80)—Jndia (Ly. 18)—Greeks (Pla. iv; Gro. iii, 187). § 585. Zulu (Call. 280-1)—Andamanese (J.A.I. xii, 162)— Waraus (Brett, 362)—Chinooks (U.S. Ex. v, 118)—Andamanese (J.A.I. xii, 142)— Waraus (Bern. 53)—Urua (Cam. ii, 110)—Zulus (F.S.AJ. ii, 29)— Nicaraguans (Bane, ii, 801)—AAts (Bane. iii, 521)—Gonds (His. 19) —Ukiahs and Sanéls (Bane. iii, 524)—Zulus (Call. 372)—Shillook (Schw. i, 91)—Jndians (School. v, 403)— Indians (School. v, 403)—Chibchas (Boll. 12)—China (Edk. 42)—H. English (Kem. ii, 208-9)—Mongols (Prej. i, 76)— Vera Paz (Bane. ii, 799)—Mosquitos (Bane. i, 744)—Wakhutw (Thoms. i, 190)—Africa (Serpa P. i, 124)—Borneo (Bock, 78)—Greeks (Mau. ii, 33-4)—Hgypt (Klunz. 103-5)\—Gambia (Ogil. 369)—Blantyre (MacDon. i, 59-110)—Dyaks (St. J., i, 199)—Nyassa (Liv. i, 853)— S. Leone (Bast. Mensch, ti, 129)— Damaras (And. 229)—Bhils (T.R.A.S. i, 72)— Wahebe (Thoms. i, 237)—Bongo (Schw. i, 305)—Blantyre (Mac- Don. i, 62-3)—Poland (Mau. ii, 463; 58)—Apaches (Bane. iii, 527) —Nayarit (Bane. ili, 529)—Babylonians (ref. lost)—Ainos (Bird, ii, 97; 98)—Mongols (How. i, 33)—EHngland (Free. i, 768, 521)—Borneo (Boy. 229)—Hsquimaux (Hayes, 199)—Edinburgh (Kitto, 199-200)— Californians (Banc. iii, 523)—Mangaia (ref. lost)—Hawaii (Cum. i, 295)—Natches (ref. lost)—Hgypt (ref. lost)—Beirit (Jessup, 243)— Bushmen (F\S.AJ. ii, 42-3)—Greece (Gro. i, 14; Sm., W. ii, 819)— Amandabele (Sel. eee (Ly. 19)—Gauls (Coul. i, 89; 91)— Teutons (Vel. Pat. c. 105)—Vorse (Das. xviii; Mall. 153)—Haméa (Mar. ii, 112). 586. Hoypt (Ren. 153; Ree. ii, 11; Ren. 151-2; 153; Bru. i, 70; ec. iv, 180-1; Mas., Revue, Bere ii, 206; Ree. vi, 144; Bru. i, 1 REFERENCES, 613 84; T.B.A.S. vii, pt. i; Mas. “Rév. Sci.” 819; Stu. 94; 150-2; Ree. viii, 95, 98; Bru. i, 425, 124; Rec. iv, 58-9; Bru. i, 88; Ree. viii, 77-8; Ren. 86-7)—Note (Bru. i, 114; chap. iii). § 587. Hindus (Will. 82-4)—Assyrtans (Rec. v,.38-4; Smith, 138-14)—Hedbrews (Chey. 33; Mill. “S. of R.” 110)—Abraham (Ew. i, 295)—Hebrew Pantheon (Sup. Rel. i, 110)— Bedouins (Burck. i, 259 et seg.)—Greeks (Pot. i, 172)— Egypt (Rec, vi, 101-2)—Peruvians (Mol. 17)—Greece (Pash. i, 213-4)— Early Romans (Mom, i, 183)—Sandwich J. (Vane. ii, 149)—Chaldea (Rec. vii, 183)—America (School. iii, 317; Brett, 401)—EHgypt (Rec. vi, 103)—Cent. Amer. (Ovie. bk. xlii, ch. 2)—Mongols (How. 1, 37)—Peru (Anda. 57)—Mangavra (Gill, 118)\—Fiyt (Wil. 185)—Padam (Dalt. 25)— Grezce (Gro. iv, 82-5; 95; i, 626). § 589. Patagonians (Fitz. ii, 152) -—WN. Americans (Burt. 131)—Gutana (Dalton, i, 87)—Mundurucis (Bates 225), § 590. Zulus (Call. 157)—Bouwrrats (Mich. 200)—Kibokwé (Cam. ii, 188-9)—Kamtschatkans (Kotz. ii, 13)—New Zealand (Yate, 141)— Waralis (J.R.A.S. vii, 20). § 591. Uaupés (Wall. 499)—Great Cassan (Ogil. 355-6). § 592. Lgypt (Ren. 211-12)—Assyria (Smith, 16). § 594. New Britain (Pow. 197)—Santdls (Hun. i, 188)—Karens (J.A.S.B. xxxiv, 205). § 595. Samoans (Tur. “Samoa,” 151)—Banks Islanders (J.A.1. x, 286)—Blantyre Negroes (MacDon. i, 61). § 596. New Caledonia (Tur. “ Poly.” 427)—Madagascar (Ell. “ Mad.” 1, 396)— India (Per. 303). § 597. Samoans (Tur. “ Pol.” 239)—Tahitians (Ell. * Pol. Res.” ii, 208)—Madagascar (Dru. 236)—Ostyaks (Pri. iii, 336) —(fonds (His. 19)—Chinese (Gutz. i, 503)—Sabeans (Pal. ii, 258)— Hebrews (Kue. i, 338-9)—Aryans (Maine, 85). § 598. Lgypt (Ren. 138)—Aryans (Dune, iv, 252, 264-5)—Jews (Zim. 495-6)—Corea (Ross, 322). § 599. Japan (Ada. i, 6)—Rome (Hun. “ Ex.” 746)—Aryans (Maine, 55, 78, 64, 79,55; Hun. “Intro.” 149)—Christendom (Maine, 79) —India (Maine, 56). § 600. Egypt (Ren. 134-5; Brug. ii, 40-1)— Assyria (Ree. v, 81, 8). § 691. China (Doo. ii, 226)—Corea (Ross, 335). § 602. Asia (Hue, ii, 55)—Hthiopians (Ree. vi, 73-8)—Peru- vians (Garci. v, 8)—New Caledonians (Tur. “ Poly.” 526). § 608. Tanna (Tur. “ Pol.” 88)—Mangaia (Gill, 293-4)—New Zealanders (Thom. i, 114)—Madagascar (Ell. “ Mad.” i, 359)—Sandwich Islands (Ell. “ Pol. Res.” ii, 235)—Humphreys Island (Tur. “Samoa,” 278)—Pueblo (Bane. iii, 173)—Maya (Bane. il, 647)—Peru (Pres. 11-12)—Siam (Thom. J. 81) —Javanese (Craw. iii, 15)—China (Med. 133)—Japan (ref. lost)—Greeks (Blac. 45; Gro. ii, 475; Mau. ii, 382-4)—Romans (See. 55)—Scandina- vians (Das. xlvi & lxii)—Hurope (Fréd. ii, 414, v, 483). § 604. Blan- tyre Negroes (MacDon. i, 65, 64-5, 64)—Niger (Bur. 132)—Samoa (Tur. “Samoa,” 18-19)—Scandinavians (Das. xili)—Greeks (Glad. “ Homer,” iii, 55)—Hebrews (Kue. i, 338-9). § 606. Romans (Coul. “ Cité,” 233)—Blantyre Negroes (MacDon. i, 64)—New Zealanders (Ang. i. 247) — Mexican (Cla. i, 271)—Peru (Garci. bk. ii, ch. 9) —Khonds (Macph. 30) — Tahitr (Ell. ‘ Pol. Res.” ii, 208)—Ashantee (Dup. 168)—Maya (Banc. ii, 648)—Hgypt (Bru. i, 46)—Damaras (And. 223)—Dahomans (Burt. ii, 173)—Peru (Mol. 25)—Chibchas (Sim. 247-8)—Karens (J.A.S.B. xxxiv, 206). § 607. Ostyaks (Erm. ii, 44)—Gonds (For. 142)—Kukis (J.A.S.B. xxiv, 680)—Latooka (Bak. ii, 4-5)—Bechuanas (Hol. i, 324)—Gonds (His. 19). § 608. Damaras (And. 224)—Gonds (His. 19)—Santdls (Hun. i, 200-1)— Peruvians (Garci. bk. ii, ch. 9). § 610. Malagasy (El. “ Mad.” i, 395)—Hgypt (Bru. i, 15; Wilk. i, 178)—Rome (See. 93)—Meai- cans (Cla. i, 271)—Peru (Ciez. 262). § 611. Egyptians (Gro. iii, 438) — Peruvians (Mol. 54-5)—Greece (Cur. i, 323). § 612. Fiji (Wil. —) —Greece (Cur. i, 369). § 618. Aryans (Mill. “Sans. Lit.” 533)— Peruvians (Garci. bk. iii, ch. 8; Herr. iv, 348). § 614. Mexico (Brin, 614 REFERENCES. 56-7)—Perw (Mol. 11). 615. Comanches (School. i, 231)—New Zealand (Cook, “ Hawk,” 3888)—F%i (Wil. 185)—Christians (Bing. iii, 13; Mos. i, 288). § 617. Nagas (J.A.S.B. xxiv, 608; But. 150)— Comanches (School. i, 231, 237)—Hastern Slavs (Tie. 188)—Bodo and Dhimals (Hodg. 159, 162; J.A.S.B. xviii, 721)—Arabs (Tie. 64)—Greeks (Glad. * Juv. Mun.” 181)— Tahiti (Ell. “ Pol. Res.” ii, 208)—Anevent Egypt (Sha. i, 11)—Japanese (Grif. 99-100)—China (Gutz. ii, 331; Tie. 29). § 618. Mezico (Cla. i, 269, 270; Herr. iii, 220)—Peru (Arr. 23)—Mezico (Herr. iii, 203)—A byssinia (Bruce, iv, 466; v,1). § 619. Egyptians (Tie. 45-6)—Romans (Sm. Geo. 105)—Christian Society (Guiz. i, 85-6)— Bodo and D. (J.A.8.B. xviii, 783)—Mezico (Cla. i, 271, &c.)— Peru (Garci. bk. ii, ch. 9; Herr. iv, 844)—Hgypt (Ken. i, 450-2)— Babylon (Mau. —) — Rome (See. 93)—Mexico (Cla. i, 272)—EHurope (Guiz. ii, 45-6)—Chris- tian Churches (Mos. i, 144-6)—Anglo-Saxon Clergy (Ling. i, 146). ~ § 620. Guatemala (Xim. 177)—Monachism (Blun. 487; Hook, 5th ed. 618; Ling. i, 149). § 622. Ostyaks (Lath. i, 456). § 628. Lgyp- tians (Heer. ii, 114; Herod. ii, 76, note)—Greeks (Gro. ii, 324-5; Cur. i, 2; i, 112; ii, 19-—truscans (Mom. i, 141)—Alba (Mom. i, 43)—Rome (See. 89). § 624. Tahitians (Ell. “Pol. R.” i, 114)—Chibchas (Pie. bk. ii, ch. 7}—Latiwm (Mom. i, 44)—Greeks (Gro. iv, 91; Curt. i, 116-7: ii, 12)— Europe (Hal. 365). § 625. Zoroaster (Rob. xxiii-iv). 626. Ancient Mexicans (Diaz, ch. 208)—San Salvador (Pala. '%5)—Chibchas (Sim. 248-9)—Karens (J.A.S.B. xxxiv, 207)—Rome (Mom. i, 215)—Nagas (J.A.S.B. xxiv, 612)—7'odas (Mars. 81)—Damaras (And. 224)—Germany (Pesch. 144)—Scotland (Mart. 113)—Creeks (School. v, 260)—Dahomey (Burt. ii, 150)—Japan (Dick. 14)—G@reece (Gro. iii, 68). S$ 628. An- cient Mexicans (Herr. iii, 213)—Fvjians (Ersk. 428)—Assyrvans (Ree. iil, 104)—Sandwich Islanders (Cook, “ Last Voy.” 303)—Ancient Mexicans (Saha. bk. viii, ch. 24)— Yucatanese (Fan. 308)—Chibchas (Herr. v, 90)— Ancient Mexicans (Herr. iii, 213)—Assyria (Smith, 13)—Fijtans (Ersk. 440). § 629. Ancient Mexicans (Ban. ii, 201)—Romans (Coul. “ Cité,” 218)— Tahitians (Ell. “ Pol. Res.” i, 293; ii, 489). § 680. Dakotahs (School. ii, 184)—Abipones (Dob. ii, 76)—K honds (Macph. 57)—Spartans (Hase, 194)—G'old Coast (Cruick. ii, 172)—Yucatanese (Herr. iv, 16)— Primitive Germans (Stub. i, 34)—Samoans (Tur. “ Poly.” 303)—New Cale- donia (Tur. “ Poly.” 427)—Comanches (School. ii, 181)\—Egyptian War (“Daily News,” Aug. 7, 1882)—Eggarahs (All. & T. i, 827)—Ancient Mexicans (Cla. i, 271)—Peruvians (Pres. 164)—Guatemala (Tor. bk. ix, ch. 6)\—San Salvador (Pal. 78). § 681. France (Roth, 320, 817-8; Leb. vii, 119)—Church (Guiz. ii, 58)—Germany (Dunh. ii, 121)—France (Ord, viii, 24; Guiz. iii, 299)—Fifteenth centwry (Mons. iii, ch. 158) —Montenegrins (ref. lost; Den. 83-4)—Richeliew (Kitch. iii, 61; Chér. i, 299, 300). 8 688. Polynesians (Ell. “ Pol. Res.” ii, 377)—As- syria (Lay. ii, 473-4). § 684. France (Bed. i, 8; Guiz. i, 36)— Germany (Dunh. i, 185)—Hngland (Hal. 101)\—Thirteenth century (Hal. 367). $ 635. Coast Negroes (Lan. i, 281)— Yucatan (Lig. 8)\—Egyp- tians (Wilk. i, 186)—Old English (Kem. ii, 393)—EZcclesiastical Courts (Jer. i, 71). § 686. Gold Coast (Cruik. ii, 157)—Fujian Chiefs (U.S. Ex. iii, 89; Will. 191)—Adyssinda (Harr. iii, 25)—Marutse (Holl. ii, 241) —Dyaks (Boy. 201)—Tartars (Hue, “Christ.” i, 232)—Meaico (Clav. i, 271)\—Michoacan (Bane. —)—Egypt (Wilk. i, 168)—Burmah (Sang. 58). § 688. Mangaia (Gill, 293)—Kgyptians (Herod, “ Hist.” ii, 43) —Bhutan (Bog. 33)—EHgyptians (Wilk. ili, 354). § 689. Zulus (Call. 340)—Rome (Mom. i, 158-9)—Chibchas (Sim. 248-9)—Medieval Europe (Dun. ii, 63)—Mandalay (F yt. ii, 195)—Ancient Mexicans (Zur. 387)—Peruvians (Onde. 156)—LEgypt (Ken. ii, 87)—Rome (Mom. ii, 483). —— a. REFERENCES. 615 § 640. Zulus (Call. 378)—Samoans (Bodd. 228-31)—G@reeks (Cur. i, 151) — Romans (Mom. ii, 423)—Japanese (Dick. 41)—Nahuan nations (Banc. ii, 142). § 644. Primitive Methodists (Hook. 7th ed. 497-8). 646. Tahitians (Ell. “ Pol. Res.” ii, 478.) —Mexicans (Herr. ili, 212)—Chibchas (Pie. bk. i, ch. 4)—Belochis (Burt. “ Sind,” ii, 169)—Chibchas (Pie. bk. i, ch. 2) —Domras (see vol. i of this work, 3rd ed. e 785)— Friendly Islanders (ref. lost)\—Caribs (Heri. 835)—Brazilian tribes (J.R.GS., ii, 198). 647. Polynesia (Ell. “ Pol. res.” ii, 378). § 648. Tonga Islands (Mar. ii. 220)— Polynesia (Ell. Hawaii, 394)—New Zealanders (Thom. i, 103)—New Hebrides (J.E.S. iii, 62)—Timor (Wall. “ Mal. Arch.” 196)—Congoese (Bast. “ Af, R.” 78; “ Mensch.” iii, 225). § 649. Dakotahs (School. ii,’ 195)—Mangaia (Gill. 26)—Peruvians (Acos. bk. v, ch. 25). § 650. Waldenses (Boo. 18). § 658. Lgyptians (Ren. 26; Mau., Revue)— Mexicans (Tern. i, 86)—Indo-Aryans (Raj. i, 423)—Romans (Clar. 334)— Hindus (Sher. 1xxi, 33)—Thracians (Gro. iv, 29). § 664. Carribbees (Humb. iii, 89-90)—Tupis (Sou. i, 227)—Carriers (Bane. i, 124)—Dakotas (School. ii, 198)—Kurumbas (Shortt, Pt. I, 51)—Mongols (Gil. 167)— Equat. Africa (Rea. 253)—Joloffs (Moll. 52)—Eggarahs (All. and T. i, 827). 665. Chippewas (Keat. ii, 158)—Nootka Sound People (Bane. i, 204)—Okanagans (Banc. i, 286)—Karens (Mason in J.A.S.B, xxxiv, 230)— Araucanians (Smi. 235)—Tahitians (ElL, P. R. ii, 270-1)— Mongols (Gil. 168). § 666. Anc. Hgyptians (Mas., Life, 119-20; Dune. i, 196)—Chal- deans (Len, 13, 14; Sayce, Soc. Life, 98)— Hebrews (Gau. 110-1; Dra. 297) —Hindoos (Dutt, iii, 388; Hun., Ind. Emp., 148, 150)—Greeks (Beck., Charicles, 374; Gro. 4th ed., i, 169; Dra. 294)—Romans (Guhl and K., 512; Mom., new ed. iii, 193-4).. § 667. Harly Christians (Fleu. 210; Dra. 286; Spreng. ii, 345-51) — University of Paris (Menagian, 333, cited in Wart. ii, 205, note)—Hnglish (Pict. Hist. ii, 208; Ste. iii, 312). § 668. Montaigne (ref. lost)— Vicary (Vic. 234)—Hpilepsy (Mitch. 154)—Head- ache (Grose, quoted by Brand, P.A. iii, 153). & 669. Brahmin (Wise, i, 25)—Greeks (Beck, Charicles, 380, 378)—Fufth Century (Lac., Sci. and Lit. 187)—Anc. India (Hun., Ind. Emp. 149; Royle, quoted by Dutt, iii, 3893; Web. 269)—Hgypt (Herod., Rawl. ii, 186—-7)—Greeks (Beck., Char., 381). § 669a. Alexandria (Dra. 296). § 670. New Zealanders (Thom. i, 126-7). 671. Marutse (Hol. ii, 169)—Monbutto (Schw. ii, 97)—Dahomey (Burt., Mission, ii, 17, note)—Ashantee (Beech. 106)—Gold Coast (Cruick. ii, 269)—Mandingos (Park, 231)—Foolas (Wint. i, 108)— Madagascar (Ell., Hist. i, te pee (Raf. i, 340, 342). § 672. Pu- harries (Mark. 172)— Bails (Malcolm in T.R.A.S. i, 77)— Abyssinians (Duf. 87)— Pueblos (Lum. 253)—Anctent Egypt (Herod., Rawl. bk. ii, ch. 48; Wilk., Manners, 495, 500, 509; Bru. i, 50; Dune. i, 196; Tiele, Hist. 94-5; Rawl. Hist. i, 520)—G@reeks (Guhl and K. 273; Moul. 8,9; Gro. iii, 306; Don. 30, 27-8; Mahaf., Rambles, 289, 288—Romans (Mom., new ed., i, 285-6; Guhl and K. 546; Pos. 117; Ingé, 117-8, 117). § 674. Celts (Strabo, iv, 4,8 4)—Anglo-Sazons (Strutt, 171, 177)—Old English (Wri. 4) —Anglo-Saxons (Ecc. 59-60)—Normans (Kee. 110)—15th Cent. (Pict. Hist. li, 233)—St. Ambrose (Grove, i, 59)—Minnesingers and Meistersingers (Grove, iii, 616)—Dufay (Grove, iv, 634)—Luther (Grove, ii, 178)—Bach (Grove, i, 115). § 677. Fijians (Ersk. 254)—New Caledonians (Tur., 19 years, 86)— Tahitians (Ell. P.R. ii, 488)—Marutse (Hol. ii, 169)—Daho- mans (Burt., Miss. ii, 17 note)—Kirghiz (Atk. 563). § 6'78. Egyp- tians (Bru. ii, 18, 102; i, 369, 48)—Ancient Greeks (Mure, i, 148, 161-2; Mahaf., Hist. i, 15, 16-17)—*Omaha Indians (Fletch. 11)—G@reeks (Vico, cited in Mure, i, 196; Mure, 184-5)—Romans (Grimm, i, 94; Bro. 41; Mom., new ed. iii, 139, 197). § 679. Scandinavians (Mall. 117-8; Strutt, At) Calle (Pell, 4to. ed. i, 249, 486)—Minstrel (Mills, i, 171)— 9 616 REFERENCES, Troubadours (Faur, ii, 89)—Joculator and Poet (Wart. i, 11; ii, 15), 3 680. Point Barrow Eskimo (Murd. 365)—Navajo Indians (Sm. Inst., th A.R., Director’s Introduction, xxxv)—Ane. India (Web. 196, 198)— Greeks (Hase, 216; Moul. 318; Mahaf., Soc. Life, 351; Gro. 4th ed. ii, 74; Moul. 5, 9, 18, 14, 128; Mahaf., Rambles, 289)—Romans (Duruy, i, 540, 543; Guhl and K. 567, 564; Inge, 230). § 680. Med. Lurope (Moul. 429; Strutt, 157, 155). 681. Greeks (Cur. ii, 76, 80; Mahaf., Greek Life, 383, 384)—Romans (Mom., new ed. iii, 186). § 688. Indian Hill Tribes (Mal, in T.R.A.S, i, 72 note ; Mal. C.I. i, 519-20)—G@onds (His. 5)— Zulus (Gard. 65)—Dahomey (Forbes, ii, 13-14)—Abyssinians (Par. ii, 64) —Aztecs (Banc. ii, 524)—Nahwua (Bane v, 251). § 684. Hebrews (Kue. i, 208; Neu. viii)—Anc. Indians (Web. 2138-4)—Anc. Egyptians (Bru. i, 81; Buns. i, 2-3; Dune. i, 188)—@ reeks (Cur. ii, 48, 42, 46—7)— Romans (Duruy, i, 61; Servius, cited in Bro, 48-4; Mom., new ed. i, 220), 685. Early Europe (Guiz., ii, 99, 100; Eee. 160). § 689. Ancient Indians (Web. 29; Thibaut in J.A.S.B. 1875, vol. xliv, Pt. I, p. 227; Dutt, ii, 117; i, 264-5; Hun., Ind. Emp. 142; Dutt, ii, 163)-Chaldcans and Assyrians (Rawl., Five G.M. i, 158; Lay. ii, 445; Rawl., op. cit., i, 400; Mau., La Magie, 23)—Anc. Egyptians (Mas. 3808 ; Lew. 265; Diod. i, chap. vi; Dune. i, 196, i, 208; Buns. iv, 665)—Egyptian Priests (Lew. 268 et seg., 260-1; Wilk., Manners, ii, 316-7)—Greeks (Cur. ii, 41, 21, 86; Mahaf., tee Life, 182) —Ancient Rome (Mom., new ed., i, 219; Inge, 31). § 690. Widdle Ages (Lac. 81-2)—Sazxons (Kem., ii, 482)—Dunstan (Wheatley, 62). § 694. Kalmucks (Pall. i, 188-9)—Africans (Lan. i, 281; Cam. ii, 82). § 695. Hgyptians (Buns. i, 20; Bru. i, 140-1; Ernan, 201, 203)— Greeks (Thirl. i, 280; Hase, 172; Thirl. i, 280)—Romans (Duruy, i, 155, 149-150, 225; Hun., Intro. 7; Mom., new ed. i, 220)—Swmatrans (Marsd. 238)—Abyssinians (Par. ii, 184). § 696. Worse (Das. xlvi, xlviii, lvi)— Anglo-Saxons (Gomme, 35, 59)—English (Ste. i, 10, 11; iii, 487, 488; Hal. 678; Maitland in Soc. Eng. ili, 35-6)—Germany (Stolz. i; 399)—France (Four. 38 ; Ste. Pal. ii, 85; Four. 33)—Hnglish (Ste. 1, 18, note). § 698. France (Four. 87)—English (Ste. i, 17; Ree. ii, 499). § '700. Arawaks (Bern. 30)—Australians (Tap. )—Daramilin (Howitt in Malle. 513) —New Zealanders (Thom. i, 115)—Congo (Bast., Af. R., 85-6). §'7O1, Mexicans (Tor., bk. ix, ch. 11—18; Cla., bk. vii, § 5)}— Yucatan (Landa, S vil)—Japanese (Ada. ii, 319)—Ava (Symes, i, 228)—Burmese (Shway, 18; Sang., 96). §'702. Ancient India (Dutt, ii, 96; i, 248-9)—Anc. Persia (Gei. i, 57-8)—Babylonians, &c. (Sayce, Soc. Life, 40, 51)—Anc. Lgypt. (Bru. i, 175; Erman, 444; Dune. i, 196)—Greeks (Mahaf., Greek Life, 313, 375-7, 381)—Japanese (Ada. ii, 319)—Rome (Mom., new ed., iii, 182). § '708. Celts (Pell., 4to. ed. i, 183)—British (Cesar, Gallic War, vi, 14)— Early Europe (Hal., Intro., i, 6,7; Mos., Pt. II, ch. i, § 1)\—Cownetl of Vaison (Brace, 219)—Germany (Stolz. i, 38). § '704. yi, “po (Pear. 1, 311; Turner §S., iil, 16; Pear. 628-9; Turner, Vii, 156; Wart. iii, 1). 705. Univ. of Paris (Conringius, iii, § 17, cited by Mald. 15-16), 707. Anc. India (Mann. i, 416; Hun., Ind. Emp., 154)—Ceylon (Ten. i, 481, 488; i, 844, 345; i, 478)—Ancrent Babylonia (Perrot and C. i, 821-2)—Anc. Egypt (Rawl. Hist. i, 214; Dune. i, 220; Bru. i, 140-1, 124; ii, 113, 191; Rawl. Hist. i, 272)—G@reeks (Homer, Lang, 2; Cur. ii, 61, 80) — Romans (Duruy, i, 140). $ '708. Harly Europe (Lac., Sci. and Lit. 82)—France (Lac. Arts, 348, 850; Vio. i, 108; Lac. Arts, 387; Vio. 109) — Raphael (East. i, 7-8)—English (Kem. ii, 482-3 ; Ecc. 58,103). § '710. Egypt (Rawl., Hist. i, 267). 3 ' 711. Gold Coast Negroes (Bos, 223)— Coast Negroes (Bast., Mensch, li, 377)—Congo (Tuck, 3880-1)—Sandwich Islanders (Cook, Sec. Voy.; Ell. P.R. ii, 201)\—New Zealanders (Thom. i, 187, 188, 204; Ang. i, 314; Hoch, 487-8)—Murring Tribe (Howitt, cited ~ REFERENCES. 3 617 in Malle. 518)—Kalmucks (Pall. S.H.N., ii, 106)—Malagasy (Ell. Hist. i, 396-7). §'712. Singalese (Ten. i, 472)—Hgypt (Bru. i, 140-1, 445, 444; 1b. 1881 ed. i, 474)—Greeks (Cur. ii, 84, 79, 65, 67; Mahaf., Rambles, 227; 7b, Greek Life, 386)—Romans (Mom., new ed. i, 225; Duruy, i, 140; Inge, 108). §'718. Early Europe (Emér. 8; Chal. ii, 185; Lac., Arts. 156-7; Lev. i, 139, 140; Emér. 34; Lac. and S., 24-6)—England (Pict. Hist. iii, 575). §'716. Apaches (Bour. 462)—Zufians (Cushing, cited in Malle, 210-11)— Navajo Tedious (Matt. 444-5). §'71'7. Ethiopians (Herod., Cary, 180)—Zgyptians (Bru. i, 179; Erman, 5538, 554-5)—Ceylon Bud- dhists (Ten. i, 476)—Cyprus (Times, 29th Dec., 1894)—Greeks (Wor. 20; Winck. i, 298)—Zeuais (Poy. 22). § 718. Harly Europe (Poy. 51; Mac. 56; East. i, 5-6, 8, 11; Lev. i, 547)—Mod. Greece (Did. vii; 7b. xxiii in Ten. i, 474, note. § '720. Middle Ages (Lev. i, 548). §'721, Egyptians (Tiele, Hist. 178-9, 109; Bru., 1881 ed., i, 60). § 723, Thibetans (Hue, 67). § '725. Dakotas (Burt., C.S. 120)—Mandans (Cat. i, 121)—Jroquois (Morg., League, 314, 198-9)— T'upis (Sou. i, 233)— Guiana Indians (Brett)—Mundrucus (Bates, 3rd ed. 224)— Uaupés (Wall, Narrative, 483)—South America (Rodway in P.S.M., Feb. 1895 (vol. xlvi), p. 459)—Lepehas (CampbellinJ.E.S., N.S., vol. i. 151)—Bodo and Dhimdls (Hodg. in J.A.S.B. xviii, Pt. II, 737-8)—Kukis (But. 95)— Nagas (Mast. in J.A.S.B. xiii, Pt. II, '710)—Harens (Mason in J.A.S.B. xxxvii, Pt. IT, 125-6) —Gonds (For. 96). § 726. Bechuanas (Arb. and D. 26; Licht. ii, 326 ; Thoimp. i, 342-3)—Kaffirs (Shoo. 32; Licht. i, 271; Shoo. 892)—Coast Negroes (Cruick. ii, 272; Wint. i, 50, 52)—Congo People (Tuck. 215, 357)— Ashantis (Beech. 136-7)—Jnland Negroes (Lan. ii, 12; Park, i, 528)— Fulahs (Wint. i, 53)—Dahomans (Burt., Mission, ii, 248)—Abyssinians (Harr. iii, 269, 274). §'72'7. Kaffirs (Bar. i, 200)—Greeks (Gro. ii, 120-2). §'7380. Fuegians (Fitz. ii, 185)—Bodo and Dhimdls (Hodg. in J.A.S.B. xviii, 737)—Santals (Sherwill in J.A.S.B. xx, 553)— Todas (Shortt in T.E.S.L., N.S., vii, 241-2)— Pueblos (Morg., Houses, &c., 185). §'731. Fuegians (Fitz. ii, 186)—H.B. Indians and Eskimo (Turn. L. M., 306, 206)—Malagasy (Ell., Hist. i, 291)—Hindus (Dutt, ii, 75)—Anc. Peru (Garci. bk. v, ch. 6; Cieza, ch. 97)—/%77 (Jackson in Ersk. 457)—Japanese (Ada. i, 77)—Greeks (Gro. ii, 181)—Romans (Mom. ii, 403). § 782. Ostiaks (Lath. i, 457)—Society Is. (Ell., Pol. Res. ii, 284)—Chibchas (Sim. 256)— Mexico (Lorenzana’s note to.Cortes’ Sec. Letter)— Peru (Garci. bk. v, ch. 6)—Phenicians (Mov. ii, 8, p. 182)—Hnglish (Lapp. ii, 363; Ellis, i, 182; Pict. Hist. ii, 192; Ure, 69; Pict. Hist. vii, 693). § 733. Bhutan (Bog. 34)—Blantyre Negroes (MacDon. i, 37, 36)\—Tahitians (EIL., Pol. Res. i, 175)—Medieval Monasteries (Jessop in Nineteenth Century, Jan., 1884, pp. 112-3)—France (Yan. 100; Dar. 537)—12th Century (Cunn. 3-4)— Egyptians (Lumb, 104-5)—Greeks (Xen. viii, 2)—Romans (Mom. i, 214-5). §'734. Negroes (Burt., Abeo. i, 117)—Hnglish (Pict. Hist. ii, 806). § '73'7. Australians (Smy. i, xviii)—WV.A. Indians (Dodge, 270) —Guahibos (Humb. ii, 233)—H.B. Eskimos (Turn. L. M., 232). 738. Gonds (Row. 8, 18)—Old Japan (Mit. i, 71)—Assay Offices (Pict. Hist. ii, 194)—English (Pict. Hist. i, 288, 602; ii, 194)—Romans (Mom. i, 210). § 739. 5th to 10th Centuries (Lev. i, 156)—16th Century (Bougars, Epist. 73 ad Camerar, in Sully, bk. ix), § 742. Chippewas (School. iii, 81)— Hottentots (Kolb. i, 261). §'748. Carolingian Period (Lev. i, 336-7; ef. Lac. and S., 26)—English (Pict. Hist. ii, 806). § '745. Merv. (O’Don. ii, 834). §'746. Guiana (Im Thurn, 271)—Mosquitos (Bane. i, 723)— Papuans (Chalm. ch.v) § '74'7. Greeks (Beck., Charicles, 280)—Eng- lish (Cunn. and McA. 202, 203; Rogers, i, 253). § 748. Early Rome (Mom. i, 216)—Hnglish (Whit. 385)—Manyuema (Liv., Last Journals, ii, 112)—Dahome (Burt., Mission, ii, 248)—Hgbas (Burt., Abeokuta, i, 51)— 618 REFERENCES. Cent. Africans (Liv., Last Journals, ii, 56)—Harly Rome (Mom. i, 210). ‘750. Loango (Ast. iii, 215)—T7imbuctoo (Shab. 22). §'751, Hud. ay Eskimos (Turn. L.M., 177)—Lower Egypt (Mov. ii, 3, p. 147)—Mongo- lian Lamas (Lans. i, 348). § '758. Niger (L. and O. i, 165)—Jenni and Timbuctoo (Cail. ii, 9}—Hast Africans (Burt., Cent. Afr., i, 885 et seq.)\— Gold Coast (Bos. 117)—Sandwich Isl. (Ell., Hawaii, 330)—Java (Raf. i, 109)—Dyaks (Brooke, ii, 162)—Dahome (Burt., Mission, i, 143). § : New Guinea (Wallace in Cont. Rev., Feb., 1879, xxxiv, 485; D’Alb. ii, 172-3)—Samoa (Tur., Samoa, 146)—Nootka Sound People (Bane. i, 192)— Bihénos (Cap. and I. i, 116). § '755. Chalikatas (Dalt. 20)—Africa (Barth, ii, 312)—Bayano Indians (Pim and 5. 162). §'756. Marutse (Hol. ii, 162). 757. Cameron (Cam. i, 246-7)—Romans (Mom. i, 216)—Zanzibar (Wils. and F. i, 19)—Brick-Tea (Erm. G.A. ii, 236; Prej. i, 10)—Sulu Isl. (Burb. 205)—Rock-Salt (Mont. ii, 148-9). § '758. Thlinkeets (Banc. i, 108)—Garos (Dalt. 65)—Kookies (Row. 185)— Uganda (Wils. and F. i, 20, 46)— Blantyre (MacDon. i, 178)—Samoa (Tur., Samoa, 120)—Khalkas (Prej. i, 78, note). §'759. Uquak (Burt., Wit, 392)— Assam (Row. 164, 165)—Chinese (Lacoup. ). §§ 760. Kutchins and Eskimos (Banc. i, 128)—Californians (Bane. i, 347)—New Britain (Pow. 55-6)—Soloman Islanders (Coote, 188)—Africans (Waitz, ii, 104)—Kawélé (Cam. i, 246)—New Hebrides (Coote, 181-2). § '761. Egyptians (Wilk., Egyptians, 71)—Abraham (Genesis, xxiv, 22, xxiii, 16)—Merovings (Rob. 39). §'769. Barotse (Serpa P. ii, 41-2)—Khonds (Camp. 15)—Mun- drucus (Bates, 224)—Sand. Tsliirithe (Ell., Hawaii, 390)— Yucatan (Cortes, Fifth Letter, 43)—New Zealand (Ang. ii, 50)—Hast Africans (Burt., Cent. Afr. ii, 365-6)—San Salvador (Pala. 83)—Murams (McCull. xxvii, 70)— Madagascar (Dru. 480)—Jddah (L. and O. ii, 126)—Patagonians (U.S. Ex. Ex. i, 115)— Whydah (Burt., Mission, i, 58-4)—Sakarran Dyaks (Low, 185) —Anc. Egypt (Chab., 8° Série, 2, p. 180)—Phanicia (Mov. ii, 3, p. 108). § '7'70. Hebrews (Deut. xxii)—Greeks (Hes. 116-9)—Japanese (Alc. ii, 325) — Greece (Cur. ii, 39)—Romans (Mom. 1862 ed. i, 208, 199, 196). e771. Mexicans (Zur. 223)—France (Ordonnance of 1776)—English (Green, ii, 26,39). §'772. France (Bour. i,13; Chall. ii, 178-9; Bour. i, 14-15)— Medieval England (Green, i, 155-7). § '7'78. France, 14th Cent. (Lev. i, 510-2)—England (Green, ii, 40). § '7'74. Western Bantus (Star. 67 ; Mag. 282, 286, 284)—New Britain (Pow. 18)—Dyaks (St. J. i, 166; Boy. 216)—Sea Dyaks (St. J. i, 50, 52)—Malanaus (Brooke, ii, 101)—Kocech (Hodg. in J.A.S.B. xviii, 707-8). _§ '7'75. Bedowins (Burck. i, 201)— Chinese (Doug Soc. in Ch. 108; 7b. China, 94, 93; Soc. in Ch. 110)— Hindus (Manu, viii, 416; Nel. 56-7)—Teutons (Maine, Vill. Comm. 78)-— Slavonian Maxim (Maine, Early Law, 243)—Romans (Duruy, i, 148-4). 8 '776. Mr. Jefferies (Fraser’s Magazine, Aug., 1874, pp. 149-150). NAME Anc. Chinese (Legge, ref. lost ; Tcheou-Li, i, 198, note)—Ancient ‘gypt (Dune. i, 198)—Athens (St. John, iii, 99)—Ane. Mexico (Cla. bk. vii, $5). §'7'78, Chinese (Happel, Revue, p. 272). §'7'79, Bechuanas (Alb. 116, 117; Liv., Miss. Trav. 15)— West Africans (Du Ch. 425-7)— Indian village-communities (Maine, Vill. Comm. 127-8). § 780, Bal- kans (Lav. 181). 5 Oo Herrera (Morg., Houses, &c. '77)—Columbian Indians (Lew. and C. 448)—Aleuts (Harper’s oo vol. lv, p. 806)— _Mandans (Morg., Houses, &c., ch. 4).—Maya Indians (Steph. ii, 14)— Columbian Tribes (see Morg., op. cit., ch. 4). 788. Sierra Leone (Wint. i, 52)—V. Celebes (Wall., ref. lost, but ef. Malay Arch. i, 887)— Padam (Dalt. 23-4). §'784. Eastern Europe Nee 78; Evans, 45-6, 46; Bogi. 280; Evans, 47)—Servians and Russians (Kov. 90; Leroy B. i, 488; Bogi. 284-294)—Montenegro (Maine, Early Law, 252). § '785., India (Strabo, xv, i, § 66; Ghosh, 15; Elliot, Rep. i, § 42 cited in Ghosh, ee oe. — . ic Tn ee REFERENCES. 619 10; Elph. 71-2; Mayne, § 199; Ghosh, 31; Maine, Vill. Comm. 176-7; Ghosh, 20, 41)—Jndian Cultivating groupe (Maine, Vill. Comm. 125-6). § '786. Wales (Seeb., Vill. Comm, 241; 2b. Tribal System, 34, 35, 45, 72. 99, 95-99, 102-3, 107)—Harly England (Cunn. 59, 67, 74; Maine, Vill, Comm. 126). § 788. Cheesemakers of Jerusalem (Leyrer in Herz. v, 516)—Alezandrine Jews (Lumb. 106)—Anctent Egypt (Rawl., Hist. i, 430) ftome (Mom. i, 214-5)\—Chinese (Will. ii, 87)—Burmese (Shway, ii, 280)— England (Kem. ii, 840; Rush. ii, 111). § '789. Mesico (Pres., Mexico, 70)—Phenicians (Mov. ii, 3, p. 115; 7b. 123)—Farly England (Brent. exxxiii)—Abbotsbury (Brent. lxv)—EHzeter (1b.)—Fifteenth Cent. (Green, i, 157-8). § '790. Hostile Villages (Cunn. 76)—Norwich Merchant, &c. (Cunn. 175, 208)—Town and Guald (Cunn. 207)—City Franchise (Noor. 795)—Cambridge (Cunn. 124; Coop. i, 15)—Lappenberg (Lapp. ii, 353)— Town-Organization (Brent. xciii). §'791. Scotch (Burton, ii, 93)— Mrs. Green (Green, ii, 252, 255)— Weavers (Cunn. 179)—French maxim (A.L.F. v, 221, note). § 792. London (Cunn. 309,310)—Beverley (Poul. i, 112)—Kaeter (Smith, T. 334)—Goldsmiths (Pict. Hist. i, 602)—Craft- Gilds (Brent. exxiv)—Merchant Companies (Cunn. 340-1, 315-6 ; Gross, i, 117). § '795. Blantyre Negroes (MacDon. i, 166)—Nicaragua (Herr. ili, 298)—Angola (Mont. i, 59). §'796. Ancient Mexicans (Zur. 251; Cla. bk. vii,'§ 18)—Damaras (And. 231)—Dahomans (Burt. Miss. i, 179; ii, 248)—Ashantees (Beech. 115)—Brluchi (Postans in J.E.S.L. 1848, vol. i, 112)—Ane. Ceylon (Ten. i, 426, 369)—Anc. Egyptians (Raw. Hist. i, 154-5) —Nicanor (Bevan, in Sm., W., Bible Dict. ili, 1832)—Anc. Germans (Lev. i, 109). §'797. Hebrews (Mielz. 61; Griin. 26-8)—Bedouins (Burek. i, 202)—A byssinians (Harr. ili, 809)—A shantees (Beech. 117)—A frican Slave (Liv., Narr. 263, 262)—Madagascar (Ell., Hist. i, 194; ii. 144)—Marutse (Hol. ii, 162)—A shanti (Beech. 115)—Phenicians (Mov. ii, 8, 70)—G@reeks (Beck., Char. 362-3)—Sazons (Seeb., Vill. Comm. 165; Kem. i, 196, e¢ seq.)\— Welsh (Seeb., Vill. Comm. 199). § '798. Greece (Heer. 161-2). § 799. Hebrews (Mielz. 55)—Anc. India (Manu, viii, 416)—Mezicans (Lopez de G. 442)—Madagascar (Ell., Hist. i, 194)—Athens (Schim. i, 849 ; Beck., Charicles, 362), § 800. Romans (Ing. 72, 64, 65-6). § 801. Ancient Mexico (Cla., App. Diss. vii, § 2)—Society Islands (Forst. 305)— Ashanti (Cruick. ii, 242). § 802. Marutse (Hol. ii, 145)—Anyasa (MacDon. i, 199)—Damaras (Galt. 145)—Kukis (Stewart in J.A.S.B. xxiv, 625-6)— Yucatan (Landa, § xx)—Mezico (Helps, iii, 120. § 808. Dahome (Burt., Mission, i, 330, 226 ; i, 209, note)—Madagascar (Ell., Hist. i, 316, 196)—Corea (Opp. 109-111)—Assyrians (Rawl., Five G.M. iii, 55-6) —Sparta (Gro. ii, 494-6). § 804. Romans (Ing. 74-6)—Liti (Seeb., Vill. Comm. 280-1)—Coloni (Ing. 77, 78, 79). § 805. Anc. Germans (Tac. xiv, xv, xxv)—Medieval Serfs (Seeb., Vill. Comm. 409)—Anglo-Saaon Slaves (Ing. 100; Lapp. ii, 357-8; Lapp. ii, 332)— Welsh (Seeb., Tribal Syst. 25-6)—England (Hal., M.A. 565). § 806. Prussia (Reh. and R. iil, 373 et seq.\— Russia (Engel. ch. I). § 807. Germany (Ing. 118-9) —WNSerf-labour (Brassey, 103-4). § 809. Tahiti (Ell., Pol. Res. i, 175)— Samoans (Tur., 19 years, 261)—Egyptians (Ebers, i, 294; Bru., 1881 ed. i, 27)—Babylonia (Smith, Hist. of Bab. 30). $810. Thirty Years’ War (Inama-St., H.T. 1864, p. 27)—England (Cunn. 475; Cunn. and McA. 48) —France (Ing. 93-4)—A bipones (Dobriz. ii, 105)— Patagonians (Falk. 128) — Bechuanas (Liv., Narr. 291-2)—Russia (Engel. ch.I). § 811. Athel- stan, Edgar and Edw. Conf. (Thorpe, 85, 116, 194)—Mr. Jefferies (see 776). § 812. Bond-handicraftsmen (Brent. cxiv; Hal., M.A. 566)— ediceval municipal organization (Green, ii, 115). § 818. Southampton (Green, ii, 300)—Journeymen (Cunn. 456; Brent. clxiv). § 814. South Slavonians (Maine, Early Law, 264; Evans, 47; Kov. —)—Russia (Lav. 620 REFERENCES. 18, 19)—Bulgaria (Jir. —)—India. (Ghosh, 28; Maine, Early Law, 252). 815. Assyria (Len. and Chev. i, 424)—Rome (Esch., Part iv, § 268)— arly Europe (Cunn. 95, 93)—Measures of Weight, &c. (Cunn. 113)— Anglo-Saxons (Cunn. 123). § 816. Marcian Aqueduct (Mom. iii, 429). § 817. Ur. Brassey on Railway Contracts (Helps, Life, 50-1)—Butty- gang system (10.). § 818. Thomas Blanket @ourtie, 104)—Jack of Newbury (Full. i, 187)—Lack of Capital (Cunn. 4)—France (Lev. ii, 373)— Lancashire (Pict. Hist. v, 593)—Master Clothiers (Brent. clxxii). § 822. Marine Ventures (Cunn, and McA. 119)—Last India Co. (tb. 115)—Joint Stock Companies (M‘Cull., s.v. Companies). § 825. Samoa(Tur., Poly- nesia, 263)—Gaboon (Rea. 78-80)—LEarly Trade Unions (Brent. excv). § 826. Piecers (Webb, 6-7)— West of England (Webb, 29-80)— Yorkshire (2b.).” 827. Trade Societies (1b. 93)—Productive classes (ib. 108)— Grand National (7b. 120, 122)—Amalgamated Societies (1b. 161, 163)— Statistics of Trade-Unionism (ib. 416-20, 480). § 828. Flint Glass Makers (Webb, 184)—Printers and Engineers (ib. 184-5)\—Edward V1 (Cunn. and*McA. 68)—Bristol, 15th Cent. (Cunn. 372-3)— Wisbeach Shoe- makers (Webb, 3). § 881. Allan on Strikes (Webb, 306)—Spitalfields Weavers (Pict. Hist. vil, 709). § 884. Bushmen (Bar. i, 284; Galt. 174) —Bodo and Dhimdls (Hodg. in J.A.S.B. xviii, 741)—Vagas (Grange in J.A.S.B. ix, Part II, 964)—Araucanians(Thomps. i, 418)— Yucatan(Landa, § xxxii)—Padam (Dalt, 23)—Singhalese (Ten. i, 428). § 885. Artels (F.0., Report ; Stahr, i, 28, 93)—Bulgaria (Jir. 210-12). § 886. Profit- sharing Schemes (Tay.)—Halsey (Schloss, Report) § 88'7. Rochdale (Holy. ii, 48)—Statistics of Cooperation (Pott. 59). § 888. Theory of Cooperation (Schloss, 227)—London Cooperators (Pott. 122, 123, 124, 125) —Padiham and Pendleton Cooperative Companies (Pott. 127)—Oldham Mill (Pott. 129, 180)\—Mr. Holyoake (Labour Copartnership, August, 1896). § 889. Cornish Mining (Schloss, 89, cf. Price, 27-9). § 840. North Amer. Indians (Powell, 34-5)—Croatian House-Communities (Evans, 51, 53, 54,55). $841. South Australian Village Settlements (South Aust., Report, Q. 1880, 1897, 1947, 1994, 2601-2, 2611-2, 2616-7, 2753-4, 2814, 3036, 3048, 3164, 3183-8, 4540-1, 4613-9). § 844. English in India (Paske)—Major Raverty (Times, April 18, 1899). § 848. Mr. Eubule Evans (“Germany under the Empire,” Contemporary Review, Feb., 1896, pp. 178-4)—Prince Bismarck (Standard, July 10, 1893)—F'rench Minister or Foreign Affairs (Times, July 27, 1896)—Leroy-Beauliew (Leroy B., Etat, 70)—M. Vacher (Guy, 276). § 851. Dr. Lavollée (Lavo. 580-1) —Socialist Lecturer (Black and White, Aug. 1, 1896). § 858. Let- htas (Fytche, i, 8348)—“ The ultimate man” (Social Statics, 1851, p. 442; 1892, p. 256). TITLES OF WORKS REFERRED TO. gar neias (Jos. de) Historia natural y moral de las Indias. Sevilla, Ada.—Adams (Sir F. 0.) The History of Japan from the Earliest Period to the Present Time. 2 vol. 1874-5. eeierheakers, (L.) Description physique et historique des Cafres. Amster- am, 1811. Ale.—Aleock (Sir R.) The Capital of the Tycoon. 2 vol. 1863. All. and T.—Allen (W.) at Thomson (T. R. H.) A Narrative of the Expedition .... to the River Niger in 1841. 2vol. 1848. A.L.F.— Recewil général des anciennes lois frangaises. Ed. par Jourdain. 28 tom. Paris, 1822, &c. . Boeck— REFERENCES. 621 Anda.—Andagoya (P. de) Narrative of the Proceedings of Pedrarius Davila in the Provinces of Tierra Firme or Castilla del Oro. Trans, and ed. C. R. Markham. 1865. And.—Anderson (C. J.) Lake Ngami. 1856. Ang.—Angas (G. F.) Savage Life and Scenes in Australia and New Zealand. 1847. Arb. and D.—Arbousset (T.) and Daumas (F.) Narrative of an Exploratory Tour to the North-east of the .. . Capeof Good Hope. Trans. 1846, Arr.—Arriga (P. J. de) Hautirpdcion de la idolatria del Piru. Lima, 1621. Ast.—Astley (T.) New General Collection of Voyages and Travels [by J.Green]. 4 vol. 4to, 1745-7. Atk.—Atkinson (T. W.) Oriental and Western Siberia. 1858. Bak.—Baker (Sir Sam. W.) The Albert N’yanza, &c. 2vol. 1866. Bane.—Bancroft (H. H.) The Native Races of the Pacific States of North America. 5vol. 1875-6. Bar.—Barrow (Sir John) An Account of Travels into the Interior of Southern Africa. 1801-4. Barth—Barth (H.) Travels and Discoveries in North and Central Africa, Trans. 5 vol. 1857-8. Bast.—Bastian (A.) Afrikanische Reisen. Bremen. 1859. i Der Mensch in der Geschichte. 3 Bde. Leipzig, 1860. Bates—Bates (H. W.) The Naturalist on the River Amazon. 3rd Ed. 2vol. 1873. Beck.—Becker (W. A.) Charicles ; Illustrations of the Private Life of the Ancient Greeks. Trans. 1854. Bed.—Bédolliére (E. Gigault de la) Histoire des Mours et de la Vie privée des Francais. Tom. 1—3. Paris, 1847-9. Beech.—Beecham (J.) Ashantee and the Gold Coast. 1841. Bern.—Bernau (J. H.) Missionary Labours in British Guiana. 1847. Bing.—Bingham (Rev. J.) The Works of, ed. by J. Bingham, Junr. 10 vol. Oxford, 1855. Bird—Bird (Isabella) Unbeaten Tracks in Japan. 2 vol. 1880. Blac.—Blackie (J. S.) Horw Hellenicew. 1874, Blun.—Blunt (Rev. J. H.) Dictionary of Doctrinal and Historical The- ology. 2nd ed. 1872. ock (Carl) The Head-Hunters of Borneo. 1881. Bodd.—Boddam Whetham (J. W.) Pearls of the Pacific. 1876. Bogi.—Bogikié (V.) Le Droit Coutumier des Slaves Méridionaua d’aprés les recherches de M. V. Bogisié. In Revue de Législation ancienne et moderne, &c. 1876. Paris. Bog.—Bogle (G.) Narrative of the Mission of G. Bogle to Thibet and Lhasa, ed. by C. R. Markham. 1876. Boll.—Bollaert (W.) Antiquarian, Ethnological, and other Researches in New Granada, Equador, Peru, and Chile. 1860. Boo.—Boone (T. C.) The Book of Churches and Sects. 1826. Bos.—Bosman (W.) A New Description of the Coast of Guinea. Trans. 2nd Ed. 1721. Bour.—Bourke (John G.) The Medicine Men of the Apaches. In the Ninth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology. Bourne (H. R. F.) The Romance of Trade. 1871. Bourq.—Bourquelot (F.) Etudes sur les foires de Champagne. In Mémoires de 1 Académie des Inscriptions. 2° Série, Tome V, 1865. Boy.—Boyle (F.) Adventures among the Dyaks of Borneo. 1865. Brace—Brace (C. L.) Gesta Christy. 2nd Ed. 1886, 622 REFERENCES, co rer (Rev. J.) Observations on Popular Antiquities, 8 vol. Brassey (Thos.) Work and Wages. Brent.—Brentano (see Smith, 'T’.). Brett—Brett (W. H.) The Indian Tribes of Guiana. 1868. Brin.—Brinton (D. G.) The Myths of the New World. New York, 1868. Brooke—Brooke (Chas.) Ten Years in Sardwak. 2vol. 1866. Bro.—Browne (R. W.) A History of Roman Classical Literature. 1853. Bruce—Bruce (James) Travels to discover the Source of the Nile, in the years 1768-17738. 2nd Ed. 8 vol. Edinburgh, 1805. Bru.—Brugsch (H.) A History of Egypt under the Pharaohs. Trans. HH. D. Seymour. 2vol. 1879 and 1881. Buns.—Bunsen (Baron C. C. J.) Egypt's Place in Universal History. Trans. 5 vol. 1848-67. Burb.—Burbidge (F. W.) The Gardens of the Sun, Borneo, and the Sulu Archipelago. 1880. Burck.—Burckhardt (J. L.) Notes on the Bedowins and Wahdbys. 1829. Bur.—Burdo (Ad.) The Niger and the Benueh. Trans. 1880. Burton—Burton (J. H.) History of Scotland from Agricola’s Invasion to the Extinction of the last Jacobite Insurrection. 8 vol.’ 1873. Burt.—Burton (Sir RK. F.) Abeokuta and the Camaroons Mountains. 2 vol. 1863. . The City of the Saints and across the Rocky Mountains to California. 1861. ‘, The Lake Region of Central Africa. 2vol. 1860. 9» mm A Mission to Gelele, King of Dahome. 2 vol. 1864, ‘ Sind Re-visited, &c. 2vol. 1877. > Wit and Wisdom from West Africa. 1865. But.—Butler (Maj. J.) Travels and Adventures in the Province of Assam during a Residence of Fourteen Years. 1855. Cesar—Cesar (C. Julius) Gallic War. Trans. by Stock. Oxford, 1894, Cail.—Caillié (R.) Travels to Timbuctoo. Trans. 1880. Call.—Callaway (H.) The Religious System of the Amazulu. Natal, 1869. Cam.—Cameron (Comm. V. L.) Across Africa. 2vol. 1877. | Campbell (Dr. A.) On the Lepchas. 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